‘Mr Ayeko!’ Maddie cut in. ‘You will remember our conversation.’
Aaron’s chest suddenly rose and fell as he took in deep gulps of air.
‘So you did not rape her?’ Tim said.
‘She’s a lying bitch, Maddie. I wanna talk. I wanna tell him it’s bullshit. I never touched her!’
‘You forced yourself on her in William Dryden’s bungalow. You were so rough with her you didn’t even get her fully undressed. She was still wearing her underwear. You just pushed it aside and you raped her.’
‘She’s lying!’
Tim lifted another sheet of A4. He turned it over to reveal the glossy photo of a pair of pink knickers with a white bow and a matching bra. They were packaged separately in clear bags with handwritten tags. ‘This is Rhiannon Davis’s underwear, or at least a picture of it. Have you seen these items before?’
Aaron shook his head. ‘No comment.’
‘You made her clean up your semen with it, Aaron.’ Tim left the statement hanging. It took Aaron a few seconds to reply.
‘I — I . . . no comment.’
‘So your DNA will be all over it. And our analysts, they will be able to say it was semen too. Your semen. Can you explain that?’
‘No comment.’
‘Rhiannon was so traumatised that she ran home and got in the shower still fully clothed. She sat and wept for an hour, drenching herself under the shower. She didn’t want to take her clothes off because she didn’t want to see her own naked body. Finally she managed it. She bagged up her underwear to bring to us. It’s still damp, but with the advances in DNA analysis, Aaron, we will have you on these. So I’ll ask again, is there an innocent explanation for your semen being on the underwear of this sixteen-year-old girl?’
‘She’s lying.’
‘You already said you didn’t touch her. So if your semen is on there, it is fair for me to assume you are lying.’
‘No comment, yeah? I got nothing more to say.’
Tim quickly moved back to scanning the statement. ‘William Dryden was a witness to this incident. He wasn’t there to start with, we are told, but he came in halfway through. You reacted by telling her to hide in the wardrobe. You had ripped her clothes — the sleeve of her T-shirt specifically — and she was upset and you were worried that he would know what you had done. Is this what happened?’
‘No comment.’
‘Rhiannon got in the wardrobe. She tried to hide but she was so upset she couldn’t stay quiet. William heard her crying. You got angry, Aaron, you threw William out . . .’ Tim paused.
Aaron shook his head. ‘No comment.’
‘When you went back into the bedroom, Rhiannon refused to come out. You got so angry you threatened her with a large knife. She told me she was so terrified at this point she couldn’t have got out if she wanted to.’
‘No comm—’
‘You stabbed her through the wardrobe door causing a deep laceration to her chest.’
‘I didn’t! I don’t . . . no comment.’
‘You then drove her in your car back to her house. You have a white BMW that she describes as looking new. She ran into her house and that’s when she got in the shower. Did you drive her home?’
‘No comment.’
‘Did you drive her home so you would know where she lived? Did you tell her that if she told anyone what had happened that you would break in and assault her foster carer?’
‘No comm—’
‘Rose Ansen. Her foster carer. She provides a statement saying someone matching your description and another man turned up at her house. They forced their way in under the premise of looking for Rhiannon and struck her to the floor—’
‘That . . . no comment!’
Tim moved quickly back to his papers. ‘Rhiannon got angry. After weeping for an hour in the shower, she cleared her head a little and went to find William Dryden. She wanted him to be a witness if she went to the police about what you did. She hung around outside William’s bungalow. The BMW was gone and she could see Danny through the window. She dared to knock. Danny told her you had suddenly offered to take William to a McDonald’s restaurant. He said you and William had both left together. Rhiannon went to the McDonald’s in the town. There was no one around. Then she heard shouting, Aaron. That was you, wasn’t it?’
‘No comment.’
‘She saw the BMW parked up. She looked inside, she could see the keys in the centre console near the handbrake and the door was unlocked. You must have parked in a hurry, Aaron?’
‘No comment.’
‘Or maybe you weren’t planning on staying long?’
‘No comment.’
