by Susan Lewis
‘That’s what I just said. What, are you deaf or something?’
‘No, I… What happened exactly? Where were you?’
‘It doesn’t matter. Just call the police. They have to go round there and arrest him.’
‘Of course, but… When did it happen?’
‘I just told you, on Saturday night.’
‘So why are you…? They’ll want to know why you’re only reporting it now.’
‘Because I was drinking and taking drugs, OK? That’s why I couldn’t come home, because I knew you’d call the police straight away and if they found all that in my system they’d say it was my fault. They might even arrest me…’
Sabrina blinked as the truth hit her. ‘You were at that rave,’ she said.
‘Duh.’
‘But you’re only fifteen!’
‘Exactly! Drink, drugs…’
Realising they were getting away from the main issue, Sabrina said, ‘But don’t you understand? It’s illegal for anyone to have sex with you, whether you’re under the influence of drugs and alcohol or not. So it can’t possibly be your fault. Now, I’m calling the police and that boy is going to pay for what he’s done.’
‘That’s right,’ Annabelle growled, ‘and so he should.’
More than half an hour passed before a patrol car pulled up outside the house. The officer who got out was young and gangly, and still suffering from a rash of late-teen spots. As soon as she saw him Sabrina wanted to send him away. They needed a female, a detective, with experience and rank and the authority to carry out an immediate arrest.
In the event, PC Mervin Mellows proved surprisingly confident in his manner, and wasn’t easily intimidated by the overbearing mother who confronted him as he explained that more senior officers from Bath or Bristol would be contacting them soon. As a local constable, stationed at Wells, he had come to see them to assure them how seriously the police were taking the call. Moreover, he was respectful and gentle with Annabelle as he jotted down the essential details of her story.
‘So you know the person who attacked you?’ he said, glancing up from his notebook.
‘Raped,’ Sabrina corrected.
Mellows kept his eyes on Annabelle.
‘His name’s Nathan Carlyle,’ she said.
He wrote it down. ‘Is he local?’
‘Yes. He lives the other side of the village. He’s my stepdad’s nephew.’
Mellows squinted as he puzzled it out.
‘He’s my husband’s sister’s son,’ Sabrina explained.
‘Thank you.’ He noted it down and was about to address Annabelle again when Sabrina said, ‘Aren’t you going to arrest him? He lives in the Coach House on The Close. He’s probably there now.’
‘I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that,’ he told her politely.
She bristled. ‘Well it should. For all you know he could be planning to do it to someone else.’
Deciding not to be drawn into that, Mellows said to Annabelle, ‘I’m going to contact the station with everything you’ve told me so far, then perhaps we can go over to the Copse so you can show me where it happened.’
Annabelle’s eyes shot to her mother. ‘I don’t want to go back there,’ she protested in a wail.
‘No, of course not,’ Sabrina answered soothingly. ‘Is it absolutely necessary?’ she asked Mellows frostily.
‘The Crime Scene Investigation team will need as precise a location as we can give them in order to collect evidence,’ he explained.
Unable to argue with that, Sabrina turned back to Annabelle. ‘It’ll be all right,’ she assured her. ‘I’ll be with you and once you’ve pointed it out we can leave straight away.’
Annabelle’s eyes moved nervously back to Mellows.
‘That’s right,’ he confirmed. ‘You won’t have to stay long. I only need you to give me as accurate a placing as you can, then I’ll bring you back here. By then someone from SAIT – the Sexual Abuse Investigation Team – will probably be trying to get in touch.’
Annabelle blanched. ‘That sounds a bit major,’ she said doubtfully.
‘Rape is a very serious matter,’ he reminded her, and getting to his feet he went off to radio the station.
Annabelle and Sabrina waited in silence, neither of them knowing what to say or do now.
‘I should call Robert,’ Sabrina said, looking nervously at the phone.
Annabelle didn’t respond and Sabrina didn’t move.
‘We should probably wait until we know what’s going to happen,’ Sabrina decided.
To her relief, Mellows came back and asked if they were ready to go to the Copse.
