After a few hours of restless dozing, Anya weaved her way past the tight groups of suit-clad men and women spilling out from the Star Bar. She coughed as a well made-up executive in patent leather heels exhaled smoke in her direction. The woman barely acknowledged the offense before drawing her next puff and continuing her conversation.
The combination of perfumes, aftershaves and secondhand smoke irritated Anya’s inflamed, bronchitic lungs.
Inside, hip-hop music pulsed over alcohol-fueled conversations while big-screen televisions highlighted the latest sports results. Even up-market pubs like this one had never appealed to Anya. Then again, she wasn’t into networking or climbing the corporate ladder.
And she definitely wasn’t interested in a relationship that began over drinks and then soured when all effects of alcohol wore off.
Upstairs in the restaurant, the pub noises became muffled. In the corner Anya could see Natasha Ryder at a table, sipping from a large wine glass. Anya had been surprised by her request to meet over dinner. It was the last thing she wanted, but the prosecutor for the Harbourn trial deserved to hear what had happened from someone who had been there.
Anya headed straight over, took off her jacket and hung it on the back of a chair. “Sorry I’m late. I tried to call but your phone’s off.”
The prosecutor glanced up. “Didn’t fancy talking to anyone. Hope you don’t mind, I started without you.”
She pointed to a variety of breads with olive oil and balsamic vinegar. “I was starving.”
The waiter appeared and asked Anya what she would like to drink.
“Mineral water, thanks.”
As tempting as it was to use alcohol to obliterate the day, the combination of antibiotics, fever and painkillers was a far more potent cocktail.
“And I’ll have another pinot gris,” the prosecutor announced, dipping a bread stick into the oil.
“I appreciate your coming, I know it’s been a tough day all round.”
The image of the young woman hanging from the doorknob was still vivid, as if the whole scene had been burned on Anya’s retina.
“I can’t help thinking what might have happened if we’d found her sooner, if the CPR had been effective, if the paramedics had been faster with the defibrillator…”
Natasha toyed with the bread stick on the plate.
“My father used to say that there are two phrases that should be outlawed from the English language. ‘What if’ and ‘if only.’ Those words have ruined countless careers, marriages and lives.”
She drained her glass. “What’s happened is done, and you can’t torture yourself with what might have been. We have to move on. My problem now is what to do with the trial.”
The waiter arrived with the drinks and placed them on the table. “Are you ready to order?”
Anya didn’t feel hungry but she knew she should eat something. The restaurant was known for hearty rustic cooking. “I’ll just have the soup of the day.”
“To start with,” Natasha began, “the smoked salmon salad with the vinaigrette on the side, followed by the rump steak-cooked medium-rare, oven-roasted potatoes, string beans and aoili on the side, thanks.”
Despite her key witness dying, the lawyer had lost none of her appetite or fussiness. Anya balked at the almost callous attitude.
“I assumed that you’d have to drop the charges, given that Giverny can no longer testify.”
“That’s what the Harbourns and their legal team will assume. But this time they’re not getting away with rape and grievous bodily harm. The way I see it, we still have your evidence, what you found when you examined Giverny. The damage to her skin from the hose pressure is impressive and supports her version of events. A jury won’t be able to ignore your evidence.”
“I can only objectively describe what I saw.”
Anya recalled the night she had met the then-sixteen-year-old girl, dragged into a car by the four men while she walked home from a ballet lesson. Giverny remained quiet but stoic after telling how she had ended up at a disused warehouse where the degradation and violence continued. During the physical examination it was apparent that Giverny had been comparatively fortunate to suffer only severe bruising to her body and grazing to her arms, back and legs; but the psychological injuries suffered that night were far more severe.
“Ah, this is where we use the law to our advantage for a change.”
The waiter returned with the pumpkin soup and salmon salad.
“I’m going to argue that Giverny’s video testimony from her police statement and interview is admissible. Of course, the defense will complain that she can’t be cross-examined, but we can also offer the testimony from the aborted trial. Giverny was cross-examined then, by the same legal team. They’re hardly going to complain that they disadvantaged their own clients by being incompetent.”
