Medea's Curse

by Anne Buist

  ‘Did you ever copy the files on that computer?’

  Beverley pushed her shoulders back. ‘I’ve been very busy.’

  ‘Could you do it today?’

  Beverley made huffing sounds as she opened her drawer and retrieved Jessie’s computer.

  This was one of Georgia’s well-dressed ‘I’m like any normal housewife’ days. Unprompted, she started talking about Miranda, her fourth and only surviving child, currently in Paul’s care.

  ‘We weren’t going to have any more. I knew we should have waited, but I wasn’t getting any younger and already had to have extra tests because of my age. Paul wasn’t happy. He was irritable; I felt it came between us, that pregnancy. He fussed over me a lot but he also stopped having sex with me.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He said he didn’t want anything to go wrong. He spent his time on the computer.’

  ‘Doing?’

  ‘What do you think?’

  Natalie felt mildly irritated. Georgia was making her work for it—and it felt deliberate. Was this Natalie’s countertransference again, driven by Natalie’s issues with her own mother, or some sounder instinct? She couldn’t decide. ‘I’d rather know what you think—or know.’

  ‘It was just the usual porn.’

  ‘The “usual” porn?’

  ‘Yes.’ Georgia’s eyes were disconcertingly like her mother’s.

  ‘There are different types of porn. What did Paul like?’

  Georgia shrugged.

  ‘Women with big breasts? Violence? Bodily functions?’

  ‘Paul wasn’t a breast man. He liked women skinny. There might have been young girls, I really just didn’t pay much attention.’

  Natalie leaned back in her chair. As a therapist she should ask how do you feel about that? Or even you seem to want to deny Paul’s use of porn affected you? Had they been together in this dance longer, she might even have risked an interpretation: you seem angry. But the connection wasn’t there. Georgia was not ready to expose her vulnerability. If she wanted to blame Paul then Natalie might as well try and work out how much blame he deserved. At least that was how she would explain her interrogation to Declan.

  ‘What about that bunny sign he does on his cards? How long have you guys been doing that?’

  ‘Ages,’ said Georgia. She frowned. ‘Actually I’m not sure. A few years maybe.’

  ‘When you were arrested, did anyone look at his computer?’

  Georgia shook her head.

  ‘So when and how did he find out about the Facebook page?’

  ‘No one believes me when I tell the truth.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘He always knew.’

  ‘Okay,’ said Natalie. ‘Take me through this. He always knew what?’

  ‘He told me I should put the kids’ pictures on Facebook. When Olivia was alive. I put up Genevieve too. She was still our little girl, part of our family.’

  ‘This wasn’t just photos.’

  ‘I know.’ Georgia played with the wedding ring she still wore. ‘But those things…well he thought them too. We’d laugh about it, how hard it was sometimes. It didn’t mean we didn’t love our children. Surely all parents get frustrated with sleepless nights, the never-ending needs.’ She grimaced. ‘The nappies. The milk and vomit smell.’

  ‘Georgia, there was a lot more on your Facebook page than normal frustrations. What was written suggested a deep anger.’

  ‘That’s just it. I wrote it down to get rid of those angry feelings. So when I was with them I could be the mother I wanted to be. Not cold and unfeeling like Virginia, or murderous like my mother. It was because I didn’t want to be them.’

  For the first time in all of their sessions, Georgia was showing something close to anger.

  I know she is innocent, Lee had said. Georgia’s eyes were focused like her mother’s had been, her jaw firm. Jacqueline Barrett thought there was doubt; maybe Georgia had been unlucky, with SIDS in two children and asthma in the third. So Olivia had a bruise; she’d hardly be the first two-year-old to have one. Experts had been wrong before and statistics could be manipulated in court like anything else.

  ‘I was in prison when Miranda was born,’ said Georgia, ‘or at least when I went into labour. Paul met me at the hospital and stayed with me.’ Her voice choked and Natalie realised she was crying. ‘He said sorry.’

  Sorry for what? Natalie tried to put herself in Paul’s shoes but there were too many unknowns. Perhaps he encouraged her to write on Facebook but was horrified when he read it. He might be feeling guilty for not supporting her enough and for his own failure to protect his children. All she could be sure of was that his emotions were likely to be complicated and full of contradictions. Perhaps he was still unsure, but was cutting himself off to survive emotionally, for Miranda’s sake.

  ‘As soon as they cut the umbilical cord, the nurse handed Miranda to him,’ said Georgia. ‘I haven’t seen either of them since.’

  ‘Has he told you how she’s doing? Does he put her photos on Facebook?’

  ‘I don’t know. Perhaps it’s better she never knows me. At least until…this is all sorted.’

  Georgia hadn’t wanted to meet Lee as an adult.

  ‘Do you worry about Miranda?’

  ‘Oh no, I’m sure Paul will look after her. As long as she’s amusing.’

  Amusing.

  ‘You used that word before; what does it mean?’

