Page 22 of Bay of Plenty

“Declan, could Ihave a private word with Isla?”

Kui had given him a friendly welcome at the library doors, but she looked nervous.

“Of course.” He squeezed me in a half-hug. I eased into the side of his torso—I was getting the hang of this. He dropped his arm from around me. I was surprised that I immediately missed his skin’s imprint on mine. “I’ll walk home.”

Leading me to the tall shelves at the back, Kui handed me a note written on a ripped-out page.

The handwriting was familiar.

Dear Lizzie Firkin,

You’re back! I wish I could see you, but I can’t. I’ve been following your career the whole time, so proud of you. Anyway, you need a story. You helped me when I needed it. Now, I’m paying you back the favor. The winery is shipping heroin to London. By now, you probably know your parents are tied up in the winery too.

Robin Puckertucker

That name knocked the air out of me. God, I hadn’t thought of Robin in... well, since I was a little girl. Robin was a beloved character in one of our favorite books by a local author.Ourfavorite. Kingi’s, Janey’s, and mine. We took turns playing Robin and Lizzie. I knew who wrote this note, and I trusted him. The note came from Kingi.It had to. Because Janey was dead.

*

“Kui, you’ve read this? It’s from Kingi?” I was almost breathless.

She checked the door. “Yes. There were too many years I couldn’t keep my boys safe. I’m very close to them now.” She added hastily, “Though, obviously, I can’t see Kingi in person.”

“How does Kingi know this?” I asked.

She twisted her watch. “From Rangi, my youngest, who works at the winery. I’m only telling you because I don’t want you to approach him. It will put him in danger. He manages the domestic wine with the help of a contract team, and Snow handles the export. Rangi gets four-day weekends every month when export is done.”Interesting. Snow has no witnesses.“Anyway, he left his phone behind at work on one of those weekends. When he went to get it, he found white powder on the bench. Thought it was P, you know, meth. He sent a message to Kingi, who found him someone to analyze it. It turned out to be heroin.”

My mind was spinning as I processed all this.

“Kingi trusts you to investigate,” she said. “And so do I.”

My heart swelled at her words. “Oh, Kui.” I hugged her. “Thank you for having faith in me. It means so much. I won’t let you and Kingi down, I promise.”I took a breath. “I’m guessing Kingi must know more than this. Where can I find him?”

She reached for her hair. “No one knows. He disappeared four years ago.”

My spine slumped.Four years ago?I had the biggest tip-off of my life, and it was from someone who hadn’t been seen in four years?

“Whoever brought this note”—I searched her guarded profile cautiously—“must know where he is.”

“I’m not telling you who that is.” She fixed me with a fierce look. “If it gets out, the police will be watching that person as well.”

“But this middle person must know about the note.”

It was strained, but, as with the Tohus, I had to keep pushing. This was what being a journalist was all about—push, then push harder until it wascringingly embarrassing.

Reluctantly, she admitted, “I sent Kingi library books through this person. The note was hidden in a returned book, which is how we communicate.”

“So—”

“Stop this.” Kui crossed her arms. “You’ll never find Kingi. He went bush four years ago after a bar fight among gang members where there were some serious injuries. Kingi was out on parole. He wasn’t even at the bar, but an old friend who had been injured in the fight called Kingi to take him to the hospital. The police accused Kingi of being involved. It was clear they were going to use it to put pressure on him to talk about the gang members. He’s been wrongly accused, but you know how trouble follows that poor kid. And the fact is, he’s skipped parole.”

“The bush… he’s in Te Urewera,” I said, triumphant. She shrugged. I could see why. The steep mountain range spanned more than half a million acres, with lakes and fast rivers. And dangerous wild boar. My mood nosedived. “Oh shit.”

“Look, I want to help you. You were a great friend to Kingi when you were kids.” She rubbed at her forehead, closing her eyes. “Especially that time in church with that awful man.”

I covered my face, and my whole body clamped, barely able to think about it. The priest had told Kingi to stay late for altar boy duty. I didn’t know what was going on. Hadn’t a clue that something so vile could exist. But I didn’t like the priest’s monstrous, hairy hand clutching Kingi’s young shoulder. I didn’t like the way that priest pressed so close behind Kingi. I could feel Kingi’s terror.

I had glared into that priest’s deep-set, hooded eyes and told him a lie. I’d spoken slowly and loudly, like I knew he was doing something wrong. The memory was shrill and vivid.

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