The Snow Tiger / Night of Error (12 page)

‘In spite of the fact that they’d quarrelled?’ asked McGill.

‘He was a Ballard. What would my mother do with mineral rights? Anyway, after he died my mother had to sell the land – she couldn’t farm it herself. She sold most of it – that’s the west slope – to old Peterson, who neglected to check if he had the mineral rights. I don’t know if he cared about that one way or the other, but when my grandfather bought the rest of the land from my mother – the bit at the bottom of the slope – and started to exploit the mineral rights under Peterson land then all hell broke loose. Accusations of bad faith were tossed around like confetti. The Petersons have always been convinced it was a deep-laid plot on the part of the Ballards. Actually, of course, it was nothing of the kind, but because my name is Ballard I’m stuck with it.’

‘When you put it that way it doesn’t sound too bad,’ said Cameron. ‘All the same, I’m not surprised that the Petersons are riled.’

‘I don’t see why they should be,’ said Ballard. ‘The only people making a profit out of the mine are the Petersons; the mine brought prosperity to this valley and the Petersons are creaming it off. The Ballards certainly aren’t making a profit. You’ve seen the operating figures, Joe, and you know the company is just breaking even.’ He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what’s going to happen if we have to put in extensive avalanche protection. I’ve
been trying to get hold of Crowell all day but he’s not available.’

‘Who is he?’ asked McGill.

‘Chairman of the company. He lives in Auckland.’

‘I’ve been thinking of avalanche protection,’ said McGill meditatively. ‘I’ve got some figures for you, Joe. When you design the avalanche gallery over the mine portal allow for an impact pressure of ten tons a square foot.’

Cameron flinched. ‘
That much?
’ he asked incredulously.

‘I’ve been talking to people who witnessed the 1943 slide. From all accounts it was an airborne powder avalanche, and so was the 1912 slide, according to Turi Buck. The next may not be any different.’

‘Airborne powder! What’s that?’

‘This is no time for a lecture on avalanche dynamics. All you need to know is that it’s fast and it packs a hell of a wallop.’

Ballard said, ‘The 1943 avalanche turned a hundred acres of big trees into firewood.’

Cameron put down his fork. ‘Now I
know
why you’re worried about the town.’

‘I wish to hell the council was as worried as I am,’ said McGill bleakly.

Cameron looked up. ‘Here comes Matt Houghton. If you tell him what you’ve just told me maybe he’ll become as scared as I am.’ As Houghton came up, his bald head gleaming, Cameron pulled out a chair. ‘Sit down, Matt. What did the Civil Defence people have to say?’

Houghton sat down heavily. ‘I haven’t had time to talk to them yet. We’ll be posting signs on the slope; Bobby Fawcett’s scouts are making them and they’ll be putting them up tomorrow. Got any stakes we can use, Joe?’

‘Sure,’ said Cameron, but his voice was abstracted. He was looking at McGill.

Ballard leaned forward. ‘What do you mean, Matt – you didn’t have time? I thought it was agreed …’

Houghton flapped his hands. ‘It’s
Saturday
, Ian,’ he said plaintively, and shrugged. ‘And tomorrow is Sunday. We probably won’t be able to get through to them until Monday.’

Ballard looked baffled. ‘Matt, do you really think that Civil Defence Headquarters closes down at weekends? All you have to do is to lift the bloody telephone.’

‘Take it easy, Ian. I have enough trouble with the Petersons. Charlie takes the line that no one can prevent him from walking – or skiing – on his own land.’

‘For Christ’s sake! Is he out of his mind?’

Houghton sighed. ‘You know Charlie. It’s that old feud getting in the way.’

‘What the hell did I have to do with buying and selling mineral rights? I was only a kid at the time.’

‘It’s not that; it’s the other thing. Charlie
was
Alec’s twin, you know.’

‘But that was nearly twenty-five years ago.’

‘Long memories, Ian; long memories.’ Houghton rubbed his jaw. ‘That stuff you told us about your training – you know, Johannesburg and Harvard. Eric was inclined to disbelieve you.’

‘So he thinks I’m a liar as well as a coward,’ said Ballard sourly. ‘What does he think it takes to be in charge of a company like this?’

‘He did mention a rich grandfather,’ said Houghton wryly.

He dropped his eyes under Ballard’s steady stare. Ballard said, ‘I’m expecting a call from old Crowell. You can talk to him if you like. He’ll tell you my qualifications.’ His voice was chilly.

