by Vanda Symon
‘She hasn’t killed herself, you know. It’s just not possible. There is no way Gaby would do that.’ My butt had barely warmed the chair before Leonore launched straight in on the offensive with her elocution-polished voice. ‘She was murdered, I just know it. I don’t care what you say, she was murdered. There, I’ve said it. I know Lockie thinks it too. My Gaby did not kill herself.’
My face must have registered surprise, because as if to drive home her point she looked me in the eye and folded her arms with a whumph.
‘Lockie?’ I asked.
‘We need your help. I know how it looks, everything points to suicide, but I simply will not believe Gaby would do that. We’re a happy family. Angel is her life, she’d die for her – she wouldn’t leave us like that. She wouldn’t.’ His voice cracked and he reached for a tissue from the industrial-size box Cole had just placed on the table. With a slight cock of his head towards me, Cole pulled out a chair at the end of the table. I was grateful he hadn’t joined the line-up opposite.
How to approach this? I hadn’t anticipated their adamant denial of suicide. It was bloody naïve of me, really; I should have seen it coming. Be fair but firm, I told myself.
‘This has been an enormous shock to you, and of course you don’t want to imagine Gaby doing that.’ I couldn’t bring myself to say the word suicide in front of their broken faces. ‘We can’t make assumptions about anything at this stage. What we need now is to be logical and methodical and, as hard as it may seem, to keep emotion at bay. It will only cloud the issues and we can’t afford to prejudice the investigation in any way. At the end of the day, we have to do what’s right by Gaby, and—’
The doorbell sounded. We all flinched.
‘Oh God,’ Lockie said. ‘I can’t face visitors, not now.’
‘It’s alright, mate. I’ll take care of it.’ Cole stood up and pushed back his chair. I smiled my thanks at him.
We sat in dread silence, waiting to see who had intruded. Then the door closed and Cole reappeared with a large colourful bouquet of flowers. Leonore let out a strangled sob and Lockie leaned over to embrace her. It was a reality check via Teleflora. This was real, it had happened; Gaby’s life, and death, were being acknowledged.
‘To Lockie and family, our kindest thoughts at this time – the Stevenson family,’ Cole read aloud. His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down as he struggled to keep his voice even. An image of Gaby strewn on the riverbank flashed into my mind. After the work the Stevensons had done for us last night, they should have been the ones receiving bouquets.
‘There will be a lot of this over the next few days,’ I said, my voice betraying my emotion. ‘This is a close-knit community and everyone will want to comfort you. It’s overwhelming, yes, but you do need to be prepared for kindness.’
Lockie reached out for the flowers, and I thought for a moment he was going to throw them down. Instead, he cradled them and his shoulders shuddered with the effort of holding himself together.
‘They’re only trying to help,’ I said.
‘I know,’ he said, ‘it just makes it so real. She’s really gone.’
We sat in an uncomfortable silence, punctuated by sniffs and nose blowing. I had always seen myself as a people person, charming and sociable, but in this charged emotional environment I felt completely inept. Anything I could think of to say sounded like a hollow platitude. So I reached out for my mug of tea and remained silent.
Cole, thank God, broke the impasse as he returned to his chair.
‘Well, shall we get on with it, then?’ It was all that was needed to focus us on the task at hand.
Lockie set the flowers on the table. ‘OK, Sam, where do we start?’ he said.
‘I need to ask you some questions,’ I said. ‘Some of them may seem insensitive or downright hurtful. I don’t intend to offend or harm, but I need you to answer honestly so we can get a picture of what happened.’ Lockie gave a brief nod of acknowledgement, so I took a breath and ploughed ahead. ‘We’ll start with what time you went to work yesterday and when you last spoke to Gaby.’
He sat for a moment, elbows on table, chin in hands, as he contemplated his words. When he spoke it was in a quiet, measured tone.
