The Doll's House

by Tania Carver

  ‘Which ones? Which clubs?’

  His lips came together. His eyes stared at the tabletop.

  ‘Which clubs, Martin?’

  Trotter looked up, a light coming on in his eyes. ‘You think I murdered her? Is that what this is about it? You want to pin it on me?’

  ‘So tell me why I shouldn’t charge you.’

  ‘Because I barely knew her.’ He sat back, arms folded. Smiled. ‘Changed my mind. Here’s me waiting for my solicitor.’

  Phil pretended he hadn’t heard the last bit. ‘If you barely knew her, how do you explain the fact that you were seen at her house?’

  ‘What? I wasn’t.’

  ‘You were. Not only that, you had sex with Amanda.’

  ‘What? This is… this is a stitch-up…’ His eyes darted desperately round the room once more.

  Phil remained calm. ‘We’ve got it on DVD, Martin.’

  He began to shake his head wildly. ‘You can’t have… You’re lying, you’re fucking lying… I swear, it wasn’t me…’

  ‘Really? Here’s a couple of tips, Martin. If you want to video yourself having sex, don’t do it with someone who then ends up dead. And try to hide any distinguishing marks or features.’

  Trotter looked puzzled. ‘What?’

  ‘The tattoo, the temporary one that looks like you’ve inked it in again when it started to fade. The symbol of life itself,’ said Phil. ‘How appropriate. Life is what you’re looking at now, Martin.’

  Then Trotter did something that Phil hadn’t been expecting. He laughed.

  ‘Something funny?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Trotter. ‘What you’ve just said.’

  ‘You’ve just been identified from your tattoo. There can’t be many of them around.’

  ‘You think?’

  Phil felt like a winter pond skater who had underestimated how thin the ice was. ‘You’re saying there’s more?’

  ‘Oh yeah,’ said Trotter.

  ‘How many?’

  Trotter looked at his arm, then back at Phil. Something dark and ugly danced in his eyes.

  ‘Loads,’ he said.

  70

  D

  awn had arrived. And with it more rain, grey skies and cold.

  Nadish Khan sat on a soaking wet bench in Victoria Square, waiting. He looked round. The square – and the whole of New Street – had been given over to the wooden sheds of the German Christmas market. Although there wasn’t much that was German about some of the stalls: a nail bar was in front of him, next to a stall selling winter Pimm’s, the Mumbai Grill on its other side. The market was supposed to give a boost to the local economy, and it did. But, as he knew from being on the force, it also brought its own set of problems, street robbery, pickpocketing and drunkenness being the main ones. He had to admit, at night when it was lit it up it did have a lovely festive air to it. But not on a bleak, overcast Sunday morning in the pouring rain. It just looked like a whole shanty town of depressing wooden shacks.

  He looked round again, checked his watch, pulled his coat around his shoulders, kept his head down. The rain still hit him. He wished he hadn’t come. But he knew he had no choice. Or he had felt he had no choice. A debt of honour, the caller had said. Although Khan thought there was very little that was honourable about it.

  He heard him before he saw him. Wheezing and groaning as he walked slowly, making a big production number of sitting down next to him. Bundled up against the cold and the rain, hat pulled down, scarf wrapped round the lower half of his face. He unwrapped the scarf, looked at Khan, smiled.

  Ron Parsons.

  ‘You got here before me,’ Parsons said. ‘Good. Punctual. I admire punctuality. Something sadly lacking in most people these days.’

  ‘Just say what you have to say,’ said Khan, looking round once more, this time to see if there was anyone he knew watching him, ‘then go.’ There was no one there. No one that he could recognise, anyway.

  Parsons looked affronted. Offended, even. ‘Is that any way to speak to an old friend of the family? Really? Is it?’ He stared at Khan as he spoke, willing the younger man to make eye contact.

  Khan was aware of the look he was being given. It was hypnotic, drawing his head round, but he tried to resist it. He settled for a quick glance at Parsons, then away again. He was repulsed.

  ‘You’re no friend of mine,’ he said, talking to the wind and rain.

