Team Spirit (Special Crime Unit Book 1)

by Ian Mayfield

‘Yeah.’

  ‘OK, Darren,’ Zoltan nodded at him encouragingly. ‘Do you now admit that you and Michael Bayliss broke into 2 Langley Park Road, Sutton, on the date in question?’

  ‘We was there.’

  ‘Was that the first time you’d done a job with him?’

  As if for confirmation Pegley glanced at Baker, who shook his head.

  Zoltan said, ‘Who decided to break into that particular house?’

  ‘Nobody really. We was just driving round, looking for somewhere worth doing.’

  ‘So you just happened on 2 Langley Park Road because it looked promising?’

  ‘Yeah, s’pose.’

  ‘Why did it look promising?’

  ‘I can’t remember, can I?’

  ‘Did the house have any features that made it attractive as a burglary target? Unsecured doors or windows, for example?’

  ‘Can’t remember.’

  ‘So, however, you break in. You’re inside. What happened?’

  ‘We’re in this front room, right? It’s dark. I thought the place was empty, but there’s this light coming from a partition. Mike seen it too, and he goes, “Somebody in there, let’s see who it is, might be some pussy.” So he goes out in the hall and tries to get in the room, but it’s locked. I wanted to get the fuck out, but Mike’s like, “Let’s try and get this thing open.”’

  ‘Meaning the partition?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How come,’ Zoltan asked slowly, ‘he was so keen? For all he knew it could’ve been a man behind there.’

  ‘I dunno. I was bricking it, expecting somebody to come flying in any minute. I s’pose he figured if it’d been a bloke, he’d’ve come to see what was going on. Or at least shouted out.’

  Zoltan frowned. According to Miranda Hargreaves, she had called out. Implausible though it seemed, was Pegley being crafty, knowing that continuing to break through after hearing a woman cry out might, to a jury’s mind, constitute proof of intent? More likely, had Baker coached him in what to say? Or was it simply a gap in his memory, five years on?

  ‘Go on,’ he said tersely.

  ‘Well, it was locked, but it was pretty flimsy so we managed to force it.’

  ‘You and Bayliss?’ Zoltan slipped in, innocently.

  ‘Yeah.’ Baker had raised a warning hand, but his client hadn’t seen it. ‘We got it open just enough to squeeze through, and there’s this bird - girl - woman - crouched on the floor, trying to hide under the bed or summink. Mike tells her to give him the key, turns to me and he goes, “She’s all yours while I go and check out the rest of the house.”’

  This, in Miranda Hargreaves’s account, was the point at which Bayliss had incited Pegley to rape her.

  ‘What did you take that to mean?’

  In spite of himself, Zoltan was impressed. Pegley didn’t even need Baker’s prompting as he shrugged and said, ‘Keep her quiet, I s’pose.’

  ‘Keep her quiet?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘And did she?’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Keep quiet.’

  ‘I reckon.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘Probably too fucking scared not to.’

  ‘So you knew she was scared?’

  ‘Yeah. Wouldn’t you be?’

  ‘That’s encouraging, Darren,’ Zoltan said, smiling his crocodile smile. ‘I only wish more villains realised they scared people. Might make some of them think twice. Anyway,’ he said briskly, drawing himself back to the point, ‘Bayliss left the room?’

  ‘Right.’

  ‘By the way, did you wear masks, balaclavas, anything to conceal your identity?’

  ‘No, never.’ Pegley said it as if it were a matter of pride.

  ‘So this young woman could see your faces?’

  ‘No. Mike had the light off soon as we got in there.’

  ‘I see,’ Zoltan said. ‘Hardly conducive to keeping her quiet, I wouldn’t have thought. A young woman alone in a dark room with a burglar.’

  ‘I never touched her.’

  ‘Is that so?’

  ‘I never fucking touched her.’

  ‘So she did keep quiet?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘How did you achieve this?’

  ‘I told her to.’

  ‘You told her to what?’

  ‘Keep quiet.’

  ‘You just told her to and she did?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘You didn’t threaten her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Slap her around a bit?’

  ‘No, I never.’

  ‘Or else what?’

  Pegley looked at him blankly.

  ‘Come on, Darren. “Keep quiet.” “Yes, Mr Burglar.” She may not have been able to see your face, but she could make out enough to know you were a squeaky, spotty seventeen year old. Hardly inspire dread even now, do you, Darren?’

