by Peter Kozmar
“Thank you, Mr. Flint. Can you tell us what happened today? Start from when you arrived at Totara Flats Hut, unless you believe there is something material which we need to know from before then.”
Andy took a sip of the coffee. It burnt the roof of his mouth so he put it down and started to talk. Andy recalled the events of the day in detail while the two officers sat in silence, Jackson made notes while Kingi watched Andy with unblinking eyes. When he finished Andy added, “I’ve got some evidence, which I brought with me.” Jackson and Kingi looked at one another in surprise. “I didn’t want it to ‘disappear’ before it could be checked out,” he said, by way of an explanation.
Andy removed the silenced pistol from his jacket and placed it on the table. “The gunman’s pistol. Safety’s on, but not cleared so be careful, there’s a round in the chamber.” Both officers nodded in stunned surprised. He rummaged around and placed the hire car keys on the table, “Silver Nissan X-Trail, the gunman’s hire car.” He rummaged again, “Room key for room 812 at the Sofitel Hotel. You may want to send someone to check that out.” Finally, he placed the wallet on the table which he opened, removed the driver’s license, placed it on the table and tapped it with his index finger, “Craig Jones. British. This is the guy you’ll find at Sayers Hut. This is … was, the gunman.”
“Interview suspended at seventeen-ten,” Jackson said as he switched the recording off. “Why didn’t you tell us you had all this evidence with you?” he asked.
“You didn’t ask, you wanted to rush into what happened. This was the first time I’ve had the opportunity to bring it up,” Andy replied truthfully. But more importantly for Andy, there was a taped record of its existence, making it difficult to disappear.
“Paula, go get some evidence bags for this stuff and some more coffee.”
Kingi stood and left the interview room.
Jackson removed his cell phone, scrolled through his address book and dialed a number. “Inspector Copeland, this is Senior Sergeant Jackson. I’m interviewing Mr. Flint and he’s handed over evidence, including the room key for one of the victims. Mr. Flint says it’s belongs to a gunman who killed his son. Its room 812 at the Sofitel in Wellington.”
Victim. Did he refer to the gunman as a victim?
Jackson listened intently, “Okay, we’ll see you later.” Jackson ended the call and turned to face Andy, “Inspector Copeland sends his regards, says he’ll see you later after he’s had the room at the Sofitel Hotel checked out.”
Kingi re-entered the room with several sealable evidence bags, an evidence log sheet and a tray of coffee’s. It took a while for the two officers to enter the evidence in the log sheet. They tagged and placed each item, except for the pistol, in evidence bags using the sticky printed labels from the log sheet to identify the contents.
“Any more surprises for us?” asked Jackson
“No, that’s all I have,” Andy replied, “by the way, I’ve sent you the photos of the scene.”
“Paula, you stay here with Andy while I go to the armory and make this safe. He may want a comfort break, show him where to go.” Andy took that to mean: Don’t let him out of your sight in case he does a runner. Kingi nodded as Jackson stood, picked up the pistol, checked the safety catch and headed out of the room.
“Do you need the restroom?” Kingi asked.
“You know what? I think I do, must have been the coffee,” Andy said as he stood and walked towards the door.
Kingi led Andy down the corridor to the restrooms. “In here,” she pointed at the restroom with a sign of a male figure on the door, “I’ll be just outside.”
Inside the restroom, Andy headed for one of the cubicles, locked the door, dropped the seat lid, sat down and checked his cell phone which he’d had set to silent. There were missed calls from Hobbs, Vladim, Carter and Copeland. Hobbs had also replied to his email. She was shocked and offered her deepest sympathies. She’d not wasted a moment and started looking into the information he’d sent through. She asked whether he’d told Jane or did he want her to do that for him? Vladim had replied too, saying he’d make his way to Greytown to help.
Finally, there was an email from Brad Trojan saying he’d heard about the tragic death of his son and he was very sorry for his loss. Andy would be in his thoughts and prayers. Then, in the next line, Trojan asked whether Mark had handed anything over to him prior to his murder. Interesting. He heard the door to the restroom open.
