The Cabin by the Sea: The Audrey Murders - Book Two Read online

  A few locals had braved the weather and were taking refuge in the corner coffee shop. A couple waved at him as he passed by. It was a friendly town. Local residents caused no trouble. It was mostly out in the rural areas that required his attention. A few known “P” houses and weed sites were scattered in the surrounding bush areas.

  Kaitaia was a different story. A couple of years ago a major drug bust in the city, thirty miles west of Mangonui on the main highway, resulted in hundreds of thousands of methamphetamine being confiscated.

  Ten years ago fifty people were arrested and charged with more than two hundred drug offences. A hundred police officers swooped on forty-two houses in Kaitaia and surrounding areas seizing methamphetamine, cannabis, firearms, vehicles, cash, and drug manufacturing equipment.

  Murders were almost commonplace in Kaitaia. However there had not been any significant crime in the quiet town of Mangonui for many years

  Twenty years ago a twenty three year old girl was found dead in a shallow grave on a farm only four miles south of Mangonui. Her ex boyfriend was found guilty of the crime and then released seven years later after absence of any physical evidence and his confession being exposed as false. He returned to Mangonui and worked on the fishing boats and rebuilt his house that had burned to the ground while he was in prison. The man’s nephew was later suspected as the girl’s murderer but no real evidence resulted in the crime being unsolved to this day.

  Constable Bromley took an interest in the history of the area. The notorious Edward Lionel Terry, a White supremacist, in 1905 worked in Mangonui as a surveyor for the Lands and Survey Department where he wrote “The Shadow” a book of verse with a long introduction on the need for racial purity. Terry, known for his straight posture and magnificent physique, carried out a marathon walk of nearly nine hundred miles from Mangonui to Wellington handing out copies of his book and giving lectures on the yellow peril.

  He tried to convince members of the House of Representatives and Immigrations that all non-European immigration should be stopped. With no success he retaliated by shooting Joe Kum Yung on the night of 24th September 1905. Terry told the police upon capture his Book, “The Shadow,” would explain his action.

  The police station sat perched on a rise at the end of town overlooking a beautiful bay dotted with white painted terraced houses. His job came complete with a three-bedroom weatherboard house that comfortably housed his wife, his three children and their boxer dog. He worked alone but was in constant contact with the neighboring police stations.

  He turned left on the main highway and headed east towards Hihi, a seaside settlement ten minutes down the road. He knew Hihi was pretty deserted in the winter. Apart from the local motor camp and sprinkling of homes it is isolated and remote. The beach area is alcohol free and there is a protected kiwi zoned peninsula past the camp with a handful of year round residents overlooking the ocean.

  As he drove past the beach towards the motor camp he saw a blonde middle- aged lady at the row of letterboxes outside the campgrounds. He noticed the new green box with a big sign “No junk mail”. She had lifted the lid and was peering hopefully inside. He saw her return to her car - a Rav4, badly dented and looking worse for wear. He wondered if she had just moved into the area. He had never seen her before. As he passed her she looked at him and gave him a big smile and a wave.

  Friendly lady he thought as he smiled back.

  He looked in is rear vision mirror and saw she was following him up the peninsula road. He decided he would turn around at the base of the hill and head on back to town. There was nothing happening here and he had a heap of paperwork sitting on his desk that needed attending to. As he turned around he saw the blonde lady continuing up the peninsula road. There were only a few residents living on the kiwi zone and he which house was hers. Very isolated for women he thought. I don’t suppose she lives alone. He thought he would ask his Uncle next time he saw him if he knew who she was. His Uncle lived on a hundred acre property up there and seemed to know just about everyone in the Hihi township.

  C H A P T E R 8

  Audrey looked at the time on the bloody noisy kitchen clock. It was almost noon. She had done nothing all morning except stoke the fire and do last nights dishes. Still in her dressing gown with her hair unkempt she peered through the closed curtains at the day. The last couple of days had been wet and dreary. The rain had stopped but the sea was still stormy and rough. Not a boat in sight. She closed the curtains, put another log on the fire and returned to her chaise chair in front of the muted television.

