by Kathryn Fox
A nurse sat at a mobile desk covered in a broadsheet filled with details about oxygen levels, urine output, fluid intake and blood test results.
“Mr. Goodwin, I’m Anya Crichton, the forensic physician.”
The man let go of his daughter and wrapped both hands around Anya’s.
“Please call me Ned. Thank you for coming to see Sophie. I heard you’ve been checking on her but were respectful of our privacy.”
Anya didn’t have the heart to explain that she hadn’t known how to face him, and with his surviving daughter unlikely to live, she had simply avoided any meeting as long as she could.
“How’s she doing?”
Sophie lay semi-upright in the bed, covers pulled up to her armpits. The blood pressure and heart rate monitors showed stable signs, as did the pulse oximeter on her finger. Anya noticed the girl’s petite hands and realized how hard she had fought to stave off her attacker. Every nail had been broken, but someone, probably one of the nurses, had filed them as a less obvious reminder. Defense injuries on her arms were covered with bandages, but she seemed even smaller and more fragile than the morning in emergency.
The medal and chain were wrapped around one wrist, placed carefully so as not to disturb intravenous equipment. Not exactly protocol for a unit obsessed with infection control and sterility, but the staff had made an exception for Sophie.
On the mobile drawers sat a photo of the sisters, presumably with their late mother. The life in each one sparkled in the image.
“She woke up and squeezed my hand a while ago, then went back to sleep. Every now and then she looks up to make sure I’m still here.” Ned reached over and stroked his daughter’s forehead. She opened her eyes and he beamed.
“Darling, I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe and a lovely doctor’s come to see you.”
The girl’s eyes moved to Anya. Her mouth moved and it looked like she was saying “Hello.”
“The special Saint Jude medal came from one of the ambulance officers who saved your life. I just made sure it stayed with you, which I can see it has.”
“And for that we’re grateful. The priest gave the last rites and we were told to expect the worst, and now look at Sophie. She’s a real fighter, this one.”
His lower lip trembled. This was a man struggling to maintain any semblance of control.
“Thank you for what you did when she came in. I know you work with the police. The emergency doctors and surgeons told us how gentle you were with our Soph.”
Suddenly, tears filled his eyes and the grief overcame him. Anya moved forward and he grabbed her tightly. Her body resonated with each heave and sob.
The nurse moved slowly toward them and put her arms around Ned’s shoulders.
“Let it out, it’s about time you did. You’ve been through hell, but Sophie’s doing better, you can take a break now.” She began to lead him toward the door, and turned back to Anya.
“Doctor will stay with Sophie while we have a five-minute break. We’ll be right back if they need us.”
Like a child, Ned Goodwin accepted being led away, too exhausted and wrung-out to argue.
Anya nodded and sat in the chair by the bed.
Sophie opened her eyes and focused on her visitor for a few seconds before closing them again.
“Can you hear me? Your dad’s just gone outside for a couple of minutes. I’ll stay with you for as long as you like. My name is Anya.”
The girl licked her dry, cracked lips. A glass of water and straw sat on the bedside table. After checking the chart to make sure fluids were permitted, Anya offered Sophie a sip.
She responded by sucking up a small amount and letting it spill on her lips. Despite her youth, the girl had a strong face. Anya’s mother would have called the square-shaped chin a sign of a stubborn child. Judging by Sophie’s obvious determination to survive, the description would have been apt.
Anya offered some more water but her patient pulled a little to the side, opened her eyes and mouthed something. The first time it wasn’t clear. Then it seemed obvious.
“Rachel.”
Anya felt her stomach tighten. Was Sophie asking where her sister was? Did she have any memory of what had happened?
It was impossible to read in the girl’s eyes.
The grip on her hand tightened and Anya sat forward.
“Sophie, do you remember what happened? Why you came to hospital?”
Her spare hand reached for the breathing tube inserted into her windpipe and groped the bandages covering her neck.
The tired eyes closed again but the grip on Anya’s hand remained.
Part of Anya hoped Sophie would never remember the vicious rape and stabbings, or the sound of her sister’s dying screams.
“If you’re tired, we can talk later. You need to rest.”
Sophie opened her eyes wide and the ventilator began to alarm. She seemed to be having trouble breathing. Anya cradled her forward while the male nurse hurried in. Snapping on gloves, he pulled out a sterile suction tube and inserted it through the tracheostomy opening.
Sophie coughed and wheezed as the nurse withdrew the tube. “Just a bit of mucus,” he said. “It happens now and then. There you go.” The suction tube came out. “You’ll breathe easier now.”
He smiled, collected the mess and left Anya still supporting the girl in bed. Sophie’s hand pulled on Anya’s shirt collar until they were face to face.
“What is it?” Anya almost whispered.
The young girl licked her cracked lips and whispered. “I remember.”
14
Outside ICU, Kate paced. Liz Gould stood texting on her phone while John Zimmer sat on one of the waiting room lounges, legs stretched in front and eyes closed.
“Sophie’s awake,” Anya said, “and she says that she remembers.”
“So we can do the interview?”
Anya held up her hands. “She’s barely conscious and keeps dozing off.”
