The soldiers’ quarters were marginally less spartan than his dormitory. Dan saw that they put the redundant upper level of each bunk to good storage use. With no lockers or wardrobes, the wooden slats hosted spare uniforms and kitbags. Dan rummaged through the first canvas kit, pulling out from amongst underwear and rags smelling of Brasso a black notebook and binoculars. He was opening the notebook when he heard boots thumping to a halt, the end door flung open and Private Bell in singlet and khaki shorts taking deep breaths.
‘Whatcha up to?’ Bell gasped. ‘Nothing worth nicking around here.’
Dan felt he was the sneak-thief. He searched for a plausible explanation for what was obviously a secretive and suspicious and probably illegal search.
Bell came to Dan’s rescue, but in a sneering tone. ‘Yeah, doin your job, eh, copper? Looking for clues, right?’
He wouldn’t have spoken to Biggart like this. ‘What are you doing?’
Bell rubbed his arms vigorously. Dan could see the goosebumps, the sweat speckling his brow and staining his singlet.
‘Gotta replace that dumb-arse Price on duty.’
‘Where’s Price?’ Dan realised Price should not have left his post, but surely he could have returned to it, no harm done.
Bell laughed nastily. ‘Doin pull-ups on the bars. A lot of them.’ He must have realised Dan was puzzled. ‘Down at Kultur Bay. Me and the sarge were doing a training session. He’s got me in the inter-services boxing tournament, rates me a good chance, yeh.’
‘What, Price too?’
‘Don’t reckon he’s much chop at that. If he’d had any nous he’d have stayed put, not come down there reporting he deserted his post. He’ll not do that again in a hurry.’ Bell grinned. ‘If he survives our sergeant’s training methods.’
Dan had encountered some bullying from his sergeant during training, but it sounded like McCollum was reviving the wartime discipline that had led to a judicial investigation. He intended speaking to his superiors about this. He would also have a word with the insensitive scientist, who should have realised Price could not abandon him without consequences. Right now he had his job to do.
‘Where’s the other soldier, Greg Mutton?’
Bell was sitting on his bottom bunk pulling off his shoes. ‘Probably gone for a spin on that old Douglas motorbike he got going. Left behind after the war by the mad major, they reckon. Anyway, Greg’s a champion with motors.’ He stood, pulling up his trousers, put his boots back on.
‘I’m off then, wouldn’t want our sergeant on me back, eh? If there’re no more questions?’
Dan said there was not. Bell shrugged on his jacket, gave him a sceptical look, and clumped out.
‘Ah, private?’ he called. Bell paused at the door, only half-turned. ‘What does Price do with binoculars?’
‘Watches birds. Just the tweety ones, far as I know.’
Without any plan or ideas on how to proceed, Dan made his duty call to Biggart. The inspector wanted to know what progress he had made. Dan told him of Bell informing him Sergeant McCollum had Price doing pull-ups in a manner that was probably an offence.
‘Pull-ups!’ Biggart screeched, his reedy voice almost disappearing into the tonal stratosphere. ‘Did you witness this? No. You accept the word of that dodgy little runt from Ponsonby. Even he didn’t witness how many pull-ups. You are telling me Bell told you something he did not see and you think that this hearsay account once removed means anything. If Price abandoned his post, then that is a far more serious matter than McCollum inflicting a spell of jankers.’
When Biggart paused, Dan blurted out he didn’t understand the jankers reference.
‘Drill punishment. Something McCollum is well practised at. If Price left his post in wartime, he’d face the firing squad. It is an army matter for McCollum to deal with in army fashion. As I thought I made crystal clear already, if this is his way of finding the traitor, leave him to it. It is none of your business. What is your business is what you have found out about the soldiers which could identify the mole. Well?’
Dan reported that Private Mutton had repaired an old army motorbike left behind by the major in charge of the internment camp in World War One. He waited. There was no explosion from Biggart. He said that Private Price apparently engaged in bird-watching and had a pair of binoculars for this purpose.
‘Apparently?’
Dan said he had not had the opportunity to observe this.
‘And McCollum -- when he’s not putting Price through his paces?’
‘Puts Bell through his. I mean, he’s coaching him for some military boxing match.’
