Whale Pot Bay (7 page)

With an invitation to meet at Milt’s place for brunch, Stephanie and I headed home for some dry clothes. Vicky and Dad were still in bed, and showing no signs of stirring, so after getting changed we left again.

There seemed to be no one around Tarquins when we arrived. However, Milt’s butler appeared and guided us into a part of the house we hadn’t seen before. We were let into a dimmed room where the others were watching an image of the earth on a big screen.

‘Ah, you’re just in time,’ said Milt. ‘Help yourself to some food.’

As my eyes adjusted to the light, I saw that we were in a small theatre. There were twenty or so plush armchairs in a semicircle around a couple of low tables which were covered with food. I dished up a huge helping, and lowered myself into a chair, thinking that I could quickly get used to living like this.

‘OK,’ began Colin, ‘I think I’ve got it right.’ He clicked a tab and the website of strandtrack.co.nz opened. ‘This is our website,’ he explained. ‘We’re working only with animals that have stranded on the New Zealand coast and have been rescued. Not just whales; we also deal with turtles, albatrosses, and sea elephants. The idea is that if we track animals that have a history of stranding, we’re more likely to get useful information. Mostly we’re interested in seeing if human activity is responsible for what’s happening.’

He clicked again and a list of animals appeared. ‘These are the ones we’re currently tracking. Each is given a unique name and ID number.’ He scrolled down the screen. ‘And here at the bottom you can see our latest addition.’ He highlighted the entry:

Pimi Hauruanui;
Kogia breviceps
(pygmy
sperm whale); stranded 18/12; tagged 19/12

Stephanie clapped her hands happily. ‘You used my name.’

‘You mean the name she told you,’ I corrected.

She grinned at me. ‘Yes, of course.’

‘While anyone can get to this page,’ continued Colin, ‘they can’t track an animal unless they have its ID number. In the beginning we didn’t have that protection, and boaties started tracking our animals and visiting them. The human contact was bad for the animals and was stuffing up our research. And then a couple of turtles disappeared—we think someone killed them for their shells. After that we’ve kept the ID codes secret.’

He typed a seven-digit number. ‘OK, I’ve written the details on these bits of paper if you want to take one. But don’t—I repeat, don’t—give it to anybody else.’

‘I won’t,’ said Stephanie, taking one of the sheets.

‘All right,’ continued Colin, ‘after you’ve entered the ID, just double-click it and—hey presto—the program will find that animal.’

The globe, which had been showing the whole of the Pacific, began to turn and zoom in at the same time. A moment later, the shape of New Zealand was centre-screen. The zoom-in continued as the virtual camera slid
down the east coast towards Wairarapa. It stopped when a small yellow dot came into view.

‘There she is!’ declared Colin excitedly. ‘She’s well out to sea.’

He clicked an icon and other yellow dots appeared. ‘That’s the path she’s followed,’ he said. ‘The dots are where she’s breathing.’ Next he zoomed in on the start of the track, until we were looking down on Whale Pot Bay.

‘It doesn’t look at all like a whale pot,’ said Melanie.

‘I don’t think it’s named that because it looks like one,’ explained Milt. ‘I think there is a whale pot in there somewhere.’

‘Is there?’ asked Melanie, excitedly. ‘This, I must see.’

‘Mel’s an archaeologist,’ laughed Colin. ‘She goes mad over any relic.’

‘If there’s a whale pot, there must have been whaling out of here. There could be all sorts of things.’

I judged it was time to have my say. ‘There is a whale pot. I’ll show—’

‘Oh look!’ interrupted Stephanie. ‘She’s moved.’

I looked back to the screen to see that a new yellow dot had been added. She was now further out to sea.

Colin pulled the view back so that more of the ocean was visible. ‘She’s heading for that deep bit,’ he said. ‘The Hikurangi Trench. She’ll be after squid.’

‘That’s good,’ said Stephanie.

‘Only if the trawlers have left any.’

‘Are there fishing boats out there now?’ asked Stephanie.

