Teeth of the Wolf

Teeth of the Wolf ebook-13-1

CHAPTER 8

- Pandora -

“Ms Yee.” A woman pushes through a group of bystanders and rushes at her, a ridiculously narrow pencil skirt forcing her to take tiny staccato footsteps. “You remember me.” It isn’t a question, although, to be fair, Patisepa Taylor’s blazing mane and overstretched leonine expression are hardly circumspect.

“Ms Taylor. Hello.”

“So, who’s the murder victim?” The real estate agent doesn’t bother with preamble— probably because Penny isn’t a client.

“Would you mind?” Handing Patisepa her satchel, Penny peels off the waders, pushing the straps off her shoulders one at a time. “Sorry, I’m not at liberty to divulge any information.” She steps out of the attached boots, leaving the waders in an upright heap of Land Rover green. It’s a relief to get some air on her skin. Even made of breathable BogTex™ fabric, wearing them has been like standing in a sauna.

“Aha! I knew it wasn’t an accident.” Patisepa flaps a handful of glossy brochures at Penny, who’s grateful for the extra breeze. “I told the media people, if you were here, then it had to be a murder. You’re like their top detective or something, aren’t you?”

“Oh no, I’m not actually—”

Patisepa shoves the bag at her. “What sort of murder are we talking about exactly? Something horrendous, I’ll bet. A botched drug deal? A gang hit? Maybe a crime of passion? What am I talking about? This is the burbs; it has to be a crime of passion. My money’s on a lover’s spat…and the victim lives on this street. Maybe the killer lives on this street…”

Penny slips the satchel over her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Ms Taylor, I really can’t—”

Narrowing her eyes, Patisepa draws herself up to the top height of her Jimmy Choos and leans in close. “You don’t have to be such a f*****g cow, you know,” she hisses out of the side of her mouth. “I’m only trying to do my job. It wouldn’t hurt you to help a sister out.”

Shocked, Penny takes a step back, an officer taking advantage of the moment to swoop in, gather up the soiled waders, and carry them off.

“This is the second time in a month one of your investigations has interfered in my business,” Patisepa rails under her breath.

A man and his dog peel off from the group gathered at the edge of the mangroves. As he approaches, Patisepa raises her voice a decibel. “Of course, I’ll do everything in my power to help you with your important investigation. Although, I’m really not sure how you expect Taylor and Associates to sell Amber-Leigh William’s beautifully appointed 6-bed villa with tennis court and swimming pool when there’s a murder investigation going on, and right on Amber-Leigh’s doorstep!” With a perfectly-timed sideways step, she thrusts a glossy leaflet into the startled man’s hand.

He angles sharply away, the Schnauzer in tow. “Um, thanks…come on, boy.”

Her audience retreating down the street, the agent lowers her voice. “I lost the sale on the warehouse, you know. That woman—the buyer—she shot through.”

Penny nods. “Sandi Kerr.” When Penny had last seen her, the Egyptologist had been smack in the middle of a bloody ritualistic sacrifice. Matiu and Cerberus had interrupted her, but the victim and her beloved dog had died anyway, Kerr escaping in the commotion. Despite several weeks of searching air and seaports, there’d been no sign of her.

“Yes, that’s her.” Patisepa pouts, straightening her over-bleached hair with her fingers. Penny wishes she wouldn’t. Even without putting a single fibre under the microscope, it’s obvious the cysteine disulphide bridges in her α-keratin helices have been dissociated so many times the mesh is in danger of breaking.

“With the buyer gone, I had to re-list the warehouse,” Patisepa says.

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Patisepa stops with the hair-thing, and waves a hand breezily. “As if you care. Not that it matters. With all the noise about the warehouse being the site of Darius Fletcher’s, you know, his death, and Dish-It leaking photos of blood congealing on the floor…the flies all over it… Well, I was inundated with calls.” She giggles. “Seriously, I was on the phone so much I wouldn’t be surprised if I end up with a tumour from all the radiation.”

Actually, Penny would be very surprised: unlike ionising radiation, there’s very little evidence linking cancers to radiofrequency energy achieved from sustained cell-phone use— even if Patisepa had been on the phone for years. More likely her ear just got a bit hot.

Still rabbiting on, Patisepa fans her face with the stack of leaflets. “Anyway, with all the publicity, I sold the warehouse in three days.”

“You did?”

The agent turned her head to one side and nodded. “Unconditional sale. Twice the original offer.”

“That’s fantastic.” Penny means it. Darius’ sister, Rose Fletcher would likely be the sole beneficiary of the sale, after Patisepa’s expenses of course, and while the funds wouldn’t return Rose’s only family to her, it might soften her loss.

“Well, obviously, I don’t like to blow my own trumpet, but I’m a very good negotiator. Anyway, the new buyers are from out of town, some guy and his wife planning to run paranormal ghost tours.” Patisepa lifts a hand to her ruby-lined mouth and whispers conspiratorially, “Don’t tell the Health Department, but they didn’t even want me to clean up the blood.”

“Um, Ms Taylor, I’m really not sure this conversation is…”

“Gotta go. I think the film crew have rounded up someone who knows something.” Smooshing a glossy leaflet into Penny’s hand, she teeters off as fast as her pencil skirt will allow.

Someone knows something?

Hitching up her satchel, Penny follows the agent to where a crowd has assembled. Bystanders. Online crews. A couple of vloggers. Penny hovers on the fringes.

