‘Ready?’ he asked, with a little smile of reassurance.
She nodded briskly but inside her stomach was already churning. As much as she loved her work, she hated doing autopsies on young people. It was hard enough doing one on an older person, but when it was someone who hadn’t had a chance to live even a quarter of their life it struck at the very heart of her. She felt for the families, the agony of loss they would go through for the rest of their lives, every birthday, every Christmas, and worst of all the anniversary of their loved one’s death.
When they re-entered the autopsy room the body had already been wheeled in and placed on a stainless-steel bench in the centre of the room. The overhead lights were switched on, as was the camera to record the autopsy. The microphone Eloise was to use to record her comments was set up and ready to go.
She automatically looked up to the side of the light assembly where a sign in Latin was routinely placed in autopsy rooms across the globe. Somehow it comforted her to find it there.
Hic locus est ubi mors gaudet succurrere vitae. Here a place where death gladly teaches the living.
Around the outside of the room were the usual benches with empty specimen jars, chemical containers, a microscope and a large collection of surgical instruments.
Donning gloves, plastic apron, mask and eye shield, Eloise clicked a button on the floor and started dictating into the overhead microphone, Grant Yates moving forward to help her turn the body as needed.
‘External examination,’ she began. ‘Body of a Caucasian male aged twenty-seven, blonde hair, no external marks of trauma. Incisions from previous autopsy consist of midline thoracoabdominal incision and circumferential scalp incision, both closed with silk sutures. External evidence of prolonged immersion in water from skin wrinkling.’
She took a deep breath and tried to rid her mind of images of that young strong body riding some of the toughest waves the world’s oceans could throw up. He had been a good-looking young man, his sun-bleached blond hair, tanned skin and leanly muscled form no doubt a huge drawcard for women across the globe.
She couldn’t help wondering if Poppy D’Ancey had indeed experienced a brief fling with him. He had been a lot older than her, of course, but Eloise knew young girls were often attracted to older men. Poppy was a mixture of little girl and sultry siren so it seemed likely Ethan Jenson would have taken what was on offer, in spite of what Lachlan thought.
She looked up to see him watching her, those brown eyes steady on hers, that same reassuring look he’d sent her earlier softening his gaze even more. After their first disastrous encounter she never for one moment would have thought she’d be glad he was here with her. But she was.
‘Dr Middleton, I noted from your report that the lungs were full of seawater but that there was no pulmonary oedema from your biopsy. Can you show me from where you took the biopsy?’
The previously removed lungs had been replaced in the thoracic cavity, which was now being spread apart by a retractor inserted by Dr Middleton.
‘Yes,’ he said. ‘From the base of the left lung. There’s the incision.’
‘Tell me, Dr Middleton, was there anything in the main airways when they were opened?’ she asked.
‘Seawater, full of seawater, and lots of it.’
‘Was there any froth in the airway?’ Eloise asked.
In her extensive experience with drowning victims from Australian beaches, usually the victim struggled in the last minutes to get breath. As seawater mixed with mucus in the airway it tended to froth, making breathing even harder and often accelerating the drowning process.
‘No froth, just seawater.’
‘I wonder if we could take some samples near the end of the bronchi?’ she asked. ‘I want to see if any foreign material has been aspirated.’
‘Foreign material?’ Peter Middleton looked at her scathingly. ‘What on earth do you think you might find? A school of fish?’
Eloise tightened her mouth without responding and continued with her work. Having taken several more samples of lung tissue for histological examination, she then turned her attention to the diatom testing.
‘Dr Middleton, those diatom samples from the lungs—could you tell me how you collected those?’ she asked.
‘Well, from that briny water in the trachea, of course. I examined them myself. Why, do you think they are wrong?’
‘There are a couple of curious features about them, that’s all,’ she replied, trying to be polite in spite of his brusque manner. ‘Did you prepare the sample yourself for microscopy?’
