Case One

by Chris Ould

  When the stretcher bumped through the doors into Resus Holly was left outside, but she watched through the window as Ashleigh was transferred from stretcher to exam table. A doctor shone a torch in the unconscious girl’s eyes, but he had to hold her eyelids back to do it. Then a nurse pulled a screen into place and that was it: show over.

  A few moments later Blanche and Sancho came out of Resus. Blanche was on her radio but Sancho spotted Holly and came over to where she was standing.

  “That’s us,” he said cheerfully. “Hump and dump.”

  “So what’ll happen to her now?” Holly asked.

  Sancho shrugged. “They’ll do an assessment, get her stabilised and decide on treatment. They’ll probably want a CT scan to see how bad the head injury is too.”

  “Is she still unconscious?”

  Sancho nodded. “Don’t think you’ll be talking to her today.”

  “Sanch?” Blanche called along the corridor. “Possible stroke at Stockton.”

  “’Kay.” Sanch waved and to Holly he said: “I was you, I’d get a drink and have a sit down while you’ve got a chance. Grab it while you can. See you later.”

  And then he was off.

  Once the paramedics were gone Holly felt that her only real connection to the case had been cut. No one else would know that she’d ridden in with Ashleigh, or that Sergeant Stafford had told her to keep him updated. It left her feeling unsure about exactly what to do next, so after another glance through the window she moved to sit on a red plastic chair with a view of the Emergency Department doors.

  From her stab vest she took out a pen and a green pocketbook, found her last entry and then started to write below it. This wasn’t an official record ­– anything that might be called on as evidence had to go in a different, red book – but this pocketbook was part of her practical assessment. What she wrote here would be reviewed by her college tutors as part of the process of showing that she was capable of seeing and recording pertinent details of the situations she came across on patrol.

  Under the date, time and location she wrote:

  Attended RTC with PC Sitwell, Gatemead Road. Sgt Stafford i/c.

  Victim: teenage female (13-14?). Unconscious. Head injury, laceration to arm. Struck by lorry. Driver present at scene.

  Possible victim ID = Ashleigh Jarvis. Bus pass + purse in pocket.

  Weston Ambulance Service attended. Accompanied victim to Queen Victoria Hosp. Still unconscious at 19:45.

  She paused, trying to think of anything else and when she did, she hesitated before writing it. But in the end she added: Victim has no shoes. Feet dirty.

  Then the door to Resus opened and the doctor who’d examined Ashleigh emerged. He headed towards the nurses’ station and Holly jumped up to catch him.

  “Doctor…?”

  The doctor looked round and Holly caught up.

  “Doctor, I’m TPO Blades from Morningstar Road Station. I came in with the female victim of the RTC. Can you tell me how she is?”

  The doctor looked her over. He was about thirty-five, tall, with a thin face. “Is there another officer with you?” he asked, glancing round.

  “I’m waiting for someone else to arrive, but my sergeant asked me to keep him updated. Can you tell me how she’s doing?”

  The doctor ignored the question. “You’re a trainee you said?”

  “Yes, but—”

  The doctor shook his head. “Her condition could be life-threatening so I think you’d better get a regular officer to come in. Ask a nurse to page me when they arrive: Dr Scobie.”

  Without waiting for a response he started away and Holly could feel herself flush red. For a moment she almost started back to her seat, but the way he’d dismissed her so casually really rankled, and after a second she pushed back her shoulders and went after him.

  “Doctor? – Dr Scobie?”

  With a theatrical sigh the doctor paused and half turned. “Yes?”

  “Sir, just so you know, as a TPO I do have the authority to take statements and request details of an incident from witnesses.”

  Dr Scobie opened his mouth to speak, but Holly didn’t give him the chance. “And under Section 89 of the Police Act, obstructing an officer—”

  “Obstructing?” Scobie cut in. “Listen­—”

  “Please let me finish, sir. Obstructing an officer carries the penalty of imprisonment, a fine or both.”

  Scobie looked at her incredulously. “Are you saying you’re going to arrest me?” he said.

