The Snow Tiger / Night of Error Read online

  Eric Peterson said, ‘My brother is right. It seems to me that you’re asking us to spend a lot of money guarding against something which might never happen. If we have to train men we have to pay them; if we have to have equipment we have to pay for it. Where do we get the money?’

  Quentin laughed bitterly. ‘You haven’t heard anything yet. Wait until you hear about the long-term precautions.’ His finger stabbed out. ‘If this man has his way the mine will shut down.’

  ‘What the hell!’ John Peterson stared at Ballard. ‘What foolish talk is this?’

  ‘Ask McGill how much it will cost to protect the mine,’ said Quentin. ‘At the last meeting we had they were talking in millions of dollars – and we all know the company won’t stand for that.’

  ‘Not to protect the mine,’ snapped Ballard. ‘To protect the town. In a case like this you’ll get a government grant.’

  Eric Peterson laughed shortly. ‘Everyone knows that government grants don’t cover everything – not by a long chalk. We learned that when we were extending the school. And you are talking in millions of dollars, not in thousands.’ He looked up at his brother. ‘Guess how much the town rates will be next year if this damn silly caper carries on.’

  Ballard said, ‘How much is your life worth, Eric?’

  ‘That’s a hell of a question! But I’ll give you a short answer. My life is worth that of one of my brothers – that much and no more.’

  ‘There’s no call for that,’ said Houghton quickly.

  ‘Well, he brought it up,’ said Eric. ‘In any case, according to him, I’m safe.’ He tapped the map. ‘My place is one of the survivors.’

  ‘Not any more,’ said Ballard. ‘Not since the trees were cut down on the west slope. Did you do that, Eric?’

  ‘What the hell has that got to do with anything?’

  ‘The only reason the store survived in 1943 was because of the trees. Now they’re gone there’s nothing between you and the snow. You made a bad bargain there.’

  Eric stood up. ‘Too right I made a bad bargain, or rather, my old man did. You know damned well that when your mother sold him the property she cheated him of the mineral rights. Oh, she was bloody clever, wasn’t she? She even kept hold of that bit of land at the bottom where the mine is now – just enough land to put up the crushing mill to work the ore she gets out of our land.’

  Ballard rubbed his eyes. ‘That’s not the way it was, Eric. It was my father who separated the mineral rights from the property. He did it in his will. Your father didn’t buy the land for five years after that. 1948, wasn’t it?’

  ‘The hell with it!’ said Eric. ‘She still gets the gold.’

  ‘No, she doesn’t,’ said Ballard. ‘She doesn’t hold the mineral rights.’

  ‘Pull the other one,’ scoffed Eric. ‘You’re all Ballards.’

  Matt Houghton drummed his fingers on the table. ‘We seem to have left the subject.’ He glanced nervously at Eric.

  ‘Yes,’ said McGill. ‘I don’t know what this is all about but I don’t think it has anything to do with snow on a hillside. But those missing trees do; there’s nothing left to bind the snow.’

  Eric shrugged and sat down again. ‘It’s a lousy piece of land, anyway. Too bloody steep for cattle, and I couldn’t even get in the hay crop this year.’

  McGill’s head jerked up. ‘What hay crop?’ he said sharply.

  ‘What do you care?’

  ‘You’d better tell me. What happened to your hay crop?’

  John Peterson rolled his eyes towards the ceiling. ‘For God’s sake, Eric! Indulge his curiosity. Then perhaps we can get this meeting over. I’ve got things to do.’

  Eric shrugged. ‘First it was the rain – the crop was sodden, so we couldn’t take it in. I thought we’d have a dry spell, but we didn’t – it rained right in to the winter, so I gave it up. It was rotting in the fields, anyway.’

  ‘And you just left it,’ said McGill. ‘And it’s still there uncut. Is that it?’

  ‘That’s right,’ said Eric, and added touchily, ‘But what’s it got to do with you I’m damned if I know.’

  McGill speared him with a long stare. ‘So you cut down the trees, which is bad enough. Then you leave uncut grass, which is worse. Long, wet grass on a hillside is just about the slipperiest stuff there is. The chances of an avalanche have just gone up considerably.’

