Farm Kill Read online

  Fred was silent for a moment, as if contemplating something. Instead, he said, "Greg and I have played indoor bowls together for several seasons. You mark my words, he isn't repressing; he is diverting and controlling his feelings. You stick to your guns, lad. Truth will out."

  The two men went back to the hall just as their game was about to begin. Michael found it fun to be with Greg socially rather than in a formal counselling role. He was a nice guy in a quiet way. Violent? No way.

  Michael played well. He had to draw his bowl in close to the jack to win, but he put the bowl on the wrong bias and it swung away in the direction opposite to his intention. The game was lost. Hands were shaken and Michael received a slap on the back from Greg.

  "Thanks mate," he said. "Good to have you on the team."

  Fred laughed at the joke. "You played well enough, Michael. You're not the first and you won't be the last person to play the ball on the wrong bias."

  Fred, Greg and Michael's playing partner moved off to have a beer. Greg slipped away, probably to check the car. It was common for players to put their kids to bed in their cars, slipping out to check on them now and then.

  "Hi there," said an attractive young woman. "I'm Ashleigh."

  Michael had no idea who Ashleigh was. Her name rang no bells in his memory cells. He liked what he saw: a young woman in her twenties, strong, like a man in a woman's shape. Definitely a woman's shape.

  "Can I buy you a beer?" Michael asked.

  "Yes," she said. "After I finish my end."

  Michael watched her play. He could not take his eyes off her. She knew he was watching her but never let it show. When she had finished her game, she turned to him, dipping low to pick up her bowls. Michael's eyes were not on the bowls but on her chest as her bra was exposed to his view. Guiltily, he pulled his eyes away.

  "So," he said, "you won then."

  "No problem," Ashleigh said with a smile. "Now how about that beer?"

  They sat drinking there beer at a small table placed near the bar. They did not speak; they just enjoyed the moment.

  "Can I see you some time?" Michael asked eventually.

  "Sure," Ashleigh replied. "Where do you live?"

  "In Grantville," said Michael, then ended inanely, "I work there."

  "I live in Te Kouka Flats," she said. "I work there. I'm Greg Somerville's housekeeper and farm hand."

  Michael was stunned into silence.

  "Cat got your tongue?" jested Ashleigh.

  "No. Well, yes," he stammered.

  "Make up your mind," said Ashleigh. "I'll be in town on Tuesday, so where shall we meet?"

  They decided on a coffee shop and a time then Ashleigh took her leave. Greg joined her, then they gathered up their things and left.

  "She rather fancies you," said Fred Jones. "Did you get her number?"

  "No," said Michael, "but I arranged to meet her on Tuesday. No classes so no problem. She says she is the housekeeper and general hand for Greg Somerville. He's a client of mine."

  "Watch your step, young man," said Fred. "Another beer?"

  "No thanks. I'm driving and I've already had one. That's my limit when I drive."

  "Very wise," said Fred. "Well, we'd better be off. Everyone's going home now. A good night, wasn't it."

  As he drove home, Michael's mind kept going back to the woman he had met. He tried to remember the colour of her eyes but couldn't. He tried to remember how she was dressed but couldn't. He kept seeing the sweep of the top of her breasts as she leaned forward to pick up her bowls.

  Greg said to Ashleigh, "New boyfriend?"

  "No," she replied. "Someone I just met tonight. I'm seeing him on Tuesday."

  "Good for you," said Greg, wondering what was coming next.

  "I hope you don't mind, but I'm going to move back into the cottage," said Ashleigh. "Lance seems settled enough now to go through the night without needing me."

  "Sure," said Greg. "We've got no commitment except for the farm."

  "I'll keep some stuff in my room, and we'll see how things go," said Ashleigh. "I can sleep in my room if Lance plays up or if I get lonely."

  9.

  Ashleigh took time out on Tuesday. She took care with her makeup, which was unusual for her as she preferred to be natural and wear no makeup. She put on a blouse with no bra, looked at herself in the full length mirror on the wardrobe door in her cottage, twisting this way and that so that she could see what she looked like. She thought no bra was too forward. Michael had enough trouble coping with the view down her chest as she gathered up her bowls. No bra might come later.

