Riot

by Heather Atkinson

  “Sexual assault?” said Mrs Johnson while Freddie’s grandmother gasped and spluttered in her seat. “I’d say that’s an exaggeration.”

  “No it’s not. He molested that girl. Do you think it’s any different to a man who does the same thing to a stranger passing by on the street?”

  “The circumstances are different.”

  “No they’re not. Ethan, where did this happen?”

  “In the bike shelter, at the back of the school.”

  “Was anyone else there?”

  “No Mum. I only found out because I was going to get my water bottle, I’d left it on my bike. He had her pinned up against the wall with his hand right up her skirt and she was screaming and crying. I pulled him off her and he hit me. But he hits like a little girl, so I hit him back.”

  Rachel gave Freddie, who had suddenly gone very silent, a disgusted look before turning her attention to Mrs Johnson. “Sounds pretty cut and dried to me.”

  “We haven’t heard Freddie’s side of the story yet,” she announced. “Go ahead Freddie.”

  “I…I…went to my bike to get my drink,” he stammered, having to steal Ethan’s story because he had no imagination. “Ethan was the one with his hand up her skirt.”

  “You liar,” yelled Ethan, shooting to his feet, making Freddie recoil. “Get Isabella. She’ll tell you the truth.”

  “I don’t think that’s necessary,” said Mrs Johnson.

  “Oh yes it is,” said Rachel. “This is a very serious incident, it’s gone beyond a playground scrap. Get Isabella in here. Now.”

  Her entire working career Mrs Johnson had been used to being the one giving the orders, riding roughshod over whoever she wanted, everyone bending to her superior will. But here was a woman who she felt it wouldn’t be wise to turn down.

  “Alright,” she said, getting to her feet and speaking to the receptionist. She returned to her desk and sat down. “Would anybody like a tea or coffee while we wait?”

  “No thank you,” said Rachel. “Perhaps it would be a good idea if the boys weren’t in the room when Isabella comes in? Their presence might intimidate her.”

  “Yes, I quite agree. Ethan, Freddie, return to class. We’ll call you back when we’re ready.”

  “Have they received any medical treatment?”

  “The school nurse has taken a look and says it’s all superficial, which in Freddie’s case is fortunate given the severity of the attack.”

  “Let’s just see what Isabella has to say about that before making judgements.”

  The boys left, glowering at each other while the three women remained in awkward silence.

  A very pretty blond girl entered the room. Rachel could see why a budding predator like Freddie had targeted her. She looked so tiny and fragile, easy to overpower. Pride filled her at the thought of Ethan defending her.

  “Isabella,” barked Mrs Johnson, making the girl jump.

  “Perhaps a more gentle tone would be better,” said Rachel.

  Mrs Johnson was getting a little tired of bowing down to this woman but she couldn’t help herself, there was something in Rachel Law’s voice that demanded instant obeisance. She was also painfully aware of her family’s chequered history and the fact that this woman had once commanded some extremely dangerous people. “Isabella,” she continued in a gentler tone. “There was an incident today in the bike shelter with you, Freddie Garrick and Ethan Law.”

  Isabella nodded, just the memory of it filling her eyes with tears.

  “We need you to tell us exactly what happened.”

  There was zero sympathy in Mrs Johnson’s tone and Rachel found herself losing patience with her.

  “It’s okay honey,” Rachel told the girl gently. “Just tell the truth and everything will be okay.”

  Isabella nodded and told her story in a halting voice, completely exonerating Ethan and marking Freddie out as a boy with a future ahead of him on the sex offender’s register. By the time she’d finished his grandmother was in tears.

  “Thank you Isabella,” said Mrs Johnson. “You can go back to class.”

  “Has anyone contacted that girl’s parents?” said Rachel when she’d gone.

  “No need. This is about the boys.”

  “She’s clearly traumatised and I’m sure her parents would want to know if their daughter had been sexually assaulted.”

  “It was a childish prank, nothing more.”

  Rachel’s temper started to unwind completely. “It was a damn sight more than that. Were we listening to the same story?”

