by Kris Pearson
“Leave it until maybe ten,” Erik said. “I’ll get back to you.” Then he changed to a much softer tone. “You want to take me off speaker now, honey?”
Heather reached out for the phone. “Done,” she murmured. “So I’ll see you in the morning.”
I watched as she closed her eyes and listened to whatever private things he wanted to say. Then she gave a quiet laugh, said ‘you too,’ and disconnected.
*
I’d promised myself Thursday was the day I’d spend time on Elaine O’Blythe’s next animal opus – sorting out the spelling and the alarming liberties she sometimes took with her grammar. She’s a charming storyteller though, and this time it was another tale about Kerry the kereru. But was Kerry the big pigeon going to take precedence over a possible helicopter flight? Not on your nelly!
I grabbed a slice of toast and marmalade, gave my desk a guilty glance, called goodbye to Graham through the bathroom door, and was on the road in my Ford Focus by eight o’clock. Five minutes later I was knocking on Paul’s glossy red front door. Heather and I made it to Kirkpatrick’s barn with time to spare but Erik had beaten us there. He was using his very strong body to pull a small wheeled platform out of the barn, and on top of it sat the helicopter. It didn’t seem right one man could move something so heavy, but he assured us there were really good bearings in the trolley wheels so he didn’t need help.
I locked the car, hoping if I looked as though I expected to join them I wouldn’t be turned down. And sure enough…
Erik pulled the barn’s big door closed. “Heather in the middle,” he said. “You here, Merry.” He slapped the seat next to Heather. Once I was in and he’d secured the door he strode around to the pilot’s side, made sure we were buckled in to his satisfaction, and handed us each a rather clunky set of headphones with a little microphone attached. “It’ll be noisy,” he said. “Make sure they’re tight.” He insisted on checking, and showed me how to push mine another notch tighter, leaning all over Heather to reach me. She kissed his neck.
“No distracting the pilot,” he said, pulling back and patting her leg. He pushed her microphone back in front of her mouth and was very businesslike after that. His voice crackled in my ears once the rotors were whomping around and he had things running as he wanted. “Flight plan filed. Weather fine with no surprises expected. Good to go.” And we went. Straight up – slowly to start with, and then as we climbed, more and more of Kirkpatrick’s farm lay spread below us. You could sense the enormous power in the machine from the way it vibrated, wanting to be up in the sky where it belonged.
Cattle and sheep galloped away from the noise, stopping comically in lines as they reached the fences. Off to the left the ocean glittered under the brilliant sun, and the main highway and the Burkeville with its parking lot in front were easy to find. No customers’ cars at this early hour, but a couple of staff vehicles showed at the back.
I peered down, watching the fields and fences and trees pass by below us and getting a look at farmhouses normally hidden from view. I’m sure I spotted Old Bay Road where the crafting conference at Horse Heaven had been. They were due to have their pre-Christmas sale this weekend. I must ask Heather if she’d like to come with me. It’d be a good place to find gifts to take home to England. “See that place?” I said, nudging her. “With the big oval track? Remind me to tell you something later.”
The countryside crawled by. Drizzle Bay village looked like a model from the air; the main street with all the shops and Paul’s church, and even the Summerfield residence in the row of houses over the road from the ocean. The tiny shapes of Manny and Dan raced around the back lawn, probably barking at us. This was magic!
I was amazed how many people had swimming pools even though they lived at the beach. Turquoise circles and rectangles sparkled in the sun behind quite a number of the houses.
We shuddered on – pretty much along Drizzle Bay Road. I hadn’t really expected so much noise and vibration, but I guess it takes a lot of power to pull a helicopter and three people into the air and keep them safely up there.
We passed Lisa’s vet clinic and I was surprised to spot washing flapping on a line in the yard behind it. From the air the place was quite big. I’d never been to her home. It looked as though she and the children lived on the premises because the washing definitely included clothes, large and small, and at least one pair of sheets billowing in the breeze.
