His watch told him it was five minutes after midnight. The train from Cambridge had been due in a minute before twelve, and he recognised some of Martin’s track teammates heading out of the station. But he didn’t see Martin amongst them. Assuming he was straggling at the back, probably chatting to one of the girls, Roscoe gave it five minutes more. At ten minutes after twelve, with the rain still bouncing off the windows of his SUV, he decided to run into the station and drag Martin back to the car.
As he hurried across the plaza at the front of the station, Roscoe realised he was getting soaked to the skin for the second time that evening. He dashed inside the cavernous station, where the last trains of the day were pulling in.
Looking around the open space, there was no sign of Martin.
He ran his hands through his close-cropped blond hair to try and dry it off once again, then made his way over to platform eight where the Cambridge train had pulled in.
‘Hey, Mr Roscoe,’ called across one of Martin’s track teammates.
‘Hi, George, you seen Martin anywhere?’
‘Martin?’ said the boy, clearly stalling.
‘Yeah, you know the one – just over six feet tall, black hair, quite skinny,’ said Roscoe.
‘Yeah . . . Martin didn’t come to the meet today.’
‘He didn’t?’ said Roscoe, not trying to hide his surprise.
‘No, I think he was off sick.’
Roscoe looked at the boy.
‘He didn’t come to school this morning, either.’
‘Didn’t he?’
The boy started to back away. ‘I gotta go, Mr Roscoe. My mum’s waiting,’ he said, as he turned to exit.
‘Hold on, George. Have you heard from Martin at all today?’ Roscoe walked across to him, but the boy said nothing and Roscoe could tell he was weighing up betraying a confidence against telling him the truth. ‘I need to know, as right now I’ve no idea where Martin is.’
‘He messaged me this morning saying he wasn’t at school today, and not to try and get in touch with him,’ George said reluctantly. ‘That’s all I know.’ He looked over to the exit, where his mother was standing. ‘Sorry, Mr Roscoe, I’ve really gotta go.’
Standing alone in the wide-open space, Roscoe watched as George threw his kit bag over his shoulder and ran towards her. Scanning every corner of the station, he wanted to believe Martin would step out of the shadows at any second.
As a parent, he was hoping.
But as a former member of London’s Metropolitan Police, he knew that wasn’t going to happen.
Fear poured through his body.
Martin was missing.
CHAPTER 8
ROSCOE SCANNED THE station one more time, before reaching for his phone and calling Martin.
The call went straight to voicemail.
‘Martin’s phone. Can’t talk. Leave a message. Bye!’
Always straight to the point, thought Roscoe.
‘Martin, it’s your dad. Where are you? Call me.’
As he walked back through the now almost-empty station, Roscoe continued to look for Martin, but knew he wasn’t there. He couldn’t remember a day in the past fifteen years when he hadn’t known exactly where Martin was, and now, without warning, he was gone.
Roscoe was terrified.
In adopting his sister’s child, Roscoe had always loved Martin as his own son, while letting him remember who his mother was. At times he wondered if he over-compensated, especially in the early years when his house had resembled the world’s biggest toy shop. But Martin had grown up to be a great kid, and Roscoe knew Amanda would have been proud.
Amanda had given birth to Martin when she was only seventeen years old. The secret of Martin’s biological father was one she chose never to reveal, and on the day she brought her son home to the house she shared with her brother, Roscoe had become the father figure in Martin’s life.
He could never have imagined, though, that in less than eighteen months, with Martin no more than a tiny toddler, he would become the sole parent to such a young child. Out celebrating her nineteenth birthday, Amanda was attacked on her way home. Struck on the head from behind, savagely beaten, she was left comatose at the roadside.
It was four days before Christmas.
Six days later, on December 27th, Roscoe made the impossible decision to switch off her life support.
Her killer was never caught.
As he climbed back into his car, Roscoe’s mobile buzzed.
His heart racing, he grabbed for the phone.
A message from Martin.
‘Sorry I missed the train, Dad. Great race, came in second.’
