by Ron Elliott
She focused on the edge of the pond, looking for a safe way through the burnt material. Zookeepers with fire extinguishers and hoses began to come through the missing end of the butterfly house, through the smoke like a patrol in a Vietnam War film.
Iris held out her hand to the kids. She got them standing. ‘We’ve been in an accident, team. We didn’t get hurt. It missed us. How lucky were we? What a story we’ve got to tell. Did you feel the whoosh like a wind?’
They stared. Shock. They weren’t talking yet. Good idea.
Iris saw more advancing zookeepers in their green zoo shirts. One figure wore a yellow fire tunic, not yet zipped. Other staff were coming into the burnt forest now too. Some carried first-aid kits. Others wore emergency team vests. They were tentative, frightened as though they might step on mines. They weren’t professionals. They fed hippos, mucked out lion poo. They didn’t want to find cindered corpses or screaming, half-melted children.
The exit opened, the people there tumbled out into the arms of other men in yellow fire tunics. Iris helped her three kids out of the pond. ‘Are your parents here?’ asked Iris.
‘Granma,’ said the boy.
‘Good. She will be so happy to see you kids. What a story you’ve got to tell, hey? Imagine what the kids at school will say.’
‘We were in the fire,’ said the distrustful girl in awe. Her long blonde hair had frizzed slightly in the heat.
Iris passed them up, one at a time, to the zoo workers. She took an offered arm, pulled herself out of the pond.
The person called, ‘Wound here. Bleeding.’ He put one arm above his head, called again, ‘Hurt person here.’
Iris swivelled to search behind, imagining someone hurt, but turning sent a stabbing sensation into her shoulder. Iris gagged. She bent, which made her shoulder hurt more. She vomited, felt hands lowering her to kneel.
‘Stay still,’ a woman’s voice said.
‘Let’s get you to first aid.’
They took Iris to one of their own veterinary units housed within the zoo. It was out of the smoke, well stocked, sterile. The more badly injured were placed in the first ambulances. A gas cylinder had exploded. They were taking names, addresses, contacts. Iris had lost an earring and her phone but had apparently kept hold of her purse this time. No one had died. The wailing Iris had heard was the monkeys. The gibbons, rightly terrified by the fire, gave cries of warning and fear, which set off other apes. Iris’s hair was singed at the tips. She couldn’t help rubbing at the melted ends in spite of the gingery burnt hair smell she kept releasing.
As Iris was loaded into an ambulance she looked back down the hill to the butterfly enclosure. A third of the building had gone. A fire appliance was parked nearby, its hoses no longer charged. Iris could make out news crews and the familiar uniforms of the Arson Squad, fire investigators and police. Forensics in their booties and overalls were fanning out over the ruins. Standing at the perimeter in their bulletproof, black uniforms were members of a tactical response group. They carried semiautomatic weapons.
*
Iris borrowed a phone to call Mathew from the hospital. He wasn’t answering. He would not have recognised the number, Iris supposed. They gave her a local, removed the metal with large tweezers, stitched. She was bandaged, given a tetanus shot. She monitored her own emotions for signs of trauma but felt remarkably calm. Maybe she was getting used to this. Or was it simply too soon? She did not believe in the God story to explain the universe, but if there was one, she was prepared to agree with Gillian; he/she was indeed pissed at her. Hubris seemed the most likely cause. Icarus’s wings were melted. None of the gods were particularly fond of self-worshipping humans.
They’d given her a pair tracksuit pants from lost property or in stock for such occasions and a green hospital top worn by surgery nurses. Her clothes had been ruined in the fire, water and medical treatment, but were also being held now as part of the new arson investigation.
Iris was not allowed to leave, even though she was out of bed. She couldn’t lie on her back, nor sit back against the chair in the hospital room. She’d need to go pick up her car again. At least this time she’d kept her keys.
She turned to a knock at the open hospital room door to see a uniformed policewoman accompanying Detective Pavlovic. He was wearing the same dark pants as the day before but a striped business shirt with thin red alongside the thicker blue.
