by Mosby, Steve
‘Really?’
‘Really.’ I leaned forward. ‘And listen. You did the right thing coming in and reporting it. I can imagine it was a tough decision, but you’re not going to get in trouble for it. You’ve done everything you can. But there’s nothing in what you’ve told me that he couldn’t have got off the news. There’s nothing that hasn’t been reported. I’ll keep a note of it, but we’re so stretched at the moment.’
Jane nodded slowly. She still looked miserable, but I thought I detected a hint of relief there now as well. She seemed lighter somehow. Unburdened. As though what the man had said was a physical weight he’d passed to her, something heavy that had become increasingly uncomfortable to carry. By coming to see me, she’d effectively passed it on. Here: you deal with it. And I had.
‘Is that it, then?’ she said. ‘Are we finished?’
‘We are.’
She stood up.
‘It’s rubbish, isn’t it?’
‘What is?’
‘That somebody would do that. Phone up pretending.’
I pictured Sally Vickers’ body, seeing it vividly in my head. The man who had done that was a monster, but there was something similarly despicable about the kind of man who would phone up pretending he had. The same pool of misogyny, just more towards the shallow end.
‘Yes,’ I said. ‘If it was up to me, he’d be hung up by the balls too.’
That made her smile: a small, secret little thing that was quite nice to see, but one that she put away quickly. I have no patience with mice, but I felt for her anyway. How dangerous she seemed to find it, interacting with another human being. Imagine going through your life like that.
‘That’s exactly how Rachel feels,’ she said. ‘Rachel’s a friend of mine who volunteers there too. She doesn’t have a lot of time for the sex callers.’
‘She sounds spot on to me.’
‘Why would someone do something like that?’ Jane moved over to the door of the interview room. Standing up, she looked even smaller than when she’d been seated. ‘It’s the way he talked about it. I keep seeing it in my head.’
‘Try not to.’
‘I can’t, though.’ She turned the door handle. ‘I keep imagining it. Him stuffing her down the side of the bed like that. Like a piece of rubbish. That was how he put it.’
The image came back to me again. A detail that hadn’t been made public.
‘Wait,’ I said.
Seventeen
Why did it feel like she’d made a terrible mistake?
As she sat in the passenger seat beside DI Zoe Dolan, Jane tried her best not to think about it. Instead, she watched out of the window as they left the main roads behind and headed into the smaller streets of Woodhouse. The policewoman seemed to know her way; Jane had asked if she needed directions, and Zoe had just shaken her head as though it was a stupid question. Actually, that was exactly the problem. She’d felt stupid walking into the police station in the first place, and then this woman had made her feel worse. Even now, finally being taken seriously, she felt like a child who didn’t understand and kept saying and doing the wrong things.
A mistake.
She’d just been trying to do the right thing. And maybe, as it turned out, she actually had. But Jane couldn’t escape the feeling that she’d messed up badly, and that all of this was going to blow up in her face in some unexpected way.
It was a poor area round here: mostly student houses and families crammed into red-brick back-to-backs. A few of the smaller university faculties were scattered amongst them, nestled inside houses with cramped staircases and tiny offices that had once been bedrooms.
Mayday wasn’t officially part of the university, although it was vaguely connected on some kind of funding level. It occupied a building halfway down a steep hill. There were only two parking spaces in front. One was empty right now, and Zoe swung the car into it.
‘You’re not meant to park here,’ Jane said.
‘What?’
‘They’re reserved for the volunteers.’
Zoe gave her that stupid look again, this time shot through with disbelief. Jane felt herself blushing, embarrassed. With everything that was going on, she was concerned with a bit of pointless bureaucracy.
Zoe was still staring at her.
‘You’re a volunteer, right?’
Jane nodded.
‘Well then.’
When they got out, the policewoman set off ahead. Jane hesitated slightly, looking at the building. Taking it in. The large front door, and the bay windows that bulged out on both storeys. The fact that, from the courtyard, it always looked unoccupied. After barely a month of shifts, it already felt so familiar to her, and even if she was doing the right thing, it wasn’t just stupid she felt, but guilty as well. The Mayday team weren’t exactly family, but she was a part of whatever they were. Or rather, she had been.
Zoe was walking up to the front door.
‘It’s round the back,’ Jane called.
‘Is it?’ It sounded like even that irritated her. ‘Well, come on then.’
There was an open gate between the building and the hedge that separated it from its neighbour, and a path led round behind. Zoe was already heading down it.
Come on then.
Taking one last look at the front of the building, Jane raced to catch up, feeling sick over what was about to happen inside.
‘Jane, what is going on?’
She didn’t know whether it made the situation better or worse that Rachel had been on duty when the pair of them arrived. Better in some ways: Jane couldn’t deny it was nice to see a friendly face. At the same time, the girl’s presence brought home the inherent betrayal of what she had done, and not only to Mayday itself. The friendship the two of them had built up, while important to Jane, still felt tentative and uneven, and this might just end it altogether. It was also embarrassing to think how weak and powerless she must appear to Rachel right now. She couldn’t even look her friend in the eye.
What is going on?
