Poison Bay (13 page)

Callie had been best friend to a diabetic for many years, so she didn’t need Rachel to spell out how dangerous that was. “I’m sorry, sweetie.” She gathered her friend into a hug, a muddle of arms and coats and lumpy ferns. “I wasn’t thinking. As usual.”

“I worry about how it will affect Mum if I don’t come back. She’s been through so much already…” She started to sob against Callie’s shoulder.

Erica stood a little aloof for a moment, and then spoke up. “How about you give me those ferns to take back to camp, and you two have a good blub. Get it out of your system. It’ll do you good. Nurse’s orders.”

Callie smiled gratefully at her, and disentangled the ferns from their jackets as Rachel wiped at her teary face. Erica clambered off up the hill with their cargo, while Callie led Rachel to a fallen tree just the right height for sitting side-by-side.
 

“It’s been such a horrible day,” Callie said, and Rachel’s face crumpled again. She really cried then, without inhibition, wailing like a small child. Callie put her arm round her shoulders and rocked her gently back and forth, her own face streaked with tears. Rachel’s energy was soon spent, and she grew quiet.

When she finally spoke, Callie had to strain to hear her. “It really was my fault, you know. Bryan was right. If I die, I deserve it.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Liana. She asked for my help to get an abortion, and I refused. In fact, I wasn’t very nice to her about it.”

“You never told me!”

“It was such a crazy time, with all our final exams and everything. And besides, you were so vocal about ‘Choice’. I figured we’d have an argument, and I didn’t want to deal with that just then.”

“Do you mean you’re against abortion?” She tried not to sound incredulous.

“Yes, I do. It has nothing to do with religion. I’d seen embryos under the microscope at my dad’s lab—and lots more since then. It’s a distinct, self-directing life from the time it’s only three cells, and to me it’s human and worth protecting. I’ve never told you what I think about it, because I didn’t feel like I could stand up to you and your ideals on that particular topic.”

Callie felt chastened. “So we’ve been best friends and yet you couldn’t tell me what you really thought, all these years. I can’t believe I’ve been so pushy and overbearing.”
 

“Not pushy, exactly.” She smiled. “Just enthusiastic and passionate and hard to disagree with.”
 

“I’m sorry, Rachel. I’ll try to respect your different opinion on this one. Truly.” They both stared into the trees. “What exactly did you say to Liana?”

“I told her to talk to her parents. Her father was so traditional she was terrified to admit to him that she’d been sleeping with Bryan. But I told her they loved her and they’d all figure it out together.”

“That sounds like pretty good advice.”

“Yeah. It was excellent advice. But there was an undercurrent for me. I tried to be sympathetic but I was impatient with her for getting herself into that situation. She was always flirting with the boys—like she was testing her ‘magical powers’ or something—instead of doing her schoolwork. I knew I needed a good score to get into the science degree, and I couldn’t take any shortcuts like she was trying to do. She used her beauty like a password, but all I could do was study hard. I had no time or energy for distractions from her. I’m sure she sensed that. It’s part of the reason I came on this awful hike. To try to make amends somehow. And when she blew her brains out it felt like a direct challenge to my commitment to brains over heart.”

“I doubt she did it that way for that particular reason. Although I can see how it made you feel, when you describe it like that. I’ve always thought of the way she looked straight at me. Accused me of never having time for her. I’ve wondered a thousand times why she didn’t ask me for help. Surely she’d have known I’d be supportive.”

“You’d just spent all your savings on that stupid car that you had to belt with a spanner just to get it to start. You didn’t have any money.”

“Oh. I’d forgotten about that.”

“Plus Kain was always looking at her instead of you, and she’d have known you didn’t like her for that.”

“Was I that transparent?”

“Yes, my dear, you were.” Her tone was kind, and they smiled in a moment of shared remembrance of the pressures of adolescence. And then Rachel became somber again.

“Do you know what’s worse? A couple of times today I wished I hadn’t given any of my glucose to Sharon, since she died anyway. What sort of a person am I to think such a thing?”

Callie sighed. “A normal one, I suspect. I thought of exactly the same thing.”

