Chef found a little Tupperware-like container for Alexa’s sample. “I’ll hide it behind the cheese and apple, shall I? Like wine to go with a picnic.”
She appreciated Chef’s humor, but this wasn’t a laughing matter.
Bruce stood at the far end of the dining room at an easel, Sergeant Kramer by his side. Alexa thought of her stolen camera and had an urge to yell, “Start searching the lodge.”
Get a grip, she told herself.
A giant memo pad, divided down the middle with a straight black line, rested on the easel. DR. DIANA CLARK was at the top left. A photo of the doctor was taped next to the name. Bruce wrote JOHN DOE on the top right as Alexa watched.
John Doe must be her crushed skeleton. The use of John Doe as a stand-in for an unidentified male was hundreds of years old and came from England. Two names were needed on legal eviction notices—for a defendant and a plaintiff. John Doe and Richard Roe were picked. Alexa didn’t know when police started using John Doe, but seeing it printed on the pad made the skeleton come alive. A proper toe tag waited for him, maybe in the stack of missing persons reports. Who was he? Who mourned him? Was someone still praying his name?
A big map of Milford Track was tacked to the wall behind the easel. Apparently, the dining room was the new command center.
Constable Chadwick and the senior constable—What’s His Name—sat catty-corner at the tables that had been pushed together. A tray with a couple sandwiches sat in the middle of the table.
Bruce saw her. “Join us over here. How is Charlie?”
She strode to the table and decided to speak frankly in front of everyone. “He’s better. Larry—Dr. Salvú—thinks he was on sleeping pills.” That hadn’t come out right. “I think someone drugged him,” she clarified. “Maybe in his cocoa.”
“To take your camera?” Sergeant Kramer asked.
She was surprised at first, but then remembered he had been in the room—or hallway—when she discovered the camera was gone. “It has lots of evidence on it. From both cases. We need to search the lodge.”
“Have a seat,” Bruce said. “Events are evolving and we need to establish a plan.”
She wanted him to form a posse and head out immediately. “Whoever took the camera could be getting away. And I know who was supposed to deliver the hot chocolate. Silas. He’s a server.”
One of Bruce’s eyebrows rose.
Alexa huffed and took a seat. She felt like she’d downed eight cups of coffee.
Bruce looked around. “Is this everyone?”
“Constable Bartlett is with Dr. Clark’s sister,” Sergeant Kramer said.
To keep Rosie from spreading the news that Dr. Clark had been pushed, Alexa thought.
“Get him in here,” Bruce said.
Constable Chadwick hurried out of the room. Alexa forced her shoulders to detach from her neck and practiced some yoga breaths. In less than two minutes, the tiny constable returned with her colleague. They slid into chairs.
Bruce said something softly to Sergeant Kramer and stepped aside.
Sergeant Kramer clasped his hands behind his back. He nodded at Bruce and Alexa. Then he addressed the Te Anau officers. “You all know I’m Sergeant Adrian Kramer.” He cleared his throat. “You know as well that in murder investigations, higher-ranked officers are called in to assume control.” He remained standing tall. “Only five percent of New Zealand police officers have the rank of detective inspector, so it’s an honor and privilege for us to collaborate with Detective Inspector Bruce Horne from Auckland.”
Bruce stepped forward. “Thank you, Sergeant Kramer. From all accounts you’ve handled the initial investigation with competence and skill.”
The sergeant smiled stiffly. Alexa thought it was very civilized and wished the world operated this way more often. She reviewed rank in the room in descending order: detective inspector—Bruce, sergeant—Kramer, senior constable—she couldn’t remember the man’s name. His kid won a sailing race that morning, and the two constables—Bartlett with buzzed hair, and Chadwick, the woman. There were a lot of new people to keep straight.
“…to introduce Ms. Alexa Glock,”
She looked up.
“…a Forensic Service Center investigator, with a specialty in teeth. I’ve worked several cases with her. She is not a sworn officer but provides support and valuable input. We are fortunate you were in the area, Ms. Glock.”
Constable Bartlett laughed. “Some vacay, eh?”
Alexa flushed. She hadn’t expected Bruce’s endorsement.
Constable Chadwick google-eyed Alexa like she was a celebrity.
