by Alex Clare
The tear tracks on Becky’s face made Robyn angry at Julie for upsetting her. There was an urge to hug Becky: fear of rejection held her back.
‘Sweetheart – sit down. Tell me what I can do to help.’
Becky rubbed one eye with her sleeve.
Robyn reached for her handbag where she kept tissues, then stopped. Such props might be another step too far for Becky to accept just now. She busied herself unscrewing the cap of the wine bottle. ‘I hope this is OK. I hope you like white.’
‘Oh white wine because that’s what ladies drink?’ Becky’s hands were balled into fists. ‘I came here to get away from mum. It doesn’t mean I understand what you’re doing or accept it.’ She put her hands to her head. ‘So don’t come over all girlfriends together because we’re not.’ Blotches of red were showing above her t-shirt. ‘Is it too much for just one parent …?’ Her cheeks were streaked with tears. ‘To have one sane parent?’ She dodged past the table and into the hallway.
Robyn heard the door of the downstairs loo slam shut, then the bolt pushed across. Sinking back onto the sofa, she gazed upwards without focusing. She had hoped, she had dared to hope. The cap went back on the wine and she carried the tray into the kitchen, where she drank both cups of tea, rinsing the mugs and the teapot. There was a short burst of a tap running in the cloakroom tap and no more sound.
She paused in the hallway and made a decision. ‘Sweetheart. Why don’t we leave things for tonight? Let you rest after your journey. There’s food in the fridge and you’re in the room at the front. I’ve left a spare door key on the counter. Good night.’
Without hurrying, she prepared for the morning. Upstairs, she switched on the light in Becky’s room. The glow of light showed through the keyhole in her bedroom door as she lay in bed.
WEDNESDAY 21 SEPTEMBER
27
When Robyn had been shopping for nightwear, she’d fallen for the movie images and had bought a long, silky robe in lilac. Hanging on the back of her bedroom door, it looked very fine. The reality of wearing it was rather different. Bought online, she hadn’t realised the fabric was prone to static and so slippery, the panels refused to stay closed, no matter how carefully she knotted the belt. As she stepped out of her bedroom door for the first time with someone else in the house, she was conscious how little of her the robe covered compared to the comfortable, threadbare cotton robe she’d got rid of with all her male clothes. Dashing to the bathroom, she was grateful Becky’s door was closed.
The bathroom reinforced another’s presence: a toothbrush lying next to a spotted washbag on the window ledge and a purple towel draped over the edge of the bath. She didn’t put the radio on, thinking Becky must need her sleep.
Entering the kitchen, Robyn’s heart leaped when she saw the scrap pad out on the counter. In loopy script, there was a note: What’s the Wi-Fi password?
Through the routine of breakfast, she was listening for any sound from upstairs. She thought about taking a cup of tea up to Becky then decided against it. First thing in the morning was not the time to try and have a meaningful conversation. After brushing her teeth, she laid out all she needed for her make-up. Once the foundation was on, she had to add more concealer under her eyes to hide the dark circles. She reached for the lipstick, pulling her lips back from her teeth to get a smear-free finish. In the mirror, she saw the door being pushed open – she normally had no need to lock it. Robyn jumped, feeling the lipstick slide down her chin.
There was a flash of a pale face in the mirror before Becky fled.
‘Sweetheart.’ Robyn checked her reflection, cursing the huge peach-coloured line. A hurried wipe removed half the colour and transferred most of it to her blouse’s cuff. Part of her wanted to run after Becky. A larger part said she had to let Becky find her own way of dealing with things, however long she needed. Wiping off the rest of the mess with tissue, she reapplied the lipstick.
Once she’d turned off the beauty mirror’s spotlights, her appearance in natural light made her pause. There were patches where the foundation was so thick, you could see layers at the edges. She pulled hard on the toilet roll, wadding paper in both fists and began rubbing at her face. On inspection, she looked both more like the memory of Roger and more human, so she tidied a few smears and left the rest. From the bedroom, she heard her phone ring.
‘Morning, Graham.’
‘Guv, I can’t get in.’
