by Chris Ould
“What’re you going to do?”
As soon as she said it Holly realised it had come out sounding halfway between an invitation and a request, which was not what she’d intended – even if it was how she felt.
“I mean, are you getting poached salmon with the DI as well?” she said, trying to cover.
“Me? Nah,” Danny said, apparently oblivious. “Wouldn’t want to either. From what I hear, she’s a crap cook. I mean, really crap. Ray has to go though – the DI’s his sister-in-law.”
“What? Really?”
“Yep.”
“Harsh.”
“Oh yeah,” Danny said with a grin. “I’ll see you later, okay?”
“Yeah,” Holly said, returning the smile, then reaching for the door handle. “Thanks, Danny.”
She stood on the pavement for a moment as his car pulled away, then saw Sam coming along the road towards the Section House. He was carrying his sports bag, his free hand shoved in his pocket.
“Who was that?” he said, gesturing after the car.
“Danny – DC Simmons.”
“Oh. Right. You must be well in.”
“It was just a lift,” Holly said, suddenly irritated by the insinuation, and by the fact that he’d got it so wrong.
“Okay,” Sam said with a shrug. “So what happened with Alford? Didn’t he do it?”
“No. Yes. Sort of.”
“What do you mean, ‘sort of’?”
“Not now, eh?” Holly said. “I’m really tired.”
“Okay, I was just asking.” Sam swung his bag and moved towards the house.
Behind him Holly waited a moment, then pulled a breath before calling after him. “Sam, hold on – listen. You want to walk down the road for a pizza? I need to eat.”
“Are you buying?”
“I bought yesterday and you still owe me.”
“How much?”
“Two seventy.”
“You sure?”
“Yes!”
The pizza place at the end of the road was brightly lit and more of a takeaway than a restaurant. There were three steel tables in the window where you could eat, though – if you didn’t mind the draught from the coming and going of the delivery drivers.
Holly didn’t. She just wanted to eat the pizza while it was hot, straight out of the box. But after only one mouthful she knew pizza wasn’t really what she needed. She needed to say what was burning her up, even if Sam probably wasn’t the ideal person to say it to.
“I just got a bollocking from the DI,” she told him. “Connors.”
“Why?” Sam looked surprised. “I thought—” he stopped himself.
“What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing – why?” he repeated.
“She reckoned I was trying to blag my way onto the enquiry – I mean into CID – because I didn’t want to be on the cordon or something. She said I was trying to take a short cut, which I wasn’t. Then she made a crack about them not needing a mascot.”
She looked at him to see what his reaction was going to be, half prepared for some smart remark. Instead she became aware there was something different about the way he was looking at her.
“What?” she said.
“What?” Then he frowned. “But you got them the lead on Alford, right?”
“Yeah.”
“So she should give you the credit.”
“No chance with Connors,” Holly said flatly. “She thinks TPOs are a waste of time.”
“Sounds like she’s related to Mulvey.”
“Yeah, maybe. I don’t really care about that, though. Well, I do but— It’s just that they’re all writing the case off: NFA. Nothing we can do, so drop it.”
“But if the DNA proves Alford didn’t rape Ashleigh—”
“He tried though. I’m sure of it. And that’s why she ran under that truck. He’s responsible for what happened to her but he’s going to get away with it.”
Sam nodded. It wasn’t hard to see that Holly was genuinely frustrated by the injustice of it all, and he could understand that.
“Oz said something earlier, when we took Alford back to the estate,” Sam told her. “He said he wasn’t smart enough to keep out of trouble. He reckons we’ll get him for something else – just a matter of time.”
“Maybe,” Holly said. Then she finally voiced what was really bugging her. “But even if you forget Alford it’s still not sorted, is it? I mean, about what happened to Ashleigh.”
“Why not?”
