by Vanda Symon
I eased myself down out of the front seat and grabbed my things.
‘I promise I’ll have showered by then,’ I said with a grin.
‘Please.’
34
I fumbled with the key in the lock and literally fell into the house. Maggie sat at the table in the middle of what appeared to be the aftermath of a hurricane. She looked, to put it mildly, rather peeved.
I stood stock still as I took in the carnage around me.
‘Jesus, what happened? Have you called the police?’
‘This was the police,’ she said dryly, and waved a piece of paper in the air. ‘They had a warrant.’
‘Oh, bloody hell. How much worse can today get?’ I stormed over to the table and took the warrant to read.
‘“To retrieve information relating to the death of Gabriella Patricia Knowes.” Were you here? What did they take?’
I could see Maggie registering not only the state I was in, but also the halo of stench that surrounded me.
‘Whoa, back, girl. You stink. What the hell happened to you?’ She fanned her hand in front of her nose.
‘It’s a long story and I’d prefer to tell it after I’ve had a shower. Did they take much?’
‘They took quite a few things from your bedroom – folders, a document box. They also took your computer. By the way, whose is this?’ She tapped the laptop I’d placed on the table.
‘Gaby’s. Just as well I had it with me. I haven’t even had a good look through it yet. Shit, that fink Paul Frost must have told them I had Gaby’s things.’
The rather raised eyebrow and accusing look on Maggie’s face reminded me I had a bit to explain to her yet. What was the most concise version of events?
‘I went to see Lockie and he gave me access to Gaby’s personal things. He doesn’t have any faith in the police finding her killer, so he enlisted my help.’
‘That’s a rather curious development. Don’t you think it poses a little conflict of interest?’
‘Maybe, but the forensics team had already been through, so I wasn’t disturbing anything they hadn’t already had access to, if they’d thought about it.’
Maggie’s voice took on a serious tone. ‘I wasn’t just talking about the physical aspects of the case. You’re not holding any hope that this might help you get back with Lockie, are you?’
My jaw dropped. What an awful thing to say. Even coming from Maggie the suggestion was offensive to the point of disgust. How could she even think it?
‘Of course I’m not. I have got some sense, not to mention taste. I’m only doing a favour for Lockie and trying to clear my own name.’ I indicated the shambles. ‘God only knows I need to.’
I stormed off to the sanctuary of the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind me.
An indescribably divine shower and a set of fresh clothes later, I began to feel vaguely human and perhaps a little more rational. I owed Maggie a conciliatory cup of tea after my display of pique. She had only my best interests at heart and it galled me mightily to realise there was probably an ounce of truth in her comments. My rational being could never conceive of the idea of Lockie and me reuniting in the aftermath of Gaby’s death. In fact, the thought was really quite repulsive. But I had to admit some small fantasy self viewed Sam Shephard as a shining knightess on a white charger, restoring domestic bliss and happiness to Lockie Knowes and his shattered family. Life could continue now that Sam was here. It was truly ego run amok in Disneyland. Oddly, I was more embarrassed at the thought of Gaby – wherever she now was – being aware of those fantasies than Lockie. My, how the loyalties had shifted.
As well as getting my emotions on an even keel, the shower had also revived the need to address a particularly glaring betrayal. Paul sodding Frost! I couldn’t believe he’d dobbed me in, after all I’d done to help him. That sure as hell was going to be the last information I shared with him, bloody ingrate. I slumped down onto my bed and pulled out my mobile phone.
‘Frost.’
‘What the hell did you think you were doing? I do not appreciate having my home ransacked by your bloody mob. If you wanted Gaby’s stuff, why didn’t you just bloody well ask?’ I thought that dispensed with the pleasantries nicely. Next, I’d give him both barrels.
‘I presume that’s you, Sam. So kind of you to introduce yourself.’
