by Lisa Hartley
‘Mr Bishop?’ Rafferty waited. ‘Thomas?’ Sitting forward, she touched his hand. He stared at her, his face red and wet with tears. ‘We understand you want to get back to the hospital, back to Anna. But we need to catch the whoever did this to her, and until we’re able to interview Anna, you’re the only person who saw what happened.’
Rafferty’s voice was reassuring, compassionate. After hearing how she had spoken to Catherine Bishop, Knight was surprised to see her empathising with Catherine’s brother.
Thomas wiped his eyes with his palms. ‘I want to help. Anything I can do, tell me. I know my first statement was useless.’
‘Thank you.’ Rafferty asked him to recount the events of the stabbing. He tried, his voice halting, the words as painful now as they had been the first time he had told his story. His account of what happened, the man appearing and demanding his mobile phone and wallet, tallied with the statement he had given earlier, as Knight had known it would.
‘The man who stabbed Anna,’ Adil Zaman said. ‘Can you describe him again please, Mr Bishop?’
Thomas lay his hands flat on the table separating him from the two police officers. He narrowed his eyes, dredging up memories he would sooner forget. ‘He was tall, slim. White.’ He sighed, frustrated with himself. ‘To be honest, I can’t remember any more. As soon as I saw the knife, my attention was focused on it, especially as he had hold of Anna.’
‘It’s understandable, and a common reaction,’ Rafferty told him. ‘When you say “tall”, can you be more specific?’
‘Over six feet. Loads taller than Anna, and me too.’
Zaman stood.
‘I’m six feet tall myself, Mr Bishop. Was the man you saw taller than me?’
Thomas opened his mouth, frowning. ‘Can I stand too?’ he asked Rafferty. ‘He seemed massive, but …’
He stood beside Zaman. ‘Weird. I would have sworn he was loads taller than me, but he can’t have been. I’m only five foot seven – a proper short-arse.’ He managed a shaky grin. ‘He was more like five ten or eleven. More your height. I’m sorry.’
‘It’s fine. It often happens,’ Rafferty reassured him. ‘It’s difficult to be accurate, especially when there’s a weapon involved. Your attention tends to focus on it – the threat. It’s to be expected.’
Thomas sat. ‘Doesn’t help much if I can’t describe him though.’
‘Try this. Close your eyes,’ Rafferty suggested. ‘I know this isn’t going to be easy, but picture yourself on the street with Anna. You parked the car …’
‘Anna did, she was driving.’
Thomas looked sceptical.
‘Give it a go, Mr Bishop. Please?’
In the observation room, beside Knight, Dolan shifted in her chair.
‘Isla’s good at this sort of thing. She should be, she’s been on enough bloody training courses.’
Knight was willing to be convinced as Thomas Bishop sat back in his chair, closing his eyes. When he relaxed, Knight recognised the resemblance to his sister, Catherine.
‘Now, Anna parked the car – where?’ Rafferty asked.
‘Somewhere at the top of Steep Hill. A car park by the castle wall.’
‘Okay. Try to imagine yourself back there, walking to the restaurant.’
Thomas paused. ‘It was colder than we’d expected. I decided to go back to the car for our jackets.’
‘Did Anna go with you?’
‘No, she waited. We put our coats on, Anna took my hand, we kept walking. I asked about her day. Anna knew a shortcut - a narrow street, cobbled. I don’t know the city too well.’ He hesitated, pressing his lips together.
‘I know this is difficult, Thomas. You’re doing well,’ Rafferty told him.
‘We were laughing about something. I heard footsteps behind us, but I didn’t take any notice until I heard his voice.’
Rafferty tensed. Next to her, Zaman sat motionless. ‘What did he say, Thomas?’
‘He said, “Excuse me”. We stopped, turned around. I presumed he was going to ask the time, maybe see if we had a light, but he grabbed Anna’s arm, pulled her towards him. The knife was already in his other hand.’
‘Which hand?’
‘The right. He held Anna with his left.’
‘Okay.’
‘He said, “Your phone and wallet – leave them on the ground and walk away. Then I’ll let her go.” I put my stuff down, but I couldn’t leave Anna.’
‘What happened next?’
