Introduction

Two sisters were attacked in their own home.

Only one of them survived. And now she must revisit hell if justice is to be served.

Forensic pathologist Dr. Anya Crichton is incensed over the brutal crime, and she will do everything in her power to see that the three men responsible are punished severely. But the suspects, the Harbourn brothers, are part of a fanatically devoted family of criminals who are expert at sidestepping the law. And suddenly, people connected with the investigation and prosecution are turning up dead.

In the face of an impending legal travesty Anya cannot let fear distract her. But it may be harder to remain calm in light of the nightmare the Harbourns' attorney unearths beneath the floorboards of his own house . . .

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Excerpt

CHAPTER ONE

Dr Anya Crichton prepared to face the violent offenders.

Hundreds of thousands of taxpayer dollars had gone into the trial and now retrial of the four whose heinous crimes horrified even the most jaded police and lawyers. Their young female victims continued to suffer thanks to the drawn out legal process, which seemed to be moving further away from victim rights for the sake of those accused.

The Harbourn Four and their legal team were expert at playing the system to their advantage but today would put a stop to all their legal games and manipulations.

Anya removed the digital thermometer from her ear. Forty-one degrees Celcius. She downed a couple of paracetamol tablets and anti-inflammatories to accompany the first dose of antibiotics, then wiped her forehead with a wet face cloth, lingering on the temples to alleviate the splitting headache. Anything stronger might blur her mind, and she knew how alert she had to be on the stand.

There was time for one final check in the hallway mirror. Hair pulled back, but not too severely. Pale blue blouse and navy skirt declared professional expert. The jury had to care about her testimony, not be distracted by her appearance.

A small amount of eye make-up and lipstick, her version of war-paint complemented the outfit. This had been a damned long battle and one the prosecution had to win. She had never felt so strongly about a case before and a high temperature would not interfere with her job.

While wiping perspiration from the back of her neck with a tissue, she hurriedly rechecked the locks on the downstairs windows.

Last night had been spent in fitful sleep, violent nightmares brought on by her body's attempt to fight the chest infection. The bugs might not survive high temperatures, but the fevers made her entire system miserable as well. She coughed and felt the inside of her chest burn. Too late to pull out now.

Besides, it was the price she paid for travelling. Air-conditioned planes and hotel rooms, fatty food and fatigue never failed to beat down the immune system. Once her sleep pattern improved, the infection would clear quickly. It had to.

Anya slipped her stockinged feet into the black court shoes she kept by the door and grabbed her briefcase as the doorbell rang.

'Won't be a minute,' she called, before checking the downstairs windows just once more.

Mary Singer had a broad smile when Anya opened the door.

'Welcome back.' She embraced her colleague with both arms. 'We've all missed you.'

Anya kept one arm by her side. 'We should probably make a move.

The sexual assault counsellor agreed. 'Traffic's pretty hideous this morning, You'd think that work on major roads could be done at night, but no, that would be far too simple'

Anya punched the alarm code on the unit inside the doorway. A few seconds of slow beeping and the pair were away.

'Bad flight? Mary opened the car door she had double-parked and climbed into the drivers' seat. 'You look exhausted.'

'I picked something up on the leg home,' Anya said, trying to focus on the day ahead. Private case work across the US and Europe had been physically and emotionally grueling. But the fact that she'd had little sleep for forty-eight hours meant nothing to a judge or jury. This was not about her. The trial was the reason she had rushed back home to Sydney from overseas, leaving her son and ex-husband to enjoy Disneyland without her.

The painkillers hadn't eased the headache but her arms began to shiver. Fighting the effects of the self-prescribed medication, her body was doing everything it could to push her temperature back up. She clutched her ribs and tried, unsucessfully to suppress a cough.

Mary Singer shot her a look but resisted commenting.

Anya took a breath and felt the stab in her ribs; pleurisy as well as bronchitis. She fiddled with the car heater, craving warm air. 'How is Giverny coping?'

