by Alex Clare
‘Are Quiksilva and Melt run by the same company then?’ Robyn wanted to get the conversation onto safer ground.
‘Yeah.’ The tone was still suspicious. ‘Or do you think people enjoying themselves is a crime now as well?’ Ed looked up at Robyn. His face closed in on itself and even wearing just a bathrobe, he had a presence suggesting people did not often cross him.
Hoping her reaction was so normal he hadn’t noticed her nervousness, Robyn made an effort to keep her voice under control. ‘Is it a good company to work for?’
‘Yeah. It’s well run. Everything tidy, standards are important. Bloke who owns ‘em, Micky, he’s always got time too, says hello to everyone. Wish there were more like him spending money in this town.’
Beside her, Lorraine coughed, in a way she probably intended to be discreet. ‘Micky? Do you mean Micky Dearman?’
Ed’s eyebrows came down. His glare moved from Robyn to Lorraine before settling between them. A second later, he had pushed himself off the sofa and was heading straight for Robyn who rocked back on her heels, bracing herself for an impact as there was nowhere to go. He was not as muscled as Bartholomew but faster and looked more used to controlled force. Ed raised one big arm, reaching past Robyn and pushing at the frame of a film poster for Cabaret. ‘Babes, does the picture look straight to you now?’
Robyn forced her shoulders to relax.
Crystel moved to stand behind Ed. ‘Up a bit more, right – perfect.’
Ricky stood with his hands on his hips like a prize-fighter for a second, admiring the poster. ‘What did you say?’
‘You were saying Micky Dearman is a good person to work for.’ Robyn let a long breath go.
‘Yeah. Sees people all right.’ Ed scooped up his tea cup, the mug looking small in his hands. ‘Like he even gets the girls taxis so they get home safe.’
‘I’m glad to hear it.’ Robyn trusted her instinct. ‘We know there’s been a series of late-night attacks on women. Is this something you can help us with – we think there’s someone out there who’s behind a lot of them.’
Crystel sniffed. ‘Taken your time haven’t you? One of my team got grabbed six months ago and you’ve only just noticed.’
‘Did she report it?’ Robyn thought she knew the answer.
‘Yeah, for all the good it did her.’ Crystel’s mouth was set in a thin line. ‘Nothing was done and she had to quit a few months after. Works in a cafe now on half the money because she’s too scared to be out late.’
‘Have you heard anything about this man? Any information you’ve got could help us.’
Ed and Crystel exchanged a glance. She shook her head.
‘Look, I realise if you did know who he was you’d have gone and had a word with him yourself before now.’ Robyn spread her hands. ‘All I’m after is anything you’ve heard.’
‘Well, it’s pretty obvious innit?’ Ed finished his tea and handed the cup to Crystel. ‘He’s some mummy’s boy who can’t get a girlfriend who’s too scared of women to talk to them, so he grabs them. Now I’m going back to bed.’
It had been hard to keep Lorraine quiet as they went down in the lift. In the car, they looked at each other.
Lorraine held up a finger. ‘If Graham were here he’d say –’
‘– if the Dearmans are involved, it’s got to be dodgy.’ They spoke in unison.
Lorraine started the car, still laughing. ‘I remember my first day in the team, when DI Prentiss was still in charge. They’d just put Gabriel Dearman away and, OK, you’d expect them to be pleased about arresting the local crime boss’s son but it was all they talked about for a month. I was expecting something like The Godfather but when I went and looked at the records and it’s just a bunch of small-town crooks who beat a few people up. So even if the Dearmans are involved, does it mean anything at all?’
Robyn’s phone beeped with a message. ‘Fell’s meeting has finished at the town hall. I’d better get down there.’ She clipped in her seatbelt. ‘And how exactly are they even involved? So two friends of Newman’s work for someone with a history – so what? They need to work somewhere.’ Robyn threw up her hands. ‘We haven’t found a reason for anyone to kill Newman and without that we can’t understand if a crime has been committed at all.’
Lorraine started the car and moved towards the exit. A muffled ringing came from the bag on the back seat. ‘Could you get that, Guv?’
