Cray takes the harshness out of her tone. ‘If Sienna Hegarty makes a statement I’ll investigate it personally. That’s a promise. But you and I both know what happens next. It’s Sienna’s word against Ellis’s, and he has an alibi. If we charge him with sexual assault, Sienna will have to give evidence. She’ll be cross-examined by his barrister. Her personal life will be scrutinised. Her character will be dissected. Wait till he gets to the murder charge she’s facing . . .
‘Don’t look at me like that, Professor, I’m giving you the good news. A word in the right ear and Ellis gets suspended and investigated by Social Services, the Education Trust and his own union. He’ll have a child protection team crawling up his arse and he’ll spend the next two years fighting his way clear of them. And even if he wins, there won’t be a school in the country that’ll risk employing him.’
Cray reaches across the table and puts her hand on mine. My arm stops trembling.
‘If I were you, Professor, I’d take a step back from all this. You’re facing serious charges and you shouldn’t be talking to Sienna Hegarty. The CPS called me yesterday. You can forget doing a psych report. They’ve appointed someone else. If you really want to help Sienna, tell her to get a good lawyer and to cut the best deal she can.’
‘She needs protection.’
‘I’ll put a guard on her room.’
‘She’s suicidal.’
‘We try to prevent deaths in custody.’
Everything Cray has said makes perfect sense but still I want to rail against it. I’m all for making the best of a bad situation, but this smacks of surrender, not compromise. Lawyers can be pragmatic and so can detectives, but the victims have to live with the outcome.
As we walk away from the house I shake myself, trying to rid myself of the conversation. My worst dread is that it may be contagious.
39
Sunday morning, on the Spring Bank Holiday weekend. Ruiz is still asleep in the spare room. His feet are sticking out from beneath a Night Garden duvet and a pyramid of stuffed animals that collapsed during the night. I can picture him wrestling teddy bears in his sleep and subduing them with his breath.
I make coffee and breakfast. The smell wakes him and he appears downstairs wearing just his Y-fronts and a singlet.
‘I thought you’d be a boxer man,’ I tell him.
‘What’s wrong with these?’
‘They’re man briefs.’
‘They’re Y-fronts.’
‘If you say so.’
He looks at himself over his stomach. ‘I’ve always worn Y-fronts. ’
‘Good for you.’
‘They’re comfortable.’
‘I’m sure they are. A lot of body builders and cowboys wear them.’
Ruiz gives me a pitying look. ‘You’re a weird fucker.’
‘Where are you going? I got breakfast ready.’
‘I’m getting dressed.’
While we eat he talks me through what he did yesterday afternoon after we left Ronnie Cray’s farm. He began by staking out the minicab company - hoping to get a glimpse of the Crying Man.
‘He didn’t show up, but something occurred to me while I was watching the place. A lot of the drivers were picking up young women dressed to the nines - short skirts, high heels, lots of face paint. They’d drop these girls at an address and then wait for them.’
‘For how long?’
‘An hour - sometimes more.’
‘And you have a theory?’
‘Smells like sex.’
‘Escorts.’
I think back to the girl I saw waiting at the minicab office when I was showing Sienna’s photograph around. Mid-twenties and dressed to kill, yet unsmiling and cold. I’ve seen the look before in my consulting room and when I’ve lectured groups of prostitutes about staying safe on the streets.
Ruiz takes the last rasher of bacon from the pan. ‘Sienna was dropped on the same corner. Maybe it was a commercial transaction - somebody ordered a young girl and the escort service provided one - courtesy of Gordon Ellis.’
‘But what does Ellis get out of it?’
‘Money. Favours.’
‘He’s interested in schoolgirls not prostitutes.’
‘What then?’
I think about Sienna - the stolen pills, the suicide attempt - there isn’t a court in the land that will grant her bail after what’s happened. Gordon Ellis reached her once and could risk it again because Sienna is so vulnerable and easily to manipulate. She’s also his weakest link.
Ruiz licks his fingers. ‘I still don’t understand how he did it.’