  She had a lot on her mind. It was time. She needed to make a plan. She had already had the opportunity to check out the new tenant’s belongings. Not much to look at; a few clothes, a shaving kit, fishing gear and an old tin box hidden at the back of one of the drawers. It was locked and Audrey could not find the key anywhere. He obviously liked to read. The bedside table had a pile of stacked books, mostly war novels. His life looked a little sad. No photos of family. No personal items. She looked for a computer and was pleased to see he did not own one. Good she thought.

  Her thoughts drifted back to the locked tin in the cabin. What the hell is so important that he needs to keep it under lock and key, she thought. She wondered where he might keep the key. Her curiosity was getting the better of her. Audrey didn’t like secrets unless they were her secrets. She had many secrets but she kept them locked up in her head. She would wait until he went out in his car and then give the cabin a good search.

  Audrey’s plan was beginning to take form. Today she would check out the cliff to the front beach. Over the past few weeks she had cut out rough clay steps in the bank leading to the rocky shore below. It was a precarious track and could not be seen from either the ocean or from the cottage and cabin. A track through the bush led to the cliff. It was a lot easier going downhill and took only a few minutes to reach the private, secluded, beach below. She knew it would be easy to trip and fall over the bank and, if the tide was in, a body could easily wash out to sea.

  Audrey chose her “projects” carefully. They were always middle- aged men specializing in nasty, revolting, sordid, and sickening behavior due to their filthy minds. Narcissistic men who preferred to pay for sex rather than be in a normal healthy relationship. Men whose preference was girls twenty, even thirty years younger than themselves. Men who thought their sexual prowess rendered them superior beings allowing them to treat women as mere pawns in their quest for sexual satisfaction.

  All throughout Audrey’s life men had poked and prodded their penises in and around her sorry existence. Audrey preferred the soft curves of a feminine body but was not attracted sexually to women. She wished she were. Men were like animals. Prostitution provided sex without foreplay. Gay men, she noticed, didn’t bother with foreplay. It was a feminine need. “Bim Bam, thank you Mam” rang in her head making Audrey more and more pissed off.

  It had been almost a year since her last project. This time she had to be more careful. More prepared. She had been too reckless before. She couldn’t afford to have her name associated anymore with any disappearances.

  The noise of a car backing out of the driveway jerked Audrey out of her troubled thoughts. He is going out, great, she thought. She grabbed the keys and made her way across the soggy grass to the cabin.

  C H A P T E R 9

  Gavin drove carefully down the long tree lined driveway. He wondered if any of the trees actually fell during the strong winds. He sure wouldn’t want to be here when that happened. It would be certain death. He reached across the passenger seat and flicked open the lid of his cell phone. He refused to buy an iPhone. No one called him anyway. His phone said it was just after noon. He thought he would spoil himself with a hot feed of fish’n’chips from the Mangonui Fish and Chip shop. While he was in town he would stop off and pick up another book or two from the little local library. There was not much to do in his rented cabin. He was planning on doing some fishing tomorrow if the weather improved and made a
mental note to pick up some bait from the Four Square shop.

  The drive to Mangonui took him past the Hihi waterfront. The usual calm blue of the water was now gray and choppy. The waves lapped against the rocky shoreline. The tide was in. It had an almost ominous feel reminding Gavin of when his Mother had said it was as if someone was walking over your grave’. He shuddered at the thought.

  The five-kilometer drive down Hihi road to the Highway was deserted. Olive groves and farmland bordered the rural road. As he hit the main highway the traffic was scarce.

  The far north is sparsely populated and Hihi to Taipa is only a nine-kilometer distance. From there it is thirty kilometers to Kaitaia, the furthest northern city in New Zealand. That is if you call a population of under five thousand a city.

