Cry of the Taniwha (9 page)

Jackson stayed for dinner, and afterwards he and Hone went off to get some bikes. They were also going to pick up a game console for the night. It was all part of Hone’s strategy of keeping Jackson out of circulation and away from the gang.

While they were away, Matt went to the hotel hoping to meet Eve. He was pleased to find her sitting at the computer. His pulse rate went up a couple of beats at her big welcoming smile.

‘Hi, Matt. I was just sending you an email. Now I don’t have to.’

She picked up her papers and they moved to a quiet place at the back of a lounge.

‘How’d it go with the police?’

Matt gave her a rundown of the interview and the day out with Hone.

‘I’m still scared for you,’ she said, stretching out and briefly touching his arm. ‘Those animals might take it out on
you
now.’

‘We’ll be all right,’ he said with more confidence than he felt. ‘Hone’s got a plan to make sure we’re safe.’ He went on and told her about the arrangements to make them more mobile.

‘So now you’ll be able to explore further?’

‘If we want.’

‘Oh, you’ll want,’ Eve said, excitedly. ‘Wait until you hear what I’ve uncovered.’

For the next quarter of an hour, she bombarded him with
the results of her research, most of it gathered from the pages of
The Auckland Bulletin.

The edition from the first week in September 1886 had revealed that the Bashams were the biggest news around Auckland. It reported on the suspicions about Edward’s involvement in the bank robbery. Apparently, this had been a windfall for the gossip-mongers—everyone had a story to tell.

Women who had attended Mary’s afternoon tea remembered the beautiful pendant she’d been wearing and wondered whether it was stolen or not. There were anonymous letters to the editor about Edward and how he’d thrown money around as if it grew on trees. And stories about the hundreds of pounds he’d lost in poker games. It seemed that half the town had somehow had contact with the pair.

The police had looked for the Bashams and also Jack Boult, but without success. Jack Boult had not been seen since the night of the eruption. And no one remembered seeing the Bashams since they’d returned from Rotorua two months earlier. Eventually, a shipping agent recalled booking a couple onto a ship bound for America. They’d given different names, but he reckoned they must’ve been the Bashams. By then the ship had called into Sydney, before continuing on its way to San Francisco. Checks in Sydney revealed that the couple had landed, but not been seen since. When they failed to return to the ship by the departure date, it left without them. Once again, the Bashams had disappeared.

The story had then died for a few months until news came from London about a massive insurance claim for diamonds stolen during the Bank of Soho robbery. The claimant was a Lord Clancy, and one of the diamonds was the Rothery
Stone. The insurance company claimed that there was no proof that the diamonds had been in the bank at the time, and refused to pay out. Lord Clancy took the matter to court and won a payment of over three hundred thousand pounds.

When the news hit Auckland, there was another round of stories about the Bashams, along with much speculation about what had happened to the diamonds. The police in Ohinemutu now recalled that there had been a complaint about a burglary shortly before the eruption. However, in the confusion of the night, no record had been made of the event, and neither policeman could remember any of the names. It seemed as if Jack Boult, the Bashams, and the diamonds had all disappeared. Even though Eve had searched the files forwards for several years, she’d found no further mention of the affair.

‘So what do you think?’ she asked.

‘Great story,’ replied Matt.

‘But what do you think about the diamonds?’ she said, showing signs of annoyance that he wasn’t more excited.

‘Edward Basham probably took them to Australia with him.’

‘But what if he didn’t? What if Jack Boult stole them, too? They’d be buried around where you found that other stuff.’

‘If they are, I won’t be able to find them,’ said Matt.

‘Why not?’ asked Eve, indignantly.

‘Because I don’t have a metal detector anymore.’

‘Then buy another one! They can’t cost much.’

‘Only about four hundred dollars.’

‘Oh! That much.’

Eve stared at him for a while as if he was the one at fault
for them being so expensive. Then her face brightened. ‘I know! I’ll get Dad to buy one.’

‘No, Eve!’ Matt cried. ‘It’s not worth it.’

‘It is if we find the diamonds.’

He gave a big sigh. ‘The diamonds won’t show up with a metal detector unless they’re in a ring or something. They’ve got to be set in metal. And if something like that was there, then it would’ve been found already. People have been all over the place with metal detectors.’

‘So what are you going to do? Just give up?’

Matt shrugged.

‘Well, I’m not!’ She stood and glared down at him. ‘I’m going to find those diamonds whether you help me or not.’ Then she spun around and marched out of the lounge.

