by Vanda Symon
Of course, wakeful in the dark, I indulged in some mental mudslinging too. I couldn’t keep my mind from Lockie, and how he would feel on discovering his wife was a two-timing bitch. I just couldn’t understand where she was coming from. Lockie was a wonderful man, a fine father, I was sure – and, come to think of it, no slouch in the sack either. Why the hell would that daft cow risk throwing it all away on a sleazoid piece of shit like Tony Walden? Especially a piece of potentially homicidal sleazoid shit.
And then there was the whole pregnancy thing. Whose baby was it, anyway?
I wrenched my mind away from what could only turn into a downward-spiralling string of blame and obscenities to focus on the task at hand. At some ungodly hour of the morning, a germ of an idea crept into my head. There was one sure-fire way of talking to Chrissie in private without drawing any suspicion from the other staff at the medical centre. So here I was, in the full glare of day, parked outside the surgery, yet again, like some sick playback of Groundhog Day. I garnered up the courage to go through with my plan. A shot of Dutch courage would probably have helped, but this wasn’t really the time or place.
‘Get on with it, Shep.’ I jumped down out of the truck and headed towards the medical centre before I could change my mind. Then I marched straight up to the reception desk.
‘Can I see Chrissie, please?’ I whispered to Francine.
‘Is this about that poor young woman again? I can’t stop thinking about it, such a waste…’
‘Actually, it’s something more personal today. I’m due for my cervical smear test. Can’t put it off for ever, I suppose.’ I could feel my nose wrinkling up, unbidden.
‘Oh, that. Lucky you. Take a seat. Chrissie won’t be long.’
I couldn’t believe I was about to carry out a police interview from the business end of a speculum. I would place bets that no male officer in the country had ever conducted police work with a finger poked up his arse, while his doctor checked his prostate. Of course, I could just have requested that Chrissie come down to the station for a wee chat, but firstly, I didn’t want Dr Walden getting a jump on us and ditching any potentially damning evidence and, secondly, the whole affair thing was just hearsay. I thought it wise to be sure of my facts before I made a fool of myself in front of my superiors.
Smear tests are just like car maintenance, I told myself. You might not like it at the time, but it could improve your overall mileage. Besides, I’d always thought it funny that most of us were squeamish about the damned things, considering what else got poked up there in our lifetimes.
‘Sam, you want to see me?’ Chrissie came over.
‘I don’t know if “want” is the right word. Let’s just say I’m being a good girl.’ I got up and followed her down to one of the nurses’ rooms.
‘So, what can I help you with? Are you here on business or pleasure?’
I toyed with the idea of direct questions, but thought better of it. Want it or not, I did need to do this.
‘I wouldn’t exactly call it pleasure. I need a smear test.’
‘When was your last one?’
‘Five years, give or take a few.’
She gave me a tut-tut look and smiled. ‘You’re not afraid of them, are you, Sam? Was the last one normal?’
‘Perfectly, and I’m not ashamed to say these things make me nervous.’
‘Don’t be silly, they’re a doddle. Just undress from the waist down, hop up on the bed and I’ll be back in a moment. Use that sheet to cover yourself.’
She left the room and closed the door behind her, so I stripped down, folding my trousers and underpants over the chair. I shoved my socks into their respective shoes and lamented the poor state of my toenails – I’d forgotten they’d be on public display, otherwise I’d have removed the chipped remnants of ‘lunar’ nail enamel still clinging to the top half of each one. Thank God I’d shaved my legs.
Perched up on the bed, sheet strategically placed, I looked around the room like someone surveying the crowd before their execution. Along with the usual array of posters displaying alarming-looking skin conditions, there were rows of shelves full of medical paraphernalia – oxygen cylinders, nebulisers, scales – as well as a sharps container, and a worrying-looking light and magnifying glass on the end of an articulated arm clamped to the end of the bed. I started at a knock on the door, and patted the sheet more firmly as Chrissie came back into the room. She donned a pair of latex gloves with an efficient snap.
‘Don’t look so worried. This won’t take long. You’ve had smear tests before.’
‘Yes, but it’s never something you can say you enjoy, is it?’
‘No, that’s true, but it is a necessary evil. Now, I’ll get you to lie on your side and face the wall, then bring your knees up to your chest.’
This was new. Last time I had this done I’d had to lie on my back, feet up, knees down, splayed like a spatchcock chicken. I rolled obediently onto my side, examined the paintwork closely and listened to the chinks and clunks as Chrissie arranged her implements of torture on a tray.
‘Right, I’m just going to slide it in now. This may be a little uncomfortable.’
Just what I wanted to hear.
Anything that could clench, clenched.
‘Just take a deep breath, let it out slowly and relax,’ she said in her beautifully soothing voice.
It seemed to work, because with no discomfort at all I felt the speculum slide in and felt the small clicks reverberate through my innards as she spread the blades apart. Now was as good a time as any to be direct, considering how exposed I was.
‘Were Tony Walden and Gaby Knowes having an affair?’
‘You’ve chosen an interesting time to ask that question,’ she said, without missing a beat.
I felt a slight scraping sensation somewhere entirely unnatural.
