“No. Thank you. I’d rather we get down to business.” Wooton looked at his watch.
“Okay. Come into my office and we can make a start,” Harness said, leading the way.
Once they were both seated, Wooton began firing questions.
“When was the first reported case?”
“Saturday night, about ten o’clock. Eddie Becks, a ten-day-old baby.”
Wooton nodded dispassionately and took a small notebook and pen out of his breast pocket. The questions continued for about twenty minutes. Harness answered each one, trying, quite successfully, to keep his dwindling patience under control. When it seemed like Wooton had what he needed, he put his notebook back in his pocket and stood up.
“Hang on, Wooton. I’ve answered your questions, now I have a few of my own.” Harness kept his tone even, but the man’s attitude was starting to grate on his nerves. Wooton was supposed to be here to help, yet Harness had the feeling he was being given a thorough cavity search.
Wooton’s wispy brown eyebrows shot up in surprise – the first emotion the man had shown throughout the interview. He lowered himself back into the seat, but was clearly unhappy.
“Do you have any results back on Eddie Becks?” Harness asked.
“No. Not yet.”
“Have you had any cases like this in any other towns?”
“No.” His voice was clipped, mouth puckered in a tight clench.
Harness wanted to reach over the table and grab Wooton by his prissy silver tie. Instead, he smiled and tried a different tact.
“Come on, Wooton, there must be something you can tell me?” Harness spread his hands out in what he hoped was a friendly gesture.
Wooton shook his head. “I’m sorry, Senior Sergeant, but I’m just here to gather information. When that’s done, I might have a better idea of what we’re dealing with. So, if we could move this along?”
Harness considered persisting, but it was clear either Wooton didn’t know anything or was unwilling to share.
“Okay. What now?” Harness asked with a sigh.
Wooton stood up. “I’d like to examine the bodies.”
Fifteen minutes later they were standing outside the refrigerated truck that had become the town morgue. Wooton held what looked like a large fold-out toolbox. Harness watched as he took out a thick paper jumpsuit, slowly put it on over his clothes, zipped it up and pulled the hood over his head. He then covered his shoes with paper booties, put on goggles and a surgical mask.
Finally, Wooton closed the box and picked it up and put a gloved hand on the hinged lock on the rear of the truck. “Wait here.” He gave Harness a look that was hard to read through the goggles and mask, perhaps waiting for him to argue. Harness shrugged, more than content to wait outside.
While the Chief Quarantine Officer was in the truck, Harness went back to the squad car. Wooton had wanted to use his nondescript white government car to drive to the makeshift morgue, but Harness had insisted they use the police vehicle – so that he could use the radio to stay in touch with Attwell, the only other officer on duty. Wooton had grudgingly agreed.
Harness had sent Mark Leary home earlier to get some rest, which meant he’d had to lock the station and leave it unmanned while accompanying Wooton. Atwell was out at the Chapels’ place checking for any sign of the little girl. Harness knew he could have just as easily gone in Wooton’s car and checked in with Atwell on his mobile, but he dug his heels in just to let the smug bastard know who was in charge here. It was petty, but what the hell, it was worth it just to watch Wooton struggling to lift his big toolbox from one car to another.
Harness sat in the squad car and called Atwell on the radio.
“Atwell, Gibson here. Anything to report?”
Atwell came back immediately.
“Nothing, Boss. I’ve had a look around, but the place is huge. We’d need ten men searching all day to be really sure.”
Harness was disappointed, but not surprised.
“Okay. If you’re done, head back to the station.”
Atwell responded that he was on his way. All that was left for Harness to do was wait. He thought about his earlier meeting with the Chapels and what Maggie told him about Annabel. He felt sure that it was somehow related to the string of sudden deaths. People were spotting a little girl, she could be infected with something. A long shot, but it made sense, especially if the girl had been in contact with any of the dead children. Harness made a mental note to speak to the other victim’s families and see if any of the children had mentioned or had contact with a little girl.
Restless, he got out of the car and drummed his fingers on the roof. He doubted Wooton would have much to add, no matter what the man saw inside the truck.