‘I left for work as usual at 5.30. Gaby was still in bed; she doesn’t usually get up till seven or until Angel wakes up.’ Lockie’s eyes had slipped out of focus as he visualised the scene; a slight smile curled the edge of his mouth. ‘It seemed just like any other ordinary day. I kissed her and said I’d see her tonight, then snuck into Angel’s room to kiss her goodbye, and that was the last time I saw her.’ The hint of a smile slumped.
‘Did you speak with her at all during the day?’ I asked.
‘No, I don’t normally come home for lunch.’
‘Did you talk on the phone at all or text her?’
He shook his head slowly. ‘They don’t like us to use our phones at work.’ Big plant, lots of workers – I wasn’t surprised.
‘What was her routine for a Tuesday?’
‘Tuesday is usually a stay-at-home day – housework, gardening, stuff like that. Angel’s just stopped her morning naps, so often sleeps for three hours in the afternoon. Gaby usually does a bit of study then. So if she goes out it’s mostly in the morning.’ He turned to look at Leonore, responding to the hand she had placed on his arm. ‘Oh yeah, she always talks to her mum during the day.’
I looked up and enquired with a raised eyebrow. Leonore nodded. Yes, they’d spoken yesterday. I smiled at her and raised a hand to show I’d ask her about it later.
‘You said last night Gaby didn’t have any medical conditions. Had she given you any indication she wasn’t well, or was stressed or unhappy about something?’
Lockie shook his head. ‘No, that’s the thing. She seemed happier; things were getting better, not worse. That’s why I can’t believe she’d do that. She’s sleeping well, Angel hardly ever wakes in the night now, and with almost finishing the breast-feeding Gaby has more energy. She’s great, great. We are even getting back to more, ah…’ he paused, awkward, before he continued on, avoiding my eyes. ‘You know, physically.’
It was just a bit more information than I wanted, and I thrust my hands in my lap to hide the telltale shakes. For God’s sake, girl, grow up, I berated myself. Get a grip.
‘Did you have any outside pressure or stress?’ I asked. I had to change tack. ‘Things OK financially?’
‘Yeah, things are fine. If anything, we’re starting to get ahead. We’ve even been planning a holiday to the Gold Coast in May.’
I felt a stab of pity for Lockie; he talked as if these things were still going to happen. I’d read that people often referred to their loved ones in the present tense, as though they were still here. Gaby wasn’t ever going to come back. Poor guy still had to formally identify her: that would drive her death home. It would not be pretty. I knew protocol dictated I should be the accompanying officer, but there was no bloody way I was going to be around when that happened. I’d see to that.
I turned my attention to Gaby’s mother, who had sat through my conversation with Lockie with her white-knuckled hands in front of her.
‘Leonore – may I call you Leonore, or would you prefer Mrs Watson?’ I didn’t know if she was aware of the history between Lockie and me. Whether she was or not, I wanted her to know I would, with utmost respect, do my best for her daughter.
‘Leonore. Leonore’s fine, thank you.’ She unclenched her hands and rested them on the edge of the table.
‘You spoke to Gaby every day?’ I asked. My mother and I talked once a week, if that, and that was quite enough. I found it odd someone would actually want to talk to their mother every day. What would you say?
‘My day wasn’t complete unless I’d talked with her.’ She reached out for another tissue and delicately blew her nose.
‘Is that a toll call from Queenstown, or is it classed as local?’ I asked, curious.
‘A toll call normally, although it’s
covered by the minutes in my phone plan at no extra charge. I rang Gaby mostly, so it wouldn’t cost them anything.’
‘So you talked to her yesterday?’
‘Yes, we must have chatted for quarter of an hour or so in the morning. It would have been around ten o’clock. I’d just got home from doing the groceries.’
‘And how did she sound?’ I jotted down notes on my pad as I went.
