CHAPTER 1

North

Alex loved going to the Bay of Islands. Their private beach on a bush-clad point jutting into the Bay of Islands was immense fun, but getting there on a public holiday seemed to take forever. If they could leave Auckland early enough to avoid the endless line of traffic that crawled like multicoloured snails through towns like Orewa and Wellsford, it might take just a little more than three hours. That wasn’t so bad.

But it was Boxing Day, and they had left home mid-morning. Her mother had insisted upon making the house tidy following the pandemonium and excitement of Christmas Day, because she said it made coming home more pleasant. Alex couldn’t see the point of tidying the house when no one would see it. Dad had muttered similarly.

‘I can’t bear coming home nicely relaxed after three weeks in the Bay of Islands only to have to start cleaning up,’ she had responded. ‘Now everyone help, please, and it shouldn’t take too long.’ The clipped tones of charge nurse Fionna Armstrong left no room for argument.

Samuel had taken the risk of playing with some of the Christmas presents neatly stored in his wardrobe. A shrill cry from Mum, some strong words from Dad, and tears from Samuel contributed to the tense atmosphere in their car as it finally accelerated from their house faster than usual. Alex saw Mum glance at Dad, who appeared not to notice, although she sensed a message had passed between them.

Quite soon they had joined the motorway traffic. ‘Look at all those boats ahead!’ Dad groaned. His tone suggested, If we’d got away earlier, we wouldn’t have all this nonsense.

Detective Gregory Armstrong hated trailer boats in holiday traffic. They slowed everyone down, encouraging frustrated drivers to make risky passing manoeuvres. Then he would yell advice at them as if they could hear him. Alex found it amusing.

‘There’s nine,’ offered Samuel. Samuel was quick with numbers.

‘Never mind,’ said Mum in a falsely bright voice. ‘We’ll probably get past them before we get to the hills. Dad’s a smart driver.’

Fionna gave Greg’s knee a light squeeze and left her hand there. Greg gave a grunt and pulled into the passing lane. A twin-axle trailer carrying an impressive boat and a huge outboard motor slid behind them, the car’s driver leaning forward over his steering wheel in an effort to make his roaring motor go faster.

‘One down,’ said Greg.

‘Eight to go,’ Samuel drawled.

‘Ten,’ Greg countered. ‘I’ve just seen two more ahead.’ Fionna withdrew her hand from his knee.

There had followed a succession of boats and motor homes before the motorway came to an end. The main road north now offered one lane in each direction with occasional passing lanes. At times, trailers stacked high with holiday trappings and covered by fluttering tarpaulins slowed their progress to a crawl until a passing lane offered a chance to overtake. It seemed like everyone was leaving Auckland for holidays in the north, but once they had endured the three-kilometre snail-paced crawl through Wellsford, where two highways merged, the traffic gained speed.

‘Two hours twelve to get to Wellsford,’ fumed Greg.

Fionna selected a CD, and soon the car was filled with music. ‘Loud enough?’ she asked. Then, satisfied that everyone was happy, she removed her glasses, closed her eyes, and almost immediately began to sleep. Greg took a sideways look at her, then turning his head further, he winked back at Alex. Placing his left hand against his cheek and putting his head to the side he indicated she was asleep. Alex smiled and nodded at her father’s eyes in the rear-vision mirror. She turned to pass the message on to her brother, but Samuel’s eyes were closed and his head moved loosely with the motion of the car.

Samuel had the same fair hair as his sister, but he was fuller in the face and his freckled nose was smaller. He was probably going to look more like his father. Her father was handsome, and Alex was proud of him. She enjoyed reminding her friends that he was a detective at Auckland Central Police Station. These days, he wore clothes like a businessman, but Alex preferred him in his police uniform. Fionna thought Samuel looked a lot like his father also.

‘Look at those two,’ Fionna had smiled as the family ambled along the beach in Fiji earlier that year. ‘Talk about a chip off the old block. Look at how he walks—just like his father.’ Later, she had mentioned this to Greg, who seemed pleased.

‘And what about Alexandra?’ he had queried. ‘Who does she look like?’

He had then teased Alex about resembling some of her less-attractive relatives before drawing her close and whispering, ‘You are beautiful, just like your mother. What do you reckon?’

Alex had felt a warm glow. Mum was very pretty. When she had walked around the pool at the resort, Alex had noticed admiring looks following her.

At times, Alex worried about her own looks. She thought her nose was a bit pointy, and she had a smattering of freckles on her cheeks that made her seem younger than her 14 years. Although her eyes were more blue than hazel, they weren’t a definite colour. She wished they were. Her fair hair hung halfway down her back and was usually tied back in a ponytail or sometimes plaited for a change. In Fiji, it had been skilfully woven with tight braiding and beads. She wore it for almost two months until Mum insisted on it being undone so it could be properly washed.

The smooth motion of the car had put her in that relaxed state halfway between waking and sleeping. In her dream, she was flying back from Fiji with the air rushing by and the dull roar of the jet engines pushing the plane through the perfectly clear sky.