'This last month has been rough. Since the mistrial was declared, she's been more agitated.' Mary was clearly concerned about the young woman due to testify in the Supreme Court at Darlinghurst.

Anya felt for the seventeen year old girl who had been abducted while walking home from the bus stop less than a year ago. If it had not been for her beloved weekly ballet lessons, the petite teenager wouldn't have been out alone. The four Harbourns, Gary, Bruce, Patrick and Keith, had forced her into their car and raped her multiple times. Not content with assaulting the girl, as a final degrading act, her attackers had striped her naked and hosed her with icy water near an abandoned warehouse. The last thing Giverny remembered about them was their laigh as they drove off.

Anya vividly recalled that night, performing the medical and forensic examination on the traumatized, injured girl. As a forensic physician, Anya's role was critical in beginning the long and tortuous healing process fir victims. The physical evidence she had collected, along with Giverny's detailed police statement, had eventually led to the arrests.

'It won't be easy, facing those four again in court, but I think she's strong enough.' Mary offered unconvincingly. The counsellor had met with Giverny following the attack, then more regularly during the lengthy trial process.

Not having managed to scare Giverny into silence, the four accused Harbourn brothers had tried every leagal maniplualtion to delay the trail and intimidate the only witness. Meanwhile other fami;y members had made weled threats against the'lying slut', as they called Giverny. She was the only one who could identify the brothers as her attackers, and her testimony was what treatened them most most. Even so, it was difficult for the terrified seventeen year old to see it that way.

The attack and ensuing years of legal tribulations had taken their toll. A bright student, Giverny had dropped out of school months before, unable to cope with the stress of exams as well as being the key witness in the retrial. Her friends had long since abandoned her, choosing to get on with their social lives while Giverny stayed home, afraid to go out or trust anyone.

The pair sat in silence as Mary took back streets to avoid congested main roads.

Anya checked her watch. 'Let's hope Giverny's ready and not having second thoughts. We don't have a lot of spare time.'

Mary honked her horn at the car ahead for cutting in on her, for a little longer than it took to make her point. He responded by raising a finger in his rear vision mirror and hit his brakes - hard.

Mary stopped just short of his bumper bar.

Anya's head jerked forward and saw the driver open his car door. 'Go around him. He's getting out.'

She leant forward and punched the central locking button on the dash. Just in case. The last thing they needed now was to be involved in a road rage incident.

'What is it with men? They make a mistake and then abuse you for it.' Mary manoeuvred the car into the next lane and darted across lanes. Anya watched in the vanity mirror, but the man got back into his car, turned off and disappeared from sight. She breathed out.

A few minutes later they arrived to pick up Giverny, as arranged. She had requested moral support on the way, aware that Anya would not be able to be seen with her once they were in court. As an expert witness, Anya had to be seen by the jury as independent, or her evidence would be discounted as biased.

Even so, Anya understood that Giverny would find being cross-examined lonely enough without feeling abandoned by the very people who had encouraged her to testify.

Mary pulled into the driveway and kept the engine running. 'You can listen for traffic reports,' she said, turning up the radio.

Mary walked up to the front door, sunglasses over her unruly mop of grey hair. The counsellor waited, hands on hips. Anya knew that they were all edgy about today's court appearance. She watched Mary knock again. When there was no response the counselor raised her arms to the sky and came back to the car.

'Maybe she's in the bathroom and can't hear.' Anya pulled out her mobile and dialled Giverny's number. It's diverting to Message Bank.'

Mary moved around to the back of the house; when she returned to the front she cupped her hand around her eyes and peered in through the windows.

'Curtains are all drawn and I can't see a thing,' she called.

Anya stepped out of the car, the chills returning to her body. She noticed the garage door slightly ajar. Security obsessed since the attack, it was unlike the young woman to leave anything undone or unlocked. The hairs on the back of Anya's neck prickled.

Bending down, she yanked on the garage door handle, which clunked in resistance before giving way. The door moved upwards and light flooded the area.

