Without Consent (9 page)

With Gloria waiting in the front office,
Anya moved into the adjoining room and Mary laid down a fresh blue sheet on the bed. “I’ll stay if you like, or be just next door if you need me.”

“I’m all right with just the doctor,” Melanie said.

Anya closed the sliding door, locked it and placed a sheet of white paper on the floor. She opened a pack of size-five latex gloves and stretched them over her fingers.

“I’ll need you to gently take off your clothes over the paper. It’s the best chance of collecting dirt, fibers, hairs and anything else he transferred to you in the attack.”

Melanie complied. Anya helped her into a white hospital gown, observing more injuries as she tied up the back. She then folded the underwear and placed it inside a brown paper bag.

“We’ll get you a drink in a minute, but first I need you to spit into a container.”

Melanie tried her best to muster some saliva. Anya pipetted out the contents into another screw-top vial.

“I’m going to give you a tiny amount of water. I want you to swish it around your mouth and spit again.” This time, the result yielded more.

“Lastly, flossing your teeth after an assault might be a more effective way of getting DNA evidence.”

“If it helps get rid of any part of him, I’ll do it.”

With the dental floss labelled and placed in another jar, Anya began to take notes of the injuries. The face was swelling more, but there was no bagginess when she pressed it to suggest a fracture. Oval-shaped bruises on the right-hand side of Melanie’s neck were consistent with those caused by finger pressure. A thumb-sized mark on the left suggested his hand had spanned Melanie’s throat, his four fingers embedded into the flesh on her right side.

“Did he take off both gloves?” Anya asked.

“I think so. I’m not sure. I remember seeing a flash of white as he punched me. I didn’t see the hand again.”

Anya took both wet and dry swabs from the fingermark bruises, in the hope they’d uncover some of the offender’s skincells. Chances of a result were low since Melanie had been forced to have a shower, but worth the try.

The attacker had punched Melanie in the right breast, causing a large black hematoma beneath the skin. Anya measured the width and breadth of the bruises and copied the shapes in her notes. From the left breast toward the collarbone was a linear narrow bruise, consistent with the impression left by a knife blade and part of the handle. She measured the dimensions and drew them as accurately as possible.

The mark was alarmingly similar to the bruise left on another victim she had recently seen, Anya realized. The pharmacist attacked in the car park near the hospital.

Two raps on the door meant that Mary had a drink ready. Anya unlocked and opened it enough to take the foam cup for Melanie, who continued to thank her. It always amazed Anya how grateful sexual-assault victims were for even the most minor act of kindness or consideration.

Next task was to take a dry swab from under the fingernails, in case the offender’s tissue had transferred in the struggle. Anya repeated this with wet swabs and then asked if she could cut Melanie’s rather long nails, a job she didn’t enjoy. To most forensic physicians’ surprise, studies showed that swabs from beneath fingernails were more likely to yield DNA than the cut portions. Anya suspected that was due to the fact that the clippings often projectiled across the room. In the process of hunting the specimens down and recollecting them, it was hardly surprising that some of the DNA matter would be lost. So much for high-tech processes shown on shows like
CSI.
Reality was far more clumsy.

She opened a new pair of scissors and carefully clipped each nail before discarding the utensils in a sharps bin.

“Do you throw all the equipment away?” Melanie asked. “Is it all contaminated?”

Anya was glad the young woman had spoken. It felt more comfortable to explain procedures than endure the silence.

“Anything metal needs to be soaked, scrubbed and sterilized in an autoclave. The protocol says to soak scissors in alcohol, but when I tried that, they turned into a pile of rust, which would be great for spreading tetanus.”

Melanie offered a half-smile through a swollen cheek. “What made you want to do this kind of work?”

Anya slowly lowered the head of the bed.

“Now, I need to feel your abdomen, then it’s time to see where that bleeding is coming from.” Repositioning the pillow for comfort, Anya added, “It’s something I feel strongly about—that this job is done right and people like you get the best possible care.” After covering Melanie with a rug across her upper legs, she swabbed the area around the vagina for semen, smeared the swab onto a glass slide and replaced it in its labelled tube. “This shouldn’t hurt.” Anya noted no obvious injury to the perineal area and carefully collected the next specimen. Finally, she warmed the smallest metal speculum with running water from the adjacent sink. “You’re actually in control here, although you may not feel it. If you feel tense or it hurts, please let me know and I’ll stop straight away.” Anya walked over and stressed, “I don’t want to cause any more pain.”

Melanie gritted her teeth and her thigh muscles automatically tightened, revealing bruising of the inner thighs.

