by Anne Buist
‘But if Malik is innocent?’
‘You think I’m wrong?’
‘I think you should consider how you would determine if she was being abused—at least to a level of evidence you were happy with.’
‘I wouldn’t do it at all,’ said Natalie. ‘I’m not a child psychiatrist.’
Declan smiled. ‘But it would be…good for you, Natalie. Good for the girl too.’
Natalie raised her eyebrow. ‘How do you figure that?’
‘Chelsea has been assessed by the system and is now at risk of falling through the cracks. If Jenna gets custody it will be over, no more need for interference. But you could persuade Jenna to bring Chelsea to see you, so you can help Jenna with her parenting and Chelsea with her demons.’
‘You think it’ll help my demons too. About my father.’
For a second she felt that sense of guilt again, the frozen view of the world from a child’s eyes. And the single eye staring at her.
Declan put his glasses down. ‘What do you think?’
‘You’re going all analyst on me. I think I don’t need the aggravation. I’d have to do individual sessions. I really know nothing about eight-year-olds. Because I’m not a child psychiatrist, I’d need supervision, ideally on the other side of a one-way screen. It could take weeks, months even.’
‘You’re not due until April,’ said Declan mildly.
‘No way.’
20
‘Can you take this call?’ Beverley handed her the phone without waiting for an answer and turned back to her mobile. Today she looked like a bumblebee, black stripes breaking up the yellow. ‘You there? No, I told you we need the big room. Jack has a huge family. Oh, and we need wheelchair access—’
Natalie glared, but the effort was wasted: Beverley was fully focused and forging ahead. Unfortunately, not with work. Her latest mission was badgering Natalie to sing at the wedding.
‘Doctor King speaking.’
‘This is Malik Essa, Doctor King.’
Great. Damn Beverley and her wedding; she could have at least put the call through to Natalie’s office. She was aware that all the people in the waiting room were watching her. A woman in lurid purple and matching lipstick smiled encouragingly.
‘Yes?’
‘The court case is tomorrow.’ She knew that. Malik paused. ‘I…miss my son, Doctor King. Chris…he needs me.’
‘I know.’ Natalie reminded herself to stick to murderers in future. ‘I’m not the judge. I don’t make the decision.’ She turned her back to the audience and kept her voice as low as she could.
‘But the lawyer…she says your evidence is most important.’
‘I…’ Natalie bit her lip. Malik’s voice was breaking up. Sure, she had to be impartial. But she was a psychiatrist, and right now she wanted to be healing, not trying to dodge shots being fired in someone else’s dispute. ‘Your kids love you, Malik,’ she said.
There was a whispered thank you before he hung up the phone. And Natalie was left with the uncomfortable knowledge that she should have added: But I can’t prove you didn’t abuse Chelsea. And if she couldn’t do that, the safest option was still for Chelsea—and maybe Chris—to remain in Jenna’s care exclusively.
Natalie had planned to stop off at the supermarket but as she got on her bike Liam texted. Sorry have to work late. Will crash at South Yarra.
She got back to her warehouse and showered, lingered in front of the mirror as she dressed. She still looked okay; bit of a belly maybe. Well, that was only going to get bigger. She thought of her pregnant patients, bloated and tired, worn out by their estranged relationships, the pregnancy and their children. Was that what was going to happen to her?
She looked at Damian’s text. Had the blood test. He was still holding out hope that the bean might be his. Reminding her he would be an involved father. Was he still thinking there was a possibility of them working out? Surely not.
The blood test. She hadn’t got hers. She was busy…but not that busy.
Liam would be working with Tania. Cute, blonde like his wife. Natalie’s age. Single. Tough. Liam had form. Maybe he wouldn’t even think twice about someone on the side.
Question was, did she want to fight for Liam? She heard Declan: This isn’t just about you. She felt like smashing her fist into her punching bag, but instead gritted her teeth and pulled on her leather skirt and tank top and over-the-knee boots. No underwear. She took the tram into town.