  Warrick said, ‘It was slippery, I know. I tried to get up there during the rain myself. After the third try I gave up.’

  ‘What am I? Some kind of public enemy?’ demanded Eric. ‘Who the hell is this joker to come with his accusations?’

  ‘I’m not accusing anyone of anything except maybe short-sightedness,’ said McGill. ‘The first sign of potentially dangerous terrain is a mountain with snow on it; and you have one right on your doorstep but none of you seems to have seen it.’

  ‘Dr McGill is right,’ said Ballard.

  Eric Peterson lunged to his feet. ‘Anyone called Ballard is the last person to accuse me of anything at all,’ he said with a jagged edge to his voice. ‘Anyone with a yellow …’

  ‘That’s enough,’ cut in Mrs Samson sharply. ‘What’s past is gone.’

  ‘What’s this about?’ asked Warrick, looking from Ballard to Eric Peterson. He wore a baffled look, as of a man who feels he is missing the obvious.

  Matt Houghton looked bleak. ‘It’s old history and nothing to do with the subject here.’

  McGill stood up. ‘Gentlemen, you have my report. It’s there on the table before you written up in technical language, and I’ve explained what it means in words of one syllable. I can do nothing more. I shall leave you to your deliberations.’

  ‘Where are you going?’ asked Houghton.

  ‘To do some work.’

  ‘Where can we get hold of you if we need further information?’

  ‘At Mr Ballard’s house,’ said McGill. ‘Or up on the west slope – it needs further investigation. But don’t send anyone up there to find me. In fact, no one should be allowed on that slope from now on. It’s damned dangerous.’

  He left the meeting.

  TEN

  Ian Ballard swam another length of the pool and then climbed out. He walked to the canvas chair where he had left his towel and began to rub himself down. It was good to relax after spending all day at the Inquiry. He poured himself a beer and checked his watch before slipping it on to his wrist.

  Mike McGill came sauntering across the lawn and held out an envelope. ‘Business as usual. Old Harrison must have got over his tantrum. This will be your notification to attend; I’ve had mine.’

  Ballard opened the envelope. McGill was right; the letter was from Reed, the Secretary to the Commission. He dropped it on the grass next to his chair, and said, ‘So we go on. What comes next in the evidence?’

  ‘The first avalanche, I suppose.’ McGill grinned and spread a newspaper before Ballard. ‘Eric has got his name in print.’

  Ballard looked at the black headline bannered across the front page:

  ‘IGNORANT BLACK MAN’ JIBE

  He shook his head. ‘He’s not going to like that.’

  McGill chuckled. ‘Think he’ll come after me with a gun?’

  ‘Eric won’t – but Charlie might,’ said Ballard soberly. ‘He’s crazy enough to do it.’

  McGill laughed and sat down on the grass. ‘Got yourself a lawyer yet?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You’d better start looking.’

  ‘I’ve discovered I have an unsuspected talent,’ said Ballard. ‘I can defend myself very well.’

  ‘You did all right with Turi, and you got Lyall to walk out on a limb before you sawed it off. Not bad going for a novice.’

  ‘Mr Ballard?’ Ballard looked up and saw the young man from the hotel office. ‘A telegram just came. I thought it might be important so I brought it right out.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Ballard ripped open the envelope. ‘It’s a cablegram from England.’ He scanned i
t rapidly and frowned. ‘Now why should …?’

  ‘Trouble?’

  ‘Not really.’ Ballard handed the cable to McGill. ‘Why should a man suddenly fly half way across the world to see me?’

  ‘Who is Stenning?’

  ‘A friend of my grandfather.’ Ballard looked at the pool abstractedly.

  McGill began calculating. ‘He says he’s leaving on the night flight. It doesn’t really matter whether he comes east or west, it’s still about forty hours to Auckland. Then he’ll have to catch an internal flight down to here. Say two full days – that means Saturday afternoon.’

  ‘The Commission won’t sit on Saturday. I’ll meet Stenning at the airport.’

