Exposure

By Jan Sayer

Nova Scotia - Canada - October 2012

 

One morning, David Kettle finds a woman unconscious in the snow in his garden. As she is rushed to the hospital in a coma, he struggles to figure out why she was there and whether he knows her — something he must do quickly, as time is running out and evidence is mounting up against him.

 

The focus changes abruptly when the police discover a link between David and the woman. Then there is a suspicious email.

 

Can David prove he is innocent before his life is shattered?

• Language: English
• Publisher: JSPrintz
• Release date: Dec 1, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215780374

Jan Sayer

too celebrated to be named in her humble biography. After University, she toured Europe and beyond as a company stage manager and lighting designer. For ten years, she was a stage manager at Sydney Opera House. She was a producer at the Sydney 2000 Olympic Games, and recently an executive assistant at the University of Sydney. Today she lives on the island of Texel in the Netherlands. She loves cats, sports cars and the ocean, and wants to earn enough to feed her designer clothes habit.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

PART 1 - OCTOBER 2012

There was no milk, which guaranteed his day would start with complaints from a bad-tempered wife and whining children. David Kettle stared at the empty icy shelf with a look of extreme hatred and sighed in frustration. It would be his fault, as usual. He shifted his weight evenly to both feet and, holding firmly onto the open door, turned his head to look out of the window at the dark sky. It was snowing lightly for the moment, but a trip for milk was not out of the question. He would feel calmer knowing that he would not be screamed at some point in his pointless day because there were no breakfast supplies. The Thanksgiving holiday was long over, and the refrigerator looked depressingly empty.

From the other end of the kitchen, Bouncer spotted the open fridge door. The small dog pushed past his legs and pressed a wet black nose onto the lower shelf, interrupting David's thoughts. David looked down, and Bouncer looked up. A look of affection passed between them. Bouncer loved David because he supplied the food, and David loved Bouncer's nut-brown, trusting eyes. Some days it was dog and master alone against the hordes of discontented people around them. These moments of affection were all that David had some days. At least his dog loved him.

The morning was still dark. He dressed in his outdoor clothes, unlocked the front door, and went out to wrestle with the frozen garage door. Typically, this was accompanied by his wife's loud lament about no garage access from the house, no electronic door, and a useless husband and on and on. He liked the crisp, quiet mornings. He sat in the car and listened to music while things warmed up; radio not too loud but just loud enough to raise his spirits from his boots. He stared at the steering wheel for a few minutes. The radio played a new song by Nickelback, he was sure. He liked the words; they knew how he felt. Of course, they were multimillionaires now and wouldn't give a damn; their garage would have an electronic door. After a few minutes of futile anger and regret, he started the engine. He heard the birds in the woods at the end of the garden fly up in alarm. He listened and dismissed it as unimportant; it was time to go.

David reached the all-night service station in five minutes. He parked and went in, shuddering as he got out of the warm car. He grabbed two bags of milk and then stood staring at the rows of sugar-filled, fat added, teeth-rotting cereals that Jennifer fed to his children. They were overweight, argumentative, hyperactive blobs, just like their mother. Maybe not Pearl. She would shed her puppy fat and blossom when she had a boyfriend. He hoped so. All the beauty had gone out of his life. He longed for the sight of a graceful, elegant woman walking beside him.

By the time he paid for his groceries, it was almost seven o'clock, and he had about forty minutes to walk Bouncer before the drive to work. He shivered back to the SUV. Above the tops of trees, he could see the pearly glow of the pre-dawn light, a transparent pinkish-purple wash. Arriving home quickly, he left the car in the driveway as the snowfall was light, and the engine was warm, so no need to reverse into the garage again.

Going briskly inside, he made a cup of coffee to warm himself up. Bouncer was waiting, beady eyes following David around the kitchen as he opened the can and spooned the smelly meat into the bowl, then placed it on a plastic mat on the floor. The delighted dog deliberately spread his food around the mat before he ate it. David watched, proud of his disobedient little dog, the only one who dared to do just as he pleased. His breakfast finished, Bouncer raced to the door and jumped up and down, ready to go out.

