Fatal Impact (21 page)

34

J
ocelyn lay in the emergency bed in Launceston. Her blood pressure was 70/60 and the monitor showed 130 beats per minute. She drifted in and out of consciousness and didn’t flinch when the intravenous cannulas pierced her skin. For the first time, Anya saw how vulnerable her mother was. And how alone.

The registrar, Dr Megan French, had been in emergency when they arrived and was quick to make an assessment. Jocelyn was in acute adrenal crisis. The tiny adrenal glands above her kidneys had failed. The situation was critical. The diagnosis fitted with all of her mother’s symptoms. Her body couldn’t produce the hormones needed to process carbohydrates, fats and proteins, which explained the dramatic weight loss. Added to that, she couldn’t produce adrenalin and cortisol or keep her blood sugars up, which was why she was fatigued, exhausted to the point of sleep walking. It could be why her memory seemed to be failing. She was trying to function without adequate sleep, with dangerously low blood pressure, given the adrenal glands were responsible for regulating the body’s fluid and salt levels.

It all made sense. Anya looked at the blood results. Low sodium, high potassium, low glucose: the signs were all there. Dehydration, severe hypotension, muscle wasting, pigmented skin and palms. A dextrose infusion treated the hypoglycaemia, and aggressive fluid replacement would increase Jocelyn’s worryingly low blood pressure.

Anya was relieved her mother had cut herself on the wooden planks in the chicken pen. If not, Anya may not have noticed the pigment on the hands. She thought about how her mother wore gloves to wash up, clean, and treat patients.

The registrar, Megan, returned and delivered an injection. The next test took about twenty minutes. At first they injected a substance into the blood stream and monitored the adrenal’s hormone response. Initially, they needed to watch carefully for an allergic reaction to the injection. Instead of leaving the task to nursing staff, Megan surprised Anya by pulling up a chair.

‘Your mother’s a strong woman. Is determination a family trait?’

‘You might say that.’ It was one of Jocelyn’s greatest strengths, and weakness.

‘I’m wondering what precipitated the deterioration. There’s no sign of infection as far as we can tell, but we’re waiting to get a urine sample. Is there any family history of cancer, or endocrine disease?’

‘Not that I know of.’

‘Any immune disorders?’

‘Nothing apart from hay fever.’ Anya went through a mental list of causes of adrenal disease. ‘No travel, no tuberculosis. No other physical stressors come to mind.’ The emotional stress of finding Len Dengate could have precipitated the collapse. Her body didn’t have the capacity to produce any cortisol, even when faced with a life or death situation. ‘Last night she found her close friend shot to death.’

Megan was quiet for a moment. ‘That is horrible.’

Anya felt incredibly guilty. She had completely misread her mother. ‘I was beginning to think she was suffering from early dementia. There’s a strong family history.’

‘Alzheimer’s?’

‘No, vascular.’

The registrar wrote in the notes. ‘We see a lot of that around here. What’s her mental state been like?’

‘Forgetful, misplacing things, defensive. I think she was worried about losing her mind.’ She couldn’t believe she had misjudged her mother so badly. ‘There wasn’t much food in the house and I assumed she was forgetting to eat. And last night I saw her sleepwalking for the first time.’

‘They can all be explained by her illness. She was completely physically and mentally exhausted. It’s a wonder she managed to keep working.’

‘What next?’ Anya asked.

‘We have to exclude adrenal tumours and check the pituitary as well. I suspect your mother has Addison’s disease. As you know, there may not be a cause. It’s just that the adrenal glands can’t do their job.’

Anya was impressed by how knowledgeable the registrar was in what was supposedly a rare condition. She hadn’t hesitated to make the initial diagnosis, before Anya mentioned it.

‘Have you seen many other cases like this?’

Megan watched the monitor. ‘I’m seconded from Melbourne. I’d seen one case at med school until I started here six months ago. The number of immune disorders in this area completely blows me away.’ Her pager beeped. She stood and put the chair to the side. ‘Must be something in the water.’

35

‘Y
our mother has a visitor,’ the nurse advised. ‘I told him she was sleeping but he’s asking for you.’ Anya looked up. Simon Hammond stood at the entrance to the high dependency unit. He was in full uniform and carried his cap.

She was relieved to see him and slipped outside the room so as not to disturb her mother.

‘How are your burns?’ The palms were dressed in a clear skinlike dressing over a white cream.

