Malicious intent, p.29
Malicious Intent, page 29
The vast areas of carpet and high ceilings reminded her of a hospital design, with natural light the feature. Despite a plethora of colorful artworks, the place had a sterile feel to it.
She wondered how many offices and unknown faces beavered at their jobs here, secreted away from the rest of the world.
A bearded gentleman in a tartan tie, tweed jacket and tan trousers strolled down the central stairs and the security man gestured in Anya’s direction.
‘I’m Godfrey Taggert,’ he said. ‘How may I help you?’
‘I appreciate your seeing me at such short notice. I’m investigating pathology findings in a number of deaths. One of the deceased spent his life building speakers, and as the materials he used were benign, I’m now looking into other possible sources, potential environmental allergens, if you like.’
‘This research center has an outstanding record in occupational health and safety,’ he said, folding his hands in front of his belt.
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Anya hadn’t meant to imply otherwise. Obviously, people were sensitive about anyone investigating potential OH and S
issues.
‘I should explain. I’m not looking into the Center as such, but the process by which speakers are tested.’
‘Ah, I can help you with that. If you’ll come this way, I can explain how the Center works.’
Anya walked up the stairs, down a corridor and up another set of stairs. One side of the building had brick walls, and the other, doors, which presumably led to offices.
They stopped at the entrance to what seemed like a maze, with large open doors to one side. ‘We study sound, the mechanisms of hearing, and the way the brain interprets sound. This, of course, has many practical applications for musical instruments, singers, speakers, not to mention the hard of hearing.’
The room to the right had a concrete floor, with panels of wood hanging in rows from the ceiling and other rows placed at angles. At first the placement seemed random, but Dr.
Taggert explained, ‘This is our reverberation room. Here, sound bounces off as many surfaces as possible. The effect is quite amazing, especially if you try singing.’
‘Is it an echo room?’
‘See for yourself. Try singing.’
Anya saw he was quite serious and nervously sang the first line of ‘Mary Had a Little Lamb.’ She couldn’t keep the tune, with the echo of one note distracting her from the next.
In the next room, headphones and microphones lay on tables.
‘This is for delayed speech. Put the headphones on and try counting to ten.’
Anya didn’t want to waste time, but felt she’d get more information if she at least showed enthusiasm for his party tricks. Putting on the headphones, she counted into the mike.
‘One, two, two, two, two.’
Dr. Taggert put his hand on her shoulder and tapped on the headphones.
‘What did you experience?’
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‘I heard what I’d said, just after I said it.’
‘This records what you say and plays it back to you with an eighth of a second delay. While you’re trying to count, your brain is processing what it hears, and interferes with what you want to say. That’s why you repeat the same number, like a stutter, or broken record, if you will.’
Embarrassment didn’t matter, knowing there was a scientific explanation.
‘We rely on auditory feedback, so we listen to make sure we are saying, or singing, what we intended. Distort the feedback, and we struggle to communicate. That leads us to the next facility.’
Anya checked her watch. So far the tour had been interesting, but hadn’t included anything helpful to the fiber cases.
Kate tried to think. What had the women been through?
Somehow they had all managed to reach the outside world.
That’s when she’d have the best chance of escape, if she survived in here alone.
Suddenly, a bright white light flashed. She pulled away, shielding her eyes from the pain. It lasted only a second and disappeared, leaving flecks of light flashing across her eyes. As terrifying as it was, it proved she could still see.
Seconds later, the loudest noise she’d ever heard filled the room. Like the sound of a thousand fans or engines switched on. She screamed for it to stop, but couldn’t hear her own voice above the din. In the dark, her body vibrated with the movement of the floor beneath her.
She covered her ears and pressed as tightly as she could. The noise wouldn’t stop. It just wouldn’t stop.
Please make it stop.
Dr. Taggert escorted Anya to the roomless side of the building and made his grand gesture. ‘Here, we have the opposite of the 296
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reverberation room. It absorbs sounds and eliminates echo, or any delay in feedback. Our anechoic chamber.’
Pulling open two large doors, he switched on a light and led the way.
Inside smelled musty, almost moldy. She walked onto a platform made from what looked like chicken wire.
‘You’re two storys up now, and there are two more above your head.’
Looking up, Anya felt claustrophobic, despite the enormity of the room. Large fingerlike projections of foam lined the ceiling, floor and walls, all pointing at her.
As Dr. Taggert closed the doors, Anya felt her ears ache.
Swallowing hard to equalize the pressure made no difference.
‘Why are my ears aching?’ Her voice sounded muffled, as it did when her ears were blocked with a head cold.
‘Your tympanic membranes, eardrums, are stretching to the maximum, trying to pick up the slightest noise. Because all sound in here is absorbed, this is the closest you can get to real silence.’
He was right. Instead of a relief, the silence was painful.
Without any echo, their voices sounded barely recognizable.
She could now imagine deafness, a world completely devoid of sound, and the isolation it could bring.
‘Is this where you test speakers?’