  Gavin dropped his speed as he entered the small shopping village just a kilometer off the main road. A Thai Restaurant, an Indian restaurant both closed for the winter. Another two fish and chip shops boasting the “best fish”. He presumed they offered the locals an alternative to the expensive tourist Fish ‘n ‘Chip restaurant located on the waterfront.

  He pulled in to one of the many empty spaces in front of the restaurant. He was surprised to see it was remarkably busy considering the weather. He put in his order, purchased a beer from the bar and made his way over to the wooden benches. His number was sixty-six. They said they would call out the number when it was ready. He looked around at his fellow patrons. Middle aged couples, elderly couples and a few obvious foreigners. You could tell they were foreigners from their dress. German, Swiss – he couldn’t tell which.

  He gazed out the large glass windows to the boats anchored in the bay. They were bobbing up and down in the winter swell. Gavin pulled a newspaper from his coat pocket and started to read.

  “Prostitution in the Far North -The Far North District Council had brought in a new bylaw restricting where brothels can open - The by-law, which came into effect on February 1, 2005 prevents brothels from operating within 100 meters of schools, kindergartens, childcare centers and churches. The bylaw was necessary under the Prostitution Reform Act. However, small owner-operated establishments, with up to four sex workers operating individually, are exempt from the location restrictions.

  He continued to read about a situation in the far north where young girls are working outside the law – offering sex for money under the legal age of eighteen.

  Gavin liked young girls. The younger - the better. He wondered where these girls were operating. Tonight he would make a trip up and down the main highway between Mangonui and Kaitaia and see if he could get lucky. The cabin was the ideal spot for a bit of hanky panky and he smiled as he remembered he had everything he needed. He patted the key in his trouser pocket and smiled. Things were looking up.

  C H A P T E R 10

  Constable Bromley looked at the email that had just arrived on his laptop. “Damn” he said out loud. He knew tonight was going to be a busy night. The Kaitaia police were doing a sting on local prostitutes. Even though prostitution was legal in New Zealand. There were strict rules on age limits and locations. He knew the city of Whangarei, two hours south of Mangonui, had a legal brothel with about twelve sex workers. There were no brothels in the far north as local Churches opposed the practice with a fury. Now with the influx of young girls thought to be between fifteen and seventeen working the streets, complaints had been made to the local police demanding they put a stop to it. Constable Bromley emailed them back to say he would do a sweep of his areas between eleven and three a.m. from Hihi to Taipa. He hoped they would be satisfied with that.

  He looked out the window at the waterfront. The weather was blustery and wintery. Rain was expected this evening. It was going to be a long day and a long night. He noticed a silver Toyota Celica pull into the parking area in front of the fish and chip shop. He watched as a tall, lean man stepped out of the car and walk quickly into the restaurant. He had not seen him before. He didn’t look like a tourist. His car was not a rental car it looked too old and worn. He wondered if he had a new resident in his area. Or maybe he was just passing through. He went back to the paperwork on his desk.

  The phone rang. It was his Uncle from Hihi.

  “Jimmy” he heard his name booming down the line. “What’s up?”

  “Nothing much” said Constable Bromley pleased to have a distraction from his paperwork. “What’s up with you”?

  “Would you like to come over tonight – bring Mary and the kids. Haven’t seen you in ages and Marge is cooking a lamb roast”.

  “Sorry” said Bromley “Can’t tonight - been called in on a job. Will be working till the wee hours of the morning. Another night.”

  “Sure, understand old boy. “Another time.”

  Constable Bromley knew his Uncle was disappointed. They were a close family. “By the way” he asked. “Do you know if a blonde lady in her fifties has moved in up your way? I saw her at the letterboxes. I didn’t know any property was purchased up there.” “You are pretty on to it,” said his Uncle. “Yes she has moved in next door. It is her family’s land I understand. They live overseas. She has been cleaning it up, cutting down trees, renovating the buildings and so forth. Making a good job, I hear. Why do you ask?”

  “Oh nothing really,” said the constable. “Just didn’t recognize her – is she living alone up there?