Biggart sighed heavily. ‘The army has its own ways of operating. We have learned that four of the five soldiers were sent to the island for various misdemeanours or alleged misdemeanours. McCollum and the fat cook are believed to have gambling debts, the sergeant into the bookmakers, Flett somehow managed to get into serious debt playing two-up. Presumably the army brass also thought McCollum was the right man for the job, having had previous experience. Bell has an expensive taste for brothels, like the one where our esteemed Superintendent Smith chose to accommodate you both. Mutton doesn’t seem able to resist borrowing motorbikes. This has only just come to light. The army were not keen to give us a full briefing. Mutton apparently borrowed a motorbike so he could get up to Auckland and try out the Mangere speedway. No charges were laid, I gather because his father had some influence. We’re not sure about Price, but we do know he is obsessed with birds, has some kind of collection of stuffed native ones in his parents’ St Heliers garage. He was caught on reserve land with a gun. Like Bell, he preferred the army to a stint in Mt Eden. He is the only one who volunteered for Somes Island duty. Uncharacteristically, the army accepted his request. We can surmise that like the others he would welcome more income than the army provides. At least one of them has been got at.’
‘Price seems unlikely, sir.’
‘I am not interested in speculation, Delaney. I want evidence. And fast. We have identified and interrogated the German couple who were hosting Herr Haas. After being reminded of the severe penalties for aiding and abetting subversion of the security of the nation, they have been cooperative. Naturally they claim Haas threatened them, which I don’t doubt, he’s a nasty piece of work. They did say he wanted to know where he could acquire a launch. They put him in touch with a sympathiser, a businessman called Jurgens, who keeps a motorised yacht at Lowry Bay. We can reasonably assume Haas intends to make his way to Somes Island. From what you say, his half-sister is up to her neck in this. Next time, they and their island collaborator might well be successful, unless you are on your toes. Tomorrow hopefully it will all change. The army is considering our request that the soldiers be replaced. In any event, I will be there, and armed. Try and get yourself something from their armoury. Whether or not you can, I want you behind a locked door with Penny and his escort. If the escort proves to be involved, disarm him. I take it you can use a rifle?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘You have a few hours of daylight. See what you can discover. Get cracking.’
Dan emerged in time to flag down Greg Mutton, who had opened the compound gate and was revving his reluctant bike, which protested in uneven sequences of backfiring and spluttering. The private was not as expert a mechanic as Bell believed. Dan gestured to indicate he wanted him to switch off. Mutton did so, but looked baffled at Dan’s question. Dan raised his voice to repeat did he know where Price and Sergeant McCollum were?
Mutton shrugged. ‘I saw sarge heading into the ablutions block. Dunno where Price is.’
‘Do you know where he goes?’
Mutton shook his head. ‘Big island. Plenty of birds.’
Dan wanted to talk to Price. He felt Greg Mutton was unlikely to be involved, he didn’t strike him as money hungry. Motorbikes were his thing. Bell and the sergeant would be open to offers, but Price would be the easiest to threaten. He was apparently obsessive about birds and not averse to shooting them. Presumably money would offer the opportunity to acquire rare birds, but more importantly, Price looked as nervous as a rabbit caught in a hunter’s headlights. Were the binoculars useful for spotting craft as well as birds? He asked Mutton if he could indulge him with a ride around the island, see if they could locate Price.
‘Sure,’ he said. ‘Hop on.’
Dan was hardly seated on the rusty panier when Mutton accelerated so suddenly the bike rose up like a frisky horse, settled and skidded sideways in the mud out of the compound. Dan managed to grab the back of the panier to save a tumble. There was no way he was going to remonstrate with Mutton about not shutting the gate, he was too intent on not being bucked off.
Mutton twisted his head. ‘Not quite Henning’s speedway, eh?’
‘No,’ Dan hastily agreed, wanting Mutton to look where he was going, the track was narrow and slippery and there was a sheer slope of jagged rocks all the way to the sea a hundred feet below. He knew about the Mangere track, but it was not something he had any interest in. His interest was that he lived to question Price. If Mutton was involved, an accident to him would solve Mutton’s problems and end his. Like Lawrence of Arabia, in the news a few months ago when he crashed his motorbike on a joyride back in England, after all those years fighting in the desert.
Mutton turned again. ‘Brakes aren’t great.’
Dan instinctively felt like making the Sign of the Cross, but that would require releasing a hand and that was the last thing he was prepared to contemplate. He risked a look below, which could indeed be the last thing he contemplated.
‘Don’t need them,’ Mutton said, proving his point as he heeled into the corner, one boot extended like an outrigger for balance. The bike started protesting, its back sliding sideways.
‘Lean with me into the corner,’ Mutton shouted.