‘The shouting was down a path. She saw you walk back up it and she ducked out the way. She said you looked angry, Aaron — you were talking to yourself. You seemed agitated. She saw you throw something over the fence. You didn’t get in your car — you carried on walking away. You had blood on you. She thinks maybe you didn’t want to get blood in your car.’
‘She’s fucking lying!’
‘So what’s the truth, Aaron?’
‘No comment. Shit! No fucking comment!’
‘Rhiannon found William Dryden down the path you had just left. He was bleeding from three stab wounds that would later prove to be fatal. He said you had stabbed him. He said it was something about your mate getting arrested. You thought William had something to do with that . . .’
‘No comment.’
‘Was that Maurice Atlas? His street name is Mo, right?’
‘No comment.’
‘We can link him to you on the MET’s intelligence system. Do you know him?’
‘No comment.’
‘How do you know him?’
‘No comment.’
‘Are you aware he was found in the town yesterday with one hundred wraps of heroin in his pants?’
‘So what? No comment!’
‘Those wraps will be DNA tested. Did you touch them, Aaron? I bet you did!’
‘No comment.’
‘Now’s your chance to give me an explanation.’
‘No comment.’
‘Rhiannon wanted to take William to hospital but he refused. He said he had wanted to go back to his house to get something. A picture of his family that he said you had already damaged. It’s the only thing of any value to him, but he knew he couldn’t go back while you were there. And Rhiannon knows a bit of first aid, she thought she might be able to help a little back at William’s place. She took him in the BMW expecting to get in and out before you could turn up. But when they arrived you were already there. She thinks maybe you got a taxi.’
Aaron was shaking his head. ‘No comment.’
‘You were furious. Rhiannon and William didn’t even make it out of the car, you came from nowhere with a hammer. You smashed the car up . . .’
‘No comment.’
‘The hammer you used is still in the car. We’ll have your DNA on that, fingerprints, too, I bet.’
‘No comment.’
‘You forced your way into the car. Danny came out. He’d gotten too close to Rhiannon — that pissed you off, right?’
‘No comment.’
‘Danny was injured already. But he saw you force your way in and he knew you were going to drive them off and you were going to harm them. He stood in your way, Aaron, didn’t he?’
‘No comment.’
‘You ran him down, Aaron, didn’t you? He’s dead, Aaron. You killed him.’
‘No comment.’
‘Who is Danny?’
‘No comment.’
‘We haven’t been able to identify him yet — that means we haven’t been able to tell his mother that he isn’t coming home. That he died a hundred miles from home. That his so-called mate ran him down. Who is he, Aaron?’
‘No comment.’
‘So after you fatally wounded Danny with your car, the white BMW, you forced Rhiannon and William into the back of the car, threatening them with a hammer. She didn’t know
where you were taking them. But when you passed the police station Rhiannon saw an opportunity and she tried to get out. You struggled with her in the car. She scratched your face trying to defend herself—’
‘No.’
‘No? That didn’t happen?’
‘No. No comment.’
‘How did you get that nasty scratch on your face?’
‘No comment.’
‘We’ve taken skin from under her fingernails. She says it’s yours. It will be yours, won’t it, Aaron?’
‘No comment.’ Aaron had been sitting straighter and straighter under questioning. But Tim wasn’t giving him a moment’s rest between the questions. Now Aaron seemed to sag, his head suddenly rolled forward on his neck, his eyes stared down at the table.
Tim suddenly seemed energised, as if he was feeding off Aaron’s body language. He leaned forward and rose a little off his seat. He was almost on his feet.
‘You left the hammer in the car, Aaron. It was in the footwell and we have successfully pulled prints from it. The seat, you left that in your own saved position. Your DNA will be all over that car. You left the murder weapon you used on William — the knife — in the boot. It had blood on it. It was still wrapped in a piece of cardboard that will be a mechanical fit to the blood-soaked cardboard left down that path. Where you killed William Dryden! That cardboard is covered in his blood, Aaron! Rhiannon Davis is covered in your DNA! William Dryden was seen falling from your car by police officers. There is blood in your car — it will be William’s and maybe Rhiannon’s. There is blood smudged on the gate near where Rhiannon said you stabbed him, where you climbed out after you had done the deed! William had finger marks round his throat where he was grabbed and the pattern will match with your grip, Aaron! And, besides, you will have left your DNA . . .’ Tim’s face flushed, he sucked in a deep breath. Spittle had gathered on his lips and a vein stood out in his neck. He had planted his hands flat on the desk and Graham thought it was just as well; as if he had done it to be sure he had some control over them. He sat back down but he didn’t seem to lose any of his intensity. ‘And you still don’t want to make any comment, Aaron? You still don’t want to shout about how innocent you are?’
