This particular track, with its hidden rocks and slight but steady incline, was hard going despite the inroads made by the searchers. He could hear Robert huffing behind him, but the other man kept on going. It was his partner who whispered, “Are we seriously planning to follow the crazy cop deeper and deeper into the bush?”

Will didn’t allow the question to distract him; he kept an eye on everything around them, just in case the killer had made a mistake this time. “That’s where the water bottle was found.” He pointed out a jutting rock barely visible through the tangled army of tree ferns. “Her family requested and was granted permission to place a memorial plaque against the rock just above where the bottle was found.”

Stepping off the path, he led the other two detectives to the spot. Such a lonely, quiet place, he thought, looking down at the ­moss-­brushed engraving to a “beloved daughter and cherished child.” He wasn’t a man for prayer, but he hoped she’d been hit from behind, that she’d died without fear and with the sound of songbirds in her ears.

“Imagine having only this to remember your kid.” Robert’s hand rose reflexively to his jacket pocket, where Will knew he kept snapshots of his wife and son. “Maybe we can give them something to bury at last.”

Will took his colleagues back to the path in silence, and they carried on walking.

But there was nothing to find. He could feel Robert and his partner glancing at one another, caught the edges of a furiously whispered conversation. The two scene-­of-­crime officers, however, kept on moving ahead, their white coveralls making them appear ghosts against the dark green of this quiet and whispering place.

Robert coughed. “We should head back.”

“It’ll be easier to go this way.” Will had never walked this track, but before leaving Nikau with Dominic, he’d asked Nik to confirm his understanding of how this track connected to the one Shane Hennessey had taken that morning.

“Are you sure?” the younger detective asked in an overloud tone. “No offense, but I don’t plan to end up worm food in the fucking bush.”

“Just follow the track back.” Will had his mind on the mental map. “I’m going to check out something.”

Neither man turned around; they were probably afraid he’d lost it and would wander off into the wild unless contained.

The SOCOs stayed silent, but fell back so that they were walking pretty much alongside Will.

Five minutes later, he stopped. “There’s your crime scene.”

The two detectives moved past the rest of them, the younger one saying, “Well, fuck!”

“Shit, Will”—­Robert took a stick of gum from his ­pocket—­“there’s a goddamn plaque commemorating the spot where the water bottle was found.” He crumpled up the gum wrapper.

“Yes, anyone could’ve chosen the location to lead you on a ­wild-­goose chase,” Will said, but he didn’t believe it.

The killer had returned to the location of his past glory.

52

Will made a quick stop to call Anahera after he was out of sight of the police presence at the dump site. “Be very careful,” he told her. “You’re a couple of inches too tall, but otherwise, you fit the same profile as the missing hikers.” It had been her laugh last ­night—­he’d seen it then, the vital wildness of spirit evident in those other women.

Even with that, it had taken him until the conversation with Robert to realize the dangerous similarity. He didn’t think of Anahera as ­petite—­she had too big a presence. But in a purely physical sense, she was only ­five-­six and weighed less than she should. She also had the right skin tone and hair color. “I know you’re tough,” he added, “but this guy is a psychopath.”

“Don’t worry, cop,” she said. “I’m staying with Matilda, helping her with whatever she ­needs—­right now, that’s making sure the iwi liaison officer knows what’s important to her. She kicked Steve out a couple of days ago, so he’s not an issue.”

Exhaling silently, Will leaned his head back against the headrest. “As far as I know, no one else in town matches the profile.” Most fell outside the height or weight range. The ones that didn’t either had significant tattoos, smoked, or had short hair, traits not shared by any of the three hikers.

“If you think of someone,” he told Anahera, “pass on the warning.” Will didn’t much care if he got disciplined for sharing unauthorized information with civilians; if it kept a woman alive, he’d wear the punishment.

“Matilda knows everybody. I’ll get her talking, find out who we need to ­warn—­she’ll feel better if she thinks she’s doing something to help.”

“I’m driving to Christchurch.” To the forensic mortuary where Miriama had been taken. “I need to find out what Miriama has to tell us.”

Her response ­was… unexpected. “You be careful, too. It looks like the rain is finally going to come down.”

“I will,” he said before hanging up.

It had been a long time since anyone cared what happened to him. He wasn’t sure quite what to do with it, but it didn’t feel like a burden or a cage. Anahera, he knew, would never seek to hold on. She might invite him in, but the choice to enter or not would be his.

He pulled out just as the rain began to hit his windscreen, had gone only a few meters when Tom Taufa’s plumbing van appeared heading in the opposite direction, into Golden Cove. The bearded man raised a hand to him in greeting as they drove by one another.

Will considered what he’d learned of Tom’s past and made a quick call to Kim. “Keep a quiet eye on Tom Taufa, the plumber. He should be stopping at the café within the next five minutes.” Tom always did when passing through the Cove’s main street.

“You want me to head on over there and strike up a conversation?”

“Yes.” Kim had the ability to talk to anyone and, underneath her stolid exterior, was good at picking up nonvocal cues. “Bring up the find at the dump, gauge his reaction.”

“Person of interest?”

“I don’t know.” It was the timeline that bothered ­him—­one ­long-­ago summer, Tom had experienced shame and humiliation because of a young woman. The next summer, three young women disappeared. “Call me if he sets off any alarm bells for you.”

“I’m on it.”

Hanging up, Will began the nearly ­four-­hour drive toward the hopeless scent of a beautiful young woman’s death.

53

Anahera sat watching the rain from the covered back stoop of Matilda’s house, occasional droplets bouncing off the walls to collide against her skin. She’d finally gotten a ­worn-­out Matilda to rest by telling her it was no use her rushing to go to Miriama if she collapsed when she got there. Which left Anahera free to think about the past, and a horror that had marked Golden Cove without anyone ever admitting to the darkness beneath the sunshine.

She remembered that summer, remembered the clear sunlight and the heat that had built in fine ­sky-­blue layers.