The Snow Tiger / Night of Error (20 page)

‘Thank God!’ said McGill. It was a cry from the heart. He sized up MacAllister. ‘What are the chances of evacuating the valley – all the people?’

MacAllister shook his head. ‘Not a chance. It took me all my time getting over. That snow has set solid – it’s more like ice now. In places it’s a vertical climb. But the telephone boys are trying to get a line over now.’

‘That’ll be a help.’ McGill dropped his cigarette and put his foot on it. ‘At least we’ve got through to outside. Better late than never.’

‘They knew last night,’ said MacAllister unexpectedly. I telephoned the police. There’s a whole gang of them on the other side of the Gap right now. They pitched up just as I started to climb.’

‘Better and better.’ McGill turned to Ballard. ‘You know what’s been worrying me?’

‘What?’

McGill pointed upwards. ‘Not being able to see that goddamn slope because of the mist. It’s been giving me a real prickly feeling.’

‘Hush!’ said MacAllister. ‘What’s that?’

‘What’s what?’

‘Listen!’

There was a faint drone from overhead, growing louder. ‘An airplane,’ said McGill, straining his eyes against the mist.

‘He can’t land in this,’ said Ballard.

They listened while the aircraft circled overhead but they did not see it. It droned for about ten minutes and then went away, only to return five minutes later.

‘And that’s it,’ said McGill. He put his hands flat on the arms of the witness chair and looked at Harrison. ‘That’s when the avalanche hit us.’

Harrison drew in a long breath. ‘And so we come to the avalanche itself. It has been suggested in the Press that the sound of that aeroplane, which had been sent to investigate by Civil Defence, was the trigger which set the avalanche in motion. What are your views on that, Dr McGill?’

‘That’s utter nonsense, sir,’ said McGill baldly. ‘The idea that sound can trigger an avalanche is a myth, an old wives’ tale. In the United States supersonic aircraft studies have been made. Even the high overpressure of two pounds a square foot caused by a military aircraft like the Hustler has had no detectable effect.’ He paused. ‘But that’s in normal use. In Montana experiments were made by F-106 aircraft making aimed dives and pulling out at supersonic speeds. Those did cause avalanche release. But the plane I heard flying over Hukahoronui could not in any way have triggered that avalanche.’

Harrison smiled. ‘The pilot of that aircraft will be very glad to hear that. I believe it has been on his conscience.’

‘It needn’t be,’ said McGill. ‘That snow was ready to come down, and it came down without his assistance.’

‘Thank you, Dr McGill. It appears that the pilot and observer of that aircraft were the only people to see the avalanche as it began to fall. From the depositions I have read
it appears that the observer has more to offer in evidence. You are excused, Dr McGill. Please call Flying Officer Hatry.’

Hatry took his seat. He was a fresh-faced young man of about twenty, wearing the uniform of the RNZAF. Reed asked, ‘Your name?’

‘Charles Howard Hatry.’

‘Your occupation?’

‘Flying Officer, Royal New Zealand Air Force.’

Harrison said, ‘How was it that you came to be flying over Hukahoronui at that time?’

‘Orders, sir.’

‘And what were your exact orders?’

‘To fly to Hukahoronui, and to land if possible. To find out the situation and radio back. I believe the orders originated with Civil Defence. That’s what I was told, anyway.’

‘Just so. Carry on.’

‘Flight-Lieutenant Storey was the pilot and I was the observer. We flew to Hukahoronui from Harewood Airport, here in Christchurch. When we got there we found that landing was out of the question. There was a thick layer of cloud or mist on the valley floor. It would have been pretty dangerous going into that. We radioed this information back to Christchurch and were told to fly around for a while in case the mist lifted.’

‘What were weather conditions like – other than the low mist?’

‘Very good, sir. The sky was clear and the sun very strong. The clarity of the air was exceptional. Very good for photography. I remember saying to Lieutenant Storey that I thought it would be cold outside. It was that sort of day – crisp and cold.’

‘You mentioned photography. Were you instructed to take photographs?’

‘Yes, sir. I took two complete spools of the area around the valley – seventy-two exposures in all. These included
photographs of the misted area just in case it meant anything. I couldn’t understand the mist, sir, because everything else was so clear.’

Harrison shook out some glossy black-and-whites from an envelope. ‘And these are the photographs you took?’ He began to hold them up one at a time.

