When She Was Bad(12)

A look passed over Rachel’s face that might have been disappointment. Instantly he regretted his ambiguous, clichéd answer.

‘Where do you see yourself in five years?’

That was more like it.

‘Basically where you’re sitting now.’

She raised her eyebrow.

‘In that case, you’ll probably have some idea how the department runs?’

He nodded, unsure where this was going.

‘So you’ll be able to tell me exactly where the weak links are?’

She meant people. Well, everyone knew who those were. Paula was a nice old thing, but she was stuck in the last century when it came to work practices, refusing to try anything new, basically sitting there waiting to retire. And much as he’d always got on with Sarah, she was a waste of space as far as work went – always late and spending half her time on the phone to childminders and babysitting in-laws. But these two women were his friends. Workmates, anyway. He couldn’t dob them in like that. Could he?

‘I’m sure there are things we could all do better.’ He knew it was a cop-out. And Rachel Masters knew it too. She took off her glasses and sat back in her chair.

‘That’s doubtless true, but it’s not what I asked you. Very well, Ewan, that’s all for now. If anything does come to mind, my door is always open.’

He got up to go, feeling deflated, as if someone had taken a pin and let all the air out of him.

‘Oh, and Ewan, if you’re serious about sitting where I am, you might want to bear in mind that work is not a popularity contest.’





9

Anne



Child L had been placed with foster parents out in the suburbs. Professor Kowalsky arranged for our second assessment to take place at the foster-family home where we’d have a chance to observe Laurie interacting with other people as well as to talk privately to her foster mother about any concerns she might have.

Ed had offered to drive us both there. He was supposed to pick me up from home, but he called and said he was running late and asked me to meet him at the hospital where Child D was being cared for, and where he and Dan Oppenheimer and other assorted professionals had been carrying out a range of assessments, though in view of the high level of trauma the boy had experienced their remit was necessarily different from our own.

Ed had told me to wait for him in the lobby, but curiosity got the better of me. I’d accepted I’d probably never get to meet Laurie’s young brother David. Ed Kowalsky was unwavering in his determination to keep the two assessments separate so that neither Dan nor I risked being swayed by each other’s opinions. But what harm could there be in just seeing him? I told myself it was a chance to gain a richer understanding of Laurie, by seeing what she had seen. But really, I was curious, just like everyone else. I wanted to see what the things he’d gone through could do to a child, the subtle imprint they would leave on his skin.

By this stage, weeks after the Egans had been arrested, interest in the case had died down. The TV crews that had been camped outside the hospital had packed up and gone home. So, armed with my university medical school pass, I was able to slip past the reception and get up to the third floor without any trouble. There my luck ran out. The door to the corridor where I knew David was staying required a code to open. But as I was about to turn around, I saw through the panel of safety glass a door opening further down the corridor.

As I watched, a young woman came out, holding the hand of a small child who was walking with an unsteady, lurching gait. The two of them stood waiting in the corridor facing away from me. I stepped back smartly just as the tall, stooping figure of Dan Oppenheimer emerged from the room, followed by Professor Kowalsky. As the three adults conferred, with Oppenheimer noting something down on a clipboard, the little boy turned and, for a split second, we looked at each other. I felt suddenly short of breath as I stared into those eyes that had seen so much horror. I know it sounds fanciful, but it seemed as if a look of recognition passed between us. Then, just as quickly, he was gone – whisked off down the corridor by the young woman. I myself darted back down the stairs, my nerves still jangling from the encounter.

In the passenger seat of Ed’s station wagon, I tried to put the unsettling glimpse of Child D out of my head. The car had two booster seats in the back and the cloth upholstery was covered in white dog hairs.

‘Excuse the mess. Families – you know what it’s like,’ Ed said.

No, I didn’t know what it was like.

The journey took about twenty-five minutes and I remember feeling ill at ease. It felt too intimate to be sitting up front alongside this man I barely knew with his toothy smile, surrounded by the evidence of a normal, healthy, happy family life. As we passed other cars, I imagined how we’d look – an ordinary couple out for a drive in their family motor. Perhaps off to a parents’ meeting at the kids’ school, or grabbing a quick lunch, enjoying rare time off together. Ed was only fifteen or so years older than me – a perfectly respectable age gap. The thought of being mistaken for his wife made me feel sticky with discomfort, and I angled my face away from him, nervously twirling a tendril of hair that had turned damp and frizzy with the heat.