“That’s where Lisa and your TV kids live,” I said, pointing. I felt bad I hadn’t known that. I sometimes saw Lisa at Lurline’s Animal Rescue place when I walked dogs for her, and occasionally around the village and at the Burkeville Bar and Café, or at Iona’s bakery. I counted her as a friend, and I hadn’t known where she lived? Shame on me. She’d never invited me home, although when I thought about it I’d never invited her home, either.
The agricultural tanks place looked amazing from the air. The yard behind the main building was studded with circles and squares in assorted sizes and colors – plainly they stocked tanks for many purposes.
Erik’s voice crackled in my ears again. “I’m heading along to where we spotted the body yesterday in case I can see the bike you were wondering about last night. You might want to close your eyes when we get nearer until I give you the all clear.”
No – it was far too thrilling to close my eyes, and surely they would have removed poor Beefy junior by now? An unbroken area of sand and waves stretched below us.
We slowed, and Erik pointed downward. A little way ahead lay the weathered white tree trunk. It was easy to imagine it as a cross with its two big side-branches. “They’ve taken him away,” Erik said.
“Thank heavens for that,” Heather replied. “It was an awful thing to do to someone.”
“So – you see any sign of a motorcycle from up here?” he asked.
Sunshine wasn’t gleaming off handlebars or chrome trim anywhere, and even if the bike was filthy we might have expected a stray flash or sparkle to give it away if anyone had tried to hide it. The gusty wind can really move sand around, and the helicopter’s rotors even more so.
“The murderer must have ridden off on it,” Heather said.
“If there ever was a bike.” Erik turned the machine in a slow circle. “Looks like wheel ruts in the sand down there.”
I glanced across at him. “But if the Police have done all they need to do – retrieving the body and searching the area closely for any possible clues – they would have had vehicles here. Those could be anyone’s ruts. Maybe they found the bike?” That was a question for DS Carver later today. “And back there’s the old cottage where I looked after the dogs when Isobel was killed,” I said, pointing sideways.
Erik changed direction so we flew right over it. “Yeah, the place Jawn’s keen on buying for the surfing.”
“Not a chance right now with Margaret Alsop living there. The lady with the poodle who called in at the Burkeville,” I reminded Heather. “It’s about all she has left, poor thing.”
“Yup – Tom Alsop was neck-deep in deception,” Erik agreed. “She has a visitor.” A white pick-up truck crouched beside the garage, hidden from the road, although Drizzle Farm and the old cottage were the very last places along here and traffic was sparse at best.
“Maybe it’s a lawn-mowing contractor?” I suggested. “There’s a big lawn – well, a big stretch of grass – too much for one elderly woman to keep under control. I know one of the boys from Drizzle Farm used to mow it for forty bucks because he did it while I was there.”
Erik made a non-committal noise. “No-one seems to be mowing anything yet.”
“And that’s Drizzle Farm,” I added for Heather’s benefit. “Owned by Lord James Drizzle and Lady Zinnia. Bet you didn’t expect to find a genuine English Lord all the way down here at the end of the world?”
Heather sent me a cheeky grin. “Paul’s already told me about how Lord Jim inherited the title because he was the last survivor in the family. I gather he’s as Kiwi as t
hey come?”
I nodded. “Old friend of my father,” I said, inspecting the assorted farm buildings – the main farmhouse, the barns and implement sheds, the olive green bus half hidden under a tree, and several smaller houses where staff lived. And a swimming pool, because a ready source of water is important for fire-fighting in rural areas. Then the glinting river came into view. Somewhere along its banks Alex had found Isobel Crombie’s wrecked computer and liberated the hard-drive for DS Carver. I couldn’t help wondering if he’d have handed it in if he’d known it would help send his birth father to prison.
We watched the long breakers rolling in and sliding up the wide sandy beach. Then Erik turned further inland and headed toward the hills.
Devon Downs sounds as though it’s set on rolling English countryside, but that’s misleading. Yes, there was a lot of flat ground where a very grand house had been built in the fifties or sixties. Mid-century modern I suppose you’d call it.
“Not many brick houses in New Zealand,” Heather said, looking down on the sprawling white weatherboard building.
