by Anne Buist
‘Are you happy? I would never have harmed them, they were mine,’ said Georgia. ‘I was their mother.’
‘I was…stunned,’ Natalie admitted to Declan, still feeling much the same a day later. She felt contained in his office. Partly by him, partly by his orderliness. For the first time she appreciated the obsessive positioning of his three coloured pens and the stack of files on his otherwise empty desk. ‘I can’t tell how much is performance. Why didn’t she have underwear on? Did she plan that before coming to see me, or does she just not wear underwear? Did she need to show me because she wants help and doesn’t know how to ask? Every time I see her I end up going around in circles.’
‘She sounds very complex,’ Declan agreed. The bottle of wine sat on the side table unopened. ‘But I think you are still looking for some ultimate truth.’
‘The court—a jury—is going to have to make a decision. If I can’t, how can I expect them to? If I’m called to court, and I will be, I’m not sure I can explain what I think. Treating her is like trying to bandage someone in the middle of a switchblade fight. New cuts keep on opening up.’
‘Literally. Let’s try and get your thoughts clear. Start at the beginning, with a formulation of how she got to be how she is.’
Natalie tried to construct a timeline in her head. ‘Georgia’s genetic heritage: possible character traits inherited from both parents, who had impulse control difficulties. Complicated by attachment difficulties: her mother was isolated and unsupported and probably emotionally unavailable, but there was some positive input from her father. So she learned to look to men for affirmation, underpinning her defence style which is a mix of Cluster B personality traits: antisocial, narcissistic and borderline. Enter man number one: she sees him as an escape from her cold aunt, someone to finally love her. He gets her pregnant and dumps her. She loses the pregnancy, with or without intervention—my guess is with—then she meets Mr Right. Paul adores her and gives her a stable base.’
‘Until she has children.’
‘Having children destabilises her in two ways. One, it reminds her of her own childhood vulnerability when her needs were never met and she learned to pretend. The crying child takes her back subconsciously to the moments of terror, being alone and unheard. Two, it puts her in competition with them for Paul’s affection, which is the one thing that has helped her be stable and live relatively normally.’ Natalie took a breath. This much was fairly clear in her mind. The rest of the explanation was not.
‘Hypothesis One. She has a personality disorder. With dissociation but without multiple identities. She kills her children because she can’t control her anger, which originated from her unmet needs in childhood. Virginia and Lee only ever taught her to hide it, not resolve it. In this hypothesis she knows what she did, is legally responsible and is, at least in part, lying or acting.’ She had said they were mine: to do with as she pleased? It resonated uneasily in Natalie’s mind with Paul’s note.
‘Hypothesis Two?’
‘Wadhwa’s option. She has Dissociative Identity Disorder. She is still destabilised in the same way but her subconscious copes with the emotions she can’t deal with by drawing on different parts of her that manifest themselves as other personalities. One of these personalities unleashed the anger at her children, and as such, she—the real Georgia—isn’t responsible. Her mental illness is.’
‘Is there a Hypothesis Three?’
Definitely.
‘Paul is a psychopathic, narcissistic paedophile and manipulator. His wife and children are extensions of himself; his playthings. In her destabilised state—possibly both D.I.D. and a personality disorder—Georgia is vulnerable. She still kills them, but in a dissociated state in which she may believe she is protecting them. Paul is pushing the buttons of her vulnerability because he likes the power and isn’t fussed about the consequences. There is a possibility’—the thought was articulating itself for the first time—‘that he killed Jonah. He was there and the dynamic was different with a boy. In this scenario, Miranda, his daughter, is at risk.’
‘Too much conjecture even for the psychiatrist’s office,’ said Declan. ‘What do you know about Paul?’
‘He’s an only child and a successful businessman. Georgia’s lawyers have been told by the police and social service that there is no reason for them to be concerned about Miranda.’ But they don’t know he stalks me. Even as she spoke Natalie was thinking about their recent encounter and beginning to favour Hypothesis Three.
‘The police will not intervene unless you have something a great deal more substantial,’ Jacqueline Barrett had told her in their most recent phone conversation. ‘The social services loved Paul. Unfortunately for us.’
But it wasn’t just Miranda being killed that Natalie was worried about. Georgia had hinted at abuse and it was hard to get the word amused—along with a picture of Paul naked in the bath with his daughters—out of her head. And him walking around her apartment.
Despite Natalie’s best attempts to avoid him, Wadhwa put himself everywhere she was until he had a chance to corner her.
‘Dr King, I am keen to hear about your impressions of Mrs Latimer.’
‘Georgia is doing as well as can be expected.’
‘She hasn’t completed the last research form I sent. Could you be so kind as to remind her?’
