Without Consent (18 page)

Nick Hudson opened the door without
releasing the chain.

“We’re about to eat,” he said. “It’s not a good time.”

They heard a frail voice call from inside. “If it’s reporters, tell them to leave us alone.”

“No, Auntie, it’s the police. They’ve got some more questions.”

A few seconds passed and a petite, gray-haired woman in a floral apron opened the door.

Hayden held up his badge. “I’m sorry for the timing, but this shouldn’t take long.”

“I don’t know how we can help. We don’t know anything,” said Mrs. Willard, leaving the door open as she scuffed her way to the living room.

Two fold-out trays were set up in front of the lounges. The TV was switched to a popular teenage soap-opera.

“Do you mind if we eat before it gets cold?” She detoured to the kitchen, returning with two meals. Well-done chops, boiled potatoes and peas and beans. Mrs. Willard kept the most burned piece of meat for herself.

“You might as well sit down,” Nick offered, before leaving the room. He returned a moment later with a bottle of barbecue sauce.

Hayden and Anya sat at the end of the longer lounge and waited for the pair to have a few bites of their meals. A black bass guitar stood propped on a stand, next to its speaker. No sheet music was in sight.

“Do you play in a band?” Anya asked.

Nick puffed his chest. “Some mates own a pub and we get a gig now and then.”

Men always thought being in a band impressed women. Anya thought of Liz Dorman’s boyfriend playing at a pub while someone took her life.

The smell of burned meat reminded her of the days before her mother knew what “medium-rare” meant. The sole purpose of cooking was to kill the bacteria in the meat and the only way to do that was by burning it to a piece of carbon that was almost inedible. Anya used to mock her mother for their evening meals. Ironically, with all the diet trends over the years, the old meat and three vegetables was now being accepted as one of the healthiest. Her mother had actually known best.

“You lot already ransacked the place and got most of what Geoff had. There’s not much left to pinch,” Nick proclaimed with a full mouth. Judging by his reaction, something he’d stuffed into his mouth was still hot.

She sympathized when Nick drowned what was left of his dinner in sauce, and assumed that he was eating quickly because they were there.

“We wanted to ask you about the night Eileen Randall died,” Hayden began. “I gather Geoffrey confessed.”

“Yeah, so?” Nick seemed more interested in the teenage drama on the screen. “You bastards verballed him.”

“I thought his lawyer told him to change his story.” Mrs. Willard looked confused. “It was a long time ago.”

“Why do you say he was verballed?” the detective asked.

“Did anyone see him confess apart from that local copper who interviewed him? Back then, Geoff would’ve admitted to starting World War II if he was scared enough. What would you do if someone threatened to stick your mother in jail?”

Hayden pulled out his small black notebook and wrote something down.

“It seems as though he initially told the police that he found Eileen in the ocean. Doctor Crichton here went over the reports. They found crayfish larvae in the body, which can only get there in the water.”

Silence made it unclear whether the pair had heard or understood.

Anya broke it first. “I spoke to someone about the tides that night who is convinced the body would have been floating when Geoff was still at home with you, Mrs. Willard.”

“Why are you bringing this up now? It’s all in the past.”

“Hang on, Auntie.” Nick stopped chewing. “Let her talk.”

“There’s a chance,” Anya said, “that Geoff might not have murdered Eileen Randall.”

Mrs. Willard put down her knife and fork and seemed to sink lower in the chair.

“That’s not possible,” she managed.

Anya found it difficult to comprehend how a mother hadn’t considered the possibility that her son was not guilty. If he was innocent, the pain that must have inflicted on Geoff Willard was immeasurable.

“You don’t understand,” Nick explained. “No one wanted to say anything after the way she died, but Eileen Randall was no bloody saint. She was the town bike and a prize bitch with it.”

“Stop it, Nick. The girl is dead, for heaven’s sake.”

Nick lowered his head at the reprimand.

“What my nephew means is, she had a reputation.”

“She earned it. Half the guys in town and even more from the mines had been through her. She’d even boast about who she’d slept with.”

Mrs. Willard collected her tray and excused herself.

“Did you ever have a relationship with Eileen?” Hayden spoke quietly.

Nick nodded. “Everyone did. I was going out with a girl and Eileen couldn’t wait to tell her. It was how she got her kicks. She was a trumped-up little slag.”

Anya tried to imagine the Randall girl. Fourteen was still legally and emotionally a child. Every male who’d had intercourse with her had committed statutory rape. And now Nick sat, taking the moral high-ground.

