from. The relationship with his mother is complex and she continues to have inordinate control over all her children.”
Anya hoped he couldn’t read what she was thinking. The siblings had conspired with their mother to disturb the crime scene. Gary would have known right from wrong even back then.
His mother didn’t make him rape Giverny, nor make him mutilate and kill Rachel Goodwin. Why did this psychiatrist have complete disregard for the victims? Gary Harbourn was a violent perpetrator. Sophie and her father and the Hart parents were the real victims. She moved in the seat, checking her watch, hoping he would let her see Harbourn now.
If Doctor Temple noticed her sense of urgency, he ignored it.
“Gary’s history of recurrent crime is textbook. He has been sexually and physically traumatized in prison and even refers to sex in terms of either prison-style or free-style.
“He is incapable of holding down a job and demonstrates numerous signs of antisocial personality disorder on top of his depression and drug-induced psychosis.”
The counterargument was that he couldn’t hold down a job because he kept being imprisoned for criminal acts and he had burned down the business of a former employer.
Anya always knew that a large number of people in prison had antisocial personality disorder, so it wasn’t a reason to avoid prosecution. Nor was low intelligence or psychiatric illness. If that were the case, prisons would be virtually empty.
“Do you think there is any chance he could be feigning psychosis?”
Doctor Temple scraped his fringe to the side again. “I’m sure you are aware of studies in which psychology students were briefed to enter public hospitals claiming to be hearing voices.”
He used the term “public” with a hint of disdain.
“They were all caught out as fraudulent by the psychiatrists before they could gain admission. In fact, it’s extremely difficult to fake psychosis.”
Anya had read other studies in which students were admitted because they heard voices but displayed no psychiatric symptoms once in the hospital. In those instances, psychiatrists failed to diagnose the normal behavior they exhibited. The other inpatients recognized the fraudsters, but the staff continued to document all behavior as abnormal, reinforcing the diagnosis.
The field of psychiatry was reasonably subjective, which left room for manipulation by people like the Harbourns. Another reason why Anya preferred pathology.
Deciding not to challenge Doctor Temple, she nodded. “May I see Gary now?”
Seemingly pleased that he had argued his case on behalf of his patient, the doctor stood up. “He’s learning how to use the computer but I’ll bring him back here.”
As Anya waited she glanced around the room and noticed two framed panoramic prints of wilderness icons- Half-Dome at Yosemite and Rocky Mountain National Park-two of the most picturesque places in the world.
A few minutes later there was a knock on the door and Doctor Temple returned with a thickset man dressed in jeans, T-shirt and larger-than-needed slippers. Both feet were bandaged and he limped into the room.
“I’m Doctor Crichton.” Anya stood. “Please take a seat.”
Gary Harbourn tentatively moved to the spare chair and turned back to Doctor Temple. “Is it safe for her to be here with me? I don’t want to hurt anyone.” He spoke like a frightened child.
“It’s okay, Gary, the medication is starting to work. I’ll stay in case you need me.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Gary said and sat. He bowed his head and stared at his knees.
“Do you know why I’m here?” Anya asked.
“You think I’m insane and am going to hurt people. You want to lock me up in jail.” His hands began to shake and he clamped them between his thighs.
Anya glanced at the ceiling corners and lights, wondering if the interview was being monitored or recorded. There was no sign of a camera.
“I’m here to have a look at you. There are some police who would like to have a chat with you when you feel better. I need to check you out to see if you’ve been hurt recently.”
The hands shook uncontrollably, even between his legs.
“What happened to your feet?” she tried.
“I cut them. The voice was telling me to hurt people. It wouldn’t stop ordering me to hurt…” he looked across at Anya for an instant, “…women.” His gaze returned to his lap. “So I cut them to stop me from getting away from the doctors here.”
“May I see how they’re healing?” Anya tried to sound sympathetic. Temple was listening. She didn’t want to appear combative in any way. This interview had to be unbiased.
Gary Harbourn unwrapped one bandage, hands struggling to cope with the simple task. He tried to cross one leg to show the sole of the foot and took two attempts before managing it. She wondered how he had coped with a computer keyboard before their meeting.
Spontaneously he announced, “The Bible says that if your eye causes you to sin, cut it out; it is better for you to enter the kingdom of God with one eye than keep the bad eye and be cast into hell.”
Anya wondered if that was an admission to killing Savannah. She tried not to show any reaction, even if he had misquoted the passage.
“What do you think that refers to?” she asked, still looking at the feet.
“You can’t die for a cause unless you’re prepared to kill for it.”
That wasn’t exactly Anya’s interpretation. She documented the comment.
Although Gary Harbourn had multiple horizontal lacerations to his foot, none was deep enough to warrant stitches. In other words, they were all superficial and parallel, which would have been difficult to achieve with a genuine hand tremor.
“Can you tell me why you think you might hurt someone?”
Gary stared at her with dark cold eyes, the ones Sophie had described.
“It’s the voice in my head. He keeps telling me to do bad things.”
“Can you tell me a little about the voices. Do you know who is talking to you? What do they sound like?”
“It’s always the same. My stepfather. He’s telling me to kill women. Stab them, cut their throats before they kill us both. Can you make him stop?”
Anya studied his face, trying to see a smirk, or anything to suggest Gary was faking his symptoms. “Do you know what happened to your father?”
He hesitated before answering. “He’s inside my head. He says I’m the only way he can stay alive.”
“Do you see him?” She hoped he would try to describe extravagant hallucinations and slip up, overdoing the symptoms and detail.
“Sometimes.”
“Does he appear to you in color or black and white?”
Gary’s tremor stopped. He appeared stumped for a few moments. “No one’s asked me that before. Why do you want to know?”
“Just curious,” she said, aware she had rattled him.
“I can’t remember.”
“Can you hear his voice now?”
His little boy tone disappeared, replaced with a deeper, more controlled voice. “He doesn’t like you. He thinks I should hurt you because you’re out to get us.”
Anya ignored the threat. “Doctor Temple mentioned that you were improving on medication. I’d like to ask you a few questions and I need you to give me honest answers.”
Gary nodded. “I want to help.”
Anya moved forward to examine his arms, chest, back, hands neck and legs. There were no signs of scratches or bruising. He was clean and there was unlikely to be any evidence left from the night at the Goodwins on his body.
“Can you recall the night you had the street party after being released from prison?”
Gary shook his head and the hand shaking returned. “All I remember is having some drinks and smoking a couple of cones. After that, it’s all blank.”
Anya let a silence hang between them, choosing to observe overtly while taking notes. He didn’t take the