‘That’s what we’ll find out,’ said Colin. ‘We’ll go to the fisheries website and try to monitor all boat movement in
the area to see if any of it affects where she goes.’

I asked, ‘Have any of the animals that you’ve tracked ever been caught in a net?’

‘We think one was. A Hector’s dolphin disappeared off the Canterbury coast where a trawler was working. We think it got caught and the fishermen destroyed the transmitter so that people wouldn’t know they’d killed it.’

Stephanie shivered beside me. ‘That would be so horrible. For her to be caught and killed after we’ve saved her. Especially with her baby…

Colin looked at her sympathetically. ‘Yes,’ he agreed, ‘but it’s the sort of thing that’s happening all the time. People eat squid, and it’s hard to catch squid without also catching the other animals that feed on them.’

‘I’m never going to eat squid again,’ declared Stephanie.

Colin smiled. ‘Well, that’s you convinced. Now all we’ve got to do is work on the other seven billion people in the world.’

Only Melanie and Stephanie wanted to see the whale pot. I led them to the place where Dad had taken me when I was a kid. As I remembered it, the thing was on a mound beside the boats, close to the cliffs.

It was, but we took half an hour to find it hidden in the toetoe. It was in remarkable condition, considering it must have been two hundred years old. Some of the stuff in our yard rusts away after a few years, but this pot looked like it could last another hundred years or so.

With some effort we managed to roll it out of the toetoe and down to the sand where we could stand it up. It looked a bit like a giant’s potty. The rim sloped out as if designed to stop the baby cutting his bottom. Instead of having a splashguard as a normal potty would have, the edge was folded down to form a pouring lip.

Melanie said that the whalers would fill the pot with blubber, and then light a fire underneath. The hot blubber produced an oil that was poured into barrels, ready to be shipped back to Europe where it was used for candles and lamps.

She took several photos of the pot, with us posing alongside to give an idea of scale. Then we lifted Stephanie in and she acted like a missionary being cooked in a giant pot.

‘Hey!’ I sniggered. ‘We’ll be able to have Frew stew for dinner.’

Stephanie glowered for a moment, before saying, ‘That’ll be much tastier than having Jake steak.’

I burst out laughing. It was a good comeback—there was hope for this girl yet.

While the others explored further, I climbed up our track, and moved around to the gulley in the cliff where I’d seen Scatworm the day before. Immediately I saw his footprints in the soil leading down a sheep track. The stink of dead cigarettes confirmed that he’d been that way.

After exploring for a time, I found his camp in the shelter of an ancient gorse bush. There was a folding campstool and a sleeping mat for the times when nothing was happening. Tucked away near the trunk was a chilly bin
containing a couple of bottles of beer. The surrounding grass was trampled down and littered with cigarette butts. He’d plainly been there for a long time. It was equally plain that he planned to come back.

I turned towards the bay to see what sort of view he’d had. It was pretty good. He could have photographed us by the stranded calf, in the water with the mother, and even at the grave that we’d dug. The place was the perfect peephole down to the bay.

I wandered around the site, thinking and worrying. Now that he had all his gear here, he didn’t need to use our track to bring in his vehicle. He could easily walk in at any time without being seen.

At first I considered taking his gear, but finally decided to leave it where it was. Now that I knew about his hideout, it didn’t pose such a threat. In fact, knowing it was there gave me an advantage, because now I could start spying on him.

After some thought, I decided that Milt should know about the hideout. I found him in the main room of the house, talking on a cordless phone.

‘Excuse me a moment,’ he said into the mouthpiece as soon as he saw me. ‘I want someone else to hear this.’ He pressed a button on the phone before laying it on the coffee table. ‘OK, we’re on speaker-phone now. Could you go back to the beginning?’ He turned to me, and said. ‘This is the owner of the sports shop where I got that surf gear.’

‘Yeah, OK,’ came a voice through the speakers. ‘As I
was saying, my usual firearms expert was away overseas for a month. I took on this temporary guy. Right from the start I found him a bit weird.’

