The Pregnant Virgin

By Robert W Fisk

After 13 year old Wyatt Roeske tells the police about sexual abuse in a Children’s Home, he is brutally tortured. His complaints are ignored. Also in Bernard Benson Children’s Home, Raewyn Urquhart is sixteen and pregnant but she does not know how that happened. Richard finds several similar cases. Some women describe bright lights and green men, others have no idea how they became pregnant. . The mothers are told by Dr Morrison that their babies died at birth. While involved in finding the truth, Richard becomes a target for a sophisticated international network of people traffickers.

"You have a great way with words, Robert. You also give just enough background to places and events without letting them overpower the plot. Once again thank you. I am happy to read any future books that you wrote and give you feedback." Gael Trevathan

• Language: English
• Publisher: Robert W Fisk
• Release date: Nov 9, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463626870

Robert W Fisk

Robert lives in Mosgiel, a small town near Dunedin, New Zealand. Robert has been a primary and secondary teacher and school Principal, and later was a Senior Manager of Special Programmes at the University of Otago Language Centre. His writing has been mainly research papers and reports, and while in Brunei Darussalam, a series of dramatised Radio Brunei scripts. He has always enjoyed reading light fiction and now turns his hand to writing it with six published books.

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THE PREGNANT VIRGIN

Robert W Fisk

Copyright © 2018 by Robert W Fisk

Cover design © 2018 by Foxburr Publishing, 13 Armadale Street, Mosgiel, New Zealand 9024.

Cover art from Pexel.com

NO PART OF THIS BOOK may be reproduced or used in any manner without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be resold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favourite ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Fiction Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

PART 1.  LANGKAWI

THE FISHERMAN

HAJI IBRAHIM LIVED in Malaysia, on the island of Langkawi, close to the border with Thailand.  He was called Haji because he had been to Mecca; he was a pilgrim who had achieved his life’s ambition.  He had saved for many years for the money so that he could go to Mecca, and now he was saving so that his son Ali would also make his pilgrimage.  First, he had to get his daughter married.  That would take much of his savings but now Ali was earning money from the tourists, they should be able to save the money for the tickets before too  long.

His family had owned land beside the river for generations. They had always been fisher folk.  While he fished with a seine net and ran a fish farm, most of Ibrahim’s income came from tourism.  He was paid good money to feed the birds so they would be there when the boats from upriver came bearing hundreds of orang putih, white people from the cruise ships. 

To Ibrahim, the birds were a nuisance for they stole the fish that came to the surface to feed.  They did, however, catch the water snakes, for which Ibrahim thanked Allah, especially for taking the snakes with a venomous bite.  Although they made a good meal, he did not resent giving the harmless snakes to the birds,.  He secretly admired the birds as they caught the snakes, because they had to either dive very fast and risk going completely under the water, or they had to dive down and then skim the surface.  At speed, that required great skill. 

As well as fishing with a seine net, Ibrahim owned a fish farm.  This comprised several open tanks where fish could come to be fed.  After three feeds they were regular visitors.  They would keep coming back again and again until a restaurant gave an order.  Then Ibrahim or his children would close the barrier to the lagoon and catch the required fish.  One of Ibrahim’s sons, the older one, Ali, was with him this day.  His daughter, Fatma, was at home.  Although his daughter Fatma was now twenty, she was still at home and unmarried.  She would have to find a husband soon or Ibrahim would find one for her.  She was very clever and wanted to be a doctor or a nurse, but Ibrahim could not afford to waste money on a girl’s education.

Ibrahim saw the body before Ali did.  It must have been dead for a while because it had floated to the surface where the birds would get it.  He could have saved money on chickens had he known. By the look of the fair hair it was an orang putih, not the first to drown in this treacherous river, and not the first that Ibrahim had found.  Once he made the mistake of telling the police.  That wasted a lot of his time and caused him a lot of bother because it had been a gang killing and the gang did not want the body to be found.  It should have drifted out to sea, but some freak current had held it captive in the wide lagoon.

