by Vanda Symon
It was the first time I had been in Dora McGann’s inner sanctum. I’m not quite sure what I expected, given her notoriety as a gossip and knower of all: binoculars, telescopes, listening devices? What I found was a rather dated but very welcoming home, festooned with photographs of children and grandchildren. The décor came right out of House & Garden magazine – a 1970s edition, complete with autumn-hued Axminster carpet, velvet drapes and three ceramic ducks flying their way across a rather busy wallpaper. I made my way over to the table she had indicated and tried to keep up with her constant stream of chatter. I recalled someone mentioning the late Mr McGann had been hard of hearing. Lucky bastard.
She must have had a pot of tea already brewed. I was only half settled into the seat when a tea tray appeared before me.
‘How do you take your tea, love?’
I smiled despite myself. I was unaccustomed to being referred to as ‘love’ by anybody, particularly when on duty.
‘Milk, no sugar, thanks.’
She was pouring what we referred to in our family as ‘frilly tea’. Fine bone-china cups and saucers of a delicate floral design, milk jug covered with a crocheted, bead-edged doily, matching sugar bowl with delicate undersized teaspoons – silver, no doubt. She didn’t have Devonshire scones or cream puffs, but served the next best thing – Toffee Pops biscuits, caramel filled, chocolate-coated goodness, on what even I recognised as Royal Doulton. I realised for the first time that day my heart rate felt somewhere about normal and the knot twisting my innards had begun to relax. She did have her uses, after all. And the tea was only slightly stewed.
From where I sat it was easy to make out the Knowes’ house and part of the driveway. I couldn’t see the back fence from here, but it would be visible from further into the room.
‘Were you home yesterday, Mrs McGann?’ I asked as I set my empty cup onto its saucer.
‘Oh yes, dear, I was home all day. I had the girls around for bridge, so I had to make some scones and tidy the house. Tuesday is always bridge day. My turn yesterday, so the girls came here. Oh you know them all, there’s Lola Bridges,’ I worked hard not to laugh, ‘she’s very good, you know, and Jill Sanders. They always come in Lola’s car. Jill hasn’t got a driver’s licence. Can you believe that? In this day and age. Lucky she’s got Lola next door to run her around when Gordon’s at work; it’s about time he retired anyway. He’s seventy-three now and still working. Mind you, a man like that would fade away and die if he stopped working. Anyway, Lola trots her everywhere. She’s always trying to get Jill to take driving lessons, but she’s not interested. And there’s Beryl Rawlings – you know Beryl, she’s president of the Country Women’s Institute around here – boy, can she preserve. You’d have to be really good to beat her – at preserving, I mean, oh, and bridge too. She plays a mean hand. She was a wee bit late yesterday, some trouble with the cattle.’
Under normal circumstances, such drivel would bring out an urge to give the woman a good slapping, but today the chatter somehow comforted my frayed nerves.
‘Did you notice anything unusual at the Knowes’ house during the day? Different people or cars? Did you see Mrs Knowes at all?’
‘Oh yes, dear, I saw Mrs Knowes. In the morning, early it would have been, nine o’clockish. She was hanging her first lot of washing out, as usual.’
That got my attention. Why the hell would you bother with the washing if you weren’t planning to survive the day? I’d noticed it hanging up when I first searched the property, but what with the immediacy of Gaby’s disappearance and Lockie’s distress, I hadn’t appreciated its significance.
‘She was always out early with the washing – very good housekeeper, that girl. House always spotless, very organised. Fine girl, that one, fine girl.’ She suddenly gave me a slightly abashed look. It was evident her local knowledge extended to my own personal history.
‘Did she have any visitors during the day?’ I asked.
She jumped at the opportunity to remove the foot from her mouth. ‘I didn’t see anyone, I was quite busy with the bridge. But the girls were here, they might have noticed something.’
‘What time were they here?’
‘Oh we always start at 10.30 with a cup of tea, then continue until lunchtime. So I suppose everyone was gone by, oh, two o’clock – some of the girls like to have a wee turn-up in the afternoon, especially after a couple of sherries.’
