Wiremu Du Rose Read online

  Wiremu Du Rose

  The Hana Du Rose Mysteries

  K T Bowes

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Would you like to be part of it?

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  12

  13

  14

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  32

  33

  34

  35

  36

  37

  38

  39

  40

  41

  42

  43

  44

  45

  46

  47

  48

  49

  50

  51

  52

  53

  54

  55

  56

  57

  58

  59

  60

  61

  62

  63

  64

  65

  66

  67

  68

  69

  70

  71

  72

  73

  74

  75

  76

  77

  78

  79

  80

  Dear Reader

  About the Author

  Other books by this author:

  Last Chance

  Dedication

  For Haydn.

  My boy.

  Would you like to be part of it?

  I’m a believer in ‘try before you buy.’

  There’s nothing worse than forking out your hard-earned cash on a doozy and regretting it.

  I don’t want stinky reviews.

  I want you to love my work and feel like you got value for money.

  All the novels below are free series starters.

  If you’d like to be part of that, then click the link below.

  I will take care of your email address and won’t be sharing it or spamming you.

  Ain’t nobody got time for that.

  You can unsubscribe at any time.

  I promise not to send Rohan Andreyev after you...maybe.

  Intrigued?

  JOIN me on my writing journey and meet a scary Russian and a breath taking Māori.

  I assure you they’re all up to no good.

  YES PLEASE, I’D LOVE my free novels

  1

  Hammer Pin

  The knot in Wiremu’s chest grew to the size of a boulder as the police car positioned itself behind him on the narrow road. Flashing blue and red lights strobed against the pine trees lining the hill to his left, creating a haze of alarm. Other motorists streamed past, crossing the centre line to avoid clattering with the officer emerging from his vehicle as he settled a fluorescent yellow jacket over his shoulders. They slowed to give them enough time to peer at the unfortunate teenager in the borrowed truck, but the darkness and glittering headlights masked the embarrassed flush lighting Wiremu’s cheeks.

  With shaking fingers, Wiremu hauled on the handbrake and knocked the truck out of gear. It took two stabs of the button near the door handle to force the side window to lower. He scrabbled in the jacket laid on the passenger seat, extracting his wallet and flipping it open. The cocky face which peered at him from the laminated driving licence looked like a different person. A lot had changed in three years.

  “Good evening, sir.” The police officer bent to get eye contact with him and Wiremu held his breath. “Can I see your driving licence, please?”

  Wiremu held it out between them and the officer took it. He shone a torch onto the photograph before glancing back at the driver with a furrow appearing between his brows. “Du Rose,” he murmured. “Why do I know that name?”

  Wiremu cleared his throat to alleviate the pressure from the boulder, which had forced the air into his gullet and made it difficult to breathe. “I don’t know, officer,” he replied, keeping his tone deferential. He didn’t want trouble, knowing it would cause him to fall at the first hurdle. “Did I do something wrong?” he risked asking, his chest rising and falling faster than usual.

  “Is this your vehicle?” The cop bent again at the waist, the fabric of his jacket rustling in the sharp breeze blowing up from the south.

  Wiremu pursed his lips. If he told the truth, the officer might call his uncle, but if he lied, then what? His mind stalled on the notion of lying and what kind of lie might smooth the way rather than making it worse.

  Nothing. His brain produced nothing helpful.

  He cleared his throat again. “It’s my uncle’s. He lent me a fleet vehicle for my new job.”

  “Here?” The man raised a dirty blond eyebrow and glanced ahead of him along the darkened road. No streetlights softened the eerie lane, with the pine trees rustling in the breeze.

  “Yes sir.” Wiremu swallowed. “I’m working at Horse’s Farm on the Pirongia Road starting tomorrow.”

  “Right.” The officer took a step back and licked his lips. “For Vaughan?”

  “Yeah.” Wiremu nodded with more enthusiasm. “General farm work.”

  “Wait here.” The sleeves of his jacket crinkled as the officer tapped the driving licence against his opposite palm. “What’s your uncle’s name?”

  “Logan Du Rose.” The boulder slipped into his stomach as he said the name, failure burning like a hot coal in his gut.

  The officer’s boots crunched against loose grit as he walked back to his patrol car and sank into the driver’s seat. He closed the door against the wind and turned on the interior light. Wiremu watched in the rear-view mirror as the man’s lips moved in conversation with the control operator. He braced himself for the inevitable crushing of his dreams as the chance encounter threatened to unravel his carefully made plans.

  “Idiot!” he rebuked himself. “Should have refused the truck.” He shook his head, knowing he couldn’t have done that without suspicion. The boulder of worry grew until it pressed against his spine and threatened his circulation. The cop opened his door and stepped out of the vehicle. His easy gait carried him back to Wiremu’s side.

  “That all checks out,” he concluded. Long fingers with wide knuckles handed back the driving licence. Wiremu almost dropped it as he accepted the smooth plastic card, his fingers shaking.

  “Why did you stop me?” His tone carried an edge of suspicion. The police force had worked hard to expunge the poisonous thread of racism from their ranks, but living with darker skin often attracted an insipid unconscious bias.

