Medea's Curse

by Anne Buist

  ‘She had to eat humble pie the next year though,’ Sandra said. ‘Her grandmother died.’

  ‘Did she keep going to school?’

  ‘Yes, finished that year, her final year, and then moved out with him. No gratitude.’

  Beverley ushered in Jim and offered to get Sandra a coffee. Sandra was too flabbergasted by the leopard print to do more than nod.

  Jim didn’t have much to add about Tiphanie’s childhood. She was a ‘good kid’. He was sweating and his shirt was now completely untucked.

  ‘How does she get on with Kiara and William?’

  ‘Kiara? I guess not that close, age difference and all. Kiara’s a little bossy but her heart is in the right place. Tiph is good with Will; it can be hard at home.’

  ‘You have another son too, don’t you?’ Natalie asked, remembering Andie’s run down on the configuration of children from three different relationships.

  ‘He lived with his mother,’ said Jim. ‘Tiph saw him a bit when she was younger, but he’s grown up now.’

  ‘How’s Tiphanie faring?’

  ‘Pretty well,’ said Jim. ‘She’s a tough kid.’

  ‘She might need to be.’

  Jim nodded. ‘You know, once when she was eight she broke her arm at school. Never told anyone. Came home, didn’t tell us either. Kiara noticed the next day her arm was black and blue.’

  ‘When do you think she realised Travis was a loser?’

  Jim scratched his chin. ‘I don’t really know. Perhaps we can ask Sandra?’

  ‘No,’ said Natalie. ‘I’m interested in your opinion.’

  They sat in awkward silence for a few moments until Jim caved. ‘Pretty early on, when Tiphanie was pregnant, she was really excited. We…well to be honest we weren’t all that happy about the father being Travis, him being married and all the rest.’

  ‘All the rest’ seemed to include the fact that Travis’s first wife was in gaol for killing their baby.

  ‘Was she happy when he cut ties with Amber and they moved in together?’

  ‘No, not really,’ said Jim. ‘Tiphanie…I think she was more…keen on having a baby than being a wife, to be honest. She knew she was always going to be a great mother. Used to talk to me about it, all her plans. The things she did and didn’t want to do.’

  ‘Did she ever talk to you about leaving Travis?’

  ‘No. She said she wanted her baby to have a father. That was after we knew the first wife was going to stay in gaol.’ Jim cleared his throat. ‘I gather Travis didn’t like the “image”, you know, being married to a murderer. Tiph was a bit sorry for him—and scared about being alone.’

  ‘How about after Chloe was born, did she ever talk about leaving him then?’

  ‘She said Travis would never let her and Chloe go. Not because he loved them, but because of image. Image, she said, was all he cared about. Sounded to me like she wanted to leave but she was stuck.’

  ‘Did you suggest she could come back home?’

  Jim moved in the chair. At least he had the fortitude to look up and face Natalie directly. ‘I think we were both afraid Sandra might not think that was such a good idea.’

  ‘How were Tiphanie and Travis getting on, before Chloe disappeared?’

  Jim yanked at the collar of his shirt. ‘She and Sandra had a big barney about six weeks before so we hadn’t seen them.’

  ‘You kept in touch though, right?’

  Jim looked to the door. ‘I rang her a couple of times a week.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘She was doing fine, wouldn’t have ever let anything happen to Chloe. That kid was her life.’

  Until something happened.

  ‘So what did they fight about?’

  Jim frowned. ‘Tiph and Sandra, you mean? No idea.’ He paused. ‘Tiph winding Sandra up. First time for a while. Guess she must’ve been having a bad day.’

  Chapter 18

  Natalie had resisted revisiting the media coverage around Georgia because she hadn’t wanted it to affect her judgment. But the journalists might have spoken to people Natalie hadn’t. Right now she was keen to know what the people around Georgia thought of her. Who were the girlfriends she shopped with? Were there friends who really knew her, who didn’t believe her guilty?

  Natalie knew from her work in the mother-baby unit that women did have fleeting thoughts of not wanting their child, or of harming it. It wasn’t unusual. She also knew these thoughts caused enormous guilt. Women felt that, to be good mothers, they must always love their baby and if they didn’t, they were either mad or bad. Did Georgia’s friends prefer to think she had been, temporarily, mad?

  A search turned up several articles, including a feature piece. The police had first been alerted by the coroner after the death of the third baby, Jonah. They had interviewed her and Paul, checked the autopsy findings on Olivia, and noted the unclear source of the bruise on her nose.

  ‘She was always bumping into things,’ Georgia was quoted as saying to them. The inquest concluded that Jonah had died as a result of SIDS and that no ongoing police investigation was warranted.

