A Velvet Scream

by Priscilla Masters

  ‘We’ve studied CCTV footage of people leaving Patches between midnight on the Friday and one a.m. on the Saturday. We have picked out a woman we believe to be Molly. She is with a man who fits your description.’

  Pointer’s eyes flickered but he remained steady.

  ‘This is where it gets interesting, Gary.’

  ‘According to Molly’s school friend she was having an affair with a married man.’

  ‘Lets me off the hook then, doesn’t it? I’m not married.’

  ‘No.’

  Pointer lifted himself from his chair, as though preparing to leave.

  ‘Just a minute, please, Mr Pointer.’

  He looked mildly surprised.

  ‘I said that a friend had reported this, not that it was so.’

  Pointer sat down again. ‘Why would a man claim to be married if he wasn’t?’ He grinned comfortably. ‘Most guys do the opposite: pretend they’re single to persuade the girl to have a relationship with them.’

  ‘Yes,’ Joanna agreed mildly. ‘This is true.’

  Floating through the air she caught a memory from years ago. Matthew hadn’t lied. He never had. And she had known from the first that he was married. He had never deceived her. She laid her hands on the table, looked at the black pearl engagement ring and wondered. ‘There are, of course, other reasons why a man might pretend to be married when he is, in fact, single.’

  Pointer blew out a sharp breath but apart from that made no comment.

  ‘Perhaps to excuse the fact that the relationship had to be kept secret,’ Joanna said. ‘Molly is underage – just fifteen years old. Kayleigh is even younger. Fourteen.’ Gary Pointer looked upset. ‘This is nothing to do with me,’ he said. ‘I don’t know these girls. I’ve had nothing to do with them.’

  ‘Take me through that Tuesday night: the night Kayleigh was assaulted.’

  He pulled his shoulders up. ‘It was just a normal lad’s night. Shaun’s birthday. A lot of ragging and playing around. None of us was driving so we had a shedful and, well . . .’ He left it to her imagination.

  ‘Go on, Gary.’

  ‘Well – we were dancin’ and playin’ around, foolin’ around. I remember the girl in the silver skirt.’

  ‘On Friday night Molly was wearing a short red dress with high-heeled silver shoes. She had a pair of reindeer antlers on, I believe.’ Joanna knew exactly what she was doing – deliberately blurring the two nights in his mind.

  ‘They were all dressed like that: little Santas.’

  Joanna was watching him. Was he a rapist? Callous and careless?

  Either he was an expert at deception or something here just wasn’t right.

  ‘Give me a minute,’ she said to Pointer. ‘Mike?’ He looked up, read her dilemma correctly and followed her out of the room. ‘It wasn’t him,’ she said.

  Korpanski didn’t agree. ‘He’s got something to do with it, Jo.’

  ‘Do you see him as a murderer?’

  Korpanski’s eyes rested on the door as he shook his head, reluctantly.

  They re-entered the interview room.

  ‘Look, Gary,’ Joanna said, almost kindly. ‘We don’t think you’ve abducted or murdered Molly but you were having an affair with her, weren’t you?’

  He didn’t have to answer. His response was enough. He simply dropped his head in a shame-faced nod. ‘Stella lost a baby,’ he muttered, ‘back in October. She seemed to – freeze up. She didn’t want anything to do with me.’ He was begging, beseeching her to believe him.

  ‘I was terrified she’d find out.’ He looked up. ‘It was only once or twice.’ His eyes were still cruising along the floor. ‘I knew she was under sixteen. I’d have lost my job,’ he said. ‘It was just madness. But I wouldn’t have killed Molly,’ he said, ‘and I’d have nowhere to take her if I’d abducted her.’ He paused for a minute. ‘I didn’t love her,’ he said, ‘she was just available, just there – when I needed someone.’

  Joanna made no moral judgement. ‘Do you know where she is?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. I’ve tried to text her but her phone’s off.’

  ‘Did you speak on Friday night?’

  ‘Yeah – but I was so worried my mates would find out. They know Stella and they wouldn’t think much of me.’ He looked up. ‘Whatever you think of my friends they wouldn’t take kindly to me playing around – especially after Stella lost the baby. I talked to Molly on the Friday night. She said she wanted to meet me so I went into the quiet room for a bit. She got a bit heavy; asked me when I was going to leave Stella.’ He looked up helplessly. ‘I couldn’t leave Stell, could I? I didn’t want to. Molly had read it all wrong. She thought I wanted to break up my relationship and go off with her.’ He looked repulsed by the idea. ‘I couldn’t have walked out on Stell,’ he repeated. ‘And her having lost our baby?’

