‘I heard some adults talking about us at a party once,’ Charlotte said with an edge of resentment. ‘They didn’t realise I was in the pantry playing hide-and-seek.’
‘What did they say?’
They paused their conversation again as a team of paramedics slid a supine young man through the ED waiting area. He was screaming his head off—possibly because of the myriad lacerations on both his face and hands. He looked as though he’d gone straight through a plate glass window.
‘That they couldn’t believe our mums had chosen to adopt us.’ The hurt in Charlotte’s voice was tangible as they returned to their conversation. ‘One said she couldn’t understand it since there were boys available for adoption. And another one said “blood will out”. The way they talked about us’—Charlotte bit her lower lip—‘made me feel like I was … sort of … the yukky brown bit you find when you bite into a rotten apple.’
‘Do you remember who the adults were?’
Charlotte shook her head. ‘I didn’t know them. But I told Mum, and we never went back there again.’
‘And how did you feel about the girls’ home closing and coming to live with your new family?’
‘It meant everything to me! I got my own mum and dad and a nice house to live in, where I could be warm all the time. And I got to go to school, and I got a last name.’
‘You didn’t have a last name in the home?’
‘No, only first names. Ms O’Brien said she picked them out of a book.’
‘Did she tell you anything about your biological parents?’
Charlotte shook her head, one corner of her mouth pulling down in regret. ‘She said that our mothers died when we were born and no one knew who our fathers were, so she would look after us until we were adopted.’
‘How many other girls were adopted when you were there? Did new girls arrive often?’
‘I’ve tried to count back but I can’t remember everyone’s name. There were a lot of us.’
‘Who can you recall?’
‘Before it was just me and Amelia there was Tilda …’
‘Matilda?’
‘Uh-huh. And then Sam, Daisy and Maree, who all got adopted at about the same time … and before that Tanya and Maggie, and before them … well, at least two more, but I don’t remember their names.’
‘Would Amelia remember?’
‘She won’t say.’
‘Why is that?’
‘She won’t talk about anything to do with the home. I don’t know why—it wasn’t such a bad place.’
‘What did you do with your time there?’
‘The same thing every day. Lessons and chores.’
‘And were you ever mistreated?’
‘On Sundays we had to sit and listen to Ms O’Brien read passages from the Bible about how we’re all sinners and when we die we’re going to hell unless we repent, and blah blah blah. But otherwise it was fine.’
‘Nothing that you would describe as abuse?’
Jake leant forward in his padded chair to watch Charlotte’s face for any tell-tale flickers of emotion.
‘I mean, if some of my little cousins had to live there they’d scream the place down because we didn’t have a TV or a computer or smartphones.’
‘But what about neglect? You mentioned being cold. Were you properly fed and clothed?’
‘It was pretty cold inside the cottage most of the time —which means I’m a bit obsessive about having the fireplace going all winter long—but Mum and Dad don’t mind.’
Jake’s frustration with this line of questioning began to mount. Time to push harder.
‘Charlotte, it’s unclear to me why you had such a good relationship with Ms O’Brien but Amelia didn’t. Can you be clearer about when Amelia began to withdraw while you lived at the home?’
‘It was like one day she just decided to go to her room and not come out.’
‘Can you tell me when that happened?’
‘Just before my ninth birthday.’
‘And Amelia is four years older than you?’
‘That’s what Ms O’Brien said. Although, to be honest, I think it’s a bit suss that we all had birthdays about a week apart. I think she just made them up so they were easier to remember.’
‘So Amelia suddenly changed her behaviour at about twelve?’ Did anything happen in your life that was different around that time? New people coming into the home?’
‘No, there was no one new around. Just the same summer routine as usual: Ms O’Brien taking her holiday, then we had our birthday parties.’
‘Ms O’Brien took an annual holiday?’
Charlotte nodded.
‘Did you go with her or did someone come in to look after you?’
‘Her brother, Mr O’Brien, looked after us when she went away.’
Mr O’Brien had failed to mention that yesterday. Though given that his sister had just died, that might be a reasonable oversight. ‘And was he any different to Ms O’Brien?’
‘Yeah, he wasn’t strict at all. He didn’t make us study or eat healthy food, just let us eat fish fingers and mashed potato and lollies and do whatever we wanted. Ms O’Brien used to be very upset with him when she got back from her trips.’
‘But he treated you well?’
‘Sure. I mean, we were hungry sometimes because he didn’t always remember to feed us, but when we reminded him he’d make up for it.’
‘And did anyone else come into the home while he was there?’
‘He was the same as Ms O’Brien about keeping us in and everyone else away. We only got to go out when we were buying new clothes.’
‘What about Mr Campbell who lived on the other side of the hedge? Other children? Prospective adopters?’
She shrugged. ‘No one.’
‘The older girls who had been adopted—did any of them visit?’
‘Ms O’Brien said their new parents probably wouldn’t let them.’
A nurse approached. ‘Detective? You can come back in now.’
