Not the Faintest Trace

by Wendy M Wilson

  “I’ve been thinking I might set up on my own,” said Frank as they manipulated the waka across the current. “As a private investigator. There’s a need for someone to work outside the constabulary, to work for individuals—like the sort of thing we’re doing now.” He hopped out of the waka and lifted the branches, standing in soft sand, while Karira poked a long stick he had brought with him for the search under the water beside the sand, working his way around beneath the branches. Nothing there. He dropped the branch, hopped back into the waka, and they backed out into midstream again. They were in the broad sandy mouth of the Manawatu River, which wound around a sandbank into the Tasman Sea west of Foxton. The wind was blowing them inland, which would be helpful when it came time to return upstream, but made moving hard going.

  “What are the chances they got down this far,” he said.

  Karira shrugged. “Not good,” he said. “But best to leave no stone—or branch—unturned.”

  They struggled on for a while, and then pulled up the Foxton Wharf, about a mile from the mouth, intending to ask in the town if anyone had seen anything—clothing, hats, or even part of a skeleton. By now it was possible that the bodies had been cleaned of their flesh by eels. Men clustered on the wharf holding nets, and were clearly preparing to row out to the middle of the river with them, or had already done so. Several held buckets containing something shimmery.

  “What’s going on?” asked Frank.

  “Ta wheetbeet air roonin’,” said a red-haired Scot, standing with a bucket over either arm. Frank looked at Karira for translation. All he had understood was that something was running. Scots were always difficult to understand.

  “He says the whitebait are running—the fish fry. They come downstream at this time of year and out into the Tasman Sea. The settlers catch them in nets and cook them up in a batter with eggs and flour. Taste awful I think, but the settlers like them.”

  Karira pulled his waka tete up to his mooring on the far side of the wharf and they collected their horses. Frank was beginning to feel comfortable with the young constable, and to trust him as well. As they headed back towards Palmerston, he said cautiously, “What are you hearing from the Armed Constabulary, about the body, about Sergeant Jackson.”

  Karlsen, the workman from the crew, has still not appeared,” said Karira. “They’re coming around to my way of thinking, that he’s the one who killed Jackson. He must have got a jump on him. Probably gone north by now, well out of our district.”

  “I’m sure that’s the case,” said Frank.

  “A bad character all around,” said Karira. Spying on the women at the Pawhen they were at the river, as you know.” He looked at Frank curiously. “Is that why you beat him up? The other men said you caught him in the act, but that you were looking for him.”

  “Yes, I caught him spying on the women,” said Frank. “But it was worse than that. He also attacked a young woman in the night, one of the Scandinavian women. Tried to rape her. I’d prefer if you didn’t mention it to Constable Price, however. No need to bring Me…her into it.”

  “I won’t,” said Karira. “And Hakopa said to tell you he’s grateful. No telling what the men at the Pa will do to him if he’s found alive.”

  Frank reined in his horse, and Karira followed suit. They faced each other.

  “Look Karira,” he said. “I’ll come clean, because I trust you. Karlsen set up an ambush for me in the Gorge. Dropped a branch across the road, and when we got down from the coach he forced us to the edge, my passenger and me. My passenger was Miss Jensen, whom he had attempted to rape, which is why I beat him up. He tried to force us to jump into the river. I grabbed a tomahawk from my coach and threw it at him. It hit him on the side of the head and he fell into the river. I have no doubt that he’s dead. But it was self-defense. We both would have died if I hadn’t managed to kill him first.”

  Karira was quiet for a long time.

  “I’ll say nothing,” he said eventually. “You’ve done a good thing for my people. I would not like to see you hang for it, or to go to prison.”

  “I could prove self-defense, I would think,” said Frank. “What with the evidence of the other men in the road crew, and the women at the Pa.”

  Karira nodded. “But do you have any evidence that a branch was dropped across the road? How do we know that you didn’t just kill him and take him up to the Gorge and throw him into the river?”

  Frank told him about the two Swedish men.

  Karira looked thoughtful.