  ‘You’d better have a message awaiting him at Auckland so you can arrange to meet him here.’

  Ballard nodded. ‘Old Ben said something about Stenning the last time I saw him. He said that if anything were to happen to him or the company then I should get in touch with Stenning. Then he said to forget it because Stenning would get in touch with me fast enough. It seems as though he really meant it.’

  ‘Who is Stenning, apart from being your grandfather’s friend?’

  ‘He’s a lawyer.’

  ‘Then he’s arriving just in time,’ said McGill. ‘Just the man you need.’

  Ballard shook his head. ‘He’s not the right sort of lawyer. He specializes in taxes.’

  ‘Oh, one of those boys.’ McGill chuckled. ‘He’s probably come to confess all – that he slipped up on sorting out the death duties bit, and instead of three million from the old man you’re just going to get three thousand.’

  Ballard grinned. ‘I’m not going to get three cents. Ben warned me about that. He said that he’d educated me and I’d have to stand on my own two feet as he’d done at my age. I told you that all his money is tied up in some trust or other.’ He stretched. ‘I’m beginning to feel chilly. Let’s go inside.’

  ‘It’s warmer in the bar,’ agreed McGill.

  THE HEARING

  Third Day

  ELEVEN

  The Press gallery was jammed as Harrison led Eric Peterson through his evidence. Dan Edwards had shamelessly bought space for himself by bringing in two cub reporters and then sending them away when the proceedings began. But it was to no avail; protests from other reporters soon led to the seats being occupied, and Edwards was compelled to scrawl his shorthand in as cramped conditions as anyone else.

  Harrison made a note on his pad, and raised his eyes. ‘So we arrive at the point when Dr McGill left, having delivered his bad news. What happened then, Mr Peterson?’

  Eric Peterson shrugged. ‘Well, the meeting went on for a long time. In all honesty I have to say that some of us were not convinced of the gravity of the situation. You must remember that this whole thing had been jumped on us suddenly – had taken us by surprise, if you like. After all, if someone steps up to you and says, “The end of the world is at hand!” you’re going to need a lot of proof before you believe him.’

  ‘I appreciate your position,’ said Harrison. ‘Can you give some specific examples of the views of members of the council?’

  ‘Well, my brother argued that, even if McGill was anywhere near right, we didn’t want to start a panic. I agreed with that and so did Matt Houghton, the mayor. Phil Warrick didn’t seem to have any views at all. He just blew along with the wind and agreed with everybody. Mrs Samson wanted to go all out with preparations for evacuation right there and then.’

  ‘What position did the mine management take?’

  ‘Mr Ballard agreed with Mrs Samson. Mr Quentin said he didn’t think there was any danger – he said it was all a lot of hot air. Mr Cameron tended to go along with Mr Ballard.’ Peterson clasped his hands before him. ‘You must realize that any decision concerning the town had to be made by the council. It wasn’t up to the mine management to tell the town what to do. Dr McGill had told us there was no immediate hazard from the west slope, and to some of us there seemed to be no reason for going off half-cocked on a project that might cost the town a lot of money and wasted time.’

  ‘And lose votes if nothing happened,’ remarked Edwards cynically.

  ‘Well, as I said, there was a lot of talk and we went round in circles for some time. Eventually Matt Houghton came up with an idea. He said that maybe there was something in what McGill had said, but he’d like a second opinion. He said he’d telephone Christchurch and get some advice.’

  ‘To whom was he going to speak?’

  ‘That was the rub. He didn’t know and neither did anyone else. Mr Cameron suggested he talk to someone in the Forestry Department – he said they’d probably know about avalanche conditions. Someone else, I forget who, suggested the Department of Civil Defence. It was decided he’d try both. Mrs Samson said the police should be notified and that was agreed to.’

  ‘Did the mine management make any concrete suggestions?’

  ‘We had the offer of transport – trucks and suchlike. Also bulldozers.’

  ‘Who made that offer?’

  Peterson glanced sideways at Ballard. He hesitated, then said, ‘I don’t remember. It may have been Mr Cameron.’

