Trespass (P.I. Johnson Carmichael Series - Book 2)

by Stephen Edger

  ‘But what use is that, Lauren?’

  ‘Because I saw those same eyes a couple of weeks ago. The man in the mask was Nathan Green!’

  20

  Carmichael stared blankly back at her.

  ‘Who the hell is Nathan Green?’ he asked. ‘Why does that name sound familiar?’

  ‘He was a serial rapist in the late eighties, convicted of three assaults and one murder twenty years ago, but the police always suspected he was guilty of more.’

  ‘Okay, so you know the name of a rapist, it doesn’t mean he attacked your mother. Convince me why you believe it’s him’

  ‘Okay, well there’s the fact that the three crimes he was convicted of were all in Southampton around the same time as my mother’s attack. He was living in the city at the time…and his eyes.’

  Carmichael remained dumbfounded.

  ‘His face was on the news a couple of weeks ago. He was killed in that prison riot over on the Isle of Wight. They showed a picture of him on the news and I swear to you, when I saw his eyes, I just knew: It’s him!’

  ‘He’s dead?’

  ‘Yes, he died of a heart attack or something I think.’

  ‘So what is it you want me to do? If he is dead and your mother is dead, surely the book is closed?’

  ‘I want you to find the evidence that proves he was the son of a bitch who attacked my mother and ruined her life!’ she shouted.

  ‘Calm down, Lauren,’ he said defensively.

  ‘I’m sorry, but I know it was him. I feel it.’

  ‘What you need to understand is that, because your mother never reported the crime, the police will not even consider looking into what happened now that she has passed away. Even more so since the possible culprit is also dead. The case won’t ever get anywhere near a courtroom so what is the point?’

  ‘But I will know. I will know that the scumbag is dead and cannot come back to get me,’ she said bursting into tears.

  Carmichael passed her an open box of tissues from the edge of his desk and she gratefully accepted one, wiping her eyes and apologising for her outburst.

  ‘The hypnotherapist told me that I had confirmed waking up and seeing the masked man with his hand on my mum’s throat, and that she had told me everything was okay and had tucked me back in bed. He also said that I told him I didn’t go back to sleep because I could hear strange sounds coming from the living room. Apparently I got up a second time and opened the bedroom door. I saw my mum laid on the floor with the masked man on top of her. She was squealing slightly and he was grunting. As he attacked her, his dark sweater lifted slightly and I saw a dragon-shaped tattoo on his lower back. Apparently they did not see me and so I returned to bed and went back to sleep. But I saw him! I could identify him.’

  ‘What else do you remember?’

  ‘His hands. He was wearing dark leather gloves but they looked big and strong.’

  ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I’ve got the hypnotherapist’s report here,’ she said opening the large handbag and pulling out a small paper folder. She slipped the folder across the mahogany desk. ‘You can read it, I don’t mind.’

  He left the folder where it was and looked back at her.

  ‘Do you know that most rapes are carried out by people already known by the victim? Whilst there have been and will be cases where rapists carry out attacks on total strangers, the majority of the time, the victims are carefully chosen. The easiest targets for rapists are those victims closest to them. Did your mother know Nathan Green?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ she replied glumly.

  ‘There’s no way they could have come into contact in passing?’

  ‘Not that I’m aware of…I don’t know.’

  ‘What other men were in your mother’s life?’

  ‘I don’t know…why is that relevant?’

  ‘All I’m trying to understand and establish is whether the man in the mask, the man you observed, could be anybody other than Nathan Green.’

  ‘But it was him!’

  ‘I’m trying to play devil’s advocate here, Lauren. Bear with me a moment.’

  She looked puzzled but shrugged her shoulders.

  ‘You mentioned earlier that your mother had raised you single-handed. Where was your father?’

  ‘I know very little about him to be honest. My mother rarely spoke of him.’

  ‘Have you ever met him?’

  ‘No. I don’t think my conception was planned; let’s put it that way.’

