by Vanda Symon
‘This is District Commander Ian Frederickson.’
‘Sir.’ I reached across and shook his hand.
‘And this is Detective Inspector Greg Johns.’ I reached over and repeated the ritual. The Boss was being very formal. ‘Constable Shephard is the Mataura station officer. It’s a sole charge, so she is probably the most knowledgeable person when it comes to the local population. Take a seat, Constable. We’re videoing this, by the way.’
There was a pause while we took our seats. Then the Boss got things under way.
‘So what’s the interesting information you uncovered this morning?’ he asked.
I took a deep breath. ‘Last night I heard a rumour that Gaby Knowes was romantically involved with Dr Tony Walden. Dr Walden is her GP, one of the doctors here in Mataura,’ I added for the benefit of the out-of-towners. ‘I thought it best to clarify the information, so this morning I went to the surgery and talked to Chrissie Andrews, his practice nurse. She was able to confirm that yes, Dr Walden and Gaby Knowes did have a relationship, but here is the major catch. Dr Walden was blackmailing her for sex.’
Three sets of eyebrows simultaneously shot up to the ceiling.
‘That is quite an allegation to make,’ DI Johns said. ‘Why did she think that?’
‘Ms Andrews overheard a conversation in which Mrs Knowes said she wanted them to stop meeting, but Dr Walden said he’d report her to CYFs and have her daughter removed from her unless she continued giving him sex.’ The frowns that shot across the faces of such seasoned officers showed this was a new low, even for them.
The Boss shook his head. ‘That certainly makes the doctor a viable suspect.’
‘He would have access to the Midazolam injection and to Dr Arnold’s prescription pads, and know how to write a script correctly for the tablets. With Mrs Knowes being pregnant, he may have had the impetus to remove a possible major complication in his life. He’d also know how post-mortems work, and therefore how to fool them.’
‘You didn’t question him at all, did you?’ the DI asked, concern creasing his forehead.
‘No, of course not, and I was very discreet. No one would have known I was questioning Ms Andrews.’
‘How on earth did you manage that?’ the Boss asked.
‘Believe me, you do not want to know,’ I said, and smiled.
‘Well, actually, Constable, we would very much like to know.’ This time it was the District Commander who spoke, and it was quite apparent he expected an answer.
I looked at him, hesitated, and then glanced at the Boss, who gave me a questioning look. There was no way out of this one. ‘Well, I talked to her while she was giving me a cervical smear test.’
That really was more information than any of them wanted, judging by the ‘ahems’ and sudden fascination with the walls and ceiling.
‘Well, that’s an original way of conducting an interview,’ the Boss said.
I laughed, a little too loudly, and felt the odd need to justify my actions. ‘It was the only way I could think of to talk to her without arousing suspicion, and also to gain her trust.’
The DI took charge of the conversation again. ‘Was she able to give you any other information?’
‘Not specifically about the blackmailing. She did say it would be easy enough for Dr Walden to change the family’s medical records to back his lie. Who would question his integrity? Also, she was able to clarify how the doctor would get hold of a drug like Midazolam in an injectable form, through a pharmacy order. We would be able to check the pharmacy’s records to see the last time they received any.’
‘The practice nurse is prepared to put this on record?’
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘She feels badly about not speaking up earlier, so she’ll make a formal statement.’
They looked at each other before the Boss asked, ‘Was there something else you uncovered this morning?’
‘Yes. I was thinking about where the killer would have dumped Mrs Knowes into the river. They would have had to use a vehicle to transport her, probably the van described by Mrs McGann, so I had a look at the access ways. One of them was far too exposed; it would be visible to the road and several neighbouring properties. But the entrance just south of the Knowes’ house would be ideal. Once you turn off, it travels a distance towards the river, then trees obscure any view from traffic on the road and surrounding houses. There were a few tyre tracks down there, so I’ve taped off the entrance way till the forensics guys get down there.’
‘Anything else?’