Milt broke in, ‘Was that the fellow with the shaven head?’

‘Yeah, that’s the one.’

Milt nodded to himself. ‘Yes, I thought it might be him. He stared at me all the time I was in the shop.’

‘He did that with some customers, especially if they weren’t buying shooting gear. He was hopeless selling general sports stuff, but he sure could sell munitions and firearms. He seemed to know everything about them, much more than my regular guy. Yet all the time I felt there was something creepy about him: as if his fascination with guns was a little dangerous.’

‘How did you find out that he’d leaked the information about my visit?’ Milt asked.

‘It was the other morning, after that magazine came out. He brought it into the shop and showed me that photo of you. He said I should use it as an advertisement for our surfboards. Straight away I told him that I didn’t want anything to do with that sort of thing. He said, “Why not, if you can make money out of it?” The way he said it made me suspicious, so I asked him straight out, did he tell the magazine. “No!” he said. “But I told the photographer.” Then he pointed at the magazine and said, “I got two grand for that.” He was proud of it. By that stage, I was pretty angry. I told him in no uncertain terms that people who worked in my shop didn’t blab about the customers. After that I gave him his marching orders.

‘Well, that’s when he turned ugly. He ranted on about
pop stars who make huge fortunes from doing nothing; claimed there was nothing wrong with making money at their expense. Next, he started making threats. He told me I should watch out because something might just happen to me. There were also a couple of vague threats aimed at you, but nothing specific. I think they were just the usual sort of empty talk you get from thugs with a chip on their shoulder. Anyway, I paid him his money and he left; I haven’t seen him since, and I don’t really expect to. I don’t think there’s anything to worry about.’

The expression on Milt’s face indicated he didn’t agree. ‘What’s his name?’ he asked.

There was a shuffling of papers for a moment before the shopkeeper answered, ‘Scott Grey. I’ve got an address here, if you’d like that?’

‘Yes, please,’ replied Milt, picking up a pad and pen.

After reading out the address, the shopkeeper said, ‘Look, Mr Summer, I’m real sorry about what’s happened, but I doubt you’ll come across him again. He’s just a loud-mouth who thinks he’s tough. He’ll have moved on to some other get-rich-quick scheme. You can forget about him.’

Milt gave a non-committal answer before reaching forward and disconnecting. He sat for a while staring at the telephone, breathing deeply, before turning to me with a grim face. ‘I owe you an apology, Jake. The day we saw that photographer I said some things I shouldn’t have. I accused you without thinking. I’m sorry.’

I nodded my acceptance. ‘What are you going to do about Scott Grey?’

He picked up the pad. ‘Pass these details on to my
lawyer. He can decide what to do. I suspect the best thing is to let it die. I doubt that
C’leb Investigate
will publish anything more. With Christmas and New Year coming, everyone will have lost interest before the next edition comes out. Let’s all have a decent Christmas and forget about it.’

I mumbled my agreement. That’s when I should have told him about Scatworm’s hideout, but he plainly wanted shot of the whole thing, so I let the moment pass.

‘Speaking of Christmas,’ he said, standing and moving to a cupboard near the television. ‘I’ve got a present for you. He pulled out a box tied with a red bow. ‘It’s a combination present,’ he said as he handed it over. ‘A Christmas gift, an apology, and a big thank-you for teaching me how to surf.’

A moment later, the box was open and I was holding a digital camera, staring at it in surprise.

Milt laughed at my reaction. ‘Your father said you didn’t have one, and I thought it was about time you did. I expect you to be an expert by the time I get back, and I’ll make you prove it by taking some photos of me surfing.’ He looked at me, sternly. ‘The only photos I’ve got so far are when I’m falling off—I’ll be expecting better than that from you.’

‘Yes,’ I agreed, ‘I’ll do that. I’ll practise every day.’ And I meant it. I knew just how I would practise: I would stalk and photograph Scatworm in his hideout. The time had come for me to go on the attack. I would spy on the spy, and find out how much
he
liked it when
he
was the one being photographed.