  ‘Do you have a name? A photograph? Anything?’

  There is probably a photo of him in my mother’s things; I can take a look for you.’

  ‘Where did they meet?’

  ‘They were at school together; I know that much. He was a boy in her class, they slept together at a party and nine months later I was born. Although I wasn’t planned, she always said I was the best thing that ever happened to her and she didn’t regret her decision to carry me full term.’

  ‘So he didn’t pay any maintenance towards your upbringing?’

  ‘Not that I was ever aware of…as I said, she rarely mentioned him, and I don’t remember him ever visiting?’

  ‘Were there any special friends in your mother’s life? Anyone she ever referred to as Uncle somebody?’

  ‘No. None! I told you: I was my mother’s priority. She shut out the rest of the world.’

  ‘What about your grandparents?’

  ‘I saw my grandmother a lot, until she died. She used to help babysit me when mum was working.’

  ‘Where did your mother work?’

  ‘She did an office job in the evenings for a bit and also worked in a newsagent’s during the day. She gave up the evening job after the attack but remained at the newsagent’s until I started school, at which point she got a job in a local grocer’s shop. She used to drop me at school, go to work, pick me up and then we would go home. Things were good. Sometimes she would do some overtime in the shop and, on those days, my grandmother or a neighbour watched me.’

  ‘Did your mother have any brothers or sisters?’

  ‘No, she was an only child.’

  ‘So no cousins were ever around?’

  ‘No,’ she replied evenly, growing frustrated with the questions. ‘I told you: it was just us. There was nobody else who could have attacked her.’

  ‘What about neighbours? Were there any male residents in the flat when your mum was attacked?’

  ‘I’ve no idea! She never mentioned any.’

  ‘And did she get on okay with her neighbours?’

  ‘I guess…there was a lady called Cynthia who used to watch me sometimes. I think she had a son but he was away in the navy and I don’t think we ever met him.’

  Carmichael stared at his notes; all he could see were possible leads with a line scrawled through them. He felt like he had exhausted every possible angle, but that didn’t mean that Lauren was telling the truth when she said there were no other men in her mother’s life. Clearly, she was fixated on the idea that Green had been responsible for the attack, and any suggestions to the contrary would not be welcomed. Even if she was telling the truth, there was no guarantee that her memory could be wholly relied upon, given how old she was at the time of the attack.

  Lauren smiled thinly at him, her expression challenging him to think of more questions to knock her theory.

  ‘If, and I must stress if, I were to take the case I would need as much detail about your mum as possible. I’d need to know the address where the attack happened, any other homes she had lived in, the details of where she worked, names of contacts I could speak with, that kind of thing.’

  ‘I can tell you everything I know,’ she said enthusiastically.

  ‘You still haven’t told me why you have come forward now. You said you recognised his eyes when his death was reported on the news, but that was weeks ago. What made you come forward now? And why me?’

  She stared blankly back at him.

 
‘Mr Carmichael, I want to see justice served to the bastard who stole my mother’s innocence. I won’t sleep until I can be certain that it was him and that he cannot get back at me.’

  ‘But why me? Why not another private investigator?’

  ‘Your name was passed to me by someone I know.’

  ‘Really? Who?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. This person said you were good at your job and had a real nose for digging up dirt.’

  Carmichael wasn’t sure whether he should be flattered or insulted. Either way, he was keen to know who had proposed him for such a strange case. It seemed more hassle than it was worth. Then again…

  ‘So, to get it straight in my mind: you want to pay me fifty thousand pounds to try and prove that Nathan Green broke into your home and assaulted your mother? Even though he will never be formally recognised as the culprit?’

  ‘Well, sort of.’

  ‘Which bit did I get wrong?’

  She smiled meagrely and began to talk quickly, ‘I don’t actually have fifty thousand pounds. I was keen to get your attention and thought the figure would mean you’d see me sooner. I’m sorry I lied to you but I still want you to help me prove it was him.’