‘They’ll heal.’ He opened and closed one fist, then the other. ‘Have to keep doing this to stop scarring.’

‘Any word on who the man in the sneakers was, or what he was doing?’

‘Not yet. Dental records may be the only way.’

‘I imagine they’re checking people recently released from prisons. Maybe someone will recognise the tattoos.’ She pulled her cardigan across her chest and crossed her arms. ‘I didn’t properly thank you. For last night. You risked your life to save mine.’

‘Don’t mention it. Just part of the service.’ He rotated his cap in his hand. ‘How’s your mum doing?’

Anya looked back through the window. The nurse had opened the venetian blind on the other side. ‘Better than before. She was much more ill than anyone realised. How did you know she was here?’

‘Secretary called us when she didn’t go to the surgery, and there was no answer at home or on Jocelyn’s mobile. Basic policing. She didn’t look too good last night either.’

Anya realised there were advantages to living in a small place. If her mother had collapsed at home, it wouldn’t have taken long for someone to find her and get her to hospital.

‘She is a great lady. A lot of people care about her.’ He pursed his lips, creating a left dimple. ‘You’ll probably have a year’s supply of casseroles and cakes when you get back to the house.’

In a way, that was mildly comforting. It’s what country people did in a crisis. The first instinct was to cook and make sure no one went hungry.

‘Oh, sorry about the bruise on your forehead,’ he winced. ‘It looks nasty.’ Her carry-on and laptop bags were by his side. Following her gaze, he said, ‘Brought your things when I checked your mum’s place. Thought you may need more clothes, toothbrush and that. Lucky for me, your stuff was already packed.’

It was a kind thought, but more than a little unsettling. And presumptuous. ‘Thanks. McGinley let you back on duty?’

‘He wasn’t happy but needs all hands on deck after last night. I had the first interview with the Office of Police Integrity aka Internal Affairs this morning. Your contact, the one who put the wind up McGinley. Guess you’ll be seeing him later.’

Anya’s friend had spoken highly of Oliver Parke. She was glad someone competent would be investigating the police shooting. McGinley would have to be on his best by-the-book behaviour. She wanted to know if Alison Blainey had given a statement yet.

‘Has Alison said what happened when they got to Len’s last night?’

‘She says Len was shot before they got there. The door was open so they walked in. She’d never seen a body before and panicked. She ran outside. We’ll find out more when your mum’s fit enough to talk.’

Anya felt relief that her mother hadn’t been in the room when the shooting took place. Alison’s statement also cleared her mother of involvement and suspicion.

‘I checked Len’s generator last night after you left. It was in the shed, full and ready to use. An empty tin was near it, smelling like petrol.’

‘So we were right. He didn’t set the fire.’ Simon spun the cap again. ‘Can we talk?’

‘I thought we were.’

The dimple appeared again. Simon asked a passing nurse if there was somewhere to speak in private.

‘There’s a relative’s lounge,’ the nurse replied, and said to Anya, ‘Your mother will be fine while you take a break.’ An alarm bleeped for another patient and she excused herself. ‘Across the other side,’ she pointed.

Simon and Anya found the room. The police officer seemed nervous as they sat in adjacent chairs. ‘About last night .
. .’

Anya straightened. She felt sorry for the officer, who had innocently stopped to offer a man a lift in the rain and now his career was at risk. It was unethical to talk about the shooting before she gave her statement.

He put up a hand, as if reading her mind. ‘I mean Len. Thank you for what you did.’

Anya was taken aback. Simon seemed more concerned with Len’s death than his own future.

‘In what way?’

‘I can’t shake the feeling that the big guy was murdered.’

Anya sat forward. ‘Why?’

‘Some people wrote him off as a crank, conspiracy theorist, an anti-progress, fruity Greenie. But something felt wrong from the moment we got there.’

Anya listened. This officer had excellent instincts.

‘You hesitated when you looked at the wound to his chest,’ he said.

He was right, just as he had been when he’d noticed flamethrower man’s sneakers and how he’d walked through puddles to the passenger side of the car. He’d read the man’s face and body language perfectly and realised a lethal threat when Anya hadn’t.

‘He was shot through his shirt. It always raises alarm bells with a supposed suicide.’ In her experience, people who committed suicide, whether by knife or gun wound, always exposed their skin before wounding themselves. Pulling the clothing out of the way was one of the most reliable signs of a self-inflicted injury. ‘It’s hardly proof of anything, but it does raise the question.’

