Burn Patterns (25 page)

‘Yes, Detective Pavlovic. Those are Mrs Foster's rights.'

She did have a name. This was an interrogation.

‘I'd have to look at my diary, Detective.'

‘It appears your husband was away that weekend.'

Iris tried to think. She couldn't remember.

‘I understand your husband is away at the moment.'

‘Yes. He's … yes.'

‘Is there anyone who can account for your whereabouts last night, Mrs Foster?'

‘Why are you asking me about last night?'

He watched her, making one of his calculations, weighing up the risks of giving her information against what he might gain.

‘Last night, the Martian escaped from a non-secure ward at Fieldhaven.'

‘My god. Why wasn't I told?'

‘Your phone was off. Where is your telephone, Mrs Foster?'

‘I seem to have lost it again.'

‘We have it, actually. Recovered from near a pond in the butterfly house.' He watched her as though she might crack.

‘Good. I'd like it back if it still works. Are you saying James did this, this fire?'

‘Open mind.'

‘How did he …'

‘Still piecing it together. We do know that as a consequence of a fire in his secure room and the reports from you and Dr Silverberg, he was moved to an even less secure ward. Fewer staff, less security, no cameras. He might have picked the lock on that room. He might have been able to break into the drugs cabinet. He might know medicine and needles. He might have sedated both night staff and taken their keys. I'd suggest it is more likely someone else did the sedating and let him out. James the Martian left via a route which evaded the well-placed CCTV cameras in the grounds.'

‘It doesn't make any sense to me.'

‘Sense? I can make all kinds of sense. You're Zorro, he's your patsy. He's Zorro, you're his partner. You broke him out and went to the zoo and he thought he'd get rid of you, to shut you up, close the loop. You broke him out and started the fire to throw us off the scent while he escaped. He broke himself out and came after you because you're blackmailing him. There are
lots of ways of making sense of this. It is only a matter of time before more evidence comes to light. Mrs Foster, I could arrest you …'

‘For what?'

‘AVO could get us by for now.'

‘An apprehended violence order?'

‘Lighting fires is violent. We have other terrorist provisions too. How about you agree to come to the station, while we gather more facts – clear these things up?'

Iris did need a lawyer but her mind leapt to Mathew, not for the fact he was a lawyer, nor that she knew dozens, but because this could be fatal to his aspirations for the bench. Her thoughts on her husband were particularly complicated and contrary at present, so she built a quick wall around the issue of lawyers. She stood, grabbing her handbag. ‘Of course I will help you, Detective. I've been trying to. I am innocent by the way. I need to help you prove it. You can be my champion.'

Pavlovic smirked even though he was shaking his head in a pretty good rendition of disbelief. ‘Excellent.' He opened his hand towards the policewoman. ‘We have a car.'

As Iris stepped towards the door, he said, ‘I don't suppose you'd tell me where the rest of the diethyl ether is?'

‘The rest?' said Iris.

He studied her for some seconds before retrieving the recorder from the table. He didn't turn it off.

Johnston drove, Pavlovic in the back with Iris. He tried a couple of times to chat, the recorder sitting casually on his lap.

‘Did you see anyone suspicious at the zoo?'

She shook her head.

‘Why were you at the zoo?'

‘I wanted to see the butterflies.'

‘The butterflies? Why?'

‘I like butterflies.'

He didn't believe her. It did not sound plausible. Iris did not doubt she had been targeted.

Zorro? If not Zorro, who else? Even if James was Zorro, he had no reason to kill her. Indeed, he could have killed her when she had been hypnotised. He could have killed her before, during or after the bed fire. He had safely established his own madness and in a strange way his own sanity. He might have been released. He didn't have to escape.

Iris said, ‘Do you think the offender of the school fire might be spooked to see or hear I'm working on the case and try to take me off the board?'

Pavlovic considered before conceding, ‘Possible, I guess.'

‘Well, could you please add it to your list of theories? Do you know where Charles Koch is?'

‘I don't think it's him.'

‘I don't either. If Zorro came after me, could Chuck be in danger? He's poking around, might have raised a red flag.'