‘Fantastic. My usual chatty girl. She told me she was planning on getting out in the garden when Angel was asleep. Oh, and that Angel had taken her first steps – she was so proud of our little girl. She’d baked yesterday because it was her turn to take morning tea to playgroup today. Chocolate chip biscuits and a fruit cake.’ Her voice rose as she got up a head of steam again. ‘There is no way my girl killed herself. Something bad happened to her, I know it. Gaby would never do that.’ Disquiet had edged its way into the pit of my stomach. To all intents and purposes it looked like a classic suicide: note, overdose – the out of choice for women. But the comment about the baking played in my mind. Why the hell would you bother to bake morning tea if you had no intention of delivering it? That would suggest she’d made a spur-of-the-moment decision. But those tablets had been acquired the day before she died. I shook my head. It almost added up, but not quite.
‘Had Gaby mentioned any concerns about life in general? Did you have any cause to be worried about her?’ I looked at Lockie, to openly acknowledge the question was about him. Leonore understood its tenor right away.
‘No, she and Lockie had a wonderful relationship. She never said a bad thing about him.’
I doubted that. I was sure she would have mentioned some of his more irksome habits, especially those that concerned the use or lack of use of laundry hampers. I caught myself again and cursed my inability to let things go.
‘I love my son-in-law, always have. He’s a wonderful man. Gaby adored him.’
She wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know. My own glorious experience told me he had quite the charming effect on parents … There I went again! I couldn’t believe myself sometimes. If I wanted to be taken seriously and act professionally, self-control had to be the order of the day.
‘Did Gaby mention plans to see anyone in particular yesterday? Friends? Any appointments?’
‘No. As far as I’m aware it was just to be a normal day. She even said “Talk to you tomorrow”, as always. Look,’ she leaned over and gave me a direct stare, ‘I know my daughter, Lockie knows his wife. Why won’t you believe us? Gaby did not kill herself. This is foul play. Open your eyes.’
Part of me was irritated by such assertions, but again that sense of unease chipped away. And I had learned long ago to trust my gut instincts – they were generally accurate. I chose my words with care.
‘We can’t rule out anything this early in the investigation. We should have a preliminary report from the post-mortem tomorrow.’ I saw Lockie wince. ‘That may give us more information. In the meantime, we need to look at anything you think of as odd or peculiar. Leonore, last night the house was a mess. As you were cleaning, did you notice anything out of the ordinary? We have the note from the table and the tablets in the sink. Did you see anything else?’
Leonore hesitated, and then spoke in a very small voice.
‘May I see the note?’
I looked up. Her eyes were awash with fresh tears, her mouth pinched. I gave her a nod and retrieved the bagged page out of my satchel. I placed it on the table and pushed it over towards Leonore. She rustled around in her handbag for some reading glasses, then examined the note at length. I noted her frown of concentration.
‘What are you thinking?’ I asked.
‘I don’t know,’ she said, brows still furrowed. She seemed genuinely puzzled.
‘If something seems odd, don’t be afraid to say so. You as much as anyone would know your daughter. It is her handwriting, isn’t it?’ I asked.
She looked up at me, and then tapped gently on the bag.
‘Yes, it’s her writing, but, well, it just seems very formal.’
Lockie, who had avoided looking at the note, leaned over to examine it. ‘She never called me Lachlan, always Lockie. Same for Angel. See, we told you,’ he said, and slapped his hand down on the table.
‘Hey, we can’t jump to conclusions, but thanks for that, Leonore. This is important. I’ll have a closer look at the note later. Was there anything else?’
The silence from across the table indicated nothing else had aroused suspicion.
But they were right – the note was too measured, almost stilted. Had Gaby been trying to send an unspoken message? Or had a sense of occasion demanded a level of formality – her last written words recorded for posterity? It was yet another thing to bear in mind, at least until the post-mortem report. I contemplated a telephone call to voice my concerns – but then at what point did you have to be careful not to insult the skills of the pathologist in finding the truth? That jogged my memory. I looked at my watch.
‘Lockie, you still need to formally identify her.’ I looked at Cole, who had sat quietly throughout. ‘Are you able to drive him down to Invercargill to do that? The sooner you do, then the sooner they can undertake a post-mortem and we’ll get more information.’