  Oh, no, Joanna thought. You couldn’t possibly leave your partner, could you? But you could cheat on her with a minor. In the next moment she felt a hypocrite. Matthew had left his wife, hadn’t he?

  ‘You’re free to go, Gary,’ she said.

  She should have been Christmas shopping, making last-minute wedding arrangements. Instead she was hunting a callous rapist. She had no time off over the weekend. It was spent checking statements, speaking to the Carraways and making absolutely no progress.

  Saturday, 11 December. 3 p.m.

  As the light was fading Joanna sent Mike home to do some family Christmas things and wandered up Derby Street towards Patches. The weather had turned dull, mild and wet; often the way when Christmas looms.

  The shops were wild with festive spirit, Derby Street illuminated with fat red Santas and fatter white snowmen, big red bells and baubles. Bright stars and angels. And who should she bump into but Christine Bretby with Neil, hand in hand, Christine transformed into the woman from the Klimt. Big red lips, a golden sheath of a dress, white fur jacket, thick hair, dark and tousled, eyes smudgy, mouth curving into a scarlet siren’s smile. ‘Well, hello.’ Joanna could think of nothing to say.

  ‘Kayleigh’s livin’ with her father now,’ Christine said. ‘London sounded more exciting to her than Leek so she’s already gone. I raised no objection. It’s about time Peter took her on as a father. I’ve had her for her first fourteen years. He can have her for the rest.’ Her voice had lost none of its sharpness.

  Neil Bretby gave Joanna an awkward smile. ‘Best let bygones be bygones,’ he said. ‘I’ve missed her.’ His arm stole around his ex-wife’s shoulders protectively.

  It was as Joanna walked on that in front of her eyes she began to see not the gaudy Christmas lights or the dull grey street, not the shoppers, muffled against the weather, but the star, sharp as crystal, white and bright as magnesium, leading her towards the truth. It was as though a floodlight had been switched on in front of her eyes. It blotted out everything else.

  She returned to the station, sat, alone in the dark, in her office, picked up the phone and asked three questions.

  TWENTY-TWO

  Monday, 13 December. 5.30 a.m.

  She couldn’t sleep. She reached out and touched Matthew. Dead to the world. Her mind teased out the phrase. Dead – to – the – world. Like Molly? In her mind she went through the three cases bit by bit, statement by statement. And sat up. There was no point lying here, awake, listening to Matthew’s breathing. She slipped out of bed and peeped through the curtains. Outside was black as the grave. Again the phrase resonated around her mind. She went into the shower room and peered at her face in the mirror. In two and a half weeks she would be married. No longer Joanna Piercy but Mrs Matthew Levin. She stared at herself, trying to get used to the idea. Then she cleaned her teeth, scrubbed her face and stood under the shower, still in something of a dream.

  Matthew wasn’t even stirring when she returned to the bedroom. Leaving the door ajar she dressed by the light on the landing then went downstairs. Quick make-up and breakfast. She left a note for Matthew and drove into work. Then sat a
t the computer, still in a half-conscious state; thinking, studying statements, trying to piece it all together. She realized now that Kayleigh’s description of the man who had assaulted her had led them astray. But that wasn’t all. In fact, as she peered into the screen and studied all the evidence, she realized it was all here. Easy. They’d had it from the beginning. She half laughed and then frowned. If they had not been misled by Kayleigh’s story, Molly might not have . . . She sat forward. What had happened to Molly? The stamp was there in all three cases – never a deliberate murder – more an accidental one.

  Mike arrived, yawning, almost three hours later. She sat him down and shared her thoughts with him. He was silent; his dark eyes fixed on her face as she gave him her reasoning. ‘ “Lots of girls were dressed like that”. Harrison’s statement. Of course. It was Christmas, Mike. There would have been lots of Santas in little red dresses. Even quite a few wearing reindeer antlers. Molly didn’t ever leave the club. And who was there until it closed? Crispin.’

  Korpanski said nothing so she pressed on with her argument. ‘Go through the cases one by one. Danielle, Mike. He found her, probably half comatosed, outside Lymeys. He raped her, then went home. Maybe stopped off for a kebab.’