David liked this bit of the day. However cold it was, he walked with his dog to the woods at the end of the garden. When Bouncer had been a puppy, David was warned that a bigger dog, or something worse in the woods, might seize the little shiatsu. David took this advice to heart, and even though Bouncer was now fully grown, he went with him. He enjoyed the peace and the silence. In the spring, there was a carpet of vivid blue crocus. Soon the family would wake, and the domestic war would commence. Houses were cheap in Nova Scotia, and Jennifer had her circle of friends, so she thrived in the stifling atmosphere of a small town. He loathed it. He dreamed of Paris or London, all the places he had never visited. He would not go now. He would live and die in this darkness, with just his three kids to show for his efforts and two of those he didn't like much. He hated these thoughts, but he had them more often these days.

He put on his padded jacket and woollen hat again, and as he opened the front door, Bouncer shot out, released at last, and delightedly ran around in the snow, leaving his tiny, neat prints and peeing at every tree. Happy little dog, trade places, Matey. He strolled along as Bouncer rushed ahead towards the woods. David thought about the miles of grass he was forced to cut during the summer months and was momentarily thankful for the miserable winter weather. Ahead of him, Bouncer dived into the woods, followed by a burst of birds complaining furiously. Then there was a stillness, and David felt a brief gust of wind blow towards him. He felt suddenly chilled and called to Bouncer to come back. The dog did not respond, and David called again, this time in irritation. The silence felt menacing. David called once more, and then, fearful for his little dog, he walked briskly towards the trees.

Just ahead of him, Bouncer was licking the hand of a woman lying in the snow. Not completely covered in snow, just lying on it, dusted all over with white flakes from the recent snowfall. Her blue coat was flung out to one side, and one arm was thrown outwards, her fingers grasping the collar. Her legs were drawn up a little, showing knees and thigh. Around her head was a blood-red pool. David froze to the spot, his heart pounding. After a moment, he forced himself to move closer and grab Bouncer by the collar. Then he looked down. The red pool was long shiny hair, like a rosy halo around her face. She was slim and quite small, with delicate hands. She looked as if she was asleep. He recalled a drawing of the Sleeping Beauty in his daughter's picture book, and here she was laying under the trees at the end of his garden. David felt blank and dazed. It took a few more minutes to realise that he had already stood still for far too long.

He tucked the barking Bouncer under his arm and walked quickly back to the house. His first thought, as he reached for the house phone in the kitchen, was that all hell was going to break loose when Jennifer found out. He took some deep breaths and dialled 911. A calm female voice answered, and he said, 'ambulance please' and gave the address. The woman took his name and number and told him to go out to the end of the driveway to direct the ambulance. The paramedics would arrive quickly in the early morning.

It was just before eight o'clock when they arrived, but it seemed much colder than half an hour ago. David silently led them to the spot. There were two of them; an older man in his fifties, and one younger and fitter and a Québécois by his accent. When they reached the woman, both stood very still and observed the scene for a few seconds. The older of the two moved forward to the body and touched the neck. He turned and nodded at the younger man, then stepped back quickly as the Québécois, muttering under his breath in French, pulled out his phone and briskly took photographs from every angle. He worked quickly with a sense of fascination as he focused the camera on the woman. Swiftly the older man fetched and unpacked a stretcher and a silver recovery blanket. They gently lifted the woman, placing her coat over her cold body, and wrapping her in the thermal blanket. The whole operation was fast and efficient.

David was staring at the imprint of her body on the ground. Looking up, he saw the Québécois was looking at him with a look of disgust.

'You should go into the house now.’

It was an order, and David turned, unsure, then walked behind them towards the ambulance. They loaded the patient inside with more urgency, and the older man got in and closed the back door. The younger turned to go around to the driver's seat, and walking close to David, he sneered at him.

‘Why did you do nothing to help her?’

He was obviously furious, and David was still not sure what was happening. With an awful sinking feeling spreading right through him, he retreated into the house as the ambulance roared away.

David did not have to wait long before the huge police jeep arrived. He went out to meet them as the sound of his family starting their day was becoming ominous. They were both young RCMP officers, the basic uniform officer for routine inquiries. Was this a routine inquiry? He felt stunned and confused.