  They were involved again during Georgia’s pregnancy with Miranda. A Facebook ‘friend’ of Georgia’s alerted them to some concerning entries. The journalist interviewed the maternal child health centre sister from five years earlier. There was a picture of her accompanying the article. She looked about sixty. The sort who’d tell you that all babies cried and postnatal depression was a load of Gen-X nonsense.

  ‘There’s something not right about someone with a family history of SIDS not wanting to breastfeed,’ she had said.

  The journalist quoted an unnamed friend—it wasn’t clear if this was the dobber from Facebook—who’d thought Georgia was behaving oddly. What had she meant by oddly? Behaviour that showed Georgia was terrified of losing another child, or D.I.D. odd? If Wadhwa’s diagnosis was correct, there should have been periods of time when she either went missing, or was behaving in a manner very different from normal.

  The papers had interviewed Paul several times. Seen in a fuzzy photo with Georgia, arm around her, head turned away from the cameras, he had been supportive—at least initially. This had changed; perhaps when he found the bloodied knitting needles behind the toilet. The O.P.P. decided this apparent attempt to induce an abortion shifted the balance of probability. They went ahead with charges.

  Georgia’s first psychiatric assessment deemed her fit to stand trial and she was denied bail because of the unacceptable risk to the unborn child. Her baby, born at the Women’s Hospital while she was under guard, was immediately removed and Georgia had not seen her since. Miranda, now eight months old, was in Paul’s care.

  When Georgia was eight months old her parents were still together, but a year later her mother was imprisoned for murdering her father and Georgia had gone to live with her mother’s half-sister.

  In all the press photos Georgia was smiling, patently at ease with the camera. In one she was holding Olivia. The friends initially expressed disbelief that she could be guilty; less so in the later articles. Her aunt, Virginia, was quoted as saying she had done well
at school and never caused any problems. In the most recent article, Paul said he loved his daughter and they just wanted to get on with their lives. They had moved interstate.

  Natalie googled his firm. It was still based in Melbourne but had a Sydney office. Paul was listed as the CEO. The internet search didn’t give her anything she didn’t already have except that he’d gone to Scotch College. She knew he was early forties, a little older than Liam. She googled Liam, something she probably should have done earlier. Plenty about cases he had been involved in, including a mention of the paedophile ring with his comments, and a few social page snaps with Lauren. He was a Xavier boy. No surprises there.

  Natalie wasn’t entirely sure what she was looking for in Paul’s history, but if the marital relationship was part of Georgia’s pathology, surely he would have shown earlier form? Georgia’s teenage pregnancy loss certainly told her something about Georgia; maybe a previous girlfriend would fill in some blanks on Paul.

  Having exhausted all avenues she could think of, she double-checked the windows and doors and took her meds. The original, lower dose. She needed to be more alert.

  The weekend was busy. They had the Bendigo gig on the Friday night, the Halfpenny on Saturday night and practice Sunday.

  Monday morning, Jessie was on time. And she wasn’t alone.

  ‘This is Jay.’ The man with her smiled tentatively. Blond, tallish—maybe just short of one eight five—he had a wiry frame and looked at her from behind large black-rimmed glasses. Category geek, subcategory non-cute. And not ponytail man, Jessie’s occasional lift.

  Natalie took the lead. ‘Thanks for coming.’ Jay hesitated before taking her outstretched hand. His skin felt cool against hers. ‘I understand you’ve been a great support to Jessie.’

  ‘It’s been hard for her since Hannah went to prison.’ Jay glanced at his stepsister but she was looking around the room.

  Natalie spoke to Jessie. ‘Did Hannah tell you I visited?’

  ‘Yes, um, thanks,’ she said. ‘It meant a lot to us both.’

  She seemed to mean it, so at least Natalie hadn’t been manic enough to put Hannah off.

  ‘I try to visit and ring as much as I can,’ said Jay. He patted Jessie’s hand, little fingers entwining. Was this a habit from supporting each other through their adolescence? Jessie made a visible, unsuccessful, attempt to use it to stabilise herself as Jay talked about how he worried about her.

  ‘Jessie, is there anything you’d like to say to Jay while he’s here? Or have me talk to him about?’ Natalie tried to make sense of the emotions that passed across her face: it was always going to be about trust. The people she had loved had failed her before. Even Hannah, by going to gaol, had fulfilled Jessie’s expectation of abandonment.

  Jessie shook her head.

  ‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ asked Jay. He looked at Natalie and then Jessie.

  ‘Jessie, maybe you’d like to answer that?’

  Jessie shrugged.

  ‘Maybe just knowing you’re there helps,’ said Natalie. ‘Part of therapy is to help Jessie be more independent.’

  ‘Do you think I could look after a baby?’ Jessie asked.

  Jay quickly covered up his look of disbelief.

  ‘I think one thing at a time, don’t you?’ said Natalie.

