Tragedy haunts beach village

Eight months after Iraena Asher disappeared, the breakers still boil and surge at Piha. This is one of the country's most lethal beaches. On the west coast, 50 minutes from downtown Auckland, it is also seriously remote from the hustle of the city.

People here are different: a mixture of the arty set, surfers, dropouts, commuters lured by the beach, thrilling views and a 50s village feel (despite the espresso machine at the store). They also like the casualness which they say allows people to leave their keys in the car "so we don't lose them".

But Iraena's memory is still raw.

A long beanpole of a man, fuelled by a couple of stiff drinks at the RSA, talks about how he saw Iraena, "stark naked" under a streetlight in the wind. "It must have been two in the morning."

"What did you do?"

"Nothing."

"Did you try to help her?" He shrugs, "What could I do?"

"Where did she go?"

"Straight down the beach."

Interestingly, it is the younger generation who are most outraged by the shortcomings of police. Actor and television producer Tom Hern, 20, describes how "it made me sick when I heard the transcripts of that young woman, pleading to the police force: 'I really need your help'."

He says there should be an apology. "There's no way they could say it was a mistake because there were three or four phone calls made. All young people have times when they drink, experiment with drugs. Is there a clause there that says they're not going to be looked after by the police department?"

English-born documentary maker Candida Hill cuddles baby Calypso while her two small sons scramble up Lion Rock in the sun. "It was a Shakespearean night, blowing a howling gale, searchlights were raking the house at three in the morning," she remembers.

"I think it's affected people in Piha. They almost feel ashamed ... They also feel less secure than they used to. Are their [111] calls going to be responded to?"

As Julie Nash at the Piha Art Gallery says, it wasn't just the incident itself, but the aftermath, when teams of police trampled through gardens, sheds, houses. Sure, some undesirables were cleaned out ("there was a lab in Garden Rd"), but most people were simply shaken up.

"It's a horrible feeling, that someone could have done it here," she says, pointing out the street light across the road by the camping ground, where Asher was last seen.

"The helicopter landed right there, the dogs were all around me. We're so isolated," she continues. "There's no ambulance. It's a really caring community."

Co-founder of Piha's Westpac Rescue Helicopter service Rodger Curtice also has questions. " If I'd found someone on the road half naked, the first thing I would've done is call the police."

Many seem to think Iraena was a "spinner" and police did their best. Others wonder why they didn't search the roadside all the way back to town. "It was too little, too late."

Bruce, Sheryl and Barry, who are sharing a bottle of riesling at the RSA, are careful not to upset the local Henderson police. They say police are there in a flash when fights break out at the surf club and usually get to the turnoff at the top of the Waitakeres within 30 minutes of a callout - blocking any escape.

Has Piha changed since Iraena's disappearance? For the women, certainly. "I lock my door at night now - especially if my partner's away."