  ‘No, but Mike Bayliss does. I mean did. I dunno what he’s like now, but back then he used to scare the crap out of me, even.’

  Zoltan stared at him, thinking, all right, sunshine. Let’s listen to your edited version for a while, see how deep you can wade. ‘What happened when he came back?’

  Pegley swallowed, hesitated.

  ‘He did come back?’ A sardonic flicker of Zoltan’s eyes. ‘Your story does rather seem to depend on it.’

  ‘Yeah, he fucking come back,’ Pegley said tartly.

  ‘After how long?’

  ‘I dunno. Few minutes.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  ‘He has a look round, right, and finds this flute. And he goes, “Watch this.” And he’s like sticking it in her.’

  ‘In her?’

  ‘You know.’ Pegley squirmed. In almost a whisper, he added, ‘Up her vagina.’ He uttered the term as if he had never used it before, which Zoltan reckoned might well be the case. No doubt he habitually employed a shorter word.

  ‘So,’ Zoltan said, ‘Bayliss went out of the room, came back and sexually assaulted Miss Hargreaves with the flute. Is that right?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘So are you saying now the rape never took place?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How long was Bayliss out of the room?’

  ‘Not long. Five minutes, tops.’

  ‘So he left you alone with that girl for five minutes and nothing happened?’

  ‘I told you.’

  ‘She didn’t scream for help? Plead with you not to hurt her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She didn’t offer her body in return for not hurting her?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You both just waited around for Bayliss to come back?’

  Pegley nodded.

  ‘So when did she get naked?’

  ‘You what?’

  ‘You told me that all you did while Bayliss was out of the room was sit and wait. How, then, did he have such easy access to her genitalia when he came back if she was still fully clothed?’

  ‘He made her take her kit off.’

  ‘Then why didn’t you say that?’

  ‘What d’you – ?’

  ‘You told me Bayliss came back into the room and inserted the flute into Miss Hargreaves’ vagina. Not a word about rendering her at least partially unclothed, which would seem to be an essential part of the process.’

  ‘Well, ‘s obvious, innit?’

  ‘Darren,’ Zoltan said heavily, after a carefully calculated pause, ‘in the eyes of the law, for it to have been rape there has to have been penetration of the vagina with the penis. Anything else constitutes either attempted rape or indecent assault.’ He shrugged, smiling coldly. ‘Stupid, but there it is. Be sure of this, Darren: Miranda Hargreaves was raped. Brutally, painfully. Or are you telling me she lied about that?’

  Pegley stared at his hands, which gripped the edge of the table.

  ‘Why would she, Darren? Why would she go through the humiliation of telling us in excruciating detail about the assault with the fl
ute, which you’ve just corroborated, and then lie about being raped?’

  Still he said nothing.

  ‘Don’t get me wrong, you’ve been very helpful so far. Your account of what happened does tally remarkably well with Miss Hargreaves’, considering how long it’s been. But it does differ in a couple of important respects. Maybe it’s your memory. People do get selective memories when they’ve something to hide.’ He flicked the briefest of sideways glances towards Baker, letting him know he was well aware of what had gone on while he and his client had been conferring privately. ‘But Miranda didn’t ever forget what happened. When you two broke into her room - she says - she started crying and pleading with you. Bayliss shut her up by giving her a good hiding. That is the point at which he forced her to strip and invited you to have your way with her while he went on a tour of the house. Is that what happened, Darren?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘You not remembering the beating worries me somewhat. What worries me more is Miranda’s account of what you did while Bayliss was gone.’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘I didn’t ask for your comment,’ Zoltan snapped. ‘“Have your way with her” you took to mean rape her. Which you did. And then when Bayliss came back and found you raping her, he chewed you out for jumping the gun, and took his turn using the flute. With a foreign object that wouldn’t leave any genetic trace. Is that right?’

  ‘No comment.’

  ‘It’s what Miranda Hargreaves says.’

  ‘Her word against mine, then, innit?’ Pegley blurted out belligerently. ‘You can’t prove it was even me there.’

  ‘You’ve just told me it was you, Darren,’ Zoltan said. ‘It’s on tape; it’s your statement. I didn’t coerce you into it. You made it voluntarily, after taking legal advice.’

  ‘I ain’t coughing to no rape. You ain’t got nothing to pin it on me.’