Every instinct Dan had was to lean the other way, as far as he could from the ground.
‘Jesus!’ Mutton yelled. ‘Hang on.’
He thumped gears and wrestled with the handlebars, his boot gouging gravel, as they slid at a contorted angle round the sharp bend, the bike back-firing in protest. They spluttered to a halt.
‘Bobbydazzler,’ Mutton said appreciatively. ‘No sign of Price up this end.’
Without waiting for a response, he rose like a rodeo rider and kicked down on the starter. It kicked back, almost knocking them both off the bike, spat and hissed and farted, but didn’t fire.
‘She needs a tune-up,’ Mutton said. ‘Hang on.’
He rose again, this time the engine kicked in. He revved and shot away around the island, heading south. It was twilight, the sun gone and the sky above the city slashed with dark red strokes, the air temperature dropping dramatically. Dan’s temperature rose, as Mutton accelerated into the gloom, the darkened rocks looking even more ominous.
The track was reasonably wide, but there were potholes and the surface was slick from the rain. Dan prayed to every saint he could think of, which was not many, St Anthony, Mary’s husband St Joseph, St Martin, beloved of Sister Calixtus. She told the story many times of how his tormentors stretched St Martin out naked on some kind of barbecue grill and at one stage he said to them he was done on this side, could they turn him over. This memory gave Dan no comfort as they bucked and twisted down the darkening track, in his peripheral vision the angry sunset a backdrop of doom. He did get some reassurance from the fence line that ran across the steepest drop, saving Weir’s sheep and cattle from tumbling to their death and hopefully them too, unless Mutton lost control and crashed them arse over turkey. What had possessed him to request a ride from this lunatic?
‘Strewth!’ Mutton exclaimed as he wrestled with the handlebars in what Dan feared was an uncontrolled slide. They stopped up against the fence, Mutton toggling the accelerator to keep the motor running.
Mutton shook his head. ‘What a sight, eh?’
Dan saw nothing reassuring about the fence, the wire sagging badly, some of the posts suspended over the cliff where the paddock edge had slipped. Up close the wire strands did not inspire confidence, some detached from their staples, looking unlikely to offer much resistance.
Mutton was pointing up into the livid sky. A long black kite was swooping and undulating down towards the rocks below. Dan blinked. It was thousands of birds, packed into this curious formation as if they were tied together, seesawing this way and that without a single bird separated from this avian squadron. Suddenly the entire flock dropped straight on to the rocky promontory sticking out below the round white shape of the lighthouse.
‘Shag Rock,’ said Mutton. ‘That’s probably where Price will be. I’ll get you down there.’
Dan was about to protest he would sooner walk, but Mutton had revved and chomped gears and swerved back on to the track. They bobbled over the cattle stop and swooped down towards the lighthouse. There was not even a fence to provide an illusion of a safety net. Dan closed his eyes and hung on.
Brakes screeching and loose gravel scattering, they came to a stop. Dan opened his eyes on to what appeared to be a rock fall.
‘Told you he’d be here,’ Mutton said.
Dan levered himself off the bike, feeling wobbly, concentrating on not falling headfirst down the slope. He could make out the crouched silhouette of Price 30 or so yards below.
‘Better get back,’ Mutton said, revving and spraying gravel, which began to roll and bounce down the steep slope. Price turned, stood up and watched as Dan began a careful sideways descent, disturbing more loose rocks. Dan had his hands out for balance, feeling like somebody crossing one of those swing bridges who realised too late he was not able to cope. The rocks were starting to avalanche and Dan could not find any footing to slow his pace. He knew he was about to fall and bent backwards, one hand seeking a grip in the shifting rubble.
‘Grab my hand,’ Price said, gripping his arm and steadying him.
‘Sorry,’ Dan said, feeling utterly foolish. ‘Um, wanted a word. I see you like bird-watching.’
‘Yes, sir, I truly do,’ Price said, staring at the long flat rock where the birds were roosting in such huge numbers Dan thought they could not all possibly settle. Judging by the full-throated din of squawking and flapping about, there were territorial issues. Price appeared oblivious to the unstable ground beneath him. His voice was reverential, but also sad, like the priest intoning the Stations of the Cross on Good Friday.
‘I suppose they’re all seagulls,’ Dan said, trying to steady his voice.
‘Actually those are starlings,’ Price replied. ‘They go over to the valley to forage during the day and return here at night. But yes, sir, a lot of gulls, black-backed mostly, also the smaller red-bills, but you don’t see them here. Is this what you wanted to ask me about?’
