Southern Sunset: Book One of 44 South Read online

  Luke pulled back and looked me in the eyes, hand still holding fast to my pony tail. His gaze flicked between one eye and then the next, and then he leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “Your gun is in my safe, in my office.”

  He’d seen my disquiet, I realised. Been able to read me. I let out a small breath of air and then smiled. His grin back was blinding in its beauty.

  “Morning, Sergeant,” Matt said from across the farmhouse table.

  “Matt.” I was determined to get to know Matt Drake a little better. Turning up in his brother’s kitchen the night after I’d slept in his bed made titles irrelevant.

  Or so I hoped.

  “Matt’s ute is outside,” Luke said. I blinked at the segue and took a seat at the table opposite his brother, helping myself to the coffee and pouring a cup.

  “OK,” I said, adding milk.

  “It turned up at his house last night. We don’t know who drove it there,” Luke added.

  I watched Matt. There was something happening and Luke was softening the blow.

  “OK,” I repeated.

  “It’s been damaged.”

  “How?” I asked. Matt remained mute, watching me like a hawk.

  “Looks like someone drove it through a fence.”

  It took a second for the facts to align. “A farm fence, perhaps?” I asked. Matt blinked slowly.

  “Yeah,” Luke offered. Placing a plate of fried eggs, bacon and hash-browns down before me. It was big enough to feed the whole police station, let alone one sergeant.

  “Oh,” I said looking down at what was obviously my plate. “This can’t just be for me, right?”

  “Eat,” Luke said, slapping a bigger plate down in front of his brother, and then another mammoth sized portion in front of his seat, to my side.

  No one dug in.

  I let out a slow breath of air.

  “OK,” I said. “How certain are you it’s section four fencing?”

  Matt let out a little laugh.

  “What’s so funny?” I demanded.

  “I bet you’ve learned where every section is on the station already.”

  Well, yeah. I was investigating a series of crimes on Red Tussock. “So?”

  He shook his head, reached over the table for the salt and pepper, and started to liberally coat his cardiac nightmare.

  “Good choice bringing you in,” he said as if to himself, just before he shovelled a forkful into his mouth.

  “Glad you’ve come to that conclusion,” I deadpanned, unsure of what the hell had just happened.

  Luke’s rumbly chuckle sounded out beside me and his hand landed on the back of my neck.

  “Eat,” he said. Again.

  I scowled at both men and picked up my fork. Luke didn’t touch his meal until I’d placed food in my mouth. And only then once I proved I wasn’t about to stop stuffing myself.

  “Someone’s setting him up,” Luke said between mouthfuls.

  Matt lowered his fork and looked across the table at me.

  “What do you think?” he asked. And he meant it. He wanted to know what my take on all of this was. I felt flattered, but put on the spot. There were so many different things to think, at this stage.

  “Who have you pissed off?” I queried.

  “Motive,” he surmised.

  “There has to be one.”

  “Couldn’t they just be psychotic?”

  “This is Twizel,” I agreed and both men laughed.

  Matt was the first to stop, his hand going to the back of his head and rubbing as if to dislodge a decent thought.

  “I don’t know. I’ve not exactly been firing on all cylinders lately.”

  “Any case stand out?”

  He shook his head. “Mac’s been carrying the load.”

  “What about that house you shot up?” I pressed.

  He winced. “You heard about that, huh?”

  “Everett.”

  “Fuck,” Matt growled, pushing the uneaten portion of his meal away in disgust.

  “Known drug house,” Matt finally explained. “We’d been out there too many times to count. Confiscated illegal weapons. Made arrests. The whole nine yards.”

  “Then why was Sergeant Grayson there alone?” I asked.

  “He went in before I got there. Saw a half starved kid with snot running down its dirt smeared face running around naked and went in.”

  “Did you tell him to?” I could look this all up in the station’s files. I could even ask Mac, if I wanted to have my face chewed off. But sometimes hearing the story from the horse’s mouth, so to speak, told you things printed words couldn’t.

