“What else can we do, Mr. Cockran?” Sgt. Anaru snapped. He did not mean to be unprofessional, but with the stress of what they experienced in the Nekenhalle farmhouse, as well as the failed search attempt, he was as frustrated as the farmer. “And these blokes here? Hey? Their father is missing, presumed dead. How do you think they feel about this investigation yielding nothing?”
“Calm it, Mick,” Const. Ballin cautioned softly next to him. “We are all under great stress here.”
“None of this would have happened if your father did not go snooping around that bloody hill behind the house,” old Cockran whined, speaking to the two Harding brothers.
“What?” Gary snapped at the old man. Cecil knew the old man to be a grump, but even he was surprised at the clear hostility in the old man’s voice.
“You heard me, mate,” the old man retorted. “I told your father when you two first arrived here, to go back to his old farm, but no! I told your brother here the same thing, but he would rather get reasons from me than to just listen!”
“Listen to what?” Cecil asked. “I have been trying to get you to tell me about the goddamn place since you started dropping hints about how bad it is, but you refused to tell me anything! Now you want to start bitching that we cannot get anything done, Nigel, while you keep shit from us!”
“Now you listen to me, sonny-boy,” the old man sneered, steeping up to the veterinarian. “Let me make this easy for you. Blow up the entrance to the mountain and forget about your daddy. Going up there in the first place was just irrational. What are you Hardings, a bunch of fucking possums? You have to creep into holes in the ground when you see them?”
“Listen here, you old bastard,” Gary fumed, lunging at Nigel Cockran, but Sgt. Anaru and Cecil restrained him. “We needed tractor parts! There was an old tractor in the mouth of the hill, so what were we supposed to do? Go and buy new parts for an old machine we had just because of some weird fucking markers on our land?”
Amongst the scuffling and shouting in the barn, a singular, gentle voice peaked.
“When you are all done bringing Sodom and Gomorrah to the farmyard, I have some guests from out of town to announce,” said Sally, Nigel Cockran’s motherly spouse. They ceased their bickering and turned to find Sally standing in front of a small group of strangers. She continued gracefully, “This is the lovely Louisa and this is Eddie. They are from Oz. And they brought some friends from Scotland to help us with this catastrophe. God knows we need more help.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Cockran,” Louisa smiled, relishing the special attention Mrs. Cockran gave her above the pretty Nina Gould.
“Are you the people I had contacted via the main center in Adelaide?” Cecil asked, beaming with hopeful anticipation.
“If you are Dr. Harding, the veterinarian, then yes,” Louisa affirmed cordially.
Cecil went to meet the new arrivals. Almost instantaneously, his eye fell hard on Sam Cleave, the good-looking journalist that stood behind the pretty historian, Dr. Nina Gould.
“It is a pleasure to meet you,” he told Sam as he relished the strong Scot’s grip. Sam, a seasoned receiver of unsolicited affection, could tell right away that the veterinarian was looking at him in a manner that made him uncomfortable. Fortunately, Nina interrupted the tender moment by introducing herself and asking about the Hardings’ farm inheritance.
“Oh, my father inherited it from a great uncle of his a year or so ago,” Cecil answered her boastfully, trying to impress Sam.
“But you never knew him?” she asked.
“No, afraid not. I have been in Wellington for quite a few years now, you know, running a lucrative practice. May I ask, in what capacity are you and your colleagues here to assist us?” he asked Sam.
“Actually, I am here to film footage of the investigation,” Sam answered, trying to use his eyes to beg Nina not to leave him. “Miss Palumbo and Mr. Olden asked me to run a story on the poison deaths of the Australian dingoes, so when we heard of New Zealand poisonings, we thought it would be a good idea to film here as well.”
“Dr. Harding,” Nina asked, “do you also believe that these animals died of snake venom?”
“Oh, no, my dear Dr. Gould,” he replied with overconfidence, “New Zealand has no snakes. Have a look on your iPad if you don’t believe me.”
Nina raised an eyebrow, her surefire portend to a tiff. Sam grabbed her against him and broke that well-aimed death stare she usually marked her opponents with. “I also did not know that there were no snakes in New Zealand, Dr. Gould. Rather unbelievable to me as well.”
“Well, maybe not reptilian snakes, but I would not write off the possibility of a few vipers just yet,” she spat with a spiteful smile than ran Dr. Cecil Harding’s blood cold. By his expression, Sam could see that he had been thoroughly disarmed by the feisty little historian and her anti-bullshit regimen.
“Excuse us?” Sam smiled and pulled her with him to join Eddie Olden and Nigel Cockran, who were discussing the two carcasses on the bed of the old farmer’s truck.
“Oh, Jesus,” Nina cringed at the sight of the animals. “Were those your dogs?”
She kept it to herself, but she knew Sam and Purdue would also notice that the mummified animals resembled the dire fate of the SS soldiers on the shipwrecks.
“They were my dogs, before that unnecessary meddling at the mountain,” the old man bit again, but Gary said nothing in return. He was listening to Purdue. The billionaire explorer was explaining what his involvement in the excursion entailed, but he did not use the word, ‘expedition’. He called it an ‘aided investigation’ into the animal deaths. “Of course, we will also like to help look for your father while Mr. Cleave films footage for his expose to help bring the culling plight to light on an international level.”
‘My God, I am lying through my arse to these people,’ Purdue thought as he was spinning his obligatory yarn. ‘What I would resort to find the truth behind the Black Sun’s doings is becoming unprecedented.’
“Tomorrow, the weather is sure to get better,” Sgt. Anaru declared, “but unfortunately the bad juju of the past few days had chased off most of our manpower in the search.”
“All of them?” Cecil asked.
“No, we still have five men left from the original group, two of which are native elders,” he reported.
“Is that a good thing?” Nina asked.
“Why do you ask that, Ma’am?” the sergeant asked.
“Because if they merit a special mention, it means that you hold them in a different regard to the other men you mentioned,” she elucidated quite articulately. Those present had to agree that Nina had a point and all of a sudden, Sgt. Anaru found himself the center of attention.
He shrugged, “I am not a superstitious man, my friends, but what the elders told me last we were up there was a bit unsettling and I don’t want their stories to influence our search or our investigation. That is all.”
“What did they tell you?” Louisa pried.
“With respect, lady, what did I just say?” he asked Louisa. “I do not want anyone’s head filled with stories about this place. You and your colleagues are here, mainly, to find the origin of the animal poisoning, and secondly, to help us find Mr. Harding, right? So, please forgive me for not spreading old wives tales while we all have to focus on the tangible.”
“I am a historian,” Nina chimed in. “It is very much my business what the elders know about the history of this place, Sergeant. If you don’t mind, I will be picking the brains of these men tomorrow.”
“Be my guest, Dr. Gould, but I don’t want anything to influence the search for these cruel poachers or to mar the focus on Mr. Harding,” Sgt. Anaru insisted.