by Chris Ould
“What? What’re you talking about?”
“Lucy,” Sam said, plucking a name from the air.
“Who the bloody hell’s Lucy?” Mulvey said, his irritation showing now.
“My girlfriend,” Sam said, poker-faced. “I thought you said—”
Mulvey scowled at him. “You taking the piss?”
“What? No,” Sam said, feigning genuine confusion. “You said ‘Where’s your girlfriend?’ and—”
“I meant Holly,” Mulvey said, cutting him off.
“What’s up?” Holly asked as she approached along the corridor, just in time to hear her name.
Mulvey turned quickly, as if he suspected he was the victim of an elaborate set-up, but when Holly just looked curious the PC was stymied.
“Sergeant Stafford wants you both to report to the Incident Room,” he said tersely. “There’s a briefing at eight.”
“What sort of briefing?” Holly said.
“The Jarvis case,” Mulvey said, and Sam was pleased to hear a note of resentment in his voice. “Looks like you’ll be on door-to-door.”
“Excellent,” Sam said, and meant it.
“Don’t be late,” Mulvey told him and moved off. Behind his back Sam gave a broad smirk.
“What?” Holly asked.
“No, nothing,” Sam said, still grinning as he watched the PC depart. “I just found out how bright Mulvey is, that’s all.”
2.
INCIDENT ROOM
MORNINGSTAR RD STATION
08:03 HRS
“For those of you who don’t know already, the victim is Ashleigh Jane Jarvis, an IC1 female, fourteen years old.”
DS Woods was standing in front of a whiteboard in the Incident Room. On a desk nearby was a laptop, which was linked up for the PowerPoint presentation. It was operated by DC Danny Simmons, a guy in his late twenties wearing a leather jacket, jeans and DMs.
When Woods nodded, Simmons tapped a key on the laptop and a school photo of Ashleigh was projected onto the whiteboard. The six uniformed officers in the room each had a copy of the same photo and, like them, Holly and Sam had their pocketbooks open, ready to make notes.
“As of 07:30 this morning Ashleigh’s condition was still listed as critical but stable,” Woods went on. “Which means that she’s unconscious and can’t tell us what happened to her. However, from the forensics we do know that she’d had intercourse recently, and because some of her clothes were found in a bin shelter on the Cadogan Estate we’re taking the view that it wasn’t consensual sex. We might be wrong, but we can’t afford to take the chance, so we’re treating this as a rape, okay?”
There were nods from the officers and Holly noticed there were none of the usual dodgy remarks that often accompanied parade briefings.
“Okay,” Woods said. “Our timeline starts at 18:05 last night when Ashleigh left her friend’s house saying she was going home. At 18:40 she sent a text to her mother to say she’d be home soon, and at 19:05 she was involved in the RTC on Gatemead Road. If she’d just been attacked I don’t think she’d have been sending texts, so I think it’s most likely that the assault took place between 18:40 and 19:05.”
Danny Simmons changed the display and a map of the Cadogan Estate and surrounding streets came up on the whiteboard. Woods blew his nose into a tissue and stepped forward to indicate the locations he was talking about.
“Ashleigh’s bag and clothes were found here, so that’s a possible site for the attack. The RTC happened here – a distance of about three hundred metres. Now, the bin shelter isn’t on a direct route through the estate, so there’s a possibility that Ashleigh was taken there by force, or alternatively that she was led there by someone she knew. Whichever it was, we need to know if anyone saw her – either alone or with someone else – in this area between 18:00 and 19:00 hours.
“We’ll be doing a door-to-door on the properties along her probable route and we’ll also be manning the cordon round the bin shelter and talking to anyone who passes it. Did they see her? Was there anyone acting suspiciously in the area – running away, sitting in a vehicle, kerb crawling…?”
From the front row of chairs, Oz Sitwell looked up from his notes. “Are we going to get DNA from the rape kit?”
Woods nodded. “It looks likely. There was semen present, so either he’s stupid or he doesn’t care.”