  “No, sir. I’m just trying to save everyone a lot of wasted time and energy,” Holly told him, managing to hold his gaze.

  Scobie was still for a beat, but finally he shook his head. “I don’t fucking believe it,” he said, but this time he didn’t turn away. “All right, over there.”

  He moved across to a quieter section of the corridor, then turned to address Holly as she opened her pocketbook.

  “In terms of your accident, she’s got a laceration to her upper arm, a tension pneumothorax and a possible subdural haematoma with a base of the neck fracture. We’ll know for certain when she’s had a scan, but if there is a haematoma she’ll need an operation as soon as possible to reduce the pressure on her brain and stop the bleeding. We’ve had to intubate her and her condition’s serious, bordering on critical.”

  “Okay,” Holly said, writing quickly to keep up. “Is there anything else?”

  “Yes. From the initial exam I think it’s possible she may also have been sexually assaulted.”

  “Sorry?” Holly stopped writing and looked up. “Why?”

  “She wasn’t wearing any pants when she was brought in and she’s got some bruises and grazes round her thighs and pubic area which aren’t consistent with being knocked down. My recommendation would be to ask your Forensic Medical Examiner to come in and carry out a rape exam – okay?”

  “Yes. Thank you.” Holly thought rapidly. “What about her clothes?”

  “They’ll be bagged for evidence, but I’m not handing them over to a trainee.”

  “No, that’s fine. Thank you. I’ll let my sergeant know.”

  “Right. Can I go now?” His voice was heavy with sarcasm. “Or will I be arrested?”

  “No, sir. Thank you for your help,” Holly said politely.

  As the doctor turned away he was shaking his head. “Un-fucking-believable,” he muttered.

  For a moment after he’d gone Holly continued to write down everything he’d said, then she keyed her radio. “Delta Mike Nine-Five from Seven-Six-Two, free to speak?”

  After a moment, Sergeant Stafford’s voice came over her earpiece. “Go ahead, Holly.”

  “Sarge, I’ve got an update on the condition of the RTC victim.”

  “How is she?”

  “Serious or critical, Sarge, but there’s something else. The doctor who examined her thinks she might have been sexually assaulted. He thinks we should get the FME down here.”

  She waited for a beat and then Stafford’s voice came back, serious. “I’ll have someone with you asap. Nine-Five out.”

  8.

  MAYBERRY COURT

  19:51 HRS

  Sam Marston had grown up on the outskirts of a small West Country town where the tallest building was a department store with three floors. That hundreds of people could live on top of each other in a place like Mayberry Court was still an alien concept to him, although it was a very real fact. True, this block didn’t have quite as bad a reputation as the Cadogan Estate, just across the main road, but the graffiti, litter and the smell of piss in darker corners told you all you needed to know. No one did foot patrol in either place on their own.

  “Don’t take any notice of what they say or do at first, okay? Just let me deal with it.”

  Sam could tell from her tone that Yvonne was dead serious about this. “Okay,” he said. Then: “Why? – I mean, what do you think they’ll do?”

  Yvonne shook her head. “Can’t tell. A copper turns up on your doorste
p, it’s usually bad news. Then you tell them the last thing in the world they want to hear. Sometimes they laugh because they can’t believe it; sometimes they just go quiet.”

  “Laugh?” Sam found this hard to believe.

  “It’s just shock – least she’s not dead, that’s something. Anyway, just be aware.”

  They left the stairs and headed along the walkway, Yvonne checking door numbers. Most of the windows they passed had the curtains closed against the night. It was the time when most people would be settling down for the evening; having dinner, putting the telly on, glad they didn’t have to go out in the dark and the cold. Except now someone would have to: that was why they were here.

  At a blue door with a brass number 23 on it, Yvonne stopped. She gave it a second then knocked on the door just below the spyhole. There was no bell.

  A few seconds passed, then the door opened and a woman with bleach-blonde hair and dark brown roots looked out at them. She had a slightly pinched look, with heavy make-up round her eyes. “Yes?” she said.

  “I’m sorry to disturb you,” Yvonne said. “Are you Mrs Jarvis – Dee Jarvis?”