Across the doors and rooftop of Giverny's blue Morris Minor were scrawled DIE SLUT in large red letters. The back wall was covered with LYING BITCH.

The words were like a punch to Anya's stomach. After seeing what the Harbourn brothers were capable of, she feared the worst

'Giverny,' she yelled, her hands trembling as she dialled emergency on her mobile. 'It's Anya and Mary. Can you hear us?'

Mary entered the garage and covered her mouth in shock.

'God, no-'

Anya hoped her instincts were wrong but remained careful. 'This could be a crime scene.Wait here for the police and don't touch anything. I'm going inside.'

Mary stood silent, staring at the car. Anya side-stepped around the vehicle, careful not to brush against it. With a cloth from the shelf at the back, she turned the handle of the inside access door and retuned the cloth to its original position.

Moving the door open with her foot, she whispered, 'Please be OK.'

Entering the tiled living area, there was enough daylight to see the rolled, unopened newspaper on the table, along with a neat pile of papers. She took a breath. The place hadn't been trashed so maybe the Harbourns hadn't been inside.

Just maybe.

'Giverny. Can you hear me?' she shouted. Beads of perspiration covered her neck and forehead. The kitchen was clean and there weren't any plates left out from breakfast.

A door banged behind Anya and she startled.

'What the hell's going on? Where's our daughter?'

Ned Hart pushed past Anya into the corridor, presumably towards the bedroom. His wife, Val, followed.

'I told you we should have stayed with her.

Turning the corner, Anya stopped, just as someone let out a gutteral sound behind her. Val Hart had seen the same thing.

Kneeling on the floor with her head forward in a praying position was Giverny. Attached to the front door handle was a cord, which ended wrapped around the girl's neck.

Anya rushed forward on to the floor, and felt for a peripheral pulse. The right wrist was limp and cold, but she felt a beat. It bounded - too hard for such a cold limb. Anya timed it with her own carotid. The pulses beat in perfect time. Shit.

'Do something!' the father begged.

With two hands, she lifted the girl's face. It still had some heat, she realised as she felt for a neck pulse. Anything.

Giverny's left index finger was trapped beneath the cord, as if trying to release the pressure.

'This can't be happening,' Ned Goodwin muttered and stepped back. Mary was quickly at the parents' side. She must have heard the wife's howl.

'Mr Goodwin, we need you to call an ambulance,' she said, 'Your daughter needs your help right now.'

He responded and disappeared. The counsellor moved over to Anya. 'What do we do?'

Anya grappled with the cord but it dug too deep into the girl's flesh.

'She's still warm. I can't get the cord off her neck, it's on too tight. I need you to get a knife or scissors as fast as you can.' She tried to sound calm. She needed help and quickly.

Mary ran off and Val went with her.

Anya tried slipping her hands under the girl to lift her and relieve the pressure caused by the pull from the door handle, but she knew it was useless.

'It's ok, Giverny, we're here now,' she offered. You're going to be all right.'

Suddenly, something smashed in the kitchen. Mary returned with two different sized knives. One that could have carved a chicken, the other, had a small, pointed end.

'Cut her from the door first.' Mary chose the larger knife and handed the other to Anya.

Trying to hold the head upright, Anya used the smaller one to cut where Sophie's finger provided the best chance to sever the noose.

On the first attempt, she nicked the neck and blood trickled out, making the cord slippery.

She felt the body drop. Mary had cut the cord above her head. She lay the girl flat on her back and this time the cord gave way. By now the young woman's lips were blue and her face a dusky shade.

Anya felt again for the carotid pulse. Nothing.

She lifted the girls' head up and back, covered her nose and breathed twice into the mouth.

Come on. This isn't over.

Moving to the chest, she clenched her fingers, one hand on top of the other and began cardiac massage. Fifteen short, sharp pressures then two more breaths. She heard a rib crack, but kept going. She had to, for Sophie's sake. After a few rounds, her fingers cramped but she kept going.