Being an orang putih, the man might have foolishly been swimming, but his body did not seem to be almost naked as the orang putih swimmers preferred.  He was wearing a shirt, a western shirt with a collar.  The man must have fallen from a boat or been thrown in the water to drown.  If he had fallen from a boat, there would have been a search.  The cruise ships were very strict about everyone going back to the ship so he had not fallen overboard; he had been thrown in the water to drown.  The police would come to the same conclusion and would rule death by misadventure, a handy description that covered everything from slipping under the water to being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Ibrahim looked around at the cliffs on his side of the lagoon, white cliffs of limestone that rose up from the water making the river curve around them before the river could flow into the sea.  The man might have been thrown from the jungle above the cliffs, but that was unlikely. There were no paths or tracks up there. He looked across to the right hand river bank, where the trees came down to the water.  Ibrahim knew a creek that fed the river, and a jungle track leading through the jungle.  That would be the best place to throw a man into the water.

Ali called out and waved towards the body, which was about fifty metres away.  Ibrahim waved his hand to show he had seen the white man.  He kept the boat moving slowly in the water until he had gone past.  There was no point in hurrying.  The man would still be there later. 

Finish the job, Ali, said Ibrahim.  He did not want to get involved and wished Ali had not noticed the body.  He drove the boat on slowly so that Ali could throw out the chicken pieces evenly for the birds to spread their feeding line as far as possible.  He did this job every second day and every second day the birds wheeled around high in the sky.  It seemed such a waste of good food; there was nothing wrong with the pieces of meat.  There were no tourists yet.  They would not come for another month.  By then the sky would be full of birds and the river would be full of boats, with orang putih and cameras and noise.  There would be no more fishing until the cruising season was over.  Allah be praised he had the fish farm. Ali threw the last of the chicken bodies into the water.  The birds were already swooping in the boat’s wake as Ibrahim curved the boat to bring it back to the man in the water.  As they neared him, the man waved his arm.  Tolong saya? asked the man weakly. Help me.

PART 2. RICKMANSWORTH

THE PRINCIPAL IS MISSING.

HELLO RICHARD.

The carefully enunciated tones told me that my caller was Virginia Wood, Director of the Ministry of Education for the South Island of New Zealand.  Virginia was a little older than my forty four, and was busy bringing up two teenage boys on her own.  Her husband had been stupid enough to leave her for someone younger, who probably had more energy for marital arts than Virginia, whose day job was exhausting. 

Virginia had been at school with me, but in my father's class, while I had been taught by my mother in the Infant Room.  Virginia had always been like an older sister to me. I knew she would look out for me and she knew she could trust me implicitly.  She often asked me for advice on child care and on school administration, even though I only had one child, a daughter, and had left teaching three years ago after successfully running a high school. 

Virginia was not just an administrator;  she liked getting out into the field.  She had gone to Middle Creek with me to protect a young girl from an overly zealous Welfare Officer and was beside me when a car bomb set by a paranoid Irishman exploded, killing the man in front of us.

Hello Virginia.

Richard, are you free to do a little job for me?  Virginia made it sound like a tap washer needed changing, just like her last simple request that had nearly killed us both.

Anything legal, nothing that breaks the law, I replied.

I had not had my contract with Dunedin University renewed.  Technically, I was unemployed.  I made my living by teaching on supply, any level from Juniors to University, and by temporarily replacing senior managers.  When nobody was sick, pregnant or doolally, I worked for my wife Alex in her expanding retail business. I also had a secret on call job that my wife Alex knew little about.

I have two issues.  A missing principal, and some missing girls.

A missing principal was not uncommon.  There is a sad old joke that goes: Mum, I don't want to go to school today.  The kids all laugh at me and the teachers hate me.

You have to go, son. You're forty years old and the Principal.

Corny but credible. 

No.  Not another missing Principal.  The last time I looked for a missing Principal, I got hit on the head and disappeared for a week.  Tell me about missing girls.

Girls leave but do not appear in another school.  Nor do they earn money that is taxed.  They don't have a Welfare Benefit either.  Then some months later, they reappear.

