‘I tended to buck against the norm a little with some of my research.’
‘Revisionism?’
‘You could say that. Though I never actually got to prove any of my theories. But nuff about them, what’ve you got?’
Matt could see his father was clearly interested, and heck, he was in a wheelchair in a care home. He couldn’t cause any trouble. Besides, Warren’s theory had worn a little thin and Matt could do with any help he could get.
‘A colleague of mine has found a Celtic burial site, up north.’
Matt’s father appeared to be instantly healed. He virtually launched himself out of the wheelchair with excitement. ‘He found what?’
‘He found two coins and a mirror.’
‘Ritualistically accurate,’ Matt’s father said. ‘Has the site been properly sanctioned?’
‘Kind of.’ Matt was a little embarrassed. ‘The DCI has taken over the site, but they only know about the coins.’
‘How so?’
‘My friend moved the mirror.’
Disappointment registered all over Andy Robertson’s face. Matt saw the change in mood and had a sinking feeling that what he said had serious relevance to the success of the research. ‘Your friend has ruined any chance you had of proving anything with the burial site. What a bumbling idiot.’
Matt was about to defend Warren, but thought better of it just in time. ‘He was worried the DCI would sanction the site and destroy the evidence.’
‘The DCI is many things, Matt, and yes they’ve been guilty of some pretty shoddy work. But I don’t reckon the DCI would ever actually destroy a valid theory.’
‘Surely not.’ Nadine agreed with their father.
Matt grew uncomfortable with this conversation and steered it back to his father’s work. ‘What theories were you working on?’ That was a bit obvious, but it seemed to have the desired effect.
‘Mostly I dabbled with the theory that the Spanish discovered and populated New Zealand around 1536.’
‘You have it pinpointed down to a year?’
‘It’s a theory. If my theory is correct, then yes, they arrived here around 1536. It’s not as exciting as your Celts beating the Maori here, of course, but it’s still fascinating stuff.’
‘Did you get far?’
‘I was really close. But I had to give up. My stroke.’
‘Dad got so emotionally involved in his work and the DCI gave him so much grief. Basically all of academia gave him a hard time. I said for years that they caused his stroke,’ Nadine said.
‘Yet you defend them?’
‘They’ve done a lot of good for the country. I could have gone about my research a little more quietly.’ His father answered for her.
‘What did you have, exactly?’
‘I had some concrete leads. It’s so long ago and I haven’t thought about it since.’ His father turned to him and beamed a huge smile. ‘Buy hey, why don’t you have a look at my notes? See if they’re of any interest to you?’
That was an idea worth some thought. Though in fact, it took Matt only a few seconds to decide. He already had his doubts about the strength of the evidence pointing to the Celts and they were now added to by his father’s and Aimee’s opinion that the mirror would become irrelevant due to non-disclosure. Now, with so much to support the Spanish theory, such as the helmet, the Pohutukawa in Spain, questions about hangis, kumara and kumara storage houses, gaining access to his father’s notes was just enough to push Matt to the tipping point.
Matt straightened up in his chair. ‘I’d be very interested to look over your notes.’
‘You can go and get them.’
‘Where are they?’
‘Home,’ Nadine said, ‘the shed out the back.’
‘Your place?’
‘No, our place. Where I grew up. Down in Nelson.’
‘Nelson? That’s in the South Island isn’t it?’ Matt asked, hoping his memory of the in-flight magazine map served him well.
‘At the top of it, yeah. Three hours ferry from Wellington, and two hours’ drive.’
‘It would be a good excuse to see the country,’ Matt said, ‘and I have to admit things are drying up a little on the Celtic investigation.’
‘I think you’ll find that the Celtic investigation goes nowhere,’ Matt’s father said. ‘Will your friend by upset if you change tack, or are you a free agent?’
‘Free agent. Besides, Warren is a great guy. He’s just out to make sure that New Zealand knows her true history, whatever that may be. He’s bound to want to tag along for the ride, he’s an enthusiast.’
‘Sounds like my kind of man.’
‘I guess I better write down some details then,’ Matt said. ‘Where is this shed exactly? How can I get access to the property? It isn’t yours anymore, is it?’
Nadine explained to Matt how their father had gifted the property to a lady who had lived next door to them for twenty years. She was more than happy to agree to his conditions and swap rental life for home ownership. The house was transferred into her name, on the condition that she keep the shed out the back intact at all times and leave Andy’s stuff in there in storage. If anyone ever came with the key for the shed, she was to give them access. It was Andy’s way of hiding his research in a property that wasn’t in his name. Besides, Nadine was in Auckland and Andy wanted to be near her.
Matt was impressed. His father and Nadine had concocted a clever arrangement to ensure their house and work was loved and looked over for years to come. The lady and her family would pass the house down as long as they kept breeding. It was not allowed to be sold for a profit.
‘Take these two keys, Matt,’ his father said, handing him a key ring he had retrieved from his bedside drawer. One of them opens the shed. The other…, well, I don’t want to say anything here. The walls have ears you know. After you’ve gone through the contents of the shed, you’ll know what to do.’
Matt clutched the keys to his chest. This felt important. Very important. It wasn’t just about getting in on a new theory and investigation. Something about this felt like it should be done, almost by way of penance, for all the hatred he had felt towards the man sitting in front of him. A man that obviously had love overflowing, and deserved the same in return. Matt knew what he had to do. He would start planning in the morning.
Hemi sat outside the care home, enjoying the view. He knew that Andy Robertson was in residence in the home. Leigh had pulled through, as always, and supplied Hemi with a full dossier on the Robertson family. Two parts of the information were particularly interesting. Unfortunately, that meant putting in a call to Warren. He picked up his mobile and dialled.
‘Good morning, Hemi.’ Warren seemed particularly chirpy today. That will change, Hemi thought.
‘Good Morning Sir,’ Hemi said, flattering Warren. ‘I have some very important information for you.
‘Go ahead.’ He still sounded as happy as a box of birds.
‘I’m sitting outside a rest home in Browns Bay. Dr. Cameron is inside the rest home, visiting with a terminally ill man by the name of Andy Robertson.’
‘Yes?’
‘Andy Robertson is Dr. Cameron’s father.’
‘That’s nice for him,’ Warren said, in a voice that made Hemi feel momentarily small. I’ll teach you, you old bastard, he thought as he took a breath for his second revelation.
‘The name doesn’t mean anything to you then?’ Hemi asked, eating up the moment.
‘What name?’
‘Andy Robertson.’
‘No. Why? Should it?’ The worry started to show. Hemi went in for the kill.
‘Andy Robertson was what some at the government might refer to as an annoyance. A pseudo-
