Bloodborn (18 page)

The morning the trial began, Anya listened
from the back of the courtroom. Charges against the three accused were read out and each was asked if he was entering a plea. One of the defense lawyers stood and buttoned his suit jacket.

“Your honor, my client, Gary Harbourn, wishes to plead not guilty on the grounds of insanity at the time of the offense.”

The remaining lawyers stood in turn, declaring “not guilty” on behalf of their clients.

Natasha arched her lower back, as if preparing for a physical battle.

Judge Pascoe asked why the Crown intended to prosecute the three accused in the one trial. Despite his wearing glasses, Anya noticed his unnerving squint. The right eye deviated outward when he spoke.

“Your Honor, we intend to argue that in the aggravated sexual assault and attempted murder of Sophie Goodwin, the three accused acted in a joint criminal exercise by committing the offenses together. In doing so, all of the participants are guilty of the same crimes, regardless of the individual parts played.”

The defense lawyers argued for separate trials, no doubt to wear down the key witness. If she faltered or varied testimony over the course of several trials, they would have cause to discredit her. For Sophie’s sake, Anya hoped there would be only one. Repeated examination and cross-examination on the stand was more than any victim, particularly one who had suffered so much, should endure.

Pascoe licked his top teeth. “In the interests of justice, I am granting the request to have a separate trial for Gary Harbourn. Rick and Patrick Harbourn will be tried together.”

Natasha stood and objected. “Your Honor, we strongly object to separate trials. For the key witness, the possibility of appearing in separate trials will be devastating. She remains in intensive care following the attacks and is clearly traumatized by the violence perpetrated against her and the murder of her sister.”

“I have made my decision,” Pascoe announced. “First on the agenda will be Gary Harbourn.”

Before Natasha had a chance to respond, Pascoe turned to the bailiff. “You may excuse the other defendants and bring the jury panel in.”

Before the pool of potential jurors entered, the judge turned to Natasha. “Ms. Ryder, I expect women in my courtroom to dress appropriately. You will wear a knee-length skirt when you next appear before me, not trousers as you are wearing today.”

Natasha turned to her assisting attorney who widened his eyes in surprise.

Anya chose to leave the courtroom then, bowing first to the judge before exiting. She couldn’t believe that Pascoe could be so brazen in his sexism. Mind you, she had seen senior surgeons behave the same way to junior female doctors, demanding they wear skirts for ward rounds. Equality still had a long way to go in the legal and medical professions. It didn’t make his comments any less offensive.

Anya’s phone rang as soon as she turned it back on; it was Dan wondering if she’d been to visit his father again. Anya felt bad about it, but she hadn’t been able to fit it in yet. She told him about the trial starting.

“Who’s your judge?” Dan asked.

Anya answered and his prolonged silence said more than she wanted to know.

“I have managed to avoid him so far, but he and Dad had some kind of run-in years ago. There’s no love lost between them now.”

Anya promised to visit Dan’s father very soon and explained she had to go.

Kate Farrer met her outside. “Are they stalling or going ahead?”

“They’re starting on the jury pool.”

Kate punched the air. “I was worried. Pascoe is hard on police and prosecutors. Knowing the Harbourns, I was sure they’d use every possible trick to stall again.”

“He ordered separate trials for Gary and the others.”

Kate’s elation was short-lived. “Can’t he see what that’ll do to Sophie?”

“I’m not sure. Natasha has to prove Gary’s malingering and has never suffered from a psychotic episode.”

Just then the prosecutor came out of the courtroom.

“We’ve got a ten-minute recess. One of the jury panel’s absconded,” she said, pacing on the gravel outside the Supreme Court. She ignored cameras standing by, looking for the day’s scoop.

“I’ll need you in there, Anya, as first witness. I want you to give your evidence while the jury’s fresh, and brace them for what they’ll see in Sophie’s first statement. We’ll play the tape before setting up the video link with her hospital room.”

“Why separate the trials?” Kate pressed.

The prosecutor glanced around before answering. “Pascoe’s not far from retirement and my guess is he’s going to give the defense a loose rein, to limit their chances of appeal. That way he’ll finish up with a clean slate. That’ll be pretty tough on us. We’ll have to prove the case beyond any possible doubt.”

Kate glanced at Anya and knew she was on notice. No stuff-ups or mistakes.

“I’ll need you tomorrow, Kate, all things proceeding,” Natasha added. “Make sure everything you found on that search warrant is within the terms of reference and legal. Anything less than kosher and the case will be thrown out of court. If the Harbourns get an acquittal, we fail and they walk away, immune from further prosecution for what they did to Rachel and Sophie.”

After opening arguments, Anya took
the stand and swore the truth oath. Natasha asked her to define her professional qualifications.

Gary Harbourn’s lawyer, Joseph Stilton, interjected, “Your Honor, we accept the witness is an expert in the field of forensic medicine.”