‘No, I came straight here after the river.’
They did another round of eyeball and eyebrow conferring, before the Boss gave a nod and DI Johns cleared his throat.
‘Constable Shephard, can you verify your whereabouts on Tuesday.’
‘Pardon?’
‘Can you verify your whereabouts on Tuesday?’
I became acutely aware of the fact we were in an interview room and there were three high-powered officers opposite me.
‘I was on duty and have a record of visits in my notebook. It was a busy day – I saw quite a few people.’ I cast my mind back: it had been full on. ‘Fred Phillips reported a farm-bike theft. I went out to George Porter’s – some of his sheep had been mauled by dogs; that took a while. I returned a recovered car stereo to Trevor Ray … there were several others. Why?’
‘Do you have your notebook with you?’
‘Yes, of course.’ I fished around in my satchel and pulled out my work record.
‘We will be taking your notebook into evidence, Constable Shephard.’
The sinking sensation that had been working its way through my chest finally hit my boots.
‘Am I a suspect?’ I asked, very quietly.
‘Why didn’t you inform me of your previous relationship with Lockie Knowes?’
This time the scrutiny was coming from the Boss. I was so flummoxed I couldn’t even bring myself to reply.
‘Constable, why didn’t you inform me you used to live with Lockie Knowes?’
Like my private life was any of their bloody business.
‘You have the right to have a lawyer present if you wish.’ This time it was the District Commander.
Unbelievable. I had been running around all morning, going to great lengths to find leads and a bloody strong suspect, and here they were treating me like one?
I finally found my voice, and I’m afraid it was a little strident.
‘I don’t want a bloody lawyer present. I haven’t got anything to hide.’
‘You might like to watch the language, Constable. As I said, we are recording this interview.’
I swung my head around and registered the accusing glare of the video camera’s red LED. The significance of his earlier comment about videoing the interview hit home. My legs thrust downwards and I was on my feet before I realised it.
‘I am not a bloody suspect, I’m the bloody police.’ I banged my hands on the table, and then pointed my finger directly at the Boss. ‘You cannot possibly believe this crap. How the hell can I be a suspect?’
The Boss hauled himself to his feet and, in a voice that gave no room for discussion, roared, ‘Sit yourself down right now. I will not have that kind of disrespect from my officers. You will answer the questions and you will do it now. Am I clear?’
I suddenly felt very small and very hot.
‘Am I making myself clear?’ The roar left no room for doubt.
‘Yes, sir.’
Like a possum caught in headlights.
‘Now sit!’
I felt like a chastened schoolgirl and, by God, I resented him for it. The silence in the room was intensified by the deafening silence on the other side of the door. Everyone within a ten-kilometre radius would have heard that outburst. How the hell would I be able to face any of my colleagues again? Slowly, the muffled sounds of work resumed.
The three sets of eyes opposite shot bullets and I cursed myself for my impulsiveness. I could see I would gain no
quarter from these men.
‘I’m sorry, sirs, you took me by surprise. I didn’t mean any offence.’ It was the best I could do at arse-licking for now; anger was too busy wrestling under my skin for me to be truly repentant.
‘Now, will you answer the Senior Sergeant’s question?’ DI Johns took over the interview. ‘Why did you not inform him of your past relationship with Lockie Knowes?’
‘It didn’t occur to me I’d need to. It was so long ago, it didn’t seem relevant.’ Of course, with the luxury of hindsight it was obvious I should have told the Boss. Of course, I would be a suspect. But it was all a bit late now. ‘And I thought it was common knowledge. Everyone knew Lockie and I had been together. I assumed you knew.’
That sounded pretty feeble, even to my ears.
‘How did you know to look for Mrs Knowes’ body in the river?’
With that question I became uncomfortably aware of my predicament. What could I say? It seemed the obvious place to look. How the hell do you describe women’s intuition? I suppose the men would call it a hunch. I decided on the educated-guess approach.