Aaron was collapsing in front of them as if in slow motion, his mouth gaped open; saliva had gathered and now fell to the surface of the table in a long string. His eyes were bloodshot and unblinking. ‘No comment . . . no fucking comment,’ he whispered, his head shaking from side to side.
Tim started up again — but quieter, a little more controlled. ‘So you wrestle with Rhiannon Davis in the car — she’s a brave girl, that one — I mean, you’re a big man. But she’s desperate, isn’t she? She knows you’re going to kill her next. Only she can’t get out, Aaron, can she? But William Dryden? In the melee he falls out of the open door, right? He can’t stop himself, Aaron, because he’s now dead from the stab wound you inflicted. You suddenly realise you’re right outside of this very police station and you panic. You drive away. You know you need to dump the car as soon as you can, so you take it round the back of a church, the first suitable place you see. Then you drag Rhiannon by the hair into the front. She fights you though, Aaron, doesn’t she? She fights you all the fucking way. And she gets free. She loses her shoe, but she runs away, doesn’t she? And so do you, Aaron, don’t you?’
‘No comment.’
‘You were so desperate you left your bag of drugs in the boot and twenty thousand pounds in notes.’
‘Twenty thousand?’ Aaron exhaled a laugh. A tear dropped onto the table as he did so. ‘Clever bitch.’
‘Who is?’
‘No comment.’
‘Who is Aaron? Was there more? How much was in there?’
‘No comment.’
‘Your DNA, Aaron . . . it will be all over the bags, all over the contents of the bags, won’t it? Can you tell me now why that might be?’
‘No comment.’
‘Is it because you’re a drug dealer?’
‘No comment.’
‘Of course you are! It’s the whole reason you’re even in the town.’
‘No comment.’ Aaron’s nose was almost touching the table. Tim finally let up; he relaxed a little and leant back in his chair. He took another sip of his tea. Maddie sighed, she pushed her glasses up her nose and scratched some notes on a leather-bound notebook.
‘Let me tell you, Aaron, it’s not often I get an allegation of something as serious as a murder or a sexual assault, and I can match every part of the victim’s statement to physical evidence. You have to understand that the evidence is strong. This is early, too, Aaron. The investigation is only just beginning. We’re in William Dryden’s home right now. I took a call just before I came in here telling me there’s a set of clothes soaking in bleach in the bath. I assume these are yours? There’s a red staining to the water that I’m sure will turn out to be William’s blood. There’s a hole in the wardrobe door, just like Rhiannon said there would be and — guess what? There’s blood on the other side. That will be Rhiannon’s, right? We still have to review CCTV from the town, which we will do, and we will find your BMW in that area, the car that is hired in your name. We might not have coverage of where you killed Dryden, but we can show the car in the area at the material time. We have any number of witnesses that live on his road who are telling us about a white BMW smashing its way out of a car parking space. There’s glass at the scene that will match. The BMW has damage, which includes Danny’s hair and blood that was left in the windshield when you ran him down. It will be Danny’s, won’t it, Aaron? Rhiannon has half your face under her nails and we have no other explanation to go on other than Rhiannon Davis’s. And everything she has said can be corroborated. Everything she has said makes sense. So, you need to tell me now what’s gone on, or I’m going to come to the only conclusion I can.’
Aaron did nothing. Neither detective spoke; they let the words sink in. Aaron lifted his head. He fixed Tim with a look like he wanted to say something. ‘No comment,’ he said.
‘I really hoped you would say that.’
‘She’s got you all fooled, ain’t she? I have to say, she’s played a blinder here,’ Aaron managed.
‘Who?’
‘Rhiannon fucking Davis.’
‘You know her then?’
‘I never said that.’
