by Murray, Lee
‘You’d better show us where you parked it.’
Half an hour later, they’re heading back to Tauranga on the southern motorway, Skye and Adam in the back seat of Pūriri’s Commodore and the young constable following in Mum’s Mazda. Nearing Bombay, Skye asks Pūriri if he would mind pulling into the services for a comfort stop. As Skye runs in to the service station, Adam leans forward, one hand on the headrest in front of him.
‘Sir? Are we in trouble?’
‘Have you done anything illegal?’ Alongside, a blue Ford Explorer pulls in to the pumps. A man with a massive beer-gut gets out of the Explorer, hitches up his jeans, then lifts the nozzle off the pump.
‘No, sir,’ Adam says, feeling uneasy. Not since the party anyway.
‘In that case, you’re not in trouble with me. Although I suspect your parents might not agree. If I were to call Miss Wētere’s mother, would she know where her daughter is right now?’ The big detective makes a good Jiminy Cricket. Adam drops his head, suddenly ashamed. Keeping the trip a secret was a stupid idea. Why hadn’t they levelled with Skye’s mum? They could’ve explained. The way Skye talks about Aroha, there’s a chance she would’ve understood.
‘Son?’ Pūriri prompts.
‘No, sir. She thinks Skye’s staying at Pukehina with a friend.’ Adam picks viciously at his thumbnail. Outside, the beer-gut guy hitches up his pants again.
‘Hmm.’ Pūriri keeps his eyes to the front.
‘It was my idea,’ Adam blurts. ‘I talked Skye into it.’
‘I’m sure it seemed judicious at the time,’ Pūriri says, his gaze still forward.
‘We were looking for Skye’s dad. He ran out before she was born.’
‘So I understand.’
Adam snorts. ‘Turns out, he’s still a shit.’
Twisting in his seat, Pūriri gives Adam a hard look. ‘I agree, it’s disappointing. But Miss Wētere does have one supportive parent, right? Someone who cares for her? Someone who’d be distressed to learn she isn’t where she’s supposed to be?’
Adam doesn’t reply. He lowers his eyes and picks at his nail some more. As consciences go, Pūriri is pretty hard to ignore.
The Ford Explorer pulls away. Skye comes out of the service station and makes her way towards them, shaking water off her hands. Watching her, Adam puts his thumb in the corner of his mouth, tasting blood where his cuticle has torn away. He hopes Aroha hasn’t already discovered that Skye isn’t where she’s supposed to be because Adam knows exactly how it feels to misplace someone you love.
His head jerking, Adam wakes with a start, aware that Skye is no longer beside him. They’ve stopped. He straightens up and rubs his eyes.
‘Where’s Skye? Another toilet stop?’
‘We stopped briefly in Ngātea. Miss Wētere switched cars while you were asleep. My colleague is taking her home.’
Adam peers through the window. It’s early evening. Outside, a number of large buildings reflect the amber beams of nearby streetlights.
‘Where are we?’
‘We’re in Rotorua. At the hospital,’ Pūriri declares.
‘The hospital! What for?’
‘We’re here to see your father.’
‘Dad? Why? Has he had an accident?’ In an instant, Adam is fully awake, his blood thundering in his head. He fumbles with the door handle, frantic to escape the vehicle. He needs to get out so he can find Dad. Please let him be okay. Adam only has one parent left!
The seatbelt yanks him back.
‘He isn’t injured, Adam. That’s not why we’re here.’
‘Then why?’
‘The mortuary,’ Pūriri says. ‘We’ve found a body.’
Chapter 33
Dad goes with Detective Pūriri to view the body while Adam and Marilyn wait. The waiting room is a hallway with swing doors at either end, a couple of benches lining the scuffed thoroughfare and a vending machine poked in one corner. Adam and Marilyn’s bench is upholstered in beige vinyl. Adam isn’t fussed about sharing a bench with Marilyn, but he isn’t keen on waiting alone either, so he doesn’t object. Fortunately, neither of them feels like making conversation. Occasional noises filter in from the corridor, but in the waiting room everything’s quiet. It’s like the opening scenes of a horror movie, full of glaring white light and angle shots. All that’s lacking is the suspenseful music. Adam’s glad. Suspenseful music would finish him off.