That was what Jane wanted to know too. She stared at the door to Richard’s office. Zoe had been in there for nearly ten minutes, and had closed the door behind her after entering. However hard she strained to hear, Jane couldn’t make out anything of the conversation that was going on inside. She wondered what on earth the two of them were making of each other.
‘Jane? Please talk to me. You’re scaring me.’
Finally, she turned to face Rachel.
‘I think I’ve done something stupid. So stupid. Maybe, anyway.’ She put her hand over her face. ‘Oh God, I don’t even know.’
‘What do you mean?’ She felt Rachel’s hand on her shoulder. ‘Come on. Calm down. Who was that woman you came in with?’
‘A policewoman.’
‘What?’
‘A policewoman.’ Jane took her hand away from her face. ‘Oh God. I just feel sick, Rachel. Honestly. I don’t know what I’ve done.’
‘Whoa, whoa. Back up a little. Why are you here with a policewoman?’
Jane hadn’t been exaggerating: she really did feel sick. Her stomach was tight, and she had to keep swallowing.
Don’t cry.
‘I had a call. Well, I had a couple of them. Have you been following the news? About those poor women being attacked?’
‘Of course. But—’
‘They were from the man who did it.’
‘Okay. You’re going to have to explain a bit more than that.’
So Jane told her, as best she could. After the first call, when she’d finished in Richard’s office, Rachel had asked her what had bothered her so much, and she’d fudged the answer: just said it was horrible and she didn’t want to talk about it. Now she told her the truth, and then about the second call.
‘And I just thought I had to do something. I couldn’t live with myself if he did it again. Not if there was a way I could have helped stop him somehow. Even if …’
She trailed off, not wanting to say
it. Rachel looked over at the door to Richard’s office, understanding.
‘Oh shit, Jane.’
‘I know.’
‘You did the right thing.’
‘I’m not sure. I just don’t—’
‘No. Look at me.’ Jane did as she was told. Rachel was looking at her with complete sincerity. ‘You did. I have no idea how Richard is going to react, but that’s really the least important thing right now.’ She gestured around the room. ‘All of this – all that confidentiality business – forget about it. The fucker killed the last woman he attacked. If you’ve told the police something that might help catch him, then that matters more than anything else.’
‘He told me a detail about what he’d done to the last woman that hadn’t been made public. The policewoman in there wasn’t taking me seriously before I mentioned that. But after that, she really, really was.’
She didn’t mention that she’d almost been relieved at being dismissed at first, because that meant she’d done what she could, and none of it was going to come back and make her life difficult. A nice line drawn: the end. Obviously, that had all gone to pot now.
‘So what are the police going to do?’ Rachel said.
‘I don’t know. Trace the calls, I guess.’
But she remembered what Richard had told her when she first reported her concerns: that Mayday would fight against it. Would it really come to that? DI Zoe Dolan didn’t seem like the kind of person who was going to take that very well. Jane could imagine her behind the closed door right now, increasingly irritated by Richard’s passive-aggressive I’m-really-sorry-but stalling. She suspected that Zoe was nothing like as scared of confrontation as she herself was.
She got the answer a moment later, as the door to Richard’s office opened – a little too violently – and Zoe emerged, throwing it closed behind her with equal force. She barely broke stride, and it was obvious from the storm on the woman’s face that the meeting had not gone well.
Zoe came across to the pair of them, then stood at a slight angle, looking off to one side, narrowing her eyes at the wall as though she wanted to murder someone. Maybe she did. She was barely taller than Jane herself, but there was real energy to her beneath the suit. She looked toned and strong, as though she could move very quickly if she wanted to. Right now, with the anger pulsing off her, Jane felt slightly threatened just being in close proximity.
‘That didn’t go well,’ Zoe said finally.
‘No.’ Jane didn’t know what to say. ‘This is Rachel, by the way.’
‘Yeah, that’s great.’
Zoe took a deep breath, then gathered herself together.
‘Right.’ She checked her watch. ‘I’m going to ask you to come with me for a bit, Jane. When we get back to the department, I’ll have to make a large number of phone calls, and they’ll be a lot easier to make once I’ve got your statement down in writing. I’ll need a lot of detail. Okay?’
It wasn’t really a question.
‘Of course.’
‘Good. Let’s get going.’ Zoe already had the car keys in her hand.
‘Did you leave him alive in there?’ Rachel said.
‘For now.’ Zoe took the other girl in properly for the first time, then gave her a brief smile. ‘Hang them up by the balls, right? Nice to meet you, Rachel.’
Eighteen
Looking back on the night that changed my life, I realise that the plan for the robbery was almost painfully simple. To be fair to us, though, we were only fifteen years old.
Rather than planning it weeks in advance, we more or less decided it on the night in question. The target was an Indian restaurant called the Paladin, which was about half a mile away from the Thornton estate. The front of it faced out on to a main road, but there was a car park behind, and the entrance to that was on a quieter residential street. The back of the restaurant consisted of nothing but a steel door and illuminated storeroom windows, half blocked off by metal bins and stacked crates, but it was well known that the Paladin kept alcohol in the storerooms, and that the back door was frequently left ajar. A number of kids at school had boasted of sneaking in and lifting some, which should probably have given us pause: indicated that the staff might be watching out. Instead, it simply affirmed that it was an easy enough thing to do. In fact, I wasn’t even thinking of it as a crime as such, more just something that was there to do.
