Medea's Curse Page 6

  They were in Declan’s Northcote office in the front room of a renovated workers cottage, where they met most Tuesday evenings. It was tastefully, if heavily, furnished, with rugs and original prints, a bust of Freud on a pedestal and one of Mahler on a small table. His patients used the couch; a restored antique upholstered in dark blue velvet with gold brocade and ornately carved wood at one end.

  Natalie sat back in an armchair sipping a glass of wine. Sharing a drink differentiated her from his patients, but they met in his office, not in the living room at the back where he would have entertained friends. He always offered her wine, allowing her to make her own choice—in this case, drinking while taking medication. He would usually offer her a second glass: her part in the game was to refuse, showing she was in control.

  Declan had become a crucial part of surviving the stress her work generated, both a sounding board and a sanity check.

  Right now, she was on edge. The resurfacing of Amber’s case sat between them, a reprimand waiting to happen. But for the moment they were on the relatively safe ground of her relationship with Georgia.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘Tell me about your countertransference.’

  ‘I just don’t like her,’ Natalie said, aware that her reply was too superficial to address his question. Her reactions to the patient that stemmed from her own issues needed to be understood so they didn’t interfere in the therapy. ‘She makes my skin crawl.’

  ‘Which Amber never did.’

  ‘No. I was angry for a while, but I always liked her. Mostly I felt sorry for her.’ And still wanted to help her if she could, not that she could share that with Declan.

  ‘So? What’s different about Georgia?’

  ‘She’s cold, distant. There’s an incongruence between her words and affect, something I can’t pinpoint. And she’s arrogant.’

  ‘Ah.’

  Natalie tilted her head and raised her eyebrows.

  ‘She’s challenging you, refusing to play patient or fit into a slot.’

  ‘I guess.’

  ‘Don’t you like your patients to respect you? At the very least make some acknowledgment of all those years you studied?’

  ‘I suppose so.’

  ‘Think about Lindy Chamberlain,’ said Declan.

  ‘Mother convicted for not crying.’ When she had actually been defending against the pain. ‘Okay, okay. I promise to keep an open mind. If I see her; she might not get bail.’

  They talked about Jessie and then, with five minutes left, Declan leaned forward in his chair again. ‘So, are you going to tell me what’s worrying you?’

  Shit. She shifted in the chair. Could she just tell him a part of it? The whole thing with Liam was making her tense and not just because of the link to Amber and Travis, or Kay Long’s take on the events.

  She gave him an edited version of the case with no mention of the connection to Amber. She had been asked by the O.P.P. for an opinion on a missing child case—and her attraction to the prosecutor was affecting her judgment. She didn’t mention Liam’s name in case Declan recognised it. Nor did she want the Irish interpretation that would follow.

  Declan had seen her courthouse confrontation with Travis on a current affairs segment called ‘Mothers Who Kill’. He had been unimpressed.

  ‘You assaulted the Crown Prosecutor. You’re lucky you aren’t facing a charge.’

  ‘He grabbed me before I saw who it was. Anyway, it’s completely unreasonable that Amber is getting all the blame.’

  Declan’s facial crevices had deepened even further. He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his sparse grey hair. ‘You’re a psychiatrist Natalie, not a policewoman—and definitely not a vigilante. Amber is your patient, not Travis. Our job is to help our patients confront the dilemmas of their daily existence, not smash through them ourselves.’

  ‘I just told him what Amber hadn’t been able to.’

  ‘And how was that going to help her?’

  He had a point. It hadn’t helped Amber; on the contrary, it disqualified Natalie from giving evidence that might have helped her.

  ‘Your lithium level was only 0.3,’ Declan had said, as he threw the test results from her GP on the table in front of her. ‘You know that isn’t adequate to keep your mood stable.’

  She still didn’t think she’d been high. Not that high anyway. Someone needed to care for the desperate and powerless people she saw; too often none of them had ever had anyone stick up for them.

  ‘You’re a good psychiatrist Natalie, but only when you’re well. The Medical Board has made me responsible for that and as much as I’m on your side, you know I’ll report you if you put your patients in jeopardy.’

  ‘How can I put Amber in jeopardy when I care more about her than anyone else in her medical or legal team?’

  ‘That’s precisely why,’ said Declan. ‘You’re too close to this; it’s affecting your objectivity. You’re making exceptions for her. She has her own friends; let them accost Travis. If she knows you’re prepared to cross boundaries, then you’re no longer someone she can respect and trust. Psychiatrists that cross boundaries get sucked into their patients’ repeating traumas and risk responding how their abusers did. Your role is to reflect back their problem and see a different answer; you can’t do that if you’re immersed in the drama. You need to stay away from her. Am I making myself clear?’