  ‘Meaning?’ Jessie’s face clouded. Rejection.

  ‘Meaning it would be great to be able to talk to you and Hannah about this, together.’ Jessie managed a hint of a smile. ‘I know four more years sounds like a long time,’ said Natalie, ‘but you’re still young. The work we do in that time can help you be prepared, be a better mother.’

  ‘Hannah wants us to be good mothers,’ Jessie agreed. ‘Not like the trash Hannah has to deal with.’

  Natalie raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Saw her yesterday and there’s another baby killer in.’

  ‘They are often mentally ill,’ Natalie said.

  ‘Yeah well, maybe. Don’t think this one is. They’re just plain shitheads down in Gippsland.’

  The tightening of Natalie’s muscles was hard and sharp enough to stop her breathing for several seconds. As soon as Jessie and Jay were out the door she went to the coffee room and found a paper. Page three. Tiphanie had been arrested.

  Natalie read every word of the Herald-Sun report and then searched the net. Travis and Tiphanie’s neighbours had finally decided it was their civic obligation to cough up what they knew. Or more likely, it was time for payback over something, or for their fifteen minutes of fame. Amber was mentioned. Would Declan see the article? The Age report was brief, with no photos or reference to the death of Bella-Kaye by name.

  According to one report, Tiphanie had been seen the night before—when Travis was at his mate’s—carrying a screaming child to a car. Another suggested that it was a ‘bundle’; the implication being that Tiphanie had silenced the child, perhaps fatally. Tiphanie was now the last person to be seen with the child. She had clearly lied earlier. Natalie’s judgment had been right but it didn’t make her feel any better. And Tiphanie had been charged with murder, not infanticide. Chloe was less than a year old. What were they thinking?

  She rang Damian in Welbury and spent several minutes on hold before being connected.

  ‘Why did it take these neighbours so damn long to talk to you guys?’

  ‘Let’s say they weren’t falling over themselves in their attempts to be helpful,’ said Damian. ‘One side have history with Travis, they’ve got an AVO out against him. The other’s a friend of Tiphanie.’

  Some friend.

  ‘You believe them?’

  Damian hesitated. ‘Yes. The media exaggerated the differences between the stories.’

  ‘Timing?’

  ‘Vague, but definitely that night, while the football was on. The Collingwood–Essendon match locks in the timing.’

  ‘She took Chloe in her car?’

  ‘They only have one car.’

  ‘So what car was she carrying the child to?’

  ‘We’re investigating.’

  Natalie wasn’t going to let him off the hook that easily. ‘Investigating what?’

  ‘She lied, Natalie, has lied from the beginning.’

  ‘What else do you have then?’

  There was a brief silence. ‘The screaming baby wasn’t that night, but the bundle was. The screaming was in the back garden during the day. They’d mentioned this to us before; but they’d played it down, hadn’t wanted to get Tiphanie into trouble. Now they’ve said they heard more. Something might have happened then.’

  Which would mean Travis was helping Tiphanie cover it up. Or that she alone had been responsible for the death and the cover-up. Natalie shook her head in disbelief. ‘Why murder? You saw her. She was a mess, she was on pills. Mental state unbalanced by childbirth.’

  ‘I just did what I was told, Natalie. We had a request from the O.P.P. to put it past them before proceeding and he wouldn’t listen to me.’

  ‘He?’ asked Natalie through gritted teeth.

  ‘Your fr
iend O’Shea.’

  Georgia had cancelled because of a meeting with her lawyer, giving a welcome break as Natalie counted down to when her work day was over. She wove her bike through the peak-hour traffic and parked outside Liam’s office.

  Natalie put her helmet through the scanner and went straight to the tenth floor. Liam O’Shea and maybe half a dozen other lawyers occupied this half of the floor, protected by the rottweiler secretary at the front desk.

  ‘I need to see Liam O’Shea.’

  ‘Mr O’Shea is leaving for the day. Would you like to make an appointment?’ She showed her teeth. Less rottweiler, more toothpaste ad.

  ‘Tell him Dr King is here and it’s urgent.’ She put one of her cards down to underline her status, one that Toothpaste Grin was clearly struggling to believe.

  ‘I’m afraid he can’t possibly—’

  ‘It’s okay, Carol,’ Liam said from behind her. ‘This won’t take long.’

  Natalie didn’t look at him as she pushed past into his office. It was big and messy and the view was obstructed by the next building. Liam clicked the door shut behind them. He walked over to his desk and sat behind it.

  ‘You were wanting to see me, Dr King?’

  Liam’s look was so cold it almost took her breath away. She had never known him, not really. If he thought he could scare her off he was mistaken. There was a flicker in his look. Natalie was too fired up to stop and wonder where he was coming from.

  ‘Why the fuck didn’t you tell me?’