Four of us set out from the park that night. It was winter, and the air was sharp and sparkling with the cold. The tarmac glittered. Above us, the sky was black and clear, the stars just a shivery prickle dotted across, as though they barely had enough temperature in them to shine.
Sylvie led the way, of course. She always did. The MacKenzie family was notorious on the estate. Sylvie was lean and angry, quick to fight, and already following in the footsteps of her father and cousins. You messed with her, you messed with them, and nobody wanted that. Sylvie was a gateway kid. There are always people when you’re young who offer access to boys, drugs, parties, all the mysterious stuff going on below the skin of the world that seems so important at that age. That was Sylvie. Natalie kept up with her, staying close enough to make the link between them clear. Sylvie’s little beta. Nat was all right when you got her on her own, but the slightest hint of a pecking order and there she was, right up in second place. She was the kind of kid who stands behind the bully, smirking. Of course, none of us thought of Sylvie as a bully, not when she wasn’t bullying us.
I trailed slightly behind the pair of them, walking with Jemima. It was never entirely clear what my place in the gang was. I was smart without being sly, and I could fight, but I was scrappy rather than tough. I was at least as confident as Sylvie, but in a different sort of way. Maybe that was why she kept me around: not because I fitted in, but because she couldn’t work me out, and in the meantime I seemed happy enough not to challenge her.
Jem’s position was much clearer. She was sweet-natured and pretty, and a natural athlete, but shy and timid. In another school she’d probably have coasted through quietly and anonymously enough, but her family had downsized to Thornton the year before, and she’d made few friends since arriving. I guessed we were better than nothing, but it couldn’t have been by much: Sylvie didn’t quite keep Jem around as a comedy mascot, but it sometimes seemed to fly close. Already that evening she’d been bawled out twice. Once for her ridiculously bright green coat, and then for questioning our little expedition. There’d be boys joining us later, and Sylvie wanted alcohol, but Jem had wondered why they couldn’t bring it themselves. Sylvie had rolled her eyes like she couldn’t believe the stupid shit she was hearing. Jem was still in the doghouse, and I walked with her more out of solidarity than anything else.
We reached the car park about eight, which meant we could steal some alcohol then hook up with the boys in the park, with plenty of time to get drunk and fool around into the early hours. Play the night by ear. At the open gate, bathed in the orange light from the street light above, we clustered together.
‘Four’s too many,’ Sylvie said. ‘And that fucking coat’s visible from space. Me and Nat’ll go in. You two wait here, keep watch. Okay?’
I nodded, because now that we were here, that suited me fine. Jem, who I’d imagined would feel the same, apparently didn’t.
‘Keep watch? What are we supposed to do?’
It earned her a flash of outright disgust.
‘What the fuck do you think? Duh. Keep an eye out. If it looks like anyone’s coming, then shout. It’s not hard.’
Jem nodded, looking stung. For what it was worth, I wasn’t entirely sure what we were supposed to look out for or shout either, but it didn’t make any sense to piss Sylvie off. But she was still staring lasers at Jem, and I felt the need to take some of the heat off her.
‘Synchronise watches?’ I suggested.
It was cheek, and Sylvie’s glare flicked to me, but I’d gauged it right and a second later she grinned.
‘Won’t be long. Stay tu
ned.’
And with that, she and Nat ducked into the car park, then moved around the corner out of sight.
I sniffed and moved closer to Jem, who still looked as though she’d been slapped.
‘Don’t worry about it,’ I said. ‘Just concentrate on keeping watch. Very serious business.’
That got me a smile, albeit a miserable one.
‘I suppose at least we don’t have to do anything.’
‘There is that,’ I said. ‘Hang on to it.’
About twenty seconds passed, and then I was aware of two figures bolting out past me, only resolving into my friends once they were across the street and disappearing off into the distance.
‘Shit,’ I said.
Jem – the natural athlete – started running after them, leaving me standing alone beneath the street light. That was lucky. I was about to take off myself when a number of men came pelting out of the car park entrance. Four of them, dressed in black trousers and white shirts, chasing my friends down the street. And very clearly not just chasing them off; they were scissoring their arms and pounding down the middle of the street like sprinters racing for the line. They meant to catch them.
I stood there for a second, fighting my body’s stupid instinct to run in the same direction, then turned my back on the chase and walked slowly up the hill towards the main road. Lucky, lucky, lucky. They’d been so intent on chasing the others, they hadn’t noticed me standing there.
Once I was on the main road, I began walking steadily along it, sticking my hands in my pockets and pulling my coat tighter, trying to do my best impression of a girl out for a walk. When I reached the ornate front of the Paladin itself, I stood for a moment perusing the menu on the wall outside, and breathing in the heady aroma from the open door, before moving off again. A little further down, after passing a shuttered-up bank, I came to a stop and considered what to do.
