Fatal Impact (9 page)

13

A
fter delivering toiletries and a change of clothes to her father, Anya left to visit her mother. She would return to Hobart if there was any change in Evelyn’s condition, but Bob would keep vigil by the bedside in the meantime, and there was nothing more she could do, apart from offer moral support.

The drive up to the midlands took just on two hours, and passing familiar towns reminded her of how much time she’d spent in this part of Tasmania as a child. The last time she had seen her late grandmother’s homestead, now her mother’s home, it had been in sad need of maintenance. Weeds ravished the once prided rose garden, and the rusted verandah roof had lifted and exposed the already weathered wooden supports.

Pulling up in the gravelled drive, Anya could barely believe the impact of the changes. New cream pillars and painted wood windowpanes complemented the stone. With slate tiles all in place and the corrugated-iron verandah roof repaired, the house looked modern but with all of its colonial character. The property had taken her mother two years to restore before she could move in six months ago. It was a shame Grandma hadn’t lived long enough to see it.

Like guard dogs, chickens clucked frantically somewhere behind the house. Anya climbed the stairs to the verandah and knocked on the security grille. No one answered. The gravel drive crunched underfoot as she walked over to the small cottage to the side of the main house. The two-bedroom shack had been converted to a small waiting area, treatment room and consulting office, for weekends and emergencies.

Jocelyn Reynolds opened the door. The physical changes were immediately marked. Gone was the apple shape her mother had developed since menopause. Weight loss had aged her once rounder face. Anya reached out to greet her for the requisite hug, during which she was kept at elbow’s distance by her mother. From the residual smell of latex gloves, she had seen patients in her Saturday morning surgery.

‘I didn’t expect you yet.’ Her lips forced a smile, but her eyes remained static above hollowed cheeks.

‘If it’s easier, I’m happy to stay at a motel. We can have dinner–’

‘Nonsense. What would people think?’

Anya had never really cared what people thought. In her experience, they were far more interested in themselves.

‘You can stay in my old bedroom.’ Jocelyn closed the door behind her and locked it.

Less than a minute, and Anya already felt awkward. Discussing the renovation would be a good subject to start with. ‘The place looks amazing. Grandma Burgess would be so proud.’

‘Nothing a lot of hard work couldn’t achieve.’

They walked on towards the main house, chickens squawking in the distance.

Jocelyn stopped and unlocked her car door. ‘Now you’re here, you’d better come with me to Audrey’s for lunch. I’ll never hear the end of it if she knew you were here and didn’t see you.’

Audrey was her mother’s closest friend and Anya’s
godmother. Jocelyn and Audrey had grown up together. Anya couldn’t understand why her mother had made plans when she was only here for such a short time.

‘Mum, I came to see
you
, and hoped we could just spend some time together. Catching up. It’s been a while.’

Anya tried to remember how long it had been since Jocelyn had seen her only grandson. At eight, Ben barely knew his grandmother. She was always too busy working to visit, and refused to have anything to do with Ben’s father. That was unlikely to change as long as Martin had custody. It had been many years since Anya had seen this house.

‘You can talk on the way.’ Jocelyn got into the driver’s seat.

A few minutes later they were headed into the centre of Longford. Anya’s mind drifted back to a time when she and Damien had swum with Grandma Burgess in the river at the mill dam. It had been her favourite part of the school holidays. Grandma used to jump in wearing rolled-up trousers and an old shirt. She’d joke she could avoid washing day if she threw herself around enough in the water. The memory still made Anya smile.

‘How have you been?’ Anya didn’t want to make a feature of the weight loss but wanted to know if everything was all right.

‘Why does everyone keep asking? I’m fine.’ Jocelyn tugged at a scarf tied roughly around her neck. Her chambray shirt had sweat patches under the arms.

‘Damien was worried.’

‘Whatever for? He always catches me at a bad time. Last time we spoke was just after Christmas. I suppose I was short with him. I was in the shower when the phone went.’ She glanced sideways. ‘No son wants to hear he’s talking to his mother while she’s in the shower, stark naked.’