  But Mrs Johnson wasn’t listening. “Just child’s play, that’s all. Happens all the time.”

  Rachel got to her feet, planted her hands on the head teacher’s desk and glared at her with jet black eyes. “Shut up,” she snarled.

  Mrs Johnson was so astonished someone was standing up to her that her mouth opened and closed.

  “I’m sick of you,” continued Rachel. “All you care about is politics - statistics and how the school appears on paper. You trample all over teachers and pupils alike, sweeping anything unpleasant under the carpet. Well not this time lady. You are going to do this properly and by the book. Number one, you will get Isabella’s parents in here and tell them exactly what has happened and who’s responsible. I don’t know her parents personally but rest assured I will be speaking to them to make sure they know what’s gone on. Secondly, you will report Freddie’s actions to the school governors and to the police.”

  “No wait,” exclaimed his grandmother, shooting to his feet. “He’s just a boy, this could ruin his future.”

  Rachel rounded on her, the woman recoiling from her black eyes. “How old is your grandson?”

  “Sixteen.”

  “And how old is Isabella?” she asked Mrs Johnson.

  “Fourteen,” she sighed.

  “Then little Freddie’s in big trouble.” She glared down at Mrs Johnson. “And you were going to punish my son for defending that little girl. You’re close to retirement. I’m going to make it my mission to ensure you take that retirement early, as I’m sure will Isabella’s parents.”

  Mrs Johnson blanched, looking defeated and suddenly smaller in her chair that had used to feel like a throne from which she’d ruled with a rod of iron and intimidated all those around her. Now she felt like a silly old woman.

  “Right,” said Rachel, straightening up and hitching her handbag over her shoulder. “I’m taking both my boys out of school for the rest of the day and taking them out for a treat. Ethan’s a hero and deserves spoiling. I’m aware Aaron isn’t part of this but I have no wish to see this building again today and don’t even think of marking their absence down as unauthorised.”

  Mrs Johnson just nodded as she was forced to make another concession, her fight gone. She’d always assumed her will was stronger than anyone else’s but it appeared she’d met her match.

  Ethan and Aaron were delighted to be pulled out of school two hours early.

  “I’m so proud of what you did today,” Rachel told her eldest son as they got into the car.

  “Thanks,” he said with that devastating smile of his. “It seemed so wrong, she’s so small and Freddie’s a big fat git.”

  Rachel decided to let the insult slide in light of her son’s heroism. Aaron sat in the back seat, eagerly listening. Everyone in school already knew about the fight between Ethan and Freddie and that Ethan had hammered him but none were exactly sure why as no one had seen it.

  “Are you okay after seeing that?” she asked him, worried that seeing someone being sexually assaulted had damaged him.

  “Fine.”

  “Good. If you ever need to talk about it though me and your dad are always here.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he smiled. “I knew it was the right thing to do, no matter what Mrs Johnson says because you and Dad always say you should protect those who aren’t as strong as you.”

  This statement was a balm to Rachel’s heart. Her children had gone through
some horrible ordeals thanks to who their family was but at least they’d done something right by them. “Yes, that is the right thing to do, every time. You did good honey.”

  “That cow Mrs Johnson doesn’t think so. Sorry Mum,” he added when he realised what he’d said.

  “That’s quite alright,” she said, starting the engine. “She is a cow.”

  Both boys chuckled.

  “Right,” she said. “This calls for a special treat. I’m taking you both to the cinema to see that film you’ve been nagging me and your dad about.”

  They cheered as she set off, Ethan covertly giving the school the finger as they drove by.

  CHAPTER 7

  Dwyer arrived at Santiago de Compostela Airport grumpy and pissed off. The flight had been just under five hours, going via Madrid as he couldn’t get a direct flight. He’d had a crying baby on one side and a man with bad breath on the other.

  Before meeting up with his Spanish contact he purchased a bottle of water and a sandwich, which revived him somewhat, although the heat didn’t help. One thing he loved about Manchester was its climate. Hot weather never failed to aggravate his already tetchy temperament.