‘She’s a terrified sixteen-year-old girl, Aaron, and a slip of a thing. What are you saying? That she’s made this all up? Planted evidence at every stage?’
‘Maybe she has.’
‘A sixteen-year-old girl? No criminal record? Not even a stop-check from uniform coppers and here she is, outwitting a hardened gang-banger?’
‘This ain’t any sixteen-year-old girl, Inspector. I see that now.’
Chapter 30
The man turned the key, pushed open the door and gestured for Rhiannon to follow. He wore a wide smile; he had been smiling from the second they had met, but it was one of those fake, fixed smiles, the sort that only estate agents could muster. He was young and good looking but a little too polished for Rhiannon. She got the impression that his three-piece suit and bright orange tie was a choice that had taken him a few attempts to get right. His hair was slicked over to one side, his parting as sharp as a ruler.
‘This one’s not been available for long but we’ve already had a lot of interest. I don’t expect it to be an option for much longer. Someone will snap it up!’
Rhiannon stepped in behind him. The flat was on the seafront in Sandgate, the next town over from Langthorne. It was in a large apartment block. From what she could tell, most of the residents were elderly. The apartment opened up in front of her. It had kitchen units running down the left wall and an island with a polished tap marked the middle of the room. The whole of the right side of the room was open and bare. She could see by differing tones in the carpet where sofas and tables might have stood for the previous occupants. Nothing now remained except for a big brown plant plot housing a huge ru
bber plant that drooped a little, its leaves browning at the edges.
The only internal door that signified a separate room was immediately to the left. The estate agent pushed it open.
‘This is the family bathroom. The two bedrooms are upstairs. The master bedroom has its own en suite.’
Rhiannon followed him in. The bathroom had a roll-top bath, a modern-looking square washbasin and a matching toilet. She left the bathroom and wandered further into the property. She could see a spiral staircase on her left that had been hidden by the bathroom. The frame was a grey metal, with dark wooden steps, which had up-lights embedded along the edges. She flicked her eyes around the interior, but her attention kept moving back to the bi-fold doors at the other end of the room. They covered half the entire width and she could see a balcony beyond. The lad must have seen her staring; he moved over to the door. He fiddled with the lock and the door swept back with ease, folding into itself. Straight away, she could hear hungry seagulls, excited children and the sea itself, its gentle rhythm against the beach. She moved across the floor and out onto the balcony.
‘This sells it all by itself, right?’
‘It does. I’ll take it.’ Rhiannon turned to the lad. He still held the smile. It still lacked conviction.
‘It’s eleven hundred a month. It’s pricey.’
‘That seems reasonable to me.’
‘Well, good.’ His smile fell away a little. ‘And it comes as is. The owner would prefer someone willing to sign up with a twelve-month contract. It would also be necessary to pay two months’ rent up front as a deposit. That holds the place, of course, and you would get that back when you moved out — assuming he had no issues with how it was left.’
‘Okay.’
‘And we would need proof of employment.’
Rhiannon scowled. ‘What’s that for?’
‘Well, the owner would like to be sure they have someone in their place who can afford the rent. I work with a lot of landlords, they can be a bit twitchy for the first twelve months of any contract — you know, until they get to know their tenant.’
‘I’ll have to come back to you with proof of employment.’ Rhiannon patted her pockets. ‘I don’t have it on me right now.’ She knew how ridiculous she must have looked. She was stood in her old Converse pumps; they were falling apart but were the only shoes she had left after leaving one of her newer shoes in Aaron’s car. She had changed her clothes, but nothing was clean really and everything was creased from being screwed up in the bag that still hung from her shoulder. She knew her face still had scratches and bruising. She had been with the police all night. They had wanted an account from her there and then; they had wanted swabs and samples, diagrams and photos. She’d done most of it but had refused the more intimate requests. She was so exhausted that she had nearly fallen asleep while standing up. She’d been jolted awake by flashes from the camera they were using. When they had finally finished they had offered a hotel — insisted at one point — but she’d refused. She was done with temporary fixes, with short stays just for now. She craved something that was hers, something that was permanent. This was it.
Ruthless a Gripping and Gritty Crime Thriller Page 22