‘Take it easy – I believe you. You’ve made a success of your life, and that’s all that matters.’

‘No, it isn’t, Matt. What matters is that bloody snow on the slope above this town, and I don’t want any ancient history getting in the way. I’m going to make sure the right thing is done, and if the Petersons get in my way I won’t go around them – I’ll go through them. I’ll smash them.’

Houghton gave him a startled look. ‘My God, but you’ve changed!’

‘Turi Buck said it first – I’ve grown up,’ said Ballard tiredly.

There was an embarrassed silence at the table. McGill, who had been quietly watchful, said, ‘I don’t know what that was all about, Mr Houghton, but I can tell you this. The situation is now more serious than that I outlined at our meeting this morning. I’ve taken more samples from the slope and the stability is deteriorating. I’ve also been talking to people about previous avalanches, with the result that I’ve just notified Mr Cameron to prepare for something hitting the mine very hard indeed. I have to tell you that also applies to the town.’

Houghton was affronted. ‘Why the hell didn’t you talk like that this morning instead of pussyfooting around with scientific quibbles? This morning you said the hazard was potential.’

McGill was exasperated. ‘I sometimes wonder if we talk the same language,’ he snapped. ‘The hazard still is potential and it will be until something happens and then it’ll be actual hazard and too goddam late to do anything about it. What do you want me to do? Go up on the slope and trigger it just to prove to you that it can happen?’

Ballard said, ‘Go back to your council and tell them to stop playing politics. And tell the Petersons from me that no one votes for dead men.’ His voice was like iron. ‘You can also tell them that if they don’t do something constructive by midday tomorrow I’ll go over their heads – I’ll call a public meeting and put it to the people direct.’

‘And telephone Civil Defence as soon as you can,’ added McGill.

Houghton took a deep breath and stood up. His face was red and shiny with sweat. ‘I’ll do the best I can,’ he said, and walked away.

Ballard stared after him. ‘I wonder if this is a good time to get drunk?’

‘Did Mr Ballard drink heavily that night?’ asked Lyall.

Cameron’s lips compressed and then he relaxed. ‘Not more than most,’ he said easily. ‘It was a party, you must remember. For instance, he didn’t drink as much as me.’ As an apparent afterthought he added, ‘Or as much as your clients there.’

Lyall said sharply, ‘I must protest. The witness cannot be allowed to make gratuitous innuendoes of that nature.’

Harrison was trying unsuccessfully to hide a smile. ‘It appears to me that Mr Cameron was merely trying to put Mr Ballard’s drinking in the scale of things. Is that not so, Mr Cameron?’

‘It was a party in a small town,’ said Cameron. ‘Sure, there was drinking. Some of the boys from the mine got pretty smashed. Some of the town folk, too. I was a bit rosy myself towards the end. But Mr Ballard was nowhere near drunk. I don’t think he’s really a drinking man. But he had a few.’

‘I think that answers Mr Lyall’s question. Go on, Mr Cameron.’

‘Well, at about eleven-thirty that night Mr Ballard again tackled the mayor about whether he’d telephoned anybody – Civil Defence or whatever – and Houghton said he hadn’t. He said he didn’t see that a few hours would make any
difference and he wasn’t going to make a fool of himself in the middle of the night by ringing up some caretaker and asking him damn silly questions.’

Harrison looked across at Ballard. ‘Mr Cameron, it would be improper to ask you why Mr Ballard, at this point, did not make the call himself. Mr Ballard is here to answer for himself, as I am sure he will. But, if there was this urgency, why did
you
not make the call?’

Cameron looked embarrassed. ‘We’d been told, quite bluntly, to keep our noses out of town business. And up to that time we thought the call
had
been made. When we found it hadn’t we thought the likelihood of getting anyone at Civil Defence who could tell us what we wanted to know was slight. Another thing was that Mr Ballard still hoped to co-operate with the council, and if he made the call they’d think he’d gone over their heads on what they would consider to be town business. Relations between mine and town might be permanently damaged.’

‘What did Dr McGill think of this?’

‘He wasn’t around at the time; he’d gone out to check the weather. But afterwards he said that Mr Ballard was a damned fool.’ Cameron scratched his cheek. ‘He said I was a damned fool, too.’

‘It seems that Dr McGill is the only person to come out of this with any credit,’ observed Harrison. ‘There appears to have been a lot of buck-passing for reasons which pale into insignificance when one considers the magnitude of the disaster.’

