by Alex Clare
Robyn sat up, forcing her mind back to the afternoon. ‘Tell me.’
‘You remember I got a message from Ravi? Well, he was in a bad way. He was certain there was someone else involved in Shazia’s accident because he said she would never want to kill herself. He felt he had to do something. I tried to persuade him to leave it to you but –’
‘What did he do?’ It was one thing for Ravi to risk his career; she didn’t want Chloe’s to be implicated too because of a sense of loyalty.
‘He decided to go to the hospital in London and talk to Shazia’s doctors, make sure they treated the fall as a crime and collected evidence. I thought it was best to go along, to keep an eye on him.’ The words came out in a rush. ‘When we got there, Shazia was already in surgery. We met one of the nurses afterwards. She’d taken samples and she also said Shazia had marks she didn’t think were consistent with a fall. It looks like Dr Brockwell was right and she was raped.’
‘Does Ravi know this?’
‘Yes. You can imagine what that did to him.’
‘Where is he and where are the samples?’
‘I finally got him to go home. I’ve got the samples here and I’ll drop them in tomorrow.’
‘And how is Ravi?’
‘How do you think?’ It sounded like Chloe was at the end of her patience. ‘Sorry, Guv, he’s in an awful bind. There’s a lot of stigma about suicide so if Shazia jumped, people may condemn her for trying to kill herself but if he tells them she was raped, that makes it worse. And he feels he’s got to catch the bastard that did this to prove to his family being a copper is worthwhile because they all wanted him to be a doctor or something.’ She took a ragged breath. ‘You see, Guv?’
‘He shouldn’t be telling anyone anything because he’s not working this case.’ Kneading the cushion with her free hand, Robyn tried to think of better words. ‘Chloe, I said you need to tell me everything and I meant it. For a start, what made Ravi think something was up? Did he go into the hotel room?’ She let the silence lengthen.
‘Yeah.’ Chloe sounded close to tears. ‘He just wanted to help.’
‘He’s just added another set of DNA to the crime scene.’
‘He definitely didn’t touch anything.’ The words came too quickly.
‘What did he do?’ Robyn let her head roll back against the sofa. ‘Come on.’
‘Well, it all sounded really confusing, Guv. Ravi was dancing and the first thing he knew was when the band stopped playing. His uncle made an announcement to say there had been an accident and everything was cancelled. Ravi went to see if he could help and found out Shazia was hurt. From the amount he talks about her, they’re pretty close.’ Chloe paused for breath. ‘He said he went into the room but then got so upset he came straight back down.’
‘He has got to accept he must stay away.’ She waited for an answer, gripping the cushion, until the silence became oppressive. ‘How did the operation go?’
‘She’s still alive.’ Chloe sighed. ‘Everything they’ve done so far is just to stabilise her. Now they have to wait and see what damage was done. She’s in an induced coma to give the swelling on the brain time to go down – that could be days or weeks. Or never.’
‘I know it’s hard and I’m glad you were there for Ravi.’ There was something at the back of Robyn’s mind, staying out of her focus. ‘This has been a shock for all of us. The best thing we can do for Shazia is find out what happened and to do that, Ravi must keep out of the investigation. I’ll need your help with that.’
‘Yes, Guv.’ Chloe’s words were no more than a whisper. ‘Please don’t be too hard on him.’
Robyn scavenged through the fridge for a scratch supper and carried it through into the lounge. The ten o’clock news finished and the coverage shifted to the regions. To her relief, the first item was about the royal opening of a charity’s new office in Maidstone. She took a bite of dry cheese. The picture changed back to the newsreader.
The start of a week of events to mark the one hundred and fiftieth birthday of the feminist author Faith Gregory, better known as Edmund Napier Loveless, was marred by violence today. Outside Meresbourne police station, protesters clashed with police causing an officer to be taken to hospital where his condition is described as stable. And now we go live to Meresbourne and our reporter, Amanda Clapton.
The screen split to include a woman standing outside the Lady Ann hotel under an umbrella, a bulky scarf around her neck. Next to her, a pile of bouquets and flowers was visible in the spotlight.
What’s the latest you can tell us Amanda?