‘How are you, Mrs Foster?’
‘Detective Pavlovic.’
‘This is a police officer.’
‘So I see,’ said Iris. ‘And she has no name.’
‘We’re interviewing witnesses to the fire at the zoo.’ He spoke over the policewoman before she could answer. Pavlovic surveyed the room. He put his tape recorder on the hospital server table, rolled it towards Iris before sitting up on the end of the bed.
Iris said, ‘Iris Foster. Witness. Not a lot useful to tell really. I was in the butterfly enclosure at the zoo where there was a fire. I don’t know how it started. I think an exit was blocked. Some children and I took shelter in the water. I suppose we should be checked for meningococcal. There were explosions, possibly a kind of rocket was fired in at us. Then a bigger explosion which put the fire out. Have there been other attacks? Are we at war with someone? I was inside the maelstrom so I don’t have much overview. All I know. Is everyone all right?’
Pavlovic said, ‘No deaths. No serious injuries. A big show. Should we have expected other attacks?’ He peered, studying her as though she were the darkness outside the cave.
Iris considered the policewoman again, found herself searching the floor for meaning.
Pavlovic said, ‘The fire investigators have already made early reports. The rocket was probably an LPG cylinder. It didn’t explode – the intake nozzle detached so it flew. The bigger explosion was from oxygen cylinders stolen from the veterinary surgery at the zoo.’
‘The fire was deliberate,’ said Iris, her mind whirring suddenly.
‘Absolutely. One of the golf buggies the zookeepers zip around on was parked up against the exit door. We figure they used it to get the gas cylinders and later to block the entrance.’
Iris stood. ‘Have you found a Passiona can?’
Pavlovic said, ‘Not yet. Or any zeds. Where should we look?’
‘I don’t know. Around where the gas cylinders were put, possibly.’ Iris racked her brains to think of anything odd. Was someone following her she should have noticed? She had not been paying attention.
Pavlovic said, ‘The thing is, the zoo has lots of security cameras. Walkways, enclosures, the two surgeries. Day and night, they need to see who’s where and what the animals are doing and what crazy person wants to hug a polar bear. We’re looking at it now. We’re going to see the whole thing – like an episode of Big Brother.’
‘Good. Can I have a look too?’ Iris searched for her handbag.
‘Anything you want to tell us, now, before it comes out in the video footage?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Anything you got up to at the zoo or last night you want to share? Experiments and all?’
‘Last night?’
‘Yes.’
The policewoman was listening intently. Very intently.
‘Detective Pavlovic, why would I try to burn myself to death?’
‘I’m not a psychiatrist.’
Iris didn’t say anything. She re-ran the conversations of the previous day. When the detective said he was looking at her file, she had assumed it was ascertaining her strengths.
He said, ‘I think working out why people do things is over-rated. Sure, motive is worth looking at, but mostly I go over physical evidence. I don’t believe in coincidence. Fires happen around you, Mrs Foster. You’re a common denominator. Like Chuck’s zeds and Coke cans.’
‘Passiona.’
‘Sorry. Does the brand have any significance?’
‘I am sure it does. Detective, if this is not a coincidence, then I have bee
n targeted. Which would go to motive. Why did Zorro or the terrorists or whoever try to kill Iris Foster?’
‘My superiors are asking the same question. Where were you on the weekend of the school bombing, Mrs Foster?’
‘Do I need a lawyer?’
‘I’ve been asking you a variety of witness and consultation questions in this interview, Mrs Foster. If at any point you feel you need to protect your interests, I would advise you to have a lawyer present. Certainly, if we take you to the station, I would apprise you of your rights. You don’t have to answer any questions and any answers might be used as evidence against you. On the other hand, you could keep helping us with our inquiries, especially if you’re innocent and caring. Isn’t that right, Officer Johnston?’
‘Yes, Detective Pavlovic. Those are Mrs Foster’s rights.’
She did have a name. This was an interrogation.
‘I’d have to look at my diary, Detective.’