New Zealand has a centralised education system.  Virginia was one of only four Regional Directors.  As such she was privy to information denied to lesser beings such as me.

Give me some names and I'll track them down, I said.

I don't get names. I get statistics, said Virginia.  After four weeks' absence they are taken off a school roll.  When they reappear I get told X number had one, two or five or six months or a year's absence.  Rickmansworth is worth checking out because Bernard Benson Children's Home is nearby and I suspect they are moving kids around to alter the numbers in particular schools.

Roll fraud. Claim grants they are not entitled to, I said.

Precisely. And now the Principal is missing, said Virginia.

Doesn't look good, I said. Doesn't school go back soon?

On Tuesday, said Virginia.  Marjorie Maxwell arranged for a preparation meeting on Friday but failed to turn up for it.  Staff rang her home, and then the local office who asked me to find her.

So you asked me, I finished.

Go there, organise classes for the new year, get the place running, said Virginia.  Then in your spare time, check the Rickmansworth primary and secondary school records for unexplained lengthy absences.  Get some names to follow up on.  Marjorie is a dedicated teacher.  There is no way she would ever fake school numbers. But something is wrong in that school.

Will I be paid on contract, salary or by the hour?

Principal's salary plus a consultation fee of twenty percent.

That was a good amount of money, but how long for?

I'll pay a minimum of two weeks, said Virginia. Can Alex spare you that long?

I think my work for her is charity to make me feel useful, I said.

Oh. I forgot. You are also short of a teacher. Don't know for how long.

Starting a school year is hard work. When a school is a teacher short, the Principal normally takes the class.  That would be me.  Suddenly Virginia's offer did not look quite so attractive; plus, the records that needed to be looked through for students with extended absences, probably mainly in the nearby high school, would take much time and energy.

You know I love a challenge, I said.  It was not a sexual innuendo.  I had recently had my chance, and I had made my choice.

How is Alex, by the way?  At times Virginia could read my mind.

Busy but happy, I replied.  And she sends her regards.

I could never tell women's true feelings towards each other, especially when I was involved. We said our goodbyes and I rang Alex.

Go for it, she said.  What can go wrong?

There’s many a true word spoken in jest, especially by Alex.  Actually, Jo does that too, now she is all grown up.  I did not know that the decision to go to Rickmansworth would lead to my being hunted by the police and a gang of human traffickers, rescuing abducted babies and becoming a proxy grandad to a teen who was about to have a baby for which she had had no sex.

I knew that school principals found life hard, which sometimes led them to have emotional  problems when facing up to a new school year.  I knew of one Principal, a man in his mid-forties, who drove to off to his school on the first day, and just kept on driving.  He was eventually traced to a seaside town, where he was contentedly fishing. 

I checked Ministry records for the missing woman's details.  Marjorie Maxwell was fifty years old and had spent the last twenty years as a Principal in the Primary sector, starting as a sole teacher before working her way to her present role as a non teaching leader with a staff of six. She lived in Rickmansworth in a small house in a quiet area.  She had a mortgage of ten thousand dollars on a house worth three hundred thousand.

I noted her address and phone numbers.  Her mobile phone went to voice mail.  There was no reply to her land line.  Her Facebook page gave a large amount of information about her.  There were links to several sites that dealt with present day human trafficking, fertility issues and surprisingly, help and advice for dealing with teenage issues.  Perhaps the lady had a friend who could not get pregnant, or perhaps was looking for herself at the sites offering In Vitro Fertilisation and surrogate motherhood. 

The nearby Bernard Benson Children's Home was also linked but when I followed the link, all I got was a home page that told me little other than it was a registered children's home for orphans and abandoned children up to eighteen years old, and had a world famous fertility clinic run by a famous physician.

As a registered children's home, there should have been a record in the Ministry files.  Following a brief description, there was a link to the Ministry of Child and Family Welfare.  That told me much more because my security clearance allowed me access to all but the highest level of CFW's databases.

