She's Fallen

by Alex Clare

  ‘What have you got?’ Robyn leaned over.

  With a gulp of laughter, Lorraine held something up. ‘OK, maybe he’s not a master criminal.’ She turned, bringing her hand into the light, pointing something shaped like a pistol into the air. ‘Bang.’ She opened her fingers: the lime green and orange colouring didn’t look like a firearm.

  ‘What on earth?’ Robyn picked the thing up finding the back legs and torso of some plastic animal. There was a moment of silence. ‘Did you find any kind of diary or a phone?’

  Lorraine shook her head. ‘The diary will probably be on his phone.’

  ‘Yes. There doesn’t look to be any more we can do here.’ After saying goodbye to Kelly, they sat in Lorraine’s car. ‘Has he been reported missing?’ Robyn held her hands to the vent where warm air was finally starting to flow.

  ‘Not as of an hour ago, Guv.’

  ‘We’d better do the call tonight.’ She thought of the jeans she was wearing. ‘Would you mind doing the talking? I’m not really dressed for this.’

  ‘OK, Guv, I’ll meet you there.’

  Robyn trudged across to her own car. More than anything, she wanted to go back to bed and sleep. She was grateful for the sat-nav telling her where to go because the New Town estate was a confusing maze of identikit blocks of boxy houses and low-rises. She parked next to Lorraine, who was leaning against her car chatting into her phone.

  ‘Hi, Guv. Just checking something with Kelly because we couldn’t see his left hand. Our man was wearing a wedding ring but didn’t he say earlier he lived with his girlfriend? He likes complicating things.’

  ‘Like the football – all for show. Let’s get this over with.’ The temperature was dropping with the clearing skies.

  ‘I had a look at the numbers.’ Lorraine pointed up to a lighted window on the top floor of a three-storey block. ‘Good thing we came as it looks like someone’s waiting up for him.’

  When Lorraine pressed the buzzer, the front door clicked off the latch after a couple of seconds. On the top floor, Lorraine rang the bell of number sixteen. There was a small cry, then a second of muffled speech before the door was opened. A young woman in a dressing gown stood with a baby in her arms. She stared at them, one hand tense on the door. The baby made another whimpering cry, struggling in her arms so she had to let go of the door to contain it.

  ‘Mrs Newman? I’m sorry to disturb you so late.’ Lorraine held out her warrant card. ‘May we come in?’

  The woman’s eyes dropped for a second before turning into the flat. Robyn followed her, edging past the clutter lining the hall; a pushchair, toolboxes, packets of fixings. The television was on in the living area: people in bikinis sat around a pool sipping cocktails, the sound muted. The girl settled at one end of a sofa, laying the baby on her lap. ‘I’d just got him to sleep.’

  Lorraine stepped into the pool of light from a standard lamp. ‘Mrs Newman, I’m afraid –’

  ‘I’m not Mrs Newman. Just Miss Land. Don’t be fooled by this.’ She held up her left hand, a cluster of diamonds catching the light. ‘He didn’t want to get married, even when this one was born. Said if we wore the rings, what was the difference?’ The baby twisted, grizzling. ‘He’s teething. Every night the same.’ She reached for a bright green plastic ring on the side table.

  ‘Miss Land.’ Lorraine waited until the woman’s eyes lifted from the baby. ‘I’m sorry to have to tell you, Mr Newman is dead.’

  A curtain of hair hid Land’s face. ‘Dead?’ After two quick breaths, she wrapped the baby into her arms, causing a whimper of protest which became a stuttering cry as she clutched him. When her face moved into the lamplight, tear tracks showed on her cheeks.

  Lorraine sat on the other end of the sofa, placing a hand on Land’s shoulder. ‘I’m afraid we don’t know how he died yet. We will find out.’

  Feeling redundant, Robyn moved into the tiny kitchen area and put the kettle on. There were mugs on the draining board and she found tea bags in the second cupboard she opened. She added milk and sugar and carried a cup over to the girl.

  ‘That’s J-J-Jake’s mug.’ The girl’s eyes lost focus in tears.