She heard a siren in the distance and Mary left to hail it. She barely noticed Ned behind her when the paramedics appeared.

'I'm Rick, he announced. What have we got,' the male said, placing his pack on the floor.

Breathless and exhausted, Anya continued to pump the heart as the second paramedic pulled out a face mask and oxygen tank.

'This is Giverny Hart, seventeen year old. We found her hanging from the door.'

Rick shot a look at his female partner.

'How long have you been going now?'

It felt like hours had passed, but Anya had no idea how many minutes she had been attempting to resuscitate.

'I started as soon the same time you were called.' Anya knew that all calls were logged.

The paramedic checked his watch. 'We'll follow our protocol. Let's intubate and see if we've got a rhythm.

Anya stopped pumping long enough for him to cut open Sophie's shirt and place three leads on her chest which he connected to a portable ECG machine.

'Asystole.'

'I'm in,' the partner said, letting Rick know she had intubated her patient. 'If there's no other access, 'I'll try adrenalin from here.'

Anya moved back as the paramedic squirted a syringe full down the endotracheal tube.

The small cardiac monitor remained unchanged. The line was flat, and unwavering.

'Does anyone know the medical history?' Rick said, trying to get a cannula into Sophie's arm.

Anya turned around but Mary must have taken Ned away from the horrific scene.

'She was otherwise well, apart from an assault last year. She's supposed to testify in court this morning.'

The paramedics looked at each other and paused briefly as the man checked his watch again.

'Are you a relative Ma'am?'

'No. I'm a pathologist and forensic physician. I saw her the night she was assaulted. She was raped multiple times as well.'

Anya knew the girl had experienced horrors beyond that anyone should have to endure. The physical healing had taken months, but the emotional scars were permanent. Even so, none of this made sense.

The man removed the paddles from the defibrillator and turned the charger up. His partner placed two gel pads on Sophie's chest.

The machine let out a piercing sound.

'100joules. Clear.'

His partner slid away from the tube and bag and Anya moved further back.

Sophie's body bucked but her heart did not respond.

'150 joules. Clear.'

'Do you know if she's got drugs on board?' Rick remained calm as his partner continued squeezing oxygen into Giverny's lungs in between electric shocks. They were a well-rehearsed team, and for them this was just part of a day's work.

Even so, the question threw Anya. It hadn't occurred that the teenager might have used illicit drugs. She had never seemed like a normal adolescent and it had never been appropriate to ask.

'She had been on antidepressants, but as far as I know, she didn't drink or take drugs.'

It suddenly occurred how little Anya really knew about Giverny. She had studied every aspect of the young teenager's wounds and mechanisms of injury. She had asked so many questions about the night of the attack, but they had never really discussed aspects of her life now, apart from how the trial had affected her studies.

'Doctor, could you check the bedroom and bathroom. Just see if there's anything prescription or otherwise? It would be a big help for us to know.'

Anya stepped away as the paramedics continued their emergency protocol.

She returned moments later with a bottle of full paracetamol from the bathroom cupboard, 'Nothing to suggest she overdosed...'

The reality of the scene hit her like a fist to the chest.

'I'm sorry, Doctor,' Rick said, sitting back, checking that damn watch again.

'We have to call it.'

She heard his next words but they were meaningless.

'Time of death, 9.15am.'

He turned to Anya. 'I'm sorry Doc. There's nothing more any of us could have done.' view abbreviated excerpt only...

Discussion Questions

Q1. Was it inevitable that the Harbourn family members would grow up violent?

Q2. When can parental desire to protect children become damaging?

Q3. Was Savannah as guilty as her brothers if she concealed their crimes?

Q4. Should reporting of domestic violence by medical personnel be mandatory?

Q5. What are the consequences of mandatory reporting?

Q6. How can we identify victims like Savannah in our communities?

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by Flick (see profile) 10/28/09

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»	Publisher's Book Info
»	Author Kathryn Fox's web site

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