‘Well, you seemed to want to talk to me, and this was the only way I could figure to do it discreetly, and in private.’
‘You got that right; I can guarantee no one will walk in on us.’ She chuckled. ‘Hang on a moment, I’ve finished here.’ She slid the speculum out and draped the sheet back over my bare bits.
That really had been a much better way of doing it, I decided. Looking at the wall was much less personal than trying not to look at someone as they peered at your privates.
I sat up and swung my legs around to face her.
‘I wouldn’t exactly call it an affair,’ she said. ‘They were having sex, but it was fairly one-sided, I imagine.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘To be blunt and concise, that revolting prick was blackmailing her. I overheard her one day, telling him she wouldn’t do it any longer, and you know what he said?’ Her eyes flickered above my head as she groped for the right words. ‘He told her – no, reminded her, I should say – that all it would take would be one phone call to Child, Youth and Family and he could have Angel taken away from her.’
For one of the few moments in my life, I was speechless. No one could be that bloody rotten, surely? When I finally found my tongue, I was hardly pithy.
‘He was what?’
‘Blackmailing her.’
‘That dirt-bag, opportunist bastard! But he wouldn’t have any grounds to call them, would he?’
‘No, but he could just make the details up. He could add a little here and there in her notes to create a bit of a history. No one would even consider the doctor could be lying. They’re God, you know. And we all know what CYFs is like. Take the kid first, ask questions later. He could have ruined her life – well, actually he did. It was probably the prospect of losing Angel that drove her to take her life – and I didn’t do a bloody thing about it.’
Chrissie looked away, tears misting her eyes. Only then did I notice how deeply ringed they were. She must have been beating herself up all night.
I reached out and touched her shoulder. ‘Gaby didn’t kill herself,’ I said. ‘She was murdered.’
Shock streaked acr
oss Chrissie’s face.
‘Murdered?’
‘It was just made to look like a suicide. That’s why I wanted to talk to you without anyone getting curious. The…’ I was going to use the word ‘affair’, but that wasn’t right. ‘The blackmail makes Dr Walden a suspect, so if there is anything else you can tell me, I need to know.’
Chrissie did a very rattly sounding sniff and shook her head. ‘I only overheard that one conversation. I kept my eyes out for signs he was doing it to any other poor women, but no, I think it was only Gaby. Do you really think he could have killed her?’
‘I don’t know, but I can’t discount it. He was capable of blackmail, so who knows what else he could do. But, I have to ask you, Chrissie. Why didn’t you say something about it earlier?’
She blew out a big breath and looked up at the ceiling. ‘I should have, and God knows I regret not saying anything now, but things are kind of tight money-wise and I didn’t want to risk losing my job. It would come down to my word against his, and I didn’t think anyone would believe me.’
‘When did you overhear the conversation?’
‘It would have been a few weeks ago. It will be in the appointments diary when she was in.’
‘Then tell me, how would he get hold of injections such as Midazolam?’
‘An order form through the pharmacy is the usual way,’ she said, then reached over for a tissue and blew her nose.
‘I’d better get out there again. We’ve been a while.’
‘I know this will be hard, but you must carry on like it’s business as usual. We’ll be bringing him in for questioning later. In the meantime, just keep your eye on him. I’ll need you to make a statement later too. You can do that?’
She nodded, then turned and headed for the door.
‘Thanks, Chrissie.’
She didn’t look back. She would be battling her conscience for quite some time to come.
Blackmail. That placed quite a different complexion on everything. But it seemed so unlikely. The more I thought about it, the more it seemed like a pretty high-risk move for Walden. All Gaby needed to do was make one squeak and his career would be in tatters. There must have been something more to it for him to feel confident blackmail would work. Perhaps Gaby did have a bit of history – some of the most normal people you could meet have experienced drug addictions in their past or mental illness – any number of things. Maybe there had been some accident or incident with Angel that could easily be misconstrued to look like abuse. Why else would she feel he had the power to have Angel removed? How did the situation arise in the first place? I thought about the extent to which a woman would go to protect her child, and felt a pang of guilt of my own. I’d said and thought some nasty things about Gaby Knowes that had proven to be completely unwarranted.
It wasn’t as if I could apologise to her in person, so I mumbled a ‘Sorry, Gaby’ in the general direction of the ceiling and jumped down off the bed.
It was only then that I realised I was still half naked. Chrissie’s revelations had completely distracted me from self-consciousness. I hurriedly donned my clothing and exited the building as fast as I could. I had a ripe piece of information to take back to the Boss now. At last we had a solid suspect.
17
I took a slight detour on my way back to the command centre. In the wee hours of the morning another thought had come to me – one concerning the site where Gaby had been dumped into the river. I was by now absolutely certain she had not gone into the river from the back of the Knowes property, and the absence of her footprints made sense now. She would have been moved in a vehicle of some sort – the white van the most likely candidate. CIB were following up Dora McGann’s sighting, but thus far had no idea as to who the mystery tradesman could have been or why he was there. Lockie knew nothing about him either. The TV hadn’t blown up or the fridge conked out, as far as he knew. He said they always discussed things like repairs before calling anybody in.
