Malicious Intent (19 page)

Ben’s blond hair had grown and with each movement, his fringe flicked across sparkling blue eyes. Anya made a mental note not to say anything to Martin. Last time she did, he marched their son off for a crew cut. The soft, shiny hair that Anya loved to run her fingers through had been shaved and had only just grown back.

The song ended and Ben hit the crash cymbal. Mother and son sat clapping as the next song started.

‘Mummy! I’ve missed you soooooooooooo much.’

‘Me, too. Hey, you must be starving, with all those muscles to feed.’

Anya lifted him off the seat and they held hands on the way to the kitchen. She plonked him on the bench-top and grilled fish fingers and steamed peas, carrots and cauliflower.

Ben talked about the beach, his swimming, and rattled off the names of countries he knew. Anya had to keep reminding herself that this chatterbox was only three years old.

To protests, she lifted him down to a chair at the dining table. She was forgiven when she poured ketchup on his plate, next to, not on, the fish.

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As she filled her own plate with the leftovers, the phone in the lounge room rang.

‘I won’t be long, Speedie, you start without me.’

Ben didn’t need to be told twice. Anya picked up the receiver and didn’t recognize the male voice.

‘Is that Dr. Crichton, formerly Anya Reynolds, of Launceston, Tasmania?’

Only close friends and the Tasmanian police knew her family name. She held her breath.

‘Who is this?’

‘Trent Wilkinson, from the
Herald Tribune
.’

Bloody reporter.

Anya snapped, ‘I don’t give interviews, and don’t appreciate being called after hours.’

‘Please don’t hang up. I just wanted to ask you some questions about the investigation into your sister’s disappearance. I have spoken to former neighbors who believe you were involved. Do you have any comment?’

Anya felt lightheaded as her pulse galloped.

The voice continued. ‘I understand you lost custody of your own child, too. Do you ever worry about having unsupervised access to him?’

Anya dropped the phone and watched her hands tremble.

The voice kept talking until she kicked the handset and the sound stopped.

She took a few deep breaths, disconnected the phone and returned to Ben, who was counting peas on his plate.

‘Who was it, Mum?’

She tried to sound calm. ‘No one we know, darling.’

Anya sat and watched her son play with his food. With a new investigation, the media were bound to become interested again, just as they had at the time. Half of Launceston knew who she was and could have told the reporter. What was his name? He was probably young and looking for a new angle to make a name for himself. Even so, the call rattled her. She wasn’t KATHRYN FOX

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ready for all the attention again, not after working so hard to distance herself from the past.

She told Ben to finish up.

‘It’s time for bath, pajamas, clean teeth and if you’re lucky, one story.’

‘Oh, Mum . . .’

‘Just for that, Speedie, you’re going to get cuddled to bits!’

She grabbed him tightly and carried him upstairs as he laughed and squealed.

Within forty-five minutes he was safely tucked into his bed. After a story, two songs, three books and a game of shadow puppets, Ben threw his arms around her.

‘I don’t want to let you go, Mummy.’

‘Neither do I. But you have to get some sleep sometime.’

She cradled him and stroked his downlike hair.

‘I want to stay with you tonight.’

‘I thought you’d want to sleep in your room with your new rug and toys.’

‘I do. Will you sleep here with me? PLEEEAAASE?’

Despite protesting, Anya adored these moments. Ben was
the
love of her life, and the most accepting person she’d ever known.

‘How about I sing you one more song? I’ll even rub your back if you’d like.’

‘Okay, but I still want you to stay.’ Ben’s eyelids were already starting to droop. She lay beside him under the covers.

By the time she’d finished ‘Rock-a-Bye Your Bear,’ he had drifted into a peaceful sleep. She lay holding him until the sleep deepened, and each breath lengthened.

Leaving the room, Anya tried to avoid the creakiest floor-boards, and went downstairs to clean the kitchen and check her e-mail. Channel-surfing didn’t yield any interesting TV

shows, so she made sure the doors and windows were locked.

