95 Million Killers

by Gary Weston

  It was the way things were done in Patch Creek. No fuss, no drama. As Charlie placed the fresh jugs of beer on the table, Bill Prickle reflected that overall, he was quite content with his life.

  Chapter 5

  'Sergeant Pritchard wants you to call him right away.' Prickle had hardly walked in the door when his wife Pam gave him that news. 'I tried your mobile, but you had it turned off.'

  'I'm off duty. Just a couple of beers with Charlie.'

  'Mick knows that. He wouldn't call you if it wasn't important.'

  'When I've had a feed.'

  'Now. I'll be dishing up in five minutes.'

  As Pam returned to the kitchen, Prickle did as he was told and went into his office at the back of the police house. Sitting down in the old black leather swivel chair, he picked up the phone and hit the speed-dial number to the regional police headquarters. 'Mick. It's Bill.' Five minutes later, he was tucking into his lamb roast dinner.

  'Well?' Pam asked.

  'A hunter gone missing in the bush. Does the name Alex Gordon mean anything to you?'

  'Gordon. Hmm. I knew a Joan Gordon, years ago. Lives the other side of the river in Wilderdown. Haven't seen her for years.'

  Bill Prickle covered three small villages on his beat. Patch Creek, Wilderdown and Tiverdale. Collectively, the locals called the whole area Patch Creek, even though that was actually the smallest of the three villages. With the farms around the three villages, he had a total population of twenty three hundred to look after.

  'Shouldn't you be out looking for the man?' Pam Asked.

  'At first light. It's pitch black out there. Besides. His wife had no idea where he was heading. He had a few places he hunted. Mick's bringing a police search and rescue helicopter at daybreak and I'll be going out with them.'

  'I'll pack some sandwiches for you to take with you. You could be in for a long day.'

  Chapter 6

  Sergeant Bill Prickle had already eaten one of the sandwiches as he sat in his patrol car parked up on Tiverdale's Intermediate School car park. It was five seventeen a. m. when the sound of the chopper filled the air. Senior Sergeant Mick Pritchard got out to make himself heard over the idling engine.

  'Morning, Bill.'

  'Morning. No news about the missing hunter I take it?'

  'Nothing yet. Him and his wife and kids live in Whanganui. Mrs Gordon thinks he could be out in a couple of places around here, but he'd be coming off the Great North Road. That lot over the Patch River was one of his favourite spots.'

  'That's a lot of bush. Could he just be camping out? Probably no cell phone coverage out there to let his wife know.'

  Pritchard shook his head. 'He never stayed out. He's an experienced bush hunter, but she always laid the law down to him. He could do whatever he wanted, as long as he was home in the evening.'

  'This doesn't sound good. I suggest we fly up and down Patch River, then keeping level with the river, gradually making our way into the bush. There's a couple of dirt tracks off the highway that gets the hunters a few miles into the bush before they have to go by foot.'

  'Sounds as good a plan as any,' said Pritchard.

  'Pam thinks she knows a Mrs Gordon in Wilderdown. Any relation?'

  'His older sister. She's a dicky heart, so she hasn't been told as yet.'

  'Fair enough.'

  In the chopper were two experienced search and rescue men. Prickle got behind the one who was also the pilot, and Pritchard sat next to Prickle. They communicated through their helmet speakers and microphones, Prickle pointing the way as they took off. From the sky, it was needles in haystacks time. The bush spread out for miles in every direction.

  Chapter 7

  'Like my bloody brother Garf, you were always a dreamer, Kevin.'

  'The human race wouldn't be what we are today without dreams, Dad.'

  'Hmm. My point exactly. That correspondence philosophy course you took was always a big mistake in my opinion. A building course I could have understood. That would have actually helped us in the business. I couldn't give a rat's arse about what some bloke who died thousands of years ago thought.'

  Kevin finished unloading his father's trailer of the timber and tools as close to the tumble down hut as he could get it. 'Well, I learnt a lot. Dad. Whatever you think about Uncle Garf, he had an eye for beauty. Just look at this place. Everybody laughed at him when he bought this acre off the old quarry works, but he got an acre of paradise for a song. Now the quarry's finished, this is a perfect little hideaway.'

