The fire in the grate had burned down to fine ash, the house now steeped in its damp, earthy smell. Newspapers lay scattered on the worn carpet at the foot of the old man’s worn leather armchair beside the fireplace. The tea dishes were still on the sideboard where they had been left to drain. Under one of the stools at the breakfast bar, Ben’s shabby red sneakers waited for their next outing, one lying on its side. Rachel’s denim jacket lay abandoned on another stool after she had decided not to wear it after all, flustered and blubbering at having to make the decision quickly because Tim had been agitating for her to hurry up.
He knew yesterday morning, from the moment she had wandered into the kitchen, that something had been wrong. Her deadpan face had been as pale as flour. She’d wandered past him to the fridge, her pink slippers scraping along the slate, her dressing gown hanging off thin shoulders. He recalled how everyone had just gone on with the usual morning’s business … Ben running in and out like a banshee, looking for his footy boots … the old man in a world of his own, reading his paper and sipping coffee in front of the fire. Mum at the kitchen sink, her hands immersed in suds. He had watched Rachel pour a glass of juice and it had crossed his mind to ask, What’s up, Rach? Are you okay?
He stood now, his hands in his pockets and looked around at the emptiness of home, wishing with unblinking regret that he had in fact put those simple words to her at the time. How hard would it have been? And how different would the situation be now if he had?
CHAPTER FOUR
‘This had damn well better be serious,’ Mia called to Chester, blisteringly angry at not being on her way home at that very moment. Just the thought of being so near, yet so far from sleep, made her exceedingly tired. She questioned her own sanity for obediently scuttling along like an unthinking moron behind this over-dramatic RN, watching his ridiculous blond highlights shimmer under every downlight along this extraordinarily lengthy corridor. ‘That’s it, Chester. No more. Either tell me what’s going on, or I am immediately heading back to my office and then going home,’ she said, slowing down.
Chester finally stopped and turned, watched as she approached, then promptly gathered speed again once she had caught up to him.
‘Chrissakes,’ she said feeling slightly short of breath. She broke into a run to stay up with him as they pushed through the internal timber doors of Emergency’s treatment area, which swung and thumped closed behind them.
‘You’ll see soon enough,’ he said, turning to her briefly and wearing his best hangdog expression.
‘Seriously Chester. You are such a drama queen,’ she said.
Mia stood at the side of the gurney, unable to detect any discernible difference between the Rachel lying unconscious and wan before her now, and the Rachel she had left 10 minutes before. She looked to Chester and rolled her eyes, shook her head. ‘So?’ she said, one eyebrow lifting in a perfect arch as she crossed her arms over her chest.
Chester tossed a granite glance at Mia before gently, almost reverently, lifting the sheet covering Rachel and slowly folding it back to reveal the teen’s small naked body … her immature triangle of dark pubic hair, her pale thin legs. He hesitated briefly before lifting her left leg and bending it at the knee, slowly pushing it back towards her torso. Then he glanced again at Mia, but this time his eyes bored into hers like spikes of steel.
In a split second, every conceivable explanation passed through Mia’s mind like a pack of flash cards, yet every hair on her body was bristling. She stepped forward and pulled the overhead light closer to Rachel. Aimed it for a clearer view of the swelling and bruising on the teen’s genitals and thighs. ‘I’m not sure what to make of this,’ she muttered, snapping on latex gloves and gently separating the juvenile labia to reveal more swelling and noticeable grazing.
‘Now do you get why I was worried?’ Chester murmured.
‘The colour of these contusions means her injuries are recent. Like within the past 24 hours,’ Mia said in hushed tones. ‘They could be from external trauma … perhaps she fell while she was under the influence,’ she said, quickly scanning the length of Rachel’s torso and limbs for the second time and, again, finding no sign of bruising or other trauma. She took a deep breath. ‘Or it could be the result of rough sex … and of course, she’s only 15, so it wouldn’t have been consensual.’ Her brow furrowed. She ripped off the latex gloves and dropped them into the bin. ‘We will have to report it to the police.’