  Robyn retreated, nearly standing on a fluffy toy. She found a plain mug in another cupboard and transferred the tea over the sink. When she returned, the baby was in Lorraine’s arms and the girl was curled into a ball, knees to her chest, hugging a cushion. It was hard to tell who was least comfortable, Lorraine or the baby. She was holding him with exaggerated care away from her body, causing the baby to lean towards her.

  Robyn squatted down in front of Land, feeling her leg protest at the movement. ‘Is there someone we can call – a neighbour, your mother?’

  ‘Cassie.’ The voice was muffled by fabric. Robyn looked around: the phone was easy to spot in a gold and crystal-studded case. ‘Could you unlock it for me and I’ll call Cassie?’ She put the phone down on the edge of the sofa.

  One hand reached out as Land uncurled a little, her hand flicking over the keypad.

  When Robyn took the phone back, the screen showed a picture of Newman holding the baby up, making him wave.

  Robyn scrolled through the contacts until she found a number for Cassie. The phone at the other end rang and rang. When the line cut, she rang again. This time it was picked up in a few seconds.

  ‘What the? It’s the middle of the night, babes?’

  ‘Cassie, I am sorry to disturb you. I’m a police officer. I’m here with Miss Land. I’m afraid she’s had some bad news and needs a friend. Could you come over, please?’

  ‘Whaaaa? Say again – something’s happened to Jess?’

  ‘No, Miss Land asked me to call you. She’s very upset.’

  ‘No way, this is a wind-up. Jake, if this is you messing around.’

  ‘No, miss, this is DI Robyn Bailley.’ Now was not the time to worry that her voice had not passed. ‘We’re here because Jake has been in an accident.’

  ‘Let me speak to Jess.’

  Robyn turned. ‘I’m sorry, she’d like to speak to you.’ She placed the phone next to the cushion.

  It was lifted slowly and the girl spoke. ‘Cassie.’ The phone dropped from her hand.

  When Robyn picked up the phone, the line was dead. She looked across at Lorraine. ‘I hope that means she’s coming.’

  ‘Guv.’ Lorraine looked down at her shoulder, where the baby had dribbled. ‘Can you take him? I’m going to clean myself up.’

  Robyn just had time to arrange her arms before Lorraine passed him over and went to the kitchen. Looking down into his crumpled face, Robyn remembered what had soothed Becky when she’d been a baby and began humming, holding the baby close so he could feel the vibrations through her chest. Beside her on the sofa, Jess’s phone was still unlocked. With a quick glance towards the prone form, Robyn picked the phone up and began flicking through the multiple messages. There was a contact, ‘J’. The last message had been sent just before midnight: when are u coming home? There was no answer. She scrolled up: the previous messages had been sent on Thursday.

  Back in half hour.

  pick up milk when you come.

  After an hour: Where are u?

  Met Axe still in pub lol xx

  There was a knock at the door. Lorraine turned the tap off and went to answer it. There was a brief exchange in the corridor and a young woman in a tracksuit charged in. Without glancing at Robyn, she sat on the edge of the sofa and flung her arms around Jess.

  Robyn stood up, careful not to wake the baby who had subsided into sleep.

  From the sofa, there was a low murmuring. ‘Sweetheart, I just heard.’ Cassie held Jess’s face, looking into her eyes. ‘There now, there now. You’ll be all right, you’ve got your mates. We’ll look after you.’

  Lorraine caught Robyn’s eye then looked at her watch, then the door.

  Robyn considered. The questions they needed to ask could wait until the morning. She nodded to Lorraine, then looked down at the baby.

 
Lorraine was already in the hallway. Robyn leaned over the back of the sofa. ‘Miss Land. I’m very sorry for your loss. I’ll give you my card so you can call me if you need anything.’ Shifting the baby to her left arm, she tried to open her handbag one-handed, causing it to swing forward, knocking against the back of the sofa and dislodging her make-up bag. ‘Damn.’ It was lucky neither of the women on the sofa seemed to be listening.

  ‘Lorraine, can you do this?’

  Lorraine stuck her head around the door. ‘Do what?’

  ‘Put the baby in the buggy.’ Robyn wondered why she was whispering.

  Shaking her head, Lorraine stepped back.

  ‘Just take him.’ Robyn was in no mood for squeamishness. ‘I need to finish here.’