“By the way, breathing really helps you to relax. Holding your breath makes every part of your body tense.” Anya walked over, gently inserted the speculum and opened it. “I’ve found what’s causing the bleeding. Along the back wall of the vagina there’s a small tear. It looks like it’ll heal by itself in the next couple of days.”

“Is that bad?”

Thigh muscles contracted again.

“Not at all. It means there isn’t damage to your bowel or bladder, or other organs.” Anya took some more swabs and removed the speculum.

Melanie’s eyes welled with tears again. “Can I get up now?”

“The shower’s all yours. There are some unglamorous black tracksuits in the cupboard, and new underwear, too. Consider the lot disposable.” She threw out the used speculum in a yellow contaminated-waste bin.

While Melanie sat up, Anya thought about the similarity in injuries between the two rape victims. “If you didn’t see your attacker, was there anything else about him that you remember? Something he said or did?”

“Apart from taking a break to eat? Actually, there was something. He seemed to think he was doing me a favor the first time. Just before he raped me, he told me that if I couldn’t be hurt, I couldn’t be loved. It was almost like he loved me and pain was part of that.”

Anya shuddered with the realization that a serial rapist was on the loose in their area. She helped the woman down and into the en suite. “I’ll leave you in peace, but if you need anything I’ll be in the lounge room. You just have to call or press the buzzer in the cubicle.”

Closing the sliding door, Anya returned to Mary.

“Can you give her a few minutes? We still need to talk about emergency contraception, infection screening and follow-up.”

Mary agreed. “Are you okay?”

“Just tired. We’ve got a serial rapist this time. I get the feeling we’re going to be seeing more of his handiwork.”

As the sound of the shower continued, Mary left to comfort Gloria, the second victim of Melanie’s sexual assault.

Before Anya left the unit, she sat down
to re-read Louise Richardson’s file. Her offender had used the exact phrase, and the pharmacist had suffered an almost identical bruise near her collarbone. Her attacker had also carried a knife, but Anya assumed the police already had those details. Checking the logbook for the evidence fridge, she saw that the specimens had been removed but not collected by the police. They were listed as destroyed. Anya hurried to find Mary Singer, who was writing up her own notes in the main office area.

“Do you remember Louise Richardson, the pharmacist attacked near the hospital?”

“The one trying for a baby.” Mary glanced up. “Husband was into art, I think.”

“Yes. What happened to her specimens? I thought she wanted to go to the police.”

“Ah, she called a couple of days later and wanted us to destroy the samples. Said she didn’t want the police involved.”

Damn!
“Do you remember the name of the pharmacy?”

“It’s in the lane behind the specialists’ center, I think.” Mary returned to her notes.

Anya used the Internet to locate the pharmacy and phoned, asking for Louise. The man on the phone said Louise had left work and was not returning. He offered to help, but Anya knew that if Louise had voluntarily disappeared, like so many victims did following an assault, there was little chance of eliciting more information about the attacker. Telling the police about Louise Richardson was a breach of confidentiality but they somehow had to be warned about a violent serial offender. In Anya’s experience, the violence would only escalate.

In her Annandale office later that day, Anya put down the receiver in disbelief. After wading through the next six cases Morgan Tully had sent, she had called the president of the College of Pathologists. Each file she reviewed suggested that Alf Carney found remote and even theoretical reasons to deem each of the deaths from natural causes. No wonder Carney was under investigation by the Coroner’s office. Despite highly suspicious circumstances surrounding each death, the police’s hands were tied once Carney had labelled the deaths due to vitamin, mineral or some other deficiency.

Her secretary knocked on the door with a coffee and a slice of chocolate cake.

“You’re quiet today. Everything all right?”

Anya took the offerings and put them on the table beside her paperwork. “Thanks. I could do with more caffeine.”

“Your lawyer conference is rebooked for Thursday.” Anya instantly recognized Elaine’s concerned-mother expression. “Long night?”

“You could say that. But this lot…” Anya waved her hand over the case-files, “has got me stumped. I can’t see why someone with Alf Carney’s experience and renown can come to conclusions like this. Don’t suppose you’ve heard anything on the grapevine about his health?”

Elaine blushed, just perceptibly. “Are you asking me to make some discreet inquiries?”

Anya felt awkward discussing Peter Latham with Elaine, even more so since the older pair had begun playing bridge together once a week. She didn’t know whether the relationship was platonic or not, and didn’t really want to know. She ate the icing off the cake.

“No. I don’t know what I’m asking. It just seems so odd.”