She silently noted the hard but compassionate set to Chester’s thin lips as he gently lowered the teen’s leg down onto the crisp white sheet. All the while she pondered whether or not she should immediately call Child Protection Services, or wait until Rachel was conscious and could tell them for herself what had happened.
Chester carefully guided Rachel’s limp arms into the sleeves of a blue hospital gown and, seemingly deep in contemplation, tied each tape slowly to secure the front. ‘Child Protection Services will want to speak to her before they examine her, won’t they?’ he said as though reading Mia’s thoughts.
‘They usually do,’ Mia said.
‘Oh, I almost forgot. There are these as well,’ Chester said, turning to a pile of clothing on the chair and removing a small pair of briefs, which he held up to Mia with pincered fingers.
Mia took the panties from Chester with a pen and peered closely at the fine pink fabric, scattered with sprays of pink flowers, and also with large brown patches, indisputably diluted blood. She dropped the panties back onto the pile of clothing, picked up Rachel’s jeans and noted that they had similar stains on the crotch and inner thighs.
‘Jack Carmichael said she had voided before he arrived,’ Mia said. ‘Are there any signs she has her periods … like a pad or tampon?’
Chester slowly blinked and shook his head, his lips tightly pursed. ‘Nothing.’
‘Could you phone whoever is on call in Child Protection Services and let them know what has happened? They can decide how they want to run with this.’
Chester would have been acutely aware of Mia’s frustration. He would know she was chafing at the bit to personally conduct an internal examination of Rachel. The existing window of opportunity was exceedingly small and a barrage of questions needed to be answered. Yet as tempting and prudent as it seemed for Mia to go ahead, she was not forensically qualified, meaning she would be tainting evidence.
‘I’ll grab some sleep for three or four hours at home. Rachel will probably still be asleep when I return to duty,’ Mia told him. ‘In the meantime, bag all her clothes and lock them away. And above all, she is not to shower or bathe until this is sorted … not even as much as a sponge bath.’
Chester nodded silently as he slowly removed a plastic bag from the cupboard and shook it open. Mia pulled the curtain closed behind her and made her way back to her office. They had both come across these types of injuries before, but it never got any easier.
The strap of her bag across her shoulder, her trench coat over her arm, Mia entered the staffroom to aromas of coffee and baked beans. Sanjay Prakeesh stood in front of the wide window with his back to her, one hand in the pocket of his immaculate white coat, the other holding a large mug from which he took slow deliberate sips. From this angle she could tell his head was still, but she knew instinctively that his dark eyes would be roaming over the parkland landscape outside and the shadowy outlines of homes owned by the people who could afford to live in this part of the city.
‘Sanjay,’ she said softly, moving towards him, ‘I’m sorry to invade your downtime.’
‘Mia. I thought you would have left long ago,’ he said, turning from the window and breaking into a wide white smile.
‘I’ve been delayed. Chester has just discovered signs of genital trauma in Rachel Hooper.’
‘My goodness. Yes … I know the patient. She’s a minor, is she not? Oh, my goodness. That is very disturbing news,’ Sanjay said in a voice that was even more monotone than usual. He shook his head slowly and wordlessly peered down at
the floor as though searching for more words.
‘I’ll phone the police on my way home. And Chester will notify Child Protection Services and bag her clothing. You know the rest of the drill, I’m sure,’ she said.
Sanjay nodded. ‘When do you anticipate she will regain consciousness?’
Mia thought she detected alarm fleetingly cross Sanjay’s solemn dark eyes. She folded her arms, still draped with the trench coat. ‘I’m back on duty in four hours. I should imagine she’ll remain sedated until then, but please ring me if she wakes,’ she said. ‘I live only five minutes away. I can be here immediately.’
‘Sure. Is there anything else I need to do?’ Sanjay said, striding over to the sink and rinsing his mug.
‘No. It’s all sorted.’ She made her way towards the staffroom door. ‘Chester can bring you up to date if you need more information. ’Night, Sanjay.’
