Deaths and a collection of convictions
sessions with a Waitara-based addiction counsellor of his choosing. Keightley-Trigg’s family declined to comment.
He will always be a drug addict, Bishell says, and “getting clean” has to be a choice. “You can choose to do all the programmes in the world, they can give you all the tools in the world. But it’s a personal choice at the end of the day.”
In January this year, he appeared in court after he breached a release condition by testing positive for amphetamine, methamphetamine and cannabis.
He was sentenced to 12 months’ intensive supervision.
These days, he “doesn’t really do any drugs any more” but also “might have the odd slip-up”.
Many of Bishell’s statements are inconsistent.
On the death of Keightley-Trigg, he expresses what seems to be genuine remorse.
“I was shattered,” he quietly says of the moment he learned she had died. He was at the hospital being treated for injuries he received in the crash, including a fractured sternum and a concussion, when police arrived to deliver the news and arrest him.
“I do accept responsibility, and I did from the word go,” he says.
“I f ***ed up, I was there, it doesn’t really matter what happened. I accepted responsibility for my actions.”
But then he disputed driving dangerously, undermining the accountability he conveyed only moments before and the summary of facts he admitted to and was sentenced on.
He swears he wasn’t on drugs at the time of the crash but whether he’s being truthful is something only he will ever know because he refused to be tested and instead demanded to speak to a lawyer.
Bishell says he is committed to completing everything KeightleyTrigg’s family requested of him through the Restorative Justice process.
Then he mentions another of the promises — completing a defensive driving programme — and he wavers. He’s not sure he wants to pay for it.
Bishell was livid when he got out of jail for the teen’s death and was slapped with an ankle bracelet for his six months of release conditions.
He says it was “another sentence of incarceration”.
An early release on parole had been declined and at the time of his sentence expiry date, the Parole Board considered he was still an undue risk.
Another of his release conditions was to not enter New Plymouth or Waitara, where Keightley-Trigg’s family live, but Bishell appealed that, arguing that was where his family, his support system, were based.
A compromise was reached and Bishell was allowed to enter New Plymouth, serving the six months at his 87-year-old grandmother’s address.
His conditions expired around March and he has since returned to Waitara where he lives with his brother.
He’s fond of the small township and has no plans to leave the place he now calls home.
It’s a notably different sentiment that he expresses towards Urutī, about 31km from Waitara, where he lived from age 10 to 16.
Bishell dubbed it a “bad community” and curiously says it was not a good age for him to move there.
He won’t explain why but says that was when the stealing really began.
Perhaps it’s in those years that an explanation can be found for the crooked path Bishell chose to wander.
One of four children, Bishell says he was the only lawbreaker and describes a “normal” childhood with many opportunities and much guidance.
“I don’t know,” he said, shrugging when asked what went wrong. “I had a good upbringing, really.”
He spent his earliest years in Bell Block, about 6km from central New Plymouth, where he lived with his mum, dad, and siblings.
Around age 8, the family packed up and crossed the ditch to live a gypsy lifestyle, tripping across Australia for a near three-year holiday.
It was there that he began pocketing lollies during their stops at dairies. He says his parents never suspected a thing.
When they returned to New Zealand, they moved to Urutī and Bishell says at age 11 he would venture out alone on his farm bike.
“I’d go riding around the community and then get accused of stealing s***,” he says, swearing that he wasn’t and that he didn’t know why fingers were pointed at him.
“And then what happens? They start accusing you, so f ***, you may as well just do it. Going to get accused of doing this s***, you may as well just do it.”
So, he did. But he wouldn’t let slip the specifics, only to say it was “petty s***” and that he’s “never been into robbing houses”.
Bishell spent his intermediate years at the rural town’s school before moving on to New Plymouth’s Spotswood College for his high school years.
But school wasn’t for him and he was kicked out in fourth form, now Year 10, saying he only ever turned up to eat his lunch.
He went on to attend the local Activity Centre, a specialised learning programme for at-risk youths, and there he was introduced to people on a similar trajectory to himself.
Then at age 16, tragedy struck. His mum died after a brain haemorrhage.
It was traumatic for him. They were close and he says he still hasn’t dealt with losing her. Immediately after his mother’s funeral, he packed up and left the family home to take up a farming job he had accepted before her death.
Bishell was a farmworker for several years and also did a course in fencing at Taranaki Work Trust.
It was there that he met Morehu, who was on a mechanics course at the time.
The pair hit it off and so began a friendship that evolved into partners in crime and would ultimately put Bishell’s loyalty to the test.
In 2006, then 25, he took the blame for the burglary of A House for Karen, a holiday home for terminally ill patients.
Both he and Morehu were charged for the thousands of dollars worth of electrical equipment that was stolen but Bishell refused to testify against his mate.
“I took the rap,” he says.
“My bro just had his first child, just had his son. There’s no point in two people going to jail.”
Morehu walked free and Bishell, who was found with the goods, was jailed for 13 months.
But that was okay, he says. “You don’t nark against anybody.”
It’s his loyalty that gets him in trouble, he reckons.
“I’d help anybody . . . in a way my best trait is my worst trait.”
Morehu was always the instigator, Bishell claims. And while his mate is unable to say otherwise, a judge once accepted Bishell was a bit of a tagalong in Morehu’s escapades.
Before the pair arrived at the golf club together on a motorcycle, Bishell claims he tried to talk Morehu out of the burglary.
“I regret that he didn’t listen. I tried to tell him no,” he says. “But once he’s set that’s it.”
The shooting of Morehu “f ***ed my life up”, he bluntly states. And he attributes that to police, claiming they had “murdered” his friend.
But the Independent Police Conduct Authority found the actions taken by the police that night were justified.
Blaming is a common theme in how Bishell tells his story. Police, probation, parole — in some way they have all had a role in his undoing, or so he insists.
He doesn’t want anything more to do with the authorities and wants “out of the system”.
It’s unclear whether that means he plans to stop reoffending, or he just hopes to not get caught.
“I just want to get on with my life. That’s all I want to do, really.”
Time will tell whether that will include any future appearances in a courtroom dock, but for now, Bishell says “hopefully not”.
I regret that he didn’t listen. I tried to tell him no. But once he’s set that’s it.
Kevin Bishell on Adam Morehu