Things We Cannot See

by Dianne Maguire

  ‘Huh? Oh yeah. They did blood tests and forensic tests.’

  ‘Was it awful? Did they put you out to it when they did them?’

  ‘Yeah. I think I was sedated when they did the blood tests but for the forensic test – like the internal – I was, um, awake . . . they needed my permission to do it . . . But I don’t remember much about it . . .’

  Her sobs undermining her efforts at speaking, Alex took a deep shuddering breath. And again Maddi felt useless. Worse – she felt like she was adding to her friend’s misery by probing so tenaciously. But it needed to be done.

  ‘Alex?’

  ‘Yeah?’

  ‘Did they say anything about . . . about, you know, what happened with Colby?’

  Again a beat of silence before Alex’s face twisted. ‘Why would they say anything about that?’

  Maddi cleared her throat. ‘Because people who do those sorts of medicals ask questions like that,’ she said softly.

  ‘No, they didn’t ask. And no, I’m not going to tell them, and neither are you.’

  Madeline was determined to get her message through. ‘OK, just saying. I think you should be prepared with an answer because they may ask you at some stage,’ she said, pushing her hair back off her face.

  ‘It’s getting cold out here. I need to go inside,’ Alex snapped.

  ‘Will you be at school tomorrow?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘OK. Well, I’ll ring you. OK?

  ‘Yeah. See you.’

  Maddi placed her phone on the bedside table and leaned back into the pillows, noticing the chandelier’s prisms no longer reflected any sun. And she wished, best friend or not, that Alex had never told her about what had happened with Colby Pallins only months ago.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ‘I have your message about Roger Grenfell writing Alex Holt lewd notes,’ Noah said to Laura over the phone, mere moments after she had left him the message.

  ‘They were not lewd, Noah, but Roger is clearly taking more than a casual interest in Alex. He has written two letters – the first saying he likes her, and the second more forceful, suggesting they should be girlfriend and boyfriend,’ she said.

  ‘Interesting. Does Alex still have the notes?’

  ‘No. She destroyed them. She’s afraid her parents will find them. They seem very protective.’

  ‘Mm. Alex sounds protective as well – of Roger. What else did she say about him?’

  Laura could hear Noah chewing into the phone. ‘Are you eating?’ she said, pulling up at the city traffic lights.

  ‘It’s lunchtime, Laura,’ he said. ‘Go on . . . Do you think Alex is protecting Roger or not?’

  Laura rolled her eyes and accelerated with the green light. ‘No. Alex sees Roger as harmless. She said she’s nice to him because she thinks he is misjudged by a lot of people, including her parents. She’s more wary of him now though – since the attack, I mean.’

  ‘Let’s talk to him. Where are you now?’

  ‘I’m thirty seconds away from the office. I could collect you and we could drive there together.’

  ‘No, that doesn’t work for me. I have another interview after. I’ll see you there. Do you have Roger’s address?’

  Pulling into the kerb in front of a stone bungalow, Laura peered across the road at Roger Grenfell’s rigidly square house, squat under a flat iron roof, it’s tiny front windows separated by a security screen door. The front garden was little more than a stretch of gravel below a front veranda and a weed-free bed of red geraniums running the length of a low chain-link fence. A slate path faded with age cut a straight line from the front gate to a pair of steps up to a verandah.

  Laura noticed Connors Lane was a little off-centre rather than immediately opposite Roger’s house, meaning only one of his front windows had a view of its entrance. And even then it would be an angled view only of what was little more than a narrow gap between two galvanised iron fences. Clear sight from Roger’s house of anything happening within the lane would be virtually impossible. Laura gathered up her bag and her notebook and stepped from the car, noticing the heavy drapes moving ever so slightly in one of the windows of the bungalow. Perversely taunting the faceless person who felt compelled to spy on her, Laura admired the bungalow’s front garden in detail. Members of the public always knew a police presence, even when in an unmarked car, so she was familiar with being studied from behind corners or bushes, or through clandestine cracks in curtains. She stared directly at the drapes, waiting for the gap to close as they usually did. But it did not waver. Turning towards an approaching car and shielding her eyes from the sun, she watched Noah pull into the curb.