Matt breathed deeply for a while, without making any move to follow. He now realized he’d been wrong in his first appraisal of her: there was a touch of the spoilt brat after all.

As he walked home, he wondered if the argument marked the end of their friendship. With her research finished, the only thing that might hold them together was a search for the diamonds, and that was impossible without a metal detector. Somehow, he had to get his back from The Gawk. By the time he reached home, he had a plan. The Gawk seemed to spend a lot of time in the forest, so that was where Matt would look. He would start doing it tomorrow. No gawky creep was going to break up his friendship with somebody as nice as Eve Hastings.

Matt and Jackson played video games for six hours that night. Jackson won every game, even though he’d never seen any of
them before. He was a natural: excellent co-ordination, good memory, and great at problem-solving; Matt didn’t stand a chance. It was after two when they finally went to bed, with Jackson bunking down in the bedroom that doubled as Hone’s league museum.

If they thought they would get a sleep-in, they were mistaken. Hone was banging on their doors soon after seven, telling them to come out to the kitchen because they had visitors. These turned out to be Burty and Lew, who looked as if they’d been up half the night as well. For the first time, Burty was sitting at the table without eating.

‘The job went down last night,’ began Lew. ‘A dairy over Springfield way.’

Suddenly Jackson was wide awake. ‘What did they get?’

‘Nothing at the dairy!’ said Burty. ‘But probably two to three years when they come before the courts.’

Lew then told them the story. ‘One of the patrol cars had been keeping an eye on them. When they picked up a young girl from a known gang house, the patrol called up reinforcements before following them to the dairy. By the time we got there, the girl had already got in through a small window. Soon they were all in and preparing to do the place over. That’s when we arrested them.’

‘Who?’ asked Matt.

‘The three leaders. The ones you call Skulla, Croke and Diz.’

‘Who was the girl?’ asked Hone.

Lew looked at his notebook. ‘Ana Walker.’

Burty added, ‘It seems she’s a sister to one of the gang members, but not one who did the job.’

Jackson nodded. ‘What’s gunna happen to her?’

‘She’ll go into a foster home I would think, but other than that, nothing. She would’ve been forced to do it.’

Again, Jackson nodded.

Lew said, ‘The others are locked up and will stay there until a bail hearing on Friday. We’ll be opposing bail. With any luck they’ll go to prison and be well away from you two. So you can start relaxing a little. It’s all over.’

Matt and Jackson looked at each other, trying to reassure themselves, but it was clear that neither of them was fully convinced.

That morning, they cycled to the museum to hand in the strongbox.

Matt was feeling a bit nervous as he climbed the steps to the impressive building that had once been a health spa. He sensed that alongside him Jackson was feeling even more intimidated. He need not have been. As soon as they stepped up to the desk, Jackson was welcomed with a ‘Kia ora, bro’ from the male attendant, whom Matt soon learnt was the boy’s cousin Billy.

From then on, it was easy. Billy was a great guy, and he soon had Jackson telling everything about their discoveries. He took them upstairs to the curator, who had already heard some of it when Burty and Lew had brought in the sovereigns. Jackson filled in the missing bits. Then Matt went over Eve’s discoveries. Billy and the curator listened with growing excitement.

‘What a story!’ said the curator when Matt had finished.

‘We could do a whole display on this,’ added Billy.
‘Maybe put it in the Tarawera Room. It would make a great human-interest story.’

The curator turned to Matt. ‘Can you get us copies of the articles your friend has discovered?’

‘Yeah, easy. Eve has printouts of them all.’

After that, Billy gave them the guided tour. The most interesting part was in the basement where people used to have mud baths. The baths were still there, with one containing a wax model soaking in mud. Billy said that a bath would’ve cost the equivalent of fifty dollars.

‘What’s the point of having a bath to get dirty?’ asked Jackson.

‘And paying fifty bucks for it,’ added Matt.

‘That’s rich people for you,’ said Billy. ‘They pay to get dirty when we can do it for nothing.’

Jackson chuckled. ‘You’d have to have a bath after the bath, just so’s you got clean.’

‘And I bet they had to pay for that, too,’ added Matt.