Anya didn’t mention the call on Miriam’s birthday.

Jocelyn’s phone bleeped. ‘Can you check that?’

It was inside the middle console. A text read,
Swelling down. Now wanting hot bath.
Anya read it out for her mother.

Jocelyn smiled. ‘Wayne Bitford got stung by wasps again. He’s had an antihistamine and ice bath to take the heat out of the stings. His daughter-in-law’s visiting from Melbourne and panicked. I’d be more concerned if that man didn’t complain. Can you text back,
Good news. Call if you need me
?’

Anya had forgotten how stoic many of the people who lived rurally could be. When a doctor was an hour’s drive away, they did what they could in terms of first aid and survival.

‘That means we’ve got time to stop at the bakery and beat the coach.’ She turned into Wellington Street and parked in a small car park in front of an antiques shop and gallery, adjacent to a bakery.

Outside the car, her mother waved to a woman walking a pram further down the street. ‘The flour mill’s been here for over a hundred and fifty years. It’s been a skin and wool store, even a soap factory in its day.’

Inside, the array of breads on display would have put a Leichhardt bakery to shame. Gone were the days when the only choice was a white loaf or soft white roll.

‘Audrey aims for lunch at one, but we won’t eat until at least three, so we might as well order something.’

After deciding on a cappuccino and a short black, Jocelyn included a request for a dozen cupcakes in a box, and two sausage rolls with sauce. She passed one in a paper bag to Anya.

Coffees in hand, they headed towards the car. The sun was struggling to peek through a cloud mass. Her mother detoured to the park and sat at a wooden table and bench. She tore open her bag and emptied two sachets of tomato sauce on her sausage roll.

It instantly reminded Anya of Saturdays in winter when Damien played soccer. Afterwards, her mother would tend to house calls and her father would cook hot dogs, party pies or sausage rolls. The smell of pastry cooking in the oven as they tried to warm up by the fire was one of her favourite childhood memories.

Jocelyn emptied two sachets of sugar into her cup. ‘How long are you staying in Tassie?’

‘I thought I’d go back on Monday. Evelyn’s in hospital with Haemolytic Uraemic Syndrome, in a critical but stable condition. I’ll stay as long as necessary for Dad’s sake.’

‘I had no idea she was ill.’ She took off her sunglasses.
‘I know how close your father and Evelyn have always been.’

‘He was staying with her yesterday when she was admitted to hospital. He sat with her all night.’

‘Do they know what caused it?’

Anya took a sip and wiped the froth from her top lip. ‘It’s E. coli and there have been two deaths in the Hobart region already.’ She ripped opened her paper bag and pulled off a piece of flaky pastry. ‘If you see any cases of severe vomiting and diarrhoea .
. .’

Two little girls danced around the rotunda in the park. Jocelyn watched them for a while.

Anya said, ‘A little girl died from E. coli and her mother and sister are missing.’

‘I saw that on the news but they didn’t mention the infection. The poor family must be going through hell.’ Jocelyn’s pale blue eyes seemed grey in the sunlight. ‘First that little girl is found, then the others go missing. I pray they’re both safe .
. .’

‘I was thinking about Miriam, how long it’s been.’ There was a moment’s silence.

‘They say time heals everything. It doesn’t.’

‘Damien said he rang you the other day, on the seventeenth.’ She waited for some recognition.

‘Our Mimi would be thirty-six.’ Jocelyn sipped her coffee. ‘I didn’t speak to your brother that day, or anyone except Audrey. I got your message. I was too tired to talk anyway.’

Anya noticed a clavicle pressing against her mother’s skin when the wind blew her shirt open a little. ‘Has your workload decreased since leaving Launceston and joining the practice here?’

‘Let’s not play mind games. I think I’d know if I spoke to my own son, Anya. Did you speak to him directly, catch him in between ski fields?’

Anya shook her head. ‘He rang Dad.’

