Doctor and Protector Read online

  ‘Dusty here was gored by a bull, major damage to his gut and the artery that runs through to his back legs.’

  ‘The McClennans’ Dusty?’ Cassie said, moving closer to see more of the anaesthetised dog.

  Derek nodded, intent on his job. ‘Want to act as assistant?’

  McCall saw Cassie glance towards Lennie who was scowling, though handling Blondie gently.

  ‘I think Lennie’s a far more able assistant for you than I could ever be. I’d probably sew the wrong bits together,’ Cassie said, and McCall, still watching Lennie, saw his face clear and guessed Cassie had known how he would react.

  ‘But we’d like to stay and watch,’ Cassie added. Then she turned to McCall. ‘Dusty’s one of the champion working dogs in the area and sire to most of the other good stock we have around here.’

  ‘You from the country?’ Derek asked, and, as the only newcomer in the room, McCall guessed the question had been directed at him.

  ‘No, I’m a city boy. Met Cassie a month ago when she was in Brisbane, and as I had a bit of leave due to me, I thought I’d come and, eh, well, come up and see Wakefield.’

  It was harder than he’d realised it would be, this trying to sound like an infatuated suitor, without giving the impression he was a complete idiot.

  But he moved closer to Cassie at the same time, hoping to enhance the picture—of being an infatuated suitor, not a complete idiot. She didn’t move, but he felt her stiffen. Hopefully, both Lennie and Derek were too intent on their work to notice the response.

  ‘Staying at the Carews’?’

  Not totally intent apparently, for Derek was obviously still thinking about the visitor.

  ‘Think I’m mad to brave that house of women?’ McCall said lightly, then he remembered a weird bit of conversation from earlier in the day. ‘Actually,’ he added, ‘I’m beginning to suspect Cassie only asked me to come up so the boys would have a bit of male influence in their lives. Just when women are about to declare men dispensable, they realise we still have some uses.’

  He felt Cassie relax slightly, but was still surprised when she said, ‘Oh, I think they have plenty of uses.’ And though she spoke in a light-hearted tone, she also tucked her arm through his and kind of snuggled closer.

  He just hoped his shock hadn’t registered on his face, as Derek and Lennie had both caught sight of this little demonstration of affection.

  And he doubted either of them would realise just how false it was. His body certainly didn’t!

  Was this weird, or was it weird? He’d been through years of avoiding attachments, either physical or emotional, at first with wounds too raw to want to let anyone close enough to see them. Then his study had engulfed his life, leaving little time for anything else.

  Now, when he was given a chance to put a lot of that learning to the test—and possibly save the life of this woman—his libido had sprung back to life.

  Great timing.

  The woman causing his libidinal problems left her arm linked through his—probably the only thing distinguishing them from students in a hospital theatre, gathered to watch an operation. Lennie settled Blondie on a trolley, talking softly to her all the time, then, with what sounded like a muted apology, strapped her down.

  The dog took it all in good part.

  ‘She’s obviously done this before,’ McCall said, and Cassie nodded.

  ‘We have to sedate most of the dogs we use for blood, but Blondie knows the system,’ Derek added, then he swore softly and turned his full attention to his surgery.

  Once Blondie’s front paw was taped into position, Lennie inserted a catheter and drew what looked like a litre of blood from the very quiescent animal. He then unhitched the bag and hitched it to a drip stand by the operating table, hooking it up to a catheter already in the canine patient.

  ‘Just like that? No running it through any kind of treatment?’ McCall murmured to Cassie, able to murmur as she was still temptingly close.

  ‘Tonight it’s urgent, so it’s straight in.’ It was Derek who answered, and McCall was glad he hadn’t been whispering sweet nothings in the doctor’s ear, as the vet obviously had super-human hearing, in spite of the radio playing music in the background.

  Lennie now became the operating assistant, handing instruments to the vet, suctioning blood, acting like a very efficient theatre nurse. From time to time Derek explained what he was doing, then, with the most difficult part of putting Dusty back together apparently finished, he switched from practical to personal.