There was a small pause before he answered. ‘No, as a matter of fact, I think in this case one of the deiners—Michael, I think it was, may have got the samples ready. He’s unfortunately not with us now. His mother, who lives in Canada, had a stroke and he’s taken leave.’
‘Well, from your description of the diatoms, it seems like there may have been freshwater contamination of the samples, maybe from washing or some other slip-up in sample preparation. I’d like to try and get more of that water out of the lungs, and also take a range of samples from other body tissues for diatom analysis. And I’d also like to do a quantitative analysis. Chief Inspector D’Ancey is organising some samples from the drowning site for comparison.’
Eloise looked up at that point and found Lachlan’s gaze on her. He gave her a glimmer of a smile as if to reassure her.
She turned back to the body of the young man and began taking multiple tissue samples from several organs. She then worked with Peter Middleton and his assistant to prepare slides and the diatom samples for microscopy, all under her direct supervision.
In addition, she collected blood from the inferior vena cava for carbon monoxide analysis. The lab possessed a gas analyser, so all the testing could be completed within a few days.
Finally the body was sewn back together, using basketball stitch, and returned to the drawer where it had been stored.
‘Time for a break,’ Peter Middleton said, stripping off his gloves. ‘Grant, can you organise some coffee? I just need to make a couple of calls.’
Lachlan came over to where Eloise was tidying up. ‘How are you holding up?’ he asked.
She straightened her shoulders. ‘I’m perfectly fine. Why do you ask?’
‘You looked upset.’
‘I can assure you I’m not.’
‘Then you should be,’ he said. ‘Every death is upsetting, none more so than when it’s a young person.’
‘I seem to remember you saying last night that police officers had to remain clinically detached, or words to that effect,’ she said stubbornly, refusing to show that she was indeed feeling emotionally drained.
‘You can’t shut down completely, Eloise,’ he said. ‘It’s neither healthy nor normal.’
She gave him a direct look. ‘So you’re admitting to shedding a tear or two behind your mask for Ethan Jenson, are you?’
‘I’m admitting that death in a young person is always a tragedy, no matter who they are,’ he said. ‘Have you arranged to meet his parents yet?’
‘No, they haven’t requested it so I thought I would wait until the results are in.’
‘They will want to see you well before that, Dr Hayden,’ he said, and turned away, leaving her standing there alone with the scent of death lingering in the air.
Eloise spent an hour with Ethan Jenson’s parents at their request the following day, her heart aching for what they were going through. The pain of their loss was etched on their faces, their eyes red and swollen from endless crying and their cheeks hollowed out with anguish. She expressed her sympathy and did her best to reassure them that the tests she had conducted would hopefully provide them with some sort of closure during such a harrowing time.
‘Thank you for coming all this way,’ Hugh Jenson said as Eloise prepared to leave. ‘We really appreciate the effort you’ve made to find out the truth about our son’s death.’
Eloise took each of their hands in turn. ‘As soon
as we find out the results of the tests, the chief inspector will contact you,’ she said. ‘It may take another day or two. I’m sorry you’ve had to wait so long. I know how hard it makes it, having things drawn out like this.’
‘We just want to know the truth,’ Jeanne Jenson said, wiping at her eyes. ‘I know Ethan wasn’t an angel but people are saying things about him that are very upsetting. I won’t be able to rest until I know for sure if someone…you know…’ she choked over another sob ‘…did away with him.’
Eloise spent the next few days exploring the local countryside as she waited for the lab tests to be processed. She didn’t hear from Lachlan, although she saw him once or twice in the distance, talking to one of the local fishermen by the harbour. On one occasion he lifted his hand in a wave when he caught her staring at him but she quickly turned on her heel and pretended she hadn’t seen him. She felt she needed these few days to make some sort of sense of the ambiguity of her feelings towards him and it would only confuse her even more to spend time interacting with him. But avoiding him only made her think of him all the more. She lay awake at night, listening to the pecking of Mr Price in the room next door, and wondered what Lachlan was doing. She walked along the sandy shore each day, listening to the smacking and sucking of the waves, and wondered if he was thinking of how her mouth had felt beneath the heated pressure of his.
