At first, the knocking at the door went unnoticed over the generalised thumping in my head. It finally registered through the murk on the second barrage. I could make out the sound of the shower running, presumably with Maggie in it. Guessing that put me on door duties, in one swift movement I heaved myself into an upright position and swung my legs over the side of the bed to wait for the inevitable head rush. Its ferocity didn’t disappoint. I breathed into my hands to test the air quality and wished I hadn’t. If it was someone I didn’t want to see, I could huff on them and send them packing. Either that or the sight of my Tweety Pie flannelette pyjamas would put them off – why did I buy those again?
By the time I made it to the door, the person was knocking again. Insistent and impatient. I turned the handle and pulled, with no effect whatsoever, then realised unlocking it would help. I got the door open, and at about the same time as I opened my mouth to yawn, it dawned on me that the grey fuzzy thing in front of my face was not some mutant soft toy but a microphone, and it came with a companion in the form of a television camera.
‘Shit.’
Of course, all this equipment came with human accompaniments too, one of whom I recognised from the news.
‘Samantha Shephard?’
‘Huh?’
‘Rachel Longman, One News. Sources tell us you have been suspended from your duties with the police while an investigation is undertaken into the death of Mataura woman Gabriella Knowes. Do you have any comments to make?’
I looked at the camera, looked at her, looked down at my pyjamas, looked at her again and, with one smooth movement, swung the door shut. Once I heard that blessed click, I leaned my head forwards against the cool wooden surface.
‘Shit, shit, shit.’
Oh, I was good. Definite future in media liaisons there.
Stupid as it seemed, the encounter had sent my heart rate through the roof, and my head was not coping with the altitude. I swallowed back a surge of nausea and tried to think. Surely there were rules about that sort of thing. My house was private property, so they were trespassing. Then again, I had opened the door. It was definitely time to badger the landlord about getting that peephole put in; I’d only asked him twice already and it could have proven very useful this morning. Bugger it all, what was I going to do?
Another knock at the door.
I thought it fairly obvious I didn’t have any comment to make; these people were slow learners. I retreated back to my bedroom to hide from the noise and to resist the temptation to yell at them to bugger off. I didn’t think that would do my media image any good. Not that my pyjamas and cutting repartee would. Jesus, imagine it if they put that to air. Imagine if my mother saw it. My hands came up to my face as I slumped onto my bed and tried to push that idea back into my head.
‘Was that someone at the door? Should I get it?’ Maggie called out from the direction of the bathroom.
I leaped to my feet yelling, ‘No’, as I ran to intercept her. The panic in my voice stopped her in her tracks.
‘OK, OK, you don’t need to tackle me. Calm down. Who was it?’
‘Shit, sorry, God, it was the media.’
‘The media? What media?’
I had to lean over, hands on knees, and breathe deeply several times to avoid throwing up.
‘The variety that comes with video cameras and microphones.’
‘Oh,’ she said. ‘You didn’t open the door, did you?’
‘Yes.’
‘Yes.’
Her expression said it all.
‘Crap.’
‘Exactly. What the hell am I going to do?’
‘Well, what did you say to them?’ Maggie came around and rubbed my back. The gesture made me want to burst into tears, and it took considerable effort not to.
‘Oh, it was something really profound like “Shit”, and that was just before I slammed the door on them. I was impressive.’
‘Sounds it. And what were they wanting to know, exactly?’
‘If I had any comment on being suspended from the investigation into Gaby’s death. I didn’t give them a chance to ask anything else.’ I was still stunned by being confronted by the media at all. It hadn’t occurred to me that I might become the centre of attention. ‘I’d like to know how the hell they found out about my apparent involvement in all this. And how did they get my address? I’m not even in the phone book.’
‘Small town, Sam. Everyone knows you. There’ll be someone, or ones, out there who wouldn’t be able to wait to dob in the local police officer. No matter how popular you think you are, there are those who get a kick out of blabbing. Getting their five minutes of fame. Makes them feel important.’
Not a comforting thought, but she was right. And it was a more palatable prospect than the other possibility: that the information had come from the police force itself. With one notable exception, I didn’t seem to have too many friends there right now.
‘Maybe they won’t show it. I didn’t have anything important to say. They might decide it’s not worth it. It wasn’t good television.’
Maggie gave a derisive laugh.
‘Don’t hold your breath, sunshine.’