‘It appears your husband was away that weekend.’
Iris tried to think. She couldn’t remember.
‘I understand your husband is away at the moment.’
‘Yes. He’s … yes.’
‘Is there anyone who can account for your whereabouts last night, Mrs Foster?’
‘Why are you asking me about last night?’
He watched her, making one of his calculations, weighing up the risks of giving her information against what he might gain.
‘Last night, the Martian escaped from a non-secure ward at Fieldhaven.’
‘My god. Why wasn’t I told?’
‘Your phone was off. Where is your telephone, Mrs Foster?’
‘I seem to have lost it again.’
‘We have it, actually. Recovered from near a pond in the butterfly house.’ He watched her as though she might crack.
‘Good. I’d like it back if it still works. Are you saying James did this, this fire?’
‘Open mind.’
‘How did he …’
‘Still piecing it together. We do know that as a consequence of a fire in his secure room and the reports from you and Dr Silverberg, he was moved to an even less secure ward. Fewer staff, less security, no cameras. He might have picked the lock on that room. He might have been able to break into the drugs cabinet. He might know medicine and needles. He might have sedated both night staff and taken their keys. I’d suggest it is more likely someone else did the sedating and let him out. James the Martian left via a route which evaded the well-placed CCTV cameras in the grounds.’
‘It doesn’t make any sense to me.’
‘Sense? I can make all kinds of sense. You’re Zorro, he’s your patsy. He’s Zorro, you’re his partner. You broke him out and went to the zoo and he thought he’d get rid of you, to shut you up, close the loop. You broke him out and started the fire to throw us off the scent while he escaped. He broke himself out and came after you because you’re blackmailing him. There are lots of ways of making sense of this. It is only a matter of time before more evidence comes to light. Mrs Foster, I could arrest you …’
‘For what?’
‘AVO could get us by for now.’
‘An apprehended violence order?’
‘Lighting fires is violent. We have other terrorist provisions too. How about you agree to come to the station, while we gather more facts – clear these things up?’
Iris did need a lawyer but her mind leapt to Mathew, not for the fact he was a lawyer, nor that she knew dozens, but because this could be fatal to his aspirations for the bench. Her thoughts on her husband were particularly complicated and contrary at present, so she built a quick wall around the issue of lawyers. She stood, grabbing her handbag. ‘Of course I will help you, Detective. I’ve been trying to. I am innocent by the way. I need to help you prove it. You can be my champion.’
Pavlovic smirked even though he was shaking his head in a pretty good rendition of disbelief. ‘Excellent.’ He opened his hand towards the policewoman. ‘We have a car.’
As Iris stepped towards the door, he said, ‘I don’t suppose you’d tell me where the rest of the diethyl ether is?’
‘The rest?’ said Iris.
He studied her for some seconds before retrieving the recorder from the table. He didn’t turn it off.
Chapter seventeen
Johnston drove, Pavlovic in the back with Iris. He tried a couple of times to chat, the recorder sitting casually on his lap.
‘Did you see anyone suspicious at the zoo?’
She shook her head.
‘Why were you at the zoo?’
‘I wanted to see the butterflies.’
‘The butterflies? Why?’
‘I like butterflies.’
He didn’t believe her. It did not sound plausible. Iris did not doubt she had been targeted.
Zorro? If not Zorro, who else? Even if James was Zorro, he had no reason to kill her. Indeed, he could have killed her when she had been hypnotised. He could have killed her before, during or after the bed fire. He had safely established his own madness and in a strange way his own sanity. He might have been released. He didn’t have to escape.
Iris said, ‘Do you think the offender of the school fire might be spooked to see or hear I’m working on the case and try to take me off the board?’
Pavlovic considered before conceding, ‘Possible, I guess.’
‘Well, could you please add it to your list of theories? Do you know where Charles Koch is?’
‘I don’t think it’s him.’
‘I don’t either. If Zorro came after me, could Chuck be in danger? He’s poking around, might have raised a red flag.’