  Parsons shook his head. Drops of water fell from the brim of his trilby. ‘If your dad could hear you now…’

  Khan turned to him. ‘Yeah, well my dad’s dead, isn’t he? So he’s not likely to hear me.’

  ‘Nadish…’

  Khan ignored him. ‘And we all know how. We all know why, don’t we? We know what he was when he was alive. What you made him.’

  Parsons turned to him. His cheeks were red, his eyes too. His features suddenly ugly with anger. ‘Now listen to me, you little shit. Don’t think you’re any better than me or your dad. Because you’re not. So don’t go getting all high and mighty with me.’ He sat back, breathing heavily. The anger seemed to have exhausted him.

  ‘What d’you want?’ asked Khan. ‘Why did you want to see me? Just say it and go. I haven’t got time to sit in the pissing rain with the likes of you. I’ve got work to do.’

  Parsons’s hand was clenched into a fist. He had drawn it back ready to strike. His eyes were dancing, raging. This time Khan looked at him full on.

  ‘You wanna hit me? Yeah? Go on then, old man. Take your best shot. I’m here.’

  As he spoke, he was aware of a shadow detaching itself from the steps behind the bench. Huge and bearded, blank-faced. A body that moved like it was used to casual violence. Parsons’s minder. Khan sat back.

  Parsons managed to get himself under control. It took some effort. Hasn’t been spoken to like that in a long time, thought Khan. Good. Teach the old fucker a lesson.

  He got his breath, restored his equilibrium. ‘I had a visit yesterday,’ he said at length. ‘From your DI Brennan.’

  Khan, despite what he thought of Parsons, rolled his eyes. ‘Oh. Him.’

  Parsons spotted the gesture, pounced on it. ‘Don’t you like him, then?’

  Khan realised he had given too much away. What he thought of Brennan was none of Parsons’s business. ‘What did he want?’ he said.

  ‘He’s investigating something – or someone – I’d rather not have investigated.’ He looked at Khan again, those hypnotic eyes burning into him. ‘Do you understand?’

  ‘What’s it got to do with me?’

  ‘What d’you mean, what’s it got to do with you? He’s your boss. You’re working with him. You’re probably working on the same thing.’

  Khan shrugged. ‘So?’

  ‘So, I’m giving you a job to do.’

  ‘I’ve already got a job.’

  ‘And now you’ve got another. Don’t worry, I’ll make it worth your while. And your mother’s as well.’

  Khan felt his hands shake. He was baring his teeth in anger. ‘Don’t… don’t mention my mother…’

  ‘Every little helps. That’s all I’m saying. Things can’t have been easy after your dad topped himself. What am I saying? I know they weren’t. Your lot turned their backs on your mum. Buried him in more ways than one. No pension, nothing. She had to fend for herself. Bringing up a family, must have been hard.’

  Khan frowned. ‘What are you saying?’

  ‘Just that.’ Parsons’s eyes bored into him. ‘Good job she had someone on hand to help with the bills. The housekeeping. Someone who values loyalty. Rewards it.’

  Khan understood. ‘You bastard…’

  ‘I’ve been a good friend of your family. Gave her the money that brought you up. So show some respect, you little shit.’

  The bearded shadow hovered on the edge of Khan’s vision. Khan sat on his hands.

  ‘That’s better,’ said Parsons. ‘Now, all you have to do is make sure this investigation is looking in the opposite dir
ection. The way I want it to look. You give me updates, I’ll tell you where not to look. Simples.’

  ‘Yeah? And how much are you going to pay me for this?’

  Parsons shrugged. ‘A grand.’

  ‘A grand? That’s an insult, you cheap old bastard.’

  ‘Five, then.’

  Khan turned to him once more. ‘For a so-called friend of the family. Five grand. To become everything I hate, everything my father was. Five grand.’

  Parsons sighed. ‘Ten, then. Can’t say fairer than that. You can do a lot with ten grand. Your mother did.’

  Khan didn’t answer him. He felt like he had been stabbed in the heart.

  Parsons said nothing. Waited.

  Khan opened his mouth to reply. Couldn’t. Instead he stood up. Walked away.