After a while, the swing doors to Adam’s right re-open and Wendy Gordon enters the room. Taking some coins from her pocket, she plugs them into the vending machine. The coins fall with a clunk, there’s a topple as a paper cup drops down, and the room fills with the comforting gurgle of the machine. When the drink is ready, Wendy makes her way across to Adam and Marilyn and, for the second time today, Adam notices that police shoes are not designed for stealth. She hands the cup to Adam.
‘Here. Hot chocolate.’
‘Thanks.’ Taking a sip, Adam pulls a face. Yuck. It’s sweeter than the entire range of Hello Kitty merchandise.
The police officer shrugs. ‘Sorry. It’s in the handbook. Sugar helps with shock, apparently.’
‘S’okay.’ At least holding the cup gives Adam something to do with his hands. ‘So, does Detective Pūriri really think it’s Mum?’ Adam can’t bring himself to say ‘corpse’.
‘It’s hard to tell, Adam.’
‘But we gave him lots of photos of her. He knows what she looks like.’
‘Adam, identifying people takes time. We have to be very careful and use all the information we have available. It’s too easy to make wild assumptions. Imagine the grief a mix-up might cause.’
Adam nods. ‘So where did they find her?’ he asks.
‘Out in the bush.’
‘But where?’ Adam’s eyes are brimming.
‘Here, outside Rotorua.’ Adam nods again. An hour’s drive south of Tauranga, Rotorua is surrounded by hundreds of hectares of managed forest. But he’s still bewildered.
‘Who found her?’
‘A couple of hikers.’ Wendy Gordon checks out her nails.
‘When?’
‘Early this morning.’ She steeples her hands.
‘How long?’ Adam asks.
Back to her nails. ‘Um... they phoned us as soon as they got cell coverage. It took them about an hour to reach a ridge...’ Adam wants to scream at her. It’s like trying to prise a limpet off a rock.
‘No! I mean... how long had she been there?’
‘Adam...’ Constable Gordon shifts in her seat. Her eyes swing to the left. Adam remembers reading that when people look to their left they’re usually lying. Adam’s waiting for the lie when a voice butts in.
‘There’s no need to sugar-coat it, Officer.’
It’s Marilyn. Adam had almost forgotten she was there.
‘Adam has a right to know what’s happened to his mum,’ she says. ‘He’s a mature and sensible young man and I think he’s handled things pretty well so far. We both know that whatever you say isn’t going to be pleasant. But not knowing is a thousand times worse.’ Adam could hug her. It’s exactly what he was thinking.
‘Is that right, Adam?’ Wendy demands. ‘You’re sure you want to hear this? We could wait until your dad comes back if you prefer.’
Adam insists. ‘I want to know.’
Constable Gordon gives a small sigh. ‘If I tell you the details, you have to keep in mind that we haven’t identified the body yet. The person we’re talking about might not be your mother. It could still be somebody else.’
‘Please go on,’ Marilyn urges.
‘We believe the body has been hidden in the bush for some months, possibly since around the time your mum went missing. There was no jewellery, and in particular no wedding ring, found on or around the body. In fact, my colleagues haven’t discovered anything specific at the site which would identify the victim as being Mrs Creighton. But she was wearing jeans and a dark coloured sweatshirt.’
Adam draws in a long breath.
Marilyn puts her arm around his shoulders.
‘You mustn’t read anything into that, Adam,’ Marilyn says. ‘I’m sure on any given day several thousand Kiwi women are wearing jeans and sweatshirts. We shouldn’t jump to any conclusions.’
‘That’s true, Miss Williams. At this point, we simply want to eliminate Adam’s mum as a possibility.’
‘Had she been hurt?’ Adam asks, trembling a little.
‘Um...’ Constable Gordon stalls.
‘Please. I need to know.’
The officer fixes her eyes on Adam’s. ‘Yes, she had.’
Marilyn pulls Adam closer, rocking him gently. He wants to resist, but he doesn’t have the strength.
‘So, it wasn’t an accident that she was there?’ he murmurs, his face against Marilyn’s shoulder.