  'If you say so. Just don't expect me to be helping you fix up that hut. Shit. The old bastard must have been drinking harder than usual when he cobbled that hut together.'

  'It did for him and it'll do for me and Susan. A week out here and this'll be a little gem.'

  'If it was in the middle of some third world slum it might be. Look, Kevin. I know your heart's in the right place, but you need to grow up a bit. Bringing a baby out here is not a good idea.'

  'Dad. I've already given my word to Susan. If she hates it, we'll sell it. At least with a decent hut here, we should get a good price.'

  'Is that right? Well, I think that all depends on you finding somebody as loco as you are, willing to part with their hard earned money.'

  'She'll be right, Dad.'

  'If you say so. Anyway. I've a business to run. Are you sure you know how to use the nail gun?'

  Kevin nodded. 'I had a good teacher.'

  'Okay. I'm off then. And I want you back at the yard bright eyed and bushy tailed at eight next Monday. No excuses.'

  'I'll be there, Dad.'

  'And don't leave Susan on her own in the meantime.'

  'As if. Dad. Thanks for the timber and use of the gear. I couldn't have done it without your support.'

  'All against my better judgement. Make sure the gear is stowed away safe. Monday. Eight sharp.'

  'Thanks, Dad.'

  Chapter 8

  'Head north from here,' said Bill Prickle to the pilot. 'Look out for three tracks off the highway leading into the bush.'

  'We've less than one hour of flying time left, before we have to head back to refuel,' advised the pilot.

  'That should be more than enough.'

  From Patch Creek, they flew over the river, with the red sandy cliffs towering up from the north bank, as if standing like an imposing fortress to hide the secrets of the vast bush. The pilot tracked the highway and turned east along the first track for about three miles until it disappeared into the dense bush. They saw nothing.

  They repeated the exercise with the next track. Still nothing.

  'We need to get back soon,' said the pilot, tapping the gauge.

  Senior Sergeant Pritchard said, 'I'll get another chopper in the air for this afternoon.'

  They turned around, heading south towards the school playground to drop Prickle off. Before they got that far, Bill Prickle said, 'Look. Something metallic half hidden in the trees. Could be a vehicle.'

  'I missed it,' said Pritchard. He tapped the pilot on the shoulder. 'Circle back.'

  Reluctantly, the pilot did as instructed.

  'Turn east here,' said Prickle. 'There. See? At the end of the track.'

  'Well done, Bill,' said Pritchard. To the pilot he said, 'Put her down there. Just before the track ends.'

  The pilot did that and they all bailed out of the chopper. 'This way,' said Prickle. He hurried towards the abandoned vehicle. 'Empty,' he said as the other three caught up with him.

  'It's definitely Gordon's ute,' said Pritchard. 'Let's try this way.'

  As the main track tapered down, several spur paths hacked out by generations of hunters fanned out in all directions. The number two search and rescue man was the first to find a clue.

  'I've a footprint. Fairly fresh.'

  'That way it is, then,' said Pritchard.

  Less than ten minutes of walking brought them to a halt and a sight that would give all of them nightmares for the rest of their lives.

 
; Chapter 9

  'It stinks.'

  'It's supposed to,' said Trevor Ringpole. 'This is Rotorua. A cultural Mecca. Maori culture at its finest.'

  'I can't believe people actually choose to live here,' said Martha, holding her nose.

  'It's just the sulphur in the air from all the hot springs and thermal activity. I suppose the locals get used to it. I've pre-booked us for a show tonight, and tomorrow morning we are going to a...' He pulled the glossy leaflet out of his pocket, '...an unforgettable journey into a thermal wonderland.'

  'Where presumably it stinks even more.'

  Trevor sighed. 'We head south right after that.'

  'With everything smelling of sulphur, no doubt. To think we could be just pulling into the south of France on that cruise I wanted to go on.'

