She slept until eleven, and when she opened her eyes, feverish, she was surprised weak sunshine seeped between the curtains. The storm was gone. She rolled over, her body sore and stiff, and thought of Bruce, his blue eyes, the fact that the team had solved a double murder in four days. Victory was anchored by the weight of two bodies. Wearily, she climbed out of bed.
Her gaff wound looked worse in the bathroom mirror. She swallowed an antibiotic and two ibuprofen and studied her swollen forehead and bruised lip. Not her best look. She dressed as quickly as her lethargic limbs allowed, feeling guilty she’d slept so late. She didn’t stop to eat but trudged from the inn to the station. The door was ajar, even though, according to her weather app, the post-storm temperature had dropped to fifty-two degrees. She wondered if she’d get her jacket back—she had used it to staunch Kopae’s blood. And she had lost her cardigan to the gaff. All she had left for warmth was her bright red NC State sweatshirt. She entered the station and pulled the door shut. Wallace was hanging up the phone. She could see his computer screen and was surprised he was on Facebook.
“Miss Glock,” he said, recoiling. “Er. How are you?”
“Fine.”
“I’ll call Joan at the medical center. Tell her you’ll be stopping by.”
“I’m fine, really. How’s Kopae?”
His face went grave. “She’s got a compound skull fracture. Hit with a blunt object. She’ll be out a month.”
“Will she fully recover?”
He shrugged. “The doc thinks so. Her mum is on her way.”
“She was smart to let Warren believe she was alone.”
“You did good, too.” Wallace said and blushed. “I wish I could have seen Warren netted like a codfish. A bigwig from DOC is flying in to confer with Kana Duffy and take possession of the shark parts. They’ll be used for research.” He pointed to her crime kit stashed on a chair. “Briscoe found it on The Apex.”
She was forever losing it. The evidence she had collected with the BLUESTAR would be crucial if there was a trial. “Where’s DI Horne?”
“He and Briscoe flew out at first light to interrogate Warren in Invercargill.”
Alexa’s knees went wobbly. She sat at Kopae’s cubicle.
“I just got off the phone with him. Senior said when he showed Warren that the fingerprint you lifted from Robert King’s high-vis vest matched his, Warren caved, said he was desperate for money. He gave up a couple of names of middlemen at a shipping company in Bluff. It’s an international port. They’ve been smuggling shark and whale parts to Taiwan.”
“You’ve been busy,” she said.
“New Zealand Customs Patrol has been informed.” Wallace took his glasses off and apprised Alexa. “The DI said he’d see you back in Auckland. He called your boss, told him what an asset to the case you were, said you needed a few days off to recuperate. You could stay on at the inn. Have a hollie.”
Why did she feel as if she’d been punched in the solar plexus? Must be she was feverish.
“Nina figured something out,” he said, pointing to the computer screen. “Remember that comment from a Nathan Rawner? ‘Pāua divers unite. Kill the cagers’?”
“I guess.”
“Nathan is Sean Warren’s middle name, and Rawner is an anagram of Warren.”
“Okay.” She didn’t know what it meant.
“Warren was probably trying to pin Andy’s death on an angry pāua diver.”
* * *
She stood alone on the afternoon ferry deck, braving the wind, fingering the shark tooth she found in the crime kit, and watched as Stewart Island got smaller and smaller. She supposed cases were the same. Larger than life when you’re in the middle, and then they recede.
She ran her fingers over the serrated edges and watched two mollymawks skim the ferry’s wake. She might have the shark tooth made into a necklace and see if it changed color as it pressed against the flesh of her chest.
Mangō taniwha. She brightened, thinking the Māori words for white shark could be the title for the Journal of Oral Pathology article she would write. That’s what she would do during her upcoming three-day medical leave her boss had insisted she take.
Nina had come to see her off and to return her latest batch of freshly laundered clothes. “Kip told me what a hero you are, netting that monster and saving Elyse’s life.”
“Wallace would have done the same thing.” Alexa wanted to say more, to tell Nina to be grateful for what she had, to keep her children safe from harm, and to thank her for her kindness, but her throat clogged.
Stewart Island was obscured now. A mirage that had faded.
She was mad at Bruce. For pushing her away. For not knocking at her door at 2:00 a.m. For leaving without saying goodbye. He had left her a phone message, but she deleted it. Sharks should be left in peace, and she should too.
Alexa walked to the stern and leaned into the bracing future.