“Because everyone says she was quiet, didn’t have many friends and wasn’t into boys yet – she didn’t even fancy anyone. But she’d had sex with someone before she was knocked down. So how’s it fit? What really happened? Cos I don’t think it’s as simple as they’re making out. I think there’s something else going on.”
“You could ask her when she comes round,” Sam suggested. “That way you’d know.”
Holly pursed her lips grimly. “You mean if she comes round,” she said.
SUNDAY
1.
CUSTODY SUITE
MORNINGSTAR RD STATION
09:32 HRS
It wasn’t true about there always being carrots in vomit. More often it was chunks of dodgy kebabs or yellow curry, especially on a Sunday morning after the Saturday night before. The drunks who’d been banged up the previous evening were given just long enough to sober up, then they were either charged or simply shown the door and left blinking in the cold morning light, trying to remember why drinking so much had seemed like fun.
As she mopped the floor of her third cell that morning Holly was glad of the smell of disinfectant, and that she had something to take her mind off what she was doing. The puzzle of what had really happened to Ashleigh Jarvis had been going round in her head when she’d woken up, and it was still there, still without an answer.
Once she’d finished cleaning up Holly put the mop and bucket back in the stores and went through into Custody where Sergeant Stafford was at the desk. He glanced up when she appeared, then gave her a knowing look. “Suppose you’ll want refs now,” he said, dryly. “Burger and chips, sausage and egg?”
“Think I might wait a bit if that’s okay, Sarge,” Holly said. “Is it all right if I go and wash my hands?”
“Yeah, we’ll be quiet enough for a while now. When you’ve done that you can get some fresh air. Your pal Dr Scobie didn’t give a statement about Ashleigh on Friday so you can go down to the Vic and get it now.”
“Was that my fault?” Holly asked, hoping it wasn’t.
“No, you’re in the clear. It just got missed because he went off duty.”
“Oh. Right. Good – I mean, I’m glad it wasn’t me.”
Stafford gave her a narrow-eyed look and Holly cursed herself for saying what she’d been thinking.
“I didn’t get chance to ask you about working with CID yesterday,” Stafford said. “How did that go?”
“It was fine, Sarge,” Holly said. “Really interesting.”
“Just interesting?”
“Yes, Sarge.”
Stafford studied her for a moment longer, as if he knew exactly what she wasn’t saying. Finally he just nodded.
“Okay, since you’re going out there’s a bag of Ashleigh Jarvis’s personal effects to go back to her mother. You can collect it from Property then call to find out where Mrs Jarvis is – with any luck she’ll be at the Vic too. Blag a lift with someone so it doesn’t take all day.”
“Yes, Sarge.” She started to move off.
“Holly.”
“Sarge?”
“A pearl of wisdom: decent coppers care about the victims; objective coppers catch villains. The best ones do both – get it?”
Holly thought about it, then nodded because she did. “So which are you, Sarge?”
“Me?” Stafford shook his head. “I’m an old copper. We’re all bitter and twisted, so we don’t count.”
2
Ryan Atkins had his own routine f
or Sunday mornings, and part of it was staying out of the way until he heard the door close when Charlie and his dad left for church. By not showing his face he didn’t give his father any opportunity to try and badger him into going with them. It was easier than having the same old confrontation all over again:
“Come to church.”
“I don’t do church.”
“Why not? What’s more important – lying in bed or showing your faith? If your mother was here…”
And so on and so on and so on…
What his father couldn’t or wouldn’t accept was that Ryan just didn’t buy that stuff any more: Jesus is love; turn the other cheek; the meek shall inherit the earth. As far as Ryan could see, just living on the Cadogan Estate proved all that was bullshit, and if you thought it didn’t you were just conning yourself.
So, even though he was awake, Ryan was still in bed when his phone rang. It was Dav.
“What’s up?” Ryan said.
“You seen your car, man?”
“What car?”
“Your dad’s. A blue one, right? Least it was.”
“What the fuck you talking about?”
