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Day Six

We chatted about Dad for a long time. Then her pregnancy. I asked if she wanted to know the sex of the baby at her first ultrasound in a month’s time and about other tests she must be anticipating—which I’d learned from Bevan and Rina, who were a few weeks ahead of Shay.

“Wow, you learned a lot about pregnancy.” Shay smiled, looking impressed.

When I immersed myself in a story, I lost track of my friends. No, it was more than that—I neglected them. Something occurred to me. I’d gotten into journalism to help people who couldn’t help themselves, but in the process, was I ignoring people who were close to me?

Teddy pressed his nose against Shay’s screen, impatient to be the center of attention.

We gushed about how fabulous he was, then tried to explain to him how his chasing squirrels in the park made him look like the bad guy.

Sorry, just does, Teds. Teddy licked the air.

Intellectually, he understood and agreed, but he couldn’t help himself.

He was an alpha-male big dog in the body of a bunny.

Shay chatted happily about their house search. Bato appeared and draped himself over her. We teased her that she was mostly excited because it was an opportunity for some spreadsheet action. Still, this intense nesting urge was a side of her I hadn’t seen before.

I forced myself to act pleased, but, honestly, I was gutted.

They really were leaving. I realized I’d thought Bato having his clothing store near our flat would keep them there.

I hoped I wouldn’t need flatmates, that this story would earn me enough to keep the flat to myself.

I didn’t need reminding—my life depended on this case.

After the call, I quickly changed, ready for surfing.

Declan arrived back from his run and ocean dip. He changed in the bathroom.

“We still have some time before our surf lesson. I’ve got some news from my trip to The Mount,” he said, emerging in shorts and a T-shirt. He sat on the corner chair, facing me cross-legged on the bed.

I wanted to tell him about Janey’s diary, but we had to get this out of the way.

“My new contact at the port confirmed that the winery’s shipments are ending,” he said.

“No one knows why. It’s good we know for sure, but that only leaves seven days to wrap up the investigation.

” He leaned toward me, propping his elbows on his knees.

“And my source at London Port had an update. A new heroin shipment is arriving next month—it’s called White Cloud 1.

0. It’s a play on China White, that name for best-quality heroin. ”

That jolted a connection. “ Wait—what? ‘Long White Cloud’ is the translation of Aotearoa.” I peered at him. “The Māori name for New Zealand. They’re advertising that the shipment comes from New Zealand? Isn’t that a bit on the nose?”

“Good catch.”

He grinned at me like I was clever—or something. It made me feel giddy. My emotions were getting scary.

“You got that immediately,’ he said. “And, yeah, it is on the nose. But what the public doesn’t realize about drugs is that they are marketed, like any other product.

They have to appear the freshest, cleanest, strongest quality, and the New Zealand reference gives it honesty, if that’s the word for it.

The question? Is Snow part of this process?

Or do we have it all wrong, and he’s a simple cog in a highly developed wheel? ”

He inhaled a tight breath. “My boss has been impressed by how much you’ve dug up. With the pressure of this new deadline, we need to start doing it your way, be more active. I’ll try and get Snow to invite me to go fishing. Could you find a way to talk to CeeCee?”

I sighed with relief. That felt good. “Yes, for sure.” Feeling energized, I grabbed my laptop. “How about we start with going through all the companies involved, and what we’ve learned so far? We have three companies…” I opened my laptop and typed.

He checked them off. “One: Clapham Wine Imports, the London company that purchased Snow’s wine.

Two: SW5 Research, a London laboratory owned by two scientists who previously developed synthetic heroin for a government agency.

Three: Big Wave Holdings, Snow’s company in the Cayman Islands, which purchased the winery. ”

We included the lab in London because it had a director in common with Snow’s company. We talked about why a heroin ring might be involved with a synthetic product.

“Maybe the drug trafficking was paying for the development of synthetic heroin?” I asked. “Let’s see a photo of that director again.”

Declan sat on the bed next to me and fired up his laptop. We focused on a picture of a clean-shaven man with a jaunty haircut and wearing a spotted bow tie.

“Bato would say he’s a natty dresser… wait.

” I clicked my fingers. “That’s what Rosemary said.

She was talking about a guy who wore a bow tie.

It was at lunch on my second day here. What did she say?

” I stared into the blue sky outside as my mind tunneled back.

I could see her mouth moving. I waited for her words, like bouncing reply dots in my mind.

Then nothing. The dots reappeared, and I yelped.

“Got it.” I clapped my hands. “Yeah, nah, yeah, she was talking about her overseas buyer who wanted to purchase the whole campground. She said he was very natty, with a spotted bow tie.”

“How many men wear bow ties these days?” Declan tapped his throat. “Surely not many?” I did a bit of research on my laptop, with him looking over my shoulder, which confirmed his first instinct that bow ties had a devoted, but not large, following.

“We still need to confirm it is the same man. We’ll have to introduce the subject to Rosemary somehow,” I said.

“So, if this bow-tied lawyer is buying the entire campground…” He wasn’t looking over my shoulder anymore, but hi s arm was rubbing against mine, and I felt a little electric spark from his skin. “What does that mean?”

“Maybe the bow-tied lawyer is the face of this transaction,” I said.

“And that means Snow is buying the whole campground.” He shook his head, incredulous.

“Which is costing him sixteen million.” My shoulders hiked up. “Is that why he’s trafficking heroin? Because he needs the money for the campground?”

Our instincts were right. Something about that campground was valuable. But what ? Declan and I had researched this in the newspaper’s archives and had come up with nothing.

“This has to be our new deadline,” he said. “It’s not the final shipping day. It’s the day of the auction. Saturday afternoon at three.” That shortened our timeline even more.

My heart thumped against my rib cage. “God, Declan, we have five days. It feels like we know a lot of disparate things. At the same time, it feels like we are so far from solving this case.”

Normally composed, he dropped his head into his hands. “What are we missing?”

We were both stressed about the case, but I had to do this now. I told him about finding Janey’s diary. He was shocked, then listened silently. He read through her diary slowly and handed it back to me, almost reverentially. He took a deep breath.

“This is awful.” He screwed up his face in pain.

“I’m so sorry, Isla. I can’t imagine what you’re feeling.

I don’t want to minimize any of this.” He spoke with care and sat up straight.

“But we have a case we’re working on. That’s our priority.

We can’t be distracted in any way. After we’ve finished and you’ve written the story, that would be the time to examine this. ”

I’d hoped he’d say something different, but in my heart, I hadn’t expected it. I nodded.

I couldn’t do anything to compromise the drug case. But I’d just found out my friend was abused, and that led to her death. It was too hard for me to give this up—especially if we suspected Janey’s dad. I truly didn’t want to suspect him.

A deep, gouging melancholy took hold of me. I knew I shouldn’t dismiss him, but I felt horribly conflicted.