  He heard Parsons’s voice behind him. ‘I’ll take that as a yes, then.’

  He didn’t answer.

  ‘I’ll be in touch, Nadish. I’m sure you will be too. Soon…’

  There might have been more words but Khan didn’t hear them.

  They were lost to the rain.

  71

  M

  addy had been smiling since she opened her eyes. She thought she must have been smiling in her sleep. She knew why. Ben was lying right next to her.

  She turned on her side, watched him. He was still asleep, breathing shallowly. She didn’t blame him. It was still early. The weak morning light was only just daring to creep round the thin curtains that came with the rented house. Maddy was only awake because she was too excited to sleep. For a few reasons. All of them to do with Ben.

  He was sleeping on his side, his face towards her. She could feel his breath on her skin. She closed her eyes momentarily, enjoyed it as a purely sensual experience. She opened them again, resumed watching him.

  I’m not weird, she thought. I’m not obsessed. I just love watching him sleep. What’s wrong with that?

  She turned on her back, still smiling, glancing at him from time to time. She felt safe with Ben in her bed. Just next to her, even. Or just somewhere in the same house. If he was near her she felt that nothing and no one could get to her. That everything was going to be OK.

  And the fact that he was going to help her give Gwilym his comeuppance made things even better.

  She wasn’t usually a vindictive, vengeful person. Live and let live, and all that. She could usually see the good in someone, even someone who had done horrendous things. But after the previous night’s conversation with Ben, after hearing that she wasn’t the first, that Gwilym had done even worse things to other girls before her… she knew that giving someone the benefit of the doubt wasn’t always the best thing to do. Sometimes you just had to take a stand. Do something for the common good. And that was just what they were going to do with Gwilym. She wanted to make sure that no more girls went through what she had been through. And she was so happy that Ben was there to do it with her.

  She moved the duvet back, turned away from him. Careful not to disturb him or wake him. She slowly slid out of bed, grabbed her thick terrycloth dressing gown, wrapped it round her naked body, put her feet into her furry slippers. If Ben hadn’t been in the bed with her she would have been wearing pyjamas and even bed socks. The house was cold. But she had him to keep her warm. Besides, she liked to feel his naked body against hers. No, she loved it.

  Another night and he still hadn’t pressed her for sex. He knew she was still sore from her termination so he hadn’t pushed her. ‘When you’re ready,’ he had said, kissing her shoulders. ‘It’ll feel all the better because we’ve waited.’

  She smiled at the memory. There was something about him that was so old-fashioned. Gallant, even. Or maybe she had just never had a boyfriend who treated her decently.

  She made her way downstairs to the kitchen, put the kettle on. Boiled up enough water, made two mugs of tea. She put milk in, not knowing how he took it, and went back upstairs.

  There was nothing worse than cold tea, she thought, but she didn’t want to wake him. Should have made it with lemon, she thought, instead of milk. That way if it went cold it would still be drinkable.

  She crept over to the bed. Stood looking down at him. He was still sleeping peacefully. She smiled again. Felt something intense flutter inside her that she had never experienced before.

  She placed his mug of tea carefully on the bedside table. Straightened up again. As she did so he moved, turned over. The scar on the inside of his wrist caught the light. She reached out tentatively with her free hand, stroked the ridges.

  And suddenly couldn’t breathe.

  Ben had woken suddenly and sat up, his hand going straight to her throat, grabbing her, squeezing and twisting. She tried to scream, to let him know it was her, that it was OK, but the only sound she made was a guttural gargle. Tea was being splashed and spilt everywhere. She looked him straight in the eye, imploring. But his eyes, those usually kind, soulful eyes, were nowhere to be seen. Instead, two dark, angry coals were staring at her like something from a horror film.

  And then he realised who she was.

  His grip relaxed, his hand pulled away. His eyes returned to normal.

  ‘Oh my God,’ he said. ‘I’m so sorry…’

  He jumped out of bed, enfolded her in his arms. He looked at her, his features now the soft, familiar ones she was used to seeing. His eyes were brimming with compassion.

