down and into the en suite. “I’ll leave you in peace, but if you need anything I’ll be in the lounge room. You just have to call or press the buzzer in the cubicle.”
Closing the sliding door, Anya returned to Mary.
“Can you give her a few minutes? We still need to talk about emergency contraception, infection screening and follow-up.”
Mary agreed. “Are you okay?”
“Just tired. We’ve got a serial rapist this time. I get the feeling we’re going to be seeing more of his handiwork.”
As the sound of the shower continued, Mary left to comfort Gloria, the second victim of Melanie’s sexual assault.
15
Before Anya left the unit, she sat down to re-read Louise Richardson’s file. Her offender had used the exact phrase, and the pharmacist had suffered an almost identical bruise near her collarbone. Her attacker had also carried a knife, but Anya assumed the police already had those details. Checking the logbook for the evidence fridge, she saw that the specimens had been removed but not collected by the police. They were listed as destroyed. Anya hurried to find Mary Singer, who was writing up her own notes in the main office area.
“Do you remember Louise Richardson, the pharmacist attacked near the hospital?”
“The one trying for a baby.” Mary glanced up. “Husband was into art, I think.”
“Yes. What happened to her specimens? I thought she wanted to go to the police.”
“Ah, she called a couple of days later and wanted us to destroy the samples. Said she didn’t want the police involved.”
“It’s in the lane behind the specialists’ center, I think.” Mary returned to her notes.
Anya used the Internet to locate the pharmacy and phoned, asking for Louise. The man on the phone said Louise had left work and was not returning. He offered to help, but Anya knew that if Louise had voluntarily disappeared, like so many victims did following an assault, there was little chance of eliciting more information about the attacker. Telling the police about Louise Richardson was a breach of confidentiality but they somehow had to be warned about a violent serial offender. In Anya’s experience, the violence would only escalate.
In her Annandale office later that day, Anya put down the receiver in disbelief. After wading through the next six cases Morgan Tully had sent, she had called the president of the College of Pathologists. Each file she reviewed suggested that Alf Carney found remote and even theoretical reasons to deem each of the deaths from natural causes. No wonder Carney was under investigation by the Coroner’s office. Despite highly suspicious circumstances surrounding each death, the police’s hands were tied once Carney had labelled the deaths due to vitamin, mineral or some other deficiency.
Her secretary knocked on the door with a coffee and a slice of chocolate cake.
“You’re quiet today. Everything all right?”
Anya took the offerings and put them on the table beside her paperwork. “Thanks. I could do with more caffeine.”
“Your lawyer conference is rebooked for Thursday.” Anya instantly recognized Elaine’s concerned-mother expression. “Long night?”
“You could say that. But this lot…” Anya waved her hand over the case-files, “has got me stumped. I can’t see why someone with Alf Carney’s experience and renown can come to conclusions like this. Don’t suppose you’ve heard anything on the grapevine about his health?”
Elaine blushed, just perceptibly. “Are you asking me to make some discreet inquiries?”
Anya felt awkward discussing Peter Latham with Elaine, even more so since the older pair had begun playing bridge together once a week. She didn’t know whether the relationship was platonic or not, and didn’t really want to know. She ate the icing off the cake.
“No. I don’t know what I’m asking. It just seems so odd.”
Elaine sat in the chair across from Anya’s desk. “Peter said he’d spent some time with Alf recently. I think he feels sorry for him. His wife died a few years ago. After that, he took up with some alternative-health practitioner, but that didn’t last long. Sounds as though the man thinks the world is against him at the moment.”
“Why don’t I know this stuff?”
“His wife died about the time you were away in England. No one talks about it any more. Besides, if I wanted the latest gossip, you’d be the last one to ask.”
“Fair enough. I can sympathize with him, but the reports speak volumes about his lack of knowledge and dubious interpretation. Based on the objective findings, I can’t agree with any of his conclusions about cause of death.”
As though anticipating her next thought, Elaine offered, “You don’t have to worry about me telling anyone what’s going on.”
“I appreciate that. Apparently, Alf didn’t ever sit or pass the college exams. He dodged the training and all the exams by being in rural areas without any pathologists. He started doing autopsies and working with the police because there was no one else to do it.” She sipped the coffee. “Years later, he was awarded an honorary fellowship by the college, so no one ever questioned his qualifications.”
“But if his findings are so controversial, why haven’t they been challenged before?”
“That’s what I don’t understand. These cases go years back. There weren’t any complaints before, which means that lawyers and police loved him. His opinion helped convict a lot of people.”
“Didn’t you say he finds cause of death natural in those cases?”
“That’s what doesn’t make sense. Somewhere he’s switched allegiance. Maybe it had something to do with that alternative-health practitioner you said he was involved with?”
Elaine crossed her legs. “A man under the influence of a siren?”
“Hardly, but he might have been influenced by an evangelical belief in vitamin and immune deficiencies as causes for all ills.”
Elaine stood and straightened. “Does the college think there’s a problem with him?”
“There has been some concern from other pathologists, but no one’s made a formal complaint. That’s how he’s managed to keep practicing. No one’s game to ruin his career.”
Elaine left the room but returned a few minutes later with a knock. “There are two women here to see you.”
Anya took the time to close the files and move them into a drawer before she greeted Gloria and Melanie Havelock in the corridor. Melanie didn’t make eye-contact as they found seats in Anya’s office.
“We need to speak with you,” Gloria began. “We found your address in the phonebook.”
“I’m glad you came. How are you feeling, Melanie?”
The younger woman stared at the table. “How am I supposed to feel? Mum gets raped, lies about it and doesn’t tell us that there were photos of us in her bag, along with our address. Then I get raped in our own house. How do you think I feel?”
“I imagine very angry, which is absolutely normal right now.”
Gloria fiddled with the collar of her plaid shirt. “It’s my fault, what happened to Melanie. I thought I was protecting her by not making a police statement.”
Anya leaned forward in her chair. “You had to do what was right for you at the time. Every rapist tells the victim he knows where she or he lives, and threatens to come back if the police are called. It’s their way of trying to control you afterward as well.” She stood up, unable to wheel her chair around to Melanie. Instead, she sat on the desk near her. “Sexual assault has nothing to do with sex. It’s all about control.”
For the first time, Melanie Havelock looked back.
“Can we find out if whoever did this to Mum did this to me too?”
“That’s difficult,” Anya said.
