The great hall was unexpectedly and floridly magnificent. Built in the mid-nineteenth century at the height of the Gothic Revival and designed by an architect who was, equally unexpectedly, a direct descendant of Simon de Montfort, it brought medieval England to the Southern Hemisphere and to that more-than-English city, Christchurch. Lofty, with an arched ceiling, painted and carved, it abounded in corbels, pillars, lancets and wood panelling, and every surface that could possibly be carved was carved to a fare-thee-well. There was also a lot of stained glass.

Dan Edwards, doyen of the Press of Christchurch, was blind to the incongruity of the scene; he had seen it too often before. He was more concerned about the floor which creaked abominably as the ushers walked beneath the Press gallery setting out note-pads and pencils. ‘The acoustics are lousy,’ he said. ‘And that bloody kauri floor doesn’t make things better.’

‘Can’t they oil it or something?’ asked Dalwood, who was from Auckland.

‘They’ve tried everything but nothing seems to work. I’ll tell you what — let’s do a pool. If I miss anything I’ll take it from you — and vice versa.’

Dalwood shrugged. ‘Okay.’ He looked over the edge of the Press gallery to the dais immediately beneath. Three high-backed chairs were set behind the rostrum, and before each chair was a new foolscap note-pad with two ball-point pens to the left and three newly sharpened pencils to the right. Together with the water carafes and the glasses, the whole looked remarkably like place settings at a dining table.

Edwards followed his glance and then nodded towards the public gallery, already full, at the north end of the hall. ‘They’re going to make a meal of this.’

Dalwood nudged him and indicated the door beneath the public gallery. ‘There’s young Ballard. He’s brought a legal army with him.’

Edwards studied the young man who walked at the head of a phalanx of older, soberly dressed men. He pursed his lips. ‘The question is whether they’re representing him or the company. If I were Ballard I’d be keeping a tight sphincter.’

‘A sacrificial lamb?’

‘A lamb to the slaughter,’ agreed Edwards. He looked down at the rostrum. ‘Things are happening.’

The hum of conversation died as three men took their places at the chairs behind the rostrum. One of the two stenographers looked up and held his hands poised expectantly over the keys of his machine. There was a rustle as everyone arose.

The three men sat down and a fourth came forward and sat at the desk in front of the rostrum. He laid a sheaf of papers before him and consulted the uppermost document. The man above him, in the centre of the rostrum, was elderly with a shock of white hair and deeply lined face. He looked down at the virgin pad in front of him and pushed it away. When he spoke he spoke quietly and in an even voice.

‘In the winter of the year, on the eighteenth of July, a disaster occurred in the township of Hukahoronui on the South Island of New Zealand in which fifty-four people lost their lives. The New Zealand Government has appointed a Commission of Inquiry, of which I am Chairman. My name is Arthur Harrison and I am Rector of Canterbury University.’

He moved his hands apart. ‘With me are two assessors, both well qualified by their knowledge and experience to sit on this Commission. On my left we have Professor J. W. Rolandson of the Department of Scientific and Industrial Research.’ Harrison paused. ‘In the interests of brevity his department will, in future, be referred to as the DSIR.’

Rolandson smiled and nodded.

‘On my right sits Mr F. G. French of the New Zealand Mines Department. The gentleman immediately below me is Mr John Reed, barrister-at-law; he is Secretary to the Commission.’ Harrison surveyed the tables in the hall. ‘There are several interested parties present. Perhaps they would identify themselves, beginning from the right.’

The well-fed, middle-aged man seated next to Ballard rose to his feet. ‘John Rickman, barrister, representing the Hukahoronui Mining Company, Proprietary, Limited.’

There was a long pause before the man at the next table got to his feet, and Edwards whispered, ‘Ballard has no personal representation.’

‘Michael Gunn, barrister, representing the General Miners’ Union of New Zealand and the relatives of its members who lost their lives in the disaster.’

‘Alfred Smithers, barrister, representing the Ministry of Civil Defence.’

‘Peter Lyall, barrister, representing Charles Stewart Peterson and Eric Parnell Peterson.’

There was a sound of surprise in the room, a compound of sudden involuntary movement and indrawn breath. Edwards looked up from his notes. ‘Why should they think they need legal help? This sounds promising.’

Harrison waited until the stir died away. ‘I see we are greatly endowed with legal aid. I must therefore warn the legal gentlemen present that this is not a Court of Law. It is a Commission of Inquiry which is empowered to make its own rules of procedure. Evidence will be heard here which would not necessarily be admissible before a Court of Law. The object of this Commission is to find the truth of what happened during the events which led up to the avalanche at Hukahoronui, during the avalanche itself, and what happened afterwards.’

He leaned back in his chair. ‘Adversary tactics, such as are common in law courts, will be frowned upon here. We wish to find the truth unimpeded by legal technicalities, and the reason we wish to find the truth is to make certain that such a disaster does not happen again. The force of this consideration is so great that the Commission hereby rules that any evidence given here may not be used in any future legal action other than criminal which may eventuate as a result of the avalanche at Hukahoronui. The protection of lives in the future is of more importance than the punishment of those who may be felt to be guilty of acts of omission or commission arising out of the disaster. The Commission is legally empowered to make such a ruling and I hereby do so.’

Gunn hastily rose to his feet. ‘Mr Chairman; do you not think that is an arbitrary decision? There will be matters of compensation arising. If interested parties are denied the use of evidence in a future legal action, surely an injustice will be done.’

‘Mr Gunn, I have no doubt that the government will appoint an arbitrator who will study the findings of this Commission and make the necessary dispositions. Does that satisfy you?’

Gunn bobbed his head, a pleased expression on his face. ‘Indeed it does, Mr Chairman.’

Dalwood murmured to Edwards, ‘No wonder he’s pleased. It’s all going to happen here — a bloody drumhead courtmartial with no holds barred.’

Edwards grunted. ‘He’ll not get much past old Harrison.’

‘And now we come to the question of witnesses. Some citizens have come forward voluntarily to give evidence here, others have been subpoena’d by one or more of the interested parties.’ Harrison frowned. ‘I, and my fellow members on the Commission, have been much exercised as to how the evidence should be taken, and we have decided that it shall be taken in chronological order, insofar as that is possible. Because of this, any person giving evidence may be asked to step down before his evidence is wholly completed if we find it necessary to do some filling in. It follows, then, that all witnesses should hold themselves in readiness at all times during the sitting of the Commission.’

‘Mr Chairman!’

Rickman was on his feet. Harrison said, ‘Yes, Mr Rickman?’

‘Such a condition is likely to be onerous on certain of the witnesses. Some of them are busy men with duties which lie outside this room. This is likely to be a long inquiry and I do not feel that such a condition is entirely fair.’

‘When you refer to certain of the witnesses can I take it that you refer to Mr Ballard?’ asked Harrison drily.

‘Mr Ballard is one such witness,’ conceded Rickman. ‘Out of consideration for him it would be better if he could give his evidence and retire.’

‘Is Mr Ballard a citizen of New Zealand?’

‘No, Mr Chairman; he is a United Kingdom subject.’

‘And would his retirement from this hall be as far away as England?’

Rickman bent down and spoke quietly to Ballard who replied in equally low tones. Rickman straightened. ‘It is true that there are certain matters in the United Kingdom which urgently require Mr Ballard’s attention.’

Harrison’s voice was cold. ‘If I thought it was Mr Ballard’s intention to leave New Zealand during the sitting of this Commission I would ask the relevant authority to relieve him of his passport. This inquiry is a serious matter, Mr Rickman.’

‘I am sure it is not Mr Ballard’s intention to flout the authority of the Commissioners,’ said Rickman hastily. He bent down again and spoke to Ballard, then he rose and said, ‘Mr Ballard has no intention of leaving New Zealand at the present time.’

‘I would prefer to hear that from Mr Ballard.’ Harrison leaned forward. ‘Is that correct, Mr Ballard?’

Ballard stood, and said in a low voice. ‘That is correct, sir. My time is at the disposal of the Commissioners.’

‘In that case you will have no objection to attending this inquiry with the rest of the witnesses. Thank you.’

In the Press gallery Edwards said, ‘My God! Whoever Rickman is representing, he’s not representing Ballard. He set him up just to knock him down.’

Harrison said, ‘This inquiry will not have the formality of a law court, but neither will it be a free-for-all. Representatives of the interested parties may address the witnesses at the discretion of the Chairman. It will not be necessary to disturb the sacro-iliac by standing each time — a mere raising of the hand will suffice. The assessors may question the witnesses in their respective fields of expertise.’

He put his hands together. ‘Since we are gathering information in chronological order it becomes necessary to decide at which point of time to begin. From depositions laid before the Commission I gather that it was the appearance of Mr Ballard in Hukahoronui which led to a series of events which may — or may not — have relevance to the disaster which took place some weeks later. That is for this inquiry to decide. Be that as it may, I think the first witness should be Mr Ballard.’

Reed, the secretary, said, ‘Will you come forward, Mr Ballard, and sit down there?’ He indicated an ornately carved chair a little to the right of the rostrum. He waited until Ballard was seated, then said, ‘Your name is Ian Dacre Ballard?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘And you are managing director of the Hukahoronui Mining Company, Proprietary, Limited?’

‘No, sir.’

A hum as of a disturbed hive of bees filled the air. Harrison waited until it had died away, then said quietly, ‘All present will be silent during the questioning of witnesses.’ He leaned forward. ‘Thank you, Mr Reed; I’ll take it from here. Mr Ballard, at the time of the avalanche were you managing director of the company?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Can you give me a reason why you are no longer in that position?’

Ballard’s voice was colourless. ‘I was suspended from my duties a fortnight after the disaster.’

‘I see.’ Harrison’s eyes flicked sideways as he saw a hand raised. ‘Yes, Mr Gunn?’

‘Can the witness tell us who owns the Hukahoronui Mining Company?’

Harrison nodded to Ballard, who said, ‘It’s a wholly-owned subsidiary of New Zealand Mineral Holdings, Limited.’

‘And that company is just a shell instituted for legal and financial reasons, is it not? Who owns it?’

‘It is owned substantially by the International Mining Investment Corporation.’

‘And who has the controlling interest in the International Mining Investment Corporation?’

‘Mr Chairman!’ Rickman said sharply. ‘Is there provision in your procedure for objections?’

‘Of course, Mr Rickman. What is your objection?’

‘I cannot see what this line of questioning has to do with an avalanche on a hillside.’

‘Neither can I,’ said Harrison. ‘But no doubt Mr Gunn can make it clear.’

‘I think the answer to my last question will make it quite clear,’ said Gunn. ‘I asked who owns the controlling interest in the International Mining Investment Corporation.’

Ballard raised his head and said clearly, ‘Ballard Holdings, Limited, registered in the City of London.’

Gunn smiled. ‘Thank you.’

‘Well, well!’ said Edwards, scribbling rapidly. ‘So he’s one of those Ballards.’

Dalwood chuckled. ‘And Gunn is gunning for Rickman. Up the workers and down with international capital. He smells money.’

Harrison tapped lightly with his gavel and the hall became quiet again. ‘Mr Ballard, do you own shares — or any interest whatever — in Ballard Holdings? Or in any of the companies mentioned?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Does any of your family own any such interest?’

‘Yes; my three uncles and some of my cousins.’

‘Not your father?’

‘He is dead.’

‘How did you come to be appointed managing director of the Hukahoronui Mining Company?’

Ballard shrugged. ‘The company is an old family concern and I suppose that...’

‘Can the witness describe his qualifications for the position?’

Harrison jerked his head around to identify the source of the interruption. ‘You will oblige me by not calling out in this hall, Mr Lyall. Further, you must not interrupt a witness.’ In a milder voice he said, ‘However, the question is relevant and the witness will answer.’

‘I have a degree in mining engineering from Birmingham University. I have done post-graduate studies in South Africa and the United States.’

Lyall had his arm firmly in the air by this time. ‘But no practical experience as a mining engineer?’

Pink spots glowed in Ballard’s cheeks but he appeared to be in control as he said to Harrison, ‘May I finish answering Mr Lyall’s first question?’

‘Of course.’ Harrison looked at Lyall. ‘Mr Lyall: you will not interrupt the witness, and you will address your questions through me unless I indicate otherwise. Go on, Mr Ballard.’

‘I was about to say that, apart from the engineering studies, I attended the Harvard Business School for two years. As for practical experience as a mining engineer, that would be called for if I professed to be a mining engineer, but as managing director my field was rather that of business administrator.’

‘A valid point,’ said Harrison. ‘A managing director need not have the technical expertise of the men he directs. If it were so a large number of our managing directors would be immediately unemployed — and possibly unemployable.’

He waited until the laughter died away, then said, ‘I do not see the point in further questioning along those lines, Mr Lyall.’ As Lyall’s hand remained obstinately raised, he said, ‘Do you have a further — and different — question?’

‘Yes, Mr Chairman. I am reliably informed that when Mr Ballard appeared in Hukahoronui he was unable to walk except with the aid of a stick. Is this correct?’

‘Is this relevant, Mr Lyall?’

‘I believe so, sir.’

‘Witness will answer the question.’

‘It is correct.’

Lyall, his hand up, remained punctiliously silent until Harrison nodded at him curtly. ‘Can you tell us why?’

‘I broke my leg in a skiing accident in Switzerland.’

‘Thank you, Mr Ballard.’

‘I can’t say that I see the relevance,’ observed Harrison. ‘But no doubt it will appear in time.’

‘It was in an avalanche,’ said Ballard.

There was dead silence in the hall.

Harrison looked across at Lyall. ‘The significance still escapes me,’ he said. ‘And since Mr Lyall does not see fit to pursue the subject I think we should carry on. Mr Ballard, when did you arrive in Hukahoronui?’

‘On the sixth of June — six weeks before the avalanche.’

‘So you had not been there very long. Was Hukahoronui what you expected?’

Ballard frowned in thought. ‘The thing that struck me most was how much it had changed.’

Harrison’s eyebrows rose. ‘Changed! Then you had been here before?’

‘I lived there for fifteen years — from infancy until just after my sixteenth birthday.’

Harrison made a note. ‘Go on, Mr Ballard. How had Hukahoronui changed?’

‘It was bigger. The mine was new, of course, but there were more houses — a lot more houses.’ He paused. ‘There was a lot more snow than I seem to remember from my childhood.’

Professor Rolandson of the DSIR said, ‘It is a matter of record that the snow precipitation in the Southern Alps was exceptionally high this past winter.’

Harrison sipped water from a glass and set it down. ‘Mr Ballard, at what point did you become aware of danger by avalanche?’

‘Only a few days before the disaster. My attention was drawn to the danger by a friend, Mike McGill, who came to visit me.’

Harrison consulted a document. ‘I see that Dr McGill has voluntarily consented to appear as a witness. I think it would be better if we heard his evidence from his own lips. You may step down, Mr Ballard, on the understanding that you may be called again.’

‘Yes, sir.’ Ballard returned to his seat.

Reed said, ‘Will Dr McGill please come forward?’

McGill walked towards the rostrum carrying a slim leather satchel under his arm. He sat down, and Reed said, ‘Your name is Michael Howard McGill?’

‘Yes, sir; it is.’

Harrison caught the transatlantic twang in McGill’s voice. ‘Are you an American, Dr McGill?’

‘No, sir; I’m a Canadian citizen.’

‘I see. It is very public-spirited of you to volunteer to stay and give evidence.’

McGill smiled. ‘No trouble at all, sir. I have to be here in Christchurch in any case. I leave for the Antarctic next month. As you may know, the Operation Deep Freeze flights leave from here.’

Professor Rolandson stirred. ‘You’re going to the Antarctic and your name is McGill! Would you be the Dr McGill who wrote a paper on stress and deformation in snow slopes which appeared in the last issue of the Antarctic Journal?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Rolandson turned to Harrison. ‘I think we are fortunate in having Dr McGill with us. I have read many of his papers and his qualifications as an expert witness are unimpeachable.’

‘Yes, indeed.’ Harrison waggled an eyebrow. ‘But I think his qualifications should be read into the record. Will you tell us something about yourself, Dr McGill?’

‘I’d be glad to.’ McGill paused, marshalling his thoughts. ‘I took a B.Sc. in physics at the University of Vancouver and then spent two years with the Canadian DSIR in British Columbia. From there I went to the United States — M.Sc. in meteorology at Columbia University and D.Sc. in glaciology at the California Institute of Technology. As to practical experience, I have spent two seasons in the Antarctic, a year in Greenland at Camp Century, two years in Alaska and I have just completed a year’s sabbatical in Switzerland doing theoretical studies. At present I work as a civilian scientist in the Cold Regions Research and Engineering Laboratory of the United States Army Terrestrial Sciences Centre.’

There was a silence which was broken by Harrison. He gave a nervous cough. ‘Yes, indeed. For simplicity’s sake, how would you describe your employment at present?’

McGill grinned. ‘I have been described as a snowman.’ A ripple of laughter swept across the hall, and Rolandson’s lips twitched. ‘I should say that I am engaged on practical and theoretical studies of snow and ice which will give a better understanding of the movement of those materials, particularly in relation to avalanches.’

‘I agree with Professor Rolandson,’ said Harrison. ‘We are very fortunate to have such a qualified witness who can give an account of the events before, during and after the disaster. What took you to Hukahoronui, Dr McGill?’

‘I met Ian Ballard in Switzerland and we got on very well together. When he came to New Zealand he invited me to visit him. He knew that I was coming to New Zealand on my way to the Antarctic and suggested that I arrive a little earlier than I had originally intended. He met me at the airport in Auckland and then we both went down to Hukahoronui.’

Lyall held up his hand, and Harrison nodded to him. ‘How long did the witness know Mr Ballard in Switzerland?’

‘Two weeks.’

‘Two weeks!’ repeated Lyall. ‘Did it not seem strange to you on such a casual acquaintanceship that Mr Ballard should undertake such a long journey involving an air flight from South Island to North Island to meet you at the airport?’

Harrison opened his mouth as though to object, but McGill, his face hardened, beat him to it. ‘I don’t understand the import of the question, but I’ll answer it. Mr Ballard had to attend a board meeting of his company in Auckland with which my arrival coincided.’

‘I didn’t understand the tenor of that question, either, Mr Lyall,’ said Harrison grimly. ‘Does the answer satisfy you?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘It will speed this inquiry if irrelevant questions are kept to a minimum,’ said Harrison coldly. ‘Go on, Dr McGill.’

In the Press gallery Dan Edwards said, ‘There was some sort of malice behind that. I wonder what instructions the Petersons have given Lyall.’

McGill said, ‘There was a lot of snow on the way to Hukahoronui...’

The next morning was bright and sunny and the snow, which had been falling all night, had stopped, leaving the world freshly minted. When Ballard got up, heavy-eyed and unrested, he found Mrs Evans in the kitchen cooking breakfast. She scolded him. ‘You should have let me know when you were coming back. I only learned by chance from Betty Hargreaves last night.’

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘I forgot. Are you cooking for three?’ Mrs Evans usually ate breakfast with him; it was a democratic society.

‘I am. Your friend has gone out already, but he’ll be back for a late breakfast.’

Ballard consulted his watch to discover that he had overslept by more than an hour. ‘Give me ten minutes.’

When he had showered and dressed he felt better and found McGill in the living-room unwrapping a large parcel. ‘It came,’ said McGill. ‘Your truck got through.’

Ballard looked at what was revealed; it was a backpack which appeared to contain nothing but sections of aluminium tubing each nestling in an individual canvas pocket. ‘What’s that?’

‘The tools of my trade,’ said McGill. Mrs Evans called, and he added, ‘Let’s eat; I’m hungry.’