  As she’d expected, Korpanski raised his objection. ‘We don’t know he ever worked at Lymeys.’

  ‘He had a record of GBH, Mike, what other job would he be fit for but nightclub bouncer?’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I rang Westheisen yesterday evening. He said he’d worked for them since they’d opened. They haven’t been open that long. We only have to check his work record.’

  ‘So Kayleigh?’

  ‘Practically a blueprint of Danielle’s except that Kayleigh, being Kayleigh, and a complete stranger to the truth, gave a description of her dad – tall, slim, et cetera, et cetera. So we were misled, looking in the wrong direction for the wrong person. Harrison did not rape his own daughter and Kayleigh knows it which is why she blurted out his description. But that wasn’t all, Mike.’ She paused. ‘If I’m right Kayleigh wasn’t raped outside the club but inside. She doesn’t really remember anything, does she? Why? Because she’d been drugged. She never left Patches.’

  ‘But she said . . .’ His voice faded away.

  ‘Exactly. We thought she was raped near where she was found. Partly because her clothes were there and partly because she told us so. But Kayleigh doesn’t always tell the truth, does she?’

  Korpanski shook his head. ‘So . . .?’

  ‘If she was raped inside the club we need to look at someone who worked inside the club.’

  ‘And Molly?’

  ‘I have a suspicion,’ she said, ‘but I need to check it out first.’ She watched his face, then spoke softly. ‘I want to bring him in, Mike. I want to charge him. Today.’

  He blew out his cheeks. ‘Your evidence is a bit thin here, Jo; conjecture, circumstantial – nothing concrete.’

  ‘I know,’ she said. ‘But he was there, he lets the young girls in deliberately.

  ‘Molly’s still missing,’ she continued. ‘We’ve lost enough time as it is. I want a warrant to search his flat, car and anywhere else he has access to. Remember him riding off on his motorbike?’

  Korpanski blinked. ‘What’s that got to do with it?’

  ‘You can’t ride a motorbike through snow, Mike. He would have been in his car that night so he could move the body.’

  Crispin looked surprised when he opened the door of his flat to them. ‘Inspector,’ he said politely. ‘Sergeant?’

  ‘Good morning.’

  Crispin still looked bleary-eyed. Another late night at the club?

  ‘What can I do for you?’ He was still playing his polite self.

  ‘We’d like you to come down to the station and answer a few more questions,’ Joanna said briskly.

  Crispin looked from one to the other.

  ‘About Molly Carraway.’

  ‘I’ll get my coat.’

  The duty solicitor proved to be Ruth Gaul, an intelligent young woman with large brown eyes, short curling hair and a very brisk manner. ‘Might I ask what my client is being questioned about?’

  ‘It’s in connection with a series of serious sexual assaults against three young women,’ Joanna said. ‘And there’s a possibility of a murder charge.’

  Ruth Gaul blinked. ‘I see,’ she said. ‘And you have evidence of my client’s involvement?’

  ‘Circumstantial so far,’ Joanna said, ‘but we have applied for warrants to search his home and other premises he is involved with.’

  ‘I see,’ Ruth Gaul said. Then: ‘I need to speak to my client – alone.’

  Mike and Joanna left her with Crispin and went in search of a coffee. They’d just sat down when the call came over on her mobile. Joanna listened carefully before she shared the information. ‘In May Andrew Crispin was “helping out” at Lymeys,’ she said. ‘He wasn’t on their employment list because he was only there because the usual bouncer was off sick which is why he didn’t show up on their original investigations.’

  Sergeant Barraclough was waving a piece of paper. ‘We have the warrant,’ he said triumphantly.

  They looked at each other and downed their cups. ‘So what are we waiting for?’ Joanna said. She authorized the search of Crispin’s property.

  Half an hour later they were called back into the interview room. Ms Gaul spoke for Crispin. ‘My client denies all knowledge of any of these crimes,’ she said with a tight smile.

  ‘So, he wants to do it the hard way?’

  Ms Gaul waited, tension etching lines across her face. She wasn’t enjoying this.

  ‘OK,’ Joanna said. She’d been expecting this response from Crispin. ‘We’ll question him now.’