‘I stood staring. Anna was still. He kept waving the knife, and I could see he wasn’t going to let Anna go if I didn’t leave, but then he lifted the knife, and … He stabbed her.’ Thomas raised his hands to his mouth.
‘Could you see his face? Can you tell us what he looked like?’
Thomas shifted in the chair, his eyes still closed. ‘I had the impression he was young, because of the way he moved. I remember his eyes … Brown, or hazel. I couldn’t see anything else. He wore a dark coat with the hood up, a scarf over his mouth and chin. Blue jeans, I remember. Black leather gloves. And boots, black boots. Muddy.’ He paused, took a shaky breath. Rafferty stayed silent, and Knight knew she wouldn’t want to interrupt. Thomas was remembering details absent from his first statement. ‘When I saw the knife, I knew he wasn’t messing around. A thin blade, but long.’ He shuddered.
‘Thomas, I want to talk about the attacker’s voice again.’ Rafferty’s voice was hardly more than a whisper. ‘Did you notice an accent?’
‘His voice was muffled, because of the scarf. I didn’t notice an accent.’
‘Try to imagine yourself back there. Is there anything else you can tell us?’
Thomas opened his eyes.
‘I keep going over it in my head, trying to remember some detail to help you, but there’s nothing.’
‘Are you sure it was a man?’ Zaman asked. Rafferty turned her head, shooting him the briefest look of surprise.
‘Well, yeah. His clothes, his voice … It was a man, I’m positive.’ Thomas seemed bemused.
Zaman smiled at him. ‘I wanted to check.’
‘All right. Thomas, I’d like you to close your eyes again, go through the whole incident once more, please. Focus on putting yourself back there.’
‘Again? I know you want to find the bastard who did this, but I’m sure I’ve told you all I remember.’ Thomas glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘I need to get back to the hospital.’
‘One more time. Please?’ Rafferty folded her arms.
‘All right.’
Thomas sat back in the chair, his hands loose in his lap. His eyes closed again, and his breathing slowed. The interview room was silent. Knight waited, aware of Dolan shuffling beside him. Knight had counted to forty-five before Thomas said, ‘There’s nothing. I’m sorry.’
Rafferty sighed.
‘Thank you, Mr Bishop.’
Knight turned to Dolan. ‘Can I have a word with Thomas before he goes? I want to ask about Anna.’
‘Follow me.’
Rafferty and Zaman were leaving the room as Dolan and Knight turned the corner. Knight hurried into the room and dropped into the chair Rafferty had vacated. Thomas stared at him.
‘Jonathan, what are you doing here?’
‘I’m helping out. Thomas, you’ve given us valuable information. The description could be vital and if we get an image of the suspect’s face too …’
‘I’ve already said I’ll do an e-fit. I want him found. It won’t help Anna, I know, but …’
‘How is she? You mentioned an infection?’
‘You were listening?’
‘Watching too,’ Knight admitted.
‘So I’m a suspect.’
‘No, not at all. But until we can talk to Anna, you’re the only witness we have.’
‘She’s still unconscious. They said,’ he blinked a few times, ‘they said lots of people don’t survive this type of infection, around half of those who develop it. Fifty percent. I know Anna’s young
and fit, but it doesn’t seem to matter. Machines are doing everything for her. All we can do is hold her hand and wait.’ Thomas gazed at Knight, his eyes so like his sister’s it was unnerving. They were darker, but the shape was the same, as was the pleading expression Knight had seen in Catherine’s eyes more than once. Thomas was reaching out to him, as a friend, as Anna’s boss, someone who worked with her every day, knew her, cared about her. Knight coughed.
‘I’m sure the doctors and nurses are doing all they can …’ Even to his own ears, it sounded pathetic. They would be, it was their job. It wouldn’t be a comfort to the man sitting in front of him.
‘They are. They’re amazing.’ Thomas pushed back his chair and got to his feet. ‘All we can do is wait, and hope Anna beats this. She’s strong, and she’s surrounded by people who love her.’ Knight followed him to the door and out of the room. ‘Where do I go to get this e-fit thing done? It’ll help, won’t it?’
