The rain began at 12:47. Tom knew this exactly because he’d been watching the time on Dave’s phone and Brandon was already 47 minutes late. He planned to give him half an hour before he phoned and complained.
He’d returned to their house before midday so he’d be there when Brandon arrived. He planned to convince his father to go out and buy a phone straight away.
While he waited, he used Dave’s phone to research the various models and packages. He didn’t want a prepay as he’d always be begging his father for money. He wanted a monthly plan, one that Brandon couldn’t get out of easily. Two gigabytes of data would also be …
These thoughts were disturbed by the sound of a vehicle; not the rattle of Brandon’s van, but the purr of something much more expensive.
He went to the door and saw a large SUV had stopped short of the grass. Mrs Hopwood was climbing down from the driver’s seat. She walked towards the house, oblivious to the rain. Tom stepped aside to let her in. As she passed, he saw she was crying; not gently weeping, but howling noisily as if in pain.
“What is it?” he asked, unsure how to cope with a distressed woman.
She recovered a little and managed to say, “They …,” before breaking down again.
Half a minute passed before she recovered and tried again. “They’ve taken Harvey away.” More sobbing. “They say he’s the kiwi killer.”
Tom’s hands went to his face. This was bad. Almost as bad as it being Buffy. How could it be Harvey? He was such a great dog – apart from attacking bicycle wheels – but to him, that was a game.
“Is that what the DNA says?” he asked.
“So they say.”
After staring at each other in shock for some time, Tom realised she had come over for his help, and he should do something. What was it adults did in times like this?
“Would you like a cup of tea?” he asked.
She gave a little nod.
“Okay, I’ll make one. And … um … you can sit down if you like.”
Tom welcomed the chance to move into the kitchen and be busy. While he’d not made tea before, he’d seen it done: teabag and hot water, maybe sugar and milk. He’d better check.
“Do you have milk in it?”
“Yes please, but no sugar.” She sounded as if she was recovering.
By the time the drink was made, she was mostly composed.
“Sorry there’s no home-made biscuits,” he said, placing the cup on the coffee table.
She gave a tiny smile. “I should have brought some over.”
He waited until she’d taken the first sip. “Who came?” he asked. “Was it Sally Page?”
“It was a woman. She said she was from DoC. I didn’t get her name. She already had Harvey in a cage.”
“Did she get him outside the gate?”
“Yes-s-s.” She’d started crying again. “That ghastly man helped her. He was still there, with her. Talking about shooting Harvey, he was.”
“They won’t let that happen, will they?
“I don’t know,” sobbed Mrs Hopwood. “The woman said they had to do more tests.”
Tom grabbed at this. “So they’re not sure it’s Harvey?”
“They know it’s a Labrador and Harvey’s the only one that’s in the area. She said they had another dead kiwi and hope to get a better sample from that. But she seemed pretty certain it was Harvey. She said there had been lots of reports of him roaming the forest.”
“Did she say who by?” asked Tom.
“No.” She looked up at him. “You didn’t, did you?”
“No!”
“But you’ve seen dogs in the forest?”
Tom nodded.
“One with a white blotch? Is that what you were talking about this morning?”
Again Tom nodded.
Mrs Hopwood brightened. “Do you think you could catch that other dog?”
“Yes,” replied Tom without hesitation. “I think I can.”
“Oh Tom, please do. Maybe Harvey has a chance after all.”
* * *
After Mrs Hopwood had left, Tom rang his father, not to complain, but to tell him that he wouldn’t be home most of the afternoon. As it happened, Brandon didn’t answer, which made it easier. Tom left a message saying he was going out, without giving further details.
The short ride to the main road was mostly sheltered from the rain, which was now being driven by a strengthening wind. Crossing the road was difficult with gusts forcing him sideways. Fortunately there was little other traffic.