Pulling his phone out, he checked the display. The call he’d received from Maggie just before Wooton arrived played on his mind. There was an edge to her voice, rushed and anxious. Whatever she wanted to tell him, she obviously didn’t want to say over the phone. A crow landed on the roof of the car, its claws scraping the metal as it tried to find purchase. Keeping his eyes fixed on the bird, he put the phone back in his pocket. The creature cocked its head to the side, one beady white eye locked on Harness’s movements. He remembered reading somewhere that crows would sometimes kill and eat new-born lambs or scavenged the afterbirth as the sheep gave birth. A ripple of revulsion churned in his stomach. As if sensing his thoughts, the creature opened its sharp black beak and squawked.
Harness slapped his palm on the roof of the car, sending the bird flapping into the air. He watched it swoop low over the patch of weedy bitumen and come to rest on top of the truck. At least ten other crows were scattered on the truck’s roof like ticks on a mangy dog. The birds hadn’t been there when they arrived, he was sure of it. Could they smell the dead? He didn’t think so; the seal on the truck was airtight. Maybe they sense death. The mobile morgue had to be at least fifteen metres away from the car, but even at this distance, Harness could smell the birds – coppery and cloying, like something damp left to mildew in the darkness. At least he hoped the stench came from the birds.
As he watched the shiny black creatures hop across the truck’s roof, a line from a long-forgotten poem came to mind. And his eyes have all the seeming of a demon’s that is dreaming. Harness swiped his arm across his forehead; it came away damp with sweat. The four cups of coffee he’d drank since waking up roiled in his gut, threatening to spew up into his throat. It occurred to him that at this distance, he could probably shoot the birds. He rested his hands on his hips, fingers loosely touching the grip of his gun.
The truck’s rear door slammed open. Wooton stumbled down the two steps, pulling off his goggles and mask. Harness shook his head. What the fuck was I thinking? For a moment, he’s been seriously considering taking pot shots at the birds. Shaking off the dreamlike moment, he pulled his gaze away from the birds and watched Wooton shuffle across the bitumen.
The freezing air inside the truck had turned the man’s face from pink to blue, giving his skin a translucent tinge.
“I have the samples, so I’m finished here for now.” There was a tremor to his voice. Blinking eyes punctuated each word. Harness wondered if seeing so many dead children lined up in body bags had finally broken through the man’s business-like veneer.
“So, you looked at the bodies?” Harness asked.
Wooton nodded but didn’t speak.
Harness couldn’t blame the man for being affected by what he’d seen. Even in thick black bags, it was clear the small frames inside were those of children. He remembered the feel of the plastic bags, almost weightless, as he helped the two constables carry the bodies into the mobile morgue. He didn’t envy Wooton’s job of opening each bag and touching the cold little bodies.
Wooton pulled a bag from his toolbox and unrolled it with trembling hands. He pulled off his white overalls and stowed them in the bag. Harness noted it was marked Hazardous Waste.
“What now?” Harness could feel the i
mpatience building again.
“If you wouldn’t mind driving me back to my car, I’ll take the samples back to Perth.”
Harness ran his hand across his forehead and looked up at the cloudless sky. Wooton was obviously shaken up by his experience in the truck, but upset or not, he wasn’t giving anything away. The stab of sympathy Harness felt for the man was starting to wear thin.
“I mean, what do you think? You saw the bodies; do you have any idea what killed them?”
Wooton seemed about to say something, but stopped and shook his head. He looked at the ground as if studying something.
“I’m sorry, Senior Sergeant. I can’t say I’ve seen anything like this before. I’ll know more when I’ve processed these samples.” He nodded towards the toolbox, his almost bare scalp a shiny pink circle in the afternoon sun.
Harness was about to push Wooton for a time on the results when the back door of the surgery opened and Dr Cole’s wife stepped out. Mary Cole, a trained nurse, acted as the town doctor’s receptionist. A slim woman in her mid-fifties with an easy going disposition, Mary knew almost everyone in town by their first name and after years of answering the phone in the surgery, could recognise most people’s voices before they had time to identify themselves -- a very handy skill when taking appointments all day.