This was a common tactic employed when the defense didn’t want the jury to hear the full extent of an expert witness’s qualifications and experience.

Anya looked across at the jury, comprising five women and seven men, all watching her intently.

Natasha continued, “Can you please tell me how many clinical vaginal examinations you have performed?”

“Through work at sexual assault units here and in England, I’ve seen over nine hundred alleged sexual assault victims. Prior to that, I reported vaginal injuries on over eighty female homicide victims who had been sexually assaulted.”

“In your own words,” Natasha stood firmly behind the bar table, “could you please tell us what you found when you attended the homicide scene and observed Rachel Goodwin’s body?”

Anya made eye contact with the prosecutor and described what she had seen when she arrived at the Goodwin home the morning after Rachel’s murder. She observed two jurors taking notes, while a middle-aged woman winced when she described the naked young woman and the way she had been tied to the blood-soaked bed.

“I’d ask you, Doctor, to read from the post-mortem report and explain the injuries for the benefit of the jury.”

Anya read the description of tears, lacerations and large contusions, and simplified descriptions and explanations of the terms.

Natasha moved forward and pulled back a sheet from a chart.

Anya was given permission to step down and describe the extent of the external and internal injuries.

“And in your opinion were these injuries caused by consensual or nonconsensual intercourse?”

Rachel’s injuries and vaginal tears were most probably the worst she had seen. “I believe that these injuries were caused by nonconsensual sexual intercourse.”

Stilton objected. “The doctor was not present and is in no position to state whether the bruising occurred without consent. Plenty of people within the population participate in vigorous consensual sex.”

Some snickers came from the public gallery. Anya noticed Noelene Harbourn cover her mouth with one hand as if shocked. With the other, she pulled the pre-teen daughter beside her to her breast, blocking her ears from the supposed vulgarity.

It seemed ridiculous that the description of the injuries didn’t shock her enough to protect her daughter, but mention of sex did. It was obviously meant to suggest that Gary Harbourn came from a sheltered home, with an innocent and protective mother. What else but insanity would drive him to commit such a horrible crime? She was playing to the jury at every opportunity.

The judge immediately asked the jury to be excused for legal arguments.

Once they had filed out, Pascoe turned to Anya. “Doctor, I don’t believe that you can unequivocally state that these vaginal injuries could only have been caused by nonconsensual intercourse. Mr. Stilton has a point.”

Anya glanced at Natasha in disbelief. She was unsure where the judge was going with this.

Stilton interjected again. “Your honor, consent is an issue that is yet to be established in this case. And one that the deceased is not in a position to verify. The suggestion that nonconsensual intercourse took place is highly prejudicial to my client.”

“Your Honor,” Natasha said, “Rachel Goodwin did not consent to being stabbed multiple times or murdered. We accept that as fact. In terms of nonconsensual intercourse, the witness is expressing an opinion based on the severity of injuries. The defense has accepted she is an expert in this area and, as such, perfectly qualified to provide that opinion.”

“Your Honor,” Anya tried to appease his desire for semantics, “these sorts of injuries are more commonly seen in rape cases. I have never seen anyone with injuries like this sustained from consensual intercourse.”

The defense lawyer wasted no time. “Again, Your Honor, I am concerned by the issue of nonconsensual sex. This is an erroneous argument because women sustaining those types of injuries following consensual injuries would not seek out Doctor Crichton’s medical expertise.”

Anya chose her words carefully. “I liaise with casualty and emergency departments and have worked in those areas over many years. Never have I seen injuries like this, which would require urgent medical treatment for anyone participating in consensual intercourse.”

The judge scratched his broad nose. “This troubles me. A jury will be swayed by your opinion, and yet you have failed to prove beyond reasonable doubt that every one of these injuries would have occurred solely without consent.”

Natasha Ryder placed her hands on the bar table, fingers splayed. “The severity of the injuries must be evidence in itself of nonconsent. They would have caused significant pain, which would have compelled the victim to request any consensual activity to stop. In other words, this degree of pain would lead to withdrawal of consent if it had in fact been prior given.”

“That doesn’t necessarily follow,” Stilton declared. “Otherwise there would be no industry in sadomasochism.”

After a further half-hour of debate, the jurors were allowed back in.

Natasha compromised by altering her original question.

“Were the injuries you saw on the body of Rachel Goodwin consistent with nonconsensual activities?”

“Yes, the genital injuries were consistent with an absence of consent, as were the stab wounds to her torso and abdomen.”

“Could the sexual injuries have been self-inflicted, for example by attempts at self-stimulation?”

“Not with the victim’s hands tied tightly to the bed.”

Someone in the gallery scoffed and drew the ire of the judge’s good eye.

“Have you ever seen a sexual assault victim survive with the severity of injuries you described on Rachel Goodwin?”

“No, I have not.”