“You okay in there?” It was Kingi.
“Yes, I’m fine, just a bit bunged up if you know what I mean. I’ll be out in a minute.”
Andy kept his phone on silent and sent a short email to Vladim saying things weren’t looking good and a lawyer might be needed. With the message sent, he switched his cell phone off. Andy stood and flushed the toilet before exiting the cubicle. He took his time washing and drying his hands. Kingi held the restroom door open for Andy then followed him closely.
Back in the corridor Andy could feel the energy of the investigation as officers moved about the station. There appeared to be more officers than a small station could cope with. Just as he was re-entering the interview room, Andy caught a glimpse of Carter with Jackson in another room. Carter didn’t see him, she was focused on the evidence bags.
Andy continued into the interview room where he re-took his seat and picked up his coffee, it was cool enough to drink, so he took a tentative sip. Looking at the blank grey wall to his front, fatigue crept over him as if wrapped in a warm blanket. Andy downed the last of the coffee and stood up. “Where are you going?” Kingi asked.
“Need to stretch my legs for a minute,” Andy replied, “I usually stretch after exercise and I’ve done a bit today, my body isn’t as young as it used to be and its seizing up.”
“I’m sorry, but you can’t leave the room.”
“That’s fine,” Andy said as he started to pace around the table in a clockwise direction. Kingi positioned herself in front of the door, her arms folded over her chest. After a few minutes there was a knock at the door opened and in stepped Jackson. Andy stopped pacing.
“I’ve been informed that our officers have found three bodies at the locations you’ve indicated. The initial reports suggest they died in the manner you described to us. This is now a formal murder investigation. I’d like to thank you for your cooperation and the information which you’ve provided us so far.”
“I’m pleased you’ve found them and the killer,” Andy replied.
Jackson looked Andy square in the eyes. “Yes, but we’ve got some more questions which we’d like you to answer.”
“Okay.” Andy felt he needed another strong coffee to keep him alert.
Jackson indicated the chair on the opposite side of the table again and, when they had all sat down, switched the recording machine back on. “For the record we have Senior Sergeant Mike Jackson and Senior Constable Paula Kingi interviewing Andrew Flint, the time is now eighteen thirty-eight. Can you please say your name?”
“Andrew Flint.”
Jackson continued, “Mr. Flint, we are investigating the murders of three males in the Tararua Forest Park area and you are assisting us with our enquiries. You’ve not yet been cautioned. You’ve not been arrested for any offences and you are free to leave at any time. Is that understood?”
This is getting more formal. “Yes. I understand,” Andy replied.
The questions started and came thick and fast:
“Did you know the gunman?”
“Did you shoot your son and the DoC warden?”
“Why didn’t you fly down from Powell Hut to Totara Flats Hut?
“What did you do in Totara Flats Hut with Mark?
“Why did you stay in Totara Flats Hut and wait for the gunman to arrive?”
“Why did you make your way to Sayers Hut?”
“Can you show the route you took to Sayers Hut?”
“Who shot the hut warden?”
“Why do you think the gunman shot your son?”
“Why didn’t you just try and get out of the area when the shooting started?”
“Why did you set a trap for the gunman?”
“Where were you when you threw the tomahawk?”
“What was the gunman doing before you threw the tomahawk?”
“Did the gunman pose a risk to you when he was injured and unarmed after you hit him with the tomahawk?”
“What happened to the gunman after you threw the tomahawk?”
“Why did you not run away when the gunman was injured from the tomahawk blow?”
“Can you explain what you did next?”
“How did you feel about the gunman killing your son?”
“Why did you cut off his head?”
“Was your life in immediate mortal danger?”
“What items did you remove from the crime scene?”
“Can you explain why you tampered with evidence by removing it from the crime scene?”
“Why did you interfere with a body at a crime scene?”