I couldn’t help laughing. “We get a few earthquakes. The timber houses are flexible. Bricks and masonry don’t always survive the big ones.”
“Awful thought,” she said. “Look at all those French doors out to the decks and patios. What a party pad.”
There seemed to be no-one around so Erik flew right overhead which gave us an excellent view down to a big central atrium with a glittering swimming pool and timber loungers arranged on the surrounding paved area.
“There’s the party pad in the middle,” I said. “A really sheltered sun-trap, and what a place to invite friends to. So private they wouldn’t even need clothes!”
Heather got the giggles at that, and even Erik cracked a laugh. “Remind me not to come to parties with you,” he said. “But yep – quite a place. It’d be hard to leave it.”
There was still no sign of anyone, either close to the house or to any of the farm buildings. Maybe Perce was still in bed? “I think the old guy was lonely,” I said. “Widowed a while ago. And no children, except possibly Beefy, and no proof of that. I’m sure if he thought he had a son to leave the farm to, he would have.”
In the fields surrounding the house dozens of cattle grazed. Then a four-wheeler farm bike zoomed out from a shed partly hidden under trees. Black and brown dogs bounded around it and I saw the bike slow so the rider could move an electric fence wire. The stock immediately raced through to the area of new feed, a closely packed flow of lumbering beasts. Plainly they had no faith their field-mates wouldn’t instantly eat every blade of green before they could get to it.
Further back a range of hills rose up steeply, studded with sheep. The sheep panicked as we drew closer, running from the helicopter’s noise and then stopping just as suddenly as we left them behind.
“Silly things,” Heather said.
Erik climbed, and soon we were past the top of the hills and into a different world. “I’m guessing this is the area that can’t be farmed,” he suggested, slowing the machine so we could see everything better. “The protected part. Looks like original forest to me.”
The valley was beautiful – with untold shades of green woven together into a continuous patchwork of trees. Hundreds of paler green circles showed where tall tree-ferns had made their homes. Stands of dense, dark manuka spread down to a sparkling lake bordered by clumps of strap-leaved flax, tussock, and rushes. Tall stalks of toi toi waved their fluffy pennants of seed, and a small stream glinted like diamonds as it flowed out at one end.
“Let’s see where that goes,” Erik said. “Can either of you spot any signs of civilization?”
Heather and I both peered down. Nothing but virgin native bush. Although… “Is that smoke?” I asked. “Just past that very tall tree poking up over there?”
“Could be,” Heather said. “Or just a drift of morning mist?”
Erik kept flying straight ahead. “Don’t want to spook anyone by hanging around. I’ll make it look like we’re flying past, and come back the same way in a few minutes. I think you’re right about the smoke. Something small and controlled. Not trees on fire. Might be where Haldane’s hanging out.”
“Jim said Perce had offered him an old cottage,” I said. “Maybe they didn’t like it and set up camp there instead? I’m presuming he still has Roddy in tow, although Perce might not know that.”
“Where did the son live?” Heather asked.
I shook my head. “We don’t know. We’re only presuming they were even in touch with each other.”
“Not any longer,” Erik muttered. He flew on, high over the stream, and Heather gasped as it poured over a ledge of rock in a lacy white waterfall. “Perfect place for your commercial,” she said. “And would there be room to land over that side?”
The ground was flatter here. Flat enough to drive on, to judge by the rough wheel-ruts that led in from a fence on the far side. “And we’ve found it,” Erik said, pointing to the small high-sided stock truck parked mostly under a big evergreen tree covered with scarlet flowers.
“Pohutukawa,” Heather said slowly, getting the pronunciation pretty close. “Your New Zealand Christmas tree.”
Erik dipped the nose of the machine so we could see the ground better. Heather and I both squealed and clutched our harnesses, and he chuckled. “They must have cut the fence – unless there’s a gate there. And if this is still the land that’s protected then there shouldn’t be anyone on it, should there?”
“I’ll ask Graham,” I said. “But yes, I think they’re trespassing. He did say the QE2 covenant was all finalized.”