“Harness, we need your help. Can you come inside?” Mary’s usually tanned face was bleached of colour.
He nodded and turned to Wooton. “You’d better wait here.”
Harness crossed the patch of bitumen and followed Mary through the back door without hearing Wooton’s reply. She led him past an old-fashioned laundry and toilet then through a narrow file room housing rows of metal cabinets and a small desk and chair.
Before they entered the waiting area at the front of the surgery, Harness heard sobbing and Dr Cole’s voice.
“In here.” Mary pushed open the door.
A woman was crouched on the floor in the middle of the room. Dr Cole squatted next to the woman, holding her arm. It was only when Harness spotted the small legs dangling from the woman’s lap that the scene made sense.
Cole looked up as they entered. Twin spots of red sat high on his cheeks and his usually neat white hair stood in messy spikes. “Mary, draw up a sedative.” Mary nodded and darted into the consulting room.
Harness looked around and noticed that a young woman sitting on a chair in the far corner was holding a toddler on her lap. The child had a runny nose but otherwise seemed fine. He wriggled in his mother’s arms and tried to get down, but the woman held him tightly, trying to press his face against her chest. She watched the woman on the floor with wide, terrified eyes as unchecked tears ran down her cheeks.
Harness walked over to the young woman and took her arm, pulling her out of the chair. She didn’t resist as he propelled her towards the door.
“Wait outside.” He opened the door and pushed her out onto the front steps. When he turned back, the doctor was talking to the woman in a gentle, controlled voice.
“Just let me have a look at Thomas? I won’t take him away, I just want to help him.” He spoke softly, making no move to touch the child.
“Nooooo!” The woman threw her head back and let out a primordial wail. The sound seemed to bounce off the walls and ring inside Harness’s head at the same time. He wished he could be far away from the awful scene unfolding, but couldn’t tear his eyes away from the two little legs dangling lifelessly from the woman’s lap. On one foot was a little yellow Croc, the other shoe lay abandoned on the floor. Harness stared at the discarded shoe and wondered if the child had been sick when the shoes were put on his feet or if he’d been ready to go outside to play when it struck. Cole’s voice brought him out of his reverie.
“Harness, help me.”
Mary returned and handed the doctor a syringe. The woman on the floor was trying to crawl away, the child still clamped to her chest. Harness knew what the doctor wanted him to do. Without hesitating, he crossed the room and grabbed the woman by the shoulders. Her head snapped up, teeth bared in a look of such vicious desperation that he almost lost his resolve and let her go.
“Hold her steady.” Cole’s voice remained calm.
The woman’s shoulders felt small and fragile under his hands. Harness didn’t want to hurt her, but she moved with surprising strength, making it necessary for him to apply more force than he intended. He felt her bones move under his hands and winced. Finally, Cole administered the injection and nodded for Harness to let go. He released his grip just as the fight left the woman’s body. She slumped to the side still holding her child, but loosely as if he was suddenly too heavy for her.
Mary sat down on the floor and let the woman lean against her.
“It’s okay, Cathy. Just relax.” Mary wrapped her arm around the woman’s shoulders.
She wasn’t unconscious, but her eyelids drooped. As she leaned back against Mary, Harness was able to see the child fully. The little boy wore a yellow T-shirt with a crocodile on the front and tiny denim shorts. He had black curly hair that was a little long for a boy. Eyes that had probably sparkled with mischief were now covered in a milky film, staring vacantly at the ceiling. The boy’s lips were black, swollen and caked with white foam. It was clear that the child was dead. Before he looked away, Harness noticed that one of the boy’s chubby little hands was curled around a small toy police car.
He’d been crouching near the woman, but now sat back on the floor and let his head drop into his hands. In spite of the warm air, a chill worked its way through his body, filling his bones until his limbs were numb. In the distance a bird cried, the sound lonely and filled with hopelessness. The four of them stayed on the floor in the middle of the waiting room. The woman, Cathy, slumped against Mary; Dr Cole nearby watched the mother and child; and Harness held his head. Four people, all helpless.