‘Don’t go and get all high and mighty with me, you bloody rat. I’ve had a shit of a day and the visit of Lightfingers McGraw and his merry band of demolition men was not what I needed. I suppose you were there too? You could have at least tidied up after yourselves, or was that just your sick little way of getting back at me? An added bonus for no extra charge?’
‘Have you finished yet?’ he asked calmly. He may as well have invited me to stampede.
‘Oh, I’m only just warming up. If you think—’
‘Well, let me just save you the bother of wearing out your delicate little voice and say I had absolutely nothing to do with it. I haven’t told a soul.’
That left me gawping somewhat, but not for long.
‘Well how the hell did they know to search my house, then?’
‘This is a small town, Sam. You didn’t stop to think someone might have noticed Lockie’s ute parked outside your house? This place thrives on gossip. A little phone call here, innuendo there, and before you know it Lockie’s being accused of having an affair – with you. The Boss rang him up to find out what was going on and, considering the circumstances, Lockie wasn’t about to lie.’
My impending tirade screeched to an abrupt halt. There wasn’t much that could be said to that. How could I have been so naïve? Poor Lockie, the last thing he needed was to have tongues awag and his reputation tarnished. You could almost hear it: ‘It’s always the husband, the husband always does it. Got the Mrs out of the way so he could shack up with the ex.’ I could hardly blame him for covering his butt.
‘Oh.’ It was all I could muster. I was glad he couldn’t see the heat that had edged its way up my face.
‘Oh, is bloody right,’ Paul said.
‘Well,’ I said. ‘I haven’t had a good look – not that I’d be able to tell anyway with the mess they left behind…’ I was working on the principle of changing the subject. ‘Did the boys take anything other than Gaby’s stuff?’
‘Your computer, diary and several notebooks. They didn’t find Gaby’s computer. I take it you have that with you.’ Paul had a thanks-for-not-telling-me tone to his voice. Lockie must have fessed up about that too.
I chose to ignore the tone. ‘Yes, thank God.’
‘Well, might I make a small suggestion, then? In the interests of public relations and any chance of ever getting your job back, check out her computer and then turn it over to us, pronto, tonight. The last thing you need is a return visit from the Gestapo. Also, yet another warning: I suspect the Boss may be undertaking formal disciplinary proceedings against you … Are you still there?’
My world was starting to go a bit fuzzy around the edges again.
‘Yeah, I’m still here,’ I said quietly. ‘I didn’t think today could get much lower, but I’m on the fast track to hell.’
‘Hey, don’t be too down on yourself. This lot, for all their rank and brains, haven’t come up with a single useful lead of their own. If you hadn’t found the Telemax note we’d all be pretty bored and embarrassed right now. As it is, the Boss has been given the hard word from the bean counters and the staffing allocation has halved. So basically, we need any help we can get. Have you found anything of interest today?’
I pondered momentarily on the question. I didn’t have anything I could substantiate, just a vague sensation of a connection between Gaby’s death, her researching bovine TB and the sudden rash of cattle rustling. It was too coincidental to me. But I didn’t think Paul would want a hunch: proof was what he was after. I’d keep my feelings to myself for now.
‘No,’ I replied, ‘but I’ll let you know if I find anything of interest in Gaby
’s computer. For now, I have a few ideas but nothing concrete. Can you do me a favour?’
‘It depends,’ he said, and I could hear the humour in his voice. At least I hadn’t offended him too much with my earlier outburst. ‘Can you come around in about an hour and pick up Gaby’s computer? I’m not in any fit state to face the Boss right now.’
I could feel the relief from the other end of the line. ‘Of course, Sam. In an hour, then.’
35
The only blip in an otherwise productive time exploring Gaby’s laptop was a hang-up phone call. God, I hated those. If you dialled a wrong number, at least have the common courtesy to apologise.
Lucky for me, Gaby hadn’t bothered to password-protect her computer, so I didn’t have to waste precious time figuring it out and was able to rip straight in. An hour passed in a wink. I was no expert, but I could navigate my way around computers and find things that were supposed to be hidden.