Lockie’s already ashen face took on a translucent quality; without thought, I reached across and touched his hand. He jerked up as if shocked.
‘Look, Lockie, I know this is hard, but it is something that has to be done. If there is any question of foul play involved, the postmortem could provide vital evidence. If it shows nothing sinister, then it will help you on the path to coming to terms with her death. It is important.’
He briefly grasped my hand, then flopped back in his chair, his gaze directed up at the ceiling. ‘They’ll cut her up, won’t they?’ he said. My chest tightened at the sight of him. I glanced at Cole, who had also blanched. Leonore shook, her shoulders racked by stifled sobs.
‘Oh God, Lockie,’ I said. I knew what he needed from me, and I did my best to provide that reassurance. ‘They will have to open her, and I know you can’t bear to think of it, but they’ll do it with respect and with the knowledge Gaby was precious. When they’ve finished their work, and you get to see her, she won’t be disfigured – she’ll look peaceful and beautiful.’
Christ, this job sucked sometimes. Call it parental conditioning, call it stereotyping, but grown men were supposed to be stoic and they certainly didn’t cry. To see a man I had loved – hell, still loved – openly weeping for his wife was more than I could stand. I’d managed it so far, but something was going to give, and soon. God, I had to get out of that house. I pushed the chair back and got to my feet. I had to avoid Lockie’s eyes, so I directed my words at Cole as I gathered my notes and packed my satchel.
‘I’ll leave you for now. If there is anything else you think of, please call me. I’ll get any results back to you as soon as possible.’
It was Cole who saw me out to the door, past Angel, who was still happily occupied with the pile on the lounge floor. That kid really suited her name.
The relief of being freed from the suffocation of that house was indescribable. I had to measure every step down the driveway to stop myself breaking into a run. But once within the sanctuary of the truck, I leaned hard back into the seat and allowed myself the luxury of a grown-up version of a tantrum.
After several deep breaths, a modicum of objectivity returned. Bad mood or not, there was work to do. While I was in the vicinity I’d call in on the neighbours and see if they’d noticed anything out of the ordinary. Then I’d follow up on any appointments Gaby may have had.
‘Shit.’
In my headlong rush to get the hell out of Texas I’d forgotten to ask if Gaby had kept a diary. I knew I’d be going back to the house and could check it out later, but that wasn’t the point. I had to focus, and fast. Mistakes were something I couldn’t afford.
8
Dora McGann could finally be some
thing other than a right royal pain in the arse. A town gossip of great renown, I often had the pleasure of her voice on the phone as she informed me of some piece of information that had come her way and demanded my immediate and undivided attention. Well, that’s the way she saw it, anyway. Now it was me turning to her for information. Her face lit up as she opened her front door.
‘Constable Shephard, Constable Shephard, I thought you might be around, I did. I said to myself you’d be around to see me. It’s about that poor young woman next door, isn’t it? A dreadful thing that. Oh that poor, lovely young man, left with a wee babe and all.’
I wondered if at any stage I’d actually be able to say hello.
‘It’s not right, is it? And people are saying she killed herself. Oh, that’s just awful, a young woman like that. Everything to live for, she had. Dreadfully sad. I can’t believe it, just can’t believe it.’
Fortunately, she had to pause for breath, so I grabbed the opportunity to speak.
‘Hello, Mrs McGann. I wanted to ask you a few questions relating to yesterday’s events and Mrs Knowes—’
‘Of course, of course, I’m only too happy to help. They were such a lovely young couple, you know, and that wee girl of theirs, she’s such a wee angel.’ She realised what she had said and gave a small chuckle. ‘Well, of course she is, isn’t she, Angel, but I shouldn’t be laughing; this is no time for laughter, is it? No. Oh, but I’m being rude, aren’t I? Come in, won’t you come in? Of course, yes, if you’ve got any questions I’m only too happy to help.’