  ‘You a medical man?’

  McCall guessed the question must be aimed at him, and fielded it neatly.

  ‘Yes—it’s how we met,’ he explained, ultra-casual with the lie. ‘Friend I’d been working with at RBH went through med school with Cassie. I’ve never done any country service, though I did a stint with the Flying Doctors so I know a bit about remote medicine.’

  ‘Planning on staying?’

  As far as McCall could tell from where he stood, Derek was now stitching up the inner wall of the dog’s abdomen. Remembering that most of the surgeons he’d worked with had talked as they’d sewed, McCall decided the question was nothing more than politeness.

  ‘Looking around—you never know. We’ve any number of options ahead of us. I might persuade Cassie to come back to the city and take up the paediatrics study she’s always wanted to do.’

  ‘The town’d lynch you,’ Derek said. ‘Blondie should be OK to go now. All I’ve got to do is dress the wound then fit a collar on Dusty so he can’t rip it off, then reverse his anaesthetic.’

  ‘Show’s over, in other words,’ Cassie said, as Lennie released Blondie and the dog ran immediately to stand beside Cassie’s legs. ‘We’ll get going. Tell the McClennans I hope Dusty’s OK.’

  ‘Of course he’ll be OK.’ Lennie’s declaration surprised McCall, and he was even more startled to hear the hitherto silent man add, ‘Derek’s the best vet in the world.’

  He crossed the room to a small refrigerator, and produced a plastic-wrapped bone which he handed to Cassie.

  ‘Tell me more about Lennie,’ McCall said, as they were driving home. ‘Is he an intern—do vets have interns?—or a trained veterinary nurse?’

  ‘Lennie?’ Cassie echoed, then she turned and smiled at McCall. ‘You know, we’re all so used to seeing Lennie working with Derek we hardly ever think about him. As far as I know he hasn’t any specialised training but he’s worked with Derek—well, actually he started with the vet before Derek so I should say he’s worked at the vet’s—since he left school. He was a few years behind me, but even at school he preferred animals to people. We always thought he might go on to be a vet. He was quiet, but he had brains. Always had any number of weird pets. People brought injured animals to him. I remember at one time he had a wombat which dug up all the back yard. His mother was furious.’

  She was chattering away so easily McCall assumed she’d forgotten about the letter, or at least had set it aside in some far corner of her mind, while his own senses had been set on full alert by the silent man who worked for the vet.

  ‘I hope you’re not thinking Lennie would harm anyone,’ Cassie said, after a sudden silence had fallen between them.

  So much for guessing what this woman was thinking, McCall said to himself.

  ‘No, I’m not thinking anything of the kind,’ McCall assured her, ‘but anyone you come in contact with—whether regularly or occasionally—would naturally bear looking into. We’ve got to get onto some lists, Cassie. This is serious.’

  She pulled into the driveway of her home and killed the engine.

  ‘I know it is,’ she said, her voice husky with emotion. ‘But writing out a list of everyone I know—as if they could all be suspects? That’s not a very nice thing to have to do.’

  ‘Murder isn’t nice either,’ McCall reminded her, telling himself he had to be brutally honest with her, though he longed to put his arms around her and comfort her with closeness, and make rash p
romises about keeping her safe for ever.

  This line of thinking was not good, the sensible McCall who normally inhabited his skin reminded the sentimental stranger who was lurking in there at the moment.

  ‘I don’t suppose it is,’ Cassie said glumly, then she climbed out of the car, opened the back door to release the dog and headed for the house.

  ‘Hey, don’t leave me, I’ll never find the bedroom,’ McCall called after her.

  She stopped and he caught up, but she didn’t move away, instead turning towards him, so close he could have put his arms around her.

  ‘What did the letter say? I don’t need to see it but I’d like to know.’

  Her voice was so soft he had to bend to hear it. Being even closer, he finally gave in to the urge that had been riding him. He put his arms around Cassie and tucked her body up against his, then, as she tilted her head towards him, a small ‘Oh’ of surprise breathed into the night air, he told her.

