“Take it easy, kiddo,” said her father, passing the cup to her. A nurse approached the bed and fussed over the arrangement of tubes and wires, before getting Eva to do the coughing and breathing thing again. When the nurse was finally satisfied, she left, and Eva turned back to her father.
“What are you both doing here? Have you been here all night?”
Alan glanced over at his sleeping wife. “Your mother wouldn’t leave, not until she knew you were okay. So, here we are.”
Although a small part of her was secretly glad they’d stayed, Eva shook her head at him. “I’m almost thirty years old, Dad. She treats me like a child.”
“You’ll always be our child, Eva, no matter how old you are. Your mother loves you. It’s not a crime.”
Eva was too tired to argue. She closed her eyes for a few minutes, and was surprised to see it was past seven when she woke again. Her mother was still there.
“Mum, go home. You look like shit.”
“Well that’s lovely. Good to see you’re on the mend, then.”
Eva smiled. “Sorry, but there’s no need for bedside vigils. I’m fine. Really.”
Brenda smoothed the blanket on her daughter’s bed. “You certainly are a lot brighter this morning. Dad’s gone. He had to go into the office. The nurses said Dr Graham will probably let them move you to a general ward today. I’ll go home then.”
It was pointless to argue. Eva looked down at the bandages on her chest, at the tubes designed to drain blood and other fluids away from the heart. She slowly lifted a hand and ran her fingers over the bump, imagining the scar beneath, the new heart contained below it.
“What is it, dear?” asked Brenda.
“It’s nothing. Just… I can’t help but wonder about her. Or him. The person whose heart I’ve got. How did they die? How did they live? What must their family be going through right now, Mum?”
Her mother nodded. “It’s natural to wonder, Eva. But don’t upset yourself about it.”
“I’m not upset, but it is sad. Someone died to give me this heart.”
“That poor soul died anyway, Eva, whether you got their heart or not. Try to think of it as the wonderful gift it is, rather than that someone had to die for it to happen.”
Eva closed her eyes. She’d thought about all this for months before the transplant, of course. The dilemma that someone had to die in order for her to live was not new. It felt different now, though. Now that the heart was actually beating inside her, giving her new life, she couldn’t help but feel for the life that was lost.
“Didn’t the transplant coordinator say she was allowed to pass on a note from you to the donor’s family?” Brenda asked.
“Yeah,” replied Eva, turning to look at her mother. “As long as it doesn’t say anything that could identify me.”
“Well, when you’re feeling more up to it, why don’t you write that letter?”
It was a good idea. Eva wanted, no, she needed to say thank you. Writing was how she dealt with life, particularly since she got sick, so a letter to the donor’s family seemed an appropriate way to pay her respects. She closed her eyes again, and slid down into the bed, ideas of what to say floating through her mind as she drifted off to sleep once more.
7
Cooper and Quinn were sitting in the observation area attached to one of the interview rooms at City Central Police Station, waiting for Dr Christie to arrive so he could interview Jack Simpson.
“So what’s the story with you and Andrew Fox?” asked Quinn.
Cooper thought the answer was obvious. The guy was a journalist who’d been undermining the investigation for years. Shit, Andrew Fox was most likely the idiot who’d come up with the ‘Adultery Killer’ tag. Cooper had learnt from Max years ago that naming a violent criminal gave them an identity, a sense of importance. It also increased fear in the community. But the concept of ‘freedom of the press’ didn’t seem to take that into account. The people have a right to know, apparently. Do they have a right to be scared out of their wits, as well?
“Ten years I’ve been chasing this killer,” Cooper replied, “and that whole time Andrew Fox has been there, in my face, trying to get information. Any little detail that will give his story the edge over the others. He showed no compassion to the families of the victims. Maybe now he gets it. Now that his own wife is the one who’s missing. If she is missing at all.”
“You don’t believe him? That photo looks a lot like her.”
“I don’t trust him. The photo is inconclusive. Without seeing her face we can’t be one hundred percent sure. Plus, we only have his word that Fraser Grant was in his house. I can’t rule anything out just yet.” Cooper looked at his watch. He was getting impatient, this interview was set for eleven. Max was already fifteen minutes late.
Quinn changed the subject, pointing to Jack sitting patiently in the interview room.
“You don’t think he was in on it, do you? The murders, with his son?”
“No, I don’t think so. But something about him is not sitting right with me. What do you think?”
Quinn shrugged. “He just looks like a tired old man to me.”
Cooper couldn’t put his finger on it, this bad feeling he had about Jack Simpson. News that the Adultery Killer had been caught broke quickly, and he’d had to tell Jack the truth sooner than he’d wanted. The old man had been visibly upset, but Cooper got the impression he was holding something back. “It will be interesting to hear what Max can get out of him. I’m keeping him on my radar for the time being. Where the fuck is Max, anyway?” He checked his watch again.
As if in answer to his question, Dr Christie entered the room carrying a printout of the report Cooper had prepared for him last night. “Sorry I’m late, gentlemen. I didn’t realise the time.”