There was a note in Graham’s voice she hadn’t heard before. All trace of his usual confidence had been stripped away. ‘What’s up? Are you OK?’
‘It’s not me, it’s Sandra. She woke up in the night, pain so bad she was screaming. We’re back at the hospital.’
‘OK, you don’t need to tell me any more. Do what you need to do, just let me know what’s going on and whether I can help at all.’
‘Thanks, Guv.’
‘And take care of yourself. You’ll be no help to Sandra if you burn yourself out.’ She hoped it had come across in the way it was meant.
She took a deep breath on the top landing. ‘I’m going to work, Becky. If you need me, give me a call. I’ll try and be back early.’
There was no answer. She hadn’t expected one. Stuck in the morning traffic, she wondered what Becky would do all day. She had left Meresbourne when was she was under two so the town was just where her little-seen grandparents lived. Apart from the Marvellous Meresbourne tourist trail there wasn’t a lot else. As the car in front inched forward, Robyn wondered what she could say differently tonight to get through to Becky. At the moment, she couldn’t think of anything.
She was glad to be the first in, wanting to get her own thoughts in order. She had made a resolution to make an effort with the backlog of paperwork. In addition to all the things she should have done, now balanced on the edge of her desk was a bundle of all of the material Chloe had collated about Shazia ready to be archived. On top was a picture taken outside the Lady Ann hotel. Shazia’s emerald scarf lay on stained paving slabs, a vivid flash of green across dull grey. Robyn turned the picture over.
Lorraine and Chloe arrived together. Both seemed to be waiting for Robyn to say something. She guessed they wanted to know about Becky and determined to take the initiative. ‘Morning you two. We have a change of plan. Graham called me this morning: he’s going to be away for the next week or so. With Ravi off as well, we will have to focus on what we can do.’ Seeing Lorraine’s mouth open, she raised her voice a little. ‘This is fine, we’re a team, we all support each other and if someone needs a little space, we give them it.’
‘Here’s to the weaker sex.’ Lorraine raised her coffee cup.
Thinking of what Graham was going through made it hard for Robyn to smile. ‘Always remember, it might be you needing help next time.’ She needed to keep them busy. ‘Right, I was doing some thinking yesterday and I am now certain someone placed Newman in his van.’ Robyn’s phone began to ring. ‘Even if he was alive at the time, whoever it was still has some big questions to answer.’ She glanced down at the screen – it was her doctor’s surgery. The thought of talking to either her narrow-minded GP or one of his haughty receptionists was not appealing and she swore, stabbing at the screen to cut the call. No one else spoke and Robyn glanced up to find Lorraine and Chloe still looking at her.
‘How long is Graham going to be off for?’ There was only curiosity in Chloe’s tone.
‘At least the next couple of weeks, I would say. Let’s get a move on with Trudwick.’ Robyn wandered back to her desk. She picked up the phone and saw the doctor had left a message. It was unlikely to be good news so it didn’t provide an excuse to delay the paperwork. She pulled the nearest pile towards her uncovering the garish bulk of Chloe’s book. Feeling her fingers prickle with dislike, Robyn picked it up. The hardback slipped within the loose cover and the book came open at the bookmark. At the top of the page, a header proclaimed: The Victim-Male and Relations with Women. Robyn read the first line. If unchecked, the behaviour of the victim
-male can include a range of anti-social and criminal behaviours, particularly of a sexual nature against the female as a substitute for the mother-figure. Examples are rape used as a weapon of war, dominant sexual practices and voyeurism. She snapped the book shut.
‘Right, we’re off to Quiksilva, Guv.’ Lorraine slung her bag on her shoulder. ‘We’ll try and get the staff rosters, then go and see Trudwick. There’s no record of him or his mother having a car, so we’ll have to ask him direct.’
In the quiet office, Robyn got to the second paragraph of text in a twenty-six page document on tendering for a new catering provider and found her eyes losing focus. A faint bell was ringing in her mind. She shook her head to clear it, trying to trace where she had seen this before. Looking back at the report, she reread the last sentence: The division must achieve substantial savings and catering provision is an area prioritised for cost reductions. Apart from Dominika, the only other sober victim of the attacks had been a chef, walking home after locking up. There was a contact number.
