Fatal Impact (5 page)

It was possible Emily had died from complications of Heyes’s recommended treatments. It left a lot unexplained, though, such as why the body was found in the toy box, and why Jenny and Mia were now missing.

The waiver had caught Anya’s attention. ‘You might want to look into his other “clients”. He may have been through this before. This time he came prepared with his lawyer and defence. And he doesn’t seem to have a problem with breaching client confidentiality.’

‘I’m on it.’ Schiller moved to the photocopier. ‘You should take a copy of his miracle cure notes. You may be able to tell the mumbo jumbo from what is safe.’ Bowden shook his head. ‘We’ve got to stick with the big picture. That guy’s pretty convincing, and it sounds like Jenny trusted him. We can’t forget the fact that there was blood on the girl’s underpants .
. .’

The comment hung heavily.

Schiller’s phone rang. ‘Doctor, you’ve been invited to the autopsy at four o’clock. Would you care to come along as an observer?’

Anya checked her watch. ‘I’ll see you there.’ She grabbed her bag and car keys. It was important to have as much information for Beatrice Quaid when they eventually spoke.

A uniformed officer entered the room and handed Schiller an envelope before retreating. Crime scene had already printed off some of the photos from the house. ‘Hey wait,’ the young detective said. ‘Anya, what do you make of this?’

The image was of a photo of Jenny Quaid and two little girls. One was a baby in pink, the other looked around five or six. ‘It had to have been taken before Tom was born. That means it was Mia as a baby, and that must be Emily. She looks young because of her size.’

‘Yeah, but what about what she’s holding.’

Anya looked closer. Under her arm was a soft toy. A yellow duck. Identical to the one wrapped in the blanket with Emily’s body. Anya felt her pulse quicken. Whoever put Emily in the box knew she loved that toy.

‘You’re looking for someone who knew her well. If a man murdered Emily, Jenny may well be involved.’

Dylan Heyes was their prime suspect.

7

T
he image of Mia, Emily and Jenny replayed in Anya’s mind. Someone who knew the family well had been involved in leaving the duck with Emily’s body. If it was an abduction, there was no obvious motive. If Dylan Heyes was involved, he’d seemed calmer and more controlled than she would have imagined – until the question of sexual relations with Jenny arose.

Anya drove along the main street in Huonville and found a car park a few doors down from the hair salon. It was a hunch that may just pay off. It if didn’t, she wouldn’t have wasted valuable police time. In her experience, there was always someone women confided in. If it wasn’t some kind of therapist, this was the next person on the list. The GP had mentioned Hairtastic as the place Jenny went for haircuts.

A man with a buzz cut greeted her from behind a tall reception desk. A blow dryer blasted in the background.

‘Can I help you, madam?’

Anya always felt old when anyone called her that. ‘Dr Wilson mentioned that someone here cut her hair.’ A rail-thin woman with copper-red, shoulder-length hair interrupted her cutting to look up. The man glanced at a computer screen on the desk. ‘Do you want to make an appointment with Wendy?’

‘I just wondered if it was possible to have a quiet word.’ Anya tugged at a loose piece of hair that had escaped her hair knot.

The man looked sympathetically at Anya’s hair and quickly moved from his stool. He whispered into the ear of the woman who had looked up. She studied Anya before saying something to the person in the chair and putting down the hair dryer.

‘How can I help you?’ Anya was greeted with a look of concern. Did her hair really look that bad?

‘Dr Wilson mentioned your name.’

The woman’s shoulders relaxed. ‘We all love Debbie. Come and have a seat.’ The pair sat at a lounge near the front window. ‘Are you thinking of a bob, longer in the front, shorter in back?’

‘This isn’t about me. I’m here about Jenny Quaid.’

The woman scanned Anya’s face with wide brown eyes. ‘Are you from some government department? Please don’t tell me she owes money again.’

Anya realised the news hadn’t reached the salon yet.

‘No. Have you seen or heard from her in the last three days?’

Curiosity quickly turned to concern.

She checked her watch. ‘Not since last week. There’s a farmers’ market on Sunday. She’ll be working at the co-op today. Why?’ She dipped into her pocket and lifted out a phone, pressed a number and listened before clicking the end button.

‘It’s going to message bank. Look, if she owes money, I might be able to help out. Some months the bills just mount up, but she’ll pay every cent back when she can.’

