It all went back to Mr Bannister. She knew that but could do nothing about it. If she complained he would do what he had always done, threaten to expose her. Her word against his. She suddenly felt she was a powerless young girl again, and he was once more her master. Women just could not call men out. It just did not work.
Of course there were times when she felt like having sex but they were always followed by revulsion, personal loathing that haunted her until the next time her body betrayed her. Frank hated that. Ricky had not been able to cope with it. There had been no other men but Louise knew that it would not have mattered. The end result would have been the same. She began to understand Charlotte now. She could see that where Frank and Ricky before him had endured her anxiety and her revulsion Charlotte still sought a man like hers had been, only her answer had been to change men frequently.
Louise turned her thoughts back to the fraudulent building practices. What if the steel gave way and the building collapsed and killed people? What if Frank went to prison? Louise had high principles and detested lying and deceit. What should she do with what she had heard? And was her husband trying to make another life without her?
Or was this how builders survived the rat race? Frank was clever, he really knew his trade. Apart from his obvious lack of morals, he was honest to the point of being blunt. Surely he was clever enough to choose steel that was strong enough even if it had not been certified in New Zealand?
Or were they going to blame Nigel Jones? Nice Nigel who would help anyone out? Was the end point, ‘We followed Council policy as approved by the Chief Planning Officer, so he is the one to blame’?
In law, that was correct. Louise felt a little sick. She had often heard Frank say ‘There are no friends in business’. Did that mean Nigel would be sacrificed if things went wrong? She hoped not. She liked Nigel. Again, how to call the men out? How could women be credible when men were usually believed when it came down to a matter of opinion?
The first thing to do was to make a record, in writing. Then she could show it to Frank and convince him that his course of action was dangerous. What was money when human life was at stake?
Louise carefully wrote down what she had heard but she wrote about the poor young girl being groomed for Larcombe’s pleasure rather than put what she believed, that she had been the target all along. And still was. Frank was betting money on whether Larcombe could seduce her. Louise was disgusted with him. She would never have thought Frank would get involved in that sort of thing. Was this a man thing? Is this what they did when they got together? Is that how he thought of her? What about the police?
No. Keep it until the time was ripe. It would otherwise become yet another credibility issue, Louise claiming one thing and Frank denying it. She was a woman, Frank would have more credibility. She had told Frank about the episodes that upset her, he thought she was neurotic. He would produce a specialist to say she should be certified. But what if she organised an appraisal by experts before her mental state was brought into question? What if women could show the same aggression and preparedness as men?
Louise knew her eavesdropping was a watershed, a game changer. The marriage now had no value. Louise needed to prepare for the challenges ahead.
Suddenly she had no headache, no feeling of awful tiredness, of dragging herself to the next task. Instead she felt invigorated. How many other women had the same problem of credibility? Was it possible to organise women into a strike force that could investigate, prepare a proper case, and call a man out?
Fired up, she called a taxi and went back to work. When she went about her duties it was as if she had been at work the whole time.
CHAPTER 18.
Jayne was asked to lead the investigation into Louise Copperfield’s complaint of date rape. It was a topical issue, one that Inspector Chadwick was determined to stamp out before it got out of hand. On checking the records, Jayne had found that there had been very few recent complaints of date rape in their area. There were not enough cases to form a pattern, but even if there had been, married women in their forties would be unusual victims.
The first step was to find who had been at the party. The second step would be to ask stand-out suspects, ‘persons of interest’ to the Press, whether they would submit to oral DNA testing.
In Jayne’s mind, Louise was attractive. She was slim and fit and pretty, seemingly unaware of her beauty. She had been married twice and had a sixteen year old daughter and a seven year old son. She seldom went to parties, and then always with her husband. At the party in January Louise would have met a mixture of people because it was a business celebration and a thank you to those who had supported the company led by Stuart Larcombe. Consequently, the first step would be to get a guest list. Jayne set off on foot to visit Larcombe’s secretary.
Larcombe’s office was right in town, on a corner of the main street and an important shopping street that ran at right angles to it. It was prime real estate, set in a modern concrete two storey building. There was no lift. Jayne climbed the wooden staircase that had been resurrected from the historic wooden building that had been demolished to make way for ‘a modern earthquake proof building’. The move had been opposed because many residents loved the old building, which was of wooden construction that the objectors thought would have withstood an earthquake better than its replacement. The Council rushed through the Notification Process and approved the new building before the opposition could get organised.
‘Is that how Larcombe works?’ thought Jayne. ‘Not nice but not illegal.’
At the top of the stairs was a wood paneled landing with swing to left and right. The signage on the left hand wall was imposing, ‘Larcombe Enterprises’, with a list of subsidiary companies owned by Larcombe. On the right was a firm of solicitors renowned for their conservative approach, which made them difficult to oppose in Court.
The young secretary was straight out of a fashion magazine.
‘Her make up must have taken hours,’ thought Jayne, who began to feel frumpy in her civilian clothes. Jayne asked for a list of guests and organisers for Mr Larcombe’s New Year party.