Stopping in the study, she turned on the light and took some notes about the three women with the fibers. In separate 148

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columns, she wrote ‘pubic hair,’ ‘fibers,’ ‘missing’ and ‘no social life.’ Beside Debbie Finch’s name, she ticked all four and added

‘long-term sexual abuse.’ Fatima Deab scored four ticks and

‘physical abuse,’ Clare Matthews was the only one who didn’t fit. No one had talked about her upbringing and whether or not she’d been abused. Maybe she did have something else in common with the others. There was nothing mentioned about pubic hair in her PM report. Shaved genitals weren’t unusual markings like tattoos, not something you’d record in a passport as an identifying feature. Maybe it was a coincidence and she was making something out of nothing. Detectives Faulkner and Filano might have had a point, even though they’d been so offensive about the whole thing. She’d have to ask Peter Latham and hope he remembered about the Matthews woman. The conservative Fatima that the GP receptionist described wouldn’t have worn see-through clothes and gaudy underwear. She had learned that you can’t ever predict how people will behave. Anya hadn’t believed Martin would ever change his attitude or that Miriam’s disappearance would be reinvestigated.

Thoughts of tonight’s call filled her mind. She could phone the paper tomorrow and complain about the intrusion. Then again, that would just inflame the reporter.

Profiting from people’s misery should be a crime. Private suffering was bad enough. Doing it in the public domain was even more devastating. With a throbbing headache, she headed upstairs.

Looking in on Ben, she found his bed empty. As her eyes flicked toward the bathroom, she caught a glimpse of him lying sideways in her double bed. The urge to reprimand him was quickly replaced by an overwhelming desire to hold him. She intended to lift him back into his room, but paused to watch her son, so peaceful. He’d grown in the three weeks since she’d seen him. Apart from the physical changes, she’d also missed a litany of thoughts, feelings and discoveries. Irreplaceable moments.

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She undressed, pulled on a T-shirt and climbed into bed.

After turning him so his head rested on the pillow, Anya held her little man and fell asleep.

Without letting go.

24

On Monday morning, Elaine arrived during the second bowl of cereal. ‘Let me see. It’s Monday. Coco Pops. Ah, you finally got to spend the weekend with Ben.’

Anya crunched a mouthful and smiled.

‘I’m really glad Martin didn’t let you down again. Did you have a good time?’

‘It was great. We went to the craft markets, played charades, ate lots of junk, and spent hours talking about countries on his blow-up globe. He’s growing up so quickly . . .’

Anya couldn’t hide her sadness from Elaine, who mirrored it with a look generally reserved for someone who had suffered great loss.

A loud rap on the front door saved Anya from sympathy that would only have upset her more. Elaine excused herself and went to investigate.

Anya heard Dan Brody’s booming laugh and wiped the milk from her chin just as he entered the kitchen waving a white hankie.

Elaine stepped forward and commandeered the bowl. ‘I was helping myself to some cereal and Anya was about to cook something more substantial.’ Elaine came from the 1950s era of housewives who believed that men’s stomach’s stimulated their hearts.

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Anya shot her a steely stare. Brody didn’t seem to notice.

‘Good, I’m famished. But if you’ll permit me, I’d like to save you the trouble and buy you breakfast.’

Anya hesitated. ‘I’m surprised you’re even speaking to me after the other day.’

‘We both became a little heated and I can, I’m told, on rare occasions, be a little bombastic.’

‘A little?!’

Elaine interjected. ‘Well, it sounds like you’ve got work to discuss. Anya would be delighted to go with you. That’ll give me a chance to catch up on paperwork while you’re gone.’

‘But I’ve got to lecture the med students at ten o’clock.’

‘That’s nearly two hours from now,’ Brody told her. ‘I’ll have you back in plenty of time.’

Feeling like a schoolgirl being herded out on her first date, Anya grabbed her shoes from inside the door. As they walked down the street, she could hear the swish of his faded Levi’s as he took one stride for every two of hers. Even without the dramatic effect of an Italian suit, she could see why gossip columnists loved him.

‘Do you ever hear from Brenda?’ she asked.

‘Not since I asked for my ski boots to be returned and one came back full of cement. Not in both, mind you, just one of them. I wouldn’t have cared but they were custom-made for my paddle-sized feet.’

‘I gather she’s still angry about the divorce.’

‘I wasn’t the one who strayed.’

