“I haven’t the faintest idea,” she replied, looking at him indignantly.
The sun was shimmering on the bay below. Martha Tukao was dismayed. She didn’t really trust this policeman.
“What about you?” Osborne went on. “Did you have a job?
“Er . . . no. My husband’s firm was doing well, one salary was enough to live on, and I raised two sons by myself. That’s quite a job, you know! I’m from a modest family, just like my husband. What we have, we earned and richly deserved!”
She was getting carried away.
“Where are your sons now?”
“In Australia, both of them,” she replied proudly. “They started a cattle farm in New South Wales.”
“Brave boys. Who bought the land for the farm? You?”
“Yes. Why?” She couldn’t see where he was going with this.
“Neither of your two sons has taken over the law firm,” Osborne commented. “Why? That’s usually what happens, especially if it’s successful.”
“I don’t know,” she replied stiffly. “That’s their business.”
Martha couldn’t see his eyes behind his dark glasses, but the tension was palpable—Osborne had found her weak spot.
“This house,” he said, indicating the colonnade. “How long have you had it?”
“About two years. My husband bought it as a place to retire to.”
“This is a prime location. And a big house like this needs one or two servants, plus a gardener, at least part time. It must have cost about three hundred thousand dollars, I’d say.”
She shrugged her shoulders, increasingly red under her makeup. “What of it? Where’s the harm in that?”
“Add in the land for the farm in New South Wales, and the cost of livestock, and that’s quite a bit of money, especially for people without a family inheritance. Where does all this money comes from?”
“That’s enough!” she protested. “I don’t know what you’re insinuating, but I find you extremely unpleasant, and I want you to leave.”
Osborne gave an icy smile. He grabbed her suddenly by the wrist and pulled her brutally from her collapsible stool. “Show me the safe.”
“Ow!”
“Your husband must have put in a safe,” he said, shaking her a little. “Show it to me.”
The poor woman’s head was spinning. “I’ll call the police!”
Osborne blew his tobacco-laden breath in her face. “I am the police, bitch. Now go on!”
He made her go through the house at a run.
“You’re hurting me!” she cried, stamping the floor with her heels.
“I’ll hurt you even more if you don’t open the fucking safe!” Osborne roared. “Where is it?”
It wasn’t a question anymore, it was a threat. Martha was trembling all over her body, fearing he was about to hit her in the face. She made a pathetic gesture in the direction of the bedroom. Osborne dragged her there. The room was bright, with a four-poster bed and a polished wooden wall that must house the safe.
“Open it,” he ordered, “now!”
Terrified, Martha obeyed. The safe was indeed hidden behind a wooden partition. She dialed the combination, then collapsed on the bed.
Osborne started to search through the safe. There were three bundles of hundred-dollar bills, about fifty thousand dollars at the very least, and even a gold ingot. Tut-tut. He looked among the notarized documents, threw half of them on the carpet, and soon found what he was looking for: the bill of sale for the land at Karikari Bay.
At last he had it, the connection.
“All these banknotes,” he said in a blank voice. “How long have they been in the safe?”
“Two . . . three months.”
Martha was shaking like a leaf. That corresponded to the date of the bill of sale. Backhanders.
Osborne skimmed through the document, didn’t understand very much of it, and went straight to the last page. Several people had signed the bill of sale. The land had started out as several separate plots that had been brought together to form the totality of the site. Among the signatories, a representative of the state: Steve O’Brian.
The father of Phil O’Brian, currently the mayor of Auckland.
Martha was sobbing on the lace bedspread. Osborne pocketed the document and gave the widow a last glance.
“You disgust me.”
* * *