‘You came all this way to check up on me because of something secondhand your father, or that interfering wife of his, passed on?’ She gathered her rubbish. ‘That’s just great.’ She stood and slammed the papers into a dark green park bin. ‘We need to go. Audrey will be waiting.’

Anya caught up. ‘You knew I was coming to see you. We talked about it weeks ago. Dad only said something because he wanted to know you were okay.’

‘He gave up the right to know anything about me when he left.’

Forgiveness and understanding weren’t in her mother’s vocabulary where Bob was concerned. The way Anya saw it, Jocelyn had shut down emotionally the day of Miriam’s abduction. Bob had tried to keep the family together, but in the end, nothing could ease Jocelyn’s grief. He hadn’t met his second wife until long after the divorce. Time and distance hadn’t mellowed Jocelyn’s perception of any part she may have played in the marriage breakdown.

They headed back to the car and drove along the Midlands Highway towards Gibbett Hill. The sun disappeared behind dark grey clouds. In winter, with fog, the area looked like an English moor. As a child, Anya had been frightened by the story of a ghost who haunted travellers. Locals claimed their cars had filled with a black smoke as they drove past the site where a violent murder had taken place in the 1830s. Anya looked to the side where the body of an executed bushranger had been hung in chains from a tree for three years, as a deterrent to other criminals. There was no sign of the particular tree, but she still twisted in her seat to look. Like so much of the mainland, Tasmania had a barbaric history, not easily forgotten.

Jocelyn glanced sideways. ‘Remember this place? I always thought it’s where you developed your obsession with death and gore.’

The comment sounded disapproving. Anya preferred to think that the public display of a body decomposing and being picked at by birds would have disturbed any child. Being told the man’s family saw the body every day bothered her the most.

As they wound around the back of the historic town of Perth, a sea of white poppies swayed in the breeze. The sight was nothing short of spectacular. Jocelyn spoke like a tour guide. ‘We’re still the world’s largest producer of opium alkaloids. Humbling to think something grown here can be used to treat patients on the other side of the world.’

Anya felt a burst from the air-conditioning and closed the vents on the passenger side.

Some things hadn’t changed. Born and bred Taswegians, like her mother, were exceptionally proud of their state – more so than anyone anywhere else Anya had lived. The geographically isolated state had a number of claims to fame, and this was just one of them. It produced fifty per cent of the world’s concentrated poppy straw, which was used by pharmaceutical companies to make morphine and codeine. Less pristine were the electric fences plastered with warning signs about trespassing.

‘Has security become an issue?’

‘More about insurance. It’s only the odd fool who tries to steal anything. The industry brings a lot of jobs to this area and it’s worth protecting. You have no idea how many people are doing it tough. Really struggling.’

Anya could imagine. With a high Australian dollar, imports were at record levels. A large exporting agricultural industry like this would be suffering. Her mother opened her window despite the air-conditioning. It had to be in the mid-twenties outside, but beads of perspiration appeared over Jocelyn’s forehead and top lip. She reached down to the cup holder for a water bottle filled with a tea-coloured liquid and took a few swigs.

‘So how is Evie doing?’

Anya thought she had explained. ‘Still in a critical condition.’

Jocelyn tightened her tanned hands on the steering wheel. Anya took in the smaller silhouette. The weight loss was dramatic, but she had devoured the sausage roll. Her mother seemed preoccupied and defensive, particularly about Damien’s supposed call. Something seemed wrong. Damien was a stickler for dates and had never missed calling Jocelyn on Miriam’s birthday, no matter where he was in the world. He’d been concerned enough about Jocelyn to call their father, knowing the pair rarely spoke.

Anya checked her email on her smart phone. Damien had sent a message.

Dad emailed and told me about Evie. He’s really worried. What are her chances of getting through this?