Hatry leaned forward. ‘Yes, sir, those are the official photographs.’

‘I see you took a picture of the snow which blocked the Gap.’

‘Yes – we flew low to take that one.’

‘You say these are the official photographs. Are we to understand that there are some
unofficial
photographs?’

Hatry shifted in his seat. ‘I’m keen on cine-photography and I just happened to have my camera along. It isn’t up to much – just eight millimetre. Conditions were so good and the mountains looked so beautiful that I decided to shoot off a reel.’

‘And while you were shooting this film the avalanche began and you managed to film it?’

‘Some of it, sir.’ Hatry paused. ‘It’s not a very good film, I’m afraid.’

‘But when you had it developed you realized its importance and you offered it to this Commission as evidence. Is that it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well, then, I think the film will be the best evidence available. Please have the screen set up, Mr Reed.’

The hall buzzed with voices as the ushers set up the screen and projector. Curtains were drawn over the windows. In the semi-darkness Harrison said, ‘You may begin at any time.’

There was a click and a whirr, and the screen lit up with a series of rapidly flashing letters against a blurred white background. Suddenly a recognizable scene appeared – white
mountains and a blue sky. It disappeared to be replaced by a shot of the ground. ‘That’s the valley,’ said Hatry. ‘You can see the mist.’ He stopped as though conscious of committing
lèsemajesté.
‘I’m sorry, sir.’

‘That’s all right, Mr Hatry. Make whatever comments you please.’

‘There’s not much during the first half,’ said Hatry. ‘Just mountains. Some good views towards Mount Cook.’

The film ran on. It could have been any amateur travelogue – hand held and unsteady. But the tension in the hall grew as the seconds went by and scene followed scene.

Presently Hatry said, ‘I think it’s coming along about now. I asked Lieutenant Storey to fly north along the Hukahoronui valley.’

‘How high were you flying?’ asked Rolandson.

‘A little over two thousand feet above the valley floor.’

‘So that the west slope of the valley actually stretched above you.’

‘Yes, sir. Afterwards I found the slope was six thousand feet from crest to valley. Here it is now.’

It was an upward shot showing a little blue sky at the top of the screen, then there were a few scattered rocks jutting up, and then the snow so white as to make the eyes ache which filled the rest of the screen. As an artistic composition it was terrible, but that did not matter.

The scene suddenly jogged and blurred, and then steadied again. ‘That’s it,’ said Hatry. ‘That’s when it started.’

A faint plume of grey had appeared, a shadow cast by rising snow, which grew larger as it moved down the slope. It disappeared sideways as though the camera had panned away. The next shot was of distant mountains and sky, very wobbly. ‘We had trouble in positioning the aircraft,’ said Harry apologetically. ‘I suppose we were excited.’

There came another shot of a boiling cloud of whiteness shadowed by grey which plunged down the mountainside,
growing in extent continually. Ballard licked dry lips. He had once seen a big oil fire, and watching this growing cloud advancing down the slope reminded him of the billowing clouds of black smoke from that fire, but seen, as it were, on negative film.

Again the scene jerked off the screen and there came a dizzying view of the ground whirling in a spiral. ‘I asked Lieutenant Storey to bank,’ said Hatry, ‘so I could get a good view into the valley. He did it a bit too quickly.’

The camera steadied and it could be seen that the whole of the upper slope was in motion and the line of advance was incredibly fast, even when seen from a distance. Blurred and unsteady though the film was, the sight was impressive.

Suddenly there was a complete change of scene. The moving front of the avalanche was now much farther down the mountain, almost near the bottom, and approaching the bank of mist which covered the valley floor. Hatry said, ‘We were flying out of distance. We had to make a quick circuit and come back.’

Something surprising was happening to the mist. Long before the approaching front of snow was near it, the mist was driven back as though an invisible jet was playing on it. It cleared magically and buildings could be seen briefly. Then the snow swept over everything.

The screen flashed blindingly white and there was a flapping sound as the tail of the film was slapped around by the reel of the projector. ‘That’s when the film ran out,’ said Hatry.

‘Will someone draw the curtains?’ said Harrison. The curtains were drawn open and he waited until the hum of conversation ceased. ‘So you took the film. What did you do next?’

