Lethal Factor

by Gabrielle Lord

  I put the bag aside and turned my full attention to the bottle of aftershave, removing it with care, making sure there was nothing else in the bag. It was a dark-blue bottle of Hubris aftershave, lid tightly on and apparently unused. Safe behind my face shield and filter mask, I unscrewed it, running a swabstick around the inside neck, taking several wipe samples, screwing them into containers and labelling them.

  I cleaned up, prepared my samples and took them down to the most powerful light microscope, switching it on, adjusting it to my slides. At one thousand times magnification I saw them again. This was how the killer had done it. This was the bottle Livvy had sniffed, rejected and thrown out, not realising that in those few seconds, she’d breathed death into her lungs. I held my breath with a mixture of fear and excitement as I examined them, adjusting the light. There they were, the glowing seeds of Bacillus anthracis, shining in the light.

  Closer examination showed me that the spores were concentrated around a substance present around the thread on the neck of the bottle and there appeared to be more of this material under the lid. In fact, the spores seemed to be concentrated wherever this substance was. Curious, I examined the screw thread where the translucent stuff was thickest. I teased some of it away and took a closer look. It was springy and seemed to be a poly-adhesive of some sort. Was it to make sure the bottle didn’t leak in transit? I drew up a little of the contents of the aftershave with a pipette and examined some of the fluid under high magnification. It was virtually spore free.

  They were definitely concentrated around the bottle top and the lid. Had the killer been concerned that the alcohol present in the aftershave would harm the spores? I decided to run both the contents of the bottle and the polymer through a series of analytical tests because I wanted to know exactly what I was dealing with. Normally, someone else would run the routine tests but I wanted to stay with these items all the way, from garbage bin to final result. I cut samples for the tests, photographed and recorded everything, sealed up the postal bag again and sent it to Florence to check for trace evidence. Then I wrote up my notes so far.

  After I’d cleaned up, I printed off the results delivered by the mass spectrometry analysis. The result of the polymer was no surprise. It was an adhesive as I’d suspected and the contents of the bottle of Hubris were the usual mix of ingredients: water, alcohol and fragrances. I was puzzling over the presence of the polymer adhesive when Brian Kruger rang.

  ‘Thought you’d like to know,’ he said, ‘that we got a very good result from matching the gardener’s boots to the prints we found outside the dead nun’s window. He was there all right. We’ve got the clothes he was wearing that day according to the sisters who saw him and we’re sending them over to you.’

  If Jeremiah had been in Sister Gertrude’s room when the miraculous crucifix crashed, he’d have plaster embedded in his clothes, too. And I’d find a fine spray of blood.

  ‘Good work,’ I said, bringing my attention back from deadly spores to the murdered nun. Then I looked at my watch. It was time for my medical appointment.

  •

  ‘I’m here for my shot,’ I said as Phil Havelock ushered me into his surgery.

  ‘Make that six shots,’ he said. Seeing the expression on my face, he added, ‘But before you run away, they’re spread over a long time.’

  ‘So what am I getting today?’ I asked as I took my coat off and rolled up my shirt sleeve.

  Phil busied himself with filling the syringe on the kidney dish. ‘It’s a cell-free filtrate,’ he said. ‘In other words, you’re not getting any live bugs.’

  ‘How good is it?’ I asked as he prepared to stab me.

  ‘We’re not all that sure, really, although the monkeys are doing okay.’

  ‘Thanks a lot, Doctor,’ I said, thinking of Gulf War Syndrome.

  ‘If you were to be exposed,’ he said, ‘we’d load you up with antibiotics.’

  ‘How would you know if I had been?’

  ‘We’d test you for antigens,’ he said. ‘It takes a while to incubate.’ At the needle’s narrow sting, I felt a chill. I had to acknowledge to myself that part of me was waiting for something to arrive in the mail. ‘Depending on whether you get the short incubation disease or the long incubation form. Via the lungs or via the GIT.’

  ‘The what?’