“What do you need the list for, Officer?” the secretary had asked, quite abruptly.
“A routine enquiry about lost property,” Jayne had replied.
The secretary’s manicured hand pressed keys on her computer then the same pretty hand held out the required list. The secretary said nothing. It was as if Jayne was, interrupting a much more important task.
“Thank you,” said Jayne.
She stood on the landing and studied the list. On the list were the Mayor, Mr Charles Cameron, and his wife. He had a reputation as a ladies’ man and seldom took his wife to civic functions. He was worth a second look. Two bank managers and their wives were listed. Jayne discounted both of them for the moment. Wives with husbands were seldom targeted, although having thought that, Jayne realised that Louise had been with her husband. Jayne quickly looked through the sixty or so names. None sprang out at her. They were all contractors, financiers, workers, local dignitaries with one exception, Mr Xu Wei, Shanghai.
‘He must be the owner of the mall,’ thought Jayne.
The other sheet Jayne had been given was a list of paid staff and helpers. Jayne sighed. It was a long list and she had better get started, but first she had to tell Louise some bad news about the results of the DNA analysis.
Louise made Jayne welcome with a cup of tea and a date scone with a lot of butter on it.
“I know it’s sinful for the figure but it makes the scone taste really good,” said Louise. “Do you have any news for me?”
“Good and bad, Louise.” Jayne stopped. She was on the point of telling Louise she had been raped twice but suddenly had doubts about the effect this might have on Louise. Every woman knows about and fears the devastating effects of being raped. Having it happen while you are asleep or unconscious makes it even worse if that is at all possible. To add that two different men had raped her might be
so devastating that it might push Louise over the edge.
“The semen in the condom tested well, but we have no record of that DNA in our system,” said Jayne. “The record will remain in the system until we get a match.”
Louise was puzzled. “How do you get a matching DNA sample?” she asked. “I mean, the guy who date raped me is hardly going to show up at the Station and say, ‘Please take my DNA,’ is he!”
“We collect DNA in two ways,” Jayne explained. “We ask suspects directly. ‘Would you be willing to provide a DNA sample so we can eliminate you from our enquiries?’ Most innocent people agree. That sample is destroyed immediately if there is no match.”
She paused for a moment. “Sadly, most of our DNA stock comes from those who are suspected of or are being charged with a crime that will send them to prison. Like date rape. Otherwise we have to get a Court Order for a DNA sample.”
When Jayne left Louise, she went to see the Mayor, Mr Cameron. She felt he would co-operate, and he did so willingly. In fact, he thought it a great joke, especially when Jayne would not tell him what the crime had been.
Nigel Jones was willing, two of the young workers volunteered. David Bannister would not.
“I won’t have a bar of that,” he said. “My DNA is my business. I don’t have to let you take a sample and that is the Law.” He said it with a heavy emphasis on the word law.
Jayne looked at the large man sitting behind his desk. He was handsome in a Tom Selleck kind of way, with a heavy moustache and florid rather fleshy features. In his white business shirt, which was unbuttoned at the neck, and in this setting he was the epitome of respectability.
‘If it is you, I’ll find the evidence sooner or later,’ thought Jayne. She did not like Bannister. As a woman he made her flesh creep. Bannister stood up and leaned forward until his head was almost over the top of hers. Bernard, her husband, was a police constable and quite a big guy but Bannister was far taller than Bernard. Jayne sensed a strong sensuality in the man as he walked past her, passing much closer to her than he needed to, to open the door.
“Good afternoon, Constable,” he said. As Jayne left he closed the door behind her.
Stuart Larcombe said he had already given a sample some time in the past, but he could not remember where or when. He declined to give a sample at the present time, suggesting that she should firstly check the records.
Jayne moved through her list of ‘likely’ people, including the young helpers. They were on to the truth immediately.
“Bit of date rape, is it?” asked a man called Jason. Jayne did not reply. He filled the silence. “Take mine any time you like, I’ve got nothing to hide. I did see an older woman I thought might have been Hypped. She went upstairs with a guy.”
Jayne did not react immediately. She took the swab Jason was offering and when she had finished taking the saliva sample she asked him directly.
“Jason, can you describe the woman, the older woman who went upstairs?” she asked.
“She was old, about the age of my mother.”
“How old is your mother?” asked Jayne.
“Forty five. The bird looked good for her age. Bit like a classic car.”
‘Louise would be thrilled to hear that,’ thought Jayne.
“Can you describe her?” asked Jayne.
“She was about yay high,” said Jason, indicating a height of a little more than one and a half metres with his hand. ‘Close enough,’ thought Jayne. ‘Louise is around one point six, I’m one six eight, around five foot six in old measurements.’
“What was she wearing?” asked Jayne.
“Dunno. Maybe red. No, blue. A pretty blue dress, just above the knee and well above the bust.”
Jason drew the geography he was describing with his finger, drawing an imaginary line above his knees and then a scooped neckline around the upper chest or lower neck.
“Yeah. Blue. The red lady, she was a manic dancer. Short skirt. Caught the eye.”