  “I would say you achieved utu,” he said. “I won’t say anything to Constable Price unless Anahera is caught and charged with Karlsen’s murder, if Karlsen’s body surfaces. Unlikely, I would say, as he’s murdered soldiers, and they’ll try him for that. A Scandinavian road worker won’t bother them so much.”

  They were both silent for a time, then Karira said, “The Armed Constabulary will keep searching for Anahera. He’s proving a hard man to track.”

  “Miss Jensen thought she saw him at thePapaioea Pa, when we were there recently,” said Frank. “Just before he did the haka for us. She didn’t tell me at the time, so…”

  “Papaioea,” said Karira. “My marae? What would he be doing there, I wonder?”

  Frank shrugged. “He may have a contact there.”

  “Perhaps it’s time to talk to my uncle, to Hakopa,” said Karira. “By the time we get back to Palmerston, the evening meal will have started at the Pa. Let’s drop in and talk to him, see if he knows anything. He’ll want to thank-you for beating Karlsen. He wouldn’t mind if he knew you’d killed him, truth be told.”

  They arrived at the gate to the Pa an hour later. The marae was empty but light spilled from the meetinghouse. Karira led Frank inside, where a row of men sat at a head table and the rest of the hapu sat on the floor in front, all eating. A group of women brought the food in baskets, overseen by Moana. She glared at Frank and Karira and gestured towards the head table, where the men made room for them on either side of Hakopa.

  “Ahiahi pai,” said Hakopa, nodding and smiling at Frank. He was scooping food from a basket and spooning it into his mouth with his hand.

  “Ahiahi pai,” said Karira. He reached for a piece of pork, and gestured to Frank to do the same. “Do you mind if I talk to him in Māori?”

  “Please do,” said Frank. I’ll understand some of what you say, and you can fill me in later with the rest.”

  Karira began to speak rapidly in Māori to his uncle. Frank was lost in minutes, understanding the pleasantries exchanged in the first few sentences but little else. He listened with half an ear and looked around to see if anyone was looking at him strangely. A movement behind him made him turn. Moana was behind them, pretending to be busy with instructions to the women serving the food, but obviously listening intently to the conversation. He tapped the table idly, his eyes on Karira. Karira glanced at him, and Frank flicked his eyes briefly towards Moana.

  The meal was finished, and many of the men pulled out clay pipes and began to smoke. Frank kept his eye on Moana, and saw her grab a basket of food from the end of the table and weave her way out of the room. The post meal lasted forever, but finally concluded. Karira stood and shook Hakopa’s hand, and Frank followed suit.

  “What did you learn?” he asked, as soon as they were outside the gates of the Pa. Karira had offered to escort him home, to protect him from Anahera, in case he was still in the area rather than up in Ashhurst.

  “He says he knows nothing about a man involved with our hapu wanting vengeance on anyone,” said Karira. “Especially not on soldiers. He says even the Hauhau have turned to peace, and a man who was out to revenge himself on soldiers would be outside the usual scheme of things. An idea from the past. He himself is entertaining some members of Parliament himself next week. Walter Johnston, the local Member of Parliament, and John Balance, the member from Rangitikei. They’re bringing a land agent from Poverty Bay to meet him. To talk about land availability in the area. Hakop
a wants to work with the government and the settlers, not to fight them. He wants to be a modern man. Admirable, I suppose.”

  “Moana was interested in what you were saying to your uncle,” said Frank. “Is it possible she’s Anahera’s contact at the Pa?”

  “She does come from an iwi up in Poverty Bay, where he’s killed already” said Karira. “The Ngati Maru. She met Hakopa in Wellington last year, when he was down there visiting some of his government connections, and they married soon after.”

  “She’s a recent bride?” said Frank. “Is she his first wife?”

  “He was married for many years to a woman from our own hapu,” said Karira. “She had trouble having children, but when she was forty years old she finally fell with child. She died in childbirth less than two years ago. Hakopa was distraught. I was surprised that he remarried so quickly – I believe Moana set out to catch him. I always wondered why. She’s more suited for life in an active, political Pa, not a backwater like this.”