Tiredness suddenly hit her with the impact of a wrecking ball and she walked carefully and slowly down the poorly-lit concrete steps of the hospital car park. Squinting at her watch she calculated it would be close to evening in Singapore. Her heart sank. She knew once dinnertime arrived she would have no hope of talking to him. She clucked and shook her head with unblinking frustration. Eric and his colleagues invariably debriefed that day’s business over dinner, and planned for the next. She was more than grateful not to be enduring this eye-wateringly tedious experience with Eric and his associates, but she was affronted by knowing he would have his phone switched off, probably for the entire evening.
‘Damn you, Eric,’ she said, her voice echoing off the concrete walls. ‘What’s up with you, anyway? Why won’t you ring?’ She pointed the remote at her car, which beeped and flashed, momentarily brightening the dark dankness of the car park.
After removing her mobile from her bag and tossing it on the passenger seat, she dropped her handbag and coat into the rear, slid into the driver’s seat and started the ignition. Pulling the seatbelt over and clicking it into place she was reminded of the occasion a couple of years ago when Eric could not explain why the passenger’s seatbelt in his car had for weeks carried the distinct fragrance of a Chanel perfume. She pushed the memory from her mind, physically moving her shoulders as though shaking it off. She was torn by her tendency to retreat into deep dark corners of insecurity whenever she couldn’t reach or speak to Eric and — the other extreme — of naively burying her head in the sand. She slammed the car into reverse, the squeal of her wheels echoing throughout the gloomy space in futile protest.
The heater’s warmth seeped through and comforted her somewhat as she drove from the car park into the grey dawn and moved slowly along the narrow side road, wet and shimmering with the reflections of the yellow streetlamps. Pulling up at a red light, she slipped her mobile into the hands-free cradle and searched her contacts for the Police Sex Crimes Unit, which sadly, she dialled often enough to warrant a listing.
‘Come on, answer …’ she murmured, accelerating on the green light, the hollow tone of the unanswered phone echoing over the loudspeaker in her car.
‘This is Tamblyn,’ a deep voice finally responded.
‘Hi. Is there a detective available to speak to, please?’ Mia said, suddenly alert.
‘This is Detective Sergeant Noah Tamblyn speaking. How can I help?’
‘This is Mia Sandhurst, Senior Emergency Paediatrician at the Children’s Hospital. I don’t think we’ve spoken before,’ she said, curious. The Sex Crimes Unit seemed to have an exceptionally low turnover of detectives and she thought she knew most of them.
‘This is only my second week here. How can I help?’ he repeated.
Immediately rankled by his officious tone she straightened her shoulders and cleared her throat. ‘A 15 year old girl, Rachel Hooper, was admitted to my section tonight unconscious from alcohol and drug overdose. She has signs of genital trauma, which could possibly be consistent with sexual assault. Her underwear is also stained with blood diluted by what appears to be urine, maybe semen. We have bagged her clothing … Hello … are you still there?’ Mia said, unable to detect any sign of life or interest at the other end of the phone.
‘Yes. I’m here. Go on …’ Noah Tamblyn replied.
Again Mia cleared her throat. ‘I couldn’t hear anything at the other end,’ she growled, immediately regretting it. ‘Anyway, I have sedated her so she is still unconscious. I thought you would want to know as soon as possible. That way you guys can be the first to talk to her.’ Mia pictured, at the other end of the phone, an older, oversized man with a bad haircut, fidgeting, impatient to get back to his coffee, and jam doughnuts.
‘You guessed right,’ he shot back in a tone she could not fathom. ‘I suggest you alert the Child Protection Unit at the hospital and we will coordinate our investigation with theirs.’
Oh, yes. That’s right. A job shared is a job avoided, Mia thought. But what she said was, ‘Trust me, Child Protection Services have been notified. I shall return to duty in a few hours and will ask Maggie Malloy to call you then.’
‘Maggie Malloy … she’s the psychologist there, isn’t she?’ the detective asked.
‘Yes.’ Mia rolled her eyes.
‘I’m assuming she will be in a position to arrange a medical,’ he said accusingly.
‘Well, of course, I don’t have their schedule, but that would be the intention,’ Mia said, impatient now to get off the phone.
‘Good. Sounds like a plan,’ and he hung up.