Did Tony Walden have a van, or access to one?
I drove slowly along Wyndham Road. It was pretty quiet at this time of day. The only traffic I met was a couple of cars and a milk tanker. There weren’t too many places where you could access the river between Gaby’s house and the spot she had washed up. She must have gone in somewhere south of the house. The murderer would not have risked her coming to ground upstream. Even my grasp of physics told me bodies didn’t travel against the current. I drove along, following the path of the Mataura, and pulled into the first river access. It was, I suppose, a good half a kilometre downstream from Lockie’s, and was visually isolated from the road. I had to drive fifty metres or so along the track, the dips and hollows rocking me violently from side to side, before my truck disappeared down into the mantle of willows. Someone had the bright idea of introducing the willows along the riverbed for erosion control a hundred years ago. Like many introduced species, both flora and fauna, they were thriving in their new environment, to the detriment of the natives. Here, they provided perfect cover from any observers passing by on the road.
I parked the truck on the last of the gravel and hopped out to make my way to the river on foot. There were several tyre imprints in the mud, which I carefully skirted. You’d need a four-wheel drive to get any further down this rutted, poor excuse for a track, unless you wanted to be towed out by a tractor. The chances had to be good that one of those sets belonged to the vehicle that transported Gaby. It was a wonder it hadn’t got stuck.
The soundscape was almost deafening, with a mixture of the wind rustling the willow leaves, the low roar of the river and the throaty call of some tui. I moved on and negotiated the drop down the grassed bank to the shingle riverbed and walked across to the water. The river flowed fast, deep and relatively straight from this point, and with the higher than usual water level, there were no places a body could get snagged and be found too quickly. Its surface glittered fresh and lively in the morning light, and while there was no visible taint of its recent deathly cargo, to me it would never seem clean again.
I turned around and scanned for any glimpse of the nearby houses or the road. The belt of willow and poplar trees obscured them all. It was pretty much a perfect spot to slilp someone into the river without attracting unwanted attention.
I wandered back towards the truck and took a closer look at the tyre prints. There were some beer-bottle caps pressed into the mud and grit, but judging by the rust, they weren’t recent arrivals. It was impossible to know how many vehicles had been down here since Gaby’s death. Some of the searchers had probably parked here. But anything was worth a crack: I’d get the forensics crew down here straight away. The sky was overcast to the south and threatening rain though. So just to be sure, I got out the camera and ruler and photographed the impressions. I would have covered them with my tarpaulins, but they hadn’t been replaced after being used to cover Gaby’s body.
The last thing I did as I left the access way was to block off the entrance with tape. It now sported a nice ‘Police Scene, Do Not Cross’ banner. It would have to do for now; there was no lockable gate. I was sure people would get the hint and stay the hell out.
Further down the road it was evident from a fair distance that the next access way was far too exposed. The river was clearly visible from the road, as was the car park. No one in their right mind would attempt anything nefarious in full view of the neighbourhood. I didn’t even bother to stop, and instead turned around and headed back to see the Boss.
It was only nine-thirty a.m. and I thought I’d achieved a lot. I hadn’t seen any of the other boys and girls in blue out and about this morning. The day’s briefing wasn’t due till 10, so perhaps they were having a late start or just busy setting up the command centre.
I looked forward to telling the Boss what I’d uncovered.
18
The Elderly Citizens Centre had undergone an amazing transformation overnight. Desks and computer terminals were congregated in the middle of the main room, their te
ndrils of cables radiating outwards, anchored periodically by blue duct tape. Sad to say, the effect was an improvement on the foul over-patterned carpet. Maps and photos adorned the walls, along with depressingly blank whiteboards. The room was abuzz with activity, and the phrase ‘busy as a blue-arsed fly’ jumped to mind. I smiled at the aptness. A few heads looked up as I entered; some of them continued to stare as I walked past. I acknowledged them with a quick hello and kept my eyes open for any sign of the Boss.
‘Shep, the Boss is looking for you.’ A voice I immediately recognised as Paul Frost’s spoke from behind me. I turned and was about to give him some stick about the previous night’s comments when I saw his face and thought better of it.
‘What’s wrong?’ I asked. ‘Is he in a bad mood?’
‘Just slightly. He’s over there.’ Paul pointed towards the corner and a conglomeration of small rooms.
I headed over, taking care not to trip over any of the cabling. People were still staring, so I wiped at my face, in case anything was stuck to it.
‘Constable Shephard, so nice of you to join us this morning.’ The Boss was leaning against the doorway, clutching a large mug of coffee. He did look rather grumpy, but given his normal demeanour, that might not signify anything. The slight sarcasm in his voice wasn’t lost on me, though.
‘I have had a very productive morning and have uncovered some things you’ll be very interested in.’
‘Well, you’d better step into my office then,’ he said, and moved out of the way to let me pass.
They must have set this up as an interview room. As well as a table with several chairs, the room had a video camera set up on a tripod, and sound-recording equipment. I plonked myself down at one end and waited.
When the Boss came in a moment or two later, he was with the District Commander and another man I recognised from the previous night’s briefing. I stood up as they entered.