Well Jenny, I now understand the cause of the disturbance can be traced back here, to the Lady Ann Hotel. This afternoon, a guest at a wedding made an apparent suicide attempt and a source at the hotel told me the police are linking this to an allegation of sexual assault. Trouble started at the police station when protestors learned that a suspect for that assault had been released without charge. Around thirty demonstrators were involved and there were a number of arrests.
Robyn resisted an urge to shout at the television. She wondered who had been talking.
So have the police charged anyone with the assault?
Not so far, Jenny, back to you. The newsreader turned to face to the camera. Protests are continuing this evening with a march through Meresbourne, called a slut walk. There will be a vigil outside the Lady Ann Hotel at midnight.
Behind the newsreader, the display changed to the stern face of Edmund Napier Loveless. Many years after Loveless wrote ‘a woman is petted when a kitten, then drowned when she shows her claws’ her words are still relevant today. And now over to Stephen for the region’s weather.
Thank you, Jenny. Well, it looks like autumn is really here because it’s going to be a cold, wet night across most of Kent, continuing into Sunday. I want to say ‘wrap up warm’ to those people taking part in the march tonight but maybe that’s not quite in the spirit of things.
Robyn muted the television to shut up the inane chuckling. The joy of home-delivery shopping meant she had been able to buy a bottle of single malt even though none of her identification paperwork yet matched her new name. It was very tempting to have a slug to blur the events of the day although that could be the start of a slippery slope. She told herself she could have one next time she had something to celebrate, filled the kettle for her morning tea and went to bed.
She wasn’t sure how long the phone had been ringing before she woke up sufficiently to recognise what the sound was. The phone screen said it was twenty past two.
‘Lorraine.’ Robyn felt a strap of her nightdress slip from her shoulder.
‘Guv, we’ve got a body.’
In the first muzzy moments after sleep, the urgent voice in Robyn’s ear could have been in the room with her. She pulled the duvet close, wanting to cover herself. ‘Any ID?’
‘Yeah, that’s why you need to see it. Ah, here’s Kelly now to check him over. I’m on the Docks estate, I’ll text you the address. Could you come down? Thanks.’ She put the phone down.
Now wide awake, Robyn shivered, wondering whose death was important enough to make Lorraine call her. The second more irreverent thought was whether the Australian pathologist, Dr Kelly Shepherd, would still be wearing his usual shorts.
She decided to take the shorter route through the centre of town, wipers on against the drizzle. As part of the council’s cost-cutting, street lights now were turned off at midnight and the low mist added menace to the familiar roads. Robyn was sticking to the speed limit and found herself being tail-gated by a minibus, its high headlights dazzling in her mirror. She turned off Bridge Street onto Quayside. Here, a levy on the riverside clubs’ late licenses paid for the lights to stay on all night after a councillor’s son had been the latest reveller to fall into the Gadd while staggering home from a night out. To her annoyance, the minibus followed her. When Robyn slowed down because of the pedestrians walking in and out of the pools of light, the minibus jinked past her – she was not surprised to
see it was a taxi.
None of the people coming towards her looked to be having a good night out. Two men carried another man between them, his legs dragging on the cobbles. Someone was being sick into the river. A typical Saturday night in Meresbourne. Face screwed up, one girl seemed to be walking on tiptoe: her feet were bare, a pair of high shoes clutched in one hand.
About fifty yards ahead, the taxi had stopped outside the Quiksilva nightclub, clouds rising from its exhaust. Beyond, the road appeared to be full of people: Robyn stopped the car. Everyone she could see was wearing a short skirt, some holding banners, the words illegible in the rain and darkness. One walked through the lights with just a bra on her top half: the temperature gauge in the car showed six degrees. Robyn was glad to be ignored, the crowd were focusing on the club. A banner flapped straight in the wind and she could read … xy Stripping Sat …
The windscreen was steaming up and rubbing just spread the smears so Robyn got out and stood, leaning on the door, listening to snatches of chanting from the women clustered around the steps leading up to the club’s main entrance. Movement caught her eye: a knot of people had appeared from the side of the building. A few shouts, then she heard screams, sounding like rage not pain. From the top of the steps, a man was soaking the crowd with a jet from a high-pressure washer. At the same time, men in dark coats hustled a group of young women towards the taxi. The chanting rose in volume from those out of range of the hose. One of the men heaved open the taxi’s side door, the rest stood guard as the young women scrambled inside. The door was banged shut and the taxi tried to reverse. The jet of water was directed onto its windscreen, the spray shooting in all directions, soaking anyone who tried to get close. Now moving, the taxi sounded its horn. When it reversed past her, Robyn got a glimpse of scared, pale faces in the back. There was no sign of any of Matthew’s uniform team but the protestors seemed to have lost their unity. Some banged on the club’s door; others began straggling towards the town centre. Robyn ducked back into her car, locking the door. She waited until the way ahead was clear and eased the car forward.