  ‘The gastrointestinal tract,’ he said. ‘Like the unfortunate Sydney scientist.’

  I looked away while Phil withdrew the injection and threw it into a kidney dish.

  ‘That’s why vaccination is in order for people like you,’ said Phil, ‘who might be working with it a lot in future.’ He swabbed me again. ‘You might get a bit of soreness at the injection site,’ he said. ‘But severe reactions are rare.’

  I rolled my sleeve back down. ‘Although poor Digby has had the most dreadful reaction to it. He’s really ill. On top of everything else.’

  ‘He’s in a very low state at the moment,’ I said. ‘Maybe we scientists tend to overlook the importance of emotional states.’

  ‘Could be,’ said Phil.

  ‘So I’m safe now?’ I asked, slipping my jacket back on.

  ‘No way,’ he said. ‘You’ve had the first one today, then you need to come back next week for the next one, and two weeks later for the third.’

  ‘Can’t wait.’

  ‘And that’s not all. Another three at six, twelve and eighteen months respectively.’ He opened the door for me. ‘All the front-line people are going to be similarly pricked,’ he said with a smile. ‘You’re among the first. And then there’s smallpox to look forward to.’

  I made a date for two weeks later and checked my voice mail. Then I drove to the Convent of the Assumption.

  I found Jeremiah having a smoke in his cabin, the door half-opened, the unmistakable scent of cannabis spreading on the air. He squashed it out hastily when he looked up and saw me tapping at his door.

  ‘There’s nothing you can do about the smell, is there?’ I said to him.

  ‘I’m not doing any harm,’ he said.

  ‘You’ve got a police record.’

  He made a face. ‘So? Who hasn’t?’

  ‘Tell me about the first incident involving Gertrude.’

  ‘I can’t tell you any more than what I’ve already told you. The bloody cops came and took all me clothes. Look what I’ve gotta wear.’ He looked down at the huge old jumper with moth holes and the pair of old suit trousers. ‘I saw her arguing with that man I told you about. He’d grabbed her arm. She’s a nun. That’s not right. I was hurrying over to help when I saw her break away and run inside.’

  ‘Why do you think he ran away then?’

  ‘He’d seen me.’

  ‘Tell me about the woman who took out the AVO against you,’ I said, suddenly changing tack.

  His face reddened. There was anger in his voice when he spoke. ‘That was a bloody put-up job, that was. She goes on like that. She took up with this other bloke from the club for a while.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ I said.

  But he shook his head. ‘You’ve got no right to keep pestering me, asking me all these damned questions.’ He stood up, picked up his hat, and placed it firmly on his head. ‘I’ve got work to do.’

  ‘So have I, Jeremiah,’ I said. ‘And you need to explain to me how come you were standing in the bushes outside Sister Gertrude’s window? Your boots left very distinctive marks in the soil.’

  He was startled, I could see, but he recovered. ‘So what?’ he countered. ‘My boots walk all over this place. I’m the bloody gardener if you haven’t noticed. The killer didn’t come in by the window, anyway.’

  ‘How do you know that?’

  ‘Everyone knows he came in through the fire stairs.’

  ‘Everyone does not know that,’ I said.

&
nbsp; ‘That’s where those devil worshippers got in. I told the sisters, but they didn’t do anything about it. They got this big fancy front door with all the locks and such, and a mickey mouse lock on the fire stairs door.’

  My mobile rang. It was Florence. Jeremiah’s clothing had arrived at Forensic Services. ‘I’m going to examine your clothing, Jeremiah. What will I find on them?’

  ‘Search me,’ he said. Then the fear showed in his face. ‘You won’t find anything there about Sister Gertrude’s death. I swear it.’

  ‘I’m a scientist, Jeremiah,’ I said. ‘Not a cop. I’m not going to fit you up. But I’m sure going to check you out.’