  He was clutching his iPad and notebook when they met on the pavement. He was a tall athletic man with salty brown hair just beginning to thin; a seemingly formidable character, if not for his boyish grin and total lack of awareness of his charm. He and Mia Sandhurst, a senior paediatrician at the Children’s Hospital, seemed the perfect couple. Indeed Noah had given up his dream job with the Federal Police in Canberra to be here with her. With a stab of regret, Laura wondered if Simon had ever loved her in the way Noah obviously did Mia.

  ‘Let’s have a look down Connor Lane first,’ Noah said, tossing a disinterested glance towards the bungalow’s trembling curtains before he and Laura wandered into the lane. Parallel corrugated iron fences, their height dwarfing even Noah, formed the ramrod straight laneway, barely wide enough for them to walk side-by-side, its harshness only vaguely softened by encroaching greenery from neighbouring gardens.

  ‘This is so gloomy, even in daylight,’ Laura said. ‘And with only one street lamp either end it would be pretty scary at night.’

  Noah stretched up to his full height and peered over the fence into adjoining backyards. ‘Alex doesn’t usually come this way after work,’ he said. ‘The perpetrator actually dragged her in here after grabbing her in front of her house.’ He pointed ahead to a tree-lined street visible at the other end. ‘She lives a few houses down there on Walker Street. Signs of a scuffle show she was almost in her driveway when her attacker grabbed her.’

  They continued to walk the length of the lane without speaking.

  ‘This is where her stepfather found her,’ Noah said, stopping at a disintegrating patch of paving about three metres from the lane’s northern end. Again he stretched and peered over the fence at neighbouring properties.

  ‘I can see now why Forensics were unable to get any reliable footprints. Let’s take a wander to Alex’s house,’ he muttered clearly steeped in thought.

  They followed the footpath on Walker Street past a collection of houses – some meticulous, scrubbed and manicured, others with slightly less tended gardens and exteriors in need of attention. Ash and Jacaranda trees threw patches of shade across the footpath. Although these were still expensive pieces of real estate, once upon a time they would have been well beyond the financial reach of most.

  ‘Alex and her family live here,’ Noah said nodding towards a white stucco house fronted by a large mailbox sporting the number ‘36.’ A verandah ending at the front door ran down one side of the well-maintained house, parallel to a gravel driveway. The garden, an eclectic collection of shrubs and trees, gave Laura the impression it had once been a source of great pride, but more recently had been left to fend for itself, even though the front lawn seemed incongruously well-tended.

  ‘Alex’s attacker must have been very strong to have dragged her from here to the lane,’ Laura said.

  ‘Yeah,’ Noah scratched the side of his neck. ‘Come on, we’d better go have that talk with Mr Grenfell.’

  Both silent in their individual thoughts, Laura and Noah made their way back along the lane towards Roger’s house. Laura had read on file that Roger had a part-time job, so she pondered what they would do if he were not at home. Noah walked at her side, head down, his free hand jingling coins in the pocket of his suit pants. Occasionally he would look a
round or stop and survey the length of lane they had already travelled.

  ‘I hope Roger is at home,’ Laura said as they exited the lane and crossed the street to his house. But Noah did not answer. She could not even be certain he’d heard her.

  The chain-link gate squeaked as Noah pushed it open. Laura followed him along the slate path, waiting in front of the locked security door as Noah pressed the doorbell and the first few chords of ‘Fleur de Lis’ echoed inside, followed by lumbering footsteps. The internal door flung open but the figure remained indiscernible to them behind the dark screen door.

  ‘Are you Roger Grenfell?’ Laura said, holding up her ID to his shadowy outline.

  His voice was strong, even confident. ‘Yes. What do you want?’

  ‘I’m Sergeant Laura Nesci, and this is Detective Sergeant Noah Tamblyn, from CIB. We hope you can help us with our enquiries into last night’s attack. Can we come inside, please?’

  The screen door opened to reveal a tall man with a cap of dark tight curls and an olive complexion, his green pants and checked shirt meticulously clean and pressed.

