Fatal Impact (11 page)

17

A
nya locked the front door and stopped outside her mother’s
bedroom. She was trying to look out for Jocelyn and wanted to explain that. Jocelyn saw the fact that Anya had gone through her things as the ultimate betrayal. But it seemed like an overreaction, as if her mother had something to hide. Anya wished that for once they could talk about problems without defensiveness, accusations or tempers flaring.

She decided to give her mother some time to calm down. Back in the spare bedroom, she logged on to her computer and checked emails. Martin had sent a photo of Ben at the petting zoo, bending down looking into the eyes of a wallaby. She replied by saying how much she wished she could have been there as well. She would have given anything to have been with them today if it had been possible.

Her default page was a news site. Images of Jenny and Mia Quaid appeared, appealing for them to come forward, or for anyone who had seen them to notify police.
Grave fears are held for their safety
, a caption read. There was mention of two deaths from a gastroenteritis infection with a warning about foods and use-by dates, the importance of hand washing before handling food, and avoiding raw fish and meat until the source of the infection could be identified.

The only link she knew of between cases so far was Livelonger Organics. It may not be a coincidence that Len Dengate was involved in the company. Jocelyn had said the land had been sold and one son was left with a small parcel for his organic farm. She Googled Len’s name.

He was a vocal member of the Organics Association of Australia, and outspoken about natural foods and using modernised techniques for cultivation. An opinion piece he’d written that had appeared in the
Hobart Sentinel
, outlining the dangers of giant corporations controlling the food chain, was eloquent and informative. He was a proud proponent of using science to increase yields, but only if the methods were tested and proven safe. He seemed to have an issue with genetically modified foods, which he referred to in one interview as ‘a bigger threat to world health than polio, measles and malaria combined’.

She watched an interview he had given just over a week ago with the local
Lie of the
Land
show, highlighting the latest agricultural developments. He was dressed in the same uniform, but presented his information clearly, and logically handled the questions about his farming techniques and the profitability of organics. Footage of Livelonger’s farm showed a production line with sprays hosing every piece of produce before they were packaged for distribution. The reporter described the company created by Len Dengate as one of Tasmania’s most innovative agricultural enterprises.

‘It’s a certified organic farm that produces top-quality vegetables and has been supplying the state’s best restaurants for years. With such fertile land, this time of year the strawberries, raspberries, cherries and stone fruits like peaches are exceptional.’ The interview finished with Len espousing the virtues of ‘nature’s finest’: more vitamins, better flavour and stays fresher for longer. The reporter bit into a piece of fruit and urged viewers to support Tasmanian natural food companies.

Anya paused the video clip. Emily’s mother may not have vaccinated her children, but her ten-year-old had most likely died from eating ‘healthy, natural food’. Few people remembered that death was natural too.

Emily had been on a raw food diet thanks to the naturopath, and one of those foods had very probably killed her.

Anya had to admit that Len Dengate presented well and had answered the interviewer’s questions with spontaneity and wit. There was no sign of paranoia or any hint of odd behaviour. And no shotgun in sight.

If there was a connection between the E. coli and Len’s farm, he would be shut down and the company’s name most likely ruined. Her mother had said things were tough, and he was already under pressure from larger corporations to sell out. Nevertheless, if Livelonger Organics was responsible for the outbreak, it had to be identified as quickly as possible, or more people like Emily and Evelyn would be infected.

She phoned her father and the call diverted to voicemail. She decided not to leave a message. He’d know she had called by the missed number.

Anya decided to make herself useful, so she sorted dirty laundry piled on the washing machine into coloureds and whites. She put the dark load on then checked in the pantry for something to eat. Tinned tomatoes, a packet of dried pasta and a pack of vegetables in the freezer, non-organic, were all that was edible. She found a frying pan and saucepan and prepared a tomato sauce first. She would cook the pasta when her mother came out.