  ‘Nothing really. Just that Paul likes to be amused. I always had to keep him happy.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s a role for a one-year-old,’ said Natalie.

  ‘No, no, I suppose not.’ Georgia looked flustered. Natalie bided her time. She’d seen Georgia like this before, just prior to dissociating. On that occasion, Georgia had been looking at a photo of Olivia. Was that what destabilised her? Things that took her back to her own childhood vulnerability?

  ‘It’s hard when you’re little,’ said Natalie slowly, visualising the picture Lee had painted for her. ‘Hard when someone you love is also scary. Terrifying even.’

  The steeliness disappeared from Georgia’s gaze.

  ‘I’m a good girl.’

  Natalie nearly dropped her notes. The voice was not Georgia’s. Or rather, it was a childlike version.

  ‘Yes, Georgia, you are a good girl. Who are you a good girl for?’

  ‘Daddy loves me.’

  ‘Yes he does,’ said Natalie wishing she could get to her iPhone and record this. Her bag was in the drawer and it would create too much noise. ‘Tell me about your daddy, Georgia.’

  ‘I’m his special little girl,’ said Georgia in a singsong voice. She giggled. ‘Round and round the garden, like a teddy bear, one step, two step…’ The giggles exploded.

  ‘Where are you, Georgia?’ asked Natalie. Was the Daddy she was referring to her biological father Cliff? Her uncle, Vernon? Or even Paul? ‘On Daddy’s knee? In bed?’ When Georgia just kept giggling Natalie added, ‘In the bath?’

  T
he giggling stopped. Georgia looked confused and started shaking. She looked around her and grabbed her bag, which tipped, spilling out the contents: an array of lipsticks, coins from the purse that had burst open, tampons, a small pink rabbit, several envelopes and a mobile phone. Georgia grabbed the rabbit, but it was the envelope on top that drew Natalie’s attention.

  As quickly as Georgia had regressed, she returned to her normal self. She looked at the mess on the floor and asked: ‘Did I do that?’ Then she leaned forward and began to scoop her things into her handbag.

  When she had finished, Natalie looked into the eyes of the ostentatiously overbright coping housewife.

  ‘Do you recall what just happened?’

  ‘When?’

  ‘Just then. Georgia, where did the rabbit come from?’

  Georgia looked down into her hand at the fluffy figure. ‘This? Just something I bought.’

  ‘Why?’

  Georgia shrugged her shoulders. ‘I guess a bit of nostalgia.’

  Nostalgia, or was it the child version of Georgia, one of Wadhwa’s ‘other personalities’, who’d gone into the shop to purchase it?

  ‘How many do you have at home?’

  Georgia frowned. ‘Funny you should ask. I keep finding them. I forget I’ve got them.’ She laughed. ‘Maybe I have OCD.’

  No, but maybe she did have Dissociative Identity Disorder. As far as Natalie could judge, she had just witnessed a dissociative episode.

  ‘What about the letter in your bag?’

  Georgia drew out an envelope. ‘This was in the post this morning. I took it out of the letter box and I wasn’t sure if I should open it.’ She put it down on the table between them.

  ‘Why shouldn’t you open it?’ Natalie asked.

  ‘Well, you seemed to be interested in these letters and so was my lawyer.’

  ‘You think it’s from Paul?’

  ‘Yes. It’s addressed to my maiden name: Ms Parker, not Mrs Latimer. He’s telling me he wants to be rid of me.’

  ‘Why don’t you open it and see,’ Natalie suggested. ‘Then if it is from him, take it to your lawyer.’

  Georgia fingered the letter and opened it gingerly. She tipped the contents onto the table. It may have once been a card with rabbits on it; maybe several cards. The rabbits had been cut up. Beheaded.

  Georgia gasped, her hand going to her mouth as she paled. She stood up and backed away from the table before rocking slightly and fainting, hitting her head on the seat of the chair as she fell.

  Natalie called Jacqueline and dispatched a recovered Georgia to her office in a cab.

  ‘I’m sending the envelope and contents with her. O’Shea knows about them, right?’

  Jacqueline assured her that the prosecutor had been notified of the previous letter.

  ‘Another question.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Whose idea was it for Georgia to see me? I mean did you suggest it or did she?’

  There was a pause. ‘Georgia was adamant she wanted to see you.’ From her tone it sounded like there had been an attempt to dissuade her.

  Beverley had got the message that Natalie was less than happy with her after the disclosures she’d made to Liam’s secretary, so she disappeared into the filing room for the rest of the day. Natalie checked her emails. Damian had scanned the pages she’d requested from Amber’s file.

  Natalie usually found police reports unhelpful. Cops wrote as little as possible and it was often hard to see what they meant through the stilted jargon. Not that her notes would have been any better; she’d had to learn to stop using her own abbreviations so other people could make sense of her comments.

