A Velvet Scream

by Priscilla Masters

  ‘She doesn’t like it much,’ Shand admitted. ‘Especially there. It’s known as a bit of a knocking shop.’

  ‘Is that why she dropped you off this morning and didn’t wait to see whether you could get into your car?’

  Shand heaved a big sigh. ‘Sort of.’

  Joanna shot Mike a quick glance. ‘Do us a favour,’ she said, chummily addressing Shand. ‘Ask your mates if they’ll pop in and make a statement, will you? Sooner rather than later.’ Without waiting for him to respond, she added: ‘Thanks. You’re free to go now – after you’ve given us your prints.’

  Timmis and McBrine had got themselves a few bags of crisps and some Diet Coke and were enjoying themselves watching the CCTV shots from earlier in the evening, which had captured activities on the dance floor and around the bar. The girls were all flinging themselves around in the tiniest of clothes, some of them see-through. They got the odd flash of knicker and some very good views of cleavage and bosom. There were plenty of bumps and spills as the dancers were overambitious in their moves. There was the odd spat between women over the men and a couple of hefty chinning-ups as beer was spilt accidentally or deliberately over the odd guy. But all in all there was a reasonably amicable atmosphere in the club.

  McBrine leaned forward. ‘There she is,’ he said. ‘That’s our Kayleigh.’ The silver skirt made her easy to pick out. She seemed to be dancing alone rather than with a female friend or with a bloke. They watched her for a while. ‘Good dancer,’ PC Timmis observed.

  ‘She’s fourteen,’ McBrine growled.

  ‘I know,’ Josh Timmis replied, ‘but it’s really hard to remember that when you see her move.’

  ‘Behave,’ his pal said good-naturedly. ‘We’ve a job to do.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Timmis popped open another bag of crisps then leaned forward. ‘Hey. Look at that.’ Just as the man grabbed hold of Kayleigh she disappeared from view behind a gang of mixed revellers.

  They rewound that bit but all they could see was a man in a white shirt putting his hand over her bottom. He pulled her towards him and then they lost her. There had been three sets of tapes; one from each of the cameras. They snapped the ring pulls of a second can of coke, split opened more cheese and onion crisps and settled back again.

  Joanna met up with a few uniformed officers and quickly outlined the case and the direction of her enquiries.

  ‘See if you can find out anything more about Kayleigh’s father,’ she said to Detective Constable Danny Hesketh-Brown: a keen, fresh-faced officer from the Potteries who had been ragged mercilessly on account of his double-barrelled name but now was accepted as ‘one of the lads’. ‘One of his fishing buddies might be able to help you. I don’t really think we have much to worry about there but it’s as well to check.’

  Hesketh-Brown nodded.

  ‘Also, it might be an idea to track down Neil Bretby and interview him. It might give us some insight into Kayleigh. This is still being treated as an alleged rape case,’ she said to the assembled officers. ‘Looking at the CCTV footage we’ll be lucky to make a positive ID from it.’ Groans from the force. ‘It’s too grainy and indistinct. We’ll see if we can get any trace evidence from her clothes. When Kayleigh is a little better we’ll do an identikit picture but she tells us he has a London accent. She was fairly obviously drunk as a skunk so we’ll have a word with the owners of Patches about underage drinking and they’ll have to be more careful in future about letting in under-eighteens, but for now let’s concentrate on the case in hand.’ She paused. ‘The fallout will come later – how come a fourteen-year-old is in a club for over-eighteens, drinking?’

  ‘And getting raped,’ came a voice from the back.

  ‘Quite,’ she commented dryly.

  ‘Timmis and McBrine – anything meaningful from the CCTV footage from inside the club?’

  McBrine grinned. ‘Plenty of eye candy.’

  ‘Meaningful,’ she repeated.

  ‘We’ve had a couple of sightings; her dancin’ with someone but not yet, ma’am.’ They were unabashed. ‘We’ve got another couple of tapes to go.’

  ‘Good.’ Joanna ignored the ripple which went round the room.

  ‘Lucky buggers.’

  ‘Some people get all the luck.’