  Ballard smiled thinly.

  ‘And what happened then?’

  ‘The meeting broke up and it was decided we’d meet at eleven the next morning, even though it was Sunday.’

  ‘I see.’ Harrison looked around. ‘Has anyone any further questions to ask Mr Peterson?’

  Smithers raised his hand. ‘I represent the Ministry of Civil Defence. Was a telephone call in fact made to the Civil Defence authorities?’

  ‘Not to my knowledge.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I talked with Matt Houghton after the meeting. He was a bit wavery about things. He said he’d do what he always did before making a decision. He said he’d sleep on it.’

  ‘And the police – were they notified?’

  ‘That was a bit difficult. Arthur Pye was away; he was up at the head of the valley investigating a case of sheep worrying.’

  ‘Who is Arthur Pye?’

  ‘Our policeman. Hukahoronui is only a small place – we just had the one policeman.’

  ‘Do you mean to tell me that when you discussed notifying the police it was your intention to tell Constable Pye?’ said Smithers incredulously.

  ‘Well, he’d know what to do about telling his superiors,’ said Peterson defensively.

  ‘So nobody outside Hukahoronui knew of the situation?’

  ‘I suppose that is correct.’

  ‘And in Hukahoronui the knowledge was confined to a handful of people.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Smithers consulted his note-pad. ‘You say that when it was decided to get a second opinion on Dr McGill’s diagnosis of the situation nobody knew whom to consult.’ He lifted his head and looked at Peterson with an air of disbelief. ‘Did no one on the council read the directives which were sent out by my Ministry?’

  ‘We get a lot of stuff from the Government.’ Peterson shrugged. ‘I didn’t read it all myself.’

  ‘Apparently no one on the council read it.’ Smithers took a deep breath. ‘Mr Peterson, you were a councillor and a responsible official. Would you not agree that preparations for a crisis in your community were conspicuous by their absence? I am not speaking of avalanches only – we do live in an earthquake prone country, a major reason for the existence of the Ministry of Civil Defence.’

  ‘May I object?’ said Lyall quickly.

  Harrison looked up from his notes. ‘What is your objection?’

  ‘I would like to point out that the township of Hukahoronui was relatively new and the population was largely composed of recent immigrants to the valley. In such a situation the degree of community spirit would naturally be less than in a longer established community.’

  ‘Mr Lyall, is that your objection? You seem to be answering for the witness.’

  ‘It is not my objection, Mr Chairman. My objection is that
it is improper for Mr Smithers to ask such a loaded question of Mr Peterson. He is usurping the function of this Commission, which is to decide whether the state of affairs implicit in his question was actually the case.’

  ‘A thin point, but valid nevertheless,’ conceded Harrison. ‘But it would have come better with the accompanying speech of extenuation. Mr Smithers, your last question was out of order. Have you any further questions?’

  ‘None that I would care to ask this witness,’ said Smithers curtly.

  ‘Then you may step down, Mr Peterson, on the understanding that you may be recalled.’

  Peterson left the witness chair with an air of relief, and Harrison bent forward to have a word with Reed. He then sat back in his chair, and said, ‘Mr Cameron, the engineer of the Hukahoronui Mining Company, has been hospitalized for many months due to the injuries he received in the disaster. However, he has notified the Commission that he feels well enough to give evidence at this time and he is now present. Will you come forward, Mr Cameron?’

  There was a low murmur as Cameron limped across the hall leaning heavily on the arm of a male nurse. He had lost a lot of weight and was now almost emaciated; his cheeks were sunken and his hair, pepper and salt at the time of the avalanche, was now quite white. He looked an old man.

  He sat in the witness chair and the male nurse drew up another chair behind him. Reed said, ‘What is your full name?’

  ‘Joseph McNeil Cameron.’

  ‘And your occupation, Mr Cameron?’

  ‘I was a mining engineer,’ said Cameron flatly. ‘Specifically for the Hukahoronui Mining Company at the material times under investigation by this Commission.’ His voice was strong if slow.