Chapter 9

Pulling Through

On Tuesday morning, Vicky took a call on her husband’s mobile that turned her legs to jelly. ‘Can I speak to Chris?’ a man asked brightly. ‘Who is this?’ Vicky replied. Taken aback by her serious tone, the man explained he was one of Chris’s work colleagues.

The man continued in a perky voice, ‘Will he be long? Our flight to Tasmania goes out in less than an hour.’

Amid all the drama, Vicky had forgotten about Chris’s trip to Tasmania to sign the NBN contract. The deal had been the last thing on his family’s minds as they prayed for his survival.

Lewis Kaegher, who had been working with Chris on the project, knew nothing of the terrible events until Vicky told him what had happened. ‘I’m so sorry, I had no idea,’ Kaegher said. He went to the departure lounge for the solo flight to Tasmania, struggling to process the information that his colleague was the stab victim whose story was all over the news.

***

Penny and her mother sat at the hospital for a while, then Penny drove to her brother’s home again. Marie was still distraught over her mother’s refusal to take her to the hospital. She hissed at Vicky through her tears, ‘But you promised you were going to take me to hospital to see Dad.’

Avoiding her sister-in-law’s disapproving stare, Vicky said evenly, ‘It’s not the right time to go.’ But Marie was insistent. ‘My father could be dying, and you’re not letting me see him or allowing me to say goodbye!’ She stormed into her bedroom and slammed the door.

Downstairs, Penny tried to talk Vicky around. ‘This really isn’t healthy,’ she said gently. ‘Chris might be in a coma, but it might help him if he hears Marie’s voice.’

Vicky frowned and said nothing.

Penny persisted. ‘If anything happens to Chris and you don’t take Marie, you’re going to feel so guilty, you’ll never forgive yourself for not letting her go.’ Her sister-in-law stared darkly back at her, refusing to budge.

While Penny was at Chris’s home, an attempt had been made to bring the patient out of his induced coma. But he became agitated and started grasping at the tube in his throat and plucking at the drains in his wounds. He was hurriedly sedated again. With so many sutures holding his stab wounds together, the nurses were concerned he might do himself serious harm. Even when he came around, he’d be in considerable pain and would require ongoing nursing, they said.

While Chris was being monitored, the detectives were busy compiling evidence. During the afternoon, Detective Senior Constable Graefe visited Bimbo Deluxe on the corner of Brunswick and Rose Street. The manager handed over video footage covering the period before and during the attack, including the time when the Soterious’ Nissan arrived in Rose Street for the birthday dinner.

The crucial 48-hour period slipped slowly by. Chris was still alive, though he remained critical. His family saw it as a positive sign. With each passing hour, his chances of survival increased.

During the night, the nurse documented his condition. ‘Became restless … required pre-sedation for safety. Morphine given for pain … paracetamol given for temperature … wounds all look dry, nil signs of infection.’ During the day, blood had been taken from the superficial stab wound on Chris’s upper arm to check the source of his fever. His open abdominal wound was still being closely monitored, and a further 150 ml of blood had been drained from his right chest cavity.

***

On Wednesday morning, Loula called around at her son’s home with a gift for his traumatised wife. ‘This is for you to take to the hospital,’ she told Vicky, handing her a small bottle of holy water. She’d had it blessed that morning by a priest at the church. She’d already taken another bottle of holy water to the hospital and scattered it over her son’s face and head, making the sign of the cross and praying for him.

Loula’s faith had always been an important part of her life. Her kitchen workbench was cluttered with religious pictures and statues of the Virgin Mary. She’d also collected an assortment of small bottles of holy water during her trips to Greece.

Loula Soteriou was a respected member of the congregation at St John’s Orthodox Church in Carlton, where many prayers had been said and candles lit for her critically ill son. She’d been keeping a daily vigil by her son’s bed. She was particularly touched when the hospital’s chaplain paid a visit to say prayers for the young father of three.