Mike Davidson was no longer at work. According to Mrs Hopwood, he’d left in a rush straight after Sally had taken Harvey away. Before going, he’d shifted the two wrought iron gates from the ute to where they now leaned against the wall, one each side of the open gateway. With Harvey gone there was no need for the temporary gate to be back in place.
Tom’s wind jacket was already soaked by the time he settled to a steady speed, moving eastward towards Bush Road. He had no plan for what he would do when he got there, other than to try and grab Spot and hide him in a safe place. The way Davidson had rushed home the moment he heard that a Labrador was the killer, was mighty suspicious, almost as if he knew his dog was the real culprit. Tom feared that Davidson would make his dog disappear, rather than have people know that he’d covered up for a kiwi killer. Unless Spot was found and tested, Harvey would be the dog that faced the consequences.
* * *
When Tom got to Bush Road, there was no doubting the storm had arrived. The rain was pounding into his body driven by a wind that was almost impossible to ride against. It was slightly easier once he turned onto the gravel and was riding with the wind for a while. Already the drains at the side were overflowing and in a couple of places the water joined across the road.
The first thing he noticed when he got to the house was the ute was not parked in the carport. Tom’s hopes rose a little. Maybe he could get Spot without having to meet Davidson. He leant his bike against the dog box dumped alongside the carport, and went to the back door.
Mrs Davidson opened the door almost as soon as he knocked. The two children were with her, but not Spot.
“Mike’s not home,” she said in a shaky voice. “He’s gone out.”
Tom quickly decided the best approach was to come out and say what he wanted. “I’m not here for Mike,” he said. “I’ve come for Spot.”
Mrs Davidson studied him for a while, long enough for Tom to think he’d made the wrong move.
Then she sighed. “I think you’d better come inside.”
“I’m dripping wet.”
‘Hold on,” she said. “I’ll get some towels.” The door closed.
It turned out that the towels were not for Tom to dry himself, they were to lay on the floor. When the door opened again there was a pathway of towels through to the kitchen. Once there Tom was handed a towel to dry his face. While he was doing this, Mrs Davidson shooed the children into the lounge, telling them to go watch television.
“Tom, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Okay Tom, if you want Spot, you’ll have to go into the forest because that’s where he is. He escaped sometime during the night and was missing this morning when we got up.”
“He’s done that before, hasn’t he?” said Tom.
“Yes,” she said, sharply.
“And Mike knew about this?”
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she shouted, so suddenly that Tom jumped. “God, I’m so sick of all this about dogs. Yes, that dog goes into the forest, and yes, Mike knew all about it. But he would never admit that his dog might be the killer. Never, not until you people came on Saturday. Then he said that he needed proof. So that’s what he’s doing now.”
“How?”
“Yesterday he put one of the transmitters on Spot so he could track where he went.”
Tom nodded slowly. “So that’s why he stole them back.” He said this more to himself than to the woman.
“Oh, he would never have given those up for good. They’re his favourite toys.”
“So Spot is in the forest with a transmitter?” asked Tom.
“Yes. So is Mike. He’s in there with the direction finder looking for Spot. He said he was taking another dog with him.”
“Which dog? Was it Buffy, I mean Lucky?”
She paused. “Yes, I think it was her. She’s usually the only dog he lets out. She often plays with Spot. So he probably took her. All I know for sure is that he’s in the forest and that’s no place to be with this storm getting worse. I’m scared.”
“Did he take a gun?”
“I don’t know. He usually does.”
“Have you told anybody about this.”
She shook her head. “Only you.”
“We should tell the police.”
“No! That’s the last thing Mike would want.”
“Then what are we going to do?”
“I don’t know,” she said, quietly. “Wait, I suppose. Wait until the storm is over.”
Tom shook his head. Not him. He wasn’t prepared to wait. If he waited Spot would disappear and never be found. Harvey’s only chance of survival was if Spot was kept alive. If one was buried, then so too would be the other. And then there was Buffy. Who knew what the man had planned for her?