The Kiwi Target

“Not pretty—badly burned.”
    “Any chance he’s still alive?”
    “None. The body’s pretty far gone.” He took a deep breath. “Do you want me to get him out?”
    Instead of answering, Woodley went across the lawn to where the doctor was still working over the big form of Jack McHugh. “How about it?” he asked.
    The doctor shook his head. “I’ve got to get him into hospital as soon as possible. I’m trying to stabilize him first, but it’s proving difficult.”
    “If you can rig a litter, I’ll take him,” the pilot volunteered. “Thanks, Mark,” the doctor answered. “I’ll fix something.” Peter went quickly to where Tom and Derek were waiting with the four men who had come to help. “We need a litter for Jack,” he said. “One that can fit in the helicopter. Have we got anything?”
    “Yes, Mr. Ferguson, we’ve got most things we might need,” Derek answered. As he and Tom went for the litter, Peter returned to where Jack was lying. “They’re bringing something,” he said.
    The doctor merely nodded. He lifted a plastic container and spoke to one of the constables, who was intently watching. “Here, hold this.”
    Peter looked again toward Louise and saw that Woodley and the other constable had taken the prisoner in charge. The man was protesting loudly in a thick accent, “Keep those damned cuffs off me—me bleedin’ arm’s broken!”
    “We’ll have the doctor look at you—when he’s finished elsewhere,” Woodley said. “Meanwhile, you’re under arrest: attempted murder and arson. More charges to be added later.” He turned his flashlight into the man’s face. “Edward Riley,” he said. “I’ve seen your photo often enough.”
    After searching the prisoner for possible additional weapons, he gave instructions. “Hold him here until the doctor’s free to look at his arm. Don’t talk to him, and don’t let him move one foot off this spot.”
    That done, he went to where Peter was standing and dropped a hand on his bare shoulder. “You showed some good form tonight,” he began then stopped abruptly when Peter could not avoid a sharp wince of pain. “What happened to your shoulder?” he asked.
    “The tackle. I hit him pretty hard.”
    “We’ll have the doctor look at that. Stay here while I speak to him.”
    At that moment Tom hurried up with a canvas litter. Under the doctor’s supervision Jack was carefully lifted onto it and carried over to the helicopter. The senior constable walked alongside, holding up the solution bottle and the tube that led down to Jack’s arm. It took some time to put the litter into the machine in a safe and reasonably comfortable position. Jack’s bulk made things much more difficult, but as soon as the problem had been solved, the pilot started the engine and lifted off in less than a minute.
    As the helicopter climbed and turned toward Queenstown, the senior constable took over the duty of guarding Riley. Woodley spoke to the doctor, who came over at once to Peter. “I’ll have a look at that shoulder now,” he declared. With his fingers he explored carefully and with surprising gentleness, keeping the necessary added pain to a minimum. “You’ve got a fracture there, my lad,” he said. “I’ve got to call the hospital about Jack. I want you there too for X-rays. Get some clothes on if you can; if not, wrap yourself in a blanket.”
    “I’ll look after him,” Louise said. Leaving Peter no room for argument, she led the way into the house.
    When Peter went outside again, he found that the first hints of dawn were in the sky. The alarm bell rang once more, and an ambulance unit came rolling in. The doctor strode briskly toward the vehicle and spoke to the two men inside. “We have two deceased,” he said. “I’ve verified that. One is pretty messy; he burned up in a car wreck. You’ll have to get him out.”
    “We’ve done it before,” the driver said, and opened the door. The doctor took advantage of a few free moments to speak to Peter. “In a situation of this kind, I have to see to the most severely injured first. The look of the car told me that anyone inside had to be dead. There would be no living through that blaze. If Louise had shot him, then he was almost certainly dead before the car hit the tree.”
    “She’s good with a rifle,” Peter said.
    “You can believe that, even in a bad light. Now I have to see to the prisoner, although I doubt his arm’s broken.”
    As soon as the doctor