by John Nicholl
‘Slow down, Tina. Take a breath. Now, tell me, where’s this coming from?’
‘I’ve changed my mind, that’s all. I just don’t want to go through with it.’
‘Oh, come on now, we’ve talked about this more than once. Nothing’s going to change if you don’t give evidence. Think about how badly he hurt you this time; he’s going to do the exact same thing again if you give him the slightest opportunity. You know that as well as I do.’
‘I can’t. I just can’t.’
‘Now, look, Tina, we’ve had the locks changed, there’s an injunction in place, and you’ve got a panic alarm installed in the house. You’re as safe as you can be under the circumstances. I get that you’re nervous about going to court, it’s entirely understandable, but you seemed so very sure you were doing the right thing when we last spoke. It was only a day or two ago. What’s changed?’
Tina lowered the phone and began weeping, her chest heaving as she struggled to breathe.
‘Are you still there, Tina? Are you still with me?’
Tina lifted the phone. ‘I’m s -still here.’
‘Are you ringing from the house?’
‘Yeah, where else would I be?’
‘I’ll be with you in twenty minutes. Please don’t contact the police before we’ve spoken again. I want to talk to you, face- to- face, before you do something you later regret. Do you promise?’
She tugged at her lank, greasy, brown hair with her free hand. ‘Yeah, I promise.’
‘Hold on, Tina. Life’s not always going to lurch from one crisis to the next. If you do the right thing now, there are better times ahead. I’ll be on my way as soon as I’ve put the phone down.’
The social worker drove a lot faster than was sensible, as she negotiated the busy market day traffic, en route to the large, red -brick council estate on the edge of town. She parked half on the curb, almost directly opposite the Spencer family’s semi -detached home, and avoided various piles of dirty grey slush as she made her way to the front door; her black woolen coat wrapped tightly around herself.
She knocked and kept knocking until Tina Spencer eventually peered out of the thin yellow curtains, nervously confirming the social worker’s identity, before finally opening the glazed door and standing there with a despairing look of defeat on her face. ‘You look exhausted, Tina. Have you been crying?’
The young woman poked her head out into the street and glanced from right to left and back again. ‘You didn’t see him, did you? He’s not hanging around on the estate, is he? I keep thinking he’s going to turn up. I’m a nervous wreck.’
‘Slow down, Tina. If he comes anywhere near the house, he’ll be arrested again. He wouldn’t dare.’
Tina forced a gap toothed smile. ‘Well, thank fuck for that. He’s probably getting pissed somewhere. He hasn’t given me any money for the kids for weeks. It must be going somewhere. The pubs and the bookies are probably seeing most of it.’
‘Can I come in, Tina? Something’s happened – that’s blatantly obvious. We need to talk.’
She turned and walked towards the ill -kempt lounge with the persona of a woman approaching the gallows. ‘Make sure you lock the door and put the chain on.’
‘Already done, safe and sound. Come on, in you go. Take a seat, and I’ll put the kettle on. Tea or coffee?’
The young woman slumped into an armchair and hugged her knees to her chest. ‘Tea, please, one sugar.’
The social worker handed Tina her mug, sat herself down on the frayed, velour sofa, and smiled warmly. ‘You look as if you’ve lost weight. Have you eaten lunch? I can get you something if you like?’
‘I’m good, ta. I had some toast and strawberry jam first thing.’
‘Are the kids in school?’
‘Yeah, I’m glad of the peace. They drive me round the fucking bend sometimes. Pete was good with the kids when he was sober, I’ll give him that much.’
‘But not so much when he’s been drinking. I think that’s safe to say.’
Tina exhaled noisily. ‘When he’s pissed, he’s a fucking liability.’
The social worker sipped her coffee, savouring the rising vapour that was warming her face. ‘Right, what’s happening, Tina? What’s changed since we last spoke? I know there’s been something significant; I can see you shaking from here.’