It sounded like a breath test or two could have interesting results after one of their bridge sessions.
‘Could I grab their phone numbers from you, so I can follow up, please?’
‘Of course you can, dear. I’m only pleased to be able to help.’ She trotted over to the telephone and pulled out a battered-looking address file – the variety where you slid the marker up to the letter you wanted, then pushed the button and it flipped open to the page. ‘I don’t know the girls’ numbers off by heart – well, other than speeddial five, six and seven.’ She chuckled as she handed it over. ‘The only trouble with these modern phones. I had to get my Ben to put the numbers in for me; that was years ago, so I’ve well and truly forgotten them. I’m sure the girls will say if they saw something. Such a terrible shame all this, I just can’t believe it.’
I was going to try to put the next question delicately, but thought, given her reputation, what the hell.
‘Did Mr and Mrs Knowes seem to have a happy marriage?’
She blinked once or twice at my directness, and hesitated before answering.
‘I thought they seemed very happy. I never saw them argue or anything and certainly didn’t hear them – it’s a bit far, you know. They were always off doing things, the three of them – playing with wee Angel, going out. I thought they were a very happy family.’ She paused. Indecision tussled on her face.
‘But?’
‘I don’t like to gossip, especially now that Mrs Knowes is gone.’ She leaned forward and lowered her voice. ‘I had heard … that someone thought … that Mrs Knowes might have been seeing someone else as well.’
My eyes narrowed. If anyone knew, it would be Dora, but even she had hesitated on that titbit.
‘Did the rumour give you a name?’ I asked.
‘No. That’s why I wasn’t sure whether to mention it or not. I don’t like to speak ill of the dead, and she was always such a lovely neighbour to me – even dropped in some baking at Christmas and all. I didn’t believe it myself, but you never know. These ideas don’t start by themselves, do they?’ Actually there were plenty of those kinds of ideas that had started by themselves, snowballed out of all proportion and ruined lives along the way. She’d probably sparked a few to life herself over the years, but I thought I wouldn’t mention that.
‘Did you see Mrs Knowes at the back of their property at all yesterday? Near the fence?’
‘No, love, I only saw her hanging out the washing – the last time I saw her alive, I suppose.’
‘What about their dog? Did you hear it barking at all?’
‘I can’t remember. It’s not a really barky dog, not like the Wheelers’ on the other side. Theirs barks all the time, so I probably wouldn’t notice if it did, sorry.’
‘And no visitors or vehicles?’
‘Not that I noticed. No one came to visit her, other than the van.’
‘Van? What kind of a van?’
‘Oh, a work van of some sort. It was white and had a ladder on the roof, but I couldn’t see the sign on it from here. My eyes aren’t as good as they used to be. I had my reading glasses on, not my looking glasses—’
‘Why didn’t you think to mention it earlier?’
Dora didn’t notice the edge. ‘Well, it wasn’t really a visitor, was it? It was just a tradesman. Do you think that might be important?’
‘Possibly. If we knew who it was, they might have been the last person to see Mrs Knowes alive. They might be able to give us a time, help us figure out the order of events. Did you see the tradesman?’ My warm feelings towards Mrs McGann we
re evaporating fast.
‘No, I only glanced really. We were in the middle of a hand.’
‘So what time would that have been?’
‘I suppose around eleven o’clock, maybe.’
‘Did you notice how long the van stayed?’
‘Not really, love. It was definitely gone when the girls were leaving. I’d have noticed it when I saw them out.’
That probably depended on how much sherry had accompanied lunch. I decided it was time for me to be seen out. My tolerance level for Dora McGann’s prattle had just been exceeded. At least I had gleaned some useful information, even though she’d barely thought to mention it. You had to wonder what went on in some people’s heads.
I didn’t quite know what to think of the affair rumour. I didn’t put it past Gaby to betray Lockie like that – a rebound relationship: did they ever last? – but it sounded like it was fourth-hand speculation. I couldn’t let it cloud my mind.
