Leo pulled the camera back slowly. “You been putting coffee grounds down the sink?”
And for her sake, he hoped that’s all it ever was. specialist drain unblocking auckland
Leo sighed. He threaded the jetter head into the pipe and turned the pressure to 3,500 psi—enough to strip paint off concrete. The hose shuddered. Water geysered back through the floor drain, brown and foul. Then something gave . The hose lurched forward half a metre. Leo pulled the camera back slowly
He packed up his gear slowly. He left the tooth where it was, wrapped the newspaper in a plastic bag, and handed it to Simon. “Call a historian. Not a plumber. And don’t use the kitchen sink for three days—the grout needs to settle.” He threaded the jetter head into the pipe
The address was a 1920s bungalow in Devonport, all charming weatherboards and overgrown hydrangeas. The homeowner, a frantic man named Simon in a bathrobe, met him at the door. “The dishwasher flooded. Water’s coming up through the floor drain in the laundry. I called three other plumbers—they said they don’t do ‘specialist’ work this late.”
He didn’t believe in ghosts. But he believed in the things people buried—sometimes literally—in their pipes. And he knew, with absolute certainty, that the tooth hadn’t come from upstairs. It had come from below. From the old stormwater tunnel that ran beneath the house, the one the council maps didn’t show anymore.
“No. I’m… I’m a bit obsessive about it, actually.”