“You need to look, man,” Dav said. “I’m down here now.”
Ryan pulled on his jeans and a sweatshirt and pushed his bare feet into his trainers. Then he left his room and headed for the front door, passing his father in the kitchen, dressed in a suit and a tie.
“Ryan, where’re you going?”
“I’ll be back in a minute,” Ryan said, opening the door. “I just need to see something.”
Outside the wind was icy. He crossed the landing quickly to lean over the rail and look down. In the parking bay three floors below he saw exactly what Dav had been talking about. His father’s dark blue Fiesta looked like something out of a comic book, with a large patch of white paint splashed over the roof and windscreen. Across the bonnet, where the white paint hadn’t reached, a hasty, stick-like tag had been sprayed in yellow with no attempt at artistry: KB.
Dav was standing beside the car, looking up, and when he saw Ryan he made a pointless gesture towards it.
“Stay there, I’m coming down,” Ryan called, and as he did so he sensed someone arrive next to him. When he turned he saw his father looking down at the same sight.
“Is that— That’s our car!” Leyton Atkins said, with disbelief in his voice.
By the time Ryan had pulled on a pair of socks and a jacket and jogged down the stairs, Charlie and his father were already at the car. Dav had been joined by a tall, gangly boy called Tree and another called Simmo. All three were standing together, but not too close to the car, as if they wanted to make it clear they’d had nothing to do with the damage.
“Who’d do that?” Mr Atkins said as Ryan came to look more closely at the damage. “Why?”
Ryan said nothing. To him it wasn’t a question that needed an answer.
Nearer the car, Charlie reached out and tested the white paint with his finger. The paint was still tacky but had obviously been there for some time. Charlie knew the answer to his father’s question too, and it gave him an odd, hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach – part guilt and part anger.
“Don’t get it on your suit,” Mr Atkins told Charlie sharply. “Come away.” He was taking his mobile from his pocket.
“Who’re you calling?” Ryan asked.
“The police,” Mr Atkins said. “Who else? I want to know who did this. I want them arrested.”
Ryan knew from his father’s tone that he was winding himself up to shout at someone. He glanced at the KB tag on the bonnet again, then back at his father. “The police won’t know who did it.”
“They can find out,” Mr Atkins said with determination. “Decent people shouldn’t have to put up with things like this. It’s just mindless vandalism. I’m not going to let them get away with it.”
“What about church?” Charlie said. “We’ll be late if we don’t go now and you can’t drive the car like that.”
His father paused, then looked at his watch.
“If you wait for the police it could be ages,” Ryan said, pressing the point.
For a moment Leyton Atkins hesitated, then made up his mind.
“All right then, we’ll walk,” he said. “But as soon as service is over I’m calling the police. Whoever did this, they’re not getting away with it, whoever they are.” He looked at Ryan. “Are you staying here?”
Ryan nodded. “Yeah.”
For a second it looked as if his father was going to argue about that too, but then he simply nodded and gestured to Charlie. “Come on, we’ll need to get a move on.”
As Charlie and his father strode off towards the road Ryan cast another look at the Kaddy Boys’ tag on the car bonnet, then he moved to where Dav, Tree and Simmo were standing.
“You know who done that, don’t you?” Tree said.
“No, who?” Ryan said sarcastically.
“They had to know it was yours,” Dav said. “I mean, that’s gotta be it – cos it’s your dad’s.”
“Fucking Alford,” Ryan said. “No way he’s claiming this block. No fucking way. Cloudsley’s ours.”
“You reckon that’s what he’s trying to do?”
“Got to be, innit?” Simmo cut in. “What else?” He looked at Ryan to see if he’d agree.
Ryan thought about it for a moment, then he said: “Anyone seen them today – Alford’s lot? Any of them?”
The others shook their heads.
“Okay, so we’ll find them. I’m gonna sort this. I want to know what the fuck he thinks he’s doing, then we decide how we handle it, okay?”
