In fact a lot of people involved in this Ngata case were alleged to be mentally ill. Ngata himself had had “an irreparable mental breakdown”. The alleged kidnapper, Corbishley, according to a witness after the incident at Pataratara, could be mentally deranged. It had come through on the news that the Vicar of St Peter’s had been dismissed by his Bishop and was undergoing psychiatric treatment. Dick Burton the ranger had been ordered by his boss to have psychiatric tests.
In fact the way things are going I might well be the next candidate!
Yet, in spite of these improbable rumours spread by supposedly mental people, the strike on the power station had occurred. Terrorists were said to be involved, but no one knew where their base was.
There was another story which had come through from the kidnappers – about biological weapons in the huia sanctuary. Like the report of the electronic strike, Ian had discounted it because of its source. Moreover, a request to investigate the rumour would cause huge political repercussions, as Dr Holcroft had absolutely forbidden any police intrusion into the Waitoa. In fact this shy, retiring man had suddenly become extremely vocal about anyone setting foot in his sanctuary.
It was part of police training to assess evidence by the reliability of the source from which it came. You were also trained not to act on rumours, suppositions, opinions and evidence at second hand. If you made a mistake, the media were after you like vultures and your public credibility and the credibility of the police was at risk. So you listened politely to everything, but before you acted you needed to have hard evidence.
Ian Molloy had trained him well and he understood and respected the time-honoured process by which his superior worked.
The only problem was that it didn’t seem to be working.
“Sergeant Piriaka, my name is Eruera and I’m ringing you because I believe you will understand. I am a senior kaumatua of Te Whanau-a-Apanui, and I live at Te Kaha.”
Matthew was apprehensive. “How may I help you, Sir?”
“Sergeant, have you by any chance heard of the tutumaiao?”
“Um – you’ll have to help me.”
“It’s an aitua or omen which warns of a defilement.”
“Of course.” His lack of Maoritanga was embarrassing.
“Yesterday morning we saw it again. It is the second time. Three years ago we saw it too. My people are afraid.”
“Where did you see it?”
“Over the Raukumara, the place of the royal bird.”
“Aren’t you the iwi concerned with the huia?”
“Yes, it’s on our tribal land. We have had the ceremony and we have the kaitiakitanga.”
“Have you had advice about the tutu – er – omen?”
“Yes, but our tohunga couldn’t find the problem the first time and they cannot find it now.”
He felt annoyed. “I am a policeman. Why are you ringing me? What do you want me to do?”
There was a silence at the other end as if his caller had recoiled from his words. He felt sorry that he had spoken so insensitively. “Do you suspect anything?”
“We had thought that the bird of thunder would bring peace.”
This time the policeman in him kept silent while the Maori listened. “You mean it hasn’t?”
“The tutumaiao does not lie.”
“But it’s a huia sanctuary.”
“Yes, and we are the guardians.”
“I believe I’m on to something pretty serious, Sir. I think we should check out the huia sanctuary.”
Detective Inspector Molloy looked up from his desk coolly. “If you’re thinking of getting permission to go in there, this has been forbidden by Dr Holcroft, Director-General of Forestry.”
“What if there’s something going on there? Shouldn’t we be going above Dr Holcroft’s head to the Prime Minister?”
“Are you taking the word of criminals seriously?”
Matthew decided it was time to tell his chief about the three appearances of Donald Borrow and the possible link between the Ngata and the McAndrew case. He also decided to throw in Kate Fairweather’s query about the war paint.
“You’ll have to do better than that, Sergeant. Any clever defence counsel would laugh you out of court.”
There was another thing Matthew wanted to talk over, but he did not know how to approach it. “You know how some of police and a lot of other people are getting out of Rotorua. Evidently they have been laying in stores for quite a while.”
“Yes, they’re just going camping with their families, sensible at the moment, especially when there’s no power. I’ve been advised to go myself.”
“Well, sir,” he said hesitantly, “they’re all Pakeha.”
He knew immediately that he had said the wrong thing. “Sergeant Piriaka, how often have I told you – get evidence! Keep out of politics!”
It was the end of the conversation, and a very strong rebuke. He had not even got onto the tutumaiao, and, if he had, the rebuke would have been even stronger. Matthew had not expected a different result.
There was something in this case more important than hard court evidence, something deep down in him as a Maori man which he could not deny.
I can’t shut up any longer, even though I lose my job.
“May I speak to the Prime Minister, please. It’s Detective-Sergeant Matthew Piriaka of the Police. I have tried to go through my superior, but I need to speak to him privately. It’s extremely urgent. It’s about the suspected terrorists.”
As he waited, Matthew thought about the ageing Waikato farmer, more farmer than politician, well respected yet regarded by most as a figurehead only, one whose Government struggled to keep power by the slimmest of majorities. It was likely that a crisis like this would finish him.
“Gordon Harding here. How may I help you, Sergeant?”
Matthew outlined his suspicions.
The voice was thin but clear and precise. “I speak to you in confidence, Sergeant. I don’t know where the terrorist base is and I have no contact with it. I am being asked to resign by members of my Cabinet and to hand over to a coalition government who claim they’ll be able to negotiate with the terrorists to protect the National Grid which is now being threatened. They have also promised strong measures to curb the rioting and looting. I’m not giving in to terrorists, but part of the problem is I don’t know whom to trust.”
“I’m in the same position, too, Sir. That’s why I’m ringing you.”
The thin voice warmed. “I appreciate your call, Sergeant.”
He decided to take a risk, and mentioned the tutumaiao.
The old man listened carefully. “Yes, we must respect these things,” he said quietly. “Sergeant, would you let me know directly, confidentially of course, if you have any further suggestion. Ring me on this number…”
It was 17:00 hours on Tuesday 25th January. Matthew looked out of the window and down Tutanekai Street. A depleted uniformed squad were preparing to take action against rioting. A group of Maori youths were coming down the street loaded up with new leather jackets, ghetto blasters and guitars. Two of them were carrying the Arawa Republic flag.
Were these people the same as those protesting by the lake, or were they only meant to look like them?
CHAPTER 42
As Kate slept, she dreamed.
And what a strange dream it was! She saw huia in their shiny, dark plumage and handsome white-tipped tails come trooping onto the Waitoa flat. They all linked wings and danced round in a kind of country dance. Beyond them she saw tui dancing in another circle. Near them an orchestra of bellbirds started chiming. And looking on she saw some schoolchildren with radiant faces. Standing among the children was Dick Burton.