Without Consent (25 page)

Martin turned down the radio and
checked his watch again. Why did his ex-wife have to be so annoying? She knew he was bringing Ben. You’d think that, of all days, she could leave her precious work a bit earlier to meet them. He and Nita had plans to celebrate his new job. It wasn’t every day he was named manager of a product line.

Anya’s mobile wasn’t answering; neither was the phone. He had to admit, this wasn’t like her. He looked up and down the street. No sign of her. Where the hell was she? Inside the adjacent terrace a figure watched through the curtains.

He opened the electric window on his son’s side and stepped out of the car. “I’ll be right here, you can see me. I’m just going to say hi to the lady next door.”

“You mean Mrs. Bugalugs?” Ben said, continuing with his game.

Martin just hoped the old woman didn’t take offense if Ben let it slip one day.

He buttoned his jacket and, shoulders hunched, opened the gate. No doubt the old busy-body deliberately left it rickety so she could hear every squeak it made.

With the porch light on, he knocked on the door, looking back to check his son. Ben waved and watched, suddenly curious.

The door opened a few inches, as if she didn’t know who was there.

“Hi, I’m Anya from next door’s ex-husband. I was wondering if you’d seen her this afternoon or tonight.”

The woman opened the door further and clutched her cardigan with knobbled arthritic fingers.

“I don’t like to spread gossip,” she said, peering toward his car. “Have you got the little fellow in there?”

“He’s here to spend the weekend with his mother, only she’s not here. But her car is out front.”

“You’d think she could have waited until her son wasn’t visiting.”

“Pardon?” Martin said. “Waited for what?”

She leaned forward and gave an exaggerated blink. Martin saw her yellowed teeth up close for the first time.

“To entertain. To entertain that man who went in there.”

The idea made Martin feel uncomfortable. He’d never imagined his ex-wife with another man, although he’d been with other women. Anya had always seemed married to her job. Except when that smarmy lawyer, Brody, had been sniffing around a while back.

His irritation turned to concern. This didn’t make sense. Anya wouldn’t do that to Ben, or him. One of the things he most respected about her was how she put her son’s emotional needs above her own. He began to feel queasy, like something wasn’t right.

“Are you
sure
she’s home?”

“As I said, I don’t like to spread gossip,” she replied, and closed the door.

He knocked again, and waited for her to return. She couldn’t have been more than a few feet from the door, but she made him wait for at least a minute. His right leg twitched, like it did when he was nervous about something.

“I’m sorry to disturb, but would you mind just keeping an eye on my son while I go next door?”

She seemed to consider the request. “I suppose he can sit out here on the porch. I don’t like kids in the house.”

Martin hurried back to the car and grabbed Ben. “Put your jumper on, it’s cold out here.”

“But Dad—” His arms disappeared, reappearing inside the jumper.

“It’s just for a minute. I’m going to see if the house is unlocked.”

“But Dad, she’s creepy.”

“Shhhh. Don’t say that. And I’ll only be a minute. Okay?”

Martin began to perspire as he led Ben up the path.

“I’m watching,” the woman said through the partially opened door.

Martin wasn’t sure whether that was threatening or reassuring, but he didn’t have any other options right now. At least if Ben was out the front, he could hear if his son called.

Martin hopped the fence into Anya’s yard, landing on a bed of violets. He listened and didn’t hear anything. Around the back, he noticed an open window and his stomach lurched.

Anya never left anything open. She was obsessive about locking everything, which was one of the things he disliked about her. Something was wrong, really wrong.

Instinct told him to bang on the back door, but if Anya were in trouble he could make it worse. What if something had already happened to her? How would he cope? She was such a good mother, Ben would never get over it.

What if she was having sex? Wiping sweaty hands on his trousers, he put the thought from his mind. He decided to break in the back door. Maybe he could kick it in. Shouldering it only worked in the movies. He looked around for something to use as a battering ram. Then it occurred. What if there was more than one man inside? How would he fight? He’d never been in a fight in his life. What if they had weapons?

Ben could lose both parents if he didn’t think this through properly. Heart speeding, he decided to get help before he went in. He ran back and jumped the fence again.

Mrs. Bugalugs was sitting on the porch next to Ben.