Jake rose and walked along the corridor to Amelia’s cubicle where Mary MacDonald was dampening cotton wool balls with lotion and wiping make-up from her daughter’s face. ‘Now that she’s quiet, I can clean her up a bit.’ She stopped every few motions to smooth Amelia’s hair back from her forehead.
‘We’ve worked so hard for the last ten years, Mr Hunter. So hard. Amelia has, I have, Andrew has, and God help him, even Scott has. But we never seem to get anywhere.’ Her voice broke. ‘Everything will seem fine for a few months, then bam, we’re right back here.’
‘Andrew just mentioned he thinks there might be some connection between Amelia harming herself and strawberries,’ Jake said as gently as he could.
Tears began to tumble down Mary’s cheeks again. She seemed unaware of them. ‘I know, but it doesn’t make any sense. She eats them sometimes, if I put them in smoothies or cakes and she has no reaction at all.’
Amelia hadn’t actually eaten any of the cake this morning, Jake recalled.
‘Does she know they’re in the food, when she doesn’t seem to have a reaction?’
Mary looked at him in puzzlement.
‘Detective?’ Amelia’s doctor had returned. ‘Can I speak to you?’
Jake smiled tightly at Mary MacDonald, then followed the doctor to a private corner near the nurses’ station.
‘In addition to the damage Amelia’s done to her fingers and toes, we discovered multiple lacerations to her inner thighs.’
Sweet Jesus. A corner of Jake’s mind always recoiled from the knowledge that someone could be in such distress they would rend their own flesh in desperation for comfort or relief.
The doctor continued. ‘Given her history, I’d suspect a straightforward case of self-mutilation, except that in the process of cleaning the wounds
we discovered … er …’
Jake watched the words emerge from her mouth, almost anticipating each as it fell from her lips.
‘… Amelia’s external genitalia is gone.’
Chapter Seven
District Hospital
Saturday, 10.52 p.m.
‘It appears to be some form of extreme genital modification … I’ve never seen anything like it,’ the doctor continued, her words tumbling over one another. ‘But something similar was mentioned on a path lab notice yesterday. It’s something to do with Dunton, right?’
Jake’s head was ringing with questions. Where to begin? ‘Yes. How ol—’
The doctor turned to go. ‘I just thought you should know.’
Jake held out a hand. ‘Wait, that’s it?’
‘I’ve sutured the fresh wounds, the old ones are completely healed. I’ve got other patients backed up, I need to keep moving.’
‘Can you tell me anything more?’
The doctor frowned. ‘They’ve just brought in some moron who went through a windscreen because he wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.’ The beeper attached to her white coat squawked. She glanced at it. ‘I need to go save his life, so my son gets a store-bought birthday cake tomorrow. Again.’
‘But …’
‘What do you want from me? We’ve stabilised her, she’ll recover, there’s nothing else for me to do.’
Her beeper sounded again. She pushed past Jake and strode purposefully down the corridor.
He wandered outside to the freezing night, his breath leaving a trail of vapour puffs in the air, his mind reeling with questions. Who had done this to Amelia? Was it the same person who did it to Ava, but decades apart? Or had Ava brutalised Amelia when she was the girl’s guardian? Had it been done to the other girls in the home? And—in the context of Jake’s current investigation—was it a motive for murder?
There were too many possibilities to process right now. He checked the time on his phone. If he left now he’d be in Dunton after midnight.
No-one in this situation seemed likely to abscond overnight, so he could safely leave the hospital. He needed time to review the evidence, revise his thinking and make a plan to hit the ground running the next morning.
Jake trudged out to his car to begin the drive back, wishing he could avoid the sight of the small, furry animal carcasses that would line his way across the mountains. Roadkill seemed rife here.
The cloying perfume of hospital disinfectant clung to the threads of his clothes, making him feel mildly unwell. Kelly had asked him to report in as soon as he returned no matter how late the hour, so a shower would have to wait.
*
Maria Kelly answered the door still dressed impeccably.
‘Come through to the kitchen, Detective Hunter.’
‘Please, call me Jake.’
She smiled at him, though he noticed that it didn’t reach her eyes.
It was after midnight. Jake was surprised to see the house still occupied by so many people. He could hear adult conversation and the indecipherable hum of late-night television echoing down the hall.
Evelyn was standing at the kitchen countertop scraping a minuscule dab of olive oil margarine over wholegrain bread.
‘Jake’s here for your father,’ Maria said. ‘I’ll let him know.’
‘Yes, Mum.’
‘Remember to finish the ironing tonight, please?’
Evelyn tsked. ‘Of course.’ She put down her knife. ‘Would you like a sandwich?’ she offered Jake.
‘I’m not hungry thanks.’
Jake watched Evelyn create a sparsely filled but perfectly constructed sandwich, slicing it diagonally and placing it on her plate.
‘I didn’t eat much at dinnertime.’
She didn’t need to justify her sandwich to Jake. ‘Okay?’
She waved the butter knife at him. ‘It’s just, you know.’
He really didn’t. ‘If you’re hungry, have the sandwich.’
She sniffed.
One of her brothers—Kayden, from memory—swooped in from the corridor. ‘Oh, great, sis,’ he reached over, grabbed both halves of her sandwich, said, ‘Thanks,’ stuffed one half in his mouth and went back into the corridor.