  I went back to work and checked out the gardener’s boots, army disposal shorts, waistcoat and shirt. I found clay, seeds, leaves, traces of nitrogen fertiliser, beer stains, cannabis resin, the legs of a beetle. But no plaster. No blood spray. Nothing to put Jeremiah Dokic in the murdered woman’s room that night. I straightened up from my examination. There was still a big if bothering me. What if they weren’t the clothes he was wearing that night? A man like Jeremiah living in a little hut wouldn’t have much. It would be worth testing everything he owned.

  I bought a newspaper on the way back to Forensic Services. ‘New Anthrax Terror’ screamed the headline, but when I read it I saw that it was mostly a beat-up about a woman finding white powder in her shopping bag. She later remembered purchasing a large damper. I put the paper down. No doubt we’d shortly be signing for a sample that would prove to be plain flour. Whenever I switched on the radio or television, there it was again: BA infecting the very radio and FM waves.

  Sixteen

  My first lecture for the Biochemistry Department went off quite well. It was well attended and I introduced myself and told them a bit about my history, how I’d been a NSW police officer in the Crime Scene Unit until I’d taken a science degree just like they were doing now. I spent most of the lecture filling them in on the anthrax assaults in the US and fielding what questions I could answer about the local attacks. It was a lively discussion and helped to put all the worries I had out of my mind for a while.

  I was walking out into the cold night feeling I’d coped quite well when I heard a voice call my name. A thrill of excitement went through me. There was only one woman I knew of with a voice like that. I turned round.

  ‘Jack?’ she said. The path lights shone on her glossy hair, shorter and more styled around her face than I’d remembered, and accentuating the dark red of her lips and her eyes, deep and enormous in the shadows. Iona Seymour, back from the west coast of Scotland. Back in Canberra. Back in my field, in tailored slacks and jumper, and a heavy coat against the night’s cold, holding a large carry bag of books.

  ‘What on earth are you doing here?’ I asked. I couldn’t stop staring at her, silvered by the cold light, like some apparition. For a few seconds I was too stunned to move, then I stepped forward. I would have felt silly shaking her hand, yet I hesitated to kiss her.

  I needn’t have worried. Iona linked her arm through mine. ‘Are you going back down to the Union?’ she asked. ‘Would you mind walking with me? We’re all a bit nervous.’

  ‘My car’s here,’ I said. ‘Over in the car park. I can give you a lift. You’ll have to forgive me. I’m still startled, seeing you here in Canberra.’

  We started to walk towards the car and I didn’t know what to say. Part of me wanted to tell her how wonderful it was she was here. Another part warned me to stay cool, stay away, that there was nothing here for me.

  ‘I only just heard about your lecture,’ she said, ‘and I was too late to hear it. I just waited until you came out. I’m sorry I missed it.’

  I was relieved. It would have been too strange, with her sitting in the group and me trying not to notice too much.

  ‘When did you get back to Australia?’ I asked.

  ‘About a month ago,’ she said. ‘Before term started.’

  I wondered why she’d taken so long to contact me but it wasn’t gentlemanly to ask such a thing. And I had to admit that somehow she’d never really left me, that my mind had a little corner in it just for her.

  ‘I’m a student here,’ she said.

  ‘What are you doing?’

  ‘History and psychology,’ she said.

  We walked together in silence until we got to my car.

  ‘Thanks for your postcard,’ I said, then opened the passenger door for her. She stepped in.

  There were so many things I wanted to say, but instead, small talk was a calming defence. ‘Iona,’ I started. I had nothing to lose.

  She turned towards me in the dark interior.

  ‘Have you eaten?’ I asked. ‘Let’s have supper. University House, where I’m staying, has a decent restaurant.’

  ‘I really should go back to where I’m staying,’ she said. ‘And get changed.’

  ‘Don’t worry about that sort of thing,’ I said. I could feel my excitement levels rising. Despite all the work I was steeped in—the two major investigations, the concern for my daughter, my ex-wife’s spite, everything in fact that crowded my life—just in this moment I was free of all of it.

  ‘Jack,’ she said, ‘I’d love to catch up. But not tonight. There’s an assignment I really need to research and write. Could we do it some other time?’