“Did she sleep with Geoffrey?” she asked, trying not to sound judgmental.

“Shit no. She used to call him a retard and make fun of him. She’d tease him and come on to him, then tell him he was disgusting to make her friends laugh. You couldn’t blame Geoff if he did it. She asked for it.”

Hayden interrupted. “If she was so horrible, why did you sleep with her?”

“Because she offered. Hey,” Nick shrugged, “I’m only human.”

The theme song for the show came on in the background and Nick filled his mouth again. He reached for the remote control and changed over to another soap.

Hayden referred to his notebook. “Does the name Melanie Havelock mean anything to you?”

“Long, dark hair? She’s the one who has it bad for Geoff.”

Hayden shot Anya a glance. Anya held her breath. Nick had just given Hayden the connection he needed between Melanie and Geoff without Anya having to disclose the photo.

“You know her?” Hayden said.

Nick swallowed. “Not personally, but I found the letter she sent Geoff. Pretty steamy stuff.” His eyes didn’t leave the television screen.

“She wrote to your cousin? When?”

“Dunno exactly, but she sent a photo, too. Oh yeah, she put it in his pocket when he got out. She kinda scared him with all the sex stuff. She’s pretty wild, by the sounds of it.”

Anya could not believe Melanie would ever write to Geoff. “Can we see it?”

“Do you think I’m stupid? You just want to use it to get to Geoff.”

“Actually, no,” Anya tried. “It’s possible that your cousin might have been set up and the letter would really help us out.”

Hayden suppressed a smile as Nick left the room. He returned with a stuffed dog under his arm, about two feet tall.

Anya sat back out of instinct.

“It’s okay,” he said. “This is Brown-Eye, me old mate. Dead as a doornail.”

“I didn’t know taxidermy was back in fashion,” Hayden uttered. “How long’s he been like that?”

“Had him seven years before he got run over, um, about fifteen years ago. Never go far without him.” He put Brown-Eye on the carpet and unfolded a letter hidden underneath its collar.

“Police didn’t think to check him out. Seemed a good place to stick it,” he said, handing it to Hayden with a wink for Anya.

As the detective unfolded the letter, he read the first few lines aloud.

“Dear Geoff, I could hardly wait for you to get out so we can be together…”
He scanned the rest. “After that, she talks about wanting him. Then it gets really lewd.”

Anya only half-listened. She remembered unidentified dog hair found on Eileen Randall’s body. The timing fit. Nick owned the dog at the time of the murder. “Must have been a loyal dog,” she said.

“Sure was.” He patted its belly. “Wouldn’t go with anyone but me. Couldn’t even fart without him being there.”

“One more question,” Hayden said. “Did you see Eileen the night she died?”

Nick clutched the dog. “No way! After she shot off her mouth to my girlfriend, I never wanted to see her again.”

Anya could see how defensive he had become. “Is there any chance I could borrow Brown-Eye for a couple of days?”

Hayden raised both eyebrows.

“Only if it has something to do with helping our Geoff?” Nick looked nervous.

Anya smiled. “It could be a big help. I’ll bring him back as soon as I can. He’s such a good specimen, I’d like to show him to a friend at the Australian Museum. He’s doing DNA research on preserved dogs. If we’re lucky, it may just help Geoff out.”

“I don’t see how.”

Mrs. Willard entered the room and gestured to her nephew to hand over the dog. Puffy eyes indicated she had been crying.

Nick watched his aunt and softened. “Sure, if it’ll help.”

Surprised by the power Geoff’s mother wielded, Anya carried the dusty animal to the car, followed by Hayden, who remained silent until she had strapped it into the back seat.

“What the hell just happened in there?” he asked from the driver’s side.

Anya gloated, for once knowing more than the detective.

“Come on. What has a stuffed animal got to do with the murder?”

“There was dog hair on Eileen Randall’s body. If Nick Hudson killed the girl and the dog went everywhere with him—”

Hayden nodded slowly and grinned. “You’re going to get the dog tested for a match. Damn, you’re good.” He started the engine. “Without the technology and the case looking strong, no one would have bothered with dog hair back then.” Holding the handbrake, he checked his side mirror. “So, here’s my next problem. Has Melanie Havelock been dicking with us? Did she actually come on to Willard?”

Anya exhaled heavily. “Difficult to believe, but that’s what we’re going to have to find out.”

Anya found a car park just off College
Street in the city. Sunday mornings were the best time to visit the museum, although families were already lined up before opening time.

