Pushed by her, I stumble forward and almost fall as I stagger to regain my balance on the uneven surface of the pier. We must be in Greymouth. It’s the only town on the West Coast with a harbor if you can call the tiny inlet that. Morning fog is rolling in from the sea, giving this ugly scene an almost romantic background.
“Helen, please!” She doesn’t heed my plea but pushes me toward the blue-white fishing boat with the name Southern Belle docked at the end of the pier. If this run-down boat is a Southern Belle, I’m glad we’re spared Southern Ugly.
“Don’t you Helen, please me. You had your chance. But no, you had to run away and create nothing but problems and spread nothing but lies. After all the years Horace and I looked after you. That’s the thanks we get?”
I’m speechless. What is there to argue in the face of total denial of the facts? She acts as if there’s nothing wrong in what Horace and she did, or that she’s kidnapping me. I guess reason never even came into the equation. How gullible am I to think I could reason with her?
Two men surface from the cabin of the boat and take me on board. They look like ordinary fishermen with deep lines carved into their suntanned faces. The one with the Australian accent has a beard like Captain Haddock from the Tintin series; the other one is cleanly shaven. On first glance, there is nothing menacing about them until you look into their eyes. They won’t maintain eye contact, which is odd. I’d rather have them stare me down than avoid looking at me. It’s less shifty.
“Careful on the stairs.” First, I’m surprised, but then I understand. They don’t want any mess on their boat until… I don’t know what will happen. Maybe they’ll throw me overboard when we are far enough out at sea?
They push me into the cabin on the aft deck and lock the door. It’s a small cabin with benches along the sides and a wooden foldout table in the middle. I’m not the only one here. Six pairs of frightened eyes are staring at me, letting their gaze shoot from my face to the handcuffs. I’m in shock, too. They are children, four girls, and two boys not older than twelve, the youngest is maybe ten years old. They slide away from me as I sit on the edge of the bench.
One boy plucks up courage and asks, “Why are you here? Have you done something naughty?” As soon as he’s finished, he seems to regret his question. He blushes and looks down.
I manage a smile and hold up my cuffed hands. “You’d think so, wouldn’t you? But no, I haven’t been naughty. What about you? How did you get here?”
“They are sending us home. We finished boarding school.” The little girl sitting next to me whispers.
“I didn’t know there is a boarding school here.”
“Oh, yes, the Gateways Boarding School.”
“How long have you been there?” The children have awakened my curiosity. Will I run into Gateways wherever I turn? But the little girl doesn’t answer. Instead, she pushes her index finger against her lips. “We are not allowed to talk.”
There is no use in getting the kids into trouble. I close my eyes and nod. We’re locked up in the belly of this boat, and it doesn’t take much of an imagination to know that nobody in this room is going home anytime soon. At least this cabin has two portholes on either side letting in light and, when opened, fresh air.
Heavy steps on deck announce that more people have arrived, but no one joins us in the cabin. Captain Haddock is arguing with Helen. I press my ear against the wooden wall and try to catch as much as possible from their conversation.
“… stupid… too late… get away.” The wind carries away half of Helen’s sentence.
Haddock is getting angry by the sounds of it. He booms at her, “Why was she not blindfolded? How can you be so careless? Do you want her to identify us?”
“Don’t be stupid. She won’t get a chance to tell anybody.” Helen shouts now and her voice has this vicious, evil quality to it, which causes goosebumps to erupt on my arm. “You have enough to worry about getting in time to our rendezvous spot with the seaplane.”
I had hoped to find a way to escape, but I’ve heard enough to really get frightened now. We all are. A conversation starts in my head with Sky pleading for calm, Lilly suggests several options to get away, and Amadeus wants to punch someone’s lights out. Aren’t we a mottled crew? If it weren’t so serious, it would be funny. But nobody laughs.
The skipper turns on the engines and shouts out commands. Soon the soft swaying of the boat tells me that we are on our way. I look through the porthole back to the pier. A man stands there, holding binoculars to his eyes. Scott? Scott Thompson, the traitor is making sure we are gone for good.
I wish I could hate him enough to curse him, but I can’t. All I feel is deep sadness at his betrayal.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Lilly: 5 December, Early Afternoon, The Maritime Police Vessel
Everyone knows a sea cruise is supposed to be fun and all the rest. Let me be very clear. I didn’t get that memo. I haven’t boarded this vessel of my free will. I know there are people who pay heaps of good money to go out on a boat and do whatever boaties do.
Not me. Never have, never will.
If I wanted to be sick, I could jump off a waterfall, or bungee jump off a bridge, or abseil off a high cliff. Not my thing. None of it.
That I’m on this boat captured by Helen and against my will is not helping me change my opinion. My Tribe children fill my head with so much crying and sobbing, it’s difficult to function. It’s my job to get us out of this mess, but besides my little handcuff problem, I’m at a loss to figure out how. On top of it all, both my head and my stomach are on strike.
I’ve already been up on deck five times vomiting my little heart out. After five times I expected there would be nothing left in my stomach, but it’s true; miracles exist. Some food I don’t even remember having eaten is coming up with explosive speed. Again. I bang against the locked door and, small mercies, don’t have to wait long. Minutes later I’m back locked in the cabin.