“If I’d stayed back at Poison Bay, like Kain said, Sharon might still be alive.”

“Maybe, maybe not. We’ll never know. But there’s no way I was leaving you alone back there.”

“I’m either holding everybody up, or making them walk when they’d rather stay put. It’s only going to get worse now. What happens if I pass out?”

“We carry you.” Callie stated it baldly and with determination.
 

Rachel pulled back so she could look Callie in the eye. Callie returned her gaze without wavering. Rachel seemed to come to a decision, and nodded. “Well, we’d better get back to camp then.”

They were clambering back up the hill when shouting broke out further along the mountainside. They looked at each other in alarm, and increased speed, entering the camp short-of-breath just as Adam burst from the bush, waving something over his head.

At first, Callie thought it was some kind of weapon, and that Adam had gone mad, was possibly even the killer, and where was Jack? What had he done to Jack? But then Jack stepped in after him, and her vision cleared, and she realized that in fact Adam was holding aloft not a weapon but something soft. And feathery. Some kind of bird was dangling limply in his hand. A relatively plump bird, not unlike a small hen. A smile started to gather at the corners of her mouth, and she glanced at Rachel, who was holding her hands to her lips and staring at Adam’s trophy in amazement.

“Waddaya reckon, kids?” he demanded, a note of triumph in his voice, and a huge grin on his face. “What am I bet that it tastes just like
chicken
?”

22

It was a major concession to be allowed into the search room, and Ellen knew she’d have to be careful not to make Peter regret it. The opportunity to do something useful was a gift she didn’t want to lose.

“You already know Tom,” Peter said, beginning the introductions. “He’s my senior man, but he’s also our police liaison with the search team.” Tom smiled and nodded at her, but his manner was more reserved than previously. She had the sense that he didn’t think she should be there.

“This is Hawk, our search coordinator,” Peter continued. “He’s also the best chopper pilot you’ll find anywhere.” Peter spoke in a matter-of-fact tone, and she’d already learned that he wasn’t given to exaggeration, so she looked at the man with interest as she shook his hand. Lean and tough-looking with a military bearing. The skin on his heavily tattooed arms was leathery, and what hair he had left was gray. Hard to pick his age—he could have been anywhere between fifty and seventy. He nodded, unsmiling, and said nothing, but his eyes were kind.

The third man in the room might have been Hawk’s antonym. Probably only in his twenties, almost as wide as he was tall, his body shaped like a large, half-empty potato sack, and somewhat chaotically dressed.
 

“Hemi is our local paramedic, but when he volunteers for search and rescue he brings a lot of other skills as well. Tracking, experience with aerial searches and high altitude rescues, you name it. He’s even an exceptionally good shot.”

“Yeah mate,” Hemi said to Ellen. “I’m a superhero.” His face split into a beaming grin as he took Ellen’s proffered hand. “I tried wearing tights but they look like hell on me.”

Ellen laughed, her troubles forgotten for a nanosecond. Hemi was still holding her hand, and he folded his other hand around it, a warm expression in his dark eyes. “Don’t you worry, mama, we’ll find your girl.”
 

***

Peter cut in, before Ellen could weep at Hemi’s kindness. “I’d like to show you something.”
 

He put a piece of jewelry in her hand and said, “Formal identification will be difficult, but this gives me enough certainty to proceed.” There might be two tall thin men with dreadlocks currently tramping in Fiordland. They might both own the same color and brand of weathered rain jacket that Bryan always got around town in. But they couldn’t both be wearing a woman’s locket. The necklace with its elaborate swirls was Bryan’s trademark. Everyone had seen it, even if they didn’t say anything about it to his face. You didn’t tease Bryan Smithton.

Ellen turned it over a few times, and opened it. The locket had been sealed so well that the photographs inside weren’t even damp. Did manufacturing jewelers think about the day a locket’s wearer might drown?

Ellen said, “Those are Bryan’s parents. They were quite famous anthropologists. Do you want me to track down a photo for comparison?”