‘We radioed back, telling what we’d seen.’

‘And what was the result of that?’

‘They asked us if we could land. I checked with Lieutenant Storey and he said not. There was still some mist about, but that wasn’t it. You see, he didn’t know
where
to land after the snow had gone over everything. We were then ordered to return to Christchurch.’

‘Thank you, Mr Hatry. You may step down.’ Harrison looked towards McGill. ‘Have you any comments on what you have just seen, Dr McGill? You may answer from where you are sitting.’

‘It was most interesting from a professional point of view. If we know the number of frames per second of that film we can measure the speed of the avalanche very accurately and in detail. One of the most interesting features is that it showed something which we have always suspected and, in a sense, knew, but could not prove. Because of the mist we could see that there was an air blast in advance of the moving mass of snow. At a very rough estimate I would put that air blast as moving at something over two hundred miles an hour. Apart from the actual snow impact, such a blast could cause considerable damage. I think the film should be preserved and, indeed, duplicated. I wouldn’t mind having a copy of it myself for study.’

‘Thank you.’ Harrison looked at the clock. ‘The time has come for our adjournment. We meet here again at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’

His gavel tapped on the rostrum.

McGill joined the throng leaving the hall. Ahead he saw the tall figure of Stenning walking next to Ballard. They were not talking to each other and, once through the doorway, they made off in different directions. He smiled and thought that neither of them was giving the Ballard family any grounds for suspicion.

‘Dr McGill!’ Someone caught his elbow and he turned to find the Peterson brothers just behind him, first Eric, and then the bulkier figure of Charlie behind. Eric said, ‘I’m glad you said what you did about Johnnie. I’d like to thank you for that.’

‘No need,’ said McGill. ‘Credit should be given where it’s due.’

‘All the same,’ said Eric a little awkwardly, ‘it was good of you to say so in public – especially when you’re on the other side, so to speak.’

‘Now hold on a minute,’ said McGill sharply. ‘I’m a neutral around here – I’m on no one’s side. Come to that, I didn’t know there were sides. This is an inquiry, not a court battle. Isn’t that what Harrison insists?’

Charlie looked unimpressed. ‘You’re a neutral like I’m the fairy queen. Everybody knows that Ballard and you are in each other’s pockets.’

‘Shut up, Charlie!’ said Eric.

‘Why the hell should I? Harrison said he wants the truth to come out – but is it? Look at the evidence this morning. Not nearly enough was made of the fact that Ballard made a bad mistake. Why didn’t you prod Lyall into going for him?’

‘Oh, Charlie, enough is enough.’ Eric looked at McGill and shrugged expressively.

‘Not for me it isn’t,’ said Charlie. ‘All I know is that I used to have three brothers and now I’ve got one – and that bastard killed two of them. What do you want me to do? Stand still while he murders the whole Peterson family?’

‘Give it a rest, for Christ’s sake!’ said Eric exasperatedly.

‘Fat chance,’ said Charlie, and tapped McGill on the shoulder. ‘Now, Dr Neutral McGill – don’t tell me you won’t be seeing Ballard tonight.’

‘I’ll be seeing him,’ said McGill evenly.

‘Well, you tell him what I think. Eric made the suggestion of using the mine as a shelter but Ballard turned him down because the mine wasn’t safe. The safety of the mine was Ballard’s responsibility – he was in charge, wasn’t he? And the mine wasn’t safe. In my book that’s criminal irresponsibility and I’m going to see he gets nailed for it. You’re his friend – you tell him that.’ Charlie’s voice rose. ‘You tell him, if I can’t get him for murder I’ll get him for manslaughter.’

Eric held his arm. ‘Keep your voice down. Don’t make one of your bloody scenes in here.’

Charlie shook his arm free. ‘Don’t tell me what to do.’ He stared at McGill with hot eyes. ‘And tell that bloody murdering friend of yours to keep out of my way, because if I ever come across him I’ll tear him apart piece by piece.’

McGill looked about him. Apart from the three of them the hall was now empty. He said, ‘Threats like that are very unwise. Threatening a witness in this Inquiry could get you into trouble.’

‘He’s right,’ said Eric. ‘For God’s sake, keep your mouth shut. You talk too much – you always have.’