Robyn pulled Lorraine’s handbag onto her lap and opened it, feeling a small thrill of snooping. Unlike the jumble in her own bag, Lorraine’s was full of pouches, each of a different size, with just one stray tissue having come loose from a pack. The phone was in a separate pocket on one side.
Robyn glanced at the screen. ‘Hello, Chloe. Lorraine’s driving at the moment. What have you got?’
‘We’ve got the results back on the samples I got from the hospital on Saturday. Shazia wasn’t raped.’
‘What?’ Robyn was aware of Lorraine’s sharp glance.
‘Or rather, it wasn’t normal rape. There was no trace of semen in the samples even though the crime scene report says it was on the sheets.’
Robyn gripped the phone. ‘So why did Bartholomew lie to us?’
‘I think to cover up what he did do.’ A crackle on the line took Chloe’s voice.
‘Hang on, I’m going to put you on speaker so Lorraine can hear.’ Robyn clicked the phone into the cradle. ‘Go ahead.’
Chloe’s voice filled the car. ‘I called the hospital. They’ve had a chance to examine Shazia’s other injuries. This wasn’t a conventional rape because there’s a lot of internal damage. Whoever attacked her used something, maybe metal, because there are lacerations inside her.’
‘That explains the blood on the sheets.’ Lorraine crunched a gear. ‘Christ.’
‘So as you say, Guv, Bartholomew lied to us about what he did. I was trying to work out why and I thought about the steroids Lorraine found. If one of the side effects is impotence, maybe that’s why he can’t have normal sex.’ There was a catch in Chloe’s voice. ‘She must have been in so much pain - I guess that’s why she jumped.’
A picture lodged in Robyn’s mind. ‘The bottle.’ Robyn leaned forward. ‘Chloe, check the forensic report on the hotel room. There was a glass water bottle smashed in a corner – see whether Dr Brockwell’s team checked the pieces.’
‘Right away, Guv.’ Chloe sounded determined. She cut the line.
‘We have got to be able to get him now, Guv.’
‘Let me get this meeting with Fell over with.’ Robyn rubbed her eyes. ‘Then we’ll bring him in.’
24
Lorraine braked too hard outside the town hall and shot off almost before Robyn had closed the door. She walked under the vast portrait of Edmund Napier Loveless tacked to the facade, a line of pigeons perched on top, bird mess mixing with the portrait’s grey hair. In the entrance lobby, there were a lot of signs for the event the night before, stuck between plaques commemorating previous mayors. The only other person was an overweight man sitting on a small stool beside the staircase.
‘Could you tell me where the St Sergius room is please?’
The man’s eyelids fluttered without fully opening. ‘Up the stairs, second on the left.’ He rebalanced his bulk on the stool.
There was no check to see whether she had any reason to be there. Robyn walked up the marble staircase. On the first floor, she tapped on the dark wood door. ‘Enter.’
Fell sat at the head of a conference table littered with dirty tea cups and empty biscuit wrappers. A fan was on at the other end of the room, whining in the background. Capping his fountain pen, Fell didn’t look towards her. ‘We have fifteen minutes, Bailley. I need a summary of the Lady Ann case and the realistic chances of prosecution.’
Robyn sat down, pushing back the litter in front of her. The saucer tipped, causing cold tea to spill onto the wood. ‘Yes, sir. We have enough evidence of violent sexual assault –’
A creak from behind
was the door opening. A woman in a pale blue uniform pushed in a trolley. ‘Got to clear, love. There’s a committee in here next.’
‘And the evidence throws doubt on the version from the person who confirmed, ah, activity took place.’ Robyn wondered how long the woman was going to be there. ‘This means we can be much more confident stating that the things which took place were not …’ She struggled to find a neutral word. ‘Were not mutually acceptable.’
The woman moved the last of the cups to the trolley and returned with a cloth and spray. She tutted when she got to the spillage.
‘Are you confident you can bring a prosecution?’ Fell’s voice was a rumble.