Stop it, she remonstrated as she stomped back towards the café on the Harbour Front at the end of the week. She had to stop thinking about a man who was probably just toying with her for a bit of fun. What could he offer her in terms of a relationship anyway? He lived on the opposite side of the globe, for one thing, and the other was…well, she didn’t want to fall in love with anyone, much less a recently divorced single dad who had a troubled teenager on his hands.
She had not long been served her coffee when she looked up and saw Poppy come into the café with a friend.
Poppy’s red-rimmed eyes briefly met Eloise’s gaze before falling away. She murmured something to the girl beside her then they both turned around and left without so much as a greeting.
Eloise could understand Lachlan’s reluctance to have his young daughter involved in this case, and while she understood the protocol that prevented her from interviewing witnesses or suspects, she couldn’t help sensing something was amiss and would have loved a quiet moment or two—off the record—with the chief inspector’s daughter.
Her mobile phone rang just as she drained the last of her coffee and Peter Middleton’s voice informed her, ‘I have the results from Forensics Services, Dr Hayden. They came in a few moments ago. I thought you might like to meet me at the lab and see them for yourself.’
An hour or so later, Eloise looked up from her microscope. Peter Middleton was sitting next to her, still looking down the second eyepiece of the lab microscope.
‘Well, Dr Hayden, this certainly changes things, doesn’t it?’ he said after a moment.
‘It appears so, Dr Middleton,’ she said. ‘What we have here now are clear signs of foul play. The diatom test is negative for all tissues, only positive for the water in the lungs. There is clearly foreign matter, looking remarkably like feathers, in the peripheral airways, and the carbon monoxide levels are very high. I would say Ethan Jenson was well and truly dead by the time he hit the water—dead from a combination of smothering and carbon monoxide. He was in the water for at least six hours, but he didn’t die from drowning. I’d say he was put into the water about midnight, if he was found around six a.m. the next morning.’
Dr Middleton took off his glasses and leaned back in his chair, his normally curt, no-nonsense manner disappearing completely. ‘I guess I have an apology to make.’
‘You don’t need to apologise, Dr Middleton,’ Eloise said with a gracious smile. ‘I’ve had this same experience myself. You make unconscious assumptions and do what seem to be the appropriate investigations—they lead to what seem like reasonable conclusions and then someone comes in from outside, takes a fresh look, and says, “What about this or that?” and suddenly your assumptions look shaky. We’ve had some famous cases in Australia that have blown up on the basis of external reviews of the evidence, leading to charges being laid or, in one notorious case, a quashed conviction.’
‘Well, it looks like this case has just “blown up”, as you put it. I appreciate your review, and the fresh angles you’ve provided,’ he said. He gave an audible sigh and confessed, ‘On reflection, I feel I should have conducted far more extensive tests in the first place. We usually do with anyone high profile, but there had been a nasty vehicle accident the day before. A hit and run…’ He wiped his forehead with his handkerchief and shifted his eyes away from hers.
‘I understand how difficult it is,’ Eloise said softly. ‘Forensic Services are under constant pressure to produce results in a hurry. It’s the same back home.’
Peter Middleton’s gaze went back to the two signed copies of laboratory results in front of them. ‘The family will need to be informed and Chief Inspector D’Ancey,’ he said in a weighted tone.
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll take you to his office,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘It’s a short walk from here.’
Eloise followed him out of the laboratory, wondering what Lachlan was going to say when he heard what she had uncovered.
Lachlan stared at his daughter in shock. ‘Are you sure?’ he asked, ‘absolutely, totally, without a doubt sure?’
Poppy nodded miserably. ‘I saw Dr Tremayne a few days ago. He confirmed it. I’m six…’ She gulped and continued, ‘Almost seven weeks along.’
Lachlan let out a stiff curse and then, seeing the crestfallen look on his daughter’s face, came around to where she was sitting and gathered her in his arms.