The seat belt signal sounded and kept sounding. Alex found it annoying. She heard her mother say, ‘Close the door, Greg.’

What? Has Dad opened the door? In mid-air? Everyone will get sucked out! In panic, Alex thrust her arms forward to grip the seat in front, while the signal continued to sound. She forced her eyes open, struggling to orientate herself. The cabin had seats just like Dad’s car, and she could see a steering wheel. Where was the pilot? A shadow approached, and a door closed. Immediately the signal stopped.

‘Sorry,’ Greg said through the window, ‘I should have removed the key.’

Alex’s heart was racing. Her mother’s face appeared around the seat. ‘Well, haven’t you had a good long sleep,’ she said. ‘You missed Whangārei and Kawakawa. Dad’s checking to see how far away the ferry is,’ she added.

‘Are we at Ōpua already?’ her sleep-thickened voice exclaimed.

‘Yes,’ replied Mum, ‘already.’

‘“Already” means four hours and twenty-three minutes.’ Dad spoke through the open window. ‘It’s all right for some to sleep.’ He looked with mock severity at Alex.

A mobile home, groaning off the ferry ramp in low gear, trailed diesel fumes as it turned along the small strip of waterfront shops. A continuous stream of cars, trucks, and trailer boats followed. Dad slid in behind the steering wheel and started the engine. The rear door burst open, and Samuel dived into the car.

‘We’re nearly there, Dad, aren’t we,’ stated Samuel, his voice shrill with excitement.

‘Nearly there. About fifteen minutes after we get off the ferry. Unless we get behind some more slow traffic, that is.’ His eyes caught Fionna’s and they exchanged brief smiles.

The queue of vehicles began to move forward, and their station wagon rolled down the steel ramp and onto the vehicular ferry. The deep throb of diesel engines rose from below. Shortly, the engines revved as the pilot urged the boat, now heavily weighed down by its load, to break free from the concrete ramp. People gathered in groups beside the rails, the wind gently tousling their hair.

‘May we get out, Dad?’ Samuel implored.

‘Is that OK with you, Mum?’ Greg asked.

Her smile was sufficient for brother and sister to leave their seats in an instant. Alex stretched her cramped limbs and let the sea breeze blow her hair into loose tangles.

‘Are you excited, Alex?’ asked Samuel. ‘’Cause I am. When I get there, I’m going to go straight down to the beach and go around the rocks and find some of those really big crabs.’ His eyes widened to emphasise how big the crabs would be.

‘I think you should help carry gear from the car first, Samuel,’ said Alex, sounding a little grown-up. ‘Remember it’s Mum’s and Dad’s holiday too.’

‘That’s very mature of you.’ Greg’s voice startled them both. ‘You really are growing up.’

He leaned against the rail and gazed at the array of boats moored towards the shore.

‘Which boat will we have, Sam?’ asked Greg.

The two then discussed this topic of mutual interest while Alex sought out that house above the approaching cliff face. Last year, her father had pointed it out as he told her the story about Mr Asia, the drug baron who had built his house above the modest cliffs not far from the approaching jetty. She imagined him digging a secret tunnel from his house down to a hidden entrance just above the high-water mark. He was very clever at smuggling drugs into the country. Apparently, under cover of night, waterproof packages with radio locator beacons attached were dropped in the bay by yachts coming from Australia or Fiji. They were picked up by a high-speed power boat that brought them to the small sandy beach where a secret tunnel must have led up into the house that she saw clearly now. Dad was about her age when it happened, but Alex was certain that if it was happening right now, he would be on the case. What’s more, she imagined he would be the one to solve the case and lock away the baddies for good. She felt extra safe with Dad around.

The diesel engines suddenly died, and Alex left her imaginings at the railing as she followed Dad and Samuel back to their holiday laden station wagon. After a few throbs and thrusts from the engines and a gentle nudge against the oyster-encrusted piles, the forward motion ceased, and the steel ramp began to lower. Doors slammed and motors started as vehicles prepared to drive off the ferry.

Alex hadn’t noticed before, but to her left was a very dusty and battered vehicle. As she gazed idly at it, her eyes met those of a Māori boy looking directly at her. The moment her eyes met his, he turned away, pretending he hadn’t been looking. Alex was still taking in his handsome profile when he looked back. She had just raised her hand to give him a friendly wave, when the window was filled with two huge white eyes, a wide open mouth, and a long pink tongue thrust outwards and down. Her hand went instinctively to her mouth to smother the scream that started just as Greg accelerated away and down the ramp. As Alex glanced back, she imagined she saw white teeth framed by a laughing mouth.

‘Is everything all right, you two?’ Greg’s eyes looked at Alex from the rear-vision mirror.

‘Yes,’ blurted Samuel. ‘Alex just got excited.’ Alex didn’t know quite how to answer.

‘Alex?’ Greg’s eyes questioned her from the mirror.

‘Yes,’ she managed, then added, ‘A Māori boy just did that haka thing out his window. It gave me a fright.’

‘A Māori boy?’ Fionna inquired.

‘In that old bomb.’ Alex swivelled her head to indicate the vehicle that had moved in behind. Dad stared in the rear-vision mirror.

