The Snow Tiger / Night of Error (10 page)

‘Just to the bottom. Mr Ballard’s father was killed here. It didn’t go much farther than that’

‘It didn’t go as far as the Peterson Supermarket?’

‘It didn’t go anywhere near the Peterson store.’

‘Remarkable. Now tell me, Mr Buck: if the Peterson Supermarket was not destroyed by a very big avalanche in 1943, why then was it destroyed this year?’

Turi looked blank, then said, ‘The trees, of course.’

Ballard let out a long sigh and let Lyall dig his own pit. Lyall said, ‘The trees! Oh, you mean that timbered area marked on the west slope?’

Turi turned to look at the map. He examined it for a moment, then said, ‘But this is all wrong.’

Ballard put up his hand. ‘Mr Chairman – on a point of evidence. I would like to have Mr Wheeler recalled briefly. It would seem that his map is not the best evidence.’

Harrison looked startled, then raised his eyebrows. ‘Mr Lyall?’

Lyall frowned, but said, ‘No objection.’

Wheeler was brought back and Ballard said, ‘Look at the map, Mr Wheeler. Do you see that forested area on the western slope of the valley?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I can bring five hundred witnesses to swear that that area was not forested before the avalanche struck. What do you say to that?’

Wheeler did not know what to say to it. He twitched nervously for a while, then said, ‘The information I put into that map comes from the latest sources available.’

‘But not late enough, it would seem. In respect of a vital piece of evidence – the lack of timber on the western slope – this map is untrue. Is that correct?’

Wheeler shrugged. ‘If you say so. I have never been to Hukahoronui myself.’

‘It is not for me to say,’ said Ballard. ‘But let us ask Mr Buck. When were the trees cut?’

‘They started cutting when the mine opened. The timber went into the mine and for building houses.’

‘That was four years ago?’

‘Yes. The cutting went on for two years. By that time the slope was just about stripped.’

Rolandson stirred, and said, ‘Mr Ballard, are we to understand that you regard the cutting of that timber as a contributory factor which led to the avalanche?’

Ballard hesitated. ‘I am not an expert on avalanches, sir. I would prefer you to direct that question to Dr McGill.’

‘I will,’ growled Rolandson, and conferred for a few moments with Harrison. They both looked at Wheeler who shuffled his feet nervously. ‘You have not been to Hukahoronui and yet you present this map as evidence,’ said Harrison unbelievingly. ‘That is what you said, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Wheeler unhappily.

He was even more unhappy when Harrison had finished with him and sent him off. When Lyall was asked if he had further questions he warily said that he had none. Ballard raised his hand. ‘I would like to ask Mr Buck one more question.’

‘Very well.’

‘Mr Buck, what was the immediate reaction of the councillors towards your revelations about the incidence of avalanches in Hukahoronui?’

Turi Buck froze. In a low voice he said, ‘I would rather not say.’

‘Mr Buck – I must ask you the question.’

Turi shook his head. ‘I will not say.’

‘You must answer the question, Mr Buck,’ said Harrison, but Turi shook his head dumbly.

Harrison looked at Ballard blankly for a moment and Ballard shrugged. The hall was very quiet when someone said, ‘I can answer that question.’

Harrison’s head jerked. ‘Dr McGill, this is most unseemly.’

McGill stepped forward. ‘Mr Chairman, there are only four people who can answer the question. Mr Buck refuses for reasons I can understand. Mr Eric Peterson will not
answer, again for reasons I can understand. In all propriety Mr Ballard cannot, because he is interrogating Mr Buck – he cannot be questioner and witness simultaneously. I am the only one left who was present at the meeting.’

Harrison sighed. ‘Very well, you will answer the question. What was it, Mr Ballard?’

‘What was the immediate reaction of the councillors to Mr Buck’s evidence?’

McGill unzipped his satchel and drew forth a flat notebook. ‘As is my habit, I took notes immediately after the meeting. I can read here exactly what was said.’ He selected a page and stared at Eric Peterson where he sat next to Lyall. ‘Mr Eric Peterson’s exact words were, “Turi Buck is an ignorant old black man. He knows nothing – he never has and he never will”.’

There was pandemonium in the Press gallery.

The hall errupted in a babble of noise and Harrison hammered in vain on the rostrum but the crash of his gavel was lost in the uproar. When, at last, he could make himself heard, he said in anger, ‘This hearing is adjourned until further notice and until those present can control themselves.’

‘Turi Buck is an ignorant old black man. He knows nothing – he never has and he never will.’