While the sauce was simmering, she took her laptop outside and sat on the old cane chair. If she closed her eyes she could smell the cigarillos Grandma Burgess would sneak when she thought no one would notice. The chair still gave off the vaguest scent of them. She vividly remembered her grandmother beating the old rug on the clothesline while she and Damien chased down chickens that had escaped from a much more primitive pen than the one that stood in its place. The chickens squawked inside. Behind the apple and lemon trees, about fifty yards from the house, this one was modern and freshly painted. Someone had to have built it for Jocelyn.

Anya thought of Grandma spending hours tending the vegetable patch and exchanging her produce with her neighbours for rabbits, sheep or even beef. Jenny Quaid cooking bread in exchange for food and services was not that different. It was the old way.

The sun faded and Anya moved back inside. This time, her mother’s door was open. On the kitchen bench was a note.

Going out, don’t wait up.

Anya walked back to her bedroom and peered through the curtains. Her mother’s Mazda had gone. She sat on the bed, wondering how it had happened that she knew so little about Jocelyn’s life. The sobering fact was, she barely knew her mother at all. So much time had passed, and there had been so much bitterness since Miriam’s disappearance. She hoped more than ever that Mia and Jenny would be found alive.

18

T
he next morning, the roosters woke Anya around six. Even the pillow couldn’t smother the noise. She had eaten alone, and stayed awake until she heard the Mazda pull up at midnight. Jocelyn had gone straight to her bedroom without speaking.

Anya showered and dressed and made a pot of tea. Her mother’s bedroom door remained closed.

By nine, there was still no sign of Jocelyn, so Anya grabbed her keys and bag and decided to pay the Livelonger farm a visit. She wanted to know if Livelonger had anything to do with the co-op that the hairdresser said Jenny Quaid worked for, or sold food at the farmers’ market Jenny attended. If the answer was no, it was unlikely Livelonger had been the source of the infection. Hopefully, the owner wouldn’t greet her with a shotgun if she entered legitimately through the front of his property. He had already seen her car and should recognise it. And would have been up as long as she had by now.

On the way to the entrance Anya passed fields of potatoes and spinach. Pivot irrigators anchored at one end watered the crops, by computer-control, she assumed. At one stage, Tasmania had produced most of the potatoes for the largest fast food outlet along with the largest supplier of frozen chips nationwide. From what Jocelyn had said, times had changed. In a global world, even local land was being outsourced.

She drove through the entrance marked with a weathered billboard –
Livelonger Organics – Nature’s Finest.
Showroom open Monday to Friday 10 am–3 pm, Saturdays 9 am–12 am. Sundays 11 am–3 pm.
It wasn’t open yet, but someone should be around. For farmers, there were no days off and this was already mid-morning in their working day.

She drove slowly towards a large industrial shed with a Land Rover parked outside. Security cameras were placed at intervals along the tin roof. After locking the car, she looked for an open entrance. Outside on a table in the shade was a box marked,
Sorry, we are closed. Please try some of our sumptuous treats.
It was very homely and inviting, in contrast to the impression the cameras and Len Dengate presented.

A woman came out of the shed door. ‘Can I help you?’ Her hair was bound in tiny braids all tied back into one ponytail. Her skin was the colour of dark chocolate, highlighted against the vibrancy of her orange and yellow kaftan.

‘I’m just visiting. My mother, Jocelyn Reynolds, is a friend of Mr Dengate.’

‘You must be the world-famous doctor.’ The woman smiled broadly. ‘You look very much like your mother.’ Her accent was slightly clipped.

Anya felt at a disadvantage. ‘And you are .
. .?
’

‘My name is Grace Malik. My husband Samir is the foreman here. I work in the shop and around the farm.’

‘Is Len around?’

She waved a hand dismissively. ‘That man is like sand in a windstorm. He cannot stay still.’

Anya couldn’t help but smile. Grace was affable and warm. ‘I can imagine.’