‘Did what?’
‘How did Ellis get to Sienna? She was in a secure unit.’
‘Maybe he called her.’
‘Phone calls are monitored and can be traced. Visitors have to be registered.’
‘So if he didn’t call and didn’t visit . . . ?’
I run through the events in my head again. When Ray Hegarty was found dead in Sienna’s room, the only thing missing was her laptop.
‘What about her email account?’
‘The police checked her service provider.’
‘So she used someone else’s computer . . .’
Even before I finish the sentence, I realise what I’ve missed.
‘Grab your coat,’ I tell Ruiz.
‘Where we going?’
‘To see Charlie.’
Julianne answers the door and kisses Ruiz on each cheek, telling him he needs to shave. Emma squeaks in surprise and demands the big man’s undivided attention like a jealous girlfriend.
Charlie is still in bed. She won’t surface until at least eleven, citing mental fatigue and exhaustion from too much schoolwork. I send Emma upstairs to wake her.
‘What if she won’t wake up?’
‘Jump on her head,’ says Ruiz.
A few minutes later I can hear Charlie yelling at Emma. Something is thrown. Something falls with a bump.
Ruiz calls from the bottom of the stairs. ‘Front and centre, young lady, you don’t want me coming in there to get you.’
Charlie goes silent.
Ruiz resumes his seat at the kitchen table. Julianne has offered to make him breakfast and he’s going to eat a second one.
‘So I hear you’re getting a divorce,’ he says, making it sound like she’s buying a new car.
The statement lands like a rock in a still pond. Julianne looks at him suspiciously and continues cracking eggs into a bowl. ‘We’ve been separated for more than two years.’
‘You both have to consent.’
Julianne switches her gaze to me. Accusingly. ‘It’s really none of your business, Vincent,’ she says.
‘If you’re too embarrassed to talk about it . . .’
‘I’m not embarrassed.’
‘Maybe you should change the subject,’ I tell Ruiz.
‘So you don’t love him any more?’ he asks her.
Julianne hesitates. ‘I don’t love him like I used to.’
‘Jesus Christ, there’s only one sort of love.’
‘No there’s not,’ she says angrily. ‘You don’t love a child the same way as you love a husband or you love a friend or you love a parent or you love a movie.’
‘So what is it you don’t love about him?’
Julianne is beating the eggs like she wants to bruise them.
‘I don’t want to talk about this.’
Ruiz isn’t going to let up. ‘He’s still in love with you.’
‘Yes,’ says Julianne. ‘I know.’
‘And that doesn’t make any difference?’
‘It makes the world of difference. It makes it harder.’
‘I am in the room,’ I remind them.
‘Yes,’ replies Julianne. ‘Please tell Vincent to leave this alone.’
He raises his hands. ‘OK, but just answer me one thing - is it because he’s sick?’
I feel myself cringe. Julianne stiffens. It’s as though the air has been sucked out of
the room and we’re sitting in a vacuum.
No longer beating the eggs, she whispers, ‘I know what you’re trying to do, Vincent, but I don’t need you to make me feel guilty. I feel guilty enough already. What sort of wife abandons her husband when he’s sick? I know that’s what people are saying behind my back. I’m a hard-hearted bitch. I’m the villain.’
‘That’s not what I said.’
‘Everyone loves Joe. He makes people feel special. He makes everyone feel as though they’re the only person in the room. I used to get so jealous - I used to wish someone would say something nasty or cruel about him. It was terrible. I hate myself for that.’
Julianne won’t look at me now.
‘You don’t know what it’s like - watching him crumble, knowing it’s going to get worse, knowing I can’t help him.’
‘You’re wrong,’ says Ruiz, softening his tone. ‘I watched my first wife die of cancer.’
‘And look what happened!’ says Julianne. ‘You ran off the rails. You abandoned the twins and went off to Bosnia. You’re still trying to make it right with them.’