  Lorraine took the baby back, eyes wide. Robyn laid her business card on the table. ‘We’re leaving now and will be back in the morning.’

  Jess broke from Cassie’s arms. ‘Those bitches, did they attack him again? That was your fault! You made people think he’d done something he didn’t.’ She grabbed a cushion, swinging it towards Robyn’s face.

  Recoiling, Robyn tried to hide the stabbing pain in her chest from the sudden movement.

  ‘It’s all your fault.’ Jess swept something off the table and flung it. ‘If you hadn’t pulled him in.’ The baby’s teething ring hit the wall behind Robyn’s head.

  ‘I’m sorry for your loss.’ Robyn hurried into the hallway.

  Lorraine was struggling to get the baby’s limbs through the straps as they flopped, heavy with sleep. She stood up with a sigh. ‘Why do they make these things so complicated?’ As Robyn held open the door, she walked out into the lobby. ‘That was a bit uncalled for. Are you OK?’

  They started down the stairs. ‘All I need is some sleep.’ Robyn kept her hand on the bannister to keep herself in a straight line. ‘We’ve got lots of obvious conclusions we could jump to and they’re probably all wrong. Tomorrow.’

  ‘Sure. Oh, Guv. Can I ask you something?’

  ‘Of course.’ Robyn hoped this was going to be quick.

  ‘Would you support me going for sergeant?’ For once, there was no hint of humour in Lorraine’s face.

  ‘Where did that come from?’ Robyn stood up straighter, willing herself to concentrate. ‘Yes, yes I would certainly support your promotion. You’re an excellent officer. Now can we discuss this more in the morning?’

  Lorraine grinned. ‘Thanks, Guv. I’ll meet you at the station at, say, ten-thirty?’

  SUNDAY 18 SEPTEMBER

  12

  The alarm buzzed at six as usual because Robyn had forgotten to turn it off. After the bleary acknowledgement of what time it was, the racket the birds were making meant she didn’t think she’d get back to sleep. In the bathroom, the morning light full in her face was not flattering. Her chin and neck were red and blotchy from the electrolysis, merging into darker patches of bruising across the top of her chest. Reaching into the cabinet for toothpaste brought a dull ache rather than a sharp pain: this was positive though she wondered whether she would have to cancel the full body wax arranged for the following week. It would be a nuisance because the newly visible hairs across her chest would become more noticeable and she would no longer be able to wear her favourite blouse, the red one with a slight cleavage.

  Most disappointing was her hair which was a flat mass where the shaping had grown out. An insipid line at the roots showed her natural hair colour. Of all the relief and happiness Robyn was enjoying from now being able to be express herself as she wanted, there were some things she thought she would never understand. One of them was how women considered going to the hairdresser to be a pleasure when you were stuck in a chair for hours with something foul-smelling on your head. She added buying a home hair-dye to her mental list along with rebooking the missed manicure for when her hands were out of bandages.

  Restless, Robyn drifted downstairs to get a cup of tea. At the kitchen table, watching a blue tit cling upside-down to the bird feeder, she tried to convince herself it was a good idea to have got up early as she still could do all of the things she’d planned before going into the station. Trying to look on the bright side, she reasoned the best way to deal with whether she would see Becky or not was to act as if the visit was going ahead. She retrieved the shopping bags from the car and set to work. When she had finished, the spare room was transformed. Everything looked co-ordinated, even though the new sheets still had creases from the packet. Standing in the doorway, Robyn was ashamed to realise she had no idea whether purple was still her daughter’s favourite colour or whether she had grown out of it. She decided to call Becky later because it was impossible to convey how much she missed her by text message.

  Her flush of energy spent, Robyn put the radio on and a gentle burble about gardening was the backdrop as she made breakfast. The pips sounded and she turned up the volume.

  Seven o’clock on North Kent FM and here’s the news with Stacey Betters. A young woman remains in a coma after falling from a balcony at the Lady Ann Hotel during a family wedding on Saturday. There was a second of silence. In Meresbourne, a protest outside the police station by groups associated with feminism took place on the opening day of a festival celebrating the author Edmund Napier Loveless. The commemorative week was formally launched at the town hall yesterday by the leading broadcaster and academic Dr Felicity Bergmann. Another second of silence. The Docker’s new manager, Craig Hellaway, defended his squad after the first three games of the season have produced only one point. He emphasised the squad’s youth and remains confident of a top-half finish. And now the weather, it looks like the current unseasonable cold will be with us for a few more days.