  “Yes,” the woman said. “What’s happened?”

  “I’m PC Dunlop, this is TPO Marsden. It’s about Ashleigh. Do you think we could come in for a moment?”

  The woman frowned, glanced at Sam, then back to Yvonne. “What’s happened?” she asked again.

  “It’d be better if we could talk inside. Can we?”

  Mrs Jarvis was still for a moment, then nodded and stepped back so they could enter. Yvonne motioned to Sam and went in, taking off her cap as she did so. Sam pulled off his beret and rolled it up.

  In the sitting room Mrs Jarvis picked up a packet of cigarettes and a lighter. The television was on and there was an ironing board set up so that she could watch as she ironed.

  “What’s it about?” Mrs Jarvis asked, lighting a cigarette. “Is she in trouble – Ash?”

  “No, not like that,” Yvonne said. “Maybe you’d better sit down.”

  The woman shook her head. “I’m all right. What is it?” But even as she said it Sam could see her hand start to tremble.

  Yvonne took a second, then said: “I’m afraid there’s been an accident. A girl was injured on Gatemead Road earlier and from the ID she was carrying we think she may be Ashleigh.”

  “No,” Mrs Jarvis said, definitely. “No, Ash is on her way home from her mate’s – Lauren. She texted me.”

  “When was that?”

  “I dunno. A bit ago.”

  She moved to a coffee table and picked up her phone. After a moment she said, “It was twenty to seven. She said ‘Home soon. Might get chips first tho.’ – See?”

  She held up the phone, as if it was proof that Yvonne was wrong.

  “I’m sorry,” Yvonne said. “We’re pretty sure that it’s Ashleigh who was knocked down. She’s been taken to the Queen Victoria, but her condition is serious. We’d like to take you down there.”

  “No!” the woman said again ­– harder, angrier. “You’ve got it wrong. It’s not Ash. She’ll be home any minute.”

  “Mrs Jarvis…” Yvonne began.

  But even as she said it Sam saw the anger in Dee Jarvis’s face begin to dissolve and then she was sobbing, tears welling in her eyes. “No,” she said, almost in a whimper. “No, not Ash. Not Ash…”

  9.

  EMERGENCY DEPT.

  QUEEN VICTORIA HOSPITAL

  20:10 HRS

  “You watch, CID’ll come in – they’re bound to for a rape.”

  Holly said nothing. Apart from the fact that she didn’t like the know-it-all way Sam Marsden always reckoned to be one step ahead of everyone else, she was more interested in watching Ashleigh’s mother as she spoke to Dr Scobie. Sergeant Stafford and Yvonne Dunlop were on either side of her, saying nothing.

  “Her mum said she’d been at a friend’s house,” Sam went on. “So if she was on her way home when she was attacked we could be on door-to-door – see if anyone saw her on the way, if she was with anyone.”

  Finally Holly looked at him. “How do you know she wasn’t assaulted at the friend’s house before she left?” she said flatly.

  “She’s a girl – the friend. Name’s Lauren.”

  “Doesn’t mean someone else wasn’t there as well though, does it?”

  “No. Maybe,” Sam said, grudgingly.

  She was right, and he was annoyed that he hadn’t thought of it, especially since he was the one who wanted to go into CID eventually. Trouble was, Holly was sharp and she never seemed to have a problem fitting into a situation, whereas Sam still felt awkward and unprepared a lot of the time.

  Across the corridor Yvonne Dunlop led Dee Jarvis to a chair, an arm round her waist. It struck Holly as an unusually sympathetic gesture from a PC who’d drop a suspect into an armlock if they gave her any bullshit at all.

  “We’re going back to Gatemead Road,” Stafford said, approaching the two TPOs. “Yvonne’s going to stay with Ashleigh’s mother for the time being.”

  “What’ll happen now, Sarge?” Sam asked.

  “What do you think?” Stafford had a habit of turning a question back on the person who asked it.

  “CID will come in because of the sexual assault?”

  “Suspected assault,” Stafford corrected him, but nodded. Then his attention shifted to Holly. “I want a word with you.”