Ballard toyed with his breakfast while McGill wolfed down a plateful of bacon and eggs, and pleased Mrs Evans by asking for more. While she was out of the room he said, ‘You asked me here for the skiing, and there’s no time like the present. How’s your leg?’

Ballard shook his head. ‘The leg is all right, but sorry, Mike — not today. I’m a working man.’

‘You’d better come.’ Something in McGill’s tone made Ballard look at him sharply. McGill’s face was serious. ‘You’d better come and see what I’m doing. I want an independent witness.’

‘A witness to what?’

‘To whatever it is I find.’

‘And what will that be?’

‘How do I know until I find it?’ He stared at Ballard. ‘I’m serious, Ian. You know what my job is. I’m going to make a professional investigation. You’re the boss man of the mine and you couldn’t make a better witness. You’ve got authority.’

‘For God’s sake!’ said Ballard. ‘Authority to do what?’

‘To close down the mine if need be, but that depends on what I find, and I won’t know that until I look, will I?’ As Ballard’s jaw dropped McGill said, ‘I couldn’t believe my eyes at what I saw yesterday. It looked like a recipe for instant disaster, and I spent a damned uneasy night. I won’t be happy until I take a look.’

‘Where?’

McGill got to his feet and walked to the window. ‘Come here.’ He pointed at the steep slope above the mine. ‘Up there.’

Ballard looked at the long curve, blinding white in the sunlight. ‘You think...’ His voice tailed away.

‘I think nothing until I get evidence one way or the other,’ said McGill sharply. ‘I’m a scientist, not a soothsayer.’ He shook his head warningly as Mrs Evans came in with a fresh plate of bacon and eggs. ‘Finish your breakfast.’

As they sat down he said, ‘I suppose you can find me a pair of skis.’

Ballard nodded, his mind busy with the implications of what McGill had said — or had not said. McGill dug into his second plateful of breakfast. ‘Then we go skiing,’ he said lightly.

The late afternoon sun poured through the windows of the hall, rendered multi-coloured by the stained glass. Patches of colour lay across the tables; the carafe of water in front of Ballard looked as though it was filled with blood.

Dan Edwards loosened his tie and wished he could have a cold beer. ‘They’ll be adjourning pretty soon,’ he said to Dalwood. ‘I wish old Harrison would get a bloody move on. All this talk of snow doesn’t make me feel any cooler.’

Harrison poured himself a glass of water and sipped. He set down the glass, and said, ‘So you took samples of the snow cover on the western slope in the presence of Mr Ballard. What were your findings?’

McGill unzipped the leather satchel and took out a sheaf of papers. ‘I have written an entire report on the events that occurred at Hukahoronui — from the technical side, of course. I submit the report to the Commission.’ He gave the report to Reed who passed it up to Harrison. ‘Part One consists of my findings on the first series of snow profiles which was submitted to the mine management and, later, to the municipal authorities of Hukahoronui.’

Harrison flipped through the pages and frowned, then he passed the papers to Professor Rolandson. They conferred for a moment in low voices, then Harrison said, ‘This is all very well, Dr McGill; but your report appears to be highly technical and contains more mathematical formulae than the majority of us are accustomed to. After all, this is a public hearing. Could you not describe your findings in a language that can be understood by others apart from yourself and Professor Rolandson?’

‘Of course,’ said McGill. ‘Indeed, I did so to the people in Hukahoronui.’

‘You may proceed; and you may expect to be questioned — in the interests of clarity — by Professor Rolandson.’

McGill clasped his hands in front of him. ‘Snow is not so much a substance as a process; it changes in time. It begins with a snowflake falling to earth and becoming part of the general snow cover. It is a six-sided crystal and not very stable, and sublimation begins — a sort of evaporation. Eventually the crystal becomes a small, rounded granule. This is called destructive metamorphism and results in a higher density because the air is squeezed out. At the same time, because of the evaporative process, there is water vapour in the snow mass and, due to the low temperature, the separate granules tend to bond together by freezing.’

‘This bond is not particularly strong, is it?’ asked Rolandson.

‘The bond is not strong, when compared with other materials.’ Rolandson nodded and McGill went on. ‘The next thing to take into account is the temperature through the snow cover. It’s not constant — it’s warmer at the bottom than the top, thus forming a temperature gradient. If you look at Graph One you will find the temperature gradient of those first five samples.’

Rolandson flipped pages. ‘Not a very steep gradient — not more than two degrees.’

‘It’s enough for the next stage in the process. There is still a lot of air in the snow cover and the relatively warm air at the bottom begins to rise carrying water vapour with it. The vapour precipitates on the colder granules above. There is now a building process at work which is called constructive metamorphism, and a new kind of crystal begins to form — a cup crystal.’

‘Could you describe a cup crystal, Dr McGill?’

‘It’s a conical shape with a hollow in the blunt end — the cup.’

‘And how large is a cup crystal?’

‘A well-developed crystal may run to half an inch long, but you can take a quarter-inch as average.’ McGill paused, and when Rolandson remained silent, he said, ‘Graph Two shows the penetrometer readings — that is the resistance of the snow to stress.’

Rolandson studied it. ‘This is the resistance in kilograms plotted against depth?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘There’s a discontinuity half way down on all five samples.’

‘Yes, sir; that’s a layer of surface hoar.’

Harrison interrupted. ‘If it is not on the surface how can it be described as surface hoar?’

‘It was on the surface. When the surface of the snow is colder than the air above it then there is more sublimation of water vapour — something like the condensation on the outside of a glass of cold beer.’ (In the Press gallery Dan Edwards sighed in anguish and licked his lips.) ‘In this case I should imagine it happened on a clear and cloudless night when there would be a lot of outgoing radiation. Then the hoar, or frost, would form on the surface producing flat plates of thin ice.’

Again Harrison brought up the objection. ‘But this discontinuity, as Professor Rolandson calls it, is not on the surface.’

‘No,’ agreed McGill. ‘Normally, when the sun hits it in the morning it disappears. In this case, I imagine that clouds came over before sunrise and it began to snow again quite heavily. The layer of hoar was covered and preserved.’

‘With what significance?’ queried Rolandson.

‘Several things could happen. The layer is quite hard, as you can see from the penetrometer readings. It is also quite smooth and could form a sliding surface for the snow above it.’ McGill extended two fingers. ‘Secondly, a layer of hoar is formed of flat plates of ice fused together — that is, it is relatively impermeable to air. This means that the most likely place for cup crystals to form would be just under the hoar layer.’

‘You emphasize cup crystals. In what way are they dangerous?’

‘They are dangerous because of their rounded shape and because there is very little bonding between one crystal and another.’ McGill tugged at his ear. ‘As a very rough analogy I would suggest that it would be very difficult for a man to walk on a floor loosely packed with billiard balls. It’s that kind of instability.’

‘Was there any evidence of cup crystals forming at this time?’

‘They had begun to form in sample one, the highest up the slope. I had reason to believe that the process would continue which would result in a marked decline in stability.’

‘Go on, Dr McGill.’

McGill put up a third finger. ‘Three, the weather forecast at the time indicated more snow — more weight — on that slope.’ He dropped his hand. ‘All things considered I came to the conclusion that the snow cover on the western slope of the valley of Hukahoronui was relatively unstable and thus formed a potential avalanche hazard. I so informed the mine management.’

‘You mean Mr Ballard?’ asked Harrison.

‘Present at the meeting were Mr Ballard; Mr Dobbs, the mine manager; Mr Cameron, the mine engineer; Mr Quentin, the union representative.’

‘And you were present during the whole of that meeting?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then I think we can take your evidence as best evidence of what occurred at the meeting, subject to later appraisal. However, the time has come to adjourn for today. We will gather here at ten in the morning when you, Dr McGill, will again be a witness. The hearing is adjourned.’

The participants of the hearing flooded on to the pavement of Armagh Street and began to disperse. Dan Edwards, heading rapidly beerwards, stopped when Dalwood said, ‘Who is the tall redhead talking to Ballard? The girl with the dog.’

Edwards craned his neck. ‘Good God! Now what the hell goes on there?’

‘Who is she?’

‘Liz Peterson, the sister of Charlie and Eric.’

Dalwood watched Ballard pat the Alsatian and smile at the girl warmly. ‘They seem on good terms.’

‘Yes — bloody funny, isn’t it? Charlie has got his knife so deep into Ballard that he’s in blood up to his armpit. I wonder if he knows Liz is fraternizing with the enemy?’

‘We’ll soon know,’ said Dalwood. ‘Here come Charlie and Eric now.’

The two men came out of the building, unsmiling and exchanging monosyllables. Charlie looked up and his face became thunderous. He snapped something at his brother and quickened his pace, elbowing his way through the crowd on the pavement. At that moment a car drew up and Ballard got into it and when Charlie reached his sister Ballard had gone. Charlie spoke to his sister and an argument seemed to develop.

Edwards watched the by-play, and said, ‘If he didn’t know he does now. What’s more, he doesn’t like it.’

‘And the dog doesn’t like Charlie. Look at it.’

The Alsatian’s upper lip was curled back in a snarl and Liz Peterson shortened her grip on the lead and spoke sharply to it.

Edwards sighed. ‘Let’s get that beer. The first one will hiss going down.’

McGill and Ballard found Turi Buck waiting outside his sister’s home at nine-thirty next morning. Although it was still early the weather showed signs of becoming oppressively hot. Ballard leaned over to open the back door of the car, and said, ‘Jump in, Turi.’

‘I’m past jumping anywhere, Ian,’ said Turi wryly, ‘But I’ll endeavour to accommodate myself in this seat.’

Sometimes Turi’s phrases had an oddly old-fashioned ring about them. Ballard knew he had never been formally educated but had read a lot, and he suspected that Sir Walter Scott was responsible for some of the more courtly expressions.

‘It’s good of you to come, Turi.’

‘I had to come, Ian.’

In the Provincial Chamber, at precisely ten o’clock, Harrison tapped the top of the rostrum gently with his gavel, and said, ‘We are now prepared to resume the inquiry into the avalanche disaster at Hukahoronui. Dr McGill was giving evidence. Will you please resume your seat?’

McGill walked to the witness chair and sat down. Harrison said, ‘Yesterday you referred to a meeting of the mine management at which you presented a report. What happened at that meeting?’

McGill tugged at his ear thoughtfully. ‘The problem was to explain the evidence and to get them to accept it. Mr Ballard had already accepted it. Mr Cameron wanted to go through the figures in detail, but he came around in the end. The others weren’t as convinced. It went like this...’

Harrison said, ‘Mr Buck, would you be related to that illustrious member of your race, Sir Peter Buck?’

A ghost of a smile hovered on Turi’s seamed face. ‘No, sir.’

‘I see.’ Harrison drew his note-pad towards him. ‘Can you tell us who was present at this meeting?’

‘There was Ia... Mr Ballard and Mr Cameron from the mine. Dr McGill was there. And there was Mr Houghton, the mayor, and Mr Peterson — that’s to say John Peterson — and Eric Peterson, Mr Warrick and Mrs Samson.’

‘The last five were members of the council?’

‘Yes, sir.’

Harrison consulted a list. ‘Wasn’t Mr Quentin present?’

‘Oh yes; he was there. I forgot about him.’

‘Well, Mr Buck, perhaps you can tell us what went on at the meeting.’

Turi frowned. ‘It started off by Dr McGill telling of what he’d found. From what I’ve been hearing while I’ve been here I’d say it was just what he’d said at the meeting at the mine on the Friday. He told them there was a danger of avalanche and he told them why.’

‘What was the general reaction?’

‘They didn’t believe him.’

Lyall put up his hand. ‘Mr Chairman.’

‘Yes, Mr Lyall?’

‘It is incumbent on me to point out that of the ten people present at that meeting only four are able to be here at this inquiry. I ought to add that of the five council members only Mr Eric Peterson is able to be here.’

Harrison stared at him. ‘Now that you have given me that information — of which, I might add, I was well aware — what am I supposed to do with it?’

‘With respect, sir, one might think that Mr Eric Peterson is best qualified to give the reaction of the council.’

‘Does Mr Peterson wish to be a witness?’

‘He does.’

‘Then he will have his chance later. At present we are hearing the evidence of Mr Buck.’

‘Again with respect, Mr Chairman; may I point out that of the original mine management only Mr Ballard is here. Mr Dobbs and Mr Quentin are dead, and Mr Cameron is in hospital. It is well known in Hukahoronui that Mr Ballard and Mr Buck are friends of many years standing, and there has been evidence given here of the friendship between Mr Ballard and Dr McGill. It may be thought that the evidence given here is, shall we say, too one-sided.’

Harrison leaned back in his chair. ‘It is evident, Mr Lyall, that you are doing at least one of two things. You are impugning the integrity of this Commission, or you are questioning the honesty of Mr Buck. Possibly you are doing both. Do I understand you correctly?’

‘I do not question the integrity of the Commission, sir.’

Turi’s face was stricken as he half rose from his chair. Ian Ballard wriggled in his seat. He dug his elbow into Rickman’s ribs, and said, ‘The bastard! the utter bastard! Intervene and get on with that line of questioning I gave you.’

Rickman shook his head. ‘It would be most unwise. It wouldn’t be in the interests of the company.’ He twisted his head and looked at Lyall. ‘See how he’s stirring things up.’

‘But, God damn it, he’s making us into some sort of conspiracy.’

Rickman stared at him unwinkingly. ‘But not involving the company,’ he snapped.

Turi Buck lifted his hands helplessly. They were trembling as he said to Harrison, ‘May I be excused from the witness chair, sir?’

‘No, you may not, Mr Buck.’ Harrison turned his head. ‘Yes, Mr Ballard?’

Ballard lowered his hand. ‘I would like to question Mr Buck.’

Harrison frowned. ‘I thought you had representation, Mr Ballard. I gave warning at the beginning of this hearing that I would not allow it to be turned into a free-for-all.’

Ballard said, ‘As of thirty seconds ago Mr Rickman ceased to represent me personally. He will, of course, continue to represent the company.’

A wave of noise washed across the hall. Amid the uproar Rickman said, ‘You bloody young fool! What the devil do you think you’re doing?’

‘You’re fired,’ said Ballard briefly.

Harrison wielded his gavel lustily and at last achieved relative quietness. ‘If there is any more uproar I will have the public gallery cleared,’ he announced. ‘These proceedings will be conducted in an orderly manner.’ He waited until there was utter silence, broken only by the creaking of the old wooden floor, before he addressed Ballard. ‘Are you asking for an adjournment so that you may obtain a new legal adviser?’

‘No, sir. For today, at least, I am content to represent myself. I do not wish to waste the time of the Commission.’

Harrison allowed himself a wintry smile. ‘Very laudable. I wish the legal fraternity would follow your example. And you wish to interrogate Mr Buck?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I object,’ said Rickman. ‘Apart from the personal insult to me in being dismissed so cavalierly and in public, I consider this to be most irregular.’

Harrison sighed. ‘Mr Rickman, you have been told many times that the procedure of this Commission is a matter for my discretion. Even in a law court it has not been unknown for a person to represent himself, choosing not to enlist the aid — or otherwise — of a lawyer. Therefore I will allow it.’ He held up his hand. ‘And I will entertain no argument about it. Proceed, Mr Ballard.’

Ballard smiled at Turi. ‘I will not comment on any remarks that have been made here, but will go on from your last relevant statement. Mr Buck, you said that the councillors did not believe Dr McGill when he informed them of avalanche hazard. What were their reasons for disbelief?’

‘They said there had never been avalanches in the valley.’

‘Did they? Mr Chairman, is it possible to have a map of the valley on view?’

‘Provision has been made. Mr Reed, will you see to it.’

Presently a large-scale map was set up on an easel behind the witness chair. Harrison said, ‘Since this map is evidence of a sort we must be sure that it is the best evidence. Mr Reed, call your technical witness, please.’

‘Call Mr Wheeler.’

Wheeler was new to Ballard, who regarded him with interest. He returned his gaze to the map, and his eyes narrowed suddenly. Reed said, ‘What is your full name?’

‘Harold Herbert Wheeler.’

Harrison said, ‘There is no need for you to take the witness chair, Mr Wheeler. Your evidence is technical and will not take long. What is your occupation?’

‘I am a cartographer employed by the Lands and Survey Department of the New Zealand Government.’

‘And you have prepared this map especially for this Inquiry?’

‘That is correct, sir.’

‘What does the map represent?’

‘It depicts the Hukahoronui Valley, including the township of Hukahoronui. The scale is one in two thousand, five hundred; that is twenty-five inches to the mile approximately.’

‘Does it represent the valley before or after the disaster?’

‘Before, sir. It is drawn according to the latest information available to the Topographical Office.’

‘Thank you, Mr Wheeler. That will be all.’

Ballard said, ‘Could Mr Wheeler hold himself available for possible further questions?’

Harrison wrinkled his brow. ‘I suppose so, Mr Ballard. You will stay available, Mr Wheeler.’

Ballard studied the map. ‘Mr Buck, I would like you, if you will, to point out on this map your own house.’ Turi stood up and indicated a point on the map with his finger. ‘And the Peterson store.’ Turi’s hand came up around in an arc and stopped. ‘Now my house.’ Again Turi pointed. ‘And the mine portal.’

‘I fail to see the point of this,’ said Rickman.

‘The point is to prove that Mr Buck can read a map as well as the next man,’ said Ballard pleasantly. ‘Mr Buck, at the meeting with the council was a map produced?’

‘Yes, but not as big as this one.’

‘And were you asked to point out various places on that map?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Now I want you to think very carefully. I don’t want you to say anything here, because of my questioning, that was not said at the meeting with the council. Do you understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘Why did you attend the meeting?’

‘Because Dr McGill asked me to go.’

‘Do you know why he asked you to go?’

‘He said I knew more about the history of Hukahoronui than anyone else he’d met.’

‘You say the reaction of the council was that there had, hitherto, never been avalanches in the valley. Was that the reaction of all the councillors?’

‘It was — at first.’

‘So their views changed, then. Let us find out why. Mr Buck, you are of the Maori race. Do you understand the language?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Can you give us a translation — a free translation, if you like — of the name, Hukahoronui?’

‘Yes, sir; it means “The Great Snow Slide”.’

There was a subdued murmur from behind Ballard. ‘Would you point out your own house again, Mr Buck. There is a great rock between your house and the mountainside, is there not? What is the name of that rock?’

‘Kamakamaru.’

‘Kamakamaru,’ repeated Ballard. ‘Can you translate that into English?’

‘It means “The Rock of Shelter”.’

Again came that quickly suppressed sound in the hall. ‘When was your house built, Mr Buck?’

‘It was built by my father about 1880, but there was a house there before built by my grandfather.’

‘Let us get one thing straight. Your family did not live in Hukahoronui before the incursion of the white settlers into New Zealand?’

‘Before the Pakeha! No, sir, my family came from North Island.’ Turi smiled. ‘It was said that we came to South Island to escape the Pakeha.’

‘Did your family name the valley and the rock?’

‘No, they were already named. There were some of my people living close by. Not in the valley, but close by.’

‘Did your father replace your grandfather’s house because, let us say, it had been damaged by an avalanche?’

‘No, sir. He replaced it because the house was in bad condition and because the family was growing larger.’

Ballard was silent for a moment as he consulted a paper. At last he raised his head and asked quietly, ‘Mr Buck, do you, of your own knowledge, know of any avalanches in the valley of Hukahoronui?’

