"Please," he managed. "Let me go."

Anya heard him but refused to believe he meant what he was saying. She had failed to save his daughter but wouldn't fail him.

She pressed harder and he winced, moving his head from side to side.

"No, no more. I want to die." he whispered. "Giverny is here."

She continued to apply pressure but Mrs. Pascoe bent over the man's face.

"Bevan, do you see her?"

He nodded.

"Is she happy?"

He smiled broadly.

"He's about to pass," she said, one hand stroking his cheek. The other hand rested over Anya's.

Bevan gasped and expelled his last breath. Still with a smile.

Two ambulance officers pushed past the police and bent down to examine their patient.

"It's too late," Mrs. Pascoe said, "he's gone."

One checked for a pulse and the other tore open the shirt and attached ECG dots to a portable machine.

The line on the monitor was flat. "No pulse, no spontaneous breathing, he's lost a lot of blood."

Anya and Mrs. Pascoe stepped back as they worked through their protocol, pushing fluids into a vein, still trying to find a heartbeat, even trying to shock it into motion.

Anya was unaware of anything or anybody else in the room. Just the tragedy of Bevan Hart. First Giverny, then Natasha and Savannah, all dead, all unnecessarily.

Mrs. Pascoe placed an arm around her shoulder. "He's at peace now, I felt him go."

Anya excused herself and moved between two rows of bottles for some space. One of the officers removed an envelope from Bevan's jacket.

"Looks like a suicide note," he said, gloved hands unfolding the lower half.

"I am sorry for everything that has happened. But I can't trust in justice any more. It doesn't exist. Judges, lawyers are just playing a game. They don't care about the victims of crime or their families. We're just pawns to move around, no matter how much it hurts us."

Judge Pascoe was being tended to by one of the ambulance officers. "Do we need to hear the ravings of a vigilante?"

"Wait," Anya said. "I think we should all hear it."

The officer continued reading aloud.

"I've already been through the trial process. After all the pain the judge decided to call a mistrial because of some stupid petty reason.

Did he care what that did to me or my family? Did he ask how hard it was to stand up and face the men who raped me? Then it felt like their lawyer raped me again, with the things he said about me and how he made out I was nothing but a liar. It was like being humiliated and violated all over again.

I thought I was strong enough to do this a second time, but I'm not. I am so sorry, Mum and Dad, for everything I put you through. I wish I hadn't walked home that night and could take everything back. But no one can.

I hope you find it in your hearts to forgive me.

Your loving daughter,

Giverny"

The room fell quiet. Bevan Hart was no longer a maniac who broke into a judge's house with a gun. This was a grieving father with a genuine reason to be distraught. It was never going to end well. His daughter's final words would haunt them all.

Anya now understood why she hadn't remembered petechial hemorrhages on Giverny's face. They weren't there. Giverny had killed herself, without anyone else present. She flashed back to that morning. Bevan Hart had been to the bedroom before finding his daughter. He could have picked up the note and hidden it from them. From his point of view, the Harbourns had driven her to suicide, helped along by judges, lawyers, and Savannah's forced silence.

No one involved had won a thing, so far. Except the ones who were responsible for the entire chain of events.

The Harbourn brothers.

43.

The following morning Anya stood with Dan Brody in Judge Pascoe's private chambers.

They expected him to excuse himself from the trial, even though the damage to his leg was superficial.

He sat in a brown leather chair, behind a walnut desk. He did not invite either of them to sit.

"I will not discuss the events at my home last evening. I believe they are irrelevant to this trial."

Dan stood in a relaxed position, although from the way he was wringing his hands he was anything but comfortable. Anya wasn't sure whether she was here to chaperone or act as a witness.

"In reference to the issue of your accusations, if you repeat your ridiculous claims I'll sue you for defamation. You have no proof of nonconsensual activity, and DNA merely confirms relations took place, which I do not deny. This will be the end of the matter."

"Well then, Your Honor, I formally request to be excused from this trial on the grounds of personal conflict."

The judge placed his hands downward on the edge of the desk.

"I believe I just explained the situation. What possible grounds do you think you have?"

"Well, Your Honor, I believe you are the father of my late sister and that could be viewed as a form of nepotism. I therefore feel it's unethical for me to continue."

Pascoe slammed a book down on the desk.

"Nepotism? My boy, I could charge you with contempt of court. Your client has pleaded insanity at the time of the crime for which he is accused. If you lose, and the insanity plea is rejected, your client is entitled to appeal. Your duty is to comply with your client's wishes, and defend him to the best of your ability. Anything less and I'll have your arse in a sling. You will not be excused from this trial."

