Expectant, page 13
It was getting to that time in the evening when Bubs started to get a bit active, usually when I started relaxing. I could feel the first fluttering of her movements. Would she be this predictable when she was on the outside?
‘It was great, actually. It felt such a relief to finally meet them in person. Being deliberately excluded from contact was really hard, and I don’t know if this sounds weird, but seeing them and feeling what they are going through makes it easier, if that’s the right word – to fight for them, to fight for justice for Aleisha. It shouldn’t make any difference. I know that I would put in the same work and strive for them whether I had met them or not, but it feels far more personal now.’
‘I’ve gotten used to your level of weird. Nothing you say surprises me anymore.’ He gave my hair a scriffle with the arm draped around my shoulder.
‘You do realise I’ll take that as a challenge?’
‘That doesn’t surprise me, either.’
‘Touché.’
Torie the cat, or Queen Victoria, as we called her when she was naughty, had been leaning against one side of my belly, and I could feel Bubs giving her a few prods from the inside. Her Royal Highness looked mildly perturbed. She then looked almightily perturbed when Bubs gave a massive kick that I swear jolted the cat off her spot. With an extremely unimpressed look on her face, she moved position around to the other side of my lap and resettled herself, out of the firing line.
‘I did learn something interesting when I visited them – something that hasn’t been noted or recorded earlier as far as I’m aware.’
‘Oh? What was that?’
‘We got onto the topic of affairs and illegitimate children.’ Paul sputtered on his Milo and almost spat it across the room.
‘Say what? How?’
‘Ha – I said something that surprised you! I win.’ He gave me the side-eye. ‘It came up in conversation. I’d made a comment about paternity…’
‘I don’t know that I even want to know how that topic of conversation came up. It’s not the sort of thing most people would talk about when meeting the family of a victim of crime involving a baby. Tactful – not.’ If his left eyebrow could have risen any further it would have been embedded in his hairline.
‘It just sort of accidentally popped up – not something I purposefully asked about. And Justin Newman was laughing when he told me the baby’s parentage wasn’t in question. It wasn’t a whoopsie, or awkward moment, if that’s what you were wondering.’
‘So maybe not quite so bad as I had imagined. What was it that you managed to find out that they hadn’t mentioned before?’
‘That Aleisha Newman had an amniocentesis done – to the baby to screen for some really awful genetic disorder that runs on both sides of the family. They had the procedure when they were expecting Charlotte, too – their first child. The thought of having a monstrous great needle going through me and being so close to something so precious gives me the willies, so it must have been a huge concern for them to risk it.’
‘I can tell you now, if you’d needed amnio, I wouldn’t have been there to watch.’
‘Great support you’d turn out to be. I didn’t know you were squeamish about needles.’
‘I’m not. I have no problem them sticking them into me, but it’s a bit different watching someone do something risky with a pointy sharp object to people that you love.’
And there he confirmed what I’d known all along: that he was a big softie with a hard-shell exterior. And that he had the knack of a good save.
‘Fair enough. I’ll let you off the hook. You do have to be there for the birth though, squeamish or not.’
‘Wouldn’t miss it for the world,’ he said with a wink. ‘It is interesting that they had amniocentesis. I know when Smithy interviewed the husband, he was very thorough and asked a lot of questions about the pregnancy and who was involved in their care, but Justin didn’t mention it then. You do have quite the gift for finding things out.’ If I wasn’t mistaken he sounded almost proud. It was very endearing. And he wasn’t wrong. Maybe I just had one of those ‘tell me all about it’ faces. Or gave off the kind of vibe that made people feel comfortable offloading all sorts of stuff. I was often amazed what people would confide in me about, and not just in the job, but in everyday life. Friends and strangers alike.
‘I know. To be fair, it probably helped that the initial shock is wearing off and they’ve had some time to reflect on things. But it’s got me to thinking more about why someone would do something as desperate as murdering a woman for her baby. The fact that Hope has been returned tells us it wasn’t about possessing or having a baby – or selling a baby, baby trafficking, that kind of thing.’