The hurt flashes in Ruiz’s eyes. I never met his first wife, but I know she died of breast cancer and that Ruiz nursed her through her final weeks and months. Days after her death, he quit his job and went to Bosnia as a UN peacekeeper, leaving the twins with family. He couldn’t bear to be around anything that reminded him of Laura, including his own children.
Julianne wants to take the comment back. ‘I’m sorry, Vincent,’ she says softly. ‘I’m just trying to hold myself together - for the sake of the girls.’
Charlie appears, still in her pyjamas, her hair tousled and bed-worn.
‘Morning, Princess,’ says Ruiz. ‘Do I get a hug?’
‘No.’
‘So you’re not my girlfriend any more?’
‘As if!’
‘Maybe if I were twenty-five years younger?’
‘Try fifty.’
Everybody laughs - even Charlie, who slouches on a chair and puts her elbows on the table. ‘Why is everyone shouting?
‘We’re not shouting,’ replies Julianne. ‘We’re having a discussion. ’
Julianne asks if she wants some eggs. Charlie shakes her head.
‘Did Sienna ever use your computer?’ I ask.
‘I guess. Sometimes.’
‘Do you know what sort of stuff she was doing?’
‘Why?’
‘I’m trying to find out what sites she visited or if she sent any messages to people.’
Charlie puts two slices of bread into the toaster.
‘So you want to look at my computer?’
‘Yes.’
‘But you’re not spying on me?’
‘No.’
Then she shrugs. ‘I got nothing to hide.’
After she butters her toast, I follow her upstairs to her room where she munches noisily in my ear as the laptop boots up. She once described her bedroom as being ‘designer messy’, as though she dropped clothes with artistic intent.
‘Do you remember the last time Sienna used it?’
‘When she slept over.’
It was probably a week night. I search through the history directory, going back to before Sienna’s arrest. I recognise some of the sites - Facebook, Bebo and YouTube. There are some music pages and Google searches.
‘Are these your searches?’ I ask.
‘I think so.’
‘Can you see anything unusual? Something you wouldn’t have called up.’
Scrolling through the history directory, she runs her finger down the screen. One site comes up regularly: Teenbuzz.
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a chat room. Loads of my friends use it.’
‘Sienna?’
‘Sure.’
‘What’s your username?’
She looks at me sheepishly. ‘Madforyou.’
‘What about Sienna’s?’
‘She’s Hippychick.’
The site has a variety of different chat rooms with names like ‘Just Friends’, ‘Young at Heart’ and the ‘Chillout Room’. Some are forums on music, movies or relationships, but all come with a list of warnings, advising users not to give out personal contact details, addresses or to use their real names.• You are strongly advised to NEVER meet anyone that you know just from the Internet.• Predatory, threatening, harassing and illegal behaviour will not be tolerated. The police will be contacted and offenders prosecuted.
‘How often did Sienna use the chat room?’
‘Pretty much every day.’
Charlie can see where I’m going with this. ‘It’s really safe, Dad. We’re not stupid - we’re not going to tell people where we live. We just chat.’
‘Did Sienna have any favourite people she chatted with?’
Charlie falters. ‘I guess.’
‘Who?’
‘There was this one guy, Rockaboy.’
‘What do you know about him?’
She shrugs. ‘They used to meet.’
‘Where?’
‘In a private chat room.’
‘They were alone?’
‘Chill out, Dad, it’s not like you can get pregnant typing messages to someone.’
‘Did you ever chat to this Rockaboy?’
Charlie brushes hair away from her eyes. ‘Sometimes.’
‘Did he say anything about himself?’
‘You’re not supposed to do that.’
‘He must have given some clues.’
She sits cross-legged on her bed, balancing her plate on her knee. ‘He likes some of the indie bands like Arctic Monkeys and The Kooks. He doesn’t like school very much.’
‘Did he like the same music as Sienna?’
Charlie frowns. ‘How did you know that?’
‘What about his favourite subject at school?’
‘Drama.’
Feeling uncomfortable, Charlie changes the subject. ‘Are you coming Tuesday night?’