The phone rang for a long time before a harassed voice answered. ‘Hello?’ In the background was traffic and gusts of wind.
‘Miss Fuller? I’m Detective Inspector Bailley from Meresbourne Police. We’re looking again at a number of cases, including your attack last year. Could I come and speak to you, please?’
There was silence from the other end.
‘Hello? Miss Fuller – are you there?’
‘I’ve been trying to forget about that night.’
‘I’m sorry. We believe he’s attacked again which means we have new evidence. I want to make sure no one else has to go through this, so if you can manage to talk to me, it will really help.’
‘Look, yes, OK. I’m late for work. Meet me at Bistro Twenty-eight but I’ll have to be done before eleven-thirty because we’ve got a big lunch booking.’
The restaurant was in one of the few remaining Elizabethan houses in Meresbourne’s small old town. Robyn walked up Saints’ Row and knocked on the window. The prices on the menu made her blink.
‘Not open until twelve, love.’ A woman in a blue house coat holding a mop had opened the door a crack. ‘Best to book if you want a table.’
‘I’m here to see Meredith Fuller.’ Robyn held up her ID.
She was let in with no more than a glance at the card though the door was locked behind her. The cleaner picked up her bucket and elbowed open a swing door at the end of the bar. ‘Meredith – a copper to see you, OK?’ After a second, the cleaner jerked her head. ‘She says go in but not beyond the plating area because you’re dirty.’
A slight push and the door swung wide letting Robyn into the bright kitchen. Light bounced off chrome counters and walls. The air was warm and filled with a mixture of scents. The first breath was of a meaty flavour which set her stomach rumbling; then hints of a more subtle, citrus smell, with something spicy she couldn’t identify. At one of the counters, a woman in a boxy white jacket and chequered trousers was spooning a pale mixture into pastry shells. One auburn curl escaped from the bandana around her head.
‘Miss Fuller, thank you for seeing me.’
The woman glanced up, down and then back up to take in Robyn’s face and chest. A drop of the mixture oozed down the side of a tart and onto the baking sheet. There was a muffled word under her breath before she reached for a cloth, wiped away the mixture and began again.
‘Could we sit down for a moment?’
‘No. I’ve got a party of twenty booked for lunch plus walk-ins. No time. I don’t know what else I can tell you. I was walking home, someone grabbed me. A taxi driver stopped to help and the bloke ran off. I didn’t see his face.’ The words came out in a rush: she didn’t lift her eyes from her work.
‘Yes, those were the details in the file. What I’m interested in is your impressions.’
‘Impressions?’ Fuller looked up for a second. ‘You make it sound like we were dating. He was trying to rape me.’
‘That’s exactly what I’m after.’ Robyn leant against the counter. The metal was cold against her hand. ‘What made you think his approach was sexual, rather than being after cash or your phone?’
‘The way he grabbed me.’ The bowl pinged on the counter when Fuller slammed it down. ‘He didn’t touch my bag which was over my shoulder. He came out of nowhere, lifted me off the pavement. He wanted to dominate me.’
‘What happened next?’
She opened an oven, releasing a blast of heat, sliding the tarts onto a shelf. With a smooth economy of movement, she shut the door with one hand, turning a timer with the other. Back at the counter, she tipped over another bowl, sending onions rolling. Corralling them with one arm, she reached to a rack and selected a long-bladed knife.
‘Miss Fuller?’
The knife blade moved in a rhythm, slice, slice, snick snick snick. ‘He shoved me into a wall.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I managed to get my head back in time, so my shoulder hit the wall rather than my face.’
‘Did he say anything to you?’
‘Nothing.’ Fuller’s knife kept up its movement. ‘Even when I hit him.’
‘You managed to hit him?’
‘I managed to headbutt him backwards, got his nose pretty hard. He sort of yelled through his gum.’
‘How do you know he was chewing gum?’ Robyn allowed herself some hope. These were things not recorded from the interview. She would have to speak to Graham, then remembered Graham would be off and not in much of a state to take things in.