  “DCI Dwyer,” said Inspector Abalos in a thick rolling accent, shaking his hand. “Welcome to Galicia.”

  “Thank you for taking the time to talk to me.” The fact that Abalos was olive skinned and muscular with a face that looked like it had been carved by one of the Italian masters just annoyed him even more but Dwyer forced politeness. Pissing this man off would not help him. Bringing down the Laws and Maguires was his priority.

  “You’re very welcome. Our forces have cooperated many times.”

  “True. I trust you got the information from my detective sergeant about Amber Maguire?”

  “I have and I’ve arranged for you to speak to the owner of the villa she rented. After that we are heading to the station where I work. Eight months ago some human remains washed up at Praia das Lapas, a popular area for swimming and sunbathing, ruining the holidays of a lot of tourists. From the description you gave, it could be your Amber.”

  On the drive to the villa Amber Maguire had rented, Dwyer forced himself not to get too excited. Abalos could be wrong, it might be some other tourist and not her.

  He was surprised when they got out of the car outside the villa Amber had allegedly rented. Although pretty and pleasant it wasn’t the sort of place a Maguire could usually be found. The owner was surly and untidy, scratching his big hairy belly with one hand while staring at Dwyer belligerently. Dwyer got the feeling he could speak English perfectly well but was choosing to converse with Abalos in Spanish just because he could, derision dancing in his eyes as he spoke.

  “Ask him if he’s seen this woman?”

  When Dwyer held out the photo of Amber he’d procured from her parents, the man’s eyes lit up and he murmured something appreciatively in Spanish.

  “He said yes, he did rent this property to this lady several months ago, he can’t remember when exactly. She didn’t stay long.”

  “Did he see her leave?”

  Dwyer reigned in his impatience as Abalos translated.

  “No,” said Abalos when the hairy man had finished talking. “A note was pushed through his door along with a large sum of money. It said she’d decided to go to Barcelona. When he went into the property he found it empty, all her things gone.”

  “Did he see anyone taking her things out of the property?”

  After another conversation involving a lot of muttering and gesturing Abalos said, “He saw a man with a moustache get into a car at the top of the drive.” He indicated the top of the dusty track they’d walked down. “The man drove off before he could speak to him.”

  Dwyer produced a photo of Ray McGinnis and held it out. “Is this him?”

  The villa owner nodded, his hand moving from his belly to scratch at his stubbly neck.

  “What did he say?” Dwyer asked Abalos when the man mumbled something in Spanish.

  “He said that’s him. He saw him put a bright pink bag in the boot that he knew belonged to the pretty Amber.”

  “Did he ever see this man with Amber?”

  Abalos translated and shook his head.

  “Was anything at all left behind when all her things had gone?”

  “No,” said Abalos after another conversation. “Everything was taken.”

  “Did he see Amber the day she left?”

  “Yes, he was watering the flowers, over there,” he said, gesturing to the verdant garden off to the left. “He saw her walk up to the road and vanish. She was alone and wasn’t carrying a bag.”

  “Did she ever have any visitors?”

  “Not that he saw but he knew she did like to go to the cocktail bar up the road. Sometimes, when she came back she would be walking unsteady,” said Abalos with a knowing smile. “Sometimes she would spend the odd night away. He said she liked the Spanish men.”

  The villa owner couldn’t tell them anything else, so Abalos took Dwyer back to his police station. He was seated in a neat, air-conditioned office and given ice cold water, which he gratefully downed.

  “The photos aren’t pleasant to look at,” said Abalos, handing him an iPad.

  Dwyer didn’t flinch as he flicked through the images on the screen to study the remains, which were in pieces. Excitement gripped him at the sight of the long curly red hair. Although it was impossible to tell just by looking, it could well be Amber.

  “The pathologist said she died from high impact injuries,” said Abalos.

  “Consistent with falling off a cliff?”