‘It’s a very remote piece of bush,’ the police officer says. Adam shudders. Two years ago, a woman was found in the forest ranges out of Auckland—another very remote piece of bush. That woman had been dismembered, bagged up, stuffed in plastic containers and buried under concrete.
What if...
Adam stares into the cardboard cup, its contents already cold.
‘I don’t want to know any more,’ he whispers.
A bit later, Wendy Gordon goes off to find out how things are going with the identification, leaving Adam and Marilyn alone again in the waiting room. Adam realises with a shock that Marilyn still has her arm around his shoulders. And she’s stroking his upper arm!
‘Get off,’ he says, jerking his shoulder.
‘Sorry.’ Marilyn pulls back. Adam jumps up, sloshing what’s left of his hot chocolate. He stalks over to the vending machine, jettisons the cardboard cup, then returns to a seat on the other side of the thoroughfare.
‘I wish you’d stop trying to be my mother,’ he mumbles under his breath. But not quietly enough, because Marilyn hears him.
‘Adam, I’m not trying to replace your mother. I couldn’t possibly do that. I’m not even going to try.’
‘Good. At least we’ve got that clear.’ He glares at her. ‘Why’re you here, anyway? You’re like a vulture, you know that? Skulking around waiting to hear that the body is my mum!’
Marilyn looks as if she might cry. She drops her head and fiddles with a buckle on her handbag. In a low voice, she says, ‘Adam, I’m here because I’m in love with your dad. He’s everything to me, and you’re everything to him, and because of that, I want us to get on. All I’m asking is that you try, okay?’ Adam shrugs and Marilyn accepts the gesture as her cue to go on. ‘Your father’s really hurting, Adam. He wants to help you, but you know he’s not great at that sort of thing, and he feels so guilty about your mum. He loved her very, very much and they were married for such a long time...’
‘They’re still married!’
‘Well, yes, they are,’ Marilyn says quietly, ‘but you have to understand that things weren’t perfect between them. I’m sure they weren’t, Adam, because if they were, Phil never would have noticed me.’
Adam lets his gaze slide away from her. He knows what Marilyn is saying is true. Still, he can’t help taking another pot-shot.
‘So, what if Mum comes back?’
‘If she comes back, then I’ll be delighted.’
Adam’s grunt resounds with insolence. ‘Yeah, right!’
‘No, I’m serious. I will be delighted because I like your mother. I know it’s hard for you to believe this, but I don’t wish Tiffany any harm. Before she disappeared, we were friends of a sort. Not good friends, I admit, but the kind of friends you are when your partner works with someone: polite, friendly. I’m not saying things wouldn’t be different if your mother returns, because that would be naïve, but at the very least your dad will be able to apologise and move on with his life.’
‘His life with you, you mean!’
‘Yes, with me. And you, Adam, and with your mother as a friend.’
‘You’re pretty sure of yourself.’
Marilyn’s voice wobbles. ‘I’m not sure of anything. I can’t even guarantee your father will join me for dinner at the end of the day. I’m living this situation on a day-to-day, hour-by-hour basis.’
Adam has never really thought about how it is for Marilyn; waking up each morning wondering if this is the day Mum will come home and throw her dreams to the wind. For a second, Adam feels a bit sorry for her, but then the swing doors are thrown open, and Dad and Pūriri are back.
Seeing Dad is a shock, like running into an old friend from primary school: you know who the person is, but you find it hard to believe they’ve changed so much. Since Adam discovered the phone, things have been strained between the two of them. And during the past few weeks, whenever Adam’s seen Dad, he’s either been off to work or off to bed. Those times, they’d been too busy passing messages about needing to get in another loaf of bread, or whether it was about time they put the sheets in the wash, for Adam to pay much attention to Dad’s appearance. Tonight though, Dad looks as if he’s been sleeping rough behind a rubbish skip. His jacket hangs limply from his shoulders, and in this white light, his skin resembles the grease at the bottom of a roasting dish. Compared to Pūriri, impeccable in his blue uniform, Dad looks pathetic.
Adam lets loose an involuntary cackle.
Oh God.