Elaine sat in the chair across from Anya’s desk. “Peter said he’d spent some time with Alf recently. I think he feels sorry for him. His wife died a few years ago. After that, he took up with some alternative-health practitioner, but that didn’t last long. Sounds as though the man thinks the world is against him at the moment.”

“Why don’t I know this stuff?”

“His wife died about the time you were away in England. No one talks about it any more. Besides, if I wanted the latest gossip, you’d be the last one to ask.”

“Fair enough. I can sympathize with him, but the reports speak volumes about his lack of knowledge and dubious interpretation. Based on the objective findings, I can’t agree with any of his conclusions about cause of death.”

As though anticipating her next thought, Elaine offered, “You don’t have to worry about me telling anyone what’s going on.”

“I appreciate that. Apparently, Alf didn’t ever sit or pass the college exams. He dodged the training and all the exams by being in rural areas without any pathologists. He started doing autopsies and working with the police because there was no one else to do it.” She sipped the coffee. “Years later, he was awarded an honorary fellowship by the college, so no one ever questioned his qualifications.”

“But if his findings are so controversial, why haven’t they been challenged before?”

“That’s what I don’t understand. These cases go years back. There weren’t any complaints before, which means that lawyers and police loved him. His opinion helped convict a lot of people.”

“Didn’t you say he finds cause of death natural in those cases?”

“That’s what doesn’t make sense. Somewhere he’s switched allegiance. Maybe it had something to do with that alternative-health practitioner you said he was involved with?”

Elaine crossed her legs. “A man under the influence of a siren?”

“Hardly, but he might have been influenced by an evangelical belief in vitamin and immune deficiencies as causes for all ills.”

Elaine stood and straightened. “Does the college think there’s a problem with him?”

“There has been some concern from other pathologists, but no one’s made a formal complaint. That’s how he’s managed to keep practicing. No one’s game to ruin his career.”

Elaine left the room but returned a few minutes later with a knock. “There are two women here to see you.”

Anya took the time to close the files and move them into a drawer before she greeted Gloria and Melanie Havelock in the corridor. Melanie didn’t make eye-contact as they found seats in Anya’s office.

“We need to speak with you,” Gloria began. “We found your address in the phonebook.”

“I’m glad you came. How are you feeling, Melanie?”

The younger woman stared at the table. “How am I supposed to feel? Mum gets raped, lies about it and doesn’t tell us that there were photos of us in her bag, along with our address. Then I get raped in our own house. How do you think I feel?”

“I imagine very angry, which is absolutely normal right now.”

Gloria fiddled with the collar of her plaid shirt. “It’s my fault, what happened to Melanie. I thought I was protecting her by not making a police statement.”

Anya leaned forward in her chair. “You had to do what was right for you at the time. Every rapist tells the victim he knows where she or he lives, and threatens to come back if the police are called. It’s their way of trying to control you afterward as well.” She stood up, unable to wheel her chair around to Melanie. Instead, she sat on the desk near her. “Sexual assault has nothing to do with sex. It’s all about control.”

For the first time, Melanie Havelock looked back.

“Can we find out if whoever did this to Mum did this to me too?”

“That’s difficult,” Anya said.

“What about the forensic evidence? Mum said you examined her at the time.”

Gloria looked away and closed her eyes again. This must have been so painful for her. She did not just suffer herself. She had to relive it with her child.

“I asked them to destroy it all,” she almost whispered.

“What?” Melanie asked. “What does Mum mean? You can’t destroy evidence! There must be something left.”

“I can’t send the SAI kit—all the notes on the examination and specimens collected—on to the police without written permission. Your mother didn’t give it. That means she chose not to make a police statement or be involved in an investigation.” Anya paused, and clasped her hands. “Because she didn’t want to do either of those things, she wanted us to destroy the samples, which we did.”

“So what you’re saying is that whoever did it to Mum got away with it? And maybe came back for me too?” The young woman stood and dug her fingers into her scalp. “How could you do that?”

Anya understood the frustration, but tried to make it clearer. “It’s the law. Your mother had the same choices you now have. We have to respect her decisions. Just like we respect yours.”

“I’m nothing like my mother.”

Gloria Havelock buried her face in her hands and began to cry.

Her daughter leaned on the desk, ignoring the older woman’s distress. “I want this bastard to pay, whether my mother likes it or not. I want the police to get the evidence you took from me last night and find the bastard. He is not going to get away with what he did to me.”

“He said he’d come back and kill you,” Gloria sobbed.

Melanie stood straight and spoke calmly. “Not if I find him first.”