‘Yes, there was an avalanche in 1912 when I was a boy. A family called Bailey had built a house quite close to ours but not protected by Kamakamaru. My father warned the Baileys but they took no notice of him. There was an avalanche in the winter of 1912 and the Bailey house was swept away. The whole family died — all seven of them.’ He looked at Ballard and said definitely, ‘I was there — I helped dig out the bodies.’

‘So the rock — Kamakamaru — acted as a splitting wedge. Is that it?’

‘The snow flowed around Kamakamaru, and our house was safe.’

‘But the Bailey house was destroyed. Any more avalanches?’

‘There was one in 1918.’ Turi hesitated. ‘I was not there; I had joined the army. I had a letter from my father saying there had been an avalanche.’

‘Again on the western slope?’

‘Yes. There were no lives lost nor damage to property, but the snow blocked the flow of the river and there was flooding. The farmers lost a lot of stock by drowning.’

‘A six-year gap. Any more?’

‘There was the avalanche of 1943.’

‘Did you see that avalanche actually fall?’

‘No — but I remember it broke a lot of trees on the west slope. I used to collect firewood there afterwards.’

‘Yes,’ said Ballard. ‘There was a lot of good firewood around there for two or three years. Were there any fatalities in the avalanche of 1943?’

Turi’s eyes opened wide. ‘Why, yes, Ian. Your father was killed.’

The hall had been quiet as Ballard led Turi through his evidence but now there was a gust of pent-up emotion let loose in a wave of sound. Harrison let it die away before he rapped gently with his gavel.

Ballard said, ‘Could you point out on the map the place where my father was killed?’

Turi stretched out his hand. ‘There,’ he said. ‘Just where the mine office is now.’

‘How do you know it was there?’

‘Because you showed me three days after it happened. You had seen it happen.’

‘And how old was I then, Mr Buck?’

Turi considered. ‘Maybe four years.’

‘Mr Buck, you have given us a lot of information. Was the same information given to the councillors at the meeting?’

‘Yes, it was.’

‘Thank you, Mr Buck.’

Ballard leaned back and glanced sideways at Lyall who already had his hand up. ‘I would like to ask Mr Buck one or two questions.’

Harrison nodded. ‘Very well.’

‘Was the avalanche of 1943 a very large one?’

Turi thought about it, then nodded his head vigorously. “Very large — bigger than the one in 1912.’

Lyall looked pleased. ‘I see. Could you say, perhaps by indicating on the map, just how far down the slope it came?’

‘Just to the bottom. Mr Ballard’s father was killed here. It didn’t go much farther than that’

‘It didn’t go as far as the Peterson Supermarket?’

‘It didn’t go anywhere near the Peterson store.’

‘Remarkable. Now tell me, Mr Buck: if the Peterson Supermarket was not destroyed by a very big avalanche in 1943, why then was it destroyed this year?’

Turi looked blank, then said, ‘The trees, of course.’

Ballard let out a long sigh and let Lyall dig his own pit. Lyall said, ‘The trees! Oh, you mean that timbered area marked on the west slope?’

Turi turned to look at the map. He examined it for a moment, then said, ‘But this is all wrong.’

Ballard put up his hand. ‘Mr Chairman — on a point of evidence. I would like to have Mr Wheeler recalled briefly. It would seem that his map is not the best evidence.’

Harrison looked startled, then raised his eyebrows. ‘Mr Lyall?’

Lyall frowned, but said, ‘No objection.’

Wheeler was brought back and Ballard said, ‘Look at the map, Mr Wheeler. Do you see that forested area on the western slope of the valley?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘I can bring five hundred witnesses to swear that that area was not forested before the avalanche struck. What do you say to that?’

Wheeler did not know what to say to it. He twitched nervously for a while, then said, ‘The information I put into that map comes from the latest sources available.’

‘But not late enough, it would seem. In respect of a vital piece of evidence — the lack of timber on the western slope — this map is untrue. Is that correct?’

Wheeler shrugged. ‘If you say so. I have never been to Hukahoronui myself.’

‘It is not for me to say,’ said Ballard. ‘But let us ask Mr Buck. When were the trees cut?’

‘They started cutting when the mine opened. The timber went into the mine and for building houses.’

‘That was four years ago?’

‘Yes. The cutting went on for two years. By that time the slope was just about stripped.’

Rolandson stirred, and said, ‘Mr Ballard, are we to understand that you regard the cutting of that timber as a contributory factor which led to the avalanche?’

Ballard hesitated. ‘I am not an expert on avalanches, sir. I would prefer you to direct that question to Dr McGill.’

‘I will,’ growled Rolandson, and conferred for a few moments with Harrison. They both looked at Wheeler who shuffled his feet nervously. ‘You have not been to Hukahoronui and yet you present this map as evidence,’ said Harrison unbelievingly. ‘That is what you said, isn’t it?’

‘Yes,’ said Wheeler unhappily.

He was even more unhappy when Harrison had finished with him and sent him off. When Lyall was asked if he had further questions he warily said that he had none. Ballard raised his hand. ‘I would like to ask Mr Buck one more question.’

‘Very well.’

‘Mr Buck, what was the immediate reaction of the councillors towards your revelations about the incidence of avalanches in Hukahoronui?’

Turi Buck froze. In a low voice he said, ‘I would rather not say.’

‘Mr Buck — I must ask you the question.’

Turi shook his head. ‘I will not say.’

‘You must answer the question, Mr Buck,’ said Harrison, but Turi shook his head dumbly.

Harrison looked at Ballard blankly for a moment and Ballard shrugged. The hall was very quiet when someone said, ‘I can answer that question.’

Harrison’s head jerked. ‘Dr McGill, this is most unseemly.’

McGill stepped forward. ‘Mr Chairman, there are only four people who can answer the question. Mr Buck refuses for reasons I can understand. Mr Eric Peterson will not answer, again for reasons I can understand. In all propriety Mr Ballard cannot, because he is interrogating Mr Buck — he cannot be questioner and witness simultaneously. I am the only one left who was present at the meeting.’

Harrison sighed. ‘Very well, you will answer the question. What was it, Mr Ballard?’

‘What was the immediate reaction of the councillors to Mr Buck’s evidence?’

McGill unzipped his satchel and drew forth a flat notebook. ‘As is my habit, I took notes immediately after the meeting. I can read here exactly what was said.’ He selected a page and stared at Eric Peterson where he sat next to Lyall. ‘Mr Eric Peterson’s exact words were, “Turi Buck is an ignorant old black man. He knows nothing — he never has and he never will”.’

There was pandemonium in the Press gallery.

The hall errupted in a babble of noise and Harrison hammered in vain on the rostrum but the crash of his gavel was lost in the uproar. When, at last, he could make himself heard, he said in anger, ‘This hearing is adjourned until further notice and until those present can control themselves.’

‘Turi Buck is an ignorant old black man. He knows nothing — he never has and he never will.’

The words hung heavily in an embarrassed silence in the residents’ lounge of the Hotel D’Archiac which did duty as a council chamber. At last Matthew Houghton coughed nervously, and said, ‘There’s no call for that sort of talk, Eric’

Ballard was angry. ‘I should bloody well think not.’

John Peterson, who was standing, put his hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘Eric, if you can’t talk sense you’d better keep your big mouth shut. You’re starting to behave like Charlie.’ He looked at Turi. ‘My apologies.’

‘Maybe you’d better let Eric make his own apologies,’ said Ballard tightly.

Eric went red in the face but said nothing. John Peterson ignored Ballard and addressed himself to McGill. ‘So you’ve come up with past avalanches, and now you say there’s going to be another.’

‘I have not said that.’

‘Then what are you saying?’ demanded Houghton.

McGill spread his hands. ‘Who cares if a few thousand tons of snow falls off a mountain? It’s happening all the time in the Southern Alps. But if someone is standing underneath at the time then it’s downright dangerous.

Ian Ballard swam another length of the pool and then climbed out. He walked to the canvas chair where he had left his towel and began to rub himself down. It was good to relax after spending all day at the Inquiry. He poured himself a beer and checked his watch before slipping it on to his wrist.

Mike McGill came sauntering across the lawn and held out an envelope. ‘Business as usual. Old Harrison must have got over his tantrum. This will be your notification to attend; I’ve had mine.’

Ballard opened the envelope. McGill was right; the letter was from Reed, the Secretary to the Commission. He dropped it on the grass next to his chair, and said, ‘So we go on. What comes next in the evidence?’

‘The first avalanche, I suppose.’ McGill grinned and spread a newspaper before Ballard. ‘Eric has got his name in print.’

Ballard looked at the black headline bannered across the front page:

He shook his head. ‘He’s not going to like that.’

McGill chuckled. ‘Think he’ll come after me with a gun?’

‘Eric won’t — but Charlie might,’ said Ballard soberly. ‘He’s crazy enough to do it.’

McGill laughed and sat down on the grass. ‘Got yourself a lawyer yet?’

‘No.’

‘You’d better start looking.’

‘I’ve discovered I have an unsuspected talent,’ said Ballard. ‘I can defend myself very well.’

‘You did all right with Turi, and you got Lyall to walk out on a limb before you sawed it off. Not bad going for a novice.’

‘Mr Ballard?’ Ballard looked up and saw the young man from the hotel office. ‘A telegram just came. I thought it might be important so I brought it right out.’

‘Thanks.’ Ballard ripped open the envelope. ‘It’s a cablegram from England.’ He scanned it rapidly and frowned. ‘Now why should...?’

‘Trouble?’

‘Not really.’ Ballard handed the cable to McGill. ‘Why should a man suddenly fly half way across the world to see me?’

‘Who is Stenning?’

‘A friend of my grandfather.’ Ballard looked at the pool abstractedly.

McGill began calculating. ‘He says he’s leaving on the night flight. It doesn’t really matter whether he comes east or west, it’s still about forty hours to Auckland. Then he’ll have to catch an internal flight down to here. Say two full days — that means Saturday afternoon.’

‘The Commission won’t sit on Saturday. I’ll meet Stenning at the airport.’

‘You’d better have a message awaiting him at Auckland so you can arrange to meet him here.’

Ballard nodded. ‘Old Ben said something about Stenning the last time I saw him. He said that if anything were to happen to him or the company then I should get in touch with Stenning. Then he said to forget it because Stenning would get in touch with me fast enough. It seems as though he really meant it.’

‘Who is Stenning, apart from being your grandfather’s friend?’

‘He’s a lawyer.’

‘Then he’s arriving just in time,’ said McGill. ‘Just the man you need.’

Ballard shook his head. ‘He’s not the right sort of lawyer. He specializes in taxes.’

‘Oh, one of those boys.’ McGill chuckled. ‘He’s probably come to confess all — that he slipped up on sorting out the death duties bit, and instead of three million from the old man you’re just going to get three thousand.’

Ballard grinned. ‘I’m not going to get three cents. Ben warned me about that. He said that he’d educated me and I’d have to stand on my own two feet as he’d done at my age. I told you that all his money is tied up in some trust or other.’ He stretched. ‘I’m beginning to feel chilly. Let’s go inside.’

‘It’s warmer in the bar,’ agreed McGill.

The Press gallery was jammed as Harrison led Eric Peterson through his evidence. Dan Edwards had shamelessly bought space for himself by bringing in two cub reporters and then sending them away when the proceedings began. But it was to no avail; protests from other reporters soon led to the seats being occupied, and Edwards was compelled to scrawl his shorthand in as cramped conditions as anyone else.

Harrison made a note on his pad, and raised his eyes. ‘So we arrive at the point when Dr McGill left, having delivered his bad news. What happened then, Mr Peterson?’

Eric Peterson shrugged. ‘Well, the meeting went on for a long time. In all honesty I have to say that some of us were not convinced of the gravity of the situation. You must remember that this whole thing had been jumped on us suddenly — had taken us by surprise, if you like. After all, if someone steps up to you and says, “The end of the world is at hand!” you’re going to need a lot of proof before you believe him.’

‘I appreciate your position,’ said Harrison. ‘Can you give some specific examples of the views of members of the council?’

‘Well, my brother argued that, even if McGill was anywhere near right, we didn’t want to start a panic. I agreed with that and so did Matt Houghton, the mayor. Phil Warrick didn’t seem to have any views at all. He just blew along with the wind and agreed with everybody. Mrs Samson wanted to go all out with preparations for evacuation right there and then.’

‘What position did the mine management take?’

‘Mr Ballard agreed with Mrs Samson. Mr Quentin said he didn’t think there was any danger — he said it was all a lot of hot air. Mr Cameron tended to go along with Mr Ballard.’ Peterson clasped his hands before him. ‘You must realize that any decision concerning the town had to be made by the council. It wasn’t up to the mine management to tell the town what to do. Dr McGill had told us there was no immediate hazard from the west slope, and to some of us there seemed to be no reason for going off half-cocked on a project that might cost the town a lot of money and wasted time.’

‘And lose votes if nothing happened,’ remarked Edwards cynically.

‘Well, as I said, there was a lot of talk and we went round in circles for some time. Eventually Matt Houghton came up with an idea. He said that maybe there was something in what McGill had said, but he’d like a second opinion. He said he’d telephone Christchurch and get some advice.’

‘To whom was he going to speak?’

‘That was the rub. He didn’t know and neither did anyone else. Mr Cameron suggested he talk to someone in the Forestry Department — he said they’d probably know about avalanche conditions. Someone else, I forget who, suggested the Department of Civil Defence. It was decided he’d try both. Mrs Samson said the police should be notified and that was agreed to.’

‘Did the mine management make any concrete suggestions?’

‘We had the offer of transport — trucks and suchlike. Also bulldozers.’

‘Who made that offer?’

Peterson glanced sideways at Ballard. He hesitated, then said, ‘I don’t remember. It may have been Mr Cameron.’

Ballard smiled thinly.

‘And what happened then?’

‘The meeting broke up and it was decided we’d meet at eleven the next morning, even though it was Sunday.’

‘I see.’ Harrison looked around. ‘Has anyone any further questions to ask Mr Peterson?’

Smithers raised his hand. ‘I represent the Ministry of Civil Defence. Was a telephone call in fact made to the Civil Defence authorities?’

‘Not to my knowledge.’

‘Why not?’

‘I talked with Matt Houghton after the meeting. He was a bit wavery about things. He said he’d do what he always did before making a decision. He said he’d sleep on it.’

‘And the police — were they notified?’

‘That was a bit difficult. Arthur Pye was away; he was up at the head of the valley investigating a case of sheep worrying.’

‘Who is Arthur Pye?’

‘Our policeman. Hukahoronui is only a small place — we just had the one policeman.’

‘Do you mean to tell me that when you discussed notifying the police it was your intention to tell Constable Pye?’ said Smithers incredulously.

‘Well, he’d know what to do about telling his superiors,’ said Peterson defensively.

‘So nobody outside Hukahoronui knew of the situation?’

‘I suppose that is correct.’

‘And in Hukahoronui the knowledge was confined to a handful of people.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Smithers consulted his note-pad. ‘You say that when it was decided to get a second opinion on Dr McGill’s diagnosis of the situation nobody knew whom to consult.’ He lifted his head and looked at Peterson with an air of disbelief. ‘Did no one on the council read the directives which were sent out by my Ministry?’

‘We get a lot of stuff from the Government.’ Peterson shrugged. ‘I didn’t read it all myself.’

‘Apparently no one on the council read it.’ Smithers took a deep breath. ‘Mr Peterson, you were a councillor and a responsible official. Would you not agree that preparations for a crisis in your community were conspicuous by their absence? I am not speaking of avalanches only — we do live in an earthquake prone country, a major reason for the existence of the Ministry of Civil Defence.’

‘May I object?’ said Lyall quickly.

Harrison looked up from his notes. ‘What is your objection?’

‘I would like to point out that the township of Hukahoronui was relatively new and the population was largely composed of recent immigrants to the valley. In such a situation the degree of community spirit would naturally be less than in a longer established community.’

‘Mr Lyall, is that your objection? You seem to be answering for the witness.’

‘It is not my objection, Mr Chairman. My objection is that it is improper for Mr Smithers to ask such a loaded question of Mr Peterson. He is usurping the function of this Commission, which is to decide whether the state of affairs implicit in his question was actually the case.’

‘A thin point, but valid nevertheless,’ conceded Harrison. ‘But it would have come better with the accompanying speech of extenuation. Mr Smithers, your last question was out of order. Have you any further questions?’

‘None that I would care to ask this witness,’ said Smithers curtly.

‘Then you may step down, Mr Peterson, on the understanding that you may be recalled.’

Peterson left the witness chair with an air of relief, and Harrison bent forward to have a word with Reed. He then sat back in his chair, and said, ‘Mr Cameron, the engineer of the Hukahoronui Mining Company, has been hospitalized for many months due to the injuries he received in the disaster. However, he has notified the Commission that he feels well enough to give evidence at this time and he is now present. Will you come forward, Mr Cameron?’

There was a low murmur as Cameron limped across the hall leaning heavily on the arm of a male nurse. He had lost a lot of weight and was now almost emaciated; his cheeks were sunken and his hair, pepper and salt at the time of the avalanche, was now quite white. He looked an old man.

He sat in the witness chair and the male nurse drew up another chair behind him. Reed said, ‘What is your full name?’

‘Joseph McNeil Cameron.’

‘And your occupation, Mr Cameron?’

‘I was a mining engineer,’ said Cameron flatly. ‘Specifically for the Hukahoronui Mining Company at the material times under investigation by this Commission.’ His voice was strong if slow.

‘Mr Cameron,’ said Harrison, ‘if at any time you feel unable to continue, please do not hesitate to say so.’

‘Thank you, Mr Chairman.’

‘I understand that you have evidence to give about the events of the evening of the day you had the meeting with the council. That would be the Saturday evening, would it not?’

‘Yes, sir,’ said Cameron. ‘There was a dinner-dance at the Hotel D’Archiac that night. I had invited Mr Ballard and Dr McGill to be my guests. My daughter, Stacey, was also present — she was on vacation from the States at that time and was due to go back the following week. There was a certain amount of table-hopping during the dinner and it was then I learned that the mayor had not made the telephone calls. That, combined with a new and most disturbing report from Dr McGill, worried all of us very much.’

‘Could you go into that in more detail?’ said Harrison.

‘Why, yes. We were just starting dinner...’

‘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.’

‘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.’

‘But they did eventually? When?’

‘On that evening, Mr Chairman.’

Harrison sighed, exasperated at Crowell’s woolly-mindedness. ‘But we have heard evidence that Mr Ballard was neither drunk nor playing a practical joke. Why should you not believe what he said on that occasion?’

Crowell shook his head unhappily and looked towards Rickman, whose head was down as he busily scanned a sheet of paper. ‘I don’t know — it was just that it sounded that way.’

‘It has been suggested that Mr Ballard was “foisted” upon you.’ Harrison uttered the word as though it had a nasty taste. ‘Upon his appointment, did you make any complaint of any kind — to anyone?’

‘No.’

Harrison shook his head slowly as he regarded this most unsatisfactory witness. ‘Very well. I have no further questions He looked down from the rostrum. ‘Yes, Mr Ballard?’

‘I would like to ask some questions.’

‘I see that you still have no legal representation. Do you think that wise? You must have heard the saying that the man who argues his own case has a fool for a lawyer.’

Ballard smiled. ‘That may hold good in a law court, but, Mr Chairman, you have repeatedly said that this is not a court of law. I think I am quite capable of asking my own questions.’

Harrison nodded. ‘Very well, Mr Ballard.’

Ballard looked at Crowell. ‘Mr Crowell, two weeks after the disaster the board suspended me from my duties. Why?’

Rickman’s hand shot up. ‘Objection! What happened two weeks after the incident does not come within the scope of this inquiry.’

