‘Well, lots of things, but it’s often used to treat sexually transmitted diseases. I tried to track down the doctor but she’s moved on. Gone overseas, I think.’
‘Great. I thought you said you guys are trained to identify this sort of thing.’
‘We are.’
‘So let me get this right: the doctor prescribed a strong antibiotic for a urinary tract infection that was probably something more serious but didn’t tell anyone or try to investigate further. Why didn’t she at least order some tests?’
Ella just shrugged, which annoyed me. Couldn’t she see where this was leading?
‘Well, it seems pretty obvious what’s happened here,’ I said. ‘Dallas Boyd brings his sister in for a check-up, probably not knowing what’s wrong with her except that it hurts her to pee. The little girl’s probably too embarrassed to say anything about the stepfather, so nobody knows the truth. Sure, she gets treatment and the sore peeing goes away, but nobody reports it, even though the doctor must’ve smelt a rat. So the little girl goes home, takes her medication and it all goes away. Until the next time Daddy gets into bed with her and the chlamydia comes back.’
‘You don’t know that, Rubens. It might’ve been a bad urinary tract infection that hadn’t been treated and the Zithromax could’ve been prescribed to flush it out. We could be completely wrong about all this.’
I knew that was unlikely and so did Ella. I’d seen it too many times before and so had she. People unsure of a difficult path and instead taking an easier one. A path with many cracks in it. How many other cases were there like this, I wondered. How many other kids had fallen through those cracks? How many villains were hiding in them?
‘This isn’t my fault, Rubens.’
‘I know. It’s nobody’s fault. It’s the system.’ She went to reply but I cut her off. ‘But you know what: the system is made up of people, El. People like you and me and that doctor. The system should’ve stopped it the first time. Instead, we ignored the warning signs and allowed it to happen again.’
I got up and walked to the bar for another beer. I was annoyed that the night had started out like this and wished I hadn’t got Ella involved in the first place.
‘Everything all right out there, bro?’ Logan asked as he poured the beer. ‘Want me to send out some oysters or something? You guys look like you need it.’
‘No, thanks. Rough day, that’s all.’
‘Well, that’s why they call it happy hour, you know?’ he said, handing the beer over and pouring Ella another glass of champagne. ‘Everyone’s supposed to be happy.’
I sipped the beer and decided to forget about the case while Ella was around. Back at the table, she’d folded the paper away and lit another cigarette out of my packet.
I put a hand on her shoulder as I sat back down. ‘I’m sorry about all this. Let’s just try and enjoy ourselves. I’ll deal with this later. I just get frustrated by it all. I shouldn’t have got you involved.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘I’m glad you did. You’re right. We did fail this kid. Makes me wonder how many other times it’s happened.’
‘What, at the hospital?’
‘No, just in general.’
‘Well, that’s why I want to take this one to the end. We can’t change the system, Ella. All we can do is play our part. That’s what I want to do.’
She stubbed out the cigarette and raised her glass again.
‘Then let’s do it.’
16
ANTHONY AND HIS FAMILY lived almost directly opposite the Caulfield Racetrack. Thankfully we weren’t tourists, because the taxi driver was about as familiar with Melbourne’s leafy eastern suburbs as a desert camel. Finally we arrived at the house, which was almost a hundred years old and midway through a complete renovation.
Music thudded from behind the garage door and an arrow pointed to a side gate where a bunch of balloons had been tied. First mistake, I thought. Eighteenth birthday bashes were notorious for attracting gatecrashers, especially in the suburbs. Inviting guests to simply enter via the side pathway was asking for trouble.
The path led to a paved courtyard over which a pergola had been constructed. Dozens of red and black balloons and streamers hung from the rafters and a sign over the rear of the garage read ‘Happy Birthday Johnno!’
About fifty guests were already there, the majority looking barely eighteen in frayed jeans, bright T-shirts and sunglasses. There was a