The Kiwi Target

was a moderately high bank on the east side of the road, just as he had remembered it. He went back to the inspector and reported. “This is about where it happened, I think. I’m sorry I can’t be more exact.”
    When he was back inside the car, the inspector drove on very slowly, carefully scanning both sides of the road. Then he stopped. Peter did not see anything significant, but apparently the inspector did. When the policeman got out, he silently followed.
    Almost at once he realized that they were at the exact place where the thing had occurred. As recall flooded him, he began to shake. He could not control it, and his hands betrayed him with visible movement.
    The inspector laid a consoling hand on his shoulder. “I quite understand,” he said. “Perhaps you will feel better if I tell you that the victim was already dead when he fell onto the bonnet of your car.“

CHAPTER 8

    Peter tried to grasp that, but it eluded him. “I don’t understand,” he said.
    Jarvis stood with his right hand in his raincoat pocket, looking down at the wet roadway. “The hospital told me that on first opinion the injuries the body sustained when it hit your car were not sufficient to cause death. Also, when you told your story to Sergeant Holcomb, and then to me, you made no mention of an outcry. A man falling like that would certainly scream or possibly yell: it would be an instinctive reaction.”
    Peter was freshly aware of the rain coming down on his head. “You’re right,” he said. “I didn’t hear anything. But 1 didn't think of that.”
    “No one would expect you to. One more point: you didn’t run over the man; your car only knocked him aside. That’s most unlikely to cause instantaneous death, yet you said twice that from the moment you got out to give assistance, he made no sound or gave any other sign of life.”
    Up until that moment, Peter had not thought very highly of policemen. To him they were men who gave out traffic tickets and usually failed to catch burglars. Now he faced the fact that Jarvis had made two very sound deductions that he himself had entirely missed.
    As the inspector turned the car around, the other two men were taking equipment out of the back of their vehicle. Jarvis waited a few moments while they checked the side of the embankment. When they started climbing up, he seemed satisfied and began to move away.
    A huge sense of relief coursed through Peter: by the grace of God he had not killed anyone after all. Freed of that numbing guilt, he was left with the realization that he had had a collision with a corpse. Unpleasant as that was, he could see no reason for him to be detained any longer. Hopefully he would soon be on his way, and no one would be likely to learn of the incident.
    "What’s my situation now?” he asked.
    “Not to worry,” Jarvis answered. “We may ask you to remain in Greymouth for a few hours, if you don’t mind. If it gets late, we’ll book a room for you in the hotel.”
    That was not what he had hoped to hear, but he would have to make the best of it. Mention of the time made him look at his watch; it was well after two. “What about lunch?” he inquired.
    “Yes, we should attend to that. I’ll take you to a suitable place.”
    Peter noticed there was no suggestion that they eat together.
    Forty minutes later, he emerged from a restaurant after eating a much larger lunch than he had intended. The rain having let up, he took his time walking back to the police station.
    Two officers he had not seen before were manning the day room, but they knew who he was. The man at the desk rose to his feet. “Inspector Jarvis is out, sir, and it’s uncertain when he’ll be back. He asked if you would be kind enough to check into the hotel just overnight. Your room is already booked, and you won’t be billed.”
    That was not good news, but considering the hour and the weather, he realized that it might be just as well to stay over in Greymouth. “Very well,” he said.
    He returned to his car and drove through a freshly misting rain to the hotel. He was given an adequate if dated room, where he stretched out on the bed to rest. After all that he had just been through, he could use it.
    After dinner, he returned to his room without even a book to read. He went to bed early, hoping for some undisturbed sleep.
    He awoke early to find his room cold and depressing. As he dressed, he consoled himself with the thought that within an hour or two he should be