‘She might not be in the best mindset for filling out forms at the moment,’ said Natalie. Wadhwa would be in Corinne’s office in ten minutes to complain she was obstructing his research.
‘So your therapy is not working?’
‘She’s very disturbed, as I’m sure you’d agree.’
‘If you do not have the right diagnosis you will not be giving her the right treatment.’
‘At the moment,’ said Natalie, working hard to keep her voice steady, ‘I’m trying to keep her alive and as stable as possible.’
‘Of course,’ said Wadhwa. ‘In court it will only be the diagnosis that matters. I am being retained as the expert witness.’
‘And I’m her therapist who actually knows her and deals with her.’ As Natalie made an exit, she added: ‘And the one who worries about her.’
Jacqueline Barrett had finally emailed her the three-page PI report on Paul Latimer.
Paul had finished school, gone to university and completed an engineering degree. He had a number of good mates. After school he had travelled to southeast Asia and Europe for the traditional Australian backpacker tour, returned three months later and started university while working part time in his father’s scrap metal business. He met Georgia, got married, enrolled in an MBA and his father died. He now owned the business and a black Porsche and had a full-time nanny caring for Miranda.
The report was so bland and superficial it could also have been the exterior world of half of the US’s serial killers. She wondered why no other relationships, either before or after Georgia, were mentioned. Had the PI not bothered looking? Engineers, if her experience at university was anything to go by, tended to be socially awkward. Maybe he was the shy kind of awkward rather than the type that ran a nudie past your tutorial.
He had seemed benign in their brief encounter, but psychopaths were great con men, and he had been stalking and intimidating
her. If he was such a successful manipulator, why had he made the mistake with the first note? Any pathology seemed within his family—it was Georgia and possibly his children he liked to control and manipulate. Why would he see Natalie as a threat? Did Georgia know what the bunnies meant?
Natalie met Liam at his request, this time at the Everleigh, a New York-style cocktail bar in Gertrude Street. It was more his style than hers.
‘Friendlier security,’ he noted, kissing her on the lips.
‘Anything more on Latimer?’ Natalie had picked up a beer at the bar but Liam, who had arrived before her, was halfway through a martini.
‘Not yet. I got some interesting stuff on your support team. Not exactly Mr Squeaky Clean. Be grateful he likes you.’
‘Who? Tom is—’
‘Not your drummer. Your publican. Vince Castentella has done time.’
‘I’m sure that will be incredibly useful information when he has you in a headlock, and you’re flying into the street.’
Liam grinned. ‘I figure I just need to stay on the right side of you to keep safe.’
‘What? Hiding behind a woman?’
‘Whatever it takes. You know he—’
‘Stop. He’s a friend. I don’t want to know.’
Liam shrugged. ‘Fair enough.’
‘I presume that isn’t why you called me.’ Nor did she think it was just to get into her pants again, though that was probably on the agenda too.
‘Tiphanie and Travis.’
Natalie waited.
‘He hadn’t had a chance to clean his mate’s car, but it was clean anyway. I’m sorry, I know you think Tiphanie is innocent but we’re having to look at her again.’
‘Shit.’ She took a sip of beer. ‘I’ve been thinking about the videos. Of you and me.’
Liam sat very still. ‘Have you had any more?’
‘No,’ said Natalie. ‘But even before the video…ever since the card, I keep getting stuck on why Georgia hasn’t brought up the paedophile ring in therapy. That has to be what Paul is worried she’s going to tell me. She’s hinted other things, but nothing beyond how it applies to her situation.’ Georgia’s narcissism, her interest in Paul only as directly related to her? Yes, but the imperative to stay out of prison would make it all the more likely she’d use what she had. Which left a high level of dissociation or ignorance as the best level of explanation of Georgia’s failing to mention whatever it was Paul thought she might, yet this didn’t sit well with her either.
Natalie lay her head back against the booth and stretched her foot out under the table to rest over his groin. She was recreating a scene from Flashdance; Liam grinned. ‘Have you found anything that links him to it?’
Liam didn’t seem to be concentrating. Not on what she was saying at least. His hand ran up her leg. She didn’t feel like concentrating on Paul either; but the missing jigsaw piece left her uneasy. ‘No. Not even enough to bring him in for questioning. I’d love another drink,’ he added, though his expression suggested it was more of the under the table activity he had in mind, ‘but Lauren is just back from Geneva and tonight’s one of those united parental front occasions.’
‘Sure.’ She pulled away her foot, smiled stiffly and only stayed long enough for him to brush her cheek. She stormed home, still trying to deny her vulnerability to the man and losing the fight when she rounded the cul de sac to her door.
