At 8 A.M. Anya cleared security and met Hayden Richards in the foyer of the department of public prosecutions.
“How’s the cough?” he asked.
“Nearly gone.” The chest infection had improved quickly. Maybe Indian food was more therapeutic than she had thought. If she looked tired, it was for another reason.
“Do you know what Natasha wants to meet about?” She turned the focus back to work.
Hayden shrugged. “We’re about to find out.”
The prosecutor exited a lift and headed straight for them. “I’ll take you upstairs,” she said, barely looking at Anya. Judging by the crinkled shirt and pencil skirt, she had already been at her desk a while.
On the twenty-seventh floor she led them through a maze of desks with files piled high, stacks spreading onto the floor. The lawyers who chose to work here obviously had a massive workload. Compared to their defense and private practice colleagues, they were grossly underpaid. Phones rang unanswered as staff hurried to deliver files or took notes on their own calls.
They arrived at Natasha’s office; surprisingly the desk was clear, despite every bench and shelf being filled with folders tied with ribbon. The only human touches were an apple and knife on a plate and a photo of a group of smiling bushwalkers on the windowsill.
“Take a seat.”
The visitors did as directed. Natasha seemed in no mood for polite conversation.
“I’ve seen the Hart PM report. Death by asphyxiation, due to a ligature. Nothing about homicide, signs of a struggle or interference by a third party. In other words, we’ve got nothing. Can someone please explain that to me?”
Hayden glanced at Anya. “Well, as far as I could tell, there were no defense injuries or bruising that might suggest she fought anyone.”
“What about the finger underneath the cord? Doesn’t that tell us she tried to get the noose off?”
Anya sat straighter in the seat. “It’s possible she could have tried to hang herself, then changed her mind. It does happen.”
“Is that what you think?”
“No,” Anya snapped. “But it doesn’t matter what I think. If you’re asking me to stand up in court and deny the possibility, then I can’t.”
The lawyer sat glaring at Anya and drummed her fingers on the desk. “All right then, can you exclude the possibility that she was murdered and the killer staged the scene to look like a suicide?”
“I can’t exclude that possibility.” Anya chose her words as carefully as she would on the stand in court.
Hayden cleared his throat. “We have motive but not opportunity. We’ve gone through the calls the Harbourns made from prison, but they’re all to family. As to the whereabouts of the other siblings, they all say the whole family was together all night and all morning. So far nothing we’ve found can break that alibi. We don’t even know when the car and garage were painted.”
Natasha stopped drumming. “If it’s a two-car garage, why didn’t the father see it when he drove off to pick up his ex-wife?”
“The garage door is clunky and he wanted Giverny to sleep as late as possible, so he left his car out in the street the night before,” Hayden explained.
“Did forensics go over the garage? What about fingerprints, footprints, anything?”
“There weren’t any prints left behind on the Morris Minor, or anywhere in the garage. Whoever did it must have used gloves. If any of the Harbourns was there, they didn’t leave us much.”
“I want you to check speed cameras in the area, see if anyone was caught near the Hart house the night before or that morning. Check en route to the Harbourns’ place as well. And petrol stations. Go over video loops in case one of them filled up a vehicle. The brothers in custody had a lot to lose if they were convicted of gang rape. With the new laws, they were each facing a possible life sentence for the abduction and gang rape.”
With a spate of highly publicized group assaults, the state government had legislated for mandatory maximum sentences for anyone involved in group rape. So far, multiple male gangs had been convicted. The guilty comprised various ethnicities and social backgrounds. Of course, the media only highlighted cases reflecting racial tensions, but the problem was not limited to one definable group. Far more victims presented to Anya’s unit than the number who made police statements. Violence from the “pack mentality” had been rapidly escalating; whether that was a product of young males and boredom, poor socioeconomic circumstances or a disturbing societal trend wasn’t understood.
Natasha turned her attention to Anya. “I want you to think back carefully. Is there a chance you might not recall the hemorrhages to the face because you were ill that day and suffering from a fever?”
Hayden shot her a glance. Is that why he had asked about her health? She’d assumed he actually cared. Damn him. Her grip on the armrests tightened.
“If you’re suggesting my judgment was clouded because of a temperature, you’re mistaken. My priority was to save that girl’s life. If I’d succeeded, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”
“We all agree on that.” Natasha’s tone was still accusatory. “What I’m saying is that if you have a chance to review your initial police statement while well and temperature-free, is there anything you would like to correct? No one would blame you for making a minor error if you were sick.”
Anya hoped Natasha wasn’t trying to coerce her into changing her statement. Her knuckles whitened with the grip. “You aren’t suggesting I lie?”
“No, but if you recall Giverny Hart’s face having even a few tiny red marks on it, now would be an appropriate time to say so.”
Anya felt tightness in her chest. She looked over at Hayden. “Are you involved in this ambush too?”
Hayden shook his head. “Definitely not. With all respect, Natasha, you’re treading a very thin line here. This could be seen as coercing a witness, and I’m prepared to state that-on the record.”
The prosecutor slapped the desk. “Don’t threaten me. If you people had done your jobs better, Giverny Hart would be alive and those raping bastards would be behind bars for the rest of their natural lives.”
Anya stood, no longer able to control her temper.
“I wish I could tell you exactly what you want to hear to make your case, but I can’t. I don’t remember. All I see is the cord around her neck. Her head was warm-I can tell you that because I cradled her when we struggled to cut the cable loose. I can tell you what her mouth tasted like when I tried to breathe air into her lungs. It was mint flavored, like toothpaste.”
Hayden reached a hand out. Natasha was now on her feet, but Anya hadn’t finished.
“And I can tell you what it felt like when one of her ribs cracked under the heel of my hand. And would you like to hear about the guttural howl her father made when I told him his child was dead?” Anya caught her breath and realized tears were streaming down her cheeks.
She looked at Natasha. She, too, was teary.
Hayden sat with an arm outstretched toward each woman. “I think we should take a minute…and sit back down.” He cleared his throat and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Instead of handing it to either woman, he rubbed it backward and forward across both eyes and the tip of his nose.
Anya sat down silently and the prosecutor followed.
“I’m sorry, Anya. This isn’t a witch-hunt and I never wanted to compromise you. I know how hard you tried to save Giverny. You meant a lot to her.”
“It’s common for sexual assault victims to feel close to their doctor” was all Anya could think of to say.
“Right then. If there is nothing to prove Giverny was murdered, I want to reinstate the sexual assault charges, but not yet. We’re better off waiting until we have an iron-clad case because we only get one shot at them for the gang rape. That’s why the charges were dropped for the time being. But to nail the Harbourns I’ll need help from both of you.”
Hayden turned to Anya for her response. Without the key witness, the case was weak and only hearsay. But at that moment there felt like no other option. “Apology accepted. What do you need me to do?”