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He didn’t expect Tane to take him to the police station. Not quite under arrest, but definitely under duress.
The sky-blue building at the end of the main street looked more like a residential house. Only the ramp up to the front door suggested a nod to disability equality, although the roughness of the wooden slats would make any wheelchair journey hazardous. Wiri tripped twice on his way up the ramp, pausing to catch his breath as his fingers gripped the hand rail. His index finger smarted at the contact and he withdrew his hand and tucked it beneath his right arm. Tane waited for him, his manner brusque and frustration drawing deep frown lines across his forehead.
Jet stood in the centre of a reception area. He looked at something belonging to an elderly woman, nodding in a show of feigned sympathy while his attention wandered towards the front door. “Hey, bro’.” He jerked his chin upward as Tane walked through, but he blinked at the sight of Wiri limping after him. “What’s going on?” He tried to press the sheet of white paper back into the woman’s hands, but she missed her cue and it fluttered to the ugly yellow linoleum beneath their feet. “Why is he here?”
“Good question.” Wiri found his voice and locked his knees, halting his momentum just inside the front door. The old woman reminded him of Leslie, her breasts balanced on a shelf-like stomach, which made her dress shorter at the front. She turned to face him, her eyes massive behind spectacle lenses like magnifying glasses. She blinked, and he forced himself not to laugh, confusion, nerves and pain conspiring to create an uncharacteristic giddiness. The woman smiled at him and he realised she’d mistaken his inane grin as a greeting.
“Are you drunk?” Jet took a step towards him and Wiri shook his head. The room wavered as though supported on a thin thread, like the nest of a paper wasp.
“No.” Wiri rubbed at his eyes. “I took those powerful painkillers from the hospital.” A glance at Jet’s widening eyes suggested he didn’t mention that the police officer had snagged them from the nurse’s station on the way out and they weren’t actually prescribed. “My back is killing me.” He lifted his right hand to touch the gauze on his crown and he sighed. “And my head. And my fingers.” He tutted and eyed a row of orange plastic chairs lined up against the far wall. “Can I at least sit down?”
Tane exhaled and jerked his head towards a fire door next to the reception desk. “Through here,” he grunted. Wiri blinked three times before deciding it was the door which leaned backwards at an angle and he should stop worrying about his eyesight. Tane pressed a code into the keypad and pushed it open, waiting for Wiri to shuffle through before him. Then he strode ahead and paused outside a bedroom converted into an interview room.
Another plastic chair awaited Wiri as he walked gingerly through the doorway. Its orange bucket seat appeared less appealing at close quarters. He eyed it as though the moulded frame contained barbed wire and razor blades, worrying about collapsing against it and finding himself unable to stand in a hurry. He ran a shaking palm over his face and realised he’d never needed Logan Du Rose’s clear head more than in that moment.
“Take a seat.” Tane indicated the orange chair with an outstretched arm before walking to the opposite side of the table and sinking into its twin.
“I don’t think I can.” Wiri shuffled towards the wall, resting a palm against its cool surface and then shifting his hip so he could rest his backside against it.
Tane leaned back in his chair until it tipped onto the rear legs. It seemed a strange, juvenile habit for a man in his late thirties, especially one who ran a police station. Wiri picked through Logan’s repertoire of casual stances aimed at putting opponents at ease and recognised a similar tactic in Tane’s behaviour. He exhaled and concentrated on remaining upright. “So, where did you go this morning?” the officer demanded. He lifted a tablet from the end of the table and raised it for Wiri to see. “I’ll just flick this on and play it back for you when we’re done.” He fiddled with buttons and the screen flared to life. “Then you can make a written statement based on what we discuss.”
“You’re recording me?” Wiri swallowed. “Don’t I need a lawyer?”
Tane shrugged. “Do you?” He jerked his head towards the flashing eye of a security camera fixed to the ceiling. It looked like the most expensive thing in the room, its presence jarring with its dilapidated surroundings.
“I don’t know. What do you think I’ve done?” Wiri’s voice rose, and he sensed the boulder tipping in his chest. It rolled against his empty stomach, which burned from the painkillers. Nausea rose and then descended like a tide. “You said someone died, but I don’t know anyone here. I only arrived on Sunday.”
Tane pushed the record button and extended the stand at the back of the tablet so it could perch upright on the table. As though it wasn’t enough, he seized a pen from his top pocket and withdrew a notebook from his trousers. Wiri sighed. He’d heard enough stories from Logan and Tama to purse his lips and remain silent until Tane looked up at him in expectation. “What’s your full name?” he asked.
Wiri stared up at the ceiling and considered his options. Then he exhaled, slowing down the breath, so it hurt less. “I can just say, ‘no comment’ all day if I need to, sir. But that won’t help either of us much. Tell me why I’m here and we can start from there.” He shrugged. “Otherwise, I’ll just get a lawyer and you can do your worst. I’ve done nothing wrong and I know I can prove it. We’ll waste each other’s time and Leilah Hōiho’s money.”
Bluster. All bluff and bluster.
He didn’t know any local lawyers and couldn’t involve his Aunty Liza. She’d run straight to Logan. Vaughan and Leilah hadn’t paid him anything. Yet. The looming threat of the credit card bill made Wiri swallow his fear of the future. It festered at the bottom of his pile of other, bigger worries. Like this one.
He listened to the words spill from his lips and observed the change in Tane’s stance. His rigidity lessened, and the officer pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair with a sigh. Logan always advocated calm and reason before a smack in the mouth. Both worked, but the former involved less of a clean up afterwards. Wiri studied Tane’s expression and sensed the mention of Leilah had induced the change. He wondered if they grew up together, Tane, Leilah and Vaughan. His quick brain filed the knowledge. Just in case.
Tane folded his arms. “It’s an offence not to provide a police officer with your full name on request,” he stated. His blue irises flickered beneath the glow of the strip light. His aftershave filled the room by degrees, as though triggered by the sweat of nervousness. Wiri breathed in the pine scent and tried not to focus on the fact he still wore last night’s clothes. He leaned his shoulder blades against the wall and took the weight off his right hip.
“Wiremu Lincoln Du Rose,” he said, failure nipping at his psyche. He hadn’t even managed three days with his mother’s borrowed name. Although Jet had rumbled the lie within minutes of arriving in town.
“Du Rose?” Tane stared up at the ceiling in thought. “Why do I know that name?”
Wiri sighed. “We’re a big family, sir,” he replied.
“Right.” Tane licked his lips and focused on Wiri’s face. He jerked his head towards the orange chair. “You might feel better if you sit. Do you need a doctor?”
Wiri wrinkled his nose. “If I sit down, I don’t think I’d manage to get up again.” He closed his eyes and let his awareness wander to all his different pain sites. Then he nodded. “I think I need a doctor,” he concluded. “But can you tell me who Donovan is first, please?”
