Benito Fiorelli stood in court.
“I wish to recall Doctor Anya Crichton to the stand.”
Anya entered the courtroom and saw Gary Harbourn sitting alongside Dan Brody at the defense table.
On the other sat Benito and his assistant, Sheree Elliott.
A jug of water and plastic cups sat on each table.
Noelene and her remaining children sat watching from the gallery.
Taking her place on the stand, Anya took a breath and glanced at Philip Pascoe. He glared back with contempt.
Instead of Benito questioning her, Sheree Elliott stood and buttoned her jacket.
“Your Honor, the jury has already been informed of Doctor Crichton’s qualifications, and I believe the defense has accepted her as an expert witness.”
“Correct, carry on.”
“Doctor, on 24 November have you ever had cause to treat a family member of the accused?”
“I did. Gary Harbourn’s sister, Savannah, presented at the sexual assault clinic.”
“Objection, Your Honor, the place of examination is irrelevant.”
“Jurors, you will disregard the doctor’s comment about the sexual assault aspect of the clinic.”
Anya had deliberately mentioned it. Juries prickled when they heard the phrase, and Pascoe had inadvertently helped it remain in their mind by repeating and drawing attention to the name.
“In what capacity did Savannah attend your specialty facility?”
“She had been brutally assaulted and needed urgent medical attention.”
“Can you describe her injuries?”
Brody’s chair scraped the floor as he stood, which, due to his size, had a dramatic effect.
“Objection, Your Honor, relevance?”
Fiorelli argued, “The injuries suffered by Savannah were relevant to her discussion with the doctor regarding the accused.”
“You may continue,” Pascoe said, his false eye lagging behind the other as he watched someone stand, nod and leave the courtroom.
“She had injuries consistent with having been hit multiple times on the face, possibly with a solid object. Her left eye, cheek and both lips were swollen and bruised. The left forearm was fractured and displaced, with obvious deformity when she presented.” Anya turned to the jury to demonstrate the swelling, using her own arm as the example. “This occurs when the bones are broken and pulled out of alignment. Savannah also had multiple contusions, or large bruises, on her back and ribs, consistent with the story she gave of having been kicked once she was beaten to the ground.”
Two female jurors squinted, as if trying to avoid the image.
Noelene coughed loudly from the gallery.
“Did you take photos of the injuries?”
“No, Savannah requested confidentiality about her visit and what she told me that night.”
“Did she intend to press charges against the person who inflicted her injuries?”
“No. She expressly wanted no one to know she had even been to the clinic.”
“Did she say why?”
“She said she was afraid that if her attacker found out she had gone to the hospital, he might think she had spoken to the police as well.”
Sheree looked at the jury. “Afraid? Of what?”
“She said she was afraid that she, or the person who brought her in, could be in serious danger of being killed. At one stage, she was concerned for her friend’s safety and mine as well.”
“Doctor, this sounds a little far-fetched. Did you doubt Savannah Harbourn’s reason for being so frightened?”
“No, I did not. Her fear appeared to be real and justified, given the severity of her injuries, because she knew her attacker and had regular contact with him. He also knew where she lived.”
“Objection,” Brody’s chair scraped backward, “this is an alleged attack. No one has been charged, and the doctor’s comments are only hearsay.”
“Which brings me to the next question, Your Honor.”
“Is it possible to call Savannah Harbourn to the stand?”
“No,” Anya answered. “She died in a hit and run accident shortly after I saw her.”
“Objection, Your Honor!” Brody called.
The gallery murmured and the press took copious notes. Judge Pascoe ordered quiet and turned to Anya. “The cause of Miss Harbourn’s death is irrelevant to these proceedings. The jury will disregard the comments last made by the witness.”
But the damage had already been done.
Sheree went in for her version of the kill. “One more question. Doctor, did Savannah Harbourn tell you the name of the man she accused of violently beating her and causing her to fear for her life?”
“Yes. She said that the man who attacked her was her brother, Gary Harbourn.”
Gary jiggled his legs as he sat.
Sheree moved back to the prosecutor’s table and flicked through a file of pages, leaving the words to linger for maximum impact before she changed the line of questioning.
“Now, Doctor Crichton, did you examine the accused prior to interview regarding the homicide of Rachel Goodwin?”
“I did.”
“And what was your professional opinion regarding acute mental state?”
Again Brody objected. “This witness is not an expert in psychiatric diagnoses.”
