by Vanda Symon
‘Need coffee, give it to me.’
‘Yes, but only if you promise to give me a head transplant. Whose bloody stupid idea was it to hit the port?’
‘Committee decision.’
‘For God’s sake, sack the committee.’ Maggie turned to head back to the kitchen, and then turned around for a parting shot. ‘I told you alcohol wouldn’t make you feel better.’
I poked my tongue out at her. Nobody liked a know-it-all.
Somehow, I managed to get myself into a vertical position and into the kitchen. Even under normal conditions neither of us was at our best in the mornings; today, we were barely functional. We made another committee decision to keep the curtains closed.
‘One thing about being suspended – at least I don’t have to go to work this morning.’
Maggie grimaced. ‘Life’s a bitch like that. Ugh, I need drugs.’ She fossicked around in the top cupboard and fished out a box of paracetamol. She popped two out of the strip, gingerly chugged them down with some water and offered the box my way, but I declined the invitation. For some absurd reason, I didn’t want to dull the pain.
‘What are you going to do with yourself today?’ she asked.
‘Believe it or not,’ I said, and cringed at the thought, ‘I might go for a run. Try to clear my head.’
‘If it doesn’t explode. I didn’t realise you had a thing for sadomasochism.’
‘You’d think I did. OK, maybe it will be a walk. I really need some fresh air and sunshine. OK, sunshine probably isn’t too good right now, either, but you know what I mean.’ I tried to stifle what turned into a yawn. ‘Meanwhile, I think I’ll go back to bed, just for a few minutes…’
23
At first, the knocking at the door went unnoticed over the generalised thumping in my head. It finally registered through the murk on the second barrage. I could make out the sound of the shower running, presumably with Maggie in it. Guessing that put me on door duties, in one swift movement I heaved myself into an upright position and swung my legs over the side of the bed to wait for the inevitable head rush. Its ferocity didn’t disappoint. I breathed into my hands to test the air quality and wished I hadn’t. If it was someone I didn’t want to see, I could huff on them and send them packing. Either that or the sight of my Tweety Pie flannelette pyjamas would put them off – why did I buy those again?
By the time I made it to the door, the person was knocking again. Insistent and impatient. I turned the handle and pulled, with no effect whatsoever, then realised unlocking it would help. I got the door open, and at about the same time as I opened my mouth to yawn, it dawned on me that the grey fuzzy thing in front of my face was not some mutant soft toy but a microphone, and it came with a companion in the form of a television camera.
‘Shit.’
Of course, all this equipment came with human accompaniments too, one of whom I recognised from the news.
‘Samantha Shephard?’
‘Huh?’
‘Rachel Longman, One News. Sources tell us you have been suspended from your duties with the police while an investigation is undertaken into the death of Mataura woman Gabriella Knowes. Do you have any comments to make?’
I looked at the camera, looked at her, looked down at my pyjamas, looked at her again and, with one smooth movement, swung the door shut. Once I heard that blessed click, I leaned my head forwards against the cool wooden surface.
‘Shit, shit, shit.’
Oh, I was good. Definite future in media liaisons there.
Stupid as it seemed, the encounter had sent my heart rate through the roof, and my head was not coping with the altitude. I swallowed back a surge of nausea and tried to think. Surely there were rules about that sort of thing. My house was private property, so they were trespassing. Then again, I had opened the door. It was definitely time to badger the landlord about getting that peephole put in; I’d only asked him twice already and it could have proven very useful this morning. Bugger it all, what was I going to do?
Another knock at the door.
I thought it fairly obvious I didn’t have any comment to make; these people were slow learners. I retreated back to my bedroom to hide from the noise and to resist the temptation to yell at them to bugger off. I didn’t think that would do my media image any good. Not that my pyjamas and cutting repartee would. Jesus, imagine it if they put that to air. Imagine if my mother saw it. My hands came up to my face as I slumped onto my bed and tried to push that idea back into my head.
