Fatal Impact (4 page)

6

O
utside the police station, Anya called her former husband in the hope of speaking to their son, Ben. Martin’s home number went straight to voicemail. School was still out for another week and the pair could have been at the beach, or on their way to or from Sydney. She tried his mobile.

‘Leave a message and I’ll get back to you ASAP.’

She wanted them to know she’d called, that she was thinking of them – both.

‘Hi guys, Mum here, just wanted to say how much I’m missing you. I’m seeing Poppy tonight for dinner, then should be at Nanna’s tomorrow. All going well, I’ll see you in a few days. Talk soon, love you.’

The beep sounded again and she instantly regretted leaving the message. Martin had always been frustrated by the unpredictable nature of Anya’s work. He saw it as being unreliable where family was concerned. She could hardly reveal that instead of just attending a conference, she’d attended the scene of a dead child in a toy box. Things with Martin were complicated enough right now.

He had to assume the ‘love you’ was for Ben.

A tap on the hood of the car interrupted her thoughts. She wound down the window.

Steve Schiller stepped off the kerb. ‘I know we were going to take your formal statement, but Jenny Quaid’s natural healer has turned up with his lawyer. He wants to talk.’

Anya grabbed her bag and left the car with a sense of foreboding. They may have the break they were hoping for. If he’d killed Emily, he most likely knew where Mia and Jenny were. That was, if they were still alive.

Schiller showed her to an adjacent interview room with a small monitor, then excused himself. The junior detective then joined Bowden next door. Opposite them at the table sat a man in his mid-thirties with wavy dark hair and a few days’ growth of stubble. To his side was an older man dressed in an open-necked shirt and grey suit jacket. The lawyer.

‘We appreciate you coming in, Mr Heyes.’ Schiller flipped to a blank page on his notepad.

Bowden cleared his throat. ‘Do you want to make a formal statement?’

‘Hold on,’ the grey jacket interrupted. ‘There’s been a misunderstanding. I’m here as an observer. The Quaids belong to a small, close community. Every one of our members is suffering the loss. Dylan is here of his own volition, to minimise trauma to everyone concerned.’

Bowden was unmoved. ‘Most people would think about the suffering a ten-year-old child went through, and care more about the welfare of a missing mother and child.’

‘It’s why we’re here.’ Heyes interlocked his fingers in front of his mouth. ‘Jenny is one of the kindest and most giving souls I’ve ever met, and those girls are a gift.’

‘I didn’t know you people had a religious bent,’ Bowden said without looking up from his notes.

‘You don’t have to be religious to be spiritual, detective. That’s all I meant. Jenny is a wonderful human being. I wanted to help you in any way possible catch whoever, or whatever, did this to Emmy.’

Anya wasn’t sure if Bowden’s silence meant he was taken aback by the comment.

The lawyer broke the tension. ‘Dylan here is the community’s mayoral equivalent. He speaks for everyone who lives within the boundaries of Bellamy.’

Schiller and Bowden exchanged glances.

The younger detective asked, ‘How long have the Quaids been your patients?’

‘Actually,’ Heyes rubbed his hands along the thighs of his jeans, ‘I don’t have patients.’

Bowden interrupted, ‘I have it here that you’re a natural healer, practitioner of holistic kines .
. .’
He faltered.

‘That’s correct.’ Dylan straightened.

‘So what should we call people who come to you for treatment?’

The lawyer was quick to make the distinction. ‘For the record, Dylan sees “clients”.’

The word jarred for Anya. Traditionally, the medical profession used the word ‘patient’, which implied a duty of care to relieve suffering. The word ‘client’ was used more by lawyers, as someone for whom they provided a service. Customers.

Bowden frowned. ‘Prostitutes have clients too.’

Dylan unlinked his fingers and swept a piece of hair from his forehead. ‘Medicine is about control, and money. Doctors assume they have all the knowledge and make unilateral decisions about what is best for patients. My clients enter into an equal relationship with me and together we choose the best holistic program for their wellbeing. People who come to me are equal in the relationship.’

Schiller referred to Heyes’s business card. ‘I see you have an Advanced Diploma in something called HSc, ATMS, AKA, ICMA. Sounds like you’re pretty knowledgeable.’

‘And I share that knowledge, to empower my clients.’