  “I checked and he said yes, that would explain it. No local missing persons match her, so we think she is a foreign national. No tourists have been reported missing that match her description. We thought she was perhaps something to do with the drug cartels who operate from Galicia and have links to Colombia. We thought perhaps she had seen something she shouldn’t and was disposed of, it wouldn’t be the first time but we’ve found no evidence of this. I spoke to our Specialised Unit for Organised Crime but there is no link to the cartels at Sada, which is where we think she went into the water.”

  “I’d like to take a sample of her DNA back to Manchester for testing, to make sure it really is her.” It was a strain for Dwyer to be so polite, especially to someone of a lower rank but he couldn’t afford to piss off his contact here. He needed Abalos’s cooperation.

  “Of course, whatever you need. It would be good to identify her.” He sighed heavily. “If it is her it is so sad, she was once so beautiful.”

  “Yes she was but she married a murdering bastard and I think he destroyed her.”

  “It is wrong I think to destroy beauty.”

  “It certainly is and I’ll make sure he pays for it.”

  “So, if she does turn out to be your Amber Maguire, can we hand the case over to you?”

  Dwyer’s eyes gleamed. “Gladly.”

  Ryan was late home that evening after dealing with a staffing issue at the high-tech gym they owned.

  “Sorted?” said Rachel, taking pity on how exhausted he looked, holding out a glass of red wine to him.

  “Thank you,” he said, accepting the glass from her. “I really need this.” After taking a sip he continued. “My head’s ringing from their childish squabbling. Jane and Diane really do hate each other and they argue like a pair of unstoppable harpies.”

  “So how did you resolve it?”

  “Jane accused Diane of stealing clients off her for her personal training work and Diane accused Jane of sleeping with her boyfriend. I tried diplomacy and tact but nothing worked. In the end I told them both to get their stuff and piss off, they were sacked. The manager’s sorting out replacements.” At that moment Ethan walked into the room for a glass of water and Ryan spotted the bruise on his face, driving the two harpies out of his head. “What happened to you?”

  “He was in a fight at school,” said Rachel.

  “What?” he
barked. “Not again Ethan.”

  “He did the right thing,” said Rachel. “He came across a younger pupil being sexually assaulted and he saved her.”

  Ryan’s frown smoothed itself out into a pleased smile. “Well done son, I’m proud of you.”

  “Thanks Dad,” he grinned. “I’ve done my homework. Can I play on my X-Box?”

  “You can do whatever you like.”

  Ethan nodded and happily strolled out of the room.

  “How badly sexually assaulted are we talking here?” Ryan asked Rachel when he’d gone. “Is he going to need therapy to get over what he saw?”

  “Another boy had pinned Isabella down and stuck his hand up her skirt. It didn’t go beyond that. Ethan seems fine.”

  “That’s a relief, he’s had enough trauma. I’ll get it,” he added when the doorbell rang.

  Ryan strolled to the front door cradling his glass of wine and opened it to reveal Detective Inspector Ashley Boyle of the Devon and Cornwall Police.

  “Hi Ryan,” he said. “Can I come in?”

  “From the tension in your jaw and the way your red hair appears to be standing on end I take it you’re angry?”

  “Damn right I am.”

  “Come in but keep it polite.”

  “Where are the kids?” he asked as he stepped inside, Ryan closing the door behind him.

  “The boys are in their rooms and Leah’s out with Jacob.”

  “Good. Then we won’t be disturbed. I need to speak to Rachel too.”

  “She’s in the kitchen.”

  Ryan headed back to the kitchen with exaggerated slowness, smiling as he sensed Ashley’s increasing temper. They might be allies now, even friends but there was a perverse part of him that couldn’t resist baiting a police officer.

  “Hi Ashley,” smiled Rachel breezily. “I’m just about to start tea. Do you want to join us?”

  “No thanks, I’m not thirsty.”

  “I mean tea as in dinner. It’s a northern thing.”

  “I’ll pass. This isn’t a social call. I’m here about Harry Nelson. Yes you might well look down at the floor,” he told her. “He had the stuffing kicked out of him when we agreed on a gentle warning.” His eyes flicked between the two of them. “Well, who’s responsible?”