Crystal Ice

by Warren Miner-Williams

  Rewa got off her armchair and dived on Petera, who was lying on the floor. She rolled him over and kissed him passionately.

  “That’s the nicest thing that’s happened all day. I also want to be with you more too, but I have to think of Robbie first. And what is to stop you resenting me later when you are doing some drudge job and realise that you gave up the farm for me?”

  “Well, I’d hope that it wouldn’t ever happen. But there may be a way of having both. I could marry you and work on the farm, without being its owner. Strictly speaking it isn’t mine now anyway, so it wouldn’t make any difference, except that we couldn’t live there.”

  “Hmmm. Well, firstly, you haven’t asked me to marry you yet, that would have to happen in some really romantic place. Secondly, I don’t know what to say about this farm thing, and most importantly I would have to find out what Robbie thinks. It isn’t the sort of thing I could just drop into the conversation over dinner, is it? Don’t answer that. I’ll find out what he thinks all in good time, so don’t go asking him yourself.”

  “OK. So where would that somewhere romantic enough be?

  “Somewhere over dinner, somewhere overlooking the sea, somewhere like Waiheke, or Mount Maunganui. Great Barrier Island would be nice too.”

  “And when would madam be available for such a proposal?”

  “Joking apart, give me a couple of months.”

  “Really? I don’t know if I can wait that long.”

  “Am I not worth waiting for?”

  “Yes dear, of course you are. Now, what were you saying about the flu?”

  Rewa laughed.

  “You were listening to me after all, you fraudster! Come here so I can show you it’s worth the wait.”

  ***

  As Petera Mokaraka parked the Toyota Hiace van alongside his bungalow at The Finches, he hadn’t noticed that another car had followed him from Papakura. Once Petera had opened the driver’s side door the interior light flashed a warning to the hidden observer that Mokaraka had finished with the van for the night and that any further observations would have to be on foot. The bungalow lights came on and Mokaraka could be seen through the un-curtained window to be opening a bottle of beer in what must be the kitchen. Soon the kitchen lights were switched off and the living room lights came on. Even from a distance of forty yards the prying eyes could make out the flashing-coloured lights that showed Mokaraka was watching the television. The bungalow finally receded into the darkness of the night at just after one in the morning.

  Not until 2am did the observer venture out from behind the relative safety of the manuka bushes that grew 50 metres from the end of Harrison Road. Although there was no moon that night navigating an approach to the bungalow was reasonably easy. There was little sound except the hum of traffic on the distant southern motorway and the mournful cry of a morepork. Once the intruder had negotiated the cattle grid at the start of the driveway each step taken was signalled by the muffled crunching of gravel. The farm buildings, were nearly 200 metres away. Suddenly the two Rottweilers that stood watch over the approach to The Finches started barking and tearing at the fence. Spotlights triggered by a passive infrared sensor pierced the darkness, capturing the frozen intruder just metres from the bungalow. The noise generated by the dogs was so sudden and frightening that the intruder immediately fled back up Harrison Road, to the sanctuary of the hidden vehicle.

  Nearly every light in the bungalow flashed on illuminating the whole driveway. Wasting little time, Petera emerged from the bungalow dressed only in his boxer shorts, carrying a loaded shotgun. Without hesitation he opened the pen in which the Rottweilers were held and followed them as they raced up Harrison Road, towards the parked car. The dogs pawed and slathered at the side windows of the car in an effort to get at its occupant, but the car started and its engine screamed as the driver accelerated away from the dogs, and Mokaraka, who was by that time just twenty metres away, blasted the back of the car with buckshot as it receded into the darkness. The two Rottweilers chased after the car for a short time before they returned, without command, to Mokaraka’s side. Petera could hear the screeching tyres as the car negotiated the junction of Harrison Road with Quarry Road before the night once more was silent.

  “Hi Sonny, Petera. Sorry to call you so late, but we’ve just had one or more unwelcome visitors here at the farm,” reported Mokaraka to the Skorpion leader. “They got away from me and the dogs, but they’ve a few holes in the back of their car as a souvenir of the occasion.”

  “I’ll send a few soldiers down in the van to stake out the farm buildings and the bottom of the driveway,” replied Sonny. “Wait for them to arrive outside your place. Once you’ve told them what to do you can get back to your beauty sleep.”

  “Thanks Sonny, I appreciate that, but I doubt that they’ll be back.”

  “The boys will be there in twenty minutes. Put the dogs away before they arrive though, aye? We want to feed them flesh from intruders, not the backsides of our own troops. Did you get the rego of the car?”

  “No, they drove away from me without their lights on. How they could fucking see where they were going beats me, it’s as black as a witch’s tit here at the moment.”

  “OK Petera, well done. We’ll have to review security down there tomorrow. I’ll come down at eleven, suitably disguised of course. We don’t want to alarm the neighbours, do we?”

  ***

  Janet Packwood could hardly see where she was going until she remembered to switch her headlights on. She felt she had done well, following Mokaraka from the Papakura Tavern to the farm without being seen. And then, disaster. Her mouth was dry and she was shaking with fear. If those dogs had got hold of her she was convinced that they would have torn her to shreds. The shotgun blast had also surprised her, and the fact that her head was hurting probably meant that she had been hit by one of its pellets. She was in no doubt that she was lucky to have escaped with her life.

