The First Few Frames

By GB Davies

Set in New Zealand, the plot twists around the existence of a secret sordid video. Jane finds out quickly that business is dirty, espionage and spying are rife. The stakes are high. Reputations are made and lost. Some have nothing to lose. Violence, Blackmail, Espionage and Sex abound. Jane Tillhurst is thrust into this volatile world when her father is tragically killed in a truck accident.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9780991297801

GB Davies

My publicist would have you believe that I am as close to perfect as you could get, have already made the New York Times Best Seller list, and lead a conservative and perfect little life.This author actually has a few vices; just the usual ones that most people have. To truly see reality let me paint you a picture. Artists and writers have been depicted over time as socially challenged loners who are ultimately driven to madness or drink, maybe both. Adding to this heady mix would be a daily over absorption of caffeine, nicotine and grape juice in the form of wine. Authors are individuals who are usually found bent over their typewriters, the scene lit only by a bare light bulb or oil lamp into the wee hours of the morning. Nocturnal creatures that sleep only by day ......So there you have it! At the present moment I am almost guaranteed to be typing and sipping red wine or coffee depending on the time of day ....

Book preview

One

1985

The truck rolled relentlessly across the high desert, tyres thrumming on the tarmac. The night was freezing. The frost was so hard that all the surface water had been turned to ice, leaving the thin air exceptionally clear, providing the driver with a spectacular view from his windows. The hard frost combined with the moonlight illuminating the landscape with soft white light made the frost covered ground gleam as if it was luminous. The Desert Road looked surreal. At least that’s what the driver thought as he drove onward.

The road shimmered, like a pewter ribbon in the moonlight, on and on to the hills at the end of the straight where it snaked up toward the heavens. The driver’s head was heavy, occasionally losing the battle with gravity, only to be jerked back up by a vicious shake. Once again he stretched and shook himself, eventually feeling more awake. He reached for the green thermos flask sitting on the passenger’s seat, and poured a full cup of coffee into the mug in the cup holder on the dashboard. After closing the thermos he returned to the mug and drank deeply, finally exhaling with a satisfied aaah...

The driver glanced up at the stars twinkling in the night sky above, the Milky Way directly above his windscreen shining brightly. He looked again at the road, at the pencil beams of his truck lights, thinking how insignificant his presence in the galaxy was. The sight of the stars gleaming brightly in the heavens both hurt and comforted him, prompting him to think about his beautiful wife and his equally beautiful daughter.

The stars reminded him of just how lonely he was without his wife. Her loss still hurt, despite the fact that two years had elapsed since her death. She had been his rock, and somehow being with her had made each day brighter, more fun and more tolerable. His wife had helped him build up their transport company from just one utility to ten trucks in the space of fifteen years. The company had flourished as government regulations allowed for long haul trucking, and the business had become very profitable. For once in their married lives they were flush with cash. The bliss however didn’t last long, for just when their life had seemed to be perfect his beloved wife came home from the doctor one evening and said in a matter of fact way over dinner that she had a lump in her breast. He remembered how panicked he’d felt at the announcement. It felt like the walls of his life were closing in as he’d realized the lump could be very serious.

Only a few days later his fears had come to fruition when he saw the tear stained pale face of his wife at the door of his office. He didn’t need to hear her words confirming the lump was indeed cancer.

His wife had been stoic, and believed she’d be able to beat the awful disease but, despite putting up a valiant fight she succumbed to her illness in just over a year.

He remembered that special night, the warm summer evening on the slopes of the mountain. The breeze had blown gently over their nakedness with a gentle caress, the feeling of her lips on his set his heart racing. He reveled in the feeling of fire in his belly, instantly ignited by her touch. He remembered the warmth, wetness and softness of her kiss, and being wrapped in the blanket after their loving, staring up at the glare of the Milky Way. How he missed the intense warmth and passion of their love. God he missed her so much, it still hurt to think of her. Sometimes he thought he could smell her scent, triggering his memories; the brush and the touch of her hair on his chest as she gently rose and fell to his rhythm on the night they had spent outside under the stars. The intense orgasm they had shared the night their daughter Jane was conceived. His eyes gently closed...

Damnit! Holy shit! I MUST stay awake!

He punched the steering wheel with his free hand as he screamed to himself, knowing he couldn’t sleep yet.

He turned up the radio and cracked the window open, hoping the fresh air would help to keep him alert. At the very least his shivering should stop him nodding off…..

A bump in the road jarred his conscience, sending a warning of the road conditions. His mind was now firmly in the present, he felt like hell. His entire life was going down the toilet because his company was in deep trouble. He was driving double shifts in an attempt to make extra money without the costs of paying additional wages. He knew he couldn’t go on like this for ever. The back taxes he owed weighed heavily on his mind, and he wasn’t sure that cutting the maintenance of the fleet would be enough to afford the extra payments to the tax department.

The truck belched smoke into the night as he changed down through the gears. It grumbled a deep growl as it struggled to climb the steep hill while dragging its load of heavy steel pipes. Glancing again at the stars above he said a silent prayer. He believed that one of the stars twinkling in the sky held the spirit of his beloved wife.