  She wished she had a friend to talk to. This really was an isolated place for a woman. Ashleigh had always prided herself as being as good as any man but Te Kouka Flats and the hundreds of places like were 'man country'. The local beer had hoardings praising the 'Southern Man', the actors looking like the men she worked with. The farm she was buying was not as isolated as Te Kouka Flats, although it would be a lonely place for a woman on her own.

  In her heart of hearts, Ashleigh did not like being a woman on her own. She could tough it out, she was a hard as any man but she was also a very social person. She loved playing indoor bowls and would probably win the Women's Championship this year. That meant at least three more matches in which she could meet up with Michael.

  Ashleigh was impressed with Michael's obvious integrity. He was well-mannered and polite, raising a few jokes at his expense from those in the farming community who spoke differently from him. He was good natured and took everything the locals threw at him. He was liked by his clients, whose usual first impression was anything but favourable, because he really cared. He cared about justice and fairness, he cared about violence, especially towards women, and he cared about each of his clients.

  They met as planned in a coffee shop. He paid for their orders then sat over his coffee, silently.

  After a while Ashleigh said, "Michael, have I offended you or are you just a moody bugger?"

  Michael looked at her sitting opposite to him. She was pretty. There was no doubt about that. She was tough as well, quite capable of doing a man's work, and probably faster and neater too. She had lovely cheek bones, and her eyes, her blue eyes...

  "Michael?"

  "Sorry Ashleigh. I was admiring the way you look. I want so much to make a good impression on you," he said, "but I have a few problems at the moment that I'm not good company."

  "I hope I'm not one of the problems?"

  "No," he replied. Look, I've only just met you but I feel I've known you all my life. I feel I can trust you. Would you mind if I talked things over with you?"

  Ashleigh felt pleased and a little embarrassed. She was not sure what Michael's issues might be, and that worried her. On the other hand, she felt an attachment to Michael and wanted to help him if she could.

  "I can't promise answers," she said, "but go ahead anyway."

  "I'll get more coffee. Want a cake?"

  "A muffin, a chocolate one," replied Ashley.

  When he came back with coffees and muffins, Ashley asked, "So? What's the big problem? Are you pregnant?"

  Michael laughed. "No."

  "Have you got someone pregnant?"

  "No way!" said Michael. "It's all work stuff. Look, read this letter."

  He took a folded note from his pocket. The letter was from the Matrimonial Services at the District Court. Ashleigh began reading.

  "Hang on," she said. "This letter is blackmail. It says your contract will be withdrawn if you don't write what this John Hopgood wants you to say."

  "That's right. It's a custody thing. Can't give you details but Hopgood wants the child in care. I disagree. I have been working with the couple and really, they are made for each other."

  "Michael, stick to your guns," said Sally. "This above all: to thine own self be true... "

  "Then Thou canst not then be false to any man," Michael finished.

  "Well, nearly right," said Ashleigh. "I didn't know you k
new Shakespeare?"

  "Hamlet," said Michael. "School play. I was a girl."

  Ashleigh looked at Michael's Byronesque features, at the brown face with dark curls falling over his brow, the dark liquid eyes and his intense gaze. She felt safe with Michael. She felt she wanted to stand shoulder to shoulder with him against the problems of the world. Except his shoulders were much higher than hers. She laughed out loud at this very sexy man playing the part of a girl.

  "Please tell me you weren't Portia in 'The Merchant of Venice'?"

  "Actually I was," Michael said in a sorrowful voice. "In French, would you believe, as part of my French classes. But not the whole play."

  They both laughed.

  "Michael." Ashleigh was serious now. "This is a dilemma. I guess if you lose the Court contract you won't have enough business to continue your counselling service?"

  "That's right. Back home to Mum and Dad with my tail between my legs," Michael replied.

