The Sergeant Frank Hardy Mysteries by Wendy M. Wilson

Author:Wendy M. Wilson [Wendy M. Wilson]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Wendy M. Wilson
Published: 2021-07-11T00:00:00+00:00

She was in the bookstore the next day when Frederic Karlsen arrived, followed shortly by Karira. Karlsen looked Karira up and down, frowning and said, “I thought you would bring that sergeant…Sergeant Hardy, is it? Mr. Snelson at the general store told me about him. He would seem more suitable…”

“He’s away,” said Mette, glad that Karira didn’t speak German. “Mr. Karira is his partner. He can help you just as well. In fact, he probably knows the district better than Sergeant Hardy.”

“Aah,” said Karlsen, giving her a knowing look. “Then this Hardy, you wouldn’t recommend him so much then? You think this Maori fellow will be able to talk to the local rascals better?”

Mette bit her lip and smiled, itching to give Karlsen a good slap.

The two men talked at one another, using Mette as an intermediary, and then sealed the deal with a handshake and a five-pound note for Karira, which was to be the advance. As he handed over the note, Karlsen asked, “He isn’t related to that Maori who killed people, is he?”

“Nein,” said Mette. Then, in English to Karira, “Mr. Karlsen wonders if you are connected to the Maori who killed several people a few weeks ago.”

Karlsen watched Karira with narrowed eyes, waiting for his answer. Karira shook his head firmly.

“Sergeant Hardy and I did our best to catch him,” he said slowly, exaggerating the words, as if Karlsen was a bit slow, as Mette translated. “He almost killed us, up behind the sawmill. But we caught him and he’s been sent away now. He may even have been the man who killed…made your brother disappear.”

Karlsen frowned. “That’s what Constable Price said, but it isn’t true.”

“How do you know?” asked Mette nervously in English. “I mean, woher weist du das?”

He leaned forward confidently. “Because the boy who works behind the counter in the general store told me. He said no one in town believes the Maori killed Gottlieb.”

“Who do they think did kill him then?” said Mette, forgetting that she was trying to pretend Gottlieb might still be alive.

Karlsen looked carefully in either direction, leaned forward, and said in a dramatic whisper, “The Armed Constabulary.”

It was so far from what Mette expected that she almost burst into laughter.

“Why would they do that?”

“Because he had discovered they were secretly selling alcohol to the natives and they wanted to shut him up.”

“Not a bad theory,” said Karira, after she’d translated for him. “Better than the one where he was killed by an enraged Royal Mail coachman with a tomahawk, at least. Shall we run with that one? An Armed Constabulary conspiracy?”

Karlsen saw that Karira had accepted his idea and he nodded and smiled. “Gut, gut.”

Mette crossed her fingers behind her back and said, “Mr. Karira thinks that’s a possibility.”

“As good as any other possibility that isn’t the actual truth,” said Karira, smiling at Karlsen, who smiled back again.

He shook hands once more with Karira and left.

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