I did not learn much.  Pregnancy was a major factor among the older girls, accidents, some leading to serious injury, seemed to be quite frequent for boys.  The most recent was a boy who had lost his arm in a laundry dryer.  According to Safety at Work, the 13 year old had interfered with the guard mechanism in order to retrieve from a rotating dryer a pair of jeans he needed.

A Doctor Morrison ran the children's home.  He was a registered medical practitioner and surgeon with qualifications in gynaecology. He had administered first aid and saved the boy's upper arm, and probably his life, but the forearm could not be saved.

I checked the Medical Society records but could only access brief bio notes on Dr Morrison.  Known as a philanthropist, Dr Morrison had previously been a high flyer.  He had had an outstanding career in Auckland.  He had been in the vanguard of the pro-abortion movement, and had done some serious work in gynaecology before going to Thailand to found a Family Planning Clinic in a large city. Now he was the Director of a children's home. It seemed highly unlikely that he would defraud the education system by getting extra funds for a particular school.  All the same, I should check the enrolment figures for the Rickmansworth schools, and the movement of pupils living in the Home.

Virginia had sent files on Rickmansworth Primary, including bios and photos of staff.  I studied these closely until I became dozy.  It was late and I had an early start in the morning.  When Alex was away I was inclined to use the internet without regard for the hour.  I made a warm drink of chocolate and went to bed.

AT RICKMANSWORTH

THE TRIP FROM DUNEDIN took me two hours, most of it on the State Highway. It was a pleasant drive, broken by a cup of tea and some toast made from home made bread at a roadside restaurant offering breakfast.  I arrived at Rickmansworth Primary School just before nine.  There were cars in the staff car park, and some empty spaces.  I parked in the one closest to the glass panelled door that led into the Administration area.  I used the parking space designated for the Principal.  Most schools have the same layout so I was able to find the Staffroom quite easily. Three teachers were sitting around a coffee table.

Good morning. Are you Dr West? asked a young woman. I studied her before replying. She was quite tall, about four inches shorter than me. She was tanned, and her hair was sun bleached.  She looked drawn and nervous.

You must be Sally Holmes? I said.

Sally smiled her agreement.

You're here earlier than expected, she said. This is Phoebe Prentiss.  Graham George.

Pleased to meet you, I responded. I am Richard, but when we are with parents or children, please call me Dr West. It's after nine o'clock.  Where is everyone?

There was a painful silence before Graham George volunteered, You weren't expected until ten at the earliest. Sorry.

Who called the meeting? I asked.

I did, said Phoebe Prentiss. For nine o'clock.  I thought we could do the allocations then.

Allocations of classes, duties, playground supervision and choice of days for meetings were important issues that could take half the morning as teachers wrangled and negotiated the best deal they could get.

Right, I said. I'll open the first staff meeting for the year at nine oh five.  Sally, please take minutes.  Phoebe, what did you have on your agenda?

Phoebe hit the ground running. First, Staffing.  We need to sort out who teaches what and how we will cover every class.  The Principal is absent.  Arthur Winthrop has not been replaced, she said.

Suggestion, I said. We all teach the same age groups as last year.  I will be Principal until Ms Maxwell is found.  There is a replacement for Arthur but I don't know when, nor whether male or female.  I will teach Arthur's class until he or she arrives.

Arthur's classes are Years 7 and 8.  Dr West, they are quite independent which should give you some leeway for administration, said Phoebe Prentiss.

I'm Richard at the moment.  I looked at the people around the coffee table. Is there someone else who would be a better fit?

The three teachers thought not. The meeting moved on to other matters. Just before ten, the remaining two teachers appeared.

I decided to play hard ball. Good morning.  I am Dr West, an Inspector for the Ministry, I said. We will take a break now. Fifteen minutes. You two, the Principal’s office. Now.

I followed the two newcomers into Marjorie Maxwell’s office. I sat behind the Principal’s desk. They sat on hard chairs in front of me, both bright red with embarrassment.

Sorry, Dr West, they said together.

You must be Judith Smithers.  You lead the Junior team. Do you think you set a good example of leadership today? I held Judith Smithers' gaze until she submitted and lowered her eyes.

