Cold Grave (6 page)

‘I’ll swab around the perineum, but I don’t want to cause any more trauma. The pathologist who does the autopsy needs to see things as they are.’

‘Appreciate what you’re doing, helping us out.’

Anya pulled the sheet back down over the lower body and returned to the head. Opening the mouth, the acidic pungency of vomit quickly filled her nostrils again.

FitzHarris pulled a torch out of his kit and held it from behind Anya. She could detect mint on his breath as she gently eased open the girl’s petite jaw and peered inside. There were no marks, dot haemorrhages or swelling to suggest choking or an allergic reaction. She spoke her observations out loud before swabbing the back of the throat for any ejaculate, again, not overly hopeful of a result.

‘We’re lucky to have someone with your reputation and experience on board.’

She quickly turned and banged the side of her head on the torch. ‘What do you mean “reputation”?’

FitzHarris stepped back. ‘I just meant . . . well, I saw your name on the passenger manifesto. You’re world renowned.’

He switched off the torch with a guilty expression.

‘Out of more than three thousand passengers, you happened to recognise my name?’

‘What can I say? I’m a fan of the Jersey Bombers, and read about you being a whistleblower in the papers.’

She felt the heat rise in her face. Misinformation and ignorance caused more harm than fists and physical weapons. ‘I don’t know where you got your facts, but I’ve never been a “whistleblower”. I investigated the veracity of a sexual assault claim, and advised Bombers’ management on how to better educate players about what constitutes consent.’

FitzHarris threw up his hands. ‘Didn’t mean to get your back up. Sounds like I hit a real raw nerve.’

He had. When Anya was five her three-year-old sister had disappeared and suspicion had immediately fallen on their parents, then switched to Anya. The local community and media became obsessed with what had happened and regurgitated the family’s most private details. Decades later, Anya still didn’t trust the media, or any kind of intrusion.

Now she felt unsettled. She and her family were on holiday and FitzHarris claimed to have recognised her name on a list. But his eyes could not hold her gaze. As far as she was concerned, the conversation and her assistance were over.

‘Is there anything else here to do?’ she said, peeling off the gloves.

‘Out of all the people on this ship, it’s lucky that you and your ex both happened to be on the scene when Lilly was found. As you say, what are the chances?’

She didn’t like whatever FitzHarris was insinuating.

Another of the security team entered.

‘We’re done,’ FitzHarris’s jaw tightened again.

Anya slid the drawer containing Lilly back into its place and closed the metal door. A small sink against the wall provided somewhere to wash her hands. She could feel the tension in the room, and wanted to be outside in the sea air again. She had done everything she could to help out. This was meant to be her holiday – a time to spend with Ben.

Heading for the kids’ club, she began to regret being so defensive and rude. FitzHarris was most likely posturing to show he was in charge of the investigation. He could have researched her after the resuscitation attempt. In his position, Anya would have done the same.

Climbing the aft stairs, she thought of the bruises on the fragile body and the drag marks on her back. If Lilly had been sexually assaulted, it had probably been on carpet. How she ended up wet, clothed and on the deck needed to be determined.

One thing was certain: whoever had assaulted Lilly was still on board. At least until the next port.

5

At the top of the stairwell leading to the kids’ club a girl in black leggings and a sparkly top ran straight into Anya, almost knocking her off balance.

‘Sorry!’ She giggled and ran off. Another girl about the same size quickly followed but Anya managed to step clear.

The girls wouldn’t have been more than ten years old and were roaming the ship without any sign of their parents.

As she approached a set of double doors, Anya heard laughing and music crescendo.

She felt like she’d entered another world. Behind a concierge desk and gates was a kids’ paradise. For a moment it was unclear whether the barriers prevented children from escaping, or adults from interloping on the enjoyment. The open-plan area had everything a child would love. Toward the back wall, beanbags and miniature lounges faced a giant movie screen currently showing a cartoon. To the left, a kitchen contained a group of children with glass beakers. They were all wearing white coats and safety goggles. Ben was with two other boys, who couldn’t seem to stand still. She thought he saw her and then looked away again.

‘Can I help you?’ Lori from Ireland, a small redhead with a freckled face, didn’t look much older than eighteen. She smiled and her greenish eyes twinkled.

Sanitising hand gel was in a two-litre bottle on the desk.

‘Hi, I’m Ben’s mother. He’s the one with curly hair over there.’

‘You’re little Aussie’s mum. He’s absolutely gorgeous. And so bright.’ She pressed a button beneath the desk. ‘Come on in, they’re in the middle of making flubber.’

The gate clicked open, and Anya cleaned her hands. ‘We hadn’t planned on leaving him here during the cruise—’

Lori laughed. ‘Good luck getting him out, he’s having a grand time.’

‘He wasn’t shy?’ Anya didn’t get to see much of Ben at school, or interacting with other children.

Lori patted Anya’s shoulder. ‘Only when he first saw the place. Olivia brought him in and introduced him to some boys his age, and you would have thought they’d known each other for years. Been attached to each other ever since.’

The boys poured the contents of one beaker into another and cheered. They had successfully made slimy green gloop, and were taking turns putting their hands in it. Seeing Ben so happy and sociable was a joy.

‘Aussie,’ Lori called. ‘Your mother’s here to see you.’

Ben’s shoulders rounded and he scuffed toward them, hands in short pockets.

