Malicious Intent (6 page)

MALICIOUS INTENT

narcotism due to administration of opiate – morphine or heroin.’

Turning the page, she quickly surveyed the external examination findings. The body was that of a female adult five foot three in height and weighing 105 pounds, dressed in a white blouse, black high heels, jeans, underpants and red bra.

She read aloud:‘There is a recent puncture mark in the right antecubital fossa, associated with an ill-defined area of reddish-blue bruising approximately three centimeters in diameter.’

Looking across the table, she concluded, ‘Pretty standard finding.

The drug was injected into the front of her right arm.’ Her eyes remained fixed to the page as she added what she thought was a rhetorical statement. ‘Presumably Fatima was left-handed.’

‘So I believe.’

Anya continued reading, her fingers trailing over the words.

‘The pathologist mentions a number of yellowish bruises on the back of the body. The largest one measured five centimeters in diameter and was located over the lower part of the right scapula, or shoulder blade.’ She glanced at Brody. ‘The SOCO

talked about them. It looks as though she’d been badly beaten.

Yellowing confirms they weren’t fresh, and a number of ill-defined scars were noted on the back. Looks like there’d been more than one beating.’

‘That’s a potential problem. Mohammed Deab was witnessed assaulting Fatima the night she disappeared. A neighbour rang the Department of Family and Community Services, but the girl was over eighteen and didn’t fall under their jurisdiction.

The community officer knew the family and recommended calling the police, but the neighbor wanted to remain anonymous and didn’t make any more calls.’ Brody doodled on some blotting paper with a gold-plated fountain pen. ‘A couple of weeks after the girl’s death, the community worker phoned the local detectives but they’d already received the anonymous call you mentioned. By that stage the coroner had ruled that the death was due to a lethal injection of opiate and found no suspicious circumstances, didn’t even hold an inquest. Seems the family were very quick to bury her.’

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‘Bear in mind that’s normal practice for Muslims,’ Anya said.

‘I take your point, but that could be interpreted as a desire to cover something up.’

Anya returned to the report. ‘The upper part of the body and the head are congested, consistent with dependent postmortem lividity, and there is some frothy blood-stained fluid around the mouth and nose.’ She watched Brody drawing a series of boxes. ‘So far it’s straightforward. She died slumped forward where she was found. In opiate-related deaths we often see pulmonary edema, or fluid on the lungs, caused by heart failure. The fluid sometimes comes up into the mouth.’

‘What causes it?’ The pen stopped scribbling but his eyes stayed focused on the paper.

‘No one knows exactly how heroin kills, but it may damage the heart muscle, which leads to sudden cardiac failure.’

‘Could that in any way be related to the beating?’

Anya scanned the paragraphs headed ‘Cardiovascular and respiratory systems.’ ‘It’s a normal-size heart, no sign of any trauma, and the lungs are heavy from the congestion. There isn’t anything to suggest a chest injury – no puncture or bruising of the lung, no rib fracture. The assault appears incidental.’

Brody tapped his pen on the notepad. ‘Is there anything else that could be incriminating?’

‘There’s no evidence of head trauma or restraint marks, so it would be difficult to prove whether anybody hit her or held her down before she took the drugs.’

She moved to the toxicology report on the back page.

Screening tests for drugs and poisons show the presence of opiate
in blood and urine. Alcohol nil, morphine 0.2 mg/L, codeine

<0.5 mg/L, bile – morphine 2 mg/L.

‘Looks like Fatima wasn’t a regular drug user,’ she added.

Brody looked up. ‘How can you tell?’

‘Heroin is broken down into morphine very quickly, usually 40

MALICIOUS INTENT

too fast to detect. So we tend to measure the level of morphine in the blood, urine and bile.’

‘Why bile?’ He wrote the word in bold letters.

Anya sat forward. ‘Not all labs do it, but Western Forensics routinely takes bile samples. Narcotics are concentrated in the liver and secreted into bile, and can be stored there for days or even weeks. Regular users often have very high bile levels.’

Anya double-checked the figures. ‘The results suggest she wasn’t a regular user – could even have been her first time, judging by the lack of obvious injection sites noted by the police and pathologist.’

‘Sounds a bit suspicious.’

‘Not necessarily. It’s easy for a first-timer to overdose. They haven’t developed any tolerance to the drug.’