Andy felt he was in a boxing ring taking blow after blow. All of the questions were repeated or asked in a subtly different way, as if looking for a lie or a change in his account. He had been interrogated for what seemed like hours. Fatigue and the low he felt following the earlier adrenaline high were taking its toll.
“Okay Mr. Flint, we’re going to take a short comfort break and we’ll reconvene later. Interview suspended at twenty-forty-five.” Jackson switched the recording off, “If you’d like to make yourself comfortable.”
“I will actually. Any chance of some food? I’ve not eaten since breakfast and I’m hungry,” Andy asked.
“I’ll see what I can find,” came the reply as Jackson stood and left the room.
“Can I use the restroom, please?” Andy asked.
“Sure, you know the way, let’s go,” Kingi replied as she stood and opened the door for him.
Andy stood and made his way to the restroom, Kingi followed a few steps behind. The station continued to be a hive of activity and showed no sign of quietening down for the night. Once Andy reached the restroom he entered the same cubicle. Kingi again remained outside and waited. Andy powered up his cell phone, locked the door, flipped down the seat and sat.
He checked his cell phone was still set to silent. A few moments later, his messages started to arrive immediately. The first from Vladim, he said he’d secured a lawyer to help. The next message came from Hobbs, she reported Craig Jones wasn’t in any database and the driving license was a fake. He turned the cell phone off and pocketed it. This time he used the rest room and, when finished, re-joined Kingi before she decided to come looking again.
Kingi led Andy back to the interview room. In the corridor Andy saw Jackson speaking with Copeland. The two stopped talking when Andy approached.
“Inspector Copeland, nice to see you,” Andy said with a tired smile.
“I wish I could say the same,” came the terse reply.
“Let’s go into the interview room,” Kingi said. She placed her hand on Andy’s shoulder and applied gentle pressure to encourage Andy towards the room. Copeland and Jackson followed close behind as they entered the room. Andy sat and faced the three police officers.
Copeland spoke first. “You’ve had quite a day and I’m really sorry about your son. I’ve listened to the transcripts, seen the evidence and been to the crime scenes. This isn’t something we can ignore.”
“What are you saying?” Andy replied, though in the back of his mind he knew what was coming.
Jackson looked at Copeland. Copeland subtly nodded. Jackson turned to face Andy.
“Andrew Flint, I am arresting you for the murder of Craig Jones, interference of a crime scene, removal of evidence from a crime scene and illegal possession of a loaded firearm in a public place.”
Andy’s head started to spin.
“You have the right to remain silent. You do not have to make any statement. Anything you say will be recorded and may be given in evidence in court. You have the right to speak with a lawyer without delay and in private before deciding whether to answer any questions. We have a list of lawyers you may speak to for free.”
Andy knew from the tone of the interview this could happen, but it still shocked him when it did.
Kingi produced his handcuffs: “Please stand and turn around.”
Andy followed the instructions and placed his hands behind his back. Kingi approached with her handcuffs at the ready;
The cold metal snapped around Andy’s wrists.
CHAPTER 18
Without warning, the door to the interview room opened and a tall, middle-aged man in a blue pinstripe suit and sharp red tie walked in. The three officers turned to face the new arrival. His bright blue eyes scanned the room and quickly assessed the scene.
“I’m Alex Bowers, Mr. Flint’s lawyer. How long have you held him for without legal representation?” Bowers asked.
“We’ve only just read him his rights,” Copeland replied.
“Since about half three this afternoon,” Andy chipped in helpfully.
“Has he been fed and given his medications?” Bowers asked.
“No,” Jackson replied.
Medications. Where’s this guy going? Andy thought.
“Take those off!” Bowers pointed to the handcuffs.
Kingi looked to Copeland who now carried a worried expression as their slam dunk case had just got complicated.
“Take them off,” Copeland instructed. Kingi removed the handcuffs.
“Now get out while I consult with my client. I’ve brought some food and his medication.”
The three officers quietly filed out of the room in a state of shock.
“Vladim Martirossian has retained my services to represent you. You have a very good friend to get me out here at this time of night.”
