AC05 - Death Mask (6 page)

‘Thank you for trying to shield us from the eggs, and I’m sorry about the bruise on your forehead. You’ll have to excuse me.’

She turned and Nigel, finished with the journalist, waved to Ethan Rye behind her.

Anya didn’t like being kept in the dark. What was the old fox planning?

‘Nigel, why is a private investigator – from America – here?’ she demanded.

Nigel clutched his walking stick. ‘For the moment, he’s examining possible candidates for transition to American football. Ethan here is a man of many talents. He is also involved with a new education programme involving around three hundred football players, of which I’m certain you will approve. There’s a summit next week as part of a pre-season training camp and I have been invited to participate. It’s a real honour, and will attract a lot of attention from the media and other sports.’

Anya had assumed Nigel would be fishing with his old friend next week. Peter would be disappointed.

‘When do you leave?’

Nigel glanced at Ethan Rye. ‘Next month.’

Anya could not read his expression. ‘You just said the seminar is next week.’

‘Correct. I was invited to participate. Unfortunately, due to personal reasons, I am now unable to attend.’

Ethan took a step forward. ‘The Prof here suggested someone who could present to the players instead. He tells me you would be perfect for the job.’

Anya glanced at Nigel to see if this was a joke. From the grin on his face, he was feeling pretty pleased with himself. The fox had planned to pull out at the last minute so she could be offered the job. Ethan Rye must have been checking her out at the courthouse. Anya didn’t know whether to be pleased or annoyed.

‘Tell her the deal,’ Nigel enthused.

Ethan nodded. ‘You’ll be provided with first-class return tickets to New York and five-star accommodation, with all meals and expenses covered. In addition, you will be paid an appearance fee of $30,000, excluding your regular consulting fees for any other contributions you make. This will be paid in American dollars. If you are willing and available, I know that individual teams may also request your expertise and advice on educating players. Some may wish to discuss individual cases with you, if you agree. I’ll be on hand during your stay to assist with anything you need.’

Anya could not believe it. This man was offering to pay her to present to players, which she would have done for free if it meant increasing awareness of sexual assault. She had never flown first class to anywhere, and had always wanted to visit New York. There had to be a catch.

The investigator reached into his jacket pocket, removed an airline envelope and handed it to Anya.

Nigel rubbed the white hair on his chin. ‘It’s the perfect opportunity for you to spread your wings. It’s the big time, Anya, and this experience will only benefit your career.’

Inside the envelope was an electronic ticket in her name and one thousand US dollars in cash. Nigel Everett had handed her his pot of gold.

‘Why me, though? You have plenty of experts closer to home. They’d work out a lot cheaper.’

Ethan Rye countered. ‘Your qualifications are unique. Either forensic nurses or emergency doctors perform rape examinations back home. Our pathologists give opinions, but Australia and England lead the world in forensic physicians. You’ve developed the specialty of sexual assault medicine, and you have the qualifications and forensic experience to back that. No one can question your credentials. Whether or not you know it, you’re highly regarded in the US. In fact, a New York assistant district attorney highly recommended you and suggested you might give a talk on sexually transmitted infections before a session with her on sexual assaults. That way the players get the medical and legal ramifications of their actions.’

He had done his research. The assistant district attorney who recommended her had to be Linda Gatby.

‘If I agree, when do I have to leave?’ She thought of her lecturing duties, and her son, Ben.

‘You’ve got time to get back to Sydney, say goodbye to your son and pack. We leave the day after tomorrow.’

A
nya’s taxi pulled up at Sydney International Airport. ‘Thanks, Doctor Crichton.’ The smiling attendant checked her passport. ‘I’m afraid there isn’t an earlier flight I can put you on.’

Anya felt her face redden. ‘Force of habit. I’m always early for plane trips.’ Obviously, first-class passengers arrived later than their economy counterparts.