‘I’m so sorry, Dad,’ she choked. ‘I don’t know how I’m going to tell Mum. It’s taken me all this time to tell you. I know she’ll kill me.’
Lachlan swallowed back his emotion. ‘No, she won’t,’ he said. ‘We’ll talk to her together and discuss your options.’
Poppy lifted her head away from his chest and looked up at him. ‘You mean…get rid of it?’
He swallowed deeply again. ‘If that is what you decide to do then I will support you through it,’ he said. ‘But I don’t want you to rush into anything you might later regret. There’s a lot to take into consideration—your age, for one thing. I know you feel all grown up, sweetheart, but you’re still a child yourself.’
‘I know…’ she gulped again, and fumbled for a tissue.
Lachlan handed her his handkerchief. His chest felt tight at the sound of her blowing her nose. That simple action reminded him of the hundreds of times over the years he had mopped her tears as a little girl.
But she was no longer a little girl.
She was going to be a mother.
Margaret was going to kill him, not Poppy, he thought with a sickening clench of his insides. He should have been more vigilant in checking she was on the Pill, but he had foolishly thought his ex-wife had seen to that.
‘Have you told Robert?’ he asked once Poppy had stopped sniffing.
‘No…I c-can’t…’ She began to cry all over again.
He frowned and reached for her again, tipping up her chin like he’d been doing ever since she’d been a toddler. ‘Why not, Poppy? Surely he has the right to know?’
Her slim throat moved up and down in anguish. ‘Because I—I’m not sure if it’s his…’
It took Lachlan a good ten seconds or more to register what she had just said. He stood staring down at her, his heart beginning to thud unevenly as a thought crept into his mind like a shadow slipping underneath a door.
‘Who else’s could it be?’ he asked in a cracked whisper that sounded nothing like his normal voice.
She looked at him through tear-glazed eyes and said, ‘Ethan Jenson’s.’
CHAPTER TEN
THE intercom suddenly buzzed on Lachlan’s desk. ‘Yes?’ he clipped out.
‘There’s a Dr Eloise Hayden here to see you,’ the junior constable said. ‘Shall I send her in?’
‘Can you ask her to wait a minute or two?’ he asked, looking at Poppy who was still pale and trembling.
‘Will do.’
Lachlan shoved a hand through his hair as he came back to where his daughter was standing. ‘Do you want me to tell your mother for you?’ he asked gently.
She bit her lip. ‘I want to tell her myself. I phoned her earlier and asked her to come and pick me up and take me back with her for a few days. She was a bit iffy to start with but then she agreed to meet me this afternoon here in Wadebridge. You don’t mind, do you, Dad?’
‘No, not at all,’ he said thinking of the very intuitive Eloise Hayden sniffing around. The sooner Poppy was out of town, the better. ‘Have you told anyone else—one of your friends, for instance?’
She shook her head. ‘No, only you and Dr Tremayne know. He insisted I tell you.’
‘Good. Let’s keep it that way for now,’ he said. After a little pause he added, ‘Did you have strong feelings for Ethan or was it just a little fling to make Robert sit up and take notice?’
Poppy gave him a shamefaced look. ‘It was a stupid mistake to get involved with him,’ she said. ‘I was trying to make Robert jealous after we had that horrible argument a few weeks back. Ethan flirted with me and I enjoyed the attention but then it sort of got out of hand.’
Lachlan felt every hair on the back of his neck lift in apprehension. ‘He didn’t force you, did he?’
‘No, of course not,’ she answered glumly. ‘I was just too stupid to see him for what he is…I mean was. He slept with three other girls that same week, including Molly Beale of all people. She’s so slutty. I feel disgusted with myself for falling for his charm like that.’
He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. ‘We all make mistakes, sweetheart,’ he said.
‘I’m so sorry, Dad,’ she said again. ‘You must be so disappointed in me.’
Brides of Penhally Bay - Vol 2 Page 41