She thought about how McGinley had been so quick to dismiss the death as suicide.

‘Most jumpers take off their shoes and leave them behind.’ He nodded. ‘Techs say there weren’t any fingerprints on the gun’s pump mechanism.’

‘That’s not unusual.’ Lack of fingerprints on the gun’s wooden component was insignificant. And they had all seen Craig pick up the weapon at the farce of a crime scene.

He picked something minuscule off his cap. ‘I went back to Len’s place this morning.’ He pulled out his phone. ‘Took more photos, but unless there’s something you can see that I’ve missed .
. .
I couldn’t find a suicide note anywhere. Or whatever that piece of torn paper in his hand came from. I checked the rubbish and chicken scrap bucket, just in case. Len kept notes on everything.’

Anya had known relatives and friends to remove suicide notes, for their own reasons. Sometimes these were religious, if suicide was deemed a grave sin and excluded them from a specific burial, or for privacy reasons if an admission or scandal was revealed in the note. ‘Mum still had on last night’s clothes when we came to hospital.’ They were in the plastic bag the nurses put all her personal belongings in, and it had come with her to the ward. ‘If she took a note, it could still be in one of the pockets.’

‘I assume McGinley’ll check his computer, see if he emailed anyone or wrote an email without sending it.’ Emails could also provide evidence of whether anyone had threatened him over the E. coli infections or in the past. That was another possibility Jocelyn hadn’t considered. She had been adamant that Len had not committed suicide. Her reasons, though, sounded completely nonsensical. As did the whispering as if the house was being monitored. Then again, Christian Moss had said, ‘the walls have ears’. How would he have known both Len and Jocelyn believed that?

She thought about the multitudes of writings in the scrapbook under the bed, with the word CONSPIRACY circled. Her mother was terrified she was in the process of losing her mind. She was trying to solve something while she could.

The hoards of patient files had to contain something to help her find the answers she was searching for.

Anya wondered if some of the answers were in the papers that had been hidden under the chicken coop.

36

W
hen Simon had left and the nurse disappeared to lunch, Anya peeled open the bag and pulled out the wad of documents. Anya looked across at Jocelyn, who was resting peacefully despite the flurry of activity around other patients. Monitors alarmed and phones rang incessantly in the ward.

Anya slowly tore open the layers of plastic covering and exposed the collection of papers.

On top was an envelope titled
Last Will and Testament of Leonardo Dengate
. She opened it and unfolded the paper. Signed in ink, and dated less than a year ago, the document was filled with legal jargon about revoking previous wills. Her eyes scanned and stopped.

I hereby leave the entirety of my estate to my closest friend, Dr Jocelyn Reynolds. In the event of Jocelyn Reynolds predeceasing me, I leave the entirety of my estate to her daughter, Anya Crichton.

Anya sat back, stunned. She had no recollection of meeting Len Dengate before this visit. She could appreciate him wanting to leave the property to her mother, but in the event of Jocelyn’s death, surely he would want his family to inherit. There was an accompanying letter addressed to her mother and marked personal. She hesitated, not wanting to further violate her mother’s privacy.

The will could not have been clearer. Included was a psychiatrist’s report that gave Len a mini mental state examination score of thirty out of thirty, and declared him free of mental illness on the date the will was signed. It would be impossible to claim that he was not in a fit mental state to change his will. Len Dengate was as determined as Jocelyn. They would have made a formidable pair.

She thought of Craig Dengate, who would have inherited Len’s land and farm prior to this will. If there was suspicion of homicide, police looked first at the person most likely to benefit from the death. Being the sole beneficiary of the will, Jocelyn might just have become a suspect if questions were raised about possible foul play. Anya’s head pounded.

Jocelyn suddenly sat upright.

‘I didn’t mean it.’ She began to sob. ‘Please forgive me.’

A nurse hurried in and hit the fluorescent light behind the bed, which flicked on, off then on.

‘It’s all right, Dr Reynolds, it’s just a bad dream. You’re in hospital.’ She wore navy culottes, a white shirt and navy cardigan, and had a pen lanyard around her neck. Her face was round and kind. ‘It’s not uncommon when you start having corticosteroids.’

Jocelyn blinked a number of times and recognised Anya.

‘How long have I been here?’ She turned her head as the monitor beeped seventy per minute.