Liam’s offices were on William Street, between the County and Family Court buildings. An after-hours buzzer brought a security man to the door: he recognised Natalie and waved her through. The metal studs on her boots and outfit sent the metal detector into a frenzy—they both shrugged, and she took the lift to the tenth floor. Most of the lights were off but Liam’s door was open, paperwork strewn everywhere. No one in sight. But there was noise from Tania’s office further down the corridor.
What would she do, Natalie wondered, if she caught them at it? Was that what she was hoping for? To give her the excuse, that it was all his fault, not hers? She didn’t like Tania particularly, but she reminded herself that her issue was with Liam. Although if Tania was hurt in the crossfire Natalie wouldn’t be heartbroken.
Involuntarily she remembered the first time Liam touched her. The electricity, the sense of invincibility. She gritted her teeth, strode forward and eased Tania’s office door open.
Tania, long fringe over her face, was on the floor showing a good deal of leg and, from Natalie’s angle, cleavage as well.
Natalie stood in the doorway and smiled at Liam. The only thing surrounding Tania’s shapely body was a collection of files on three sides. Liam was at the desk, sleeves rolled up and top shirt button undone, tie discarded on the desktop where it was half-covered in paperwork. He looked tired.
His first look was surprise, then he stretched his shoulders and neck and grinned. The mischievous grin that usually heralded the removal of clothing. She leaned against the door frame, smile matching his.
‘I think that might be enough for tonight.’ Liam hadn’t broken eye contact. He was aware of the game she was playing and was up for it. His look said I’m yours. It didn’t say for how long.
‘Well I guess I’ll just be going then.’ Tania sounded peeved. She stood up, straightened her short skirt and picked a file off the desk, tossing her asymmetrical fringe as she did. ‘I’ll keep looking tomorrow and in the meantime I’ll finish this tonight at home.’ She remained standing. When no one moved she turned to Natalie. ‘Liam’s office is down the hall.’
Natalie looked at the other woman, whose face said all that the words hadn’t.
Liam was only seconds behind her, closing his office door, pulling her to him.
‘Don’t trust me, hey?’
‘Is that relevant?’ Natalie pulled away from him, walked over to his desk and sat on it, turning back to face him. He watched her kick her boots off then walked slowly to her, kneeling before her, hands on the flesh of her thighs.
‘You know I still think you’re the hottest woman I have ever fucked don’t you?’
‘Ever fucked? How about the hottest including the ones you’ve ever wanted to fuck?’
Liam’s lips went to the inner parts of her thighs as his hands worked around under her bare butt. ‘You might need to remind me.’
‘First here then,’ said Natalie, leaning back to rest on her elbows, bending her knees. ‘And then…maybe on Tania’s desk. If you’re up to it.’
Liam needed a glass of whiskey—two glasses of water for her—in between. But he was up to it.
21
Natalie arrived as the overhead speakers were asking for parties involved in the Essa case to proceed to courtroom three. As she sat down, she wished she’d had time to ask if the child psychiatrist, or psychologist, had already presented their findings. And what the findings were.
The courtroom was even more crowded than it had been the first time. Katlego Okeke was back—this time i
n a red turban and a red and green dress. Li Yang was seated, reading the newspaper. Jenna, in black, and her father were behind the lawyer, neither looking comfortable. In Harvey Alcock’s place were what looked like two law clerks poised to take notes and a woman with neat files marked with orange stickers poking out the sides. Further along, Malik was sitting alone. Ama was directly behind him, but no sign of Pam Warren. Natalie leaned forward and tapped Winona on the shoulder.
‘Where’s…’ she tipped her head towards Malik.
‘Couldn’t afford the lawyer,’ Winona whispered. ‘He’s representing himself.’
‘Really?’ That explained the tearful phone call—he was desperate.
‘You don’t know the half.’ Winona tried unsuccessfully to suppress a smile. ‘After the debacle in the media, we’ve got a QC.’
Natalie stared. She’d never seen a QC in the Children’s Court. Protective Services were in self-protection mode.
