46

For one last time, I went over the spiel we’d decided on in my head. I picked up the phone and dialled the Mataura station number. I recognised the series of clicks and clunks that meant the call was being transferred over to Gore. Damn, everyone must have left for the day or, more likely, they hadn’t switched the phones back since the funeral.

‘Gore Watch House.’

‘Hi, it’s Constable Sam Shephard here. I need to talk to Senior Sergeant Thomson. It’s urgent.’

There was a measured pause on the end of the phone that could only have come from some knowledge of my circumstances. ‘One moment please,’ came the equally measured reply.

One moment for what? Half a minute of echoed silence passed before I again heard a few rings and another voice on the phone. It wasn’t the Boss’s.

‘Constable Shephard. Detective Inspector Johns.’

Oh, bloody marvellous, the stiff they brought in from Dunedin.

‘What can I do for you?’

How much did I tell him? I pitched another shot for the Boss. ‘I was really wanting to speak to Senior Sergeant Thomson. Is he available?’

‘No, he is not available to take your call right now. What is it you want?’

The man really had to work on his telephone manner. I was in no mood for his curt, clipped tones. Despite my best efforts at self-control, I could feel my dander heading well and truly up.

‘I don’t want anything. It is important that I speak to the Senior Sergeant. If he is not at the station, may I please be transferred through to his cellphone?’

I thought I’d worked hard to suppress the annoyance in my voice. DI Johns did not agree.

‘Might I remind you, Ms Shephard, that you are currently under suspension from the police force and will be facing disciplinary action for your repeated interference in this case – for which, I might add, you are a suspect. You are in no position to demand to speak to anyone.’

‘I am not demanding, sir. It’s just very important that I speak to my boss.’ There was something about this man and his stubborn refusal to listen to anything I said that got my goat.

‘Well, that is completely out of the question, Ms Shephard. You may direct your comments to me. I am your appointed liaison in this case.’

Like fun. That was it. One push too far. The floodgates opened.

‘Well, you can just bloody well go and rot in hell. I’d rather talk to a real police officer, not some brought-in hack with a flash paper degree who couldn’t bloody well solve a mystery if the answer was tattooed across his forehead. Go back to reading your bloody manual, or your comic book or whatever it is you carry around in that poncy briefcase of yours.’

The unfortunate thing about portable phones was that you couldn’t hang up with a good, hearty slam. Firmly pressing the talk button just didn’t cut it, so once again, I made do with launching the thing into the sofa cushions. It bounced off and hit the side of the coffee table before coming to rest not too far from where Maggie stood. She stared at the projectile for a while before loosening the barb I knew would head my way.

‘How old did you say you were?’ She gave me a look that would normally make me feel abashed. ‘I would also like to make reference to my earlier comment about your people skills.’ That was quite restrained on her part.

‘Did I get a bit personal?’

‘Just a tad,’ she said, and held up her hand to show me the tiny gap between her thumb and forefinger. ‘You have a bit to learn about public relations. I take it you don’t ever want your job back?’

I didn’t need to be reminded about that.

‘Oh shit and bloody hell. Why can’t I get to talk to the right people? It’s all I ask.’ Frustration mutated itself into a need for action. ‘I’ll just have to sort it out myself. Can I borrow your car again?’

‘What exactly are you going to do?’

‘I haven’t got time to go into details.’ Not that I had any. ‘If Paul Frost rings back, tell him I’ve gone out to Trevor Ray’s. He might want to meet me there. If he asks why, tell him Trev rustled his own cattle. I think the rest of it he’d need to hear face to face.’

‘Sam?’ Maggie’s voice was strange.

‘Yes,’ I said, as I ferreted around for my bag and cellphone.

‘What about Cole?’

I stopped dead still, could barely breathe. I’d been so preoccupied with the idea that Trev was the instigator of this affair that the implication of others on his payroll hadn’t occurred to me. I gawped like some stranded fish, and a heat that became rapidly uncomfortable seared up my body and into my face. My hands flung themselves up to my cheeks.

Cole.

‘No, no, no, no, no. No. I can’t even think about that right now. I … just … please can I use your car? I have to sort this out. Now.’

‘Shouldn’t you hand this all over to the police to deal with now and stay out of it? If Trev had Gaby killed, don’t you think it would be safer for you—’

‘What do you think I was just bloody well trying to do? They’re not even prepared to listen to me.’ I finally located my cellphone and rammed it unceremoniously into the bag. ‘I’m only an annoying piece of shit stuck to their heel. They don’t care about anything I might know. So what else can I do? I have to sort this out for myself.’

Maggie knew me well enough to realise arguing was pointless. She went over to the fridge and retrieved her car keys from the top.

‘And what if Paul doesn’t ring back?’ she asked, holding them out for me.

‘I’ll keep on trying him on my cell. I just hope he hasn’t gone away.’

Concern was written over every available surface of Maggie’s body, and I felt a momentary pang of guilt for putting her through this. I reached over and gave her a hug.

‘Look, I’ll be fine. I know what I’m doing. I need to check out a few things, then that’s it as far as I’m concerned. Paul can have the whole kit and caboodle. Well, when I can bloody well get hold of him he can.’

I gave her one last squeeze and headed for the door. I’d only lied a little. After the events and threats of the last few days, there was no guarantee anything was going to be fine, and I had no idea what I was doing; but hey, improvisation was my forte. And as far as I was concerned, I had nothing left to lose.

‘You be bloody careful out there, Sam. For the record, I think you’re being irrational and reckless. If you’re not back in an hour, I’m calling the police.’

I turned and gave her a tentative smile.

‘Hell, if I’m not back in an hour, you can probably call the morgue.’

I wasn’t quite sure it was a joke.