Bloodborn (24 page)

Bevan Hart was on top of her, and would
not move. She felt pain around her stomach. Brody and a police officer rushed to pull him off her, and he didn’t resist. They laid him to the side while two others pointed weapons, ready to fire.

Anya’s pain eased as she clutched Bevan’s gun against herself, relieved it was no longer digging into her from the owner’s weight. She slowly sat up. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed Dan peeling off his tie to use as a tourniquet for the judge’s leg.

To her side Bevan Hart struggled to breathe.

“Get the paramedics,” she yelled, desperate to help.

Blood poured from a gaping wound in the middle of his abdomen. Penny Pascoe knelt on his other side. “I was a nurse. What can I do to help?”

Anya glanced across. From the degree of blood loss, there was little anyone could do without fluids and intravenous access. “Do you have any towels, something to put pressure on with?”

The judge’s wife immediately pulled off her skirt, exposing a half-slip. “Will this help?”

“Thanks,” Anya pushed hard into the wound. “An ambulance is coming. Just hang on, Bevan.”

He was agitated and tried to push her hands away.

“This will help stop the bleeding,” she said.

“Please,” he managed. “Let me go.”

Anya heard him but refused to believe he meant what he was saying. She had failed to save his daughter but wouldn’t fail him.

She pressed harder and he winced, moving his head from side to side.

“No, no more. I want to die.” he whispered. “Giverny is here.”

She continued to apply pressure but Mrs. Pascoe bent over the man’s face.

“Bevan, do you see her?”

He nodded.

“Is she happy?”

He smiled broadly.

“He’s about to pass,” she said, one hand stroking his cheek. The other hand rested over Anya’s.

Bevan gasped and expelled his last breath. Still with a smile.

Two ambulance officers pushed past the police and bent down to examine their patient.

“It’s too late,” Mrs. Pascoe said, “he’s gone.”

One checked for a pulse and the other tore open the shirt and attached ECG dots to a portable machine.

The line on the monitor was flat. “No pulse, no spontaneous breathing, he’s lost a lot of blood.”

Anya and Mrs. Pascoe stepped back as they worked through their protocol, pushing fluids into a vein, still trying to find a heartbeat, even trying to shock it into motion.

Anya was unaware of anything or anybody else in the room. Just the tragedy of Bevan Hart. First Giverny, then Natasha and Savannah, all dead, all unnecessarily.

Mrs. Pascoe placed an arm around her shoulder. “He’s at peace now, I felt him go.”

Anya excused herself and moved between two rows of bottles for some space. One of the officers removed an envelope from Bevan’s jacket.

“Looks like a suicide note,” he said, gloved hands unfolding the lower half.

Judge Pascoe was being tended to by one of the ambulance officers. “Do we need to hear the ravings of a vigilante?”

“Wait,” Anya said. “I think we should all hear it.”

The officer continued reading aloud.

The room fell quiet. Bevan Hart was no longer a maniac who broke into a judge’s house with a gun. This was a grieving father with a genuine reason to be distraught. It was never going to end well. His daughter’s final words would haunt them all.

Anya now understood why she hadn’t remembered petechial hemorrhages on Giverny’s face. They weren’t there. Giverny had killed herself, without anyone else present. She flashed back to that morning. Bevan Hart had been to the bedroom before finding his daughter. He could have picked up the note and hidden it from them. From his point of view, the Harbourns had driven her to suicide, helped along by judges, lawyers, and Savannah’s forced silence.

No one involved had won a thing, so far. Except the ones who were responsible for the entire chain of events.

The Harbourn brothers.

The following morning Anya stood with
Dan Brody in Judge Pascoe’s private chambers.

They expected him to excuse himself from the trial, even though the damage to his leg was superficial.

He sat in a brown leather chair, behind a walnut desk. He did not invite either of them to sit.

“I will not discuss the events at my home last evening. I believe they are irrelevant to this trial.”

