by Vanda Symon
‘And I can catch, ya know. But after seeing your astonishing skills there, I think I would be quite safe.’ She had a point.
‘You’ll keep, girl, but you definitely owe me coffee for mortally hurting my feeling.’
‘Feeling?’
‘Yeah, feeling. I’m only capable of one, and right now it involves caffeine.’
My attempt to distract attention from my nocturnal visitor with humour was failing badly. Maggie gave me the look that signalled a lecture was headed my way.
‘Seriously though. Are you sure you know what you’re doing with Cole?’
I pulled the sheet up over my head.
‘No,’ I said, feeling like that angst and hormone-challenged teenager. ‘That’s part of the charm.’
40
‘Mataura Station.’
‘Paul Frost, please.’
‘He isn’t on duty today. Can I help you with anything?’
Ah, damn it all. I really needed to touch base with Paul. He was entitled to a break like anyone else, but it was bloody inconsiderate of him, and majorly stuffed up my plans. I wasn’t about to trust anyone else at the station.
‘No, thank you, I’ll contact him when he’s in next. Can you tell me when he’ll be on duty?’
I heard some paper shuffle. ‘He’s on duty Monday, morning shift. Can I take a message?’
Like I wanted them to know who was calling.
‘No, that’s OK, I’ll talk to him Monday.’
Shit. I really needed to know what was happening in the murder investigation and whether there had been any progress on the cattle rustling. I put the phone down, and contemplated my next move. Monday. It was too far away, but there really wasn’t anyone else at the station I felt I could convince to information share. The phone beside me started to ring and I automatically reached out, hit the talk button and raised the handset to my ear.
‘Hello.’
Nothing.
Shit, not again.
‘Hello?’
There was silence. No, not quite silence. I could just make out the sound of breath, regular and steady breath, not excited breath, not hesitant breath, just steady, measured, even breath. A click followed by the familiar beep, beep, beep broke the spell.
‘Ah, piss off, idiot,’ I muttered out loud.
‘I hope that wasn’t your boss you were talking to, otherwise you need to do some serious work on your communication skills.’ Maggie had walked into the lounge just in time to catch the end of the call.
‘You’re probably right about the people skills, but no, it was another one of my favourite hang-up callers – someone who still thinks it’s a good idea to play silly buggers.’
It didn’t surprise me. Some of the looks I’d received at the pub last night weren’t altogether charitable, and it wasn’t as if I was in a position to get the call traced and do something about it. The police weren’t about to do me any favours. The calls were majorly pissing me off though, and even more annoying was the fact I had to admit they were beginning to get to me. There was a little worm of disquiet starting to make its way into my thoughts. The shadow it cast on my mood made me regret even more the fact that in one of my darker moments I’d been the one doing the hanging up and Gaby had been the one on the receiving end.
I didn’t have time to dwell on it, and self-flaggelation would serve no purpose. I got on to the task at hand. The second phone call I needed to make was to Darryl Fletcher, the local vet whose name had featured on Gaby’s contact list. His inclusion there was an obvious choice: if you wanted to know more about a disease state, why not go straight to the horse’s mouth, so to speak. Much better than Google. He’d been helpful a few days ago when I followed up on the availability of Midazolam; I hoped he’d be as forthcoming today.
‘Hi Darryl, it’s Sam Shephard again.’
There was a slight hesitation. ‘Oh. Hi. What can I do for you?’ His voice was measured, his tone guarded. I knew what that meant. Well, I had him on the line, I may as well press on.
‘I was wondering if you’d be able to help me out with some more information regarding the Gaby Knowes case?’
Once again, the hesitation, and when he spoke his discomfort was audible.
‘I don’t know if I can do that, Sam.’
I could picture him squirming on his seat while he tried desperately to think of a polite way to get me off the phone. I’d be direct. It was a simple request really, and not one that required him to extend himself in any way.
