Double Madness

by Caroline de Costa

  A cabinet marked ‘Medical records’ had proved interesting. Leah Rookwood had said that the dead woman had been in good health up until close to the time she died. Whereas Odile Janvier appeared to spend a great deal of time visiting doctors. In the past year alone she’d made three or four visits each week to a variety of general practitioners and assorted specialists. She’d undergone ultrasounds of various types, blood tests, X-rays and sundry other investigations. Medicare forms and bills were meticulously filed in chronological order.

  ‘Do all these doctors know about each other, do you think?’ Cass asked. ‘Is there some kind of central coding bureau in Medicare that flags this kind of thing?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Drew. ‘For prescription drugs, yes there is. But for other things, X-rays and doctors visits, maybe not.’

  The bathroom cabinet had revealed only the kind of items one might expect in a suburban household – aspirin, paracetamol, some hormone preparation for her, some stronger analgesics for joint pain and some out-of-date antibiotics. No scheduled prescription drugs, no oxycodone, no benzodiazepines.

  More important, as far as the identification of the body in the mortuary was concerned, were bills from a Cairns dentist, Dr Wilfred Lam, although the last visit had been four years ago. In the Earlville bathroom were toothbrushes and hairbrushes containing hairs so DNA testing could establish whether the body in the rainforest had been an inhabitant of the house, but using the dental records would be quicker and cheaper.

  ‘Diamond,’ Drew said, ‘I’m sending you to see that dentist, as soon as his surgery opens.’

  One curious thing was the amount of photographic and video recording equipment in the house. There were several standard cameras and video recorders, but also two tiny cameras of the kind used in police surveillance work that immediately caught Leslie’s attention. One was a Playmobil Spy Camera, and the other a Mini Spy digital micro camera, just seven centimetres long. Both could be used to produce videos. Drew had looked on the Internet, and found that both were available for around fifty dollars. So far, however, no films, cassettes or CDs that might have been produced from the equipment had been found in the house.

  Equally remarkable was the absence of laptops or computers in the house and shed. And Troy had found no computer in the office. Were laptops also missing, along with Michel Janvier?

  There also seemed to be no family photos or letters. The Janviers read magazines in English and French but apparently few books. There were moderate amounts of food and wine. There was a phone directory but no address book – as Leslie said, people use their phones now for such things. Odile’s mobile had not been found although the number had been obtained from Telstra. Cass had tried calling but got an ‘off or out of range’ message. She’d also called Michel’s mobile, with the same result. Both phones showed very few calls except to the other. Records showed her phone was last used on 28 January to call her husband; his last call was to her, on 29 January.

  The backyard shed had proved to contain Michel Janvier’s personal gym. It was lined with timber, was air-conditioned and well equipped. An exercise bike, a treadmill, some weights – all looked well used. On the walls were many photos of Janvier, taken over a number of years. Clearly the man was a fitness fanatic. He had dressed himself carefully for these, and styled his dark hair. He was a short, solid fellow with sculpted arms and thighs, which he displayed from all angles to the camera. As a younger man he had worn his hair slicked down, with a side part, together with a well-trimmed beard and moustache, but more recent shots showed him clean-shaven and with a Caesar cut. All these photos appeared to have been taken inside the shed. Given that the neighbours reported an absence of visitors, Drew pointed out, they had to have been taken by his wife or by Janvier himself.

  But there was absolutely no clue in the house as to what had happened to him. His wife’s red Honda was in the garage but his own white Mitsubishi Outlander 2005 four-wheel drive was not. There was no evidence of anyone at all having been in the house for several weeks. The use-by dates on food and milk were all for early February.

  Leslie had ordered a nationwide search for the Mitsubishi, with no positive sightings yet. The rainforest around where the body had been found was still being meticulously combed. So far no item pertaining to the Janviers had turned up, apart from her second red-soled shoe under a bush near the road.