The others nodded.
“Okay then,” Ryan said, determination hard in his voice, and he started away towards the centre of the estate.
3.
EMERGENCY DEPT
QUEEN VICTORIA HOSPITAL
09:52 HRS
The Emergency Department was already busy but Dr Scobie wasn’t hard to find. Between treating a pub league footballer for a twisted ankle and a DIY enthusiast with a gashed hand, Holly caught up with him and took out the forms she needed filling in.
Scobie seemed a bit less offhand than the last time they’d met – perhaps because of Sergeant Stafford’s “reminder” about good communications. Whatever the reason, Holly took the opportunity to ask him about Ashleigh while he scrawled on the paperwork.
“When someone’s been knocked down like that, is it normal for them to be unconscious this long?”
“There isn’t really any ‘normal’,” Scobie said without looking up. “I haven’t seen her notes since she went upstairs, but I’d probably be expecting her to come round within the next twenty-four hours unless there’s been major damage.”
He signed the last form and handed it back to her. “How did the investigation go – did the rape kit show anything?”
Holly hesitated, but given that he seemed better disposed now she said: “She’d had unprotected sex but it’s not clear whether it was rape.”
Scobie nodded. “Well, at least she won’t be pregnant.”
“Sorry? I mean, how do you know?”
“If there’s a suspected rape we ask whether the patient’s using oral contraceptive. If not, we can suggest the morning-after pill to be on the safe side. Obviously I couldn’t ask Ashleigh, but when I examined her arm I saw she’d a contraceptive implant.” He gave her a significant look. “I’m only telling you that on the basis of good communications. You know what I mean?”
“Yes. Thanks, doctor.”
“Yeah, well, thank your sergeant,” Scobie said dryly. And with that he moved off towards the bay where the DIY man was bleeding.
Holly put the signed papers away and headed off along the corridor which led to the main entrance of the hospital. She wasn’t really paying attention, though. Instead, her mind was running around the piece of information Dr Scobie had casually dropped out: Ashleigh Jarvis was using contraception.
It should have �
�� would have – been no big deal, except for one thing: She isn’t like that. I mean she’s not into boys yet – not serious: not more than fancying someone in a band or whatever, you know?
That was what Lauren Booth, Ashleigh’s best friend, had said. And Taz Powell had intimated the same thing: Ashleigh was still young for her age, not very mature.
So why have a contraceptive implant?
Of course, there could have been medical reasons, but somehow Holly was pretty sure that wasn’t the answer. The more she thought about it, the more she believed that Ashleigh was a girl with secrets. The question was whether those secrets related to anything that had happened to her on Friday night. Or was it simply that Ashleigh Jarvis thought and did things that she would never admit – not even to her mother or her best friend?
4
Even though it was still well before opening time there were three cars parked on the rough patch of ground next to the pub and Drew Alford recognised one of them as Tommy Vickers’s Merc. The man in the leather coat who stood beside it wasn’t Vickers though, and as Alford made his way towards the side door of the red-brick building he knew he was being watched all the way.
The sensation only added to his suspicion that something had changed. It had struck him the moment he’d answered the phone twenty minutes ago and heard Tommy Vickers’s voice say, “The Fox and Garter, Wellbeck Street. I want to talk to you.”
“When?” Alford asked. He’d still been in bed and half asleep.
“Now,” Vickers said. “Come in the side.” Then the connection went dead.
That was when Alford knew that whatever the reason for being summoned, he’d better have his wits about him when he arrived.
There were several crates of empty bottles beside the side door and a couple of torn bin bags. For a moment Alford hesitated, then twisted the door handle and pushed it open.
Inside it was gloomy. There was a short corridor passing the toilets, then an inner door with square glass panes. When Alford opened this he stepped into the pub lounge, with a dozen tables and closed curtains at the windows. Grey light came from a few wall lamps and the ceiling lights behind the bar.
