Overkill

by Vanda Symon

  ‘Hello there, anybody home?’ Maggie’s voice pulled me back from my little reverie.

  ‘Sorry, tuned out for a second there. I better get going – I’ve got paperwork to do tonight, then tomorrow will be hectic.’

  ‘You’ll be back to see Lockie, then?’

  ‘Yeah, there’s a lot to go through. It all looks cut and dried, but you can never make assumptions. There’s the post-mortem tomorrow, and we’ll need to get background and evidence of suicide before the case goes to the Coroner’s Court. I should be home in an hour or so. If not, send out the search parties.’

  I manoeuvred my way through the many patrons still at the bar, waved at and acknowledged those who said hi. It looked like a few of them were trying to deaden the night’s memories with alcohol. Who could blame them? There were still a couple I wanted a quick word with, so I headed for the TV corner. Trevor Ray looked very much the worse for wear, slouched over the table and trying to look up at the wall-mounted TV screen at the same time. Can’t have been comfortable. Bill and Craig Stevenson were with him.

  ‘What’s on the box?’ I asked as I pulled up a spare seat.

  ‘Just the late news,’ Craig said. His hands rested around a glass of frothy amber liquid.

  ‘I hope that’s ginger ale in there, Craig,’ I said in a mock stern voice. The blood rushed up his face as he mumbled something indecipherable.

  His dad let out a snort. ‘Of course.’

  ‘Anything exciting?’ I indicated towards the telly.

  ‘Only if you like bad news,’ Bill said. ‘They’re trying to scare us all stupid about the bird flu that’s going to kill us, and to top it off they want to get us in a flap about the latest mad-cow outbreak in America. As if we haven’t got enough to worry about.’

  Trev giggled. ‘Only mad cow you’ve got to worry about is your wife,’ he mumbled, and I could tell by the glower from Bill that tonight he didn’t see the funny side.

  Trev’s eyes were dozy and bloodshot, and I noted the tremor in his hands.

  ‘OK, I can see you’ve had too much of a good thing tonight.’ I addressed my next comment to Bill. ‘He’s not driving anywhere. Cole’s at Lockie’s; do you know if anyone’s taking Trev home?’

  ‘Already taken care of.’ He pulled a set of car keys out of his pocket and jangled them around. I assumed them to be Trev’s. ‘Phillip Rawlings is out Trev’s way. He’ll do the honours.’

  ‘Thank you,’ I said. ‘And thanks for everything tonight. I know you don’t like the boat out in low light. You all did a great job.’

  ‘Yeah, well I’m just glad we found her and poor Lockie isn’t left wondering.’

  ‘Yeah, me too.’ I hauled myself to my feet and headed off towards the door. ‘Night, guys.’

  God, was I glad we’d found her. Alive would have been better, but at least Gaby wouldn’t be a missing-persons file, to linger around for ages. Or worse – if we found her body two weeks down the track, only a couple of hundred metres from home or a few metres out of the search zone. That would have been my worst nightmare. My worst nightmare: bit of a selfish thought really. This was Lockie’s worst nightmare. I shuddered. The sheer ferocity of Lockie’s grief echoed in my head. Gaby was his wife and the mother of his child – of course he would be upset – but some arrogant little child in the depths of my being was feeling a bit piqued that I’d never managed to evoke even a fraction of that kind of emotion out of him.

  ‘You’re a sick girl,’ I murmured to myself as I stepped out into the dark.

  4

  Obscure dreams full of darkness and cloying dampness lingered at the edges of my consciousness, so even after two cups of coffee my mood was not good. It had been after one a.m. when I crawled into bed. I’d made a start on the requisite mountain of paperwork and compiled a ‘to-do’ list of scary proportions. It always amused me that on television shows police were never encumbered with such matters – bureaucracy- and paper-free zones. If only.

  The first stop of the day would, of course, be Lockie’s. Callous though it seemed, there were questions that needed to be asked, and many would not be palatable. I needed to establish a timeline of events and to delve into that question I knew would be ricocheting around Lockie’s head – why?