She had never been so far away from Ben before. Although her five-year-old son lived with his father, she always took comfort in the fact that he was only a short drive away. Martin had left nursing and was supposedly looking for part-time work while he stayed at home with their child. At the time of their separation he had been unemployed. Anya’s demanding work hours and frequent nights on call meant Ben would have to be cared for by a nanny a lot of the time if custody were shared. For that reason, the judge had awarded Martin custody. Anya had been devastated by the decision, and by the fact she only had access visits on weekends. Having to pay child support and maintenance meant she was locked into long working hours and could not cut back to spend more time with Ben or reapply for custody.

Instead of being sad when she had told him she was going overseas for a few weeks, Ben had bombarded her with excited
questions. Was she going to Disneyland? Could he come too? Would she meet anyone famous?

Martin had been more concerned about her safety. Since Anya had been attacked in her home Martin had been more solicitous towards her and they were on better terms, much to Ben’s delight. Despite Martin being immature and selfish at times, he was a good father, and whilst Anya may not have accepted the custodial arrangement, she was learning to live with it.

It had been all she could do to stop breaking into tears when she had dropped Ben back home. It was difficult to accept that her son didn’t miss her as much as she missed him. His life pretty much revolved around the moment, whereas her focus was the next access weekend. In between, she focused on her work and building her reputation as a forensic consultant.

The whole airport process was seamless. She’d never been fast-tracked through customs like that, avoiding any semblance of a queue. She almost felt guilty. Almost. She passed through the multitude of duty-free offerings and headed upstairs to the first-class lounge. Beyond the frosted doors she was greeted by a beaming man in a suit, who checked her boarding pass.

‘Good morning, Doctor Crichton. If there’s anything I can help you with, order a car for you in New York, or perhaps make a restaurant booking, please let me know.’

Anya thanked the concierge and wheeled her carry-on luggage inside, allowing a grin to unfold on her face. She felt like a child let free inside a lolly shop for the first time. With ample time before the flight, she chose a restaurant table and was immediately met with a waiter and menu. Even the bread rolls looked inviting; they were warm and she didn’t hesitate to slather them with the organic butter provided on her table.

‘I thought you would have booked in for a spa treatment.’

Ethan Rye, in an open-collared shirt, jacket and dress trousers, appeared as she was midway through her third mouthful of crusty bread.

‘Mind if I join you?’

‘Please.’ She wiped her mouth with the napkin, hoping no
crumbs clung to her lips. ‘I looked this place up on the net. The spa doesn’t open until nine.’

‘Finally, someone else who has an eye for detail,’ he grinned, sitting opposite. ‘Thought you should have this sooner rather than later. It’s background on all the players slated to attend the education summit. It should give you added insight into what you’re dealing with.’

‘There’s a lot of information there. Over three hundred players will attend the workshops, press and meetings. August is still pre-season but there’s a celebrity game against last season’s champions, the New Jersey Bombers. You’ll get the chance to catch it.’

Anya remained quiet. She would prefer to visit a museum than watch sport.

Ethan seemed to suppress a grin. ‘It’s a professional camp for players. These boys eat, sleep, breathe and exercise with their team mates. No wives, kids or girlfriends allowed. Even if they have apartments in New York City, they still have to stay in the hotel. League rules.’

Anya couldn’t imagine anything more claustrophobic. She enjoyed solitude, quiet and privacy. Something the players seemed to be denied in their world.

Ethan took a seat and pulled out a thick file from a travel case and placed it on the table. Anya’s heart sank. It would take all of the twenty-odd hours en route to get through it.

‘I can summarise a lot of what’s in the reports if it helps. That way you can still watch a movie or two.’

Anya never slept the night before a trip, making sure she had packed everything, going over her list of things to be organised while she was away. She had hoped to make up for her sleepless night by taking a sedating antihistamine that would make her sleepy and would have the added bonus of diminishing her anxiety about take-offs and landings. By the size of the file, even with Ethan’s briefing she’d be working the entire journey. The antihistamines would have to wait.

The waiter arrived with scrambled eggs, smoked salmon and
a thick slice of toasted sourdough. Another delivered a pot of Irish breakfast tea. It looked and smelt appetising.

