“I don’t know. I didn’t see it until after the other one starting swearing and screaming, ‘Why did you have to do it? Mum’s going to skin us.’ The other one must have still been in Rachel’s room.
“The man with the mole told him to shut up, that we could have fingered them. That’s when I tried to run for the door but someone grabbed me and slammed me into the wall.”
She pointed to the diagram in her lap. “That was here. I hit my back and couldn’t breathe. The others came out and held me down. The one with the mole told one to pull my jeans off. I tried to fight, but they were too strong. It really hurt but he wouldn’t stop. Then one of the others raped me. That’s when I saw the knife, in my face. I knew they were going to kill me, just like Rachel.”
Sophie faltered and asked for another drink of water. Anya held the cup and felt the tension in the room. No one wanted to put a victim this young through further trauma, but it had to be done, and it might even help Sophie deal with what had happened to her.
“You’re doing really well, take your time,” Anya encouraged.
“After they finished, they let me go. I tried to pull up my jeans, but the one with the mole grabbed the knife and I felt pain in my stomach. I tried to protect myself. But there was more pain in my chest. It was worse. I rolled over and saw blood on the floor. Then I held my breath and pretended to be dead, like when we were kids.”
The detectives looked at each other.
“What did they do?”
Sophie closed her eyes and seemed exhausted. The monitor’s readings had slowed.
Liz and Hayden remained perfectly still, knowing what came next.
“Someone said to leave me, that I was dead anyway. I didn’t look but heard the footsteps going to the front door. Then someone came back, pulled my head up by my hair, and said, ‘This is how you make sure there are no witnesses.’
“I saw the knife flash and heard something tear. I didn’t know my throat was cut until I woke up in here.”
Anya signaled to the detectives to end the interview. Without hesitation, Hayden stood, announced the time and turned off the camera. After the others had left the room Sophie dozed off and Anya stroked her hair for a couple of minutes.
She thought back to the morning in casualty where one surgeon argued that Sophie would not survive an anesthetic, and the emergency doctor rushed to insert drips, give blood transfusions and pack the neck wound. They were concerned that if they tried to move her neck the slightest amount, the fragile veins in her neck would tear.
There was such incredible strength and resilience in this fourteen-year-old. With extensive injuries she had crawled the length of the drive down toward the road, where she had lost consciousness again.
Something about Sophie made everyone want to fight for her, the way she had already done.
If Savannah Harbourn understood what had happened at the Goodwin home that night, she might change her mind and help stop Gary and the brothers from hurting anyone else ever again.
22
With Ben and Martin back home, Anya sat down to the late news with a spinach cannelloni from the local delicatessen. Depressing vision of terrorist attacks in India led the bulletin, followed by doom and gloom forecasts about the latest global financial crisis. Footage of families sleeping in cars accompanied a reporter using cliches like “tough times ahead” and “belt-tightening.”
She ate the meal and scraped every morsel of the cheese sauce from the plate with her fork. If it had been chocolate, she would have happily licked the plate clean while no one was there to watch. One advantage of living alone was that she could eat whatever whenever, even dessert first if she wanted.
Breaking news reported a fatal smash and subsequent road closure. Police in fluorescent vests examined a compacted white vehicle that had crashed head-first into a telephone pole.
A number flashed on the screen, urging witnesses to contact police. Anya immediately felt for the family that would receive a knock on the door with the heartbreaking news, and the police who had to deliver it. Without speed and alcohol, most road trauma could be avoided.
She switched off the television and headed for the kitchen to boil the kettle for a cup of peppermint tea before bed. In the morning she would phone Violet Yardley to see how Savannah was doing. She wanted to give the women a bit of time, without pressuring them too quickly. The doorbell interrupted her thoughts.
Looking through the peephole, Anya saw two uniformed police. Her heart lurched. All she could think of was Ben.
Pulse quickening, she undid the chain and opened the door.
“Anya Crichton?” the junior officer asked.
Anya nodded, her mouth suddenly dry.
“Sorry to disturb you at this hour but you might be able to help us regarding the victim of a fatal accident this evening.”
Anya felt her knees buckle and the senior officer stepped forward. “We’re not here to break bad news,” he quickly added and gave his colleague a scathing look. “We should have made that clear the moment you opened the door.”
He held up one of her cards and she took a long, relieved breath. “There’s been a fatal motor vehicle accident. The deceased female had only a driver’s license and your card in her purse, suggesting you had something to do with her, possibly recently.”
Anya felt her pulse slow and invited the officers inside. It must be about the smash she had seen on the news.
“I’ll help any way I can. Please come in.”
The men removed their caps and wiped their feet before entering.
“Do you know the name of the victim?” Anya asked, offering them a seat in the lounge room.
The junior officer flicked open his notebook as if remembering the name was too difficult. “A Savannah Harbourn of Miller Avenue.”
Anya sat down on the edge of the lounge as if she’d been winded. Only nights before, the young woman had confided about a life of abuse. She was one of the Harbourns’ chronic victims, silent and unrecognized. Now she was dead. Her mind raced back to how frightened Savannah was of being caught telling anyone what had happened.
“Was anyone else hurt?”
“No, ma’am. Did you know Ms. Harbourn?”
That meant Violet wasn’t in the car as well. “I met her once last week and gave her my card.” Anya placed a hand on the lump that was now in her stomach. “What happened?”
“So far we haven’t located any witnesses, the road’s fairly quiet this time of night and poorly lit. The car appears to have been traveling on a straight stretch and hit a tree at high speed. Skid marks suggest she tried to brake suddenly before colliding with the tree.”
The senior officer sat quietly, rotating his cap between his knees. “Can you tell us how and when you came to meet?”
Anya was careful not to mention Violet Yardley but the coroner and pathologist performing the post-mortem would need to know about Savannah’s injuries prior to the crash. “She had been badly beaten and I examined her at the sexual assault unit.”
The note taker scribed. “Had she been raped?”
“No, she was the victim of a violent assault and needed medical attention. Before you ask, she was referred by someone who attended the unit previously but I can’t give you that name.”
The men exchanged glances. “Don’t suppose we could trouble you for a coffee?” The older one asked. “It’s been a long night.”
“I could do with one myself.” Herbal tea would not help now. Anya returned from the kitchen with a tray. She was still stunned by the news of Savannah’s death. The Harbourns were known for sticking together, no matter
