4

Obscure dreams full of darkness and cloying dampness lingered at the edges of my consciousness, so even after two cups of coffee my mood was not good. It had been after one a.m. when I crawled into bed. I’d made a start on the requisite mountain of paperwork and compiled a ‘to-do’ list of scary proportions. It always amused me that on television shows police were never encumbered with such matters – bureaucracy- and paper-free zones. If only.

The first stop of the day would, of course, be Lockie’s. Callous though it seemed, there were questions that needed to be asked, and many would not be palatable. I needed to establish a timeline of events and to delve into that question I knew would be ricocheting around Lockie’s head – why?

I looked up from my half-eaten and now soggy bowl of cornflakes as Maggie breezed into the kitchen on her way to the door.

‘Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to toil I go…’ she sang, and lolled her head from side to side.

‘If that’s supposed to cheer me up, it’s not working,’ I said, giving her my very best forced smile.

‘Great teeth.’

‘Thanks.’

‘What hour did you crawl in? I didn’t hear you.’

‘It was a bit on the late side, but I did make a good start on all the reports.’

She walked over to the table, leaned over and peered into my eyes.

‘Yurgh, you might want to hide those haversacks under your eyes, unless you want to scare people into submission.’

I had noted their presence when I got brave and looked in the mirror this morning. Didn’t need it pointed out, though.

‘Oh ha-de ha-de ha. Bloody charming friend you turned out to be.’ I swatted at her like some pesky fly, but she dodged back out of the way. ‘I wouldn’t push it too far, Sunshine. I redefine the term grumpy.’

‘You won’t be the only one. I think there’ll be a few people struggling this morning, judging by the amount of alcohol consumed last night. Due to demand, Pat stayed open a little longer than his liquor licence allowed. You’re not going to arrest him, I hope?’

‘I think the extenuating circumstances would allow for a bit of leeway,’ I said, and smiled properly this time.

‘My, that’s a big word for this hour of the morning, even for you.’

‘What? I?’ I screwed up my nose at her and had the gesture repeated back as she headed for the door. ‘Have a fun day,’ I called after her.

‘Yeah, yeah, yeah,’ came the reply.

Maggie was a laboratory technician at the large meat-processing plant bang in the middle of town. It was by far the area’s largest employer; in fact, the local economy was reliant on it. The closure of the pulp-and-paper mill in 2000, and the subsequent loss of around 150 jobs, were testament to the devastation of the loss of a core industry on a small community. Some people were absorbed by work available at the meat-processing plant and local factories, while others went on to boost the region’s unemployment stats.

That reminded me. I called out just as she was about to close the door behind her. ‘Hey Chook, have you heard anything more about work?’

She turned back to show me a slight grimace.

‘Nothing official, only the same rumours doing the rounds about cost cutting. The money’s on them centralising lab services to Invercargill, so let’s just say I don’t exactly feel secure in my world right now.’

The prospect of that had no appeal whatsoever.

‘You do realise that even if they disestablish you and redundancy-alise your butt, you’re not allowed to leave here, right? I thought I’d get in early and make myself quite clear.’

A smile ironed out her frown. ‘How could I ever tear myself away from the bright lights and riveting nightlife? Nowhere else could compare. Your comments are noted, but, as in so many things in life, we shall see. Alas, I’m not calling the shots.’

‘If worst comes to worst – which it’s not allowed to, by the way – you could make your fortune here. Things are on the up in Mataura. You could start your own business doing…’ I struggled for a suggestion before grasping at the sort of obvious. ‘How’s your trout fishing? There must be plenty of cash-laden tourists waiting to give some of it up for a Kiwi fly-fishing experience. It seems a popular business, so it must be a bit of a cash cow. You could handle that. Lure in a few American tourists, give them the sparkly clean-green-image thing, catch a few trout. How hard could it be?’ I hoped I didn’t sound too desperate, but the thought of life here without my good friend was not palatable.

‘Well, the fish would be pretty safe, so I’d probably get myself sued. And anyway, I don’t even like trout. Why anyone would want to eat something that tastes like the bottom of a river mystifies me. And on that cheery note, I must away.’ She gave me a wave and exited stage left.

I looked up at the hideously cutesy Mickey Mouse clock on the wall – that thing really had to go. It was a little before nine a.m. As good a time as any to get on with it. I needed to pay a visit to a household in mourning. I slid the chair back from the table, picked up my dishes and after a detour via the kitchen sink, headed into the bathroom to brush my teeth. Not normally one for make-up anyway, I decided not to try to camouflage the telltale signs of a late night. I was sure to look better than those I was off to visit, and besides, my appearance was going to be the furthest thing from their minds. Any spruce-up would go unnoticed.