Malicious Intent (36 page)

What the fuck did he do to me?
She ran a hand over her eyes and rubbed. Still nothing. No light, no walls, nothing.

Head throbbing, her eyes welled with hot tears that dripped onto her naked chest.

What the fuck did he do? Am I blind? God, no. Don’t let me be
blind.

With surging nausea, she rubbed her eyes again, willing them to see. Something. Anything! Bile projected out of her mouth and the hot liquid dripped between her legs, the stench unbearable.

Rising hysteria flooded every vein. She shook and screamed in between attempts to catch her breath. Trying to find a way out, she moved on to all fours and crawled in between howls.

Using her hands to feel the grid in front, she edged forward, then again. With an outstretched hand feeling for the metal, she became disoriented when the floor disappeared. Her knees still felt the pressure of the grids, which just seemed to end a meter or so in front. Keeping her legs still and balance centered, she ran a hand along what felt like an edge, which led to a taut, thick chain sticking straight upward.

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Hauling herself fully upright using the chain, she realized it went farther and must have been attached to the roof. If she could just climb it.

Legs shaking, she took a deep breath and stood on her toes to cling for her life. Instead of gripping the chain, her fingers slipped through wet, oily links. Carefully, she sniffed her hands.

Grease. Shit. He’d greased the fucking chain.

Lowering to a crawl position, she slowly mapped out the floor with her hand. The grate was big enough to lie on but not as wide as a bed. Chain ropes attached to the four corners of the platform, each covered in grease at the same level.

Jesus! He’d made it impossible to climb out.

At the other end of the grid, Kate’s fingers brushed a small plastic container with a piece of cloth inside, next to a plastic cup with cool, odorless, liquid in it.

With her newfound ‘tools,’ she moved to the center and squatted. Distributing weight evenly between her legs, she steadied herself and rose to standing again. The first time she toppled and almost fell from the platform. It felt as though the whole floor had slipped. She closed her eyes, hoping it would help, and tried again. This time, she stood to her full height and reached into the air. No ceiling, no walls, nothing to grab on to or touch.

The floor had to be suspended. But how high up? What was this place? Maybe she could lower herself to the ground.

She dropped the full cup over the edge and listened for the sound of its landing. Her ears ached from listening so hard, but the cup didn’t make a sound.

God. This was some kind of ledge, up too high to jump from. And she was probably blind. The well of panic overcame her again, and trembling, she curled into a fetal position, begging to be let go.

50

Anya entered the atrium of the National Research Center for Hearing and Acoustics, a large concrete complex obscured from the road by trees and shrubs. After hearing a brief explanation of her need for information, the security officer at the front desk called the head of acoustics and asked Anya to take a seat in a foyer lounge.

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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