  Turning north onto the motorway, she felt safer and slowed down. The car was a mess but she didn’t care, she had stolen it from the car park outside the Manukau City Supa Centre and in less than an hour it would be ablaze in another car park behind Goodwood Heights. Now, having time to reflect on her mission, she believed she had actually accomplished a great deal. She now knew where the Skorpion meth-lab was, and had a fair guess as to how it was protected. She couldn’t wait to tell Ngaire what she had found out.

  36. Mother Lode

  Every movement was agony. Ngaire’s life had changed forever. Hatred coursed through her veins and the shame of defeat followed her wherever she hobbled. Everyone knew of her failure, and everyone, friends and family alike, saw her as trouble. She had become a pariah, isolated from the other Skorpion women. Hatred and resentment are powerful drugs, and with each second that passed her fear receded and her determination to repay Sonny Rewaka for his cruelty grew. Only one friend stayed loyal and true, and that was Janet Packwood.

  But Janet was a woman of little brain. She would never stand up to Ngaire, as a result Ngaire had little respect for her. Janet was a pawn in the game of life, easily pushed around the board and easily sacrificed. Ngaire resented the fact that she had suffered at the hands of Sonny Rewaka and Janet hadn’t. Her injuries were severe, and not just physical. Her mind was twisted by a bitterness that was devouring her from the inside. Although Janet was her friend, Ngaire in some ways hated her. Manipulating people was a skill that had largely remained dormant in Ngaire until Daniel Tua had been murdered. When he was alive the relationship, she had shared with him was both bitter and sweet. Though she never really feared him, he had dominated her, she was his slave, and as a result, one he had little respect for. When he was drunk, he would beat her mercilessly whenever the mood took him. Early in their relationship she had defied him but this had only enraged him even more, so she had learned to keep her mouth closed. She hated all men; they had used and abused her all her life. Sex with them had always been animalistic and brutal. Now she h
ad Janet, and it was her turn to dominate.

  It was after 11.00 am when Janet arrived at the house. Ngaire had had to sleep alone the night before and was not in a good mood. With Janet absent she had to fix her own breakfast, and, as she limped around the kitchen, she cursed Janet continuously. Now she was fully primed.

  “Where the fuck have you been all night?”

  “You’ll never…”

  “Fuck you, bitch,” Ngaire interrupted, “I needed you and you fucked off. I’ll teach you to piss off without telling me where you’re going.” Ngaire picked up the nearest thing at hand, a half tub of margarine and threw it at Janet. It hit her squarely in the face and she staggered backwards against the fridge. As Ngaire looked for something else to throw, Janet recovered sufficiently enough to try and stop her.

  “Ngaire, don’t. Let me tell you where I’ve been. I know you’ll be pleased with me.”

  “Why should I be pleased with you? You never do anything that pleases me.” She said cruelly.

  “I know you haven’t been keen on getting your own back on Sonny, but I’ve seen the hatred and frustration build up inside you since you came out of hospital. I’ve seen your pain and I want to do the bastard over just as much as you do. I was thinking yesterday that perhaps we should try and fuck him over where it really hurts, in his pocket.”

  “What the fuck are you rambling about, you piece of shit.” Ngaire spat the words at Janet as if they were weapons.

  “Listen to me, please.” Ngaire reluctantly obeyed, stunned by Janet’s forceful composure. “I saw Petera Mokaraka in the Papakura Tavern last night, and I followed him home. He’s the guy who runs the meth lab, aye? Danny wanted more money from the manufacture of the stuff and Sonny wouldn’t have a bar of it and had him killed yeah? Well, I thought we could burn the fucking place down; then where would Sonny-fucking-Rewaka get his fucking money from? I remember you mentioning that some rich dude in Auckland bankrolls the operation. Well, if we put Sonny out of business, he’ll have to face the music with his boss, aye? Perhaps they’ll kill him for us.”

  “So where did this brainwave come from?”

  “Hey Ngaire, that’s not fair. I’m not some dimwit that you can piss on all the time, I’ve got feelings too. You’re not the only one that can think things through. I reckon it’s a fucking good idea. You only think its shit coz you didn’t think of it first.”

  Ngaire was speechless. She had never been spoken to by Janet like this before. And the woman was right, she was jealous that she hadn’t thought of it first. It was a fucking good idea; in fact, it was a fucking brilliant idea. But she wasn’t going to tell Janet that.

  “So, what happened then, when you found out where he lives?”

  Janet reported what had happened. Ngaire was impressed by Janet’s initiative.

  “Do you think that Mokaraka saw you properly? Or the car, for that matter?”

  “No way. The car’s a burnt-out wreck now, so no evidence there. See, my car stealing experience still comes in useful, aye?”

  “So, if the fucking place is so well guarded, how are we going to burn it?”

  “Already thought of that too. We get to it across the motorway. We park on the Ramarama side, and attack it from the rear.”