CHAPTER 9
ROSCOE HELD THE phone in his hand and stared at the message.
Relief washed over him. Martin was safe.
But he was lying.
First off, he needed to know where his son was. He called his number.
The phone rang and Martin picked up.
‘Hey, Dad, how you doing?’
Hearing his son’s voice, tears welled in Roscoe’s eyes. Wiping them away with his hand, he found himself unable to speak.
‘Dad, you there?’
Roscoe looked out of his car window at the increasingly deserted station, still illuminated by the London night-time lights. He inhaled deeply.
‘I’m here, son. Where are you?’
‘I’m sorry, Dad. I got a ride back with one of the coaches. I know I should’ve called you. Then we got caught up in traffic, but we’re on the move now. I’ll be home in thirty minutes.’
Roscoe couldn’t say anything.
‘Dad? Is that okay?’
‘That’s great, son, I’m glad you’re on your way. See you in half an hour.’
Roscoe just wanted his son home.
‘Bye, Dad.’
‘Love you,’ said Roscoe.
‘Love you, too.’
Martin disconnected the phone.
Only the incredible help and wisdom of his own wonderful Aunt Jessie had given Roscoe the confidence to care for and adopt Martin, at a time when he was a rookie cop and still only a young man of twenty-two. Becoming a single parent of an eighteen-month-old boy was an incredible challenge but with Aunt Jessie only a flight of stairs away, he was never alone.
Jessie had raised Roscoe from the age of five, after cancer had cruelly stolen away his own mother. She had stepped in without a moment’s hesitation and suddenly her own family, of herself and her teenage son Alvin, had doubled in size. Jon and Amanda had become part of her family and, from the moment he adopted Martin, he knew Aunt Jessie remained the mainstay of his.
The first time Roscoe had brought Marika home to meet Jessie and Martin, he knew they’d fallen for her quiet charm and wonderful humour almost as much as he had. Her disarming natural beauty drew people to her. Marriage followed and then their own twin daughters, but Martin was as much a part of that new family as any one of them.
Roscoe had continued to do his level best to give his son the greatest possible opportunities in life, teaching him right from wrong, helping him make his way in the world.
Whenever his son needed to talk, he was there.
They didn’t have secrets.
Until now.
CHAPTER 10
THE STORM CLOUDS had cleared the next morning, leaving a bright sun shining through the windows of the red London bus and onto the face of Jessie Luck as she journeyed back to the Old Bailey courthouse to hear the next day of evidence in the Harvey Rylands trial.
As the judge brought the court to order, Jessie looked across from the jury box at Mrs Jefferies reviewing her papers. Closing her folder, Mrs Jefferies rose to her feet and called her final witness for the prosecution.
‘Your Honour, the prosecution calls Ms Elegant Daniels.’
An audible gasp ran across the court, and Jessie could feel the buzz of anticipation as she joined each of her fellow jurors in turning towards the entrance to the hundred-year-old chamber.
&n
bsp; The doors opened and, following a moment’s pause, Jessie saw the gracefully tall and strikingly beautiful Elegant Daniels step into the courtroom, escorted on the arm of an usher. Never has a woman’s name been a truer reflection of herself, thought Jessie.
Dressed in a fitted black suit, her hair pulled tightly back from her face and wearing the darkest of dark glasses, Elegant Daniels tapped her white stick against the wooden benches that lined the courtroom, as hesitantly she made her way towards the witness box.
Taking the stand, she briefly stumbled, before regaining her composure as her gloved hand gripped the side of the witness box. Jessie watched as Elegant Daniels appeared momentarily disorientated, unsure of which way to turn until, on hearing the judge’s voice, the victim was able to compose herself and moved to face him.
Listening intently as Elegant Daniels took her oath in a faltering voice, Jessie found it impossible to draw her eyes away from the majestic woman who now appeared so damaged. Only when Jessie saw her standing alone in the witness box was she struck by the tragic enormity of what had befallen her.