David went ahead to the spot. He could see that the two police were fatigued. They had been on duty through the night with the usual traffic accidents and drunks. In the early hours, someone had hit a deer on the main highway. Sent to divert the oncoming traffic, they spent an hour in the cold while a snow plough was located to push the carcass to the side of the road, where they hoped it would be swiftly eaten. Otherwise, the last hour of their shift would be filled with calls from angry parents with howling children, distressed by the sight of a dead Bambi on the school run. This was Canada, where big things lived, and they also died. People were getting soft.

David walked to the spot, following his earlier footprints. He recounted what he had done, clearly and precisely, or so he thought. One officer took out a roll of official tape and, using the trees, roped off a large area. They looked deliberately at the paw prints and the prints made by David and the two paramedics. David stood to one side, feeling very uncomfortable and cold. When they had finished, they asked if he knew the identity of the woman.

'No, Sir,' he answered.

'And you don't know how she came to be here, in your garden', he was asked.

'No', he answered.

'Did you touch her in any way?'

'No,' said David. That question had an ominous ring to it.

'No, Sir. Bouncer, my dog,' he added, 'was licking her hand, so I picked him up and went into the house to call for help.'

He was shifting from one foot to the other in cold and discomfort.

'And at no time did you touch her or remove any of her garments?'

'No', said David, colouring a little, 'I went inside and called for help like I said.'

'You did not touch her, Sir? No first aid?'

They both looked at him.

'No. I had no idea what to do. I called for help straight away.'

David was becoming very uneasy. The snow started to fall steadily with full daylight, and one of the police fetched a large tarpaulin from the car. David stared at the outline of her shape in the snow. The image of the woman with the blue coat kept forming in front of him, like a ghost in a movie. Together the two police rolled out the tarpaulin, covering the impression of the body and the footprints in the snow. They weighed it down with heavy stones. Nothing would happen for the moment, they said. They would wait for the snow to stop.

David walked back to the car with them. He asked suddenly,

‘Is she dead?'

They both gave him an official blank look and replied that they would keep him informed. Other officers would return to examine the scene of the incident later that morning. They walked back up the drive, and one casually rested his hand on the warm bonnet of the SUV. As they climbed wearily into their car, one said,

'Keep your kids and dog indoors, please. We will conduct a proper search when the snow eases up.'

Back in the warm car, the two police made a speedy return to their base, filed a report, and went home to bed. David watched them go, and he just wanted the ground to open and swallow him up. What the hell was he going to say to Jennifer?

As he entered the house and removed his wet boots, the sounds of the daily riot wafted from the kitchen. The twins were out of control. They yelled at each other, and his daughter Pearl, angry and irritated, took her breakfast to her room while the twins screamed, and the TV droned at full volume. Above all the noise, Jennifer barked instructions. His wife was dressed for work at the twin's school, wearing a long shapeless sweater over her bulk; her fat thighs squashed into black stretch pants. Jennifer was a horrible sight, but it was not her body that he hated; it was the whining, complaining critic she had become.

The woman he married had pretty blue eyes when she smiled at him. This woman, made obese by childbearing, greed, and laziness, never smiled. The twins were her final act of revenge in a dying relationship. An excellent dinner and too much beer, and before he knew what had happened, the twins were on their way. Now, he was the father of three kids and trapped forever. Jennifer had flaunted her pregnancy as soon as the first scan showed up the two tiny blobs, and she made sure the world knew what thrilled model parents they were. The trap had sprung shut on David for life.

Their daughter, Pearl, was fifteen, and she was slipping from Jennifer's grip. Her mother embarrassed her. She was still dropped off at school each day but liked to be set down far away from the school gate, so her friends did not see her with her mother. She was growing remote from the family, and David was pretty sure she would be off, never to return, as soon as it was time for college. He would miss her. Who she confided in, he did not know; one of her teachers, maybe? She spent hours in her room, and he had given her a new laptop to compensate her for the lack of company. He wanted to spend more time with her, but the family room was like a war zone from which she retreated, and he hid in his study to avoid it.

The twins were sent fighting and screaming to clean their teeth and collect their school bags. Pearl silently returned and washed her bowl and mug. Jennifer finally looked at him and hissed in a low voice.

'Why were the police here?'

He froze as he always did when confronted, his stomach churning with anxiety.

'Bouncer and I found a ... someone in the garden.' That seemed straightforward enough.