At first she couldn’t quite make sense of what she was seeing. There was another note. Only this one was pinned to something hanging from the door of her warehouse. From a distance it was white, about the size of a football. Or a…
She ran, remembering the stolen picture of Bob.
Chapter 29
It was a dead rabbit.
She cut it down, feeling sick. She put the envelope in her bag and disposed of the carcass to the accompaniment of Bob’s screeches.
‘Lucky you’re smart enough not talk to strangers,’ she told him. ‘Or else he might have tried that parrot au vin I’ve been threatening you with.’
She played the security-camera video. It revealed a figure in dark clothes, including a balaclava and gloves, almost certainly male. It could have been Paul but she felt it was someone younger, more agile. His hired help presumably. Or an associate from the bunny club.
The file on the USB was, as always, simple: You’ve been meddling where you shouldn’t have. Then: Mr O’Shea will find your hospital file interesting I should think.
Natalie’s Fridays had increasingly been taken up with Tiphanie’s case. She figured losing another one to it would hardly matter. She had to get out of the warehouse. After a workout, shower and a coffee, she eased her bike out of the garage space and hit the road. It was another beautiful spring day, not yet warm enough for the leathers to be a problem. But it could have been pissing down rain and she wouldn’t have noticed. Her body was tense and her mind on edge. The ride cleared her head and by the time she parked outside the Welbury police station she was able to put aside, for the moment, what had happened the previous night.
She hadn’t bothered to ring ahead and the constable indicated that she could be in for a long wait to see Damian. But Andie Grimbank spotted her, took her through to the back of the station and made her a coffee.
‘We’re about to interview Tiphanie and Travis. I’ll check with Damian but he’ll probably appreciate you watching.’
Damian stuck his head around the door a few minutes later. He looked uncomfortable.
‘Can I watch?’
Damian hesitated. ‘I guess. But Natalie?’
‘Yes?’
‘I think…maybe she did do it. Accident, whatever.’
From behind the one-way screen, Tiphanie looked shell-shocked. She was pale and shaking, and seemed to struggle to understand the questions.
‘You must have found something,’ she mumbled, in response to a question about her neighbours. ‘In the car. Rick’s car. Are you sure?’
Natalie wanted to reach out and hug her. Would she feel that if Tiphanie was not genuine? But there was something else in her manner too. Something that reminded her of Georgia. She stared through the screen and tried to pinpoint it. She replayed in her head Tiphanie’s initial disclosure about the car; the tone and expression had been uncannily like Georgia’s when she had talked about the bunny cards. A superficial sweetness with an underlying wariness? Natalie felt herself go cold all over. Was Tiphanie still lying? If so, what about? Why was she so sure they would find something?
Still. Natalie thought of how long it had taken Amber to finally tell her everything. Of the twenty years Lee had served rather than face the shame of what she had allowed Cliff to do to Georgia.
Afterwards, she had another coffee with Damian.
‘Can I ask you something? To help clarify things?’
‘I’ll help if I can.’ Meaning he liked her but he wasn’t going to tell her things he wasn’t allowed to. Natalie figured he wouldn’t have to.
‘Take me through what happened on the day Chloe was reported missing.’
The call had come via triple zero at 11.23 a.m. Tiphanie had been hysterical, repeatin
g ‘My baby’s gone’ and little else. The operator traced the call and dispatched a police car, which arrived at 11.44 a.m. The police suggested she call Travis, which she did; he was at work. He had arrived at 12.32 p.m.
‘How?’
Damian frowned. ‘What do you mean how?’
‘His car had been left broken down at his mate’s place the night before.’
Damian looked at the police record. ‘Must have been driven by his mate. He arrived accompanied by Rick Marshall. The guy we’ve questioned.’
Natalie nodded. ‘So when did Travis pick his car up?’
Damian shrugged. ‘No idea. Does it matter? He had it back by the time we impounded it. The mechanics confirmed they’d fixed it at Rick’s the next day. He would have had plenty of time to get it cleaned.’
‘Are you going to question him again?’
‘He’s here.’
‘Can I watch?’
Damian hesitated but didn’t come up with any reason why not.
‘Can you humour me and ask about the car? Ask what was wrong with it?’
Damian paused. ‘Does this have anything to do with the file you asked for?’
Natalie shifted uncomfortably. ‘Not really.’
‘You know I was one of the cops that turned up to that call. Bella-Kaye Hardy. It still haunts me. You don’t forget the really nasty car crashes…or the kids.’
Natalie nodded.
‘This has got a hold of you too, hasn’t it?’
‘I can’t believe Travis doesn’t have something to do with it. He’s the common factor. Amber may have been the one to let the baby drop,’ said Natalie, ‘but he was sure as hell shaking that bough.’
She took the remainder of her coffee into the same cramped viewing room to watch Travis being interviewed.