Chapter Eighteen
Even with the study door closed, Mike Tolman could hear his wife clanging pots and slamming draws. Each bang jarred his already raw nerves until the urge to barrel down the hall and silence the woman was almost overpowering. The school would be closed tomorrow, not that he cared one way or another. It was what he’d left there that gnawed at his mind.
The school’s locked. No matter how many times he told himself it was safe, he couldn’t get the image of the little red thumb drive out of his head. He placed his hands on the desk in front of him, fingers splayed. There was no reason for anyone to access his office. The thumb drive would be safe until the school reopened. He was the principal, after all – no one would dare enter the office without contacting him. He stared at his fingers, the neatly trimmed nails clean of grime or stain. I can wait. But could he?
It would be easy to turn on the computer, a few clicks and he’d find what he needed. Just a couple of minutes. A quick look, no lingering, just enough to put him in a better mood. Bam. He jumped in his seat. His fingers curled into fists. Oh God, how he’d love to grab Linda’s scrawny neck and squeeze. Beads of sweat popped out on the back of his neck just above his collar as the beginnings of a migraine prickled the back of his eyes.
He couldn’t risk using his home computer; it would be too easy for them to find out. Mike wasn’t quite sure who them was, the police or maybe the school board. It didn’t really matter. If they found any trace on the hard drive, he’d be finished. His job, his career, all gone. The thumb drive was different, he could say he found it, they couldn’t make him admit it was his.
The thumb drive, if he could just hold it, his head would stop pounding. Yes. Yes, that was all he needed. He was the principal, he had every reason to be at the school. He should go in and check that everything was locked up. Nodding, he pushed back his chair and slipped his arms into his suit jacket. It’s part of my job to make sure the school’s secure. Already rehearsing his lines, Mike headed for the kitchen to let Linda know he had to pop out.
****
Harness rubbed his eyes and refocused on the screen, working his way th
rough the two hours of paperwork that went along with a sudden death. The last thing he wanted was to think about what happened at the surgery, but as usual, police procedure required him to commit every grim detail to paper. Typing out the report usually helped him separate from the event itself, as if reducing the people and actions to clinical terms lessened the impact. Today, it wasn’t working for him.
His mind kept coming back to the little boy’s mother, Cathy. From experience, he knew that her life would never be the same. That moment in the doctor’s waiting room had changed her life and the lives of everyone who loved her and her little boy. In time, Cathy would begin functioning again – maybe. She would look the same and sound the same, but that happy, optimistic and hopeful part of her, the thing that sprang to life when she became a parent, had died today, and however good her life was in the future, she would always live under the shadow of death.
He thought of Molly, and a familiar stab of grief pushed its way into his mind. He’d had her in his life for a little over two years, but her absence hollowed every day since. He stopped typing and leaned back in his chair, deciding the paperwork could wait. Attwell hadn’t found any trace of the girl at the Chapels’, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t there. He’d go and take a look for himself. Anything was better than staring at the screen.
The sky was a muddy grey, cut through with purple streaks that bled into orange just above the tree tops. Thick bush crowded each side of the narrow road leading to the Chapels’ property. Harness reduced speed and drove carefully as dusk crept towards darkness. Even though the squad car was fitted with a titanium bull bar, he intended to be ready if a roo jumped into the road. Breaking at high speed or hitting a kangaroo on this type of loose gravel could send the car into a spin that would roll the vehicle.
After travelling at a steady speed for five minutes, he passed the turnoff for the orchard and considered driving out there to take a look around. He decided it might be better to check around the house and take a quick look at the orchard on his way out. He was also eager to talk to Rodney again, prod him for more information on the little girl. Sometimes witnesses saw more than they thought. With the right questions, Rodney Chapel might be able to give a better description of the child. If she was the key to this whole mess, he intended to find out.
The Stone Flowers Page 12