‘Mr Rickman has a point,’ said Harrison. ‘I cannot really see that this is helpful.’

Ballard stood up. ‘May I argue the point?’

‘Certainly.’

Ballard picked up a note-pad. ‘I took notes of your remarks when this inquiry began. You ruled that evidence given here may not be used in a future civil action. It seems to me that this inquiry may be the only public hearing possible.’

He turned a page. ‘On the second day Dr McGill said that the death-roll in the disaster was higher than need be. You overruled an objection to that on the grounds that this is not a court of law and the procedure is at your sole discretion.’

He looked up. ‘Mr Chairman, this inquiry is being widely reported in the Press, not only in New Zealand but also in the United Kingdom. Regardless of your findings, the public is going to blame someone for those unnecessary deaths. Now, certain imputations have been made about my character, my drinking habits and a supposed propensity for practical joking which, in my own interests, I cannot allow to pass unchallenged. I ask to be allowed to question Mr Crowell about these matters, and the fact that I was suspended from my duties a fortnight after the disaster certainly seems to me to be a legitimate reason for inquiry.’

Harrison conferred briefly with his two assessors, then said, ‘It is not the wish of this Commission that a man’s reputation be put lightly at stake. You may sit down, Mr Ballard, and continue your questioning of Mr Crowell.’

Rickman said warningly, ‘There may be grounds for appeal here, Mr Chairman.’

‘There may, indeed,’ agreed Harrison tranquilly. ‘You will find the procedure set out in the Commissions of Inquiry Act. Continue, Mr Ballard.’

Ballard sat down. ‘Why was I suspended from my duties, Mr Crowell?’

‘It was a unanimous decision of the board.’

‘That is not exactly answering my question, but we’ll let it pass for the moment. You said in evidence that you had nothing to do with my appointment, that you would rather have chosen another man, and that the instructions came from London. Do you usually take your instructions from London, Mr Crowell?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then where do you take your instructions from?’

‘Why, from...’ Crowell stopped short. ‘I do not take instructions, as you put it, I am chairman of the company.’

‘I see. Do you regard yourself as a sort of dictator?’

‘That is an insulting question.’

‘Maybe you might think so. All the same, I’d like you to answer it.’

‘Of course I’m not a dictator.’

‘You can’t have it both ways,’ said Ballard. ‘Either you take instructions or you do not. Which is it, Mr Crowell?’

‘As chairman I assist the board in making decisions. All decisions are made jointly.’

‘A most democratic process,’ commented Ballard. ‘But the decision to appoint me as managing director was not made jointly by the board, was it, Mr Crowell?’

‘The decision need not be unanimous,’ said Crowell. ‘As you have pointed out, this is a democratic process where the majority rules.’

‘But not so democratic as to be a one man, one vote system. Is it not a fact that he who controls most votes controls the company?’

‘That is the usual system.’

‘And you said in evidence that the instruction to appoint me came from a majority shareholder in London. Is that shareholder a member of the board?’

Crowell twitched nervously. In a low voice he said, ‘No, he is not.’

‘Then is it not a fact that your board of directors has no real power and is thus a democratic sham? Is it not a fact that the power to control the company lies elsewhere? In the City of London?’

‘That is a misreading of the situation,’ said Crowell sullenly.

‘Let us turn from my appointment to my suspension,’ said Ballard. ‘Did the instruction to suspend me also come from London?’

‘It may have done.’

‘Surely you know. You are the chairman of the board.’

‘But not concerned with the day to day running of the company.’

‘No,’ agreed Ballard. ‘That was the function of the managing director. You said so yourself in your evidence. Surely you are not suggesting that I suspended myself?’

Dan Edwards could not contain himself. There was a loud snigger from the Press gallery and Harrison looked up, frowning.

‘You are being ridiculous,’ said Crowell.

Ballard said drily, ‘Any ridiculousness inherent in this situation certainly does not emanate from me. There remains one alternative. Are you suggesting that the suspension of the managing director was a minor bit of day to day business that was beneath your notice as chairman?’

‘Of course not.’

‘Then you will know where the idea of my suspension originated, won’t you?’

‘Now I come to think of it, the instruction for your suspension did come from London.’

‘I see. But that again is not an exact answer to the question. Is it not a fact that you communicated with London because the board is a puppet dancing to strings held in the City of London? Is it not a fact that a suggestion was made — by you — that the company was in danger of being in bad odour because of evidence to be given at this inquiry? And is it not a fact that you intimated that I, as a Johnny-come-lately, was an ideal person to shuffle the responsibility on to, and that it was then that the instruction was given — from London — that I be suspended?’

‘Objection!’ cried Rickman. ‘Mr Ballard cannot lead the witness in this way.’

‘I tend to agree,’ said Harrison. ‘Such a compendium cannot be permitted, Mr Ballard.’

‘I withdraw the question.’ Ballard knew, from the rustle in the Press gallery, that he had made his point where it mattered. ‘I shall return to the telephone conversation between Mr Crowell and myself. When you were cut off, what did you do? Oh yes; you talked it over with your wife, didn’t you? What was the substance of that conversation?’

‘I don’t remember.’ Crowell added irritably, ‘It was late at night and we were both very tired.’

‘When you were cut off, did you attempt to replace the call?’

‘No.’

‘No? Why not?’

‘You heard my evidence. I thought you were drunk.’

‘How long did you think I’d been drunk, Mr Crowell?’ asked Ballard softly.

Crowell looked startled and uncomprehending. ‘I don’t understand the question.’

‘It’s quite a simple question. Please answer it.’

‘I didn’t give it a thought.’

Ballard picked up a sheet of paper. ‘You said in evidence that your secretary had left a number of messages from me. You also said that you judged, from the number and tenor of those messages, that the matter was urgent. Did you think I’d been drunk all day? The first call I had was at eleven-thirty that morning.’

‘I told you. I didn’t give it a thought.’

‘Evidently not. So you did not try to call me back?’

‘No.’

‘And you did not try to communicate with the Ministry of Civil Defence?’

‘No.’

‘As a matter of interest, Mr Crowell, what did you do? After you had discussed it with your wife, I mean.’

‘I went to bed.’

‘You went to bed,’ repeated Ballard slowly. ‘Thank you, Mr Crowell. That will be all.’ He waited until Crowell was rising from the chair and was in a half crouch. ‘Oh, there is just one further thing. Did you come forward voluntarily to give evidence here, or were you subpoena’d?’

‘I object,’ said Rickman. ‘That has nothing to do with anything.’

‘I agree, Mr Rickman,’ said Harrison smoothly. ‘This Commission need not be instructed that Mr Crowell was subpoena’d — it already knows.’ He ignored the indescribable sound that came from Rickman, and continued blandly, ‘And now I think we shall adjourn for lunch.’

Over lunch in the restaurant near the Provincial Buildings, McGill said, ‘You’re doing all right, Ian. You got in some good stuff this morning.’

Ballard poured a glass of water. ‘I didn’t think Harrison would let me get away with it.’

‘Get away with it! God, he compounded with you. He ticked you off when he had to, but he didn’t stop you. I thought I’d split a gusset when he brought out the bit that Crowell had been subpoena’d. He agreed with Rickman and harpooned him in the same breath.’ McGill paused. ‘I don’t think Harrison likes Crowell.’

‘I don’t like him much myself.’

‘You’re not doing yourself much good with your family. That histrionic speech about the company dancing to strings pulled in the City of London won’t go down well with your uncles back home. Where did you learn to pull a trick like that?’

Ballard grinned. ‘Watching the Perry Mason Show.’ He shrugged. ‘It won’t make much difference. I’ve already decided to leave the Ballard Group.’

‘After a speech like that you’ll have to. I can’t see any Ballard company hiring you now. What will you do?’

‘Haven’t made up my mind yet. Something will turn up.’ He frowned. ‘I keep wondering what Stenning wants.’

‘Do you know him at all?’

‘Not well. The old man relied on him a lot, and I know why. He’s a tough old bird, about as ruthless as old Ben was himself. Ben told him what he wanted to do, and Stenning figured out a legal way of doing it. He’s as sharp as a tack.’

‘You say he’s old — how old?’

Ballard reflected. ‘He’ll be pushing seventy now, I suppose. He was much younger than Ben. One of the bright young men that Ben surrounded himself with in the early years.’

‘An old guy of seventy flying half way across the world,’ mused McGill. ‘Could be important, Ian.’

‘I can’t see how.’

McGill looked up. ‘Here comes someone else who is not doing herself much good with her family.’ He stood up. ‘Hi, Liz.’

Liz Peterson put her hand on Ballard’s shoulder. ‘Don’t get up, Ian. Hi, Mike.’

McGill drew up a chair for her and then sat down. He put out his hand and rubbed Liz’s dog behind the ears. ‘Hi, Victor; how’s the boy?’ The Alsatian lolled his tongue and his tail wagged vigorously.

‘I didn’t see you at the hearing this morning,’ said Ballard.

‘I was there. Wouldn’t miss it for anything. It’s just that I wasn’t sitting with the boys. I don’t like Lyall — he gives me the cold grues. Where’s Joe?’

‘Gone back to the hospital. Giving evidence this morning took it out of him.’

Liz tapped on the table. ‘My charming brother, Charlie, manufactures the bullets and Lyall fires them.’ She burlesqued Lyall’s accent. ‘“Did Mr Ballard drink heavily that night?” I damn near cheered when Joe fired that right back. It wounded Charlie to the heart.’

‘You’re not doing yourself much good with them,’ warned Ballard.

‘To hell with both of them,’ she said pleasantly. ‘I only stuck around because of Johnnie, and now he’s dead I’ll be leaving Huka. Maybe I’ll be leaving New Zealand.’

‘A fine pair you are,’ said McGill. ‘Don’t either of you believe in family ties at all?’

‘Not with that pair,’ said Liz. ‘I nearly gave Charlie a heart attack just now. I said that if anyone implied that Ian was drunk just once more I’d offer my services as your witness. I said that I can tell well enough when the man I’m dancing with is drunk, and that Ian wasn’t but that Charlie certainly was.’ She laughed. ‘I’ve never seen a man go red and white at the same time.’

‘I’d be careful, Liz,’ said Ballard soberly. ‘Charlie can be violent.’

‘Don’t I know it! I once had to crown him with a bottle. But I can handle him.’

McGill smiled satirically. ‘So unlike the home life of our own dear Queen,’ he observed.

Ballard said, ‘Thanks for the support, Liz. Ever since the avalanche I’ve been depressed, but now the depression is lifting. I’ve made a couple of decisions and now the way ahead seems a lot clearer. You’ve had a lot to do with it.’

‘I bring more than support, sir — I bring information. Rickman and Lyall are cooking up something together. I was driving past the company office just now when they both came out together, laughing fit to bust.’

‘Watch it, Ian,’ warned McGill. ‘It’ll be a pincer movement.’

‘Thanks, Liz,’ said Ballard.

She looked at her watch. ‘I think I’ll sit with the boys this afternoon. I might learn something more. See you at the hearing.’ She stood up. ‘Come on, Victor.’

As she walked away McGill said, ‘The prettiest spy I ever did see.’ He finished his coffee and looked around for the waitress. ‘We’d better be going, too. By the way, what are these couple of decisions you’ve made?’

‘You’ve heard one — I’m leaving the Ballard Group.’

‘And the other?’

‘I’m getting married,’ said Ballard placidly.

McGill paused, his wallet half way from his breast pocket. ‘Well, congratulations. Who’s the lucky girl?’

Ballard dabbed at his mouth with a napkin. ‘Liz Peterson — if she’ll have me.’

‘You must be insane,’ said McGill. ‘Who’d want Charlie as a brother-in-law?’

MacAllister was an electrical engineer, stolid and given to precise answers. When Harrison asked him when the power lines were cut, he answered, ‘Two minutes and seven seconds to midnight.’

‘How do you know?’ asked Professor Rolandson.

‘There is a recording device on the circuit breakers. When they kicked out the time was recorded.’

Harrison said, ‘What did you do?’

‘Established where the break was.’

From Rolandson: ‘How?’

‘I put a current on the line and measured the resistivity. That gave a rough idea of the distance to the break. I put it as a little short of Hukahoronui.’

‘And then?’

‘I rang my opposite number in Post Office Telephones and asked if he had the same trouble. He had, and he confirmed my findings. I then sent out an inspection crew.’

‘With what result?’

‘They rang me nearly two hours later to say that they had found the trouble. They said it was due to a fall of snow. A Post Office crew was also there and my men had used their portable telephone.’

‘They just said it was due to a fall of snow?’

‘Yes, sir. It didn’t seem reasonable to me that a fall of snow could cut the cables so I asked for further information. The entrance to the valley of Hukahoronui is by a cleft or gap, and my men said the gap was filled with snow to a height farther than they could see in the darkness. I know the place, sir, and I asked if the river which runs out of the valley was still flowing. My man said there was a little flow but not very much. I assumed there would be flooding on the other side of the snowfall so I immediately notified the police.’

‘Very quick-witted of you,’ remarked Harrison. ‘But why the police?’

‘Standard instructions, sir,’ said MacAllister stolidly.

‘Did you take further steps?’

‘Yes, sir. I went to the scene of the break in the cable. It was snowing quite heavily as I set out and conditions became worse as I proceeded. When I arrived at the break it was snowing very heavily — something like a blizzard. On my truck I had a spotlight but there was too much back reflection from the falling snow to show how high the blockage in the Gap was. I also investigated the flow of the river and found it to be minimal. I judged the situation serious enough to telephone the police again.’

‘And what was the reaction from the police?’

‘They noted the facts as I gave them, sir.’

‘Nothing more?’

‘They told me nothing more.’

‘You say you could not tell the height of the blockage. Obviously you could not tell the depth — how far back it extended into the Gap?’

‘No, sir.’

‘Did you take steps to find out?’

‘Not at that time. It was snowing heavily and it was dark. To investigate in those conditions would have been most dangerous. I would not climb up there myself, nor would I send anyone else. I judged it better to wait until daylight when we could see what we were doing.’

Harrison looked at Smithers. ‘It appears from the evidence of Mr MacAllister that this was the first occasion that anyone outside Hukahoronui had any inkling of trouble.’ He switched his gaze to Crowell who was sitting next to Rickman and amended his statement. ‘Or anyone who did something constructive about it, that is. Have you any questions, Mr Smithers?’

‘No, Mr Chairman. But I think the witness ought to be congratulated on the sensible steps he took — especially his quickness in passing on news of a potentially hazardous situation.’

‘I concur.’ Harrison turned to MacAllister. ‘To what time does your evidence take us?’

‘I made the second call to the police at three-thirty on the Sunday morning.’

‘Thank you. You may step down, Mr MacAllister, with the knowledge that you have done your duty well.’

MacAllister left the witness chair, and Harrison said, ‘I think it is time to get back to what happened in Hukahoronui after the lights were extinguished. We have just heard of a fall of snow which blocked the Hukahoronui Gap. I would like to hear Dr McGill’s professional views on that.’

McGill rose, walked to the witness chair, and set his briefcase on the floor. Harrison said, ‘You were present in the lobby of the Hotel D’Archiac when the lights went out?’

‘Yes, sir. As Mr Cameron said, there was a lot of confusion at that time. Mr Ballard was trying to talk to Mr Crowell and had difficulty in doing so because of the actions of Mr Charles Peterson. I went to his aid and it was about then that the lights went out. Mr Ballard said that the telephone had also gone dead.’

‘Did you hear the snow falling into the Gap?’

‘No. There was too much noise in the hotel.’

‘So what happened?’

‘The management of the hotel got busy and provided light. There were candles and kerosene lanterns ready for use. I was told that a breakdown of electricity supply was not uncommon, and there had been a similar occurrence only the previous month. Everybody took it as a matter of course. I asked about the dead telephone but no one seemed worried about that, either. The dance was over, anyway, so everybody went home.’

‘Including you?’

‘Yes. I went home with Mr Ballard and went to bed.’

Next morning Ballard went to the hospital to visit Cameron. He tried to do this as often as possible to keep the old man company and cheer him up. It was a fact that Cameron now was an old man; his experience in the avalanche had almost killed both spirit and body. McGill said, ‘I’ll go to see him tomorrow. I have things to do at Deep Freeze Headquarters.’

‘I’ll be out that way this afternoon,’ said Ballard. ‘I’m picking up Stenning at Harewood. Want a lift back?’

‘Thanks,’ said McGill. ‘Ask for me in the office.’

Ballard found Cameron out of bed but in a wheelchair with a blanket tucked around him in spite of the fact that it was a hot day. He was talking to Liz Peterson when Ballard walked into the room. ‘Hi!’ said Liz. ‘I’ve just been telling Joe how Mike tried to freeze our blood when he gave evidence yesterday.’

‘Yes, I think he made Harrison shiver a bit.’ Privately he thought it tactless to describe the sufferings of an avalanche victim such as Zdarsky to one who had himself been caught in an avalanche, and he wondered how much Liz had said. ‘How are you feeling, Joe?’

‘A bit better this morning. I could have stayed yesterday afternoon in spite of my damn fool doctor.’

‘You do as he says,’ Ballard advised. ‘What do you think, Liz?’

‘I think Joe should do as he likes. Doctor doesn’t always know best.’

Cameron laughed. ‘Oh, it’s good to have a pretty girl here — especially when she’s on my side. But you really shouldn’t be here, Liz.’ He nodded towards the window. ‘You should be out there, enjoying the sunshine. On a tennis court, maybe.’

‘I’ve got plenty of time for tennis, Joe,’ she said. ‘The rest of my life. Are they looking after you well here?’

‘Okay, I guess — but it’s just like any other hospital. The food is terrible — they have too many dieticians and too few cooks.’

‘We’ll have something sent in,’ said Ballard. ‘Won’t we Liz?’

She smiled. ‘I’m not bad at home cooking.’

They stayed until Cameron sent them off, saying that young people must have something better to do than to sit around in hospitals. Outside, in the sunshine, Ballard said, ‘Doing anything in particular, Liz?’

‘Not really.’

‘What about having lunch with me?’

She hesitated fractionally, but said, ‘I’d like that.’

‘We’ll go in my car. I’ll bring you back on my way to the airport this afternoon. I’m meeting someone.’

‘It’ll cost you lunch for two. I’ll have to bring Victor. I can’t leave him in my car.’

‘Sure.’

She laughed. ‘Love me — love my dog.’

As Ballard started the engine of his car, he said, ‘Did you mean what you said yesterday — about leaving New Zealand?’

‘I’ve been thinking about it.’

‘Where would you go?’

‘England, I suppose — at first anyway. Then perhaps America. You’ve travelled around a bit, haven’t you? I’ve always wanted to travel — to see things.’

He drove out of the hospital grounds. ‘Yes, I’ve been places, but they’ve always been working trips. I’ll tell you one thing — I certainly never expected to come back to New Zealand.’

‘Then why did you?’

Ballard sighed. ‘My grandfather wanted me to. He was a forceful old bird.’

‘He was! I didn’t know he was dead.’

‘He died a few days ago.’

‘Oh, Ian! I am sorry.’

‘So am I, in a way. We didn’t always see eye to eye, but I’ll miss him. Now that he’s gone I won’t be staying with the Ballard group. In fact, I’ve just about made that impossible.’

‘It’s like Mike says — neither of us get on with our relatives.’ Liz laughed. ‘I had a row with Charlie last night. Someone saw us in the restaurant yesterday and split to Charlie.’

‘Don’t get into trouble because of me, Liz.’

‘I’m tired of Charlie’s tantrums. I’m a grown woman and I’ll meet whoever I like. I told him so last night.’ She rubbed the side of her face reflectively.