‘Unless the publicity around Marty The Fly’s failed financial enterprise spooked them, and they decided to quit and run.’
‘Long shot, and please don’t mention Marty. I still want to wring his scrawny little neck.’
‘You’d have to join the queue.’
An accurate observation.
‘As I was trying to say, before I was so rudely interrupted by talk of that waste of space, I was already starting to think that it was something about Hope herself that was pivotal to all of this, some specific characteristic that made her the target, with Aleisha the unfortunate person standing in the way. With the amnio, Justin and Aleisha had a full screening for everything, including the disorder that plagued their families, so that information was out there, on their records. As well as that, yesterday I went down to the crime scene because I’d wanted to see for myself where it had happened, get a feel for it. I saw something there, something that sparked an idea. It was the boys’ tag. They hadn’t got very far along with it before they discovered Aleisha, but it was going to be their name: “BloodBroz”, short for blood brothers.’
‘Not a bad name.’
‘Pretty catchy. But the name prompted me to get thinking about blood and whether there was something medical behind this case, some health motivation. Justin talking about the amniocentesis has just reinforced that idea.’
‘So what are you going to do with this information and with the spark?’
‘I’ll run it by Smithy in the morning, but I want to check back on basically any recent reports that have involved a baby and odd medical concerns. Take it out broader than abductions, and see if there have been any common threads. And I’ll find someone to talk with about exactly what sort of things an amniocentesis can show, along with the chromosomal stuff.’
‘Another phone call to your pet pathologist?’
‘If you’re referring to Alistair, then maybe.’ I don’t know that Paul had ever gotten over me describing Alistair as being like the class goldfish that someone took home to look after for the school holidays. ‘Or I was thinking of our midwife, Naomi, because a midwife would have a pretty good idea. Otherwise one of the obstetricians I met at the hospital or someone at the med school. There are a few good options.’
‘The more I think about it the more it makes sense that there could be something medical behind this.’ Paul put his empty mug on the side table and reached across to give Torie a rub around the ears. She started to purr her appreciation. ‘Perhaps we should go back to Justin and ask if he can think of anything unusual that had happened around Aleisha’s treatment and investigations while she was pregnant. It might trigger something he hasn’t really thought about before. It’s as good a lead as we’ve got so far.’
‘It’s worth a try.’
During our conversation I had felt that odd, squirmy and slightly gross sensation of the baby turning herself around. The purpose of her movements soon became apparent as I felt a hefty kick against the very spot where Torie was now leaning. The cat was nonplussed, but had apparently had quite enough of this invisible onslaught. She vacated my lap in a big hurry.
I couldn’t help but burst out laughing, and Paul sat up, his legs having been used as a runway for the feline scramble off to the side. Judging by the pained expression on his face he’d have the claw marks to prove it.
‘What the hell was that about?’ he said in the direction of the escapee. ‘Whatcha doing ya crazy, fluffy mutt?’
‘Oh my God, Paul,’ I said trying to control my mirth. ‘We’re in for some trouble.’
‘What do you mean?’
I placed my hands on either side of my belly and gave it a little jiggle.
‘This girl isn’t even born yet, and she’s already terrorising the cat.’
CHAPTER 33
‘Can I speak with you a moment?’ I asked Smithy.
We’d just had the morning briefing, which didn’t add anything new and significant to the case. We were still waiting on the forensic evidence results from ESR, so that avenue of pursuit was on pause. The euphoria of finding baby Hope had by now evaporated, and had been replaced by a glum frustration that there were no strong leads combined with a determination to keep putting in the legwork, covering all of the bases and marching relentlessly onwards, however slowly.
I’d talked with Smithy before the meeting about uncovering the Newmans’ amniocentesis and wanting to pursue potential medical motives in the attack and kidnapping. Thankfully he was very receptive to the notion and had made a small mention of it at the briefing by way of a heads-up to the team and to stimulate more thinking. Until there was a concrete link found, the investigation would still take a broad-brush approach.
Smithy gave me a look of ‘what do you want now?’ His resting face was one of abject suspicion, though, so I didn’t read anything into it.