  This male banter was something you had to get used to working in the police force. To the general public it may portray itself as politically correct but underneath it was as sexist as ever.

  But the women were fighting back.

  ‘Decent men there too?’ Hannah Beardmore asked innocently.

  Joanna smiled. ‘Well, we’ll be interviewing anyone who feels they have something to contribute and I’ll put something out in the press. Dawn, how did the meeting between Kayleigh and her mother go?’

  ‘Frosty, to say the least. No love lost between those two. They really hate each other.’

  ‘Any idea why the feelings run so deep?’

  Dawn shook her head. ‘Apart from the obvious: Kayleigh having robbed her mother of married bliss.’ She met Joanna’s eyes squarely. ‘I’d say that’s enough, Joanna.’

  ‘OK. I’m treating the London accent as an important lead.’ She deployed a few officers to check in the shops, pubs and hotels. ‘If our perp is from out of the area he must have stayed somewhere. If we come up with nothing from Leek we can widen the area to cover Stoke, Stone and Macclesfield. I’ll also be doing a broadcast on local radio and we’ll see if that bears fruit. Anything else?’

  There wasn’t and the officers dispersed.

  FIVE

  Thursday, 2 December. 8 a.m.

  She dressed carefully and nervously in a grey skirt suit, cream silk blouse and black court shoes, feeling as though she was dressing for a funeral – her own. She brushed her hair, applied the lightest of make-up, feeling sick with dread as she peered at herself in the mirror and saw how pale and apprehensive she looked. Matthew came behind her, grinned at her into the mirror and put his arms around her. ‘Good luck,’ he said, kissing the back of her neck. She turned around to face him, Korpanski’s words about Matthew wanting a ‘wife at home plus kids’ biting into her. ‘You’d probably be pleased if I lost my job, wouldn’t you, Matt?’

  He shook his head. ‘No, I wouldn’t because it wouldn’t be you, Jo.’ He tilted her chin up, kissed her on the lips then searched her face. ‘I can’t imagine you at home all the time, going out to lunch? No thanks. It wouldn’t be you.’ Oddly enough this was one of the few times he chose to mention his ex-wife. ‘That’s what Jane was like: happy to chitter-chatter with her socialite friends, days out to London, shopping, partying, going to the theatre, that sort of stuff.’ His green eyes clouded. ‘I was just a provider. She was never interested in my work or my opinion or anything. She had her own friends and didn’t like my medic friends.’ He frowned. ‘She found them boring. We had nothing in common, Jo.’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Can you believe it? I was married but I was lonely. Really lonely.’ He dropped his arm around her shoulders and she was aware that however strange the timing this was one of the most honest, deep and heart-searching confessions he had ever made to her. He continued. ‘When I met you I felt we connected.’ He smiled, kissed her again and his face lightened. ‘Now that’s enough of this maudlin, self-pitying talk. Let’s just leave it at this: I can’t imagine you being anything other than what you are, Joanna Piercy, soon to be Mrs Levin. I love you the way you are, I promise. And don’t forget, we’re going out for dinner tomorrow night whatever happens.’

  ‘Oh?’

  ‘And don’t forget something else.’

  ‘What?’

  He brushed her lips with his own and she felt the heat in them. ‘That I love you,’ he said simply. Then he drew back. ‘Anyway, Colclough won’t let anything happen to his favourite cop. He’ll protect you.’

  She shook her head. ‘Not now I’ve let him down, Matt. He takes it personally.’ She smiled sadly. ‘I’m his fallen angel.’

  ‘You’ll soon fly back into
his good books,’ he said. ‘Ring me when you can.’

  Her stomach was too churned up for breakfast so she poured herself a lemon, honey and ginger smoothie then left, shouting up the stairs to Matthew, who was now under the shower.

  The drive in from Waterfall to Leek was achingly familiar. Every twist and turn in the road, every incline, every downhill. She might be driving her car today but she’d ridden this way so many times on her bike that she could almost feel the pull on her legs as she finally arrived at the station and turned into her parking slot.