The rocks had settled and so had Dan, and indeed the entire colony below, melding into the dark rock. The only movement now was the glistening water lapping around the promontory. ‘Is it safe to sit?’
Price said it was. Dan carefully lowered himself next to Price and said he understood he had binoculars and a notebook. Was that for bird-watching?
‘Yes, sir. I enter in numbers and varieties. I have seen several of the rare spotted shags as well as the black shags that give the rock its name. And further around the variable oystercatcher and the blue reef heron. Plus the little blue penguins, which have been known to roost under the barracks, make a helluva noise when they’re, you know, at it. There are lots of other birds in the tree cover around the island, like the fantail, silver eye, tui, spur-winged plover, of course the morepork you have probably heard at night. Oh yes, the grey warbler, the welcome swallow, pukeko, even an Australasian harrier. Is that what you wanted to know, sir?’
‘Very interesting,’ Dan said. ‘You know a lot about birds.’
‘Yes, sir. I grew up near the Sandspit swamp. We used to go there in the Scouts, try and stop hooligans stealing eggs and shooting at the birds with their shanghais.’
‘So why are you here?’
Price shrugged. ‘My father,’ he muttered.
‘Was he in the army?’
‘Yes, sir. Said it would make a man of me.’
‘Has it?’
Price gave a derisive laugh. He asked him what happened at Kultur Bay earlier. Price jerked, turned his head away.
Dan did not warm to this nervy fellow, but the Commissioner’s Rule 6e was clear-cut, a detective must suit his manner and conversation to those he was dealing with, thereby inviting their confidence. ‘Look, Percival – you mind if I call you that?’
Price nodded, said usually he was called Percy.
‘Listen, Percy, if the sergeant is persecuting you, tell me. This can be stopped. We know about him.’
Price shook his head vigorously. ‘No, I’m fine. He’s fine.’
‘Very well,’ Dan agreed, for now. ‘Tell me, have you observed anything else with your bird-watching?’
Again Price jerked. ‘Like what?’ he said in a tremulous voice.
‘Yachts approaching the island. Launches.’
‘No, sir.’
‘You sure you have not seen or heard of someone landing illegally, approaching you or any of the other soldiers, offering you incentives?’
Price shook his head.
Dan had had enough. In questioning suspects the rules required you be fearless in the execution of his duty. ‘Now listen to me, private. We know one of you assisted this break-in of Mr Smith’s laboratory. You must have talked about it. Who is it?’
Price again shook his head, but said nothing.
‘Very well,’ Dan said. ‘Tomorrow Inspector Biggart will be here, and he is going to be a lot tougher than me. If it transpires you have known something about this break-in and remained silent, you will be in serious trouble. There will be more than army discipline next time.’
‘No!’ Price blurted. ‘I can’t.’
‘Then you will suffer the consequences.’
‘Please,’ Price begged. ‘You have to ask Sergeant McCollum.’
‘Believe me, I will.’
They heard the motorbike approaching, a weak beam flicking over them, and then the screeching of brakes and the disturbed gravel beginning to slide down the slope. Dan stood and his foot slipped, leaving him teetering over the rock they had been sitting on. He could hear the rumble of rubble picking up pace, gravel hitting him in the back. His arms were windmilling but he could not regain his balance. He was about to fall when he was hauled back by his jacket.
‘Hold on, sir,’ Price gasped. ‘Greg, get his other arm.’
Dan was pulled on to his back, the soldiers locking arms across his chest. They lay as the gravel cascaded into and over them. As it eased, Dan heard the plop of rocks landing in the water.
‘Sorry about that, sir,’ Mutton said. ‘There’s a call for you, urgent, from Inspector Biggart. He wants to talk to you post haste, he said. Come on, we’ll get you back.’
Dan accepted their assistance up the loose slope, but refused point blank to ride on the back of the motorbike. Price was not offered a ride. He and Price walked, Price a step behind. Dan had no more questions and Price did not volunteer any comments. Dan had every intention of questioning the sergeant.
When he got through, the inspector said the Jurgens yacht had left Lowry Bay and they did not know where it was. It was unlikely it was heading for the island tonight. As he was aware, a sea fog made it foolish in the extreme to attempt a crossing tonight. However, Haas was a fanatic. He should be prepared for the worst. They would be there as soon as they could the next day.
Dan hung up. Sergeant McCollum was standing silently behind him.