‘A few hours.’

‘What happened?’

Anya moved her chair closer to the bed. ‘You slept. It’s a good thing.’

‘I had the most horrible dream.’ Her eyes filled with tears and her hand reached out.

Careful not to knock the taped-in cannula, Anya stroked her mother’s fingers.

‘In it I said vile, cruel things to you. None of it was true.’ She licked her dry lips.

Anya reached for a glass of water and held back her own tears, wanting to believe that her mother hadn’t been in a fit state yesterday to know what she was really saying. ‘It was just a nightmare. Dreams are never real.’ She wiped a strand of hair away from Jocelyn’s forehead. ‘Your body’s been struggling without cortisone for who knows how long. The endocrinologist thinks you have Addison’s disease.’

Jocelyn looked again at the monitor. ‘Could it be cancer?’

‘Not according to the MRI scan.’

She let her head flop back against the pillow.

‘Do they serve food in this place?’

Anya grinned and relief filled her. ‘Looks like the hydrocortisone has kicked in.’

‘I can get you stewed unidentifiable fruit or custard,’ the nurse said, checking the machine delivering intravenous fluids.

‘On second thoughts, you could crank up the good juice in here.’ Jocelyn pointed to the cannula. ‘Whatever it is, it’s got a decent buzz.’

‘Steroid and sugar hits will do that to you.’ The nurse smiled. ‘There’s a vending machine outside but don’t let on I told you. It has Burger Rings, chips and Twisties.’

‘I’m on it,’ Anya said, relieved her mother was all right and making light of the situation.

Jocelyn tightened her grip on Anya’s hand. ‘Please don’t go.’

The nurse left the light on and retreated.

‘I need to tell you something.’

Anya assumed it had to do with Len Dengate.

‘Annie, I’ve never told you how proud I am of you. How lucky I’ve been to have you as a daughter.’ The heart monitor beeped in regular rhythm.

All her life Anya had hoped to hear those words, but not under these circumstances. ‘Mum, you don’t have to–’

‘Yes I do. I’ve been so wrong about so many things.
I promise, things will be different from now on.’

They remained in silence for a while. Anya grabbed a tissue from the table and blew her nose.

‘Did Simon Hammond come to see you?’

Anya nodded.

‘He’s reliable and kind-hearted. You could do worse than him, you know.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Okay.’ Jocelyn had the spark back in her eyes. ‘Maybe everything being different was a stretch. Consider me a work in progress.’ She reached for the bed controls and slowly sat the bed more upright.

‘That’s a decent bruise on your head. Are you all right?’

Anya nodded, astounded at the change in her mother over such a short period of time.

‘Did you bring the papers?’

There was nothing wrong with her mother’s short-term memory. ‘Are you sure you want to .
. .’

‘It’s what Len wanted. I owe him that much.’

Anya reached down to her bag.

The nurse returned with a full plastic food tray. ‘Foraged some contraband. Sandwiches, some carrot cake from a birthday morning tea. And thought you might like a nice hot cup of tea.’

This nurse’s face was a true indicator of character.

‘You didn’t have to–’

‘There’s nothing wrong with being looked after. Enjoy it while it lasts.’ She placed the tray on the mobile bed table and wheeled it into place.

Jocelyn licked her lips and took a sip from the brown plastic mug. ‘It always tastes better when someone else has made it.’

‘If only my husband understood that.’ The nurse smiled warmly. ‘If there’s anything you need, just call.’

Anya waited until they were alone and then pulled out the wad of papers.

Jocelyn chomped into an egg sandwich. The smell of it made Anya nauseated.

‘Did Len tell you he changed his will last year?’

‘No.’ She took another bite. ‘We were friends, but he kept some things very private.’ She chewed and swallowed. ‘What are you–?’

‘He left everything to you.’

There was a moment’s silence. ‘I had no idea. His family will challenge it.’

‘He proved that he was of sound mind with a psychiatric report saying he was fully mentally competent.’

Anya tried to read her mother’s face. This was a large parcel of land. Even after the E. coli scandal, she doubted Jocelyn would sell it.

‘Sneaky bugger. Got the last laugh after all.’

‘There was a personal letter addressed to you.’

‘What does it say?’

Anya hesitated. ‘I didn’t open it. It’s private.’

‘I don’t have my reading glasses.’