Ballard glanced sideways and caught the action. ‘He hit you?’

‘Not for the first time, but it’s going to be the last.’ She saw the expression on Ballard’s face. ‘Not to worry, Ian. I can defend myself. I’m reckoned to be a pretty aggressive tennis player and those smash services develop the muscles.’

‘So you hit him back. I doubt if that would make much of an impression on Charlie.’

She grinned impishly. ‘I happened to be holding a plateful of spaghetti at the time.’ When Ballard burst out laughing she added, ‘Eric socked him, too. We’re quite a happy family, we Petersons.’

He turned the car into the hotel car park. As they walked into the foyer he said, ‘The grub’s not bad here; they serve quite a good lunch. But what about a drink first?’

‘Something long and cold,’ she agreed.

‘We’ll have it by the pool,’ he said. ‘This way.’ Suddenly he stiffened and halted in his stride.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘The forces are rallying. It’s Cousin Francis. Now where the devil did he spring from?’

A youngish man in a business suit stepped in front of them. ‘Morning, Ian,’ he said, abruptly and unsmilingly.

‘Good morning, Frank,’ said Ballard. ‘Miss Peterson, this is my cousin, Frank Ballard.’

Frank Ballard gave her a curt nod. ‘I want to talk to you, Ian.’

‘Sure. We’re just going to have drinks by the pool. Join us.’

Frank shook his head. ‘In private.’

‘All right. After lunch, then.’

‘No, I haven’t the time. I’m catching a plane back to Sydney almost immediately. It’ll have to be now.’

‘Don’t mind me,’ said Liz. ‘I’ll wait for you by the pool. Come on, Victor.’ She walked away without waiting for an answer.

Frank said, ‘What about your room?’

‘All right.’ Ballard led the way. They walked in silence until they reached the room. As he closed the door Ballard said, ‘What brings you from Australia, Frank?’

Frank swung around. ‘You bloody well know what brings me. Why the hell did you put old Crowell through the hoops the way you did yesterday? He was on the phone to me, crying on my shoulder long distance.’

Ian smiled. ‘Just trying to elicit a bit of truth.’

There was no answering smile from Frank. ‘Now look here, Ian. You’re getting the company into a right mess. A fine bloody managing director you are.’

‘Aren’t you forgetting that Crowell suspended me from duty? Or is what you’ve just said an offer of the job back?’

‘You flaming idiot! The suspension was only until the Inquiry was over. If you’d have used your brains and kept quiet everything would have been all right, and you’d be back in the saddle next week. As it is, I’m not so sure. You’ve been throwing so much mud at the company that I’m not sure you’re fit for the position.’

Ian sat on the bed. ‘If I’d kept quiet I’d be a dead duck, and you know it. Between the company and the Petersons I wouldn’t stand a chance. Did you really think I’d stand still and let you make a patsy out of me?’

‘This is a Ballard company,’ said Frank furiously. ‘We take care of our own. Have you no family feeling?’

‘You’d take care of me like a fox takes care of a rabbit,’ snapped Ian.

‘If that’s what you think, I’m sorry.’ Frank’s finger shot out. ‘When the inquiry starts again on Monday you’d better keep quiet. No more appeals to the grandstand like those you’ve been making. If you promise to do that then maybe there’ll still be a job for you in the Group. I doubt if I’ll be able to swing the managing directorship of Hukahoronui — my old man’s hopping mad — but I still think I can guarantee some kind of job.’

‘Thanks,’ said Ian ironically. ‘But I’m underwhelmed by your generosity. You know what I think of the Group — I’ve never made a secret of it.’

‘For Christ’s sake!’ burst out Frank. ‘You know how big we are. We just have to pass the word around and you’ll never get a job in mining again. Look, you don’t even have to do anything — just stop asking damn fool questions in public.’

Ian stood up. ‘Don’t push me, Frank,’ he warned.

‘I haven’t even started yet. For God’s sake, be reasonable, Ian. Do you know how much the share price of the company has dropped since yesterday? All this adverse publicity is having an effect even in London. We’re dropping money fast.’

‘I bleed for you.’

‘You know we’re going to float a new issue of Hukahoronui shares. What chance do you think we’ll have if you continue to hold up the chairman of the board as a bloody fool?’

‘The foolishness of Crowell is none of my doing — he’s a self-made idiot. That’s why you have him there — because he’ll jump when he’s told. You ought to be getting rid of Crowell, not me.’

‘You’re impossible,’ said Frank disgustedly. ‘We’re not getting rid of you.’

‘No,’ agreed Ian. ‘I’m leaving under my own power, and in my own way. I don’t take easily to blackmail, Frank, and the way you’re going you’re likely to cook your own goose.’

Frank looked up and said sharply, ‘What do you mean?’

‘Have you considered the composition of the Commission of Inquiry? There’s Harrison, the chairman, and his two assessors, both experts in their fields. Rolandson knows about snow, and French is from the Department of Mines. He hasn’t said much yet.’

‘So?’

‘So any more pressure from you and I’ll start asking questions about conditions in that mine, and by the time I’m through French will write a report that’ll curl your hair — a report that the shareholders won’t like at all. Then you’ll see something really happen to the share price.’

‘You’re being really hard-nosed about this, aren’t you? Why, Ian?’

‘Do you have to ask after what you’ve been doing? I don’t like being manipulated, Frank. I don’t like being pushed around. I’m no Crowell. And another thing: the day before I was fired — and let’s give it the right name, Frank; none of this bull about suspension — I saw the result of the latest assay. Rich pickings, Frank, my boy; very rich pickings. But can you tell me why those results haven’t been given to the shareholders?’

‘That’s none of your bloody business.’

‘It might be if I buy some shares. Not that I will, of course. That mine is going to make someone a fortune, but the way you’ll set it up I don’t think the ordinary shareholders will see much of it.’

‘Nobody will make anything if you get on your hind legs and start asking damn fool questions about avalanche defences,’ said Frank sourly. ‘Good God, do you know how much it will cost us if this bloody Commission goes the wrong way?’

Ian stared at him. ‘What do you mean — the wrong way? Were you thinking of not putting in avalanche defences?’

‘Hell, there’s only an avalanche every thirty years or so. By the time the next one comes the mine will be worked out.’

Ian took a deep breath. ‘You damned fool! That was when the trees were still on the west slope. Now they’re gone there’s likely to be a fall in any period of heavy snow.’

‘All right.’ Frank flapped his hand impatiently. ‘We’ll re-afforest the slope. That’ll cost less than the snow rakes your friend McGill wants to have.’

‘Frank, do you know how long it takes for a tree to grow? I thought you lot were bad enough but now I know the depth of your greed.’ Ballard’s voice was hard. ‘And I suggest we bring this conversation to a sudden halt.’ He crossed to the door and threw it open.

Frank hesitated. ‘Think again, Ian.’

Ian jerked his head. ‘Out!’

Frank walked forward. ‘You’ll regret it.’

‘How’s Uncle Steve?’

‘He’s not going to like the answer I take back to Sydney.’

‘He should have come himself and not sent a half-wit to do his dirty work. He’s too intelligent to think threats would have any effect — he’d have tried a bribe, if I know him. Tell him from me that that wouldn’t have worked, either. Maybe you’ll be able to keep a whole skin that way.’

Frank paused outside the door, and turned. ‘You’re finished, Ian. I hope you know that.’

Ian closed the door in his face.

Ballard dropped Liz at the hospital and went on to Deep Freeze Headquarters. He did not find McGill at the office but finally ran him down at the Officers’ Club where he was talking shop. Ballard said, ‘I thought I’d pick you up first. Old Stenning will have travelled a long way and he’ll be tired, so I thought I wouldn’t keep him waiting around.’

‘Sure,’ said McGill. ‘I’ll come right along. When is he due in?’

‘In fifteen minutes, if the plane’s on time.’

They drove to Harewood Airport, two minutes away, and stood chatting on the concourse while they waited. McGill said, ‘I’ve never met a millionaire’s lawyer. Will you recognize Stenning when you see him?’

Ballard nodded. ‘He’s a tall, thin chap with white hair. Looks a bit like Bertrand Russell.’

The aircraft was on time and, as the passengers streamed through the terminal, Ballard said, ‘There he is,’ and McGill saw a tall, old man with the face of an ascetic. Ballard stepped forward. ‘Good afternoon, Mr Stenning.’ They shook hands. ‘This is Mike McGill, a friend. He’s come to carry the suitcases. I don’t think they’ll be long in coming.’

Stenning smiled. ‘Are you the Dr McGill who has been giving evidence at the Inquiry?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘If you’re carrying suitcases you’ve come down in the world.’

‘The luggage is coming now,’ said Ballard. Stenning pointed out his cases, and Ballard said, ‘Let’s get this stuff out to the car, Mike.’ As they left the terminal he said to Stenning, ‘I’ve booked you a room at the hotel where I’m staying. It’s quite comfortable.’

‘Just point me towards a bed,’ said Stenning. ‘I find it difficult to sleep on aircraft. How is the Inquiry going?’

‘I’ve kept the newspapers for you. It’s getting good coverage in Christchurch.’

Stenning grunted. ‘Good! I’ve been in aircraft for two days so I’ve fallen behind with the news. I’m looking forward to discussing the disaster with you, Dr McGill.’

‘Any time I’m not in court, Mr Stenning.’

At the hotel McGill tactfully made himself scarce while Ballard showed Stenning his room. Stenning said, ‘I’m not as resilient as I used to be, Ian. I’m going to bed. Your grandfather would have said a thing or two about that, were he here. At my age he was an assiduous globe-trotter.’ He shook his head. ‘I’m sorry he’s gone.’

‘Yes,’ said Ballard. ‘So am I.’

Stenning regarded him curiously. ‘Are you?’ he asked in a sceptical tone. ‘If you’d have said the other thing I wouldn’t have been surprised — or shocked. Your grandfather was a hard man to get on with. In my opinion he didn’t treat you very well.’

Ballard shrugged. ‘I’ll miss him all the same.’

‘So will I, Ian. So will I. Now, if you’ll excuse a tired old man...’

‘Have you eaten? I can get something sent in.’

‘No — I just want my bed.’

Ballard indicated a cupboard. ‘I laid in some drinks. There’s whisky, gin and brandy — with the trimmings.’

‘A kindly thought. A whisky before bed will go down very well. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ian.’

Ballard left him and found McGill having a beer by the pool. McGill raised an eyebrow. ‘Well?’

‘Nothing,’ said Ballard. ‘He didn’t say a damned thing.’

McGill frowned. ‘I’ll tell you something,’ he said. ‘He sure as hell didn’t fly thirteen thousand miles to discuss a disaster with Mike McGill.’

When, at breakfast the following morning, Stenning announced his intention of attending the Inquiry, Ballard said, ‘That might not be easy. There’s a great deal of interest and there are queues for the public seats. You can sit with me, if you like.’

‘I doubt if that would be advisable,’ said Stenning. ‘The news of that would get back to your uncles very quickly. But it’s all right, Ian. I telephoned Dr Harrison on Saturday before I went to sleep and he has found me a place.’ He smiled. ‘A courtesy to a visiting lawyer.’

Sharp! thought Ballard. Very sharp! He said, ‘If you are there at all the news might get back to the family.’

Stenning cut a slice of grilled bacon in two. ‘I doubt it. I’m not known in New Zealand and you tell me none of the family is here.’

Eric Peterson was giving evidence.

‘It must have been somewhere between half past six and seven o’clock on the Sunday morning when my brother, John, came and woke me. With him were Mr Ballard and Dr McGill. They said there’d been an avalanche. At first I didn’t believe them. I’d heard nothing, and according to the scare story the town would be blotted out if they were right. But John said the Gap was blocked and that no one could get in or out.’

He shrugged. ‘I still didn’t really believe it, but John was very convincing. Then he said that if the Gap could be blocked like that then perhaps Dr McGill was right about the danger to the town from the west slope. My brother got busy on the telephone and called an emergency council meeting. It was getting on towards eight o’clock by then and beginning to get light. We held the meeting in the Supermarket.’

Ballard was tense. In Hukahoronui he had made a decision, and now he was called upon to justify it. Because of that decision fifty-four people had died who might now be alive and the knowledge lay heavily upon him. He clasped his hands tightly to prevent his fingers trembling.

Harrison said, ‘Can you give us the gist of the conversation you had with Mr Cameron at that time?’

Ballard’s voice was steady. ‘We talked about Mr Eric Peterson’s proposal that the mine be used as a shelter. I had already talked with Dr McGill about what to expect of avalanches, and he said that powder avalanches were very fast — anything up to a maximum of two hundred and eighty miles an hour.’ He paused. ‘That’s the translational speed, of course.’

‘You mean the general speed of the advancing snow mass?’ asked Rolandson.

‘Yes. But inside the mass there would be a considerable turbulence, according to Dr McGill. There would be a swirling action resulting in momentary gusts of up to twice the translational speed.’

Rolandson raised his eyebrows. ‘You mean there could be gusting at speeds in excess of five hundred miles an hour?’

‘So I was informed by Dr McGill.’

‘I see your problem. You were afraid of an organ pipe effect as the avalanche swept past the portal of the mine.’

‘Yes, sir. The suction would be tremendous.’

‘And what of the second type of avalanche?’

‘The wet snow avalanche would come down much more slowly — possibly at a speed of thirty to forty miles an hour. As a result of this relatively slow speed it would tend to pile up before the portal, and Dr McGill told me that snow of that nature sets hard into ice immediately. I was faced with the possibility of having several hundred thousand tons of ice of an unknown thickness between hundreds of people in the mine and the outside world. These were the problems discussed by myself and Mr Cameron.’

‘And what were Mr Cameron’s views?’ asked Harrison.

When the Commission of Inquiry reconvened in the afternoon Harrison said acidly, ‘I hope we do not have a recurrence of the behaviour which led to the adjournment of this morning’s session. Whether Mr Ballard was wise to say what he did is not for me to judge. However, I believe he was goaded into it by the adversary tactics I warned against at the opening of this Inquiry. Mr Rickman, I give you a final warning: you must not be over-zealous in the protection of your client’s interest. One more instance like that of this morning and I shall have to ask your client to find someone else to represent him.’

Rickman stood up. ‘I apologize to the Commission if I have offended in any way.’

‘Your apology is accepted.’ Harrison consulted his notes. ‘I would like to ask one further question of Mr Ballard. It will not take long and you may keep your seat. Mr Ballard, you say that you consulted with Mr Cameron. I have looked through your evidence most carefully and I find that Mr Dobbs, the mine manager and Mr Cameron’s superior, has figured little. Where was Mr Dobbs all this time?’

Ballard hesitated. ‘I don’t really know. Something seemed to have happened to him.’

‘Such as?’

‘Something psychological, I’d say. He seemed to retreat into himself. He relinquished all his duties into my hands. Naturally I was perturbed about this, so I sent Dr Scott to talk with Mr Dobbs to see if he could discover what was the matter. I think his evidence would be best. I am not a medical authority.’

‘Yes, that would be best. I will call him later, if it proves necessary.’ Harrison consulted his notes again. ‘Dr McGill seems to have effectively taken charge at this time. He was, as it were, the organizing force because only he had any idea of what was to come. I think we had better hear his testimony.’

McGill took his seat, and said immediately, ‘I think I can clear up a point that was worrying Professor Rolandson. The mist.’

Rolandson looked up. ‘Yes, I’d like to know about that.’

‘It worried me, too,’ said McGill. ‘Although I tried not to show it. I couldn’t see how there could be so much mist in a rapidly falling temperature. It was quite thick — almost to be classified as a fog — and was very troublesome to us. It was only after the avalanche that I got it figured out.’

He knew he would be giving evidence all afternoon so he made himself comfortable in his seat. ‘You may remember that the first avalanche blocked the river as well as the road. The river had been frozen, but of course the water flowed freely under the ice. When the river was blocked the water rose and broke the ice. That water was relatively warm and on contact with the cold air produced the mist. It was actually freezing out into frost all the time, but as the water spread over low ground there was a great deal of surface area presented to the air, and mist was being generated faster than it was frozen out.’

‘An ingenious theory,’ said Rolandson. ‘And no doubt correct.’

‘As I say, it gave us a great deal of trouble that day. It hampered our operations considerably.’

‘What was the prime consideration in your mind?’ asked Harrison.

‘The safety of the people,’ said McGill promptly. ‘And I had a great deal of co-operation once the gravity of the situation was made clear. I would like to say now that those who had already realized that gravity gave of their utmost. I would like especially at this time to commend John Peterson.’

Harrison nodded and made a note. ‘What steps were taken?’

‘It was important to communicate with outside. Two teams were sent to climb out of the valley as soon as light permitted. One team was to climb the avalanche debris blocking the Gap, while the other took a more circuitous route. Once that was set going, I had all the children rounded up and sent to Turi Buck’s house which was on the record as being safe. At this time I became worried about the vulnerability of the central, and I—’

‘The central?’ queried Harrison.

‘I’m sorry,’ said McGill. ‘A transatlantic — or transpacific — confusion. You’d call it the exchange — the telephone exchange. It was right in the open and sure to be hit — and yet we had to have communications. A failure of the telephone system during the organizing period would have made things most difficult. I discussed this with Mr Ballard and Mr Peterson, and one of the mine electricians volunteered to man the board. However, Mrs Maureen Scanlon, the operator, would not give up the board. She said she would be derelict in duty and refused to leave, She also said that it was her board and that no one else was going to touch it.’

McGill lowered his voice. ‘The telephone system worked perfectly all during the organizing period and right up to the time of the avalanche, when the exchange was destroyed and Mrs Scanlon was killed. Mr John Peterson was also killed at that time in an effort to save Mrs Scanlon.’

The silence in the hall was total, and then there came a long, shuddering sigh.

Harrison said quietly, ‘You seem to have had your hands very full.’

‘Well, Mr Ballard and John Peterson were very able joint chiefs of staff, as you may say. Mr Ballard provided all the resources of the mine and did the organizing from that end, while Mr John Peterson did the same for the town, aided by the other members of the council. The main problem at first was to convince the town people that we were serious, and this is why the telephone system was so important. The council members spoke personally by telephone to every head of household in the valley. For myself, I merely provided overall direction in order to prevent mistakes being made and, after a while, I was able to think of what to do after the avalanche hit.’

Professor Rolandson said, ‘How certain were you, at this time, that there would be another avalanche?’

‘I was not dealing in certainties but in probabilities. As a scientist I am accustomed to doing this, but it does tend to preclude exactness. Avalanches are notoriously unpredictable. I know of a case in Switzerland where a five-hundred-year-old-building was swept away, thus proving that no avalanche had followed that path for five hundred years. No one could have predicted that. But based upon my investigation of the slope and upon what little theory we have and my own past experience I put the chance of an avalanche at about seventy per cent — and rising as the temperature fell.’

‘Would you say rising to eighty per cent?’

‘Yes, I’d say that, or even higher.’

‘Let me put that in lay terms,’ said Rolandson. ‘What Dr McGill is saying is that the chance of not having an avalanche was the same as throwing a die and showing a six on the first throw. The chances of an avalanche occurring, in his opinion, was about four or five to one.’

‘Odds that only an inveterate gambler would accept,’ commented Harrison. ‘I take it that the people were advised to go to safe places. Who determined those places?’

‘I did, sir.’ McGill hesitated. ‘Safety is relative. To tell the truth, I wasn’t even too sure of the safety of Turi Buck’s house with all the trees gone from the slope. But it was the best we had and that’s why we put most of the children there. As for the rest, I looked at the map and as much of the actual ground as I could — the mist made that difficult — and tried to take advantage of topographical features; anything to put something between the people and the snow.’ He paused. ‘In one case I have to say I made a bad error of judgment.’

