Kimiākau Jet, where Eileen’s boyfriend worked, was on the way to the Airbnb. Alexa called the adventure tourism company and asked for him. “Lang is on the river,” the friendly receptionist said. “He’ll be back in twenty minutes. Can I book you a ride?”
“No,” Alexa said quickly. “I’m with the police. I need to speak with him.”
“Come along then.”
She left a message with DI Katakana about the rental house. “It’s in Arrowtown. It could be where Eileen went Thursday afternoon. Misty and Martin Tandy might be there. I’m headed there after I fingerprint the boyfriend.”
A high, narrow bridge crossed the Shotover River. She had a few minutes to kill before Mr. Jet Boat returned. She got out at the overlook. A family did the same, and they stood together, staring down at the turquoise ribbon winding between canyon walls. Alexa was not immune to the beauty; it tugged at something poetic and beyond science and facts. She read a sign:
Gold was discovered in the Shotover River in 1862. The gold and the rush it brought helped build ports, roads, and railways to open up Central Otago.
Another sign was devoted to the bridge:
The original Shotover bridge was built in 1871, and then washed away by floods in 1878. After rebuilding and reopening in 1915, the Shotover Bridge is an impressive 172 metres long, and 16 metres above the Shotover River.
Her fear of heights triggered, she hustled back to the car. The GPS ordered her onto Gorge Road. She drove down and down and then crossed a narrow one-lane bridge which ended at Arthur’s Point beach. She parked and watched tourists in life jackets board a bright red boat from a pier.
The river tumbled and tantalized. A pang of jealousy jabbed Alexa. Oh, to be a tourist, with Bruce. His daughters Sammy and Denise would love a jet boat ride. She shook it off and grabbed the portable fingerprint scanner. Inside, she told the perky ticket attendant that she was here to talk with Langston Johnston.
“He’ll be back in six minutes. You can watch him come in.”
Alexa walked to the bank and searched brownish sand for nuggets. She cupped her hands into the clear icy water and let it dribble out. Time was passing, dripping away, precious and ethereal. Today she was thirty-eight.
She clawed the wet sand for gold. Like clockwork a red boat shot into view and executed a 360. A veil of spray and screams surrounded it.
Showoff, Alexa thought. She rinsed her hands and approached the jetty.
An employee tied the boat to the dock. Langston helped people disembark, accepted tips, and laughed when a bedraggled woman said, “I’ll do it again on my eightieth.”
A drenched teenager said, “Crazy, man. I didn’t know you could drive a boat like that.”
When the last tourist left the pier, Alexa went to meet him. “Good ride?”
Langston untied the boat and smiled perfunctorily, his straight white teeth contrasting with his dark hair and beard. A headband held his longish hair away from his handsome face. “Great ride. How can I help you?”
“I’m Alexa Glock, a forensics investigator working the Eileen Bowen murder case.”
His knuckles tightened on the rope. “I heard they caught Earl Hammer.”
“That’s right. He’s in custody. DI Katakana has been in touch, right? She asked me to gather fingerprints of Eileen’s family and friends.”
“What for?”
She pegged him as in his mid-thirties, maybe older. Not a boy toy. “Process of elimination.”
An eyebrow appeared over the sunglasses. “I don’t have any reason not to. Let me fetch some rubbish off the river, and then I’ll come up.” He paused. “Unless you’re interested in a quick ride?” He pointed to a life jacket next to the driver’s seat.
Alexa considered the offer. There was a slim chance he had killed his girlfriend. Didn’t want a baby. Didn’t want to be tied down. It would be stupid to ride with him. While she debated, he contacted someone by radio. “Fanny? Two-liter plastic bottle snagged at Sprinter Point. I’m going for it. Back in ten.”
He couldn’t off her in ten minutes. She held up the mobile scanner. “Will this get wet?”
He pulled the boat closer and reached for a dry bag, which he tossed to her along with the life vest.
She secured the scanner, stuffed it in her coat pocket, and adjusted the life jacket so it was snug. She took his hand to step on to the boat.
“Call me Lang. Hold on.”
She sat and grabbed the bar in front of her.
The steep rock walls on either side of the canyon narrowed after the first bend. She looked up at a blur of red and yellow leaves and a sliver of sky. A gazillion horsepower engine vibrated throughout her body. The boat skimmed the water on its side, thrusting Alexa closer to Lang. Holy crap. He aimed at a rocky island and veered at the last second. She scream-laughed and squeezed her eyes tight.
A lessening of horsepower lured them open. Lang sidled around another bend, and eased toward a boulder that sliced the river like a razor clam. A stunted tree clung to the side of the rock, a soda jug wedged in its branches. “Hold the wheel,” Lang said.
He hopped up before she could protest. She scooted over and held the wheel, the engine thrumming impatiently. Lang used a gaff to drag the trash toward the boat. The tool made Alexa’s shoulder throb. She’d been gaffed a couple months ago during a case.
“I used to think rubbish was the worst thing,” Lang said.
Alexa relinquished the wheel. “And now?”
He didn’t answer.
In the shallows the water was gold-tinted, alluring. “The river is beautiful,” she said.
Lang drove back slowly, without speaking. He tied them up and Alexa gave him her life jacket and the dry bag. On the way to the welcome center, he stomped the soda bottle with his boot: Merrells, she noted. “How long had you and Eileen been going out?”
Recycle bins lined the side of the building. He threw the trash away and pointed toward an employees’ entrance sign. “Almost six months. Do you know about the baby?”
Alexa nodded. She followed him inside and waited until he stepped out of an insulated jumpsuit.
“I just found out. Eileen didn’t tell me.”
When he removed his sunglasses, she saw that his eyes were the color of the river. She set the mobile fingerprint scanner on the break table and thought of how his photograph was on Eileen’s bedside table.
He pulled out a chair and sat. “I’m gutted. I can’t get over that she’s gone, that I’ll never see her again. I was moving in, gave up my lease.”
“I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Why didn’t she tell me? About the baby?”
His eyes glistened. Alexa fished through her pockets for a tissue. All she could find was a pineapple lump.
“I wish we had the death penalty so they could fry him.”
Alexa turned on the scanner and took his hand. “Start with your right thumb. Press here.”
“Did she suffer?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
In the car she checked to see if he had a record. It came back clean, like he wanted to keep the river.