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"I think it's better if you speak to the cops on your own," Rob told Toni when they were outside Owen's office.
"Why?" she asked.
"I have a thing about the thick blue line."
"What do you mean?"
"Let's just say getting roughed up in a police cell during the Springbok tour demonstrations might just colour your views a little bit," he said.
"Oh right, we did something on that in social studies. Were you badly hurt?"
"Look, I'm not saying I was personally beaten up." He straightened his tie. "But I know plenty who swear they were."
"Right."
"I'll go to the library," Rob said. "Let's meet at the Anzac memorial in an hour."
36
At dawn, Owen Huntly was up and ready for the chase. He stowed his rifle in the cabin of his sheik's ute and no more than glanced at the boxes on the back before his handsome dogs were inside, circling, restive for the hunt. He drove deep into the forest and then set off on trails he'd used since he was a young boy and knew better than anyone else alive.
Owen rested at the top of a steep climb from where he could see down to the ocean. He spotted a woman scrabbling over the rocks and, for a moment, let himself believe it really was Artemis. But Morgan Washburn appeared from nowhere like a crabby old caretaker to shoo the woman away. Why does Washburn always hang around the spot where Artemis was found? Maybe the dried up old bugger had some feelings for her after all.
The nudge of the bitch’s muzzle against his thigh brought Owen back from his reverie. There was concern in her eyes. What's up with her? Ah, clever girl, she must remember how the day Artemis was found, he came to this very spot, how he sat on this log and took off his boot, then his sock and wedged the rifle upright. He could again taste residue, smell the gunpowder, and feel the sharp rim of the barrel against his palate, just as it was when he itched for the trigger with his toe. How had he found the strength not to do it? It was enough to make you believe in something.
Owen looked into the amber eyes of the bitch. What should he do? She didn't know the answer, but the ridge on her back bristled, and a transverse wave rippled the length of her spine. He stroked her neck in reassurance, prompting the jealous male to muscle in for a blessing touch. Anyway, he hadn't come here to daydream. He took his notebook from his poacher's pocket and read aloud, "'Get action. Seize the moment. Man was never intended to become an oyster' – Theodore Roosevelt." Right. He stood. A pig would be nice, it must be said, but what he really needed to do was settle a plan for dealing with the bloody Gestapo on his tail. Wait a minute. What the hell does he mean with that stuff about men not being oysters? Owen took a pen from his pocket and drew a line through the quote. Wanker.
His informant at head office, whose intelligence was always worth the price of a generous present at Christmas and a seeing to when it couldn't be avoided, has advised Owen that this Andy bloody Wu wants to terminate him and is looking for an excuse to do it. That's why they were auditing Artemis's claim. No worries. He could think of half a dozen reasons why they could shut him down right now. But, by concentrating on Artemis's policy, they were throwing themselves off the scent. Sure, it might all look a bit dodgy, what with her having the accident so soon after taking out the policy, but her death was one claim that was totally above board. Owen realised that, as long as the investigators' suspicions stay with how Artemis died, he had nothing to worry about. He could give them all the help they wanted on that score. And he knew how to make up for avoiding them: no one could fail to be won over by a slap up dinner in the wine cellar of El Maximo.
A sudden thought came to him. Could that tasty woman he didn't recognise at El Maximo last night have been with Rob Hamilton? He'd spotted Rob sitting on his own, but his informant said there would be two of them. An unanticipated score would be too good to be true. He picked up his rifle and focused the telescopic sight on Morgan Washburn, then tracked to the woman but she'd already climbed back over the rocks and was gone.
37
Johnny ran to the phone. It might be Toni, and, if it wasn’t her, it might be someone with challenging survey questions for him to answer.
"Hello, is that Mr Shannon?" The woman's voice sounded very official.
"Yeah," Johnny said.
"You are the caregiver of Byron and Kyron Shannon-Haast?"
Oh God! Gosh. Johnny's mouth went desert dry, his legs weakened, a thousand accident scenarios previewed through his head. He managed to say, "Yes."
"Oh, hello Mr Shannon." The voice turned warm and chatty. "It's Julia Foxton here, Principal of the Early Advantage Education Centre Inc."
"There's nothing wrong with Byron or Kyron?" he said.
"Oh no, not at all, they're progressing marvellously. Although you may want an ENT specialist to have a look at wee Kyron's runny nose."
Only bills then. Toni would handle them when she got back. Johnny wanted to say, "So what the heck do you want?" But he didn't think Toni would approve.
"Actually, we'd like to ask a favour," the principal said.
Johnny was proud to tell her, "Sorry, Toni is away on business,"
"No, a favour of you, Mr Shannon."
People didn't ask Johnny for favours, especially principals of incorporated early learning centres didn't. He didn’t have any money, he didn't own anything worthwhile, like a ute, he wasn't exactly reliable, and lacked the bulk or mongrel for debt collecting.