Evelyn closed her eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly.
‘I’ll take you to Father’s study,’ she said as she opened her eyes. ‘You can wait for him in there.’
The shelf-lined room, filled with orderly rows of books, was cooler than the rest of the house. Evelyn picked up a long wooden tube that had been decorated with dots of red paint and red wax at either end. It was one of several in the study.
She turned it on an angle. Tiny patters of sound came from inside.
‘It’s a rainmaker.’
Jake listened closely. It did actually sound like the first drops of rain on a tin roof.
The first genuine smile Jake had seen Evelyn give played across her face. ‘I love closing my eyes and seeing the drops in my mind.’ Her smile fell away. ‘Is that silly?’
‘I’ve seen them in stores, but never heard one. What’s in it?’
‘Little beads, I think.’
It looked like he’d have to make small talk until Kelly arrived. He’d noticed she hadn’t asked about Amelia at all. That was fine with him.
What could he ask about in her world? ‘So how do you find living right next door to your parents?’
She flipped the rainmaker in the opposite direction, her attention still mostly on the shower of beads inside. ‘It’s a good strategy long-term. I’m saving to buy a house, and they don’t charge me much rent.’
Kelly cleared his throat.
They both looked up.
He filled the doorway. ‘I’ve asked you not to touch items in my study,’ he said to Evelyn.
She placed the rainmaker back in its stand and walked out of the room without a word.
‘So, how’s the girl?’ Kelly asked Jake as they took seats on either side of his enormous wooden desk.
*
The sun had barely begun to glow through Dunton’s blanket of fog when Jake poured his third cup of instant coffee and continued to slurp on his soggy cereal. To the strains of a neighbour's off-key rooster, he reflected on how deeply he had taken Melbourne’s café breakfasts for granted.
Huddling in his jacket as he waited for the station’s heater to kick in, Jake wondered briefly what it might be like to spend an entire career in the one location, as Kelly had, working with the same one or two colleagues year after year, mollifying the same people leaning against the battered wooden front counter complaining about their neighbours, and letting the same sad drunks sleep it off in the lock-up. Not to mention contending with a consistent lack of decent breakfasts.
He couldn’t imagine how Kelly could have developed into the officer he seemed to be without the exposure to a wide range of supervisors, training and situations that Jake had enjoyed. Perhaps it took a particular personality type to thrive in the country.
He stabbed at his breakfast with his spoon and reviewed his strategy for the day. The interviews and research he needed to conduct far outstripped the time available; the lack of back-up from Hobart was beginning to pinch. So he would line up interviews at the station to save travel time and direct Murphy to search for the records he needed.
The constable’s latest attempt at a report was almost nonsensical, so the more time he spent reading anything the better. Perhaps his sentence structure and arrangement of ideas could improve by osmosis?
Pushing the unappetising fodder aside, Jake flicked through Ava O’Brien’s diaries while he waited for a vaguely acceptable hour to start making calls.
*
‘Doctor Gill?’
‘Yes?’ She sounded half asleep.
Jake explained her colleague
’s discovery of Amelia’s genital mutilation, then paused awkwardly before ploughing on with his request. ‘I’m sorry to ask on a Sunday, but is there any chance you could start a search today for records of any women who have presented with genital mutilation or modification, or finger mutilation?’
Doctor Meena Gill sighed deeply. ‘This is my first whole Sunday off in two months. I was having a sleep-in, then I was going to take my poor, lonely dog for a long walk.’
Jake waited.
She tsked. ‘Give me till midday and I’ll head in. FSST had better send us some back-up tomorrow because this is getting ridiculous.’
‘We’re working on it.’
Next, Jake called Kelly who agreed to line up interviews with the MacDonalds, Charlotte Murphy and Liam O’Brien today. ‘You have all the established relationships,’ Jake explained. ‘You can put their minds at ease that they’re just helping with enquiries.’
Murphy arrived shortly after, keen to be involved in any way Jake saw fit.
‘First, you need to confirm if any of our campers raised a red flag.’
‘I’ve run background checks on all of them—nothing significant came back,’ replied Murphy. ‘It’s all in the report I left on your desk.’
‘Okay. That wasn’t clear from the report. You’ve run them all down?’
Murphy frowned. ‘Yes!’
‘Start by notifying them that they’re free to leave the area when they wish then.’
‘No problem.’
‘Next, we need to follow two lines of enquiry. First, is there a broader pattern here? We need to interview other former residents of the home for that. So I need a list of them, where they live now, and—while you’re at it—any financial records for the home you can dig up.’
‘Okaayyy …’
As Jake had suspected, Murphy was not used to being asked to carry out a paper-based enquiry. Time for him to learn.
‘Start with the Department of Social Services—they would have regulated the place. Once you have that, we’ll need to go through the phone, email and financial records of Amelia MacDonald and Charlotte Murphy. So start the paperwork on that too.’
‘You can’t suspect—’ Murphy clamped his lips tightly.
The Great Divide Page 8