  Like how angry Matt was. How frustrated and guilty he looked. How his eyes pleaded with me to understand. Matt would be hopeless at poker.

  Or very good at throwing the game.

  “Standard procedure is to wait for backup at that address,” he said. “I sent Gray out there, knowing I’d meet him at the location at about the same time. He went in without orders. The kid was hysterical.”

  Damn. “How was he hurt? Grayson, I mean.”

  “They shot him in the back. He crawled to the car for cover. When I found him, he was unconscious.”

  “Blood at the scene.”

  “Small calibre. Small wound, thank fuck. It pooled beneath his body.”

  “So, that’s a ‘no.’”

  “Yeah,” Matt said looking away form me.

  Tricky scene. But it was an address well known to the police for possessing illegal guns.

  “Perhaps going all Dirty Harry on their arses wasn’t the best, Senior Sergeant,” I suggested.

  His eyes slowly came back to my face.

  “But then, this is Twizel, so I get it.”

  “You got a thing against Twizel, Sergeant?” he asked, lips tipping up in a barely there smile.

  “You guys are batshit crazy,” I admitted. “It’s either the spring fed water or the clean high country air.” I looked out of the window over the sink towards his ute. “Hell, you even drive low emission cars.”

  I turned back and looked at both men, arms crossed over my chest.

  “What the hell is wrong with you people?” I concluded.

  Matt looked across to Luke and slowly shook his head.

  “Bloody JAFAs,” he said.

  Chapter 38

  We Just Didn’t Have A Name

  Luke

  It was surprising how fucking happy I was watching Matt and Maggie tease each other. Neither had finished their meals, but then the topic was hard to stomach. But slowly I could see a softening to Matt as he threw a shot back at Maggie. And her barbs back at him made my face ache; I couldn’t seem to stop smiling.

  By the time it was obvious nothing else would be eaten, they’d come to an unspoken agreement. Maggie was behind him. And he was placing his trust in her. Hell, he was placing his career, maybe even his life, in her hands.

  Maggie leaned against the bench as Matt and I did the dishes - no way was I letting Maggie help after she’d just won over my brother - and stared out at the ute. A contemplative look on her face.

  “1080 isn’t that hard to get ahold of,” she said. “It’s a controlled substance, so records are kept. But any number of farms could have some stored away in their sheds.”

  “Not livestock farms,” I offered. “Too much of a risk of stock eating the bait.”

  “More likely DOC farms,” Matt said. “Forestry land or wildlife reservations.”

  “Any around here?” Maggie asked.

  “Sure,” Matt said. “Some out toward Mount Cook. Mount Cook itself is a national park controlled by DOC.”

  “You guys border a national park, too, don’t you?”

  “Hopkins and Dobson Valleys,” I said. “Leading up to Mount Glenmary and Mount Huxley. It’s all part of the Mount Cook National Park, but there’s no Department of Conservation holdings within shouting distance of our land.”

  “So, no reason for 1080 to migrate to Red Tussock,” Ma
ggie surmised.

  “None at all.”

  She narrowed her eyes at the ute. “It’s you,” she said, still staring at the Ranger. “It’s all about you, Matt. Not Red Tussock.”

  “But Matt doesn’t farm the land,” I pointed out. “Justin and I do.”

  “He,” Maggie said, “ - and we’ll call the perpetrator a ‘he’ for now - has a connection to Red Tussock, no denying. But he’s also gone after Matt’s reputation on the Force. James Whiting might have been a mistake. Maybe iLivestock’s most aggressive agent pissed him off somehow and he snapped. But everything he has done since is to convince people that you were unstable enough to have killed a man.”

  “Covering his mistake,” Matt guessed. Maggie nodded.

  “The wallet tied you to Whiting,” she added. “The ute ties you to the sheep. The IPCA shows you’re failing on the job. His intent could even be to get you alienated from your brothers.”

  “Never gonna happen,” I remarked. Matt snorted, his arms crossed over his chest as he listened to Maggie.