Loula promised herself she’d stay with her son every day until he was safe and well again. And like her prayers, she took her promises very seriously.

Now, sitting in her daughter-in-law’s kitchen, she urged Vicky to say her own prayers for her husband. Vicky slipped the holy water into her handbag and promised she’d pray for a miracle. She later took the holy water to the hospital, as her mother-in-law had asked.

Jack Tainsh was there to see Chris, along with members of his family. ‘Aren’t you going to put the holy water on him?’ Jack reminded her. Vicky seemed so upset he thought she’d forgotten. He watched Vicky sprinkle the droplets on her husband and make the sign of the cross on his forehead. She whispered a blessing and said a prayer. Then she bent her head toward his ear and whispered, ‘I’m praying for you, babe.’

In spite of his induced coma, Chris was dreamily obeying the nurses’ commands to move a limb or flutter his eyes. His family watched, hoping that he might hear their voices and know they were all there for him.

They were sure that Chris’s attack was a deliberate murder attempt rather than a random mugging, but the detectives were yet to find evidence to confirm this. John was frustrated by the apparent lack of progress, and he became a daily visitor at the hospital and the police station.

At Richmond CIU, John told the police his brother had begun to stabilise and would soon be out of his coma. ‘But have you caught anyone yet?’ he asked.

‘Not yet,’ said Detective Graefe warily.

One of Graefe’s colleagues, Acting Detective Sergeant Mick Dolan, tried to reassure the victim’s brother. ‘Just be patient and trust me when I say we’re doing everything we possibly can to catch the offender.’ The case was their highest priority, he said, and a whole team of detectives were now working on it.

‘Well, you’d better fucking well get your arses out there and find him quick,’ John fumed. ‘I’m going to get a private investigator onto it, and you’d better hope I don’t find the prick first.’

John meant what he said about the private investigator. He’d already made a few tentative inquiries, and had obtained the telephone number of a local PI. It was now four days since his brother’s stabbing, and the lack of an arrest left him despairing.

He got in touch with the PI. ‘Check out those guys that used to work for Chris,’ he urged. ‘Somebody knows something.’ He didn’t tell the police about this.

But Dolan was right when he said the police had a team working around the clock on the investigation. Behind the scenes, Taskforce Asrama had been formed to investigate leads and apprehend the offender.

***

Throughout Wednesday, Chris’s condition slowly improved, giving the family hope that he was going to pull through. But Vicky remained downcast. John and Helen had always found her aloof and guarded, but she now seemed more detached than ever. John sensed she was deliberately avoiding him. Every time he arrived at the hospital, Vicky appeared to be in a hurry to leave.

Whenever he brought up the subject of the attack, she’d clamp her hands to her ears and shake her head in distress. ‘Stop,’ she said. ‘I can’t answer you because I just can’t remember.’

But her version of the incident appeared to change every day. John had heard Jack say that she’d told him the mugger had tried to steal jewellery during the attack, and someone else mentioned she’d claimed the assailant had attempted to steal Chris’s car. But that wasn’t what she’d said at the time.

John was also bewildered by Vicky’s reluctance to stay by her husband’s bedside, but Helen suggested a more charitable explanation. Perhaps the ordeal was just too overwhelming, she said. Vicky had seen her husband almost murdered in front of her, and her reaction was consistent with trauma and shock. It would also explain why they hadn’t seen her shed a tear. Perhaps she was too numb to express her emotions. Still, her brief visits were perplexing. It was as if she couldn’t wait to get out of the place.

Then there was Vicky’s unnerving preoccupation with her appearance in the midst of this crisis. She’d arrive at the hospital all dolled up, as if she were off to an upmarket lunch or a night out. When she wasn’t wearing tight-fitting pants with one of her revealing tops, she’d appear in an expensive frock and matching shoes. As always, she took considerable trouble with her hair and makeup, and wore lots of jewellery.

