Eye for an Eye Read online

  ‘I think you could count these as extenuating circumstances.’

  They smiled at each other, both grateful for the attempt to lighten the situation.

  It was another ten minutes before the fishermen arrived, spraying gravel as they pulled up. Four young Maori guys got out and hauled backpacks from among the nets and buoys on the back of the truck, handing round torches and rescue gear with the ease of long practise. ‘We just want to be ready for anything,’ said Smitty, reading Robyn’s face. ‘It’s a long way to come back down if we need something in a hurry.’

  She accepted his assurance at face value and joined the group headed towards the steps.

  ‘Hey Robyn, how’s it going?’ The youngest of the lads greeted her warmly.

  ‘Hi Matai,’ she said. ‘Good to see you – thanks for coming out on a cold night like this. I hope our old man hasn’t put you guys to a lot of trouble for nothing.’

  ‘Aw, no worries. Happy to look out for a mate, eh boys?’ The others chorused their agreement.

  The path beyond the stonework was steep, slippery with dirt and loose stones, but she’d been there several times before and walked confidently in the circle of lamp-light from the person ahead of her. They pulled themselves up over a series of stone outcrops, moving steadily despite their burdens, each of them looking left and right for any sign of human traffic. Robyn was conscious of the sound of waves crashing on the rocks far below, and shivered in the damp breeze.

  They tramped on for several more minutes, then paused to confer.

  ‘Seen anything?’ Smitty asked the leading officer.

  ‘Set of prints I’ve been following, about a size 10 boot...’ He looked towards Robyn and she nodded. It was the right size for her father.

  ‘A jumble of other feet heading in both directions, but nothing conclusive yet. Shall we carry on?’

  Smitty nodded.

  Far behind them, Robyn thought she heard a shrill whistle, and cocked her head to listen.

  ‘I think that’s Pete,’ she said. ‘It’s one of his signals. I’ll go back and get him.’

  ‘Mind how you go - here, take my torch. Make sure you bring it back, OK?’

  She smiled at him. ‘Thanks, Smitty. Back in a tick.’

  She hurried down the track, pausing to give a shrill two-fingered whistle in reply so Pete would know she was coming. They met at one of the rocky outcrops, and Robyn reached down to give her brother a hand up.

  ‘Thanks, Rob. Phew, it’s a long time since I sprinted anywhere this steep!’ He bent over, panting. ‘What news? Finding the car’s a good start, but where the hell is Dad?’

  ‘Damned if I know. What would he be doing way out here anyway?’

  She waited while he caught his breath.

  ‘Well he used to come up here sometimes after visiting Mum in the hospital, said it cleared his mind to get away from it all. Maybe he wanted a bit of peace and quiet?’

  ‘What! Like the farm isn’t quiet! Get real, Pete.’

  She stopped when she saw his wounded look.

  ‘Sorry, mate. I know you’re worried sick.’ She slipped an arm round his shoulder. ‘Let’s catch up with the search team and see if they’ve found anything yet. Dad must be round somewhere if he left the car here, eh?’

  They hurried along the path, both careful to keep to the inward side. On the outer side the torch beam lost itself in empty blackness past pale tussocks flickering on the cliff edge.

  They rounded a shoulder of the hill to see a grassy area cordoned off with bright yellow New Zealand Police tape, lit by lamps and torches as the officers and searchers walked in a straggling line across it. Now and again one bent down and picked up an item, leaving a marker in its place. Robyn and Pete broke into a run.

  ‘Smitty! What have you found?’

  ‘Where is he, is he here?’

  Smitty held up his hand.

  ‘Hold it, guys, stay where you are for now, will you? We just have to do a scene examination then I’ll be right back. Go sit over there, I’ll be as quick as I can.’

  They glanced at each other with shocked eyes, half numb with disbelief.

  ‘What the hell is this, can you figure it out, Rob?’

  She looked at the row of searchers, painstakingly combing the taped-off area.

  ‘They must be considering it a crime scene. Is Dad the criminal or the victim?’

  Her attempt at humour sounded weak, even to her. Pete ignored it. He paced back and forth along the track, looking at his feet.