“Look at the people around you,” Bruce commanded. “We are now a team, 24/7, until these two cases are closed. Is that clear?”
“Aye, Senior,” Constable Bartlett said.
Constable Chadwick nodded solemnly. Alexa leaned forward to read the other guy’s name tag: Senior Constable L. C. McCain.
“Events are unfolding—dangerously—as Ms. Glock pointed out. We have two cases,” Bruce said, pointing to the easel. “A quick rundown on case one. We’ll call it Black Diamond. That’s after the hiking pole Ms. Glock found at the scene where Dr. Diana Clark’s body was discovered.”
Sergeant Kramer sat next to Alexa.
“I had time before leaving for the airport to look into Dr. Diana Clark,” Bruce continued. “This is her photograph.” He passed copies to everyone.
Alexa studied hers. Diana wore diamond studs and a pink button-down, collar upturned. Her blond hair looked artfully highlighted.
“Dr. Clark practiced orthopedic medicine in Auckland.” He reached into his briefcase for some papers. “Our victim resided at 8708 Payne’s Way, Parnell.” He went quiet for a second, perhaps waiting for a reaction. None came. “That’s a fashionable neighborhood, with views of Waitemata Harbor.”
This didn’t surprise Alexa. Orthopedic surgeons in the U.S. raked in the big bucks, so it stands to reason Diana lived in a fancy area.
“I have a team searching her premises today.”
This was typical in a murder case, Alexa knew. Didn’t even need a warrant.
“She had a stand-alone practice, Quay Park Orthopedic on Six Kings Avenue, and specialized in hip and knee replacements. She served mostly private healthcare patients and used Owens Hospital—a private care facility—to perform her surgeries.”
“That hospital is more like a posh hotel,” Constable Bartlett said. “My aunt…”
“Yes.” Bruce cut in. “My officer in Auckland is digging into Dr. Clark’s computer, phone records, and finances. The only red flag she’s uncovered is a warning from the Health Practitioners Disciplinary Tribunal in July for overprescribing medication.”
Alexa thought of Charlie, drugged. Was there a connection?
“Sergeant Kramer—I’ll turn the this over to you for a quick review of current events.”
Sergeant Kramer stood but stayed where he was. “When Dr. Clark failed to arrive here—Pompolona Lodge—yesterday afternoon, a search party was convened.” He described the events leading to the discovery and retrieval of the body. “When Ms. Glock examined Dr. Clark, she discovered puncture wounds on her back that match trekking pole tips. She concluded that Dr. Clark was pushed to her death. Constable Bartlett and I were called in on another matter—the bones by the river—and arrived at six thirty this morning.”
“Had to get up at cock’s crow,” Sergeant Bartlett added while Sergeant Kramer sat.
“Let’s consider who had the opportunity to kill her,” Bruce said. “Who had the ability to push Dr. Clark off the cliff? Most trampers use hiking poles, right?”
No one answered.
“Right?” Bruce demanded.
“Yes,” Alexa said.
“With a running start, as Ms. Glock suggests, our attacker could be male or female.”
Bruce faced the team. “Motive. The usual: greed, jealousy, revenge, or power. What else?”
“Drugs, maybe,” said Constable Chadwick.
“Right.” Bruce made a list in the corner of the big pad. “She is a physician, and there is that warning for overprescribing drugs. Hopefully, one of these motives will resonate as we dive deeper into her background. What suspects do we have?”
Sergeant Kramer looked at his notes. “The sister, Rosie Jones. She had an argument with Diana Saturday morning that Ms. Glock overheard. She, ah, well, I told her that her sister’s death was not an accident.”
Bruce stayed calm. “I’m sure you had your reasons. How did she react?”
The reason being inexperience, Alexa thought.
“She didn’t believe it,” the sergeant said. “She insists Diana fell off the swing bridge.”
“Who else knows the death wasn’t accidental?”
Sergeant Kramer colored. “A tramper named Steadman Willis. He helped retrieve her body. He’s a Search and Rescue volunteer. I cleared him to leave the lodge.”
Bruce frowned. “He’s gone?”
The sergeant nodded. “Other suspects are her traveling companions Dr. Salvú—her anesthesiologist—and her drug rep, Cassandra Perry.”