  ‘It said, “Want me to come?”’

  She pushed away from him as if her disbelief needed physical release.

  ‘“Want me to come?” It said, “Want me to come?” That’s absurd! Why would I want him to come? Does he think I’ve got a death wish? That this is some kind of a game I’m getting off on? That I’m enjoying his behaviour? Who—?’

  The questions, which had begun as urgent whispers were becoming louder and McCall stopped the flow in the only way that seemed possible—or so he told himself later.

  He drew her close again, murmured, ‘Hush!’ then bent his head and pressed his lips to hers.

  ‘Shh!’ he added, as he felt the startled tremor run through her body. He enjoyed the softness of her mouth for an instant, staying kissing-close to murmur, ‘This is OK. If anyone’s watching it won’t surprise them, but they might have been starting to wonder about the questions you were asking.’

  She quieted, her tense body relaxing enough for her to slump against him, so now he had to give her an encouraging kind of kiss in place of the silencing one.

  ‘It will be OK,’ he told her, using words to punctuate the soft caresses. ‘We’ll get him. You won’t come to any harm.’

  Cassie heard the words, and even found comfort in them, but her main problem at the moment wasn’t the anonymous letter writer but the way her body was responding to McCall’s totally make-believe kisses. It was going soft and squishy and her nerves were all atwitch. This was not good, not like sensible Cassie Carew at all.

  Maybe it was nothing more than frustration. After all, it seemed for ever since she’d been kissed. Or kissed a male over the age of three.

  And it was very nice, which, she guessed, was why she was responding—encouraging this man she didn’t know from Adam to keep kissing her.

  Maybe it was a reaction to the stress she’d been under. She offered herself this slightly more legitimate excuse as the kiss deepened and her body pressed itself against the solid contours of McCall’s.

  Somewhere about here, things went hazy and she stopped making excuses at all, and just enjoyed the sensation of awareness as sensitive parts of her body unfurled like flower petals in the sun, and fizzed and buzzed and otherwise responded to the chemistry that attracted women to men.

  ‘Cassie, Derek’s on the phone.’

  McCall heard the little gasp she gave as she broke away from him, and sensed she was as startled as he was at what had just happened between them.

  ‘I’ll take a walk around the garden,’ he said, then realised he sounded brusque. But Cassie was already on the steps leading to a door he hadn’t noticed before, and he was left with an overheated body—his; and memories of kisses—hers.

  He was only part-way around the garden when he registered what Anne had said. Derek had phoned. Derek was the vet. What would he have needed to say to Cassie when he’d seen her only a matter of fifteen minutes earlier?

  Thanks for lending the dog?

  Hardly!

  McCall realised his famous curiosity had deserted him. Oh, he’d asked a few questions about Lennie, but he’d failed to find out more about the vet. It wasn’t that he suspected the vet of sending anonymous letters but, after kissing Cassie, there were more than a few questions he’d like to ask about this Derek. Like was he married? Happily married? Totally committed to his wife? Not known as a womaniser?

  Interested in Cassie?

  Realising where his thoughts had taken him—inside the house and mentally into what was dangerously close to jealousy—McCall tried to think about the letter-writer instead. Not easy, when Cassie was right there, in the room outside the kitchen, leaning on the wall, one long leg crossed against the other at the ankle, totally at ease as she laughed and joked with the man on the other end of the line.

  Was the vet one of the ‘blokes’ Dave said Cassie had dated?

  Was there something going on Dave didn’t know about?

  McCall blundered past, a totally inexplicable anger now churning in his guts.

  ‘Is he married, the vet?’ he demanded, running into Abigail in the hall beyond the dining room.

  She looked startled but recovered quickly.

  ‘He was, but he’s separated. In fact, I think he could be divorced by now. No, maybe not, it’s probably less than a year since Joy left town. He doesn’t talk much about his private life—what man does?—but apparently she complained that he was married to his work and didn’t need another wife, and to some extent I suppose she had a point. He does a lot of large-animal work on outlying cattle properties and when he is home he’s always busy with the townsfolk’s animals.’