‘We can see if Mr Dengate is in his office. He would like to meet you, I’m sure.’

‘We met yesterday.’ Anya decided not to mention that he’d pointed a shotgun at her at the time. Grace led the way inside the shed.

There were potatoes on a long conveyer belt which passed inside a covered area about half its length. A hiss sounded.

‘What happens in here?’ Anya asked.

‘This is where we spray the food with water to clean it,’ Grace said above the noise. ‘The water is recycled in a tank for strawberries and stone fruit in one of our greenhouses.’

A man at the far end of the shed washed down the floors. Anya had to admit, the place was cleaner and far more high-tech than she had imagined an organic farm to be. And on a much larger scale. The potatoes dropped into a section of the conveyer belt that secured them in plastic bags marked with the Livelonger logo. A worker at the end placed them into large boxes and stacked them on a wooden pallet. He turned and waved to Grace. His smile matched hers, and his black hair was cut short. He had on safety goggles, ear protection and worker’s boots. Signs on the walls warned about back injury prevention and safety first.

‘How many people work here?’ Anya was curious as to the size of the operation.

‘Mr Dengate is always working. He lives in the house on the hill. Samir and I live in the cottage behind. Apart from that, there are three more workers and others come to help harvest the stone fruit.’

‘Looks like you take safety and care very seriously.’

‘We do. We are all proud of what we do, and the opportunities we have here. Mr Dengate is a fine man and very good to us. No one else would give us jobs when we came from South Sudan. We are refugees.’ She waited, as if expecting some kind of reaction from Anya.

‘Sounds like he made a very wise choice employing you both.’ Anya felt her jeans pocket vibrate and excused herself to check the message.

Source of infection identified for some of the cases. Farm called Livelonger Organics. Recall about to happen. Media being notified. Steve Schiller
.

Anya took a breath. Grace, her husband and the others could be about to lose their jobs.

A noise outside had caught Grace’s attention. She and Grace stepped out into the bright light as a convoy of cars arrived, led by a patrol car.

‘Why are the police here?’ Grace took a step behind Anya. ‘We have done nothing wrong.’

A ute hurtled down the road and skidded to a halt. Len jumped out of the vehicle and slammed the door. A kelpie was at his side.

‘What the hell’s going on?’ He turned to Grace. ‘Go inside, love. I’ll handle this.’

‘I’m sorry, Len,’ a uniformed police officer said. ‘This is official.’

Eight people exited the vehicles. Some in suits carrying folders, the others in overalls holding kits similar to the one the health inspector had taken to Evelyn’s home.

‘Hammond, the Maliks and all my employees are here legally. You and your immigration raiders can bugger off. You’re trespassing, the lot of you.’

No one moved. The dog stood its ground and barked.

Len warned, ‘I’ve got a gun .
. .’

The policeman stepped forward. ‘Mate, you don’t want any more trouble. This is serious. We have an order to close the place down.’

‘Like hell you do. You have no right.’ Len clenched both fists and stared the group down. ‘Now get off my property or so help me–’

Anya owed it to her mother to put herself between Len and further trouble. He couldn’t afford to make the situation worse.

A woman in a black suit explained from where she stood. ‘Mr Dengate, we’re here from the Department of Health. I’m afraid your produce has been identified as the source of an outbreak of a virulent type of E. coli infection.’

Len laughed. ‘That’s the stuff found in manure and meat. There’s no livestock here, only fruit and vegetables. You’re after PT. Go back to the main road, turn right and you can’t miss it.’ He waved beyond the hill. ‘Always said the bastards would kill people one day.’

The policeman raised both hands, palms outwards. ‘Len, there’s no mistake. Trust me, I double-checked. Your spinach is infected. These people have proof.’

Dengate waved a finger, but he seemed less confident. ‘Now that’s just not possible. We’re accredited, got reviewed only last week in fact. I’m telling you, you’ve got the wrong place.’ He turned to go back to his vehicle. The dog followed.

