44
When Anya arrived at the SA unit, Mary Singer was sitting at her computer, frowning. Her tousled hair was more uncontrolled than normal.
“I was just about to call you. Have you seen today’s papers?”
Current news was the last thing on Anya’s mind this morning. She shook her head.
“There’s an article in the
“The poor woman,” Anya said. “What country?”
Mary looked over her granny glasses.
Phones rang unanswered.
“We’ve had victims calling all morning, checking to see if it was their photos.”
This was exactly why Anya thought photos should never be taken. A black and white pencil drawing of genitals held little interest for pedophiles and sex offenders. A scandal like this would do irreparable damage to the unit and the trust they had all worked so hard to establish with victims and the community. She had no doubt that the number of people presenting would rapidly diminish.
“There isn’t much we can do until the police have done their computer checks and tracking. I’ll be in my office.”
Mary returned to the computer. There was nothing else to say until the source of the leak had been identified.
Anya hid in her bunker for over two hours. For once, the space felt more like a sanctuary than a cubby-hole. She appreciated that no one wanted to spend time in there unnecessarily. It gave her the chance to think and go over the evidence that had bothered her until now. There had to be something she was missing. Something obvious.
Desiree Platt’s comments about pain and love still bothered her. Had she come into contact with the rapist as a friend or victim? Nick mentioned that she stayed over when her partner worked or was away. Maybe she’d been attacked and was too afraid to be alone? Or she could have been carrying on with Nick Hudson while her husband was gone? How many friends who might have used the phrase were back at Fisherman’s Bay?
The victim named Dell she’d met up there had said that most men worked at the nickel mine. That could mean a huge pool of men to draw on, and it would be difficult to trace many of them twenty years down the track.
She tried another angle and phoned the government’s analytical laboratory. The number of rapes in which a condom was used was rapidly on the rise, possibly because of rapists’ fear of sexually transmitted infection. More likely, it was so the offender didn’t leave biological fluids at the scene.
For each assault case, forensic physicians at the unit had taken an extra swab in case a condom lubricant could be identified. Another of Jean Le Beau’s students had done groundbreaking work on identification of specific condom lubricants. Each manufacturer had its own formula, which was like a chemical fingerprint. Isolating the brand might just help catch the rapist.
After being transferred, she spoke to the head biochemist, Ethan Gormley. With the names and dates of the cases, he checked his computer.
“You were right,” he said. “Each slide you took had the same kind of silicone-based lubricant, which means-”
“He used the same brand each time.”
Anya listened. Serial rapists who used condoms commonly used the same brand. As far as most people were concerned, one brand equalled any other, but apparently not to some rapists.
“Exactly. It’s an imported one called Fluidity, for originality.”
“Thanks, Ethan. Can you email the results?”
She wondered about the assault on Eileen Randall. Twenty years ago, had the same brand existed? What were the chances?
A piercing series of bleeps interrupted her thoughts.
Before picking up the pager, she automatically pulled the papers together in a pile. One leak from an SA unit was bad enough, and interruptions were how people got distracted and left rooms without putting things away.
She checked the number, which, oddly, was the hospital switch. Ordinarily, they put calls through to the unit secretary.
“There’s an outside call,” the operator said. After a click, Hayden Richards’ voice rasped.
“Can we meet? It’s urgent.”
“Look, Sorrenti made it pretty clear-”
“I heard, but I’ve got some information you may want to hear.”
Anya sighed. “Where are you now?”
“Outside your unit. You can practically wave to me.”
The cloak-and-dagger charades were beyond a joke. Anya didn’t have the patience, not today, not ever. First Sorrenti, now Richards being childish.
“Talk to your colleague and leave me out of it!” She slammed down the phone. Within a moment she had left her office, locked her door and stomped off toward the detective.
As she walked down the path she could barely control her irritation. “What puerile games are you people playing?”
“Good thing I phoned first to calm you down.” Hayden put both hands up. “Hey, I wanted to protect you from any more of the crap Sorrenti pulls.”
Anya stopped and took a few deep breaths. “I don’t need protecting, thanks all the same. And you can sort whatever problem you have with her yourself. Leave me out of it.”
“There’s already been a lot of shit going on in the department, and Sorrenti’s under pressure to slam-dunk Willard and move on to any number of serial cases that are still on the books. After the photo scandal, it looks like she’ll be sacrificed to the media before the end of the week. The Commissioner’s already making moves.”
“But that was a Department of Health directive.”
“Yeah, but she’s in charge of protecting evidence in SA cases. And her arrest rate isn’t impressing anyone.”
Protecting digital photo images should have been a computing issue, but that was not Anya’s fight. “So why the secretive phone call?”
“Think about it. The Independent Commission Against Corruption is investigating how those pictures got released. It’s tapping all our phones, so I rang the hospital switch. I could have been making an appointment to get my prostate checked. After Sorrenti’s rampage, I wasn’t sure whether it was safe for a cop to just walk in on you.”
Anya noticed the sunshine for the first time in days. It felt good to be outside, in a fresh breeze. “Let’s walk.”
They strolled along a path, down past the entrance to casualty. An ambulance rolled along the road, diverting to deliver its load. Hayden seemed more tense than normal. “We’ve had the dogs on Nick Hudson.”
“Sorrenti told me you’d ordered surveillance. She didn’t seem too happy about that either.”
“Yeah, well, I had to go over her head for approval. My butt’s on the line for this one.”
Great, Anya thought. Now her decisions affected someone else’s career. A blue-green parrot flew past them, barely missing a car slowing for a speed-bump. Students carried bags and textbooks on their way to lessons. An elderly man stood by a tree, smoking the last dregs of a hand-rolled cigarette. The sickly tobacco wafted uninvited in their direction.
Hayden seemed to pause to inhale.
“I forgot you’d given up.”
“It’s like being an alcoholic. You still take one day at a time, but sometimes the cravings get pretty strong.”
For the first time, Hayden appeared vulnerable, more human than ever. It made her a little uncomfortable.
“Anything on Nick turn up?”