He also said you’re with Mum. Can you please check her out? Something’s wrong. She didn’t remember it was Miriam’s birthday. You know she ALWAYS remembers. When I rang her that night, she was slurring her words over the phone and didn’t make any sense. She sounded drunk. Then she said she had to go and see a patient. Annie, she was in no state to drive or see a patient. Like I said, can you check her out? I wouldn’t normally ask, but you’re the only person she might listen to.

What Damien said was more than disturbing. If she’d been drinking that night and had no memory of his call, that was one thing. If she’d gone out to see patients in that state, she’d risked lives and her medical registration.

Anya watched Jocelyn take another slurp from the drink bottle.

14

J
ocelyn turned into the drive. They were heading towards Audrey Lingard’s home.

The property bore little resemblance to the place Anya remembered. The paddocks were still green, but the fibro house was dilapidated. Pale blue paint peeled off the exterior and some of the roof capping was noticeably loose. A downpipe had been punctured to release water on one side of the front.

Before the car had stopped, Audrey was outside the screen door. Jocelyn’s best friend since childhood was still glamorous, wearing a flowing top that tastefully covered her very large bust, and white jeans. The shirt was a striking combination of aqua and blue chiffon, set off by cobalt crystal earrings.

Audrey’s face beamed when she saw Anya and she hurried to the passenger side, arms outstretched.

Jocelyn turned off the engine and left the keys in the ignition.

Anya peeled herself out of the seat and was greeted with a bear hug. Audrey hung on and rocked from side to side with enthusiasm.

‘Can’t believe you are here. Look at you, the spitting image of your auntie Maisy.’ She pulled back, gripping Anya’s hands with her rough calloused fingers.

‘What’s it been? Ten years?’

‘Twelve,’ Jocelyn clarified, before stepping forward for her own half-hug.

‘It was after Anya’s graduation, before she married that no-hoper.’ Jocelyn looked upwards. ‘What was his name?’

‘Martin.’ Anya swallowed.

Jocelyn reached into the back seat for the box of cupcakes and some freshly cut gerberas.

‘Well, we all thought it. Your mother has always been a good judge of character and knew it wouldn’t last. He was rude. Never met anyone so full of himself, have we, Josie?’ Audrey gestured towards the house. ‘Good riddance, I say. Now you’ve got the bad one out of your system, you’re free to find Mr Right.’

‘Actually, Martin and I are considering a reconciliation.’ Anya instantly regretted saying it out loud. She would have loved to be able to talk to her mother about the relationship and receive some of the insights Jocelyn’s patients received. It was no secret her mother had never liked the man she’d married. Jocelyn had conveniently forgotten that her parents had disapproved of Bob as well. No one was ever good enough for the daughters in the family. Jocelyn could be a loyal friend, but once a negative judgement had been made about someone, there were no second chances given.

‘You just can’t teach common sense,’ Jocelyn muttered. ‘As Einstein said, the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting a different result.’

Ever a peacemaker, Audrey took the flowers. ‘He’ll always be Ben’s father. We should be grateful for that.’

Anya allowed them to go up the stairs first and took a full, deep breath. Martin had changed. Grown up. She thought of their time together on the cruise ship, and how he would have risked his life for her. Talking to her mother about him was pointless.

‘Some things don’t change,’ a man’s voice said behind her.

She hadn’t seen Glenn Lingard in many years, not since he was pimply faced and off to university in Melbourne. He was more muscular, but still lean, with brown-rimmed glasses and a gleam in his round brown eyes.

He took a couple of strides up the stairs and kissed Jocelyn’s cheek. Her mother’s face relaxed into a broad smile. She had always been fond of Glenn, who was two years older than Anya. Despite being forced to spend holidays together, the children had never been close. Anya extended her hand to the man who was now a stranger.

‘Anya, you look exactly how I remember.’ Glenn stepped back, with a cheeky glint. ‘Same unruly hair, spidery limbs. Bet you can still outrun me too.’

‘I doubt it.’ She felt awkward again. His round face was thinner but the dimple in his chin could still hold a pencil. His forearms were tanned and muscular. ‘No one could call you Tubby anymore.’

