“What about the forensic evidence? Mum said you examined her at the time.”
Gloria looked away and closed her eyes again. This must have been so painful for her. She did not just suffer herself. She had to relive it with her child.
“I asked them to destroy it all,” she almost whispered.
“What?” Melanie asked. “What does Mum mean? You can’t destroy evidence! There must be something left.”
“I can’t send the SAI kit-all the notes on the examination and specimens collected-on to the police without written permission. Your mother didn’t give it. That means she chose not to make a police statement or be involved in an investigation.” Anya paused, and clasped her hands. “Because she didn’t want to do either of those things, she wanted us to destroy the samples, which we did.”
“So what you’re saying is that whoever did it to Mum got away with it? And maybe came back for me too?” The young woman stood and dug her fingers into her scalp. “How could you do that?”
Anya understood the frustration, but tried to make it clearer. “It’s the law. Your mother had the same choices you now have. We have to respect her decisions. Just like we respect yours.”
“I’m nothing like my mother.”
Gloria Havelock buried her face in her hands and began to cry.
Her daughter leaned on the desk, ignoring the older woman’s distress. “I want this bastard to pay, whether my mother likes it or not. I want the police to get the evidence you took from me last night and find the bastard. He is not going to get away with what he did to me.”
“He said he’d come back and kill you,” Gloria sobbed.
Melanie stood straight and spoke calmly. “Not if I find him first.”
16
Anya sat on the bench outside the police forensic labs, watching the crime-scene police file out of a meeting. She had mixed feelings about being here. Technically, what she had to say could be considered a breach of confidentiality, but she also had a duty to the community to help the police prevent major crimes from taking place.
Eventually, Detective Inspector Hayden Richards broke free from the group surrounding him outside the brick building. A compelling speaker, Richards had more experience investigating serial sexual assault than anyone else in the state, and always took time to pass on his expertise.
He’d been morbidly obese most of his life, but the junk-food addict had shed a spectacular proportion of his bulk and now merely bordered on “overweight.” The change in his appearance took Anya by surprise, not having seen the detective in over six months.
He greeted his visitor with a proud smile and shook her hand firmly. Anya half-expected him to pivot to show off the new physique.
“You look healthier than ever,” Anya blurted, before she stopped herself. What if the weight loss had been because of illness or even cancer? She bit her tongue.
“You’re looking well yourself.” Hayden grinned through his dark moustache. “There’s nothing like diabetes and a cancer scare to make you wake up to yourself.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Anya managed.
“Don’t be, nothing else could make me give up the smokes. I even discovered vegetables were edible!” He offered a seat back on the bench. “Lectures start again after the break and I guess this isn’t social. What have you got for me?”
Anya smiled. She liked the man’s directness and knew she could rely on his discretion.
“A possible serial sex-offender. He’s confident, brazen, and has taken time to eat at one scene we know of.”
Hayden pulled out a pack of chewing gum and offered some to Anya, who shook her head.
“Is the SA Taskforce investigating?”
“Not yet. Technically, I can’t go to them yet. So far only one victim’s made a police statement. The other, a pharmacist, just changed her mind. I’m concerned we may not get any others to come forward, or if they do, they might not even consent to being examined.”
Hayden frowned, popping a piece of gum. “He says he’ll kill them if they talk to anyone?”
“Exactly. The ‘I know where you live’ routine.”
He rolled his eyes. “The first thing they learn in rape 101. Why do you think they won’t be examined if they turn up at one of your units?”
“We now have a directive to photograph victims and injuries, especially the genital ones.”
“Bullshit! Since when?”
“This week. Of course, the victims can refuse, but just asking has caused some refusals of consent even to examination. The mere mention of photography really spooks someone who’s already vulnerable.”
Hayden did his blowfish impersonation, both hands on hips. Sitting down, the effect was lost.
“And with intimate stuff all over the Internet, no one smart is about to trust photos staying in police hands. What dickhead came up with that one? Can’t be anyone who’s ever spoken to a victim?”
“Officially, it’s come from the department. Lyndsay Gatlow’s been pushing for it and obviously has the backing.”
He shook his head slowly. “That she-devil would devour her own offspring if she thought it would help her career. I’d like to photograph her where the sun don’t shine and see how she likes it.”
Anya smiled again. This was one of the reasons she respected the detective. He was a perceptive judge of character. It was also what made him a great investigator, especially in sexual assault. If another detective managed to record a one-page statement from a victim, Hayden would go back and elicit ten times that amount of information. His ability to get victims to remember the most obscure detail could lead to an arrest and prevent further assaults.
“So what have you got exactly?”
His eyes sparkled. He was more than interested.
“Two women with similar injuries but different stories. One was attacked just after she got home from the train. My guess is he followed her, but her mother was raped a year ago and had her bag stolen. The rapist might have already known the address. The other was grabbed in a car park opposite the pharmacy she’d just closed.”
Anya ticked off the facts with her fingers. “Physically speaking, both attacks involved a knife and both women had similar genital injuries-minor bleeding in both cases, no permanent damage.”
“How violent is he?”
“Punches them in the face when he thinks they’ve seen him. The knife he’s using leaves an impressive bruise on their chests.”
“But he hasn’t used it on them.”
“Only to scratch and frighten.”
“Has he changed his MO? One outside, one inside?”
“Maybe not. They were both attacked near train stations so he may be on foot. They’re both in the same area.”
The detective chewed his gum, seemingly deep in thought.
“Any distinct characteristics?”
“He wears a dark cap, jeans, T-shirt. One mentioned a white hand so he’s probably Caucasian.”
“Then he doesn’t wear gloves?”
The detective delivered a penetrating gaze. He was processing every minute detail.
“Yes, but he has taken them off during the attacks.”
“Interesting. He is careful about leaving evidence, but just has to feel skin once he’s got them under his control. Leave any semen, hairs, fingerprints?”
“Not that I’ve found, but I’ve only had one kit to send off. But here’s the interesting part: he does have this