Ben could barely contain his excitement. “Remember when we came to the Egypt exhibition, and saw the dead mummies?”

How could a mother forget seeing her son wrap his own tiny kewpie doll in a bandage in the activity center, then color in a cardboard sarcophagus? It sat on her desk as a constant reminder. His litany of amusing questions that day had caught the attention of a visiting Egyptologist, who later sent him a wonderful book on the pharaohs.

“Sure do. I got an email from that English archaeologist recently, asking how you’re doing.”

“Cool,” he said. “Can I pat the dog again?”

Anya had brought Brown-Eye with them and hidden him under a rug. She hadn’t wanted to scare the children, but the rug seemed to pique the curiosity of everyone in the queue. Ben didn’t seem to mind that the dog wasn’t actually alive.

“Where are we going first?” he asked, unable to stand still for more than a couple of seconds. “Can we go to the skeleton room?”

Anya checked her watch. The taxidermist wasn’t due for half an hour and had agreed to meet them in the Search and Discovery Center, an interactive room full of preserved specimens, microscopes and computers.

“We’ve got plenty of time. Skeleton room it is.”

The man behind the ticket counter chuckled at the parcel in her hands. “No dogs allowed,” he said, pretending to be stern. Anya happily explained the purpose of the visit, and he let them through.

“Hope he’s toilet-trained, or you’ll be cleaning up the mess,” he added, and chortled.

Ben slipped his hand into Anya’s spare one as they followed the signs to the skeleton room.

“Wow! Check this out,” he said, and hurried to the center display. A human sat in a rocking chair flanked by a dog, cat and rat, all in skeletal form.

“What’s that?” he asked, pointing at the animal bones.

“That one is the dog, chasing the cat, chasing…”

“That’s a giant mouse! It’s the biggest one I’ve ever seen.”

Anya laughed and wondered how many mice her son had actually seen. “It’s a rat. They’re bigger than mice.”

Ben’s hand grabbed his mother’s again. “Is that what you look like inside?”

“Sure is,” she said. “Come and see this one.”

She steered him over to a human skeleton riding a bike behind glass. On the visitors’ side was another bike.

“If you hop on, you can see what parts move when we pedal.” She put the dog down and lifted Ben up but his legs didn’t reach the pedals. Instead, he sat on the seat and pretended.

“Your turn,” he said. Anya lifted him off and climbed on. She pedalled as fast as she could and Ben hooted at the skeleton’s movements. “Can I stop now?” she begged after a minute. “I’m puffed.”

They wandered along, looking up at the giraffe. “Wow!”

“Did you know that the heart has to pump incredibly hard to get blood all the way up to its head? If it bends down and gets up too quickly, it can faint.”

“I’ve seen them in books getting down to drink. Their legs go like this.” He stood, legs as far apart as he could in a side split, then toppled over, much to his amusement.

Anya laughed. “Look, over here.” On the other side of the room behind glass was a full dolphin. The bones in the fin for some reason surprised her. She’d never thought about sea mammals in that form before.

“Is it an elephant?” she asked.

“NO!” he guffawed.

“A goldfish?”

“NO!” Giggling, he said, “Mum, it’s way too big for one of those.”

“What is it then?”

“It has a dolphin nose and dolphin fins…”

“I know! It’s a whale!” she announced in a goofy voice.

Ben keeled over with laughter and patted her back. “NO! It’s a dolphin!”

Anya loved the way they played. Being silly with Ben was one of the best things about parenthood. Despite being so caught up in death and trauma in her working life, simple pleasures like this were what mattered most. She wished more people realized that, and bent down to give him a kiss. He returned it with a hug.

Carrying Brown-Eye didn’t detract from their fun. Apart from the odd stare, they could have been sharing the day with the family pet. It didn’t seem out of place in a building full of preserved birds and specimens.

After two laps of the room, Ben declared the “Bone Ranger on its horse” his favorite. At half past ten they found their way to the Search and Discovery Center.

“Wow! I love this place,” Ben declared. “Mum, can I please go play?”

“Sure can.” The man behind the information desk stood up, displaying an official white coat. “That’s what it’s all here for.”

Ben headed for the smaller specimens and the man turned to Anya. “I’m guessing you’re Doctor Crichton. Tim Weston. We spoke on the phone.”

“Thanks so much for coming in today,” she said.

“My pleasure. Let’s have a look at what you’ve got.” He took the dog and rug to a side exhibit with benches of stuffed lizards, reptiles and marsupials. Brown-Eye looked overgrown in comparison.