‘Both Mr Knowes and I’ – I tripped back into formal speak – ‘had searched the house and surrounds. It was getting late and there was a possibility that Mrs Knowes was still alive. I needed to make a decision quickly about a search, so I thought the river would be the most obvious place for her to go if she didn’t want to die in the house with the baby present. It was the place of greatest risk to her life; if she was determined, it would almost certainly result in death.’
That seemed to satisfy them, and I desperately hoped that was going to be the end of the matter. The room was feeling very close.
‘It seems very convenient that you would be the one called out to the Knowes situation and could therefore be selective about the evidence, or contaminate it.’
It was an accusation that froze my blood. They were actually serious – it wasn’t just going through the motions. They thought I killed her. I looked to the Boss for help, but was met by cold, dispassionate eyes. I began to wonder if a lawyer might be a good idea; but then this was not my doing; the guilt-free had nothing to fear. Why then did my bowels feel uncomfortably twitchy? I was going to have to choose my words carefully.
‘I called in assistance from the Gore station immediately it became apparent a life was at risk. I collected the evidence at the Knowes house by the book.’ Thank God. ‘I photographed and quarantined evidence for removal and fingerprinting. Mr Knowes and Colin Avery were present at the time. All evidence pointed to a suicide at that stage, so I proceeded accordingly. As soon as it was apparent there could have been a homicide, I called in the CIB.’
‘Don’t you also think it’s convenient your tyre tracks are now at the crime scene after your visit to the river this morning? A nice justification for their presence if the forensics team identifies them?’
How was it the innocent could dig themselves into a hole without even realising it? Here I was, thinking I was doing my job well, when in fact I was just incriminating myself. The pressure in my innards was building rapidly. God, I needed to go to the toilet. The last thing I wanted to do was crap myself in front of them. I took a deep breath, tried to ignore the cramps and squeezed my sphincter tight.
‘I didn’t take the truck onto the dirt. I parked it on the gravel, out of the way, to preserve any possible tracks.’
‘But you then walked out to the river?’
Holy shit. I hadn’t even considered footprints.
‘Yes.’
The cramps got too much for me.
‘May I be excused to go to the bathroom?’ I was awash with sweat, my stomach seethed and I must have looked the part, because the Boss stood up immediately to escort me out.
A sea of faces turned and stared as we went out the door. They had a distinctly grey tinge to them and wavered in a most disturbing way. A large hand grasped my elbow and pushed me in towards the amenities.
‘Oh Christ,’ I said, and lunged towards the cubicle. I fumbled with my button and zip and didn’t even bother to shut the door before I sat down. I didn’t realise the Boss had followed me in until I looked up and saw a pair of blue legs – just before I vomited all over his shoes.
It took a while for me to get myself into some semblance of humanity again. I only just managed to keep it together enough to wipe my arse, get dressed and get out of the cubicle without fainting or slipping in the vomit. I had expected a tirade from the Boss, but he was uncharacteristically quiet as he handed me a damp cloth to clean myself up. He’d kicked off his shoes and they sat at the edge of the puke, a reminder of my moment of glory. My arms still tingling, I leaned against the basin and looked at myself in the mirror. It was not good. Unrecognisable, bloodshot, watering eyes returned my stare. My normally olive skin had taken on a transparent quality: I’d seen corpses with more colour. The hair around my face had glued itself to my forehead, and unfortunately some strands had picked up a few chunky bits. The unmistakable waft of vomit…
‘Oh, Christ.’ This time I made it to the other cubicle before I threw up.
Strong hands helped me back up and sat me on the toilet lid.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, croakiness tingeing my voice. I blew my nose on some toilet paper. ‘And I’m really sorry about your shoes. I’ll buy you some new ones.’
‘That won’t be necessary,’ he said as he passed me a glass of water. Then he looked at me contemplatively. ‘You’ve made life very difficult for me, Sam. Why didn’t you report in this morning? It didn’t look good having you arrive late. You should have rung.’