Tina averted her eyes and focused on the multicoloured carpet at her feet. ‘It’s nothing. I just want to withdraw my statement, that’s all. It’s up to me. You can’t make me go to court. Nobody can.’
‘But you seemed so determined this time. If you’re not going to give evidence for your own sake, do it for the children. You told me how badly they’re affected by his behaviour towards you: the temper tantrums, the nightmares, the bedwetting. Domestic violence can have a devastating psychological and emotional effect on young ones. I’ve seen it more times than I care to count. Your children aren’t immune. You know how his violence affects them.’
Tina slurped her tea. ‘I just can’t, that’s all. I want to, but I can’t.’
The social worker leaned forwards in her seat. ‘What’s he done, Tina? Has he been here? Has he broken the conditions of the injunction? Is that what this is all about?’
‘He threatened me.’
‘Ah, now it’s all starting to make sense.’
‘He said he’d hurt me bad.’
‘That’s not something he hasn’t said before; it’s not something he hasn’t done before.’
Tina shook her head. ‘This time was different.’
‘Different how?’
‘He was sober, for one. That’s a first.’
‘And? I know there’s more. I can see it in your face.’
‘He followed me back from town. He threatened the kids. He said he’d hurt them if I didn’t withdraw my statement. He was so fucking angry, so hateful. I just can’t risk it. I believed him. He’s changed. He’ll do it.’
‘What a complete bastard, and after all his empty promises.’
‘He’ll do it, I know he’ll fucking do it.’
‘Now, look at me, Tina, deep breaths. I need you to try and relax, and to think this through properly. Let’s not make any rash decisions that may come back to haunt you. It would be too late then; he’d be back with all that entails.’
Tina began shaking her head more rapidly. ‘I have thought about it. I’ve thought about nothing else since getting back to the house. He means it. I haven’t seen him like that before. He was cold, merciless. It’s like he was a different person or something. He scared me shitless.’
‘When was the first time he hit you?’
‘What?’
‘When was the first time?’
Tina rubbed the back of her neck. ‘At the hotel on our wedding night, as soon as we were alone in our room.’
‘And what did he say to you after assaulting you? What did he say when he’d sobered up and calmed down a bit?’
‘The usual shit. How sorry he was, how he’d never do it again, you know, all the usual crap he comes out with when he’s hurt me.’
The social worker nodded slowly. ‘And how long was it before he hit you again? Days, weeks, months?’
‘I’ve told you all this.’
‘Remind me.’
Tina closed her eyes tightly, lost in thought as the past closed in and beat her down a little further. ‘On our honeymoon. He punched me to the floor and started kicking me on our first night in Spain.’
‘And did he say why? Did he try to justify his abhorrent behaviour?’
‘He said I’d smiled at a waiter. That I must fancy him, or something. He didn’t like that. He said it was my fault. That I’d driven him to it.’
‘So, he’s been violent towards you from the very beginning?’
‘Yeah, right from the fucking start.’
‘And how often did he assault you when the honeymoon was over?’
Tina opened her eyes and raised a hand to her battered face as her tears be
gan to flow.
‘How often, Tina? Tell me how often?’
‘Most weekends, w- when he’d been out with his mates for a few pints.’
The social worker paused. ‘And then, you lost the baby. You miscarried when he kicked you in the stomach. That’s right, isn’t it? That’s what you told me.’
‘Yes, I fucking well did!’
‘And did he say that was your fault too? What terrible crime justified such an extreme reaction on his part? Surely you must have done something awful; something truly unforgivable.’
‘I had terrible morning sickness. I just couldn’t manage the housework. I was puking constantly. His meal wasn’t ready when he got home from the pub. That’s all it took. He beat the crap out of me.’
‘He punched you to the floor and kicked you so very hard that you lost the baby. What sort of man would do such a thing? What sort of monster does something like that? To their wife? To their unborn child?’
Tina sat staring into space, choosing not to respond.
‘And what happened when your first child was born? Did anything change? Did fatherhood have a positive impact on his behaviour?’
