Henderson, New Zealand, 1956 My name is Thomas Phipps, and I discovered a dead body today. It was Mr. Whitby. He lay on a muddy bank along the Henderson Creek, half in the water, on his back, his lifeless eyes staring at the sky. I had been riding my bicycle along the gravel pathway that hugged the creek as it ran through Tui Glen, the park that lay in the middle of town. Tuis were birds. New Zealand natives. I used the pathway as a shortcut across town to get to my music lessons each day after school. I had

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