‘That must be pretty time consuming,’ Bowden quipped.

Anya suppressed a smile as the lawyer interjected.

‘Is there a point to this? What’s this got to do with Emily Quaid’s death?’

Schiller resumed the lead. ‘It would be helpful to establish the relationship between Mr Heyes and the Quaid family.’

‘It’s okay, I’m happy to clarify,’ Heyes said. ‘I met Jenny when she moved here. After Tom died
,
I helped her address some problems she was having with anxiety and some, well, you could say, alarming behaviour, particularly regarding the children.’

Bowden didn’t miss a beat. ‘Are you saying the kids were neglected, or mistreated?’

Heyes put both hands up. ‘I’m just saying she had a litany of problems like insomnia, depression, general amotivation.’

‘You mean grief?’ Schiller retorted. ‘She had just lost a child.’

Heyes’s eyes flared. ‘That’s right. But this was a downward spiral. She had wild swings in blood sugars, which made her crave toxic foods like chips, fried foods.’

‘Sounds like most of us on a good day.’ Bowden patted his belly.

The lawyer glared at him but the officer appeared unfazed.

‘And how did you treat that?’ Schiller enquired.

‘For the record, I don’t diagnose and treat as such, but address the relative underlying stress patterns associated with bodily imbalances. Traditional medicine would have pumped her with antidepressants and sleeping tablets. Her hormones were out of balance and her cranial structures were out of alignment, including her sphenoid.’ He paused, as if waiting for a response.

Anya moved closer to the monitor. The sphenoid bone was inside the skull, with a small section connected to the temporal and frontal bones on each side. She hoped he wasn’t talking about manipulating it in some way.

‘It could have happened when she was assaulted a few years ago. She mentioned a violent boyfriend.’ He reached for the cup of water and took a gulp. ‘The sphenoid bone,’ he tapped just above each of his temples, ‘is crucial to spinal, cerebral and spiritual function. Emily was also affected. It’s possible she was assaulted in the past.’

‘Hang on.’ Bowden raised a hand. ‘Are you telling us Emily Quaid’s skull was damaged?’

‘No, I’m saying it was out of alignment and required restoration of balance. After Tom’s death, they were consuming food containing all sorts of toxins. Colourings, artificial flavourings, preservatives.’

Schiller sat back. ‘Feeding children junk food isn’t a crime. If it was, we’d be arresting almost every parent in the country.’

Anya respected his approach.

‘That food is criminal. It was damaging Emily, causing all sorts of illness in the child.’

Anya remembered the growth chart shown to them by the GP at the surgery. Emily had normal growth patterns and was thin, but hadn’t appeared malnourished.

‘What illnesses in particular?’

‘Candida infection.’

‘Like in thrush?’ Schiller asked. Bowden shot him a quizzical look.

‘That’s a small part of it. I’m talking about candida of the bowel. It can cause all number of symptoms and usually goes undiagnosed by doctors. They choose not to believe it exists.’

Anya had seen the infection in patients who were severely immunocompromised such as cancer patients undergoing chemotherapy, or in cases of overwhelming infection. Natural therapists seemed quick to diagnose it on history alone in patients who had any number of non-specific symptoms.

Heyes was in his element. ‘In the early stages it caused Emily constipation and diarrhoea, bloating, food allergies, intolerances, flatulence and poor concentration, then as it spread it led to coughs and colds, ear infections and asthma. It was responsible for her nightmares and detachment anxiety. She never wanted to be away from her mother’s side.’

Anya rubbed the back of her neck. The child had lost a baby brother and her mother was grieving. Heyes could have just described her own son, Ben, who had a run of viral infections when he started school, which was a normal part of childhood. Candida had nothing to do with it.

Bowden asked, ‘The treatment is?’

‘Initially I conducted food allergy and intolerance tests. She was having problems with gluten, dairy and eggs, so she commenced a diet of organic, raw foods to detox completely.
A cleansing broth helped rebuild her immune system.’

Anya listened intently. Detoxing a child was dangerous. It could cause fatal dehydration and electrolyte deficiencies.

Schiller looked up. ‘When was that?’

‘Three weeks ago.’

‘When was the last time you saw Emily and her mother?’

‘A week ago today, when I performed the Neurocranial Realignment therapy.’

