Kathryn Fox - Without Consent

Further inside, a large kitchen/family room with a glassed observatory area had views to an expansive backyard and pool. Tastefully decorated rather than a show-home, this place had furniture and fittings especially for a young family. Coloring pencils and paper were strewn across a small wooden table in the center of the living space.

The kitchen benches gave off the unmistakable odor of lemon-scented cleaner.

Detective Constable Abbott met them and spoke quietly. “The family only moved here a couple of months ago from Ohio and have had numerous tradesmen come and go, to replace taps, fit water-saving devices, not to mention gas outlets, pay-TV, curtains. There’s a new pool man, delivery men, removalists. It’s a long list.”

“Well, that’s where you start,” Meira snapped.

The male detective headed for the front door.

Jodie Davis sat on a leather lounge in the rumpus room off the main living area. The petite blonde, enveloped in a white towelling gown, held her husband’s hand. Her small knuckles blanched with the tight grip.

Anya introduced herself. James Davis stood and limply shook hands, exposing a brown towel placed underneath his wife. Jodie was probably bleeding. The towel would be an important piece of evidence.

“Did the police explain my role?” she asked.

The pair nodded.

“I’m here because you asked for me. Is that true?”

“Yes,” Jodie answered through a swollen jaw.

“I’m a lawyer,” the husband said. “Jode was my receptionist before we had the kids.” He pushed small oval glasses to the bridge of his nose with the middle finger of his spare hand. “We both understand what she’s consenting to.”

The subject of the conversation silently nodded. She was letting James speak for her, but she had to give the consent herself.

Anya wanted to engage her one-to-one, but Jodie spoke first. “I want to do what James says is right. What do I have to sign?”

Anya tried to explain that Jodie had to be exact in what she consented to, but the small blonde woman seemed adamant. Her husband spoke for her.

“I want the police to protect our children in case he comes back,” James said.

“How old are they?” Anya asked, noticing a large wooden cubby house through the windows.

“Our daughter’s four and our son has just turned two.”

“I couldn’t help noticing the photos on the table inside. They are gorgeous. Bet they love the cubby,” Anya said, trying to relax Jodie as she removed the large yellow SAI kit from her bag. Talking about children might help make the examination a little less difficult, for both of them.

Jodie spoke. “They’d spend half their lives in it if I let them.”

“I don’t blame them! My little boy would love it.”

Anya excused herself, stepped past the husband and asked if she could take Jodie’s blood pressure. It wasn’t a necessary part of the examination, but it would help make the whole process a little less foreign to a victim. And the initial touch helped ease into the forensic examination.

“110 over 70. Normal.”

Jodie released her husband’s hand. “How old is he-your child?”

“Four going on fifty-five, sometimes.”

“They’re all a bit like that these days.” The woman half-smiled.

“Jodie, would you like me to stay?” James offered.

She patted his hand. “Maybe you could go next door and see if the kids are okay.”

Anya found the light switch and closed the curtains, noticing a small gap between the roman blinds and windowsills.

During the examination, Jodie disclosed that the man had pulled her jumper over her face so she couldn’t see him. He then removed his gloves and dug his fingers hard into her flesh. Bruises on her breasts were consistent with the story. A linear bruise on the left side extending toward the collarbone was almost identical to the ones Anya had seen before. Her heart sank. The attacks were getting closer; it was only a matter of days between them now. There would be more women before he was caught.

She pulled the digital camera from her bag. Admittedly, a picture of the injury might help track down the weapon.

“The mark left by the knife is very distinctive. I’ve seen it twice before.”

“Is it legal to do this in the house? I mean, not in your surgery or the hospital?”

Anya smiled. “Absolutely, I just need to follow the same protocol.”

Jodie pulled a rug up to cover herself. “So this isn’t his first attack?”

“I’m afraid it looks like it. If the police are going to catch him, they have to try and find the knife. That’ll help narrow down the search.”

“My husband does negligence cases for one of the biggest firms in the country. Sometimes he has to look at hideous pictures of surgery scars and bruises.” She clung to the rug. “Do what you have to.”

“The knife mark is probably the most important, and we can cover your breasts, for more privacy.”

Anya took the digital photos as quickly as possible, placing a tape-measure guide adjacent to the bruise, then pulled the rug back up to the woman’s neck before continuing the examination.

She followed the protocol for specimen collections and carefully sealed each tube, making sure she secured the chain of evidence.

“Did you build the cubby house? It’s a great idea having a barn door the kids can open half of.” Anya made small talk as best she could as she performed an internal examination.

“It was here when we moved in, but the cats keep getting in. The latch is broken and I can’t lock it.” Jodie winced and tightened her legs, but then relaxed again, staring at the ceiling. “Can’t tell you how many times I’ve scrubbed the smell of cat pee out of that place.”

Anya located the source of the bleeding. Again, it was consistent with the other assaults. “The bleeding should settle in a day or two. It’s like a scratch inside the vagina.”

“Please don’t take any more pictures.” Jodie’s eyes welled with tears.

“Don’t worry, I won’t. That’s about it for the examination,” Anya said, careful to cover all of Jodie with the rug after giving her a sanitary pad from her doctor’s case. “I’ll need to dry the towel you’ve been sitting on and put it in a bag to take with me.”

Jodie nodded. “Can James come back in?”

“Of course.”

Anya headed for the door and let the nervous husband back in. “I’ll be back in a minute,” she said, looking for Detective Sorrenti, whom she found standing in the front hall, giving orders to crime-scene officers.

“Just heard you had a chat with Hayden Richards.” Sorrenti put both hands on her hips. “I don’t appreciate you going behind my back. If you’ve got relevant information, you come to me, especially with something as solid as the phrase he keeps coming out with.”

Anya bristled. “I don’t work for you, and I spoke to Hayden off the record because I had little to go on, with one victim refusing to speak to police. You know how it works. I was suggesting there might be a serial offender, and rather than waste your time it seemed sensible to have a talk with him first.”

“Thanks to you, he’s now consulting on the taskforce.”

“So this is about rivalry?” Anya could barely control her annoyance. “Don’t you think that’s a little petty when it isn’t even safe to put the rubbish out any more? With more than thirty unsolved rapes in this area, I’d have thought you’d be grateful for the extra manpower and experience.”

Hayden Richards appeared in the doorway, wiped his feet and entered.

“Ladies,” he said, hitching up his trousers. “What have you got?”

“Detective Sorrenti can fill you in,” Anya replied, and wandered out the open back door. She headed for the cubby, about fifteen meters from the house. Built on stilts, it gave enough elevation for a great slide. Ben would definitely love it. Pity there was no real yard in her inner-city terrace.