  “How do you know that there aren’t dogs and alarms at the back?”

  “I don’t, but from what I did see there is no way that he has anything like that at the back, everything’s at the front, I’m sure.”

  “Well, I can’t hop across the motorway, so you’ll have to do it all yourself.”

  Janet hadn’t thought about Ngaire being crippled. She didn’t want to do it on her own.

  “I reckon we should get the Rupene brothers off their arses and get them involved. They’d want to get back at Rewaka for what he has done to them, aye?”

  “Those yellow bastards? They might be too fucking scared of what Sonny will do to them if they’re caught again. I don’t know if we can count on them.”

  “Oh, what the fuck, I can do it without them. But I would appreciate if you could drive the car and wait for me.”

  “Sure thing, I’d love to see that place go up, I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Let’s both go and see the Rupenes this afternoon.”

  Janet stepped over to Ngaire and kissed her gently. There was a sparkle in her eyes that Janet hadn’t seen for some time. Ngaire grabbed Janet and kissed her passionately.

  “You’ve done good girl,” said Ngaire quietly in Janet’s ear, “real good. I’m proud of you, honest I am.”

  ***

  Alex MacLean had been formally censured for his private enquiries regarding the Sutic brother’s restaurant, Terra Brasil. For a short time, he was angry that he had been treated like a child. He was doubly pissed, as Leanne had also admonished him. She was angry that he had included her in his stupid crusade, as she called it, without being consulted first. Although she didn’t say as much, he thought that she was particularly upset with him because he hadn’t been honest with her about the real reason for the dinner. In fact, he had lied, saying it was a belated celebration of their fifth wedding anniversary. She hadn’t spoken about it since, but he could tell she was still angry. He had bought flowers the following day and apologised but he knew it was too little too late. However, he remained unrepentant about the reason for his investigation – there was something wrong and he could smell it.

  Just a day after his disciplinary meeting with the senior management Alex was back on Nexus. This time he asked the system to list all the imports and exports that Jonathan Littman had organised in the last year. Up came the details for Terra Brasil that he had seen previously, but there were also nearly 15 000 other entries, too many to search manually. The Terra Brasil imports came through Tauranga, which was a little odd, thought Alex. He looked in his notebook and saw that he had written a note to remind him to check the manifests of the freighter, the MV Olga Tovic, upon which the imports for the restaurant were carried. This type of ship was more common sixty years ago than in the 21st century, another odd coincidence. He directed Nexus to list the cargoes carried into New Zealand by the Olga Tovic. One of the common entries were drums of diethyl ether imported by Uni-Glue NZ Limited. Uni-Glue, a company based in Hamilton, ordered the ether in 210 litre drums from INA Chemical Industries in Zagreb. This seemed to explain why the ship docked in Tauranga even though they carried cargoes for Auckland. Another revelation was that a road haulage company called Sutic Transport Limited were always contracted to carry the ether to Hamilton.

  Alex was aware that ether is a simple chemical solvent, used to dissolve the adhesive chemicals in glue. It is also a solvent used in the manufacture of methamphetamine. Yet more coincidences, thought Alex immediately.

  This had to be the mother lode.

  Having calmed himself down, Alex then instructed Nexus to list the exports out of Tauranga carried on the MV Olga Tovic.

  “Whoa!” he said out loud. “You beauty.”

  “Won Lotto, Alex?” enquired Robin Hickman.

  Sensitive to the censure he had only just received, Alex didn’t want to be harangued again by his immediate boss. He must take time to consolidate his evidence before he discussed it with anyone else.

  “I wish. No, it’s just another import of Contac NT intercepted at the International Mail Centre. The guys there have pulled in another decent haul.”

  It wasn’t a complete lie; he was quoting a report that he had started the previous day and had yet to complete.

  “Even though the mail centre intercepts more contraband than any other branch of customs, it’s probably only 50% of the stuff that actually comes into the country by post,” said Robin, walking off towards the tea room.

  Alex returned to the Nexus results that had caused the commotion. He couldn’t believe what he had found.

  The MV Olga Tovic also carried ether destined for Kuipers, a petrochemical processing company in Newcastle, New South Wales. It’s just possible, he thought, that the Sutic bro
thers were intercepting some of the ether imports which had chemical precursors dissolved in them. Graham-Collins could then extract those chemicals from the ether, and manufacture methamphetamine that could then be exported to Australia in the drums of ether, destined for Kuipers. It made perfect sense to Alex – the Sutics’ had all necessary components for such an operation. They were Croatian, with access to a Croatian ship and crew, they had a pet import/export broker with his own bonded store, and they had the road haulage company to move the stuff from the Port of Tauranga. Alex made a note in his diary to check the ‘Hab Rolls’ to check if either of the Sutic brothers had a home in Tauranga or Mount Maunganui. If they did, that would be yet another convenient fact, not direct evidence but more grist to the mill of circumstantial evidence. Alex realised that any one of the factors he had uncovered could be dismissed as unfortunate coincidence, but all together, like the pieces of a jigsaw puzzle, they started to form a complete picture of what the Sutic brothers were really doing.