by Debra Oswald
‘Does your stepfather ever hurt you?’ she asked in a low voice.
Ruby shook her head. Paula held her gaze—Are you sure?—and the girl shook her head again, emphatically. ‘I won’t take any shit from him,’ she said firmly.
‘I believe you.’
‘If he gets riled up, I can go and stay with my grandparents.’
‘But you want to stay here to keep an eye on your little brother?’ Paula guessed.
Ruby shrugged. Yes.
‘You know, there are people who can help you and your mum and your brother if—’
‘Ruby! Get us a beer!’ Curtis yelled from the living room.
‘Okay!’ Ruby called back, then she whispered to Paula, ‘Mum worries the welfare people will take Jye off her. We’ll be right. She’s working herself up to leave soon.’
Ruby grabbed a beer from the fridge and walked out of the kitchen.
By the time Paula returned to the living room, Nicole had retreated to sit next to Jye, Ruby was perched on the arm of the couch and Curtis sat in the chair drinking the beer.
Paula set up her medical bag on the table and pulled out the supplies she needed. As she would with any patient, she talked Wigney through what she was going to do at each step of the process.
‘There’ll be a bit of a sting when I put in the local anaesthetic.’
‘Yeah, whatever. Dad’s tough, isn’t he, Jye?’
Jye nodded.
Paula used the saline from her medical bag to irrigate the wound, flushing out the debris. ‘How long since you had a tetanus shot, Mr Wigney?’
‘Oh … shit. Dunno.’
‘Well, all that rusty stuff in a wrecker’s yard—good idea to update your tetanus. I’ve got some in my bag.’
‘Yeah, whatever.’ Then he turned his head to have a decent look at Paula, not sure if he should be suspicious. ‘So how long you been living down here, doc?’
‘I’m not living here. I’m only temporary. Leaving on Monday,’ she explained.
That idea seemed to relax him, and while Paula stitched his head laceration, Curtis Wigney blathered on about his business plan to fix up cars and sell them. That was why he’d driven to the wrecker’s yard, looking for automotive parts.
‘I’m trying to get some cash together but it’s always hard,’ he said. ‘Even if some people don’t understand how fucking hard it is.’ Wigney glared at Nicole and pointed to his head laceration with a hand gesture as if pointing a gun. ‘See this, Nicole? This is what I go through trying to get cash for this family.’
‘I know,’ she replied.
‘Do you? I don’t reckon you do fucking know.’
Curtis shot Nicole a look so vicious it seemed to make the woman shrivel deeper inside her oversized clothes.
Wigney then aimed his hand, still shaped like a gun, at Paula’s bag.
‘Bet you got lots of goodies in there, doc.’
‘Ah. Well, some,’ she said. ‘Keep still, please.’
As Paula continued stitching, she considered what goodies she might have in her bag that she could inject into Curtis Wigney in place of a tetanus vaccine. But then she blocked that line of thought. She mustn’t let her imagination wander that way, even as a silly fantasy. Instead, she tried to focus on the task, the feel of the suture needle piercing the skin of the man’s forehead, the thread pulling the jagged fleshy edges of the wound together into as neat a pink line as she could manage.
She didn’t even have the facts of this situation. She couldn’t be totally sure why Nicole was so nervous or where the bruises had come from. Curtis Wigney might be a bully, a man who enjoyed controlling people through fear, but Paula had no way of knowing how dangerous he was. And whatever was going on here, she must never cross that boundary again and act outside the law. Anita was right. She was totally right when she railed against the arrogance of Paula’s actions, the danger of it. Choosing to kill a person meant shredding every thread of the fabric holding the world in civilised place.
She applied antiseptic ointment to the stitched wound and covered it with a sterile bandage. Glancing up, she saw Ruby was watching her. Paula smiled and hoped—absurdly, impossibly—that her smile could convey I hope you’re all okay. Call me if you’re scared. Don’t let this man hurt you or your family. Who knows how Ruby interpreted Paula’s intense look, but at least the girl didn’t scowl or turn away.