Next they visited the galleries on the other floors, learning about the Te Arawa people and the Maori Battalion. Matt was impressed by the exhibits and the films shown in the tiny theatre. He was also impressed by Jackson, who seemed a vastly different person when surrounded by the taonga and images of his ancestors. For the first time, Matt truly understood why Hone was prepared to do so much for the boy. Jackson’s life was at a crossroads. If he took the right turning, then he could end up like Billy: confident, friendly, and a man who was proud of himself and his heritage. The other path led to Skulla, the gangs and everything that followed from there.

After leaving the museum, they rode around the edge of Lake Rotorua until they reached the roundabout at the start of Tarawera Road. They turned right and were soon alongside the northern edge of Whakarewarewa forest, where they could ride amongst the giant redwoods.

Looking for The Gawk could be a big job, as the forest covered hundreds of hectares. However, Matt had an idea that The Gawk would want to try out the stolen metal detector, and around the mud hole seemed to be the most likely place.

But instead of going straight there, he decided that they needed to check it out from on high. He wanted to find the lookout from where the gang member had spied on him. That should give them a great view over the whole of the area.

After getting a map from the visitor centre, they followed a sealed road until they reached the place where The Gawk had kept his bike. They stopped and checked the bikes, but couldn’t be sure if one of the five there was The Gawk’s or not.

From there, they were on the edge of the mountain-bike park and the going got tougher. Eventually, they had to leave their bikes and take a steep walking track leading up to a trig. Just short of the trig was the lookout. They approached it with caution, just in case there was still someone up there. There wasn’t. It seemed that Burty and Lew might be right: with the arrest of the gang leaders, Matt and Jackson would be left alone.

The view was fantastic. Below them they could see
hundreds of people sightseeing around the Te Puia part of Whakarewarewa. Pohutu Geyser was in full eruption, sending water many metres into the air. It was generating so much steam that the tourists would be having difficulty seeing anything. Matt reckoned he and Jackson had a better view than those who’d paid to see it.

When the geyser began to die, he started looking for the clearing where he’d dug up the sovereigns. It didn’t take much finding: the bare ground stood out like a boil on your face. He pointed it out to Jackson. Then as they watched, a person moved into the clearing carrying some sort of object. The way he moved was a dead giveaway.

‘That’s him!’ Matt said. ‘That’s The Gawk.’

Jackson turned to Matt. ‘You sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then let’s get him!’ Jackson cried, taking off down the path. ‘Let’s get the gawky creep!’

As he scrambled after him, Matt formulated a plan. The place to stop the guy was at his bike, not the clearing. The best thing was to go to where the bikes were and wait for him. With two against one, they were sure to get the metal detector back.

He outlined his plan to Jackson.

‘Take the chain off his bike,’ suggested Jackson. ‘That’ll slow him down.’

‘We don’t know which is his.’

‘Take them off all of them.’

Matt nodded. Yeah, that would work. They could always put the others back on afterwards.

Jackson got to their bikes first and took off without waiting for Matt. Once again, Matt noticed how fearless
Jackson seemed to be: he threw himself into corners and over humps as if not caring whether he injured himself or not.

They were flying down the hill towards the car park when Matt noticed that The Gawk had left the clearing and was already at his bike, getting ready to go. For some reason, he looked up the track and saw them coming. His eyes widened, then he grabbed his bike and took off into the redwoods.

Jackson raced down the hill after him at breakneck speed—far too much speed. As he turned to go onto the track, the tyres slid on some loose gravel and he went over, sliding along the tarmac for a while before crashing into a ditch. Matt slid to a stop alongside him.

‘Don’t stop!’ yelled Jackson. ‘Go after him! Get him!’

‘You sure?’

‘Go!’ screamed Jackson. So Matt went.

The Gawk had quite a headstart, but was not yet out of sight. The lack of undergrowth below the redwoods allowed Matt to catch a glimpse of him every now and then, and it soon became evident that Matt was the faster of the two. The awkwardness of carrying the detector slowed The Gawk down, allowing Matt to catch up some of the lost ground.

However, The Gawk knew his way around the forest, and took every twisting turn that he could to try to shake off his pursuer. Twice, Matt had to backtrack after speeding past a turning. Then they moved into a steeper part which required the lowest of gears. It was here that The Gawk started pulling away: obviously his bike was designed for this sort of stuff and Matt’s wasn’t.

Yet Matt kept pumping his legs despite aching lungs and protesting heart. He would not let The Gawk get away
a second time. He had to catch him. He
had
to catch him. It became a mantra that he kept repeating in his head.

Eventually they reached the top, and the track headed back downhill. At first The Gawk flew off, changing gears furiously. Then, it seemed as if he was having trouble with the chain. He stopped and leaned over to fiddle with it.