The van sighting, however, was another matter altogether. The unease in my belly reasserted itself.
9
My brain had developed an awful habit of drifting into thoughts of Lockie rather than the investigation of his wife’s death. The fact that I had to make a concerted effort to change my focus, to draw a clear line between my personal and professional involvement, annoyed the crap out of me. Maybe some people weren’t cut out for divorcing the two. Maybe some things were too deep to ignore.
Direct action, however, might get me back in line, or at least improve my mood. With this thought I pulled up outside the Riverside Health Centre in Mataura, where I hoped Gaby’s doctor might be able to shed some light on her supposedly precarious state of mind and I might learn how she got hold of those sleeping tablets.
I opened the door and was greeted by a large hexagonal tank containing several frilly goldfish. Bubbles of air drifted upwards and detoured around limbs of the artificially bright green seaweed. There was the obligatory blackboard and chalk and basket of wooden toys, currently being marauded upon by unmistakably twin boys. They matched even down to the trails of mucus working their way from nostril to mouth. I shuddered, smiled at them, and then at their mother, who reddened and ferreted around in her handbag – presumably, for some tissues. Apparently, I had been promoted to Sergeant of the Snot Police. With the efficiency gained from lots of practice, she dealt with the two faces before they could mount a protest.
Unusually for a rural-type practice, three doctors worked out of these rooms. That it was one of two medical centres in the town was even more remarkable. Perhaps the lifestyle was more attractive here than in other regions: usually, the low pay, long hours and being continuously on call made working as a rural GP an unattractive proposition. Hell, I’d even heard of some small towns throwing parties because their doctor had chosen to stay. Gaby Knowes’ GP hailed originally from Britain. He and his wife had fallen victim to the charms of New Zealand while holidaying here and, like many smitten in the same way, had decided to make it their permanent home. I had been informed by many reliable sources that he was a charming and pleasant family man who fitted in well with the community.
Blessed as I am with the constitution of an ox, I hadn’t seen Dr Tony Walden in a professional capacity before – or socially for that matter. My own GP, also in the practice, was hardly getting rich on the proceeds of my visits. The only thing I ever needed was a prescription for the Pill, and even that wasn’t needed, strictly speaking.
Francine was at work behind the reception desk. She was always dependable as a sympathetic ear, and as circulation manager of the local rumour mill.
‘You’ll be here about Gaby Knowes, won’t you?’ she said. ‘Is it right, what they’re saying, that she killed herself?’ She’d leaned forwards to prevent anyone overhearing, her expression almost eager.
‘We’re still investigating the case, so you know I can’t comment on that. That is why I’m here, though. I need to talk to Dr Walden. Can you slot me in?’
‘Course I can, Sam. I’ll pop you in next. It’s fairly quiet this morning. He shouldn’t be too long.’
I sat down on a chair opposite the now clean-faced Symes twins. Adelle and John had decided to have a fourth child and had been rather surprised to find out there had been a buy-one-get-one-free special on that week and they’d be needing something akin to a bus to transport the expanded family. By now, the shock had worn off, but the twins did have a reputation for stretching their parents’ patience, as well as their budget. They were a study in slow motion as they dragged their collective feet after their mother on the way to Dr Brightman’s room.
After the emotional turmoil of the morning’s visit with Lockie, I now felt sober and more together, but I was going to have to keep tempering my reactions and concentrate on doing my job – finding Gaby’s killer. Interesting how the ‘killer’ word had snuck its way into my train of thought, how my mind had gone from having suspicions to deciding it was murder.
‘Hmmmm,’ I said. I hadn’t intended for it to be out loud.
‘Something else, Sam?’ Francine asked.
‘Ah, no … Actually, yes, there is something else you can help me with. I’ll need to see Dr Arnold today as well. Can you get me in with him?’ Dr Arnold, not Dr Walden, had written Gaby’s prescription for Hypnovel. There could have been many reasons for that, but I wanted to see Dr Arnold regardless.
‘He’s not in until one o’clock. Do you want me to book a time?’