Erik climbed higher. “I’ll turn back in a couple of minutes,” he said as the land rose at the end of the valley. “There’s a building there,” he added, pointing at a shape overgrown with creepers and branches.
“Good eyes!” Heather exclaimed. “That’s really hard to see.”
“So we have two possible sites of habitation,” he said. “I’m betting Haldane was the smoke, and your other people are hanging out down there, closer to their truck.”
“Not my people,” I said. “And if Beefy was told he could have the cottage, maybe they’ve fought over it? This gives us something for Graham to ask old Perce, and something for me to tell DS Carver. Unless you want to?”
Erik shook his head and grunted, not looking me in the eye. Huh? What was he hiding?
“Okay, I’ll do it,” I said as we flew on over more paddocks of lolloping pale sheep.
A few minutes later he turned in a wide circle and retraced the route. “Can either of you take a few photos? Handy for the Police, but also a good reference for the filming.”
Heather and I both produced our phones. “You want me to use yours?” she asked him. “I’ll bet it’s better than mine.”
I heard him chuckle as he handed it over. We spent the next little while framing up views and clicking away. All too soon Erik was losing height over Kirkpatrick’s farm again, lowering us slowly down onto the trolley so he could pull the machine back into the barn.
“Coming back for a coffee?” he asked as he re-locked the barn door and Heather and I stood enjoying the sun and checking the photos we’d taken. There was a big buddleia bush there, branches dripping with fragrant purple flower fronds. It was covered in bees and butterflies, and I inhaled the sugar-sweet scent as I watched a couple of big orange and black Monarchs fluttering around the blooms. It’s not known as ‘the butterfly bush’ for nothing.
Erik’s invitation reminded me I’d told Iona I’d bring Heather in to see about pre-Christmas work although I hadn’t made an actual time to do it.
“Tea for me,” Heather said before I could mention Iona. Ah well, it was barely nine-thirty yet. We could easily have a cup with Erik now and one with Iona a little later. First of all I needed to phone Graham and let him know about the intruders in the protected part of Devon Downs. I guessed he’d tell Perce, or maybe Perce would ask if he’d phone the Police
for him.
Heather had made her way toward Erik’s pick-up so I said, “Go with him and I’ll catch up with you. I’ll let Graham know about the stock truck being where it shouldn’t be.”
I’d called goodbye to him through the bathroom door, but apart from that I hadn’t seen or heard him this morning. He’d been running later than usual; could he possibly have a hangover? I decided I’d try his cell phone and avoid spending time chatting with his secretary, Jenny Henderson. She’s very nice, but she’s worked for him so long she kind of counts herself as one of the family and feels inclined to ask personal questions I don’t always want to answer.
Two rings. “Merry!” Graham barked. “Where are you?”
“I said goodbye. You were in the bathroom.”
“Might not have heard you over the electric toothbrush.”
“Not my problem! You knew where I was going. We talked about it last night. For a look at Devon Downs in Erik’s helicopter.”
“Ah. Yes. And you’ve been?” He was definitely sounding tetchy.
“Yes.” I opened the driver’s side door of the Focus and sat down. “Lovely morning for it, but I need to ask something. It’s the valley with the lake that’s now protected and out of bounds, isn’t it? So there shouldn’t be anyone there?”
Graham cleared his throat. “Apart from Beefy Haldane.”
“Yes, we saw a bit of smoke that might be him. But further along we also saw an old stock truck mostly hidden under a tree. I’m sure it’s the one we saw yesterday and talked about at dinner. Dark green. There were wheel-tracks leading across to a rough farm road at one end. We weren’t sure if there was a gate or if they’d cut the fence. I can send you a photo.”
“Yes please,” Graham said. “Definitely shouldn’t be there. Could you see people?”
I pulled the sun visor down because it was getting really bright. “No, but Erik spotted a building quite close to the truck. Covered over with trees and so on. Good hiding place, so probably. Unless that’s where Beefy is.”
“DS Carver needs to know about this,” Graham said. “And Perce.”