‘I’ll do more than talk before I’m through.’ Charlie’s forefinger bored into McGill’s chest. ‘Tell Ballard that if he so much as looks at Liz again I’ll kill the bastard.’

‘Take your goddamn hand off me,’ said McGill softly.

Eric pulled Charlie away. ‘Don’t start a fight here, you damned fool.’ He shook his head wearily. ‘Sorry about that, McGill.’

‘Don’t apologize for me,’ shouted Charlie. ‘Christ, Eric, you’re as chicken as everybody else. You go arse-creeping to McGill – the high and mighty Dr Know-it-all-McGill – and thank him kindly for putting in a nice word for the Petersons. What the hell is this? Damn it, you know that he and Ballard are running a cover-up operation that makes Watergate sound like a fairy story. What the hell’s got into you?’

Eric took a deep breath. ‘Charlie, sometimes I think you’re going out of your mind. Now will you, for God’s sake, shut up? Let’s go and have a beer and cool down.’ He took Charlie by the arm and steered him towards the door.

Charlie allowed himself to be led away, but twisted his head and shouted to McGill, ‘Don’t forget to tell Ballard. Tell that son of a bitch I’ll have him in jail for ten years.’

At the hotel Stenning went to his room to clean up. The climate was hotter than he was used to and he felt uncomfortably sticky. His suit was too heavy for the New Zealand summer and he made a mental note to buy a lightweight suit since it seemed that the Inquiry would continue for some time to come.

He felt better after he had bathed and he sat for a while in his dressing-gown while he made notes of the events of the day, amplifying the hasty scrawls he had made during the Inquiry. He shook his head over the evidence and thought
that young Ballard was not in a favourable position; the business of the safety of the mine might go heavily against him should someone try to push the point. He thought about it and decided that Rickman would let it lie; he wouldn’t want to bring up anything that would reflect on the company. Gunn, the union lawyer had gone out of his way to be kind to Ballard while still sticking his knife into the company. Stenning was surprised that the Petersons’ lawyer, Lyall, had not made an issue of it. Perhaps that was to come.

After a while he dressed and went outside to find Ballard sitting at a table near the pool with an extraordinarily beautiful young woman. As he approached, Ballard caught sight of him and stood up. ‘Miss Peterson, this is Mr Stenning, a visitor from England.’

Stenning’s white eyebrows lifted as he heard the name, but he merely said, ‘Good evening, Miss Peterson.’

‘Have something cooling,’ suggested Ballard.

Stenning sat down. ‘That would be most welcome. A gin and tonic, please.’

‘I’ll get it.’ Ballard strode away.

‘Didn’t I see you at the Huka Inquiry this afternoon?’ asked Liz.

‘I was there. I’m a lawyer, Miss Peterson. I’m very interested in your ideas of administrative justice here in New Zealand. Dr Harrison was kind enough to provide me with a place.’

She fondled the ears of her dog which sat by her chair.

‘What’s your impression so far?’

He smiled, and said with a lawyer’s caution, ‘It’s too early to say. I must read a transcript of the early part of the Inquiry. Tell me, are you related in any way to the Peterson family that is involved?’

‘Why, yes. Eric and Charlie are my brothers.’

‘Ah!’ Stenning tried to add things up and failed to find an answer, so he repeated his observation. ‘Ah!’

Liz picked up her Cuba Libre and sipped it while regarding him over the rim of the glass. She said, ‘Have you known Ian Ballard long?’

‘We’re fellow guests in the hotel,’ he said, blandly avoiding the question. ‘Have
you
known him long?’

‘All my life – on and off,’ she said. ‘More off than on. There was a big gap in the middle.’ She had noted Stenning’s evasiveness and began to wonder just who he was. ‘That was when he left for England.’

‘Then you must have known him when he was a boy in Hukahoronui.’

‘I don’t think you need to read a transcript of the Inquiry,’ she said, a little tartly. ‘That wasn’t in evidence today.’

‘No,’ he agreed. ‘I think I read it in a newspaper report.’

Ballard came back and put a frosted glass in front of Stenning. Liz said, ‘Mr Stenning is being mysterious.’

‘Oh! What about?’

‘That’s what’s mysterious. I don’t know.’

Ballard looked at Stenning and raised his eyebrows. Stenning said easily, ‘Miss Peterson is a remarkably sharp young lady, but perhaps she sees mysteries where none exist.’