“Jesus, Max. There’s a woman missing. Munro and Rochford are riding us hard.” Cooper almost winced as he recalled Superintendent Rochford, head of Homicide, making his desire to find the missing woman more than clear at the briefing this morning.
Max ignored Cooper’s comments.
“Did you come up with anything useful, Doctor?” asked Quinn once he’d introduced himself.
“This report is interesting. But all it does is tell me about a man you already have.”
“Nothing that could help us with where the victim is?” asked Cooper.
“I’m afraid not. Sorry, Charlie.”
Cooper threw his pen to the table and ran both hands through his hair. Propping his elbows on the desk and massaging his temples, he attempted to ward off the looming headache.
“We’re looking into properties he managed for the real estate agency out in the southwest,” Quinn told Max. “According to the neighbours in Glebe he wasn’t around much on the weekends. We figure he went to this mystery location. He only killed once a year, yet one neighbour said he was away almost every weekend, at least for the two years she’s lived across the hall. She often saw him leaving on a Saturday morning with an overnight bag.”
“That may indicate another property, perhaps a weekend house or something like that,” suggested Max.
Cooper nodded. “Yeah. Maybe we need to look a bit further out.” Retrieving his pen from across the table, he made himself a note. The three men were silent for a few minutes.
Cooper loosened his tie; it was stuffy in this small room. “What approach will you take with him?” he asked, indicating Jack Simpson still sitting in the interview room. He looked even smaller now, if that was possible.
“I’ll go in alone,” replied Max. “He’s not involved, I’m quite sure of that. Killers like Fraser Grant work alone. Hopefully, though, if I can get him talking about his son without him feeling the pressure of an interrogation, I can learn something that might help.”
“Right. We’ll watch from here, then. He was the closest person to our killer, Max. He must know something. If he’s not going to help us find the girl, see if you can get him talking about Fraser’s murder. He clams u
p every time I bring it up, but he’s still our only suspect there. Maybe he’ll open up to you.”
8
By the time afternoon visiting hours arrived, Eva had been moved to a private room in the cardiac care ward. Sitting up in bed now, she was beginning to feel closer to human. At exactly three pm Taylor Carlson poked her head around the corner.
“Is the coast clear?” she asked.
“Yes, she’s coming back later. I finally managed to get her to go home and get some sleep.” Eva grinned. It was good to see her best friend.
“She’s pretty amazing you know, your mum. She spends most of her time in here with you, but still manages to help us out at the store. It’s like she can be in two places at once. I don’t get it.”
“I’m sorry, Tay. I hate that she’s having to fill in for me like this.” Eva felt bad for her friend. The store was supposed to be a joint business, but since she got sick Eva wasn’t contributing as much.
“Are you kidding? It’s great! I love watching the girls squirm! You have to hand it to her, things do seem to get done while Brenda’s around. And she’s showing them how to handle difficult customers. According to Stacey, ‘some old guy’ came in Monday morning when I was at the bank, and gave your mum a bit of lip. She said Brenda really let him have it, although I got the feeling both Stacey and Renee were hiding in the back room at the time and therefore aren’t the most reliable witnesses.”
“So it’s Brenda the bouncer now, is it?” Eva laughed.
“Something like that. Of course, she played it down when I asked her about it. Said he was just some perve. Anyway, we’re lucky she can spare the time to help us out. Don’t sweat it, Evie, you just get yourself better so you can keep doing the books and all that paperwork crap, and we’ll consider your end of the bargain upheld.”
Eva relaxed a little. They still made a good team. Taylor was the creative one. For as long as the girls could remember she’d wanted to be a fashion designer. She’d come into her looks early. With lightly-tanned skin and legs up to her armpits, Taylor was a natural beauty, and she had the taste and fashion sense to match. Eva was no ugly duckling, but it was always Taylor who turned heads. They’d been inseparable since high school, and now, just short of their thirtieth birthdays, Eva Taylor Designs was one of the most profitable fashion labels in the country. And Taylor was the only person in the world who could get away with calling her ‘Evie’.
“Did you get a look at the article yet?” Taylor asked.
“Of course. Mum bought about six copies. What was it, the Sunday paper?”
“Yep, a half-page spread. Quite the little celebrity. I bet your mum was happy they ended up going with the group photo.”
Eva smiled. The Sydney Times had interviewed her not long before her transplant. They were covering National Transplant Awareness Week, and Eva’s was the feature story. They took quite a few photos in the store, and Eva requested that they use one featuring both her mother and her friend. It was as much a story on the success of the business as it was on her need for a new heart, and Eva wanted to ensure the recognition went to all of them.
“She went off at me a bit, tried telling me she hated it, but she’s far too easy to see through.”
Taylor changed the subject. “So, are you sick of people asking how you are yet?”
“Apparently I’m doing well. The transplant took four hours and eleven minutes, start to finish.”
“That’s it?”
“Yep, that’s it.” Eva had been amazed at this news herself. While Dr Graham had explained the procedure a number of times before the actual surgery, she still couldn’t fathom that such a life-changing, momentous event could take such relatively little time.
“So, how are you really doing? How do you feel?”
Eva took a sip of water from the cup beside the bed before she answered.