‘Where?’
‘To the school musical.’
‘I thought it was postponed.’
‘Mr Ellis has decided to go ahead. We’re giving one performance only. Jodie Marks is going to play Sienna’s role. Do you think Sienna is going to mind?’
Charlie doesn’t know about the suicide attempt and I’m not going to tell her. It can be something else she blames me for later.
‘Can I go see her?’ she asks.
‘Not today.’
Side by side we walk up the hill, filling the silence with our breathing. Ruiz limps slightly on his shorter leg - the legacy of a high-velocity bullet that tore through his upper thigh leaving a four-inch exit hole. A second bullet amputated his wedding finger. That was five years ago when he was found floating in the Thames, bleeding out, without any memory of the shooting.
Ruiz survived the bullet and the memories coming back. Some people are meant to prevail. They stay calm and collected under extreme pressure, while others panic and unravel. We each have a crisis personality - a mindset that kicks in when things go badly wrong. True survivors know when to act and when to hold back, choosing the right moment and making the right choice. Psychologists call it ‘active passiveness’ - when doing something can mean doing nothing. Action can mean inaction. This is the paradox that can save your life.
‘Ellis used an Internet chat room to reach Sienna,’ I say.
‘How did she get access to a computer?’
‘She must have borrowed one at Oakham House. It could also explain why her laptop was stolen that night.’
‘He’s covering his tracks.’
Above us the sun radiates through thin gauze-like cloud, but still seems bright enough to snap me in half. Even before I reach the house I notice the unmarked police car. DS Abbott and Safari Roy are sitting on a low brick wall, eating sandwiches from grease-stained paper bags.
Monk chews slowly, making us wait.
‘We had a complaint,’ he says. ‘Natasha Ellis says you turned up
at her house on Friday. Is that true?’
Before I can answer, Ruiz interrupts. ‘It was my fault, Detective. I went to see Gordon Ellis.’
Monk looks at him doubtfully. ‘Why was that?’
‘Sienna Hegarty had taken an overdose and was in hospital. She said that Gordon Ellis had taken liberties with her.’
‘Liberties?’
Ruiz can make a lie sound noble. ‘Yes, sir. Liberties. I was angry. I may have done something I regretted if it weren’t for Joe. He stopped me and calmed me down.’
Monk’s not buying a word of it. He turns his gaze to mine. ‘So let me get this straight, Professor. The only reason you were outside Gordon Ellis’s house was to prevent a disturbance?’
Monk wants me to agree with the statement.
Ruiz pipes up, ‘That’s what happened.’
‘I’m asking the Professor,’ says the DS, waiting.
I look at Ruiz and then at Safari Roy, who is nodding his head up and down slowly.
‘Yes,’ I say, ‘that’s what happened.’
Monk opens the lid of a rubbish bin on the footpath and drops his sandwich wrapper inside.
‘Mrs Ellis must have been mistaken.’ He lets the statement hang in the air. ‘If she’d been correct we would have had to arrest you, Professor, for breaching a protection order.’
I don’t reply.
‘Sienna Hegarty is being interviewed tomorrow and we’re going to investigate her allegations. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to impede or jeopardise our inquiries.’
‘No.’
Monk seems satisfied, and signals to Safari Roy, who has dripped egg yolk on to his tie and is trying to wipe it off with a handkerchief.
An electric window glides lower.
‘Have a good day, gentlemen,’ says Monk. ‘Mind how you go.’
40
Annie Robinson isn’t answering. I press the intercom again and give her another few seconds before walking back to my car. A horn toots. Annie is pulling into a space. She has bags of groceries.
‘If you’re busy . . .’
‘No, you can help me carry these.’
She drapes me in plastic bags and I follow her inside. She’s wearing shrunk-tight jeans, leather boots and a concho belt that dangles below a fitted black shirt. My eyes are fixed on her denim-clad thighs as she walks ahead of me. I remember them wrapped around me and I get that feeling again.
Bleed For Me (joseph o'loughlin) Page 29