Liz smiled, and said, ‘How long have you known Mr Stenning, Ian?’

‘Twenty years – or a little under.’

‘And you’re just good friends,’ she suggested. ‘And fellow hotel guests, of course.’

‘Perhaps I prevaricated, Miss Peterson,’ said Stenning. ‘But I had my reasons. Perhaps you would be good enough not to mention my name in connection with Mr Ballard.’

‘Why should I mention you?’

Stenning picked up his drink. ‘It happens. Casual conversations cover a lot of ground.’

Liz turned to Ballard. ‘What is all this?’

‘It’s just that Mr Stenning and I have business which we’d prefer not to parade before other people at this time.’

‘Something to do with the Inquiry?’

‘Nothing to do with the Inquiry,’ he said flatly. He turned to Stenning. ‘Talking of the Inquiry, Rickman tried to pull a couple of fast ones this morning before the opening. He came over to me and …’

He stopped as Stenning raised his hand and said, ‘Am I to take it that you don’t mind if Miss Peterson hears about this matter?’

‘Why shouldn’t she hear it?’ asked Ballard in surprise.

Stenning frowned. ‘I’m sure I don’t know,’ he said perplexedly.

‘All right, then. First Rickman tried to bribe me, then to blackmail me.’ He retailed what Rickman had said.

Stenning grimaced. ‘Was there a witness to this interesting conversation?’

‘No.’

‘A pity. I’d take delight in having the man disbarred.’

Liz laughed. ‘You have wonderful friends, Ian. Such nice people.’

‘Not nearly as wonderful as the Petersons.’ Ballard looked up. ‘Here’s Mike. What kept you?’

McGill put a glass and a bottle of ‘DB’ beer on the table. ‘A run-in with Liz’s charming brothers. Hi, Liz. I won’t ask “How’s the family?” because I know. Did you enjoy the show, Mr Stenning? It was a nice movie.’

‘It had its moments of drama.’ Stenning sat back in his chair and watched Ballard and Liz Peterson with curious eyes.

‘What about my brothers?’ Liz asked.

McGill filled his glass. ‘Eric’s all right,’ he said, intent on not letting the beer foam over. ‘But have you ever wondered about Charlie? If I were a psychiatrist I’d tend to diagnose paranoia.’

‘Did he make another of his big scenes?’

‘And how!’ McGill jerked his head at Ballard. ‘He threatened to dismember Ian from limb to limb if he ever meets him.’

‘Talk!’ said Liz scornfully. ‘That’s all he ever does.’

‘Maybe,’ said McGill. ‘Ian, if you and this wench are going to consort you’d better wear a blindfold. He said that if you so much as look at Liz he’ll kill you.’

Stenning broke in. ‘And was there a witness to
this
conversation?’

‘Just me and Eric.’

‘And he used the word “kill”?’

‘The very word.’

Stenning shook his head. Liz said, ‘I’ll have a talk with Master Charlie. He’s got to get it into his thick skull that my life is my own. This time it won’t be a plate of spaghetti that I’ll crown him with.’

‘Liz, be careful,’ warned McGill. ‘I’m getting the idea that he’s genuinely unbalanced. Even Eric thinks he’s losing his marbles. It took Eric all his time to hold him in.’

‘He’s just a big blow-hard,’ she said. ‘I’ll sort him out. But let’s not talk about the Petersons – let’s not talk at all. How’s your tennis, Ian?’

‘Not bad,’ said Ballard.

She held up her glass. ‘Bet you another of these you can’t beat me.’

‘Done,’ he said promptly.

‘Let’s go,’ she said, and stood up.

McGill turned his head and watched them as they walked towards the tennis courts with Victor trotting behind, then he turned back and grinned at Stenning. ‘Do you find our conversation stimulating, Mr Stenning?’

‘Interesting, to say the least. Miss Peterson is also interesting.’

‘An understatement typical of a lawyer.’ McGill topped up his glass. ‘Tell me – If Ian marries a Peterson, does that count in your Peterson Bashing Contest?’

Stenning moved nothing except his eyes which he slanted at McGill. ‘So he told you about that. Your question is hard to answer. I doubt if it is what Ben had in mind.’

‘But circumstances alter cases.’

Stenning said austerely, ‘That truism has no legal validity.’