She's Fallen

by Alex Clare

  Praise for Alex Clare

  ‘Lifting the police procedural into new realms, Alex Clare has created a contemporary and relevant heroine in Robyn Bailley.’

  – Alice Clark-Platts

  ‘Classic crime fiction with a compelling, complex and brilliantly conceived central character. Robyn Bailley is a wonderful creation and Alex Clare is an exciting new talent.’

  – Sheila Bugler

  ‘Alex Clare has delivered a crime novel that is a match for those by well-established authors in the genre.’

  – Joy Isabella, Joyisabella.com

  ‘He’s Gone by Alex Clare is a thrilling post-modern novel in which the inclusion of a trans woman detective questions the conception of the detective novel … I, for one, was very happy to meet Robyn.’

  – Elena Adler, booksandreviews.wordpress.com

  ‘If you are a fan of crime fiction and you love an original protagonist, I would highly recommend.’

  – The Book Review Café

  She’s Fallen

  Alex Clare

  Copyright

  First published 2018

  by Impress Books Ltd

  Innovation Centre, Rennes Drive, University of Exeter Campus, Exeter EX4 4RN

  © Alex Clare 2018

  The right of the author to be identified as the originator of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyrights, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblances to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

  British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

  A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

  ISBN 13: 978–1–911293–12–5 (pbk)

  ISBN 13: 978–1–911293–13–2 (ebk)

  Typeset in Garamond

  by Swales and Willis Ltd, Exeter, Devon

  Printed and bound in England

  by imprintdigital.net

  Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright

  SATURDAY 17 SEPTEMBER

  1

  2

  3

  4

  5

  6

  7

  8

  9

  10

  11

  SUNDAY 18 SEPTEMBER

  12

  13

  14

  MONDAY 19 SEPTEMBER

  15

  16

  17

  18

  19

  20

  21

  TUESDAY 20 SEPTEMBER

  22

  23

  24

  25

  26

  WEDNESDAY 21 SEPTEMBER

  27

  28

  29

  30

  31

  Acknowledgements

  About Alex Clare

  Also by Alex Clare

  SATURDAY 17 SEPTEMBER

  1

  Unable to suppress a giggle, Jade covered the phone with her hand.

  Sophie looked up from her Meresbourne Gazette.

  Composing herself, Jade held the receiver back to her ear. ‘Well, I’m very sorry, sir. I’m not really sure what –’ Her eyes widened at the reaction. ‘Let me see what we can do, sir.’ She put the phone down. ‘Jeez. Lighten up.’

  ‘What was he getting so upset about?’ Sophie didn’t bother to lower her voice. With the lobby full of music coming from the ballroom, they could talk behind the reception desk without worrying about guests overhearing.

  ‘That was 106. Have you seen them, a pair of oldsters?’

  ‘Oh yes, I spoke to them earlier. They weren’t very happy there was a wedding today and said something about their breakfast being disturbed?’

  ‘When they arrived yesterday, they moaned at the long-life milk on the tea tray.’ Jade rolled her eyes. ‘Now they’re complaining about banging from the room next door.’

  ‘Banging?’ Sophie’s plucked eyebrows shot up.

  ‘Yeah. Apparently the wall’s shaking.’ Jade smirked, showing a yellow wad of chewing gum. ‘And in a family room as well!’

  Sophie cocked her head. ‘Well, how do you think you get a family in the first place?’

  They both sniggered.

  ‘I suppose I’d better try calling them.’ Jade’s pudgy fingers paused over the keypad. ‘Dear guests, please shag more quietly.’ After a few seconds, she put the phone down. ‘They must have taken it off the hook, it’s not even ringing.’

  ‘Someone will have to go up.’ Sophie turned a page of the newspaper.

  ‘Well I’m not going. Ah, there’s Keith. Keith!’

  There was no response from the stooped man on the other side of the lobby. Sophie smoothed out the crossword page and reached for a pen. ‘Don’t shout across the lobby like that, go over.’

