The Snow Tiger / Night of Error Page 25

  Ballard took a deep breath and stretched out his hand. ‘Hello, this is Ballard in Hukahoronui. Can you put me through to Civil Defence Headquarters? It’s in the Reserve Bank Building, Hereford Str – ’

  A calm voice cut in. ‘No need for that, Mr Ballard. They’re on the line now.’

  TWENTY-SIX

  Rusch, McGill and two of the American servicemen crunched across the snow over the desolation that was Hukahoronui. McGill took off his glove and bent to feel the texture of the snow. ‘It’s hardening,’ he said, and straightened up. ‘I was training some guys in snow rescue before we got hit. I said then they’d be no good, and I was right. You know what’s worrying me right now?’

  ‘What?’asked Rusch.

  ‘We’re going to get a lot of people flying in here if Ballard does his stuff – maybe several hundreds.’ McGill nodded to the west slope. ‘I’m worried that she’ll come down again. That would really compound this disaster.’

  ‘Is it likely?’

  ‘There’s still a lot of snow up there, so I think only half of it came down, sliding on a hoar frost surface. I’d like to take a look.’

  The man behind Rusch touched his arm. ‘Sir.’

  ‘What is it, Cotton?’

  ‘Look at that dog, sir. It’s sniffing at something in the snow.’

  They looked to where Cotton pointed and saw an Alsatian pawing at the snow and whining. ‘Maybe it’s not trained,’ said McGill. ‘But it’s the best we’ve got.’

  As they approached, the dog looked up at them and wagged its tail – and then scraped at the snow with its forepaw. ‘Good dog,’ said Rusch. ‘Cotton, use that shovel.’

  Cotton found the body beneath three feet of snow and Rusch checked the pulse. ‘This one is gone. Let’s get him out.’

  They pulled the body from the snow and Rusch’s breath hissed from his lips. ‘What in the name of God happened to his face? Do you know him, Mike?’

  ‘His wife wouldn’t know him,’ said McGill bleakly. His face was pale.

  The dog wagged its tail happily and trotted off across the snow, where it stopped and began to sniff and scratch again. ‘Cotton, you’re now the dog handler,’ said Rusch. ‘Harris, round up some able-bodied men and dig wherever that German shepherd scratches.’

  McGill heard the familiar sound of skis hissing on snow and turned to see two men approaching. They stopped and the one in the lead pushed up his goggles. ‘What can I do to help?’ said Charlie Peterson.

  McGill looked down at Charlie’s feet. ‘You can lend me your skis for a start. I’m going up the mountain.’

  Miller pushed forward from behind Charlie and stared down at the body. ‘Christ!’ he said. ‘What happened to him?’ A retching sound came from him and he turned and vomited helplessly.

  The body did not seem to worry Charlie. He looked down, and said, ‘It’s Rawson. What happened to him?’

  ‘How do you know who it is?’ asked Rusch. ‘The guy’s got no face.’

  Charlie pointed. ‘He lost the first joint of the little finger of his left hand.’ He looked up at McGill. ‘Take Miller’s skis. I’ll come with you.’

  ‘That slope’s not the safest place in the world, Charlie.’

  Charlie grinned crookedly. ‘You can get killed crossing the road. I said that before, didn’t I?’

  McGill gave Charlie a level stare, then made up his mind.

  ‘Okay. Help me get them off him. He’s in no condition to do it himself.’

  Five minutes later Rusch watched them go. He looked up at the slope and frowned. It wasn’t a job he would fancy doing. ‘Sir!’ called Cotton urgently. ‘We’ve got another one – alive and female.’

  Rusch strode over. ‘Be careful with that shovel, Harris. Cotton, bring up that empty sled.’

  The limp body of Liz Peterson was lifted on to the sled and covered warmly with a blanket. Rusch looked down at her. ‘Lovely girl,’ he commented. ‘Take her to the church. We’ve just started to earn our pay.’

  The Canterbury Provincial Chamber was very quiet as Lieutenant-Commander Rusch gave his evidence, although there had been a shocked whisper as he described the finding of Rawson’s body.