  There was a thump from the hallway. Robyn fetched the Meresbourne Sunday Gazette, wincing as she bent to pick it up. The headline promised an exclusive, Horror at the Hotel under Ady’s by-line. Two photos filled the front page: the bride and groom walking into the ballroom, Shazia circled in the crowd, mouth open, one arm in the air, petals of confetti frozen as they left her hand. The other was of guests leaving the hotel with their heads down, walking past the taped-off area where Shazia’s body had lain. Ady had been thorough: he had a member of staff describing how the room looked after the forensic teams had left and words from an unnamed ‘close friend’, probably Jade, describing Shazia’s ambition to open a beach bar in the Maldives.

  She opened the paper. There was a fuzzy shot taken of the demonstration and a long-range picture of the paramedics loading Clyde into the ambulance with a terse comment from Fell. Robyn’s attention was caught by the words underneath a shot of two pensioners holding a RAW banner between them.

  ‘We were there to protest about the shockingly low conviction rates for rape’, Philippa, 67, told me. ‘It was all calm until some radicals turned up and everything became violent. I saw what they were doing to that policeman’, added Sue, 64. ‘That’s what gives protests a bad name. We’ve been all over the place and it has always been peaceful protests that get results.’ Philippa and Sue have a long history of protest. ‘We were at the nuclear sites and it was all about standing your ground. You didn’t need to sink to the fascists’ level of violence.’

  There was a double-page spread on events for the Loveless celebrations. Activities were taking place around Meresbourne and the villages and Robyn felt a twinge of sympathy for Matthew trying to cover them all when there was even an event in Willingdon nature reserve, where someone was holding a Gaia-worship ceremony. The report of the launch at the Town Hall had a picture of Dr Bergmann giving the camera a fierce look over her glasses. The column described the speech as ‘robust’ and highlighted the closing statement.

  What was true at the time of Loveless is true today: at every turn, women are under attack. Physically, psychologically, the world is a constant barrage of oppression. It is time we held those who abuse to account, in the only way they understand.

  Folding the paper over, Robyn started reading the back page, losing herself in the r
eport of the Dockers’ Saturday performance.

  A battery warning beep from her phone drew Robyn’s attention. Her eyes felt heavy and the main section of the paper had slipped out of her hands to the floor: she had dozed off in the chair. The short sleep had not refreshed her and, as she prepared to leave, thoughts seemed to take a long time to cross her mind. She kept it slow as she drove to the police station.

  ‘Morning, Guv.’ Bounding up the steps, Lorraine joined her, looking her up and down. ‘Are you sure you’re OK?’ There was no clue she’d been up half the night apart from a hint of darker skin under her eyes.

  ‘Morning. I’m fine, thanks. Did Graham get back to you any time?’

  ‘Not heard from him at all. Maybe he’s hungover from the excitement of your team scoring a point.’ Lorraine heaved open the door.

  ‘That’s not funny.’ Robyn frowned, counting the likely number of missed calls without a response. ‘I haven’t heard anything about Newman’s body on the local news yet. Guess it’s only a matter of time, though – I suppose they don’t normally have this much going on.’

  ‘Yeah, a rape leading to an attempted suicide and now a suspicious death. You wait ages for a good story and then three come at once.’ There was a hard edge to Lorraine’s voice. ‘Where do you want to start, Guv?’

  ‘We start by taking the lift.’ She pressed the button for the second floor. ‘I want you to lead on Shazia’s rape. It’s the sort of case you need to have under your belt to move up to sergeant.’

  Lorraine was grinning as they walked into the CID office. At his desk, Ravi was hunched over a computer. From under the hood of his green sweatshirt, there was the outline of headphones and a steady, thumping beat. When he glanced over to them, there was still a smear of red dye in the centre of his forehead.

  ‘Ravi.’ Robyn paused, wondering how approach things in a neutral way. ‘You weren’t due to be on call today.’