“That man who went in,” he said. “Did Anya let him in the front door?”

“No, he sneaked around the back. He’s probably married,” she added.

“Call the police,” he said. “Someone’s broken in. I’m going back to help.”

They heard a smash and Martin knew he didn’t have a choice.

“I knew that woman would bring trouble,” the old lady said as he hurried back over the fence.

Luke Platt’s pulse became erratic. The
rate slowed with each breath. A few more gurgles and it was over. He exhaled and the noises stopped. Anya put down the hand and a scar reflected the light. The white patch. She almost vomited. He’d had the tattoo removed.

Desiree had hurled the phonebase at the television. The screen smashed, sending sparks flying. Anya turned her eyes away. Hopefully someone had heard the noise, she thought. Maybe the woman next door.

“Come on, Luke, that’s it, you’re going to sleep but you’ll still be able to hear us.” She kept pressing on the rug and pretending to feel the non-existent pulse. “You’re doing really well.”

She glanced up at Desiree, unable to see the woman’s face. Lights flashed across her retinas every time she blinked, thanks to the screen damage. She hoped like hell that Desiree couldn’t clearly see Luke’s face. Even without good vision, the knife back between her shoulder blades meant moving was too risky.

“Desiree, you should talk to him. Tell him how you feel. It’ll help.”

The pregnant woman started to cry, but the knife moved millimeters deeper. Anya arched her back to try to avoid the blade’s tip penetrating further and felt a warm ooze down her spine.

“I didn’t mean to do it, baby. I just wanted to protect you.”

Anya felt for the absent pulse again. “You’re doing well, Luke. Hang in there. I think we’ve stopped the bleeding.” She used part of the rug to hide the blood pooling around the body, seeping along the floor. “You’re in shock, I need to keep you warm.” She did not know how much longer she could keep up the charade. Pretty soon it would be obvious that Luke was dead.

A noise near the kitchen caught her attention. Desiree didn’t seem to notice.

Then she heard it again. Someone else was in the house. God, she hoped Desiree hadn’t brought anyone with her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a shadow. It stayed still. She spoke to let whoever it was know where they were.

“I can’t help Luke with you sticking the knife in my back. I can’t get away. You know that.”

“Shut up. Just fix him.”

The shadow was close, then moved quickly.

Anya turned her head too late. Something solid whipped her head back. She fell to the right, clutching her face as the thud landed.

“Annie, get the knife.” Martin’s voice was breathless. “Hurry! I’ve got her down.”

Relief pulsing through her, Anya crawled, feeling her way on the floor. The knife had to be up the hallway. Grasping and groping, she couldn’t find it in the dark. It could have been anywhere. The sound of a siren approached. She’d never heard anything sound so good, except Martin’s voice a moment before.

The lights were out, but the appliances weren’t. She crawled back behind the lounge and around to the lamp. She flicked the switch, trying to catch her breath.

Martin lay on top of Desiree, who was trying to buck free. It was like seeing a turtle on its back.

“Use your knees to pin her arms,” Anya urged.

Martin held her wrists down and crept up, avoiding her abdomen, and sat straddled over her, knees trapping her elbows. The woman hissed and spat like a trapped animal.

Within seconds, the police arrived and entered via the back door, followed shortly after by Hayden Richards and Meira Sorrenti.

“We need an ambulance, there’s been a stabbing,” Hayden yelled into his mobile phone.

Anya slumped to the floor, aching and exhausted. “Where’s Ben?”

Meira bent down. “He’s with one of the constables.”

“Platt’s dead,” she said. “She stabbed him when he got between us.”

Desiree wailed, “Liar! You killed him. You said he was gonna be all right.”

The ambulance men arrived and one ran to Anya, who’d only just realized she was covered in Luke’s blood. “I’m all right,” she said. “The blood’s not mine.”

Meira remained at her side. “Nasty hit to your face. Did Platt do that?”

“No, that was my ex-husband.” She smiled and the movement split her lip open. “What did you hit me with?”

“My foot. I dived on the woman. Only I misjudged a little and kicked you. Sorry.”