‘He said it would. He promised it would. He was going to be a good father. He swore it on the baby’s life. He swore he’d never do it again.’
‘And did he keep his word? Was he a changed man?’
Tina hugged herself. ‘No, it happened again about a week later.’
‘And it’s been happening ever since, that’s the truth of it. He hits you, or kicks you, says it’s your fault, and apologises when he’s sobered up and calmed down. That’s the pattern, isn’t it?’
‘Yeah, that’s it.’
‘He’s been doing it for years. He’s never going to stop hitting you. It’s who he is. It’s what he does. If you drop the case, if you have him back, how long is it going to be before he does hurt one of the children? Have you considered that? Those threats could become reality at any time – let alone the psychological damage he’s already inflicted. The children are growing into little people now, individuals with developing personalities. He won’t like that. He’ll see it as a threat. The first time he perceives any element of rejection, or disapproval on their part, he’s likely to hit out. You can see that, can’t you? The risks are increasing with every day that passes.’
‘I know exactly what you’re doing. I’m not a complete idiot, whatever he thinks.’
‘I never thought that for a second. I want you to make an informed decision, that’s all. I want you to fully appreciate the impact of any resolution you come to.’
Tina shifted her gaze to the wall. ‘I get it. I can’t let him win this time. Enough’s enough, I’ve got to stay strong for the sake of the kids. I know what you’re telling me. I’ve heard it a thousand times before.’
The social worker reached out and squeezed her client’s hand, before releasing it and sitting back in her seat. ‘That’s the spirit; he’s bad news, always was and always will be.’
‘I’ve got to put an end to it.’
‘We’ll do it together. I’ll be with you every step of the way. You won’t be on your own.’
‘So, what happens now?’
‘I’m going to ring the police child protection unit, and I’m going to tell the officer in charge exactly what’s happened. She’ll want to take a statement from you, and then the bastard will be arrested again. He’s broken his injunction – that’s contempt of court… He’ll be locked up. It’s your shout. Shall I make the call?’
Tina began rocking in her seat. ‘For the kids, yeah?’
‘Yes, do if for the children.’
‘Do you know the number?’
‘Yes, I do. Only too well.’
Tina rose to her feet and began pacing the room, shaking, nerves taut, hands clammy and mouth dry. ‘Threatening to kill the kids. What the fuck’s that about? He’s gone too far this time. He’s fucking dangerous.’
‘You won’t hear me arguing. Stay strong, Tina. It’s the only way. Don’t let him win.’
Tina paused mid -pace, her eyes flickering like a faulty bulb. ‘Okay, this is it. The time’s right, he’s a vicious sod, an absolute bastard! Ring quickly before I change my mind, there’ll be no going back this time.’
12
Helen Smith was in the process of checking her, she liked to think subtle, makeup with a hand -held mirror, when the phone rang and made her jump. She wasn’t in the best of moods as she picked it up and said, ‘Hello, Mr Turner’s secretary,’ in a brisk and business like Welsh accent that she’d cultivated for the purpose.
‘Is Turner in?’
She took a deep breath. ‘Who’s speaking, please?’
‘It’s Peter Spencer. I’m at the police station. I’ve been fucking arrested. Just get him on the phone. It’s his fucking fault I’m here in the first place.’
‘Mr Turner is unavailable at present. If you tell me which police station you’re at, I’ll pass on a message as soon as I can.’
‘Are you trying to be funny? This is my one fucking call!’
‘It’s the best I can do.’
He snorted. ‘“Threaten her,” he said. “Shut the bitch up,” he said. Well, that worked fucking brilliantly. And that’s sarcasm, in case you were wondering. The missus grassed me up. He’s dumped me right in the shit.’
‘I’ve got no idea what you think Mr Turner told you to do, but you’ve clearly got it very badly wrong. There is no way he’d say those things.’
‘Are you calling me a fucking liar? Is that what you’re doing? I’d watch your mouth, if I were you.’
