Eye for an Eye (4 page)

‘Oh come on,
Pete! You can’t just let it go like that! Imagine if Dad hadn’t
taken out that insurance - we’d have lost the farm as well as the
money. You’d be out of a job, you’d have nowhere to live, and all
Dad’s work would have been lost. He wanted to build something here
that would last for generations, and one crooked bastard could have
ruined everything. Doesn’t that rattle your cage just a little
bit?’

‘Yes of course
it does!’ He clamped his mouth shut for a moment then took a deep
breath. ‘I just don’t see that there’s anything to be gained by
chasing after shadows. Dad’s dead, the investment money’s gone, and
there’s no way of fixing either of those things. But the insurance
paid out and the farm’s OK. We have to let it go.’

‘Yeah, maybe
you’re right.’ She threw down the wet dish-cloth on the draining
board. There was a brief silence. But Robyn just couldn’t leave the
subject alone. ‘Pete, it bugs me that the only reason Dad was out
there at Walter’s Bluff in the first place was supposedly to clear
his mind because he was worried sick about losing the money. Does
that sound like a good enough reason to you? Suppose he just staged
a fake robbery, because there’d been a real one that he couldn’t do
anything about. He might actually have jumped, Pete, all because of
that missing money. He might have jumped off a damned cliff just
for the insurance payout to replace it - and that Symons character
seems to have got away with nicking it.’ She gasped as another
thought struck her. ‘Oh God, Pete - how many more people has he
done it to besides Dad?’

Suds from her
hands splattered across the floor as she gesticulated. ‘It seems so
unfair, doesn’t it? I just wish there was something I could
do.’

Foam splashed
up from the sink and soaked into her shirt-front. She jerked up the
plug chain in frustration and watched the water drain away. Pete
looked at her sadly.

‘Come on Robyn,
you’ll drive yourself insane if you go down that track. Let it go –
there’s nothing we can do that will bring Dad back, and he wouldn’t
have wanted you ripping yourself apart over it.’

‘Oh to hell
with it, maybe you’re right - I’m going home tomorrow and getting
on with my job, and you’ve got a farm to run.’ She gave her brother
a quick hug. ‘Tell me when the first bloke’s turning up for his
interview so I can be out of your way before he gets here.’

She let the
kitchen door bang behind her.

In the weeks
and months that followed, she went about her job mechanically, her
photography lacking much of its usual flair. Weddings were
especially difficult for her, being filled with happy family
moments that she felt no desire to capture. At the end of each day
she returned home reluctantly, and tried to lose herself in a
variety of mindless pastimes until it was late enough for her to
fall asleep.

It was during
the TV news one evening that she saw something that jolted her out
of her numbness. There was an interview with a golden-haired man
lounging on board a sleek white yacht, and the name at the bottom
of the screen said ‘Colwyn Symons, Toronto, Canada’. Robyn sat bolt
upright on the couch, fumbling for the remote to turn up the
volume. Symons was being interviewed by an investigative reporter
who had followed him from New Zealand after his sudden departure
some months previously. Robyn sharpened her attention. This must be
the same Colwyn Symons. The reporter was asking about the funds
that Mr. Symons had invested on behalf of his clients. Mr. Symons
replied that sadly, the investment market had not performed as
expected, and that as share values had declined, so the investors’
funds had dwindled. It was the kind of thing one had to expect when
dealing in a speculative arena such as the share market. He spread
his hands and smiled sincerely. There was nothing more that he
could have done.

The reporter
asked about his sudden departure from the country. A family event
in Canada, said Mr. Symons smoothly, followed by an extended
holiday. And the luxury yacht, asked the reporter, was it paid for
out of investors’ money? Mr. Symons appeared shocked by the
question, and hastened to dispel any suggestion that he was the
owner of the yacht or indeed had any funds at his disposal at all.
The interview was taking place on board solely through the kindness
of its owner who had no financial connection with Golden Fleece
investments whatsoever.

At this point
Robyn came to her senses and flicked on the DVD recorder, watching
the last of the interview with mounting outrage. The list of
defrauded clients went on and on, including pensioners who had lost
their life savings, unemployed workers who had handed over their
redundancy payments and were left with nothing, and a family who
had a sick child needing costly overseas treatment. All of them had
been left penniless, devastated and powerless. The interviewer’s
grim conclusion was that legally, nothing could be done about
it.