  The cop nodded towards the back of the truck. “Dodgy taillight. Might be a loose connection.” He lifted his chin and pointed to the lever next to Wiremu’s right knee. He displayed his knowledge of the vehicle type by knowing of the lever’s existence, though the darkness hid it from view. “Pop the trunk and I’ll take a look.”

  Wiremu’s fingers scrabbled until he found the lever, though he had to dip his head to ensure he pulled the right one. A clunk indicated the unlocking of the rear tailgate, and the cop scrunched around to the back of the truck. Unsure whether to get out of the vehicle, Wiremu followed at a safe distance. He released the catch for his seat belt and slid down from the driver’s seat, careful not to appear threatening. Already
over six feet tall and with muscles created from manual labour, he could intimidate smaller men without trying. He edged around the back of the truck and watched the cop’s deft fingers as he peered into the flat bed of the truck.

  “Can you hold that for me?” The cop glanced back at Wiremu and held out his torch.

  “Okay.” Wiremu took a step towards him, grasping the heavy light and leaning over to shine it into the cavity. He used his other hand to raise the canopy and afford them more room.

  A click sounded and red light beamed from the unit in the police officer’s hand. “Got it,” he said with a satisfied sigh. “These Toyota utes suffer from faulty connections sometimes. The plastic gets brittle in the heat. You’ll need it replaced at your next service.”

  “Thanks.” Wiremu waited until the cop lifted the tailgate and set the canopy back into place. He tapped the metal chassis with an index finger before accepting back his torch.

  “Nice truck,” he commented. “Few people would trust someone your age with one of these.”

  Wiremu nodded in acknowledgement of a truth. “He’s a good bloke.” A sharp intake of cold air cut across his confession before he could make it. Logan’s faith in him wouldn’t last, not when he found out what he’d done. What he wanted to do.

  “Is that all, sir?” he asked. The moment contained an awkwardness back lit by the patrol car’s lights, still strobing into the darkness. Another motorist edged around them, crossing onto the other side of the road and slowing. Wiremu jerked aside as the cop raised his hand, turning it into a wave at the last minute. The passing ute driver pipped the horn in acknowledgement.

  Embarrassed by his obvious suspicion, Wiremu floundered. “Thanks for your help,” he gushed, his words tumbling over themselves in his haste to escape. “Please, may I go now?”

  “Yeah, sure.” The cop nodded and held out his hand. “Welcome to town. It’s not much, but we like it.”

  Wiremu stared down at the pale fingers as the red and blue lights kissed the man’s skin and gave it a purple hue. He took his hand and gave it a moderate shake, careful not to crush the fine bones.

  “Wiri Du Rose,” he replied, his voice wavering. He’d told his employer a different surname, adopting his mother’s maiden name to avoid awkward questions. But the cop had seen his driving licence, and it created the first of many cracks in Wiri’s story. He forced a smile onto his lips and prayed he didn’t cross paths with the cop again.

  They parted company, the cop deactivating the strobing lights and pulling onto the road with the roar of a diesel engine. Wiri gave the man a feckless wave, his complexion pale and sickly through the side window. As the taillights of the patrol car disappeared along the lane, he pushed his shaking palms beneath his thighs and rested his forehead against the steering wheel. The exhaled breath took his recriminations with it. “Should have said no to the truck,” he murmured.

  2

  Drawbar

  His phone’s satellite navigation picked a fight with him five painful minutes later. The irritating female voice told him he’d reached his destination, her tone becoming more hysterical with each reminder.

  “I haven’t!” he complained. His mind flicked back to the email from his new boss in which he’d given rough directions. “He said fifteen minutes out of town and on the left.” He slowed the truck to a crawl and peered through the darkness. His headlights lit up the road ahead, crossing to a point in the distance. Switching them onto full beam provided little relief, showing another stretch of empty road identical to the last few kilometres. Headlights shone on the horizon, tiny pinpricks from an approaching vehicle.

  “You have reached your destination,” the soft voice intoned.

  “I haven’t!” Wiri ground his teeth until his jaw ached. The screen zoomed out to show a dense green area, a lake and the narrow, snaking road south. Wiri closed his eyes and imagined the algorithms rationalising the information. When he looked up, he found the view hurtling towards the bright red pin stuck into the road on the screen as though attempting to prove the narrator spoke the truth. He wondered if a secret club of artificial intelligence navigation narrators ever got together in an alternate reality and laughed at the stupidity of their drivers. He pulled the truck onto the narrow verge and retrieved the mobile phone from its cradle, cursing as his wallet fell from the passenger seat to the floor and bounced against the carpet.

  “You have reached your destination.” The female voice added more emphasis, as though pleading with him. Her heavy twang hurt his teeth and jarred with the softer vowel sounds of home.

  “Let’s check the email,” he muttered, pressing the icon on his screen. He groaned at the complete lack of a signal as the app refused to load. The map worked on a stored memory of the route which he’d set the day before in secret.

