“I’m sorry to say this, but have you heard that there has been an accident?”
“What?”
“His car was found down a cliff this morning.”
“Oh, no! Where?”
“Somewhere beyond Opotiki on the Te Araroa Road.”
She couldn’t speak. Surely it must be some horrible nightmare.
“Are you there, caller?”
She tried to control her voice. “Have they found… anything?”
“He hasn’t been found – yet.”
“Yet.” The word echoed ominously. “I can’t believe it.”
“I really am sorry. The police are doing what they can. They want any information they can get. You may like to phone them.”
She took a hold on herself as she got through to the Opotiki police.
“Sergeant Herewini here. Can I help?”
“I’m phoning about Dr Corbishley. Is there any more news?”
“The local landowner has been very cooperative. Comes from up your way. Dr Charles Hawthorne. By the way, what was the name again?”
She could stand it no longer. She flung the phone down and burst into tears.
“I’ve sent him to his death!”
Why did I ever accept his offer and get into his car? If I hadn’t thrown doubt on his Dr Hawthorne, he might never have gone down there. That’s what comes from interfering in other people’s lives.
She looked again at the photocopied material in front of her and felt like screwing the whole lot up and shredding it.
I should never have tried to copy Miss Marple.
The feeling she had had at Achilles Point came upon her again. She was no longer a high-flying career person with her own means but a vulnerable 29-year-old woman living on her own.
She was afraid.
She went to the window. Beyond the little lawn which belonged to her unit were forty hectares of native bush which stretched as far as the main trunk railway line. The line at this point ran along a mangrove-lined tidal creek, an arm of the inner harbour. She normally loved the bush because of the tui and the moreporks that lived there. Suddenly it had changed and become a hiding place, concealing people who could be watching and waiting.
She shut the windows, locked all the doors and sat where she couldn’t be seen from outside.
They haven’t found his body – yet.
She saw in her mind’s eye the red Honda Accord on the black rocks at the foot of the cliff with huge waves breaking over it. The door was open. On the shingle the waves were rolling up a long dark object like a log….
She jumped as the phone rang. It was three o’clock in the afternoon.
“Hallo, it’s me, the One Tree Hill chap.”
She dropped the phone and collapsed on the settee.
The voice continued to speak out of the phone. “Can you hear me? Are you all right? Is that, er, Miss Fairweather?”
“Of course it’s me. What’s going on?”
“I got your name and number from Forest and Bird. They didn’t realise who I was. I know it seems a bit unusual in view of our last meeting, but may I come and see you?”
She had trouble in keeping her voice even, so great was her relief. “It’s 5 Cruttwell Place which is off Kepa Road. Go to the end of the right of way, then it’s the rear flat. Knock three times. Can you find that?”
“Don’t worry. And don’t tell anyone I rang.”
It was a most unusual way of making a date. But she needed to pull herself together and preserve her detachment.
Three knocks at the door.
She could have hugged him, but the sight of him changed her mind and she rushed for some warm water and her first aid kit. His long fair hair which she remembered as being carefully combed was dishevelled. There was a bruise on his forehead and his face was scratched. His jeans and T-shirt were torn and there were bloodstains on his sleeve. “Sit down here. Let’s have a look at that arm. Coffee?”
“Thanks. I got a ride back on the tray of a truck. They didn’t ask any questions, but then they hadn’t heard the news.”
She drew back his sleeve and started dabbing at the wound. “The coffee will be ready in a moment. Or would you like something stronger?”
“Ouch! No thanks. I went back to my flat at Grafton. It had been raided. Somebody had been right through all my clothes and papers. Then I heard a police car coming, and I got out down the fire escape.”
“But they’re looking for you. Aren’t you going to tell them you’re alive?”
“If they know I’m alive, they’ll want to arrest me.”
“Arrest you! Why?”
“I broke into Dr Hawthorne’s place at Pataratara.”
“God, I’m so sorry! I should never have talked to you like that on Monday.”
“It wasn’t just what you said. There were other things.”
“So what happened?”
She listened to his account. It was unbelievable. Not only the events but the changed way he spoke. No longer was he the pompous professor.
“I managed to undo my seatbelt before the car went off the road. I was thrown out and I landed on some vines growing on the treetops just below the road. I was knocked out for a while, but when I came to, I realised that nothing was broken. The vines softened my fall.”
“It was a miracle you survived.”
“Particularly when I wasn’t meant to.”
She nearly knocked over the bowl of warm water.
“I should have examined the car first, but I was tired and in too much of a hurry. Now, because of the state of the car, there’s no evidence. It was just a piece of twisted metal on the rocks when I climbed down to it. All the same I knew the brake lines had been cut.”
She shuddered as she dried his arm. “They tried to kill you?”
“Everything else could be explained as normal security precautions, even the twig sensors.”
“So it’s serious.”
He swept his fair hair back over his forehead with his other arm. “Attempted murder is a bit of a shock. Everyone’s always been so nice to me before. They wrecked my flat too. If it had been the police, they would have needed a search warrant. Now it’s too dangerous to go back.” He turned to her with that boyish face and innocent blue eyes but this time she knew he was not concealing anything. “The trouble is that no one will believe my story.” He stood up suddenly, went to the window, stood behind the curtain and looked out over the lawn, then he went to the window that overlooked the right-of-way. “Those cars? Both friends or neighbours, I suppose?”
“Come back here. You need this bandage.” He returned, sat down and held out his arm. “We know one another’s friends here. It’s quite a community.” She noticed that his head was nodding. “When did you sleep last?”
“The night before last.”
“And where are you going to sleep tonight?”
“I’m going to stay incognito at a backpackers’ hostel. It’s safer for me to be dead.”
“What! Do you think your family and friends will be happy about that?”
He looked at her strangely. “My mother is dead. I have no brothers or sisters. My father will have already disowned me – and I don’t have any real friends.”
“Surely your father would at least be glad to know you’re alive before he disowns you.”
“You can tell him if you like. He’s in Parnell. St Stephens Avenue. But please ask him to keep it to himself.” His head was nodding again. “Do you mind if I have a little zizz on your settee?”
“Help yourself.”
“Wake me up so I can go to the backpackers, won’t you?”
After John Corbishley’s wife had died of cancer two years before, he had missed her greatly. He knew that he could be at times aggressive and abrasive and that she with her gentler, more sensitive nature had soothed tempers which he had ruffled. The times he had most enjoyed were the holidays together with her and David when David was young, especially camping down the East Coast. Since her death David, always the only and much prized child, became even more important to him.