Anya touched the woman’s hand. ‘I’m sorry. This isn’t about money.’

There was no way to break the news gently.

‘A child was found in Jenny’s house today. Dead. The police think it might be her daughter, Emily. Jenny and little Mia are missing.’

The man behind the desk covered his mouth. ‘Oh my–’

‘I need air.’ Wendy grabbed something from behind the desk. It was a pack of cigarettes and a lighter.

The man moved from the desk to the seated customer.

Outside, Wendy stopped a few shops away and lit a cigarette. Her hands were shaking. ‘What happened. To Emmy?’

‘She was found at the house. It’s too early to know how she died.’ Anya decided honesty was the only way to gain the woman’s trust. ‘There was no sign of Jenny or Mia. It looked like they hadn’t been there for a couple of days.’

One arm folded against her waist, Wendy took a long drag and exhaled. ‘No way she’d leave Emmy. Jen would never ever do that.’ Her eyes suddenly widened. ‘How can they be missing?’ She flicked a strand of copper hair from her eye. ‘Someone has to be keeping her from Em . . . This is bullshit. This can’t be happening.’

Anya spoke softly, even though the street was quiet. ‘I was at the house. There was blood in the bathroom that someone had tried to clean.’

The hairdresser puffed on the cigarette and shook her head, as if it would make reality go away.

‘Do you know if Jenny is seeing anyone? Is there anyone who might want to hurt her or the kids?’

The hairdresser locked eyes with her. ‘You think someone killed Emmy. And Jenny and Mia too?’ She clutched her stomach. ‘I’m going to be sick.’ She gagged and dry-retched a number of times, then wiped her mouth.

Anya stood close, offering physical support if needed.
A couple across the road had stopped and were watching.

‘I only babysat Em and Mia two weekends ago. I took over my Wii and we played every single game. They had a ball.’

The man from inside the salon had obviously been watching and tentatively appeared with a glass of water containing a lemon slice.

‘You can talk in the back room, stop the whole town gawking at you. I’ll make sure you have privacy.’

Wendy stubbed out her cigarette on the footpath.

Before heading inside, Anya phoned Steve Schiller and explained where she was. She asked him to email images of the interior of the Quaid house. Kitchen, living areas and bedrooms, apart from the wardrobe. A babysitter would be familiar with them.

Anya walked back through the salon. The smell of ammonia perm solution initially made her eyes water. In a back room shelves contained rows of shampoo, conditioners and hair dyes. The reception man carried in a second chair. He patted Wendy on the back before lighting another cigarette for her. ‘I’ll get you a strong coffee.’ He closed a sliding door behind him.

Anya was aware of how pressing time was now. ‘I need to ask some personal questions about Jenny, because it’s critical the police find her and Mia quickly.’

Wendy tucked her feet up onto the chair and hugged her knees. ‘I understand.’

‘Would you know if Jenny has a boyfriend?’ she asked again.

‘There isn’t anyone.’ Wendy leant closer. ‘Those kids are her world. Some people think she’s over-the-top protective, but who can blame her?’

‘Did any men show a particular interest in her or the girls?’

‘Only that snake-oil merchant, Dylan Heyes. He made Emily his pet project, even gave Jenny “discount rates”.’

Anya recalled that Heyes had mentioned bread in exchange for his services. ‘Did anything sexual ever happen between him and Jenny?’

Wendy took another drag. ‘He specialises in bored housewives. I could tell you some stories.’

That’s exactly what Anya was hoping. Hairdressers seemed to know all about who was sleeping with whom in the community.

‘Does Jenny have many friends out at Bellamy?’

The hairdresser let the cigarette burn down. ‘She works with them. She loves being part of their “family” as she calls them but they’re pretty full on and half of them are squatting out there, without electricity or hot water. Jenny wants more than that for her kids. When she needs money for bills, or just some space, she knows she can call me. I take DVDs out there for the kids, and games.’ She stubbed the butt into a glass bowl. ‘I don’t understand. If she was in trouble, why didn’t she call?’

‘Did Emily have school friends or spend time with other kids?’

‘Emmy’s gorgeous, bright and sensitive. A real old soul.’ Tears welled. ‘She was always helping her mum and preferred to spend time with her. They were more like sisters. They have the same birthday, fifteen years apart.’