Mia stabbed violently at the end call button. ‘So many boys behaving badly. Who needs them?’ she muttered, sighing and turning the car into the opening of her undercroft car park, relishing the sense of finally being at home.
CHAPTER FIVE
Eric’s eyes were fixed on the screen of his mobile where Mia’s image flashed to the rhythm of its shrill rings. From within a bed of billowing white he raised onto one elbow and ran his fingers agitatedly through his hair — still much more pepper than salt and tousled from sleep.
‘Why don’t you answer it?’ the voice of a shadowy female rasped sleepily at his side.
Mia woke in a panic, immediately followed by a tsunami of relief once she realised it had been a dream and that it was her phone that was actually ringing. But her sense of ease was shortlived once it occurred to her that it was now day four since Eric had drifted off the radar. She dragged her tongue over bark-dry lips, turned to the bedside clock glowing 9.15am and picked up her bleating mobile phone. Throwing off the covers she swung her legs to the floor, vowing to change the bed to its summer linen and light blanket before she crawled back into it tonight, and promising herself she would ring Eric’s PA today, regardless of it being Sunday.
‘Good morning, Mia,’ Chester said, in high theatrics mode the moment she answered. ‘Sanjay insisted I call you because our young friend Rachel Hooper is awake and driving everyone crazy with her vociferous and unrelenting demands for a shower. What do you want me to do?’
Mia imagined Chester grabbing his hair, pacing the floor and rolling his eyes to further emphasise his hyperbolic protests. ‘Oh, for chrissakes, Chester … do whatever it takes to prevent her from having a shower. I’ll be there in 15 minutes.’
While she showered, Mia wondered if Maggie Malloy from Child Protection Services was also on her way to the hospital to speak with Rachel. She regretted she had not thought to confirm it with Chester while she had him on the line. The sight of Rachel’s injuries bled into her consciousness, a little less definitively than last night. She wondered if the shock had caused her to exaggerate in her mind what she had seen. She slapped on moisturiser and a slick each of mascara and lip gloss, then she pulled on jeans and a black linen shirt, bundled her hair into a loose knot on top of her head and, with her oversized bag tossed over her shoulder, ran down the concrete steps to the undercroft.
She thrashed her car along the main road to the hospital and squealed into the hospital car park less than 15 minutes after Chester’s call.
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��I feel sorry for the girl, I truly do,’ Chester said, planting his hands on his hips as he stepped into Mia’s office, ‘but at this very moment I could happily strangle her.’ He rolled his eyes with a sense of the dramatic only Chester could generate.
Mia had hardly had time to gather her thoughts and was fishing her white coat from her narrow cloak cupboard, deliberately avoiding eye contact with Chester so as not to encourage him. ‘I’m assuming Maggie Malloy is on her way,’ she said with deliberate calm as she turned momentarily towards him.
‘Of course,’ Chester retorted.
‘In that case, you can relax,’ she said, tossing her bag into the cupboard, which she then locked before slipping the key into the pocket of her white coat. ‘Soon Maggie will have gathered all the evidence … and Rachel can finally have the shower she is screeching for, which in turn means …’ Mia recalled with lightning clarity the pained expression on Rachel’s mother’s face as she complained about her difficulties in getting Rachel to shower. ‘Annie Hooper said Rachel hated having showers. Why has that suddenly changed, I wonder?’
Chester put his head on the side and frowned. ‘Mia. The poor girl is literally saturated with vomit, urine, and alcohol fumes. Of course she wants a shower …’ he said, intuitively turning his head to watch Maggie Malloy step into the office.
‘Hey Maggie,’ Mia said, hugging the beaming, willowy psychologist. ‘Am I ever glad to see you.’ She guided Maggie to the vinyl couch and sat beside her. ‘You’re looking great,’ she said, eyeing the sage-green suit, short auburn curls and flawless, make-up free complexion.
‘Don’t lie, Mia. I look like shit. My eyes are road maps,’ she said, facing Mia and deliberately widening her green, red-rimmed eyes. ‘Mum wandered off in the middle of the night again,’ she said, immediately straightening in her seat. ‘But, let’s not go there. Tell me what’s happening with Rachel Hooper.’
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