  Without returning Laura’s smile, Roger stepped aside and allowed them to enter a narrow passage devoid of any daylight, apart from that filtering from rooms either side. Laura noted that the front room on the left, the room with the view of Connors Lane, was the only bedroom. Opposite was a small, sparsely furnished lounge room also facing onto the street. Once they reached the end of the corridor the space opened up to the kitchen – basically a single corner of green cupboards including a sink under a small window and a cooker, all of which were still in good condition despite their retro appearance. Even the squat rounded refrigerator at the end of the cupboards looked too old to be in running order, but was still in pristine condition.

  Laura and Noah stood and waited beside a small round table, eventually taking the initiative and sitting when it was evident Roger would not be inviting them to do so. Roger sat then, his larger than average hands clasped on the table’s green laminate surface before him.

  ‘You have a very tidy home, Mr Grenfell,’ Laura said. She glanced across to a workbench running along the wall, an imposing desktop computer, a lamp and several bulky files stacked in orderly fashion on its white melamine surface. ‘I notice you have a computer. That’s your line of work, isn’t it?’

  Roger nodded. ‘Yeah. I’m a computer coder with NewByte. But I work from home. I don’t like working in an office.’

  ‘Does anyone live here with you?’ Laura asked, aware of a unique absence of decoration.

  ‘My parents died, so it’s only me. What do you want?’ His tone was not aggressive, nor accusatory, just matter-of-fact.

  ‘How do you know Alex Holt?’ Laura said, adopting the same tone.

  ‘I see her in the shop where she works,’ he glanced down at his hands.

  ‘What is Alex like?’ Laura asked.

  ‘She’s nice.’

  ‘Did you know she was assaulted in Connor Lane last night?’

  Without meeting her gaze Roger said, ‘Yes. The police came here late last night and told me.’

  ‘The police said you were upset,’ Laura said.

  ‘I was. It was late. They knocked loudly. They should know loud noises in the middle of the night frighten people.’

  ‘I’m sorry you were frightened, Roger. Is it OK to call you Roger?’ Laura said. ‘But sometimes our officers have to wake people to do their job. What did you think when they told you Alex had been attacked?’

  ‘She’s a nice girl. She doesn’t deserve to be hurt.’ Roger rubbed the back of his head and his leg bounced on the ball of his foot.

  ‘Are you and Alex friends?’

  ‘Yeah. I like her and she likes me.’

  ‘Is that what you told her in the notes?’ Laura said, aware Noah was now leaning forward.

  ‘Yeah. I wrote two notes. But I’m going to write another one because Isaac may not have given them to her. I think Isaac likes her too . . . but he should get his own girlfriend.’

  ‘What did your notes say?’ Laura asked.

  ‘They said I like her and she should be my girlfriend.’ He gazed down at his hands. ‘I know she likes me. I can tell.’

  ‘Do you know how old Alex is?’ Laura said softly

  ‘About eighteen.’

  ‘She’s sixteen Roger. That makes her a minor.’ Laura’s unwavering eye contact, intended to emphasise her warning, seemed to have evaded Roger’s attention.

  ‘That’s OK. I don’t mind. I still like her,’ Roger said.

  ‘No it’s not OK, Roger. How old are you?’

  ‘Twenty-eight,’ he said, looking down at his hands again before briefly rubbing the back of his head.

  ‘Do you know it’s illegal for an adult to have sex with someone younger than seventeen – even if the minor says they want to?’

  He looked up, his expression deadpan. ‘She can still be my girlfriend. We’ll just wait to have sex until she’s seventeen.’

  Laura glanced at Noah, wrestling with her own frustration at not being able to get the message across. ‘It doesn’t work that way, Roger.’

  His dark eyes dropped. ‘Why doesn’t it?’

  Noah shook his head. ‘Just stop sending her the notes, OK?’ he said.

  ‘But I send notes to everyone. Why can’t I send them to her?’

  In the face of Noah’s mounting frustration at what was fast spiralling into a fruitless discussion, Laura felt in desperate need for the toilet. ‘Do you mind if I use your bathroom please, Roger?’ she interjected.

  ‘No. That’s OK’ he said, suddenly less riled. ‘It’s through there.’