  After making a face behind Sophie’s back, Jade left the desk. ‘Keith.’ The man turned towards her, cupping a hand behind his ear. ‘108 are being noisy. They’re part of the wedding booking.’

  ‘And you want me to go up?’

  Jade’s forehead creased as she spoke, the words slow, as if speaking to a child. ‘Yeah, we’ve had a complaint.’

  ‘Oh very well.’ Keith turned for the stairs then paused. ‘In that case you will have to tell the DJ not to leave his boxes blocking the fire escape.’ He began trudging up the staircase to the first floor, conscious of eyes watching him, making sure he didn’t chicken out.

  The music from the ballroom speeded up. ‘Ooh, I love this song.’ From the middle of the lobby, Jade began to shimmy back to the desk, seams straining on her dress.

  ‘They do say weddings make people frisky.’ Sophie picked up her pen again. ‘What time is it? I’m hoping Lawrence will say I can go now it’s calmed down a bit. I’m getting a headache.’

  A couple, he with a cigarette already in his mouth, crossed the lobby towards the main entrance.

  ‘There’s going to be a bhangra DJ later, can’t wait.’ Jade slid back behind the desk.

  ‘Watch out!’ In the doorway, a man in running gear was untangling himself from the smoker. The jogger was panting, pointing back over his shoulder. ‘Sorry, sorry, sorry. Ambulance, call an ambulance.’ He stared around his frozen audience. ‘Out there, someone on the ground, a woman, she’s fallen!’

  The changing-room door was pulled open. Detective Inspector Robyn Bailley stood in her underwear holding the dress she’d just tried on.

  ‘Oh, I’m terribly –’ The automatic apology broke off. A middle-aged woman stood frozen in front of the cubicle: a blouse dropped from her outstretched arms. Her eyes flicked up and down, across Robyn’s bra, where the breast pads had pushed out above the cups and lingering below where there was still a bulge at the crotch. Over the woman’s shoulder, a sales assistant’s mouth dropped open, eyes wide with shock.

  Robyn slammed the door shut. From outside, there was a sudden burst of giggling. She didn’t know which shame she wanted to cover first and wasted precious seconds before pulling on her jeans. One foot got stuck in the leg and she overbalanced, banging against the wall of the cubicle, sending empty hangers rattling to the floor. Her blouse had green buttons all down the front: with hindsight, it had been stupid to go shopping for clothes wearing something so fiddly. There was a knock on the door.

&
nbsp; ‘Sir, I’m afraid you’ll have to come out of there.’

  Robyn reached the last button, realising she had gone wrong somewhere because there was no button-hole left.

  More knocks, harder this time. ‘Sir, please come out of there.’ The words were firm; the voice was young. Robyn gave up on refastening the blouse because it would take too long. She picked up a coat hanger and the discarded dress then stared at herself in the mirror, wondering why on earth she was considering tidying up when she was being thrown out. Gathering her earlier purchases and her handbag, she opened the door, leaving the clothes on the floor. The manager, who couldn’t have been more than twenty-five, had her fist raised, about to start another sequence of knocking.

  There was a lot Robyn wanted to say but even glaring at the manager was too painful because the skin on her face was taut and hot following her second session of laser hair removal that morning. Holding her head high, Robyn swept through the shop, ignored the stares and walked out into the spitting rain on the High Street. She kept walking at an even pace, feeling eyes following her from the doorway. After a morning of chores, this afternoon was supposed to have been the fun part of Saturday, clothes shopping followed by a manicure. The shopping wasn’t even really a treat, it was a necessity. The first outfits for her transition had been bought mail-order and most had to be returned as they didn’t fit. For the two months she had been living openly as a woman, she’d had to wear the same two suits to work. As all she wanted to do now was go home, she would have to make them last a bit longer. At least she had managed to buy what she needed for her daughter’s planned visit.