Two uniforms lifted and hand-cuffed Desiree before leading her away. Martin stood watching the commotion. He had seen death during his years as an intensive-care nurse, but he had never been involved in a crime. His whole body trembled. Hayden Richards moved over and took him outside.

All Anya could think of was that at least he was respectable enough for Ben to see once he got over the initial shock. Whereas she’d have to get cleaned up first.

Meira asked one of the Crime Scene Officers to swab and photograph Anya straight away, so they could bag her clothes and let her get clean.

“Could you hold out your hands, please?” asked the gloved constable. A white cotton swab dabbed at one of the bloody spots. Then another. “Did you scratch your assailant?”

“No…I mean, yes, I think. When he had me around the neck.”

The constable swabbed beneath her nails and then cut them, placing the cuttings in a plastic jar.

“We need to do this to tie up the loose ends.” Meira sounded sympathetic.

“All done until we do the clothes. When you undress, could you place this paper sheet beneath you?”

“I know the routine,” Anya said.

“Come on.” Meira put her arm around Anya’s shoulder. “I’ll help you upstairs.”

Meira waited until they were alone in the bathroom. “Do you want to tell me what happened?”

All her adrenalin spent, Anya had trouble mustering the energy to go over the last few hours. “He came to rape me but he didn’t get the chance.” The words came out, but it was as though she were talking about someone else. “Desiree arrived and stopped him.”

The detective seemed relieved. “You used your wits. They saved your life,” she said. “You’re a strong woman. You’ll get over this.” She rubbed Anya’s shoulder. “I’ll wait here while you have a shower. Chain of evidence and all that.” Any sentimentality was erased from the moment.

When Anya closed the bathroom door, she heard, “And there’s a kind of cute kid next door busting to see you, so could you hurry it up?”

Staring at the shower, Anya decided to scrub herself down from the sink. The thought of Platt staring at her while she washed was too fresh. Stepping out of the blood-soaked clothes, she took a wet face-washer and began to wipe off the red stains.

“Welcome back.” Hayden Richards stood
in the office doorway with a cactus plant in his arms. Around the base was a bright yellow ribbon.

Anya stared at the plant. “What’s this in aid of?”

“I call it ‘The Crichton.’ It’s hardy, practical and can survive almost anything. It’s like a rose, only it has prickles instead of thorns.”

Anya pushed back her chair and stood up.

“It’s a really nice gesture,” she said, taking the plant. “Thank you.”

“So how was the holiday?”

“Good,” she said. “The salt air was just the thing. Ben and I had a ball.”

He put his hands in his pockets. “And your ex?”

She put the plant down on the desk. “He’s doing okay. It was good to spend some time together, I guess. He’s nowhere near as angry as I thought he would be about my work. Ironically, it’s mellowed him and rekindled respect. I think he was genuinely impressed that I talked my way out of getting raped and killed.” She moved the plant closer to the center. “Can I make you a coffee?”

“Why not?”

The pair retreated to the staffroom. Light filled the area and the surrounding trees gave it a sense of calm. Someone had kindly already made a pot.

Hayden sat on one of the padded vinyl chairs and stretched his legs. “Thought you might like an update on what’s gone on.”

Anya was ready to hear about it. She’d prepared herself to listen to every detail.

“Turned out Lerner was just a thug. There may be up to twenty-eight rape cases that Luke Platt committed, judging by the unsolved cases we’ve tracked down and the stash of souvenir photos Platt had hoarded. Some of the details are patchy and they cross three states, but getting information from victims is not easy. Not surprising, given how much he’s moved around. We should be grateful he did get around. It made it harder for Desiree to follow him at night. Otherwise there would have been others killed.”

“Why didn’t she kill more?”

“They only hooked up about three years ago.”

Of course, Anya thought. Desiree had told her that. “What about before Luke?”

Hayden looked out at the view. “Before that, she lived somewhere remote with a farmer. They barely left the property. He says she wouldn’t let him. A real control freak, always accusing him of being unfaithful.”

Anya needed to hear. “How could she think Luke was having relationships with these women? Is she still delusional?”