‘Yes, in the middle is the best place. Unfortunately, the chamber is imperfect, because of the floor you have to stand on, but it’s designed to minimize reflection, nonetheless.’
When he stopped speaking, the quiet became almost unbearable.
‘What do you call this?’
‘An anechoic, meaning “no echo,” chamber.’
Anya moved closer to the door. ‘Do they serve any purpose other than testing speakers?’
‘The department of psychology at State University has one that’s supposedly very old. They’re interested in the psychological effects of changes in perception of sound.’
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He opened the door and Anya walked quickly toward it, relieved to be back with the natural light. ‘May I ask what the chamber is lined with?’
‘Some kind of fiberglass padding, not unlike the material used in recording studios and for insulation. This one is state of the art, only six months old. We’re quite proud of it. The latest in materials and design.’
Anya caught her heel in the wire and stumbled as she walked to the door.
‘Are you all right? I should have told you to watch your step.’
She steadied herself against the wall. ‘Fine, just a bit clumsy.
It’s quite disorienting in here.’ As her tour guide offered to take her elbow, Anya dug a fingernail into the foam lining.
‘It’s impressive,’ Anya said as she walked out. ‘One last question, Dr. Taggert. Do you know where other anechoic chambers are located in New South Wales?’
‘They were all the rage in the fifties, when electric guitars were big on the scene, but the ones I knew of were knocked down or fell apart by the sixties. They took up so much space, and land became too valuable.’
‘Could you tell me the locations, exactly where they were?’
‘I can’t promise, but if you come back to the office, I’ll see what I can find for you.’
Anya followed, slipping her fingers into her bag. With another nail, she scraped the foam sample into an empty film container and clicked on the lid.
51
Anya was exhausted by the day. She switched on the answering machine.
Tonight the house felt cold and for the first time, really lonely. Eating alone had no appeal. In some ways, she was too tired for an early night. The gym had possibilities, but there was the chance of running into Kate. Instead, she chose to visit the Western Sydney District Hospital library. She wanted to know what psychologists did with anechoic chambers.
An hour later, she sat at a corral, surrounded by tomes on the history of modern psychology. One index mentioned the use of anechoic chambers for behavioral modification. The name B. F. Skinner kept coming up, along with descriptions of experiments on rats and birds.
At the bottom of the pile, a textbook contained pictures of a chamber with a drawbridge that retracted to leave only a small central platform suspended from the ceiling by four chains. The accompanying caption described it as ‘a perfect tool for testing effects of noise deprivation on subjects.’
Something farther down the paragraph sent a chill through her.
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Subjects became particularly disoriented with the addition of light deprivation. They became more likely to comply with examiner’s requests when rewarded with short periods of light or sound. This occurred after periods of as little as two to three days in the chamber.
No wonder Briony agreed to give up her family. In the hands of a psychopath, the chambers were nothing but tools of torture and manipulation. If she couldn’t hear any noise inside the National Research Center’s chamber, no one would ever hear a woman screaming from inside one.
Dr. Taggert had supplied the names of companies that used anechoic chambers, and apart from the university, there were only two other possible sites. One at Dural had already been redeveloped. The other, at Annangrove, owned by a guitar maker, was no longer listed in the phone book. The business could have changed its name, been sold, or closed in the last few years. In the morning she’d drive out to the location and check the property. What if the sound engineer built or had access to his own chamber? Passing through the metal security bar at the library exit, Anya stepped outside and phoned Felix Rosenbaum.
After shouting into the phone, she managed to explain what she’d discovered.
‘They test speakers in a chamber lined with foam.’
‘Ah,’ Dr. Rosenbaum said. ‘I recall that Phil Abbott had a cousin who had a property not far from him. In those days, of course, one wouldn’t just visit for lunch, one would spend the weekend on a property in the northwest of the city. It was all bush, back then.’
She waited patiently for a break in the conversation.
‘He was a sound engineer, too,’ the doctor continued.
‘Could it have been at Annangrove?’ she said, holding her breath.
Dr. Rosenbaum couldn’t be sure, but he thought it sounded possible.
* * *
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Anya arrived home to find Vaughan Hunter on her doorstep.
He smiled warmly when he saw her. ‘I’ve been phoning and got worried. You didn’t answer, and after that appalling piece in the weekend paper, well, I became concerned.’
‘I’m fine thanks,’ she said, more curtly than she had intended.
‘Good. I’m glad.’ This time, he was the one who looked awkward. ‘Suppose I ought to get going.’
Anya waited until he walked past before realizing how much she didn’t want to be alone.
‘Coffee?’
He stopped, grinned and nodded.
Once inside, Anya found herself talking. Being so emotionally wrung-out made her want to talk to an independent listener, one without his own agenda to push. They stood in the kitchen as she made the coffee.
‘Ben’s the victim in all this. My ex-husband can’t seem to settle and that’s very difficult for our son, always moving around the state.’
‘Can’t be easy being called a murderer in the media,’
Vaughan said.