  She and Mike faced him across the table once he was seated. ‘Let’s go back to the night of May the eleventh this year,’ she began. ‘It was a Tuesday,’ she reminded him, ‘and you were working at Lymeys nightclub in Newcastle-under-Lyme.’

  Crispin’s face went chalk-white but he managed a ‘No comment’, through gritted teeth.

  Joanna pressed him – gently for now. ‘Were you there that night?’

  ‘I can’t possibly remember that far back,’ he protested. ‘It’s ages ago.’

  ‘OK,’ Joanna said, still gentle, with a quick glance at Korpanski, ‘let’s put it another way. How many bouncers worked at Lymeys?’

  ‘Two,’ he said sullenly.

  ‘And how many would be on the door on any one night?’

  Crispin couldn’t see where this was going. You could tell that from his face. ‘There was usually just one on a night.’ He grinned, as though forgetting where he was, why and what he was about to be charged with. ‘Sometimes two on a Saturday or a particularly busy night.’

  ‘And you helped out there sometimes.’

  ‘Very occasionally.’

  ‘You understand that we shall be reviewing the cases of Danielle and Kayleigh, in the light of Molly Carraway’s disappearance,’ Joanna said, knowing full well that they had nothing against Crispin on either of those two cases; neither were they likely to find any extra evidence which would secure a conviction. ‘We’re still looking for Molly.’

  Crispin’s face did not move a muscle. There was absolutely no sign that he had heard what she had said. She almost wondered whether maybe he hadn’t heard and that she should repeat it. Then he licked his lips and spoke. ‘I don’t know –’

  Joanna cleared her throat and caught Korpanski’s eye.

  Someone knocked at the door. Joanna knew they had something. They wouldn’t interrupt this unless –

  ‘Excuse me,’ she said politely, getting to her feet and walking to the door. Danny Hesketh-Brown whispered in her ear.

  Ruth Gaul looked woodenly ahead then muttered something to Crispin.

  They had a swift exchange before she addressed them again. ‘My client wishes to change his statement,’ she said flatly, avoiding their eyes. Crispin was
sitting at the table, arms folded, jaw set, staring ahead. Ruth Gaul continued but now Joanna could hear revulsion in her voice. ‘He admits having been at Lymey’s nightclub on May the eleventh and on the other two nights in Leek,’ she began. Then: ‘But he denies sexual assault.’

  ‘And Molly?’

  ‘He claims that he did see her.’

  Crispin took over. ‘She was very drunk,’ he said. ‘I was outside having a cigarette round the back of the club. We started chattin’. She was a nice kid.’ He scratched his nose. ‘I, umm . . .’ Was he wondering just how much evidence they had; what had been said outside the door? ‘She seemed a bit the worse for wear.’ His eyes swivelled around the room. He knew he was chancing it. ‘I, umm, tried to wake her up. I gave her a drink.’

  That was when he began to look worried because Joanna was simply nodding, as though she already knew all this.

  ‘When I came back out she was just lying there.’ He spread his hands, appealing for them to believe him. ‘I knew it’d look really bad for me. I didn’t know what to do with her.’

  ‘Where is she?’

  ‘I put her in my car to try and warm her up,’ he said. ‘Then I realized she was dead.’ He held his hands out. ‘What could I do? What would it look like? Me – a decent man with a dead young girl in my car. I panicked, didn’t I?’ His face assumed the picture of innocence. Piggy little eyes wide open.

  ‘Where is she?’

  Ruth Gaul held up her hands.

  TWENTY-THREE

  At two o’clock Joanna and Mike drove out to Leekbrook to the place where Andrew Crispin serviced his motorbike, to join the SOCO team. Matthew, as the Home Office pathologist, would be on his way. The vans had already gathered and the scene had been sealed off from prying eyes or unwelcome guests.

  Barra met her at the door. They entered between a narrow corridor of police Do Not Cross tape. It had once been a petrol garage plus service area but most people bought their petrol in a supermarket these days; either that or at one of the big chains. And small, servicing workshops had likewise suffered over the last ten years. Too much expensive equipment needed. So the premises had fallen empty and derelict. But it was still a workshop and like many people who have spent time in prison, Crispin was a tidy creature. There were shelves neatly stocked, oil marks on the floor and a lovely old motorbike in three sections. Korpanski eyed it reverently. ‘Harley Davidson Hummer,’ he said. ‘About nineteen fifty. Lovely.’