That evening the four of us went to the pub for dinner. Dad said it was a celebration, but what we were celebrating wasn’t stated, although I suspected it was because Vicky and Steph had arrived for the summer—and maybe forever.

So much had happened that I hadn’t given a lot of thought to their return. While Dad gave the guided tour of the photos around the bar, I sat and watched, trying to get my thoughts into order. My feelings had changed since the first visit. Back then I’d hated them, even before they’d arrived. Now, it was different. I was beginning to like them, which in a way was worrying: if they stayed, my life was going to change, and that was scary.

We had an enjoyable meal. Steph dominated the conversation, which suited me fine. She was in high spirits, telling Vicky and Dad all the things that had happened during the day, including some things that I didn’t know. Apparently, Melanie had decided that the place where the whale pot had been was a suitable place for an archaeological dig. She suspected that some time in the past the cliff had collapsed, burying buildings and other relics from the whaling era. Over Christmas she would research whaling in the area, before returning to begin the excavations.

‘Milt’s paying for it all,’ said Steph, proudly. ‘And I’m going to be part of it. It’s going to be so exciting. We
might find all sorts of things, and I’ll get the chance to see Milt every day. I can’t wait for Christmas to be over so that we can start.’

Vicky leaned over and squeezed her daughter’s arm. ‘That’s great,’ she said. ‘So you’re all organized for the summer?’

Steph nodded vigorously.

‘Well, so are Alan and I,’ Vicky continued. ‘Aren’t we, Alan?’ She leaned over and rubbed her shoulder against his.

Dad gave a stupid grin. ‘We’re going upmarket,’ he proclaimed. ‘We’re going to create a webzine.’

‘Like you did in Palmy, Mum?’ asked Steph.

‘Better than what I did in Palmy,’ replied Vicky.

Dad turned to me. ‘For the past five years Vicky’s been producing an online magazine for a big automotive company in the Manawatu.’

‘I’ll be able to keep doing that,’ Vicky explained, ‘and maybe use it to promote our new one.’

‘What’s it going to be on?’ I asked.

Dad laughed. ‘Old machine parts, of course! What else do I know about? There’ll be articles on machines and vehicles that we have. Everything that I write about will also be for sale.’

‘The thing is,’ interrupted Vicky, ‘we’ll get more hits from the search engines, and that must result in more sales.’

‘What do you think?’ asked Dad.

I nodded, slowly. ‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘Sounds good.’ And it did! But the best part was that we were staying in the same business. Maybe my life wasn’t going to change as much as I’d feared.

‘So, that’s three of us organized,’ said Vicky. ‘What are you going to be doing?’

I thought for a while before answering. Should I tell them about Scatworm’s hideout? In the end, I smiled and said, ‘Looks like I’ll be busy pulling machines to bits, doesn’t it? Somebody will have to fill all these orders you’re going to get.’

‘Oh, we won’t be online until February,’ explained Vicky. ‘You’ll be off at school by then, won’t you?’

Instantly, I felt angry. Who was she to talk to me about school? Fortunately, I was saved by Steph butting in. ‘You can come and help with the dig,’ she suggested.

I took a deep breath. ‘Yeah,’ I said, exhaling slowly. ‘That’s what I’ll do.’

Vicky gave Dad a questioning glance, which Dad returned with a tiny shake of the head. The matter of my schooling was dropped for the moment, and we returned to our eating.

I thought about what Vicky had said as I drove the jeep to Whale Pot Bay, early the next morning. It was a disturbing development. I’d accepted that Vicky was likely to stay around, but that didn’t give her the right to have a say in my education. That was between Dad and me.

Over the previous six months we’d discussed high school on several occasions. He wanted me to go to his old boarding school in Napier; I wanted to stay at home and do correspondence. Each time he raised the matter, I would ask how he’d get on living by himself. He’d mumble that he’d be all right, but I knew he’d get lonely. Then I’d
fire my other barrel and ask how much it would cost to go to his school. After that, he’d let the matter drop: it was clearly more than we could afford.