‘I agree,’ said Cameron frankly. ‘But Dr McGill was the only person who had any conception of the magnitude of the trouble which faced us. When he told me to prepare for an impact pressure of ten tons a square foot I thought he was coming it a bit strong. I accepted his reasoning but at the back of my mind I didn’t really believe it. I think that Mr Ballard was in the same case, and he and I are technical men.’

‘And because the members of the council were not technical men do you think that excuses their dilatory conduct?’

‘No,’ said Cameron heavily. ‘We were all guilty to a greater or lesser degree. It does not excuse our conduct, but it goes a long way towards explaining it.’

Harrison was silent for a long time, then he said gently, ‘I’ll accept that, Mr Cameron. What happened next?’

‘Mr Ballard and I stayed at our table talking and doing a little drinking. If Mr Ballard did any drinking that night it was then that he did it. He hadn’t had more than two drinks up to then.’

Cameron talked with Ballard for some time, maybe twenty minutes, and then they were joined by Stacey Cameron. Ballard cocked an ear towards the dance floor; it was late enough for the jigging rock rhythms to have been replaced by the night-club shuffle. ‘Dance?’ he suggested.

Stacey grimaced. ‘Thanks all the same, but no thanks. I’ve been danced off my feet tonight.’ She sat down and flexed her toes, then looked up at him. ‘Liz Peterson wants to know if you think she has smallpox.’

He blinked. ‘What!’

‘She seems to think that you’re ignoring her. She could be right, at that.’

Ballard smiled slightly. ‘I’d forgotten she existed until tonight.’

‘Well, you know she exists now. Why don’t you ask her for a dance? She’s sitting this one out.’

Ballard’s jaw dropped, and then he smiled. ‘Well, for God’s sake, why not?’ He drained his glass and felt the lump of whisky hit bottom with a thud. ‘I’ll give it a whirl.’ He left, heading for the dance floor.

‘Are you crazy?’ demanded Cameron. ‘Don’t you know that Ballard and the Petersons get on like the Hatfields and McCoys? What are you trying to do – start a war?’

‘They’ve got to start talking to each other reasonably sometime,’ said Stacey. ‘Huka isn’t big enough for them to ignore each other forever.’

Cameron looked unconvinced. ‘I hope you know what you’re doing.’

‘Dad, what’s all this about an avalanche?’

‘What avalanche?’

‘Don’t talk to me as though I were a half-wit,’ said Stacey. ‘The avalanche you were discussing over dinner.’

‘Oh, that one!’ said Cameron with an ill-assumed air of surprise. ‘Nothing to it. Just some precautions McGill wants us to take.’

‘Precautions,’ she said thoughtfully. ‘That’s not what I understood by the way Ian was reaming out Houghton.’ She looked past her father. ‘Here’s Mike now. How’s the weather, Mike?’

‘Heavy snow setting in.’ McGill checked his watch. ‘Nearly midnight. How long do these shindigs go on?’

‘The dancing will stop dead on midnight,’ said Cameron. ‘Very religious guys, these New Zealanders. No dancing on Sunday.’

McGill nodded. ‘I won’t be sorry to get to bed.’ He stretched. ‘What did the Civil Defence crowd have to say?’

‘Houghton didn’t call.’

‘He
didn’t!
’ McGill grabbed Cameron by the arm. ‘What have you done about it? Did Ian try?’ Cameron shook his head. ‘Then he’s a goddamned fool – and so are you. Where’s the telephone?’

‘There’s one in the lobby,’ said Cameron. ‘Look, Mike, there’ll be no one there at this time of night qualified to tell you anything.’

‘Tell me – hell!’ said McGill. ‘I’m going to tell them. I’m going to raise the alarm.’

He walked away rapidly with Cameron on his heels. As they skirted the dance floor there was a shout and a sudden
disturbance. McGill jerked his head sideways and saw Charlie Peterson with his hand on Ballard’s shoulder. ‘Just what we need,’ he said disgustedly. ‘Come on, Joe,’ and crossed the floor to where the two men bristled at each other.

Ballard had been dancing with Liz Peterson when he felt the heavy thud of Charlie’s meaty hand on his shoulder and felt himself spun round. Charlie’s face was sweaty and his eyes were red-rimmed. Alcohol fumes came from him as he whispered hoarsely, ‘Stay away from my sister, Ballard.’

Liz’s face flamed. ‘Charlie, I told you …’

‘Shut up!’ His hand bore heavily on Ballard’s shoulder. ‘If I catch you with her again I’ll break your back.’

