closed, business over for the day.
A tall woman, Natasha had never felt physically intimidated. She strutted with confidence and wouldn’t hesitate to fight back if anyone tried to hurt her. Besides, she always carried Mace just in case she ran into anyone from a case she’d been involved in.
Anya Crichton, on the other hand, was more maternal, the sort of woman men admired but wanted to look after. Even so, she was more resilient than Natasha had expected. She could hold her own in an argument and, in some way, that deserved respect.
She’d also grown up with the trauma of a missing sister and the subsequent media scrutiny. Maybe that gave Crichton her quiet strength. You never knew exactly what she was thinking, or how she would react.
Natasha stopped before the crossing to light another “cancer stick.” One more wouldn’t hurt. It was calming her down, and she had a few more hours’ work on the Harbourn trial tonight.
In her peripheral vision she saw a car slowing, far too early to let her cross. She walked on and saw an elderly man putting out his rubbish. The car still lagged behind.
“Excuse me, could you please tell me the time?”
She put down the briefcase and fiddled with her watch. The old man mentioned the hour and said something about hooligans letting off fireworks nearby. By then the car had passed.
Natasha collected her case and continued on. This trial was beginning to get to her. She was becoming paranoid. At this hour the driver was probably someone who’d drunk too much and didn’t want to attract police attention on the way home.
She turned the corner into her street and startled at the sound of a large
Rummaging through her bag, she ignored her ringing phone, scooped out the keys and opened the front door. Whoever wanted her this late would just have to call back.
Just inside, Minty purred at her feet as she bent down to say hello.
“Hey gorgeous, did you miss me?”
She barely glimpsed the dark shoe behind her. Before she could turn or reach inside her bag, her head was shoved forward and her left arm yanked back, forcing her to her knees. A crack exploded behind her.
32
Still angry with Dan Brody for defending Gary Harbourn, Anya prepared some muesli and banana, sat on the lounge and switched on the television to catch the morning headlines.
How could Dan represent a vicious criminal like Harbourn, even if he had been directed to by the presiding judge? She’d thought Brody’s behavior over his mother’s affair was appalling, but this topped everything. She couldn’t believe William was so conscience-driven and responsible, while his son sought only notoriety and financial gain.
Suddenly Natasha Ryder’s face filled the TV screen. With milk spilling on the floor, Anya groped for the remote control to raise the volume.
Footage switched to a terrace home, then to the Supreme Court building.
The voiceover was deep. “The lawyer was well known for her aggressive style in court, much to the frustration of her opponents. In her spare time, Ryder was a supporter of a literacy campaign for underprivileged children and was known to be a staunch supporter of victims’ rights. In fact, this led to a recent complaint to the Law Society about a conversation she had with a journalist about the erosion of victims’ rights in favor of the accused. The complaint was not upheld.”
God, what had Natasha done? Who had she managed to offend this time? Or had she been in some kind of accident?
Why wouldn’t they say what had happened? Then she realized. The reporter kept referring to Natasha in the past tense.
Anya put down her bowl and grabbed her mobile phone, dialing Kate Farrer. The call went straight to voicemail.
Then the newsreader appeared. “Just repeating, Crown Prosecutor Natasha Ryder has died overnight from a gunshot wound outside her inner city home. Police are appealing for anyone who saw Ms. Ryder, or anything suspicious in the area, to come forward. A $50,000 reward has been posted for information leading to the conviction of her killer. Now we cross live back to our reporter at the hospital. Have the police released any information about how the prominent lawyer died?”
“Yes, Kellie.”
Anya slumped in the lounge. Shot and killed. She suddenly felt numb.
The blonde journalist spoke into a hand-held microphone outside the emergency department.
“They’re planning a formal statement later this morning, but sources inside the hospital tell us that the lawyer was shot as she arrived home last night, around ten o’clock. A neighbor apparently heard a loud noise he thought was fireworks at that time. He was alerted when Ms. Ryder’s house alarm went off. He found her lying on her doorstep and we believe that he called paramedics immediately. Ms. Ryder was pronounced dead on arrival at Western General at 1:10 A.M.”
The anchor appeared again. “Thanks Kellie. It’s a sad day when a champion of the people is gunned down outside her home, when she fought so hard for justice. The streets just don’t seem safe anymore. Let’s hope the police find the killer. Ironic that she put so many murderers behind bars and now is a victim herself. Terrible. Now, on to sport.”
Anya felt her face heat up. It was nothing do with irony. The job
As much as Natasha Ryder could rattle her, Anya couldn’t help but feel deeply saddened by her loss. Her methods may not always have seemed fair, but she was touched by victims and worked damn hard to do the right thing by them and their families.
It was impossible to believe she was now dead. It didn’t seem real. Her mobile phone rang. Kate. She answered after the second ring.
“I just heard about Natasha on the news.”
“We were all pretty shocked when the call came in. Whoever did this made no mistake. It was an execution.”
The detective sounded exhausted.
“Are there any leads? Had anyone threatened her?”
“That’s the trouble. Over the last few years she’s had a lot of threats. Ryder wasn’t exactly popular with defense lawyers and crims alike.”
Natasha had never seemed afraid for her safety and had not discussed death threats. Then again, Anya realized, she really didn’t know the woman that well. They had never discussed anything personal. The closest they came was in the restaurant talking about Giverny Hart.
“Could it have been the Harbourns?”
Kate let out a deep sigh. “We’re starting with them, as well as who’s recently been released from prison and could harbor a grudge. Then there are ex-boyfriends. Some are pretty high-flyers so we’ve got to tread carefully.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“I’m trying to trace her steps in the last few days to see if anyone had been stalking her. If you’ve seen her, you could help fill in some blanks.”
“Of course. I was with her until about five yesterday afternoon.”
Saying those words made Natasha’s death seem unbelievable. Only hours before, they had shared drinks and conversation.