Another reg spoke up from the side. “Have we got any known paedos in the area, Sarge? I’m thinking about her age. Could she have been a target because she was young?”
Woods reached for another tissue and nodded. “We’re checking known sexual offenders on the Register, but at the moment nothing’s come up. Age could be a factor, but for the time being I want to keep an open mind.”
He sniffed, rubbed his nose and looked round. “Any other questions?”
There weren’t.
“Right. As far as members of the public are concerned, remember it’s the Cadogan, so half the estate probably know what went on – or think they do. Even so, the line is that we’re investigating a serious assault and beyond that, no specifics. For the moment I want to keep the rape aspect to ourselves.”
He glanced down at a piece of paper. “Okay – assignments: PC Ellis, PC Lester and TPO Blades are with Danny on the cordon, everyone else on the door-to-door. We’re on channel three for radios and there’ll be a van at the scene, so that’s our command point. We’ll leave in five from the yard.”
He blew his nose noisily and at that signal there was a scraping of chairs and a rise in the chatter as the assembled officers got to their feet. As Sam and Holly put their pocketbooks away Oz Sitwell came over.
“Sam, you’re with me on door-to-door. Grab your jacket, you’ll need it.”
“Right.” Sam moved off, looking pleased.
“You too, Hol,” Oz said.
Holly nodded but gestured to the room, uncertain. “Who am I paired with?”
“No one. You’re OR.”
OR stood for Own Recognisance and it meant she’d be working without the direct supervision of a training officer. So far this had only happened when she’d been assigned to tasks inside the station – things that didn’t have implications for a serious ongoing enquiry.
“Are you sure?” Holly asked.
Oz nodded. “No one available. You’ll be okay though. Cordon duty’s just standing around. Someone comes up to you, ask them if they were in the area last night and whether they saw anything. If they did and it sounds useful, get their name and contact details down on a WS2 form and call Danny Simmons or DS Woods. If it’s just a local being nosey, send them away, okay?”
“Okay,” Holly said, still a little uncertain.
Oz nodded. “The only thing you’ll really have to worry about is keeping warm and not being able to go for a pee.”
3
From his vantage point on the sixth-floor balcony Drew Alford could see the fluttering blue and white tape that cordoned off the service road and all access to it. He could see the coppers standing nearby, questioning anyone who approached, and he could see the forensic-suited people coming and going from the bin shelter.
Some time in the night a large plastic tent had been erected over the shelter, blocking the view of the inside, but seeing what was going on around it was enough. Alford had watched plenty of news stories and TV series and he knew that the forensics people would be trying to find DNA and other traces of anyone who had been near the bins last night.
That was what puzzled him, though. He’d known there might be police around today, asking questions, but what he couldn’t work out was why they were doing all the rest. It wasn’t like there’d been a murder or something, so why all the effort?
Below him, some uniform coppers gathered together in a group by their van. A plain-clothed guy was talking to them. He gestured towards the cordon and then towards the block of flats, and when he did so Alford instinctively took a step back from the balcony rail. Time to move on. He was getting cold anyway.
“Oi-oi,” Skank said in greeting. “You seen what’s happening down there?”
“I’ve seen it. What’s it for?”
“My old man says it was a rape,” Skank said, moving to the railing to look down at the view.
Drew Alford looked at him sharply. “How’d he know that?”
“I dunno, do I? He said that’s what they reckoned in The Compass last night. It’s a girl from school an’ all. She gets raped, and then runs into the road an’ gets knocked over. Ashleigh something. Jarvis. You know her?”
“No,” Alford said.
“You want to go down and look?”
“No.”
“Okay,” Skank said, as if he didn’t care one way or the other.
Alford took a moment, looking down at the activity below. His eyes were narrowed in thought.
“So what we doing?” Skank asked.
Alford refocused his attention. “Dunno yet,” he said.