Anya glanced at the near-empty room and saw Ben kneeling on a stool to reach the eyepiece of a microscope. Tranquil music played over the speakers.

“Mum, they’ve got spiders and flies!” he called, staring down the lens. She had to smile. A room full of animals and a boy is most impressed by things he could see at home.

“It’s been frozen, this one,” Tim announced, referring to Brown-Eye.

“I didn’t think that worked.”

“Not a lot of people understand taxidermy. Those who do it don’t often talk about it, especially the ones who do big-game animals for hunters.”

Coming from a scientific background, she’d only associated taxidermy with places like museums, not trophy rooms in homes around the world.

“What sort of dog is it? Looks like a cross-breed.” Tim sniffed the coat.

“Does it matter?”

“Yep. Pure breeds are almost impossible to link to a DNA sample. There’s so much inbreeding, the profiles look pretty much the same. Now if it’s a mongrel like this one looks to be, we’ve got a chance.”

“What are you smelling for?”

“There are a couple of ways to preserve the animals. One is by stretching the pelt over a wire frame made with wood and wool or coconut fiber. To prevent insect attacks, you rub either borax or naphthalene on the inside.” He got even closer to the pelt and inhaled.

“Looks like museum beetles have already eaten away some of the skin. By the stench, someone’s sprayed it with insect killer.”

Anya was always enthralled when people spoke passionately about their areas of expertise. She’d once spent two hours listening to a fly-fisherman tell her about the various ways to make flies and was absorbed the whole time. Taxidermy wasn’t a topic she was likely to come across again soon.

“What’s the other way?”

“Looks like this fellow’s been freeze-dried.”

The image of a dog in the family freezer came to mind, albeit briefly. The whole thing seemed grotesque, but then she’d never been so close to a pet as to want it around as a perennial piece of furniture.

“It’s not what you’re probably thinking,” Tim said. “The animal’s posed and then frozen in a unit. It extracts the water, which goes from ice to vapor, hence the term ‘freeze-dried.’ The process takes weeks to months. They do it for lizards, pets, but it’s a bit trickier with fish.”

Ben had moved on to a round table with animal bones and was assembling some kind of skeleton. He looked up with a cheeky grin, waved to his mother and continued building. A little girl about the same age sat on the other side of the table. The pair had already struck up a conversation, as kids are prone to do.

Anya admired the room’s brilliant design. Parents could be in one section and still keep an eye on their children without being on top of them. The long warehouse-style facility had been tastefully designed with a row of overhead spotlights shining from a drop rail, giving the place a studious but relaxed feel. One side of the room was filled with bookshelves, with the space divided by multiple stations and comfy-looking lounges.

It was the sort of place Anya could spend hours in, and, thanks to Ben, often did.

“Did you get the original sample sent to the laboratories?” she asked, keen to go and play with her son.

“To be honest, I was surprised it had been kept, but it arrived from the archive yesterday. Seems all those years ago some lawyer brought it in with an explanation of where it had been found. No one at the lab knew what to do with it and they never heard from the lawyer again. It was dated and has been filed in our archives ever since. Good thing we’re all hoarders in this business.”

A group of children came over and jostled to see what the man in the white coat was doing. Pretty quickly, they became distracted by a game someone else was playing with a turtle shell. They squealed with enthusiasm.

“How will you get a sample?” she asked.

Tim studied every aspect of the specimen. “There’s still dried meat inside the feet, mouth, lips. Marrow in the bones as well. We could take cartilage from the ears but the easiest way is to cut a small piece out of one of the toes. You’ll never notice. Part of the left back foot is already missing. Probably dropped off in the freezer.”

Maybe it wasn’t just pathologists who were pragmatic about deceased parts, she thought.

“How long before you get a result?”

“Should be in a few days.”

He disappeared and returned with a scalpel and some fine scissors. Part of a back toe was collected along with a scraping of skin from under the belly.

Anya thanked him and wandered off to find Ben, who had moved on to a computer.

“Don’t forget your friend here,” Tim called.

She rolled her eyes and rewrapped the dog in the rug. Brown-Eye was going to be with them for the day, it seemed.

As Ben played a puzzle game about rainforests, she thought about Nick Hudson. Could he have been so casual about Eileen Randall if he had killed her? He obviously despised the girl and had no remorse for her death. She looked at Brown-Eye, who was propped on the desk.

Pretty soon they’d know whether the dog that never left Nick’s side had been at the crime scene that night.