‘You’ve probably heard of him,’ added Winona. ‘Richard Tatterson. Better known as the Dictator.’
Li Yang caught sight of Natalie and got up, leaning over. ‘We haven’t quite finished with the last witness; we had to take a break for some paperwork to be printed out—it’ll be a little while before you’re on. You can get coffee.’
Natalie shook her head. Aside from the quality of the court coffee, she wanted to hear what the child expert said.
The doors swung open and a man swanned in as if he owned the place; had to be the Dictator. Pinstripes and light blue tie. An elegant man in his fifties who looked good and knew it even as he squeezed in between the law clerks. Slumming it, Natalie imagined, compared to his usual court; here there would literally be no space for theatrical gestures.
Louise Perkins took her seat and asked for the witness to return to the stand. He was, it transpired, sitting behind Natalie.
Wadhwa. Natalie tapped Li’s shoulders. ‘He knows nothing about children,’ she told the lawyer.
Li smiled. ‘He’s not here about Chelsea.’
Natalie sat back. So why in the hell was he here?
‘Since he won that defamation case,’ Winona whispered, ‘he’s become the celebrity psych for hire. Untouchable.’ She managed to keep a straight face. ‘After Malik’s lawyer used his report at the last hearing, they can’t protest about us using him now.’
‘So, given his stand on women making false claims, why are you?’ Natalie was struggling to keep her voice to a whisper.
‘He never said all accusations were fabricated. The article establishes him as a sceptic, so it adds to his credibility if he says that he believes a particular claim.’
Natalie looked at Malik—he was being targeted directly, then. He looked as if he knew it.
‘So, Professor Wadhwa,’ the Dictator asked as he adjusted his tie. ‘Your examination of the…Mr Essa? Would you be good enough to summarise your findings?’
‘Mr Essa has features of an antisocial and paranoid personality disorder.’ Wadhwa cleared his throat. ‘This means that he is not able to feel empathy. It also accounts for the morbid jealousy I was discussing earlier.’
That explained the morning session. Li must have gone for the angle about Malik being dangerous to Jenna. Now where was the Dictator going? Natalie flashed a look at Malik; his head was down and he was writing furiously. Ama, sitting behind him, was whispering angrily but he appeared to be ignoring her.
‘So, Professor Wadhwa.’ The Dictator drew out the title. ‘What sort of father does a psychopath make?’ The terms antisocial personality disorder, sociopath and psychopath were generally used interchangeably—the Dictator had chosen the one that had the worst public perception. Natalie’s skin started to prickle.
‘Oh, not very good.’ Wadhwa shook his head, his expression almost comically horrified. ‘Violent, possessive, no respect for the law, no remorse, this is very bad for children. Bad role model, perhaps also in the genes. In studies, antisocial fathers have a higher likelihood of antisocial sons. There is also evidence on brain scans—’ Wadhwa, making frequent references to notes, delivered what sounded like a literature review from a PhD thesis.
Natalie saw Malik’s hand tighten on the pen. But it was Jenna’s expression that arrested her. She was smiling. Smug even. She had to know what Wadhwa was saying was bullshit—this was not the man Jenna had described to her. Not as a father anyway.
Wadhwa had claimed that the majority of sexual abuse accusations made in the context of custody disputes were false. Natalie didn’t believe that—but she was not naive enough to think that it didn’t happen at all. She wondered if Jenna had planned this from the start. Maybe she had hoped to get by without using the abuse claim, but when Malik decided he wanted the kids—and some maintenance—she’d gone for broke. Or had things taken on a life of their own? It wasn’t as if Jenna could have predicted Okeke would get involved and that a QC would be brought in as a result—with Wadhwa in his wake.
‘So Mr Essa is not someone who could put his child first?’ the Dictator asked when Wadhwa finally stopped.
‘That is completely correct.’
‘And that would apply to sons and daughters, and quite separate from abuse claims?’
‘This is so, yes.’
‘Thank you, Professor Wadhwa.’
