Dead Secret

by Peter Kozmar

  Copeland wants me to leave the country.

  “What about Craig Jones?”

  “The bodies are still at the crime scene. We’re in the process of gathering evidence and we’ll complete the identification process over the next few days. When we have the bodies here, I’ll ask you to assist in making a formal identification of your son, Mark.”

  “Okay, do you know anything more about Craig Jones?” Andy asked again.

  “Not much. We’re still gathering information about him and building a picture. To be honest, there isn’t much to go on. How are you coping? You had it pretty rough yesterday,” Copeland said changing the subject.

  “I’m okay,” Andy lied.

  “I can arrange for one of our Victim Support Team or one of our trauma counselors to spend time with you … it’s part of the support wrap-around we offer victims of crime.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind,” Andy said as he stood, Vladim followed his lead.

  “Thanks, Inspector,” Vladim said as he offered his hand. They shook hands. Andy hesitated before he shook the Inspector’s large hand. He soon realized his mistake when the Inspector crushed his hand with his customary vice-like grip. With the bone splintering handshake over, Andy headed for the door and Victoria Street.

  As they dropped down to street level, his cell phone rang. It was Carter. “Hi, what news do you have?” Andy asked.

  “I’m sorry about what happened to your son and the police wanting to prosecute you.”

  Andy stood still, momentarily confused. “What about the prosecution?” Andy quizzed.

  “The police have been pressing for you to be prosecuted. They believe they can make the murder charges stick, but your lawyer, the United Nations and the US Government have been on the phones all night. The decision will be announced this afternoon.”

  “Why let me keep my passport before the decision is made?”

  “I don’t know,” Carter paused before continuing, “with these serious charges hanging over your head, they’d normally stop you leaving the country even with your passport.”

  “Who’s calling all the shots on this?” Andy asked.

  There was a long silence on the other end of the call, as Carter formulated her response, then thought how to deliver it as politically correct as possible. “This case has international aspects which involve multiple governments and their respective agencies and actors. It’s not something the police should be leading without guidance and advice, but … they don’t want the guidance or advice. They see themselves as independent of influence or scrutiny.”

  “Inspector Copeland said I’m not likely to face charges.”

  “That’s great news,” Carter didn’t sound convinced, “could we meet up for a coffee and a chat. Say Smith the Grocer in the Old Bank Arcade, opposite Plimmer Steps.”

  “Sounds good, five minutes?” Andy replied.

  “Make it ten … I’ll need to jump in a cab.”

  “Okay, see you in ten minutes.” Andy ended the call and immediately keyed in ‘Smith the Grocer’ into his mapping software, it wasn’t far to walk.

  ***

  The Listener put down his earphones, closed down his laptop and carefully placed it in the room safe the hotel provided. He reached for his silenced pistol, ejecting the magazine to check it was loaded, then sliding it back before placing it into his shoulder holster. He picked up his small backpack. Satisfied everything was in order and he was ready to leave, he headed to the door. He grabbed the ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign and, as he stepped into the corridor, hung the sign on his door before closing it shut.

  ***

  Andy and Vladim waited patiently outside the café for Carter to arrive. They didn’t have to wait long before she bounded towards them from the Lambton Quay entrance.

  “Hello,” she said as she arrived, “shall we go inside?” Carter didn’t slow down leading them into the café, past the seating area and to the long counter. Fortunately, there was no queue, so little time to dwell on the sticky sweet delicacies which beckoned them from behind the glass. Andy paused at sight of the dark chocolate and walnut cake, while Vladim appeared enchanted by the large custard slice which looked big enough for three people.

  “What can I get you?” the lady behind the counter asked. Carter looked at Vladim and Andy.

  “Long Black for me,” Andy said, too embarrassed to ask for the cake.

  “Trim flat white, for me,” Vladim said quickly, understanding the custard slice would have to wait.

  “Lemon, honey and ginger,” Amy told the lady.