  Finally, what was truly striking was the vast wardrobe belonging to the (presumed) late Mrs Janvier. Two policewomen were at that moment fully occupied in searching and cataloguing this. So far they had notched up 39 skirts, 131 shirts and blouses and 86 pairs of shoes, which they estimated to have cost more than a hundred thousand dollars. None of these items had yielded any clues.

  There was also the matter of the Hermès scarves. Eleven of these had been scattered around the bedroom. ‘Like someone was in a frenzy,’ Cass said of the scene. ‘Counting the four on the body, that makes fifteen of these things. And one more at least in the wardrobe. All pretty much the same except different colours. That’s 10,000 bucks’ worth.’

  ‘Think what else you could do with that money!’ Troy moaned.

  Drew had ordered that all the scarves be numbered, packed and sent to the lab for examination. ‘There could be blood or other body fluids on them,’ he said. ‘It would seem those scarves are important to someone.’

  Scientific staff had also collected fingerprints in the house but had so far only identified two different sets, neither of them in the Australian databases. One set matched the prints found in the Portsmith office. The others were in the house and the Honda, but not the office. The French police had been contacted to see if they had matches for either set.

  ‘That should be back later today,’ Drew said.

  At 9 am Cass called the surgery of the dentist, Wilfred Lam.

  ‘Dr Lam’s surgery, Leanne speaking, how can I help you?’

  ‘Leanne this is Detective Cass Diamond from Cairns CIB. I’d like to drop in to see Dr Lam to talk about identifying a person of interest to us, from his dental records. We believe Dr Lam has treated this person in the past.’

  There was a moment’s silence, then Leanne regained her wits. ‘Um … can I have the name of the patient?’

  ‘I’m afraid that’s something I can share only with Dr Lam. Because of the nature of the matter, as you’ll understand, that information is strictly confidential. This is quite important. We’d like to see Dr Lam as soon as we can.’

  ‘Just a moment. I’ll have to talk to him. Can I call you back?’

  ‘No,’ said Cass firmly. ‘I’ll hang on.’

  Minutes passed as she endured a recurrent cycle of several bars of ‘Greensleeves’. Finally Leanne’s voice broke through and Cass was told the dentist could see her in half an hour.

  Dr Lam was a small elfin man with large rimless glasses and excellent teeth. He was nervous and excited as he ushered Cass into his office, scarcely looking at her badge, explaining in a rush that he’d never had to produce records before like this although he’d learnt about it in dental school in Adelaide. Hell, she thought, he’s going to be really upset to find he’s lost a lovely patient like Odile Janvier, with her expensive ceramic teeth. And in suspicious circumstances.

  But she was not prepared for the extent of his reaction.

  ‘What I have to tell you is in the strictest confidence, Dr Lam. We wish to identify a body that’s been found. We believe it may be that of a Mrs Odile Janvier who you treated as recently as 2007.’

  For some moments all the colour drained from the dentist’s face. Then he turned deep purple. He stood up, sat down, then stood up again. He seemed to be struggling to speak, but no words came out. Alarmed, Cass wondered if he was about to have some kind of seizure. She looked about the room – was there oxygen somewhere if it was needed? Finally, in a squeak that sounded as though he’d been inhaling helium, he asked: ‘Odile Janvier … is dead?’

  ‘We believe this may be the case. We have not
yet formally identified the woman we believe to be her. If you have dental records we would like a signed copy of them so our pathologist can make a comparison. I’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news. Obviously this is quite distressing for you.’

  ‘Oh, oh,’ the dentist squeaked. ‘No, it’s just … a shock … such an … elegant lady, to think of her … dead … so sad.’

  But it struck Cass that sadness was not the main element of Dr Lam’s reaction. One might even say there was a hint of relief in his voice.

  ‘It’s four years since I treated her,’ he said, recovering somewhat.

  Is that right? thought Cass. And do you remember exactly how long it is since you treated every one of your patients?