  “Stock agent. Wallet. 1080. Sheep. IPCA.” She shook her head. “It’s clear you’re being set up, but why? Without knowing why, we’ve no hope of discovering who has it in for you.”

  “But I have no idea why,” Matt complained.

  “Yes you do,” Maggie insisted. “We just need to break it down. This is personal. Why go to the bother of making you look insane if it isn’t?”

  Matt slowly nodded his head in agreement.

  Maggie suddenly looked uncomfortable.

  “What personal things have happened in your life lately that would lead to this sort of retaliation?”

  Matt paled. I swore softly under my breath. Maggie waited.

  “We’ve got no reason to believe he’s still around here,” Matt said to me.

  “No reason to believe he ever left, either.”

  “But wouldn’t he have done something sooner? Like when Missy died? If he’s angry at me because of her death, then why wait to have it out?”

  “Let’s not forget that he snapped by killing Whiting,” Maggie interjected, undoubtedly keeping up with our conversation. “He’s the one unstable, Matt. Not you.”

  Matt snorted louder that time and turned away. “I’m beginning to wonder,” he muttered, running both hands through his hair in frustration.

  “That’s his intention,” Maggie pointed out. “Destroy your reputation. Alienate you from any support; friends, family, the community. Unfortunately, you did the rest.”

  “The rest?” Matt asked without turning back around.

  “Alcohol impairs judgement. Continued abuse of it can alter moods.”

  “Fuck,” Matt growled. “He knows I’ve been drinking.”

  “And he’s using it to make you think you’re going insane.”

  Matt spun back around and stared at Maggie. “He’s a psychopath.”

  “Possibly even a sociopath, but a functioning one.”

  “But he knows me,” Matt pressed.

  “Quite well,” Maggie agreed.

  “Then that means…” Matt started… and suddenly sank into a chair at the table as if his legs gave out.

  “That means,” Maggie said carefully. “That Missy’s lover is someone you know.”

  “Jesus fucking Christ,” I said. “Are you sure it’s Missy’s lover?” I asked her.

  “It makes sense,” she said with a shrug of her shoulders. “Unless Matt can think of anyone else he’s personally slighted enough to frame him for murder.”

  Matt shook his head, looking shellshocked.

  I scrubbed a hand over my face, racking my brain.

  Maggie waited.

  “That’s it, then,” Matt finally said on a defeated sigh. “My wife’s lover is out to screw me all over again.”

  Maggie shifted on her feet, then looked out at the ute through the window. “He’s confident enough to be on Red Tussock land. Confident in his ability to walk in and drive away in Matt’s ute. Confident that if he was spotted, he could talk his way out of it.”

  “Or he just took a risk,” I offered.

  “Your homestead is a good kilometre from the main road. There’d have to be a very good reason to walk all the way up here. And,” she added, “know that once you did, there’d be something worth taking to frame Matt with.”

  “Matt often leaves his truck here,” I argued, desperate for this not to be going where I thought it was.

  Maggie sighed. “The perpetrator drove a Red Tussock ute when he took Whiting.”

  “What?” Matt exclaimed.

  “Where was your ute Friday night?”

  “Here,” Matt said. “I left it here. I came over to see Finn and then walked out back.” He scrubbed his face and flicked his eyes to mine.

  “To the shed,” I guessed.

  “I got shitfaced,” he admitted. “Couldn’t drive home, so stayed where I was. Drinking.”

  “How much fucking whisky do you have stashed out there?” I demanded.

  “You’ll never find it all,” Matt declared.

  “Could Matt’s ute have gone missing?” Maggie interjected. “The house would have been in chaos.”

  I closed my eyes and breathed out through my nose. “I can’t confirm if it was there or not.” I shook my head and looked at Maggie. “There were lots of cars here, Matt’s ute could have got lost amongst them.”

  “And lots of people,” Maggie offered. “Wedding guests.”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “Florists?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Caterers?”

  “They’d have gone directly to the vineyard.”

  “Vineyard staff?” Maggie asked.

  Shit. “Yeah.

  “I’ll need a list,” she said. Then she turned to Matt and added, “And I’ll need you to cross reference each name for me.”