  She got a few looks of sympathy as she walked into the station but some officers looked at her with a sort of righteous indignation. DS Mike Korpanski was a popular member of the Leek police force and his injury had upset them all. The finger had been well and truly pointed at his superior, Detective Inspector Joanna Piercy, who had risked his life with her cavalier decision.

  She sat outside Colclough’s door, her stomach in knots, feeling like a fourteen-year-old waiting outside the headmistress’s office to be expelled for smoking or a patient waiting to go under the knife, or a criminal awaiting the hangman’s noose or the judge’s verdict or . . . Her imagination finally ran out of ideas.

  The door opened and she was ushered in.

  Police complaints were a serious business. Justice and fairness had to be done. More importantly it had to be seen to be done. Besides Colclough there were three other senior officers, two men and one woman, all in uniform and all of whom stared at her, straight-lipped. The thinnest of them introduced himself. ‘I am the Chief Constable of Staffordshire, Jonathan Taylor,’ he said. ‘These are Detective Chief Inspectors Stuart Wrekin and Teresa Finney. Chief Superintendent Arthur Colclough you already know, I believe.’

  Joanna couldn’t even look at Colclough. She couldn’t face the look of disappointment she would have seen there. Instead she focused on the chief constable, who met her eyes fearlessly.

  ‘First of all, Inspector Piercy, you accept that a senior officer is responsible for the safety of his or her junior officers?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Do you also accept that you took an unacceptable risk in staking out the farm without backup?’

  ‘As it turned out, sir.’

  Taylor’s eyebrows lifted at this weak attempt at self-defence. To him it would be interpreted as impertinence.

  ‘There are rules designed to protect our officers from harm. Particularly where firearms are concerned.’

  ‘I didn’t know there was a firearm involved, sir.’

  ‘As I understand it the murder you were investigating was committed with a shotgun.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘So you might have guessed that a gun would be involved.’

  It’s so easy to be wise after the event. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Yet you decided to stake the place out, taking with you one sergeant and letting no one know of your intention.’

  Put like that it sounded black. She caught the four officers exchanging glances and sat stone still, waiting for the axe to fall.

  ‘Detective Sergeant Korpanski could have died in this rash attempt.’

  Joanna lowered her eyes, remembering the blast of the gun and Mike’s instinctive dive in front of her. This was what Fran Korpanski would never forgive, rather than the risk to her husband’s life. Joanna could still feel his swift movement, the jerk when he was hit, then the weight of his body and the warm, stickiness of his blood. She closed her eyes and simply nodded, still crushed by her memories.

  Taylor continued. ‘You and DS Korpanski have a close and loyal working relationship, it has been noted.’

  Again she simply nodded.

  Stuart Wrekin spoke. ‘There are reasons for the rigid rules we have to abide by, Inspector Piercy. Do you accept that?’

  ‘I do, sir.’

  ‘You regret your actions?’ Teresa Finney this time.

  Joanna met her eyes. ‘I do, ma’am,’ she said. ‘Bitterly.’

  All four pairs of eyes turned on her and judged her.

  There was silence in the room. Then the chief constable leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers. ‘Leave us for a moment, Piercy,’ he growled and Joanna knew they were about to decide her future. She wanted to beg that they keep her on. Demote her if necessary but not cut off the lifeblood which was her work.

  Please?

  She sat outside.

  Five minutes passed.

  Then the door was opened and Colclough motioned her to enter. She tried to read his expression but he avoided looking at her. It didn’t look good.

  She followed him back into the room where he took his seat behind the long table on the end of the line.

  The chief constable cleared his throat and spent a minute or two studying her.

  ‘Piercy,’ he said softly. ‘You’ve been lucky this time.’

  ‘Sir?’

  He drew in a deep breath. ‘You have a very good work record. Many of your colleagues have spoken up for you. Not least Detective Sergeant Korpanski.’ A hint of softening of his lips before he continued. ‘Unlike his wife.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘This time we have decided to be lenient with you.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Colclough ventured the tiniest of smiles, which she could not return.

  Taylor continued. ‘You understand that this will remain on your record for five years?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘And that if there is a further problem you will be suspended or asked to leave the force?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘We will not tolerate a repeat of this deliberate flouting of our rules.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Taylor’s lips softened. ‘I think this time you mean, “no, sir”.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ She felt herself smile out of relief.