  ‘I’ll get her file,’ he said, ‘and make you a copy.’ Cass noticed that he was trembling as he left the room. Well, this was all very interesting. She studied her surroundings, which bore little resemblance to the caravans of the school dentists she’d seen as a child. Those guys had been astounded that an Aboriginal kid could have such good teeth. Because I never ate sweets, she thought. My Mum might have some bad habits but she taught me to eat good food. No sugar, no sweets when I was growing up. Even now she didn’t eat them. A soundless television on the ceiling displayed a cooking show. There were some forgettable pastel prints on the walls and the air was sharp with the peppermint scent of the pale green mouthwash that stood by the dental chair.

  Dr Lam took some time but eventually returned with a manila folder. He was still trembling but his voice had returned to its normal pitch. Behind him Cass could see Leanne, her eyes wide with amazement. Dr Lam firmly closed the door.

  ‘Here are diagrams and X-rays from 2007,’ he said, holding out a number of photocopies. ‘I did eight implants for her altogether and four other crowns.’

  ‘So she hadn’t seen you since then?’ Cass asked.

  This innocent question produced a further spasm of alarm in Dr Lam and more helium squeaking.

  ‘No, no, no.’ He shook his head. Then, with difficulty, he said: ‘I think perhaps she changed her dentist. Maybe she has a new dentist now.’

  ‘There was some problem? She didn’t pay her bill? Something like that?’

  With a further effort he managed to say again: ‘No, no, no.’ And then: ‘She always pay. Always. She … is a very good person.’

  Deciding that she would get little further information from the discombobulated dentist, and that she risked having to perform CPR if she stayed much longer, Cass thanked him, picked up the documents, and made for the door. She would go immediately to Leah Rookwood’s office. And then she would report her strange dental encounter to Drew.

  Passing Leanne’s desk, she nodded. Leanne jumped up, followed her to the door, and came out with her. She looked meaningly at Cass, put a finger to her lips, and hissed: ‘There’s something funny about that woman. He told me not to send her reminders for her check-ups.’ She lowered her voice even more. ‘I think he’s afraid of her.’ Then she quickly slipped back inside the surgery door.

  Cass walked slowly to her car, thinking this over. She decided she would come back to ask Wilfred Lam a few more questions. Later this afternoon, once she was sure the dead woman really was Odile Janvier.

  Later that morning Tim Ingram was standing in the antenatal clinic, holding an ultrasound probe over the swollen belly of a young woman with twins. The senior registrar, Dr Susanna Ortega, was beside him. She had called him in because she was concerned about the growth of the second twin. Tim was just about to measure the blood flow in the baby’s umbilical cord when his mobile rang. Propping the phone against his shoulder as he handed the probe to Susie, he smiled at the patient, and moved outside the consulting room, registering as he did so the precise tones of Inspector Leslie Fernando in his ear.

  ‘Dr Ingram? We have met, a few years ago now.’

  ‘Yes Inspector, I remember.’

  ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you?’

  ‘Not at all. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I understand you were unlucky enough to be the discoverer of this body on Sunday, up near Kuranda.’

  ‘Yes,’ Tim said. ‘We were coming back from a weekend in Yungaburra.’

  ‘As you know, we’ll need a statement from you. Shouldn’t take long. But I wondered, also, if you might have time for a quick chat?’

  ‘Um … yes … when would that be?’

  ‘Well, at your convenience … but perhaps, is today possible?’

  ‘Late afternoon? I have an operating list … say five o’clock?’

  ‘Yes. Thank you, Doctor. Much appreciated.’

  Somewhat perturbed, Tim returned to his patient. ‘Yes,’ he said to Susanna, as he studied the screen of the ultrasound machine, ‘reduced Dopplers, down from last week.’

  He looked at the mother of the twins. ‘Jenny, you know the second one’s growing much more slowly than the first. We told you last week that we might need to get them out early.’

  She nodded.

  ‘I think early is going to mean tomorrow. They’ll both be fine, they’re big enough, although the little one at least will need to be in special care. Maybe for a week or so.’