  They had reached the Royal Hotel, and Frank dismounted. “I saw Moana leave with a basket at the end of the meal,” he said. “Perhaps she has been helping him—Anahera—with food.”

  “I’ll keep an eye on her,” said Karira. “See if she does that after every meal. If necessary, I could follow her to see what she is doing.”

  They parted, Karira to return along the dark track to the Pa. As he disappeared up the track, a memory jumped into Frank’s head, and this time it stayed there. Adams. The pursuit of Titokowaru. He and Captain Porter had been checking on what had been a very successful foray against the Hauhau at Otoua, Tito’s encampment up the Patea River. They came upon a group of Kepa’s men — Aroha and colonials— who’d cornered a group who had been left behind to fend for themselves. Women and children, and an older warrior named Matangi. A colonial soldier had Matangi pinned against the roots of a tree and was chopping off his head. They stopped him, but by then it was too late. The head was off. Frank had wanted to escort the women and children back to Wanganui, but Captain Porter had refused to give him permission. There was too much else to do.

  He remembered one of the women, who pleaded with him to save her children, and how he had been heartsick that he had not been allowed to guarantee that she was not killed, or worse. Was she somehow connected to Anahera?

  21

  Anahera and Hop Li

  As he walked his horse behind the hotel to the paddock, Frank could hear Hop Li clanking pots in the kitchen. He knew Hop Li would hear him feeding and watering his horse, and wondered if he would come out. He often did. A sack of oats sat ready, hanging from the doorknob, for anyone arriving by horseback late at night, and Frank unhooked it.

  Copenhagen was tired and sweating after her long day, and he took a brush from the back step to rub her down. He lifted the saddle off and laid it beside the step, his gun still resting in the holster on the side of the saddle. When he was done he walked the horse around the paddock, talking to softly, calming her. It was a beautiful night, with the sky a dark velvet blue, covered with millions of stars. Whatever Moana and Anahera were up to, he had forgotten it for the moment. Sometimes it was good to be alive, to feel at one with the world.

  The paddock behind the hotel sat at the edge of the bush, thickly treed all the way to the track to the Pa. Above the bush the moon rose, casting shadows over the paddock. A cloud passing in front of the moon made the trees seem to move. For a moment he though he saw one separate from the rest and come towards him. He squinted at it, but decided it was a mirage — nerves, but he wished he had kept his gun on him.

  The trees curved around behind Hop Li’s garden, where runner beans and Chinese Gooseberries were strung out in rows on poles. The poles almost looked like soldiers standing at attention.

  Again he thought he saw a shape. Still the moon? He couldn’t tell. But time to get into the safety of the hotel, where half a dozen men, some with guns at their disposal, would come to his rescue. He gave one more hard stare at the bush and at the garden, then removed the reins from Copenhagen, gave her one last pat and a quiet word.

  He heard a footfall behind him, and turned, smiling, expecting to see Hop Li. Instead he saw a giant shape outlined against the light from the hotel.

  “Hop Li?” he said, hopefully, knowing that it could not possibly be his friend.

  The shape moved forward, and he could see it was Anahera. His face once more a picture of rage, the blue moko spread across his nose and cheeks.

  “Ka mate Ka mate,” said Anahera softly, staring at him like a huhu grub he was about to squash and eat. He’s declaring war on me, thought Frank. I’m a dead man this time.

  Anahera came at him, and leapt to one side. The giant lunged past him, almost falling from his own momentum. This time he carried no weapon, but neither did Frank.

  Hop Li banged a pan, and knives clattered. He was washing dishes, unaware of what was happening a short distance away . There were men in the hotel bar, but only Hop Li was within earshot. Calling for him would mean he would also die. With no other plan, he backed towards the hotel. The giant stood looking at him, in no hurry to finish him off. He knew he had him.

  “Kamatekoe,” he said. “You die.”

  “I know you want to kill me,” said Frank, backing away. “But I don’t know why. What have I done that you must kill me? What have any of us done that you are killing us?” He was trying desperately to think of Maori words to explain that if this was revenge for what had happened during the Titokowera pursuit, he had not been involved.