Her hand shaking on the ancient Bible, the witness swore that the evidence she would give would be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. When offered a seat, she simply expressed her preference to remain standing and, as Mrs Jefferies spoke, Elegant Daniels slowly turned her face towards her.
‘Ms Daniels, may I begin by conveying the court’s appreciation to you for making what must have been an incredibly difficult personal journey to be with us here today.’
Elegant nodded slowly in a show of appreciation, and Jessie found herself continuing to scrutinise the beautiful woman who stood, so vulnerable, before the court. She couldn’t begin to comprehend the pain and suffering she must have endured since she was attacked.
‘The court has heard, from a number of your neighbours,’ continued Mrs Jefferies, ‘that a violent argument took place in your home shortly before one in the morning on the night you were attacked. Can you tell us if such an argument took place between you and the defendant?’
‘It did,’ Elegant confirmed, her voice strengthening.
‘And may I ask you as to its nature?’
‘Subsequent to our love-making, the defendant stepped from my bed, informing me he was returning home to his wife.’
‘How did you respond?’
‘I felt used. I said I wasn’t going to be treated in that way any longer. We’d discussed his leaving his wife before; I thought he’d been genuine. I believed we were planning a life together, so this time I gave him an ultimatum. If he wanted to see me again, he had to be with me permanently.’
‘And how did he respond?’
‘He exploded into what I can only describe as a terrifying rage. I’d never seen him like that before, there was such anger. I knew he had a temper, but he’d never directed it at me in such a manner. He roared at me, and told me I couldn’t issue him with an ultimatum. Then he accused me of blackmailing him. Harvey . . . ’ Elegant Daniels paused to correct herself, ‘the defendant appeared to be out of control. I didn’t know the man who was standing in my bedroom. I was terrified.’
Turning directly to the court she continued, ‘He raised his hand, balled a fist and went to strike me.’
CHAPTER 11
‘AND DID HE hit you?’ asked Mrs Jefferies, renewing her examination after an audible gasp from the packed courtroom.
‘No.’
Elegant Daniels waited, holding the court’s rapt attention.
‘Running from the bedroom, I avoided his blow. Then I started screaming. I imagine that’s what my neighbours heard. I screamed at him to leave, screamed for him to get out of my home. Eventually he did.’
‘And after that, Ms Daniels?’
‘I was shaking. I walked into the living room, poured myself a glass of whisky and drank it straight down. I then returned to my bedroom, dressed in my nightclothes and went to bed.’
Jessie looked across at the witness stand and wondered where Elegant Daniels found such composure in giving her evidence. After the horrors Elegant had endured, Jessie admired her strength enormously but, at the same time, struggled to imagine her as a friend. Jessie pictured herself baking a fudge cake in her kitchen, smothered in chocolate, but somehow it was impossible to see Elegant Daniels calling in for a slice of cake and a cup of tea. Jessie smiled at the thought of the witness sitting at her kitchen table, and then immediately reprimanded herself as she realised she had become momentarily distracted.
Quickly returning her attention to Mrs Jefferies, Jessie heard the prosecutor ask Elegant at what point, on the night of the attack, she had first become aware of an intruder in her home. Making Jessie believe this was the story she had come to tell, in preparation for her answer, Elegant Daniels edged her hands around the witness box until she was almost directly facing the jury.
‘I was in a deep sleep. In spite of everything that had gone before, it was a restful one – probably the last I will ever enjoy. I always kept a very dark bedroom, tightly shuttered, the door firmly closed.
‘I felt a breath upon my face.
‘And then another, followed by the almost imperceptible feeling of someone caressing my cheek. I was terrified.
‘Was I awake?
‘My heart was racing, but I felt frozen with fear.
‘In the darkness I was blind.
‘Closer and closer came the breath.
‘And then I felt a touch upon my skin.
‘I hurled myself forward. Screaming; screaming in terror, crying for help.’
Elegant Daniels raised her voice, sharing her desperation with the captivated courtroom.
‘I could never have imagined the pain of a fist hitting me full in the face would be so great.