  ‘The dog was a big help in that first hour, sir,’ said Rusch. ‘He found three victims, two of whom were alive. But then he lost interest. I think he was tired – the snow was very deep and hard to get through, and maybe his scent was failing. He wasn’t a trained animal, anyway.’

  ‘Did you find out whom the dog belonged to?’ asked Harrison.

  ‘His name was Victor and he belonged to the Scanlon family. There were no survivors from the Scanlon family.’

  ‘I hope Victor has found a good home.’

  ‘I believe he has, sir. Miss Peterson is looking after him.’

  Harrison looked across the room towards the Petersons’ table. He smiled at Liz Peterson and nodded. ‘Most appropriate,’ he commented. He consulted his watch. ‘Our next evidence deals with the activities of the Civil Defence authorities. As it is getting late in the afternoon this hearing will adjourn until ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’

  He turned to Rusch. ‘Thank you, Lieutenant-Commander. It only remains for me to thank you and your comrades for a job well done.’

  The hard-bitten Rusch actually blushed.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  ‘Listening to that evidence gave me a cold grue all over again,’ said McGill. ‘I was too busy at the time to think about it much, but when you get it all laid out then it really hits you.’

  ‘A terrible experience,’ said Stenning.

  They were standing at the desk in the hotel waiting for the receptionist to finish telephoning. ‘Where is Ian?’ asked Stenning.

  ‘Gone off somewhere with Liz,’ McGill smiled. ‘Have you come up with an answer to the question I asked? What happens if Ian marries her?’

  Stenning shook his head. ‘That will take a great deal of thought.’

  The receptionist came off the telephone and took keys from a board. ‘Mr Stenning. Dr McGill. There’s a letter for you, Dr McGill.’

  ‘Thank you.’ McGill tossed the letter lightly in his hand. ‘Care to join me in a drink?’

  ‘I think not,’ said Stenning. ‘I think I’ll take a short nap.’

  Stenning went to his room and McGill went into the bar. He ordered a drink and then opened the letter. As he unfolded the sheets a cheque slipped out and fluttered to the bar counter. He picked it up, glanced at it, and his eyes widened as he saw the amount it was made out for. He laid down the cheque and his brows drew together as he read the first page of the letter. He flipped over the sheet and read absorbedly, the drink untasted at his elbow. He arrived at the final page then, turning back to the beginning, he read it all through again. Then he sat on the bar stool and looked ahead of him broodingly, which unnerved the bar-tender who happened to be at the focus of his blank stare.

  ‘Anything wrong with your drink, sir?’

  ‘What?’ McGill roused himself. ‘No, give me another – and make it a double.’ He picked up the glass and swallowed the neat scotch in one gulp.

  When Ballard arrived McGill was waiting for him and steered him into the bar. McGill crooked his finger at the bar-tender. ‘Two more doubles. We’re celebrating, Ian.’

  ‘What’s there to celebrate?’

  ‘Guess what I’ve got in my pocket?’

  ‘How could I possibly guess?’ Ballard looked at McGill closely. ‘Mike, are you drunk? You look like a boiled owl.’

  ‘In my pocket,’ said McGill seriously. ‘In my pocket I have a steamroller. It arrived air mail from Los Angeles.’ He took the letter from his breast pocket and waved it under Ballard’s nose. ‘Read it, my friend. Read it and weep. I don’t feel like cheering even though it’s the saving of you.’

  ‘I think you are drunk.’ Ballard took the envelope and opened it. He glanced at the cheque and said, ‘What the hell is this? A bribe?’

  ‘Read,’ urged McGill.

  Ballard
started to read the first page and then, frowning, glanced at the bottom of the last page to find that the letter was from the American, Miller. Its contents were appalling.

  ‘Dear Dr McGill,

  ‘I have been wanting to write this letter for a long time but I have been putting it off because I guess I was scared. What happened has been on my conscience ever since the avalanche which caused so many deaths, including that of my good friend, Ralph Newman. A friend sent me newspaper clips about the inquiry into the Hukahoronui disaster. On reading the clips I relived that terrible experience and I know I have to speak up. I am having this letter notarized so that it may be used in evidence if you think it necessary, but I send it to you in the hope that you will not think it necessary. I leave it to your good judgment.