The judge overruled. “As a forensic physician, one of her roles is to assess an individual’s acute mental state prior to police interview. Please answer the question.”
“I found that he was mentally fit to be interviewed regarding the homicide of Rachel Goodwin.”
“Not insane?”
“No, he was coherent and lucid when I saw him.” She didn’t mention the psychiatric hospital by name or description.
“How long did you spend with the accused?”
“About an hour, which was sufficient to establish that he was not under the influence of medication, alcohol or illicit substances or suffering substance withdrawal. He was oriented in time and place and answered questions appropriately.”
Dan Brody rose and stared at Anya with raised eyebrows, presumably for drama.
“You described Savannah Harbourn as a frightened, secretive young woman. Is it possible that she was less than honest with you?”
“It’s possible. Any patient could lie to a doctor, either outright or by omission, but the story given by Savannah was consistent with the injuries and mechanism of trauma she suffered.”
“I see. Did you do a mental health assessment on this woman?”
“Not specifically, but she was lucid and orientated. There was no reason to suspect-”
“Thank you, Doctor, please just stick to answering the questions.”
Anya’s palms began to perspire. What the hell was Brody doing?
“Now, Doctor, did you perform a toxicology screen on Savannah Harbourn that night, looking for evidence of excess of alcohol or illicit drugs?”
She felt her fists tighten, out of view of the jury.
“No, I did not, as she had no alcohol on her breath, and her friend informed me that Savannah did not take drugs or consume alcohol.”
Anya knew how bad it sounded as soon as the words came out.
“However one was conducted at post-mortem-”
“I am asking about the specific night Ms. Harbourn attended your clinic.”
He had not allowed Anya to explain that the results of the toxicology report at Savanna’s post-mortem were negative for all medication and alcohol. The liver results showed she had not taken regular intravenous or oral narcotics, and so confirmed that she was not a drug addict as Brody was trying to suggest.
“So a friend of your patient told you and you took that as gospel. It didn’t occur to you that drug addicts present, often with injuries, just to be prescribed pain relief in the form of narcotics like pethidine?”
“Initially, yes. I told her over the phone before we met that I never carry narcotics and would not give them.”
“I see.” Brody began to pace, slowly, as if trying to make sense of Savannah Harbourn. “Did she at any stage ask you for painkillers?”
Anya thought back. She had asked for something to have by mouth, but hadn’t asked for an injection. “Yes but-”
“Thank you. So she did request analgesia from you, a doctor who had no knowledge of her prior history. And by her story about the need for confidentiality, you were bound not to request verifying medical information from her usual doctor. Or did you?”
“No, I did not.”
“I see. Is it possible that Gary Harbourn had tried to stage an intervention at the family home and Savannah had become violent herself, suffering the injuries when Gary and his brothers tried to calm her down?”
Anya knew exactly what Brody was doing. He wanted to completely discredit Savannah now that she was no longer able to defend herself. Anya thought last night had changed him, but apparently not. What he was doing here in court sickened her. The worst part was that he was using her to do it.
“The injuries to Savannah were inflicted with significant force and with a solid object, possibly a boot.”
“I heard that, but in your experience as a forensic physician, have people been injured resisting arrest, even though the police did everything in their powers to prevent that occurring?”
Damn him! Brody was telling half-truths and causing her to lie by omitting the true details. The jury weren’t getting the real story.
“Yes, but-”
“Thank you-”
Dan was distracted by Gary Harbourn knocking over a glass of water. He was twitching and shaking. Dan leaned over to speak to him.
“Your Honor, may I request a recess? My client is becoming agitated and requests to see his psychiatrist at this point.”
“I’ll grant a half-hour recess, court will resume at 10:30 A.M.”
Everyone stood as Pascoe left via a side door.
Anya had not been dismissed, she had been put on hold. Fiorelli chose not to interject or ask anything about Savannah and her injuries. He obviously considered her irrelevant to this trial after Brody’s short performance. And now that it was clear Bevan Hart was responsible for Savannah’s killing, Gary would get away with that assault as well.
As she left the court, Anya saw Violet Yardley sitting in the back row. The young woman had tears in her eyes and gave Anya a look of despondency.
Anya couldn’t help feel she had just helped Gary Harbourn. Dan Brody was doing exactly what Judge Pascoe had demanded, even if it meant committing a terrible injustice in the process.
She had never been more disappointed in herself, or in the man she had considered her friend.