I was about to reply when Tony Walden emerged from the hallway, ushering along a rather frail-looking Mrs Ellison, who made painfully slow progress with the shuffle and lift required to animate her walking frame. I wished someone would upgrade her to one with wheels and a seat. Dr Walden was a slight man of medium height, with short, wavy brown hair and pleasant if not handsome features. He glanced up at me and paused a moment before resuming his conversation with Mrs Ellison and directing her to reception. The uniform often had that effect on people.
‘Tony, Constable Shephard here would like to have a word,’ Francine called.
‘Yes, of course.’ He clipped his soft British accent. ‘Through this way.’ He turned without further comment, headed down the hallway, then disappeared into a room off to the left.
I turned back to Francine. ‘I’ll pop by later and take my chances with Dr Arnold,’ I said, then followed the doctor down to his room.
By the time I entered, Dr Walden was already seated behind his desk. I closed the door behind me, and as I turned back to face him, I caught him completing the kind of appraisal one would normally reserve for livestock. His eyes flicked quickly back to my face. At least he had the grace to look a little abashed. My so-called reliable informants had got it a tad wrong. Charming he might be, but having a doctor give you the once-over was akin to being eyed up by your priest. I shuddered.
‘What can I do for you today, Constable?’
I dispensed with the usual social niceties and got straight to the point. ‘No doubt you have heard about the death of Gabriella Knowes?’
His face registered an immediate expression of loss.
‘I understand she was one of your patients, and I was wanting to ask you a few questions for our investigation.’
‘Yes, Francine told us this morning. Everyone is shocked by the news. She was a very lovely lady. What happened?’ He waved a hand in the direction of a chair, and I took the offer to sit down.
‘We found her body on the Mataura riverbank last night. Mr Knowes had reported her missing when she wasn’t at home when he’d returned from work. It was very out of character for her. You’ve no doubt heard the speculation of suicide. She’d left a note, and also an empty box of Hypnovel tablets.’
I noticed a slight frown at the mention of the Hypnovel.
‘The tablets weren’t prescribed by you, but by Dr Arnold. Had you given her sleeping tablets on other occasions?’
He sat there, elbows on desk, hands clasped. Index fingers drummed on his mouth. Then he leaned back
in his chair, folded his arms across his chest and looked at me.
‘No, I don’t think I’ve given Mrs Knowes sleeping tablets before. I’d have to check her notes to make certain. She would normally see me, though, not Dr Arnold.’ He paused. ‘I must have been away that day.’
‘I’ll be seeing Dr Arnold later on, when he gets in,’ I said. ‘He’ll be able to clarify that for us. But can you tell me if she’d ever mentioned feeling suicidal or had a history of depression?’
‘Sorry, I wish I could, but I can’t,’ he said.
‘And why not?’
‘I’m limited in the information I can give you because of the Privacy Act. We have to be very careful, you know.’
I resisted the urge to do a massive eye roll.
‘Mr Knowes is aware of my visit and I have his permission to ask about his family’s medical history,’ I said. I knew for a fact that under these circumstances Dr Walden could answer questions relating to Gaby’s death. ‘He wants to understand why this has happened. Anything you can tell us to explain it would go a long way to helping Gaby’s family cope with her death. As you can imagine, they’re in a state of shock.’
‘I understand how awful this must be for him, but what passed between Mrs Knowes and me is covered by doctor-patient privilege. I really can’t give out her personal information,’ he said, and he leaned forward onto the desk.
‘Would it help if I had Mr Knowes’ permission in writing?’ I asked, although I already suspected what the answer would be.
‘That wouldn’t matter. The only one who can give permission is Mrs Knowes,’ he said, and shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t have any say in the matter.
‘I had hoped that your concern for your patient and her family would prompt you to help us in our inquiries,’ I said, emphasising the word ‘concern’.
‘Don’t get me wrong, I think this is an awful thing to have happened and I would help you if I could, but I’m afraid the Privacy Act precludes me from divulging that kind of information to you.’