  'You want to know something? I hate cruising. Fifteen cruises we've been on, and they're all the bloody same.'

  'Trevor. Language.'

  'Sorry, but that's how I feel. But look at this place. How cool is this?'

  'How can you call a place with sulphurous hot springs gushing all over the place, cool?'

  'Metaphorically speaking.' In a wild spontaneous moment, Trevor Ringpole took his wife's pudgy hand in his. 'Martha. Lets try to enjoy this holiday, hey? If we try really hard we can make it really special.'

  'You aren't getting frisky are you? Because if you are, you are well out of luck.'

  'Well, it has been awhile.'

  She let go of of his hand, placed her fat fingers on the back of his neck and pulled him towards her and whispered, 'Trevor. I could never get that drunk.'

  She let him go and his pained expression told her how low his heart had sunk, his eyes watering over and his non-existent chin wobbling up and down like a schoolboy in short trousers ordered to go to the headmistress for punishment. She turned and walked away from him, a wicked and satisfied smile upon her lips.

  Chapter 10

  'Suicide?' said the pilot.

  'Are you joking?' said Senior Sergeant Mick Pritchard.

  'Well. The barrel of his gun is in his mouth,' offered the Pilot.

  'Right. A man goes missing for twenty four hours. We find his body, what's left of it. If he had managed to pull the trigger, the back of his head would be missing. My best guess? Something was attacking him. Whatever it was, devoured him including most of his bones. He tried to end it quickly, but had used up all his ammunition.'

  'On what?' asked Prickle.

  'This?' asked the pilot, holding up a dead possum. 'Shot.'

  'One little possum did this?' Pritchard said. 'Not very likely, is it?'

  Prickle reached up and plucked another shot possum from the branches of a tree. 'Maybe two possums?'

  'Or perhaps three of them,' said the pilot, picking another one up from the side of the narrow path.

  'This is ridiculous,' said Pritchard. 'We all hate the little bastards, but they aren't capable of doing something like this.'

  'I'll get on the radio and call in forensics, shall I?' said the pilot.

  Prickle and Pritchard were staring down at the remains. Every ounce of flesh had gone, half of the bones were missing. And yet here lay a once healthy young hunter gatherer in his prime, with the barrel of his own gun in his mouth, desperate to end his agonising death. They could only imagine the excruciating pain he had endured as he had been eaten alive.

  Prickle looked at the blood-drained face of Pritchard. He knew the man well, and could tell that behind the pale countenance, there was more going on than just this mysterious dead body.

  'Yeah,' said Prickle. 'Forensics. You do that, why don't you.'

  Chapter 11

  'I thought I'd start with the roof,' said Kevin Milligan.

  Susan stared at the work in progress roof. The rusty iron had been removed from one half and several trusses had been hammered in place to support a new roof. A large blue tarpaulin had been tied over it all in case of rain.

  'Wouldn't it have been a better idea to have decent walls to hold the roof up first?'

  'Most of the walls are solid. It's just the interior and exterior cladding that needs replacing.'

  'Is that all? That's alright then.'

  'The old girl has good bones. Just needs some T L C.'

  'Excuse me? Maybe I need some T L C. Have you thought about that?'

  'All the time. But I have to spend as much time as possible here, if I'm going to finish it by the weekend. It didn't make sense driving back and forth. Dad's made it clear enough. I'm back at work in his yard on Monday morning.'

  'I'll have to come and help you.'

  'Oh, no. I'll never hear the last of it if you do that. You stay home. I can do this.'

  'Bullshit. Look. I'm pregnant, not ill. I might not be able to do much, but at least we'll be together.'

  'But...'

  'We'll get what we can done today, then in the morning we make it as comfortable as possible and both stay here a couple of nights to make the most of the time. Does the fire work?'

  Kevin grinned boyishly at the wonderful woman who had become his wife. 'Good as gold. Fire her up and put the kettle on. I'll carry on for a bit.'

  Susan held him, their baby squeezed between them. 'Another half hour and then we are going home, okay? I've missed you.'