John studied the other weary visitors outside ICU, anxiety written all over their faces as they slumped in the uncomfortable chairs wearing the same clothes they’d worn for days, and wondered what was wrong with Vicky. When someone you loved was clinging to life, it didn’t matter what you were wearing. Vicky, with her empty stare and fancy clothes, stuck out like a sore thumb.

Other visitors to ICU were puzzled to see Vicky so immaculately made up. ‘Gee, she’s holding up well,’ a female visitor remarked to John as Vicky disappeared into the lift. ‘She doesn’t give much away, does she?’

John agreed. She certainly didn’t.

He’d just missed his sister-in-law when he called at the police station that day. A policeman told him that Vicky had swung by with an extravagant bouquet of flowers, instructing the detectives to ensure the flowers were delivered to the two off-duty doctors whose quick thinking had saved her husband’s life.

Later, he observed her handing out boxes of chocolates and bunches of flowers to the trauma team and again to the ICU staff, whom she publicly thanked for their kindness. John was convinced that two different people lived inside Vicky – the indifferent ice queen the family saw, and the gregarious, charming woman everyone else warmed to.

He had also experienced a troubling scene with Vicky in ICU. He’d been standing beside Chris’s bed when she suddenly collapsed in his arms. John quickly helped her back onto her feet, not sure what to make of her funny turn.

‘John, I’m so sorry,’ she apologised, screwing her face up as if she were about to burst into tears. ‘I know that we’ve had our differences, but I want to put all this behind us.’

John was taken aback. With his brother still in a coma, the old family squabbles were the last thing on his mind. ‘Let’s just hope Chris comes through this,’ he said sharply. ‘There will be plenty of time to talk about it then.’

Vicky’s tears came to nothing, but she still looked agitated. John followed her out of ICU in silence, not knowing what to make of this brief outburst of emotion.

On Wednesday evening, the night nurse noted, ‘Family members have visited throughout the day. Wife visited – very traumatised. Social work referral made. Counselling for wife.’

While Mrs Soteriou appeared to be coping on the surface, her immaculate presentation and controlled demeanour hadn’t escaped the eyes of the medical staff. Accustomed to dealing with the relatives of critically ill patients, they were concerned about her. The general consensus in ICU was that the glamorous Mrs Soteriou wasn’t holding up well at all.

***

While John’s hospital visits were flexible, Helen had to fit them around her city office hours. She visited as often as she could, generally arriving each night when her working day was over. Meanwhile, Chris’s mum maintained her vigil, catching lifts in and out with her daughters and granddaughters.

Among the medical staff, there was growing concern about Chris’s persistent high fever. At the early-morning handover on Thursday, the nurses noted that he’d been running a temperature all night.

Chris had been prescribed an infusion of antibiotics as a precautionary measure, and further scans had been taken of his abdomen, chest, pelvis and liver. The results would be discussed with his wife as next of kin.

The hospital social worker had made several attempts to contact Vicky, but she remained elusive. The social worker had been informed that Vicky was suffering from deep shock, and watching her husband battle for life had added to her distress. Aware of the importance of early intervention, the social worker was keen to refer Vicky to a counsellor. But it appeared Vicky was too stressed to return her messages.

Vicky also seemed reluctant to converse with her in-laws. When Chris’s sisters rang for updates, she was brisk and unhelpful. ‘Is Chris out of the coma yet?’ asked Soula, whose hopes grew with every passing day.

‘No,’ Vicky said bluntly. ‘Still no change.’

Soula hung up, feeling deflated.

On Thursday, Helen and Soula agreed they should call ICU directly for updates. The feedback from the nurses was so much more encouraging that Soula wondered if they were discussing the same patient.

Soula passed the positive feedback on to Vicky. ‘Chris is doing so well they’re planning to have him out of his coma very soon,’ she said.

Vicky poured cold water on Soula’s excitement. ‘I already told you that!’ she said bluntly and hung up.