  ‘Haven’t I?’ Zoltan smiled, and leaned back happily in his chair. ‘Let me tell you what I have and haven’t got. I have got stolen property found in your flat, which has been positively identified as belonging to Miranda Hargreaves. I’ve got your account on tape of how you and Michael Bayliss got into 2 Langley Park Road, and what you did there. And I’ve got Miss Hargreaves’ version of events, which fits yours like a size eight glove. What I haven’t got is anything, other than your word, that says it was Michael Bayliss who did that job with you.’

  He stopped for a moment to see if the implications were sinking in. Pegley’s Adam’s apple bobbed gently.

  ‘Supposing we never find Bayliss? Or, more likely, suppose we do and he denies ever having been there? What then? All we’ve got is your statement. Your word for it; no corroboration. So where does that leave me, Darren? All I have is you.’

  Pegley’s eyes were dark, shining circles of horror. ‘You bastard.’

  ‘You were there when Miranda Hargreaves was raped,’ Zoltan went on, mercilessly. ‘You’ve admitted having the case in your possession, and we can quite easily prove it was you who sold the flute on. Don’t be under any illusion that I’m not going to charge you with rape, Darren, but if you play straight with me about what happened I might just be able to persuade the CPS to ask for seven years instead of fifteen to life.’

  ‘He fucking told me to!’

  The outburst was so unexpected that for a second afterwards there was total silence in the room, apart from the faint echoes of Pegley’s cry ringing round the white walls. Zoltan cleared his throat carefully, hoping his surprise hadn’t shown.

  ‘Michael Bayliss,’ he said, ‘told you to rape her?’

  Pegley nodded, looking as shocked as either of them.

  ‘Mr Pegley nods to indicate that is what Bayliss said,’ Zoltan reported. He shook his head slowly. ‘Darren, Darren. Pushing dope for gangs, and now rape by proxy. Do you always do what people tell you?’

  ‘God help me,’ Pegley said.

  Zoltan watched him inscrutably for a few long moments, noting the way his eyes swivelled to the flashing recording light, as though willing the machine off..

  ‘You’ve left it a bit late for anyone else,’ he said.

  ‘I am awake now.’

  Jasmin had ridden back to Croydon with the passenger window open as a measure against the queasiness of the rudely awakened. The cool breeze did, indeed, seem to have revived her, although to Anne’s mind the ever muddier areas around her eyes were not lightly to be ignored.

  ‘Look,’ she said, ‘you can’t go on forever, you know.’

  ‘I cannot sleep when I should be working.’

  ‘Come on,’ Anne pleaded. ‘We’ve all done it. Besides, you’ve earned a rest.’

  Jasmin made a dismissive noise. She fingered her jumper and scowled. ‘I could use a wash. I feel sticky.’

  ‘Well, then.’

  ‘Go to the nick,’ she decreed, and folded her arms with a smile of triumph. ‘The water is warmer.’

  ‘I did try.’ Anne shook her head and braked for a young mother with a pushchair at a zebra crossing. ‘All I can say is thank God I’m doing the driving.’

  For the time being, Jasmin was right. A hot shower had done much to crank her weary brain up to a sustainable level of awareness. But her body had taken it upon itself to remind her that, whatever her reasons, she was not superhuman. Her limbs felt leaden, and her head able only with a conscious effort to hold itself upright. As she walked into the office she briefly gripped the doorframe for support. In all conscience, she thought, breathing deeply, flooding her bloodstream with oxygen, she couldn’t skive off. Tonight, after her shift was done, she’d switch off her mobile, turn in early, and no cold or express trains or mouldy walls or ringing phones would disturb her long slumber.

  There was no sign of Sophia, but Helen and one or two of the others were around. Lucky looked up with an anxious smile at Jasmin’s approach. ‘The DI just called. He says,’ she looked away, ‘he thought he told you to go home.’

  Had Anne ratted on her, or did Zoltan simply know her too well? She said, ‘And what else?’

  ‘He’s nailed Pegley.’

  ‘Uh-huh?’ Making it to her desk, she felt her knees buckle under her and she collapsed with undignified lethargy into her chair. ‘For what exactly?’

  ‘Raping Miranda Hargreaves. It was all just about how she told it to me and Jeff. The other bloke was this Bayliss character. Pegley did the rape while he was out of the room.’ The words were chattering out of Lucky’s mouth, like rapid fire. ‘Then when Bayliss came back he was so mad at him for leaving his DNA behind he grabbed the first thing to hand and - ’

  ‘The flute?’