Trying not to feel daunted by the thought of the huge police machine that was now reacting to the details of Annabelle’s case, Sabrina put an arm round her daughter and took her out to the police car.
Mellows opened the back door for them to get in, then slipping behind the wheel he turned the car around to begin driving along Holly Way towards the high street. Sabrina sat close to Annabelle, keeping her eyes fixed straight ahead, but she was aware of Canon Jeffries looking up from his garden as they passed, and wished she’d thought of taking Annabelle in her car instead.
Two hours later the clock in the tower over Alicia’s shop was striking noon. The sun was blazing down on the high street, baking the old cobbles and causing the flowers around the war memorial to wilt. Once the chimes had finished the village returned to an eerie quiet. Everywhere seemed deserted – there was no sign of life at all, not even at the pub where the doors were open, and a board offering a two-course lunch for seven pounds fifty was propped invitingly outside. Every table and chair in the garden was empty.
At the far end of The Close a crowd was gathering on the riverbank, trying to get a look across the footbridge into the Copse. The area was swarming with police. Yards of blue and white tape were looped around the loose ramble of trees, a dozen or more police vehicles were parked all over the place, some with lights still flashing, others with radios squawking.
From where the villagers were standing there was nothing much to see. The actual crime scene was out of view, as was most of the search. No one knew what had happened yet, but rumours were flying. Someone had overdosed on drugs. A girl had been attacked. A boy had hanged himself. A body had been found.
Not wanting to listen to any more, Alicia pushed her way back through the crowd and started to walk home. It was a strange feeling, having so much attention focused on the periphery of their little village. It was as though an invasion was taking place, and in a way it was, because whatever had brought the police here today, it was almost certain they’d be visiting every home in Holly Wood to find out what the residents had seen or heard.
The Coach House was quiet when she let herself in. Guessing Nat was still in bed, she decided to let him sleep on and went through to the kitchen to start preparing lunch. Though he’d been at the rave on Saturday night, she’d heard him come home around one, and since he hadn’t mentioned anything yesterday about something unusual happening she could only presume that whatever had brought the police today must have occurred after he’d left.
‘We can always come to you,’ the officer from SAIT was informing Sabrina down the phone, ‘but, if Annabelle’s willing, she’ll need a medical examination and we have all the facilities here. I’ll happily drive down to pick her up.’
‘It’s OK,’ Sabrina said, ‘tell me where you are and I’ll bring her myself.’
After giving her the address the officer said, ‘Could you bring the clothes Annabelle was wearing when it happened, please. Have any of them been washed yet?’
‘Not as far as I’m aware. I’ll make sure I have them.’
Half an hour later Sabrina and Annabelle were driving out of the village. Sabrina’s hands were clutching the steering wheel so tightly that she could hardly move to indicate or change gear. She hadn’t called Robert yet, but she’d have to, sooner or later.
Beside her Annabelle stared b
lindly out of the window. The bruises on her face and neck stood out vividly against the pallor of her skin. Her hands were bunched into anxious fists, her knees pressed tightly together.
As she followed the satnav directions through the county towards to a suburb of Bristol called Pilning, Sabrina was still trying to absorb the enormity of what was happening. That Nathan was Craig’s son was distorting everything. It was making it impossible for her to think straight, unless she forced herself to remember he was Alicia’s, too. Then her fury escalated to a point where no amount of revenge would be enough. How dare that jumped-up, arrogant little bastard lay hands on her daughter?
‘Mum, you’re driving too fast,’ Annabelle complained.
‘Sorry,’ Sabrina apologised, and easing off the accelerator she cast a quick glance in Annabelle’s direction. ‘Shouldn’t be too long now,’ she said, attempting a smile. ‘How are you feeling?’
Annabelle’s voice was small and thready as she said, ‘I don’t know. Kind of weird and scared.’
Reaching out for her hand, Sabrina squeezed it comfortingly as she said, ‘There’s nothing to be afraid of. You just have to tell them what happened and then we can go home again.’
