“No problem, Sergeant,” Purdue reassured the officer in charge. “We will pursue both interests to the fullest, as long as we have the liberty to make our own decisions.”
“Aye, I agree, sir,” Sam told the officer. “After all, we are here voluntarily to assist you with a problem your own associates refuse to. Anything we wish to know from any other source, I think, we are fully entitled to.”
Nina was impressed. No wonder Sam was such a brilliant reporter. He had a way with words that made diplomacy an art he could wield like a scepter. Watching the obviously authoritarian police officer yield to Sam’s subtle assertiveness in freedom of choice was sublime. Even Purdue gloated at his colleague’s diplomatic statement.
“Very well, then,” Sgt. Anaru conceded. “But know this. I will not be taking responsibility for your safety beyond the boundaries I have set out. You are all witnesses to my advice in this search, so if anyone gets hurt or, God forbid, killed, the Arthur’s Pass Police Service will not be accountable.”
“That is acceptable, sir,” Sam affirmed, pointing a high-def handheld straight at the officer. “And we have you on record, so no worries.”
“Good,” the sergeant sighed. “We will meet you at Nekenhalle in the morning, alright?”
The entire group answered favorably as the two officers waved them a goodbye and they all stood for a moment, watching the police officers drive off in the distance with a cloud of dust in their wake. What they did not see was the two solitary figures obscured by the billowing tuft of dirt approaching the Cockran house.
28 What Lurks in the Dust?
Sally loved having so many guests. She loved her husband, but most nights he was understandably exhausted, and on other nights he was just a plain old grump, which did not make the best of company. Now she had some interesting conversation due, if she could keep up with the cooking.
“Mrs. Cockran, we can really stay over at a holiday resort,” Purdue smiled. “There are some cabins down at Lake Brunner, you know.”
A light slap to his arm affirmed the friendly lady’s protest. “Don’t you dare rebuke my offer, Mr. Purdue. I insist! Of course, I cannot offer you the luxury accommodation I am sure you Brits are used to, but it is clean and a lot more personal.”
Nina was smiling at Purdue’s amusing body language, lurching over the small farm wife like an awkward teenager. “Oh, we don’t care for luxury,” he assured Sally. “If you had seen the places we have had to sleep before…”
“Aye,” Sam agreed. “We are the most unspoiled lot you will ever meet.”
“Even though you are all stupidly wealthy,” Miss Palumbo chipped in. Her tone was oddly cordial for such a snide remark. Sally looked a bit confused, having no idea who her guests were in the outside world. Nina lolled her head to one side and Louisa knew she was about to be confronted.
“Wealth is subjective, my darling,” Nina said. “What you see as wealth might be a burden of responsibility to someone else. Besides, if you feel uneasy among us stupidly rich lot, the barn looks rather accommodating.”
“How dare you!” Louisa gasped.
Nina smiled sarcastically. “What? If you want to think like a brainless peasant, I’ll treat you like one.”
“Nina,” Sam said softly, reading Nina’s hostility towards the conservationist as a clear sign of misdirected jealousy. In fact, it flattered him just a little.
“No, Sam, I could not give a shit about money,” she whispered harshly, shooting her address straight at Louisa. “I studied very hard for many years to attain my doctorate, only to get my ass kicked by sexist professors. I had faculty politics fuck me over, keeping me from tenure by some bullshit technicalities, until Purdue employed me as a freelance advising historian.” Nina’s dark eyes were on fire as she slowly approached Louisa. “The last thing I need is for a stranger, an ignorant hussy in a bush uniform, to pass judgement on me for making my own fucking way in the world.”
‘Ouch,’ Sam cringed in his mind.
“Nina,” Purdue fell into the mix, smiling uncomfortably as he gently seized the petite firecracker away from the terrified Louisa, who had now back into the living room corner. Sam was relieved to see Purdue twirl with Nina in an evasive dance, supposedly jesting to get her away from her target.
“Jesus Christ, what is her problem?” Louisa asked Sam, her eyes wide and stiff.
“She is defensive,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “It is true, though. Nina has been through hell, quite literally, since she became involved with us. You’re a woman. I’m sure you have been faced with sexist bullshit in your career.”
“Plenty,” she concurred. “Try being a big wildlife ranger amongst a bunch of macho assholes.”
“Exactly,” he said. “Nina barely got away with her life at times and the success she has amassed over the years, really should not be used to make assumptions.”
Louisa understood now, yet she dared not apologize to Nina before the historian had put out that inferno she held in her tongue. The even-tempered Aussie had heard about the Scottish temperament, but she never dreamed that it was this harsh. Throughout dinner, Sam found Nina unnaturally quiet, but he guessed that it was due to her brief scrap with Louisa, exacerbated by Mrs. Cockran placing Sam next to her.
After dinner, Sally denied all offers to help with the dishes. Instead, she served ice tea and beer where they congregated outside on the veranda for a bit of fresh night air. Under the thick coverage of the cloudy night, it was warm and pleasant, even though the weather was unusual for the time of year.
Purdue, of course, was interested in finding out as much about the area as possible, but all he could muster from the Cockrans was some history of gold mining and the three severe storms that sporadically devastated crops between the Arnold Valley and Greymouth.
“Tell me about the mine on the Harding farm, Gary,” Purdue requested.
“It’s dirty, old, and it ate my father,” Gary mumbled indifferently.
“You sound pretty sure that your father is in the mine,” the old farmer sneered. “Uncanny, isn’t it?”
Gary Harding ignored Nigel Cockran, and chose to address Purdue instead. “I have only been there a few weeks, Dave,” he recounted, “but I was there when my father scuttled into the mine’s entrance when the shit hit the fan.”
“Yes, about the shit hitting the fan, son,” old Cockran started, nursing a small coffee mug filled with beer. “You were about to tell me a bit about that this morning, remember, before your brother got up?”
Cecil leered at his brother. “Funny. He told me he could not remember much in the chaos. I found him practically catatonic inside the house.”
“It is true, mate,” Gary retorted. “I don’t remember much from that brief period of madness when Dad disappeared.” Gradually, the different conversations among the group of people ceased to tune into the intriguing account that Gary Harding was delivering. “I did not remember much, and what I do remember was not worth mentioning.”
“Why?” his brother asked abruptly.
Gary hesitated, but on realizing the attention was on him, felt compelled to tell the party around him. At least, with this many people about, his brother and the old farmer could not just dismiss his words as folly. It was hard for him to reach back into the hazy bedlam of that afternoon, but he had to bring it to light, no matter how crazy it sounded.
“Look, we needed parts from the Agritek tractor, so Dad made me help him clear the weeds and matagouri…”
“What the hell is matagouri?” Purdue frowned.
Collectively, the Hardings and Cockrans babbled that it was an indigenous thorny weed, usually rare, on the South Island.