  The police had been called to the home of Amber and Travis Hardy after being alerted by the emergency services operator. The file included a copy of the excruciating call transcript. Amber had frozen and resisted any attempts to make her go back into the bathroom. With Amber’s recent confession, it made sense. Bella-Kaye was already dead. She’d waited long enough for Travis to leave unobserved, so he could then cruise home via the pub. The police and ambulance were at the house when he returned.

  Natalie scoured the notes. One of the police in attendance was DS McBride. This made it even more likely that Damian would go back over the notes. Could she be blamed if he saw what he had missed last time? What was the worst that could happen? She wasn’t worried about herself so much as Amber.

  She didn’t know what she was looking for until she found it: two pieces of information buried in the report.

  The first was the state of the kitchen. The pots were in the sink, not on the stove where they would have been if Travis hadn’t yet got home for dinner.

  The second was a single word in the detailed description of the ‘crime scene’ room. Wet children’s clothes on the floor. Travis must have removed them when he came up with the cover story for her to tell.

  This time, Amber had told the truth. The whole truth.

  Chapter 25

  Liam met her at the Halfpenny. She had texted him first thing in the morning after her restless night. Vince and Benny were watching to see if Liam was followed. A man had asked after her recently; nondescript, late forties. Not Travis. A private investigator? Her stalker?

  Benny brought Liam to the back room.

  ‘Why do I have bad vibes?’ Liam asked. ‘Is this where you tell me you don’t want to see me again and they—’ he tossed his head in the direction of Vince and Benny ‘—beat me up and throw me out?’

  ‘We may get to that.’ Natalie stood up and shut the door. ‘You need to see this.’

  Her laptop was on the table.

  They watched the clips from the previous night’s USB in silence. There were several, of varying quality. All were of Natalie and Liam drinking champagne on the Sydney hotel balcony, bare-legged in robes.

  ‘Fuck,’ Liam said, echoing Natalie’s thoughts.

  ‘This isn’t the first video clip,’ said Natalie, ‘and there have been notes delivered on a USB.’ Looking at him directly she added, ‘Could it be Lauren?’

  There was a long silence and Natalie felt her heart pounding. If she was honest, it was the most likely scenario. Lauren was no fool, and much smarter than Travis. Men, particularly arrogant ones who thought they owned the world, weren’t that observant; Liam wouldn’t have noticed if he was being followed, as he could have been that day he had come to her rooms, the day of the first note. Lauren would have the resources and more than enough cause. She wouldn’t need the video for a divorce but it might give her some extra leverage with the financial settlement or the children.

  Liam pulled his chair back from the table, one foot across his knee. Defensive. ‘Tell me about the notes.’

  Natalie outlined the history of her red-envelope stalker, minus the references to her mental health. ‘I presume you don’t want me giving this to the police.’

  There was only a second’s hesitation. ‘No. It’d be a tad awkward. But if you’re in danger, obviously that’s far more important.’

  ‘Right now I think I—we—have a better chance of working it out than the po
lice.’

  Liam dropped his leg and smiled. ‘It isn’t Lauren.’ He sounded unconvinced by his own words.

  ‘From my perspective, he—or she—is more resourceful than my patients. The film shows Sydney, not just Melbourne.’ This had been the first thing that had occurred to her. It had left her feeling vulnerable and powerless. And alone.

  ‘So who is doing it and why?’ Liam appeared to be over the initial shock.

  ‘This is the list I gave the police,’ said Natalie, smoothing out a folded piece of paper. ‘It doesn’t make sense. Not when you add the Sydney angle. This person either got on a plane after us or hired a PI. Both options would take money and motivation. A patient doesn’t fit, particularly a psychotic one; they don’t have the focus. And the antisocial patients I’ve seen haven’t got the resources.’

  Then there was the fact that the room was booked in Liam’s name, not hers. The night before she was even meant to be there. Back to Lauren.

  Liam was reading the list. ‘Two murderers?’

  ‘Both antisocial personality disorders. One I saw as a once-off. He was a nasty piece of work and thought he could con me into supporting a sleepwalking defence I told him was crap—’

  She saw Liam’s expression and despite herself she laughed. ‘I didn’t exactly say it was rubbish, but that was the general tenor of my report. Two other psychiatrists said the same. It wasn’t like there was really any hope of the defence working.’

  ‘So he’s in prison?’

  ‘Yes, but he has lots of friends. Friends with money.’

  ‘Given we’re grasping at straws, you’d better give me the names of the other psychiatrists in case they’re being targeted as well.’ Liam jotted the names down. ‘The other murderer?’

  ‘Luke Wheeler,’ said Natalie. ‘I looked after him for two weeks at Yarra Bend when I started there. Plain bad with a big dose of weak, and I sent him back to Port Phillip Prison. He got parole a few months ago.’ She only knew this because Senior Constable Hudson had checked it out. Wheeler had been at Yarra Bend at the same time as Bob’s owner but the theft of Bob’s photo could have been opportunistic.