“Where’s Sorrenti now?”
Hayden stood and reached over for a cream biscuit from the table. “Still on the job. Seems the computing dicks found the source of the picture leak. They traced it to the house of one of your colleagues.”
Anya sat forward, unable to imagine who would post victims’ genitalia photos on the Internet.
“Damn, you’re good, but you’re not that good! You wouldn’t have heard. Seems your friend Lyndsay Gatlow decided to study the pics at home, so she emailed them to her own address. She didn’t figure on her teenage son seeing them and passing them on to his friends, who passed them on, and on. You know how it goes.” He munched, and more crumbs lodged in his moustache. “In my day, models in bikinis were enough to excite a schoolboy.”
The irony of photography’s greatest proponent ruining the pilot program wasn’t lost on Anya. Sometimes life was just.
Poor Geoff Willard, she thought. At least now he could clear his name and begin to get on with his life.
“Is the Willard family seeking compensation? Maybe I can help.”
Hayden sat forward. “That’s the funny thing,” he said. “Willard’s been arrested for stalking some girl who works at an opportunity shop.”
Anya put the cup on the table. “We’ve got to help him. This guy’s been through hell.”
“You might want to reconsider. The sample you got from the old cop up north, the one with the DNA, came back.”
“And…”
“The semen on Eileen Randall’s panties and inside the vagina belonged to Geoff Willard.”
“But how could it?” Anya bit her bottom lip. She sat down again, comprehending what had occurred. There was only one possible explanation. He’d pulled Eileen out of the water, and sexually assaulted her dead body. That would explain the blood smears on his shirt. By pressing repeatedly on her body during intercourse, he would have caused small amounts of diluted blood to spurt from the chest cavity.
“Took me a minute to connect those dots, too. Guess the guy is a pervert after all. He just happened to get lucky that once.”
Anya’s mind raced. That’s why Desiree was so cocky about not getting caught for the Randall murder. “Desiree knew what Willard had done. She probably saw the whole thing.” Anya thought of Dell, the woman she’d spoken to at Fisherman’s Bay. Willard may well have been responsible for that assault after all.
“The family are smart enough to know that if they go for compensation, it’s likely to come out. Besides, a judge will probably think that if he was sick enough to do that to a young girl, what else is he capable of?”
Anya stood at the window, staring out at the leaves waving in the breeze. The sun warmed the room. She thought about the Dorman murder, and how Desiree could have set up Willard by putting blood on his shirt.
“What about the blood smears on Willard’s shirts after the Dorman death? How did Desiree put them there?”
“She didn’t. But she used the Willards’ machine to do her own washing all the time, so it was just a lucky accident, lucky for her, that is. My guess is, the blood was either still wet when it touched his shirts, or it transferred in the wash, as you said.”
“Which explains the odd distribution.”
They were yet to discuss Luke Platt. “Did Quentin Lagardia give you any insight into Luke?” she asked.
Hayden finished his cup and licked his lips. “He was an only child, abusive mother. Was always the good one at school. Then somehow he hooks up with some sex offenders and starts to act out his fantasies. Control-freak Desiree must have made him worse.
“Quentin doesn’t think Platt ever really believed that he hurt the women. He may not have even known about Leonie Turnbull’s death, since he had moved on by the time that happened. That was Desiree’s second murder, after Eileen.”
That made sense to Anya. He had stepped between her and Desiree, to block the knife. In a perverse way, he had tried to protect her. “And when the DNA evidence on Liz Dorman came to light, he thought Willard did that one too? He must have presumed Willard had been following him.”
“Yep.” Hayden rose and hitched up his pants. “Guess I’d better get back to it.”
“Hey, is everything okay? You’re still losing weight.”
“Yeah. I’m the only one not complaining. My doctor says it’s inflammatory bowel disease and wants me to stay on prednisone. Only thing is, my appetite’s come back.”
Relieved it wasn’t a more sinister diagnosis, Anya showed him out of the unit’s front door, knowing they’d cross paths again with another case soon. Life was getting back to normal.
She closed the door behind her and admired the cactus. In her pile of unopened mail sat a postcard from her friend, Kate Farrer, who was returning to work next week, and a letter from Dan Brody. She wondered if he was severing their working relationship thanks to Veronica Slater and her spiteful altercation. No point delaying the inevitable, she thought, and ripped open the envelope.
Inside was a card covered with a photo of an English garden. She opened it.
A sort of apology from a barrister. Maybe it was time to buy a lottery ticket.
Veronica Slater had been exposed and was now facing the consequences of her actions. Her little performance might even have gone some of the way to enhancing Anya’s reputation. Even more demeaning, Veronica’s own colleagues had reprimanded her.
Maybe the good guys did win sometimes, after all.
She propped the card on the desk next to the cactus, sat back and felt in control for the first time that day. Life was anything but normal. And at moments like these, she wouldn’t have it any other way.
Acknowledgments
Once again, many people have offered their expertise and time to help with accuracy in this book. Although the story is fictitious, the work done by the professionals and the psychology of the characters is as true to life as possible. It is sobering to discover that very little research continues to be done in forensic science due to poor funding. Victims-alive and deceased-don’t carry much political power, it seems. Crime shows and novels belie the lack of attention paid to such an important field.
Dr. Jean Edwards, Dr. Caroline Jones and Dr. Guy Norfolk have all selflessly contributed to authenticity about sexual assault examination and the work of forensic physicians. For that, and their tireless contribution to victims, I hope I have been true to you.
Thanks also go to Dr. Jo Duflou, forensic pathologist extraordinaire, the great legal mind (and humor) of Siobhan Mullany, the superlative investigative skills of Chief Detective Inspector Paul Jacob, and the forensic psychology of Dr. John Clarke. Dr. Claude Roux and researchers from the University of Technology, Sydney, have also assisted, as have staff at the Australian Museum.
In addition, appreciation to Cathie Barclay, Lyn Elliott, Sarana Behan, Helen Mateer and Kerrie Nobes for being astute and informed readers, and once again for the outstanding teaching skills of Marg McAlister, from www. writing4success.com. Marg, I promise to “pass it on.”
Thanks again go to my editor, Lyssa Keusch, for believing, and the wonderful Faye Bender, whom I am blessed