Paula then realised that Wigney had twisted his head and caught the doctor and his stepdaughter exchanging looks. His expression darkened in a second and his voice came out hard and sinewy. ‘Yeah, I reckon it’s time you pissed off, doc. Don’t reckon I need a tetanus injection.’
‘Oh. Okay. Up to you.’
For a brief moment, Paula indulged the fantasy of this man dying of tetanus—first hit by stomach cramps, then his body contorted by muscle spasms so intense they could break bones during the agonising hours before his death. In her mind, Paula could hear the crack of his femur.
She turned away so the sight of him wouldn’t make her do something foolish, then she said, ‘Let me write a prescription for another course of antibiotics for Jye, just in case.’
She scribbled on a prescription pad and on the bottom, in clear block letters, she wrote her name and mobile number. She walked over to the couch to touch Jye’s cheek gently.
‘Hope you feel better soon, Jye.’
She handed the prescription to Nicole and, out of Wigney’s eye line, she pointed out the phone number. ‘Call if you’re worried.’
Meanwhile Curtis Wigney stood up, huffing breaths through his nostrils, pugnacious, making it clear he wanted Paula out the door quick smart.
At the last minute, he bunged on a polite tone to say, ‘Anyway, thanks for coming out here, doc. Thanks for sorting out the boy and stitching me up.’
‘No problem. Please make sure Jye comes in for a check-up in the next couple of days.’
‘I’ll do that.’
Driving back down to Lower Pinch Road and along the highway to town, Paula made herself run through the guidelines any doctor should follow, going through them like a repetitive chant to control her breathing. Anything she did must be via proper channels.
The town’s police station was small, with only one officer working limited hours, and by the time Paula drove there late on Saturday afternoon, it was closed for the rest of the weekend.
Paula sat on the steps of the locked police station and dialled the after-hours number posted on the glass. When she got on to the sergeant from a larger town further down the coast, she rushed through an explanation of who she was and the family she was concerned about.
The sergeant was patient, taking notes, asking the appropriate questions. Was there immediate grave concern for the safety of the children? Paula probably had to say no to that. Did the children appear well cared for? Yes. Did the woman ask for help or express fear for her life? No. Did the husband make threats in Paula’s presence? Not as such, no.
The cop was very experienced and not a naive guy. He understood the subtle realities of these situations. But it was difficult. And what else could Paula have said to him? ‘I feel in my bones that this man is dangerous’? She had to be honest with herself and acknowledge that her judgement could easily be skewed by the events of the last six months.
The phone call ended with the sergeant assuring Paula an officer would drive out to Upper Pinch Road and do a welfare check during the coming week.
That night, the temazepam and glass of wine were nowhere near enough to tip Paula into sleep. She lay awake most of the night on the lumpy mattress.
First, she tried to control the churn of thoughts in her head by making a list of the calls she would make in the morning to the police and the welfare authorities, to bolster the safety of Nicole and the kids. But afterwards, she would have to rule a line under this.
Lying there in the dark, Paula made another resolution: she would pull out of the other locum positions she’d signed up for. It was clear she couldn’t go on working as a doctor, s
eeing what she would inevitably see and feeling so powerless to protect people. She’d been kidding herself to think she could function in a detached way. If she could no longer contain things in bearable compartments, it was too painful for her and not useful to patients. There was no choice but to quit being a doctor.
Next, she tried to summon happy memories—times with Remy, or with Anita and Stacey. She conjured up the day at Whale Beach when she’d taken that photo of Poppy doing the fake cartwheel, while Cameron looked back anxiously from the water.
As Stacey and Paula sat together on the beach that day, Stacey had said, ‘Cameron’s a tender-hearted boy.’ Then she laughed. ‘Am I allowed to say that about my own kid?’
‘Yes, you are,’ Paula answered firmly. ‘He’s spectacular.’