As the credits
rolled, she reached for the phone and dialled Pete’s number with
shaking fingers. It rang for what seemed like an eternity, while
she breathed deeply and forced herself to stay calm. At last Pete
answered, sounding breathless.

‘Hello? Sorry
about the wait.’

‘Pete, did you
see that? On TV - Colwyn Symons was just interviewed. That freaking
bastard was there on TV, Pete, he went to Canada with all the damn
money.’

‘You’re joking!
No I didn’t see it, I was out in the shed fixing the tractor. So
how do you know he’s got the money?’

‘Because he’s
got a huge fancy yacht and poncy designer clothes and he’s living
it up in Toronto - and according to the reporter, he’s bloody got
away with it! They can’t touch him, there’s no hard evidence of
fraud, and the cops can’t do a damn thing. He’s ripped off dozens
of people, not just us, and most of them are left with absolutely
nothing. Doesn’t it make you bloody sick?’

Pete was
silent.

‘Pete? You
still there? Say something, dammit!’

There’s nothing
to say, Rob. OK, he’s a smart bastard, but if the cops can’t touch
him, there’s not a hell of a lot anyone can do about it, is
there?’

‘There bloody
is if I go over there. I’ll bloody kill him, I swear it.’ She clung
to the phone till her knuckles turned white. ‘I’ll go over there
and find him and turn him inside out through his own bloody
arsehole! Someone has to get him back for the money he stole. He
can’t get away with it, it’s just not FAIR!’

‘Robyn! For
God’s sake calm down! Look, be sensible, will you? You can’t go
tearing off to Canada.’

‘Why not?’

‘You’d lose
your job.’

‘I’ll take
unpaid leave.’

‘You haven’t
got a passport.’

‘I’ll get
one.’

‘You can’t
afford it.’

‘I’ve got ten
thousand dollars, remember?’

‘Robyn, you
can’t! Dad died to give you that money.’

She gasped as
if he’d slapped her. ‘Christ, that was a low blow. OK, fine. Just
you watch the late news tonight so you see why I have to do this.
I’ll call you tomorrow.’

She slammed
down the phone and stormed outside to take a walk.

Loud music was
playing from her next-door-neighbour’s house as she crossed her
garden. She wheeled in fury and screamed at the open window.

‘And you can
turn that bloody noise down too, you selfish bugger!’

The music
volume dropped abruptly as she strode away.

When she
finally returned home, much later, there was a message from Pete on
her answer-phone.

‘Rob? Caught
the late news. I see what you mean. That Symons character was way
worse than I thought. For once, you’re right. If you want to go
over there, I’ll back you all the way. Scum like that can’t be
allowed to get away with it. Talk to you later, bye.’

She clenched a
fist exultantly and started to pack.

CHAPTER 2

Two weeks
later, when she’d got her passport and ticket, Robyn drove out to
the farm to say goodbye to Pete and to pick up a few last-minute
items. Pete looked surprised then suspicious at some of the things
going into her bag.

‘Why are you
taking fence staples, Robyn?’

‘Might need
them,’ she said airily.

‘And what the
hell are you doing with the lamb docker?’

‘Er, might pick
up some part-time farm work?’

‘Robyn!’

‘Oh all right –
look, you won’t be needing it for a while yet, will you? I just
thought I might get a chance to use it on our dear friend Mr
Symons, you never know.’

‘You’d use the
docker on a guy?’ Pete crossed his legs and winced at the very
thought.

‘On that dick?
In a second,’ she said coolly. ‘He deserves everything that’s
coming to him.’ Pete grinned.

‘There won’t be
much coming at all, once you’ve finished with him!’

‘Damn right.’
She swivelled the contraption round her finger and dropped it into
an imaginary holster. ‘Right, I’m just going to take a last look
around in case I’ve forgotten anything.’

‘I think I’ll
join you. Who knows what you’ll decide to disappear with.’