‘Yes.’ Robyn summoned up what energy she had. ‘I want to put this evidence in front of the Crown Prosecution Service.’
The woman wheeled the trolley to the door, the tea cups rattling.
‘Ah, Superintendent. I am a few minutes early but I have another meeting, so if we can proceed now?’ In the doorway was a slim man with white hair. The sound of the trolley receded.
‘Mr Johar, thank you for coming.’ Fell stood up.
The two men met in the middle of the room, shaking hands. ‘This is DI Bailley who is leading the investigation.’ Robyn leant over the long table to take Johar’s hand: the skin gliding across hers was very smooth, like warm marble.
Johar remained standing as Fell returned to his seat. With the windows behind him, his hair glowed silver, framing his shadowed face. ‘Superintendent, I know you intend to persuade me to pursue this case. You may save your breath.’ His long fingers gripped the back of a chair. ‘What has happened to my niece is unfortunate but cannot be changed. Any prosecution would not help Shazia.’ The long ends of his burgundy silk scarf rippled as they brushed the table. ‘Nothing now can help Shazia in this world. When it is just a machine keeping her alive, she has already passed on.’
Fell folded his hands together on the table. ‘We have evidence your niece was the victim of assault. What we wish to avoid is the perpetrator being free to attack again.’
‘You are thinking according to the way of the hunter, Superintendent. You only see your objective. I have to think of sarvodaya, the welfare of everyone.’ Johar blinked once. ‘Your position is that my niece attempted to take her own life, is that correct?’
‘We have a witness and his statement is backed up by forensic evidence.’ Fell folded his hands in front of him.
Johar inclined his head. ‘And I am sure that everyone you have spoken to told you she had only the cares of a young girl. A mother knows her daughter is dead – does it help her to know she suffered beforehand? A boy has dreams of justice.’ His gaze turned to Robyn. ‘Does it help him to see justice fail?’
Robyn forced herself to keep her eyes on Johar’s face.
‘You are someone who has discovered honesty late in life.’ There was no disapproval in Johar’s tone: he could have been commenting on the weather. ‘You say something that took place within that room made Shazia commit violence against herself. Can you truly tell me you consider prosecuting this case would do her any good?’
From the far end of the table, Fell coughed.
‘The police don’t think about things on a spiritual level, Mr Johar.’ Robyn went with her instinct. ‘The most I could give you is an assurance about the way I would approach things. I would do my best to investigate this case, then present the evidence in such a way to have the greatest chance of a successful conviction which would remove a dangerous individual from society for a time.’
Johar nodded once. ‘Then maybe my nephew is not in such bad hands.’ He nodded to the end of the table. ‘Superintendent, Shazia’s life support mechanism will be switched off this afternoon.’ There was no emotion in his words. ‘We would ask for her body to be released as soon as possible. He paused. ‘If a person committed violence against her, they will receive their due.’
Robyn’s mobile began to ring. She fumbled to silence it but Johar had already turned away, heading towards the door. Before Fell could open his mouth, Robyn got the phone to her ear. ‘Hello, Chloe.’
‘Hi, Guv. We’ve got the forensic report on Newman.’
There was a flash of hope: the call must mean something important. ‘What does it say?’
‘It’s clear how he died at least, though it’s not very helpful. The rags he was sleeping on were covered in traces of chemicals – nothing you wouldn’t expect a plumber to have mind. Anyway, Kelly’s theory is the combination of being very drunk and chemical exposure made Newman unconscious and he didn’t wake, even when his chewing gum became lodged in his windpipe. She paused. ‘It was probably an accident.’
Robyn was conscious of Fell’s scrutiny. ‘Were there signs of any other person present?’
‘One set of unknown prints on the back door handle and a hair caught on his sweatshirt. Short and dyed blonde so it’s likely to be a woman.’
Not for the first time, Robyn wondered how she would be described if she were found dead. ‘Could be from his girlfriend – we’ll need to check. Anything else?’
‘It looks like he was in a fight shortly before he died. There were fresh cuts on the knuckles of his left hand.’