  ‘How can they tell anything from this? The ground’s dry as a bone, nothing but dust, and now they’ve tramped all over it with their great big boots anyway. Why are they wasting time, they can see Dad’s not there - why aren’t they moving on?’

  ‘Steady, Pete. Smitty knows what he’s doing. I know it’s hard, but just wait.’

  Smitty walked over to them with something in a plastic bag.

  ‘Do either of you recognise this?’ He held up a brown leather wallet. Robyn peered closely, holding a corner of the plastic bag to steady it.

  ‘Yeah, that’s Dad’s! I bought it for him last Christmas, look, there are his initials on the corner. He must have come this way! Can’t we go a bit further and look for him?’

  Smitty shook his head seriously. ‘Come and have a look over here. I think we’ve figured out what may have happened to him.’

  They followed Smitty across the grass to the edge of the cliff, where the ground fell away almost vertically in a sheer drop to the rocks below.

  ‘OK, see these prints? Size ten boots, like your Dad’s, right? We can probably make comparison prints from round the farm to confirm that. There’s been a scuffle here, the prints point in several directions as if he’s been circling round facing someone. His wallet was found empty on the grass over there, and a few coins over here.’ He paused to let them assimilate what he’d said. ‘Now, this is going to be the hard part. Look over the edge, carefully now. The bushes are broken as if something quite heavy has crashed against them. Do you see what I mean?’

  Robyn’s fist pressed against her mouth, and Pete let out a groan.

  ‘But OK, suppose there was a struggle, and a robbery - suppose Dad got free and it was the robber that went over the cliff? Dad might have panicked and taken off thinking he’d killed someone...’

  Robyn’s voice trailed off. It didn’t sound convincing.

  ‘The fact that the wallet was found empty suggests that the assailant took the cash out afterwards, when he was alone. I think you’re going to have to prepare yourselves for bad news. It’s unlikely that anyone could survive a fall from that height. I’m very sorry.’

  Smitty went off to arrange a helicopter to search the cliff-face and the rocks beneath.

  It was a week before the body washed ashore along the coast. The forensic examination revealed abrasions and general contusions consistent with a fall and subsequent pounding by the sea, and an absence of water in the lungs. The Coroner recorded a cautious verdict of death at the hands of person or persons unknown.

  The Taylors attended their second funeral in a year.

  They were greeted with sympathy by the legal receptionist when they arrived at the family lawyer’s office for the reading of their father’s will.

  ‘Not a lot of good news, I’m afraid,’ began the young bespectacled lawyer in dry tones. He leaned on his desk in an unconscious copy of the portrait behind him that showed his father at the same desk.

  ‘There was very little capital left in the reserve fund, and the second mortgage on the farm left your father seriously in debt.’

  Robyn and Pete exchanged puzzled frowns.

  ‘What second mortgage? He never mentioned anything like that. When was that arranged?’ Pete queried the young man, who looked uncomfortable.

  ‘It was about a year ago, and it wasn’t arranged through our firm, unfortunately. We would certainly have advised against it, particularly with the current state of the farming sector.’

/>   ‘But how could you not have known about it? Don’t they run checks on these things - surely you’d have heard and told him not to do it? What the hell have you guys been playing at?’

  The lawyer met Pete’s eyes. ‘I can understand that you’re upset, Peter. This has been a difficult time for your family. I assure you that we have always acted in your best interests, but if you would like to consult my father for his opinion, you are most welcome. He keeps a watching brief on the office despite his retirement. If you’re not happy with my handling of the situation?’

  Pete shook his head. ‘No, no - it’s OK, I didn’t mean to question your abilities, it’s just that all this is a bit of a surprise. The farm accounts have been fine for years, and Dad never mentioned that he’d even thought of getting a second mortgage - I just can’t understand why he did.’

  ‘I gather your late mother was ill for a long time, in residential care?’ The question came with quiet delicacy. ‘Some of the treatments were expensive? From what I understand they did alleviate her distress, but the cost was beyond your father’s capacity to pay for very long. I’m afraid he took a gamble, and one which was to prove very ill-advised.’

  ‘But why didn’t he come to us?’ burst out Robyn.

  ‘Who was responsible for the bad advice?’ asked Pete.