‘Him or me?’ Anya snapped, before realizing he was referring to Martin. ‘No, it isn’t.’
‘Are you coping okay with the publicity?’
‘Just. I don’t understand people who seek it out. It’s destructive and fueled by parasites wanting to create controversy, even when there isn’t any. They don’t care whose lives get destroyed in the process.’
Vaughan listened intently. Whether he was in professional or friend mode didn’t matter to Anya. Talking released the pressure valve inside.
At 11:00 pm, and two coffees later, she realized that bread and cheese were the only foods in the house yet to pass their expiration date. Toasted sandwiches, it had to be. Her guest didn’t seem to mind.
As they ate at the kitchen table, Anya asked if he’d heard of experiments in anechoic chambers.
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‘I’ve read about them,’ Vaughan said after a moment. ‘Those experiments would never get through the ethics committees today and were pretty much a waste of time. Most of the information and understanding about behavioral modification didn’t come from behavioral scientists, anyway. It was gleaned from prisoners of war, especially their experiences in Korea. Interestingly, the captors used the same techniques as men who commit domestic violence.’
Anya had appreciated reading the articles he had given her.
She watched him as he spoke now, admiring his extensive knowledge and easy manner. His face conveyed not only information but empathy. It was easy to imagine anyone feeling comfortable enough to be counseled by him. ‘I’m worried that the victims in the cases I’m looking into were kept in one before their deaths.’
‘Why don’t you go to the police with your information?’ he asked, finishing his sandwich.
‘That’s the tricky part. They don’t want to know unless I can prove a crime took place.’
‘Oh. So you go up to this property and say, “Excuse me, do you torture women in your chamber, that is, if it’s still there?” ‘
She had to smile. It did sound pretty farfetched. ‘Because it’s still a potential hazard to its owners, I can mention the lung diseases associated with the chambers and suggest they seek medical review. If that goes okay, why not ask for a sample of material from inside? Simple.’
‘Somehow with you, nothing seems that simple,’ he teased.
‘I’m at my Glenhaven rooms in the morning, which is just nearby. How about you pick me up from there? We might look more official as a pair, and I wouldn’t mind seeing the chamber if it’s still there.’ He wrote the address on a business card.
Anya didn’t need convincing. The events of the last few days had knocked her confidence to a new low-point. ‘Fine. I’ll see you at about eight.’
Vaughan stood to leave and wished Anya good night. She had to admit, the idea of spending more time with this man had 302
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appeal. Right now, she’d settle for friendship and moral support, which he seemed willing to offer.
At the doorstep, light drizzle prevented a drawn-out good-bye. Feeling revived by the coffee, Anya decided to look more closely at the fibers she’d taken from the chamber. At the back of her office sat a microscope her father had given her as a teenager. It was primitive, but still had good magnification. She tipped a tiny amount from the vial onto a clean glass slide and tried to scatter the fibers with a pencil tip. After focusing, she stared down the eyepiece. Moving the slide, she must have examined every fiber in order to be sure. These fibers were longer and thicker than the others, but were definitely hourglass shaped. There was a distinct similarity.
Anya felt her heart rate quicken. She knew the women hadn’t been in that particular chamber, but Dr. Taggert had said it was built less than a year ago. It didn’t exclude the possibility of older chambers using different materials, which the similarities in the shape of the fibers seemed to support. These larger fibers were far less likely to be inhaled into small airways, and therefore, safer.
Before switching out the light, she remembered to check her e-mail, in case Dr. Rosenbaum had any more recollections.
Peter Latham had confirmed what she had already known: Briony Lovitt’s PM found that she had the same fiber in her lungs. Kate’s message mentioning the Crisis Center made her feel more than a little guilty about not passing on the chamber information. Dialing Kate’s number, she hung up when she heard the engaged signal. This was not unusual, given that Kate always seemed to be on call. Her mobile didn’t answer and failed to divert to voicemail.
After trying a couple more times, Anya phoned directory assistance and asked them to check if Kate’s phone was faulty.
The operator assured her the phone was simply off the hook -
the subscriber was not engaged in a conversation.
Kate bordered on being nocturnal and didn’t go to bed before midnight, usually staying up to watch British soccer. If KATHRYN FOX
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she’d bumped the phone off the hook, work could be trying to contact her and she’d never know. Despite her sense of betrayal, Anya decided to drive the five minutes to Kate’s house.
She pulled up behind her friend’s car and the front sensor light failed to come on. Tapping was all it took to open the door.
Anya felt a lurch inside her chest. Kate would never leave her door unlocked. Had the place been broken into?
‘Kate, are you okay?’ she called loudly, trying to scare off any intruder. ‘The police are on their way.’ Listening carefully, she didn’t hear a sound.
Slowly opening the door with her elbow, she cautiously stepped inside. Instead of mess sprawled everywhere, the place had been tidied. Books and papers stacked around the walls.
What sort of intruder tidies up? she thought, and relaxed.