‘I was just wanting to know some background information on bovine tuberculosis. I’m following up on some work Gaby was doing before her murder.’
‘You’re putting me in a bit of a position here. You know I’d like to help, but, well, you’re not working for the police any more and they’ve said that they don’t want you involved.’
Well, at least it clarified one point. My colleagues were doing a hatchet job on my reputation. Bloody charming. Still, if they’d spoken to him, perhaps it meant they were following up on the TB connection themselves, and that someone had bothered to read through the material they’d seized from my house. That, at least, was a good thing. The more heads trying to piece this puzzle together, the better.
The silence was getting decidedly uncomfortable. Darryl was not going to elaborate any further.
‘I won’t trouble you any more, then. Thanks for letting me know, all the same.’
‘I’m sorry I can’t help.’ He sounded earnest.
‘Yeah, I know, me too.’
41
It had just occurred to me there was a fundamental flaw in the next part of my plan and there was only one person I could think of to remedy it.
‘I need to ask you a big favour,’ I said as I walked up to the table and fluttered my eyelashes at Maggie.
‘Oh God, now what? I shudder to think.’ Her eye roll was so spectacular I could almost hear it.
‘Did you have any great plans for the day?’
‘No…’ Her voice inflected up somewhat, making her suspicion-o-meter sound quite high.
‘Good. Can I borrow your car for the morning, then?’
Maggie scoffed a derisive laugh. ‘Oh, I don’t know. Your track record with borrowing vehicles isn’t too hot right now.’
She had a point. I was going to have to seriously consider investing in my own wheels, instead of relying on the work vehicle or the charity of long-suffering friends and acquaintances. And the acquisition of a car was likely to be needed sooner rather than later, considering having a work vehicle was rather dependent on having a job, and that wasn’t looking too hopeful at the moment.
‘I promise I won’t abandon it if it breaks down. Cross my heart.’ I made the appropriate actions. ‘And I won’t baptise it in cow shit, honest.’
Maggie’s nose wrinkled. ‘No, no, no, that’s old hat for you. You’d probably torch the thing, or park it in the river, something grand and dramatic.’
‘Well, I could. How much are you insured for? I could cut you a deal.’ I flashed her my best orthodontic specials.
‘You’re a funny lady. Tempting, but no, I’m not that desperate for an upgrade. You can take the car and swan off. I was only planning to spend the day with a book and with you, in your hour of need,’ she said, making my request sound like a major imposition. Passive aggression at its finest.
‘And I really appreciate you wanting to keep me company today, especially when the funeral is on, but I feel like I have to do something to keep sane. I need to check a few things out before I come home and wallow in my outcast status.’
‘It’s not that bad. It’s not like everyone in the town will be there except you and, of course, me.’
I had to laugh. Yup, most of the town would be there, and they would probably notice the glaring omission of my presence. I was about to make some quip about the gossip mill going into overdrive, but then I noticed the wodge of papers she had on the table.
‘What are you reading?’ I asked.
She held up the novel so I could see the cover of the latest Stephen King.
‘No, no, I mean the other things. What are you looking at there?’ I pointed to the big white envelope with the coat of arms in the top left corner and the large brochures she was trying to conceal.
‘Ah, those. I don’t think you want to know right this moment.’
‘Try me.’
Maggie, with a look of great reluctance, held up the brochures in each hand, so I could see them.
I took in the title of the publications – University of Otago Undergraduate and Otago Postgraduate Prospectus. The University of Otago? That meant she’d have to move to Dunedin.
‘Oh.’
Shit, she was right, I did not want to see those right now.
‘So, you were serious about getting the hell out of Mataura.’ The wind was most emphatically sucked out of my sails.
She set the brochures back down on the table and indicated for me to take a seat. ‘It’s not as simple as just wanting to get away from this place. There’s the whole job-security thing, the industry is struggling and there are constant rumours of the meat works being closed down and production moving elsewhere. But mostly, I feel like it’s time to change tack, anyway.’ She angled her seat around to face me as I pulled up a chair. ‘I don’t want to be doing the same old thing in twenty years’ time. Hell, I don’t even want to be doing it in twenty days’ time.’