‘Take your hand off me,’ said Ballard.

Some of the ferocity left Charlie and he grinned genially. ‘Take it off yourself – if you can.’ His thumb ground viciously into the muscle at the top of Ballard’s arm.

‘Stop this nonsense,’ said Liz. ‘You get crazier every day.’

Charlie ignored his sister and increased the pressure on Ballard. ‘What about it? You won’t get into trouble with your momma – she’s not here.’

Ballard seemed to droop. His arms hung down in front of him, crossed at the wrists, and suddenly he brought them up sharply, hitting Charlie’s arm at the elbow with considerable force and thus breaking free.

Charlie lunged forward but Cameron grabbed one arm and twisted it behind Charlie’s back. It was done with expertise and it was evident that Cameron was no stranger to a rough house.

‘Break it up,’ said McGill. ‘This is a dance floor, not a boxing ring.’

Charlie pressed forward again but McGill put his hand flat on Charlie’s chest and pushed. ‘All right,’ said Charlie. ‘I’ll see you outside when you don’t have your friends to help you.’

‘Christ, you sound like a schoolboy,’ said McGill.

‘Let the bastard speak for himself,’ said Charlie.

In the distance a voice was raised. ‘Is Mr Ballard around? He’s wanted on the telephone.’

McGill jerked his head at Ballard. ‘Take your call.’

Ballard shrugged his shoulders into his rumpled jacket and nodded briefly. He walked past Charlie without so much as looking at him. Charlie twisted in Cameron’s grip and yelled, ‘You’ve not changed, you bastard. You still run scared.’

‘What’s going on here?’ someone demanded.

McGill turned to find Eric Peterson at his elbow. He took his hand off Charlie’s chest, and said, ‘Your kid brother has gone off his rocker.’

Eric looked at Liz. ‘What happened?’

‘The same thing that happens every time I get too close to a man,’ she said wearily. ‘But worse than usual this time.’

Eric said to Charlie coldly, ‘I’ve told you about this before.’

Charlie jerked his arm free of Cameron. ‘But it was Ballard!’ he pleaded. ‘It was Ballard.’

Eric frowned. ‘Oh!’ But then he said, ‘I don’t care who it was. You don’t make these scenes again.’ He paused. ‘Not in public.’

McGill caught Cameron’s eye and they both moved off in the direction of the lobby and found Ballard at the reception desk. The desk clerk was pointing. ‘There’s the phone.’

‘Who’d be ringing you?’ asked McGill.

‘Crowell, if I’m lucky.’

‘After you with the phone – I want to ring Christchurch.’ McGill turned to the desk clerk. ‘Have you a Christchurch telephone book?’

Ballard picked up the telephone as McGill flipped through the pages. ‘Ballard here.’

A testy voice said, ‘I have half a dozen message slips here asking me to ring you. I’ve just got in so it had better be important.’

‘It is,’ said Ballard grimly. ‘We’re in a bad situation here. We have reason to suppose that the mine – and the town – is in danger of destruction by avalanche.’

There was a blank silence broken only by a surge of music from the dance floor. Crowell said, ‘What!’

‘An avalanche,’ said Ballard. ‘We’re going to be in dead trouble.’

‘Are you serious?’

Ballard put his finger to his other ear to block out the noise of the music. ‘Of course I’m serious. I don’t joke about things like this. I want you to get on to the Ministry of Civil Defence to let them know about it. We may need help fast.’

‘But I don’t understand,’ said Crowell faintly.

‘You don’t have to understand,’ snapped Ballard. ‘Just tell them that the township of Hukahoronui is in danger of being blotted out.’

McGill’s finger marked a line in the telephone book. He looked up as someone ran past and saw Charlie Peterson heading for Ballard at a dead run. He dropped the book and jumped after him.

Charlie grabbed Ballard by the shoulder, and Ballard shouted, ‘What the hell …?’

‘I’m going to break you in half,’ said Charlie.

Lost in the uproar was a soft rumble of distant thunder. Ballard punched at Charlie, hampered by the telephone he held. From the wildly waving earpiece came the quacking sound of Crowell in Auckland. McGill laid hands on Charlie and hauled him away bodily.

Ballard, breathing heavily, put the telephone to his ear. Crowell said, ‘… going on there? Are you there, Ballard? What’s …?’

The line went dead.

McGill spun Charlie around and laid him cold with a right cross to the jaw just as all the lights went out.