I’d cornered him in the kitchenette while he was preparing another of his mouth-puckering coffees. Last week’s dishes were still in the sink.
‘What can I do you for?’
‘I have another proposal for you.’
‘Not marriage? I thought you were spoken for, and I’m not that kind of a guy.’
I gave him my very best ‘funny, haha’ look.
‘Duly noted,’ I said. ‘This has to do with the investigation.’
‘I figured as much.’
Rather than bite back and continue the pointless banter battle I pitched straight in.
‘You know how the Newman family asked to see me, and now I’ve met them?’
‘Yes?’
‘And they shared some things with me that they hadn’t with you or the others.’
‘Yes?’ That one came with an extra dollop of suspicion.
‘I was wondering how you would feel about me going back to see them and continuing with that line of enquiry? I know I’m not part of that team and you were planning on going yourself, seeing as you were one of the first detectives to talk with them. But can I go, or at least go with you?’
Smithy’s eyes narrowed. From past experience I knew this didn’t bode well.
‘You don’t think I’m capable of following up with the Newmans myself?’
Not the response I was expecting. Our conversation earlier this morning had gone well and didn’t have the grumpy undertone. I didn’t know what had changed to put him in a mood. Maybe he’d been DI Johnsed?
‘No, of course not. It’s just that I feel like I’ve built a good rapport with them, and they are comfortable around me. When people are relaxed they are more likely to remember things or connect things that could be useful. I thought we could make the most of it.’
‘I am aware of that, so you don’t need to quote your psychology manual at me. What’s the female equivalent of mansplaining?’
Well this certainly wasn’t going as planned. I hoped my face didn’t look as surprised as I felt.
‘I wasn’t—’
‘Womansplaining?’
This was getting beyond amusing and now it was my turn to start getting shitty. I took a deep breath and suppressed the urge to get snarky.
‘All I wanted to do was ask you if I could continue the conversation with the family about the amnio and the medical things.’
‘Because you didn’t think I was able to do that, that you’re better at this than me.’
Oh, bloody hell. Now the conversation was on the loop of death, and it was apparent there was nothing I could say that was going to salvage it.
‘Don’t be stupid. It wasn’t that at all, and you know it.’ There was no point in tiptoeing. ‘What has brought this on? All I did was make a simple request, and now you’ve gone all defensive and are making out that I don’t think you can do your job. You know damn well that’s not true.’
He banged the coffee mug in his hand down onto the bench with unnecessary force, and a fair amount of it slopped over the side. The anger behind it made me flinch, and my nervous system reminded me he was a well over a foot taller than me and twice my weight.
‘Oh really? Ever since the Powell case you’ve treated me differently, like you think I’ve lost it, that I’m not up to it anymore. Why do I feel like you’re always judging me?’
Wow, I didn’t see that coming, but there it was, right out in the open. The simmering past come to the boil. We’d skirted carefully around any conversation about what had happened to Gideon Powell in the interests of continuing a professional relationship, but I was never satisfied that Smithy didn’t have some hand in it, and it was an uncomfortable grey area in my usually black-and-white views on justice. Well if he was going to stand there and out the issue front and centre, then so be it. Looked like now was going to be the time and the place.
‘So why does your conscience think I’m judging you?’ I asked.
‘It’s got nothing to do with my conscience. My conscience is clear. It’s fairly obvious you don’t trust me anymore, and I don’t know what I can do to change that.’
Trust. It was a complex issue.
‘Well, you could be honest with me, for a start.’
‘I have been honest.’
‘Have you? Have you really? Because you’ve never given me a definitive yes or no answer when I’ve asked you about what happened to Powell. You’ve always hedged.’
‘Well how the hell should I know? We’ve never managed to close that case despite all the man hours thrown at it. I know you’ve got it in your head that I had something to do with his death. But my injury was a coincidence and caused by me being a clumsy oaf.’ Granted, he had never been known for his gracefulness. ‘You can check my medical notes if you want. And if you really want to be particular about it, the DNA evidence was not mine.’
‘And was that luck or design?’