‘Bugger.’ Fuller’s full attention went back to the onions as one piece shot away from the board and onto the floor.
The cleaner stuck her head around the door. ‘The butcher’s here.’
‘Thanks. Out in a moment.’ Fuller scooped up the piece of onion and threw it away. She swept the pile of chopped pieces into a large pan and carried it to the hob.
‘Miss Fuller, how do you know he was chewing gum?’
‘What? Oh, he had really bad breath. When my head was back I could smell it and the gum he was trying to cover it with. Now I’ve got to get on.’
‘One more question, please – was there anything else memorable? The way he ran, could you feel rings on his fingers? Is there anything else you can give us to help identify him?’
With a practised touch, Fuller adjusted her scarf so that all her hair was covered. ‘Do you really think you’ll catch him?’
‘I can’t make any promises.’ Robyn spread her hands in front of her. ‘We’ve spotted a pattern in the attacks and it has become a priority case.’
‘Because little old me on my own wasn’t a priority before? Thanks for making me feel so much better.’ She wiped her hands. ‘Has this sudden attention got anything to do with the town celebrating all things feminist perhaps?’
‘No, no.’ Robyn shook her head, annoyed at her own clumsiness. ‘I’m sorry. What I should have said –’
‘Whatever.’ She threw the cloth to a counter. ‘All I know is when I fought back, when I hurt him, I didn’t think he was going to rape me anymore – I thought he was going to kill me.’
‘The butcher’s worried his van’s going to get a ticket.’ The cleaner was in the doorway.
‘OK, I’m there. Officer.’
The dismissal was clear. Robyn led the way back into the restaurant where a man stood with a pile of crates full of red lumps sealed in plastic. There was a greeting, then Fuller was absorbed, checking the packets against a list. The door was open: in the street, the rain was bouncing off the pavement.
28
Robyn had no umbrella. When her phone rang, it was a good excuse to loiter for longer under the building’s overhang.
‘Hi, Chloe. What have you got?’
‘Nothing, Guv. Absolutely nothing. Trudwick’s in the clear. We’re –’ Chloe paused as the voice of the sat-nav intruded. ‘We’re on our way back now.’
‘So what did you find?’ Robyn watched the rain drops hitting th
e pavement and bouncing, letting her eyes slide out of focus.
‘The club said they need time to put the shift data together so we thought we’d go over to Trudwick’s place anyway. We got the conversation around to the attacks and it turns out he used to work with one of the girls who was attacked so he’s furious we haven’t caught the man yet. Sounded like he was planning his own posse at one point.’
‘Are you sure he wasn’t bluffing?’
‘I’m sure. When we left, I checked his record again. He was in custody for the assault when one of the attacks took place. It’s not him.’
‘Bugger.’ Robyn switched the phone to her other ear. ‘Does it look as if he was involved in Newman’s death?’
‘Again, no. First he seemed really upset about it and then he got a mate to text over some photos of him in a club on the night of Newman’s death, so unless he’s not such a barmpot as he looks, he didn’t have anything to do with it.’
‘What about the moped?’ Robyn saw the butcher run to his van, clipboard held above his head.
‘Now there was the one thing we did learn.’ Chloe’s laugh was a short, ugly sound. ‘Turns out, his mother’s got a fancy man over in the Docks and uses the moped when Trudwick’s not around. No licence or anything. We left them having a mother–son heart-to-heart.’
‘OK, well, I’ve just got some new information about the fourth attack. We’ll go through it when you get back.’ Robyn put her phone into the holster and looked again at the sky, shivering. There was a little more light, the clouds beginning to break and there was a chance a few minutes’ wait would be enough for the rain to stop. Her stomach was still rumbling. On an impulse, she ran a few steps up the road to the Edmund Napier Loveless museum where she knew there was a cafe. The poster on the front door flapped from one corner, saturated by the rain.
A woman with the same thin lips as Loveless looked over her glasses at her. ‘One senior citizen, dear? The talk starts in an hour.’