  ‘I’ve… I’ve spilt the tea…’ They were the only words Maddy could find.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘Come on. Let’s get back into bed.’

  They did so, Maddy slipping out of her dressing gown and beneath the now damp duvet. She was shivering. Ben kept his arms tight round her.

  ‘I’m so sorry,’ he said. ‘I do that when I wake up sometimes, I’ve been told. Ever since I was little.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ she said.

  ‘No,’ he said, ‘it’s not. Maddy, that was awful. I should never have done that to you. Never.’

  ‘It’s OK…’ The words just tumbled out. She kept repeating them like a mantra, every time he apologised. She didn’t know what else to say. She thought he didn’t either.

  ‘Here,’ he said eventually, leaning over to the bedside table, coming back to her. ‘Here’s my tea. Let’s share…’

  They did so, Ben putting the mug to Maddy’s lips, letting her drink as if feeding a small child or a wounded animal.

  The tea was finished. Ben replaced the mug. They lay together, Ben with his arms wrapped protectively round Maddy, for a long time. Neither spoke.

  ‘You OK?’ he said eventually.

  She nodded.

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what gets into me sometimes. Hitting out at you, Jesus. Now doing that to somebody like Gwilym I could understand. But not you.’

  ‘Gwilym,’ she said.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Ben. ‘You still up for it? Getting your own back on him?’

  She nodded.

  ‘Good. Good to hear it.’

  ‘When… when shall we do it?’

  ‘No time like the present.’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘How?’

  He smiled. ‘I’ve been thinking about that. I’ve got a plan…’

  He told her. She tried to listen, to pay attention to his words. Tried not to stare at his scar as he spoke.

  72

  M

  arina was in the kitchen, clearing up after giving Josephina her breakfast. Her daughter had gone off to watch TV while holding intense conversations with her stuffed toys and dolls. Marina was wiping down the surfaces, thinking about another mug of coffee. The phone changed all that.

  It was in her jeans pocket. She had checked it every few minutes, just in case she had missed a call or somehow hadn’t heard it or felt it vibrate. It was only when she had taken her mind off it and got on with other stuff that it had rung. Typical.

  She checked the display, saw who it was. Anni. Her heart began to hammer
once more.

  ‘Hello?’ She was out of breath just from saying that one word.

  ‘Got the test results.’

  Every single possible answer began to pinball through Marina’s mind. This was what she had been waiting for. This was what she had been dreading. ‘That was quick.’ She knew she was stalling, playing for time, trying to compose herself. She didn’t know whether she wanted to hear. Which would be worse.

  ‘Yeah, well, I told him it was a rush job. Told him a bit about what had happened. Couldn’t do it quick enough.’

  Marina waited.

  ‘Positive. Flunitrazepam. Rohypnol to you and me.’

  Marina felt her legs give way. She had to sit down before she collapsed on the kitchen floor.

  Positive…

  ‘It was easy, really. I told him what to look for. He found it. Said it must have been an old batch, that he must have had quite a stock of it from a while ago. It was clear. Nowadays they put something in it to turn the drink a different colour so you know you’ve been spiked. Means you’re not the first.’

  Positive…

  ‘You there?’ Anni’s voice light, solicitous.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Marina. ‘Yeah, I’m here.’

  ‘Well stay where you are. I’m coming over.’

  ‘You’re… what? What for?’

  ‘Because you haven’t told Phil. Because you’ve got no one else to talk to about it. And because we have to decide what we’re going to do next.’

  ‘What… we’re going to do next?’

  ‘Look, Marina, I know this must be a bit of a shock to you. But not that much of a one, really. This is what you were expecting. What you thought the test would show up. And it has. Give me a couple of hours. I’m on my way.’

  Marina looked round her kitchen. Seconds earlier the biggest thing in her life had been deciding whether to have another coffee. Now it was trying to decide how best to bring a serial rapist to justice.

  No. That wasn’t true. The coffee had just been a distraction. It had always been about Gwilym.

  ‘You there?’ Anni’s voice again.

  ‘What? I’m… yeah. I’m here.’