The kids look at me with pity in their eyes. If only I could sink into some blissful oblivion, but the up and down of the boat as it climbs the waves and slumps down into the troughs, doesn’t give me any hope of relief.
I’ve learned already that you must make sure the wind comes from behind or vomit will stick to you like plaster. That was lesson number one. Lesson two was a good one. Captain Haddock must have had an amorous moment grabbing my bottom and trying to pull me onto the Bridge. I vomited all over his dark blue, double-breasted blazer. It was a view to behold and the only moment when I thought of seasickness as a blessing. His expression swung the whole range from tenderly smitten to violently disgusted. So far, it’s the highlight of this lousy trip.
The other three lessons were along the line of Never ever again go on a boat!
I sink back onto the bench feeling the lousiest I’ve ever felt if I’m honest. If I ever get out of here, I’m donating my stomach either to a needy accident survivor or to a university for research. I will tolerate nothing in my body that brings up so much nasty stuff in such violent way.
I’m begging for some kind, blissful, semi-consciousness when a loud, screeching foghorn sound tears me out of my half slumber. Then I hear something that makes my heart sing even though my stomach feels like it’s being scraped out with sandpaper.
“This is the New Zealand Police. Stop your vessel. We are coming alongside.”
They had to call out three times before Captain Haddock finally stalled the engines. I wish I could see what’s going on, but the portholes only look out over the water. There is so much shouting and running on deck that I can’t make out what’s happening in among the pandemonium.
The kids whimper and huddle up to me. I could have sworn I haven’t a single motherly gene in me, but their frightened faces bring up a protective streak I otherwise only show the little ones of our Tribe.
“Don’t be afraid. It’s the police. We’ll be okay. You’ll be soon with your parents.”
Someone on deck is firing a gu
n. The six children push even closer to me, their eyes large with fear in their pale faces. Boots are trampling up and down the deck followed by an instant silence and the whimpering of a person. Someone got shot. I rattle and bang at the cabin door in the hope the good guys are in control.
“Help. We are here. There are kids here!” Steps are coming closer and someone is wrenching open the cabin door. At first, I only see a huge shadow standing in the doorway.
“Are you okay, madam?”
I nod and let out a deep sigh when the person steps into the cabin. It’s none of the crew. That’s a relief. I recognize the police uniform and am torn between relief and suspicion. How am I to know this police officer is not on the payroll of the Gateways people?
“Are you Mrs. Reid?” He reaches for my hands and opens the cuffs. “Who are the children?”
I will not launch into long explanations why I’m not Mrs. Reid or explaining my theory of whatever sinister plans Helen has in store for the children and me. Who knows who I’m dealing with? I nod again, take a deep breath, and blurt out, “Who are you?”
“I’m Constable Richards from the New Zealand Police, Wellington Maritime Unit. We’ve received a call that you are on this vessel against your will. Is that the case?”
Is this man for real? I’m inclined to tell him that my favorite flavor of kink is taking vacations on a stinking fishing boat, handcuffed and locked up in a cabin. But if he’s the real deal, I’d rather not alienate a potential rescuer.
“It is. I don’t know how much longer I could function. The kids are frightened too. Someone has told them they are going back to their parents, but I overhead Helen Reid saying we are about to rendezvous with a seaplane. You arrived just in time.”
“Worry no longer. You’re safe now.” Constable Richards turns to the open cabin door and calls out, “Kay, could you please come, we have young children here too.”
The Constable has good bedside manners for a police officer. He’s smiling and speaking with a warm, soft voice to the children, who huddle frightened at the back wall of the small cabin.
“You must be frightened being locked up in this tiny cabin. We’ll give you life vests and then you get to ride with us on the water police boat. Would you like that?”
The children are not responding other than pushing further to the back of the cabin. I can only imagine what threats and what treatment they had to endure before they came onto this boat.
“They need more time before you get much out of them. I believe they may have drugged them. They drugged me before they got me on board.”
He squeezes against the cabin wall to let a female officer enter the cabin. I’m sure we’ve just about reached the maximum capacity of what this cabin can hold.
“Oh, hello, who have we here? I’m Officer Morris, but you can call me Kay. Who wants to come with me so that we can find your parents? They must be worried where you are.” She sticks her hand out for a greeting.
The friendly officer lady is an instant success. The two older boys are the first shaking her hand and the girls follow, shyly at first, but with visible relief. Even the Tribe is calmer now.
From then on everything happens in a whirlwind fashion. An officer puts life vests on us, and they take us over to the police boat. I would have thought that’d be a difficult maneuver, but it wasn’t. The sea is calm today, Constable Richards insisted, even though my stomach has a totally different opinion. It makes a difference, though, to be on deck and not locked inside a cabin.
The officers show us around the police boat and even invite us up to the bridge where the captain explains all the bits and pieces. I watch two other officers interrogating Captain Haddock and his crew. There is a lot of gesticulating and finger pointing going on.