  Kevin kissed his wife. 'Half an hour and we'll be out of here, I promise.'

  Chapter 12

  'You know something, Mick.' said Prickle as he strapped himself into the passenger helicopter seat.

  Pritchard sat impassively, not volunteering an answer. They had waited for the forensics team to arrive by vehicle along the highway. Leaving the team to scratch their heads as they stared in disbelief at the remains of Alex Gordon, Prickle had waited until the chopper had landed on the school playground, opened the door to get out, but practically grabbed Pritchard and pulled him out of the chopper.

  'You know something,' said Prickle. 'I could tell from your face. Out with it Mick.'

  'I can't...'

  'Mick. If any more are going to end up like Alex Gordon, I wanna know about it.'

  'It's just something...I can't be sure. Leave it with me, Bill. Okay?'

  'I knew it. Something nasty is going down.'

  Pritchard held Prickle by placing one hand on each shoulder. 'Bill. There is something. Listen. I pray to God I'm wrong about this. How long have we known each other?'

  'What? More than twenty years I guess.'

  'Nearly twenty one. And in all that time have I ever let you down?'

  'Never. Nor me you.'

  'So trust me. If this is what I think it is, I'll rope you in. This could be big, Bill.'

  'I wish you hadn't said that.'

  'I have to go. Keep this under your hat. Don't even tell Pam.'

  'Now I'm really worried.'

  Pritchard got back in the chopper and they were away in seconds. Prickle watched them head off to the regional police headquarters and then drove home.

  * * *

  To the one side of the police headquarters was a hanger and landing pad for the chopper. The pilot set the machine down.

  'Once you've refuelled, I need to be somewhere in a hurry,' said Pritchard. 'I only need a pilot though.'

  'This bird is for search and rescue. Not your personal taxi,' snapped the pilot.

  'I'm off to square it with the Old Man. You be ready to take off again in ten minutes.'

  Before the reply came, Pritchard raced inside the building to Chief Inspector Mark Lewis' office. He was with Inspector Dan Chambers.

  'Pritchard,' said Lewis. 'I've just had a very disturbing preliminary report from forensics.'

  'I can imagine,' said Pritchard. 'I need to borrow the chopper.'

  The two superior officers shared a look. 'Is this anything to do with the dead hunter?' said Chambers.

  'I sincerely hope not. But the sooner I find out the better. Sir. I wouldn't ask if I didn't think...'

  'Get going. See me the minute you get back.'

  Wi
thout answering, Pritchard was rushing out of the door to the helicopter and two minutes later, they were heading north east. Seventy three minutes later, Pritchard was pointing to a large three story building in three acres of manicured grounds with security fencing all around it. Two armed security guards raced out of the main entrance towards Pritchard as he got out of the chopper.

  To the pilot Pritchard said, 'You stay here. I'll be back as soon as I can.' Slamming the chopper door, he faced the security men and flashed his I D at them. 'Take me to Max Harrison.'

  Chapter 13

  Max Harrison, Chief Executive Officer of Harrison Genetics, Ltd., was far from pleased. He found Pritchard in his office, flanked by the guards.

  'Have you any idea of the importance of the meeting you've just dragged me out of?'

  Pritchard shrugged and said, 'Frankly, no. And neither do I care. Sit down and tell your goons to go.'

  'How dare...'

  'Do it.'

  Fixed by Pritchard's steely stare, Harrison sat behind his massive desk and dismissed the guards with a nod of his head.

  'You have two minutes and then I'm calling your superiors.'

  'You don't remember me, do you?'

  'Why should I?'

  'Fifteen years ago. Your company had a little research base in the bush. Doctor James Tasker was running a very specific experiment.'

  'I have no idea...wait. Tasker, you said?'

  'Pennies dropping, are they?'

  I still don't...Look. It was a complete fiasco. After Tasker's death, the base was closed down.'

  'I know,' said Pritchard. 'I was just a senior constable at the time. A part of the police team investigating the incident. I saw Tasker's burnt remains. I took some photographs less than four hours ago of another dead man. Take a look.'