Fatal Impact (23 page)

‘That’s it. The same bacteria that killed Emily Quaid and infected the others,’ Anya concluded. ‘If it was on the leg wound, it was most likely in the dirt, or manure.’

‘OK. The corn diet could have been responsible for the new, virulent strain. But how did it get into the spinach?’ Jeanette considered the possibilities. ‘The cattle were contained behind those fences and Len didn’t use the manure to fertilise his crops. He wouldn’t buy anything from PT on principle.’

Anya was reminded of something the medical registrar at the hospital had said. There must have been something in the water here. All Livelonger’s produce was sprayed and washed before packaging.

She thought out loud. ‘If the water supply had been temporarily infected, he could have washed the bacteria onto the spinach without ever knowing.’

Jeanette tapped the steering wheel. ‘You could be on to something.’

For the first time, Anya felt like they could find an answer to why people died and who might be responsible. If only they knew how Emily Quaid acquired the infection. The only person likely to answer that was Jenny Quaid, if and when she was found. Still, the other victims deserved to know how and why they acquired it.

‘Do you have any maps of the water supplies, and where the South Esk River runs?’

A few more clicks and the maps were on the screen. The purest water came through the river that flowed through the properties owned by PT. It deviated through Len’s property at the north-eastern quarter before meandering through Jocelyn’s property.

Seeing the maps was revealing. Suddenly, Len and Jocelyn’s theories made some sense. It would explain why PT were so keen to acquire Dengate’s land, and no doubt, her mother’s as well. With the addition of those two properties, PT would exclusively control the entire area’s irrigation supply. They could run all competition out of business. By then, they would have acquired all the land and it didn’t matter if they alienated the locals. No one could afford to buy them out.

Jeanette had already proven invaluable help.

‘Len irrigated from the river, if that were contaminated, you’d expect a lot more cases. It wouldn’t have been in his water supply then.’ Anya felt frustrated by the dead end. Or maybe not. The next question she had was where on the property was Len’s spinach grown? Jeanette made a call to the office. Grace answered. Spinach was seasonally grown in the southeastern and northwestern fields. Downhill from the feed lots.

Jeanette retrieved the testing kit from the back of the car and removed some swabs and specimen jars.

Anya asked, ‘If it’s in the cattle faeces and was flushed down into the spinach crop, are you sure you want to be the one responsible for finding out? You’ll probably lose your job, and they may come after you for breaching confidentiality or harming the company. They’ll think of something that may affect your future employment prospects in the state.’

Jeanette remained silent.

It seemed unlikely PT knew about the E. coli in the manure. If they did, they could have reverted the cattle to grass feed, and the evidence would have been destroyed in a few days. Once the acidity in the animals’ stomachs returned to normal, the E. coli would no longer thrive.

Anya didn’t want Jeanette to suffer. She’d already helped so much. ‘I’m happy for you to walk away and leave the swabs with me. There’s a class action in progress and they’ll come after PT if our theory is proven correct.’

The vet pondered for a few moments. ‘Len’s gone. Nothing will bring him back. I can make sure his good name is protected. If he isn’t responsible for the E. coli outbreak, I want to be the one to clear his name.’

Anya was impressed by the loyalty Len Dengate still inspired and felt the hairs on her arms stand up. The big man had said that if he went down, he’d make sure he took PT with him. She and Jocelyn needed to brace themselves for the backlash that would head their way if the E. coli grew. Manure samples had never been so valuable.

38

T
he following morning, a clean-shaven man in a pressed grey suit, pale blue shirt and mauve tie spoke to the nurse outside. He looked more like a police officer than a doctor.

Jocelyn was still dozing.

The friendly nurse popped her head in. Seeing the patient asleep, she whispered to Anya, ‘There’s a detective out here who wants to talk to you.’

‘Did he give his name?’

‘No, but for what it’s worth, he’s pretty cute and very polite.’

Anya put the files she’d been reading under her bag on the chair and folded the spare blanket on top.

The slim, tall gentleman held two takeaway coffees in a cardboard tray. He extended a hand. ‘Oliver Parke. I’m sorry to turn up unannounced but rumour has it you aren’t answering your phone.’

‘It got burnt along with a squad car.’ She shook his hand. ‘Long story.’

‘Your father called the Longford police when he couldn’t reach you or your mother after the fire.’ He pulled a piece of paper from his pocket. ‘A female constable wanted me to pass this on.’

Rhonda was the policewoman she had met the night of the fire. Anya read the note.
Evelyn is improving, and coming off dialysis. Please call when you can.

‘Thank you.’ Another advantage of a smaller town where the police knew the locals. ‘Constable Hammond mentioned you were in town.’

‘I came to Hobart for the conference you spoke at. I’ve been looking into complaints about how police handle child abuse cases in the state. Just after you rang, I heard about the police roadside shooting. I brought you a proper coffee.’ He held out the cardboard tray. ‘Didn’t know how you take it, so there’s one with milk, one without.’

Anya chose black. ‘Thanks.’