‘Yes. Fair enough.' Pavlovic used his mobile. ‘Charles Koch, the arson investigator. Yes. Yes. We might need to put a car at his
boat. Might be a target. Yes. It is her suggestion. Bringing her.'

An exploratory nudge of media were outside the police station.

Iris said, ‘Don't handcuff me.'

Pavlovic said, ‘I wasn't going to.'

‘Look at these clothes the hospital gave me. I look like a recaptured fugitive, not a consultant. Which is what I am doing, what I will be doing, after I'm cleared. I'm not even helping you with your inquiries, Stuart. I'm consulting, whether you think so or not.' Iris tried to keep pleading from her voice.

Pavlovic blinked at her. Finally he said, ‘No parade. Let's go in the gates, Lorraine.'

Officer Lorraine Johnston turned into the alleyway beside police HQ, buzzed them through an automatic sliding metal gate into the underground carpark.

Pavlovic took Iris up in the lift.

Iris said, ‘So you have incident rooms at Fire and Rescue Command, and interview rooms here?'

He shrugged.

Iris said, ‘It's getting bigger all the time, isn't it?'

Pavlovic didn't answer.

A uniformed officer was waiting when the lift arrived. Pavlovic said, ‘Room four.' The floor was busy with detectives, uniforms and civilians with identity tags, all moving with urgent purpose.

The uniform led Iris to a small interview room. Affixed to the single table was a microphone. A camera was mounted above a mirror, which filled the wall by the door.

Iris said, ‘Could I have coffee and some water?'

‘I'll see,' he said, a young man with big shoulders. But he stayed where he was by the door.

Iris went to the mirror, saw again how she looked in secondhand hospital garb. At least she'd managed to redo her makeup at the hospital. She should ask them if her earring had been found. That's not an incendiary device, it's my antique.

The door opened, a man and woman entered. He was Chinese. They were both in their fifties, dressed for comfortable professional work. She wore dark slacks, a dark grey summer
jacket over a pale blue, fine-knit t-shirt. He wore light chinos, a blue striped shirt not tucked into his pants.

The man said in an Australian accent to the policeman, ‘Could Mrs Foster have the water and coffee please?'

The woman said, ‘Mrs Foster, my name is Clara and this is John.' They remained standing at the door. Clara said, ‘We're here to carry out a couple of psychological tests.'

‘Really?'

‘We're helping with assessments, screenings …'

‘You're forensic psychologists.'

‘Yes,' said John with another smile touched with embarrassment.

‘Seconded to the federal taskforce,' added Clara.

Iris said, ‘Well folks, I must say I have been on the other side of this process quite a few times.'

‘You can give us marks at the end,' said Clara, rather too lightly. She indicated where Iris should sit, facing the mirror, then sat next to her before bringing out a folder.

John took a chair, put it near the wall, so he was out of Iris's direct line of sight, but could watch her face, mostly in profile.

Clara said, ‘Are you familiar with the Rorschach test?'

‘Yes.'

‘Have you done it or used it often?'

‘A few times at uni, I think. I am probably familiar enough with the test to skew valid findings.' Iris tried turn to Clara, but she'd taken her chair back, so Iris concentrated on Chinese John and the mirror as she spoke. Perhaps he was younger than fifty, although his eyes were lined. They'd been working long hours, Iris assumed, possibly since the explosion at Barnard's.

John said, ‘I might ask other questions afterwards to fill things out. I hear you had a close call at the zoo?'

‘Is this part of the test?'

‘Well, breaking the ice I suppose. I do hope you're okay.'

‘I had a small piece of metal taken out of my back. I'm not in shock though, if that matters. They gave me a local anaesthetic, so I'm not on anything. I'll need Panadol soon I'm sure.'

John took extra time to make notes about Iris's responses.

Iris finally said, ‘I'm sure shock will kick in later, right now
my dominant feeling is embarrassment. I've been brought here dressed like a refugee.' Iris indicated her hospital apparel.

John gave a polite smile.

Iris said, ‘Or is this a standard interrogation technique? Humiliate. Take away dignity. Decentre core values.'