  I looked up from my half-eaten and now soggy bowl of cornflakes as Maggie breezed into the kitchen on her way to the door.

  ‘Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to toil I go…’ she sang, and lolled her head from side to side.

  ‘If that’s supposed to cheer me up, it’s not working,’ I said, giving her my very best forced smile.

  ‘Great teeth.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘What hour did you crawl in? I didn’t hear you.’

  ‘It was a bit on the late side, but I did make a good start on all the reports.’

  She walked over to the table, leaned over and peered into my eyes.

  ‘Yurgh, you might want to hide those haversacks under your eyes, unless you want to scare people into submission.’

  I had noted their presence when I got brave and looked in the mirror this morning. Didn’t need it pointed out, though.

  ‘Oh ha-de ha-de ha. Bloody charming friend you turned out to be.’ I swatted at her like some pesky fly, but she dodged back out of the way. ‘I wouldn’t push it too far, Sunshine. I redefine the term grumpy.’

  ‘You won’t be the only one. I think there’ll be a few people struggling this morning, judging by the amount of alcohol consumed last night. Due to demand, Pat stayed open a little longer than his liquor licence allowed. You’re not going to arrest him, I hope?’

  ‘I think the extenuating circumstances would allow for a bit of leeway,’ I said, and smiled properly this time.

  ‘My, that’s a big word for this hour of the morning, even for you.’

  ‘What? I?’ I screwed up my nose at her and had the gesture repeated back as she headed for the door. ‘Have a fun day,’ I called after her.

  ‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ came the reply.

  Maggie was a laboratory technician at the large meat-processing plant bang in the middle of town. It was by far the area’s largest employer; in fact, the local economy was reliant on it. The closure of the pulp-and-paper mill in 2000, and the subsequent loss of around 150 jobs, were testament to the devastation of the loss of a core industry on a small community. Some people were absorbed by work available at the meat-processing plant and local factories, while others went on to boost the region’s unemployment stats.

  That reminded me. I called out just as she was about to close the door behind her. ‘Hey Chook, have you heard anything more about work?’

  She turned back to show me a slight grimace.

  ‘Nothing official, only the same rumours doing the rounds about cost cutting. The money’s on them centralising lab services to Invercargill, so let’s just say I don’t exactly feel secure in my world right now.’

  The prospect of that had no appeal whatsoever.

  ‘You do realise that even if they disestablish you and redundancy-alise your butt, you’re not allowed to leave here, right? I thought I’d get in early and make myself quite clear.’

  A smile ironed out her frown. ‘How could I ever tear myself away from the bright lights and riveting nightlife? Nowhere else could compare. Your comments are noted, but, as in so many things in life, we shall see. Alas, I’m not calling the shots.’

  ‘If worst comes to worst – which it’s not allowed to, by the way – you could make your fortune here. Things are on the up in Mataura. You could start your own business doing…’ I struggled for a suggestion before grasping at the sort of obvious. ‘How’s your trout fishing? There must be plenty of cash-laden tourists waiting to give some of it up for a Kiwi fly-fishing experience. It seems a popular business, so it must be a bit of a cash cow. You could handle that. Lure in a few American tourists, give them the sparkly clean-green-image thing, catch a few trout. How hard could it be?’ I hoped I didn’t sound too desperate, but the thought o
f life here without my good friend was not palatable.

  ‘Well, the fish would be pretty safe, so I’d probably get myself sued. And anyway, I don’t even like trout. Why anyone would want to eat something that tastes like the bottom of a river mystifies me. And on that cheery note, I must away.’ She gave me a wave and exited stage left.

  I looked up at the hideously cutesy Mickey Mouse clock on the wall – that thing really had to go. It was a little before nine a.m. As good a time as any to get on with it. I needed to pay a visit to a household in mourning. I slid the chair back from the table, picked up my dishes and after a detour via the kitchen sink, headed into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Not normally one for make-up anyway, I decided not to try to camouflage the telltale signs of a late night. I was sure to look better than those I was off to visit, and besides, my appearance was going to be the furthest thing from their minds. Any spruce-up would go unnoticed.

