24
With two separate court appearances in the next two weeks and reports to write, Anya planned to hibernate in her office the rest of the day.
She would review Violet Yardley’s file, in case there was anything that could help the police further. But the first priority was to document everything she could remember about Savannah Harbourn. What she had said, how she had acted, her state of mind, her injuries. From what she had said, her life was spent trying hard not to draw attention to herself.
Violet had even described her as “straight-edged,” drug-and alcohol-free. So the toxicology report should come back negative.
This was a woman who went back to the family home to make sure her younger siblings were being fed, looked after, and even helped with their homework. She feared for what would happen to them if she left.
Anya did, too, now the sisters had lost their only protector.
The broken arm would have been a significant hazard driving, though. Without the strength of one arm, she had little control if she needed to swerve or avoid an accident. That word again. The term “car accident” was completely misleading when most involved substance abuse, speed or breaking road rules-all illegal acts. Working in the morgue had proven that more often than not, innocent people were victim to what was nothing less than criminal behavior.
Paperwork filled the rest of the working day. After a hot bath and a plate of pasta, Anya settled in to watch some television, to get her mind off work and sort through some of the photos from the trip. They’d make a great scrapbook for Ben.
Just before nine, Kate Farrer knocked on the door.
“Slimy bastards!” she said, storming into the hallway with a thick file in her hands.
“Who?” Anya followed Kate to the kitchen.
“The bastard Harbourns. The ringleader, Gary, the one with the mole. He’s admitted himself to a private psychiatric hospital and the shrink there thinks he’s too unwell to be interviewed about Rachel Goodwin’s murder.”
Kate threw down the file, shoved the sleeves on her shirt to her elbows and slapped both hands on the counter.
Anya considered the possibilities. If the police had physical evidence from the scene and Sophie’s statement, it could be a stunt to avoid being arrested. “What’s the reason for admission. Is he claiming to be suicidal or depressed?”
“He’s already going for an insanity defense. He drove himself over there and walked in the door saying he’s hearing voices telling him to hurt people.”
Schizophrenia wasn’t an easy state to fake, although some criminals assumed it was. Anya flicked on the kettle. “You can’t just wake up one day, say you have schizophrenia and deny responsibility for all your actions, it doesn’t work like that.”
“Want to bet? He’s already got one psychiatrist convinced.” Kate stretched and cracked her neck. “This has got to be a bad joke. What are we supposed to tell Ned Goodwin? ‘We know who raped your daughters, killed one and left the other barely breathing, but he’s hiding in a hospital and we can’t get to him.’”
Anya could see Kate’s point of view, but hiding in a psychiatric facility was risky. “You can ask for an independent assessment-”
“That’s why I’m here.”
Anya should have known this wasn’t a social visit. She grabbed two mugs from the cupboard and began to make a pot of tea.
Kate hauled herself up to sit on the bench. “As one of our favorite forensic physicians, the department formally requests you assess Gary Harbourn for any injuries he could have sustained when he attacked the Goodwin girls, and tell us if you think he’s fit to be interviewed.” She grabbed the last apple and placed a card in the now empty fruit bowl. On it was the hospital’s contact details and the name of the treating psychiatrist.
“The doctor says Harbourn’s not going anywhere, so you can go any time tomorrow if that suits.”
“I can do a physical assessment and look for injuries, but my usual role is to make sure a suspect isn’t intoxicated, suffering drug withdrawal or some physical or mental illness that will impair his ability to answer questions at that time. A diagnosis of schizophrenia, even if he has it, doesn’t automatically mean insanity. Incidentally, ‘insanity’ is a legal, not a medical term.”
Kate groaned. “As far as I’m concerned it’s an insult to the victims’ family to have that bastard parading as someone with a real mental illness. He’s gutless and can’t even face up to what he’s done. He’s taking the piss out of all of us. It’s just a bloody great game to him and his family. All you have to do is catch him out faking it.”
Even so, a diagnosis could explain Gary’s rapid escalation in violence. Progressing from thug to rapist was one thing, but as far as they were aware, there had been no gradual increase in aggression in his sexual crimes. More violence could have been a natural progression if each rape didn’t live up to his fantasies, but the number of stab wounds in the Goodwin girls suggested something dramatic had occurred.
“What did the forensics show from the evidence you collected in their home?”
Kate chomped into the apple, juice trickling down her chin, which she caught with the back of her hand. “Gary’s prints were on the knife handle. When questioned, they said that Gary was off his head on drugs and alcohol and Rick and Patrick followed and two of the brothers tried to stop him hurting anyone, but he was too strong. Gotta love the imaginative lies these guys come up with. Oh yeah, and the ‘invisible man’ who mysteriously does all their crimes was at the Goodwin house and raped the girls. The underwear was Rachel’s and both girls’ blood was on the knife. We’ve got Gary but we need to nail down the others. We have three other possible suspects. It’ll come down to whether or not Sophie can ID her attackers, even though she said she didn’t see the face or eyes of at least one of them.”
Anya couldn’t forget what four of the brothers had done to Giverny. “What about the red paint on the kids’ shirt?”
“It came from the same batch as the paint on Giverny’s car. But the best we’ve got is a shirt belonging to Rick that was used while he was in jail. Nothing was stolen from the Hart house so we’ve got nothing but vandalism given the post-mortem findings. Even if we find out who wore that shirt, it wouldn’t be worth prosecuting.”
Kate jumped down and headed for the door, chomping into the apple as she left. With a full mouth she managed, “I’ve got to go. We can tie Gary to Sophie and Rachel with the knife and underwear. Somehow we’ve got to put a wedge between the Harbourn brothers and get one to crack.”
Anya closed and deadlocked the door. At least the department would eventually pay her for the assessment. She poured a cup of strong black tea and traipsed upstairs to change into her pajamas. She returned and curled up on her comfy lounge to read the file Kate had left.
It resembled a hospital file on someone with a lifetime of admissions. A series of charge sheets outlined a litany of offenses. By eighteen, Gary had spent four years in and out of juvenile detention for armed robbery, breaking and entering and assault.
Kate had summarized a number of incidents and outcomes. At eighteen, he was arrested for sexual assault, but was acquitted at trial. The victim suffered from agoraphobia and was terrified of leaving her home. She gave her evidence by video link and had an anxiety attack in front of the jury. According to Kate’s notes, the jury thought she was mentally unstable and an unreliable witness.
It was possible that Gary targeted women with a mental illness. They were among the most vulnerable, and their credibility could be shattered in court, if they were even capable of testifying. It was easy to pick up the basics about psychiatric disorders through prison and defense lawyers.
By nineteen, he was in court again, with Ian, one of his younger brothers. This time the charge was ram-raiding a gun shop with a stolen car. Each claimed they had been framed by a third person, Simon Vine, who had
