Sergeant Kramer ordered Constable Bartlett to call Medi-flight. Alexa flung the clippers from her grip and sprinted across the grounds and into the lodge. Constable Chadwick’s muffled screams were music to her ears; she was alive. Alexa flung the pantry door open. The constable’s eyes were saucer-big as she stepped out, holding a bloodied cloth napkin. The sleeve of her uniform shirt was crimson. “Where’s Willis?”
“Sergeant Kramer has him secured. Are you okay?”
Constable Chadwick pressed the napkin back to her bicep. “I’m fine. It’s just a nick. Are you okay?”
Alexa explained what happened, her recount as devoid of emotion as Gina’s had been as she described stalking Diana. She refused to break down.
Constable Chadwick looked at her in awe. “Garden clippers?”
Alexa clenched her fists. Stead could bleed to death in less than five minutes. Suddenly she heard rotor blades. Again. Was Riggs coming back? Fight or flight coursed through her veins as she dashed to the windows. An army-green copter skimmed the trees and disappeared. “It’s Bruce,” Alexa said.
Constable Chadwick joined her at the window. “Who?”
“DI Horne.” The pilot had probably spotted the yellow copter and was in pursuit. How did a copter chase work? Her mind reeled James Bond aerial chases. They always ended in a fiery crash.
Constable Bartlett rushed in. “Where have you been?” he yelled at Constable Chadwick.
“Locked in a closet!”
“Do you have a tourniquet?”
Constable Chadwick grabbed her first aid kit. Alexa knew she should follow the constables outside, see if Stead Willis was alive, but her legs wouldn’t obey. She made it to a chair and collapsed. She hefted her knees up and hugged them close, bowing her head, a ball of remorse. She could feel the clippers in her hand, feel the crunch of carpal bones. “Science, science,” she rocked. “I believe in science, not violence.” What if Stead died?
After a few minutes she dragged herself to Stead’s backpack in the lounge. She started to open it, but then caught herself and retrieved a pair of gloves and brought the pack into the dining room. She searched through it looking for her camera and jammed her finger on something hard. She was lifting the second rock out when she heard Charlie’s voice.
“A helicopter crashed!” Charlie was red-faced, out of breath, his voice jerky. “I heard trees smashing and then an explosion.”
Alexa ran to the dining room window. Mount Elliot preened in sunshine. There was no sign of a downed helicopter.
Charlie doubled over, hands to knees. “I saw the flames, Lexi.”
Her legs wobbled. “Where?”
“On the other side of the river. I couldn’t cross it. Call 911.”
Bruce, she thought. “What color was the copter?”
“I never saw the copter. Just heard a crash and saw flames. Call the police.”
“The cops are by the helipad.” But they were working on another emergency. Alexa’s mind spun like rotors.
Charlie stepped closer to her. “Why is your face bloody?”
She pawed at her cheeks, dashed to the satellite phone, and dialed 111, New Zealand’s 911.
“Emergency Call Center,” the operator said. “What’s your name?”
“A helicopter crashed!” Was Bruce dead?
“Where are you?” the operator asked.
“Pompolona Lodge, Milford Track.”
Charlie flung his backpack off. “By the river. Tell them by the river,” he huffed.
“How long ago did the incident happen?”
Alexa covered the mouthpiece. “How long ago, Charlie?”
“Ten or fifteen minutes. I ran straight here.”
Alexa told the operator, her voice trembling.
“Are you at the scene?”
“No. We’re at the lodge.” When she heard the sound of yet another helicopter, getting louder, she thrust the phone at Charlie and ran through the lobby and out to the porch, crashing into Vince.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
“Where have you been?” she snapped and tore around the building. She halted when she saw the large army-green helicopter touching down.
Bruce was safe. She took in the scene. Stead Willis, flat on his back, was being attended to by Constable Chadwick, who was elevating his arm. Constable Bartlett was covering him with a space blanket. Sergeant Kramer ran to meet Bruce, who ducked under the rotors and met him halfway. Instead of running to him, Alexa stepped backward, into the shade of the lodge, caught her breath, and steadied her emotions. She watched Kramer gesture toward Stead and Bruce gesturing toward the air. The pilot and police officer climbed out of the copter with a stretcher. Alexa watched them load Stead and carry him to the open bay, Constable Chadwick hovering by his side. There was jostling as they got Stead, and then themselves, buckled in. Alexa prayed Stead was alive. Bruce and Constable Bartlett climbed in last. The copter lifted, leaving only Sergeant Kramer behind.
Her ears thrummed. She thought she could smell smoke.
Sergeant Kramer looked stooped; the day’s events had weighed him down. She stepped toward him. “Is Willis alive?”
He removed his cap and wiped his forehead. “Constable Chadwick applied a tourniquet. The bleeding stopped but he’s gone unconscious. He needs a transfusion fast.”
Alexa’s heart sank. “Charlie says a helicopter crashed.”
“It was Riggs. DI Horne said it looks bad. They’ll drop him and Bartlett at the crash scene. Or as close as they can get. DI said it was like a fireball, that Riggs didn’t have a chance. The Civil Aviation Authority are on the way.”
Alexa thought of Gina Granger slashing her wrists and wondered if Riggs had crashed on purpose. “How did it happen?”
“Flying too low. The DI said a landing skid clipped a tree and flipped the copter.”
Alexa tried to wrap her head around another calamity.
“CAA investigators will determine the cause. DI Horne said they’d get a coroner from Queenstown. He thought you’d been through enough.”
For that, Alexa was grateful.
They turned together and walked toward the nearly empty lodge.