It was unusual for Anya to see defendants, but Veronica stressed that it was important for the case. Being paid for her time was the only incentive Anya needed. After seeing the assault victims and the PM reports from the Dorman and Randall murders, she was curious to see what Willard was like and how he presented-whether he appeared intimidating, or came across as quite simple.
Outside the administration building, a number of camera crews stood waiting, as though they were expecting something to happen. Veronica’s arrival had them racing to shove a boom microphone as close to her head as possible.
“Can you tell us whether Willard is on suicide watch?”
“Has he confessed to killing and raping more women?”
“Do you think he’s going to die in prison this time?”
“Should he ever have been released?”
No one waited for an answer before firing off the next question.
Veronica acted surprised at the ambush. “In this country, a person is deemed innocent until proven guilty. In fact, renowned forensic expert Doctor Anya Crichton is here with me to help prove Geoff Willard’s innocence.”
Damn Veronica! She’d made out that Anya was on her “side,” not just providing an opinion based on fact. Anya ignored the cameras who chased her into the building, hoping not to give them good “vision.” She fumed that Veronica could have compromised her credibility with the sexual assault investigation, police and judges.
Inside, Veronica stomped across the carpet floor to the enquiry counter.
“Who let the reporters know we were visiting Willard today? Vultures are out there. We’ve just had to run the gauntlet.”
The officer behind the counter shrugged and asked them to sign in.
“I’m sorry to have mentioned you back there,” Veronica said casually over her shoulder, “but I was taken by surprise.”
Anya was yet to meet a barrister who couldn’t react on her feet.
“Let’s get something straight. You do not speak for me, let alone tell the media I’m on your side. There’s no excuse for the stunt you just pulled.”
“Like I said, they took me by surprise.”
Like hell, Anya thought.
Once past the multiple gates and security checks, and the lawyer’s incessant complaints about having to give up her mobile phone for the duration of the visit, they were let into a fenced courtyard. Stark apart from white plastic tables and chairs, it was where families met on visiting day.
“He likes to be in the sun,” Veronica said, as though she cared.
Anya doubted the woman saw him as anything more than a fast-track to bigger, higher-profile, and therefore more lucrative, cases.
A few moments later, a guard escorted out a man in a green tracksuit who was considerably shorter than the witnesses had described. Anya thought of Quentin Lagardia saying that victims almost always overestimated their attacker’s stature.
Veronica remained seated as Willard failed to make eye-contact with either of them.
“We haven’t got long and it’s important that we go over some things. This is a doctor who I’ve asked to check how you’re being treated. I gather the police were unnecessarily rough with you when you gave yourself up.”
Willard sat at the table and looked down at his lap. So far he didn’t appear very intimidating at all.
“Can you show the doctor your bruises?”
Geoff deferred to the nearest guard, who nodded.
“Excuse me,” Veronica said. “Lawyer, client. Privileged.”
The guard took a few steps backward.
Willard held out his arms. Anya noticed bruising on the back of his wrists, presumably from handcuffs. His fingernails had been chewed beneath the tips of his fingers. She wrote a brief note on the pad she’d brought in.
“The doctor wants to ask you some questions about the night Eileen Randall died.”
Willard looked up. “Why? I’m not in jail for that any more.”
Anya couldn’t work out whether the seasoned prisoner’s naivety came from innocence, or was part of a polished act.
“I looked at the report, and I think Eileen’s body floated in the water that night. Just like you said when you first went to the station.”
“That was a long time ago,” he said.
“Do you remember what show you watched that night, before you went out?”
He smiled, just perceptibly. “It was funny. I laughed a lot.”
“Can you tell us its name?” Veronica spoke to him as though he were a baby.
“
“Good boy,” Veronica said.
Willard may have been in a forty-year-old body, Anya thought, but the twenty years in prison hadn’t allowed him to mature. He was emotionally frozen as an immature adolescent and should have been treated as one, not babied.
Anya tried to encourage him to open up. “I checked, and the show that was on that night was never run again on TV. Can you remember anything about the episode you saw before you found Eileen?”
Geoff seemed far more interested in the ant. He put his hand out for the insect to crawl on. Anya noticed the dirt beneath his stumpy fingernails as the ant ran maniacally over one finger, then another. It was difficult to judge whether he was being kind or cruel.
“A man went up to a woman at the bus stop and looked up her dress. She slapped him in the face and stormed off. Then an old lady came up and hit the man with her umbrella when he wouldn’t look up her dress.”
He continued to play with the ant.
Veronica clicked her pen on and off, on and off. She reached over and squashed the ant with her finger. “You’re facing life in prison if you get convicted of murder. We’re busting our backsides here trying to get you out of this place and maybe even get you exonerated for the Randall murder. Do you know what that means? If we can do that, you’ll be entitled to compensation. Lots of it. You could do anything, go anywhere you want, not rot in here for the rest of your life.”
He didn’t react to what his lawyer said, just studied the insect remains.
Anya lowered her head to make eye-contact. “Ms. Slater is trying to help. I’m trying to find out about the tides the night you watched that show. Do you remember anything about them, like whether the tide was coming in or going out when you saw Eileen on Koonaka Beach?”
Geoff scratched the palm of his hand with the opposite thumb. “I told the police I killed her. I tried to tell them what happened but no one believed me. Not even Mum.” He turned to Veronica. “Now I want to see my picture.”
Veronica shrugged her shoulders. “I don’t know if I have it.”
Geoff’s jaw tensed. He slapped the table and Veronica started, then pulled a photo from the back of her yellow notepad. It was a wallet-size snapshot of a girl with long, dark hair.
Geoff snatched it, and held it close to his chest.
Anya was no longer sure who was in control. She looked around for the guard, who was speaking to another visitor.
“I told you I’d look after it for you, and bring it when you wanted,” Veronica said. “But you do not threaten me. Ever.”
Geoff hid the picture against his chest and sulked.
“Is that your girlfriend?” Anya asked.
“Not yet, but she likes me. She said so.”
“May I see?”
Geoff looked at Veronica, who nodded, and then passed his prized possession slowly across the table.
Anya gasped when she saw the photo. The hair was longer, but it was probably taken a while ago. Even so, the candid smile unmistakably belonged to Melanie Havelock. And her address had been scrawled on the back.