‘I’ve got the paperwork right here.’

The woman in the suit cleared her throat. ‘Sir, the source of the infection has been positively identified. We were able to collect samples from the homes of people so far infected.
A number grew E. coli and they came from your farm.’ She was no-nonsense. ‘They were in your own labelled packaging.’

‘Ha!’ He stood triumphant. ‘That’s your mistake. We sell bags that are recyclable and prolong the shelf-life of vegetables. Your so-called samples weren’t from here, they were just stored in our bags.’ His shoulders relaxed. ‘You can leave the way you came in.’ He turned and took a few steps towards the shed.

‘Mr Dengate.’ The woman spoke again, this time with a raised voice. ‘We’ve now identified six people who purchased spinach from Livelonger Organics and were infected with what is a potentially deadly bacteria. The evidence is irrefutable.
I suggest you comply or we’ll be forced to take aggressive action. Trust me, this will go better if you cooperate. Human lives are at stake.’

He turned on his heel. ‘You’re seriously blaming me for this? What the hell?’

Anya stood silent, ready to intervene if necessary to protect
the owner from doing something stupid. He was her mother’s f
riend, and he was in serious trouble, legal and otherwise. These people had jobs to do and he couldn’t interfere with them.

The woman continued, ‘Up to an hour ago, there have been fourteen cases reported. Two deaths have been recorded: a gentleman in his seventies, and a child.’ Although the source of Emily’s infection hadn’t been determined, it could still have been the Dengate farm.

Anya held her breath. The news had to be devastating to the owner.

‘Old people, children. This just keeps getting better.’ He stepped up to the policeman. ‘Simon, you have to be in on this. How much are they paying you? Huh? How much?’

The officer stood his ground. ‘Len, don’t do this. I’m going to forget you ever said that. I don’t like it anymore than you, but two people are dead because of something your company sold. There is a protocol and it has to be followed. If you obstruct these people, you will be arrested. That is my job.’

‘Lies!’ Len clutched his head with both hands. ‘God, these people have everyone in their pockets.’ He began to pace. ‘You’ve got to hand it to them. It’s a great story, saying there’s a child. All they need to do is start a rumour. If they shut me down long enough, I lose all cash flow.’

Len was sounding more paranoid and irrational than before. She wondered if anyone would put his responses on the record and hold them against him at a later date. She tried to reason with him.

‘It isn’t a rumour. It’s fact. The dead girl’s name was Emily Quaid. She was ten years old and has a mother and little sister. I saw her body and was at the post-mortem. I promise you no one invented the cause of death.’

Len shook his head in disbelief as she continued.

‘These officers need to find out how your crop became infected. They have to run some tests on your equipment. The sooner you get it sorted, the quicker you can get back to business.’

The department of health officer handed him a piece of paper.

Len turned to Anya.

‘Is this really true?’

She nodded.

‘How?
. . .
I don’t understand.’

Anya felt sorry for a man who had spent his life building a business. Working the land was unforgiving, hard work. He was at the mercy of the weather and had still managed to make a successful living. Until now.

She placed a hand on his shoulder.

‘All my life.’ He wiped his forehead with one forearm and bent down to pat his dog. ‘Good boy, Ros.’ He looked up. ‘I grow nutritious, wholesome food. Nothing adulterated, nothing unnatural. You tell me. How can that be a crime?’ The dog placed his chin over his master’s forehead. ‘They set Reuben up. Now they’ve done it to me.’

Anya wondered who Reuben was, and how this must sound to everyone present. If this became a criminal case, she would make sure he was psychiatrically assessed to establish whether or not he was mentally fit to be interviewed by police.

Grace returned to Len’s side. ‘We should all go into the office and talk. Samir is inside. He’ll know what to do.’

Len breathed heavily and locked eyes with Anya. ‘You have no idea what they’re capable of. They’ve got to me. Mark my words, your mother will be next.’