Jennifer slowly reddened and looked accusingly at him.

'In our garden, someone? What someone? How? How did they get there?'

She huffed as he slowly explained that he had no idea, and the police would return later to complete a search. 

'We have to stay away from the area.'

David hung his head in despair as she fumed on and on until the twins returned. With a sharp look towards him, she turned and shooed her brood to the door. Pearl asked no questions but looked sadly at her father as she passed. The door slammed closed, and he realised he should call his office. He would be late for work today.

His official job title was graphic artist, which really meant he fixed the printing machines and photocopier. Sometimes he was allowed to do a poster or a brochure, but mostly he got the messy, monotonous tasks. His boss, Chris, took all the interesting assignments. David felt cheated after the rosy promises made when he attended the informal interview. He had been very naive, if he expected Chris to keep his word about the golden opportunities he could expect. There were none. Now, with all those mouths to feed, he was trapped in what was a dead-end job.

Chris was never at his desk that early in the morning, and David's call went to Mona at reception. He took a deep breath and chose his words with care. There had been an accident near his house, he explained, and he was a witness, so the police were coming back to take his statement. Would she explain to Chris, please?

Mona grunted and then hit him with a string of questions. She liked to know and needed something to gossip about. David stayed quiet and let her finish probing.

'You will be sure to tell Chris, then? An accident, and I must remain here until the police check it out. I will work from home today. You got that, Mona?’

Mona replied in a sulk that she had 'got it just fine'. David put the phone down and stared out of the window at the dense curtain of falling snow. 

At eight twenty-five, the ambulance screamed into the emergency bay. Jean-Marc leapt out and helped his partner as they rushed their patient inside, safely wrapped in the survival blanket. Dr Christina Lavoie-Martin, bright from her early morning coffee, hurried to the room, with her pager still beeping. She had been on duty since five o'clock and had already patched up two minor road-accident victims. The first heavy snowfall caused a lot of accidents, especially at the start of winter.

Christina was a gentle woman, much liked by her staff. She held the patient's wrist for a few minutes waiting for a pulse. It was there, but it was very faint. She would treat for hypothermia, which meant raising the core temperature very slowly while keeping the patient on life support. If this was a severe case of hypothermia, the woman was likely to be brain damaged. Christina instructed the nurse to keep a close watch, and the trolley was wheeled briskly to intensive care. 

She went to her office and looked online for something she remembered seeing while in her final year of medical studies. There was a case of a child whose heart stopped for several hours because of the cold. Treating patients for extreme cold was not something she had done since her training. She found the reference. A medical team at a Canadian hospital had revived a thirteen-month-old whose heart had stopped for almost two hours. The toddler, who wandered outside in her diapers in sub-zero weather and was found frozen face down in the snow, survived the ordeal and was revived without apparent brain damage.

But that was a child, and this is an adult. Right now, she had no idea how long the woman had been exposed to the cold. Any sudden action could lead to cardiac arrest. Surgical intervention worked best in severe cases of hypothermia, but the small hospital was not equipped for that type of procedure, and a helicopter flight might be fatal. Her chances of survival were slim. After another hour, her core temperature would rise slightly, and it would be time then to reassess the treatment. The rest would depend on the patient's underlying health and her will to survive.

The two paramedics were at the end of their shift. Jean-Marc was uneasy as he settled down for a coffee before going home. His first sight of the woman was replaying in his mind even without the photographs on his phone to remind him. He had worked fast, knowing it was important to collect all the evidence of an accident before it started to snow. The pictures would help the doctors and the police. He stared out of the window, watching the snow falling steadily. She might be alive; it was impossible to know right now. He hoped so. He wanted her to be alive, and if she were, it would be no thanks to that fool and his silly dog. Jean-Marc fought back his annoyance and disgust. How can you find someone lying unconscious in the snow and waste precious minutes just wandering off to call for help? Why not take them into your house? What happened to helping your neighbour?

Gulping down his coffee, he searched on his phone for the photographs. He, too, had thought it was blood in the snow around her head. He had taken the first shot before he realised that it was her hair. Not ginger, not the usual auburn, but dark, dense blood-red hair spread out against the white snow. Why had she taken her coat off? There was a shot of her legs and feet, neat boots of subtle leather, but no stockings. Bare legs, not long, but shapely, crumpled beneath her. He had moved in close to get a shot of a dark bruise on her thigh. Why was that there? Perhaps she had bumped into something before she fell.