‘I didn’t even think to. I’m so used to working by myself. I had this idea about interviewing the practice nurse and I just wanted to get it done.’ Once again, hindsight told me he was right. But then: ‘I had my cellphone; nobody rang me.’
He had to concede that point.
‘I wish you’d told me about Lockie,’ he said. ‘Because you might be seen as having compromised the evidence. Any defence lawyer is going to have a field day.’
I looked up at him, but his face was, as usual, unreadable.
‘The interview is unpleasant, I know, but necessary. Best you get it over with now.’ That was not a request.
‘Do you want me to clean that up?’ I said, and leaned my head against the cubicle wall, tilting in the direction of my impressive miss.
‘No, I’ll find someone to do that.’ I pitied the poor bugger.
The faces at the table did not seem any friendlier when I returned to the interview room. I had walked back through the main hall with my head down to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes. It was almost a relief to hear the door close after me. Almost.
DI Johns started straight in.
‘For how long did you have a relationship with Lockie Knowes?’
‘Two and a half years.’
‘You lived with him for all of this time?’
‘No, we lived together for two years.’
‘Who ended the relationship?’
I really didn’t want to go into all that.
‘He did,’ I said quietly, knowing what was going to come next.
‘Why?’
I looked up at the ceiling and tried very hard to prevent any tears betraying my emotions. I’d fail dismally if I was tortured. I wouldn’t be heroic. I’d tell them anything they wanted straight away to put an end to the scrutiny. This was torture. Not only was my integrity being called into question but they also wanted me to bare my personal life for public record. My colleagues would see that video. I could already hear their sniggers and feel their derision. Oh Christ – and they would all find out how I questioned Chrissie. I could just imagine the quips I’d have to endure at work: jokes about smear tactics, running a smear campaign. That’s assuming I still had a job. That’s assuming I wasn’t in jail.
‘Constable Shephard, I asked you why?’ The voice was very insistent.
‘Lockie really wanted to settle down and have a family. He talked
about marriage all the time, about having babies. I was very wrapped up in my job. I love policing; I wanted to advance my career, sit my exams. Ultimately, I want to become a detective. I felt too young to have children. I didn’t want to postpone or give up my career prospects just to have kids. Lockie believed I could have both. I knew that was all he wanted, and I thought he understood my position and was prepared to wait a bit. I never realised how important it was to him.’ My mind played back the awful night it all turned to custard, and I cringed at my stupidity. ‘He proposed. He got down on bended knee with a beautiful ring, and he proposed. He asked me to marry him, to have his children…’ I hesitated, still cursing my decision. ‘And I said I wasn’t ready. I chose my job. He chose to leave.’
There was silence in the room; I looked over towards the door. I couldn’t meet their gaze.
‘When did Mr Knowes start seeing Mrs Knowes?’
That question brought with it the taste of bitter acid. I closed my eyes, then opened them again with a sigh.
‘Lockie started seeing Gaby within a month. They were married three months later. Angel was born within a year of their wedding.’
Please, I thought, don’t ask me how I felt about it.
‘How did that make you feel?’
I couldn’t disguise the sarcasm in my reply. ‘How do you think that made me feel?’
‘Constable,’ came the warning growl.
‘Upset, disappointed, angry.’ Words like nails in a coffin.
‘Did you think Mr Knowes started seeing Mrs Knowes while you were still together?’
‘No, no. They weren’t introduced until after he left me. They met at the Middlemarch Singles Ball, of all places.’ The event designed to match up lovelorn farmers with eligible women – the ultimate rebound fixture. ‘No, Lockie was a good man. He would never have betrayed me like that.’ I still defended him, even here. But I knew, deep down, my losing Lockie was one hundred percent my own damned fault. I had been blind to the warning signs, and too selfish to notice his unhappiness. It shouldn’t have shocked me that he latched on to the first pretty face to come along.
I suspected what would come next. They had seemed pretty unsurprised by the order of events thus far.