Chapter 7

Arriving separately at the Central Police Station just before 11, Sonia and Roy were each escorted to the 7th floor. When both had arrived, they were shown into Superintendent Bryant’s office.

“Miss Street, thank you for coming,” the Superintendent said, rising from his chair. “And this is...?”

“This is Roy Burke, Superintendent — my ‘co-conspirator’, as you put it.”

“Ah, yes. I believe I’ve heard your name before. Something to do with construction?”

“That’s right, sir. I’m the owner of Reliabuild Construction.”

“Thank you for coming as well. Please, take a seat.”

When they had done so, the Superintendent paused for a moment, as though weighing his words.

“To begin with, this conversation is strictly off the record. If anything formal follows, you’ll be interviewed by detectives, not myself. I’m treating this as an exploratory discussion, because this isn’t the sort of situation we’ve encountered before.

“For now, I’m keeping an open mind. But be aware: there may be grounds for arresting you both. That decision won’t necessarily rest with me — I”ll need to consult legal counsel and my superiors in Wellington.

“Still, I’d like to understand how this ... event came about. You’re under no obligation to incriminate yourselves, and nothing you say here will be used as evidence against you. But it may help shape what happens next. Are you both willing to proceed on that basis?”

They nodded their assent.

The Superintendent got straight to the point. “How did this start?”

Roy gave a concise account of the plan’s genesis, making it clear the idea had been his, not Sonia’s. Her role had mainly been to gather intelligence on which suburb the racers were likely to target. The strategy involved placing heavy machinery operators in the surrounding streets. Once the racers arrived, the machines moved in to block escape routes, then slowly advanced to trap the cars.

The ensuing mayhem, he explained, resulted from the racers’ own panic — drivers tried unsuccessfully to flee and, in the process, crashed into machinery or each other, rendering their vehicles immobile. The heavy machines then withdrew, leaving local police to manage the aftermath — a task made far easier with the racers being unable to go anywhere.

Sonia added that a tip-off from a disillusioned crew member had allowed both her film crew and Roy’s operators to be in place early. She carefully omitted, however, that some senior police had acted on her suggestion to delay their response to the racers and instead target likely burglary sites — a tactic which had also proved effective.

Superintendent Bryant managed to suppress a few grins at the audacity of the scheme. Privately, he admitted some relief that the operation had succeeded without injury or damage to anything other than the racers’ cars — definitely a mark in the pair’s favour.

“This is something quite unique in my thirty years on the force,” he said. “I’ve never heard of anything like it — here or overseas.

“Legally, there are issues. Property damage laws are clear — particularly where intent is involved. It could be argued that by boxing the racers in, you provoked the damage. On the other hand, it could be just as valid to argue they brought it on themselves.

“One way or another, this will end up in court. There’s no doubt we’ll be throwing the book at the racers — but you didn’t hear me say that.

“As for you two — well, it’s uncharted territory. Thank you for coming in and speaking frankly. I strongly advise you to tell no one about this meeting. You don’t want to make an enemy of me. You’ll hear what happens next, in due course.”

He rose, signalling the conversation was over, and escorted them to the door.

“Whew,” said Roy and Sonia in unison as they emerged into the corridor.

“Come back to my place,” Roy said. “Let’s talk about where we go from here.”

They stepped into the lift. Without realising it at first, their hands found each other’s. But as the lift doors opened, they let go, a little sheepishly, and headed for their separate cars.

The aroma of Celia’s homemade pizza wafted through Roy’s kitchen, cutting through the tension in the room. Around the table Roy, Sonia, Anne, and Celia, sat each with a slice on their plate and more questions than answers in their minds.

Roy and Sonia recounted the events at Police Headquarters — Supt Bryant’s cautious yet not unsympathetic tone, the lack of any formal charges so far, and his warning to remain silent about the meeting.

“We’re in limbo,” Roy said, pushing his crust to the side. “Until the higher-ups decide what to do, there’s not much we can plan for.”

“Except stay quiet,” Sonia added. “He was crystal clear on that point.”

Anne folded her arms. “Would have been nice to know this was coming,” she said, her tone tight. “I’ve had calls from suppliers and one of our subbies asking what the hell’s going on. I didn’t know what to tell them.”

Roy grimaced. “I’m sorry, Anne. That’s on me. I should have looped you in.”

“You think?” Anne raised an eyebrow but let the moment pass. “Just don’t make a habit of it. I don’t like being blindsided.”