“Technically not, according to the trick-cyclist. Then again, trust a psychiatrist to think Desiree is sane. He reckons it was reasonable to assume Luke was having affairs. All the secrecy, sneaking out, lies, he could have been any unfaithful husband. Besides, he stalked them, so he kept going back to the same house. If you were in denial, you would think he was having an affair. And the few times she followed him, she didn’t see the gloves. He kept them in his pockets until he went around the back. She didn’t see him climb in Liz Dorman’s window, or so she says. Either way, she knew right from wrong when she stabbed her victims.”

“It’s lucky more wives don’t take the same course of action.” Anya poured a couple of cups. “What about the blood on the knife?”

“Ah,” he said. “That belonged to Desiree herself. She must have cut herself during one of the three murders.”

“Three? Elizabeth Dorman, and I’m presuming Leonie Turnbull. Who was the third?” She passed Hayden a black coffee.

“Ta. Eileen Randall. She confessed to everything.” He grinned and massaged his top lip. “There you go, maybe she is crazy. Even told us about planting the murder weapon in Lerner’s garage after you went to her place. She knew we were digging around and chose him because of his reputation for domestic abuse.”

“Desiree was very calculating. It makes me feel better that Willard didn’t do it.” She sat next to the detective, feeling a sense of pride at helping to vindicate an innocent man.

“Yeah, well, apparently she was on with Nick Hudson when he did the deed with Randall. Seems she’s had trouble with pathological jealousy for a bloody long time.”

Anya couldn’t believe fourteen-year-old Desiree would kill Eileen Randall over a boy. Desiree may have been legally sane, but she was incredibly disturbed, even if she’d escaped being labelled delusional. She was psychopathic, having not an ounce of remorse for what she’d done. She had even let Geoff Willard take the blame and spend twenty years in prison.

“What about the connection with Melanie Havelock and Willard?”

“Desiree again. She tried to set him up, too. Luke Platt got the photo from a pen-pal—Gideon Lee, the guy who raped the mother and stole her wallet. Rapists these days have a network, through which they swap their trophies. Seems Desiree found the photo with the name and address on it, presumed it was someone Luke was having an affair with, and decided to pass it on to Willard. Luckily for the other women, she didn’t find any other of Luke’s souvenirs. He usually stashed them in a tin in his mobile freezer. Now there’s a creepy place!”

Anya wanted to get back to Willard. “How did she set him up?”

“She found the photo—before Luke attacked Melanie—and wrote that sick note, hoping sex-starved Geoff would pay the girl a visit when he got out and either rape her or rough her up if he thought she was leading him on. One way of breaking up a relationship, I guess. At least she didn’t decide to kill Melanie. Or if she did, she couldn’t find her because we’d moved her. On the news footage you can see her outside the prison, shoving something into Willard’s pocket when he was released. Clear as daylight. Luke must have wondered where the photo had gone, but he remembered the address, so it didn’t stop him from making Melanie one of his victims. And maybe this time Desiree was worried about her baby getting hurt, which is why she set up Willard. She knew more about him than we did.”

So Willard hadn’t been guilty of anything. Anya thought of the injustice of his treatment, from the time he was born, right up to now.

“The dog hair found at the scene, can you explain it?”

“Ah, you’ll like this,” Hayden said, and blew on the drink. “Matched an ugly stuffed mutt we found in Desiree’s bedroom. Her beloved puppy from the good old days.”

Anya straightened. Her back still ached from the ordeal. Bruises healed, but the strain from bending over Platt and tensing for that long had taken its toll. Thankfully, the stab wound between her shoulder blades had been superficial.

“Where’s Sorrenti now?”

Hayden stood and reached over for a cream biscuit from the table. “Still on the job. Seems the computing dicks found the source of the picture leak. They traced it to the house of one of your colleagues.”

Anya sat forward, unable to imagine who would post victims’ genitalia photos on the Internet.

“Damn, you’re good, but you’re not that good! You wouldn’t have heard. Seems your friend Lyndsay Gatlow decided to study the pics at home, so she emailed them to her own address. She didn’t figure on her teenage son seeing them and passing them on to his friends, who passed them on, and on. You know how it goes.” He munched, and more crumbs lodged in his moustache. “In my day, models in bikinis were enough to excite a schoolboy.”