  She finished this explanation, then frowned at McCall.

  ‘You’re not thinking…’

  He shook his head and hastened to reassure her, and though he couldn’t tell her his nosiness was prompted by his attraction to her daughter, he used the excuse of wanting to know about everyone in town.

  ‘I told Cassie earlier, I have an over-developed sense of curiosity.’

  Abigail smiled at him as if she accepted this excuse, but when she’d guided him to his room—and, no, he wouldn’t have found it on his own—and wished him goodnight, he was left with some disturbing realisations. He sat down on the end of the bed, determined to bring some order to his thoughts.

  ‘What’s worrying you now?’

  Cassie had tapped on the door then pushed it open, apparently wide enough to see the frown his endeavours had caused.

  He smiled at her, though he didn’t feel like smiling. Had she not felt anything in those kisses earlier, that she could tempt him again so soon by wandering into his room?

  His bedroom!

  ‘I was thinking about the differences between tracking down a criminal in a city and doing the same thing in a smallish country town.’ It was kind of true. ‘Here, no matter who I ask you or Abigail or Dave about, you’ll all say, “Oh, you’re not thinking it might be him!” Because you know, or know of, most of the men in town, you’ll find it hard, if not impossible, to think of one of them as a killer.’

  She looked thoughtful for a moment, then came further into the room—more temptation—and sank down into the armchair, pulling at her lower lip with her thumb and forefinger, presumably to help her think, not to distract him by prompting carnal thoughts of sucking on its fullness.

  ‘I suppose you’re right. I mean, I might feel less revulsion if you happened to ask about someone I didn’t like, but thinking someone I’ve known as a friend or even an acquaintance might be a murderer—that makes my stomach squirm.’

  ‘So did cutting up dead bodies the first time you did it in med school, I bet,’ McCall reminded her. ‘You’ve got to get past that. Now, have you come in to start on a list?’

  She looked startled, so obviously that guess was wrong, then she looked puzzled, as if she wasn’t really certain why she’d come.

  ‘I can do the list myself. Why twenty to forty?’

  She was standing up again now, ready to leave—perhaps because she hadn’t been able t
o answer his question to her own satisfaction.

  ‘There’s no such thing as a typical serial killer but we do know most of them start in their early twenties, with serious violent crimes escalating in their mid- to late twenties.’ He didn’t want her to go, so hoped her interest in the science he had studied might keep her in the room. Though most women he’d met recently were put off by his career choice. ‘These people get a thrill from manipulation or domination. It might be a sexual thrill, but that’s not necessarily the case. For some of them, it’s enough to know their chosen victim is feeling fear and they, all-powerful, are the cause of it.’

  ‘That’s sick!’ Cassie protested, halting on her way to the door.

  ‘Exactly,’ McCall agreed. ‘And usually these people are sick. Some killers, more generally those we term mass murderers—the ones who go out and shoot up a street or building for no apparent reason—might suffer psychotic episodes, while others—I suspect the fellow we have here in Wakefield fits in here—have an antisocial personality disorder.’

  ‘So he’s likely to be a loner—is that why you asked about Lennie?’

  McCall sighed.

  ‘No, it’s not why I asked about Lennie and, yes, he could be a loner, but the American killer Ted Bundy was a social creature, considered a charming man by all who met him. A sociopath—and that’s the person we’re talking about, though the label psychopath would equally fit, in fact the two are interchangeable—might excel in social situations. Generally speaking—and this is very generalised—they are egocentric. The world revolves around them and their wants and needs. One characteristic is hedonism—his pleasure and satisfaction would be important to him—but the difference between him and other egocentric, hedonistic people we might know is that he feels no guilt. So he takes action to achieve his pleasure or satisfaction, whereas another person would be stopped by guilt.’

  ‘So he doesn’t need a motive to kill? It’s not necessarily someone who had Mrs A. as a teacher and who wasn’t her pet so resented it? Or someone Lisa, Judy and I have all, at some time, upset?’

  McCall wondered how to explain.