“We go back a long way.”
Bowers sat and rummaged through his large leather case and started producing items one by one and placed them on the table.
“Here are sandwiches which Mr. Dortman had prepared for you. Some orange juice, an apple, banana and an energy bar. I hope you like ham, cheese and pickle on your sandwich?”
“I don’t care. I’ve had one hell of a day.”
“Oh, before I forget, take these,” Bowers produced two white pills, “Paracetamol. I’m sure you have a headache and these will help.”
“I don’t.”
“Take them anyway. Those three don’t know what the medications are for, it will have them worried. They’ll now be second guessing whether they should have had you looked at by a medical examiner as you are probably in shock from seeing your son murdered and you may not have been fit to answer any of their questions. You could have sustained an injury, maybe to your head, which you aren’t aware of and could impact on your ability to control your actions.”
“Can they hear us?” Andy asked.
“No … but they’ll be watching,” Bowers pointed to the camera mounted on the ceiling in the far corner. Andy opened the plastic bottle of orange juice, popped the pills and took a long drink of the juice. He quickly moved onto the brown paper bag which held a large sandwich packed with filling.
“Thanks. I needed this.”
“What have they charged you with?”
“Murder, tampering with a crime scene, removing evidence and possessing a loaded firearm in a public place.”
Bowers scratched his chin and asked, “Did you say you committed the murder?”
“Yes. He’d killed my son and a warden in the hut. He came after me and took several shots at me. I got the upper hand and I killed him.”
Bowers tried to help Andy sound more rational, “I’d say you were acting in self-defense. Wouldn’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Why did you remove the evidence?”
“I didn’t know whether the gunman acted alone or with someone else. I didn’t want to take the chance that someone else could remove critical evidence
, so I photographed everything and took it with me to hand to the police.”
“And the gun?”
“Same. I wouldn’t want a member of the public to find a pistol and take it away.”
“Okay. That’s all good to know. Why do you think a gunman was running around the hills?
“Last week a UN office in Wellington had all but one of their staff shot dead.”
“Murdered?” Bowers asked, he couldn’t hide the surprise in his voice.
“One member of staff escaped, and that was my son, Mark.”
“I live in Wellington and I didn’t know about that.”
The police had done a good job keep the event under wraps. “It didn’t make the news. I think the UN wanted it to be kept secret,” he explained.
“Do you think the gunman was out there finishing his task and tying up loose ends?”
“It looks like that.”
“Why were you at the hut with your son?”
“I’d just finished the Milford Track when Mike Patotara, the Police Commissioner, The Governor General and Amy Carter from the Intelligence Services approached me and asked for my assistance following the shootings at the UN office.” Andy searched through his wallet and produced the Commissioner’s business card and placed it on the table.
“The Police Commissioner asked for your help in tracking down a gunman and when he tries to kill you and you act in self-defense … they throw the book at you?”
“Yes.”
Bowers picked up the Police Commissioner’s card, removed his cell phone from his breast pocket and dialed the number on the card before placing the call on loud speaker. The Commissioner answered the call after a few rings: “Commissioner Patotara.”
“Hi Commissioner, I’m Alex Bowers, I’m sorry to disturb you so late in the evening.”
“The lawyer?” The Commissioner interrupted.
“Yes.”
“I’ve heard of you. You have an impressive reputation for clearing your clients.”
“You’re most kind,” he replied graciously, before his tone changed, “I’m representing Andrew Flint. You met him a few days ago and gave him your card.”
“Yes, I did.”
“Mr Flint has just been arrested by your officers in Greytown after he’d defended himself and killed a gunman who’d just murdered his son and a DoC warden. The gunman is probably the same one who killed everyone at the UN offices in Wellington. The way I see it, Mr Flint was assisting the police and he defended himself. The way your officers are behaving is absolutely appalling. Did you know they held him for several hours without charge? They didn’t give him access to legal representation. He didn’t receive any food and he wasn’t able to take his medication.”