It was the best Natasha could do. She had planted the notion of rape strongly in the minds of the jurors. Motive was important to establish, and a sex crime provided a motive to permanently silence the victim. It also provided the opportunity to introduce previous histories of rape, if they fitted within the bounds of similar pattern evidence.

Despite the surprising challenge of the judge, who seemed to be guided by the defense, Anya hoped that Natasha had scored a major win for the prosecution.

“Pascoe may be preventing grounds for an appeal, but he’s going to make my life hell for the next few months,” she said, as they left the courtroom for the day. “Fancy a drink?”

Anya had found the testimony grueling. She hoped the rest of the trial would be smoother.

“Just one. I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on.”

They walked across the road into a cafe and sat at the bar. Court finishing at four o’clock meant plenty of seats were available inside. Natasha flicked her hair off her shoulder and removed her glasses. “A gin and tonic and…”

“Lemon, lime and bitters, thanks.”

Natasha paid with a credit card before the pair chose a table at the window, out of hearing range of other diners.

Anya spoke first. The rash on her chest and neck was fading, but her disbelief at what had occurred in the courtroom had not. She felt like breaking something. Anything.

“How are the victim’s family and friends meant to feel, hearing that garbage about painful sex? And poor Bevan Hart, I saw him in there as well.”

“Afraid I suggested he come along, given the charges involving his daughter’s assault are temporarily on hold. He knows that if we get this conviction, there’s a better chance of successfully prosecuting them for Giverny’s rape.”

The drinks arrived and Anya placed hers on a coaster.

“I can’t believe Pascoe supported the defense. Is he going to sit back and let Stilton suggest that Rachel injured herself masturbating, then Sophie came in, tied her sister up and stabbed her multiple times? Oh yeah, then went outside, interfered with herself and cut her own throat.”

“Maybe Stilton’s hedging his bets to get Harbourn acquitted, in case diminished responsibility fails. I wouldn’t put anything past Pascoe. Being one-eyed isn’t just physical with him.”

Anya glanced around to make sure no one was listening. Mocking a judge within earshot of other lawyers wasn’t a wise move.

“Was he seriously supporting the concept that pain and sex are compatible?”

“Afraid so. He always gives the defense much more room than us, even if it means the victim is violated over again.”

Anya wondered how long it would be before judges with archaic views, many of whom seemed far removed from modern reality, would die out. “Judges like Pascoe are on borrowed time. He’s close to retirement.”

She sipped her drink and noticed a well-dressed man at the bar watching Natasha.

“Not our old ‘Unsinkable.’ Philip Pascoe would have survived the
Titanic.
With his archaic attitudes to women, he probably did.”

“Why Unsinkable?”

“Apparently he survived a rare childhood cancer and lost that eye.” She ticked off on her fingers. “Then he was in a car accident years ago that completely mangled the car, but he walked away without a scratch. He’s just back from time off. He had part of his leg amputated for some obscure kind of bone cancer. Old boy looks stronger than ever. If you ask me, he’s got some deal going with the devil.” She took a sip from her gin and tonic.

People in suits filed into the cafe. A man Anya had noticed greeted some of the newcomers but kept an eye on Natasha in between conversations and bouts of laughter.

“Do you know the guy at the bar, dark suit, silver tie?”

Natasha looked around. “Met him once or twice. From what I hear he’s a pretty good litigator.”

“Well, he’s been watching you since he got here.”

“Really?” Natasha finished her drink, pulled a compact out of her purse and fiddled with her hair.

As if on cue, the lawyer approached their table and offered to buy them a round.

Natasha smiled and gestured for the man to take a seat. Anya waited for an introduction, but suspected the prosecutor didn’t remember his name. He reeked of cigarette smoke, and that alone would have been enough to put Anya off staying.

Still fuming from the judge’s comments, she grabbed her bag and stood to excuse herself. There had to be another way to make the judge and jury see sense.

At that moment Natasha’s phone rang. After muttering “Yes,” then “No,” then “Right,” she hung up and gave a wry grin.

“Who’d have thought? Harbourn must have figured he took a decent hit today. He’s just fired his lawyer. We’ll find out in the morning if the trial’s on hold.”

For someone claiming diminished responsibility, Gary Harbourn was proving pretty adept at using the system to his advantage, holed up in a cushy private psych hospital instead of prison while he delayed the trial with legal games.

Anya left, wondering how she could support a system that catered to the Harbourns at the expense of people like the Harts and Goodwins and lauded judges like Pascoe.

She thought about Natasha’s comments about the unsinkable judge and decided what she had to do.

Outside the cafe, she dialed Dan Brody’s number. The call went to voicemail.

“Anya here, please call me as soon as you get this, it’s urgent.”

She noticed a message from Hayden Richards. Damn. Her phone was still on silent after court.

There had been a female sexual assault. She pulled out a notepad to document the address and recognized the street name. It was Saint Stephen’s Private Clinic.