She tensed her jaw. ‘I do not appreciate your attitude.’
‘Like I give a toss. You’re the monkey, not the fucking organ grinder. You're not all that. It might be an idea to remember that.’
She took a deep breath and counted to five in her head. ‘I’m going to ask you for your location one last time. I can pass on a message, or you can ask the police to contact the duty solicitor. It’s up to you. Any more abuse, and I’m putting the phone down.’
Spencer spoke in softer tones this time, sounding less confrontational. ‘I don’t want to be interviewed without legal representation, and I don’t want to be represented by some underqualified duty solicitor who doesn’t know their arse from their fucking elbow. Tell Turner that if he doesn’t get down here within half an hour, I’m telling the pigs exactly what he told me to do, word for fucking word. I’ll get the bastard struck off if he doesn’t help me, and that’s a promise.’
‘Where are you exactly?’
‘Caerystwyth Police Station, where the fuck else would I be?’
Helen poked out her tongue and gave a flamboyant V-sign to the phone. ‘I’ll pass on the message as soon as possible.’
‘Make sure you fucking well do. Turner’s job’s on the line, and the clock’s ticking.’
13
Grav shoved the incident room door open with his right shoulder and stumbled into the room weighed down by paperwork he planned to work through that day. ‘Morning, love, Put a smile on your face. You’ve got a long day ahead of you.’
Kesey looked up from the two- page report resting on her desk and forced a smile as her boss dumped the various files on his desk and bent down stiffly to switch on the kettle. ‘Mine’s a coffee, if you’re offering, boss.’
‘White, no sugar?’
She sat upright in her chair. ‘What, don’t tell me you’re actually going to make one for a change? Wonders never cease. I’ll have to mark it on the calendar for posterity.’
‘What the hell are you talking about? I’m the very definition of a new man. My missus used to tell me that on a regular basis.’
Kesey laughed. ‘Oh, yeah, I’m sure she did.’
Grav poured boiling water into two reasonably clean mugs, added a splash of full cream milk to both and five sugar lumps for himself. ‘There you go, love, make the most of it. I won’t be making another one for a while.’
; She accepted her mug with an outstretched hand. ‘Do you want the good news or the bad news?’
‘Surprise me.’
‘We’ve got the results of the DNA tests. The lab rushed them through.’
Grav lowered himself into his seat and began massaging his arthritic right knee as it began to throb and swell. ‘So, what’s the news?’
‘There wasn’t any spermatozoa in the sample to get a DNA profile. I’m sorry, boss. They’ve drawn a blank.’
He winced. ‘Oh, for fuck’s sake. I really thought we had him. The bastard’s had a vasectomy.’
‘Yeah, it’s looking that way, but there’s better news on the cigarette butt.’
‘Well, thank fuck for that. Tell me more.’
‘Not only did they get viable DNA, but there’s a match on the National Database.’
‘And?’
Kesey took a deep breath and paused for a beat, milking her moment in the spotlight. ‘Peter Spencer. He lives on the big council estate on the outskirts of town.’
‘Well, fuck me. His name was mentioned to me by someone Emily works with. I didn’t think there was anything in it.’
‘I ran a PNC check, but there’s not much on record. What do you know about him?’
‘I’ve not dealt with the scrote personally, but I’ve heard his name mentioned a few times over the years. Domestic violence. He’s an obnoxious little git who likes to hit his missus when he’s pissed. He needs a fucking good hiding, in my opinion.’
‘So, he’s violent?’
‘Oh yeah, but I didn’t see him as a potential murderer.’
‘Well, he’s right in the frame now.’
‘It could be something and nothing, but we’ve got fuck all else to go with. He’s got to be worth a look. And stranger things have happened. Maybe one discarded fag butt’s given us our killer.’
‘He’s got to be worth talking to.’
Grav pushed himself upright, stretched, and delved into one trouser pocket then the other for his car keys. ‘So where do we find him?’
