The Kiwi Target

On top of that, he remembered that others were also interested in that particular piece of property—Susie had told him so. Peter Ferguson represented a very successful and highly regarded construction company.
    Since Winston somehow knew about him, Kincaid, then he possibly also knew about Pricane. But how?
    The hostess interrupted him to say that Mr. Winston was wanted on the telephone. The stocky man excused himself, rose quickly, and left the room.
    The unexpected respite gave Kincaid time to think. First off, he examined the possibility that the damnable man had somehow learned that Swarthmore and Stone was soon to be a Pricane subsidiary.
    He had told Susie that his company was in the land development business, but he had carefully mentioned no name. He quickly probed every angle, and got nowhere.
    Looking back, he realized how deftly he had been picked up at the bar. Score one for Winston on that; he was an operator— as smooth as the most expensive girls in São Paulo. If he represented the other people who wanted that piece of land, he was a dangerous opponent.
    Swiftly he assessed his own position. He had told Winston that he didn’t know Ferguson, which was perfectly true. There was no way Winston could prove any connection between them except through Pricane, and Lloyd would never leak that kind of information. His own confidential documents were in his room, in his security briefcase. No one without the right custom key, or some special equipment, could open it.
    After three minutes, Winston came back and sat down with a cheerful apology. “Awfully sorry. Very rude of me, but it couldn’t be helped.”
    Kincaid took the opening. “What is your work?” he asked. Winston looked mildly surprised. “Not very exciting, I f ear Mostly just dull routine with the police. Reams of paper work ” Kincaid kept the initiative. “I’m not familiar with police rank here, so I can’t guess yours.”
    “Superintendent. That sounds impressive, but it’s a long way from the top—a very long way.” He signaled to the waitress and requested that the coffee cups be refilled. “What’s your work?”
    Kincaid knew that the ball had landed back in his court, “I'm in the land development business, Superintendent Winston.”
    “Do you have a professional interest in New Zealand?”
    “Yes, and for good reason.” He resumed his easy manner, and his words came without effort. “We’re a very old firm with a solid reputation. Long before ecology became prominent, we established a policy of always building to suit the environment. I’m not saying that we intend to build anything here right now, but if we ever do, it would be a source of local pride—not hostility.”
    “That’s highly commendable, Mr. Kincaid. What are you commonly called?”
    “Ted.”
    “Fine, Ted. My first name is Hubert, but I avoid using it; Winston is really a lot easier.”
    “Then Winston it is.”
    “Excellent. Now, Ted, you didn’t answer my question about Peter Ferguson.”
    “I told you, Winston, that I don’t know any Peter Ferguson.” The superintendent leaned back and looked a little hurt. “Ted, after showing such fine reasoning powers, I really expected better than that from you. Now let me ask you directly: how long has Peter Ferguson been with Swarthmore and Stone?”
    “Offhand, I don’t know.”
    The moment the words were out, Kincaid realized how neatly he had been trapped. He had admitted that he did know of Peter Ferguson, which put the lie to his own denial. He had walked right into it, and Winston had him by the short hair.
    “How long have you been a policeman?” he asked, trying to recover the initiative.
    “A little over twenty years. Now, Ted, it is a serious thing to be untruthful to a police officer, even in an unofficial conversation. Let me caution you most earnestly not to do it again.”
    Kincaid pretended to be annoyed. “Frankly, Winston, I don’t see the point of all this. I told you that as far as I know I’ve never met any Peter Ferguson, and you have my word on it.” Winston didn’t turn a hair. “I didn’t ask you if you’d met him, I asked how well you knew him. I’ll concede that when I first asked you, I hadn’t identified myself and you had every right to turn me aside. However, your statement of a moment ago that you didn’t know any Peter Ferguson wasn’t correct.”
    “You have no basis for a remark like that,” Kincaid said. Winston took a deep breath, held it a