‘Was that someone at the door? Should I get it?’ Maggie called out from the direction of the bathroom.
I leaped to my feet yelling, ‘No’, as I ran to intercept her. The panic in my voice stopped her in her tracks.
‘OK, OK, you don’t need to tackle me. Calm down. Who was it?’
‘Shit, sorry, God, it was the media.’
‘The media? What media?’
I had to lean over, hands on knees, and breathe deeply several times to avoid throwing up.
‘The variety that comes with video cameras and microphones.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You didn’t open the door, did you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Looking like that?’
‘Yes.’
Her expression said it all.
‘Crap.’
‘Exactly. What the hell am I going to do?’
‘Well, what did you say to them?’ Maggie came around and rubbed my back. The gesture made me want to burst into tears, and it took considerable effort not to.
‘Oh, it was something really profound like “Shit”, and that was just before I slammed the door on them. I was impressive.’
‘Sounds it. And what were they wanting to know, exactly?’
‘If I had any comment on being suspended from the investigation into Gaby’s death. I didn’t give them a chance to ask anything else.’ I was still stunned by being confronted by the media at all. It hadn’t occurred to me that I might become the centre of attention. ‘I’d like to know how the hell they found out about my apparent involvement in all this. And how did they get my address? I’m not even in the phone book.’
‘Small town, Sam. Everyone knows you. There’ll be someone, or ones, out there who wouldn’t be able to wait to dob in the local police officer. No matter how popular you think you are, there are those who get a kick out of blabbing. Getting their five minutes of fame. Makes them feel important.’
Not a comforting thought, but she was right. And it was a more palatable prospect than the other possibility: that the information had come from the police force itself. With one notable exception, I didn’t seem to have too many friends there right now.
‘Maybe they won’t show it. I didn’t have anything important to say. They might decide it’s not worth it. It wasn’t good television.’
Maggie gave a derisive laugh.
‘Don’t hold your breath, sunshine.’
24
It was an hour before I was in any fit state to attempt exercise, physically or psychologically. After the departure of the news crew, I flinched at any sound that could have signalled another intrusion. It was tempting to hole up inside for the day and try to stay invisible, but the fact was that the thought of hanging around home doing nothing was worse than that of being accosted by journalists, or anyone else for that matter. Anyway, I had prepared a kind of statement if the chance came up again.
Despite my own assurances, I looked up and down the street several times before being satisfied I was not under surveillance. I’m sure I looked the part – running shoes, bike pants, sports top, cap, sunglasses. OK, the sunglasses weren’t standard-issue running gear, but you had to make allowances. At least I was mobile. I started out at a light jog, which lasted all of thirty seconds before I realised pounding the pavement was going to be reciprocated by pounding in another rather tender part of my anatomy. I’d settle for a brisk walk.
To give myself some credit, I did make the effort to walk up a hill. Part of that was
to throw off any imagined followers; I figured they’d decide it wasn’t worth it if it involved huffing and puffing. The Terrace walkway proved to be a bit of a trap for the unwary. It had been an age since I’d walked through it, and I’d never seen it this overgrown before. The wooden walkway was as slick as soap from the heavy dew – I almost came a greaser a couple of times – and the only reprieve was on the odd areas that had been overlaid with chicken-wire to afford some kind of grip. I thought I’d cheat and have a rest on the park bench and take in the view, but the overgrowth had blocked out any sight of the town. The self-seeding pittosporums – the opportunist sods – had taken advantage of nobody ripping them out. They created a lush, green wall. Consequently, the only thing of interest to ponder was the graffiti on the bench. Every one of my senses was in overdrive. The light was too glary, even through the sunglasses, the damp scent of earth and rotting leaves overwhelmed to the point where I could taste it and I wished the over-exuberant grey warblers would shut the hell up. Did they have to be so bloody cheerful? The whole idea of exercise under adverse conditions suddenly lost its charm. Stuff this, I thought, and headed back down to town.