  5

  Once again, I pulled up outside the Knowes’ house, and once again I parked on the grass verge, taking care not to end up in the ditch. I paused at the gate to take in the deceptively tranquil scene before me. Only the presence of several other vehicles in the driveway, including a rather impressive new Range Rover, signalled that all was not as normal. That vehicle had to belong to Gaby’s mother – I’d heard Gaby’s family were well-to-do. Her parents had moved to Queenstown from Auckland to be closer to her when she married Lockie. Her father was a company executive and flew back up north each week when needed. Nice for some.

  Gravel crunched underfoot as I walked back up the driveway. This time, no one came out to meet me. I stepped up onto the veranda and rang the doorbell. It was only a moment before I could make out a distorted shape through the stained-glass panelled door. It was Colin Avery.

  ‘Sam,’ Cole said, swinging the door open wide to let me in.

  I bent over to take off my boots. ‘How’s things this morning?’

  ‘Much as can be expected.’

  ‘That bad, huh?’

  ‘Yup.’

  ‘Thanks for staying with them. Lockie needed a mate around. What time did Gaby’s mum get here?’

  ‘Only quarter of an hour after you left.’ He paused for a moment and waited until I was next to him. ‘It was a very late night for us all.’

  ‘What’s her name, by the way?’ I asked.

  ‘Leonore. Leonore Watson.’

  At the entrance to the lounge I stopped, aghast. I wouldn’t have recognised it as the same room. Where last night there had been pandemonium, this morning there was pristine order. There was a small pile of Angel’s puzzle pieces, but otherwise the room – the whole house – was lemon-scented spotless. Someone had been very industrious. They still were, judging by the muffled sound of a distant vacuum cleaner.

  ‘Wow, who’s been busy?’ I asked Cole, who’d followed me into the room.

  ‘Leonore. She’s been on the go, non-stop, since she got up.’

  ‘I’m glad I took all those photos last night,’ I said as I took in a scene more House & Garden than family home. I had in fact toyed with the idea of leaving it until the morning. That would have been a major faux pas. Any trace of evidence looked like it would have been well and truly sanitised. I made a mental note to self for future reference: by the book, Sunshine, absolutely by the book. The higher echelons in the district office were applying constant pressure to justify my existence here. Resources in the force were limited, and stretching the budget by reducing the number of small stations was an obvious cost cutter. Pencilling in more hours on traffic duty was another. I cringed. It wouldn’t do to make it easy for them by making basic errors.

  I could understand where Leonore Watson was coming from; I had witnessed exactly the same reaction in my mother in times of high stress or tragedy. Busy, busy, busy. Clean, clean, clean. Do anything other than accept the unfathomable had happened. Some people just operated that way. My personal method for dealing with stress involved dressing gowns, slippers, sofas and chocolate.

  Involuntarily, I thought of my mother’s response if I died. Despite her well-constructed façade, her grief would be a yawning chasm, inexhaustible. Mrs Watson would be no different. I could only imagine what that family were experiencing – I’d been fortunate, untouched by the death of anyone really close.

  I walked through the living room to the kitchen, where Lockie stared off into space while he fed something mushy into Angel. The poor girl had her mouth agape as she tried to track and apprehend the spoon. Lockie had a bristle of growth on his chin that only emphasised the look of desolation.

  ‘Lockie?’ He looked up, startled by the intrusion on his thoughts. Once again, I was rocked by how hollowed out his eyes looked. The terror from last night had been replaced by a haunted numbness. He gave a brief jolt of recognition and then a brave smile at my greeting.

  ‘Sam, back again so soon?’

  ‘Afraid so. Had to see how you all were.’

  ‘Bloody awful. Angel’s the only one who slept. My wife’s dead, it’s all a bloody mess and it’s nothing I can fix.’ He raised his hand to his mouth; large tears rolled down his cheeks. His brutal honesty did nothing to ease my discomfort. I turned my eyes away towards Angel.