  “I think so,” said his Uncle. Pretty isolated up here. Maybe I should go over and check on her. Be neighborly and so on. Let’s get together next week some time. Marge misses your kids now our grandchildren are living in Australia, they are all she has to fuss over.“

  “That would be great,” said the Constable.

  C H A P T E R 1 1

  Bruce Bromley hung up the phone and felt elated. Now he had an excuse to meet his blonde buxom neighbor. He told his wife Jimmy couldn’t make it tonight. She was obviously disappointed. Now she had to spend the evening in his company and he knew she was tiring of their situation. This was their dream home they have saved for their whole married life. But the reality of living in isolation away from their children and grandchildren was not in their plans. They hoped they would spend more time visiting them. But now they had moved to work in Australia and life was proving lonely for Marge. Bruce had his possum, stoat and weasel trapping. They also had their boat that had not been used in months. Marge didn’t like fishing and Bruce preferred company on his boat.

  It was a shame Jimmy and the kids could not make it tonight. Tomorrow Bruce would make his way over to meet his neighbor. He didn’t want to tell his wife. She would want to bake a cake or bread or some other silly thing to welcome her. He wanted to keep this lady all to himself. Marge needn’t know about her.

  Bruce looked in the mirror and patted his hair on both sides of his balding head. He smiled to expose his worn teeth. “Not too bad” he said in complete denial “I don’t look a day over fifty –five.” He made his way into the kitchen to make a cup of coffee and read the local paper. He read about the young girl prostitutes and how the local church was demanding the police put a stop to under aged prostitution. Bruce had never paid for sex and never understood why any man would need to. He much preferred a real relationship with a woman. Now the lady next door would do him just fine.

  “What did Jimmy have to say?” asked his wife sitting down at the table across from him.

  “Said he had to work tonight. Didn’t say what he was working on. Just said he had to work until the wee hours of the morning”.

  “Must be working on the stink about those young girls walking the streets,” said Marge. “Awful isn’t it? I wonder what their parents are thinking - letting them wander the streets at all hours. They should be at home doing their homework. They must still be in high school. What is the world coming to?” Marge picked up a page of the paper and started reading. “We should join the local bridge club,” she said. “We need to get out more”.

  C H A P T E R 1 2

  “Shit, Shit, Shit”. Audrey was pissed
off. She had looked through everything in the cabin but couldn’t find the key to the box. She shook the box and it sounded like metal objects inside. She knew she couldn’t stay in the cabin too long. He might come back at any moment. She returned to her cottage feeling completely deflated. She hated not knowing what he might have to hide. He must carry the key on him, she thought. Which meant she was out of luck.

  She pulled the lawn mower out from under the cabin and began to mow the lawns. Audrey took pride in the properties she looked after. It was supposed to rain again tonight and she may as well mow the lawns before her tenant returned. The lawnmower was noisy and the wind was howling. The weather suited her mood. She must be patient. As always, situations seemed to sort themselves out. She would find out what her tenants secrets were, and if he deserved to be her next project. She suspected that he did. Most men did.

  It was late afternoon before he returned to the cabin. Audrey peered through her curtains and watched him remove the keys from his trouser pocket and open up the sliding door. She was sure the key to his box was on the same ring. She couldn’t see him once he went inside. She wondered where he put the keys. All she had to do was to separate him from his keys. It wouldn’t be easy.

  Once Audrey obsessed over something she couldn’t let it go. The bloody box was becoming just that. A nice hot bath and a glass of wine would relax her. She turned on the hot tap and watched as the boiling hot water hiss and spat in fury. She had a wetback fireplace and Audrey kept the fire lit every day to heat the water. In the winter, the fire was lit both day and night and the water reached boiling point. Sometimes Audrey had to have two baths a day to release the boiling hot water in the cylinder. Rainwater was collected on the roof and ran into the two large tanks behind the cabin. Water from the heavens, pure and clean. It has been a dry winter up until now and the rain tonight would be a welcome sight.