‘Yes. Fair enough.’ Pavlovic used his mobile. ‘Charles Koch, the arson investigator. Yes. Yes. We might need to put a car at his boat. Might be a target. Yes. It is her suggestion. Bringing her.’
An exploratory nudge of media were outside the police station.
Iris said, ‘Don’t handcuff me.’
Pavlovic said, ‘I wasn’t going to.’
‘Look at these clothes the hospital gave me. I look like a recaptured fugitive, not a consultant. Which is what I am doing, what I will be doing, after I’m cleared. I’m not even helping you with your inquiries, Stuart. I’m consulting, whether you think so or not.’ Iris tried to keep pleading from her voice.
Pavlovic blinked at her. Finally he said, ‘No parade. Let’s go in the gates, Lorraine.’
Officer Lorraine Johnston turned into the alleyway beside police HQ, buzzed them through an automatic sliding metal gate into the underground carpark.
Pavlovic took Iris up in the lift.
Iris said, ‘So you have incident rooms at Fire and Rescue Command, and interview rooms here?’
He shrugged.
Iris said, ‘It’s getting bigger all the time, isn’t it?’
Pavlovic didn’t answer.
A uniformed officer was waiting when the lift arrived. Pavlovic said, ‘Room four.’ The floor was busy with detectives, uniforms and civilians with identity tags, all moving with urgent purpose.
The uniform led Iris to a small interview room. Affixed to the single table was a microphone. A camera was mounted above a mirror, which filled the wall by the door.
Iris said, ‘Could I have coffee and some water?’
‘I’ll see,’ he said, a young man with big shoulders. But he stayed where he was by the door.
Iris went to the mirror, saw again how she looked in secondhand hospital garb. At least she’d managed to redo her makeup at the hospital. She should ask them if her earring had been found. That’s not an incendiary device, it’s my antique.
The door opened, a man and woman entered. He was Chinese. They were both in their fifties, dressed for comfortable professional work. She wore dark slacks, a dark grey summer jacket over a pale blue, fine-knit t-shirt. He wore light chinos, a blue striped shirt not tucked into his pants.
The man said in an Australian accent to the policeman, ‘Could Mrs Foster have the water
and coffee please?’
The woman said, ‘Mrs Foster, my name is Clara and this is John.’ They remained standing at the door. Clara said, ‘We’re here to carry out a couple of psychological tests.’
‘Really?’
‘We’re helping with assessments, screenings …’
‘You’re forensic psychologists.’
‘Yes,’ said John with another smile touched with embarrassment.
‘Seconded to the federal taskforce,’ added Clara.
Iris said, ‘Well folks, I must say I have been on the other side of this process quite a few times.’
‘You can give us marks at the end,’ said Clara, rather too lightly. She indicated where Iris should sit, facing the mirror, then sat next to her before bringing out a folder.
John took a chair, put it near the wall, so he was out of Iris’s direct line of sight, but could watch her face, mostly in profile.
Clara said, ‘Are you familiar with the Rorschach test?’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you done it or used it often?’
‘A few times at uni, I think. I am probably familiar enough with the test to skew valid findings.’ Iris tried turn to Clara, but she’d taken her chair back, so Iris concentrated on Chinese John and the mirror as she spoke. Perhaps he was younger than fifty, although his eyes were lined. They’d been working long hours, Iris assumed, possibly since the explosion at Barnard’s.
John said, ‘I might ask other questions afterwards to fill things out. I hear you had a close call at the zoo?’
‘Is this part of the test?’
‘Well, breaking the ice I suppose. I do hope you’re okay.’
‘I had a small piece of metal taken out of my back. I’m not in shock though, if that matters. They gave me a local anaesthetic, so I’m not on anything. I’ll need Panadol soon I’m sure.’
John took extra time to make notes about Iris’s responses.
Iris finally said, ‘I’m sure shock will kick in later, right now my dominant feeling is embarrassment. I’ve been brought here dressed like a refugee.’ Iris indicated her hospital apparel.