‘I mean, I know he has the anxiety problem,’ Stacey continued, ‘but he also has this lovely urge to look after people. I like to think maybe some good things have come out of what he’s been through.’ She then did a grimace of desperation. ‘Please agree with me, Paula, so I don’t keep tormenting myself that I’ve damaged my kids forever.’
Paula wrapped her sunblock-greasy arms around her friend. ‘You’re a fantastic mother, Stace. And Cam’s a beautiful, caring, empathetic kid. You’ll all be okay.’
The memory of Cameron dragged Paula’s mind back to Ruby—the girl’s worried face, the steadfast way she looked after her brother. Paula couldn’t bear to think she’d left Ruby at risk in that house. She needed to know how dangerous the father was, how worried she should be. The need to know for sure grew more and more desperate—however illogical the impulse was—until it consumed her.
Finally, at seven a.m. Paula appealed to the one person she could think of to help.
She sent a text. Hi. Paula Kaczmarek here. Okay if I call you now?
Rohan Mehta phoned her immediately.
‘Hi, Paula. How are you?’
‘I’m okay. Thanks for calling back, Rohan. I was hoping—please say if this is inappropriate. I’m hoping you could find out … If I give you a name and address, can you look up police records and check if a person is dangerous? If a guy has a record of violence?’
‘Oh. Uh … I can certainly look someone up on the system but it’s not okay for me to give out information like that.’
‘No, no, you don’t have to tell me stuff if you’re not allowed. If you could check and make sure this guy’s family aren’t at risk or … just check if he’s likely to hurt them. Look, I’ll give you the name and address and you do whatever you think is right.’
TWENTY-ONE
ANITA WAS STEPPING OUT OF THE SHOWER WHEN SHE SAW her phone light up with a text from Rohan. She figured it would be one of his now-regular messages checking she was okay. She wrapped a towel around herself and reached for the phone.
The text read: Just had a strange call from Paula. Ring me.
Fear whooshed through Anita’s body as if she’d been sluiced with a bucket of icy water. Had Paula phoned to tell Detective Mehta she murdered two men?
She quickly dressed and steadied herself before she rang back.
He picked up immediately. ‘Hi. How are you?’
It was the first time she’d heard Rohan’s voice since the break-up in the cafe. It was a beautiful voice.
‘I’m okay,’ she said. ‘You?’
‘Fine.’
He sounded more or less normal. He didn’t sound as if Paula had just confessed to murder.
There was a long pause, as if they both harboured a faint hope that this was an awkwardly polite opening to a conversation in which they would suddenly launch into declarations of love and get back together. But it wasn’t that kind of conversation.
Eventually Anita broke the silence. ‘Paula rang you?’
‘Couple of hours ago. Is she working down the south coast at the moment?’
‘Uh … well, she sometimes … um …’ she mumbled, reluctant to let on she had no clue where Paula was.
‘Look, Anita, I’ve gotta say, she sounded weird.’
‘What kind of weird?’
‘I don’t know her well enough to say. She seemed wired up, pretty agitated. I wondered if, lately, she’s seemed—’
‘Me and Paula haven’t seen each other for a while. We sort of … we had a falling out.’
‘Oh. Really? Oh.’
‘Uh, yeah. I suppose the stress of everything took its toll on our friendship,’ Anita offered, hearing how lame and phoney that sounded.
‘Oh, Anita, I’m really sorry to hear that,’ he said.
His tone was unbearably tender and lovely. Why did he have to be so fucking caring and adorable and perfect for her?
‘Yeah …’ she mumbled.
‘And I’m surprised. You and Paula always seemed so close, like people who would stay friends for—anyway, look, none of my business.’
Anita could tell he was desperate to know the details but he was too damned considerate to pry. He left a pause, maybe hoping Anita would fill the silence with more explanation. When she didn’t say anything, he added, ‘I really hope you two can find a way through this together.’
‘Thanks. So, um, why did Paula ring you?’
‘She asked me to look up police records on a guy living down the south coast. Near where she’s been working.’
Panic sparked Anita to blurt out questions too loudly, too urgently. ‘Did she say why? Is the man violent? Is it a domestic abuse situation?’