His daughter Jane was still coming to terms with her mother’s death, and despite his attempts to shield her from the pain, she was hurting badly. He struggled to get close to her but couldn’t break through her teenage defenses. He really didn’t understand how she felt or what she was going through. He simply didn’t know what to do for her.

As the truck struggled up the hill he thought about the conversation he needed to have with her. He hated the thought that his daughter wanted to join the trucking business and take over her mother’s role in the company. He could hardly believe that his daughter had turned out as an almost carbon copy of her mother, and not just in a physical resemblance. Mentally too, she had the same drive, determination and intelligence. The mental toughness she displayed was almost painful at times, he could never convince her that a different perspective or path was better. She should go to university, get a degree, go out and see the world the way kids do. Have some fun, come back home and settle down with a great bloke and raise a family ….

When I get home I’ll talk to her after dinner tomorrow evening……. the driver muttered to himself. He knew that convincing Jane would be very difficult; she was so stubborn and determined.

The truck, a massive Freightliner shuddered as it rolled over a hump in the road. The driver snapped out of his trance, instantly back to reality. He rubbed his hand over the stubble on his chin, then slapped himself hard to shake off any further temptation to sleep.

Christ its cold in here, he muttered as he shivered. He knew however that the cold would help keep him alert.

The rig made the top of the hill. Suddenly the huge truck shuddered again, and rendered a painful screeching sound. It was obviously more serious this time, clearly not caused by a bump in the road.

The driver looked desperately at the dashboard but noticed nothing amiss. He pushed the brake pedal to check the brake pressure; it seemed OK. He checked the mirrors, nothing amiss. He had no idea what could have caused the noise or shaking, but the fact that the screeching stopped, and the shuddering lessened made him think it might have been a rock wedged in his wheel or something he’d hit on the road. Still on edge he resolved to stop at the next lay-by and check the rig. The driver wriggled in his seat, placed his hand back on the gear lever, ready to tackle the long descent ahead of him.

Suddenly the cab shook violently and the truck lurched and slewed towards the bank. Fighting desperately to hold the truck on course the driver mashed his foot down hard on the brake.

The pedal went straight to the floor without any resistance. Nothing there! FUCK! he exclaimed.

The truck was now out of control, gathering speed down the slope of the hill. It swerved all over the road, taking up both lanes while the driver struggled valiantly to control the runaway beast. The truck hit the bank with a massive crunch, but such was the momentum generated by the impact that it bounced back onto the road and headed for a ninety degree corner with a large drop on the far side of the barrier.

The driver realized that it was now impossible to control the truck. He looked desperately for a place to jump out of the cab, to escape from the massive monster now heading for certain destruction. He opened the door, hesitated a moment ready to jump as, at the same instant, a large section of the crash barrier speared off its post, slamming into the driver’s door with such force that the driver was instantly rendered unconscious. The truck continued on its path to oblivion, its momentum undiminished by the thin metal barrier. It plunged over the cliff and plummeted to the bottom of the ravine hundreds of metres below.

The only visible evidence the truck or driver had ever existed was a missing section of the barrier, gaping like a missing tooth in a perfect mouth.

Chapter Two

Waiouru is a desolate town, a town with a military base, a few gas stations, a truck stop and a couple of shops supporting the tourist buses that pass through. Blink and you miss it, the town is only about one block in any direction. It straddles a road aptly named State Highway One because it’s the only highway running the length of New Zealand. The road itself is nothing remarkable, a two lane tar seal strip with minimal areas for passing; the opposing traffic optimistically separated by a painted line. What is remarkable is the countryside the road travels through, ranging from verdant lakeside to high desert plateau some fifteen hundred meters in altitude in the space of only fifty kilometres.

While known as the Desert Road, the countryside is not as barren and sandy as one might expect to find in somewhere like New Mexico, but rather a contrast in hues of brown and fawn, with tussock grasses standing on dark rocky volcanic soil. The landscape is fanned by an almost constant wind, blurring the vista into a myriad of colours without boundaries. The scene more reminiscent of a painted movie backdrop, one of magnificent high jagged volcanic peaks capped in crisp white snow rising straight from the desert floor. The rushing cold air, best described as bracing, deters all but the most determined and fit, and few stop to explore the rugged landscape.

The Ministry of Transport officer was bored out of his skull. He’d been patrolling the same road for many hours. Sometimes, when the sun shone, the light was so stark that everything stood out as if exposed to the bright lights of a movie set. He’d thought many times about how beautiful it was.

Not today however. Right now the place was just grey, grey and more grey. The thick mist clung to the mountains, stopping to hover fifteen meters or so above the desert floor. Here the mist particles seemed to separate and fly away, leaving space for a thin murky light to penetrate and provide about five car lengths visibility at road level.

