Medea's Curse Read Free

she
was convinced that the physical regime kept her well, at least as much as the medication
did.
    The forensic hospital facility was on prime real estate. The tree-lined river path
opened out onto lush parklands and a back road to the hospital gates. It was all
the same to the inmates. They couldn’t see out from behind the red-brick walls topped
with wire any more than passers-by could see in.
    Natalie greeted the security team, eyeballed the iris scanner and was let into the
main yard. On the way to her ward, she stuck her head into the administrative section.
The hospital manager had, as usual, arrived before the office staff. Only the top
of her grey hair, pulled back into a bun, was visible as she checked her emails.
She looked up over half-rim glasses. ‘Good morning, Natalie.’
    ‘Do you have a moment, Corinne?’
    Corinne hesitated, then indicated the vacant chair opposite.
    ‘Wadhwa is being unreasonable,’ said Natalie.
    ‘Professor Wadhwa has considerable experience.’
    ‘ Associate Professor Wadhwa’—she leaned a little on the title, awarded by some minor
university without a medical faculty—‘is being sucked in.’
    ‘Because?’
    ‘Georgia is attractive, and doesn’t wear tracksuits. She’s a very good liar.’ Georgia
Latimer had been transferred to Yarra Bend from the Dame Phyllis Frost Centre for
an assessment. It was nearly complete, and she was due to return to prison to await
the bail hearing at the end of next week. Natalie and Wadhwa were no closer to agreement
about her than when she arrived.
    ‘This case, it is Dissociative Identity Disorder,’ he had pronounced after their
joint assessment a week earlier.
    ‘On what evidence?’
    ‘We are not lawyers, Dr King. Not evidence— history and mental state examination. ’
    ‘All right then, on what history and mental state findings?’
    ‘Her postings on Facebook. This is most certainly dissociation. The vagueness and
memory lapses, these, they are classical.’
    ‘Maybe. I don’t see two or more distinct personalities.’
    Wadhwa waved his hand dismissively. ‘We have the middle-class wife and mother and
the regressed child. The details will come out over time. When you have seen as many
as I have, Dr King, you will know the signs.’
    Natalie had gritted her teeth then and remained unconvinced now.
    ‘I’m not saying Georgia doesn’t dissociate,’ she told Corinne. ‘But if you’re asking
me to make a call, then she’s putting on an act. It’s a gift for Wadhwa’s research
project. If he didn’t need the numbers, he’d be saying she had a personality disorder.
Which is what she has.’
    ‘I know what you think of his research but the project has been good for the hospital.
The board of directors like us to be on the leading edge and Professor Wadhwa is
helping us meet our KPIs.’
    Natalie raised an eyebrow.
    ‘Look,’ said Corinne, leaning forward on her desk. ‘Hear me clearly: you have to
find a way of working with him. It won’t look good in court if you contradict each
other and you know how much media coverage he gets.’ She rested her chin on her hand.
‘Natalie, he’s in here complaining to me as often as you are. In the end if I have
to choose between an Associate Professor and a junior consultant…’ she shrugged.
‘And I’m not just talking about this specific case. Am I being clear enough?’
    Natalie was still fuming when she squeezed into the ward office for handover.
    ‘Most kind of you to join us, Dr King.’
    Jesus, she was only five minutes late. ‘Always a privilege, Associate Professor Wadhwa.’
    Kirsty, the unit manager, winked as she handed Natalie the patient summary sheet.
They had shared more than one drink reviewing Wadhwa’s esoteric diagnoses, treatment
disasters and lack of bedside manner. Any time anyone criticised him he would whip
out a pre-written resignation from his leather compendium and storm into Corinne’s
office, confident she would never accept it.
    ‘For