Kathryn Fox - Without Consent

“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 downto 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.”