Brody pointed at the document. ‘What do you make of page two, last paragraph – “genital vesicles” ?’

Anya flipped back to the second page and scanned the description of the external genitalia. Pubic hair was notably absent. Multiple vesicles containing clear fluid were noted on the vulva measuring between two and five millimeters in diameter. Other lesions had progressed to areas of superficial ulcer-ation. ‘They’re like blisters,’ she said.

‘Which means?’

‘I’d have to check the swabs but it looks like Fatima had herpes.’ If Anoub Deab was paranoid about AIDS, he was unlikely to be happy about his sister having a sexually transmitted infection.

Dan Brody smirked. ‘Debunks the virgin myth, don’t you think?’

Anya ignored the comment. ‘A first episode of herpes can be extremely painful. The toxicology report doesn’t say anything about acyclovir.’

‘ “A” what?’

‘It’s an antiviral medication used to treat herpes. It helps reduce the severity of an episode.’

‘Are you suggesting the girl used heroin as a
painkiller
?’

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Anya shrugged. ‘Unlikely, but anything’s possible. Morphine’s widely used to treat severe pain.’

Brody threw down his pen and ruffled his hair. ‘It’s pretty clear the police suspect foul play. Unfortunately, there’s a well-documented history of domestic violence.’

‘Lots of drug users come from families where sexual abuse and domestic violence are a part of life.’ Anya straightened the papers on her lap. ‘The police must have something else to go on.’

‘I agree. That’s where I’d like you to become more involved. I thought I’d talk to the neighbor who called Community Services the night the Deab girl was last seen. So far I haven’t had any luck. Fatima’s colleagues might know whether or not she had a male companion.’

‘I told Anoub Deab that I’d find out what I could about the circumstances surrounding her death. That’s all I’ve agreed to.

Now I’m wondering if he told me everything.’

‘They’re a dysfunctional family, but whose isn’t?’ Brody shrugged. ‘Anoub is probably just flexing his muscles behind his father’s back. I don’t see a conflict of interest at this stage and you can bill this office for the work you do for me. Mohammed Deab knows I’ve asked for some expert input and has agreed to pay the bills. As far as I can guess, they both want to know why the police are targeting them.’

‘All right, although I’ll have to work out whom I’m working for when I send out invoices.’ Flipping to the end of the pathology summary, Anya added, ‘The histology report isn’t here so I’ll check the slides and swabs and get back to you.’

Brody rose and handed over a card imprinted with the name Dr. Jennifer Wallace. ‘This is the GP Fatima worked for. She might be able to give you some information about the girl’s habits.’ His jaw twitched, and his tone became serious. ‘I am sorry Anoub went to see you. The Deabs are in with some pretty unsa-vory kinds of people. Just chase the pathology, speak to the GP

and don’t meet Anoub again without talking to me first.’

‘You almost sound worried.’

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‘Believe me, Anya, you don’t want to be involved with these people for any longer than necessary.’

As Brody escorted her from his chambers, Anya began to regret her decision to assist Anoub. In the corridor stood a well-dressed man who smiled at them both and greeted Brody with a handshake. Although a few inches shorter than the lawyer, Vaughan Hunter was a striking figure in many ways.

‘Nice piece of work you did on sexual assault victims for the MJA,’ Hunter said to Anya.

‘I’d forgotten you two worked on a couple of cases with me,’ Brody said, a little too loudly. He turned to Anya.

‘Vaughan’s going to the conference for expert witnesses in Canberra I told you about.’

‘Glad someone read my paper.’ Each time she had worked with the psychiatrist she had found his composure under cross-examination even more impressive than his breadth of knowledge. She wondered how anyone had that much time to read journals. ‘I’d like to go,’ Anya lied, ‘but I’m committed that weekend.’ Two days and nights with her son were better than anything Brody could recommend.

‘Go straight in, Vaughan.’ Brody turned back to Anya.

‘Remember what I said about the Deabs. Be careful.’

6

Dr. Jennifer Wallace’s surgery was nestled between a pharmacy the size of a supermarket and an accountant’s office on the most congested stretch of Merrylands Road. Anya pushed open the front door and found herself in the middle of an empty reception area. Toys were scattered across the floor and torn women’s magazines lay along a row of white plastic chairs. The morning session must have been busy.