“But she does remember that night.” Liz Gould clicked shut her phone and stood.
Zimmer opened his eyes.
“The breathing tube is in her neck and she can’t speak properly. Her vocal cords are out of commission, but she is able to whisper. It just takes a bit more time and patience to understand. She’ll tire very quickly.”
Kate shoved her hands in her pockets. “We don’t care if she blinks yes or no answers. We just want to find out what happened and whether she can ID whoever did this.”
Anya was concerned about pushing the young woman but the police needed to act quickly if they were to find any evidence of the attack on his clothes or in his car or home. If the examination she did had failed to yield firm physical evidence, they had little to go on, especially if Sophie didn’t know her attackers.
“I’ll talk to the father and the intensivist and be back. You might as well stretch your legs, get a snack. This might take a few minutes.” Anya wanted to make sure Sophie was up to the interview.
“We’re fine.” Kate made it clear they weren’t going anywhere.
A few minutes later, Anya returned. “You can have a few minutes, but please, don’t push her. Sophie’s incredibly weak. The nurse is easing back on the analgesia so she’ll be a bit more awake, but if she gets any pain, we’ll have to stop.”
“We?” Liz asked.
Anya looked around the group. “The father asked me to stay.”
Zimmer retrieved a digital recorder from his pocket. “I’ll try not to be too intrusive. The Audio Visual guys can set up for a more formal version once she’s stronger.”
“Let’s do this.”
The detectives entered the unit, washed their hands and greeted Mr. Goodwin.
The nurse had brought some more chairs in, and suddenly the room felt crowded, almost claustrophobic. Sophie looked at each in turn and nodded.
Liz Gould took the lead. “I know this is very difficult but we have to ask you a few questions. Anything you can tell us, no matter how small a detail
, could help.”
Sophie nodded. Anya sat on one side of her, with Ned on the other. The nurse stood in the back of the room with John Zimmer.
“Do you know who did this to you?” Liz spoke gently, like a mother promising to look after an upset child.
“No,” she whispered. “Never saw them before.” The machine breathed in, then out.
“Them? How many people were there that night at your house?”
The teenager closed her eyes. Her right arm twitched as she tried to move her hand. She showed three fingers against the blanket.
“Were there three men?”
Sophie nodded.
Anya swallowed. The sisters had no chance of fighting off three men at once. Across the room Kate’s eyes were studying the only living witness.
Liz continued. “Can you tell us what they looked like?”
“One had brown hair. Short. Cold dark eyes,” she whispered. “And strong hands…Tried to fight.”
Anya touched her arm. “We all understand how hard you tried. You fought for your life with everything you had, which is why you’re here now.”
The grieving father stared at the wall. His hand gripped Sophie’s but he couldn’t look at his daughter when she spoke. Rachel’s name had not been spoken, but remained on everyone’s mind.
The nurse disappeared and returned with a plastic mug full of tea for Ned. “I put in extra sugar. You need to keep up your energy,” she said. He appeared grateful for the temporary distraction.
Anya offered Sophie some more water, which she sipped.
Kate sat forward in her chair. “Can you remember anything that could help us identify them? Tattoos, anything special about the haircuts, any distinguishing features?”
“Short hair, like in the army.”
Liz encouraged, “You’re doing really well. We know how tired you are, but we have just a few more questions. Did any of the men have a beard or a mustache? Maybe a scar or birthmark?”
Sophie’s eyes widened. “One had a mole. On his chin.” The heart monitor crept up and the blood pressure level rose. “The one who took Rachel…with his brother.”
The detectives shared looks. Brothers, one with a mole. Sophie had to be describing Gary Harbourn and two of his brothers. They always hunted in a pack. Anya remembered seeing them clean-shaven the night of their release. The same night they had the street party. The same night the Goodwin girls were attacked. One had a mole on his chin.
“How do you know they were brothers?” Kate urged.
“One said their mum…would…”
She seemed to be fatiguing, struggling to get the words out.
“Would skin them if she found out.”
The monitor alarmed and the nurse moved forward. “I think she’s had enough for now.”
Sophie’s eyes flickered, then closed again, as if she could no longer keep them open.
“You have done a brilliant job,” Liz reassured her. “We’re going to catch the men who did this.”
Mr. Goodwin held the mug without letting go of his daughter’s hand.
Anya stood, to give the nurse space, and the detectives filed out.
As they stepped outside the unit, Kate’s phone rang. She answered it on the second tone. “We’ve just spoken to her and you won’t believe-”
A few moments later, she clicked off her phone.
“That was Hayden. One of the pubic hairs collected from Sophie when she came in got a hit. It didn’t have the root attached, so only one type of DNA, apparently. A few years ago, Noelene Harbourn was arrested for prostitution after bashing one of her johns, so her DNA’s on file. Hayden says the hair has to have come from someone in her family.”
Anya explained, “Mitochondrial DNA is different from the DNA inherited from both parents. It is only passed on from the mother. The problem is, mDNA isn’t specific to an individual. What it can do is confirm that the owner was born to children from a specific maternal line.”
“Exactly,” Kate said. “The hair has to be from one of the Harbourn boys.”