‘No one can blame you for that,’ said Harrison.

‘Thank you, sir. The main difficulty was to get the people to move. No one wanted to leave a warm house to stay in the open in the snow, and the thick mist didn’t make the prospect more inviting. Constable Pye, a very forceful man, did a lot there.’

‘You say there came a time when you were able to think of what to do after the avalanche. What did you mean by that?’

‘Speed in rescue after an avalanche is the first essential, but the rescuers must know what they’re doing. To find a person buried in snow is exceptionally difficult. Swiss experience shows that it takes a trained team of twenty men twenty hours to thoroughly probe an area of one hectare.’

‘A hectare being two-and-a-half acres,’ interjected Rolandson.

‘Well, we had no trained men and we had no equipment. We couldn’t be sure of outside help so we had to improvise with what we had. We stripped TV antennae from the houses; these provided aluminium tubing to make probes for the rescue teams. Mr Cameron, at the mine workshop, made them up into lengths of ten feet. I organized three teams, a total of sixty men, and tried to give a crash course in avalanche rescue.’

‘At what time was this?’

McGill shook his head. ‘I couldn’t say, sir. I was too busy to keep my eye on the time.’

Harrison drew in a long breath. ‘And so we come to the avalanche itself. It has been suggested in the Press that the sound of that aeroplane, which had been sent to investigate by Civil Defence, was the trigger which set the avalanche in motion. What are your views on that, Dr McGill?’

‘That’s utter nonsense, sir,’ said McGill baldly. ‘The idea that sound can trigger an avalanche is a myth, an old wives’ tale. In the United States supersonic aircraft studies have been made. Even the high overpressure of two pounds a square foot caused by a military aircraft like the Hustler has had no detectable effect.’ He paused. ‘But that’s in normal use. In Montana experiments were made by F-106 aircraft making aimed dives and pulling out at supersonic speeds. Those did cause avalanche release. But the plane I heard flying over Hukahoronui could not in any way have triggered that avalanche.’

Harrison smiled. ‘The pilot of that aircraft will be very glad to hear that. I believe it has been on his conscience.’

‘It needn’t be,’ said McGill. ‘That snow was ready to come down, and it came down without his assistance.’

‘Thank you, Dr McGill. It appears that the pilot and observer of that aircraft were the only people to see the avalanche as it began to fall. From the depositions I have read it appears that the observer has more to offer in evidence. You are excused, Dr McGill. Please call Flying Officer Hatry.’

Hatry took his seat. He was a fresh-faced young man of about twenty, wearing the uniform of the RNZAF. Reed asked, ‘Your name?’

‘Charles Howard Hatry.’

‘Your occupation?’

‘Flying Officer, Royal New Zealand Air Force.’

Harrison said, ‘How was it that you came to be flying over Hukahoronui at that time?’

‘Orders, sir.’

‘And what were your exact orders?’

‘To fly to Hukahoronui, and to land if possible. To find out the situation and radio back. I believe the orders originated with Civil Defence. That’s what I was told, anyway.’

‘Just so. Carry on.’

‘Flight-Lieutenant Storey was the pilot and I was the observer. We flew to Hukahoronui from Harewood Airport, here in Christchurch. When we got there we found that landing was out of the question. There was a thick layer of cloud or mist on the valley floor. It would have been pretty dangerous going into that. We radioed this information back to Christchurch and were told to fly around for a while in case the mist lifted.’

‘What were weather conditions like — other than the low mist?’

‘Very good, sir. The sky was clear and the sun very strong. The clarity of the air was exceptional. Very good for photography. I remember saying to Lieutenant Storey that I thought it would be cold outside. It was that sort of day — crisp and cold.’

‘You mentioned photography. Were you instructed to take photographs?’

‘Yes, sir. I took two complete spools of the area around the valley — seventy-two exposures in all. These included photographs of the misted area just in case it meant anything. I couldn’t understand the mist, sir, because everything else was so clear.’

Harrison shook out some glossy black-and-whites from an envelope. ‘And these are the photographs you took?’ He began to hold them up one at a time.

Hatry leaned forward. ‘Yes, sir, those are the official photographs.’

‘I see you took a picture of the snow which blocked the Gap.’

‘Yes — we flew low to take that one.’

‘You say these are the official photographs. Are we to understand that there are some unofficial photographs?’

Hatry shifted in his seat. ‘I’m keen on cine-photography and I just happened to have my camera along. It isn’t up to much — just eight millimetre. Conditions were so good and the mountains looked so beautiful that I decided to shoot off a reel.’

‘And while you were shooting this film the avalanche began and you managed to film it?’

‘Some of it, sir.’ Hatry paused. ‘It’s not a very good film, I’m afraid.’

‘But when you had it developed you realized its importance and you offered it to this Commission as evidence. Is that it?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Well, then, I think the film will be the best evidence available. Please have the screen set up, Mr Reed.’

The hall buzzed with voices as the ushers set up the screen and projector. Curtains were drawn over the windows. In the semi-darkness Harrison said, ‘You may begin at any time.’

There was a click and a whirr, and the screen lit up with a series of rapidly flashing letters against a blurred white background. Suddenly a recognizable scene appeared — white mountains and a blue sky. It disappeared to be replaced by a shot of the ground. ‘That’s the valley,’ said Hatry. ‘You can see the mist.’ He stopped as though conscious of committing lèsemajesté. ‘I’m sorry, sir.’

‘That’s all right, Mr Hatry. Make whatever comments you please.’

‘There’s not much during the first half,’ said Hatry. ‘Just mountains. Some good views towards Mount Cook.’

The film ran on. It could have been any amateur travelogue — hand held and unsteady. But the tension in the hall grew as the seconds went by and scene followed scene.

Presently Hatry said, ‘I think it’s coming along about now. I asked Lieutenant Storey to fly north along the Hukahoronui valley.’

‘How high were you flying?’ asked Rolandson.

‘A little over two thousand feet above the valley floor.’

‘So that the west slope of the valley actually stretched above you.’

‘Yes, sir. Afterwards I found the slope was six thousand feet from crest to valley. Here it is now.’

It was an upward shot showing a little blue sky at the top of the screen, then there were a few scattered rocks jutting up, and then the snow so white as to make the eyes ache which filled the rest of the screen. As an artistic composition it was terrible, but that did not matter.

The scene suddenly jogged and blurred, and then steadied again. ‘That’s it,’ said Hatry. ‘That’s when it started.’

A faint plume of grey had appeared, a shadow cast by rising snow, which grew larger as it moved down the slope. It disappeared sideways as though the camera had panned away. The next shot was of distant mountains and sky, very wobbly. ‘We had trouble in positioning the aircraft,’ said Harry apologetically. ‘I suppose we were excited.’

There came another shot of a boiling cloud of whiteness shadowed by grey which plunged down the mountainside, growing in extent continually. Ballard licked dry lips. He had once seen a big oil fire, and watching this growing cloud advancing down the slope reminded him of the billowing clouds of black smoke from that fire, but seen, as it were, on negative film.

Again the scene jerked off the screen and there came a dizzying view of the ground whirling in a spiral. ‘I asked Lieutenant Storey to bank,’ said Hatry, ‘so I could get a good view into the valley. He did it a bit too quickly.’

The camera steadied and it could be seen that the whole of the upper slope was in motion and the line of advance was incredibly fast, even when seen from a distance. Blurred and unsteady though the film was, the sight was impressive.

Suddenly there was a complete change of scene. The moving front of the avalanche was now much farther down the mountain, almost near the bottom, and approaching the bank of mist which covered the valley floor. Hatry said, ‘We were flying out of distance. We had to make a quick circuit and come back.’

Something surprising was happening to the mist. Long before the approaching front of snow was near it, the mist was driven back as though an invisible jet was playing on it. It cleared magically and buildings could be seen briefly. Then the snow swept over everything.

The screen flashed blindingly white and there was a flapping sound as the tail of the film was slapped around by the reel of the projector. ‘That’s when the film ran out,’ said Hatry.

‘Will someone draw the curtains?’ said Harrison. The curtains were drawn open and he waited until the hum of conversation ceased. ‘So you took the film. What did you do next?’

‘We radioed back, telling what we’d seen.’

‘And what was the result of that?’

‘They asked us if we could land. I checked with Lieutenant Storey and he said not. There was still some mist about, but that wasn’t it. You see, he didn’t know where to land after the snow had gone over everything. We were then ordered to return to Christchurch.’

‘Thank you, Mr Hatry. You may step down.’ Harrison looked towards McGill. ‘Have you any comments on what you have just seen, Dr McGill? You may answer from where you are sitting.’

‘It was most interesting from a professional point of view. If we know the number of frames per second of that film we can measure the speed of the avalanche very accurately and in detail. One of the most interesting features is that it showed something which we have always suspected and, in a sense, knew, but could not prove. Because of the mist we could see that there was an air blast in advance of the moving mass of snow. At a very rough estimate I would put that air blast as moving at something over two hundred miles an hour. Apart from the actual snow impact, such a blast could cause considerable damage. I think the film should be preserved and, indeed, duplicated. I wouldn’t mind having a copy of it myself for study.’

‘Thank you.’ Harrison looked at the clock. ‘The time has come for our adjournment. We meet here again at ten o’clock tomorrow morning.’

His gavel tapped on the rostrum.

McGill joined the throng leaving the hall. Ahead he saw the tall figure of Stenning walking next to Ballard. They were not talking to each other and, once through the doorway, they made off in different directions. He smiled and thought that neither of them was giving the Ballard family any grounds for suspicion.

‘Dr McGill!’ Someone caught his elbow and he turned to find the Peterson brothers just behind him, first Eric, and then the bulkier figure of Charlie behind. Eric said, ‘I’m glad you said what you did about Johnnie. I’d like to thank you for that.’

‘No need,’ said McGill. ‘Credit should be given where it’s due.’

‘All the same,’ said Eric a little awkwardly, ‘it was good of you to say so in public — especially when you’re on the other side, so to speak.’

‘Now hold on a minute,’ said McGill sharply. ‘I’m a neutral around here — I’m on no one’s side. Come to that, I didn’t know there were sides. This is an inquiry, not a court battle. Isn’t that what Harrison insists?’

Charlie looked unimpressed. ‘You’re a neutral like I’m the fairy queen. Everybody knows that Ballard and you are in each other’s pockets.’

‘Shut up, Charlie!’ said Eric.

‘Why the hell should I? Harrison said he wants the truth to come out — but is it? Look at the evidence this morning. Not nearly enough was made of the fact that Ballard made a bad mistake. Why didn’t you prod Lyall into going for him?’

‘Oh, Charlie, enough is enough.’ Eric looked at McGill and shrugged expressively.

‘Not for me it isn’t,’ said Charlie. ‘All I know is that I used to have three brothers and now I’ve got one — and that bastard killed two of them. What do you want me to do? Stand still while he murders the whole Peterson family?’

‘Give it a rest, for Christ’s sake!’ said Eric exasperatedly.

‘Fat chance,’ said Charlie, and tapped McGill on the shoulder. ‘Now, Dr Neutral McGill — don’t tell me you won’t be seeing Ballard tonight.’

‘I’ll be seeing him,’ said McGill evenly.

‘Well, you tell him what I think. Eric made the suggestion of using the mine as a shelter but Ballard turned him down because the mine wasn’t safe. The safety of the mine was Ballard’s responsibility — he was in charge, wasn’t he? And the mine wasn’t safe. In my book that’s criminal irresponsibility and I’m going to see he gets nailed for it. You’re his friend — you tell him that.’ Charlie’s voice rose. ‘You tell him, if I can’t get him for murder I’ll get him for manslaughter.’

Eric held his arm. ‘Keep your voice down. Don’t make one of your bloody scenes in here.’

Charlie shook his arm free. ‘Don’t tell me what to do.’ He stared at McGill with hot eyes. ‘And tell that bloody murdering friend of yours to keep out of my way, because if I ever come across him I’ll tear him apart piece by piece.’

McGill looked about him. Apart from the three of them the hall was now empty. He said, ‘Threats like that are very unwise. Threatening a witness in this Inquiry could get you into trouble.’

‘He’s right,’ said Eric. ‘For God’s sake, keep your mouth shut. You talk too much — you always have.’

‘I’ll do more than talk before I’m through.’ Charlie’s forefinger bored into McGill’s chest. ‘Tell Ballard that if he so much as looks at Liz again I’ll kill the bastard.’

‘Take your goddamn hand off me,’ said McGill softly.

Eric pulled Charlie away. ‘Don’t start a fight here, you damned fool.’ He shook his head wearily. ‘Sorry about that, McGill.’

‘Don’t apologize for me,’ shouted Charlie. ‘Christ, Eric, you’re as chicken as everybody else. You go arse-creeping to McGill — the high and mighty Dr Know-it-all-McGill — and thank him kindly for putting in a nice word for the Petersons. What the hell is this? Damn it, you know that he and Ballard are running a cover-up operation that makes Watergate sound like a fairy story. What the hell’s got into you?’

Eric took a deep breath. ‘Charlie, sometimes I think you’re going out of your mind. Now will you, for God’s sake, shut up? Let’s go and have a beer and cool down.’ He took Charlie by the arm and steered him towards the door.

Charlie allowed himself to be led away, but twisted his head and shouted to McGill, ‘Don’t forget to tell Ballard. Tell that son of a bitch I’ll have him in jail for ten years.’

John Reed, Secretary to the Commission, poised his pen expectantly. ‘Your full name, please?’

‘Jesse Willard Rusch.’ The tall, squarely-built man with the decidedly unfashionable crewcut had a strong American accent.

‘And your occupation, Mr Rusch?’

‘By rank I am a Lieutenant-Commander in the United States Navy. By occupation I am, at present, Supply Officer to Antarctic Development Squadron Six. It’s the outfit that does all the flying in the Antarctic in support of our Operation Deep Freeze.’

‘Thank you,’ said Reed.

Harrison regarded the American with interest. ‘I understand that you were the first man trained in snow rescue to arrive in Hukahoronui after the avalanche.’

‘I understand that, too, sir. But there were five of us. My feet happened to hit the ground first.’

‘But you were the leader.’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Can you tell us the chain of circumstances which took you there?’

‘Yes, sir. I understand that your Civil Defence people put in a request to Commander Lindsey, the officer commanding our Advanced Base here in Christchurch. Because the request concerned snow rescue and because I am Supply Officer to VXE-6 — that’s the squadron — he dumped the job in my lap.’

Harrison stared at the ceiling and the notion crossed his mind that Americans were strange people. ‘I don’t quite see the connection,’ he said. ‘What has snow rescue to do with you being Supply Officer? I take it that a Supply Officer is of the nature of a quartermaster.’

‘Sort of,’ said Rusch. ‘I’ll have to explain. There’s always a lot to do in the Antarctic; there are usually more jobs than bodies, so it becomes normal for a man to wear two hats, as it were. It has become a tradition, a much prized tradition, that the Supply Officer of VXE-6 doubles up on rescue and is automatically in command of any rescue operations in the field, particularly those involving air transport.’

‘I see. That explains it, then.’

‘I ought to say that we are all trained parachutists. We do our parachute training at Lakehurst, New Jersey, and our field rescue training in the region of Mount Erebus in the Antarctic. Our training there is done with experienced instructors drawn from the Federated Mountain Clubs of New Zealand.’ Rusch paused. ‘So when a New Zealander makes a request we jump to it fast.’

‘You have made yourself very clear.’

‘Thank you, sir. At the time of the request, which was in mid-winter, the staff of our Advanced Headquarters here was run down. Flights to the ice — to the Antarctic — are not routine at that time of the year and any flights are for emergencies, or perhaps experimental reasons. We normally have twelve men tapped for rescue — all volunteers, I might add — but at that time only myself and four others were available.’

Harrison made a note. ‘Have you ever run short of volunteers?’

Rusch shook his head. ‘Not to my knowledge, sir.’

‘Interesting. Please proceed.’

‘We were briefed, together with the aircrew, and the aircraft was loaded with our equipment which is prepacked ready for instant use. The standard operating procedure is that a team of four men jump with one packed sled. However, in view of the briefing and the possible conditions at our destination I loaded extra sleds. We jumped with five men and five sleds and landed in Hukahoronui at 12.56 hours. To the best of my knowledge that was fifty-five minutes after the disaster.’ Rusch smiled. ‘Imagine my feelings when the first man to greet me turned out to be someone I already knew from the Antarctic — Dr McGill.’

Rusch, McGill and two of the American servicemen crunched across the snow over the desolation that was Hukahoronui. McGill took off his glove and bent to feel the texture of the snow. ‘It’s hardening,’ he said, and straightened up. ‘I was training some guys in snow rescue before we got hit. I said then they’d be no good, and I was right. You know what’s worrying me right now?’

‘What?’ asked Rusch.

‘We’re going to get a lot of people flying in here if Ballard does his stuff — maybe several hundreds.’ McGill nodded to the west slope. ‘I’m worried that she’ll come down again. That would really compound this disaster.’

‘Is it likely?’

‘There’s still a lot of snow up there, so I think only half of it came down, sliding on a hoar frost surface. I’d like to take a look.’

The man behind Rusch touched his arm. ‘Sir.’

‘What is it, Cotton?’

‘Look at that dog, sir. It’s sniffing at something in the snow.’

They looked to where Cotton pointed and saw an Alsatian pawing at the snow and whining. ‘Maybe it’s not trained,’ said McGill. ‘But it’s the best we’ve got.’

As they approached, the dog looked up at them and wagged its tail — and then scraped at the snow with its forepaw. ‘Good dog,’ said Rusch. ‘Cotton, use that shovel.’

Cotton found the body beneath three feet of snow and Rusch checked the pulse. ‘This one is gone. Let’s get him out.’

They pulled the body from the snow and Rusch’s breath hissed from his lips. ‘What in the name of God happened to his face? Do you know him, Mike?’

‘His wife wouldn’t know him,’ said McGill bleakly. His face was pale.

The dog wagged its tail happily and trotted off across the snow, where it stopped and began to sniff and scratch again. ‘Cotton, you’re now the dog handler,’ said Rusch. ‘Harris, round up some able-bodied men and dig wherever that German shepherd scratches.’

McGill heard the familiar sound of skis hissing on snow and turned to see two men approaching. They stopped and the one in the lead pushed up his goggles. ‘What can I do to help?’ said Charlie Peterson.

McGill looked down at Charlie’s feet. ‘You can lend me your skis for a start. I’m going up the mountain.’

Miller pushed forward from behind Charlie and stared down at the body. ‘Christ!’ he said. ‘What happened to him?’ A retching sound came from him and he turned and vomited helplessly.

The body did not seem to worry Charlie. He looked down, and said, ‘It’s Rawson. What happened to him?’

‘How do you know who it is?’ asked Rusch. ‘The guy’s got no face.’

Charlie pointed. ‘He lost the first joint of the little finger of his left hand.’ He looked up at McGill. ‘Take Miller’s skis. I’ll come with you.’

‘That slope’s not the safest place in the world, Charlie.’

Charlie grinned crookedly. ‘You can get killed crossing the road. I said that before, didn’t I?’

McGill gave Charlie a level stare, then made up his mind.

‘Okay. Help me get them off him. He’s in no condition to do it himself.’

Five minutes later Rusch watched them go. He looked up at the slope and frowned. It wasn’t a job he would fancy doing. ‘Sir!’ called Cotton urgently. ‘We’ve got another one — alive and female.’

Rusch strode over. ‘Be careful with that shovel, Harris. Cotton, bring up that empty sled.’