No, she said quietly.

And you are Michael Fennimor.  Do you expect your class to start on time? I asked Michael Fennimor.

Well, no, said Michael.  Things are different in the country.  Less formal.  Five or ten minutes doesn't make much difference. Sometimes townies don't get it.

I have been a Principal in country schools.  I ‘get’ laziness, whether it is town or country. There are three sessions in a day.  Three sessions times ten minutes makes half an hour which is ten percent of class time lost, said Richard. If I arrange for you to be paid for forty five weeks instead of fifty two, would you still think ten percent doesn't make much difference?

Fennimor was silent.

I spoke softly but firmly.  You both have the same classes as last year. Ms Prentiss will draw up a schedule of duties. This staff meeting was called by her for nine a.m. If you cannot be loyal to your colleagues, you cannot expect them to be loyal to you. Go back to the Staffroom now; grab a coffee and when Ms Prentiss resumes the meeting, do the right thing.  Apologise.

But I want a more senior class, said Fennimor.

Decisions have been made, said Richard. You absented yourself.  End of.

Sometimes a confrontation over who holds power results in strong bonding.  I did not know then that Mike Fennimor was to prove his loyalty and become a friend. Phoebe reconvened the meeting, while I went to look for clues as to where Marjorie Maxwell might be. A recent earthquake in the Philippines and a volcanic eruption in Bali might be behind her absence.  I also needed to check the school records and learn the names of my pupils who would arrive the next day.

I telephoned Virginia Wood to let her know the score.  I requested authority to employ two supply teachers.  As Principal I could do that anyway but it was always better to inform the Ministry as money was very tight in the education sector. 

Phoebe came in. She reported on the outcome of the meeting. She was well organized and quite perceptive.  Her authority had not been recognized when she called the staff meeting.  The school had two senior teachers, Phoebe Prentiss and Judith Smithers, the woman I had reprimanded for disloyalty.  I needed a man and a woman to go with me to Marjorie Maxwell's house; the man for strength and the woman for decency.

Phoebe, please manage the school for the afternoon.  Parents' requests for class changes, Ministry queries, tradespeople, and seeing the staff don't skive off. Get the place ready for tomorrow.

Sure, Richard, she responded. What if they ignore me again?

Raise your voice, then say, 'I expected better of you.  If you can't be loyal to me why should I be loyal to you?'  As I said the words I saw a change come over her.  Her shoulders straightened, her head came up and her face tightened.  She looked formidable.

What will you be doing? she asked.

I want to take Mike Fennimor and Judith Smithers to Ms Maxwell's house, I said. If we can't locate Marjorie, how would you feel about running the school with Mike as your deputy?

Phoebe looked shocked. Me?  Mike?

Let's wait and see, I said.

I said nothing to Mike Fennimor and Judith Smithers, just that I was going to Marjorie Maxwell's house and that they were to come with me.  Michael organised some light gloves and some zip up plastic bags.  Judith said nothing.

We drove to Marjorie Maxwell's house, which was some distance from the school.  Rickmansworth was laid out as a rectangle of streets intersecting at right angles. Neither teacher had visited the house in the past but both knew her address.

Car's in the carport, said Mike.

We drove off the street and parked behind her Corolla.  The car was clean with only a thin layer of dust on the roof.  We approached the door.  A tabby cat came to meet us, twining around my legs and nudging its face against me. Judith leaned down to stroke it.

It's hungry she said.

Let's see if we can find its owner, I said as I knocked on the door. There was no reply.

Marjorie! I called in a loud voice.

I'll go around the house, said Mike Fennimor.

Keep knocking, I said to Judith as I followed Mike.

The cat ran in front of us.  We could hear Judith knocking then calling Marjorie's name then knocking again. All the windows of the bungalow were closed.  We arrived back where we had started. Judith had opened the door.

It wasn't locked, she said. Should we go in?

Me first, I said. 

The house was clean, tidy and deserted.  We went through the rooms one by one.  We had entered through