“I don’t know. I mean, physically I’m tired from the operation, but I know I’m doing okay because I can already breathe so much better. But how do I feel about this heart? Is that what you’re asking?”
“Yeah.”
“I know it’s my heart now, but it’s hard to think of it that way yet. Up until a couple of days ago it kept someone else alive. That person loved with this heart. Strangers are grieving for this heart right now.”
“Whoa, that’s a bit deep. What type of painkillers have they got you on? They’re making you soft.”
Eva knew her friend was trying to lighten her mood.
“I know, it’s probably the morphine,” she laughed. “But seriously, Tay, these are the things going through my head. There’s something else, too.” Eva told her about the repetitive dream. “It feels strange, not like a normal dream. I can’t really describe it.”
“I think you’re right about the drugs having something to do with it,” said Taylor. “You must be on a fair cocktail of anti-rejection meds, as well as the morphine. Plus the stress of the operation won’t be helping. Try not to think about it all. It’ll do your head in. Just concentrate on getting better so you can get off as many of the drugs as possible.”
“You’re probably right.”
“You know I am. And Evie, what’s done is done. You can’t bring that person back, all you can do is make the most of what they’ve given you. Okay, end of lecture.”
The girls both smiled, and Eva was thankful she had such a good friend to set her straight. Taylor’s right, she thought. It was time to move forward, to appreciate the new life she’d been given. She closed her eyes and rested her head back against the pillow, the sun shining through the window warming her face and friendship warming her heart.
* * *
“Hello, dear!” Brenda called out as she walked past the end of the bed towards the basin to wash her hands.
The loud voice of her mother thankfully pulled Eva out of the dream. It was getting worse.
“Hi, Mum,” she said, yawning.
“Oh, I’m sorry, darling, I didn’t realise you were sleeping.”
“No, it’s okay, I’m glad you woke me. I’ve been having the weirdest dreams since the transplant. It’s starting to worry me.”
“What kind of dreams?”
Eva wasn’t sure how to explain. This time, she’d seen a blurred image of a woman walking toward her. Or was she walking toward the woman? Anyway, it felt like the woman was reaching out to her, like she needed help. Eva had had the strangest feeling in her stomach — anticipation, fear, and excitement, all rolled into one. She tried to explain it to her mother, but it was too hard to express just how vivid, how real, these dreams seemed to be.
“I don’t think you should let this worry you,” said Brenda. “It’s probably got something to do with the medication. Dr Graham said it might have some side effects, didn’t he?”
“Yes,” replied Eva. “I don’t think this was the kind of thing he meant, though.”
“Well, you’ll have to ask him, then.” Brenda folded her arms before continuing. “So, forget about that for now and tell me, how are you feeling?”
And that was that, the dream topic duly dismissed. Despite her reluctance to let the subject rest, Eva had to smile. Her mother had always had such a way of manipulating the conversation. So, she dutifully reported the day’s events and feelings since Brenda had left earlier, then did her best to listen to the usual update on the lives and happenings of their wider family. When her mother moved on to the latest news about the women she played cards with every Wednesday afternoon, though, Eva could no longer pretend to care. She tuned out, her mind wandering back to the dreams. She’d never experienced anything like them before the transplant, but now they were coming to her every time she closed her eyes.
Who was this woman, and why was she reaching out to Eva?
9
Cooper and Quinn watched through the two-way mirror as Max entered the interview room. The old man at the table eyed him suspiciously.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Dr Max Christie, Jack. Yo
u can just call me Max, if you like. I’m a forensic psychologist. I’d like to talk to you about your son.”
“A doctor, eh? At least that’s a change. I suppose I’ve got no choice about it.”
“I realise how difficult this must be for you. You’ve just lost your son, Jack. Parents aren’t supposed to bury their children.”
“What do you care about my son? The whole country must be rejoicing in his death at the moment. What makes you any different?”
Cooper watched as Jack sized up the psychologist. Max just smiled, and Cooper knew he was being careful not to overtake the conversation with his own opinions.
“Why don’t you tell me about Fraser. Did you call him Fraser, or was there a nickname?”
“Always Fraser. He liked the formality of it. Well, he chose the name for himself, didn’t he? He was James, or Jimmy, before that. His mother always called him J, but only she could get away with that. No-one was allowed to call him J after she left.”
“Tell me what happened to his mother.”
Jack stiffened. “Nothing happened to her, she just left. Decided she didn’t want to be tied down with a husband and kid anymore. Found someone more interesting, I expect. Never could keep her skirt down.”
“How old was Fraser when this happened?”
“Eleven or twelve, something like that. Look, I know what you’re thinking. I watch those television shows. You think she left me for another man and that’s why he had a thing against women cheating on their husbands. But he was a good son. We looked after each other. We didn’t need her.”
“I’m not making any assumptions, Jack. I want to learn about your son, that’s all. You understand, we think there is a woman still missing.”
“That Detective Cooper asked me a thousand times where she is. I don’t know. If I did, don’t you think I’d tell you? I just want this to be over.” Jack put his head in his hands.
The Dark Series Page 15