He started towards the stairs and Skank fell in beside him, then gave a low whistle when he saw a girl approaching along the adjoining landing. She was a bit younger than Alford and Skank with dark hair and skinny jeans. And although she knew both boys were watching her, she gave no sign until she was less than a couple of paces away.
“All right, Taz,” Skank said, making no secret of his appreciative leer. “Where you going?”
“Anywhere you’re not,” Taz said.
Out of nowhere, Skank suddenly clutched his heart and pretended to be mortally injured. “Oh! Oh! Please!” he cried out.
“Fuck off,” Alford told him, irritated. He turned to Taz. “You gonna see Bex?”
“Yeah, maybe,” Taz said.
“Okay. Tell her I’ll see her down the precinct later. I got something to do first.”
“Why don’t you call her? You were supposed to see her last night.”
“Yeah, well, I had something else on,” Alford said brusquely.
Skank sniggered knowingly until Alford gave him a black look.
“Just tell her, all right,” he said, turning his attention back to Taz. “’Bout an hour.”
Taz held his gaze for a second, then nodded. When she looked away Skank took the opportunity to engage her again.
“You know Ashleigh Jarvis, right?” he asked.
“What about her?” Taz said, reluctant to encourage him but curious, too.
“Didn’t you see what’s going on down there?” Skank gestured over the railing. “She’s in hospital – Ash – in a coma. They reckon she was raped last night, then got run over.”
“Who you working for, The Six O’Clock News?” Alford said acidly. “Don’t forget to tell Bex,” he said to Taz, then pushed Skank towards the stairwell.
As Taz moved away along the landing Skank glanced back at her, enjoying the sight of her tight jeans.
“I could give her one,” he said, as if he’d given the matter a lot of thought. “Taz, I mean,” he added quickly, so Alford wouldn’t think he was talking about Bex.
“You’d be fuckin’ lucky,” Alford said. “She hates you.”
“Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t though,” Skank said ruefully.
“Yeah it does,” Alford said flatly. “No chance.”
4.
SCENE OF CRIME
CADOGAN ESTATE
09:35 HRS
From the edge of the outer cordon Holly watched as a female Crime Scene Examiner carried a handful of sealed evidence bags out of the forensic tent and across to a van. Except for her face every part of her was covered by a white forensic suit. Her hands were gloved and her boots were invisible beneath blue plastic overshoes.
For the first half-hour Holly had been stationed at the inner cordon with the job of lifting the tape as the CSEs went in and out of the bin shelter with equipment or evidence bags. From there she’d been close enough to catch the occasional glimpse of what they were doing inside: dusting the galvanised bins for prints, taking sample swabs from bags and cardboard.
Watching this had been enough to stave off the boredom of the job, but then DC Simmons had asked her to relocate to the outer cordon and keep an eye on the forensic team’s van. From then on the only thing to distract her was the cold in her feet and the occasional curious passer-by.
When anyone did approach, Holly asked the same question: “Were you near here between six and seven o’clock yesterday evening?” And when they said no – as they invariably did – she asked them to move on as politely as possible.
Now Holly watched as the female CSE put the evidence bags in the van and locked it. From the size and shape of the bags, she was pretty sure they contained Ashleigh Jarvis’s coat, bag and shoes, so when the CSE glanced her way and gave a friendly nod Holly took the opportunity to speak.
“How’s it going?” she asked.
“We’ve had worse,” the CSE said. She hesitated, then came a bit closer. “First serious crime scene?”
Holly nodded. “We were here last night. One of the other TPOs found the victim’s things.”
“Yeah? They did well to spot them in there.”
“Do you think you’ll be able to get any evidence to show who did it?”
The CSE pulled a face. “Maybe. Problem is, it’s a communal area, so most of the samples we get will be unrelated.” She gestured towards the bin shelter. “If we find a fag end on the victim’s coat, we could get DNA from it, but we still wouldn’t know whether it came from the attacker or Mrs Bloggin’s rubbish.”