  He was annoyed that his golden ticket had just floated away but remained calm, ‘What do you have?’

  She shrugged her shoulders, ‘I don’t have anything at the moment…but I’m doing some overtime so I should be able to get money to you soon, just…’

  ‘I’m sorry Miss Roper,’ he said standing, ready to show her the door. ‘I don’t work for free. Now you’ve already wasted enough of my time, please leave!’

  ‘Please, Mr Carmichael?’ she pleaded, ‘You are a brilliant detective. Surely you can see the truth of what I have told you? I just want you to prove he had no motive for that night and could have been guilty of the crime. Please?’

  But it was too late, he had already made his mind up. Although he genuinely did pity the woman before him, there was no way he could work for free.

  ‘I’m sorry, Miss Roper. I wish you the best of luck with it, but I am not the one to help you.’

  He showed her to the door and then closed it behind her. He returned to his chair, screwed up the notes he had scribbled and tossed them towards the wastepaper bin; they bounced off the rim and landed on the floor. He opened the bottom drawer of his desk and lifted a paper folder out of the way. He found what he was looking for underneath and lifted the half empty bottle of Jack Daniels out. He grabbed his empty coffee mug from the edge of the desk and blew into it to get rid of dust. There was a horrible dark stain staring back up at him where his previous coffee had congealed. Ignoring this, he poured a generous serving of the bourbon into the mug and sipped it slowly. It was still early in the day but he felt he needed something to clear his mind of the frustration endured during the last twenty minutes.

  The cheek of the woman, he thought.

  He put the mug down and turned his computer on. He opened a new document and began to type up the notes of what he had witnessed with Benold that afternoon. It was a struggle to maintain his concentration as his mind kept wandering back to Lauren Roper. She was so absolutely convinced that Green had perpetrated the crime that he felt compelled to believe her, even though the evidence was at best flimsy.

  Concentrate, he reprimanded.

  After an hour of trying to write up the report, he decided enough was enough. Knocking back the last dregs of his whisky, he turned the computer off and headed for the exit door.

  A good night’s sleep is what I need, he told himself.

  When he got back to his flat, he opened up a new bottle of Jack Daniels and vowed to drink until he passed out. He achieved his goal three hours later.

  THURSDAY 28 NOVEMBER

  21

  Johnson Carmichael strolled into his office a little after ten a.m. The sunglasses and grimace on his face told Melissa exactly what kind of mood he was in.

  ‘Shall I put the kettle on, boss?’ she asked sympathetically.

  He grunted his response as he sat in his trusty chair.

  ‘There’s a bag of doughnuts on the side if you fancy one,’ she added as she filled the kettle with water.

  He removed the sunglasses and dropped them to the desk as he allowed his eyes to adjust to the light in the room. It was pouring down with rain outside and the thud of raindrops splashing against the window made him want to return home and curl up in bed. Melissa brought over a mug of coffee and then returned to her desk.

  ‘How is…’ he began, pointing at her back.

  ‘It’s fine…a little sore, but nothing I can’t handle.’

  She was determined not to kick up too much of a fuss about the injuries she had sustained the day before. She had grown accustomed to the additional bonuses she had been receiving for being more than just a P.A., and didn’t want to jeopardise the new enterprise. She was worried that if he thought she wasn’t up to the job, he might exclude her from future cases.

  ‘What did the hospital say?’

  ‘Nothing really; they told me I wasn’t the first woman they had seen with such injuries this year. They referred to it as the ‘Fifty Shades effect’. Evidently lots of young women and men are starting to explore that side of their personality. I acted dumb and played along, saying my boyfriend and I had decided to try and spark some new life into our relationship. They gave me knowing nods and encouraged me to have a safety word for any rough sex play. It was all pretty embarrassing to be honest; like being told off at school by the head teacher. They gave me dozens of leaflets on safe sex, relationship counselling and abusive relationships. You’d have thought I had turned up half dead the way they reacted.’