‘Then I found out you were a witness to the shooting, so I put my hand up. As you know, an outsider has to be brought in to investigate the local constabulary in cases like this. That way we avoid potential conflict of interest and the public get the investigation they deserve.’ He gestured to the exit. ‘Do you mind if we step outside? It’s cooler out there.’ They passed through the double doors to a corridor and sat on plastic waiting-room chairs. ‘So Hammond just happened to mention to you that I’d interviewed him?’

Anya quickly corrected him. ‘He came to see how my mother was. I assure you we didn’t discuss what happened the night before last. He was completely ethical.’ There was nothing like an internal affairs investigation to make everyone nervous. She lifted the cup. ‘Is this a bribe?’

‘I prefer negotiation offering. I know it isn’t a good time for you. I need to get your statement this morning. Here or at a station.’

‘Accepted.’ It was difficult to believe that she had almost been killed a couple of nights ago. Anya’s fingers moved to the bruise on her forehead and back to the warmth of the cup.

She needed to know about the man who had tried to kill her.

‘Have they identified the body on the road?’

‘Hobart boys recognised the description of the tattoos. Dental records confirmed the ID. Thadeus Leske, aka Mincer.’

‘Mincer?’

‘With a first name like Thadeus, can you blame him? Released from Risdon prison two months ago. Standover man, debt collector and occasional arsonist. If anyone welshed on their debts, his signature move was putting their fingers in a meat grinder.’ He tapped on the side of the coffee cup. ‘Real charmer from the sounds of it. Medical records show he had inoperable lung cancer. Not surprising, he was a chain smoker.’

That was why he had nothing to lose, she thought. He may not have wanted the rest of his days to be spent in prison.

‘Did anyone think to check for his fingerprints at the Dengate house?’

‘What are you thinking? I chased up on the case you rang me about. McGinley is convinced Dengate’s fatal wound was self-inflicted.’ Parke turned to face Anya. ‘There’s an
interesting
character, by the way.’

Anya wondered what that phrase really meant to an internal investigator. She was thinking about Mincer Leske. ‘A known arsonist and standover man is in town the night a major fire started and he happened to be carrying a homemade flamethrower?’ She sipped. ‘McGinley mentioned Len’s body smelling like petrol but I didn’t pick that up. McGinley assumed that was proof Len started the fire then shot himself out of guilt. Mum said he would have filled up a generator when he heard about the fire, in case power went out. I found an empty can next to it in the shed. Sounds like Mum was right and McGinley jumped to a dangerous conclusion.’

‘Yeah, well, the sarge has only ever worked one homicide. Do you know of any connection between Leske and Dengate?’

A wardsman wheeled a patient on a bed along the corridor. The wheels squeaked. A nurse carried a large bag of X-rays with the patient. The ward was getting a new admission.

Oliver moved to open the ward door for them. When the patient was inside, he returned. ‘What made you think Dengate’s death was suspicious?’

‘Len wrote a letter to my mother. We found it in documents that included his will. He specifically asked for me to investigate his death, whether it looked accidental or otherwise.’

‘McGinley claims Len was more than a touch eccentric.’

Anya knew exactly what that implied. ‘He was lucid and had enough foresight to organise psych assessments that confirmed he was of sound mind when he changed his will three months ago.’

Oliver smiled. ‘Smart guy. Okay. He worries something’s going to happen to him. Then it does.’ He swigged on his coffee. ‘First question to ask if you suspect a staged suicide: who benefited from his death?’

Anya knew the fact that her mother had been first on the scene and had Len’s blood all over her was enough to raise suspicion. Being the sole beneficiary could be used against her. She could not prove that Len hadn’t told her about changing the will. And the papers had been buried under her chicken pen.

‘Not necessarily. Maybe we should be asking who
believed
they would benefit at the time of Len’s death.’

‘I’m liking the way you think, doctor.’ He checked his watch. ‘Can I give you a lift to the station? If we get the formal interview over with, I can look into whatever else is necessary while I’m still here. That scene was a complete cock-up. If nothing else, McGinley deserves a rocket where it’s likely to hurt him most.’

Anya felt a wave of relief. The chances of Len Dengate’s death being dismissed as suicide were decreasing.

‘I’ll grab my bag. Oh, and is there any chance I can attend Len’s post-mortem? Can you find out when it’s scheduled?’

He pulled out his phone and dialled as Anya left a message with the nurse about where she was going.

Oliver hung up as she returned. ‘We’re in luck. It’s in half an hour, just a few storeys below us. We can both go then head to the station for your statement. There’s even time for breakfast if you want.’

‘McGinley will just love seeing us again,’ she quipped. He had been in the same job for years, with little experience in crime scenes. She pulled on her cardigan. ‘Do you know about the other homicide case McGinley worked on?’

‘Constable Rhonda did mention it. Guy called Reuben Millard is serving life in Risdon.’

‘The victim, Patsy Gallop, was Len Dengate’s fiancée. Len always believed Millard was framed.’

Oliver raised his cup. ‘McGinley just got a lot more interesting.’

39

S
teve Schiller was already in the autopsy suite office when Anya and Oliver arrived. He stood as soon as he saw them.

‘Thanks for coming,’ Oliver said, finishing off an egg and bacon roll. ‘This is–’

‘Doctor, good to see you again.’