Anya sighed. This had to involve the sphenoid bone he had mentioned earlier. She didn’t like where this was heading.

‘You’re going to have to explain that one.’ Bowden remained curt.

‘I don’t expect you’ve heard of it; it’s a ground-breaking physical treatment. Doctors look at the superficial, but the sphenoid bone is the key to so much illness. Its job is to milk the pituitary gland as it moves. And that is the true centre of our cosmic force.’

Schiller glanced at the camera. Anya listened closely for any clues as to specifics she should be looking for at the post-mortem.

‘I performed Bilateral Endonasal Balloon therapy. Using a blood pressure bulb covered in a lubricated finger-sized covering, I insert the finger cot into the nasal passages and when the client breathes out, the bulb delivers a controlled burst of pressure into each side. Sometimes the lower nasal passageways need a double dose, but the effect is immediate. It causes a shift in the sphenoid that realigns the cranial bones and opens up cerebrospinal fluid and blood flow, and helps the sinuses to drain better and stimulates the pituitary gland. The effects are immediate. Emily left the room a different child.’

Anya tried to imagine how difficult it would be to get a ten-year-old to be compliant with such an invasive and uncomfortable procedure. At the post-mortem, she would need to ask the pathologist to look closely for signs of trauma to the nasal bones and areas surrounding the sphenoid.

The lawyer reached into his bag and extracted a series of papers. ‘Dylan has kindly outlined the treatments. Here are the instructions for the cleansing broth and the detox diet, and NCPT, which Jenny Quaid has copies of as well. You’ll notice there is information about what to do if the child became unwell. You’ll also find a waiver signed by Jennifer Quaid.’

Schiller glanced at his partner. ‘Waiver? Don’t you mean consent?’

‘No, detective, you’ll find it’s a waiver. Dylan doesn’t claim to treat clients. As he explained, he addresses bodily imbalances.’

There was a prolonged silence in the room as the detectives surveyed the papers.

Bowden spoke first. ‘Do you charge for these services?’

‘Yes, but in Jenny’s case, she provided fresh bread in exchange for my services.’

Bowden nodded. ‘Did you hear from Jenny Quaid again, about how her daughter was doing?’

‘The lines of communication were open. In my field, no news is good news. You have to remember, I offer clients hope; the rest is up to them.’

‘In our experience no news is never good news.’ Schiller rose. ‘And hope is never a solution.’ Collecting his notes, he added, ‘We’ll be in touch. Thanks for your time.’

Bowden remained seated. ‘Couple more things: could Jenny Quaid have been seeing other therapists?’

Heyes straightened and puffed out his chest. ‘No. No way.’

‘Needed to check. Are you sure because you were in an intimate relationship with her?’

‘This interview is over,’ the lawyer snapped, and stood. ‘That would be completely unprofessional. Dylan is a health therapist.’

‘Who has just gone to great pains to explain that he has “clients”, not patients. As far as I know, lawyers don’t have ethical problems consummating relationships with female clients, so why would Mr Heyes?’

The therapist’s face reddened. He and the lawyer pushed past Schiller on their way out.

In their wake, Bowden stood, hands on hips. ‘My gut screams this guy did something to Emily. How can shoving tubes into a kid’s nose and blowing pressure up the brain be safe?’

Anya waited until Heyes was out of sight before joining the detectives. She had wondered the same thing, particularly if the child had moved suddenly as pressure was applied. It would be like trying to hold down a greasy cat. ‘It depends on the amount of pressure, and how compliant Emily was. Either way, he says he performed the procedure a week ago. If it caused damage, then you’d think it would have manifested pretty quickly.’

Schiller leant on the table. ‘Are you sure the mother would have known if something had gone wrong? She was pretty vulnerable and this guy is good at care without responsibility.’

They headed for the main office. ‘Beats me,’ Schiller threw his notepad down on a desk, ‘How people get suckered by these whack jobs.’

It was easy to see how a mother who had lost a child would fear hospitals. Heyes was right about some things. Issues with gluten and lactose were common, but could be accurately diagnosed with medical tests. The results of detox therapy for a child, however, could be catastrophic. The liver and kidneys could be important in Emily’s case.

A phone rang and they glanced around, hoping someone else would answer it. Someone else did.

Schiller sat back against a desk. ‘The way he lawyered up, he’s protecting his own backside.’