Blood Born

committed the robbery and planted guns at their home. The complete cache was never retrieved.

A witness said one of the men had a beard during the robbery, but couldn’t identify Gary or his brother, who Kate had noted were both clean-shaven for the court appearance.

Despite the doubt, Gary was convicted and served eighteen months. Ian Harbourn spent seven months in prison.

Anya rubbed her eyes. The words began to blur, with charges and trials all reading alike. Simon Vine was named as the mastermind in most of the family’s crimes, but the police had been unable to locate anyone by that name. She doubted they ever would. This was Kate’s “invisible man.”

Flicking through the medical history proved more interesting. Four years prior, Gary was admitted to the same psych facility for depression and suicidal ideation, claiming fugue-like episodes in which he supposedly “lost” periods of time.

This defense failed when he used it to fight a charge of grievous bodily harm. He had bashed a former employer with a baseball bat, and set fire to his business. She underlined the words baseball bat.

Anya recalled what Savannah had said. The night she was beaten, Gary wanted her to find the baseball bat and then flew into a rage when he found out two of the brothers had taken it out. The bat was for bashing victims. Ironically, the fact that the brothers had taken it might just have saved Savannah from being killed by Gary, who had only his fists and feet to lash out with. Then again, if the bat were home, Savannah may never have been hit at all. That night.

The episode with the employer scored him a four-year sentence, of which he served two. The record stated that he had agreed to be treated with antidepressants and attend regular counseling and anger management sessions in jail. Anya suspected it was a criminal’s career move, bargaining for a more lenient sentence.

She dropped the pen on the floor and put the papers back into the file. It was almost incomprehensible how many times family members had been in and out of prison with short penalties given the severity of the crimes. They were beyond rehabilitation. And yet had all been released, to rape, torture and kill without any fear of the consequences. No wonder they weren’t threatened by the justice system.

The pendulum had swung in favor of offenders, to the detriment of victims. By benefiting recidivists like the Harbourns, it had failed to protect Giverny Hart or the Goodwin sisters and even one of their own, Savannah. She couldn’t begin to estimate the number of people who continued to be affected by their crimes.

Despite being limited in the scope of her interview and examination, if Gary was faking psychosis she was determined to catch him.

25

The following morning, Anya arrived at Saint Stephen’s Private Clinic. The entrance, with its marbled floors and floral centerpiece, resembled an expensive hotel rather than an acute psych facility.

The “client liaison officer” sat at a desk and greeted her. Within minutes of being buzzed, Doctor Kyle Temple appeared in the foyer. No white coat in sight, the young psychiatrist wore an open-neck business shirt and tailored trousers.

He extended his hand. “I hoped we might have a brief chat before you see our patient.”

Our patient? she thought. This was a short assessment to determine whether Gary Harbourn had physical injuries to connect him to the Goodwins. Her questions would be limited, and in the presence of a member of staff. She had no role in his management.

They headed along a corridor that featured an indoor rainforest along one side and the piped sound of birds punctuated by a rhythm of flowing water. Presumably the rainforest provided a calm and private environment, but Anya was struck by how extravagant the setting was, and how expensive it must be to maintain. With the state of public psychiatric wards, this place must have a long waiting list for admission.

She wondered how Gary Harbourn could afford to stay here, or how he had managed to secure a bed at short notice. Drugs, robberies and standover tactics were clearly more profitable than unemployment benefits.

They walked past an empty communal area with a large plasma screen television. That room was empty. Further along was a double door marked Theaterette.

“We have a holistic approach to treatment and try to give our clients the most relaxing, least pressured routine. In the evenings we show movies and encourage families to come along on themed weekends.”

The place was more like a luxury resort than a mental health facility.

“This is quite impressive. How many beds do you have?”

The doctor ran his hands through his fringe and smiled. “We can accommodate up to seventy, but at the moment we’ve thirty-one inpatients partaking in programs which include alcohol and substance abuse, eating disorders, self-harm, post-traumatic stress disorder and depression. Then, of course, we have our section for those with acute psychosis. Naturally, a large part of our business comprises regular outpatients, often after an intensive program.”

They passed a glassed area comprising a gymnasium and massage therapy center. A man and a woman worked out on treadmills to the sound of Britney Spears.

“The economic downturn and increased unemployment rates have left many people reconsidering private health insurance, but we refuse to cut back our services. Our programs achieve excellent results.”

Whoever believed crime didn’t pay should have visited Gary Harbourn in this luxurious setting.

Doctor Temple stopped at a door and scanned his ID. They entered the consulting room, which contained a desk and office chair, an examination bed behind a curtain and two armchairs facing each other. The psychiatrist chose to sit at the desk, as if interviewing Anya. So much for the brief chat.

“I’ve treated Gary Harbourn for a couple of years now and am very familiar with his case. This latest tragedy, the death of his sister, has really rocked him. He isn’t coping well at all.”

Having been through the extensive file last night, Anya felt familiar with his history as well. “Am I able to see him?”

“Yes, of course, but there are some things that concern me about the timing of your visit. At the moment he is in a very fragile state.”

“In what way?” Anya was interested to hear about Gary’s behavior up until now, and the doctor’s reasons for concern about her presence.

“He was brought here by his mother the night before last in a terrible state, around three in the morning. He had felt under stress, it seems, and had smoked a fair amount of cannabis and drunk a lot of alcohol over the preceding weeks. He had also neglected to take his antidepressants over this period.” The doctor swept his hair to one side. “As you know, the combination of a pre-existing mental illness and intoxication can precipitate a psychotic episode. When he arrived he was talking about voices in his head telling him to kill women. He was convinced that he would harm someone so his mother brought him in.”

The timing of the admission coincided with Savannah’s death and anyone would have been stressed facing a litany of charges beginning with homicide. Anya nodded, keen to let the doctor share his opinion and the diagnosis he had made for Gary Harbourn.

He placed his elbows on the desk and clasped his fingers beneath his chin. “This is a very troubled man. There is a childhood history of physical abuse compounded by the nightmares he still has about seeing his father’s body covered in blood in their living room.”

Doctor Temple paused, presumably to test Anya’s reaction. She needed to stay objective and be seen as such. She did not respond.

“Gary’s stepfather was stabbed to death, you know.”

Anya knew. Noelene Harbourn had never been charged because the family all touched the murder weapon and no one could refute her statement about being abused by the victim or her having to save herself and the children. “I’m aware of the family background.”

“Forgive me, but I checked you on the internet. You’re a forensic pathologist turned physician, so you cannot be expected to know all the subtle psychometric consequences of such a traumatic event. To a child, even if his mother killed in self-defense, this was an enormous betrayal of love, and one he was always unlikely to recover