Anya suspected her mother would be less likely to get overtly upset in her presence. She used the knife from the tray to tear open the envelope. The letter was written in fountain pen, and the handwriting was like calligraphy. She looked at her mother, who nodded for her to continue.

Dearest Jocelyn,

You have been my loyal confidante and friend for many years and nursed me through the tragedy of losing my beloved Patsy. You have neither asked for, nor expected, anything in return. For that, I admire and respect you. You are one of life’s true altruists. The pain you have suffered with personal loss has not jaded your sense of fairness and justice.

Anya paused to check her mother, whose head lay against the pillow, eyes closed.

‘Go on.’

You have struggled for many years and waived payment for medical services, or accepted token gifts in lieu, such as fruit, vegetables or the odd rabbit. Now I am in a position to repay your kindness, only not in kind. By the way, I apologise for the menagerie I have inflicted upon you over the years.

‘Must be at least ten years he’d drive to Launceston to see me. Said he couldn’t trust anyone local.’ Jocelyn chuckled.
‘Chickens, lame ducks; four months ago there was a salamander.
Who gives away a salamander?’

‘He was a character,’ Anya agreed.

Livelonger Organics was my life’s dream. This may come as a surprise to you, my dear friend, but I have been prone to occasional moments of reason. This is why I have accepted legal advice to separate the company from the farm equipment and land. Livelonger Organics has no assets and leases the land from me. If the company is forced into bankruptcy, creditors’ or other vultures’ attempts to acquire the land will be unsuccessful. The land will remain in my name until my death, either premature or otherwise.

Anya stopped reading. It was as if he had suspected the farm produce would be sabotaged or compromised. More than that, it implied that Len had known his life might have been in danger. The gunshot wound could have been more important than anyone realised. She wanted to be at the post-mortem to see for herself.

Jocelyn opened her eyes.

‘There’s more,’ Anya explained.

I hope that you will continue your good work and reveal PT and its co-conspirators for the murderers and evil manipulators they are. Sadly, if you read this, they have silenced me, or so they believe. Step carefully and securely at all times. My greatest regret is not being able to protect Patsy, Reuben, and you.

Her mother felt the need to explain. ‘Patsy was a vibrant, intelligent, witty woman. Even though Reuben is serving a life sentence for her murder, Len always believed he was set up. He was the chief research scientist for TIAA. Patsy was worried about some top-secret study they were conducting.’

‘Is that why Len testified for Reuben in court?’

Jocelyn nodded. ‘Is there more?’

Anya continued.

With the culmination of your findings, I believe you and your beloved daughter will be able to prove the crimes against humanity and nature. Many more lives depend on it.

Yours in undying friendship, respect and appreciation,

Len

Anya silently reread the last few lines. It was dated three months ago. Len Dengate had wanted Anya involved in his case. Her mind raced. What crime had been committed against her mother?

‘If anything happened to him, even it if seemed accidental,’ Jocelyn said, ‘he wanted you to be involved in the investigation.’

Anya needed to know what Jocelyn and Alison had found when they arrived at Len’s home. Jocelyn had to be questioned by police, despite her health problems.

‘Mum, can you tell me what happened last night?’

Jocelyn seemed to shudder and her eyes glazed. ‘When Alison and I arrived, the door was opened. Len wouldn’t leave it like that. Ros barked and straight away I knew something was wrong. I ran into the room and saw him. Part of me knew he was already gone but I guess I couldn’t accept it. You asked me about the gun. It was propped between his legs and he was slumped back on the lounge.’ She swallowed hard before continuing. ‘I couldn’t resuscitate him like that so I moved him on to the floor.’

That explained the pattern of blood smears from the upholstery and the rug.

‘Where was Alison?’ Anya asked.

Jocelyn cocked her head. ‘She screamed when she saw him and ran outside. She must have called the police and ambulance.’

‘I tried to bring him back, but he’d lost too much blood.
I even swore at him that PT would win if he didn’t fight . . .’ She plucked at the bed sheet. ‘It sounds so stupid. I just didn’t want it to end like that for him. Still can’t believe it.’

Anya reached across and took her mother’s hand and held it until Jocelyn drifted back into a fitful sleep.

She tried to process what her mother described, and the information in Len’s letter. After a few minutes she released their hands and began to flick through some of the papers. She stopped at the front page of the police report into Patsy’s murder.

Senior Sergeant McGinley had been the first person on the scene.