He laughed. ‘Some people still do. Suspect half the kids at school never knew my real name.’

Once inside, the two older women chatted comfortably while Audrey fussed with a crystal vase on the island bench. Her mother was never more relaxed than with her oldest friend. Anya almost envied their easy and comfortable relationship. If anyone had noticed a change in her mother’s behaviour, it should have been Audrey. First chance she got, she’d try and catch her alone to ask.

‘I’ve read about your work,’ Glenn said. ‘And I hear about you whenever you call home.’ Hands in pockets, he scuffed the carpet. ‘Mum does like to pass on news.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ve heard all about the countries you worked in, and how well you’re doing.’

He half smiled again. ‘Funny, it never occurred to me she’d brag the same way.’

The two women had little in common apart from a family history and children. Jocelyn had left for university in Hobart, and Audrey had married at eighteen. Her husband was arrested for indecent exposure in a park and left when Glenn was small. Jocelyn had heard he’d died of AIDS in a South Australian nursing home but it had never been spoken about. Audrey had never remarried and had cared for her elderly parents until both their deaths.

‘Actually, I’m on my way to collect the eggs,’ Glenn offered, ‘if you’d like an excuse to escape.’

Anya didn’t need to be asked twice. They quickly headed out the back door, as they had done when they were kids. Outside, they swapped their shoes for gumboots and ventured into the chicken pen. At least a dozen Isa browns rushed at them. Some rammed the boots with their beaks. Anya’s mind flashed back to being a child again at her grandparents’ farm. The chickens used to scare her, so she had loathed collecting the eggs.

First, Glenn explained, they had to eat high-protein feed so they could lay good eggs. After that came the kitchen scraps. Glenn carried in his hand a bucket with remnants of lettuce, bread crusts, vegetable skins and crushed eggshells, from which he threw handfuls away from the roost.

‘Don’t suppose you have a pair of gloves?’ She checked the undersoles of her boots. Chook poo was everywhere.

‘Never did like getting your hands dirty,’ he joked.

The smell of the birds and the fertiliser they produced filled the area. The clucking was strangely comforting. Glenn wandered to the coop in the corner and lifted the feed bucket over the fence, out of reach. He replaced it with an empty one. The chickens raced from one handful to the next, pushing and shoving each other according to the pecking order.

‘Are you really seeing your ex or did you say it to give them something to gossip about?’

Anya stumbled over what should have been a simple answer. ‘It’s complicated.’ The smell of chicken excrement intensified.

‘Still, did you see the look on your mum’s face?’ He laughed. It was hearty, and infectious.

Anya lowered her head on the way into the coop. Dozens of eggs were scattered on top of shredded newspaper. She tentatively picked up one at a time, gently putting each in the empty container Glenn had placed on the ground.

‘I’d forgotten how good these are at laying.’

A number of chickens squawked loudly outside. ‘We usually get one a day from every chicken, except in winter when the laying slows. They’re bred especially for laying.’

Anya deposited the last egg into the container as Glenn grabbed a shovel and rake from the back of the pen. She took the rake from him and dragged the sullied paper into a pile. ‘Where are you working now?’

‘The Tasmanian Institute of Agricultural Advancement, or TIAA as it’s known. It brings scientists, industry and government together. It’s Mecca for researchers like me. Our work is attracting a lot of overseas interest.’ He scooped up the mess, left the coop and deposited it in a large plastic tub on the other side of the fence.

The sun was beating down on the corrugated-tin roof and sweat was forming around Anya’s hairline and neck.

Glenn pointed to a wheelbarrow with a hessian cover weighed down with a brick. ‘There’s more paper in there. For the first time, I feel like my work is respected and really understood. The state government is putting a lot into the institute and are big supporters of innovations in science, which is a lot more than can be said for the other states. They’re lagging way behind.’

She wheeled the barrow to the coop entrance and lifted the hessian. She dug both hands into the densely packed paper and spread what she could manage over the empty laying area. No bit of newspaper or advertising material would have been wasted on this property.