The words hung heavily in an embarrassed silence in the residents’ lounge of the Hotel D’Archiac which did duty as a council chamber. At last Matthew Houghton coughed nervously, and said, ‘There’s no call for that sort of talk, Eric’

Ballard was angry. ‘I should bloody well think not.’

John Peterson, who was standing, put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘Eric, if you can’t talk sense you’d better keep your big mouth shut. You’re starting to behave like Charlie.’ He looked at Turi. ‘My apologies.’

‘Maybe you’d better let Eric make his own apologies,’ said Ballard tightly.

Eric went red in the face but said nothing. John Peterson ignored Ballard and addressed himself to McGill. ‘So you’ve come up with past avalanches, and now you say there’s going to be another.’

‘I have
not
said that.’

‘Then what
are
you saying?’ demanded Houghton.

McGill spread his hands. ‘Who cares if a few thousand tons of snow falls off a mountain? It’s happening all the time in the Southern Alps. But if someone is standing underneath at the time then it’s downright dangerous.

That’s the position you’re in. You have a potential hazard here.’

‘Not an actual hazard?’ queried John Peterson.

‘I can tell you more after another series of tests. But I’ll tell you this – the hazard isn’t getting any less.’

Peterson said, ‘It seems pretty flimsy to me. From the line you’re shooting it seems to me that you want us to spend a lot of money because of something that may never happen.’

‘There’s something I don’t understand,’ said Houghton. ‘If there have been avalanches in the past, why weren’t the houses knocked down? My house was the second one built in the valley; my grandfather built it in 1850, two years after the Otago Settlement.’

Ballard said, ‘Let’s have a look at the map.’ He pushed the map across the table to Houghton. ‘Matt, I want you to cast your mind back, say, twenty years – before all the houses were built when the mine started. I want you to mark all the houses you can remember.’ He handed Houghton a pen.

‘Well, there’s my house there, and Turi Buck’s house – but we know why that’s still there. And there’s the Cunningham house, and the Pearman house …’

‘… and the Jackson place and the old Fisher house,’ said Mrs Samson.

Slowly Houghton marked them all and then leaned back. Ballard said, ‘Don’t forget the church and the school – and Peterson’s store.’

Houghton scratched more crosses on the map, and Ballard said, ‘Just look at it. All those buildings are well scattered and if you look at the terrain you’ll see that every one of them is protected against falls from the western slope to a greater or lesser degree.’ He picked up the pen. ‘But we do know there was another building – the Bailey house.’ He marked its position on the map. ‘That’s gone now.’

Mrs Samson said, ‘What are you getting at?’

‘When the settlers first came here, back in the middle of last century, they didn’t bother overmuch about keeping records, so we don’t know a lot about houses destroyed. We only know about the Bailey house because of Turi. My bet is that the houses Matt has just marked are the survivors.’

Phil Warrick said, ‘That makes sense. If a man had a house knocked down he wouldn’t rebuild in the same place. Not if he had any brains.’

‘Or if he survived,’ said McGill. ‘The Baileys didn’t.’ He put his hand flat on the map. ‘Those houses survived because the builders were lucky or knew what they were about. But now you’ve got a whole township here – not just a few scattered houses. That’s where the hazard comes in.’

‘So what are you asking us to do?’ asked John Peterson.

‘I want you to accept the fact that avalanche hazard exists – that’s the first step and all follows from that. So you’ll have to take the necessary precautions, first in the short term and, later, in the long term. You must notify the appropriate authority outside the valley that a hazard exists. Then you must be ready for it if it comes. You must have rescue gear stored in safe places where it can be got at in case of disaster. And you’ll have to have men trained to use that equipment. And you’ll have to have contingency planning in case it becomes necessary to evacuate the town. I can help in advising on a lot of that.’

Eric Peterson said, ‘My brother is right. It seems to me that you’re asking us to spend a lot of money guarding against something which might never happen. If we have to train men we have to pay them; if we have to have equipment we have to pay for it. Where do we get the money?’

Quentin laughed bitterly. ‘You haven’t heard anything yet. Wait until you hear about the long-term precautions.’ His finger stabbed out. ‘If this man has his way the mine will shut down.’

‘What the hell!’ John Peterson stared at Ballard. ‘What foolish talk is this?’

‘Ask McGill how much it will cost to protect the mine,’ said Quentin. ‘At the last meeting we had they were talking in millions of dollars – and we all know the company won’t stand for that.’

‘Not to protect the mine,’ snapped Ballard. ‘To protect the town. In a case like this you’ll get a government grant.’