Dan tensed and Anya thought he was about to strike the judge again. Thankfully, he seemed to have more control this morning and resisted the urge.

"Your Honor, I have advised my client against the insanity defense. I don't believe it's in his best interests; however, he insists that's what he wants. My client is refusing my instructions, which are based on the best of my experience and knowledge."

"In that case, you will represent your client by complying with all of his wishes. Do I make myself clear?"

Dan didn't answer.

"Doctor Crichton."

"Yes, Your Honor." Her mouth was dry. This was worse than being in the principal's office, not that she'd ever been in trouble at school. But a hostile judge could make her testimony in any trial detrimental to a case. Lawyers might then consider her too high a risk as an expert witness and her work would quickly dry up. Her pulse raced and she felt a rash develop on the back of her neck. She despised this man, for what he did to Therese Brody, to his wife, and for the way he dismissed Bevan Hart's reasons for what he did. Right now wasn't the time to show it, though.

"You will remain a witness and I'll permit Mr. Brody to call on you if you have an expert opinion that is relevant to the case. Again, if you repeat the ridiculous allegations against me, by the time I'm finished with you, you won't have either an ounce of credibility or a cent to your name."

Anya felt the rash heat as her anger rose. This man was abusing his power to threaten her, even after she'd tried to save him last night. She felt even angrier that Bevan Hart had died in front of him, and he wouldn't even make reference to it.

"Do we all understand each other?"

Dan and Anya exchanged glances and muttered through near closed teeth, "Yes, Your Honor."

Outside the chambers and courtrooms, Dan remained remarkably calm, while Anya began to seethe.

"He's a rapist and a wife-beater, and he threatens us on ethics and credibility. Can he do that?"

Dan rubbed his chin. "If you don't want to be charged with going around to his home, threatening him and assaulting him, yep, he can."

"But you hit him! I tried to stop you."

Dan tried to place his hands on her shoulders, but she pushed him away. "He's going to make damn sure the Harbourns get acquitted and it's because of us. What's that going to do to Sophie Goodwin and her family? God, it's just like Bevan Hart said. This is criminal."

"Let's think for a minute. He's making me defend Gary Harbourn, who wants to plead insanity. Why?"

"Because then his sentence is dependent on some psychiatrist saying he's on medication and is no longer insane. Easy, soft option. He'll get the sexual assault charges dropped, because he thinks every girl consents to sex with any group of strange men. Water down the charges and insanity quickly becomes a soft option."

"Or does it?"

Anya stopped pacing and looked up at the lawyer. "What do you mean? You have that sinister look you get just before you go in for the kill."

"Trust me. I'm going to do exactly what Pascoe ordered. Are you with me?"

44.

Benito Fiorelli stood in court.

"I wish to recall Doctor Anya Crichton to the stand."

Anya entered the courtroom and saw Gary Harbourn sitting alongside Dan Brody at the defense table.

On the other sat Benito and his assistant, Sheree Elliott.

A jug of water and plastic cups sat on each table.

Noelene and her remaining children sat watching from the gallery.

Taking her place on the stand, Anya took a breath and glanced at Philip Pascoe. He glared back with contempt.

Instead of Benito questioning her, Sheree Elliott stood and buttoned her jacket.

"Your Honor, the jury has already been informed of Doctor Crichton's qualifications, and I believe the defense has accepted her as an expert witness."

"Correct, carry on."

"Doctor, on 24 November have you ever had cause to treat a family member of the accused?"

"I did. Gary Harbourn's sister, Savannah, presented at the sexual assault clinic."

"Objection, Your Honor, the place of examination is irrelevant."

"Jurors, you will disregard the doctor's comment about the sexual assault aspect of the clinic."

Anya had deliberately mentioned it. Juries prickled when they heard the phrase, and Pascoe had inadvertently helped it remain in their mind by repeating and drawing attention to the name.

"In what capacity did Savannah attend your specialty facility?"

"She had been brutally assaulted and needed urgent medical attention."

"Can you describe her injuries?"

Brody's chair scraped the floor as he stood, which, due to his size, had a dramatic effect.

"Objection, Your Honor, relevance?"

Fiorelli argued, "The injuries suffered by Savannah were relevant to her discussion with the doctor regarding the accused."

"You may continue," Pascoe said, his false eye lagging behind the other as he watched someone stand, nod and leave the courtroom.