  ‘What sort of gamble are we talking about?’

  ‘He went to some sort of investment broker in Wellington.’ The lawyer steepled his fingers and pursed his lips disapprovingly. ‘This fellow convinced him that he could double his funds in a year with no risk.’

  There were simultaneous snorts of derision from both Robyn and Pete. The lawyer smiled thinly.

  ‘Obviously you wouldn’t have fallen for such a wild promise, but apparently the man was extremely convincing, and by this time your father was clutching at straws. He withdrew all the remaining capital from the farm reserve account and invested it with this broker.

  Pete’s face paled.

  ‘I never look at that account - we never touched it except for major capital expenses, and Dad didn’t plan for any of those this year. Oh my God.’ His face fell into his hands.

  ‘So what’s the situation?’ broke in Robyn. ‘How bad is it? Do we have to sell the farm, or what? I mean, we’ve got to be practical about this.’

  She ignored Pete’s anguished look at the suggestion.

  ‘Well, no. Fortunately not, under the, er, current circumstances. Your father was sensible enough to take out a substantial life insurance policy several months ago, which guaranteed repayment of the mortgage and allowed a useful working capital for the farm. Also, under the terms of his will, you each get an individual payment of ten thousand dollars once the balance of the estate has been dealt with, and of course you are both joint owners of the farm. I know this was a very important point for your father.

  Pete breathed more easily.

  ‘Good old Dad,’ he said softly. ‘I knew he’d think of the farm first.’ He stood and held out his hand to the lawyer. ‘Thanks for that - I guess you’ll be in touch with anything else we have to do, papers to sign, whatever?’

  ‘Hold on Pete,’ Robyn cut in, putting a gentle hand on his arm. ‘There’s something more I want to know here.’ She turned to the lawyer. ‘You’re saying that the money was lost, but the life insurance paid up and we’re OK, right?’ He nodded. ‘So what happened to the money that Dad gave this investor guy in Wellington. Can’t we get it back? Where exactly did it go?’

  The lawyer leaned back in his seat.

  ‘I haven’t been able to find out yet. This investment broker Colwyn Symons seems to be a rather slippery character who has a number of clients looking for him - and I suspect that even if he’s located, his affairs will be tied up in court for some years. Apparently yours are not the only funds to have been, ah, mis-invested, shall we say?’

  ‘When you say "mis-invested", do you mean stolen?’

  ‘Let’s say that the possibility is there, but it will take some considerable time to unravel the complexities of the transactions made in each individual case.’

  ‘And are we likely to see any of that money again?’

  He spread his hands and smiled sadly. ‘Most unlikely, I’m afraid.’

  Back at the farm, Robyn and Pete spent the next few days going through their father’s papers and sorting out his effects for disposal. They spread out all the paperwork on the oak dining table and sat one at each end. Low winter sun angled through the windows catching dust motes as the pages were shuffled and turned.

  ‘Jeez, this is even worse than sorting through Mum’s stuff. At least she had time to put most of her affairs in order before she had to go into hospital.’ Pete pushed a stack of papers away and sighed. ‘Why do we accumulate so much junk in our lives, Rob? I reckon I’ll have a big bonfire when I’m sixty and start all over again with just the stuff I really need. Then you won’t have to do this for me.’ He smiled weakly, pointing at the pile he still had to sort.

  Robyn decided he needed cheering up. She went on the offensive as only a sister could.

  ‘Good on yer, mate – and while you’re at it, would you please burn all those ghastly old clothes of yours too? I wouldn’t want to be seen dropping them in the charity clothing bin.’

  Pete threw a scrunched-up envelope at her and smiled.

  ‘You’re still a brat, aren’t you? You were just as obnoxious as a kid. Look at this photo, remember this?’ He held out a picture of Robyn as a grim-faced child holding a very dead seagull.

  ‘Oops, yes, I remember. I hit it in the head with my catapult after it had attacked Blackie. Wasn’t a bad shot, was it?’

  ‘Well it definitely didn’t peck any more lambs’ eyes, I’ll grant you that.’

  ‘Didn’t help poor Blackie though, did it? It was rotten for Dad, having to put him down. He couldn’t face me for a week.’ She handed back the photo. ‘Got any more snaps there?’