It didn't get a laugh.

Clara leaned forward, opened up the file to the first inkblot image.

Iris recalled there were ten cards in total. She said, ‘I don't want to turn them around. I know how it works. This looks like two seahorses. They're not talking.'

John took out a notebook, jotted something. Iris could hear Clara scribbling in her file.

Iris said, ‘Wow, got you going right off the bat.'

Clara said, ‘The next one?'

Iris said, ‘Two Cossacks dancing. Together. Their knees are bent. They're clapping hands in the middle.'

Iris flipped to the next image. Said, ‘Two women. See their boobs. They are lifting up a basket.'

She regarded the next. ‘A woolly mammoth. See his trunk. I think he's smiling. He's a bit of a scallywag. Not an adult woolly mammoth.'

‘A butterfly.' Iris flicked over the cards at her own pace, ignoring the frantic scribbling around her. She mostly tried to tell them the truth of what she saw. ‘I have to give you some background about this one. I know it's the sex card or one of the sex inkblots and I'm pretty sure I did not see female genitalia here until I was told, so now I can't help seeing a woman's pudenda. I'm afraid I can't go back to my Rorschach virginity on this one. It's the shading along here where the labia would be curled. Which would make the angel standing on top a kind of wonderful metaphor for either her clitoris, or is it an orgasm?' Iris glanced to catch John smiling, as he wrote something in his notebook.

Iris turned to the next one. She recalled this as the mother card. She said, ‘Two girls dancing. So much fun. Their ponytails are bobbing.' Iris started to turn the page, but stopped, went back. ‘I fibbed. What I first saw was a girl looking in the mirror.
She's not happy with what she sees.'

Iris went to the next page. ‘This card is colour. I'm not sure where to look. I see a trophy maybe. Hang on, I also see two panthers climbing up a boat. Those are the sails. The panthers are sailing the boat. I've seen the film
Pi
, which might be suggestive of influence.'

Iris dealt the next. ‘Two swans. It's a ballet.' Iris didn't say what she'd really seen. She turned the page. What Iris had first seen were two witches fighting as they stood in flames. It surprised and frightened her.

‘And this ink spot?' prompted Clara.

‘Caterpillars, chrysalis and those might be butterflies, already born. They won't be gone long those poor little critters down at the zoo – rebirth, regeneration.' Iris turned to John, ‘So Doc, what's the prognosis?'

John smiled but checked to Clara. She must have signalled because he said, ‘What is in the ladies' basket, do you suppose?'

‘Washing. They were bringing in the washing.'

‘Would you mind turning back to that one?'

Iris found it. ‘Will I have to keep going until I guess the right answers?'

‘Some people see blood in those red splotches.'

‘Oh, I didn't. I didn't really notice the red. Clothes, still on the line? Did you want blood?'

‘Card number seven. I realise you are familiar with the popular responses and categories. Why did you feel you needed to lie?'

‘I'm in a hostile environment. I felt the first response might weaken my position further. Oh, she has self-image issues! Oh, she has an unreconciled duality. Maybe we need to explore her relationship with her mother. My professional instinct suggested I not raise these as possibilities.'

‘Yet you corrected it. You didn't stay with the lie.'

‘I am innocent, so I thought I shouldn't hide anything. Let the chips fall where they may. Having parent problems is not yet a prosecutable offence … in police stations anyway.'

‘You saw lots of butterflies.'

‘Doesn't everyone?'

‘Yes, but you saw butterflies where participants see other things and no butterflies where many people do.'

Iris didn't answer immediately. It was not a matter of right or wrong answers, even if there were common clusters of what people saw. Context and other information were more important. The whole picture. The story constructed about it. The time taken to decipher or process or mediate. ‘I like butterflies. I saw lots get fried,' she offered.

John thought about it. Clara kept scribbling, the scratching behind Iris like rats in the ceiling.

‘Card nine,' John said, as though reading her mind. ‘What upset you about card nine?'

‘None of your business,' said Iris with a disarming smile.

‘So you lied about the second last card?'