Malik was on his feet before the Dictator had sat down. The magistrate got in first. ‘Mr Essa, may I remind you to keep your questions brief. And non-inflammatory.’
Malik nodded. There were bags under his eyes.
‘Professor Wadhwa, you saw Mr Essa on one occasion, is that right?’
‘Mr Essa? You? Yes, that is so.’
Malik was clearly trying his best to be professional but his emotions were etched on his face and in his voice. Natalie found herself sitting on the edge of her chair.
‘How long was that appointment?’
‘Two hours.’
‘It was…’ Malik stopped himself. ‘Is it possible it was less?’ The anger in his tone was barely concealed.
‘This was the time slot in my diary.’
‘But you took two phone calls and…’
‘Okay Mr Essa,’ said the magistrate. ‘You’ve made your point.’
One to Malik. Not bad against a QC’s witness.
‘And how is it,’ Malik continued, ‘that in barely an hour and a quarter you can say so clearly that I…Mr Essa…has a personality disorder?’ Malik picked up a sheet and started quoting from it—it sounded like the psychiatrist’s diagnostic bible, DSM. The internet made everyone an expert. ‘It is a lifetime disorder…not to be diagnosed on a…a…’ He looked down. ‘Cross-sectional interview.’
Wadhwa gave him a condescending look. ‘I am an experienced forensic psychiatrist, an academic. I rely on years of clinical practice and research that I can hardly waste the court’s time explaining.’
‘But,’ Malik pulled out another sheet of paper. ‘An antisocial personality disorder requires at least three of seven criteria.’
‘Indeed.’ Wadhwa looked to the magistrate. ‘He was most irritable with me…’
Who wasn’t? thought Natalie.
‘He also lies about the abuse and there is no sign of regret.’
Regret could be hardly expressed for something you were denying. Louise Perkins raised an eyebrow; she seemed to get this.
‘Professor Wadhwa, is there more to it than that?’ she asked.
‘Of course.’ Wadhwa looked at his report. ‘As a child he was a problem at school. Involved in fights.’
Natalie frowned, remembering what Ama and Malik had said about his childhood.
Wadhwa turned to Malik. ‘This is also necessary for the lifelong criteria.’ Turning back to Louise he added, ‘And the court has seen his violent behaviour first-hand.’
Malik hadn’t done himself any favours at the last hearing; but interrupting a magistrate was hardly violence. He looked like he was defeated. He sat down and raised his head to ask one last question. ‘Did you see Mr Essa at all, ev
en once, with his son?’
‘This is not necessary for a diagnosis of personality disorder.’
‘But did you?’
‘No. This was not necessary.’
At least Wadhwa wasn’t claiming to be a child expert.
Wadhwa was excused, walking past Natalie without even glancing at her. The magistrate looked at her watch.
‘I see the next witness is here but as we’re unlikely to finish with her before lunch I propose an early break. Reconvene at one p.m.’ The QC wasn’t objecting, so the disruption to Natalie’s day wasn’t going to carry much weight; she’d just have to ring Beverley and get her to reschedule her afternoon patients. Katlego Okeke, from the look of how much writing she was doing, would be using the time to submit an entire manuscript to her publisher.
22
Natalie took her place on the stand and went through the formalities of swearing in and her statement of qualifications.
Li Yang asked the first question without standing up or looking at her.
‘You talk about reflective functioning on page six.’
It took Natalie a moment to realise she was meant to answer. ‘Reflective functioning is the capacity to see the world from, in this case, the child’s point of view. That is, to see the child’s needs and feelings as separate from your own.’
‘So, empathy.’
‘That’s part of it.’
‘And it’s important?’
‘Yes, very. It is the crux of good parenting. No parent can do it all the time, but if you can’t do it at all then the child’s world becomes frightening, confusing and cold: who can they turn to when their needs are very real but the adult can’t perceive them and doesn’t validate the emotion they are experiencing?’
‘And you say Mrs Essa has this capacity?’
Natalie took a breath. ‘Yes, but…’
‘And Mrs Essa could learn to be more reflective?’