  ‘Of course,’ I heard myself say, disappointed. I caught her faint scent and an afternoon in a high-ceilinged Victorian bedroom came flooding back to me, with all the mystery and terror that had accompanied it. The passage of time had softened and filtered it into something infinitely luminous and dangerously desirable. Steady on, Jack, I told myself.

  I parked as close to the Union buildings as I could and walked her towards the library, my breath steaming in the chill winter air.

  I found that we were on the newly lit and cleared path where the previous attacks had taken place, passing the various residences. As we turned the corner where someone had twice jumped out of the greenery, I wondered if Iona knew that was the spot. If she didn’t, I didn’t want to be the one to tell her.

  I left Iona at the library and was astonished at the way my heart was beating.

  A little while later my mobile rang and I willed that it would be her saying, ‘I’m coming for supper’, but it was Colin Reeves.

  ‘He wants me to do a drive past your joint,’ said Colin, ‘to familiarise him with the place.’

  ‘You didn’t give him my address?’ I asked.

  ‘Mate, he already knew it. He’d been onto her from tech. He knows what time she usually gets home. What bus she gets. But he won’t move until I tell him the time is right, so don’t worry. And he was whingeing that he doesn’t know where she’s staying right now.’

  That was a relief. I blessed the flat at Bondi, and even the superior Andy Kelly. I hated to think of my daughter under such menacing surveillance. And most of all, I hated her mother all over again. If Genevieve hadn’t been so hostile, Jacinta would never have had to run away. Would never have been involved with a dealer’s loot. I stopped such thoughts. They would get me nowhere.

  ‘I’ll tell you something for nothing,’ I said. ‘Did you know Marty Cash was the arresting officer in the Delmonte Deli extortion case? Did you know that Bertoli, the bloke serving time for it, is furious with him? Did you know that nearly a million dollars has never been recovered?’ I didn’t have to make it any clearer for someone like Colin.

  ‘The bastard,’ he said. And I could hear the admiration in his voice.

  We talked some more, then I rang Jacinta and told her what Colin had said.

  ‘I know,’ she said.

  ‘You know?’ I asked. ‘How?’

  ‘Bob came round to tell me.’ I felt gratitude towards my old colleague. ‘It won’t be Marty Cash who gets me,’ Jacinta was saying. ‘I’ll be driven nuts by all yo
u minders!’

  It was hard to sleep that night. Other residents were noisy on the stairs and I tossed and turned as Marty Cash and Iona Seymour floated in dreams together. I woke unrefreshed.

  As soon as I arrived at work I found the results from the Department of Agriculture were in.

  Florence, assiduous as ever, looked up as I approached her open door. ‘Take a look at this,’ I said, showing her the results.

  The Ag boys had included microphotographic copies of the DNA profiles of the Bacillus anthracis samples from each of the two sources, Tony Bonning and Livvy Worthington. I’m not a microbiologist, but I could see that the profiles were identical, just as the attached paperwork stated.

  ‘Same source,’ she said.

  ‘One killer then,’ I replied, ‘rather than two coincidental attacks.’

  ‘Did anyone ever think otherwise?’ said Florence.

  ‘No,’ I said. ‘But we have to cover every base to be safe. You know how hostile a defence barrister can be.’

  ‘Speaking of hostility,’ she said. ‘Watch out. Henry’s on the warpath.’

  I could hear my phone ringing and hurried back to my office. I could hardly believe my ears and my heart skipped a beat at the shimmering voice of Iona.

  ‘Jack, would you think me too forward if I suggested dinner tonight?’

  ‘I’d be delighted,’ I said. We made a time to meet in one of the restaurants in town, whose decor suggested a Bavarian hunting lodge, and I hung up, feeling stupidly exhilarated in spite of all my problems. I wished I’d slept better the previous night. I wanted to be in top form for this date. In spite of everything, I felt stupidly happy. Then the sound of someone stamping down the corridor, and a voice raised in anger, wiped the smile off my face.