The limp body of Liz Peterson was lifted on to the sled and covered warmly with a blanket. Rusch looked down at her. ‘Lovely girl,’ he commented. ‘Take her to the church. We’ve just started to earn our pay.’

‘Listening to that evidence gave me a cold grue all over again,’ said McGill. ‘I was too busy at the time to think about it much, but when you get it all laid out then it really hits you.’

‘A terrible experience,’ said Stenning.

They were standing at the desk in the hotel waiting for the receptionist to finish telephoning. ‘Where is Ian?’ asked Stenning.

‘Gone off somewhere with Liz,’ McGill smiled. ‘Have you come up with an answer to the question I asked? What happens if Ian marries her?’

Stenning shook his head. ‘That will take a great deal of thought.’

The receptionist came off the telephone and took keys from a board. ‘Mr Stenning. Dr McGill. There’s a letter for you, Dr McGill.’

‘Thank you.’ McGill tossed the letter lightly in his hand. ‘Care to join me in a drink?’

‘I think not,’ said Stenning. ‘I think I’ll take a short nap.’

Stenning went to his room and McGill went into the bar. He ordered a drink and then opened the letter. As he unfolded the sheets a cheque slipped out and fluttered to the bar counter. He picked it up, glanced at it, and his eyes widened as he saw the amount it was made out for. He laid down the cheque and his brows drew together as he read the first page of the letter. He flipped over the sheet and read absorbedly, the drink untasted at his elbow. He arrived at the final page then, turning back to the beginning, he read it all through again. Then he sat on the bar stool and looked ahead of him broodingly, which unnerved the bar-tender who happened to be at the focus of his blank stare.

‘Anything wrong with your drink, sir?’

‘What?’ McGill roused himself. ‘No, give me another — and make it a double.’ He picked up the glass and swallowed the neat scotch in one gulp.

When Ballard arrived McGill was waiting for him and steered him into the bar. McGill crooked his finger at the bar-tender. ‘Two more doubles. We’re celebrating, Ian.’

‘What’s there to celebrate?’

‘Guess what I’ve got in my pocket?’

‘How could I possibly guess?’ Ballard looked at McGill closely. ‘Mike, are you drunk? You look like a boiled owl.’

‘In my pocket,’ said McGill seriously. ‘In my pocket I have a steamroller. It arrived air mail from Los Angeles.’ He took the letter from his breast pocket and waved it under Ballard’s nose. ‘Read it, my friend. Read it and weep. I don’t feel like cheering even though it’s the saving of you.’

‘I think you are drunk.’ Ballard took the envelope and opened it. He glanced at the cheque and said, ‘What the hell is this? A bribe?’

‘Read,’ urged McGill.

Ballard started to read the first page and then, frowning, glanced at the bottom of the last page to find that the letter was from the American, Miller. Its contents were appalling.

Ballard looked up. ‘For God’s sake!’

‘It’s like holding an unexploded bomb, isn’t it?’

‘But we can’t use this.’

‘Why not? Stenning would just love you.’

‘To hell with Stenning. I wouldn’t do that to anybody. Besides...’

His voice tailed away, and McGill said, ‘Lover’s Lane must run straight and narrow? Ian, you have the Ballard Trust right in the palm of your hand.’

Ballard stared at the drink in front of him. He put his hand out, but only to push it away in a rejecting gesture. He turned to McGill. ‘Mike, tell me something and tell me honestly. Before the avalanche we were making every preparation possible. We expected an avalanche, didn’t we? Does this really make any difference?’ He tapped for emphasis on the bar counter and, as the bar-tender came running, he shook his head violently in negation. ‘You exonerated the pilot of that plane — you said the snow was ready to come down. Do you still believe that?’

McGill sighed. ‘Yes, I still believe it.’

‘Then we don’t use this.’

‘You’re too gentlemanly for your own good, Ian. This is a tough world we live in.’

‘I wouldn’t want to live in the kind of world where I’d use this letter.’

‘It won’t wash,’ said McGill flatly. ‘I know what you’re thinking. If this letter is produced you can say goodbye to Liz. But it’s not good enough. That son of a bitch killed fifty-four people. If Miller had claimed it was accidental I might have gone along, but he says Charlie did it deliberately. You can’t suppress it.’

‘What do I do, Mike?’

‘There’s nothing for you to do. It’s my responsibility. The letter is addressed to me.’ He took it from Ballard’s fingers, replaced it in the envelope, and put it back in his pocket.

‘Liz will never believe I didn’t go along with you,’ said Ballard gloomily.

McGill shrugged. ‘Probably not.’ He picked up his glass. ‘Come to think of it, I don’t think I’d like you as much if you’d grabbed the chance of hammering the Petersons with eager cries. You’re a silly bastard, but I still love you.’ He raised the glass in a toast. ‘Here’s to chivalry — still alive and living in Christchurch.’

‘I still think you’re drunk.’

‘That I am, and I’m going to get a hell of a lot drunker — if only to forget how many shits there are in this world.’ He drained his glass and set it down with a thump.

‘When are you going to give the letter to Harrison?’

‘Tomorrow, of course.’

‘Hold off for a bit,’ said Ballard urgently. ‘I’d like to get straightened out with Liz first. I wouldn’t want her to get this slammed at her cold at the Inquiry.’

McGill pondered. ‘Okay, I’ll save it for twenty-four hours.’

‘Thanks.’ Ballard pushed his untasted drink before McGill. ‘If you’re insistent on getting drunk there’s my contribution.’

McGill twisted on his stool and watched Ballard walk out of the bar, then he turned back to the hovering bar-tender. ‘Two more doubles.’

‘Then the gentleman is coming back?’

‘No, he’s not coming back,’ said McGill absently. ‘But you’re right about one thing. He is a gentleman — and there are damned few of them around these days.’

Jesse Rusch was going towards the church but turned aside sharply as someone yelled, ‘I’ve found someone.’ He ran towards the group of men who had broken their line, put aside the probes, and taken up spades. He stood on one side and watched them dig carefully, and had to smile as someone else said disgustedly, ‘It’s a flaming cow.’

Flaming it certainly was not. One of the men pushed at a hoof and the leg was seen to be as stiff as a rod. Rusch stepped forward. ‘Dig it out, anyway.’

A man turned around. ‘Why? It’s a waste of time.’

‘Because there might be someone under the cow,’ said Rusch patiently. ‘That’s why.’ It was a possibility but privately he thought it unlikely, so he said, ‘Three men to the cow — the rest can carry on probing.’

The men dropped their spades and picked up the probes with alacrity, leaving the man who had queried the utility of digging out the cow alone with his spade. He stared at his mates in disgust, and said, ‘Hey, the man said three.’

He turned and saw a group of men standing twenty yards away, their hands in their pockets. ‘You lot,’ he called. ‘Come and give me a hand.’

They stared at him with blank eyes, then turned their backs on him and shuffled away slowly. The man flung down his shovel. ‘God Almighty!’ he said passionately. ‘I’ve flown four hundred miles to help these bastards, and the bloody lead-swingers won’t even help themselves.’

‘Leave them be,’ said Rusch quietly. ‘They’re not themselves. Regard them as dead men, if that’s any help. Pick up your spade and get on with it. If you want help, ask your team leader.’

The man blew out his cheeks expressively, then picked up his spade and dug it viciously into the snow. Rusch watched him for ten seconds, then turned aside and went on his way.

Just outside the church he encountered a helicopter pilot from VXE-6 called Harry Baker, and he saw at once that Baker was angry, so steamed up that he should have melted the snow for yards around. He cut in before Baker opened his mouth and said quietly, ‘When you tell me what’s bugging you keep it soft.’

Baker jerked his thumb at the sky. ‘Some goddamn maniac buzzed me up there as I was coming in. He was taking photographs.’ His voice was choked with rage.

Rucsh shrugged philosophically. ‘I guess those are the Press boys. They’ll be chartering planes and coming in like locusts from here on in.’

‘Jesse, up there it’s already becoming more crowded than Times Square,’ said Baker earnestly. ‘If it gets any worse there’ll be trouble.’

Rucsh nodded. ‘All right, Harry. I’ll see the Civil Defence people here and see what we can do about tightening up air control. If necessary, I’ll insist on grounding all unauthorized flights. In the meantime keep your cool.’

He went into the church, where he nodded to Ballard who was talking to a woman lying on a bench, and went up to the altar to speak to the Civil Defence Local Co-ordinator.

As Ballard left the hall he saw McGill talking to a bespectacled, middle-aged man whom he had previously noticed in the front rank of the Press gallery. When he approached he heard McGill say, ‘I’d be much obliged if you could get them for me.’

Dan Edwards scratched the side of his jaw. ‘Tit for tat,’ he said. ‘If there’s a story in it I want an exclusive.’ He smiled. ‘It’s all right for old Harrison to act pontifical, but I’m still a newspaperman.’

‘If there’s a story you’ll have it first,’ promised McGill. ‘Even Harrison would agree that this is in the public interest.’

‘When do you want them?’

‘Yesterday — but today will have to do. Can I meet you in your office in half an hour?’

Edwards grimaced. ‘I was looking forward to a beer, but I suppose that can wait.’

‘If I find what I’m looking for I’ll buy you a case of beer.’

Edwards said, ‘I’ll hold you to that,’ and went away.

Ballard said, ‘What’s all that about, Mike?’

‘Just checking on something — professional stuff. Seen Liz yet?’

‘No. I’m meeting her later.’

‘Don’t waste time,’ advised McGill. ‘The balloon goes up tomorrow. If Harrison knew I was sitting on this he’d ream me out for sure.’ He looked past Ballard. ‘Ah, there’s the guy I want to see.’ He walked away with Flying Officer Hatry, talking fast and making gestures with his hands. Ballard looked after him curiously, then shrugged and went to get his car.

He had missed Liz at lunch-time — she had left quickly with Eric and Charlie — and she had not appeared for the afternoon session. During the mid-afternoon recess he had telephoned her at her hotel and asked to see her. ‘You’d better not come here,’ she had said. ‘Charlie wouldn’t like it. I’ll come to your hotel after dinner. What about nine o’clock?’

At the hotel he avoided Stenning by the simple expedient of staying in his room. In view of what had happened the previous night he had no wish for further conversation with Stenning. He whiled away the time by reading a novel which bored him, and his thoughts went skittering away from the narrative which should have held his attention.

He wondered where McGill was and what he was doing. He thought of how he was going to break the news to Liz — that was going to be damned difficult. How do you tell the woman you love that her brother is — to all intents and purposes — a multiple murderer?

He had dinner in his room. At nine-fifteen he was pacing the floor and, at nine-thirty, when Liz still had not shown up, he contemplated telephoning her again. At nine-forty the telephone rang and he grabbed it.

‘Ballard.’

‘A guest for you, Mr Ballard.’

‘I’ll be right there.’

He went to the reception desk where the clerk said, ‘In the lounge, Mr Ballard.’

Ballard walked into the hotel lounge and looked about. In a corner he saw Stenning reading a newspaper but there was no sign of Liz. From behind him a voice said, ‘I’ll bet you didn’t expect me, Ballard.’

He turned and saw Charlie Peterson. ‘Where’s Liz?’ he demanded.

Charlie swayed slightly on his feet. His face was reddened and covered with a film of sweat, and a tic worked convulsively under his left eye. ‘She won’t be here,’ he said. ‘I’ve made sure of that. I’ve told you before — stay away from my sister, you bastard.’

‘What have you done with her?’

‘She’s got nothing to do with you — now or at any other time. You must be either stupid or deaf. Didn’t McGill pass on my message?’

‘He did.’ Ballard contemplated Charlie for a long moment, then said, ‘I asked Liz to come here because I had something important to tell her. Since she isn’t here I’ll tell you.’

‘I have no interest in anything you have to say.’ Charlie looked about the lounge. ‘If we were anywhere else I’d break your bloody back. You’re always careful never to be alone, aren’t you?’

‘You’d better listen, Charlie; it’s for your own good. And you’d better sit down while you hear it, before you fall down.’

Something in Ballard’s tone of voice caught Charlie’s attention. He narrowed his eyes, and said, ‘All right, say your piece.’ He flopped down heavily on to a settee.

As Ballard sat down he saw Stenning looking across at them wearing a puzzled expression. He ignored Stenning and turned to Charlie. ‘You’re in trouble — bad trouble.’

Charlie grinned humourlessly. ‘I’m in trouble! Wait until you hear what’s in store for you.’

‘We know what went on on top of the west slope before the avalanche. We know what you did, Charlie.’

The grin disappeared from Charlie’s face. ‘I wasn’t on the west slope and no one can say I was. Who says I was?’

‘Miller says so,’ said Charlie quietly. ‘We have a letter.’

‘He’s a liar,’ said Charlie tautly.

Ballard shrugged. ‘What reason has he for lying? What reason has he for sending ten thousand dollars to the Disaster Fund? You tell me.’

‘Where is this letter? I want to see it.’

‘You’ll see it. It will be given to Harrison tomorrow morning.’

Charlie swallowed. ‘And what the hell am I supposed to have done? Tell me because I don’t know.’

Ballard looked at him steadily. ‘He says you deliberately started the avalanche.’

The tic on Charlie’s face twitched. ‘Lies!’ he shouted. ‘He’s a bloody liar!’

‘Keep your voice down,’ said Ballard.

‘Keep my voice down!’ said Charlie in suppressed fury. ‘I’m accused of murder and you tell me to keep my voice down!’ All the same he spoke more softly and looked quickly about the lounge.

‘Now listen to me. I asked Liz here so I could break it to her gently so she wouldn’t hear it for the first time in open court tomorrow. I don’t know how you’ve prevented her from coming here, but since you’re here I decided to tell you. I’m giving you a chance, Charlie.’

‘What chance?’ he asked in a grating voice.

‘Miller may be a liar or he may not. But whichever he is I’m giving you the chance to get on your hind legs tomorrow as soon as the session starts and get in your version to Harrison before the letter is produced. And don’t think I’m doing it for you. I’m doing this for Liz.’

‘Some chance,’ sneered Charlie. ‘You cooked up this, Ballard; you and McGill between you.’

‘I know the truth of that,’ said Ballard quietly. ‘And so, I think, do you. And another thing — I don’t know how you stopped Liz coming here but if you’ve hurt her you’ll be responsible to me.’

Charlie stood up suddenly. ‘You bloody bastard, no one is responsible for Liz except me, and no pommy son of a bitch is going to get near her least of all anyone called Ballard.’ He looked around the crowded lounge and then jabbed out his finger. ‘I tell you, if I catch you anywhere I can get at you, you’ll wish you’d never heard of the Peterson family.’ He turned on his heel abruptly and walked from the lounge.

‘I almost wish that now,’ said Ballard softly, and turned his head to look across at Stenning who looked back at him with an expressionless face.

At ten o’clock Harrison walked into the hall and sat on the rostrum flanked by Rolandson and French. He waited until the rustling had stopped, then said, ‘I have to report that Mr Ian Ballard was seriously injured in a car accident in the early hours of this morning and is at present in Princess Margaret Hospital. He is in a coma and Dr McGill is, quite understandably, with him.’

There was a surge of noise. In the Press gallery Dan Edwards frowned, and said, ‘Damn! I wonder if that affects the story?’

‘What story?’ asked Dalwood.

‘Oh, nothing. Just something I was getting a line on.’ He nudged Dalwood. ‘Look at Charlie Peterson. He’s laughing fit to bust a gut.’

Harrison tapped with his gavel to restore order. ‘We are now at a stage of the Inquiry when the evidence of Mr Ballard and Dr McGill is not absolutely essential, so there is no need to adjourn. Call the first witness, Mr Reed.’

At three-thirty in the afternoon McGill parked his car and hurried across Durham Street towards the Provincial Government Buildings. Instead of going into the chamber where the hearing was being held, he went upstairs to the entrance to the Press gallery and had a word with the usher. Presently Dan Edwards came out to see him.

‘I keep my promises,’ said McGill. ‘You’ve got your story.’ He gave Edwards an envelope. ‘A photostat of a letter which is self-explanatory and some photographs which I’ll explain to the Chairman. What’s going on down there now?’

‘Harrison is winding things up. A pathologist is giving medical evidence.’ Edwards paused, his thumb beneath the flap of the envelope. ‘Talking of that — how’s Ballard?’

‘In a bad way.’

‘These bloody hit-and-run drivers.’ He saw McGill’s look of surprise, and said, ‘One of the boys checked at the hotel. It was obviously hit and run, wasn’t it?’ He regarded McGill closely. ‘Or am I missing something?’

McGill poked his finger at the envelope. ‘You’re missing your story.’

Edwards pulled out the copy of the letter and scanned it. His jaw dropped. ‘Jesus! Is this straight up?’

‘I’ll be giving the original to Harrison in less than five minutes.’

‘Thanks, McGill. Maybe I’ll give you a case of beer.’ He went back into the Press gallery and found a young reporter. ‘Take this back to the office. Give it to the editor — in no one else’s hands, understand. Off with you.’

He regained his seat and Dalwood said curiously, ‘Anything doing?’

Edwards grinned broadly and nodded down into the hall. ‘The fireworks are due to start any minute.’

McGill walked across the vestibule, past the two policemen standing outside the chamber, and went inside. Harrison turned his head, and said to the witness, ‘Excuse me, Dr Cross. Good afternoon, Dr McGill. How is Mr Ballard?’

‘He’s still unconscious, Mr Chairman.’

‘I’m sorry to hear it. It’s good of you to return, but not really necessary under the circumstances.’

‘I think my return was very necessary, Mr Chairman. I am in possession of fresh evidence.’

‘Indeed? Step forward, Dr McGill. You are excused for the moment, Dr Cross.’

The pathologist stepped down and McGill stood before the rostrum. He took an envelope from his pocket. ‘I received this letter and discussed the contents with Mr Ballard. We both agreed that it was too important to conceal even though it could destroy a man’s reputation.’

He handed the letter to Harrison who opened it and began to read. It took him a long time and the lines of his face deepened as he read. At last he raised his head, and said, ‘I see. Yes, it would have been wrong to withhold this.’ He looked at the letter again. ‘I see that each page is signed and countersigned, and has the seal of a notary public. Would that be the American equivalent of our own Commissioner for Oaths?’

‘It is almost the exact equivalent, Mr Chairman.’

Harrison’s eyes roved about the room. ‘Mr Lyall, would you mind stepping over here?’

Lyall looked surprised, but said, ‘Not at all, Mr Chairman.’ He got up and walked over to stand next to McGill.

Harrison said in a low voice, ‘This concerns one of your clients. I think you’d better read it.’ He held out the letter.

A few minutes later Lyall said nervously, ‘I don’t really know what to say, Mr Chairman.’ His face was pale. ‘I feel inclined to withdraw from this case.’

‘Do you?’ Harrison’s voice was grim. ‘This is not a case, Mr Lyall; it is a Commission of Inquiry. Apart from that, I doubt if anyone would respect a lawyer who deserted his client when things became hard.’

Red spots burned in Lyall’s cheeks. ‘Very well,’ he said abruptly. ‘But is it admissible evidence?’

‘That is something which I and the assessors will have to decide,’ said Harrison heavily. He took the letter from Lyall and passed it to Rolandson.

McGill said, ‘I have other supporting evidence.’

‘No evidence can be brought to support this letter if the letter itself is not admissible,’ said Lyall. ‘And if you admit the letter there will certainly be grounds for appeal.’

‘There’ll be no appeal,’ said McGill. ‘And you know it.’

‘You are not here to argue a lawyer’s case, Dr McGill,’ said Harrison in tones of freezing rebuke. He turned to Rolandson. ‘What do you think?’