  “ka mau i kahore matenga,” he tried. “I took no heads.”

  With a roar the giant lunged at him again.

  “Toku tuahine,” he snarled. “Toku tuahine.”

  Frank felt the man’s hand brush his arm as leapt to the side aside again. Not waiting to lunge again, the giant spun around and grabbed Frank by his shirtfront. Holding him aloft, he lifted one hand and smacked Frank across the face, letting him go at the same time. Frank stumbled back, tripped on a clump of grass, and fell. Blood was dripping from his cheek and filling his mouth where a tooth had penetrated the inside of his cheek. The giant was on him immediately, lifting him from the ground by his shirt, and hitting him across the face one more time, knocking him to the ground. He’s going to slap me to death, thought Frank, almost amusing if it didn’t involve him dying.

  He managed to drag himself upright one more time, and stood, swaying, looking at Anahera. He was dizzy, disoriented, and knew another slap like that and he would lose consciousness, probably never to wake again. They stood there for a minute facing each other, Frank panting, the other in no hurry to finish him off.

  “Hey boss,” said a voice from the darkness behind the giant.

  Hop Li, thought Frank. Now we’re both going to die.

  “Run,” he croaked. “Get away, Hop Li.”

  Anahera turned to see who it was. Hop Li stood there, a short compact man, looking at Frank’s attacker fearlessly, his hands folded in front of him as if in greeting. Grunting, Anahera raised his arms and ran at the little Chinaman standing there so bravely, apparently intending to kill the easy one quickly before he finished with Frank. Hop Li stepped into his rush and made a quick thrusting movement with his arms. Anahera made a noise that sounded like a tackled rugby player, then he was on the ground, clutching his gut, screaming. Blood and something else white oozed between his fingers.

  Frank stumbled forward and fell on his knees beside Anahera.

  “What the blazes?” he said. Hop Li stood, one clenched fist raised before him, a short pointed blood-covered blade protruding between his fingers.

  He wiped the blade carefully on his apron and grinned at Frank.

  “I did not spend ten years in the goldfields piling up money without learning to defend myself,” he said. “This is a punch dagger. You should carry one yourself. Best for disabling a big bugger like this one. Never saw it coming, did he?” He put the blade carefully back into his pocket. “Now, I will call the polic
e, the doctor too, or this man might die.”

  “By God Hop Li,” said Frank. “You saved my life. I don’t know how to thank you. I was minutes away from death.”

  Hop Li shrugged. “Nothing boss, done it lots of times.”

  Anahera lurched to his feet; Frank could see that the cut extended all the way up the front of his body. He stood swaying and looking at Frank, blood oozing between his fingers.

  “I will try to help you,” said Frank, pleased to note that his skills at the Maori language had returned. “But you need to tell me why you were trying to kill me.”

  The man shook his head violently. “Toku tuahine,” he said. “Toku tuahine.” Frank did not recognize the words. It sounded like a curse.

  Hop Li came up beside him. “I can stab him again,” he suggested, looking at the swaying Anahera. “Cut a tendon in his leg. That will help him talk.”

  “Leave him for now,” said Frank. Let’s get Constable Price and Doctor Rockstrow here. Price will keep him in the lockup and I can talk to him there.

  By now, two other men had come out of the hotel and were peering around the corner nervously. One had a revolver held shakily in his hand.

  “What’s going on here,” he called. “Does someone need help?”

  “Get the doctor and Constable Price,” said Frank. “Someone attacked me and Hop Li here saved my life.”

  Anahera gave a roar and the two men retreated into the hotel. Holding onto his stomach he limped off towards the bush and into darkness.

  Hop Li looked at Frank. “You going to chase him?” he said.

  Frank rubbed his cheek, which was aching. Blood ran from his lip, which had split open. “Not now,” he said. “We’ll get one of those men to get Constable Price, and he can alert the Armed Constabulary. Let’s go inside. I’ll get my gun in case he comes back. You can clean me up while we’re waiting for Price.”