‘I’ll bet,’ thought Jayne. ‘Hoping for a flash of her knickers, no doubt.
“Charlotte, I think... No, I know because of Bruno,” finished Jason.
“Was anyone with her?” asked Jayne. “The lady in blue?”
“No, don’t think so. She danced and sang and sat with Mr Larcombe,” Jason answered. “I asked Bruno to keep her company but she sent him away. The other lady, Charlotte, she spent time with Bruno.”
“Was Charlotte on her own?” Jayne thought that of Charlotte Jones played up with a man, perhaps Nigel Jones would play up too.
“Seemed to be. So was the lady in blue,” said Jason.
“I think her husband was with her. The lady in blue. Above medium height, maybe in his fifties, a thin guy. Going grey. He sat with her between dances.”
“Did he take her upstairs?” asked Jayne.
“No. That was the little guy.”
“Can you describe him?” asked Jayne.
“He was in charge,” said Jason. “His name is Mr Jones. He employed me to help with the drinks. He’s a smaller guy, about so high.”
He lifted his hand to Jayne’s height.
“And you saw him help her upstairs?” asked Jayne.
“Sure did. I thought Ah Ha! Nudge, nudge, wink, wink,” Jason replied. “He was with her about half an hour. Came down on his own. Stood on the staircase, to get his breath back, I reckon.”
Jayne ignored the crudity. “What does Mr Jones look like?
“Neat and tidy, jacket no tie, blue eyes, brown hair, a bit sandy looking. Used to giving orders, I reckon,” Jason replied.
“Did you see anyone else?” asked Jayne, meaning in connection with Louise.
“Nah. I got busy, had a bit of a rush at the bar. But they weren’t the only lot looking for a bedroom,” said Jason.
“Who else did you notice?” asked Jayne.
“Big heavy guy with a big gut. Fair hair, heavy drinker. Red face. He was a grinner, grinning at everyone,” said Jason.
“Who was he with?” asked Jayne.
“On his own, I think,” said Jason. “He matched up with Trudi, one of the Polytech girls and he took her off. Funny, he looked like he was so drunk he was about to fall over, but with Trudi Reeves he was sober and steady. They went into the sunroom. Then there was Bruno. He couldn’t wait for a bedroom. He did it behind the couch. The red woman, on her knees with her tits hanging down. Oops, sorry, Officer.”
Jayne ignored his apology.
It was not looking good for Nigel Jones. Jayne had a witness who would attest that he had opportunity. The time fitted. His wife was flagrantly playing around. The DNA test would tell the tale.
Back at the station, Detective Constable Jayne Hyslop made up a photo file so that she had something to show anyone like Jason Lee. It held photos of the guests at the party who were on her short list, as well as people who were not. She had added a few photos that had nothing to do with the case.
Armed with her photo file, Jayne started tracking down the people Jason had noted as having something to do with Louise Copperfield, who he called the lady in the blue dress. First, she went to her most likely candidate, Nigel Jones.
“I am interested in knowing where you were on the night of January the fifth,” she asked.
“That was the night of Stuart Larcombe’s party,” said Nigel. “I helped arrange it. It was a good do. It was for the supporters of Larcombe’s two projects, the Huatere Valley Housing Scheme and the Huatere Shopping Mall. There were 67 people there at the party’s height, seventy nine counting the young helpers and the band.”
Jayne was impressed by Nigel’s recall of details, although the guest list showed a greater number. Was he that smart or was he hiding something?
“You seem to remember matters more clearly than most of the other guests,” said Jayne. “I am investigating the use of party drugs.”
“Yes,” said Nigel. “I was asked to buy the alcohol, soft drinks and party pills, only legal highs of course”
“Of course,” said Jayne sarcastically. Nigel let it pass.
“Stuart Larcombe ordered the food and supplied the music. The party was held at his house,” Nigel continued. He seemed very open about matters; either that or he was a very good liar.
“I have some photographs of people who were at the party that night,” said Jayne. “Would you please tell me what you know about each one.”
The first photograph was Jason.
“Are you saying the helpers were peddling drugs?” asked Nigel.
“Did you notice anything untoward? Someone dealing, perhaps? Or someone under the influence of drugs?”
Nigel had a problem. He did not want to say that Louise had been drugged, nor that Stuart had drugged her.
“His name is Jason Lee. He said you employed him.”
“Yes,” said Nigel. “He did the drinks.”
“Do you think he had the opportunity to deal while he was serving?” asked Jayne.
“He might have had the opportunity but I was going around checking that everything was going well. I popped up unexpectedly several times. Had he been dealing I would have noticed a change in his behaviour or in those around him.”
Jayne was beginning to like Nigel but she realised that he was a very clever man, an adept at hiding something.
“Mr Jones, you are a clever man. For whatever reason, I feel you are not telling me the whole truth. So I will be direct,” said Jayne. “A woman has complained that she was sexually assaulted while stupefied.”
Jayne was astonished at the look of shock on Nigel Jones's face. His face changed colour, first to pale white and then then to a flushed red.
The Stalking of Louise Copperfield Page 9