  "You know the older guy at bowls, Fred?" said Ashleigh. "He's really a District Court Judge. Why don't you have a word with him?"

  "I kind of did," said Michael. He realised Ashleigh was on his side, and that she was about to give her honest advice.

  "Well, whatever he said, go along with it."

  "He said to stick to my guns," said Michael. "Mind you, he has the power to direct clients my way. And he may know more about this case than I realised."

  "Take this letter to Judge Jones," said Ashleigh.

  "I can't do that. It wouldn't be right."

  "I'll come with you, " said Sally. "Let's do it now."

  Michael was not happy with the suggestion but wanted to please Ashleigh.

  "It can backfire," Michael said. "I could be blackballed. These guys stick together, you know."

  "I think that Mr Jones is actually a decent man," said Ashleigh as they finished their third coffee. "Let's do it."

  New Zealand is a small place and in the rural townships like Grantville officials are often surprisingly accessible. John Jones prided himself on having an open door policy. The couple had to wait about twenty minutes in his outer office before the secretary called them through. She stayed with them, quietly in a corner with a notebook on her lap.

  "Nice to see you both," Fred Jones said. He took the letter Michael proffered and read it.

  "I didn't know you two were together," said Fred Jones.

  "We're not," said Michael. "Well, not yet anyway. We met at bowls the night I got the bias wrong."

  "Unlike you, a judge knows about bias," Fred Jones joked, referring to Michael's mistake in sending the bowl the wrong way. He waved the letter in the air. The secretary stood up, took the letter and left the room. He seemed to want to talk about anything other than the letter. The secretary returned and gave the letter to Fred ones, who handed it back to Michael.

  "Well, it's been nice meeting you," he said. "Take good care, the pair of you. You make a good couple."

  And with that, he showed them the door.

  10.

  Frederick Samson Jones had been a lawyer before becoming a District Court Judge. He enjoyed living in Grantville because he could be Fred Jones, just an ordinary guy. His low key profile allowed him to pick up information that he otherwise would not receive. It also kept his feet on the ground, kept his radar working. Like right now, when he smelt a rat. He picked up his phone and asked for Senior Sergeant Mayhew at the Grantville station.

  "Senior, it's Fred Jones here, District Court Judge."

  "Good afternoon, Sir. I was about to phone you."

  "About Gregory Somerville?"

  "Yes, Your Honour."

  "Is he a violent man, suppressing his anger until finally he can take no more?"

  "No, Your Honour. He is controlled and thoughtful. He has put up with a great deal where a lesser man would erupt. Or top himself, Your Honour."

  "Please call me Fred," said the Judge. "I don't actually know what I should call you even though we meet in Court. There you are Senior Sergeant Thomas George Henry Mayhew. What shall I call you when we chat or have a beer together?"

  "I'm just Mayhew, or Senior. My first name is Tom but no-one calls me that. Except in Court. "

  "I'll stick with Senior or Mayhew."

  "Thank you, Sir. Fred. Greg Somerville is a peace maker. He has a way of calming people. Highly respected at the Rugby Club. Played hard, played fair. I have checked the reports. I'll be having a word with one of our men; there are some real clangers in the report. However, New Zealand is a small place, and our part of it is even smaller, so there may be good reason for the inaccuracies. Greg's boy climbed on top of the Anzac Memorial when he was tiny. The newspaper made a huge fuss about Greg allowing a special needs child out of his sight. Then there was a series of complaints about damage and vandalism. Fences cut, stock let out, water pipes cut so stock got thirsty so complaints to the SPCA.

  "Wait for the clincher: my staff thought these acts were done by Somerville to embarrass his neighbour, Philip Zinsli, who had his eye on Somerville's wife.

  "Now the firearms nonsense. The boy, Lance, managed to get his father's rifle and find the bolt and hunt out ammunition and put all three together. Not bad for an autistic kid, eh? Somerville agreed to relinquish his firearms in case the boy did it again. He kept his firearms certificate. There is no reason at all why he couldn't use or buy a rifle.