Approaching the ugly tower blocks of the docks estate, blue lights bouncing off Flotilla block showed her where to go. In the car park, screens had been set up around a vehicle whose roof rack was just visible. Robyn parked close to a car with three girls draped over the bonnet. They were dressed for a club and seemed oblivious to the damp; when a technician appeared, they whooped. When he raised his hand to them, he was rewarded with cheers.
Lorraine shuffled out through a gap in the screens, pulling her anorak’s hood up.
‘Evening, Guv, thanks for coming.’
‘After earlier, I thought we’d used up our quota of bad news for the day.’ Robyn put up her umbrella. ‘What now?’ As she walked forward, her foot lost traction with the ground and skidded forward: only by windmilling her arms was she able to stay upright. There was laughter from the girls, bringing back an unpleasant echo of the shop assistants.
‘You all right, Guv?’ Lorraine stopped. ‘These damp leaves are a menace.’
Rain dripped from the tarpaulins. Peering through the gap as she forced on gloves, Robyn could see a decal of a hand holding a spanner. ‘JN Plumbing and Heating, that’s a coincidence. The guy we interviewed this afternoon was a plumber. Newman – was it John Newman?’
‘Jake Newman, Guv and it’s him.’
‘What?’ Robyn put a hand on the grimy van to steady herself. ‘He’s dead? How?’ She was calculating timings, wondering what state Newman had been in when he escaped the riot. She should have followed him, found him, not just tried to call. The likelihood was a death so soon after leaving a police station would lead to an investigation.
‘Not sure yet, we should know more soon.’ Laughter echoed from the inside of the van: something had amused Dr Shepherd. They both looked over. Lorraine shook her head. ‘I couldn’t do crime scene, it’s too grim.’
‘What do we know?’ Robyn’s hand was filthy where she had touched the van.
‘We had an anonymous call from an unregistered mobile just before two.’ Lorraine shivered. ‘When the first response got here, the van was unlocked and the back doors open.’
There was a swishing sound and a technician in full protective gear shuffled through the gap. With a mask on, it was impossible to tell who they were. A gloved hand held out something in a plastic bag. ‘Dr Shepherd found this in the deceased’s pocket.’ The voice was female.
Robyn took the bag in both hands, conscious that the bandages made it hard to hold on to things. She peered through the plastic to see a nylon wallet, the Spurs logo almost obscured by dirt. ‘So his wallet wasn’t taken? Interesting.’ She managed to pull open the wallet through the plastic, seeing a thick wad of twenty-pound notes jumbled with business cards. As she turned the bag, a photo slid to the bottom: a young woman holding a baby, both with big smiles. She handed the wallet to Lorraine. ‘Reasonable amount of cash, too.’
‘From his file, he actually lives in New Town.’ Lorraine sneezed.
‘Bless you.’ Robyn reached into her bag for the stash of tissues.
‘Thanks. You’re prepared for anything.’ After wiping her nose, Lorraine tucked the tissue into her sleeve. ‘A plumber goes places at all hours. Could be an emergency job?’
‘Possibly.’ Robyn looked left and right. ‘This car park is used by both Fleet and Flotilla blocks. Let’s hope we can find a diary, otherwise we’ll need to run house-to-house calls through both towers to see if anyone called him out. His mobile number’s on here, we can find out recent calls.’
A voice came from the back of the van. ‘Hey, Lorra, check this out.’