Adam’s sure he’s flipping out. But no one seems to have registered his outburst. They’re all waiting for Dad’s momentous announcement. The police officers have coalesced into a pair and are standing off to one side, while Marilyn, still seated on the bench, hugs herself. It feels like that bit in The Amazing Race when the contestants arrive at the pit-stops and Phil Keoghan goes to great lengths to draw out the moment, keeping everyone hanging about in suspense: ‘Adam, I’m sorry to have to tell you...’
Get on with it!
‘Adam.’ Dad takes a step forward, choking on Adam’s name. ‘Son. It’s... it’s not her. It’s not Tiffany. It’s... someone else.’
There’s a moan. It is low and desolate and full of despair.
‘Nooo! It has to be her! It has to be!’
It’s a moment before Adam realises the voice is his own. Next minute he’s running through the corridors, hating himself for what he’s thinking.
I wished it was her!
I wished my mother was dead. I wanted it to be her—that body at the morgue. That dead woman. I wanted that rotting mutilated corpse to be my mother.
‘You there, please raise your hand if you wish your mother was dead.’
I’m blacker than Macbeth. Blacker than hell.
It’s as if I killed her myself.
Chapter 34
When Dad finds him, Adam is sitting on the steps at the entrance to the hospital, looking out into the dark. Adam would’ve shot through, but where would he go? You can’t hide from yourself. Anyway, without a car it’s a long walk back to Tauranga.
‘Marilyn reckons maybe it was time we had a bit of a talk,’ Dad says.
Swiping at his tears with his sleeve, Adam swings around expecting to see his old man’s girlfriend, but the only silhouette is Dad’s.
‘Where’s Marilyn?’
‘I gave her my car keys. She’s gone back to Tauranga with Wendy Gordon. I said we’d head back later with Brian. He’s going to be about half an hour finishing up some paperwork.’ He jerks his head. ‘Let’s walk this way, shall we?’ Burying his hands in his pockets, Adam follows Dad down the hill away from the hospital. They cross the road to a park. The streets are quiet. Without passing cars, only the glow of the street lamps lights their way.
In the park, Dad says, ‘Look out for any fenced-off areas. There are thermal sink holes all over the place. Hot as a witch’s cauldron, some of them. Come on, I think the foot baths are over this way...’
After some stumbling around, they find one. It’s in a small clearing: the shallow rectangular pool sheltered from the wind by a circle of trees. By day, this part of the reserve attracts lots of visitors: mums with kids, tourists, reti
rees, hospital staff and office workers, come for a free open-air soak and a chat. But tonight there is no one, just the murmur of leaves in the sulphurous night air. Dad steps onto the timber surround and tests the water.
‘Feels good. Let’s have a soak, shall we?’
Sitting down on the planks, they take off their shoes and socks and roll up their jeans. Then they drop their toes into the warm water of the little pool.
‘Oooh geez, that’s nice,’ Dad says as he lowers his legs into the water. ‘Although, these boards could be bit softer.’ Adam’s eyes have adjusted, but with only a half-moon and the coiling wafts of steam, Dad remains a vague shape on the other side of the pool.
The shape says, ‘We used to come here a bit when you were little. Mostly did the train rides.’
‘I remember.’
‘You were mad on trains back then. Your mum’ll have some photos somewhere.’
Adam flinches at the mention of Mum. For a time, the pair of them don’t say anything, the quiet only broken by the occasional splash of the water as it slaps against the edges of the pool. The thermal waters around here have therapeutic effects. It’s to do with the warmth of the water and its special mineral content. Adam doesn’t know how the minerals are meant to help; absorbed through the skin perhaps, or inhaled in the swirls of steam that curl off the surface. Or maybe it’s a kind of hypnosis caused by the lapping of the water. Whatever the reason, it seems to work: immersed in silky warmth up to his knees, Adam starts to feel calmer.
‘I bet this feels good after your boot camp, aye? That Riley is a pretty tough taskmaster.’
‘Reece.’
Dad gives a little laugh. ‘I never get it right, do I?’ And straight away, Adam feels like shit again.
‘Dad, I’ve got to tell you something. I didn’t actually go to camp. I went to Aussie with a friend.’
‘You what?’ Dad says, suddenly still.