Swallowing hard, Annabelle turned back to the passing countryside. ‘Do you think they’ve arrested him yet?’ she asked after a while.
‘I hope so,’ Sabrina replied, and picturing the way the boy used to look at her, so knowingly and coldly, she could only feel glad that, if it had to be anyone, it was him.
The next instant she was in floods of tears, and having to pull over to try to get herself under control. ‘I’m sorry,’ she gasped, as Annabelle attempted to comfort her. ‘It’s just that I can’t bear to think of anyone hurting you.’ She clutched Annabelle’s face between her hands. ‘You’re going to be all right,’ she told her fiercely. ‘I don’t care that he’s Cr—Robert’s nephew. He’s going to pay for what he’s done.’
Annabelle swallowed as tears trickled from her own eyes. ‘Yes,’ she whispered. ‘Yes he should.’
Nat was sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, head propped in his hands as though it was too heavy to hold up. His mother had called him several times now to come and have lunch, but he was so bound up with fear that he couldn’t make himself leave the room. It was as though if he stayed here, not moving, barely even breathing, the nightmare that was trying to close in and devour him wouldn’t be able to reach him.
‘I’m going to tell everyone you raped me,’ she’d screamed at him as he’d walked away.
Was that what she’d done? Was that why the police were crawling all over the Copse? If she had, why hadn’t the search started till this morning? If she’d really meant to carry out her threat surely she’d have gone to the police straight away, so maybe the search wasn’t anything to do with him. Maybe something else had happened after he’d left. Everyone knew there were laws against raves, so perhaps the police were out there picking up evidence of drugs before questioning those they could find who’d been there.
It was possible, he kept telling himself, it really was.
Suddenly jerking to his feet, he started to pace the room. Back and forth, back and forth. She shouldn’t have mentioned his father. He could have stood anything but that. Those lies should never have escaped her mouth. He’d wanted to push them back down her throat, to make her retch and choke on them, the way he’d been retching and choking on them ever since. His father would never have cheated on his mother. He’d loved her. They’d been happy together, the family had meant everything to him, so there was no way he’d have had an affair with Sabrina. He wouldn’t, couldn’t, think about the fact that his mother and Sabrina detested one another. If he did, he’d have to accept that Annabelle might have been telling the truth, and if she had, everything he’d believed in, his parent’s love, the bond that had held his family together, but above all his father’s honesty and integrity and everything he’d drummed into Nat about respect, love and loyalty, would all be a lie.
Choking back a sob, he tightened the grip on his head. There was so much anger and confusion inside him that he felt it might explode from his skin. Why wasn’t his father here to answer his questions? Why hadn’t his mother told him the truth? Did she think he was a child, that he couldn’t handle it?
Inhaling deeply, he dragged his hands over his face and felt his head starting to reel again with the horror of what Annabelle might be telling the police. Somehow he had to block it from his mind, or listen to the small voice that was trying to say that the search might have nothing to do with him. However, the raging fear in his head kept beating out the same terrible tattoo. What was she telling them? How much of it was truth, and how much was lies?
Detective Sergeant Clive Bevan was at the Avon and Somerset CID headquarters on Feeder Road in Bristol, assessing the information he had so far on the rape case that had just come in. He was a well-groomed man in his early forties, with slick dark hair, a square, firm-set jaw and ruthlessly piercing eyes that generally didn’t take long to see through a pile of bullshit when it was being spun.
Since it was far too early for him to form an opinion on what he had in front of him now, he was focusing mainly on the victim’s age, because if a sexual act had taken place, consensual or not, a crime had very definitely been committed. However, ‘if’ was still a key factor, since both parties had yet to be interviewed, and long experience had taught him that cases of this nature, involving two teens at a party, very often went away before anyone was charged.
‘Any news yet from CSI?’ he asked Morley Croft, his DC, who was reading the same screen.
‘They’re still combing the scene,’ Croft answered. ‘Dickon’s asking when you’re intending to go down there.’