  ‘God, Lockie, I’m sorry,’ I said, and realised instantly how useless those words really were. ‘I know this is not a good time, but I do have to ask you some more questions, and we need to do it while everything is fresh. I’m going to go and have another look around outside now it’s daylight. I’ll be fifteen minutes or so, then I’ll come back and we’ll go over things. You can do that?’

  He drew my eyes with a look of resignation and weariness.

  ‘Yeah, of course. Angel’s almost finished.’ He sighed and managed to get another spoonful into her mouth. ‘Everything seems to take so long. She wants her mother, not me. She won’t let me do hardly anything for her, not even brush her hair.’

  I looked at her beautiful tousled curls. ‘She’ll be wondering where Mummy is, why she’s not here. It’s huge for you all.’ Everything I said felt so inadequate. ‘Look, I’ll go and do what I have to do outside, then I’ll be back soon to talk.’

  ‘Do you want Gaby’s mum there as well?’

  ‘Please. We’ll try and get through everything in one go, then we’ll be able to leave you…’ I didn’t finish the sentence; I didn’t know what to say. Leave you in peace, alone, leave you to grieve, leave you to wonder, blame, tear yourself apart? I left him with the best I could offer: a shrug and a gentle hand on his shoulder.

  6

  Early sunlight filtered through weathered summer leaves. The last tang of night chill lent an exhilarating freshness. In the still of the garden it seemed possible to forget, momentarily, the drama that was playing out inside. Remnants of dew clung to the grass. Excellent: that would emphasise any tracks in the grass that had survived the night.

  I made my way, pace by deliberate pace, from the front door to the back door, and then the forty metres or so down to the back fence. The whole time I scanned for any sign of the path Gaby might have taken. The lawn was clipped short and the dew-coated grass was a uniform carpet of green. It revealed no evidence of her passage. Perhaps things would be more obvious in the longer grass over by the fence. I pushed my way through the wall of agapanthus; droplets of water kindly transferred themselves to my trousers again. Damp trousers had become a regular feature of this whole business.

  From where I stood at the fence, I could still clearly make out my tracks down to the river from last night. It stood to reason that Gaby’s would be evident too. I walked up and down the fence line several times and peered over at the other side, but there was no sign of Gaby’s journey. I could only suppose that if she had crossed early in the day the grass would have had time to hide her path.

  What I needed to establish was when she had decided to kill herself. I checked my thoughts right there. Do not make assumptions, Shephard. What was my father’s mantra? Assume makes an ass out of you and
me. Focus on the evidence to hand. The evidence to hand made it look as though Gaby hadn’t climbed down to the river here at all. Despite the possible time explanation, the fact my own tracks looked as if they’d been created by a small herd of elephants made the absence of hers a concern. Why wouldn’t she take the most direct route to the river? And if not here, where?

  I turned around and leaned back on the fence to face the house. The view was unobstructed through to the laundry and back bedrooms. When I looked further afield, there was a clear line of sight to the neighbouring houses. They were distant, but easily visible.

  Did she not want to be seen? Why would that matter?

  The mindset of someone who had just undertaken to kill herself would be unpredictable, to say the least. You’d think she’d take the path of least resistance: that would be logical, drugs or not. I shook my head. Second-guessing Gaby Knowes made my brain ache.

  ‘What were you playing at, Gaby?’ I said aloud, and drummed a finger against my lips.

  7

  A mug of hot tea waited for me on the dining-room table; I felt foolishly pleased that Lockie had remembered my particular brew. The room looked set up for a conference. Angel sat near by on the lounge floor, surrounded by what looked like the better part of a toy store to keep her amused. Lockie and Leonore had seated themselves along one side of the table, and from the position of my drink it was apparent I was to sit on the other. I took my assigned place and reached into my satchel for a notebook and pen. A momentary flashback to Police College interviews hopped into my brain – sitting isolated on one side of the interrogation desk, intimidated by the panel on the other. It was rather different on this occasion; I was the one in control of the interview. Well, that was what I thought.