I could understand that sentiment, given the crap I was going through in my career at present.
‘So, you’ve pretty much made up your mind, then?’ Somehow, this news, piled on top of everything else, made me feel incredibly weary. It was a good thing: I was too flat to cry.
‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I need to get away. I enjoy it here, but I want more out of life than spending all day at the works, then having nothing to do in this one-horse town. Admit it, it’s not exactly scintillating here. When I went over to Dunedin at New Year’s, I didn’t want to come back. It reminded me how much I missed the place from my student days. There was so much to see and do. The people were really interesting, not so blinkered as they are here – present company excluded, of course. Anyway, I’ve always wanted to do more study, extend myself. I feel like I’m stuck in a rut. So, heading back to Otago seems the way to go.’
‘Did you have anything particular in mind?’ I asked the obvious question to disguise my surprise at how keen she was to leave. Maggie was my best friend and I’d had no idea she was so dissatisfied with her lot. How was that? We always joked about leaving this hole, but I never thought she’d do it. God, what would I do? Life here would be intolerable without her.
‘Couple of ideas,’ she said, sounding more excited as my heart sank. ‘I always fancied the idea of getting back into psychology. I did first-year psych as part of my B.Sc. and really enjoyed it. I like the idea of figuring out what makes someone tick, and it seems a natural progression of my science background. So that’s one option. Or…’ She paused as if expecting a response.
‘Or?’ I said, playing her game.
‘Or, I thought I might do something completely different, something in the arts. I always loved the arts – English, history – but did sciences at uni because I was good at them, and they worked towards a career. All hail the almighty career.’ I cringed at how appropriate that line was right now. ‘It would be great to study something purely for interest.’
‘You must have more money than sense. What on earth would you do with an arts degree? You’d still have to earn a crust.’ They didn’t call it a B.A. – Bugger All – for nothing.
She smiled. ‘I’d thought about teaching, or even research and academia.’
The laugh I was trying to contain snorted its way out.
‘Teaching? You? But you can’t stand the snotty-nosed little brats around here.’
‘Oh, that was elegant, Sam,’ she said, referring, I presumed, to the snort. ‘And yes, I’d have to get over my desire to strangle some of them, but it’s something I’ve often thought of, and all the people I’ve talked to about it say teaching can be hugely rewarding.’
All the people? She’d been talking to people, but hadn’t even mentioned it to me. She’d been checking things out behind my back.
‘Why didn’t you tell me any of this earlier? I had no idea you were even interested in these things.’ My voice wasn’t exactly neutral.
‘I didn’t want to upset you. And I can see that’s worked really well.’ Maggie leaned forwards to tweak my nose. ‘I wanted to be sure of myself before letting the cat out of the proverbial, and anyway, there hasn’t been an opportune time to drop this on you lately. It’s not like there’s anything else big happening in your life.’
Granted.
‘I suppose.’ I managed a brave kind of a smile. ‘Good for you, and I am pleased for you, but please excuse me if I decide to take this badly and wallow in self-pity. When do you think you would start?’
‘I could do a mid-year intake, so July. But that’s still a way off. We’d be able to get plenty of partying and living it up in Mataura done before then.’
‘We’d have to pace ourselves, though, so we don’t burn out.’
‘Too right. I’m glad you understand. God, I’ll miss you, though.’
Saying I understood was stretching it, but my brain had taken in enough. ‘I’d better get on with it, then. Thanks for the use of your car.’
‘I’ll see you later, then,’ Maggie said.
‘Yeah, I’ll get going.’
‘Be careful out there, Sam,’ she said. Maggie, ever the camp Mumma, looking after everyone.
I wandered over to the bench and grabbed the car keys with no great enthusiasm.