A short, portly woman stuck her head out from one of the rooms off a long narrow corridor. ‘Dr. Crichton?’

The woman approached carrying a full rubbish bin in one hand and a plastic shopping bag in the other. ‘I assume you’re Dr. Crichton. I’m Maria, Dr. Wallace’s secretary. She’s been called out to a minor emergency but shouldn’t be long.’

‘I’ll wait, if you don’t mind.’

Maria emptied the rubbish into the plastic bag and tied the handles into a knot. ‘It isn’t often other doctors come to discuss patients in person.’

‘Actually, I’ve come to talk about Fatima.’

‘Jenny said you wanted to know what happened to her.’ Her voice trailed off as she began to pick up toys and dump them in a yellow crate.

Anya bent down to help. ‘Did you know Fatima well?’

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‘Yes, she worked here, you know, until . . .’ She lowered her chin and turned away.

‘Had you known each other long?’ Anya located pieces of a puzzle.

‘Since she was a small girl. We used to live across the road from them. They moved to a bigger house when the family bought a smash repair business on Parramatta Road.’

‘How long had she been a secretary?’

‘Since things got worse. About a year.’

Maria threw the last of the toys into the crate and stood up stiffly. Anya followed her into a consulting room.

‘Her father wanted her to leave school, even though her grades were wonderful. She is – was – a bright girl.’ The receptionist reached for a spray bottle under the sink and pulled the crumpled sheet from the examination couch. ‘She talked her father into letting her earn some money. Jenny gave her the job to help her out and keep an eye on –’ She stopped mid-sentence and busied herself cleaning the couch and covering it with a pressed white sheet.

‘Keep an eye on her because of the violence at home?’

‘You know then, and you do want to find out what happened.’ Maria seemed relieved to talk. ‘We could hear the screaming and fighting when we were neighbors. The father would rant and rave in English, then his own language. Disci-pline, he called it. I say it’s criminal. I once found her hiding in the bushes and brought her to see Jenny. He’d beaten her black and blue. Big man with his belt.’

Anya stifled a sneeze at the lingering antiseptic and thought of the marks and pattern of bruising on Fatima’s back. ‘Did the violence lessen?’

‘Got worse. The father was convinced she was seeing some boy and had the brother drop her off and pick her up. She even ate her lunch inside.’

Anoub had obviously lied about Fatima missing her train.

Anya wondered why. ‘So she didn’t have a boyfriend that you knew of ?’

Maria laughed sarcastically. ‘Fatima wouldn’t even eat without KATHRYN FOX

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her father’s permission. That girl was terrified of talking to boys.’

She puffed the pillow and placed a paper sheet on top. ‘Fatima knew if her father found out, he’d kill her and the boy. She was supposed to marry someone in Lebanon.’

‘An arranged marriage.’

‘Yes, only this man was in his late fifties and already had five children. Fatima was only nineteen, for heaven’s sake.’ Maria sprayed the sink in the corner.

‘What did Fatima do?’

Maria stopped cleaning. ‘As far as I know, she was going to go through with it. Her father wanted his cousin to migrate and that is how they do it.’

Anya had seen the fatal consequences of abused women who tried to escape. ‘Do you think she may have panicked and run away?’

‘Oh no, she would never do that. She had no money and nowhere to go . . .’

Presumably, the father took all the wages, ensuring his daughter’s financial dependence.

‘Was she an unhappy girl?’

‘I don’t think so. She didn’t know any other kind of life.’

Maria wiped the basin.

They moved into the treatment room. Posters on the walls promoted immunization, increasing iron intake for ‘little Iron-steins’ and, ironically, a crisis center for victims of abuse.

‘Do you know if she had used drugs before?’

When Maria spoke, it was quietly, as though someone could have been listening. ‘I don’t believe it. That poor child couldn’t even bear to look at needles.’ She opened the autoclave and removed the instruments with artery forceps, placed them into sterile packs and sealed and dated each one. ‘I can’t believe she’s gone.’ Maria began to tremble and dropped the pair of forceps. ‘She should have come to me – she promised.’ The woman put her hands over her face and wept. ‘She’d still be alive . . .’

Anya reached over and put a hand on the woman’s shoul-46