Anya hoped that, just maybe, Morgan’s concerns about Carney’s work were unfounded. Becoming a “whistle- blower” was the last thing Anya needed.
3
Louise Richardson sat on the blue lounge, body trembling. Mary Singer, the counsellor on duty, had draped a cotton rug around the woman’s shoulders and locked the door leading to the rest of the sexual- assault unit. Anya knocked and waited. Mary stepped outside to speak in private.
“She’s been assaulted with a knife as she left work and headed for her car. Thankfully, the wounds are superficial, but she’s pretty traumatized.”
Anya pulled an elastic band from her wrist and swept her uncombed hair into a ponytail. “Did he threaten to kill her if she called the police?”
Mary nodded. “Took her credit cards and told her he’d be watching and would come back if she told anyone.” She glanced over her half-glasses. “You look tired.”
“I was asleep on the lounge when you called.” Troubled by the prospect of investigating Alf Carney, Anya hadn’t felt like going to bed when she arrived home after speaking to Morgan Tully. She had begun watching a movie and dozed off before the ending. Anya took a deep breath and braced herself. This examination could take hours.
Louise Richardson barely acknowledged the two women entering the room. She hugged the rug and trembled.
“Are you cold?” Mary asked.
“No,” she muttered, “I just can’t stop shivering.”
“That’s pretty normal at this stage. It’ll pass in a little while.” Anya sat on the coffee table. “I’m Doctor Anya Crichton. I’ve come to see if you’re okay, and to make sure you’re safe.”
“How can I be safe after what he did to me?” Louise grimaced and pulled the rug tighter.
“You are safe here. No one can get in, we’ve locked the door from the inside.”
“What about my husband?”
Mary sat on one of the chairs in front of the coffee table. “I’ve spoken to him and he’s on his way. You can see him when he gets here if you’d like, or after we check you out. Whatever you’d prefer.”
“I’m not sure.” Tears welled in her eyes. “I don’t want him to see me like this.”
Anya moved next to Louise, careful not to disrupt the blue-backed waterproof sheet beneath. “It’s okay, we can get you a bit more presentable. You’re in control here, even if you may not feel like it right now. No one is going to make you do anything. You have choices and we’re here to let you know what they are.”
The counsellor handed Anya a large yellow envelope from which she pulled a white booklet.
“Thanks.” She lowered her head into Louise’s field of vision. “First thing you should know is that I don’t work for the police. I’m independent and my duty of care is to you. That means what happens here today is confidential and doesn’t leave this room if that’s what you want.”
Mary Singer nodded agreement.
Louise Richardson sat back, hands still trembling. “Can I have a drink of water, please?”
“If you don’t mind, we should probably go through a few things first. They might be important later on. After that you can have a drink. There are, if you like, two separate parts to what I do if you consent to an examination. The first is to check you out medically, to make sure you’ll be all right physically. The second part is that I can collect physical evidence that the man who did this might have left, while I examine you. I’ll only do this if you agree, and you have the choice later as to whether or not that evidence is handed over to the police for an investigation.”
“I don’t know. I can’t think straight right now.” Louise began to cry.
Anya looked at Mary. This woman needed a little time, but the sooner they examined her, the better the chances of getting effective specimens.
“What I should say, though, is that if we are going to collect forensic evidence that could be used to catch or convict this man, we’ll need to do it now, before some of that evidence disappears. Even before you have a drink.”
“I just want a sip of water. My mouth is so dry.”
“That’s partly your body going into survival mode, and the shock of the whole thing.” Anya touched the woman’s elbow, very gently, careful not to invade her space right now. “If this man bit your lip, made you perform oral sex, or even kissed you, there could be vital evidence in your mouth.” She tilted her head and spoke more quietly. “Did he do any of those things?”
Louise closed her eyes and more tears fell. “He did everything.” With a startle, she stood up and examined the red gush on the blue sheet. “Oh, God, I’m bleeding.”
“When was your last period?” Anya began to take notes.
“When we went to the Blue Mountains, a couple of weeks ago.” Louise Richardson’s face became pale. “God, I’m not on any contraception. We’ve been trying to get pregnant.”
Sperm lasted longer in the vagina for the first two weeks of a woman’s cycle, and that meant increased risk of pregnancy. Anya wrote the regimen for the morning-after pill in the treatment section.
“We can give you some medication that minimizes the risk. Do you know if he used a condom?”
“I don’t know. I couldn’t see what he did, just felt how much it hurt. How could I not know?”
It wasn’t uncommon for women not to know what their assailant had done. In a fight for survival, they had little or no chance of seeing what the attacker did or whether he used a condom. The smarter ones used a condom then took it with them.
“That’s pretty common too,” Anya reassured. “I think it’s important that I look at where the bleeding might be coming from and how severe it is-that is, if you’ll let me.”
Louise wiped her eyes with a tissue from the coffee table and began to talk-although not directly at either of the other women in the room. “Tim was in Berrima. He’s an art assessor for Christie’s and got a call about a Whitely self-portrait, one where he used his own hair. Tim was so excited, he wanted to have breakfast with the owner first thing this morning…that’s why he stayed the night.
“I was about to close up when a family came in with a script. The little girl was in pain with an ear infection and needed antibiotics. The pharmacy assistant and I normally leave together, but there didn’t seem any point in her staying. She’s got kids to get home to.”
Mary nodded sympathetically. She was the best SA counsellor Anya had ever met, always knowing exactly when to speak and when to listen.
“I park in the vacant lot opposite the hospital. I was about to get in the car when he grabbed me from behind.”
Anya glanced at bruises on Louise’s knuckles-evidence she’d fought back and might have captured some of the offender’s DNA.
A large bruise extended from her left eye to her cheek. On the same side, both lips were swollen and blackish- blue. A straight line of blood ran downward from her jugular vein, and disappeared toward the nape of her neck.
She pulled a strand of brown hair behind one ear. “He said he had a knife and would cut my throat if I didn’t do what he wanted.”
Louise paused, snuffled and stared at the ceiling. “He raped me, every way he could. I tried to fight him, but he was just too strong. He did things I don’t even do with my husband.”
Mary interjected. “There was nothing you could have done. In fact, fighting more may have got you killed.”
Louise Richardson stared at the coffee table again. “I thought he’d finished. Then he dragged me across the gravel with the knife stuck at my throat. I was so scared. All I could think about was my husband and how he’d cope if I died.” She put more hair behind her ear. “While he held me down, I couldn’t see. He said he knew where I lived and how he’d kill me if I told anyone or went to the police. Then he stuck the knife into my throat and said, ‘If you can’t be hurt, you can’t be loved.’ That’s when he took off his gloves…and…raped me all over again.”
Anya gently patted Louise’s elbow. “Before I can examine you, I need your written permission. Even if we
