“Betty and I found messages and photos from a few different employees that show Thrasher’s hosting farm parties. Parties that are pretty regular and pretty exclusive to him and his mates. And the only other workers that are ever invited are young, female, and don’t seem to have ever been in the Thompson Farm pay system.”
Silence reverberates around our circle. I feel like someone’s punched me in the stomach.
“How young?” I’ve only heard that edge to Davis’s voice once before. The night that old dude took a swing at me. I shiver, and his hand wraps around my shoulder briefly before dropping away, and I suddenly feel twice as devastated.
“Young,” Betty says coolly. “These assholes aren’t too good at framing their photos, so you can tell there’s alcohol and drugs, but other than Ada’s recording of Grace, we don’t have any hard evidence for the sexual exploitation side of things.”
“Hang on, those guys aren’t all, like,sex criminals,” Colin says.
We all look at him, and he holds up his hands. “I know how it sounds, but I swear these guys aren’t like that. Booze and drugs are one thing, but what you’re talking about… Look, we can’t make assumptions here…”
“You can’t consent when you’re under the influence,” I point out. “Or if you’re underage. Doesn’t matter what comes out of your mouth.”
“Especially if someone’s holding your fucking passport hostage,” Ada snarls. “Or is that another assumption, Col?”
Colin looks to Jake, who stares back, stone-faced andunsmiling. Then he lowers his hands.
“Yeah, okay,” he says, sounding defeated. “I saw the passports. I know you girls are probably right about all this. It’s just…”
“… Shit to think your old mates are predators,” Jake finishes. His voice is tight, and I have to remind myself that despite the James Bond antics this weekend, he and Colin and the farm guys have been friends for over twenty years.
“Yeah, it is,” Colin says sadly. “Really shit.”
“Still, though, mate. There’s no defending them anymore. They did what they did. It is what it is.”
“Interpersonal relationships aside,” Ada pipes up. “There’s no stopping this train, even if you wanted to defend Thrasher and Co on the basis of being ‘good blokes’ or whatever. We’ve got enough hard evidence to spark a full police investigation and that’s all there is to it. The Chamber of Commerce and New Zealand Immigration will have to get involved at some point, but Betty and I think we should kick this thing off by going right to the Pukekohe cops.”
Mrs. Muldoon shakes her head. “We can’t. Mr. Thompson is friends with half the station, and they’re always light-handed with locals.”
“True,” Jake grimaces and Ada twists in his lap to look at him. “What did they let you off with?”
“Indecent exposure. But I’d like to point out it was streaking, and I was twenty.”
“Classic rugby player.” Ada presses a kiss against his cheek, and he grins, worship in his eyes.
“Bryan.” Colin looks at Jake. “Bryan Ogilvy. He’s a cop, and he’s honest enough, from what I’ve heard.”
Jake winces. “He hates me.”
“He does. Which is why he’d probably be keen to hear all our so-called mates are actually cunts who should be hauled in for questioning.”
“Why does he hate you?” I ask Jake.
“Banged his missus?” Betty guesses.
Pink steals up Jake’s neck. “His sister.”
Ada laughs. “Classic rugby player.”
“How do we get ahold of Bryan without going to the station, Col?” Jake asks loudly.
“He lives down the street from me,” Colin replies. “His wife’s friends with my missus. We can pop over and see him at his place.”
“Great,” Betty says, tapping away at her screen. “Next step is to go to the media and try and get enough exposure so the cops and the farmers can’t sweep this under the rug.”
Ada nods. “The sooner the better. Does anyone know any journos they trust enough to speak to?”
Betty salutes, without looking up from her screen. “Vanessa Grey at theNew Zealand Herald.”