‘Do I have to go, Mum? I only just got here. We’re having macaroni and cheese for lunch, and we’re just about to start the Olympics. I’m representing Australia! Please can I stay? Pleeeasse?’ He looked like a puppy on a greeting card.

Anya felt torn. She had imagined spending lots of time with Ben on this holiday, but perhaps she was being selfish. Childhood should be full of fun and, as an only child, Ben often missed out on company his own age.

‘He’s more than welcome to stay. We’re open until eleven this evening.’

‘There’s no way you’re staying here until then.’ The doe-eyed look on her son’s face made her regret sounding so stern. This was supposed to be a holiday. ‘How about I come back around four and see how you feel?’

‘Yay, thanks Mum.’ He threw his arms around her waist and whispered, ‘Love you.’

She squeezed him back. ‘Likewise. Be good and have a great time.’

He was off. A game of Simon Says had begun near the cones.

Lori explained that parents were given pagers, and if the children wanted to be collected, the staff would call. She also wrote down the number of the club and asked Anya to fill out a medical background form, and give permission for excursions to the water slide and up to the sports deck.

‘We also need a password, so you or Ben’s father can sign him out.’

Anya thought of the two girls who had run past her on the stairs. ‘I just passed a couple of kids outside.’

‘Oh, if they’re ten or older, parents can give consent for them to sign themselves out.’

‘Kids that young just come and go as they please?’ Anya thought of her own childhood. She and her brother were never allowed to ride bikes because they might get out of their mother’s sight. They weren’t allowed to meet friends or go for walks without an adult. Although it was understandable, they had felt stifled and controlled.

Lori became serious. ‘I wouldn’t let any child of mine do it. But people assume ships are safe.’ She leant closer. ‘You should be very proud of your boy; he has the most beautiful manners. Just between us, that’s a rarity these days.’

With no way of Ben leaving the club without her or Martin present, she had no qualms about letting him stay. From what she could see, the counsellors were experienced and adept at handling scores of children at once.

Anya headed back to her cabin for a long hot soak in the shower.

Inside, she clicked the deadlock and kicked off her sandals before depositing the pager on the bedside table. The cleaning staff had already changed the linen and cleaned the entire cabin. The bunk bed was back in its recess in the ceiling. Appreciating the tidiness and lingering lemon scent, she slid back the balcony door and let the ocean breeze in. The sheer layer of curtains billowed in and out, like white sails. On the balcony, the weather was perfect, despite the occasional clump of grey clouds in the distance. Small white peaks periodically punctuated the smooth waves.

For the first time she felt like she was on holidays. No work to rush off to, no reports to prepare. Even more importantly, no seasickness. She contemplated what to do and picked up the daily activities sheet and a hardback book placed on the coffee table. On offer that day were Broadway dance classes, a lecture on the history of Hawaii, latest release movies in the theatrette, cooking lessons with the pastry chef, a tour of the kitchens, and a fine art auction in the atrium. While at sea, the casino opened at nine am, the shops at ten, and bingo ran throughout the day and evening. A top deck dance party began at ten and continued until midnight. The art auction piqued her curiosity. It was also the perfect opportunity to explore the ship, at her own pace. She sat on the lounge and flicked through the hardback. Glossy, coloured images of the ship-building process were scattered among astounding figures and facts about the
Paradisio
.

She turned to an article on the owners of the cruise line. Sven Anderson was a third generation shipping magnate, whose family originated from Sweden but moved to America to follow their dreams. The story talked about the business and a family photo showed a number of adults and teenagers grouped behind a ruddy-faced man in his sixties. The caption described two sons from his first marriage, the teenagers seemed to be from a second, and a young girl to his third wife, the daughter of a Russian oligarch. Anya wondered how the family managed Christmas. Having one child in a split family was challenging enough.

She put down the book, peeled off her dress followed by the one-piece swimsuit, and dropped them on the nautical-themed bedspread. The shower was anything but spacious and, for once, she was grateful for her thin body and long limbs. Some of the passengers would struggle to fit through the narrow doorway. Space was at a premium, but the stream was hot and strong. The morning’s resuscitation attempt and visit to the morgue didn’t easily wash away. She couldn’t purge the image of Lilly’s grieving family from her mind.

As water cascaded down her hair and back, her thoughts drifted back to that day in winter at the local football game. The day Miriam disappeared. Despite the weather, her mother decided they should have a picnic during the game. The two sisters were rugged up, in mittens, matching scarves and beanies as they devoured leftover pineapple chicken drumsticks with bread fresh from the bakery. Then a whistle blew and their mother told Anya to look after Miriam. Someone was injured and needed help. With that, the local doctor grabbed her bag and rushed onto the field.

Miriam quickly became restless and wanted their mother, just like Ben had wanted Anya this morning at the pool. To cheer her up and warm themselves, Anya suggested a race to the goal line. Miriam loved to run and quickly took chase. Anya heard her little sister call her name, but was too focused on reaching the white line to turn around. When she swung around to claim victory, her sister was nowhere in sight.

Now in the shower, the realisation hit her like a punch to her abdomen. Just like her mother, Anya had left her child to attend an emergency. She had assumed the ship was safe but now she knew anything could have happened. Ben could have been taken. Or worse. The thought made her want to throw up. She slumped against the wall and buckled over. She pictured Lilly’s bruised body. Is that what had happened to Miriam? For the first time in ages, she cried: for her sister, her family, and all the Lilly Chans.

With wrinkled fingertips, she eventually turned off the taps.