Kathryn Fox - Blood Born

It also included a crumbled piece of note in a different hand. It said, 111 Rosemont Place.

Anya moved to her desk and looked up the Goodwins’ address. 111 Rosemount Place.

She switched on her laptop and Googled a map of the locality. Within minutes she had discovered that Rosemount Place was a suburb away from Rosemont Place.

Had the Harbourns gone to the wrong house that night looking for drug money? The notion made the tragedy of what had happened to the girls so much worse.

She slipped Savannah’s diary into her bag, slid into her shoes and armed the alarm before heading out.

Kate searched the database. “Got it. It’s been reported by neighbors as being suspicious. Darkened windows, unmowed lawns, same car always parked there. No one comes or goes in the daytime. Uniforms went around but no one answered.”

“Did they follow it up?”

“Without a warrant, there wasn’t much they could do. Don’t you love the way the system protects the innocent?”

Kate made a couple of calls to the drug squad. “Now we wait,” she said. “And I still can’t figure out where Bevan Hart got the gun from. The serial number matched the one that was supposed to be destroyed. No barrel changes, same gun exactly. Where that came from there’ll be others and that’s a real concern. If men like Hart can get hold of one, who the hell else can and already has?”

Benito Fiorelli entered the Homicide office at about 9 P.M, in a dinner suit with black bow tie. He kept a busier social schedule than Dan Brody, it seemed.

“This better be good. It’s opening night of La Bohème at the Opera House,” he said as Kate handed him photocopied excerpts from the diary.

Sitting on Shaun Wheeler’s empty desk, Fiorelli read Savannah’s confession, then listened while Anya explained why the Goodwin address might have been a mistake.

“God, how can we tell Mr. Goodwin that his daughter’s murder was the result of a mistaken spelling?”

Kate argued, “But it gives us motive for why the Harbourns were at the house in the first place. If it was a planned revenge attack for a drug deal gone bad, then Gary’s claims of temporary insanity are out the window.”

Benito rubbed the dark circles under his eyes. It occurred to Anya that he had come into the trial midway, after the murder of his colleague and friend. It can’t have been easy for him and it looked like the pressure was wearing him down.

“After today’s performance, it may be too late. The looks on the jury’s faces pretty much said it all. While they listened to the gruesome details of Rachel’s murder, a few feet away Harbourn was demure and controlled, no sign of the earlier outburst. I could see some of them were thinking that anyone who did that would have to be mad. Today just reinforced the Jekyl and Hyde insanity impression.”

Anya saw Violet Yardley outside thefood co-op. Dressed in dark purple that could have passed for black, she hugged herself with one arm while smoking with the other.

“Thanks for agreeing to see me,” Violet said. “I can’t believe that bloke killed Savannah. Jesus, she hated her brothers as much as he must of.”

She drew back and blew out through her nose.

Anya watched a woman with a shopping cart down the road dig through rubbish bins. “Hatred can blind you to a lot of things.”

“Tell me about it.” Violet stubbed out the remains of the cigarette and lit another.

“Would you like to go somewhere comfortable to talk?”

“This is where I’m most comfortable. Out here, with people who never want anything from you. They’re grateful for just a smile, and they have less than anyone else I know.” She gestured with the cigarette hand. “You know, most people are scared of Esther, because she’s dirty and rifles through garbage. Truth is, it’s the bastards they know and live with who are far more likely to hurt them.”

Esther meandered along toward them, singing to herself, in perfect pitch.

“You know, she used to be a concert pianist. Sometimes she sneaks into the music shop and plays the keyboard. If anyone asks her to play something, she just leaves. Guess she can’t stand the pressure.”

Anya leaned against the wall and reached into her purse, pulling out a five-dollar note.

Violet covered it. “She doesn’t take money, but you can buy her a sandwich. Call it a donation to the co-op. That way she won’t piss it up against a wall.” She called to the homeless woman. “Hey, Esther, you hungry?”

The woman looked up, removed her hands from the rubbish and pulled the trolley along. Anya followed them inside the shelter as a half-smoked cigarette was extinguished again.

Violet handed Esther some antibacterial hand-wipes. “Here, my lady, these are from Persia. Notice the exotic essence?”

The pack said aloe vera.

“Did the Maharaja leave it?”

“Just for you.” Violet led them into a small kitchen and pulled down a breadboard.

“We get leftovers from the restaurants on a good night,” she said. “The Maharaja asked that you try a salad and pork sandwich this morning.”

Esther was busy scrubbing every inch of her hands with the scented wipe, then she started on her neck and face, as though this was luxurious and had to be relished.

“Don’t worry, she’s not mad, are you, Ez, it’s just a game we play. And you can say anything in front of our Ez, she’s very good at keeping secrets.”

Anya sat at a stool near the bench. “I wanted to talk to you about Savannah. Last night I opened my mail. Her diary had been pushed through my letterbox.”

Violet buttered a third slice of white bread and put the knife down.

“What’d it say?”

“That she was sorry for everything her brothers had done and wanted to tell the police everything she knew.”

She pulled out some lettuce leaves from a plastic container and added some slices of roast pork from another. A slice of cheese, then a piece of bread. “I knew that.”

“Violet,” Anya tried to break the news gently, “she mentioned your attack, your name and when it happened. The police are going to be asking you questions.”

The double-decker sandwich completed, Esther dropped the wipe and took it from Violet’s shaking hands. The ravenous visitor retreated to a bench as if protecting a precious find.

Violet headed outside again, lighting a cigarette as she went. “You told me no one had to find out. What’s in her diary is just ramblings to help make sense of stuff. I’ll just deny it.”

“If the police have copies of the diary contents, then the Harbourns’ lawyers will see it before too long.”

Violet shook her head. “Shit. I didn’t think of that.”

Anya knew then who had delivered the diary.

“I already got a call from Ricky on my mobile but I just let it go to voicemail. No bloody prizes for guessing why he wants to meet up.”

Anya thought for a moment. “If there was a way to make them pay for what they did to you without you having to go through a rape trial, would you help?”

Violet thought for a moment. “Savannah wasn’t afraid of them except when Gary was around. He’s the violent one of the lot.”

“He’s under police guard in a psychiatric hospital. It looks as if he won’t be going anywhere for a long time.”

Esther wandered out, crumbs clinging to her tattered waistcoat. “Give my compliments to the Maharaja. I wonder what the poor people are eating today.” She chortled through a toothless mouth and continued on her way.

“I’ll see Rick,” Violet said nervously, “but only on my terms. You don’t know him like I do. He wouldn’t hurt anyone-ever. If he could have stopped them that night with me, he would have. Gary is the evil one who controlled the others. And I’ll prove it.”