‘He knows I can’t go near the place till he’s finished,’ Bevan answered irritably.
‘Cross-contamination,’ Croft stated.
‘Precisely,’ Bevan confirmed. ‘I’m about to go and see the victim, so I don’t want to be walking forensic evidence from the crime scene into the rape suite. That’s for her to do. So, my friend, you are going to pick up the boy and bring him in for questioning. Where does he live again?’
‘Same village as her, near where it happened. A place called Holly Wood, would you believe?’
Bevan screwed up his nose. ‘Where the hell’s that? And please don’t say California.’
‘Might just as well be,’ Croft answered, ‘because it’s effing miles away. Past Shepton Mallet, nearly as far as Yeovil according to the map.’
Bevan grinned. ‘You’ll enjoy a day out in the country,’ he told him, reaching for his car keys. ‘Take the kid to Bath, if they’ve got room, and I’ll meet you there. Ian,’ he said to another DC who was using a black marker to list case details on a whiteboard, ‘go with him, and haul a local uniform along to assist with the search.’
‘On it, Sarge,’ Ian Grange responded, capping his pen.
‘If the boy tries to resist, cuff him,’ Bevan told Croft, ‘otherwise, try to be discreet. And don’t forget to bag everything he was wearing on Saturday night.’
‘And anything else we think might be relevant,’ Croft added, ‘but keep the search to the boy’s room and communal areas.’
‘You got it.’ Bevan heaved a sigh of annoyance as the most complicating element of the case returned to him. ‘Why did it have to be a sodding rave?’ he grumbled. ‘If we have to start tracking down all those kids… But hey, let’s not get depressed yet. There’s still a very good chance the girl’s having a change of heart even as we speak, so we could all be putting our feet up with a bevvy in front of the football tonight.’
‘Are you sure this is where we’re supposed to be?’ Annabelle said dubiously, as Sabrina turned off a leafy side street into a short tarmacked driveway. In front of them was a large detached house whose cream-painted walls and high, blue-painted window frames made it look much more like a private residence than any kind of police station they’d ever seen.
‘This is the address I was given,’ Sabrina answered, pulling her gold Lexus up alongside a black Citroën C4. There were other cars on the forecourt, but none with any kind of police insignia. ‘Wait here,’ she said, ‘I’ll go and check.’
She was barely out of the car before the front door opened and an attractive young woman with a mop of blonde curly hair and a welcoming smile came to greet her.
‘Hi,’ she said, holding out a hand to shake. ‘I’m PC Lisa Murray. Are you Mrs Paige?’
Sabrina nodded and took the girl’s hand.
‘We spoke on the phone,’ Lisa Murray clarified.
‘Annabelle’s in the car,’ Sabrina said.
Stooping so she could see, the officer smiled warmly as she said, ‘Hi, Annabelle. I’m Lisa. Would you like to come in?’
Getting warily out of the car, Annabelle glanced at her mother, then walked round to link her arm as Lisa Murray led the way inside. ‘I thought this was someone’s house,’ she said croakily.
‘It’s a special place for SAIT,’ Lisa explained, ‘the Sexual Abuse Investigation Team. We find it easier to talk to people in an environment that’s a little friendlier than a police station, a bit more like home.’
Annabelle gave a slight nod and moved even closer to her mother.
‘I’m going to take you to the waiting area now,’ Lisa informed them, directing them past two closed doors and along a blue carpeted hallway to a room at the end.
Annabelle glanced at Sabrina. It wasn’t exactly a scary place, but it was deadly quiet and smelled like a hospital gone fusty.
‘Here we are,’ Lisa said, showing them into a sort of sitting room with a big comfy sofa, two armchairs, and a coffee table with magazines and a box of Kleenex. Lockers were lined up along one wall and an old-fashioned TV stood between the frosted windows, where vertical blinds were swinging gently in the draught of the door opening. ‘Detective Sergeant Bevan is on his way. He’s the officer in charge of the investigation.’
Annabelle drew back against her mother. ‘I don’t want to talk to a man,’ she protested.