  ‘Yeah, check out Dad’s old passports, they’ve got photos in going back to the year dot.’

  Robyn flicked through them, seeing the small black and white photographs age decade by decade from the stiff self-conscious pose of youth, to the lean, lined face of a man who’d worked the land for a lifetime. The tan lines across the forehead marked him as an outdoors man used to wearing a hat, but the crinkles at the corner of his eyes were as much from laughing as from the summer sun.

  She slowly slipped the rubber bands back round the bundle and went to make a cup of tea.

  ‘Huh? Oh, thanks, Rob,’ grunted Pete absently as she put a steaming mug at his elbow. He was reading an official-looking letter and frowning. ‘Look at this. It must be from that investment guy in Wellington, dated six months ago. "Golden Fleece Investments" - Dad would have liked the name, he always used to tell us the story of Jason and the Argonauts, and Hercules, do you remember? Listen to these promises... "Dear Mr. Taylor, we are delighted by your interest in our investment offer, and we are entirely confident that we can increase your funds by at least 100% in a year. Our specialised knowledge of the New Zealand sharemarket means that we can take your money, Mr. Taylor, and make it work for you in a way that nobody else can. We are so confident in our services that we guarantee your profit - yes, guarantee it! If for any reason you are unhappy with our performance over the year, we will return all your money, with no charge at all for our efforts on your behalf. You cannot lose!" Blah blah blah. What a pack of bullshit!’ Pete threw the letter down in despair.

  ‘How the hell could Dad fall for crap like that? He must have been desperate.’

  They looked at each other in dismay.

  ‘How come I didn’t see it, Rob?’

  She put her hand on his shoulder. ‘Probably because you didn’t want to. Neither of us did. I mean, things were awful enough with Mum being so ill that we never thought of money troubles as well. Don’t blame yourself, Pete.’

  Pete picked up another letter. ‘Listen to this one. "Thank you for your cheque, Mr. Taylor. R
est assured that our expert staff has put your money to work right away. Any time you’d like an update on the current state of your mounting investments, just pick up the phone and call our Managing Director Colwyn Symons who will be happy to personally pass on all the details of your progress." Yeah, sure he will, if he’s not out stashing it away in a Swiss bank account or spending it on a fur coat for his fancy woman. God I wish Dad had told me about this - I could have stopped him.’

  ‘I told you, don’t beat yourself up over it, it’s not your fault. The guy to blame is this bastard who stole the money. I mean, there’s no way he can get away with making promises like that, is there? It’s got to be against the law, surely?’ Robyn looked more closely at the letter. ‘I wonder if there’s any point in calling this Colwyn Symons character. I know the lawyer couldn’t get hold of him but if he’s still around fleecing people maybe he can shed some light on where Dad’s money went.’

  ‘Yeah, right! And he’ll send us a cheque for the whole lot plus interest,’ said Pete bitterly. ‘In your dreams, sis. You heard what the lawyer said - legal complexities, tangles of red tape, there’s no way.’

  ‘Well I’m going to bloody ring him anyway.’ She checked her watch. ‘He should still be at the office, looking for helpless old ladies to steal from.’

  She dialled the number and waited, twisting the phone cord round her finger. A recorded message replied in smooth tones.

  ‘Hi there, this is Colwyn Symons speaking. I’m sorry that the pressure of business prevents me from taking your call right now, but please do leave a message after the tone and I’ll be delighted to get right back to you. Thank you very much for calling.’

  Robyn hung up in disgust, rubbing her hand against her jeans.

  ‘God, what a greasy message! He sounds like a used car salesman. Maybe I’ll try tomorrow.’

  She picked up the next letter from the pile. ‘Ha, only three months later, and they’re already weaselling out of telling Dad how things were going. "Dear Mr. Taylor, we are unable to give you the figures you asked for, as the share market is extremely volatile at present, and any current balance will change rapidly from one day to the next. In the right hands, fortunes are being made, so sit tight and wait for our next report. If you wish to take advantage of the rapid rises that some shares are making, we will be happy to increase your investments upon receipt of a cheque..." Jesus! He didn’t send them any more money, did he?’