  Susanna smiled at Jenny. ‘I’ll let you get dressed,’ she said, ‘then I’ll explain everything to you about what will happen.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Tim, and made his way back to his consulting room. Susie was a first-class doctor, he thought. Finishing her specialist training later in life, that couldn’t be easy. Though it wasn’t that late; she was still a good-looking woman. He wondered if Henry had asked her out yet. Since their conversation in the tearoom he’d noticed how flustered Henry became whenever Susie was around. Something she must have noticed for herself. Come to think of it, she was certainly looking well today. And – had she done something new to her hair?

  Tim’s thoughts swung back to his conversation with Leslie Fernando. Why exactly did the Inspector want to see him? A statement could easily be taken by one of the detectives Tim had met on Sunday night up in the rainforest. Tim’s part in the drama, as Leslie had said, had been minor.

  He recalled that first time he’d met Leslie. More than three years ago now. In the Emergency Department of the hospital, where Tim had been called by the ED registrar.

  ‘There’s a girl here you need to see,’ the registrar had said on the phone. ‘Bad vaginal injury. Rape case. We’re getting the social workers and the sexual assault team, but she needs some gynae attention straight away … could you come down?’

  Tim had felt it again. That sharp pain high in the stomach. He usually managed to avoid rape cases, which were handled by his female colleagues. However, if there were major injuries admitted on his shift, he’d have to deal with them.

  He’d been in the Birth Suite when he’d taken the call. He made his way down the stairs to ED, still in his surgical blues. By the nursing desk were the registrar, a policewoman and a senior detective.

  ‘Dr Ingram?’ the detective asked. ‘I’m Leslie Fernando. Thanks for coming down so quickly. We understand this young woman’s quite badly injured and will need some surgery. But we’re hoping to get a report of the injuries as soon as you’re able.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Tim. ‘I’ll see her right away. But if she’s going to theatre, which sounds likely, I won’t have a report until we’ve finished there. Probably tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s fine.’ Leslie Fernando handed him his card. ‘Please call me when you can.’

  The girl was Chinese. She was in her early twenties, and despite the grit, tears and blood smudging her high cheekbones, exquisitely beautiful. She lay absolutely still, staring at the wall. Her sister, also very distressed, sat stroking her shoulder beneath the sheets.

  ‘She speaks English,’ said the sister. ‘She understands you, but just now she does not want to speak. You must speak to me.’

  The history was brief. The girl had been at the bus stop at the university soon after six o’clock, when the library closed. She was stud
ying English there. After a long wait for a university bus that did not arrive, she had started to walk towards the highway, with the idea of getting a suburban bus into town. By then it was getting dark. On an isolated part of the road she’d been dragged into a car by two ‘Australian’ men and taken to swampland behind the beaches north of Smithfield, where she’d been raped by both men. There had also been injuries inflicted with a beer bottle. Her attackers had thrown her into the scrub and driven off. She’d crawled first onto the dirt road leading from the swamp, and then all the way to the main road, where eventually a motorist had found her. She was, the Emergency nurse said, bleeding quite heavily.

  Her sister, taking charge of the situation, spoke rapidly to her in Chinese. With a slight inclination of her head toward Tim, she agreed to be examined. Tim had already been told she had numerous lacerations and bruises on her arms and legs, but no fractures.

  He was appalled by her injuries. One long vaginal tear at the front led upwards toward the bladder, another at the back toward the bowel. They would need careful exploration and suturing under general anaesthetic in theatre. Quietly, Tim explained what needed to be done: some samples taken, the girl’s clothes bagged for later forensic examination, then she must be taken to theatre. When did she last eat? Later, arrangements would be made for support and counselling, and finally, for the police to interview her.

  Outside the cubicle, there was sudden shouting, raised Asian voices, ‘No, no, let me see her, I must see her, let me in …’ The girl sat bolt upright and spoke rapidly in Chinese to her sister.

  ‘It’s her boyfriend, her fiancé,’ said the sister to Tim. ‘Of course she cannot see him. Not now. Not ever. She is too ashamed.’

  ‘Oh no, not never,’ Tim replied. ‘She will need lots of support, and love, but just now she must go to the operating theatre.’