The Kiwi Target

said. “We’re quite used to keeping confidences, in our line of work.”
    Since it was the only way to get himself out of trouble, Peter took the letter from his briefcase and handed it over.
    Winston put on a pair of glasses and began to read. He did so carefully, turning to the second page only after he had absorbed the first. Most of what the letter contained he undoubtedly already knew. How he had found out, Peter had no idea.
    When he had finished, the superintendent looked up. “How did you happen to draw this assignment, Peter?”
    “Partly because my mother came from New Zealand.”
    “I find that most interesting. What was her name?”
    “Harriet Oldshire, before she was married. I was still very young when she died. Leukemia.”
    I m sorry to hear that.Oldshire, you say—rather an odd name. Do you happen to know what part of the country she came from?”
    “The South Island, I think, but I don’t know for sure. After she passed away, my father was a different man. He could hardly ever bring himself to speak of her.”
    “Is he still living?”
    “No.”
    “Brothers or sisters?”
    A wave of bitterness touched him, and he yielded to it. “I’m surprised you don’t already know that. No, none.”
    “We didn’t check you out that thoroughly, Peter. I saw no need for it. I did happen on the fact that you’re divorced. Have you a new lady friend?”
    Peter shook his head; it was easier.
    The superintendent took off his glasses and tucked them away. “Of course you’re not to blame for the incident on the highway. You stopped and rendered assistance when others might have driven away, hoping to escape responsibility. We almost always find them out, but you probably didn’t know that.”
    “No, I didn’t.”
    “Now, Peter, you did a very unwise thing when you gave me an untruthful answer to an important question. I told you that I was going to lay on an investigation. Do you recall that?”
    “Yes,” Peter acknowledged. “I didn’t realize the importance of our conversation. Please accept my apology.”
    Winston considered that for a moment. “In view of your admission of error, I’ll excuse you this time, Peter. And I’ll not publish the reason why you’re here, even though your visa isn’t in order.”
    That was a great relief for Peter; he was out of the mess at last. But one thing still bothered him. “You told me that this matter was serious, beyond the fact that a man was killed,” he said. “Since I seem to be involved in some way, can you tell me any more about it?”
    Winston was cautious. “That’s a rather delicate question, Peter. Why do you think you’re involved?”
    “Yesterday, Inspector Jarvis told me that I’d acted properly and that I wasn’t responsible for the death of the man who was killed. That should have been enough to clear me right there. But I was still asked to stay here overnight, and now I’m being interviewed again about an incident that wasn’t my fault.”
    It was silent in the room for so long, Peter began to wonder if had just made another serious mistake. It was not his function to inquire into police business. Then Winston raised his head, almost with a jerk.
    “What you say is true, Peter; you’re involved more than you know. Perhaps it’s best you should be warned. But first, let me ask another question: do you intend to do anything beyond seeing Ray O’Malley, and possibly Mr. Bishop, while you’re here?”
    “I thought I might try to look up my relatives if there are any left. It’s probably my only chance.”
    There was a slight tap on the door, then a constable came in and handed the superintendent an envelope. “A message for Mr. Ferguson,” he said, and left.
    This time Peter’s presence of mind was with him. “Why don’t you read it?” he suggested.
    “It could be personal.”
    “I don’t know anyone here that well.”
    The superintendent tore open the envelope and read aloud:

RETURN IMMEDIATELY QUEENSTOWN AND REMAIN THERE PENDING INTERVIEW WITH O’MALLEY. DISTURBED YOUR INVOLVEMENT WITH POLICE.
    CHARLES

    “May I see that?” Peter asked. He took the form, read it carefully twice, and handed it back. “It’s a fake,” he said.
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes. I don’t know who sent it or why, but it isn’t from my boss.”
    Superintendent Winston gave him his full attention. “How can you tell?” he asked.
    “There’s a several hours time difference between here and our home office,” Peter