There were no emails of note, other than the query Gaby had logged to MPI about TB. Evidently, they hadn’t replied. Her electronic calendar didn’t show any other appointments in addition to those she had scribbled on the envelope. Examination of Gaby’s documents folder showed only assignments and a few webpages she’d saved for future reference – these, unsurprisingly, related to TB. Where things got a little more interesting was when I looked back to see what webpages she’d looked at recently. They were not limited to TB. Her research into livestock diseases had also extended to the foreign and positively catastrophic – foot-and-mouth disease, BSE, scrapie, brucella, mycoplasma bovis, anthrax. As a list it made scary reading, and several diseases had made their way onto the international stage in recent years. Anthrax had been used as a terrorist weapon post 9/11. Once upon a time, white powder in an envelope was likely to be an A-class drug; now it triggered a decontamination alert. There were still new cases of BSE or mad-cow disease cropping up in countries other than Britain and Europe. Canada and Japan had had recent cases; another case in the United States had been on the news the other night at the pub. Even New Zealand had had a potentially disastrous brush with foot-and-mouth: some sick bugger claimed to have released the disease on Waiheke Island. It was most likely a hoax, but the shock waves were felt throughout the world. Trading partners threatened to close borders to our meat, and an obscene amount of taxpayer money had to be spent on containment and testing – just in case. All thanks to a suspected university capping stunt. No one had laughed at the joke.
These thoughts led me back to Gaby, and why she’d been looking at these websites. Thoroughness, morbid curiosity or suspicion?
I didn’t get the opportunity to look further into it before someone knocked at the door.
‘Hey, square eyes, you’ve got a visitor,’ Maggie called as she showed Paul into the house.
I was back in Maggie’s good books again. Making her a cup of tea and providing conciliatory chocolate biscuits had done much to repair any potential rift in relations. Not that the risk of that was large: Maggie knew me too well. But hey, any excuse for Toffee Pops. She waved bye-bye as she made herself scarce.
I stood up and awkwardly shook Paul’s hand. I don’t know why I felt the need to do that. Conditioning?
‘How’s it going? Find anything interesting?’ He came around to look at the screen. ‘Whoa, what happened to your head? Are you OK?’
His concern was gratifying, but the afternoon’s escapades were still a bit of a sore point, so I shrugged it off.
‘It was just an accident. It’s nothing, I’m OK.’ The frown told me he wasn’t too convinced. ‘It’s nothing.’ I shot him an end-of-conversation look, to which he merely raised his eyebrows. I continued on. ‘Now, I’m sad to say I haven’t found anything startling on Gaby’s computer. I take it by now you guys have worked out she was studying journalism, and the article she was working on when she died was about bovine TB.’
‘They had mentioned the journalism course, and the TB. Not a very exciting topic to feature. You think there’s a connection?’
How much did I tell him? I wasn’t sure.
‘I think there must be some connection, but it’s probably very vague or indirect. I can’t for the life of me think why someone would be threatened by her writing about TB. It’s hardly the stuff of conspiracy, after all. All I’ve found on her computer is general background research that you’d expect from someone writing about livestock. Ministry of Primary Industries regulations, diseases – not just TB. She’s looked at several others as well, identification, things like that. Her email correspondence is mainly chitchat with friends and family, jokes forwarded, the usual mountain of spam. The only email relating to her work was a query sent to MPI which hasn’t been answered yet.’
‘That’s disappointing. I’d have much preferred to find a great big arrow pointing to her killer on her desktop.’ He sighed. I noticed the dark rings under his eyes. The staff who’d remained had been putting in long hours. Tough – but weren’t we all?
‘Sorry, no neon signs. Looks like we’re just going to have to solve this one the old-fashioned way with lots of legwork.’
‘Bugger,’ he said.
That summed it up nicely, really.
‘I like the way you said we’re going to have to solve this one. Need I remind you that you are currently under suspension and quite a bit of scrutiny? I think it would be in your best interests if you just let us handle it from here. The CIB guys might be able to pull a bit more information out of the computer that could be helpful.’
