The Snow Tiger / Night of Error

TWELVE

‘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.

THIRTEEN

‘After the lights went out things got pretty confused,’ said Cameron. He half turned in his chair and spoke to the nurse in a low voice. The nurse got up and poured him a glass of water, and when Cameron took it, his hand was shaking.

Harrison watched him carefully. ‘You’ve been giving evidence for quite a long time, Mr Cameron, and I think you should stand down for the moment. Since we are taking evidence chronologically the next witness should naturally be Mr Crowell. Thank you, Mr Cameron.’

‘Thank you, sir.’ Cameron got to his feet painfully, assisted by the male nurse, and hobbled slowly across the hall.

Reed said, ‘Will Mr Crowell come forward?’

A short, stout man got to his feet and walked up to the rostrum with some reluctance. As he sat down he turned his head sideways to look at Rickman, who nodded reassuringly. Reed said, ‘What is your full name?’

Crowell licked his lips nervously, and coughed, ‘Henry James Crowell.’

‘And your occupation, Mr Crowell?’

‘I’m the chairman of several companies, including the Hukahoronui Mining Company.’

Harrison said, ‘Do you own shares in that company?’

‘I have a minority holding, yes.’

‘Mr Ballard was the managing director of that company, was he not?’

‘Yes.’

‘What were his responsibilities?’

Crowell frowned. ‘I don’t understand the question.’

‘Come, Mr Crowell. Surely Mr Ballard had duties which were defined.’

‘Of course, sir. He had the normal duties of a managing director – to see to the total interests of the company under the guidance of the board of directors.’

‘Which was headed by yourself.’

‘That is correct.’

‘You have been listening to evidence relating to a telephone call which you made to Mr Ballard. Did you, in fact, make that call?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why?’

‘I had been away from home and arrived back late on the Saturday night. My secretary had left a list of messages from Mr Ballard to the effect that I should contact him. From the number and tenor of these messages I judged the matter to be urgent, so I telephoned him immediately.’

‘And what did he say?’

‘He said something about an avalanche. I didn’t quite understand – he was very indistinct.’

‘Didn’t you ask him to explain further?’

‘Yes.’ Crowell’s hands twitched. ‘There was a lot of noise going on at his end – music and so forth. He wasn’t very coherent.’

Harrison regarded him thoughtfully, and then moved his eyes sideways. ‘Yes, Mr Smithers?’

‘Can the witness state whether or not Mr Ballard asked him to contact the Ministry of Civil Defence to warn them of impending danger at Hukahoronui?’

Harrison’s eyes returned to Crowell who wriggled in his seat. ‘He did say something along those lines, but there was a lot of noise on the line. A lot of shouting and screaming.’ He paused. ‘Then I was cut off.’

‘What did you do then?’ asked Harrison.

‘I talked it over with my wife.’

A ripple of amusement passed over the hall. Harrison knocked sharply with his gavel. ‘Did you contact the Ministry of Civil Defence?’

Crowell hesitated. ‘No, sir.’

‘Why not?’

‘I thought it was some sort of practical joke. With that music and uproar on the line … well, I thought …’ His voice tailed away.

‘You thought Mr Ballard was joking?’ queried Harrison.

Both Lyall and Rickman had their hands up. Harrison picked Rickman and nodded. ‘Did you think Mr Ballard was drunk?’ asked Rickman. Lyall grinned and hauled down his hand.

‘I did.’

‘When you said that Mr Ballard was incoherent that was what you meant, wasn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Crowell. He smiled gratefully at Rickman.

‘You must not lead the witness,’ said Harrison mildly.

‘I’m sorry, Mr Chairman.’ Rickman smiled encouragingly at Crowell. ‘Who appointed Mr Ballard as managing director?’

‘The instruction came from London – from a majority shareholder.’

‘You had nothing to do with his appointment, then. Could we say that Mr Ballard was foisted upon you?’

‘As a minority shareholder I didn’t have much say in the matter.’

‘If you had had a say in the matter whom would you have picked as managing director?’

‘Mr Dobbs, who was mine manager.’

‘And who is now dead.’

Crowell bowed his head and said nothing.

‘That is all,’ said Rickman.

‘What did you think of Mr Ballard when you first met him?’ asked Harrison.

Crowell shrugged. ‘I thought he was a personable enough young man – perhaps a little too young for the job.’

‘Did you suspect him of any proclivities towards drunkenness or practical joking?’

‘They did not present themselves – then.’