Luckily he was nearing the end of his shift. The sky was lightening. Soon he could go home to his breakfast, and sit in front of a warm fire to watch the replay of the weekend rugby he’d recorded on his VCR. His job today consisted of driving about fifty five kilometres as far as the next town, doing a U turn and driving the same road in the reverse direction. The only potential break in the monotony was the occasional speedster or breakdown. Today however the speedsters had stayed at home and the vehicles traveling the road had been uncharacteristically reliable.

He scratched his head, then adjusted the heater controls in an effort to crank out a little more warmth. As he peered out the windscreen he couldn’t help but feel somewhat moody.

His focus snapped back to the road, pushing all thoughts of hot soup and rugby out of his mind.

The unrolling scene before his eyes made him feel about as sombre as a mourner. He longed to be transferred back to his home town of Auckland and get the hell out of this remote and rugged region.

Fucking grey on grey!

As the Ministry of Transport Highway Patrol car cruised up the hill through the swirling tendrils of mist the patrolman swigged his coffee, distracted once more. No matter how hard he tried he couldn’t help but think about rugby, hot soup, warmer climates, beaches and bikini clad babes. Suddenly the mist cleared and he noticed a portion of barrier missing.

Damn! How did I miss that!

He pulled the patrol car onto the left shoulder of the road, straddling the solid white line that warned of the steep gutter beyond. He turned on the patrol cars twin flashing red lights and climbed out. Opening the boot he grabbed the ‘ACCIDENT’ signs, then walked and jogged three hundred meters back down the road to place the warning sign where oncoming motorists would see it and be made aware of the possible accident ahead. Returning to the car he approached the cliff edge cautiously, looking carefully down the vertical slope to try to establish exactly what had caused the barrier to disappear.

Christ he said as his eyes were assaulted by the scene at the bottom of the ravine. He could see what looked like the cab of a truck and two trailers. They were identifiable only by the upturned wheels, buried loosely beneath a tangled mess of pipes, the whole lot smashed, twisted and tangled like a game of pickup sticks after the drop.

As he moved along the ridge and peered further over the steep cliff edge he noticed what appeared to be the body of a man hanging in the upper branches of a tree about halfway down the slope. The man looked very, very dead.

A door which had been torn from the truck leant against another tree about ten metres down the slope. The white lettering on the door stood out in stark relief against the dark paint;

‘JT Freight Limited - Driver: Jack Tillhurst’

Christ! It’s Jacks truck! he muttered, Damn! It must be Jack down there too!

He peered at the twisted corpse tangled in the tree some hundred metres below the gap in the guard rail, and even though he strained his eyes he couldn’t identify the face. He figured it would be a difficult job to recover the body and any identification would have to wait for later.

He walked back to his patrol car in an even darker mood, realizing he probably knew the dead man. He reached inside the car, grabbed the radio microphone and called the accident in, requesting a fire crew, ambulance and police to attend. It looked like it was going to be an even longer shift than he thought.

Chapter Three

The day in Auckland, New Zealand’s largest city was no better. Auckland was dark and gloomy. So gloomy in fact that one needed the lights on inside the house to see anything at all. The rain was torrential, and somehow jammed in between the raindrops was a mist that hung like smoke, further decreasing the available light. The noise on the corrugated iron roof was deafening, the constant barrage drowning out all other sounds. The water streamed from the overflowing gutters and pooled on the flat land around the house then ran off down the driveway forming a small and shallow rapid.

Jane didn’t notice the white car slowly pull into her driveway and stop outside the front door. The car had blue lights on the roof and the markings ‘POLICE’ in blue lettering down its flanks.

Jane walked over to the stereo and turned up the volume because the din on the roof threatened to outplay her favourite song, then danced carelessly around the dining room with her hand forming a grip on an imaginary microphone. She sang as loud as she could, safe in the knowledge that no one could hear her over the rain drumming on the roof.

Harvey I can’t do this. You’ll have to. I know the girl, um, and the dead guy too … You do it eh?

Damn you! You think I enjoy these kinds of calls? I don’t want to do this either! I know them too! The girl’s all alone now. We should have a policewoman with us, you know the rules. It’s going to be a fucking hard one. She’ll probably freak out!

Come on man! I can’t, so you’ll just have to!

Damn it! Guess if you can’t then I will! You know you’re a fucking wimp. You need to grow some balls mate!

Harvey struggled to get out of the car, he was heavyset and close to retirement. With his moustache, several chins, and pot belly he shuffled toward the house, feeling too old and unfit for the heavy burden he was carrying. The other Policeman got out of the car without a struggle. He was slimmer, younger, in his mid-thirties. He was clean shaven with alert green eyes but he too looked as if a heavy weight was on his shoulders.

Both men clutched their waterproof jackets close as they splashed toward the porch and the front door of the house. Harvey looked in distain at the level of the water on his shiny black boots, he shook one foot then the other like a cat as they stepped out of the torrent and made their way up the steps and on to the wide wooden veranda, finally stopping in front of the large glass paned door of the old wooden house. The building was easily a hundred years old with large double hung bay windows. The once proud house now looked sadly faded, the white paint grey, and once bright blue trimmings