‘Yeah, ’cause they’ve been really successful at finding other leads so far.’
All that comment got me was a withering look.
‘Don’t knock us too much. Some of us have been working hard and, despite what you may think, we’re not the Keystone Cops. We’re a professional bunch who want to solve this case as badly as you do.’
The last thing I wanted was to get off side with Paul. I muttered a quick ‘Sorry.’
‘Gracious apology accepted,’ he said. ‘As I was saying before you decided to slag off your profession, I’ve come up with some interesting information on our Dr Walden which keeps him firmly on our suspects list.’
I took the proffered opportunity to get my foot out of my mouth.
‘So, what did you find?’
‘Did a bit of digging into his past activities in Britain. I always had a bad feeling about that man.’ He wasn’t alone there. ‘I could never fathom how Mrs Knowes could have got herself into a blackmail situation in the first place. She seemed to be an intelligent woman, and, as far as we can tell, didn’t have any history. To me, the whole scenario seemed so improbable. But maybe not. It now appears that Dr Walden has done this before.’
‘Really?’
‘Really.’ Paul pulled up a chair and sat down next to me. ‘He was under investigation for inappropriate sexual relationships with a patient. With several patients, it would seem. He left the country rather hurriedly once the accusations came out and hasn’t fronted up to his Medical Council disciplinary hearings. Needless to say, his registration has been revoked.’
‘OK, but if that is the case, how did he get to practise medicine here?’
That must have been the question Paul was hoping for. The glee in his eyes told me he was building up to the show-stopper. He literally rubbed his hands together.
‘That’s where things get really interesting. Our Dr Anthony Walden is not Dr Tony Walden at all. He is in reality Dr Christopher Walden, repeat sleaze and banned from practising in Britain. Dr Tony Walden is, in fact, his older brother, also a doctor, and practising as a GP somewhere in northern England.’
‘So big brother bails him out of a spot of bother by lending him the paperwork to get registered here. What a caring, sharing family they have.’
‘Either that or the brother didn’t know. From what I can gather, they are very close in age – just over a year’s difference. They studied medicine at the same university; hell, they may have even flatted together. W
e don’t know that yet, but we will. The British police are pretty keen to have a word with him.’
I bet they were.
‘But surely someone would have picked that up when he was applying for registration here? There must have been discrepancies in his documentation. It can’t be that easy to fool the Medical Council. And surely the Medical Centre here would have checked his references before they employed him?’
‘Well, you’d think that, but no, it slipped through. It probably wasn’t helped by the fact that Christopher Walden’s full name is Christopher Anthony Walden, so it would be easy enough for him to say that he goes by his middle name. Must be a family name.’
‘He must be a very convincing liar, then.’
‘Well, yes, he certainly had everyone fooled. The ladies at the Gore station who’d met him thought he was wonderful. I didn’t think he was all that good-looking.’
I looked at the expression on his face and laughed. Fancy Paul, the ladies’ man, feeling jealous of some competition.
‘It isn’t all about looks, Paul. It’s about charm. And that’s the same feedback I got from the locals – that he was very charming. All the ladies liked him.’
‘I suppose he had you fooled too?’
‘Ooh no.’ I visibly shuddered. ‘I found him sleazy. Creepy. Yuk.’ I thought about that for a moment. ‘So you have to ask yourself, what’s wrong with Angela Walden, then? Why would she follow that bastard to the other side of the world when he was in trouble for shagging his patients? She must hate him for it. Actually, it could explain her being such a bitch.’
It was Paul’s turn to smile.
‘Perhaps your comment the other day about a big inheritance isn’t too far from the truth. The repeated names in the family could be a major suck-up to a rich grandfather or uncle. She might have decided she could put up with anything to get a slice of that pie.’
‘Unless she had her own little misdemeanours she wanted to leave on the other side of the world. Maybe she had her own demons to escape.’