I wish I could listen to what they say when they talk to Helen. I’m convinced she dishes out as many lies as she can squeeze in. Some must be about me because she motions over to me. In my mind, I hear her talking about my mental health records and the murder accusation from the Port Somers police. She wouldn’t keep any of that to herself.
Not long after they bring Helen, two men I don’t know, and… oh good heavens, it’s Heather, Patrick’s receptionist over to the police boat. I’m glad she’s alive. But I feel smug seeing the woman I’m accused of murdering and disposing of, sitting in handcuffs opposite a police officer.
The net of deception people have spun to get rid of me is mind-boggling. I’m sure I’m not the only fish caught in their vicious net as the presence of the children indicates. It’s for them that I’m worried. Will they be okay? Were they rescued early enough out of the pedophile swamp called Gateway? I have no doubt that the children’s and my destination was some horrendous place far, far away.
“I’d like to talk to you,” says Constable Richards and leads me to a comfortable cabin. “Can I get you something? To eat or drink?”
“Perhaps a cup of black tea. My stomach is not built for life at sea. Going by my experiences on the Southern Belle, I might have to run out on you before long.”
“You can use the bathroom at the back. I’d rather not have you hanging over the railing and risk you falling overboard.”
“Thank you, it sounds much more dignified than what was on offer on the Southern Belle. What did you want to talk about?” I keep my voice steady to not give away the tension we feel.
“I’d like to know your side of the story. What were the events that led up to us finding you locked up on the fishing boat?”
“Where do I start? I’m not sure what is even significant.”
“Just go ahead. If you don’t mind, I’ll record our conversation.”
“I don’t mind. I have nothing to hide.”
Then the whole story pours out of me like a geyser that ejects tons of water and steam. From Horace’s death, overhearing plans to send us to a hospital, our flight to the South Island, Patrick’s findings, the planted gun, the murder accusation, the flight into the mountains, to our capture, Helen’s part in it and the Southern Belle. I’m glad he didn’t interrupt because I don’t know if I could have continued if he had. In the end, he raises his eyebrows.
“You climbed up the tree behind your house?”
Of all the drama I talked about that was the one he had to check on? I’m not sure whether that’s a good or a bad sign.
“We’ve climbed up that tree since childhood, every time we visited our aunt. I’m sure I could do it eyes closed if I had to.”
“So, what’s that with the attempt to section you to a mental facility? How crazy are you?”
“Interesting question. On an average day, as much or as little as you. On a bad day like today, when I feel trapped and accused of things I haven’t done, I struggle to keep it together.”
“How does that struggle look like?”
“Part of me wants to curl up in the corner and disappear, part of me wants to run away, part of me wants to punch everyone who looks sideways at me, that kind of struggle.”
Constable Richards surprises me, laughing out loud a deep belly laugh. His eyes show no falsehood, but mirth about my response.
“I hope I’m not in danger of being punched anytime soon.”
“No, you’re safe.”
“I’m glad to hear that. I can assure you, I’ve seen nothing so far that would show you to be deranged or dangerous, as your sister-in-law claims.”
“Please, don’t call her that. She’s not my sister-in-law. I told you Patrick Armstrong found evidence that she’s Horace Reid’s wife since 1973, long before I was even born. They faked the wedding and marriage to lay their hands on my parent’s wealth.”
“My apologies, I wasn’t thinking.”
“She’s very keen to have me out of the way, why else would she go to the trouble and have me brought on the Southern Belle.”
“I agree. I hope you understand that we have to check the facts you alluded to. When we arrive in Wellington, my colleagues from the Wellington Crime Squad will take over. I’l
l pass on the tape from our interview. Because there is an active arrest warrant, they will take you into custody. I have no doubt that you will be released on bail. I can assure you, we are not corrupt. We will not rest until we resolve your case. The fact that Helen Reid had you and the children kidnapped will make it easier.
I look at him and let out a long sigh. Part of me can’t believe our ordeal is over. Tears well up in my eyes. They are not my tears. I wouldn’t cry at a time like this. The Tribe, however, has been highly strung like Robin Hood’s bow, fearing the worst from the moment they captured us at Scott’s cabin.
I hear Ama inside calming the children and Sky says, “We won this battle, but the war isn’t over yet.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Elise: 6 December 2015, Wellington, Police Station
They had to arrest me. After all, they couldn’t ignore the warrant that was out for me. Officer Blake takes my statement in stops and starts, letting his troubled gaze wander from me, sitting in front of him, to my face staring down at him from a four-color wanted poster pinned on the notice board next to him. His confusion is understandable. It probably doesn’t happen every day that he interviews a victim of a violent crime who has a murder charge hanging over her head.
Despite the dilemma he found himself in, Officer Blake was friendly and understanding of my unique situation. He must have realized that I’m not a Ma Baker kind of person, planning to shoot my way to freedom. Not yet in any case.
“It’s not right. I’m not happy to lock you up after the ordeal you had.”
On charm offensive, I pull out all stops to ease his troubled mind. All I all need tonight is a safe space to sort through the events of the last few days and figure out how we think and feel about things.
Girl From the Tree House Page 23