‘I think it’s appalling,’ snapped Rolandson.

‘I mean, is it admissible?’

‘Let me read it all.’ Presently Rolandson said, ‘It has been witnessed under oath. It is admissible.’

Harrison gave the letter to French, who read it and soon looked as though there was a bad smell under his nose. He tossed the letter down. ‘Certainly admissible.’

‘I think so, too. I’m sorry, Mr Lyall.’ Harrison passed the letter to the Secretary to the Commission. ‘Read that aloud, Mr Reed.’ He paused as though confused by the discord of what he had uttered.

Reed scanned the letter and then began, ‘This is a letter from a Mr George Albert Miller of Riverside, California, and is addressed to Dr Michael McGill.’

He read the letter slowly and in an even tone which contrasted oddly with the events Miller described. When he had finished he said flatly, ‘Each page is signed by Mr Miller and countersigned by Carl Risinger. Each page is impressed with the seal of a notary public.’

The silence in the hall was total and seemed to last forever. It was as though time had stopped. There was a strange movement as people twisted in their seats to look in one direction. It was as though Charlie Peterson had developed a new form of attractive force — all eyes turned towards him like compass needles towards a magnet.

He was sitting slumped in his chair, his face white and his eyes staring. Next to him Eric had withdrawn and was looking at Charlie with a baffled expression. Liz was sitting upright, her hands in her lap, and staring rigidly ahead. Her brow was contracted and her lips compressed. She was very angry.

Charlie’s eyes flickered from side to side and he became aware that everyone was watching him in silence. He jumped to his feet. ‘It’s a lie!’ he shouted. ‘Miller is a liar. He started the avalanche, not me.’

The silence broke and a wave of sound washed around Charlie. Harrison hammered with his gavel furiously. With difficulty he achieved order and said icily, ‘Any more disturbance and I will adjourn this session.’ He looked at Charlie with cold eyes. ‘You will sit down, Mr Peterson.’

Charlie’s right hand stabbed out, pointing at Harrison and McGill’s eyes narrowed as he observed the strip of sticking-plaster which decorated his knuckles. ‘Aren’t you going to hear me?’ Charlie yelled. ‘You were ready enough to hear Ballard when his reputation was at stake.’

Harrison turned to Lyall. ‘You must control your client, Mr Lyall. Either he sits down or he leaves — by force, if necessary.’

Lyall called out, ‘Sit down, Charlie. You’re paying me to handle this.’

‘And you’re not doing too well,’ grumbled Charlie. But he sat down and Eric whispered to him furiously.

Lyall said, ‘I must formally protest against the admission of this unsubstantiated letter as evidence. It attacks my client’s reputation seriously and, in my opinion, unjustifiably. Mr Miller is not available for my cross-examination and I must protest. Further, I give formal warning that a motion of appeal will be entered immediately.’

Harrison said calmly, ‘As I remarked to Mr Rickman earlier in these proceedings, you will find the necessary procedure set out in the Act of Parliament which governs the holding of Commissions of Inquiry. Dr McGill, you mentioned that you have other evidence. Is this evidence in support of Mr Miller’s allegations?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then we will hear it.’

‘Objection!’

‘Overruled, Mr Lyall.’

‘It is photographic evidence, Mr Chairman,’ said McGill. ‘I have taken the liberty of having the equipment made available. I would like to operate it myself.’

Harrison nodded abruptly. ‘See to it, Mr Reed.’

In the few minutes it took for the apparatus to be set up, noise again swelled in the hall. Dalwood said to Edwards, ‘You knew what was coming, you old fox.’ He was still scribbling furiously.

Edwards offered him a self-satisfied grin. ‘My boss will be remaking the front page right now. We’ve got a photocopy of Miller’s letter.’

‘How the hell did you get that?’

‘McGill wanted something from us.’ He nodded down at the hall. ‘You’ll see.’

Harrison called for silence and the hall quietened quickly. ‘Proceed, Dr McGill.’

McGill stood next to a cine projector. ‘I have here the original film taken of the avalanche by Flying Officer Hatry. The film he submitted to the Commission was a copy; the original is a better print. I don’t think that Flying Officer Hatry should be censured for this, either by this Commission or by his superiors in the Air Force. For a keen photographer to part with an original would be a highly unnatural act.’

He switched on the projector. ‘I will show only that portion of the film which is relevant.’

An unsteady picture appeared on the screen, the whiteness of snow and a few scattered rocks with blue sky beyond. A plume, as of smoke, arose and McGill switched off the projector to freeze the action. He stepped forward with a pointer in his hand.

‘As you can see, the avalanche started here, just by these rocks. It was daytime and the sun was shining in a clear sky. Under those conditions rock and snow take up heat in a different way; the rock warms more quickly, and this difference may set up stresses in the snow just enough to upset an already critical balance of forces. That was my assumption when I first saw this film.’

He switched off the cine projector. ‘I have here a greatly enlarged portion of that scene which I am going to put in this special projector. It is called a comparator.’ He switched it on. ‘The degree of enlargement is such that the image is very grainy, but it will suffice for our purposes.’

Again McGill went to the screen with the pointer. ‘Here are the rocks and there is the plume of snow powder which is the start of the avalanche. This photograph is from a frame of the film which we will call frame one. The next slide you will see is a similar shot but taken thirty-six frames later. That is, there is a two-second difference between the taking of the two photographs.’ He went back to the comparator and inserted the second slide.

‘There is not much difference, as you can see. The plume of snow powder is marginally greater.’ He paused. ‘But if we alternate the slides rapidly, as this machine is designed to do, you will see something curious.’

The image on the screen began to flicker rapidly and the snow plume oscillated. McGill used his pointer. Two of what I thought to be rocks — those two specks there — are obviously moving. This one at the top does not move very much in the two-second interval, but the one beneath moves a fair distance upwards. I submit that the speck at the top is Mr Miller, and the one beneath is Peterson climbing up to him after the avalanche was triggered.’

The increased sound in the hall was almost like the growl of a wild beast, and Harrison’s gavel slammed down. ‘I must protest again,’ said Lyall. ‘Two grainy images on a film which cannot even be seen to be men! What sort of evidence is this? They could very well be flaws in the film.’

‘I have not yet finished,’ said McGill quietly.

‘Neither have I,’ retorted Lyall. ‘I would like to talk to you in private, Mr Chairman.’

Harrison listened to the roil of noise in the hall. ‘I think if you keep your voice down you’ll be private enough here.’

‘I must object,’ said Lyall intensely. ‘Dr McGill has been giving evidence about something he could not possibly know — evidence that reflects upon my client. He has stated flatly in this room that one of those specks on the film is Charlie Peterson. Further, he has also stated that the lower of those specks is Mr Peterson and that he started the avalanche. Can he prove this?’

‘Well, Dr McGill?’ said Harrison.

McGill was silent for a moment. ‘No,’ he admitted.

‘Assuming, for the sake of theoretical argument, that those specks are men,’ said Lyall. ‘They could be anyone, and nothing to do with my client.’

‘Now wait a minute,’ said McGill. ‘Charlie just said that Miller started the avalanche. If he knows that, then it means he was there. And we have Miller’s sworn evidence.’

‘I’m quite capable of drawing my own conclusions,’ said Harrison. ‘I suggest you confine your evidence to that which you know, Dr McGill.’

Lyall said, ‘As I see it, it’s Miller’s word against that of my client. And Miller isn’t here to cross-examine.’

‘What would he gain by accusing Charlie!’ asked McGill. ‘He’d have done better for himself by keeping his mouth shut. As it is, he’s out ten thousand dollars.’

‘That’s enough,’ said Harrison sharply. ‘As I said before, you’re not here to argue a lawyer’s case, Dr McGill. Now you say you have more evidence?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Photographic?’

‘That and my own testimony.’

‘Then I suggest we proceed.’ Harrison again hammered with his gavel until he succeeded in achieving silence. He waited until the silence was absolute, then said quietly, ‘Dr McGill, you may continue.’

McGill returned to the projector. ‘After the avalanche I went up on the west slope to see if there was further hazard. As it turned out, the hazard was minimal in the immediate future. Charlie Peterson volunteered to accompany me. We made an examination of the slope and Mr Peterson was very cool and showed no sign of nerves. It was only after I had indicated my intention to examine the site where the avalanche had begun that he showed signs of nervousness. At the time I put this down to a natural fear of being in a potentially hazardous situation.

‘As we went up the mountain his nervousness increased rapidly and he suggested we go down. We were not far from the site which I wished to examine so I ignored his suggestion. In the event we never reached the site. There was the air accident in the valley and we went down the slope immediately.’

‘Interesting,’ said Harrison. ‘But I don’t see the point.’

‘This is the point,’ said McGill. ‘While we were on the slope an aircraft flew over us at very low altitude and I saw someone taking photographs. I discovered afterwards that the plane had been chartered by a newspaper here in Christchurch. I went to the newspaper office last night and went through all the photographs that had been taken. Here are some of them.’

The projector clicked and flashed again, and a black-and-white photograph appeared on the screen. McGill said, ‘In the bottom right-hand corner you can see Peterson and me. In the top left corner you see exposed rocks. By the rocks there are ski tracks here — and here. I think that Peterson didn’t want me to see those tracks; that’s why he was nervous.’

‘An unwarranted suggestion,’ snapped Lyall.

McGill ignored him, and put another picture on the screen. ‘Here is an enlargement of the breakaway point of the avalanche. There is a ski track going into it, and this ragged line, and another here, is where a man jumped up the slope. It had been snowing heavily that night, and all these tracks could only have been made on the morning of the avalanche.’

He switched off the projector. ‘I further state on oath that the first time I saw Miller and Peterson on that Sunday they were both on skis.’

The dark room exploded. ‘Lights!’ shouted Harrison. ‘Turn on the lights!’

An electrolier sparked into brilliance, and then sunlight flooded the room as an usher pulled aside a curtain. Charlie was on his feet. ‘Damn you!’ he yelled, pointing at McGill.

‘Shut up, Charlie!’ called Lyall sharply, but he was too late.

‘Damn you all!’ cried Charlie. ‘It was Ballard who killed my brother — everyone knows that. Nobody would have died if they’d gone into the mine as Eric wanted. And Alec wouldn’t have drowned if it hadn’t been for Ballard. He’s a bloody murderer, I tell you!’ Froth flecked his lips. ‘He started the avalanche — him and Miller between them.’

Lyall sagged and McGill heard him say, ‘He’s crazy!’

Charlie’s throat worked convulsively. ‘Ballard didn’t like Huka or anyone in it.’ He threw his arms wide. ‘He wanted to destroy it — and he did. Most of all, he didn’t like us Petersons. He killed two of us — and he made a whore out of my sister.’ His arm swung around and pointed to Liz.

Harrison’s gavel cracked sharply, and he said, ‘Dr Cross, is there anything you can do?’

Eric grabbed Charlie’s arm, but Charlie tossed him aside effortlessly. ‘And McGill was in on the whole thing and I’m going to kill the bastard!’ He plunged across the hall towards McGill but before he could reach him Eric had recovered and was on his back.

‘Let me go,’ he screamed. ‘Let me get at him!’ Again he broke Eric’s grip and started again for McGill, but this time several men had moved in to subdue him. There was a brief flurry and then Charlie broke loose and ran sideways and made for the door. It opened before he got there and he ran into the arms of two policemen. They both put an armlock on him and he was marched out of sight.

Harrison thumped his gavel in vain. Into the uproar he said quietly, ‘This hearing is adjourned.’

Half an hour later McGill, still in the hall, was beseiged by reporters. ‘No comment,’ he kept repeating. ‘I said all I had to say when I gave my evidence. There’s nothing more.’

He broke free, went into the first room he saw and slammed the door behind him. He turned and saw Harrison and Stenning. ‘Sorry, but do you mind if I take refuge for a few minutes. Those reporters are driving me crazy.’

‘Not at all,’ said Harrison. ‘You’ve caused quite a stir, Dr McGill.’

McGill grimaced. ‘Not as much as Charlie. How is he?’

‘Dr Cross put him under sedation.’ He paused. ‘I think there’s a case for a court order for psychiatric treatment.’ Harrison recollected his manners. ‘Oh, this is Mr Stenning, a visitor from England. He’s here to see how we conduct our administrative justice. I’ve been telling him that not all our Inquiries are so rowdy. I don’t think he believes me.’

‘I’m acquainted with Mr Stenning,’ said McGill. ‘We stay at the same hotel.’

Harrison picked up his briefcase. ‘I think it will be safe to leave by the back way, gentlemen.’

Stenning said, ‘Could I have a word with you, Dr McGill?’

‘Of course.’

‘Feel free to use this office,’ said Harrison. ‘Will you attend the Inquiry tomorrow, Mr Stenning?’

‘I think not. I have urgent business in England. I assure you it has been most interesting.’

‘Well, then, we’ll say goodbye now.’ They shook hands.

When Stenning and McGill were alone Stenning remarked, ‘Harrison was wrong — that letter was not admissible because Miller was not there to be cross-examined. I think the Inquiry will be adjourned while Harrison takes legal advice. It shows the inadvisability of setting a layman to do a lawyer’s job.’

McGill shrugged. ‘Does it matter now? We’ve seen that Charlie is as crazy as a loon.’

Stenning regarded him speculatively. ‘You said in your evidence that Ian had agreed that the letter should be produced.’

‘That’s right.’

‘Strange. At the end of our last conversation Ian told me to go to hell. He also consigned the Ballard Trust to the same destination. He must have changed his mind. It would be interesting to know exactly when he changed it.’

‘I think he changed it when Charlie Peterson started beating the hell out of him.’

‘You think it was Peterson?’

‘For God’s sake! Don’t you? You’ve just seen Charlie in action. He tossed Eric around as though he was a rag doll, and Eric’s no midget. And I got a good look at his hands this afternoon. His knuckles were pretty raw.’

‘Is that the only reason you think it was Peterson? I have to be sure, Dr McGill.’

‘Of course not,’ said McGill, lying bravely with a frank open face. ‘Ian told me himself when I found him in the car park. He said, and I remember his exact words, “It was Charlie, use the letter and smash him.” Then he passed out.’

‘I see.’ Stenning smiled, and said obliquely, ‘I think Ian is lucky to have you for a friend.’

‘I’d do the same for anyone who was getting the raw end of a deal, Mr Stenning. He was getting it from both sides, you know. Your hands are not entirely clean in this matter.’

Abruptly he turned his back on Stenning and left the room. He crossed the Provincial Chamber, now deserted, and went into the vestibule where he ran straight into Liz Peterson. She lifted her hand and slapped his face with all the force she could muster, which was considerable.

His head rocked sideways and he grabbed her wrist. ‘Steady, Liz.’

‘How could you?’ she said passionately. ‘How could you do that to Charlie?’

‘Someone had to stop him.’

‘But not like that. You needn’t have crucified him in public.’

‘How would you suggest? He was mad, Liz; he was going insane. Even Eric thought so. Eric told him outright he was losing his mind. He was eaten up by guilt and he wanted to pour it all out on lan.’

‘Ian!’ Liz said contemptuously. ‘That man wanted to marry me. I never want to see him again. He could have suppressed that letter.’

‘He wanted to,’ said McGill. ‘But I talked him out of it. It would have been a fool thing to do. He was supposed to see you last night. Did he?’

She shook her head. ‘Charlie played one of his tricks. He got me into his car on some excuse and then drove me out of town going like a maniac.’ She stopped as she realized what she had just said and then swallowed. ‘Anyway, he dumped me on a country road and just drove away. It was nearly midnight when I got back into town. I phoned Ian but he wasn’t in. I thought I’d see him this morning but he had the accident.’

‘Did Charlie know you were going to see Ian?’

‘Not unless Eric told him.’

‘So you told Eric, and Eric mentioned it to Charlie. That was a fool thing to do.’ He took her arm. ‘You need talking to, my girl, and you’d better have a drink while you listen.’

Five minutes later at a discreet table in a hotel lounge McGill said, ‘It’s a bit of a convoluted story. When Miller’s letter came, Ian read it and asked me just one question. He wanted to know if the avalanche would have happened anyway, regardless of what Charlie had done. I had to say that it would have come down. It was only a matter of time, Liz.’

He picked up his drink and stared at it. ‘Once Ian heard that he wanted me to suppress the letter. I talked him out of that, but then he said he wanted to clear things with you.’

‘And I didn’t turn up,’ Liz said dully.

‘The next time I saw him he was a hospital case, and I was lying like a flat fish to a man called Stenning — you’ve met him.’

‘What’s he got to do with it?’

McGill told her about old Ben Ballard, the Ballard Trust and the task that had been laid upon Stenning. It took quite a while. He wound up by saying, ‘Even when Ian knew about Miller’s letter he told Stenning to go to hell. Stenning just told me that.’

‘He was prepared to give all that up?’ said Liz slowly.

‘Not because he didn’t want to hurt Charlie, but because he didn’t want to hurt you. Don’t blame Ian for anything. Anyway, it doesn’t matter any more. Stenning has evidence that Ian did walk over the Petersons in the end. He might suspect a fiddle but he can’t prove it, and because he’s a lawyer he’ll accept it.’ McGill smiled. ‘From something he said just now I rather think he likes it this way.’

‘Aren’t you cheating Stenning?’ asked Liz with a half smile.

‘Not really. I think old Ben was wrong. He said a man must have steel in him to run the Ballard Group but I think there are enough men of steel around — too many, perhaps. They’re going out of fashion. What the Group needs now is a man-manager, an administrator, a diplomat — and Ian is all of those. And if he needs any steel he’ll have it if he has a Peterson next to him.’

‘Oh, Mike, do you think...?’ Liz put her hand on McGill’s and her eyes were bright with unshed tears. ‘I’m torn, Mike. The police have taken Charlie away because of the avalanche and...’

‘No!’ said McGill sharply. ‘Not because of the avalanche. That hasn’t been proved — and may never be.’

‘Then why?’

‘Ian intended to meet you last night but, instead, he got Charlie. Stenning saw them at the hotel. And Charlie beat Ian half to death in the car park, probably when he was on his way to look for you. There was no car accident. The police were waiting to arrest Charlie for assault as soon as he came out of the hall.’

Liz was as pale as she had been when McGill had first seen her in the church after the avalanche. He said gently, ‘He had to be stopped, Liz. I’ve often wondered what would have happened if he and I had gone that extra two hundred feet up the west slope after the avalanche and I’d seen those ski tracks. I think, maybe, there’d have been another avalanche victim. He’s strong enough to have torn me in half. He had to be stopped and I took the quickest way I knew.’

Liz sighed shudderingly. ‘I knew he was violent and had his strange ways, and I knew they were becoming worse. But not as bad as this. What will become of him, Mike?’

‘He’ll be all right. There’ll be people to look after him. I don’t think he’ll stand trial for anything. He’s beyond that, Liz — way beyond. You saw him this afternoon — you know what I mean. Harrison said as much, too.’

She nodded. ‘So it’s all over.’

‘It’s over,’ he agreed. ‘My masters want me to go south to the the ice. They’ve put up a geodesic dome at the South Pole — Buckminster Fuller strikes again — and they want a snowman to check the foundations.’

McGill leaned back in his chair and picked up his glass. He said casually, ‘Ian is in the Princess Margaret Hospital — third floor. The Ward Sister is a tough old bird called Quayle but if you say you are Ian’s fiancee she might let you...’

He became aware he was talking to thin air. ‘Hey, you haven’t finished your drink!’

But Liz was halfway across the room on her way, and beside her Victor trotted, his tail waving in a proud plume.