  ‘Early on the morning of that dreadful Sunday I went skiing with Charlie Peterson. There was a mist in the valley but he said there would be sun on the higher slopes. I was a bit nervous because I had heard talk of avalanches at the hotel, but Charlie laughed at me and said that someone was pulling my leg. We went up into the hills at the head of the valley and did some skiing but the slopes were not very good there, and Charlie suggested that we go to the slopes nearer Hukahoronui. This we did.

  ‘We finally arrived at the top of the west slope above the town and we saw a sign there saying that no skiing was allowed. I wanted to turn around and go another way, but Charlie said the land was Peterson land and that no one could stop him from doing what he wanted on his own land. He said all this talk of avalanches was nonsense and there had never been one in Hukahoronui. He laughed when he said the sign had been put up by boy scouts and it was just about their mark.

  ‘We had quite an argument up there on the mountain. I said the scouts must have been told to put the sign there and I guessed it was you who had told them. I said that maybe you were right about the danger of an avalanche. Charlie just stood there laughing and there was something funny about him right at that time. He said that an avalanche might be a good thing and anything that could get rid of Mr Ballard couldn’t be all bad.

  ‘He went on about Ballard for quite a while, a lot of real wild talk. He said that Ballard had killed his brother and stolen the mine from his father and that it was about time someone stopped him from stealing the whole of Hukahoronui. He ranted on like this for maybe five minutes, then he said the mine wouldn’t do Ballard much good if it wasn’t there.

  ‘I told him he was talking crazy and asked him how he could make a whole gold mine disappear. Suddenly he shouted, “I’ll show you!” and took off down the hill. He wasn’t going very fast and he kept jumping up and down very heavily. I went after him to try to stop him, but suddenly there was a crackling noise like French fries in the pan and Charlie gave a shout. I stopped and saw him jumping sideways up the hill.

  ‘Nothing seemed to happen at first and then I saw the snow cracking where Charlie had been. A lot of cracks zigzagged very fast and a bit of snow went up into the air. Then the slide started. Charlie and I were safe because we were above the fall. We just stood there and watched it happen and I’ve never seen a more awful sight.

  We watched it go down into the mist over the town and I started to cry. I’m not ashamed of that. Charlie shook me and said I was a crybaby. He said to keep my mouth shut. He said if I told anybody about it he would kill me. I believed him when he said that – he was crazy enough for anything.

  ‘I asked him what we were going to do and he said we were going into town to see what had happened. He said it was just a lot of feathery stuff that had gone and it had probably just given the people a good scare, though he hoped it had done for the mine. He laughed as he said that. So we went into the town and saw the dreadful thing that had happened.

  ‘Then Charlie threatened me again. He said that if I as much as blinked an eyelid in his direction the world would not be big enough; he would search me out and find me wherever I was.

  ‘As God is my witness this is the truth of what happened that Sunday morning. I am deeply ashamed of my silence and I hope this letter will go towards making amends. I suppose there will be a public fund for the families of the victims because there usually is. I enclose a check for $10,000. This is nearly all my savings and I cannot afford more.’

  Ballard looked up. ‘For God’s sake!’

  ‘It’s like holding an unexploded bomb, isn’t it?’

  ‘But we can’t use this.’

  ‘Why not? Stenning would just love you.’

  ‘To hell with Stenning. I wouldn’t do that to anybody. Besides …’

  His voice tailed away, and McGill said, ‘Lover’s Lane must run straight and narrow? Ian, you have the Ballard Trust right in the palm of your hand.’

  Ballard stared at the drink in front of him. He put his hand out, but only to push it away in a rejecting gesture. He turned to McGill. ‘Mike, tell me something and tell me honestly. Before the avalanche we were making every preparation possible. We expected an avalanche, didn’t we? Does this really make any difference?’ He tapped for emphasis on the bar counter and, as the bar-tender came running, he shook his head violently in negation. ‘You exonerated the pilot of that plane – you said the snow was ready to come down. Do you still believe that?’

  McGill sighed. ‘Yes, I still believe it.’

  ‘Then we don’t use this.’

  ‘You’re too gentlemanly for your own good, Ian. This is a tough world we live in.’

  ‘I wouldn’t want to live in the kind of world where I’d use this letter.’

