With a spate of highly publicized group assaults, the state government had legislated for mandatory maximum sentences for anyone involved in group rape. So far, multiple male gangs had been convicted. The guilty comprised various ethnicities and social backgrounds. Of course, the media only highlighted cases reflecting racial tensions, but the problem was not limited to one definable group. Far more victims presented to Anya’s unit than the number who made police statements. Violence from the “pack mentality” had been rapidly escalating; whether that was a product of young males and boredom, poor socioeconomic circumstances or a disturbing societal trend wasn’t understood.
Natasha turned her attention to Anya. “I want you to think back carefully. Is there a chance you might not recall the hemorrhages to the face because you were ill that day and suffering from a fever?”
Hayden shot her a glance. Is that why he had asked about her health? She’d assumed he actually cared. Damn him. Her grip on the armrests tightened.
“If you’re suggesting my judgment was clouded because of a temperature, you’re mistaken. My priority was to save that girl’s life. If I’d succeeded, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”
“We all agree on that.” Natasha’s tone was still accusatory. “What I’m saying is that if you have a chance to review your initial police statement while well and temperature-free, is there anything you would like to correct? No one would blame you for making a minor error if you were sick.”
Anya hoped Natasha wasn’t trying to coerce her into changing her statement. Her knuckles whitened with the grip. “You aren’t suggesting I lie?”
“No, but if you recall Giverny Hart’s face having even a few tiny red marks on it, now would be an appropriate time to say so.”
Anya felt tightness in her chest. She looked over at Hayden. “Are you involved in this ambush too?”
Hayden shook his head. “Definitely not. With all respect, Natasha, you’re treading a very thin line here. This could be seen as coercing a witness, and I’m prepared to state that-on the record.”
The prosecutor slapped the desk. “Don’t threaten me. If you people had done your jobs better, Giverny Hart would be alive and those raping bastards would be behind bars for the rest of their natural lives.”
Anya stood, no longer able to control her temper.
“I wish I could tell you exactly what you want to hear to make your case, but I can’t. I don’t remember. All I see is the cord around her neck. Her head was warm-I can tell you that because I cradled her when we struggled to cut the cable loose. I can tell you what her mouth tasted like when I tried to breathe air into her lungs. It was mint flavored, like toothpaste.”
Hayden reached a hand out. Natasha was now on her feet, but Anya hadn’t finished.
“And I can tell you what it felt like when one of her ribs cracked under the heel of my hand. And would you like to hear about the guttural howl her father made when I told him his child was dead?” Anya caught her breath and realized tears were streaming down her cheeks.
She looked at Natasha. She, too, was teary.
Hayden sat with an arm outstretched toward each woman. “I think we should take a minute…and sit back down.” He cleared his throat and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket. Instead of handing it to either woman, he rubbed it backward and forward across both eyes and the tip of his nose.
Anya sat down silently and the prosecutor followed.
“I’m sorry, Anya. This isn’t a witch-hunt and I never wanted to compromise you. I know how hard you tried to save Giverny. You meant a lot to her.”
“It’s common for sexual assault victims to feel close to their doctor” was all Anya could think of to say.
“Right then. If there is nothing to prove Giverny was murdered, I want to reinstate the sexual assault charges, but not yet. We’re better off waiting until we have an iron-clad case because we only get one shot at them for the gang rape. That’s why the charges were dropped for the time being. But to nail the Harbourns I’ll need help from both of you.”
Hayden turned to Anya for her response. Without the key witness, the case was weak and only hearsay. But at that moment there felt like no other option. “Apology accepted. What do you need me to do?”
10
After a welcome-back morning tea at the sexual assault unit, Anya retreated to her office. With so few doctors qualified and willing to be on call, taking leave became an accepted necessity. Despite absences increasing the load for the others, the knowledge and experience doctors brought back from overseas study and casework benefitted them all.
Anya settled in and began checking files from a year or more ago. She remembered a young woman who had presented for an examination and morning-after pill. At the time she had refused to make a police statement and was quiet about the details of the assault. She did, however, let it slip that a group of brothers had “taken turns” forcing her to have sex. One of them had been her boyfriend at the time.
That was the detail that had stuck in Anya’s mind. She suspected that if brothers attacked one of their girlfriends, it was highly likely they had raped other women.
How many months since she had presented? Months blurred together in Anya’s mind. She searched file after file, trying to recall specifics about the case. There had to be a good chance it was the Harbourns involved. There could not be too many sets of brothers raping women, or so Anya hoped.
Natasha Ryder had asked for help identifying any other cases that were “similar pattern” evidence. If she could find another of their victims to testify against the Harbourn brothers, the prosecutor could present a pattern of assaults, thereby strengthening the case against them. Giverny at least deserved that much.
Mary Singer brought a coffee into the physician’s office, edging past a chair to deliver it. Rapidly running out of room in the unit, highest priority were more fridges in which to keep forensic specimens. Often victims chose not to make a police statement immediately following the assault, but had the option to do so later on. Sometimes that meant storing evidence for prolonged periods.
Office areas didn’t rate improvement, especially when they required funding to do so. Anya didn’t really mind. The room was too small for drop-in visitors and no one stayed longer than they had to. Most importantly, the door could be locked so she could work without interruption. As part-time director, hours in the office were limited.
The counselor leaned against the desk, a bench that ran the length of the narrow room. A filing cabinet in the corner filled the space quota after the two chairs. A pile of files lay on the floor, under the desk.
“Don’t tell me you’ve been asked to do an audit?”
“No, but I could while I’m at it. I’m trying to find a case file but can’t remember when the woman presented.”
“Can I help?”
“A young woman, raped by her boyfriend and his brothers.”
“That sounds familiar. Have you checked the rosters for when you were on?”
Anya leaned back in her chair and sipped her coffee. “That’s the problem. I was on just about all the time between the others taking long service leave or maternity leave.
“How about what she looked like?”
“Short, thin, long dark hair. She had a pierced eyebrow but didn’t say much.” It was much easier to remember those details than names because each examination took at least an hour to complete. It wasn’t easy to forget the person.
Mary stared at the floor. “Halloween.”
Anya looked up. “Pardon?”
“Halloween. Try end of October. I remember thinking the girl was dressed as if she’d been to a Halloween party. All black clothes and pale face. Is she the one?”
Mary was right. The woman had been dressed in black and had dark lips, giving her a gothic appearance. Anya flipped through the files to October/November. Nothing.
Then she checked October the year before. Relief filled her as she lifted out the folder.
“Got it! Thanks.”
Mary stood to leave. “I suppose you know that Giverny’s funeral is tomorrow. I’ll be going if you’d like a