  ‘Yeah, and raped her again with that: “Look, this is how it should be done.”’ Suddenly, for no apparent reason, she tore the top sheet off the notepad she’d been referring to, screwed it into a ball and threw it across the room. She sat with her arms folded.

  ‘Are you OK?’ Jasmin frowned, startled.

  ‘Yeah,’ Lucky said. ‘Are you?’

  Helen Wallace, who’d been earwigging, looked up from her paperwork. ‘That’s a point,’ she said, studying Jasmin’s pouched eyes. ‘You don’t look as if you’ve - ’

  ‘I had forty winks earlier.’

  ‘Look, go home,’ Helen said. ‘We’ll manage.’

  ‘What I told her,’ Anne White said, coming in with two coffees. She put both in front of Jasmin, changed her mind and took one for herself. ‘Silly moo won’t listen.’

  Jasmin said, ‘I sign out at five-thirty, right? I am OK till then.’

  Helen considered. ‘All right. But you stay in the office. Any callouts, I’m sending somebody else. Deal?’

  Too tired to argue, Jasmin nodded. Satisfied, Helen turned her attention to what had originally disturbed her. But Lucky had picked up and binned the ball of paper and, with no sign of the petulance that had apparently caused her to throw it, was back at her desk, whiting out a mistake on the form she was filling in.

  Thursday

  In
theory, the Special Crime office meeting took priority over anything short of attending your own funeral. In theory, it was the only time Sophia could ever hope to have all her team in one room. In practice, someone was always in court, or attending a call, or out on enquiries. This morning Kim and Marie were absent, chasing a halfway promising lead on Meredith and company at a night shelter in Pimlico; Jasmin, not entirely unaccountably, was also missing.

  ‘First on the agenda,’ Sophia began, ‘our rape series.’ Several heads went up. ‘Zoltan, Jasmin and Anne spent most of yesterday grafting away at a probable breakthrough. Where is Jasmin, by the way?’ No-one knew. Helen caught her guv’nor’s eye; she reckoned she could make a shrewd guess, but it could wait. Sophia nodded and moved on. ‘Zoltan.’

  The DI stood up. ‘A young burglar called Darren Pegley has confessed to being at 2 Langley Park Road and, though he still hasn’t said so in as many words, he did rape Miranda Hargreaves. However, I don’t fancy him for the other assaults. He has a plausible alibi for Violet McMinn, and anyway none of the descriptions we’ve been given match Pegley remotely. The one we’re looking for is the kid he was with that night.’ The palm of his hand patted the photofit Miranda Hargreaves had helped put together. There was some despondent muttering. Even on its own it didn’t look convincing. ‘His name is Michael Bayliss. He has a record - or perhaps I should say he did.’

  ‘Juvenile?’ Helen asked.

  ‘How did you guess?’ He smiled thinly. ‘According to Camberwell’s local intelligence officer, who holds the only remaining information we have on him, there are no adult convictions. His last caution was for selling a stolen moped five years ago; nothing further until he attained the age of twenty-one last year, whereupon his juvenile record was expunged and destroyed in accordance with policy.’ There were groans. ‘If written documentation is to be believed, he suddenly turned over a new leaf at seventeen. Trouble is he no longer lives at the LKA, and no-one there knows where the family went. Pegley also denies knowing his present whereabouts.’

  ‘If he raped Mrs McMinn last week,’ Nina Tyminski said, ‘bastard’s still around somewhere.’

  ‘Exactly. We’re looking for a twenty-two year old IC1 male, height six foot four, light frizzy hair, pale complexion, slim, rangy build. He has a distinct...’ Zoltan hesitated for an instant. Out of the corner of his eye he thought he’d seen Lucky put her hand up, but when he looked she was busy jotting notes. ‘He has a distinct MO. One, he strikes in the victim’s own home. Two, he breaks in at ground level through sash or drop catch windows, things that can easily be forced. Three, he doesn’t bother concealing his face but relies on darkness as cover. Four, and most significant, he’s not a rapist in the legal sense. Since he’s apparently motivated by a desire not to have his DNA on file, his method is to pick out some phallic object from among the victim’s possessions and sexually assault her with that. He then takes the object away with him. He seems careful not to take anything which might be easily identified; usually something mundane like a kitchen utensil or a cheap candlestick - ’