This was Matt’s chance. He closed the gap, racing up alongside him. ‘Got ya!’ he yelled in victory, as he slid to a halt.

Instantly, The Gawk stood and swung the metal detector around, crashing it into Matt’s neck. While Matt had seen it coming and pulled back a little, the blow was enough to put him off-balance and send him flying from his bike.

Now The Gawk aimed the detector at the front wheel, bashing at it repeatedly while Matt scrambled to get up. Again, the detector was swung at Matt. He backed off, trying to think of something he could do. But before anything came to mind, The Gawk had the metal detector back on his shoulder and was ready to leave.

‘See ya!’ he said with a crazy laugh as he took off. ‘And thanks for the metal detector!!’

It took Matt a moment to recover and inspect the bike for damage: three of the spokes were broken. He quickly twisted them around each other until the wheel turned freely. Then he remounted the bike and continued along the track.

Within a hundred metres he was out on Tarawera Road, close to the top of the hill. The Gawk was almost at the bottom, approaching the turnoff to the visitor centre—too far away to even attempt a pursuit. Anyway, the damaged front wheel had now buckled and was rubbing against the forks. The chase was over. The Gawk had won. Matt stopped
peddling and let the bike coast down the hill, annoyed with himself for having been so stupid as to get within hitting distance. Jackson would think him a fool.

Then, as he watched, Matt saw a bike pull out from the forest and start trailing The Gawk. His hopes rose. It was Jackson. He’d known that there was only one way back to Rotorua and had staked it out. Matt’s spirits returned, and he started peddling again. Maybe they could still get him.

Just before The Gawk got to the roundabout, he turned to check behind and saw Jackson. Once again, the chase was on. He flew into the roundabout, ignoring the screeching brakes and honking horns. Jackson took a more direct route and rode straight over the grass in the centre, causing even more screeching and honking.

The Gawk was now into the industrial area bordering the lake. Jackson was about fifty metres behind but closing fast. Matt was way back, and out of it. All he could do was hope that Jackson didn’t make the mistake of getting too close to the guy.

As Matt entered the roundabout, he saw the two in front race around a corner and disappear from view. Shortly afterwards Matt followed, hoping that he hadn’t lost them. He hadn’t. In fact they were only a hundred metres away, both of them lying on the road where they’d crashed.

By the time he pulled up alongside, Jackson was on his feet and standing over The Gawk, his posture inviting the other to have a go. For a moment it looked like The Gawk might, but when he saw Matt he had second thoughts and raised his arms in surrender.

The Gawk had a name: Cecil Hilton. If there was any relationship to the Hilton hotel chain, he wasn’t saying. Certainly the place where he lived showed no signs of wealth. His room was part of a galvanized iron garage sitting behind a house. It was small and filthy. The three of them almost filled the space. Matt and Jackson sat on the bed while Cecil perched on a box by a small table, scratching his body nervously.

He admitted stealing the metal detector, but claimed to know nothing about the gold coins.

‘They were right beside the machine!’ said Matt. ‘You must’ve taken them.’

‘No!’ He scratched an armpit. ‘I didn’t see them.’

‘They weren’t there when I went back,’ said Matt.

Cecil scratched some more before replying. ‘I didn’t take them.’

‘You must’ve! There was nobody else!’

Before Cecil could reply, Jackson spoke for the first time. ‘Have you heard of the Dubexkay gang?’ he asked quietly.

‘No!’ Cecil said loudly. Now he seemed to be itchy all over. ‘What’ve they got to do with it?’

‘That gold’s theirs,’ said Jackson. ‘I know them.’

More scratching.

‘I know Skulla and Croke and all that lot, and I’m gunna tell them where you live.’

That was enough for Cecil. Any remaining defiance disappeared and in its place came fear. He stood and went to his dresser. After fiddling in the bottom drawer for a while, he returned with a small box. ‘There!’ he said.

Matt took it and, after checking that all nine coins were there, they left.

Jackson was all hyped up as they rode home, going on and on about how he’d crashed his bike into The Gawk’s and brought him down. Matt was more subdued. He was concerned about the way Jackson had used the gang to threaten Cecil. To Matt it was no different than what the gang had done to him. The most worrying thing was how effective it had been. Clearly, the Dubexkay were well known and feared in the town. He worried about what might happen if Skulla and his mates got bail on Friday, and were once again loose on the streets.