This day couldn’t really get much more shit.
42
If I hadn’t already made a morning appointment with Phillip Rawlings – a replacement for the one I’d missed when I had my run-in with the solid bits of Lockie’s ute – I would never have got out of the house. Pride dictated I wasn’t going to ring and cancel. It was just as well: a bit of action would stop me thinking about Maggie’s planned desertion and, more to the point, stop me analysing the previous night’s events to death.
Maggie’s old Honda Civic was a different kettle of fish from Lockie’s ute, but under the circumstances, he’d called in his loan, and I was grateful to be riding anything that involved four wheels and an internal combustion engine, rather than two and a lot of sweat. Maggie had obliged and you didn’t look gift-horsepower in the mouth. Still, I was thankful this morning’s visit was on a proper sealed road and I didn’t have to skitter around on gravel.
As well as farming cattle, Phillip operated a stock-trucking firm from his property that serviced most of Southland. He owned several truck and trailer units himself, and also contracted out work to owner-operators. This made him one of the larger employers in Mataura, other than the meat works. It was my guess that it would have been the trucking arm of his business that had attracted Gaby’s interest rather than the cattle.
Like all aspects of the TB prevention programme, stock transportation involved a paper trail and identification of each beast. It was all part of the package.
Phillip had given me instructions to come straight on down to the house – a more comfortable environment to talk in than the business. I turned into the driveway and went to bypass the substantial truck yard on my left. Aesthetics evidently weren’t Phillip’s priority. The yard was littered with the rusted hulks of trailer units that had clearly seen their day, a couple of used-tyre mountains and several barrels of dubious vintage. Overnight rain had rendered the normally hard-packed earth a shiny mud brown. Waving arms caught my attention. I slowed up as I recognised Phillip’s pie-inflated figure – he must have been waiting in the office to catch me. I leaned over and manually wound the passenger-side window down as he walked up alongside – Maggie’s car was a bit of an antique. He leaned over and placed a grimy hand on each side of the door frame.
‘Shall
I park over there?’ I said, pointing to the large corrugatediron shed that served as an office and repair shop.
‘No, that won’t be necessary, Sam,’ he said, his voice curt. His weather-beaten features were cemented into a rather dour expression.
‘Are we going up to the house, then?’
He shook his head. ‘No. I want you to get the hell off my property.’
I was a little too taken aback to muster a prompt reply to that. I didn’t get the chance, anyway.
‘I have nothing to say to you. You’re not even in the police any more – that’s what I’ve heard. You’re suspended. And I saw the news. They’re saying you’re a suspect in the bloody murder. Hell, no. I have nothing to say to you, and you can get the hell out of here before I call the police myself and tell them what you’re up to. You’ve got a bloody cheek coming here to ask me questions. Now get off with you.’ With that last statement he stepped away from the car and made a series of rude and aggressive gestures that left me in no doubt of his anger.
Argument was pointless, so I leaned over, wound up the window, turned the car around and headed back in the direction I’d come from. A glance in the rear-view mirror showed him standing there, feet spread, hands on hips, glaring after me.
Shit. My reputation had preceded me. If I was going to get that kind of welcome every time I tried to talk to someone I was going to get nowhere fast. Bloody media.
At least the sensations of rage and heat that now bubbled up inside me made a change from my recent range of emotions. Now what was I going to do? I drove a bit further down the road, and when I was quite sure I was out of view pulled over into a lay-by and turned off the engine.
‘Shit, shit, shit and bugger!’ I yelled and banged my hands against the steering wheel. All that succeeded in doing was hurting.
It was clear that any attempt to interview the others on Gaby’s list was out of the question. My recent TV exposure ensured anyone who had missed the gossip through the normal sources would be well up to date on my alleged activities. But how much of Phillip’s knowledge was direct? He said he’d ‘heard’ that I was on suspension and a suspect. Had someone rung him and had a word? Like they had to Darryl? My friends at the police again?