As we hadn’t talked about it for a couple of months, I thought I’d won. Now, it seemed that maybe I hadn’t. Vicky and Dad must’ve decided that my arguments were no longer valid. My only hope was that it might be too late to enrol me. If I avoided discussing it, I might still be able to stay at home.

Tarquins was a dark shadow against the rising sun when I arrived at the bay. The Union Jack had gone—Milt must have left to spend Christmas at home. Without the flag, the place looked empty. In fact, the whole bay looked empty: after the activity of the previous days, it was dead.

I approached Scatworm’s hideout with caution, although I was fairly sure he wouldn’t be there that early in the morning. Plus if he knew that Milt had gone, chances were he wouldn’t come back until Milt did.

The hideout was as I’d left it the day before—still two bottles of beer, and the same number of cigarette butts. I set about photographing it all.

My first photos were pathetically out of focus, until I located the macro button and learnt to take decent close-ups. After a while I started fiddling with other settings and found I could get even better pictures.

The sun was almost clear of Tarquins by the time I’d finished. Before I left, I took some shots of the house backlit by the sun; followed by a couple showing the sunlight reflected off the swell sweeping into the bay.

I was disappointed that I’d found nothing new in the
gulley, but that changed when I climbed back up the sheep track. Off to the left, partly hidden by the trunk of a manuka tree, I spotted a small, brown, plastic container. Immediately I pulled out my camera and set about recording it. When I moved in for a close-up, I discovered that it was a pill container. The label read:

Take ONE tablet TWICE daily for angina
and blood pressure.

Do not stop taking this medicine without
consulting your doctor.

Mr Stuart Weston

I picked the container up and sat down for a think. Clearly the pills were Scatworm’s, and their loss could be critical to him. For all I knew, he might die if he didn’t take them. I smiled as evil thoughts began to grow in my head. Maybe this was my chance to get back at him. Sooner or later he was likely to come back and look for them. I could imagine him in a panic, searching all over the place. Let him search. I would make sure he never found them. I put the container in my pocket and headed for home.

Morning tea was underway by the time I got back. Vicky had made a batch of scones which I proceeded to devour—I was discovering that there were some advantages to having other people around the place, especially when they could cook.

‘What you been up to?’ asked Dad.

‘Oh, I just went to check that Pimi hadn’t come back,’ I replied. I couldn’t see any point in telling them about Scatworm’s hideout. If I hadn’t told Milt, what point was there in telling them?

‘I gather she hasn’t?’ said Vicky.

I shook my head.

‘No, she hasn’t,’ confirmed Steph, walking in from the lounge. ‘I checked the computer and she’s way out to sea.’

‘That’s good,’ I said, moving my stool to one side to make space for her. That was when the pill container decided to come out of my pocket and drop to the floor.

‘What’s this?’ cried Steph, stooping to pick it up.

‘Oh that!’ I said, thinking quickly. ‘Just something I picked up down by the bay.’

‘It looks like a pill bottle,’ said Vicky. ‘That might be important to somebody.’

‘Mr Stuart Weston,’ read Steph. ‘That’s who it belongs to.’

Dad pricked up his ears. ‘Isn’t that the photographer guy?’

I nodded.

Vicky took the pill bottle from Steph and read the label. ‘Angina! That’s not something to mess with. I think we should try to make contact with him.’

Dad looked at me. ‘You’ve got a phone number, haven’t you?’

Again, I nodded.

‘Then give him a call and ask him over. I wouldn’t mind having a word with that man.’

What could I do, except get the number and give
Scatworm a ring? He was grumpy at first, but that quickly turned to relief when he found what I was calling about. He said he’d be with us in a couple of hours.

I was working at the computer, downloading my morning’s photos, when he arrived. Vicky let him in and guided him through to the lounge. I stood and stared at him, not knowing what to say. However, he didn’t seem to have any problems with the situation.