The irony of photography’s greatest proponent ruining the pilot program wasn’t lost on Anya. Sometimes life was just.

Poor Geoff Willard, she thought. At least now he could clear his name and begin to get on with his life.

“Is the Willard family seeking compensation? Maybe I can help.”

Hayden sat forward. “That’s the funny thing,” he said. “Willard’s been arrested for stalking some girl who works at an opportunity shop.”

Anya put the cup on the table. “We’ve got to help him. This guy’s been through hell.”

“You might want to reconsider. The sample you got from the old cop up north, the one with the DNA, came back.”

“And…”

“The semen on Eileen Randall’s panties and inside the vagina belonged to Geoff Willard.”

“But how could it?” Anya bit her bottom lip. She sat down again, comprehending what had occurred. There was only one possible explanation. He’d pulled Eileen out of the water, and sexually assaulted her dead body. That would explain the blood smears on his shirt. By pressing repeatedly on her body during intercourse, he would have caused small amounts of diluted blood to spurt from the chest cavity.

“Took me a minute to connect those dots, too. Guess the guy is a pervert after all. He just happened to get lucky that once.”

Anya’s mind raced. That’s why Desiree was so cocky about not getting caught for the Randall murder. “Desiree knew what Willard had done. She probably saw the whole thing.” Anya thought of Dell, the woman she’d spoken to at Fisherman’s Bay. Willard may well have been responsible for that assault after all.

“The family are smart enough to know that if they go for compensation, it’s likely to come out. Besides, a judge will probably think that if he was sick enough to do that to a young girl, what else is he capable of?”

Anya stood at the window, staring out at the leaves waving in the breeze. The sun warmed the room. She thought about the Dorman murder, and how Desiree could have set up Willard by putting blood on his shirt.

“What about the blood smears on Willard’s shirts after the Dorman death? How did Desiree put them there?”

“She didn’t. But she used the Willards’ machine to do her own washing all the time, so it was just a lucky accident, lucky for her, that is. My guess is, the blood was either still wet when it touched his shirts, or it transferred in the wash, as you said.”

“Which explains the odd distribution.”

They were yet to discuss Luke Platt. “Did Quentin Lagardia give you any insight into Luke?” she asked.

Hayden finished his cup and licked his lips. “He was an only child, abusive mother. Was always the good one at school. Then somehow he hooks up with some sex offenders and starts to act out his fantasies. Control-freak Desiree must have made him worse.

“Quentin doesn’t think Platt ever really believed that he hurt the women. He may not have even known about Leonie Turnbull’s death, since he had moved on by the time that happened. That was Desiree’s second murder, after Eileen.”

That made sense to Anya. He had stepped between her and Desiree, to block the knife. In a perverse way, he had tried to protect her. “And when the DNA evidence on Liz Dorman came to light, he thought Willard did that one too? He must have presumed Willard had been following him.”

“Yep.” Hayden rose and hitched up his pants. “Guess I’d better get back to it.”

“Hey, is everything okay? You’re still losing weight.”

“Yeah. I’m the only one not complaining. My doctor says it’s inflammatory bowel disease and wants me to stay on prednisone. Only thing is, my appetite’s come back.”

Relieved it wasn’t a more sinister diagnosis, Anya showed him out of the unit’s front door, knowing they’d cross paths again with another case soon. Life was getting back to normal.

She closed the door behind her and admired the cactus. In her pile of unopened mail sat a postcard from her friend, Kate Farrer, who was returning to work next week, and a letter from Dan Brody. She wondered if he was severing their working relationship thanks to Veronica Slater and her spiteful altercation. No point delaying the inevitable, she thought, and ripped open the envelope.

Inside was a card covered with a photo of an English garden. She opened it.

A sort of apology from a barrister. Maybe it was time to buy a lottery ticket.

Veronica Slater had been exposed and was now facing the consequences of her actions. Her little performance might even have gone some of the way to enhancing Anya’s reputation. Even more demeaning, Veronica’s own colleagues had reprimanded her.

Maybe the good guys did win sometimes, after all.

She propped the card on the desk next to the cactus, sat back and felt in control for the first time that day. Life was anything but normal. And at moments like these, she wouldn’t have it any other way.