‘I was thrown backwards as a hand was clasped across my mouth.
‘I was hit again.
‘This time harder. The punch carried such anger.
‘I tried. I tried . . .’
Jessie heard a break in Elegant Daniels’ voice. In unison with the rest of the court, she held her breath.
‘I tried to wrestle myself free, but my attacker’s strength was too great. I remember a pillow being placed over my face.
‘I couldn’t breathe.
‘I kicked out.
‘I tried again to scream.
‘And then I was gone.’
Mrs Jefferies let the courtroom compose itself before she continued.
‘Thank you, Ms Daniels. I realise this is incredibly difficult, but I have to ask you to take us a little further. You lost consciousness?’
‘I believe so.’
‘You woke a number of hours later, at some time around seven the following morning?’
‘That’s correct.’
‘Again, I realise how difficult this is for you, but could you share with the court what you discovered?’
Looking at Elegant Daniels, Jessie watched her inhale deeply as she struggled to regain her composure.
Raising a hand to the side of her face, she continued.
‘The searing pain running through my head told me I was alive. I felt my face, but even in the darkness I knew. Instinctively, I reached to turn on a light, but as I did so, the blackest of nights remained.
‘I touched the blood running down my face – the only tears I could cry.
‘My eyes had been gouged from my face.’
Mrs Jefferies paused for a moment, then asked, ‘Ms Daniels, do you have any way of identifying your attacker?’
Turning her face to where she believed the defendant was standing in the dock at the rear of the court, she whispered, ‘His smell. His sour breath. His heavy touch. I knew him instantly.’
As she spoke, Elegant Daniels moved her hand from her face, and as she did so she swiftly removed her dark glasses.
‘He left me for dead,’ she proclaimed, pointing her finger towards where she knew he was sitting. ‘It was him – the defendant, Harvey Rylands.’
Jes
sie heard cries of horror from across the courtroom and looked back towards the witness box.
Standing motionless, Elegant Daniels had exposed her hollowed eyes to the court.
CHAPTER 12
CLASPING HER HAND across her mouth, Jessie felt a wave of shock and dismay sweep across the courtroom. Now, witness to the extreme suffering of Elegant Daniels, she found it almost impossible to imagine the agony the victim must have endured. Finally, as the court began to quiet, the ever-calm Judge Phillips raised his hand to indicate the need for silence. Asking Ms Daniels if she would mind replacing her glasses, he brought the court to order.
Turning to the prosecuting barrister, Mrs Jefferies, he sought assurances that none of the theatrics were her doing and, once such an assurance was given, the trial was set to continue.
In Jessie’s mind, Elegant Daniels had succeeded in raising sympathy for herself, while simultaneously increasing the jury’s hostility towards Harvey Rylands, in the most dramatic way possible.
For the defence, Humphrey Adams, QC, took to his feet.
‘Ms Daniels, allow me to echo my learned friend in thanking you for your attendance at court today and in recognising the horrific attack you have suffered – and which we have all now witnessed.’
Still standing, Elegant Daniels offered no acknowledgement.
‘We’ve heard much about the supposed state of Mr Rylands’ marriage,’ said Mr Adams.
Jessie glanced in the direction of Amelia Rylands, who sat stoically in her seat as she listened to her husband’s lover offer her testimony.
‘But may I ask you about your own marriage?’ Mr Adams asked.
‘I have never been married.’
‘No, never married,’ Mr Adams replied hesitantly, consulting his brief. ‘That’s right, but nonetheless never short of gentleman callers, would I be right in saying?’ He quickly continued, looking up from his papers and addressing the jury directly. ‘Or, to put it another way, a different man in your bed every night – any one of whom might have carried out this horrifying attack upon you?’
Jessie noticed Mrs Jefferies about to raise an objection, before she detected a short sigh followed by a raised eyebrow from Judge Phillips, as he interceded on what he regarded as Mr Adams’ inappropriate line of questioning.
The Verdict: BookShots (A Jon Roscoe Thriller) Page 3