Dan stood in a relaxed position, although from the way he was wringing his hands he was anything but comfortable. Anya wasn’t sure whether she was here to chaperone or act as a witness.

“In reference to the issue of your accusations, if you repeat your ridiculous claims I’ll sue you for defamation. You have no proof of nonconsensual activity, and DNA merely confirms relations took place, which I do not deny. This will be the end of the matter.”

“Well then, Your Honor, I formally request to be excused from this trial on the grounds of personal conflict.”

The judge placed his hands downward on the edge of the desk.

“I believe I just explained the situation. What possible grounds do you think you have?”

“Well, Your Honor, I believe you are the father of my late sister and that could be viewed as a form of nepotism. I therefore feel it’s unethical for me to continue.”

Pascoe slammed a book down on the desk.

“Nepotism? My boy, I could charge you with contempt of court. Your client has pleaded insanity at the time of the crime for which he is accused. If you lose, and the insanity plea is rejected, your client is entitled to appeal. Your duty is to comply with your client’s wishes, and defend him to the best of your ability. Anything less and I’ll have your arse in a sling. You will not be excused from this trial.”

Dan tensed and Anya thought he was about to strike the judge again. Thankfully, he seemed to have more control this morning and resisted the urge.

“Your Honor, I have advised my client against the insanity defense. I don’t believe it’s in his best interests; however, he insists that’s what he wants. My client is refusing my instructions, which are based on the best of my experience and knowledge.”

“In that case, you will represent your client by complying with all of his wishes. Do I make myself clear?”

Dan didn’t answer.

“Doctor Crichton.”

“Yes, Your Honor.” Her mouth was dry. This was worse than being in the principal’s office, not that she’d ever been in trouble at school. But a hostile judge could make her testimony in any trial detrimental to a case. Lawyers might then consider her too high a risk as an expert witness and her work would quickly dry up. Her pulse raced and she felt a rash develop on the back of her neck. She despised this man, for what he did to Therese Brody, to his wife, and for the way he dismissed Bevan Hart’s reasons for what he did. Right now wasn’t the time to show it, though.

“You will remain a witness and I’ll permit Mr. Brody to call on you if you have an expert opinion that is relevant to the case. Again, if you repeat the ridiculous allegations against me, by the time I’m finished with you, you won’t have either an ounce of credibility or a cent to your name.”

Anya felt the rash heat as her anger rose. This man was abusing his power to threaten her, even after she’d tried to save him last night. She felt even angrier that Bevan Hart had died in front of him, and he wouldn’t even make reference to it.

“Do we all understand each other?”

Dan and Anya exchanged glances and muttered through near closed teeth, “Yes, Your Honor.”

Outside the chambers and courtrooms, Dan remained remarkably calm, while Anya began to seethe.

“He’s a rapist and a wife-beater, and he threatens us on ethics and credibility. Can he do that?”

Dan rubbed his chin. “If you don’t want to be charged with going around to his home, threatening him and assaulting him, yep, he can.”

“But you hit him! I tried to stop you.”

Dan tried to place his hands on her shoulders, but she pushed him away. “He’s going to make damn sure the Harbourns get acquitted and it’s because of us. What’s that going to do to Sophie Goodwin and her family? God, it’s just like Bevan Hart said. This is criminal.”

“Let’s think for a minute. He’s making me defend Gary Harbourn, who wants to plead insanity. Why?”

“Because then his sentence is dependent on some psychiatrist saying he’s on medication and is no longer insane. Easy, soft option. He’ll get the sexual assault charges dropped, because he thinks every girl consents to sex with any group of strange men. Water down the charges and insanity quickly becomes a soft option.”

“Or does it?”

Anya stopped pacing and looked up at the lawyer. “What do you mean? You have that sinister look you get just before you go in for the kill.”

“Trust me. I’m going to do exactly what Pascoe ordered. Are you with me?”

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.