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policeman and doctor here to see you. They said it’s urgent.’
    ‘Thanks.’ Dr Debra Wilson scanned the messages.
A toddler in the waiting area let out a scream and her focus temporarily diverted. ‘Sorry, but we’re short-staffed today. How can I help you?’
    In a low voice, Schiller said, ‘A patient of yours was found today. Dead.’
    She let out a sigh. ‘You need a death certificate?’
    It was a natural assumption to make. Elderly and chronically ill people died at home. Without certification by a doctor who could establish cause of death, it became a coroner’s case and required a post-mortem.
    ‘I’m afraid it’s more than that. I’m Detective Constable Schiller. Dr Crichton is assisting with a homicide investigation. Is there somewhere we can speak in private?’
    Suddenly, the area went silent. Patients could have been forgiven for assuming the doctor was under suspicion.
    Anya hastened to add, ‘We just need to find out if you know anything that could help us.’
    ‘Of course.’ The GP ushered them into a consulting room and closed the door. ‘Who was the patient?’
    ‘We suspect it was Emily Quaid.’
    The doctor’s eyes widened. ‘Not little Emmy?’ She turned to Anya. ‘What do you mean suspect ?’
    ‘The body was found at the Quaid home. We’re still awaiting formal identification, but it appears to be a small child around eight to ten.’
    The GP sank into her consulting chair, hand over her mouth for a few moments. ‘The poor family. After everything they’ve been through.’
    With the desk butted against the wall opposite the door, Schiller pulled the corner chair closer. ‘The mother and sister are missing.’
    ‘Missing? I don’t understand.’
    Anya sat in the extra chair. ‘Emily’s body was found in a toy box in the wardrobe. There were blood stains on the bathroom floor. At this stage, it isn’t clear whose blood it is.’
    Dr Wilson seemed stricken. ‘You think . . . Emmy was murdered?’ Her eyes darted from the detective to Anya for answers. ‘Jenny and Mia?’
    ‘That’s what we’re trying to find out. And why time is so pressing,’ Anya explained.
    ‘I understand.’ She straightened. ‘How can I help?’
    Schiller cleared his throat. ‘Do you know the mother well?’
    ‘I saw her fairly frequently until about a year ago. I heard she was seeing some alternative practitioner instead. From what I know of her, she seems like a loving, caring parent. After the death of her little boy, she threw everything she had into protecting those two little girls.’
    Anya let the detective take the initial lead. After that, she would ask about any family or medical history that would be valuable at Emily’s post-mortem.
    Schiller took rapid notes. ‘When did the boy die? What happened?’
    ‘It was a while ago. I can check the exact dates.’ Dr Wilson wheeled her chair back to the keyboard.
    Anya glanced around the office. As well as a Fellowship with the College of GPs, a Medical Degree with Honours and a Paediatric diploma hung above her desk. A jungle mural on the opposite wall with a vertical ruler measured children’s height. In the corner were two plastic crates, one containing wooden toys and the other well-worn picture books. Two bright yellow toddler-sized chairs sat in front of the toys. The practice clearly comprised a significant proportion of children.
    A few seconds later, a file appeared on the computer screen. ‘Tom’s file has been archived, but I’ve got the family history on Emily’s notes . . . He contracted whooping cough last January . . . He was eight months old.’ She looked up. ‘I saw him one night when he was in acute respiratory distress and immediately called an ambulance. He was intubated and spent the next day in intensive care, where he died.’
    ‘How long had the child been ill before the mother sought medical attention?’ asked Schiller.
    ‘A couple of days,’ she said. ‘Respiratory infections are common in