I decided to cut across the river at Bridge Street and walk casually by the police command centre, just on the off chance I’d run into someone I knew. I was dying to find out if anything new had happened in the investigation. There was also the issue of where the reporter had got her information from. If it had come from the police, I would be not only highly pissed off, but also rather nervous, as it would mean I hadn’t been ruled out as a suspect yet. The water beneath the bridge had a repugnant yellowy frothed scum drifting along its surface. It seemed an oddly appropriate adornment, considering the Mataura’s recent cargo. My eyes followed the scum’s trail upstream to the back of the meat works. Not the most picturesque of vistas today. The smell wasn’t too flash either and my stomach threatened to protest.
My thoughts were disturbed by loud voices, and as I reached the other side of the bridge I saw two men gesticulating angrily.
‘Oh shit.’ I ignored the pain and broke into a sprint for the Riverside Medical Centre. One of the voices belonged to Dr Tony Walden and the other to Lockie Knowes. Those two in close proximity was not a good thing. In fact, they had got to the point of shoving and I was pretty sure blows were about to rain down if someone didn’t intervene.
‘Lockie, you stop it right there!’ I hollered.
Both men looked up, startled, and when they saw it was me gave me looks best described as unwelcoming.
‘What the hell is going on?’
I finally made it to where they were having it out and stepped into the narrow gap between them. Francine stood in the doorway, clutching the phone, as if ready to call the police. Christ, that would be all we needed. I waved her away.
‘What are you doing, Lockie? It’s not a good idea for you to be here, you know.’
‘I was just going to show this filthy piece of scum what I thought of him and his treatment of my wife.’ Lockie leaned over me to have another go at Walden, who looked like he’d be quite happy to shove back. I pushed Lockie away to get some room between them, but the idiot of a doctor moved towards us again, so this time I turned my attention to him.
‘Just step back and get out of the way.’ I was in no mood for taking any crap from either of them.
‘What’s it to you?’ The doctor’s voice spat with venom. ‘You’ve done enough damage already with your groundless accusations.’
That was a bit more than I was capable of shouldering right now, so I jumped astride my high horse and charged.
‘Me? You’re blaming me for your problems? Me? You were the one who couldn’t keep your puny little dick in your pants. You were the one who could only get someone to sleep with you by bloody well blackmailing her. I bet your own bloody wife won’t sleep with you and, Christ, I hope she leaves you and takes you for everything you’ve got. You bloody deserve it. How dare you blame me for your pathetic little troubles. You should be ashamed of yourself. People trust you. You’re a doctor, for God’s sake. You were the one who chose to destroy a life just so you could get your rocks off. You. You make me sick.’
Walden had moved several steps backwards. But I sure as hell wasn’t going to let him escape until I had finished my lecture: I was just getting warmed up. I pressed on forwards, right in his face, my finger levelled millimetres before his nose.
‘If it turns out you didn’t kill Gaby, I will still personally make sure you never practise medicine ever again. You blackmailed your patient! Christ Almighty, you threatened to take her baby away. What were you bloody thinking?’ By this stage he was backed up against a railing with nowhere else to go. And I hadn’t finished yet.
‘You won’t be able to show your face around here by the time I’m done with you. Your name will be crap. People will look upon you like something cheaper than roadkill. By God, I will make sure you suffer just as much as Gaby did.’
I would have spat at him if I had been that way inclined; as it was, it was bad enough manners for me to swear and yell. I don’t know what my blood pressure was doing, but judging by the heat in my face and supernova in my head it was probably getting dangerously high. I thought perhaps it was time to retreat. I looked around, and there were several others as well as Walden now looking pretty startled. I turned to Lockie, grabbed him by the arm and guided him, stupefied, back to his car.