  He could report her if she didn’t abide by his decision. And that would put her licence to practise at risk. It was the last time he had mentioned the issue of her medication compliance—another marker, like the single glass of wine, of their relationship. But it still sat between them.

  ‘So,’ she asked now, ‘should I go to Welbury or not?’

  Declan sat in silence for a moment, hands clasped together and index fingers raised at his lips. ‘Let me get this clear,’ he said. ‘You are interested in the case, that’s what you’re telling me?’

  Natalie nodded.

  ‘You’re available?’

  More or less.

  ‘So the downside is that you might give in to lust?’

  ‘That’s the upside, too.’

  ‘Not concerned that he’s married?’

  Natalie shrugged. ‘So he’s a louse. If he isn’t cheating with me he will be with someone else. I don’t mean his wife any harm but really, that should be his problem, not mine.’

  ‘What’s your problem then?’ Declan put a hand up to stop her speaking. ‘If you listen to what you’re saying, you’ve told me you don’t want a relationship. Am I right?’ His look was unwavering.

  ‘A commitment? Absolutely not.’

  ‘He’s married, so it seems unlikely he wants that sort of relationship either. Right?’

  ‘Definitely a screw-around type.’

  ‘Then I say again, what’s your problem?’

  ‘So I should go for it?’

  Declan laughed. ‘That isn’t what I said. I suggest you examine why you didn’t pursue the opportunity on Saturday evening.’

  Natalie was more interested in the immedia
te options than any reflection. A one-night stand could be fun. She needed to get him out of her system. Trouble was, she hadn’t given Declan the whole story; Liam was the complication. The motivation was in part Chloe; but primarily, it was Amber.

  ‘I’ll come on two conditions.’

  ‘And it’d be a good morning to you too, Dr King,’ said Liam, laying on the accent with a laugh. God it was sexy.

  ‘First, your office pays for a room for me.’

  There was silence then a low chuckle. ‘Never in question. The second condition?’

  ‘That you ride down with me.’

  The silence was longer this time. The chuckle was the same. ‘Do I need to bring a helmet?’

  Chapter 8

  Natalie picked him up on the corner of Gertrude and Smith, a block away from where she lived. He was out of the wind, leaning against the wall of a Turkish takeaway and wearing a leather jacket that was more about fashion than protection, a bag slung over his shoulder. She threw him her spare helmet.

  ‘All you need in that backpack?’

  ‘I’m sure I can lay my hands on anything else I require,’ said Liam, proceeding to put his hands around her hips as he sat behind her with little space in between. Natalie opened the throttle.

  The travel method made escaping Melbourne easier and more bearable. By the time they were on the Princes Highway heading southeast towards Gippsland, they’d left most of the traffic behind and she relaxed into the rhythm of the ride. She loved that there was no conversation or music, that it was just the bike, the road and the wind.

  On this occasion there was also a very sexy man holding on, probably tighter than he needed to. She didn’t think it was because he was scared.

  After escaping the suburban sprawl, they rode through farming country. A little more than two hours after starting out they reached the outskirts of Welbury and Liam directed her to a two-storey weatherboard guesthouse with a return veranda surrounded by a large well-kept garden. It could have been found in any Victorian country town, and gave no hint of the more rundown neighbourhoods beyond. Natalie was still wondering how to deal with her inconvenient attraction to the man; not being in a motel might be the deciding factor. Somehow screwing a married man would be seedier in a motel.

  Liam took off his helmet and grinned. ‘That wasn’t quite what I’d imagined when I thought of getting up close and personal, but it was a great ride.’

  Natalie ignored him.

  ‘See you downstairs in fifteen minutes,’ said Liam as they took separate keys. She lingered after he’d left and spoke to the owner, a man sufficiently round and full of bonhomie to play Santa Claus, even if the beard was more grey than white.

  ‘When was this room booked?’

  ‘Last Wednesday.’

  Two days before he had even told her the time and date. Liam’s confidence was irritating but predictable. ‘In my name?’

  He nodded. ‘Yes Dr King. Here for the missing child case are you?’

  Mystery solved. Natalie nodded. Small towns really were small. The rumour mill hadn’t taken too many turns before it got to Kay.

  The police station was a short ride from their guesthouse, past homes with a dilapidated air of unpaid rent and neglect, wide streets with angle parking and a string of takeaways. Recent droughts, floods, bushfires and an influx of welfare recipients meant the town was busy, but troubled.

  ‘McBride’s expecting us,’ Liam said. ‘He’s been a detective in the region for a few years and is back in uniform waiting for a promotion into Melbourne. He’s been called in on this because he’s more experienced than anyone else here.’

