Mother Undone — Final
A Psychological Thriller About The Dark Side Of Motherhood
The story so far…
Johanna, a woman haunted by guilt over the death of her children, has tried to make a fresh start in a new city in a house inherited from her grandmother.
When she discovers that one of Australia’s most famous arsenic poisoners, Martha Needle, used to live there, Johanna decides to write a book about Martha and her crimes with her new friend, Kate.
However, Johanna finds out that Kate is not who she says she is and has betrayed her in the worst way possible. Nevertheless, Johanna faces her demons and plans a new path forward.
Then Kate enters her life again, and events take a dramatic twist…
“Hey Yuri… come and have a look at this.”
“Detective Inspector Kerr to you, arsehole. We’re not at the pub now.”
Detective Sergeant Tom Glover looked up from his laptop and reddened. “Sorry Sir.”
Yuri grinned to take the sting from his words. “What is it?”
“You remember that house fire at Richmond?”
“Vaguely. What about it?”
“We found a body and ID’d it as one Kate Lovering, aged 36, from the remains of her handbag found at the site. There was hardly anything left of her body so we contacted her ex-husband and he gave us some of her DNA.”
“So what’s the problem?”
The detective rubbed his nose. “Well there’s two actually.”
“You’re not making sense. Two what?”
“Two… anomalies.”
“Spit it out Glover. What are you saying?”
Glover glanced down at his laptop. “We retrieved the burnt remains of a laptop from the wreckage and the techies managed to get something off the hard drive.” He pointed at the screen. “There’s this strange email.”
Yuri read over the young detective’s shoulder. “Shit.” He shook his head. “What’s problem number two?”
“The lab reports on the DNA have just come back. It’s not her. Kate Lovering didn’t die in that fire. It was somebody else.”
“What?”
“It’s not her,” he repeated. “It’s somebody else.”
“This is Vincent’s case isn’t it?”
“Yes.”
Yuri held up his hands. “I’d better not interfere. You know what he’s like if anybody tries to muscle in on one of his cases.”
The detective sighed. “Okay Yuri… sorry… Sir.”
Yuri shrugged and smiled and made to leave, his eye catching a plastic evidence bag on the detective’s desk. He picked it up. “What’s this?”
“It was found at the site… on the victim.”
Yuri turned the bag over in his hand and peered at the contents. Inside was a blackened, silver locket. “Can I open it?”
“It’s already been tested. Go ahead.”
The catch on the locket still worked. Yuri pried it open. Inside was a strand of auburn hair. His gut twisted. “Shit.”
The detective looked up from his laptop. “Sir?”
Yuri dropped the bag onto the desk. “What was the address of the Richmond fire?”
“High Street. Why?”
“I think I know the victim’s name. Her name’s Johanna Barton. You might want to send the hair in that locket back for DNA testing.” Yuri sighed and shook his head. “Lovely woman. I was hoping to see her again one day.”
“Sorry Sir.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
EPILOGUE
Two years later…
Yuri Kerr looked up from the newspaper he was reading and stared at the horizon. Every Sunday he cycled ten kilometres along the esplanade, ending up at the surf lifesaving club for breakfast and coffee on the outside deck at his regular table.
Only this time, he didn’t relish the early autumn sunshine warming his arms or the gentle sea breeze brushing his face and flapping the edges of his newspaper.
For the first time in ages, he didn’t congratulate himself on moving back to Adelaide and buying the apartment on the esplanade.
He didn’t notice the new waitress — slim, tanned and blonde — who’d been trying to catch his eye.
Even the topspin of the young, Shane Warne look-a-like playing cricket on the beach failed to impress him on this particular morning.
Instead he gazed at the sun glinting off the ocean and slowly nodded his head.
Justice.
Finally it had come. In his experience, it always did, even if a little late.
When the DNA results came back two years ago, they confirmed the victim in the High Street house fire was Johanna Barton.
Filled with righteous fury, Yuri had dedicated himself to finding Kate Lovering and bringing her to account. On his own time, he’d rung every airline, eventually discovering that a woman with Johanna Barton’s passport had flown to Cambodia.
From there, the trail went cold. Kate Lovering must have changed her name, ditched Johanna’s passport and somehow acquired a replacement. Forged passports were easy to come by if you knew where to look.
Then Kate Lovering had disappeared, as if she’d never existed.
Until now.
Yuri read the article again:
AUSTRALIAN WOMAN DEAD FROM ARSENIC POISONING
Three women have died and others are in hospital after drinking poisoned alcohol on a yacht off the coast of Sardinia near the resort of Costa Smeralda.
Twelve Italians and three Australians were affected.
The Costa Smeralda is a tourist destination in northern Sardinia, Italy, and is the most expensive location in Europe. With white sandy beaches, golf clubs and exclusive hotels, the area has drawn celebrities, business leaders and other affluent visitors since its development in 1961 by Prince Karim Aga Khan.
As Italian police began the investigation, samples of alcohol on the yacht were taken for analysis.
Anastasia Michael (41), an Australian socialite, whose friend Kate Grimes (39) died in Sardinia, told The Daily Post they had each paid $5000 for the exclusive night-time cruise and each had been served between ten and twelve of their favourite cocktails, Grappa and Prosecco. “Sometimes it seemed like the taste of the alcohol was too strong but then I thought the barman had simply poured out too much grappa and I didn’t attach any importance to it,” she said.
The day after the cruise, when they were due to fly back to Australia together, both women woke feeling ill but put it down to a hangover.
However, Ms Grimes became more and more sick and, after being rushed to hospital in Cagliari, she died on Tuesday.
The cause of the poisoning is believed to be arsenic mixed with Grappa.
At this stage, the authorities do not know if the poisonings were deliberate or the result of a tragic accident.
Italy’s agriculture ministry said in a statement that the alcoholic drinks served on the yacht had been imported by a Russian company and distributed throughout the Mediterranean region.
“Kate and I met in Sri-Lanka, through her husband, well-known writer Stanard Grimes, She was a true friend and a gifted writer in her own right,” said Anastasia. “We planned to write a book together about a famous Australian poisoner, Martha Needle, called ‘An Abnormal Woman’. Kate confided that she wanted to publish under her maiden-name, Lovering, so as not to ride on the coat-tails of her successful husband.
I still have her notes. Maybe I’ll even try and get it published… as a tribute to Kate.”