  “Are you all together?” the lady asked.

  “Yes, I’ll pay,” Carter said as she handed over her card. The lady took the payment, handed it back and gave Amy the number seven on a long silver stand with a heavy weight on its base. The three of them headed down the stairs to the basement seating area, found a table and Carter placed the stand in the middle.

  “What news have you got?” Andy asked.

  “It’s a bit of a mixed bag I’m afraid. Craig Jones is a ghost. His identity appears to have been created about four months ago in the United Kingdom. The passport, credit cards and driver’s license were created on the same day. I found no record of Craig Jones before then. I checked the two referees on his e-passport application and they were fakes.”

  A waitress arrived with their drinks. The conversation stopped as she placed the drinks carefully down, asked if they were waiting for anything else and, when they said ‘no’, took away the stand with their number as she left.

  “Did you check the address he used?”

  “Yes, again, he’d never lived there. His fingerprints don’t feature on any database I can access.”

  “Did you manage to find out who he really was?”

  “No. Everything about our Mr. Jones was an elaborate fabrication. Have you learnt anything?” Carter asked.

  Andy took a sip of his strong coffee before he answered, “I did, but I need your help.”

  “Anything I can help with, as long as it’s legal, you know I will. Now, what did you find?”

  “The pistol was purchased by the British Government and sent to Iraq as part of an aid shipment. The silencer was purchased by the British Government for its Intelligence Services, but it went missing, until it turned up with ‘Craig Jones’,” he said using his fingers to indicate the quotation.

  “That’s a lot of coincidences. What help do you need?”

  “I need a set of Jones’s fingerprints to be sent to Helen Hobbs at the CIA in Langley.”

  “Okay.”

  Andy held up his cell phone with Hobbs’s CIA email address and Carter added it to the address book on her cell phone. “I’ll send the fingerprints through to her when I get back to the office,” she said.

  “Make sure you put Jones’s name in the subject field, then she’ll know it’s important.”

  “What will you do today?” Carter asked.

  “I’ve got a few leads to follow up.”

  “Have you found why they were killed at the UN offices?”

  “I’ve a theory, but nothing solid.”

  “Do you want to share?” Carter asked.

  Andy shrugged. “Not yet,” he said finishing his coffee in one big mouthful, “thanks for the coffee, but we’ve got to get going.” Andy stood followed by Vladim and Carter. They headed up the stairs, out of the café and into the impressive, high vaulted arcade. Once outside, they said their goodbyes and left Carter as she hailed a cab, Andy and Vladim walked back to their hotel to meet with Dortman.

  ***

  In the corner of the café, opposite where Andy had sat, The Listener placed the hollowed-out book which concealed his directional microphone into his backpack. Through his headphones he’d heard every word. He was disappointed that Flint had been reluctant to talk about his theory, but he wasn’t happy that Jones had left such a mess behind to be cleaned up.

  They said he was a bloody professional and yet Flint killed him!

&nbs
p; He allowed a few minutes to elapse before he stood, picked up his backpack and headed for the exit; he’d listen to the recording again before sending his report and await his instructions.

  CHAPTER 23

  The helicopter was waiting at the helipad on the waterfront as the three men arrived just before eleven. Dortman climbed into the front while Andy and Vladim sat in the rear. Andy found the Gazelle helicopter bigger and more comfortable than the Squirrel he’d been in the day before. However, he suspected Dortman’s budget was somewhat larger than Carter’s and he didn’t have to justify his spending.

  The pilot introduced himself and produced a detailed topographical map. Andy immediately knew it covered the Tararuas and the area around Totara Flats. “Just show me precisely where you want me to put down,” the pilot said as he handed the open map to Andy.

  Andy orientated the map to get his bearings, then looked for the features he needed before he zeroed in on the precise spot he needed. Flat, open land, opposite Sayers Hut on the true right of the river. “Here,” Andy pointed, “don’t go too close to Totara Flats Hut, keep further South, it will be swarming with police and I don’t want to explain why I’m there.”