  ‘But you’re okay, now, right?’

  ‘Tip top, boss. Don’t worry!’

  He tried to smile, but the throb in his head made it look pained.

  ‘Heavy night last night?’ she asked. Their relationship had reached a point where no subject was deemed off limits.

  ‘You could say that.’

  ‘Was it because of that late appointment?’

  ‘Late appointment?’

  ‘Yeah…well I presumed you had a late appointment as I found some scribbled notes you had made. They were on the floor but I typed them up anyway, just in case. They’re on your desk, under your glasses. Sorry, I couldn’t help but read what happened. The poor woman. Imagine what it would have been like to witness your mum being raped at such a young age? Are you taking the case then? Do you think you can prove it was the bloke she reckoned?’

  ‘Urmm…what…no…I don’t think so.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘She can’t pay up front. She originally booked the appointment promising a fifty-k retainer, but it was all just bullshit.’

  ‘Oh I see. Pity.’

  ‘Pity?’

  ‘Well, yeah. I mean, it would have been an interesting puzzle to solve, don’t you think? Certainly beats the usual tedium of what you have to do.’

  Carmichael considered the last statement and couldn’t disagree with it.

  ‘Have you finished writing up your case notes for Mrs Benold yet?’ she asked, changing the subject.

  ‘No, not yet. I tried last night but I didn’t have it clear in my head.’

  ‘Well, you’re due to see her later today. She’s due in at four. Do you think it’ll be done by then?’

  He nodded, although the thought of concentrating on a case and typing up a formal report filled him with dread.

  ‘You look like shit, boss,’ said Melissa, eyeing him carefully. ‘What you need is a heart-attack-special.’

  ‘A what?’

  ‘A full English breakfast: sausage, bacon, egg, beans, fried bread, mushrooms. The works. That’ll sort you out.’

  The thought of all that greasy food made him queasy.

  ‘It’ll soak up the rest of the booze in your system and give your body the jumpstart it clearly needs. Sid’s café down the street does a mega breakfast for four nine
ty-nine. It comes highly recommended. I’ll give him a call now and tell him you’re on the way so he can start cooking.’

  It was a command, more than a suggestion and, for now, he was content to do as he was told. He picked up his sunglasses and headed out the door.

  *

  Carmichael hit the ‘save’ icon and waited for the confirmation message to indicate that it was done. It was nearly half past twelve and he was relieved that the Benold report was finally finished. The reports that he produced for his clients nearly always ended up as part of the divorce proceedings so it had to be of a high standard. The report he had written for the first case he had ever worked on had been torn to shreds by the solicitors, but he had learned valuable lessons from it. The quality of his report-writing had improved tenfold since and it was rare that the reports were even read in court, such was the strength of what he had written. It was all about stating facts and providing explanations about why certain decisions had been made.

  The report included any photographic evidence obtained and any witness statements taken. Melissa was never allowed to be used as a witness to the accused’s philandering. Although they followed a strict protocol that she was not allowed to initiate sexual intercourse, so that they could not be accused of entrapment, it was still deemed suspect testimony. Melissa was not allowed to make the initial approach either, but once conversation had commenced and proposals made, she could encourage such suggestions. She had never had sex with a target, and never would. She had principles and there was a line she refused to cross. Carmichael knew where that line was and would never expect her to breach it. She was happy to kiss, cuddle and fondle, but that was it: no more.

  The fried breakfast had helped focus his tired mind. It was rare that he ate breakfast at all these days and figured that the plateful that he had managed to shovel down would have to act as lunch as well. He was not used to eating such muck, preferring a diet of coffee and cold sandwiches, such was the nature of his usual work, but he had to credit Melissa; it had been delicious! He had even ordered an extra helping of toast at the end of the meal. Two hours on, he didn’t feel hungry but he still felt tired, and nothing appealed more at that moment than curling back up in bed and sleeping off the rest of his hangover.