15

It was close to ten o’clock when I finally crawled home.

Maggie greeted me from the sofa. She looked extremely comfortable in her pyjamas, and nursed what I assumed was a good book.

I shut the door and slumped back against it. ‘There are days, and then there are days.’

‘I take it you’ve had a day,’ she said, a smile spread across her face. ‘Put your feet up. I’ll make you a Milo, then you can tell Mummy all about it.’

It was by far the best offer I’d heard in a long time.

‘Weet-Bix for dinner, I see.’ Maggie was a firm believer in breakfast cereal as the perfect meal substitute at any time of day.

‘Breakfast of champions,’ she said. ‘So that must make me…’

‘Too lazy to cook!’ I chipped in.

I laughed at the rude gesture fired my way and headed for my bedroom to change. I was sick to death of the sight of constabulary blue. When I re-emerged sporting my sexy flannelette pyjamas – passion killers, as my mother labelled them – and Ugg boots, an industrial-sized mug of hot, steaming Milo was waiting for me. It sat next to that other big girl’s comfort-food essential – a packet of Toffee Pops. ‘You are just too good to me, my friend,’ I said, and gratefully collapsed into the other sofa.

‘I’m sure you’d do the same for me.’

‘Damned right.’ I raised my Milo. ‘To any excuse for a Toffee Pop. Cheers.’

‘Any excuse for a packet of Toffee Pops,’ Maggie said. It would prove to be an accurate toast.

‘So,’ Maggie said, having given a couple of the biscuits a new home, ‘what’s going on? I see the reinforcements have come to town; there were a hell of a lot of cars with matching uniforms. Rumours are rife. Mrs McGann is just about having apoplexy – she rang, by the way, along with half a dozen others trying to find out what the story is.’

‘God, where do I start?’ I was polite enough to swallow before I continued. ‘As you’ve probably guessed, we’re picking Gaby was murdered. Poor Lockie, how the hell do you live with that? He’s not a suspect, by the way.’

‘Good alibi?’ Maggie spoke with just a hint of mockery.

I shot her a look. ‘He was at work all day. Anyway, we don’t have any suspects really – well, maybe a vague one. In a nutshell, we know sweet stuff all. Someone has gone out of his or her way to make it look like a suicide. There were no signs of struggle, so she was persuaded to write a note and must have cooperated with everything. I’d hazard a guess Angel was used for leverage there. She was made to swallow some sleeping tablets, then injected with a dose of sedative big enough to stop an elephant, then popped into the river to drown. That’s all we know, really.’

Most officers had wives, husbands or partners to offload their day on. I had neither the luxury nor benefits of pillow talk, but Maggie was the next best thing, and I knew whatever I discussed with her would not be repeated. Chatting with her about cases always helped to clarify my thought processes. She was an unpaid team member, really; I was lucky to have her.

‘Why on earth would someone want to kill Gaby?’ Maggie asked the obvious.

‘Exactly.’

‘And they made it look like suicide?’

‘Did a good job too. A fair bit of planning must have gone into it. The tablets were from a forged script in her name and the injection isn’t the easiest of stuff to get hold of, so initially we’ll be looking at who can source it. We know doctors can; pharmacists and possibly vets – oh, I must check out if the vets—’

I was interrupted by the sound of Maggie doing her best to choke on a biscuit – the last one, I might add.

‘You OK?’ I hopped up, ready to administer some emergency first aid.

She waved me off and, when she could finally get the word out, said hoarsely, ‘Doctors?’

‘Yes, but it’s a bit of a rigmarole apparently. Why?’

‘Well…’ She hesitated a bit. ‘I’m not one to gossip, but – Christ, I sound like an agony aunt from a B-grade TV show. Anyway, this is only second- or third- or fourth-hand information, and I have no idea if it is actually true.’

‘For God’s sake, girl, get on with it.’

‘Gaby was having an affair.’

This was the second time I’d heard that rumour. Somehow it carried more weight coming from Maggie.

‘An affair? Who the hell with?’

‘Her doctor.’

It was my turn to spit and choke.

‘Walden?’

‘Yup.’

‘That supercilious bastard! Gaby … she … but, Lockie. That bloody tart! How the hell could she betray Lockie like that? My God, how dare she…’ Then another point dawned on me. ‘How long have you known about this? Weeks? Months? Why didn’t you say anything before?’

‘What were you going to do? Go down and arrest her for adultery? You know as well as I do that the freezing works is Grand Gossip Central, and everything gets embellished. I wasn’t going to give credence to a rumour by spreading it. All it would have succeeded in doing was upsetting you.’ She gestured her hand towards me. ‘Look at your reaction now.’