  “That’s fine. I know the place. I’ll have you on the ground in about twenty minutes, unless the weather gives us a surprise … you have to be prepared for everything,” the pilot said as he folded the map and commenced his checklist for take-off. “Can you make sure that your straps are fastened tight as it can sometimes be a little bumpy over the hills.” The men tightened their webbing straps. “It’s going to get noisy as the engines start up.”

  The pilot turned and gave a thumb up, “Sorry, but some customers find it a little scary, particularly if it’s their first flight.” The engines gave a loud whine and clicked for a few seconds before they started to scream, and the rotor blades turned, initially slowly, but quickly picked up speed. In less than a minute, the rapid heavy beat of the blades and the high-pitched whine from the engines indicated they were ready to go.

  With his headset on and plugged into the helicopter’s communication system, Andy listened as the pilot requested clearance for take-off and confirmation that their route to the north east was clear. Air Traffic came back with a “clear for take-off”, but the helicopter needed to clear the harbor within five minutes as there was an Air New Zealand flight inbound from Christchurch. After the brief exchange, the Gazelle rose slowly above the harbor and rapidly accelerated away from the city, parallel to the highway and on towards the Tararuas.

  Andy recognized many of the features from the previous day. His mind wandered back over the last twenty-four hours, but before he could go too deeply into dark thoughts, the pilot’s voice in his headset brought him back to the present. “What brings you out here?” he asked.

  “Something happened there yesterday, and I want to show the area to my friends.”

  “Do you need to go anywhere else in the Tararuas?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  As they approached the area of interest, the pilot spoke again, “Below we have Waiohine Gorge with the longest and highest single span swing bridge in the area.”

  Andy looked down and picked out a track which led to a car park which, even from the air, he could see was full of police vehicles. As the helicopter maneuvered, the gorge below them widened and, seconds later, Andy could just make out the light reflecting off a tin roof to the north east. Totara Flats Hut. The helicopter slowed as it headed towards the position Andy had indicated on the map.

  As they descended, Andy caught a glimpse of Sayers Hut off to the right; it was easier to see with the heavy police presence. Their tape, floodlights and tents preserving the evidence before labelling and removing it from the site. Andy counted at least twenty officers milling around Sayer with four others moving towards Totara Flats Hut on quad bikes; two had trailers attached which were heavily loaded with equipment.

  “You’re right. Something big happened down here, never seen so many cops in one place!” the pilot stated as they touched down. Andy quickly unbuckled and climbed out of the helicopter before the pilot had started his shutdown sequence. He instinctively ducked low and ran forwards to keep his head away from the spinning blades; the downwash pushed down hard on his head and shoulders.

  Once clear of the spinning rotors, he started looking for the tree stump next to the path.

  Bingo! There you are!

  He rushed towards it and knelt on the ground, the tall grass concealing him from view. He knew by now the senior officer at the scene would be wondering who had landed and what they were doing there.

  As he reached into the hollow, his fingers touched the memory stick. Yes! Andy quickly grabbed the memory stick and placed it in the empty coin holder in his wallet. He stood and made his way back to the helicopter. Vladim and Dortman were standing nearby when Andy returned.

  “Did you find it?” Vladim asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Do you want to talk us through what happened yesterday?” Dortman asked. Andy nodded and pointed up the valley towards the high mountains which boxed the valley in.

  “I was up there, at Powell Hut, and with the oil pressure alarm I had the choice of flying to the aerodrome with the pilot or walk down to Totara Flats Hut and get picked up later. I opted to walk down the mountain …” his voice trailed off as two policemen approached. Andy recognized Senior Sergeant Jackson, but not the other officer.

  “Mr Flint, what are you doing here?” Jackson asked, his tone making it clear he hadn’t forgotten about the previous day and his humiliation.

  “I’m showing my friends the area,” Andy replied trying not to make eye contact.