The last shot was of her face just before they placed her on a stretcher and covered her with her coat and then with the survival blanket. Nothing abrupt, just quick, smooth movements. Keep her steady and keep her alive. The whole process had taken under a minute. The two paramedics worked together often, so they had an established routine. Jean-Marc took the photographs and gathered the evidence while his colleague collected the stretcher. It was efficient; no time was wasted. The body, dead or alive, was moved quickly off the frozen ground. Jean-Marc stared at the photographs. So, what was bothering him? She was La Belle au Bois in the children’s story. He had seen this face in his dreams. She was always lying still, inactive. Her eyes, when they eventually opened, would be deep blue. The beauty in the wood, asleep or dead, or floating somewhere in between. He would know very soon.

Between his strong fingers, Jean-Marc was crushing his plastic coffee cup. He was having trouble controlling or understanding his emotions. Something was just not right about this accident. Why had the idiot with the dog not carried her into the warm house? Saving a life in the extreme Canadian climate was so basic and straightforward. Every child was taught this in school. The fool just left her in the snow when her life depended on speed and quick action. She was injured, hurt and in need, and the stupid man had just stood and stared. Or did he think she was already dead? Jean-Marc's mind raced through the possibilities. How exactly did she come to be in that guy's garden, anyway? Where was her car? Had she driven there? She was a woman, so where was her handbag, her stockings, her hat. Something was not right, and Jean-Marc was troubled by it.

That day passed swiftly. The paramedic's photographs were printed, and a police clerk assigned a number to the incident, assembled all the information, and passed it along for further action. The snow fell steadily. Winter was here, and things slowed down while everyone adjusted their lives to the cold. David Kettle stared out of the window for most of the day. The snow was thicker, and no more police came. They would wait until things eased before coming out to examine the scene. Meanwhile, under the snow blanket, the evidence, if any, was safe for now.

Late in the afternoon, David got a call to say that nothing could be done today but to advise him that the police would do a detailed inspection as soon as it was possible. He was not needed but should ensure that there was access for the police vehicles and make sure his dog was indoors. They would be in touch soon. David made tea and thought that he better organise dinner or risk being accused of being lazy when his wife returned with the children. He found some meat in the freezer, chopped the vegetables, and soon had a large pot of beef stew simmering away. After some tea, he walked Bouncer for ten minutes. The dog pulled hard to be let off the leash, but David knew where he would run if allowed to go free. David could see the tarpaulin dripping with ice through the twilight mist. The two stomped along angrily in the snow, away from the wooded end of the garden. He felt uneasy, as he knew his hesitation had been wrong. He just assumed she was dead. Why had he done that? It was her hair, he thought. It looked like blood soaking the snow.

He thought about his life before the twins were born and put an end to all his happiness. Now his daughter was remote, shut in her room and silent. He shared nothing with her anymore except sly looks of despair as Jennifer and the twins turned their lives into a soap opera. The continual demands, the screaming and fighting had killed the love. And now, this. He returned to the house, bracing himself for the onslaught to come, and hoped that the hot meal would calm everyone and allow him to hide in his study for the evening on the pretext of working.

That afternoon, Dr Lavoie-Martin checked on her patient. The silver survival blanket was folded away so that the paramedics could collect it later. The nurses cut off her dress and blue silk slip. Her undergarments were carefully snipped away as Christina did not want to turn her over and risk a sudden movement triggering a heart attack. Her examinations were swift and gentle, as she did not want to intrude on her patient's privacy or dignity. She discretely took swabs, as there was a chance this woman had been sexually assaulted. She photographed the bruise on her thigh and did a visual check for other marks. Tomorrow was time to take some blood and do more tests.

The patient's hair was brushed carefully and plaited to one side of her head to keep it clear of the tubes. Then the nurses packed the clothes into a bag, and an inventory was taken of her jewellery as each piece was removed; four silver rings, some silver hoop earrings, and a chunky silver locket, but no wedding ring. Christina took all the belongings to lock away