Detective Inspector Hayden Richards arrived just after Anya broke the news of Giverny’s death to her father. Mary sat next to Bevan Hart at the kitchen table, as stunned as Anya by what had just occurred. In shock, Val had been taken outside by Matt’s colleague.
Anya knelt down next to the bereaved father; he was clutching Mary’s hand and his eyes were glassy with disbelief.
“I just went out to pick up Val. We promised to be a family again for the trial. For Giv’s sake.”
“It’s been a difficult time for all of you,” Mary acknowledged.
Since the attack, Bevan Hart had demanded justice for his only daughter, regularly phoning the police, Anya and the Sexual Assault (SA) unit for updates. This had put him in direct conflict with his wife, who didn’t want her daughter dealing with the trauma of a trial. When Giverny dropped out of school, the couple had separated and Val Hart had moved out-alone.
“Those bastards didn’t give her a chance when they attacked her, now they’ve killed her, after everything she had to live for.” He stared at the table and sniffed back a tear. “She’s a fighter, our girl, always has been. It’s why she wanted to go to court and testify against those evil bastards. She wanted them to pay for what they did to her. She just had to get through today. That was all she had to do, but those mongrels came back and killed her before…” His voice trailed off and he hunched forward against the table, shoulders heaving with each agonizing sob.
Hayden tapped Anya on the shoulder. The pair stepped into the hallway as Mary tried to offer comfort.
“I’m sorry you had to be the one to find her.”
Head of the sexual assault task force, Hayden had met Giverny’s father the night of the attack, and kept the family informed at every step in the investigation. He, too, looked as though he had just lost a friend.
The pair returned to the doorway, where Giverny lay. The paramedics had disconnected the ECG cords but left the leads and pads on her chest and the tube in her mouth-protocol for what was now a coronial case.
Crime Scene Officer Detective Sergeant John Zimmer arrived dressed in his police overalls and accompanied forensic pathologist, Doctor Jeff Sales. Both seemed more somber than usual. For once, the CSO didn’t have a wisecrack.
“I know this is hard for all of us,” Hayden Richards announced, “but we’ve got to treat this like any other investigation. For the sake of Giverny and her family.”
Anya nodded.
“Can you tell us exactly what you found when you arrived? Walk us through it. Anything you can remember at all.” Hayden took out his notebook and pen.
Anya clasped her hands, as though that would help her focus as she replayed the scene.
“She was on her knees, head bent forward, the ligature around her neck attached to the doorknob. Her hands were untied, the right one by her side and one finger-the left index-was between her neck and the cable.”
Zimmer took some photos from different angles, then honed in on the young woman’s left hand. He clicked away.
“What did the body look like?” Jeff asked.
“Cyanosed, she was obviously without oxygen, and pulse-less.”
“Signs of lividity?”
Anya knew it could take an hour for blood to pool due to gravity. Although Giverny’s legs were tucked under her, there was nothing to suggest lividity.
“No, her head was still warm.”
“Did you notice any petechial hemorrhages on her face or conjunctiva before attempting to resuscitate?” Jeff inquired.
Hayden interrupted. “Doesn’t anyone who has been hanged or strangled have those?”
“Not necessarily. If both the carotid artery and jugular vein are occluded and pressure isn’t released until after death, the face doesn’t become engorged. It’s because blood isn’t able to surge back up the neck.”
“So if you see them?” Hayden leaned closer to observe Giverny’s face.
Anya breathed out. “If you see them in cases like this, they’re suspicious. It suggests someone strangled the victim and staged the hanging to cover it up. It’s tough to strangle anyone, so killers usually release pressure, then apply it again.”
The implication of her words was clear to everyone present. Giverny may have been murdered and the scene made to look like a suicide. Anya suddenly remembered the threat painted on the car in the garage.
Jeff Sales continued his external examination. “Don’t forget to get a photo of the knot in the cord.”
Zimmer donned rubber gloves and bent down. “Not this one. It’s been cut right through and unravelled.”
“Damn!” Hayden muttered, hitching up his trousers at the waist.
In the emergency, Anya hadn’t thought about the knot. All she’d cared about was saving the girl’s life. There was no way that Mary would have known how important it was to preserve the knot as evidence when she followed Anya’s instruction and cut the dying girl down. Anya’s hands began to tremble again.
“Mate, you did the right thing.” Zimmer moved to her side. “We’re all trained to prioritize. Save survivors first and make the scene safe. That’s exactly what you did here. It’s what any of us would-and should-have done.”
Anya suddenly wasn’t so sure. It had never occurred to her that Giverny could have already been dead when they arrived. She saw the girl and automatically reacted, more with emotion than clinical acumen.
She hadn’t looked beneath Giverny’s closed lids to check for hemorrhages on the conjunctiva, and she couldn’t remember whether there were any on the girl’s face. She assumed there weren’t but could never swear to it. She may have simply failed to notice. God, how could she have missed something so important?
“I didn’t notice any hemorrhages. I’m sorry. It all happened so fast.”
Hayden offered, “None of us would have swapped places with you. We all knew Giverny and her gentleness got to all of us. But if those bastards did this to her to stop her testifying, we need to know every possible detail, no matter how insignificant it might seem.”
Jeff Sales clicked on a hand-held dictaphone.
“One hundred and twelve Levy Road, inside the front door is the body of a female adolescent, weight approximately fifty-five kilograms, height one hundred and sixty centimeters. ET tube is in situ, as is cannula in right forearm. A cream computer cable appears to have been removed from her neck.
“The face is engorged and petechial hemorrhages dot the area around the eyes and conjunctiva. A ligature mark consistent with the width of the computer cord extends from below the earlobes, under the chin. There is a small area on the left side of the neck, two centimeters inferior to the left ear, where the skin has been pierced. Blood has flowed vertically and then appears to travel toward the nape of the neck.”
Anya listened, still unable to accept that the body in front of them was the young woman she had known and treated. She looked down at the dried blood on her fingers. Giverny’s blood.
“I cut the cable with that knife on the floor,” she said, pointing to the smaller knife by the door, “while I was holding her upright, then when Mary freed her from the door tie I laid her flat on the ground to begin resuscitation. That’s why the blood dripped down then behind.” Her hands shook again as her temperature climbed. “Mary used the larger knife.”
She held her ribs and coughed again.
“You okay? You look flushed.” Hayden had a worried expression.
“I’m fine.”
“We can take a break if you want.”
“No. Let’s keep going.” Anya’s words were more curt than she had intended. It was best they finish going over the details while everything was still fresh in her mind.
“Were the knives near the body when you arrived?”
“No, I told Mary to quickly find something to cut the tie to the door. I assume she got them both from the kitchen.”
Zimmer photographed the knives, then placed them in paper evidence bags. The bloodstained cord went in another bag. “We’ll need to fingerprint Mary, as well as the doorknob.”
Jeff Sales lifted the skirt of Giverny’s dress, then replaced it.
“Underwear intact. No external evidence of sexual assault.”
All Anya could do was stand and watch, feeling as though Giverny’s body was being violated yet again.