Knight wished he knew what else to say. A crumb of comfort, some hope. His mind was a blank. Thomas was clearly already grieving, resigning himself to the fact Anna would not recover. And all Knight could do was nod his head and not say a word.
*
Dolan, Rafferty, Knight and Zaman regrouped in a quiet corner of the incident room. Around them, the place buzzed with activity. Uniformed officers, plainclothes detectives and civilian support staff, all determined to hunt down the man responsible for critically injuring one of their own. On the smartboard on the far wall, the face of Anna Varcoe was still displayed, smiling at them. Knight noticed more than one officer glance at it, turning back to their task with their jaw set. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Anna’s eye.
Rafferty sipped from a bottle of water. ‘At least we have a description now.’
‘We also need the e-fit,’ Dolan reminded them. ‘It shouldn’t take too long. We need to release it to the press.’
‘Is Thomas no longer a suspect?’ Knight asked. Dolan pursed her lips.
‘He never was, not in my eyes. We’ve all seen liars in the interview room, good actors, but watching him today, I’m certain he’s genuine. His story stands up, and it’s vague enough to be the truth. If he’d have remembered every detail, I’d be more inclined to be suspicious.’
‘Agreed,’ Knight said.
‘We need to focus on finding this man. Get his face in the papers, on social media, everywhere. He must be shitting it to know the woman he knifed was a copper.’ Dolan bared her teeth. ‘Will be when he’s all over the news, anyway.’
Knight turned to the window, parting the vertical blinds. As he’d expected, the gaggle of journalists continued to wait. Dolan came over to see what he was looking at.
‘They’re still out there,’ Knight said. ‘TV cameras too.’
Dolan peered out at them. ‘There are some at the hospital too, apparently.’
‘Good to know an attack on a police officer is still worthy of all this attention,’ said Rafferty.
‘I’ve a press conference in an hour.’ Dolan didn’t sound thrilled at the prospect. ‘Me, Detective Superintendent Stringer and Chief Constable Southern.’ She turned away. ‘Can’t wait.’
‘Could the muddy boots be important?’ Rafferty asked. ‘Maybe our man works on a building site.’
‘It’s worth considering. Forensics should be able to tell us if they found any footprints. I’m expecting an update soon. They couldn’t tell us much earlier, but you never know,’ Dolan replied. She called across to a uniformed sergeant. ‘Any joy from the fingertip search?’
The man shook his head. ‘No, Ma’am, not as far as I know.’
‘Thank you.’ Dolan smiled. Rafferty shuffled her feet.
‘Time for the briefing, Ma’am … Mary.’
Officers were already leaving the room as Dolan scrolled through emails on her phone.
‘Let’s get on with it.’
*
At the front of the room, Dolan was growing increasingly frustrated as officers reported back on their day’s work. Every line of enquiry was drawing a blank. Phone calls they had received from potential witnesses had been followed up, but no useful information had come to light. The time-consuming, morale-sapping task of trawling through CCTV footage had proved similarly fruitless. The knife used to stab Anna was still missing. No one had seen her assailant. His escape, whether on foot or in a vehicle, had not been noticed.
‘At least not by anyone we’ve spoken to yet.’ Dolan told the assembled officers about the description provided by Thomas Bishop. DS Melis, her friend from the morning briefing, now sitting in the front row, greeted the news with a scornful laugh.
‘He’s remembering this now? How convenient. And he’s described half of Lincolnshire.’
‘Mr Bishop is completing an e-fit. We’ll need it circulating as widely as possible.’ Dolan refused to acknowledge Melis. Seeing this, he waved his arm in the air. Dolan narrowed her eyes. ‘Yes?’
‘I’m still not convinced he didn’t stab his girlfriend himself. The robberies committed in the city recently would be the perfect way to camouflage it,’ Melis said.
‘Thomas Bishop isn’t a suspect,’ Dolan told him. ‘He has no motive, and the statements of the people who helped him and Anna Varcoe immediately after she was stabbed corroborate what he told us. The knife wasn’t found on him, and he had no time to dispose of it. We know because of the 999 call he made. If he’d delayed at all, Anna Varcoe would’ve been dead before the paramedics arrived. Even if he sprinted off to chuck the knife somewhere out of sight, we would have found it. Anyway, the people who helped them were on the scene quickly, Mr Bishop travelled in the ambulance with DC Varcoe and was interviewed by one of our officers soon after. He had no opportunity to dispose of a knife.’
