With Ben and Martin back home, Anya sat down to the late news with a spinach cannelloni from the local delicatessen. Depressing vision of terrorist attacks in India led the bulletin, followed by doom and gloom forecasts about the latest global financial crisis. Footage of families sleeping in cars accompanied a reporter using cliches like “tough times ahead” and “belt-tightening.”
She ate the meal and scraped every morsel of the cheese sauce from the plate with her fork. If it had been chocolate, she would have happily licked the plate clean while no one was there to watch. One advantage of living alone was that she could eat whatever whenever, even dessert first if she wanted.
Breaking news reported a fatal smash and subsequent road closure. Police in fluorescent vests examined a compacted white vehicle that had crashed head-first into a telephone pole.
A number flashed on the screen, urging witnesses to contact police. Anya immediately felt for the family that would receive a knock on the door with the heartbreaking news, and the police who had to deliver it. Without speed and alcohol, most road trauma could be avoided.
She switched off the television and headed for the kitchen to boil the kettle for a cup of peppermint tea before bed. In the morning she would phone Violet Yardley to see how Savannah was doing. She wanted to give the women a bit of time, without pressuring them too quickly. The doorbell interrupted her thoughts.
Looking through the peephole, Anya saw two uniformed police. Her heart lurched. All she could think of was Ben.
God, no! Please don’t let anything have happened to him.
Pulse quickening, she undid the chain and opened the door.
“Anya Crichton?” the junior officer asked.
Anya nodded, her mouth suddenly dry.
“Sorry to disturb you at this hour but you might be able to help us regarding the victim of a fatal accident this evening.”
Anya felt her knees buckle and the senior officer stepped forward. “We’re not here to break bad news,” he quickly added and gave his colleague a scathing look. “We should have made that clear the moment you opened the door.”
He held up one of her cards and she took a long, relieved breath. “There’s been a fatal motor vehicle accident. The deceased female had only a driver’s license and your card in her purse, suggesting you had something to do with her, possibly recently.”
Anya felt her pulse slow and invited the officers inside. It must be about the smash she had seen on the news.
“I’ll help any way I can. Please come in.”
The men removed their caps and wiped their feet before entering.
“Do you know the name of the victim?” Anya asked, offering them a seat in the lounge room.
The junior officer flicked open his notebook as if remembering the name was too difficult. “A Savannah Harbourn of Miller Avenue.”
Anya sat down on the edge of the lounge as if she’d been winded. Only nights before, the young woman had confided about a life of abuse. She was one of the Harbourns’ chronic victims, silent and unrecognized. Now she was dead. Her mind raced back to how frightened Savannah was of being caught telling anyone what had happened.
“Was anyone else hurt?”
“No, ma’am. Did you know Ms. Harbourn?”
That meant Violet wasn’t in the car as well. “I met her once last week and gave her my card.” Anya placed a hand on the lump that was now in her stomach. “What happened?”
“So far we haven’t located any witnesses, the road’s fairly quiet this time of night and poorly lit. The car appears to have been traveling on a straight stretch and hit a tree at high speed. Skid marks suggest she tried to brake suddenly before colliding with the tree.”
The senior officer sat quietly, rotating his cap between his knees. “Can you tell us how and when you came to meet?”
Anya was careful not to mention Violet Yardley but the coroner and pathologist performing the post-mortem would need to know about Savannah’s injuries prior to the crash. “She had been badly beaten and I examined her at the sexual assault unit.”
The note taker scribed. “Had she been raped?”
“No, she was the victim of a violent assault and needed medical attention. Before you ask, she was referred by someone who attended the unit previously but I can’t give you that name.”
The men exchanged glances. “Don’t suppose we could trouble you for a coffee?” The older one asked. “It’s been a long night.”
“I could do with one myself.” Herbal tea would not help now. Anya returned from the kitchen with a tray. She was still stunned by the news of Savannah’s death. The Harbourns were known for sticking together, no matter what. But would they kill one of their own to protect the rest?
After what Savannah had said about the mother thinking she wasted oxygen by just being alive, it was a distinct possibility. Like so many victims of chronic abuse, Savannah had broken down that night. All it had taken was the smallest show of compassion.
The doorbell rang again. Kate Farrer didn’t wait for an invitation inside.
“I guess you know that one of the Harbourns died tonight and she had your card in her purse.”
Bad news traveled at breakneck speed in the police network.
“Are you investigating the crash?” Anya asked quietly in the hallway.
“Should I be?”
Kate moved through to the lounge room and the officers stood. After waving them to sit again, she helped herself to another mug from the kitchen and returned.
Anya briefly described Savannah’s injuries and her broken left arm, which emergency had pulled back into place and plastered, the bruises to her face and the scalp wound that needed suturing.
The younger constable referred to his notes again. “It appears that the woman who crashed tonight didn’t have a cast on her arm.”
“Could we be looking at mistaken identity?” For one moment, Anya hoped that it was not Savannah in the car.
Kate sat on the coffee table facing the lounge. “Family already identified the body.”
Anya felt her stomach tighten again. “It’s more likely she took off the cast to hide the fact that she had seen a doctor. It’s not uncommon among abuse victims when they go back home. I assume the car was an automatic. But if she had to turn the wheel suddenly, she couldn’t have done it with that left arm.”
Kate poured herself a coffee. “She’s the only one of the Harbourns to fly the coop. Are you saying the old couple she boarded with beat her up?”
Anya knew what Kate was getting at. “No. But what I know is only hearsay and won’t hold up in court.”
The detective sipped her coffee. She was now running the discussion. “I want crime scene to go over that car for any signs of a collision before it crashed. We could be looking at a homicide.”
“The accident team is still at the scene,” the younger officer announced.
His partner spoke next. “We can check speed cameras in the area, see if they captured the Colt. It could give us an idea as to how fast she was going before the accident.”
Kate tugged the back of her hair. “She may have been driving with a broken arm but that doesn’t mean this was an accident. She was part of family of psychopaths. We’re looking at three of them for the Goodwin homicide. The fourteen-year-old almost had her head cut off after being raped.”
Both men lowered their heads as if humbled.
Kate finished her coffee. “You could also help out by checking surveillance of service stations, ATMs, banks and anyone else in the area with a security camera. We might get lucky and see if another car was following Savannah.”
The three stood, thanked Anya and left. As she closed the door, Anya remembered the fear when she had seen the uniforms at the door. Had Noelene Harbourn experienced the same terror, or had she already known that her daughter was dead? She had no way of understanding a mother who could hit her already beaten daughter for “complaining.”
She remembered seeing an interview of a bushwalker whose arm had been trapped under a rock in a remote location. He described amputating his own limb with a pocket knife in order to live and get to safety. Sacrifice one arm for the rest of the body.
The Harbourns had an incredibly strong survival instinct for which Savannah may have just paid the ultimate price.