  Walking through the automatic door of Whitecourt Shopping Centre, a blast of icy air chilled the moisture on her face. She wiped away the mix of rain and tears. The shopping centre looked its worst, the floor a slick of muddy footprints. A banner advertising the Edmund Napier Loveless festival hung slack where a fixing had come loose, the stern face of the feminist author creasing and bulging in the breeze. Walking the central aisle brought back unpleasant memories of her first case as Robyn. After all of the publicity surrounding the disappearance of Ben Chivers, she’d assumed that everyone in Meresbourne and the villages would know what she looked like and understand what she was doing. As she pushed open the heavy door to the car park and began the trudge up the concrete stairs, she wondered if the problem was more that some people would never feel comfortable being around a trans woman. Her doctor certainly wasn’t: that morning, he had refused again to refer her to a specialist gender identity clinic. The appointment had been an awkward stutter of questions leaving her feeling fobbed off and wondering whether she would need to find another GP. Robyn wiped her eyes again.

  When she stepped out onto the top floor of the car park, the rain was heavier. The juddering of a helicopter sounded close by. Somewhere below, car horns blared. Unlocking her Mondeo, she put the bags into the boot, hearing a siren rise then fall. It was impossible to tell where the police car was heading because the sound bounced off buildings in the gusty wind. Her phone rang.

  ‘Hi, Lorraine.’

  ‘Hello, Guv.’ DC Lorraine Mount sounded serious. Wherever she was, it was noisy, with another siren in the background. ‘Sorry to disturb your day off. There’s something you should know about.’

  2

  Robyn settled into the driver’s seat, closing the door against the damp. ‘Go ahead, Lorraine.’

  ‘We’ve got someone in a coma, apparently fell from a balcony of the Lady Ann Hotel but there are things making me suspicious and, worse, it’s Ravi’s cousin.’

  ‘Christ.’ Letting her head fall back, Robyn stared at the roof of the car for a second. ‘OK, I’m just around the corner.’

  ‘Glad you’re already in town, Guv. The traffic’s backed up to the ring road.’

  ‘Ravi – how is he?’ She remembered removing Detective Constable Ravi Sharma from the shift rota for the weekend because he was attending a family wedding.

  ‘Not good.’

  ‘I’ll be with you in about ten minutes.’

  Hand on the door, Robyn glanced at her make-up in the rear-view mirror: it had become a habit to check every chance she got because people now tended to judge her on her appearance. Grabbing her handbag, she left the car and started back down the stairs to the street exit. Heading left towards the river, she strode past a long line of stationary cars; ahead, the traffic lights on Bridge Street changed in a futile sequence. She turned onto Quayside and saw the Georgian frontage of the Lady Ann hotel shut off by blue and white tape strung between the decorative lampposts. The symmetry of the façade was spoiled by a screened-off area to the left of the entrance. More blue and white tape fluttered on the rail of a balcony on the first floor. Inside the tape line, a cold-looking constable kept up a slow patrol. Robyn struggled for her name.

  ‘Guv. Over here.’

  Lorraine had appeared at the hotel’s front entrance and beckoned her in. The constable nodded and held the tape high, her attention now on passers-by who had stopped to gawp.

  As she walked towards the hotel, Robyn thought how much Lorraine’s yellow, turtle-neck sweater suited her. This was the colour of the season, according to the last Meresbourne Gazette fashion feature. Robyn had tried on a dress of the same colour earlier and looked jaundiced. Against Lorraine’s dark brown skin, the colour glowed a warm gold.

  ‘Hi.’ Robyn pulled her thoughts back to the case. ‘Looks like everything is under control here. Where’s Ravi?’

  ‘Thanks, Guv. It is now.’ Lorraine ran her hand through her short hair. ‘I got here about fifteen minutes after the ambulance was called and found Ravi having a stand-up row with a woman, one of his aunts, I think.’ She dropped her voice. ‘My guess is he tried to take control and tell everyone what to do. He’s so upset, he can’t have been thinking straight. I’ve called Chloe too and she’s on her way.’ They climbed the steps to the front entrance, the wind at their backs.