Eric Peterson laughed shortly. ‘Everyone knows that government grants don’t cover everything – not by a long chalk. We learned that when we were extending the school. And you are talking in millions of dollars, not in thousands.’ He looked up at his brother. ‘Guess how much the town rates will be next year if this damn silly caper carries on.’

Ballard said, ‘How much is your life worth, Eric?’

‘That’s a hell of a question! But I’ll give you a short answer. My life is worth that of one of my brothers – that much and no more.’

‘There’s no call for that,’ said Houghton quickly.

‘Well, he brought it up,’ said Eric. ‘In any case, according to him, I’m safe.’ He tapped the map. ‘My place is one of the survivors.’

‘Not any more,’ said Ballard. ‘Not since the trees were cut down on the west slope. Did you do that, Eric?’

‘What the hell has that got to do with anything?’

‘The only reason the store survived in 1943 was because of the trees. Now they’re gone there’s nothing between you and the snow. You made a bad bargain there.’

Eric stood up. ‘Too right I made a bad bargain, or rather, my old man did. You know damned well that when your
mother sold him the property she cheated him of the mineral rights. Oh, she was bloody clever, wasn’t she? She even kept hold of that bit of land at the bottom where the mine is now – just enough land to put up the crushing mill to work the ore she gets out of
our
land.’

Ballard rubbed his eyes. ‘That’s not the way it was, Eric. It was my father who separated the mineral rights from the property. He did it in his will. Your father didn’t buy the land for five years after that. 1948, wasn’t it?’

‘The hell with it!’ said Eric. ‘She still gets the gold.’

‘No, she doesn’t,’ said Ballard. ‘She doesn’t hold the mineral rights.’

‘Pull the other one,’ scoffed Eric. ‘You’re all Ballards.’

Matt Houghton drummed his fingers on the table. ‘We seem to have left the subject.’ He glanced nervously at Eric.

‘Yes,’ said McGill. ‘I don’t know what this is all about but I don’t think it has anything to do with snow on a hillside. But those missing trees do; there’s nothing left to bind the snow.’

Eric shrugged and sat down again. ‘It’s a lousy piece of land, anyway. Too bloody steep for cattle, and I couldn’t even get in the hay crop this year.’

McGill’s head jerked up. ‘What hay crop?’ he said sharply.

‘What do you care?’

‘You’d better tell me. What happened to your hay crop?’

John Peterson rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. ‘For God’s sake, Eric! Indulge his curiosity. Then perhaps we can get this meeting over. I’ve got things to do.’

Eric shrugged. ‘First it was the rain – the crop was sodden, so we couldn’t take it in. I thought we’d have a dry spell, but we didn’t – it rained right in to the winter, so I gave it up. It was rotting in the fields, anyway.’

‘And you just left it,’ said McGill. ‘And it’s still there uncut. Is that it?’

‘That’s right,’ said Eric, and added touchily, ‘But what’s it got to do with you I’m damned if I know.’

McGill speared him with a long stare. ‘So you cut down the trees, which is bad enough. Then you leave uncut grass, which is worse. Long, wet grass on a hillside is just about the slipperiest stuff there is. The chances of an avalanche have just gone up considerably.’

Warrick said, ‘It was slippery, I know. I tried to get up there during the rain myself. After the third try I gave up.’

‘What am I? Some kind of public enemy?’ demanded Eric. ‘Who the hell is this joker to come with his accusations?’

‘I’m not accusing anyone of anything except maybe short-sightedness,’ said McGill. ‘The first sign of potentially dangerous terrain is a mountain with snow on it; and you have one right on your doorstep but none of you seems to have seen it.’

‘Dr McGill is right,’ said Ballard.

Eric Peterson lunged to his feet. ‘Anyone called Ballard is the last person to accuse me of anything at all,’ he said with a jagged edge to his voice. ‘Anyone with a yellow …’

‘That’s enough,’ cut in Mrs Samson sharply. ‘What’s past is gone.’

‘What’s this about?’ asked Warrick, looking from Ballard to Eric Peterson. He wore a baffled look, as of a man who feels he is missing the obvious.

Matt Houghton looked bleak. ‘It’s old history and nothing to do with the subject here.’

McGill stood up. ‘Gentlemen, you have my report. It’s there on the table before you written up in technical language, and I’ve explained what it means in words of one syllable. I can do nothing more. I shall leave you to your deliberations.’

‘Where are you going?’ asked Houghton.

‘To do some work.’

‘Where can we get hold of you if we need further information?’

‘At Mr Ballard’s house,’ said McGill. ‘Or up on the west slope – it needs further investigation. But don’t send anyone up there to find me. In fact, no one should be allowed on that slope from now on. It’s damned dangerous.’

He left the meeting.