“Yes please.” He wasn’t sure if it would make that much difference, but it would give her something to do. The more tasks he could assign to her, the better he could control Tom’s uneasiness about a relative in the search room.
 

Tom Granton was a stickler for rules. His forms were always filled in correctly and on time, and his hair and uniform conformed exactly to regulations. The pleasant shambles at his home had startled Peter the first time he’d seen it. He’d thought it must be Nyree who made it so, but he was no longer so sure. People weren’t cut out of cardboard. They were a mixture of a lot of different things.

Peter had allowed Ellen to help because he had a hunch it would help her—and he was right. Anyone could see the difference in her now she had a job to do. Like someone had taken jumper leads to her brain. And that was the other reason he’d let her join in—that brain. Her ability to comprehend and analyze the data coming in could be an asset in this search, and her knowledge of some of the players was handy too.
 

Peter’s flexibility about rules had got him into trouble before. He hoped it wouldn’t get him into trouble again now.

The provisional identification of the body was enough for Peter to order a search of Bryan’s house. Tom had volunteered to do it. It wasn’t a big house, so he let him go alone, to keep other staff free for other tasks.
 

He’d also sent requests via Interpol in Wellington, asking for the homes of the missing trampers to be checked for anything that might prove relevant to the search. It wasn’t regular procedure, but his gut told him something wasn’t regular about this case.
 

A general alert had gone out via phone and mountain radio. The tour lodges and guides on the Milford Track, the settlement at Milford Sound, every ranger at every manned hut, and several informal groups of trampers up and down Fiordland were now on the lookout for a group of seven people in trouble. The wapiti hunters were getting word out to their people, even though it was off season. And fishermen checking their crayfish pots were watching for anything in the water or washed up on the coastline.

It didn’t make sense that they’d still be near the track they’d started on after two weeks, but it was the only logical place to start in all that chaotic emptiness. From there, they’d follow Tom’s inside information.

“This is the area Bryan was talking about,” Tom said, pointing to a section of the map. “Depending on how long he’s been dead, they might have strayed outside this zone. But the southern section of the national park is the best place to start looking.”

Amber had joined the briefing. “But the body was found up here,” she said. “Doesn’t it make more sense that he went into the water further to the north, up towards Poison Bay or Milford Sound?”

“The ocean currents are unpredictable. Bryan showed me the route he was planning to take. It was all around this region. It would be foolish to look anywhere else.”

“We’ll start in that southern zone,” said Hawk. “It would explain why they have no booking to come back across the lake.” Tom looked pleased, but then reddened slightly at the next instruction. “And perhaps Amber could check with the search advisors and find out about currents and winds in the past few days. See if you can get someone to narrow down a likely drop zone for that body.”

Someone had written “Milford Sound” as the group’s destination in the first hut on the George Sound track, but it was probably just the same clown Peter had spoken to the morning he saw them leaving. No one in their right mind would go to Milford via the George track.
 

Peter was thankful now that Tom had spent so much time with Bryan in the past couple of months, despite Nyree’s reservations. It could turn out to make all the difference.

***

Peter was itching for the interim report from the forensic pathologist. At last the phone call came.

“I can’t confirm cause of death yet, obviously. But there was water and foam in his lungs.”

“So he was alive when he went into the water?”

“Seems like it. And the fish have been busy, but the SOCOs managed to get two full fingerprints, and one partial.”

“Good, we’re dusting his house first thing tomorrow. It’s going to be hard to find anything that only Bryan touched. But we’ll find something. Any idea of the time of death?”

“Hard to tell. Maybe two or three days.”

“Jonesy, those wounds on the body—any chance he was attacked?”

“Quite a lot of them appear to be post-mortem. Probably from being thrown against the rocks. There were some good storms out there in the last few days. What do you have in mind?”

“I’m not sure. I’m just suspicious. This man was maniacally careful. I know the fittest and best can make a mistake, but I’m… uneasy.”

“I’ll take the magnifying glass to any head trauma, or anything that could be a stab wound. Last thing I want is an uneasy copper. But if he was simply pushed, rather than clobbered, there won’t necessarily be any forensic proof.”