  ‘You’re free to go.’ He couldn’t resist one more score. ‘And don’t let me ever see you in a situation like this again.’

  She escaped. And met Barraclough in the corridor. ‘How did it go?’

  ‘Well,’ she said, ‘I’ve still got a job.’

  He grinned. ‘And I’ve got some news for you.’

  ‘Barra?’

  ‘The skirt,’ he said. ‘There’s a palm print on it. And guess what?’

  ‘Go on?’

  ‘It’s Steve Shand’s.’

  Whatever she had been expecting, it had not been this. She didn’t even have to ask whether he was sure. Barra was expert at his job. He did not make mistakes. If he said the palm print was Shand’s then Shand’s it was.

  ‘There’s more.’

  She waited.

  ‘The toxicology report’s back. She was very drunk. But there’s more still. She’d been slipped a drug.’

  ‘What drug?’

  ‘We’re not sure.’ He consulted his printout. ‘It’s a sort of benzodiazepine.’

  She raised her eyebrows.

  ‘A kind of tranquillizer. She’d have been right out of it.’

  ‘So someone slipped her something.’ She looked up. ‘Our perp?’

  ‘Could have been.’ He hesitated. ‘Or she took them herself.’

  She was silent. ‘Something’s ticking away in the back of my mind,’ she said.

  ‘Like a little time bomb.’ She stopped, tried to focus on what was giving her this uneasy feeling, and failed. ‘I’m going to ring the hospital,’ she said. ‘But first . . .’

  She made her way back to her office where Korpanski was sitting, staring fixedly into the computer screen. But knowing Mike as she did she didn’t think he was concentrating. She moved behind him and put her hand on his shoulder. ‘It’s OK, Mike,’ she said. He swivelled round in his chair, his relief tangible. ‘I’ve just had a ticking off,’ she said. ‘That’s all. Warnings and it’ll stay on my record for five years.’ She suddenly wanted to shout. ‘But I still have a job.’

  Korpanski nodded, smiled, stood up and kissed her cheek. ‘Great news,’ he said.
‘Great news.’

  For a minute they simply looked at one another, then Joanna relayed Barra’s findings – both the palm print and the initial toxicology report.

  Joanna picked up the phone.

  ‘You want me to leave the room?’

  She shook her head. ‘I’m only finding out whether Kayleigh has been assessed by a psychiatrist,’ she said.

  ‘I thought you’d be ringing Levin.’

  ‘That too,’ she said.

  SIX

  Thursday, 2 December. 11 a.m.

  It took a while to connect with Dr Bopari and Joanna had practically given up hope when her voice came over the telephone. ‘Inspector Piercy,’ she enquired politely.

  ‘How goes the investigation?’

  ‘It’s progressing,’ Joanna said. ‘How is your patient?’

  ‘Physically she gives us no concern,’ Dr Bopari said.

  Joanna picked up at once. ‘But mentally?’

  ‘A psychiatrist has assessed her and that does give us a reason to have some concerns.’

  Joanna’s ears pricked up. ‘What sort of concerns?’

  ‘It is not appropriate to discuss this over the telephone,’ Dr Bopari said, ‘particularly as Kayleigh herself deserves the right to confidentiality – but I can tell you this. There is evidence that she has been in the habit of self-harming.’

  ‘Is it possible that I could speak to the psychiatrist?’

  Dr Bopari hesitated before caving in. ‘It might be an idea but I must get Kayleigh’s permission. If she gives it I’ll talk to the doctor concerned and if he is willing he will ring you back presently.’

  ‘Thank you. Naturally I am only interested in that it might help us find the man who assaulted her. How long do you intend to keep Kayleigh in for?’

  ‘I’m not too sure at the moment. We’re waiting for further psychiatric assessment.’

  Joanna thanked her and put the phone down, her feeling of disquiet growing stronger by the minute. Korpanski was watching her, waiting for her direction. She frowned. She needed to be active. But in which direction? She stood up.

  ‘Right,’ she said briskly. ‘Has there been any response from the boards outside Patches?’