  “Fuck,” Matt muttered.

  “Fuck,” I whispered in agreement. We knew who was framing him. We even knew why. We just didn’t have a name.

  Chapter 39

  And The Ghost Of Missy Drake

  Maggie

  It was a start. It was better than what we’d had. But it still wouldn’t convince IPCA.

  I headed into town, leaving Luke to his chores and Matt with the list of names. None of them had jumped out at him. But sometimes these things needed time to percolate.

  The Twizel office of the Department of Conservation was on Wairepo Road. A nondescript rectangular building much like a single storey house. Several DOC utes were parked in the lot. As well as a convertible Mazda MX7. The top was down. It was winter. It boggled the mind.

  I pushed through the door and came to a stop at a reception area, various flyers were spread out in piles on top of the counter. “Don’t spread DIDYMO!” “What does a 20% reduction in water look like?” “What a pest!” I reached forward and uplifted the one titled, “Protecting our native wildlife.”

  “Hello,” a wiry haired man called out. “You’re the new sergeant, aren’t you?”

  I indicated the stripes on my stab vest and nodded my head. “Maggie Blackmore,” I offered, shaking his outstretched hand.

  “Simon Bishop,” he said, pushing his glasses back up his long nose again.

  I waved the pamphlet in my hand. “Kiwis,” I announced. There was a picture of one on the front.

  “Apteryx australis,” he replied. I smiled. “The southern brown kiwi,” he translated. “Are you looking to get into bird watching, Sergeant?”

  “Not unless the birds do something illegal,” I replied.

  He burst out laughing as though I was a comedic genius. My smile widened. It possibly wasn’t fake anymore, either.

  When he managed to get himself more or less under control, I asked, “Are there many around here?”

  “More toward Haast than Twizel.”

  I turned the pamphlet over and looked at it. “Then why have these here?”

  “Tourists migrate even if the kiwi doesn’t.”


  “That makes sense. So, you don’t use 1080?”

  “There are more endangered birds in New Zealand than just the kiwi, Sergeant. It just happens to be our most recognisable. If we threw a kakapo or weka on there, no one would know what it was.”

  “Good point. So, 1080? Do you have any?”

  “Do you have a rodent problem?”

  What a decidedly vexing man. I let out a breath of air surreptitiously. “Mr Bishop, I’m investigating a crime involving 1080 poison.”

  “The sheep on Red Tussock,” he guessed.

  “You’ve heard?”

  “This is Twizel.”

  I nodded. “Are you missing any 1080?”

  “No.”

  Well, that made hunting down the perpetrator’s supply that much harder. Members of the public could possess it, I supposed, and it was possible that the killer stole some from an unwitting farmer - even if Matt and Luke believed no one locally would use it - which they hadn’t yet accounted for. But where would I start looking?

  “OK, well, thanks for your time,” I said, feeling marginally dejected. I turned on my heel and headed toward the door.

  “Of course,” Mr Bishop called out over my shoulder, “we’re not the only DOC office in the greater Mount Cook area.”

  One hand already on the open door, I turned my head and met his bright eyes. He was rather like a bird himself. Hair everywhere quite like ruffled feathers, eyes piercing as though hunting for a juicy worm.

  “You’re not,” I said, waiting.

  “No. There is the Mount Cook office in Bowen Drive, Mount Cook Village. And they have just discovered a discrepancy in their sodium flouroacetate.”

  Have they now? “Thank you,” I said, and pushed through the door.

  The sun was high in the sky and my stomach was grumbling. A drive up to Mount Cook would have to wait until I grabbed something to eat and touched base with Mac and Annmarie. Sheila would be back in at work as well, so I decided to swing by there before heading out of town on what might end up being a wild goose chase.

  Sheila was staring blankly at her computer screen and didn’t even look up when I entered the police station. And she was wearing a god-awful outfit in shades of brown. Very unlike our vibrant blossom. Teary eyes slowly lifted to mine, taking a few blinks to focus. When she recognised my face, she offered a small smile.