‘This time.’ Anya cringed at her spitfire tongue.

‘Point taken,’ he said, not seeming to mind.

Anya had last spoken to Brenda before the separation. They had been friends at university, both living in Edwards Hall, the student quarters. Brenda studied economics and law, which is how she’d met the young, idealistic lawyer she would marry within months. Anya wasn’t surprised when the union soured.

‘I think I went too far the other day, accusing you of being some kind of devil incarnate for doing your job.’

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Brody laughed. ‘I took it as a compliment. One day you just may find yourself sleeping with the enemy.’

Anya opened her mouth but couldn’t think of anything witty to say. Her silence only made her feel more inept.

They crossed the road and stopped at a café. A blackboard menu boasted smoked salmon, scrambled eggs, bacon, grilled tomato and sausages. Brody patted his stomach.

‘Looks good to me,’ he said, pulling a chair out for Anya.

A waitress arrived at the table.

‘I’ll have one of your full breakfasts from the blackboard, with a macchiato and . . .’

Anya surveyed a laminated menu on the table. ‘Wholemeal toast and a poached egg for me, with a soft yolk. And could you put it beside the toast, please, not on it. And a pot of tea as well, thanks.’

The waitress wrote down the order, wiped the table with a wet cloth, collected the menu and wandered back inside without saying a word.

Brody swept up some leftover crumbs from the table with his hand. ‘We were all a bit tense the other day, and for good reason.’

Tense was an understatement. She was keen to make peace.

‘How’s the Galea boy?’

‘Alive and out of critical condition, they tell me.’

She thought of the boy as someone’s son. ‘Suppose that’s good news for your client.’

‘Better than looking at a murder charge. Which is one of the reasons I came to see you. I’m going to the prison to see Mohammed this afternoon and wondered whether you’d come with me.’

‘In what capacity?’ Anya assumed Brody had a strategy in place.

‘Mohammed’s been assaulted. The prison doctor claims the injuries are superficial, but I’d like you to take a look and give me your opinion. He may be in serious risk if he stays put.’

‘You want me to find his injuries more serious than the prison doctor?’

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‘No, I want an honest opinion.’

‘Fair enough. Has Mohammed consented to my examination?’

‘Not exactly.’ Brody looked more interested in someone else’s breakfast. ‘I haven’t told him you’re coming yet.’

The coffee and pot of tea arrived.

Anya poured, and tea dribbled down the spout into the saucer. She was yet to meet a spill-proof stainless steel teapot.

Brody handed her a couple of serviettes from a dispenser on the next table.

‘Thanks. While we’re discussing Deab, I’ve been looking into the fibers that Fatima had in her lungs. They’ve turned up in at least two other women who died in what at first glance looked like suicide.’

Brody slurped his coffee. ‘Go on.’

‘The odds are minuscule that young women have these findings. I met with Homicide detectives, who didn’t want to know about it. All they want to do is close the cases and move on.’

‘Ah, our diligent constabulary. At least they make my job easier.’ Brody winked at the waitress as she delivered his plate of cholesterol.

The still mute woman placed the egg and toast in front of Anya.

‘I’m concerned that these women might have spent time at the same place, or somewhere similar, where they were exposed to some sort of environmental hazard.’

‘If there’s anything relating these women, it won’t affect our case. Our defense is going to have to focus on Mohammed’s state of mind following the death of his daughter, whether we can argue aggravation by the Galea boy’s actions, or even an automated response by Deab, where he didn’t fully understand the results of his actions due to his overwhelming distress.’ He shoved a forkful of bacon and eggs into his mouth.

Anya had always been amazed at the detachment defense lawyers had from the crimes their clients were charged with committing.

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‘Why do you think these fibers are relevant?’ Brody asked, finishing off the grilled tomato.

‘They may be a clue as to where Fatima stayed in the period between going missing and overdosing. If Mohammed is angry enough to almost kill someone he thinks touched her, he may want to know what really happened to his daughter. Anoub certainly does. He’s been calling nonstop to see if I’ve found anything out.’

Brody raised one eyebrow. ‘Okay, do what you have to do to find out about these fibers. Don’t worry about the cost – the Deabs will pay for it.’