“Not necessarily.” Anya tried to make it clearer. “Mitochondrial DNA may only be passed on by mothers, but that means the grandmother shares the same as her daughter. Males don’t pass it on to their children, but they have it in their genetic makeup.”
“Yeah, but there’s no question that it’s Harbourn DNA,” Kate argued.
“The problem is that anyone born from the same family of women will have that same genetic code. Noelene Harbourn’s mother, sisters, grandmother, maternal aunts, and any of their offspring. You could be looking at a large number of people descended from the same woman.”
The three police stood dejected. That meant they had nine children, not to mention how many cousins, second cousins who could have been in the Goodwin house that night.
Liz spoke first. “I’ll start with the family tree. Maybe we’ll prove Darwin’s theory and find out the rest died from natural selection.”
“All right,” Kate said. “Thanks to our witness, we have reason to suspect Gary Harbourn was at the scene and the physical evidence matches the familiy DNA profile. That’s got to be enough for a search warrant.”
“Let’s hope a judge agrees.” Liz Gould had already begun to make the call. “We can hit them first sign of light tomorrow.”
15
Noelene Harbourn opened the door in a pink chenille gown and knotted the tie at her waist.
“What the hell do you bastards want now?”
The verandah light was still shining. “Do you know what fucking time it is? This is more bloody harassment.”
She turned to go back inside.
“If you’re not off this property in one minute, I’m calling my lawyer and letting the dogs out.”
Kate assumed they were the same thing. The big-mouthed matriarch was the reason they were here and they had family DNA to prove it. Today she bore no resemblance to the suburban mother who flirted with media while handing out homemade favors.
Liz Gould stood her ground. “You might want to see this first. It’s perfectly legal. A search warrant for this house and surrounding property.”
The gray-haired mother flattened her unruly hair with her hands and turned around.
“You’ve got nothing on me or my boys. Why don’t you just piss off and catch a real criminal.”
Kate turned to the uniformed police in the marked car and waved them to come in. The older woman snatched the warrant and studied it.
“This is bullshit,” she snarled. “My boys have been with me since they got out of jail.”
“Is that so?” Liz pushed past and led the search party inside. “We have reason to suggest they can assist us in our inquiries.”
“Whatever this is, it’s a set-up. Don’t any of you move. I’m getting my lawyer.”
One of the uniforms began videoing the scene. “Ma’am, I’ll be taping the search and you’re welcome to observe, but you are not permitted to interfere or remove any items from the house.”
She pushed past to the corridor off the main room. “Gary! Kids, get up! The pigs have a search warrant.”
A slow stream of bleary-eyed faces appeared. The youngest two looked like they’d slept in their clothes. Of the nine offspring, supposedly seven lived at home now in between sojourns in prison.
Kate counted heads. So far four males stood in the hallway along with two young girls, aged about ten and twelve.
“We’ve got a runner. He’s jumping the back fence,” Liz called from further inside the house.
Gary, the one with the mole on his chin, was missing.
A uniformed officer raced out the back door and easily vaulted the paling fence in chase.
“Why did Gary bolt?” Kate demanded.
Noelene Harbourn puffed on a cigarette. “Got me stumped. You people have harassed him enough, probably thought you’d plant something on him if he hung around long enough.”
She took a slow, deep inhalation, then blew smoke in Kate’s direct
ion.
“Maybe he had an appointment to get to. I’ve got my hands full with this lot. I can’t be expected to keep track of every child every minute.”
Good to know, Kate thought. If the matriarch admitted that in court, it could blow holes in any alibi that claimed she knew where the boys were at all times.
The team searched under beds, between sheets, anywhere that Rachel’s missing underwear could be hidden as a trophy of the kill. Kate checked inside the washing machine before pulling out the cord and moving it half a meter forward. Nothing had been hidden underneath either.
She moved to the bathroom and ran an angled dental mirror in the narrow space between the toilet cistern and the wall. Next step was removing its lid and making sure nothing was hidden in the water reservoir. Rust stains marked the bowl.
Liz Gould moved around the walls with a stud finder, looking for signs of metal behind the plasterboard. It wouldn’t be the first time criminals had stashed weapons and evidence in the space between walls. The uniformed officers examined the rubbish bins while another checked the outside garage.
The family milled in the lounge room, remarkably unperturbed by the intrusion. Kate assumed the house had been searched numerous times over the years, which meant the chances of finding anything to connect them to Rachel’s murder were pretty remote. The Harbourn brothers would have to be unbelievably stupid to bring evidence back to the house.
Then again, she thought, they were serial criminals who’d been caught too many times to remember.
Kate learned a lot about the house inhabitants from a search, but mostly she saw squalor and complete apathy to house cleaning. From the state of the kitchen, with dirty plates piled high on the benches, grease stains behind the stove, it was a surprise that Noelene Harbourn’s biscuits hadn’t poisoned the journalists.
She checked inside and behind the stand-alone stove and oven, the fridge and freezer and inside every cupboard and drawer. She collected two carving knives for examination. The officer filmed the find.
John Zimmer arrived with his latest sidekick, Milo, carrying the crime scene equipment behind him.