  ‘Good idea. Who’s the victim?’ Robyn stopped in the lobby where the wall lamps, designed to look like candles, made little headway against the day’s gloom. A knot of staff clustered around the reception desk, talking in low voices.

  ‘She’s Shazia Johar, a cousin of the bride, like Ravi.’ Lorraine waved her hands to the blood-red garlands twined around the pillars in the lobby. ‘All looks a bit sinister now, don’t you think? So far, most of the guests have been pretty good about staying in the ballroom. I didn’t want anyone to leave, in case.’ She hesitated, biting her lip. ‘Well, in case I’m right about what’s wrong.’

  ‘Do you think someone pushed her?’

  There was sudden movement on the other side of the lobby as the staff gathered around the reception desk scattered. A tall, Indian man was marching towards them.

  ‘There was certainly someone else in the room at the time – one of the porters. It’s more what must have happened beforehand that I want to show you though.’

  Before Robyn could ask what she meant, a voice carried across the room. ‘I demand to know when we can leave.’ The chubby receptionist pointed him in their direction and the man began striding towards them.

  ‘Right.’ Robyn welcomed the need to act, the sense of purpose which could block out other feelings for a while. ‘I’ll deal with this. Lorraine, get some bodies on standby to do first interviews if we decide to investigate. You need to show me what made you call me.’

  ‘I understand you are police officers. Who is in charge?’ The man in the indigo kameez stared at Lorraine for a couple of seconds, then turned his gaze to Robyn. Lorraine took the opportunity to move away.

  Robyn stepped forward. ‘I am, sir. Detective Inspector Bailley. I know this is a traumatic time. I’m afraid we will need to keep you a little longer while we establish what happened. If you can be patient?’

  ‘This is my daughter’s wedding day. My niece is in a critical condition in hospital and we are being kept in a room like farm animals.’ The man emphasised the words with jabs of his finge
r. ‘Nobody is telling us what is going on.’

  ‘I appreciate this has been a horrible shock for you all. We will need time to establish the facts.’ Robyn pointed to Lorraine. ‘My colleague is calling up support so we can get through this as quickly as possible. Please, sir, will you go back to the ballroom?’

  The man scanned Robyn, lip curling so his moustache hid his mouth. Into the silence came Lorraine’s voice. ‘OK, look, call me back as soon as you get this.’

  ‘When is something going to be done? Because my daughter has a plane to catch.’

  ‘It is happening now, sir.’ Trying to project authority to calm the man, a draught of cold air on her stomach reminded Robyn of the gap in her blouse where she had got the buttons wrong. She was glad when her phone rang and she could turn away. ‘Excuse me, sir. Hello, Khalid.’

  ‘Robyn, hello.’ The media manager’s voice was its usual smooth burr. ‘Do you have a moment?’

  ‘Go ahead.’

  ‘There’s been an incident at the Lady Ann Hotel. I’m sure you’re already aware?’

  Across the lobby, the bride’s father was now talking to a woman in a fuchsia-pink sari. Robyn moved further away, willing them not to come back. ‘Yes, I’m there now.’

  ‘There’s a lot of speculation on social media already. I wanted to understand what happened.’

  ‘I’ve only just arrived. Lorraine was first responder. We’ve got to check some things so I’d rather we didn’t say anything if we can get away with it.’

  ‘Sure, well let me know. While I’ve got you, I need to prepare a brief for the Superintendent. You know there are all these events for the Loveless festival? He’s speaking as part of a panel on Monday debating violence against women.’

  ‘Is Fell for or against?’ Robyn couldn’t tell whether the splutter from the other end was a laugh.

  ‘If you saw who else is on the panel with him, you wouldn’t joke.’ Khalid coughed. ‘Excuse me. Fell’s sharing a platform with someone who’s previously recommended all boys be given hormones to delay puberty until they’re twenty-one. She’s some academic and rent-a-gob.’