“I met Ms. Perry on my way in here.” Bruce wrote the suspects’ names on the pad. “Neither Salvú or Perry has a record. I checked. Anyone else as a possible suspect?”
The team stayed quiet.
“Is there a disgruntled lover or patient at the lodge?” Bruce probed.
“We’ve talked with all Luxe trampers,” Sergeant Kramer said, “and no one else knew Dr. Clark before the hike.”
“Staff? Guides?”
“The guide from Luxe Tours, Clint Knight, had never met Dr. Clark before the tramp. Neither had the lodge managers. We haven’t had time to talk with the other staff yet.”
“I’ll do it, boss,” Sergeant Bartlett said.
There was a knock, and Vince stepped in. His eyes landed on the platter of sandwiches on the table. “Checking to make sure you had enough to eat.”
“Ta,” said Bruce. “We have plenty.”
The scent of roast beef and horseradish got to Alexa. She grabbed half a sandwich and a napkin.
Bruce capped the marker. “Mr. Bergen, how many guests are left?”
Vince counted on his fingers. “Eleven, plus all of you. And Ms. Glock’s brother. I’ve allotted Kotare, Tuke, and Toutouwai for your rooms.”
Bruce looked puzzled.
“The rooms are named after birds,” Alexa explained.
“All the rest of the current guests must remain,” Bruce told Vince. “We need the satellite phone and radio in here. That’s all.”
Vince nodded solemnly. He walked over to a door, unfastened a bolt, and ducked into a little pantry. In a second he backed out with a case of bottled water and set it on the table. “I’ll have Clint tell the Luxers they must stay—it’s too late to tackle Mackinnon Pass at this point anyway.”
It hit Alexa that the situation, with its isolation and small pool of suspects, was like a locked-room-manor mystery. A distant rumble made them look out the windows. Far off, a dervish of rocks tumbled down the mountainside.
“A slide,” Senior Constable McCain murmured.
“Mount Elliot is acting up,” Vince commented.
Alexa choked on her bite of sandwich. Then she remembered the waitress said the lodge was too far from the mountain to be in the path of landslides. She swallowed and asked Vince to find Silas. She wanted to ask him how Charlie’s hot chocolate had gotten drugged, even if no one else felt rushed to do so. She glanced at Bruce to see if this was okay. He gave a curt nod.
“Right,” Vince said. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Back to Black Diamond,” Bruce said after the door shut. “We have a small pool of suspects. Who else knew Dr. Clark?”
“There are thirty-five independent hikers in the area,” Alexa said. She realized that included Charlie, Stead, and herself. “Well, thirty-two. Maybe one of them knew her.”
“Independent hikers? What do you mean?”
“You can hike Milford Track two ways.” Stead Willis had explained this to her and Charlie at the beginning of the hike. “Everyone starts at the same place—Glade Wharf. You can hike with a guide and stay in lodges like here, or hike on your own and stay in the DOC huts.”
“Locals call them freedom hikers,” Constable Bartlett said.
“Charlie and I are independent hikers.”
“Why does that not surprise me?” Bruce asked.
The team stared at her.
Alexa wondered what Bruce’s comment meant. “Charlie and I were supposed to be staying at Mintaro Hut last night. Until this happened.” She wiped her mouth with the napkin and walked to the map, tapping Mintaro Hut with her finger. “But the independent hikers…” She pictured the ones she could remember: the loud nurses, the rushing businessmen, the woman who dropped the postcard at the ranger station, the mother who told her to take her boots off, the card-playing Germans. “They wouldn’t be there anymore. They’d be hiking over Mackinnon Pass and onto the next hut.”
“Dumpling Hut,” Constable Chadwick said.
Bruce was suddenly beside her, circling the huts with his marker. “Has anyone talked to these independent trampers?”
Sergeant Kramer tugged at his collar. “No, Senior.”
Bruce’s eyes were like a mood ring and deepened to angry. “That’s an oversight. Our killer could be bush-bashing out of the woods as we speak. Call DOC and get a list of people staying in the huts. They had to register, right?”
“Yes,” Sergeant Kramer said.
“Tell the rangers at Mintaro and Dumpling to hold all trampers until further notice,” he ordered. “And get that phone in here.”
So much for a locked-room-manor mystery, Alexa realized. The door was flung open.