‘May I have a black coffee, and I might try some of your Vegemite on toast, thanks.’ Ethan turned to Anya and saw her raised eyebrow. ‘Hey, when in Rome … Please start, don’t let yours go cold.’

Anya hadn’t eaten much the night before, clearing out her fridge contents of mouldy vegetables, expired juice and milk. She was starving. She tried not to show it, though, aware of Ethan’s scrutiny as she ate.

After a leisurely breakfast they boarded the plane. Rye seemed right at home in first class. His jacket and carry-on were fully stowed before Anya had even peeled off her coat. With only a single window seat, there would be no banal chatter with a stranger. The attendant offered her a drink from a tray. She chose a glass of springwater and sat down, quickly slipping on the seatbelt. Opening the file, she began to read, distracted only by the offers of nuts, canapés and more drinks.

When the plane reversed, she closed her fingers around the file. Images of plane-crash victims on whom she’d performed post-mortems came to mind. A crop-duster who was decapitated; passengers with barely recognisable internal organs; numerous corpses ravaged by fire after impact. The only safe position in a plane was where the staff sat, facing backwards with a four-point harness.

After take-off, flying held no concerns for her. Until the landing. Anya concentrated on positive thinking and blocking out images of crashes as the plane taxied for endless minutes and finally lifted off. It was only when she heard the wheels clunk safely back into their housing that she realised her fingers were clamped around the file.

Breathing slowly and deeply, she sifted through the papers Ethan had given her. Typical college-style portraits accompanied detailed biographical information.

She chose one at random. A twenty-three-year-old born in Harlem. His hair was cropped short, highlighting steely eyes and
an almost muscular jaw. Even in the photo he appeared determined. Mention of two deceased brothers caught her attention. Cause of death was described as unnatural. That left homicide, suicide or accident.

With the extent of the man’s police record, Anya had to remind herself that this was a professional footballer, not a suspect in a criminal investigation.

His offences ranged from break and enter to possession of illegal narcotics. Four years earlier, he had been shot in the back of his shoulder by police at the scene of an armed robbery. There was no mention of a conviction in that instance, or of any jail time served for the litany of other offences.

A number of statistics was listed, including weight, height and records pertaining to his football career. Medical history described an early knee injury, and the gunshot wound appeared to have grazed his shoulder without causing structural damage or long-term disability.

The next portrait featured a fresh-faced sandy-haired player who looked like a poster boy for good dentition. He played quarterback and had won an array of awards, including player of the year, sportsman of the year and most valuable player at high school and two separate colleges. There was no criminal record. On paper, the contrast between the two players could not have been greater, although this man’s medical history was also peppered with injuries, including rupture of the anterior cruciate ligament and multiple arthroscopies on both knees. Despite these he still maintained a high fitness assessment.

After a while, names, places and injuries began to blur. What took her by surprise was the number of players with criminal records. Drugs, robbery and assault on women predominated.

Anya looked up from the file. Most of the other passengers were either lying flat and asleep or engrossed in their video screens.

Anya decided to stretch her legs and found her way to the first-class bar. Ethan Rye sat reading at one of the stools. He saw her before she could retreat.

‘Please. Join me. I can’t tell if it’s supposed to be night or day.’

Anya slid onto the stool and asked the attendant for a champagne cocktail. Suddenly she felt as though the stress of the last two weeks had caught up with her.

‘You should probably try and get some rest. We’ll hit the ground running when we get there.’

Anya knew she looked drawn. Hannah’s case had been emotionally demanding, and was compounded by preparing for the senate committee.

Ethan made a circle on the condensation on his glass. Those lashes were even longer when his gaze was downward.

‘How’s the reading?’

‘Interesting. The number of criminal records is surprising. I can understand the occasional player getting into a scrape with the law, but that many?’

Ethan sipped his beer. ‘One stat often quoted is that twenty-five percent of players are felons. You’ve seen the sheets. Violence is the theme in most of them. Against partners, overzealous fans and each other. You have to look at those figures in context. A lot of players come from pretty rough backgrounds, often where the only life options involve joining a gang, going to prison or getting killed.