  Headlights flared like a sunburst in his peripheral vision and a diesel engine slowed. Wiri glanced up to find the police car stopped next to him. “Are you lost?” the cop asked.

  Wiri’s reluctant nod oozed failure and defeat. “Yeah.” He sighed.

  “You have reached your destination.” The sentence contained hope as though appealing to the police officer for affirmation.

  He smiled, displaying perfect white teeth. “I don’t know why that always happens here.” A light laugh slipped from his chest. “But Vaughan’s place is about two kilometres further on and to the left. It’s not signposted but look for the lights on the hill and turn into the gateway. You’ll go over a cattle grid and onto a dirt road. Drive up to the house and he’ll hear you if he’s around.”

  “Thanks.” Wiri dropped his useless phone onto his jacket. He exhaled and viewed the road ahead. “Again.”

  “No worries. Catch you later.” The cop waved a hand through his side window at the same moment his dashboard radio crackled. He pressed on the gas and eased the patrol car along the road towards the town.

  “Not if I see you first,” Wiri whispered under his breath. He pulled onto the road and increased the truck’s speed, raking the view ahead for signs of a gateway. The forestry block ended with such abruptness, it took Wiri’s breath away as the Milky Way burst to life overhead. The contour of the road flattened and the breakneck bends gave way to a gentler camber.

  Lights twinkled as though suspended in the air as Wiri pushed the truck along a straight piece of road. Unlike the glaring whiteness of the stars, these held the yellow hue of man-made bulbs. He slowed in time for his headlights to catch the glint of a metal pole to the left and a wide gateway yawned over a cattle grid.

  Nerves vied with relief as he made the turn and clanked over the heavy steel poles. The truck juddered and shook and his phone joined his wallet in the foot well. His headlights bounced over post and rail fencing. A cool breeze filtered through the open window and stroked dry the sweat on his brow.

  The house grew in size as Wiri followed the steep driveway through the foothills of the mountain. It lifted its chin with pride at the valley below, though as he drew closer, Wiri spotted the tell-tale signs of neglect. The chimney sagged, not lining up with the front door next to it. An outside light cast the lines of the house into sharp relief, exposing all its faults with the combination of glow and shadow. Wiri ground his teeth, choosing not to care as he parked behind an ancient truck with an old-fashioned number plate. He’d made his choice and he would walk in it, no matter what looming disaster befell him.

  Like a reprimand, the GPS blocker he’d plugged into the cigarette lighter flashed once, the telling red light stopping his uncle from tracking the fleet vehicle. He’d been unable to refuse Logan’s generosity without making a scene and so he’d relied on the internet purchase to provide a temporary solution.

  Killing the engine and taking a deep, fortifying breath, Wiri climbed from the driver’s seat. He left his fallen phone and wallet and activated the central locking, tucking the key fob into the front pocket of his jeans. A sleek Mercedes saloon blocked the path he should have taken. Squaring his shoulders, he navigate
d it and walked the short distance towards the front of the house. A ranch slider lead onto a new deck, the pine still fresh and untreated. Wiri frowned at the stark contrast with the dilapidated building. Ghostly net curtains fluttered through an opening in the ranch slider and he paused and debated whether to knock on the window or continue towards the front door. “Door,” he whispered to himself, channelling the English woman who’d raised him. “It’s politer.” He angled his boots towards the peeling blue paint, the flickering porch light creating crawling shadows over the neglected surface. The scent of fresh wood filled his nostrils as he sprang up the two new steps and onto the deck.

  He jumped aside as the ranch slider drew back with a hiss to create a yawning mouth. The net curtains made a bid for escape. A dark shape appeared, moving at speed sideways as it tangled with the flimsy material.

  “Get out!” a male voice yelled. “And don’t come back or I’ll break your bloody legs! Then I’ll shoot you in the face!”

  The shape became a person, shunting against Wiri in its attempt to remain upright. He released a grunt of pain and shoved with both hands, tipping the man’s balance and sending him off the edge of the deck. The man landed with a wail and sprawled in the dirt, the yellow glow of the porch light picking out the highlights of an expensive suit fabric. The net curtains lifted in the breeze and a briefcase flew beneath them before the boot which had drop-kicked it settled back to earth. “Take your crap and go,” the same voice growled. The case sent up a puff of dirt and the man grabbed it before turning onto hands and knees and using it to push himself upright.

  “That’s assault! I’m calling the cops.” He dusted filth from his knees and closed his fingers around the handle of the case. Rising, he jabbed a finger at Wiri. “He’s my witness. You saw him assault me.”

  The barrel of a shotgun poked through the gap in the ranch slider and the man gasped. A giant fought his way past the net curtains, his feet encased in boots heavy enough to have glued Wiri to the floor. The butt of the gun rested between the man’s shoulder and collarbone as he stepped over the metal frame of the ranch slider. Relaxed fingers supported the barrel and Wiri noticed what the panicked man didn’t. An index finger caressed the trigger guard without slipping inside it. He planned to scare but not to injure, despite his verbal threat. “You saw nothing, did you boy?” The gunman addressed Wiri without looking at him, his steps pausing for a reply.