There was a silence on the other end of the phone. Rohan was obviously trying to make sense of her explosive reaction.
‘Do you want to tell me what’s going on?’ he asked.
‘I can’t.’
‘Okay. But if you’re worried Paula’s in some kind of trouble …’
‘I don’t know what’s going on. I haven’t talked to her so I don’t know.’
‘Please tell me if there’s something—I mean, the guy Paula asked me to check on, he’s bad news. String of weapons charges, drug charges, assault convictions. He recently did time for a very nasty assault. Been dodging his parole officer since.’
‘Did you tell Paula all that?’
‘No. And I’m not going to. I’ve made sure the local cops are on to it, so she doesn’t have to worry.’
‘But on the phone, you got the impression Paula believes this guy is dangerous?’
‘Well, yeah. Yes.’
‘Did she mention his family being in danger?’
‘She did. Fucking hell, Anita—are you going to tell me what’s going on?’
‘I told you: I don’t know.’
There was another long pause. Rohan obviously knew there was something.
Finally, he said, ‘Okay. Well, I think it’d be good if you call her. She sounds in a bad way.’
‘I will. Thanks. Thanks for letting me know. Bye.’
Anita was shaking when she ended the call. Should she have told Rohan she was afraid her friend was planning to kill that man? Was that what a good friend would have done? What any responsible decent person would have done?
She circled her tiny living room. Chances were Paula wouldn’t do anything. The fact she’d contacted Rohan was surely a sign she’d decided to operate through official channels rather than inject lethal substances into bad guys as part of her own unofficial protection service. This would be okay. Rohan would send the local coppers in to nab the bad guy and it would all be okay. There was no need to offer up Paula’s secrets to the police.
She spun around to pick up her phone and tap Paula’s number. When it went to voicemail, Anita breathed a bit after the beep but then hung up without speaking.
What message could she have left? ‘Hi, Paula. It’s me. Hey, are you about to murder another man? Maybe better if you don’t. Call me. Bye.’
She put the phone on the table next to her laptop. On that laptop were all the files collected for the feature article she’d put off writing. Case after case of women murdered by their partners. Men who had strangled, shot, blu
dgeoned, incinerated, stabbed, terrorised and destroyed those women.
Anita felt a spike of satisfaction to think Paula might be about to rid the world of one of those fucking monsters. Let Dr Kaczmarek make a hit list and kill some monsters and get away with it. The fantasy was thrilling, but only for a brief intoxicating moment, before it burned up in its own angry blaze like high-octane fuel. That kind of wrong-headed impulse had drawn Paula into this mess.
Anita’s next thought was that it was up to her to find Paula and stop her from doing something foolish or dangerous. Whatever state her friend was in, whatever she’d done, Anita must try to help her.
Paula must have finally dozed off for several hours after the call to Rohan.
The blinds were drawn, so the apartment was too dim for morning light to disturb her. What did wake her was the sound of her phone vibrating and jerking across the laminate surface of the kitchen bench where she had left it charging.
She saw a missed call from Anita, then immediately the phone started vibrating again, this time with the caller ID Hospital, and Paula picked up.
She was still only half awake, but she could hear that the woman ringing from the hospital front office was flustered, not used to handling emergencies.
A truck driver had called 000 from the highway. He’d found a badly injured person, hit by a vehicle, and he was now bringing them to the hospital. A rescue helicopter was on its way down but Paula was needed to stabilise the patient before transfer.
Paula yanked on clothes and jumped in her car. She hadn’t done trauma stuff for years, not since her residency days, and she wasn’t sure she was up to it, especially on almost no sleep.
She turned into the hospital’s drop-off zone at the same time as the semitrailer pulled over on the street outside, the brakes hissing. When the driver jumped down from behind the wheel, calling for help, Paula ran across the car park towards the truck. She saw Jye peering out of the small window in the rear section of the cabin, then she realised it was Nicole Wigney lying along the front seat.
The nurse on weekend duty hurried out into the car park with a backboard and a gurney.