‘Thomas Bishop had blood on his clothes though,’ one of the detective constables pointed out.
Dolan acknowledged the point.
‘Consistent with his story, according to forensics. Let’s focus on our other lines of investigation.’
‘Such as?’ Melis folded his arms.
‘Finding the knife. Our man knew where to wait for Anna and Thomas Bishop. We know where the attack took place – let’s go back to the shops, the businesses around there. When we have our e-fit, show it to everyone you can find. Our suspect must know the city well, and he’ll have spent some time in the street where Anna was stabbed. Maybe having lunch, a cup of coffee. Someone must have seen him.’
Melis groaned. ‘Ma’am, with respect …’
‘Respect? You’re showing respect by challenging me, DS Melis?’ Dolan rounded on him. ‘This investigation is close to twenty-four hours old, and we don’t have a lead yet, apart from a basic description of our suspect. We’ve checked with the statements of the other people this man has robbed. Their descriptions of him were even vaguer than the one Thomas Bishop gave us, but certain points tally.’
‘True, but Bishop could have read about it in the newspaper. The descriptions were released to the press, weren’t they? It’s easy enough to remember them – dark clothes, hood over his face, blah blah blah.’ Melis spread his hands. ‘I believe we should keep an open mind.’
Dolan stalked over to where Melis sat, glowering at him.
‘I watched Thomas Bishop interviewed today. He’s not our man. If we fixate on trying to prove he is, this investigation will go nowhere.’
‘You mean you’re afraid of making a mistake?’ Melis taunted. ‘Another mistake, should I say?’
Dolan hesitated, her expression not changing.
‘If you have something to say, DS Melis, let’s hear it.’ Her hands were on her hips.
‘The Emily Brennan case. Three years old, dead after “falling” in the bath. Her father killed her – you didn’t arrest him.’
‘Yes, we did.’
‘Yeah, eventually. Once he’d terrified his wife into keeping her mouth shut by kicking ten tonnes of shit out of her.’
‘We …’
Melis hadn’t
finished. ‘After the wife died as well.’
There was silence. The officers sitting either side of Melis sat frozen, while Melis himself bowed his head, as if he were in church. Dolan was still, her eyes glazed, watching a scene unfold which no one else could see. A tiny body, broken and wasted. A man, his eyes swollen from crying, led away in handcuffs. And a woman, quietly cremated, the only mourners a neighbour and three police officers.
Case closed.
At the end of the front row, Isla Rafferty got to her feet. She went to Dolan, spoke quietly to her. Dolan took a deep breath, let it out slowly.
‘The case you’re referring to is not relevant to this one.’
‘I disagree. I …’
‘Detective Sergeant Melis, do you want to continue as part of this investigation?’
Melis was unshaken. ‘Yes, Ma’am.’
‘Then wind your neck in.’ She gave him one final glare and turned away.
22
Catherine Bishop huddled in a quiet corner of the pub with a cup of the cheapest coffee on the menu. She had managed to take a shower while she had been at Headquarters, but wouldn’t be able to change her clothes until she arrived at the shelter. Hopefully, she would be able to grab another shower before bed. It was seven-thirty in the evening, time for her to make her way to Phoenix House to spend her first night there. She wasn’t looking forward to it. She was less apprehensive after speaking to Ghislaine, but her task seemed overwhelming. Ghislaine had confided more than she had hoped for, but not everyone would be so forthcoming. She knew she would be expected to share a bedroom with the other women. Not a prospect she found appealing. As far as she was aware, she didn’t talk in her sleep, but how could be sure? She was afraid of saying the wrong thing, exposing herself as a fraud. The knowledge she was deceiving people, as she had said to Dolan when they had first discussed the assignment, also troubled her. Agreeing to this assignment had been a mistake. The sensation of snakes twisting and coiling beneath her skin was back, the dry mouth, the sense of dread. Sitting there, unsure whether she would have a job to go back to at Northolme Police Station, uncertain of the future of her relationship with Ellie, she felt totally alone.
