Dinner that Tuesday night was different to normal for Tom. Dave had lived by himself most of his life and had become a pretty good cook. The main dish was spinach and leek filo, two vegetables Tom usually hated. But the way Dave combined them with egg, cheese and bacon bits, turned them into a delicious meal. Much better than he would have got, if Brandon had cooked.
After discussing Tom’s day, Dave led the conversation around to Buffy.
“We’ve got to have her DNA tested,” he said.
Tom looked up, shocked. “Why? Do you think she’s the kiwi killer?”
“No, I don’t. But we can’t ignore that it is a possibility.”
Tom shook his head violently. “No! She wouldn’t do that.”
“Tom! Just hold on. Hear me out.” When Tom had calmed a little, Dave went on. “I have no idea how long you’ll be in this town, but I’ve been here for a long time already, and I plan to be here a lot longer. Imagine what would happen if it became known that I’d hidden a dog that could be a kiwi killer. I’d lose my friends and any standing I have in this community. Sooner or later I’d have to leave.”
“What are you going to do?” asked Tom, sulkily. “Ring the authorities?” He spat the words out.
“No. We’ve discussed that before. They’re sure to take her away and we don’t want that. I think we should tell Marika Greenwell. Use her as a go-between.”
“The reporter?” shouted Tom. “She’ll tell everybody.”
Dave shook his head. “I don’t think so. Because we’ve got an even better story for her. Buffy’s story. If we tell Marika about the illegal collars and the batteries, I’m sure she’ll want to know more. She might even help us find the owner. Then she can tell the story.”
“But what if the test says Buffy is a killer?” asked Tom.
“Then we’ll have to live with that. As far as Marika is concerned that would just add to the story.”
After a bit more discussion they agreed on a plan of action. In the morning Brandon would be asked to pass a message to Marika. If she accepted certain terms, then she’d be told where to come. They’d then sort the rest out face to face.
* * *
Next morning, when Brandon hadn’t arrived at Dave’s by eight o’clock, Tom went over to see if he’d made it home. He had, but was sleeping in. Even when he finally arrived at Dave’s house, he still seemed to be in a bit of a dream. Dave had to explain a couple of times what they wanted him to do. He agreed, but instead of phoning in front of the others, he went outside to make the call. Five minutes later he came in saying Marika would be over soon. Then he left for work.
‘Soon’ was certainly that. She must have passed Brandon almost before he got off the track.
After Tom introduced her to Dave, they got down to business. The result was: yes, Marika wanted the story, and yes, she would hold it until they had tried to find the owner.
“But if the DNA result comes out positive for Buffy, I’ll publish right away. That’s not something I can hold back.”
Tom and Dave agreed to that.
“You realise that most likely she’ll be put down if it is her?”
“Couldn’t she be trained not to go near kiwis?” asked Tom.
“Aversion training?” said Marika. “That doesn’t always work, not if a dog has killed before.”
“But it might work, mightn’t it?”
“Yes, it could be tried.” She studied him for a moment. “You’ve become attached to her, haven’t you?”
“Yes. I want her to be my dog.”
“Have you talked to Brandon about this?”
“Hold it there,” interrupted Dave. “Before we do anything more, let’s sort out some other stuff. Have any more kiwis been reported dead in the last few days?”
“You mean since you found the dog?”
Dave nodded.
“Unfortunately, no. So she’s not off the hook, I’m sorry to say.”
“Okay then,” said Dave. “Let’s take these samples. Do you know what to do?”
Marika did. She’d written a story about it during earlier kiwi attacks. A few hairs had to be extracted and a sample of skin removed. Buffy didn’t object to a bit of skin being trimmed from around the wound, but she did yelp when some hairs were pulled out. Both samples were put in zippered plastic bags. It would take four or five days before the results would be known.
“She’s a nice dog,” said Marika, standing by her vehicle preparing to leave. “I sure hope she’s not the killer. But if she is, it would be best if we found the real owner so you don’t get charged. Anyone who is responsible for a dog that kills protected wildlife can be fined $20,000 or even jailed. I don’t want that to happen to you.” With that, she drove off.
* * *
Later that morning, Buffy and her bed were loaded into the front of the ute. They were off to visit Dave’s old logging gang. If anyone knew what was going on in Waitangi Forest, the logging workers would.
Dave wore his old gear: high-visibility jacket, steel-capped boots, and a helmet with a fold-down visor. Tom had pulled on his hi-vis cycling vest. They were hoping to pick up the rest of the gear he’d need at the site.
At the entrance to the forest track, Dave turned on the ute’s headlights, something Tom had also noticed on the trip in to save Buffy. “Why the lights?” he asked.
“It’s the rule. All vehicles in a working forest must have headlights on. It helps the truck drivers see what’s coming. We’re the intruders here. The forestry gangs all know where their own vehicles are because they’re in radio communication. They have strict rules about movements. That can all be stuffed up by other vehicles like us.”