‘Jesus Christ, Sam, what sort of a man do you think I am? Do you think I’m a murderer?’
That implied premeditation.
‘No, I don’t think you’re a murderer.’ I had to phrase this carefully. ‘But I do think that you are the kind of man whose loyalties would seek some sort of vengeance for a friend, and that in the heat of the moment, could make an error of judgement.’
His face was stony as he weighed up what he was going to say next.
‘You have to take my word: I didn’t have anything to do with his death. There’s your definitive answer. Take it or leave it.’
‘Well, at the moment I’m struggling to trust you, and it’s going to take more than words for you to earn that back.’ We stood there in stalemate, neither of us willing to back down.
Smithy looked off to the side and sighed before looking me back in the eye.
‘It was a tough time for you back then, Sam, and I think you were looking for things that didn’t exist.’
So now he was gaslighting me too.
CHAPTER 34
For the second time this morning I left a short message on voicemail. The first was to my pathologist pal, Alistair, who was usually on the sharp end of the job on a Monday morning, catching up on what had been stored in the chillers over the weekend. The second was a more carefully worded message to Naomi, my midwife, to make sure she realised the reason for the call was not urgent and about work, rather than my needing her services for an untimely arrival. We didn’t need any panic stations. Hopefully between the two of them I would get the information I needed about amniocentesis. I always found it way easier to talk, in person, with people I knew when I needed information rather than cold calling. I didn’t really do telephones, so cold calling rated up there with dental appointments and being on traffic patrol. I did have a recommendation of a tame obstetrician, so there was a plan C, but I hoped it wouldn’t come to that.
My rather heated and awkward conversation with Smithy had prompted a need for a walk around the block to regather my composure. That regathering had also involved a coffee and a sausage roll that I was already regretting.
I turned my attention back to previous cases with anything that had involved babies, but this time through the lens of potential medical connections. Logic was telling me that I should narrow it down to cases that had occurred within the last five years. To my mind that time frame was still a bit broad, but the numbers weren’t huge, so it wasn’t like I would be overwhelmed. I also discounted any cases where a successful prosecution had occurred, which included the two most recent Dunedin instances of kidnap. A number of those convicted across the South Island had completed their custodial sentences and to my mind were unlikely to re-offend. Those cases had been more about people desperately wanting a child to the point of doing something irrational, and were the kinds of incidents where, although justice was served, it was still terribly sad and you felt deeply for both the victims and the guilty.
One stumbling block to this train of thought was the completeness of our records. The police files contained profiles and interview transcripts, observations and some medical information that was relevant to those investigations, but not full and comprehensive information about those involved. So there would be an element of following up and reopening the dialogue around that if needed. I wasn’t going to be lacking in things to do.
There was one element of my background investigation into cases involving babies and hospital admissions or medical reporting that I had been putting off. Every time I had been involved in investigating a certain type of case I had been left feeling sickened and traumatised, and I knew that looking back into them was going to be like picking the scab off old wounds. These were the instances where parents had harmed or killed their own children. Where the very people who were supposed to love and care for the most vulnerable had instead turned their hands against them in sometimes utterly cruel and unfathomable ways. Unfortunately, New Zealand had some of the worst statistics in the world when it came to the domestic abuse of children. The thought that on average a child died every five weeks was horrendous. Yet every time another child was murdered at the hands of a parent or caregiver, there was a massive public outcry – ‘this must stop’, ‘something must be done’, ‘the system is broken’ – and there were promises to enact change, train people working with children to identify abuse, address inequity and poverty and social deprivation, and those huge underlying societal drivers, to support communities and families to be good parents, to stop that kind of atrocity from happening again. But nothing ever changed. Children were still being beaten, broken or killed at the hands of their supposed loved ones. The sad truth was, even though New Zealand was a small country, we didn’t seem to be able to protect our most vulnerable tamariki. The statistics were appalling, but of course, they only counted the reported cases, the ones where children were injured enough to need medical attention, or where abuse had been picked up by child-care centres or schools. It didn’t count the invisible ones, the God knows how many children who suffered abuse every day. Fuck, even thinking about it was getting me down.