  “I heard we aren’t going to charge you. It’s a pity. What you did is pretty gruesome,” Jackson said, then looking over his shoulder he added, “but you can’t go there to show your friends your handiwork.”

  “Kill or be killed … the man murdered my son and the DoC warden … and I was next, I just got him before he got me.” he shrugged before continuing, “running around the bush in my almost bare feet with only sticks and river rocks to throw at him, what would you have done? Sit down and reason with him? Maybe talk him out of it? You know I had no other option.”

  “You could have used the trail and got away.”

  Andy laughed, “Got away from a man twenty years my junior, who was at peak fitness and with tracking skills? I wouldn’t have got more than a kilometer on a track before he would have put two rounds into me … like he did my son.”

  Jackson went red and looked annoyed at losing an argument in front of a junior officer. Trying to show who was in charge and re-assert his authority, Jackson changed tack, “This is an active crime scene. We don’t want any evidence contaminated, so you’ll need to leave.” He pointed to the Gazelle, “I suggest you and your friends get back in there, fly away and don’t come back again.”

  “No chance of going to the other hut?” Andy asked, just so Jackson could feel he’d won something.

  “Not until we’ve finished and left the area. Now leave, before I arrest you for interfering with a police investigation.”

  “Okay, let’s go,” Andy said, and led the others back to the helicopter.

  “You all done?” the pilot asked.

  “Yep, for now at least,” Andy said as he buckled himself in and put on the headset. The pilot nodded and moments later the engine fired up and the rotors started to spin quicker. As the two officers watched their exit, Andy couldn’t help noticing the smug look on Jackson’s face.

  The helicopter climbed and followed the line of the river before passing over the Totara Flats Hut. Again, their fleeting view of the area revealed more police activity in and around the hut. The pilot continued to climb as he followed the narrow valley and soon flew over a bush clad ridge. Andy turned and spotted the Mountain House Shelter hidden amongst the trees.

  The views became more expansive as they gained height. “That’s Powell Hut,” Andy said to Vladim
as he pointed to the hut on their left tucked neatly into the hillside. The helicopter continued to climb and then banked to the left.

  “Gents, that’s Mount Holdsworth just below us. It’s that high point with the black and white triangulation marker on top.”

  Andy looked down at the mountain top. A small group of hikers were taking in the views, their heavy packs rested on the ground as they took a rest after their climb. They waved as the helicopter circled overhead. The helicopter broke away and headed towards Mount Hector. The pilot spoke over the intercom, “See the cross on that mountain in front? That’s Hector.”

  Andy looked around Dortman’s shoulder and could make out the approaching feature. Beyond Mount Hector, Andy could make out the wind turbines which lined the hills to the West of Wellington. He also had a good view of the harbor, Cook Strait, the narrow stretch of water between the two largest islands of New Zealand, and the mouth of the Marlborough Sounds. “Over to the right is Kapati Island and further round, to the right, you can see Mount Taranaki,” the pilot called out.

  Andy looked across and saw the perfect cone of a snow capped volcano which appeared to float above the sea. “Is that in the sea or on land?” Andy asked.

  “It’s on land, over near New Plymouth. What we have is an optical illusion. With the curvature of the earth we can’t see the land which it rises from. The land is on the other side of the curve so we just see the sea, then the volcano. Neat aye?” the pilot said, smiling as he took in the view.

  The helicopter flew to the left of Mount Holdsworth and headed back towards Wellington. Fifteen minutes later the three of them were walking away from the helipad. Happy with what he’d achieved, Andy was keen to view the content held on the memory stick.

  “Do you guys mind if I review the memory stick on my own?” Andy asked as they stepped into the entrance of the hotel.

  “Yes, I do mind,” Vladim replied, “only a few hours ago Tomas gave you CPR. He’s staying with you. He doesn’t have to watch what you are doing or looking at, but he will be keeping an eye on you.”