They strolled
out of the farmhouse towards the shed as a winter sun lifted skeins
of mist from the valleys. Gnarled macrocarpa trees loomed through
the vapour, echoing with warbles and squeaks from the family of
magpies that made their home among the branches. Robyn gave the
farm dogs a quick pat, conscious of Pete’s amused gaze.

‘Come on Robyn,
aren’t you going to kiss them all goodbye?’

‘No, I’m saving
that for you and the horse.’

She cast a
quick eye over the implements in the shed but decided her bag was
too full to squeeze in anything more. They ambled along beside the
sheep pens with Robyn idly flicking bits of lichen off the rails
with her fingernail. At the top of the path that led down to the
jetty they paused between rough-barked manuka trees to admire the
view.

Rich blue arms
of sea reached between bush-covered hills, and below them in the
bay dotted rows of buoys belonging to a mussel farm were tossing
gently in the wake of the latest Cook Strait ferry

Robyn surveyed
the scene for a few more moments, then turned to Pete.

‘I guess
that’ll do for saying goodbye to the place. Now, are you ready to
drive me to the plane?’

As they made
their way back towards the farmhouse he looked at her
searchingly.

‘I’m ready, but
are you sure you’re ready? I mean, you’ve never been very far from
home before, have you? One day trip to Wellington on the ferry, and
you didn’t enjoy that very much. How are you going to feel when
you’re eight thousand miles away?’

‘Aw, Pete! Stop
fussing, will you? It’s not as if I’m going to a totally foreign
place - they do speak English in Canada, and they’re still part of
the Commonwealth, aren’t they? I’m sure I’ll fit right in, find
people I can talk to - and it’s only for a couple of weeks anyway.
I’ll be fine! I’ll track down Symons, do him over, squeeze whatever
reparations I can out of him, and fly home. Simple. If castrating
him and ripping his liver out convinces him never to steal again,
my work will be done.’

‘I still can’t
figure out how you think you’ll find him in a city the size of
Toronto.’

‘I told you, I
took a photo off the news video that showed his boat and the marina
it’s in - he tried to tell the reporter it wasn’t his boat but I
know damn well it was. I’ll just check out the waterfront until I
spot him, pick my moment, and POW! He’ll be sorry he ever tangled
with the Taylor family.’

‘I’m sure he
will! Just watch you don’t get charged with assault or anything
illegal - it’s too far to come and bail you out.’ Pete grinned. ‘Go
get him, sis!’

‘Right then!’
Robyn took a last look round at the green and tranquil hills, and
on an impulse grabbed a handful of the sweet lush grass and stuffed
it into the pocket of her backpack. Something to sniff and remind
her of home, just in case she did get homesick.

They piled her
bags into the back of the truck and set off on the long dusty drive
to Picton airfield, where Robyn looked dubiously at the tiny
six-seater plane that was to fly her across Cook Strait.

‘I guess this
is it, then. Look after the place, Pete.’

She hugged him
fiercely, shouldered her bag, then strode away across the grass and
climbed aboard the little aircraft.

She held onto
the armrests firmly as the plane took off, feeling a thrill as it
skimmed frighteningly close to the hills at the end of the runway
before soaring above the Marlborough Sounds. The sight of the
network of sea-filled valleys was a pleasant distraction, and she
craned her head to take a last look at the farm before fluffy
clouds obscured it from view.

After ten
minutes the tip of the North Island came into view below her, an
expanse of stark brown ranges where the bones of the land showed
through. In the distance Wellington city appeared through patchy
cloud. Robyn had a fleeting glimpse of hills covered with houses
whizzing past, then turned her head hurriedly to watch the view
through the plane’s front window. She gasped as the runway ahead
seemed to swoop from side to side and up and down with every gust
of wind. Trying to reassure herself that the pilot knew exactly
what he was doing, she clung to the armrests to steady herself
until the little plane was safely on the ground. After a quick
sprint across rain-soaked tarmac to the airport lounge, she ducked
into the restroom to drag a comb through her wet and windblown
hair.

Coming out, she
noticed a phone, and decided that since she was in Wellington, she
might as well try ringing Golden Fleece Investments to see if
anyone was left at the office.

The signal for
a disconnected number told her all she needed to know. Colwyn
Symons had definitely done a runner with all the loot, and the
company had folded.