‘The one that’s keeping right on our tail,’ he said. ‘We’ll soon get rid of him.’

The station wagon urged forward with a growl up the twisting road from the jetty. But there was no passing the two slower cars in front, and almost immediately, the wagon slowed again. Alex twisted in her seat belt and strained her head above the jumble of items piled almost to the roof behind her seat. Dad had left just enough gap for his rear-vision, and after several attempts, she saw the large head of a bearded driver.

A bare elbow hung out the driver’s window, and brown shoulders stretching a dark singlet almost filled the windscreen. His hand wedged an upright cigarette on the steering wheel. Beside him, the head of a small woman peered over the dashboard, a knitted pink hat pulled towards a nose that drew comically close to her chin. Between the two, leaning forward from the rear seat, Alex spotted the white-toothed grin of the boy. As the road offered little opportunity for passing, the cars travelled several kilometres in single file.

Alex noticed her father glancing from rear mirror to side mirror and back. On the brow of an incline, his shoulders tightened and his hands grasped the steering wheel more firmly. In a low voice, he said, ‘Don’t be a silly beggar.’

‘I’m not doing anything!’ Samuel protested.

‘Not you, Sam,’ Greg replied. ‘It’s that stupid driver behind. If he’s not careful, he’ll drive right up my exhaust!’

This thought greatly amused Samuel. He started to say something, but the words were cut short by the bellicose roar of a high-revving motor, as a pink hat slid by, followed by whites of eyes above an enormous tongue in the rear side window. Greg stabbed hard on the brakes as the passing vehicle dived into the small gap in front. An approaching car flashed past, the crescendo of its horn vanishing instantly with it. Everyone lurched forward. Alex’s heart raced, and the colour drained from her face.

‘Idiot!’ Greg bellowed. ‘Can you believe what he just did?’

‘Get his number and report him, Dad,’ Samuel squeaked.

Alex noted her mother’s face in profile, blotched red from throat to cheek. ‘Just back off, Greg,’ she demanded. ‘Don’t antagonise him. We don’t want extra problems with Māoris.’ The offending car filled their windscreen.

‘Now you can drive up his exhaust, Dad,’ Samuel urged.

Greg grunted. ‘I’ll more than do that. I’ll run him off the road.’ Then as Fionna’s head snapped around, he hastily explained that this would be the work of the law, not deliberate collision.

The Māori boy’s face appeared at the rear window. Cheerfulness and impertinence were together etched on his grinning face. Greg was not amused.

‘Cheeky young sod. I’d like to wipe that smile off his face.’

Despite the fright he had given her and his rudeness, Alex was beginning to find it all quite amusing. Perhaps it was her parents’ reaction. Adults can act strangely with kids who don’t fear adults or consequences. Alex wondered if this boy would be quite so impertinent if he was face to face with her detective dad. Probably not.

The face disappeared as the car swung out abruptly. A raucous bellow and belch of white smoke burst from its exhaust as it sped past a line of cars. A reaction of red brake lights lit as, one after the other, cars hastily pulled aside.

‘Just leave it, Greg.’ Fionna’s voice was as firm as a schoolteacher’s final warning.

‘It’s all right. I wasn’t going to go after him,’ he assured her as he leaned his head towards the side window. ‘He’s made it,’ he announced, ‘but they’re headed for trouble, just you wait and see.’

Silence filled the station wagon. Alex pictured them rounding a corner and finding that car slammed into a clay bank, with bodies slumped against blood-spattered windows and steam spewing from its engine.

Soon their indicators blinked for the turn-off that would take them to Ōmahanui. Most traffic continued on to Russell, so the pace quickened despite the winding road. This road had always seemed endless when Alex was younger, especially when it was a gravel surface. Now it was sealed and she was older, so the next minutes were a time of mounting anticipation.

Rounding a tight bend, Greg braked sharply and swerved to avoid a car wedged against a fern-covered bank and the edge of the road. In one moment, Alex took in the scene. A large man wreathed in a cloud of steam struggled to open the engine compartment. A smaller figure held a large plastic container. A spot of pink sat inside the car. And then they were gone.

‘Dad, that’s that car!’ Samuel’s voice was shrill.

‘Sure was, Sam. And serves him right too!’

‘Was anyone hurt?’ Alex asked, genuinely concerned.

‘No. They’ve just blown a water hose or a radiator. Maybe their pride is hurt,’ Greg added. ‘I hope so anyway. The silly idiots deserve a very long walk home.’ He smiled at Fionna then called over his shoulder, ‘Nearly there.’

Alex and Samuel let out an unrestrained ‘Yaaaay!’

Before long, their station wagon slowed for the tight turn on to the access road, and shortly, Greg had unlocked the padlock and draped the chain over the post that proudly bore the sign ‘Ōmahanui’. They bumped their way along the narrow driveway that meandered up and down through bush and overhanging tree ferns until a short burst of the engine brought them over the last rise. And there before them was the house.

‘What the—’ Greg began.

The station wagon stopped abruptly. The front door to the house was half open inwards, and shattered glass snarled at them through a jagged hole.