Natasha made a good point. The defense team took turns grilling her for a day and a half on the stand. To her credit, the teenager answered every question, no matter how demeaning or traumatic to recall.
It was only after the cross-examination that a female juror commented that she had believed from the start the boys on trial were good-looking and could have slept with any girl they wanted so would never need to commit rape. Another juror informed the presiding judge, who immediately called a mistrial.
The result devastated Giverny and her family. The worst part was having to go through the trauma all over again.
The prosecutor softened, “We can’t let bastards like these get away with what they did to Giverny, and the other women who were too scared to come forward and testify against them. We owe Giverny that much.”
Anya sipped her soup and studied the woman across the table. Natasha’s second glass of wine arrived and disappeared quickly.
“You’re not responsible for what happened to Giverny,” Anya offered, concerned that Natasha might blame herself for the girl’s suicide-if that’s what it was. She herself felt more responsible than anyone, especially after failing to resuscitate Giverny. No amount of consoling could take that feeling away.
“Don’t be too sure about that. Last week she said she was scared that she couldn’t face the stand again, and I threatened to charge her with contempt.”
Anya couldn’t believe what she was hearing. The last thing Giverny needed was legal threats from the woman responsible for bringing her case to justice.
“Listen, I know what you’re thinking, but this wasn’t just about Giverny Hart. Rightly or wrongly, I represent society, not individuals, and those bastards are a real danger to every woman out there, including you and me.” She stuck her fork into some salad as another glass of wine arrived.
Although Natasha was claiming the moral high ground, her aggressive manner and heavy drinking suggested she did feel guilty about Giverny. Anya assumed she had heard about the paint slur in the garage and the possibility of a staged suicide, but a day spent in legal arguments might mean she hadn’t been fully informed.
“I assume you’ve been told the police are treating this as a suspicious death?”
The prosecutor took a gulp of wine. “I was in court and received the message about her being found but unable to be revived. I couldn’t face going back to the office so I didn’t get many more details, apart from the paint scrawls in the garage.”
“There’s not much more I can tell you until after the post-mortem. Her left index finger was trapped underneath the cord when we found her. There were no signs of a struggle, though.”
“So Giverny tried to stop it strangling her.” She pushed the bread plate to the side and wiped some crumbs off the table. “What else? Anything.”
“She wasn’t dressed up, no makeup. Come to think of it, she didn’t really look like she had dressed for court.”
“Not wearing makeup is no surprise. We talked about it because I thought it was better if she appeared her age in court. She said it wasn’t a problem because she didn’t like it anyway. Who’s working the homicide angle?”
Anya had seen only Hayden Richards at the scene. “Not sure yet.”
The prosecutor began dialing her mobile phone. “Homicide, thanks…Natasha Ryder. Who’s working the Hart case from today? Good. I’ll need the forensics ASAP and I want to know exactly where each and every other member of that family and their closest friends were last night and this morning.”
Anya was relieved by this positive turn-around in the case, even though she still felt inadequate about what had happened at the house.
Natasha hung up. “Kate Farrer’s in charge. Do you know her?”
Anya knew the detective well. They had become friends through a number of cases, each sharing a mutual respect for the other’s work. Having been back from overseas for less than two days, there hadn’t been the opportunity to catch up. That was something she would do tomorrow or the next day when the jetlag and fever had abated.
“Kate’s very professional. Thorough and right down the line,” Anya said.
“Good. That’s what I’ve heard.” Natasha grabbed her bag and stood just as the waiter arrived with her steak. Her phone buzzed and she checked the message.
“I’ve got work to do. Can I have a doggy bag for my meal?” The waiter nodded and collected her plate. “Dinner’s on me. I’ll take care of it at the bar.” She took a few steps before turning back.
“And thanks for what you did to try to save her today. She was a nice kid. What really gets me is that it wasn’t enough for those bastards to abduct and rape her. Even though the four who did it were in jail, somehow they made damn sure she wouldn’t testify against them again.”