Lorraine looked away, as if embarrassed. Her gesture made Robyn bite back the question of why she was happy to have her name mangled. Her predecessor, DI Prentiss, would have demanded to know all the details: he had loved mocking his juniors. ‘Shall we see what Kelly’s found?’
They had to edge along the side of the van in single file, Robyn in front. She rounded the bonnet of the truck to where Kelly stood by the back door. ‘Hey, Robyn, I didn’t know you’d arrived.’ Lorraine edged into view and Kelly regained his breeziness. ‘I’m always stoked when I get a call for Meresbourne, you do keep handing me some doozies.’
Robyn hesitated, not wanting to admit she wasn’t sure exactly what he was talking about.
The body lay on the van’s metal floor. ‘Deceased is a white male, no point in me estimating how old he is because you already know his name. All I can say is he’s had a really bad day because he seems to have been beaten up twice. Look here.’ Kelly directed his torch beam. ‘You see the cut on his lip? Done just before or even after death because there’s no bruising. However, this …’ He angled the beam lower. ‘… was done a number of hours before.’
In the poor light, Robyn had to lean forward to see. Visible above the neckline of Newman’s t-shirt was a dark, irregular mark.
‘He was caught by a mob earlier. He didn’t stay around for treatment, so I don’t know whether he was hurt or not.’ As a reflex, Robyn checked her watch. ‘This was between five and six o’clock this afternoon. I guess there could have been internal injuries.’
Kelly leaned against the van. ‘OK, useful to know. I’ll check everything tomorrow.’ He pushed back the sleeve of his coverall to show the big sports watch with numbers glowing in the dark. ‘I mean today.’
‘How long has he been dead?’ A gust of wind hit the tent; Lorraine huddled into her coat.
‘At least a couple of hours, I’d say. Oh, he was covered with this when we looked at him.’ Kelly shone the torch at a grey piece of fabric now in a large plastic bag. ‘Looks like a dust sheet. Certainly a few interesting stains on it. There’s also one minor detail I want to know.’
Robyn could also feel the cold and wished he’d stop being so cheerful. ‘What’s that?’
Kelly took off his gloves. ‘I don’t know what killed him.’ He ran the beam of his torch up and down the body.
‘Sure he was beaten up but all of the wounds look superficial and he’s a young, strong lad, so none of them should have been fatal. I need to open him up. Anyway, if you want to take a look before we get everything bagged up, he’s all yours.’ With a wave, he slipped out of the tent.
11
Jake Newman’s body lay diagonally across the floor of his van, legs curled to fit into the space between the racking on either side. His head lay on his left hand, pillowed on a pile of rags, the face peaceful.
‘He doesn’t look dead.’ Lorraine’s torch beam was shaking a little. ‘Just like he’s asleep.’
‘So the question we have to answer is did he crawl in here himself or did someone put him here?’ Robyn shivered again. ‘If you’d been beaten up, why would you sleep in your van when you’ve got a home to go to?’
They moved around to the cab. Receipts, invoices and catalogues were scattered across the top of the dashboard. Under a day-old copy of the Daily Journal on the passenger seat, Robyn found a sweatshirt and a clear lunch-box, empty apart from one brown apple core. In the corner of the windscreen was a Meresbourne Town sticker. ‘Tart.’
‘What did you say?’ Lorraine looked up from her search under the seat.
‘I said he was a tart.’ Robyn was annoyed for having spoken aloud and having to explain herself. ‘Local people will see the Dockers’ sticker and think he supports the team when in fact he supports Spurs. It’s all for show.’
‘Maybe he does support Meresbourne and also wants a team that wins occasionally?’ Lorraine squinted back down under the seat. ‘There’s something under here.’
Robyn shone her torch into the door pocket. She lifted out chocolate wrappers, a tub of chewing gum and a half-used pack of hand wipes. Scrawled across a piece of Lady Ann-crested notepaper was an address in the industrial estate and the figure £350, underlined three times.
Lorraine was crouched in the foot well, stretching her arm under the seat. ‘Something’s under this seat. It feels like a gun.’ Wriggling further in, she gave a grunt of satisfaction and slid her arm out, turning to sit with her feet hanging out of the door.