Tom thought about this. “Or if the radios don’t work,” he added.
“Dead right,” said Dave. “That’s why we need to find out who’s using those American transmitters. Confiscate them before they start causing problems.”
* * *
The working site was a long way into the forest, closer to the Waitangi side than Kerikeri. Dave had timed their visit so they arrived at break time, otherwise they wouldn’t have been allowed past the security man at the entranceway. Even then, they had to report to the site office and get Tom fitted with a hardhat and toe guards before going further.
The workers were sitting around on logs, each with a thermos and a bag of food alongside. As soon as Dave arrived he became the centre of attention. Everyone wanted to shake his hand and find out how he was getting on. Several told jokes about people with missing limbs. Tom liked the one that involved a hitchhiker: A man stops his car to check whether it’s safe to pick up a hitchhiker or not, and sees that he’s got only one arm. “Ah,” he says. “You look pretty ’armless. ’Op in.”
Most of the other jokes were not repeatable.
After ten minutes, Dave finally got a chance to ask his questions.
“You seen any dogs in the forest recently?”
“Seen a few,” said Norm, a guy Tom recognised as the other hunter in the photo on Dave’s wall. “You don’t ever get a good look at them though.”
“I think you’d notice this one,” said Dave. “Go and get her Tom.”
Tom brought Buffy out of the ute and let her walk around the seated workers. Although she moved stiffly, she was alert enough to show an interest in the food.
“Nice looking dog,” said Norm. “What’s her story?”
Dave filled them in and then asked. “Anybody seen her before, or know who owns her?”
“I’ve not seen her,” said a man who seemed to be the foreman. “But that collar you said she was wearing must be what’s been messing with the radios. We’ve had problems for weeks now. I’ve reported it to head office. They were going to take it to the police. Imagine if the radios had been down when you had your accident, Dave. You would have lost more than your arm, you would have lost your life.”
There was much nodding at this.
“Yeah,” said Dave, “that’s why we want to get this sorted.”
“Have you checked with the pig hunting club?” asked one.
“Not yet. But I doubt any club member would use illegal collars.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” said Norm. “This hunter’s a rogue.” He then nodded towards Buffy. “Might be worth driving around some of the roads. If she picks up the scent of the others in the pack, she’d soon tell you.”
“That’s what we’re going to try next,” said Dave. “Um … could you all … um … keep quiet about her. She’s not chipped and if they take her away, it’ll make it harder to find the guy.”
“Sure,” said the foreman, standing. “You find this guy and then let us know. We’ll take it to the police. We need to get those transmitters out of action before something goes terribly wrong.”
Work resumed, with Dave and Tom allowed to watch as long as they stayed close to the site office. While there was no chance of talking above the noise, Tom could see how it worked. Basically, the trees were felled by chainsaws, before huge machines took over, dragging, lifting, stripping, and trimming the logs as if they were no more than sticks. Communication was by coded beeps from air horns. It all seemed under control, but Tom could see it only needed one thing to get out of sequence and everything could go wrong. No wonder workers lost limbs and some their lives.
* * *
On the way home, Buffy sat on her bed looking out the windscreen, taking in her surroundings. Maybe she recognised where they were, maybe she didn’t. While she watched the forest, Tom watched her, thrilled she was looking so good. Secretly, he was also pleased that none of the loggers had identified her. He was in two minds about finding the owner. Yes, he knew it was important to get the transmitters out of action, but if the man was such a rogue, then he didn’t deserve to get Buffy back. She needed an owner who would love her, somebody like—
Buffy made them both jump with a sudden bark, deafeningly loud in the confines of the cab.
“Stop it!” shouted Dave and Tom together.
She was standing, staring at the undergrowth on the left.
Dave slowed the ute. “She’s seen something.”
A black shape could be seen running through the undergrowth.
“Is that the pig you caught?” asked Dave.
Then the animal sprinted through a gap in the ferns.
“No, it’s not,” said Tom. “That’s a dog.”
Buffy resumed barking, her nose touching the windscreen.
“I think she recognises it,” said Dave. “Didn’t look much like a pig dog, but. More like a Labrador. Let’s see if it will come to us.” He stopped, climbed out, put his fingers to his mouth and gave a piercing whistle.
Tom held onto Buffy to stop her jumping out too. The barking changed to a whine.
Another whistle.
“No,” said Dave, climbing back in. “It’s taken off.”
Buffy settled and they resumed their journey.
“That was somebody’s pet,” said Dave after a while. “I hope that one’s had its DNA taken. Seems mighty suspicious to me, the way it ran off.” He turned to Tom. “Did you see if it had a collar on or not?”
“There was no collar,” said Tom, quietly. He could have added, “Just like Mrs Hopwood’s dog, Harvey.” Instead, he let it be.