She did have a point, but I wasn’t going to concede it.

‘I am not upset. Well, yes, I am upset. Of course I am. I thought I knew you better than that.’

I knew I shouldn’t go off at Maggie, but I couldn’t help myself. I was too tired and too strung out to stop it. My rational self was MIA.

‘Don’t you think Lockie had the right to know that something was going on under his nose? If he knew that I knew, he’d be mortified. And if I had known, I should have been able to tell him. Don’t you think I owed him that? You should have told me. How could you have hidden that from me?’

My voice was laden with hurt, but Maggie’s face showed little sign of sympathy.

‘Whoa, back off, sunshine. Get down off your high horse. God, I knew this would happen.’ She threw her hands up in the air. ‘If you would stop feeling miffed long enough to get back to what we were talking about. Firstly, the rumour is just that: rumour. Secondly, you’re missing the point here.’ Her voice was getting as loud as mine.

‘And what point would that be?’

‘Do I have to spell it out? Gaby was having an affair with her doctor?’

She was about to get a ‘who-bloody-well-cares-who-it-was-with’ lecture when the red murk cleared and realisation whacked me in the guts with a baseball bat. I whumphed back into the sofa.

‘Shit.’ The shot of perspective had pushed my petty feelings of betrayal back to where they belonged.

Our voices descended to a more conversational level.

‘Perhaps she became too high maintenance for a bit on the side. Who knows? Walden knew she was pregnant, decided that was too much bother and arranged to take care of the baggage.’

Maggie’s face reflected her incredulity. ‘Oh God, she wasn’t, was she?’

‘Oh yes, she was.’

‘Well, that could certainly be classed as motive for murder.’

‘Yeah, but it’s too easy, too straightforward. It’s a small town, everyone would find out. That would be too risky, even for him.’ I half believed it myself.

‘Have you met his wife?’ Maggie asked.

I hadn’t had the pleasure. The Waldens chose to live in Gore, rather than in the kind of accommodation Mataura had to offer. It might have only been fifteen minutes up the road, but Gore was a different world.

‘Bit of a battleaxe?’

‘She is one scary chick, and I can’t imagine her lying down and letting herself be trodden over. She would take him for every cent she could lay her well-manicured hands on. He wouldn’t have a chance.’

‘Perhaps she did it, then?’ I mused. ‘Found out through the grapevine that some cheap troll had the audacity to screw her slimy bastard husband and decided to take matters into her own hands?’

‘Maybe, maybe not.’ Maggie shrugged her shoulders.

Call me old-fashioned, but I just couldn’t picture women being ruthless enough to be killers. Psychological warfare? Yes. Manipulation? Yes. Cold-hearted killing? No. It was really a bit naïve, considering how many murderers were busy rotting away in our women’s prisons, but it was something I just couldn’t get my head around. Murder was too personal, too … messy.

‘You know, this was very well organised and executed – excuse my choice of words there. Perhaps he, she, they paid someone to do it,’ I said, thinking out loud.

That was a very real possibility. Discreet, and you didn’t have to look the victim in the eye: an excellent solution for someone with a surplus hanger-on.

‘Who would do that kind of thing?’ Maggie asked. ‘You can’t exactly look up “Killer for hire” in the Yellow Pages.’

‘Good point, but it must be possible. Policing doesn’t pay that well. Maybe I could take it up, you know, part-time – still keep my day job.’

‘Hon’, you get squeamish popping your own zits, let alone popping off a customer.’

Somehow, that seemed absurdly funny, and we laughed a lot longer than was strictly necessary before we tailed off to an almost awkward silence. I did feel better about things after a good guffaw, but still resented Gaby for betraying my Lockie. Perhaps some people just got what they deserved.

I hauled myself out of the sofa. ‘Time to crash. Thanks for telling me about Walden. And I’m sorry, you know, I shouldn’t have jumped down your throat. It’s been a long few days.’ But curiosity still had a hold of me, so I posed the question that nagged.

‘How long have you known, by the way?’ I tried to sound casual.

‘I think I’m damned no matter how I answer that question,’ Maggie said. Quite a clever response really – it avoided a definitive reply.

I grinned at her. ‘Any other interesting rumours or bright ideas, please fire them my way.’

She gave me a salute and called out ‘Night’ as I headed to my bed.

I was going to have to take Chrissie, the practice nurse, up on her hint and figure out how to see her tomorrow without arousing suspicion. Some digging into Dr Walden’s history was in order. Meantime, what I needed was the oblivion of sleep, and lots of it.