  ‘It won’t wash,’ said McGill flatly. ‘I know what you’re thinking. If this letter is produced you can say goodbye to Liz. But it’s not good enough. That son of a bitch killed fifty-four people. If Miller had claimed it was accidental I might have gone along, but he says Charlie did it deliberately. You can’t suppress it.’

  ‘What do I do, Mike?’

  ‘There’s nothing for you to do. It’s my responsibility. The letter is addressed to me.’ He took it from Ballard’s fingers, replaced it in the envelope, and put it back in his pocket.

  ‘Liz will never believe I didn’t go along with you,’ said Ballard gloomily.

  McGill shrugged. ‘Probably not.’ He picked up his glass. ‘Come to think of it, I don’t think I’d like you as much if you’d grabbed the chance of hammering the Petersons with eager cries. You’re a silly bastard, but I still love you.’ He raised the glass in a toast. ‘Here’s to chivalry – still alive and living in Christchurch.’

  ‘I still think you’re drunk.’

  ‘That I am, and I’m going to get a hell of a lot drunker – if only to forget how many shits there are in this world.’ He drained his glass and set it down with a thump.

  ‘When are you going to give the letter to Harrison?’

  ‘Tomorrow, of course.’

  ‘Hold off for a bit,’ said Ballard urgently. ‘I’d like to get straightened out with Liz first. I wouldn’t want her to get this slammed at her cold at the Inquiry.’

  McGill pondered. ‘Okay, I’ll save it for twenty-four hours.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Ballard pushed his untasted drink before McGill. ‘If you’re insistent on getting drunk there’s my contribution.’

  McGill twisted on his stool and watched Ballard walk out of the bar, then he turned back to the hovering bar-tender. ‘Two more doubles.’

  ‘Then the gentleman is coming back?’

  ‘No, he’s not coming back,’ said McGill absently. ‘But you’re right about one thing. He is a gentleman – and there are damned few of them around these days.’

  Ballard and Stenning dined together that night. Ballard was abstracted and in no mood for small talk. Stenning noted this and was quiet, but over coffee he asked, ‘Ian, what is your relationship with Miss Peterson?’

  Ballard jerked his head, a little startled by the intrusive question. ‘I don’t see that’s any of your business.’

  ‘Don’t you?’ Stenning stirred his coffee. ‘You forget the matter o
f the Ballard Trust. It is still very much on my mind.’

  ‘I don’t see what Liz has to do with it.’ His lip curled. ‘Don’t tell me you want me to walk over her, too.’

  ‘I don’t want you to do anything you don’t wish to.’

  ‘You’d better not try,’ said Ballard.

  ‘Yet I have to interpret Ben’s wishes, and it’s much more difficult than I anticipated. Ben didn’t tell me about Liz Peterson.’

  ‘The old man didn’t think much of women,’ remarked Ballard. ‘He lived for business, and for him women had no place in business so consequently they didn’t exist. He didn’t tell you about Liz because, to him, she was a nonentity.’

  ‘You understand Ben better than I thought.’ Stenning paused with his coffee cup in mid-air, then set it down gently. ‘Yes, that is certainly something to be taken into consideration.’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  ‘It depends on your relationship with Miss Peterson. It was something McGill asked me – he wanted to know, if you married her, whether it would have any effect in the “Peterson Bashing Contest”, as he called it.’

  ‘And what answer did you give him?’

  ‘A dusty one,’ said Stenning. ‘I had to think about it.’

  Ballard leaned forward. ‘Let me tell you something,’ he said in a low, but intense, voice. ‘Ben thought he was God. He manipulated me, and he’s been manipulating the family through the Trust. Now that’s all right if it’s just in the course of business, but if the old bastard is going to control my private life from beyond the grave, then that’s another thing.’

  Stenning nodded. ‘Your analysis of Ben’s attitude towards women has proved quite illuminating. I think you are quite right when you say that Ben didn’t mention Miss Peterson because he discounted her completely. This, therefore, has a strong bearing on how I intend to interpret his wishes. The conclusion I have come to is this: you may marry or you may not – you may even marry Miss Peterson or you may not. Whatever you do will have no bearing on my decision regarding your suitability as a trustee. If Ben discounted Miss Peterson, then so shall I.’