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hearing. The last thing Giverny needed was legal threats from the woman responsible for bringing her case to justice.
    “Listen, I know what you’re thinking, but this wasn’t just about Giverny Hart. Rightly or wrongly, I represent society, not individuals, and those bastards are a real danger to every woman out there, including you and me.” She stuck her fork into some salad as another glass of wine arrived.
    Although Natasha was claiming the moral high ground, her aggressive manner and heavy drinking suggested she did feel guilty about Giverny. Anya assumed she had heard about the paint slur in the garage and the possibility of a staged suicide, but a day spent in legal arguments might mean she hadn’t been fully informed.
    “I assume you’ve been told the police are treating this as a suspicious death?”
    The prosecutor took a gulp of wine. “I was in court and received the message about her being found but unable to be revived. I couldn’t face going back to the office so I didn’t get many more details, apart from the paint scrawls in the garage.”
    “There’s not much more I can tell you until after the post-mortem. Her left index finger was trapped underneath the cord when we found her. There were no signs of a struggle, though.”
    “So Giverny tried to stop it strangling her.” She pushed the bread plate to the side and wiped some crumbs off the table. “What else? Anything.”
    “She wasn’t dressed up, no makeup. Come to think of it, she didn’t really look like she had dressed for court.”
    “Not wearing makeup is no surprise. We talked about it because I thought it was better if she appeared her age in court. She said it wasn’t a problem because she didn’t like it anyway. Who’s working the homicide angle?”
    Anya had seen only Hayden Richards at the scene. “Not sure yet.”
    The prosecutor began dialing her mobile phone. “Homicide, thanks…Natasha Ryder. Who’s working the Hart case from today? Good. I’ll need the forensics ASAP and I want to know exactly where each and every other member of that family and their closest friends were last night and this morning.”
    Anya was relieved by this positive turn-around in the case, even though she still felt inadequate about what had happened at the house.
    Natasha hung up. “Kate Farrer’s in charge. Do you know her?”
    Anya knew the detective well. They had become friends through a number of cases, each sharing a mutual respect for the other’s work. Having been back from overseas for less than two days, there hadn’t been the opportunity to catch up. That was something she would do tomorrow or the next day when the jetlag and fever had abated.
    “Kate’s very professional. Thorough and right down the line,” Anya said.
    “Good. That’s what I’ve heard.” Natasha grabbed her bag and stood just as the waiter arrived with her steak. Her phone buzzed and she checked the message.
    “I’ve got work to do. Can I have a doggy bag for my meal?” The waiter nodded and collected her plate. “Dinner’s on me. I’ll take care of it at the bar.” She took a few steps before turning back.
    “And thanks for what you did to try to save her today. She was a nice kid. What really gets me is that it wasn’t enough for those bastards to abduct and rape her. Even though the four who did it were in jail, somehow they made damn sure she wouldn’t testify against them again.”

5
     
    Anya Crichton shuffled down stairs in her Ugg boots and thick cotton gown. The house was still in darkness, but once she was awake there was no point staying in bed. All she could think about were the facial hemorrhages she may or may not have missed.
    The events of the last few months now felt like a blur. Working on cases in New York and Mediterranean Europe had been exhilarating and exhausting. Flight delays had meant there had been no time to catch her breath before preparing for the Harbourn trial. At least she’d managed one day in Disneyland