  The sound of Noah’s continued attempts at reasoning with Roger faded as Laura walked through an adjoining doorway into a combined laundry/bathroom the same size as the kitchen. She closed the door softly, dropped the toilet seat and hovered over the bowl, looking around at the aged but spotlessly clean mosaic tiled floor, the old-fashioned shower head hanging over the lemon-coloured bath, a tumble drier above a washing machine in the corner, and a Formica vanity-cum-laundry bench. But it was the bright yellow sharps container on the bench that held Laura’s attention.

  ‘I want you to understand if you send Alex Holt any more notes we may have to speak to you again,’ Noah persisted as Laura re-entered the kitchen.

  ‘I’m her friend,’ Roger said. ‘The person who attacked her is the one you should be talking to, not me.’

  Noah rolled his eyes and sat back in his seat.

  ‘Then maybe you can help us find her attacker,’ Laura said returning to her chair. ‘Did you see anyone going into or coming out of the lane last night?’ she added.

  Roger shook his head.

  ‘Or did you hear anything – like a scream, or any other unusual noises?’

  Again Roger shook his head. ‘I told the police everything last night. Don’t make me say it all again,’ he said, the agitation in his voice mounting.

  ‘Where were you between nine and ten o’clock last night, Roger?’ Noah said.

  ‘I told the other police. I was here working.’ Roger was almost shouting now, his frown intense.

  ‘Were you working on your computer?’ Laura said, her voice deliberately calm.

  Roger hesitated. ‘Yes. I was building a system for a client. I can show you my timesheet.’

  Laura shook her head. ‘So you may not have heard what was happening in the lane or on the street because this room is at the back of the house,’ she said,

  Roger nodded.

  ‘You said earlier that you thought Isaac liked Alex. What did you mean by that?’ Laura said.

  Roger sighed in a way that made it clear he thought the interview had well and truly run its course. ‘He just does. He spends a lot of time with her at work.’

  ‘One more thing, Roger. There’s a sharps container in your bathroom.’ Laura was aware Noah had suddenly sat up to attention.


  ‘Yeah,’ Roger said. ‘I put my needles in there when I have insulin.’

  ‘When were you diagnosed with diabetes?’ Laura asked.

  ‘When I was a teenager. Diabetes Mellitus.’ He glanced at his watch. Rubbed the back of his neck. ‘Anyway, I think you should go now. I’m running behind with my work.’

  Noah was the first to stand. He handed Roger his card. ‘If you think of anything else, or hear something that might be useful, please give me a ring.’

  Roger took it and followed Laura and Noah along the corridor, stopping when Noah accidentally knocked a dark lumber jacket and black beanie from a timber coat stand near the door. Laura bent and retrieved them, replacing them on the curled hooks. ‘Thanks for your time, Roger,’ she said extending her hand.

  He took it with a palpable lack of enthusiasm. ‘That’s alright.’

  ‘Remember what I said about those notes to Alex,’ Noah warned, before turning and making his way along the path to the front gate.

  Laura stretched her neck as the sun’s warmth soaked through her jacket to her knotted shoulders. ‘That was tricky,’ she said as they crossed the road. ‘Did you get everything you needed?’ She grimaced, massaging her shoulder.

  ‘Yeah.’ He scowled. ‘There’s something about him that doesn’t quite ring true.’

  ‘Maybe he’s on the autism spectrum. Perhaps Asperger’s,’ Laura said stepping onto the kerb and fishing in her bag for her car keys.

  ‘No, not that. There’s something else. And he has easy access to syringes as well. Anyway, I’m going to talk to the nosey neighbour to see if she remembers anything about that night. Coming?’ he headed towards the front gate of the bungalow and was about to enter when his phone rang.

  ‘I’ll get back to the office,’ Laura mouthed, making her way towards her car.

  Catching her arm gently, Noah gestured with one finger for her to wait. ‘Yeah. Yeah . . . Is that right? . . . OK. Thanks for letting us know.’ He slipped his phone back into his pocket. ‘That was Marianne Badenoch from the Children’s Hospital. Evidence confirms Alex was not sexually assaulted during last night’s attack.’