  A uniformed policeman wearing the crown stripes of a senior sergeant opened the door from the foyer and nodded at Liam. He extended his hand to Natalie. ‘Damian McBride.’ Damian’s cool look at the prosecutor suggested Liam’s ambivalence was reciprocated. Taller than Liam, early thirties with the good looks of an aging schoolboy, he came across as solid and serious. Probably a good thing for a cop; too steady for her tastes. His bland expression was hard to read.

  ‘He’s out the back,’ Damian said, holding the door open to the inner sanctum. His eyes flickered over Liam’s hand lingering on Natalie’s back. ‘Do you want her to do the interview?’

  Natalie bristled. She’d deal with the cop referring to her in the third person later. She turned to Liam. ‘I told you…’

  Liam smiled over her head. ‘I’m suggesting observer only.’

  ‘Not suggesting. I will be observing. Travis won’t talk to me.’ She moved towards Damian as she spoke. ‘I treated his first wife.’ She saw the edge of the sergeant’s mouth tighten; he still wasn’t looking at her. With some effort, she dialled back the assertiveness. ‘I might be able to help.’

  Damian hesitated before indicating behind him with a jerk of the head. ‘Go through and I’ll change interview rooms.’

  Natalie walked past him and turned, waiting for Liam to follow her. He didn’t move.

  ‘I’ll be meeting with Senior Sergeant McBride’s boss,’ said Liam. ‘We’re developing a strategy to deal with the media.’ He tilted his head. ‘I’m sure you’ll be in capable hands. Catch you this evening.’

  Damn the man. He could have warned her. The door closed with Liam on the other side, leaving Natalie to follow a silent Damian to a small room with a one-way screen. It must have been at least twenty minutes before he returned. She suspected he wasn’t hurrying on her account.

  ‘Instructions?’ The tone was just polite enough.

  ‘Look,’ said Natalie, ‘I guess you don’t want me here but since I am, and as the State’s paying, why don’t you see if I can help you?’

  ‘Me or the O.P.P.?’

  ‘Don’t you guys work together?’

  ‘We interview the witnesses. It’s not the prosecutors’ job.’

  Not their stooges’ job either. He didn’t say it but he may as well have.

  Natalie waited. When the silence eventually forced him to look her in the eyes, she said, ‘Do you think Travis might be responsible for Chloe’s disappearance?’

  The policeman hesitated. ‘It’s a line of enquiry we’ll be pursuing.’

  ‘Good. Then let’s pursue it, shall we?’ She pulled out a list of questions. ‘You may have already asked them which is fine, but the ones with the asterisks…’ She waited while Damian glanced over the two pages. ‘They’re the ones I really want put to him while I watch.’

  The corner of his mouth twitched; she thought it was an upward one but he was working hard on not giving anything away.

  ‘No other instructions?’

  ‘No, but come and check in with me before you let him go.’ Same indecipherable expression. ‘Please,’ she added.

  Damian moved to sit in a nondescript adjoining room with just a basic table and a few chairs. Natalie settled down to watch via the one-way screen that divided the rooms.

  A female plainclothes officer with cropped hair led Travis in. There were several minutes of formalities for the video recording.

  Travis hadn’t changed as much as the press photo suggested: brown overly long hair, wi
de set eyes, a generous mouth. He’d shaved the goatee to reveal a weak chin. A smile that made him look trustworthy. As if. He was a little heavier than when Natalie had first met him. His fingers were nicotine stained. He was wearing a muscle shirt that showed wiry arms tattooed with Bella-Kaye in a heart on one arm and Chloe in a heart on the other. Natalie had to fight a feeling of nausea. Being inked into this man’s arms was a death sentence.

  ‘Seems like you’re not holding your drink too well these days, Travis,’ said Damian, consulting a wad of notes that included hers.

  ‘Wasn’t doing nothing.’

  ‘Let me see; you drank at least ten stubbies that the barman admitted to or could remember,’ replied Damian. ‘Reported as saying “Cops are fucking useless, they’ll never get anything on me.”’

  ‘Just bullshittin’,’ said Travis, unperturbed. ‘Anyway, it’s true. What have you got on Chloe? Fuck all.’

  The woman intervened. ‘On that matter, we would like to ask you some more questions.’

  ‘I’ve already told you everything a million times.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Damian, ‘I’m sure you want to find Chloe. Sometimes going over it again to fresh ears can help. We appreciate your time.’

  Travis looked partly mollified.

  ‘So, the day Chloe disappeared. Let’s start there.’

  ‘Same as any other day. Tiph and Chloe were still in bed when I got up.’

  ‘Did you see Chloe?’

  ‘No.’ Travis leaned back in the chair. ‘She was asleep in her own room. This was like six in the morning.’

  Damian nodded. ‘Did she wake the night before?’

  ‘No she’s good like that. Sleeps right through.’

  Unlike Bella-Kaye, who had woken frequently.