  He led her aside leaving Sam where he was. Holly could guess what was coming.

  “Did you threaten to arrest Dr Scobie?”

  “No, Sarge.”

  Stafford gave her a narrow-eyed look. “He’s under the distinct impression that you did.”

  Holly knew there was no point in trying to play it down. She said, “I told him that obstructing an investigation was an offence and then he asked if I was going to arrest him. I said no.”

  “In what way was he obstructing an investigation?” Stafford asked. It was impossible to gauge what he was thinking.

  “I asked him for an update on Ashleigh’s condition but he wouldn’t talk to me. He said he’d only talk to a reg.”

  Stafford chewed that over for a moment, then he said: “So you misled him.”

  “Not on purpose.”

  Another look.

  “Well, yeah, a bit. But there was no reason not to tell me, and if you’d had to send a reg down when you were already busy…”

  Stafford raised a hand. “Okay,” he said. “I’ve reminded Dr Scobie that good communications help everyone, so in future I don’t think there’ll be a problem.”

  Holly didn’t think there would either, not if Stafford had done the reminding.

  “But just remember,” Stafford went on, “you’re not the only person who comes in here needing information or help. If someone’s pissed off with you, they’re liable to carry it over to anyone else in a uniform. Got it?”

  “Yes, Sarge.”

  “Right.” He gave her a last hawkish look, then turned away. “Sam?”

  From where he’d been watching the exchange, Sam came across.

  “You asked Mrs Jarvis about Ashleigh’s movements and the clothes she was wearing, right?”

  “Yes, Sarge,” Sam said. They’d asked the questions on the way to the hospital.

  “Okay, update Holly on the way back to Gatemead Road. DS Woods should be there by the time we are. Holly will be briefing him.”

  “Me?” Holly was taken by surprise.

  “You,” Stafford said.

  “Yes, Sarge.”

  Was that a punishment or a test to see how well she’d cope – or maybe both? But before Holly had time to figure it out Stafford was gesturing brusquely for them to move. “Come on, then. Prove you can walk and chew gum at the same time.”

  10.

  GATEMEAD ROAD

  20:24 HRS

  “The victim is Ashleigh Jarvis. She’s fourteen and lives at 23 Mayberry Court with her mother, Dee Jarvis. Father absent for some time.”


  Holly glanced up from her notebook to see if this was what DS Woods wanted to hear. She only knew him by sight and he hadn’t looked particularly overjoyed to discover that Holly would be briefing him, although he hadn’t complained either. He was a solid-looking man, early forties, with an unexcitable manner. He was wearing a bulky waterproof jacket over his suit and he also had a cold.

  “Go on,” he said, seemingly more interested in finding a tissue to blow his nose than in what Holly was saying.

  Holly looked back at her notes. Verbal briefings were on the monthly assessment list but she hadn’t had to give one “live” before.

  “According to her mother, Ashleigh was at a friend’s house – Lauren Booth, 165 Escott Road. At about 18:40 Mrs Jarvis got a text from Ashleigh to say she’d be home soon and at 19:06 the RTC was reported by a member of the public.”

  “Have you got a description of the clothes Ashleigh was wearing when she went out?”

  “Yes, sir. Apart from what she was wearing when she was knocked down, her mother says she had a dark green coat with a hood. She also had a bag – Indian design. We didn’t find either of them at the scene.”

  “Right. Thanks,” DS Woods said. He turned to Stafford. “How certain are they that she was sexually assaulted?”

  “Her knickers are missing, there are scratches on her thighs… Pretty sure. The mother’s given her consent for a rape exam, so…”

  Woods sniffed and thought about it. “It’d only take her about five minutes to walk from Escott Road to here if she came through the estate, so that leaves about twenty minutes unaccounted for. Also means we’re looking at the estate as a possible location. That’s going to be fun in the dark.”

  “Sir?” Holly said.

  The two sergeants looked at her. Holly hesitated, then said: “When Ashleigh was in the ambulance I noticed she didn’t have any shoes. And her feet were dirty. I mean, they were really dirty – like she’d walked or run quite a way without anything on them.”