“So it’s a waste of time?”
“No, but I reckon the best chance of a result will be from the rape kit, the knickers or the rest of her clothes. If we get a foreign DNA sample there that’s going to be the best pointer towards the culprit.”
“If he’s on file.”
“Yeah, well, if they’d let us have everyone’s DNA on record… Course, civil liberties would have something to say about that.” She shrugged, then shifted. “Listen, I’d better get on.”
“Sure. Thanks.” Holly hunched against a gust of cold wind. “How much longer will it take do you know?”
“Couple of hours probably. Sorry.”
“Nah, I’ll survive,” Holly said.
5.
DRURY HOUSE
CADOGAN ESTATE
09:38 HRS
“Okay, thanks for your help.”
Oz Sitwell stepped back and made a note on his clipboard as the woman inside the flat closed the door. They were on the eighth-floor landing of Drury House because Oz reckoned it was easier to start at the top and work down.
“Five for seven,” Oz said, meaning five answers from seven doors. “Not bad for a Saturday morning so far.”
“So what happens for the places where no one’s in?” Sam asked. “I mean, when do we try again?”
“That’s up to CID. If they think it’s worth spending their budget we can keep on coming back till we’ve talked to everyone in the block. Don’t think they’ll do it on this though, not unless she dies. If she does the budget’ll go up.”
He gestured towards the next door and Sam moved with him.
“The thing I don’t get is why we need to do door-to-door in the first place,” Sam said. “I mean, if someone knows something or saw something, aren’t they going to come forward and say?”
“You’d think, but they don’t,” Oz said, with a flat shrug. “They can’t be arsed.”
“What, even for something serious like this?”
“Not serious to them, is it?”
He took hold of the letter box flap in the next door and rattled it sharply.
“Couple of years back we did a door-to-door for a stabbing in Covington. The DI’s convinced there must’ve been witnesses so we went all round the streets about five times; kept going back till we’d talked to all the residents except one… Finally we go round and find this bloke at home and as soon as we tell him what it’s about he says, ‘Oh, yeah, I knew y
ou’d been round. I saw the bloke you want: big white guy with a beard. He chucked the knife in a hedge.’ We ask him to show us the hedge and there’s the knife – fingerprints, DNA, the lot.”
“So why didn’t he come forward or call in?”
“That’s what we asked him, and he says, ‘That’s your job, innit – to come to me.’ Real public spirit.”
There was no answer at the door and Oz wrote NA against the number of the flat on his sheet, then looked at Sam. “Okay, let’s speed this up. You take the next one. I’ll go and start in from the other end. After that we’ll take different floors. Reckon you can handle that?”
“Sure,” Sam said. It didn’t seem like rocket science.
“Right,” Oz said. He handed Sam the clipboard, then headed off towards the far end of the walkway.
6
The car’s engine ticked over and the heater blew warm air from the footwell laced with Tommy Vickers’s eau de cologne. In the passenger seat behind the tinted glass windows, Drew Alford watched as Vickers peeled five twenty-pound notes off a roll he’d taken from his jacket pocket. The roll was too big to encompass with one hand – even Vickers’s hand, which was large and beefy like the man – and the hundred quid being removed made no appreciable difference to its size.
Vickers offered the notes, but withheld them for a moment when Alford made to take them.
“If anyone says it was you, you’re gonna take it on your own, right?”
Alford nodded. “There was only the owner and his missis and they didn’t see who we were.”
“Okay then.”
Vickers tipped the notes forwards again and this time let Alford take them. “Don’t go near the place again – not unless I say.”
“Sure, no problem,” Alford said. Then: “So, did you collect? – From the shop, I mean?”
Vickers eyed him coolly for a moment, then half nodded. “It’ll be sorted,” he said.
“Right,” Alford said. “So is there anything else you want me to do?”
“I’ll let you know. There could be something. Maybe.” Then he changed the subject with a tilt of his head. “You know anything about that girl on the estate last night?”