‘Interesting. OK, can you get Lorraine to follow up and we’ll go through what you’ve found on the attacks when I get back.’ She put the phone down. ‘Sorry about that, sir.’
Fell cleared his throat. ‘Excluding this one, how many cases does the team have at present?’
‘We have the suspicious death on Saturday night and have just started working to review a series of attacks on women. It was at my request the man was pulled in yesterday, sir, I had given Matthew the description of the man responsible for the attacks.’
She paused but there was no movement from Fell.
‘It was unfortunate the interrogation of the suspect happened while the Operation Emerald call was underway. Now we have a contact, we will be careful to check before future arrests.’ Robyn heard a grunt but kept going. ‘We are also two officers down, both for family reasons.’ She braced herself. ‘And if Professional Standards are coming in, that will require time.’
‘They will not be coming because the post mortem satisfied them there was no link to our actions.’ Fell adjusted his cuffs. ‘Though they did make a number of recommendations about co-ordination across teams which I expect you to adopt.’ He stood up. ‘This experience has been embarrassing for Meresbourne. It does not sound as if you are overworked even with a reduced team so I expect to see you paying more attention to process and not acting unilaterally in future.’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘We are likely to get publicity and criticism in the media surrounding the lack of prosecution in relation to Miss Johar, though Guler assures me this will be of much shorter duration than if the man was brought to trial and we failed to secure a conviction.’
Robyn made a mental note to thank Khalid for keeping Fell calm. She was amazed she had got away without more direct criticism.
‘And next week, Tracey will be back and everything will be clearer.’ There was a hint of a smile as Fell put on his cap and collected his case. ‘Carry on, Bailley.’ At the door he looked back. ‘And I expect your budget by close of play without fail.’
Stepping out into the weak sunshine on the Quayside, Robyn felt a certain release. Her phone buzzed with a message.
Dad, train getting in at 6.07. See you later, B.
She stopped to reread the message, feeling someone bump into her because she was in the middle of the pavement. Moving to the side, she muttered an apology. Given Fell himself had commented CID was not overworked, for once she felt confident about being able to get back for Becky.
B, thanks for letting me know. I’ll pick you up from the station. Best, Dad.
There was a distant chime from St Leonard’s and a reflex made her check her watch: twelve thirty. She turned onto Bridge Street heading for the taxi rank, checking to make sure she did not get into the same cab from t
he morning. The driver tutted when she asked for the police station and stopped on the roundabout in a blare of horns from behind.
‘Come on, mate, can’t stop here for long – we’re right outside the cop-shop.’
Her annoyance at the “mate” was balanced with a desire to get out as quickly as possible. As she watched the cab speed off, another message came through.
Dad, don’t worry, will get a cab. B.
25
In the two flights of stairs to the incident room, Robyn had come to the conclusion it was a good thing that the first time Becky saw her would be in private. She walked into an empty room. The summaries of the attacks now covered one of the evidence boards: a map in the centre showed the locations, arrows to pictures of the victims with summaries in Chloe’s tiny handwriting. The youngest was seventeen, the oldest thirty-nine and there seemed to be no obvious link between them or any pattern in the locations.
In one corner, Chloe had summarised all of the snippets of description. A couple were no more than a few words from girls who were off their faces on drink or drugs, unable to recall anything, bruises the only proof of their stories. The man’s strength and stealthy approach were the consistent themes. The fourth victim had been able to give more detail about the attack. She’d been lucky: a passing taxi driver had seen her struggling, turned his car around and driven straight for the pair, headlights on high beam. The man let go and ran. Being fat and in his fifties, the driver didn’t try to follow but drove the woman to the police station. His description, of a stocky man in black, matched the others but he was able to add that the visible skin on the hands and face was tanned. There still wasn’t enough to put together an e-fit.
The next attack was the first time a car was mentioned. It made sense: he’d been disturbed on the street, so realised he needed somewhere more private. No one had got a good look at it. One girl described a choking smell in the back seat.
The door swung open. Chloe and Lorraine drifted in, hands full of lunch bits.