  "Here's another clanger. Somerville complained that sixteen heifers had been shot in the paddock next to the pond. The same officer reported that in his opinion, Greg Somerville had shot the animals in order to get the insurance. With no rifle? Pull the other leg!"

  "Who do you think was doing this?"

  "Without a doubt, Zinsli. His wife disappeared mysteriously, leaving a couple of million in their joint bank account. We searched nationwide. Her personal bank account was never touched. We searched both farms and found nothing. Zinsli had two million of hers in the joint account, so there was nothing we could do to stop him spending it. That would give him the money to buy Somerville out. "

  "So you think that Philip Zinsli was hassling Somerville to make him sell? Where does Somerville's wife fit in?"

  "Lonely woman, worn out by farm work and a difficult kid, no female support, charming neighbour... you put the pieces together."

  "Any evidence?"

  "No. Not yet. I'll get another officer to go back over things. We kept the bullets from the heifers. They weren't insured, by the way. I want an officer to check Zinsli's firearms to see if there's a match with those bullets. If there is, we will have motivation, and a weapon."

  "What about this Hopgood fellow? He's seemed sound enough when I've had dealings with him."

  "Zinsli was a midnight butcher. He is legal now, built a proper abattoir, but he still drives about the place, delivering orders. We suspect but can't yet prove that Hopgood is using him to distribute drugs. The two of them go back a long way. We're going to set up a sting operation. This ruckus has got in the way. Diversion will make the arrogant prick think he's smarter than us."

  Frederick Jones, District Court Judge hesitated while considering his position. "Senior, if you suspect foul play by Zinsli to steal her wealth, then you should check with Mrs Somerville's solicitor regarding her will."

  "I did that personally, Sir. Her will leaves everything to her husband, Gregory Somerville or her son Lance should Gregory die with or before her. If they all die together, everything is left to her parents."

  11.

  Sally stayed with Philip while awaiting the outcome of her claim for custody of Lance. In a stable relationship she had more chance of gaining custody than she would as a solo mother. She found Philip unexpectedly supportive. As her distrust grew, she wondered what his private agenda was.

  Greg also did not trust Zinsli and told Sally she could have Lance if he could have him on the farm on a regular basis. To this, Philip objected strongly.

  "That's neither fish nor flesh," he said. "You need full custody and Greg shou
ld be out of it except for a week once a year. I don't want to be trotting across to Greg's farm all the time."

  Sally could not see Philip's point because it was part of his hidden agenda to own both properties. Philip became angry and refused to discuss the matter. He made it very clear that Lance should be with Sally. When that happened, he could more easily have the boy taken into care, and thus upset Greg even more. It would also allow him to fake Sally's suicide if the worst came to the worst.

  Sally got on Zinsli's nerves. She would sit and do nothing for hours, then tear about the place just when he needed some peace and quiet. The sex they shared had been more exciting when it was illicit, although he had to admit he no longer put his heart and soul into it now Sally was living with him.

  THE CUSTODY HEARING happened very quickly. Greg met Sally in town and they walked to the Court House together. Greg seemed at ease, believing that the Court would back his suggestion of Sally being Lance's custodian with him having access on a regular basis. . Like Sally, he could not understand why Philip was putting so much pressure on for Sally to have total care of Lance. There was no discord between them. He had never been violent, and he had complied with the Court's order to attend Michael Bainbidge's course for anger management that Hopgood had insisted upon.

  "I don't trust that John Hopgood," said Greg.

  "He doesn't like you," said Sally. "He asked me to take out a Protection Order against you."

  "Maybe you should have," said Greg.

  "No, you're not violent," said Sally. "Greg, you're one of the nicest men I've ever met."

  "I've felt pretty angry," said Greg. "Especially losing you. It would have been easy to blame Lance because he was really the reason you left. But he's an innocent kid. I should have handled things a lot better."

  "I'm pleased you felt angry. I'm pleased you got angry because I left. I can see now that the constant stress of Lance, the exhaustion, the hopelessness of everything. I didn't handle it well, did I?." Sally was making a statement not asking a question.