Oliver rolled the wrapper into a ball and lobbed it into a wastepaper basket. ‘Should have known. Five hundred thousand people in the state and they all know each other.’

‘We met over the E. coli poisonings,’ Schiller explained. He was far more formal in the presence of a Police Integrity officer. Oliver seemed to have that effect on people.

‘Heard your relative is doing better.’

‘She’s lucky, compared to some of the others.’ The news stations and papers had been more occupied with fires and shootings. ‘Any word on Jenny or Mia Quaid?’

He shook his head. ‘It’s weird. They just vanished. The way that little girl was left with the toy. You wouldn’t think they’d miss the funeral if they had a choice. If Heyes knows something, the mongrel isn’t talking.’

What he didn’t say was that with each day, the odds of them being found alive decreased.

‘On the upside, no new cases have been reported.’ He turned to Oliver. ‘The government is in damage control over the outbreak. The Attorney General is putting heat on to charge the directors of Livelonger Organics with negligent homicide, or manslaughter.’

‘Len Dengate was the owner.’ Oliver wiped his hands with a handkerchief. ‘He’s inside on a slab.’

A woman wearing an ID badge entered the office. ‘Dr Ashton’s ready to begin.’

Anya had worked with Ashton before he moved to Launceston. He was thorough and very experienced. They followed the assistant along a short corridor, through plastic doors and into the autopsy suite. Oliver explained that he had invited Schiller as part of the homicide unit. If the death was suspicious, they needed to become involved as soon as possible.

Anya grabbed gloves from a dispenser on the wall while cursory introductions were made. Schiller stood back. Oliver crossed his arms and stepped forward.

Len’s body lay naked on the gurney. On the whiteboard, his height was listed as 190 centimetres. Weight 120 kilograms. He hadn’t appeared that tall in person, Anya realised, because of his habit of stooping.

An assistant photographed the only apparent wound. ‘No external contusions or bruising,’ the pathologist announced. ‘This is what I’m told you had specific questions about, Anya?’

Anya glanced back at Oliver, who nodded. ‘The scene wasn’t preserved, and there is the possibility of a staged suicide.’

McGinley pushed through the doors in uniform. ‘Why was I summoned here?’

Oliver acknowledged him. ‘Thought you’d appreciate being kept in the loop.’

The sergeant glared at Anya and Schiller. ‘This is a waste of all our time. Dengate was crazy. Everyone knew it. He shot himself because he couldn’t face what his farm had done to those people. He caused the death of a child, an old man, and couldn’t deal with it. He took the coward’s way out.’

‘Suicide, like martyrdom, is arguably the bravest of acts.’ Dr Ashton looked up. ‘My first day in medical school we were taught that. And every hypochondriac dies of a genuine illness.’ He turned everyone’s attention to the hole in the left upper abdomen.

According to the scale, the entrance wound was around an inch in size, consistent with a twelve-gauge shotgun. What struck Anya was its shape. It was oval, with a wider margin of soot on its central side.

‘What is it you’re seeing?’ Oliver asked.

‘This wound captured my attention immediately,’ Dr Ashton said.

‘Obviously, it blew one hell of a hole.’ McGinley didn’t have the insight to keep quiet.

‘It’s not the size, it’s the shape that concerns me.’

The detectives stepped closer.

‘See,’ Anya explained. ‘There’s more soot on the side closest to his middle, or the left, if you’re facing the body. That and the oval shape mean the contact wasn’t as tight on that side.’

Dr Ashton asked for a telescopic probe and extended the column.

‘Does that mean he could have hesitated?’ Schiller asked. ‘It wouldn’t be easy to hold a gun to yourself and make sure the barrel was evenly pressed against your skin.’

‘Think about it,’ the pathologist said. ‘One hand is larger, more muscular. He was right-handed. Let’s assume he shot himself and aimed upwards for the heart for maximum damage.’

He held the probe against his plastic apron, to stimulate the shotgun. ‘You’d expect greater pressure applied to the right-hand side of the wound, if he aimed the gun upwards and towards his left shoulder.’

‘The location of the entry point is on the left side of Len’s upper abdomen. Through his shirt, which in itself is suspicious.’

‘X-rays show most of the damage was done to the right lung and aorta, which appear to have been virtually shredded.’ The assistant switched the lights on the viewing box.

‘It’s a typical “billiard ball” effect within the chest. The pellets strike each other and bounce more widely than normally expected, causing massive amounts of tissue damage,’ explained Anya.

‘Death would have been within seconds,’ Ashton concluded.

It would prove to her mother that nothing or no one could have saved him once the shot went off. ‘What about the trajectory pattern?’

‘The damage is almost exclusively to the right side of his chest. Dengate would have had to have reached
across
to his left and down to manage to pull the trigger.’

‘Exactly.’ Anya felt relieved Dr Ashton appreciated the significance.

‘And that would have been pretty awkward, even for a big guy,’ Oliver added.

Schiller considered the information. ‘For the barrel to be pressed more heavily on that side, someone else must have held the gun and fired.’

McGinley looked as if he’d just been delivered a knockout blow to the face.