Page 79 of Bay of Plenty

The new day’s sun penetrated through the vine-tangled trees, lighting the crumpled forest floor. Time to shine a new light on this investigation, starting with Janey’s disappearance.

“I always believed Janey’s disappearance was suspicious,” I said. “Her diary suggests she might have been killed at the top of the cliff. But we need to consider other possibilities.”

With the Fontaine story, I’d justified my actions to myself, saying that no other journalist could have dug deeper. I’d missed the point—these were people’s lives, and I shouldn’t have gone forward without speaking to Fontaine, however much pressure I felt to produce front-page stories.

So, this time, when I thought about Janey’s disappearance, I tried to open my mind to nuances, shades of gray, clear myself of any preconceived ideas—even, reluctantly, my certainty that Snow was involved.

We arrived at the stream, which I would follow for sixhours. Kingi said it would take me through bush, farmlands, and down the valley to the beach.

I checked my phone: 7:30 a.m. I squeezed my eyes shut and breathed in relief. I would be back in time for the campground auction at 3:00 p.m.,if nothing went wrong.

The path ended at a sheer cliff. Kingi offered to help me cross the crashing river to the path on the right-hand side. One false move, we would be sucked under, swept away, and smashed against the rocks. He gripped my hand. My heart pounded as we leaped for the first rock, freezing waves slapping us. I faltered, slipped, and his hand righted me.Breathe in and out. Next. Jump.We landed. I could barely move with fear. The water smashed around us.Jump.I teetered over a white whirlpool. Kingi grabbed at the back of my shirt.

To the right. Jump. Argh.I grabbed at Kingi again. He swayed.No, no, no.He straightened himself.One more. Big jump.

Together, we hurtled toward the bank, banged on the ground with a yell, rolled, and splayed flat.

We groaned our way to our feet and carried on. We were both scraped and bleeding, but I felt invigorated. Leaping through the crashing water had jolted an idea.

“What if Janey turnedrightalong the beach instead of turningleftto the cliff path?” I asked. “I thought she was pushed off the cliff. But what if she never went to the cliff at all?”

Scrambling along a path spiky with tea trees snaring our faces, arms, and legs, Kingi listed all the places Janey might have walked past, as if he thought often of the beach town—which I was sure he did.

“The playground, the Surf Life Saving Club, the cornerdairy, the pharmacy, the butcher’s shop, the campground…” He carried on, listing family households.

The campground.

Again, I asked myself, why was Snow, through his bow-tied business partner, willing to pay $16 million to buy the entire campground?

It was a question that had rattled around inside me for days. As Kingi said, Snow didn’t care about money. He had all he wanted in life. What compelled him to buy this ordinary piece of land? There was nothing preciousoverit. Nothing preciousunderit. My brain fired.

Unless.

Unless therewassomething precious underneath. Buried. Something that could put you in jail for the rest of your life. Like… a body.

Snow killed Janey and buried her in the campground.

I held my breath to silence the thrashing of my brain. I rearranged my features into a resigned expression and tried to sound final. “Nothing rings a bell… it might take us a lifetime to figure this out… we might never know.”

Kingi nodded but gave me a funny look. Did he suspect I was glossing over something?

“It’s safe for me to carry on alone,” I said. Too abrupt a transition? “You should return to packing.” We hugged, and knowing I might not see him again, I held on tight.

“Thanks for everything, Kingi. I know this has been awful for you.”

“Sulfur on the floor of the helicopter.” He exhaled.

“What?” I dropped my arms and stepped back so I could search his face.

His eyes flicked away. “Some of the times Snow landed here, I smelled sulfur on the floor of his helicopter.”

“Sulfur,” I repeated, free associating. “Volcano. Motu. But no one’s allowed to land there,” I thought aloud. “Why is he landing there? What is it about the island? The island has a hump, like a whale. A helicopter could fly around the back and land unseen. And it’s only five miles out—a clever place to stash drugs.” I slapped my forehead and fizzed with unexpected energy. “Ha—of course.That’swhere Mr.Otto saw the drone fly to.”

Kingi gave a slight, weary shrug. “If anyone can find out, you can.”

I softened, touched by his faith in me, especially as I hadn’t been entirely open with him—but I couldn’t be.

“Thanks, Kingi.” I clutched at his elbow. “Good luck for today. I’m sorry I can’t stay and help, especially as you must be knackered guiding me here.”

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