‘Good morning, Jake,’ he said stepping forward and offering his hand. ‘I’m indebted to you. I was lying in bed wondering whether I should risk getting up when your call came through.’ Then he gave a wry smile. ‘Just as well you kept my number.’

I didn’t say anything.

He looked at the computer behind me. ‘Hey! What you got there? Did you take that photo?’

‘Yeah,’ I replied. It was the photo I’d taken of Tarquins backlit by the sun.

He moved closer to the screen. ‘The lighting is fantastic. You know, Jake, a photo like that requires more than pointing and shooting. You’ve got to have a feel for what you’re doing, and you’ve certainly got that. You could become a very good photographer if you keep working on it.’

‘I intend to,’ I said. Despite my feelings for the man, I was pleased with his praise.

At that moment, Dad came in with the pills. Vicky was carrying a glass of water. ‘You’d better take one before you drop dead on us,’ she said, rather unkindly.

When he had taken the pill, Vicky said, ‘Now you can tell us why you’re writing all that scurrilous stuff about Jake and Milton.’

He was silent for a while before opening his arms as if surrendering. ‘To make money, of course,’ he replied. ‘What else do we do things for?’

‘For lots of reasons,’ said Dad, crossly. ‘To help other people. To give enjoyment to others. To make the world a better place. There’re three for a start.’

Scatworm looked amused. ‘Oh, I think I give other people enjoyment, otherwise why do they buy magazines like
C’leb Investigate
?’

Nobody answered. ‘It’s because,’ he went on, ‘deep down we’re all Peeping Toms of some sort. We’re all voyeurs. We enjoy spying on other people’s lives.’

‘Why did you have to suggest there was something nasty about the relationship between Milton Summer and Jake?’

‘Because that’s what people want to read. They want celebrities to get into trouble, or have something wrong with them. It makes them think that their own lives aren’t quite so bad after all.’

‘Did you give any thought before you involved Jake in all of this?’ I could see that Dad was getting angry.

Scatworm just shrugged.

Dad pointed at the pill container. ‘And you’re still hanging around Whale Pot Bay.’

Another shrug. ‘Every now and then.’

‘So who’s it going to be next? More about Jake? Or will you involve young Stephanie here?’

Now Scatworm was losing it as well. ‘Whatever it
takes to get a good story. There’s nothing you can do to stop me.’

‘You wanna bet?’ threatened Dad, bunching his fists and moving forward.

Scatworm stood up to him. ‘Go ahead, hit me. An assault charge would be a great start to the story.’

Dad took a step closer.

‘Alan, don’t!’ shouted Vicky. Then a little more quietly. ‘Let him go. It’ll only cause more problems.’

‘Yeah,’ added Scatworm, ‘stop, or I’ll start digging into your life. I bet there’s some dirt in there somewhere. There usually is.’

‘And if there isn’t, you’ll make some up,’ growled Dad.

Scatworm replied with a sneering smile.

Vicky moved until she was right in front of him. ‘Get out!’ she shouted. ‘Get out of this house, now!’

Scatworm opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it. He swivelled around and marched out the door, slamming it so hard that it rattled the windows.

We stood looking at each other, before Steph said, ‘Good riddance. I hate that man. He’s evil.’

Vicky took her in her arms. ‘Yes, darling, he is, and you’re allowed to hate someone like him.’

‘My God, he stinks of cigarettes,’ said Dad, as he calmed down. ‘If he’s got heart problems, why does he continue smoking? We should’ve kept his damned pills. He’s plainly not worried about his health.’

I hardly heard him. I’d returned to the computer and was staring at a slip of paper beside the keyboard. It was
the sheet that Colin had given us with Pimi’s secret ID number written on it. It would have been there, right in front of Scatworm’s eyes when he looked at my photo. I felt sure he must’ve seen it. I picked it up and put it in my pocket, hoping he hadn’t guessed what it was. The word whale did not appear on the paper, only
Kogia breviceps.
How many people would recognize that as a whale? Very few, and with any luck, Scatworm wasn’t one of them.