‘He’s just not worth it, Lockie. If you hit him, the bastard would just have you charged with assault. Angel’s already lost one parent, don’t let her lose another.’ I said it loudly enough so everyone present could hear.
I think they were all clear about my opinion on the matter.
25
A few streets over, Lockie pulled off to the side of the road and stopped the car. He leaned forward and rested his head on the steering wheel. I wanted to reach over and touch him, comfort him, but something stopped me. He finally leaned back, turned and looked directly into my eyes. Even now, after all that had happened, I felt uneasy under his gaze and extremely aware of his proximity.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
‘You don’t have anything to thank me for, Lockie. I don’t seem to be doing any good for anyone at the moment.’
‘You saved me from making a big mistake.’ He was damned right there.
‘Hitting him might have felt good for a moment, but it wouldn’t have solved anything for you.’
We lapsed into our own thoughts for a moment. When I did go to say something, Lockie spoke at the same instant. We both laughed like a case of first-date nerves.
‘You go first,’ Lockie said.
I took a deep breath. ‘Look, I’m really sorry about the way I behaved towards you and Gaby. I won’t make any bones about the fact I was jealous, and I did some stupid things that I really regret. But I would never have wished any harm on Gaby, and I’m so truly sorry that you’ve lost her.’
‘I know you wouldn’t have harmed her,’ he said. A mantle of tiredness fell across his features. ‘I can’t understand why anyone would have.’
Neither could I. That was the problem.
‘Walden is the only person who could possibly have motive to kill Gaby, but I simply can’t picture him having the guts to do anything like that.’ Lockie gave me a sideways look, so I explained myself. ‘Well, the whole way he blackmailed Gaby was just so … cowardly. He’s too obvious a suspect. I feel there’s something else.’
‘It’s a bugger you’re off the case,’ he said. ‘I know the others will do their best, but I think you would have gone that extra bit further.’
I was startled, and oddly pleased. All I’d copped lately was criticism, and his approval gave me the resolve I needed for my next move. There were a few more things I needed to tell him first.
‘Lockie, please don’t be angry at Gaby for what happened with Walden. He is the most despicable kind of monster, a predator. He was the one who held all the power – he had all the credibility. Who w
ould have believed Gaby if she’d told? You can’t hold her responsible in any way.’ Christ, my attitude had taken a check. At some point in the last few days Gaby had made the transition from being the enemy disguised as a rebound dolly-bird to an actual person. Lockie’s grief no longer hit me like a stab in the chest. It was a dull ache.
‘I know that,’ he said. ‘I’m not angry with her. I just wish I’d noticed something, anything. She had this bloody awful thing happening in her life, and I didn’t even know. She seemed OK, perhaps a little down sometimes. I thought she was tired.’ He brushed aside an errant tear. ‘Why didn’t she feel she could talk to me about it?’
I had no answer to that, so sat quietly and waited for him to speak.
When he did, it was in a voice charged with revulsion.
‘My wife is dead, my child motherless and all I can think about is whether the baby she was carrying was mine or his. I am such a bloody louse.’
What could I say? One thing was certain. I could no longer sit around and watch while others took over the investigation. It was all too close to home.
‘Why don’t you drop me off at the command centre?’ I said.
‘I didn’t think you were working.’
‘Yeah, well, I’m going to see what I can do about that.’ I wasn’t exactly dressed for business, but right now I didn’t care. I had never been one for sitting around with my finger up my arse.
The pity party was officially over.
26
Bold and brash was the approach to take here, I decided, as I marched through the command centre. Numerous pairs of eyes bugged out of their heads as I walked past. No androgynous, figure-hiding police blues today. Lycra and quite a lot of bare skin left no question as to the good shape I was in. Let them drool.
‘Where’s the Boss?’ I asked Darren McKenzie, noting that his offsider, Paul Frost, wasn’t about. That was a pity. Darren stood dumbfounded, and pointed in the general direction of the side rooms without taking his eyes off my chest.