‘Can you think of anywhere else Jenny might go, if she needed to get away in a hurry?’

Wendy thought for a while. ‘She would have come to my place. I’d have to pick her up. She can’t drive.

Anya heard a ping from her bag. She pulled out her iPad and checked the emails. Schiller had sent through the pictures she’d asked for. ‘If I show you some pictures of how the house was found, do you think you’d know if anything was out of place?’

‘I guess.’ Wendy put her legs down and moved her chair closer to see the screen. Looking at the first photo she said, ‘Wednesdays and Saturdays are her bread-baking days. Like clockwork. Although she never leaves the flour or yeast out like that. And she always wipes the bench clean between each batch.’

Today was Friday. If the kitchen had been abandoned on Wednesday, Emily can’t have been dead for more than forty-eight hours. Anya scrolled to the next image.

‘That’s wrong. The milk on the bench. She would never leave it out.’

Anya became more concerned that the mother and daughter had been abducted.

Inside the fridge, items were stacked neatly in containers. Either Jenny Quaid was incredibly organised, or she had an obsessive-compulsive disorder. The rest of the house didn’t seem to have the same level of order.

‘We talked about kitchen hygiene a lot after Tom died.
I saw Jenny putting meat on the shelf above vegetables in the fridge. She didn’t realise how quickly foods go off if you leave them out. She’d leave cooked sausages on the bench overnight, then have them for tea the next night. Money was tight; she had to make the most of leftovers.’

‘So she learnt. The fridge was evidence of that.’

‘Oh yeah, she always wants to learn more about things. Leaving school so early really bothers her. Those girls of hers had better finish high school or .
. .’
Her voice trailed off.

The next images appeared on the iPad, these of the living areas and bedrooms.

‘Can you see anything out of place? Or maybe something that isn’t there that should be, like a computer?’

‘She didn’t own one, or any real jewellery, for that matter.’ A dye-stained finger pointed to the television, which sat on a piece of wood held up by milk crates. ‘She found that left out for council pickup. Worked fine. She loves watching the ads, thinks those are better than the shows. Never met anyone like her.’ The hairdresser fought back tears. ‘Everything looks normal.’

They moved to the girls’ bedroom. Both beds were unmade.

‘Did Jenny ever discipline the girls?’

‘All the time. She didn’t want them growing up
disrespectful.’

‘In what way?’ Anya probed.

Wendy looked directly at her. ‘Never hit them, if that’s what you mean. Sure, she could yell. What mother doesn’t? But the way she handled those kids was amazing. Most of the time, all she needed to do was say their name, or give them a look.’ The sliding door opened and a woman in a black vinyl cloak appeared, hair wrapped in a towel. They could hear a blow dryer back inside.

‘Sorry. Bathroom.’

Wendy opened the back door for her, which led outside and the woman shuffled off, presumably to a toilet shared by the businesses.

‘Can you go back to the photos in the kitchen?’ Wendy leant in again. ‘That’s weird. Jenny’s recipe book isn’t there.’

‘Where did she keep it?’

‘On two hooks on the pantry door.’

An enlarged image showed the empty hooks.

‘Emily had the brilliant idea of doing up cards for Jen’s birthday. To show her the quantities in the recipes and how long to bake each dish. I got them laminated and punched holes in one side. Em strung them together into a book so they could hang where Jen could easily see them.’ Wendy became more animated. ‘The number of chef’s hats showed how much Em liked the foods. That way, Jen could always make perfect bread and cakes, even roasts.’

‘You said the cards
showed
the quantities.’ Anya didn’t follow. Recipes always listed quantities and cooking times. Why would they need to be shown on handmade cards?

‘With cups, different-sized spoons and drawings. Only Jenny wanted me to think they were for Emily and Mia, not her.’

Anya suddenly understood. Rather than being overprotective, Jenny Quaid was hiding a secret that kept her vulnerable and isolated. She was too ashamed to share it with her closest friend.

The twenty-five year-old couldn’t read. With the death of Emily, she had lost her protector.

‘Don’t you see?’ Wendy pleaded. ‘Jenny could never hurt Emily. That child was her eyes to a world she couldn’t otherwise be a part of.’

Anya became even more afraid for what had happened to Mia and her mother.