"It's a bit embarrassing actually," the principal said, "and I'd understand perfectly if you said no – or you don't have the time – or something like that – um, Sarah – our early music learning specialist teacher – has left us unexpectedly. Um – she's got herself a bit pregnant. One of the children's caregivers is the father it seems. That's between you and me, of course. And, I was discussing our little problem with our mutual acquaintance, Pastor Kelvin, and your name came up. He said you're a talented guitarist and you might be able to help us out at short notice. We've got an auditor from the Department visiting tomorrow actually. And unfortunately we were marked down on our musical capital at the last audit."
So, this was it; the call had finally come. Johnny didn't need to give it a second thought. "Sweet as," he said.
"Oh, that's absolutely marvellous. We can discuss your fee when you pick up your lovely boys this afternoon."
Johnny fetched his guitar and gave it a gentle kiss. He slipped the strap over his shoulder and stood, his legs akimbo in Warehouse jeans. In a circular motion, he strummed a power chord and brought his hand to a stop above his head. Maybe he could do some Red Hot Chilli Peppers numbers. Everyone likes the Chilli Peppers. But it was for kids, wasn't it? He decided that the Chilli Peppers would be fine if he used 'flips' instead of 'fucks'.
37
Things went smoothly for Toni at the police station. She met with the investigating detective right away, and he was open and helpful. Toni had dated a few cops when she was a nurse and felt a rapport with them. Funny she married Johnny.
"The whole town was gutted," the detective told her. "No one in Exmouth had a bad word for Artemis Washburn. And she was a councillor too. Not that I'm saying people would have a bad word for any of the other councillors," he added quickly. "We had more than 50 traveller trucks pitch up for the funeral. You see, Artemis had arranged a gypsy fair up at Arcadia for the past five years. And there were bikers from the Christmas teddy bear run she started. Farmers on tractors. A pipe band, of course. The local iwi arranged a hangi."
Toni saw tears welling in the detective's eyes. She cleared her throat. "On the application form, the insured, Mrs Washburn, put down her occupation as 'dream maker'".
"Ha. Did she? Good on her. That would be about right." The detective seemed to be in a daze. "Excuse me." He blew his nose. The muscles in his forearm tautened.
"Um, do you know what she meant by that?"
"Yes, I think I do," he said, but added nothing more.
"O-K. And Dr Washburn?"
T
he detective shrugged. "He keeps pretty much to himself, always has done. When they bought Arcadia, about 10 years ago, he was still a specialist in Christchurch. He wasn't here that much, until he retired. We don't see much of him, even now. I think that's why Artemis threw herself into community work."
"Do you happen to know what Dr Washburn did as a specialist?"
"Oh, now you've got me." The staunch detective was like a little boy as his eyes rolled up, looking for the word in his mind. "Endocrinologist, I think."
"Diabetes."
"No." He looked puzzled. "Cancer."
"Oncologist."
"Yes, that's it," he said and grinned.
"Did you think there was anything suspicious about her death?" Toni said.
"No. There was no trace of alcohol in her blood, but there was a significant level of tetra hydro cannabinol. That's dope, to you and me," the detective said, and then blushed, perhaps thinking he'd overstepped the mark. But, perhaps guessing that Toni had also worn a uniform once and could be trusted, he said, "Look, Artemis was a bit of an alternative lifestyler, a free spirit you might say, so it wasn't exactly a shock to anyone that she might have been smoking something she shouldn't."
"Could it have been suicide?"
"Why do you think she'd do that?" The detective looked shocked at the suggestion. "Artemis Washburn? Look," he said, regaining his professional voice, "we investigated all possibilities, and we're pretty sure the coroner won't find anything suspicious. Between you and me, I think she was having a bit of a puff at the top of the cliff, watching the sunset, got a bit disorientated and fell. It's tragic, but it could happen to anyone." He blushed more deeply. If Rob were in her situation, Toni knew he would raise an eyebrow to imply the nice detective himself smoked cannabis, and she resented Rob a little for that.
"Could she have been murdered?" Toni felt a bit stupid asking such a melodramatic question.
The detective breathed in deeply before he answered. "We considered all possibilities, of course. But we couldn't find anything suspicious. As I said, the whole of Exmouth was gutted about it. You'd need a motive." Toni saw the detective's fist clench. "And nobody, who met her, would ever have wanted to harm Artemis Washburn." The detective relaxed, and glanced at a framed photograph on the wall behind him. Artemis was in the middle of a semi-circle of uniformed policemen. She looked elfin among the big men, but she was laughing, and the men's eyes were focused on her, with love.
The detective was about the same age as Toni. His sandy hair was cropped short, and he had a small goatee. She saw in him the physical confidence of a man who could look after himself on a Saturday night, and yet his eyes were boyish, kind. She thought towards the end of their meeting he would ask to see her later, and, in fact, in a parallel universe, Toni's doppelganger would meet the detective's at 7.30 in Rosy O'Malley's Irish style pub.
"We do have beautiful sunsets here," he said.
"Yes, I noticed last night." Toni thanked the detective before he could pluck up the courage to offer to show her a sunset. He blushed a last time when she shook his hand, and she enjoyed that.