The announcer’s jeans are even tighter than Patisepa’s skirt. “Streaming live now from Karaka, RealEvent has secured an exclusive interview with Dr Noah Cordell, the country’s foremost scientific consultant, at the site of what could be the most significant event in recent anthropological history. Dr Cordell, what can you tell us about today’s discovery of a perfectly preserved bog body?”

“Well, Xander, it’s really too early to say much, other than we believe the victim is female. Anything else would be speculation, although various studies suggest bog bodies are the result of religious sacrifices carried out amongst the high class in certain societies. Other scholars associate them with the punishment of exiled criminals. It’s an absolutely fascinating area of study.”

Funny, Cordell hadn’t mentioned either possibility at the site. Probably Googled bog bodies the second he took his waders off.

Taking a couple of steps towards the crowd, Cordell clears his throat. Penny recognises this part of his performance: he’s always loved an audience. “What’s vital right now,” he says solemnly, “is preserving the specimen as quickly as possible. As you can imagine, decomposition is a big factor, which is why authorities are currently taking steps to remove the body to prevent any further deterioration.”

He waves at a departing van bearing the LysisCo logo, as if that particular vehicle were transporting the body. On cue, the phones and cameras all swing in that direction. When the van has pulled away, Cordell continues his soapboxing: “As soon as the body is properly stored, my company, LysisCo Scientific, will conduct the radiocarbon analyses. That’s L. Y. S. I. S. Yes, S.I.S. as in secret service.”

The crowd titters.

“Speaking of which, there’s a naming tradition for bog bodies, isn’t there?” Xander asks. “Tollund Man. Keepen Man. Yde Girl. Will they be naming this particular bog body Cordell Woman, after you?”

Penny should have used those tweezers while she had the chance. Cordell Woman? She’d bet her laboratory and every test tube in it that Cordell had suggested the name himself. Better they call her Spot or Max or Rufus after the dog who dug her up!

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Cordell says, batting his bloody eyelashes and feigning modesty. “That’s not my call. I’m just a researcher. Although Cordell Woman does have a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

“Is it true that the body could predate the Māori?”

Cordell raises an arm and sweeps his hair off his forehead. “Quite possibly, Xander. In fact, this find might force us to re-examine everything we know about the history of mankind in this country…”

The pat on her shoulder makes Penny whirl. Behind her two uniformed police officers are loitering with purpose. “Excuse me, Dr Yee, if you wouldn’t mind pointing us to your vehicle, please?”

“I’m sorry?” Penny steps away from the crowd, Cordell’s voice fading behind her.

“Your vehicle? Whereabouts is it?” says the officer with the goatee.

Penny blinks. “I haven’t got a vehicle.”

The second officer rolls his eyes. “Well, how did you get here, then?”

Penny glances down the street. She gulps when she sees Craig has waited for her. “Um, I came in that silver Mercedes over there.”

“Right.” The two men bend, and it’s only then that Penny notices the white plastic bag laying on the ground. One metre by two and a half. Central zipper.

A body bag!

Hefting it by the handles, the men pick up the corpse and haul it towards Craig’s car. Even with its flesh preserved, the corpse mustn’t weigh much, judging from the way they are hurtling along.

“Wait!” To catch up, Penny breaks into a run, the satchel banging against her hip. “What are you doing? Where are you taking that?”

“Detective Tanner told us you’d be taking the body. He said to put it in your vehicle.”

“But…I can’t take this. It needs to go in a refrigerated van.”

“Sorry. The last van on site was that Cordell-fella’s, and it just left.” Goatee tilts his bristled chin back towards the crowd. “Probably wasn’t refrigerated, anyway. So, unless you can conjure up an ice-cream truck, there’s not a lot we can do.”

“But we can’t just toss it in the back seat of a car.”

The second officer rolls his eyes again.

“Please. Just give me a minute to sort this out.” Penny glances about, expecting to catch sight of Tanner. Where on earth is he? Normally, the detective is easier to spot than the Sky Tower on New Year’s Eve.

“If you’re looking for Tanner, he left already,” says Goatee. “Got called away. City’s in a f*****g crime wave. I heard he’s got eighteen cases on the go.”

Reaching the Mercedes, the pair dump the bag on the grass behind the vehicle, Rolls-his-eyes giving the back of the car a little celebratory thump with the palm of his hand.

“Careful!”

“Sorry. Sign here, please.” Goatee hands her a stylus. Penny scratches her name on his phone.

“Hey wait, can you help me put it in the boot?” But the pair are already hightailing it across the grass to catch a ride out. Neither of them looks back.

The car door opens. Penny cringes as Craig gets out. He rounds the Mercedes, holding the too-perfect creases in his pants between pinched fingers. He takes in the body bag and his eyes widen. “Penny? What’s going on?”

- Matiu -

“So, can I drop you at your car or something?”

The shadows stretch long as the Porsche hisses down the sun-baked streets, Matiu taking it easy, scanning every corner and side street for signs of danger, or black vans.

Erica gives him a sharp look. “Car? I take the bus. Not all of us can afford fuel, you know.”

Matiu shrugs. “Yeah, sorry, I forget. Spend all day driving, eh.”

“Lucky for some. The rest of us have to do honest work.”

Matiu grimaces and watches the road as the sun drops.

“But I live not far from here, so you can drop me off, if you like.”

“Which way?”

Five minutes later, they pull up outside a high-rise council apartment block in a rundown part of New Lynn. Matiu expects to see overturned shopping trollies in the long grass, hobos crowding around a fire burning in an old oil drum, that sort of thing, but the place just has a forlorn, abandoned look about it. “You live here? I know you like being involved in your work, but living next door to your clientele seems a bit much, even for you.”