‘What area are you working on?’

‘There are a few great projects I’m involved in. At the moment we’re fine-tuning a tea bag that can filter out cholera in water. Imagine the lives that will save, and for a negligible cost.’

Anya was impressed. Applied science and medical advancements were sorely underfunded by governments, who tended to budget for the short-term. Scientific breakthroughs like the cholera bag took years, and possibly decades to develop.

‘That’s something I’d invest in,’ she said.

‘See, you get it. Not everyone around here feels the same way. There’s a lot of ignorance and fear about doing anything different. The old ways aren’t necessarily the best, as you know.’

He had a good point.

They exited through the gate while the chickens continued to race around in tangential sprints without any obvious reason. Glenn led her to the rear of the main house and they dipped their boots into a tray of chlorine disinfectant before replacing them on the shoe rack by the back door. ‘Hope you’re hungry, Mum always over-caters.’

They scrubbed their hands in the metal laundry tub with yellow Sunlight soap, and dried them with the towel hanging from a hook. Her mind returned to a time when she had to stand on a crate to reach these very taps.

‘There’s plenty of food,’ Audrey announced. The table was covered in platters of cold cuts, cheeses, pâté and fresh bread. ‘Entree’s served.’

‘Glenn, can you get Anya a drink? There’s wine, water and lemon, iced tea, or coffee.’

‘Anything cold would be great, thanks.’

Jocelyn headed over to Glenn and they were quickly engaged in an animated conversation. Anya took the opportunity to talk with his mother. ‘Need any help?’

Audrey put her arm around Anya. ‘It’s so good to see you again. It’s been far too long. Look at those two. Can’t be in the room without disagreeing on everything.’

She watched the interaction. ‘Mum’s lost a lot of weight. How’s she been?’

‘Fine. Patients have given her a difficult time about leaving the Launceston practice. She was supposed to cut back by moving here, but she’s busier than ever. We’re so short of doctors around here. It’s a strain, always being on call, and with looking after that house. She never stops, as you know.’

‘Have you noticed any changes, like her getting a bit forgetful?’

‘Your mother is as strong as a mallee bull. She just has too much on her mind right now with work, and .
. .
certain people demand far too much of her.’

Glenn’s voice stressed whatever point he was making and Jocelyn fired back something Anya couldn’t make out.

She quietly asked Audrey, ‘Who? Maybe I can do something to help, but she doesn’t tell me much.’

‘I can’t say, but some things are too big to fight. You know how she gets. Like a dog with a bone when she thinks there’s an injustice in the world.’

‘What’s she crusading about now?’

Jocelyn turned their way and gave Audrey a steely look.

‘I’ve said too much.’ Audrey became flustered and turned her attention to the others. ‘Would you two please agree to disagree, and we can eat in peace.’

Anya wondered what new cause her mother had taken on, who was demanding too much of her, and what was going on with her health.

As Glenn handed her a glass of iced tea, her phone rang. She recognised Steve Schiller’s number from earlier and was quick to ask, ‘Any word on Jenny or Mia?’

‘No, but the lab confirmed the blood in the bathroom was Emily’s. We’re still waiting to question Dylan Heyes, more formally this time. His lawyer is at a luncheon, apparently. I get the feeling he’ll only talk if there’s something in it for him.’

Anya wiped her forehead. ‘Are you any closer to knowing where the infection came from?’

‘The lab said it’s a Shigella-producing bacteria.’

‘That’s the name of the specific toxin made by the E. coli,’ Anya explained.

‘There are three more cases here, and we just got word there have been another three, in Launceston. Once we know what caused it, the brass wants us to charge whoever’s responsible with homicide. The faster the better, whether it’s Heyes, Jenny Quaid, or some food manufacturer.’

Either way, it was unlikely Jenny Quaid was responsible for the outbreak. Chances were there would be more cases with potentially fatal consequences before they could stop the spread.