by Vicary, Tim
The sheer effrontery of the idea stunned both detectives. Harry Easby recovered first. His tone, to Terry’s irritation, contained a hint of amusement, as though he half admired the man for coming up with such a preposterous suggestion.
‘You’re saying, are you, that a respectable woman like that, a barrister, actually asked you to half strangle her and rip her trousers down across the back of a motorbike?’
‘Summat like that, yeah.’
‘For Christ’s sake!’ Terry was finding it hard to control himself. Perhaps the old days of policing were better after all, he thought. A man like this deserved to be kicked to a pulp on the floor of the cell. Then the only shit that came out of him would be the real thing.
‘What were you doing there anyway?’ Harry asked.
‘Looking for young Simon.’
‘Who? Simon Newby? Do you know him?’
‘Yeah, a bit. He lives there, doesn’t he?’
‘Not in his back yard,’ Harry smiled contemptuously. ‘He lives in the house, Gary, not the back yard where we found you.’
‘Yeah, well, I tried the door but he didn’t answer, so I thought he might be in his shed.’
‘Notice anything unusual about the front door, Gary, did you?’ Harry asked, mockingly.
Gary thought for a bit. Then light dawned. ‘Yeah, I did actually. There was a padlock on it. After you lot smashed the door, no doubt.’
‘That’s right, Gary. And can you think why we might do that? Any ideas?’
‘Cause you’re a lot of friggin hooligans, that’s why. Smashing up property for no reason.’
‘So you hadn’t heard that Simon Newby had been arrested, is that what you’re saying?’
‘Arrested? For what?’
‘For rape and murder, that’s what! Oh come on Gary, it was all over the Evening Press last week, and on the telly! Don’t tell me you didn’t know!’
‘All right. So what if I did?’
Gary was sweating, Terry saw. Harry was doing well, so far.
‘So what you’re saying is, you knocked on Simon Newby’s front door when you knew full well he was in Hull gaol. Is that it, Gary? Doesn’t make an awful lot of sense now, does it?’
Gary stared at them, bemused. Like a rabbit caught in headlights, Terry thought. Harry laughed: ‘Or are you saying you went there to meet his mother, for a bit of rough sex?’
God no! Don’t put words in his mouth, Terry thought. Gary seized on the excuse eagerly.
‘Yeah, right. That’s it. She’d asked to meet me there. When she didn’t answer the door I thought I’d wait in the back yard. I knew she’d put her bike there, didn’t I?’
‘I see. So you thought you’d wait in the shed, in the dark, so you could spring out and rape this woman when she arrived?’
‘I told you, I didn’t rape her. When she came in the yard she was hot for it.’
‘Hot for sex with you, you mean?’ said Harry incredulously.
‘Yeah. Some women are like that, you know.’
‘Oh yes.’ Harry paused. ‘Talk to her at all first, did you? Or just go straight at it?’
‘We talked for a few minutes, yeah,’ Gary said cautiously.
‘And then she asked you for sex?’
‘Yeah.’
Harry laughed. ‘So we just spoiled a nice private party?’ Beneath the derision in Harry’s tone there was still that faint hint of admiration, as though for a good spicy story shared between boys. Gary responded to it.
‘You could’ve joined in, if you’d asked. She’d like that. Four big coppers and me.’
Terry was consumed with loathing. This was the man he was sure had raped Sharon Gilbert, and probably murdered Maria Clayton too. Now he was denying what they’d seen with their own eyes. It wasn’t funny, it wasn’t funny at all.
There was a knock at the door. A uniformed constable passed in a note. It read Interesting finds in the shed at Bramham Street. May be relevant to your interview. Mike Candor.
‘All right,’ Terry said. ‘Interview suspended at 11.35 p.m. We’ll resume in the morning.’
‘In that case,’ Gary said. ‘I want a lawyer.’
Sarah had hoped to be interviewed by Terry but Tracy Litherland ushered her into a room with Will Churchill. ‘Where’s... DI Bateson?’ she asked.
‘He’s interviewing your assailant,’ Churchill answered. ‘He knows a lot about him, as I’m sure you’ll understand. Whereas I have a particular interest in 23 Bramham Street.’
My son’s enemy, Sarah thought. And now this.
Tracy Litherland began. ‘Can you tell us exactly what happened tonight, from the moment you arrived at the house?’
Sarah told them, speaking slowly and carefully so that her bruised tongue and jaw did not slur the words. The doctor was right, the painkillers were beginning to do their stuff. But it was quite useful, having this temporary problem with speech. It meant that she could use a minimum of words without seeming evasive. But her mind was working slowly too and she knew there was something about being in that shed that she mustn’t tell them.
Churchill was persistent. ‘He didn’t try to rape you in the shed, then?’
‘No. He was surprised when he saw it was me, I think.’
‘I imagine the surprise was mutual.’ Churchill assessed her thoughtfully. As though I were more of a suspect than a victim, Sarah thought. But then in a way I am.
‘You didn’t expect to meet him there?’
‘No. Certainly not.’
‘Has he ever been there before, so far as you know?’
Sarah shook her head, to avoid using her jaw.
‘All right. So when you saw who it was, were you afraid, or did you feel reassured?’
It was a cruel question - almost a copy of one of her own questions to Sharon Gilbert during the trial, Sarah realized. Were you more or less afraid when you began to think the man in the hood was Gary? Perhaps this man was in court when I asked it and wants me to know how it feels. Well, it feels awful. She glanced at Tracy for female support.
‘I was frightened, of course. Any man who grabs me in a dark shed ...’
‘But he let you go?’
‘Mm. But he grabbed me again outside. Then you lot came.’ However unwelcome these questions she was enormously grateful for the rescue. ‘Thanks.’
Churchill smiled. ‘Just doing our job, Mrs Newby. Protecting the public, you know.’
Sarah frowned, puzzled. ‘But why did you come just then?’
‘Ah well.’ He looked very smug now. ‘The old man across the road - the one who saw your son hit Jasmine Hurst? Well, he keeps an eye out - phones us several times a day. Told us how you stayed there last night, when you arrived, when you switched the light out, what time you came out in the morning ...’
What time I went to the shed, Sarah thought - oh my God, did he see that bag?
‘... so when he told us Gary was there, and then you, I mobilised the troops and hared round pronto, to see what was going on. We hardly expected to find friend Gary demonstrating some of the finer details of the Gilbert case to his learned counsel, though, did we?’
Dear God, get me out of here, Sarah thought.
‘Sir!’ Tracy Litherland protested, shocked. But Churchill laughed, gripped by a manic desire to punish Sarah with mockery.
‘Still, it’s an ill wind that blows no one any good. It looks as though we’re going to have the pleasure of charging Mr Harker with sexually assaulting the barrister who got him off his rape charge, doesn’t it?’
Fuck you. Sarah glared at him without straining her jaw to answer. First you arrest Simon and now you bully me. She tried to think of a protest but for once no words came. Then suddenly she decided she was too tired to care. The doctor had been right, she realized, half an hour is quite enough. In a minute I’ll fall asleep in this chair.
She glanced despairingly at Tracy, who responded quickly.
‘Sir, the MO said just half an hour. I really think Mrs Newby’s had en
ough.’
Disappointed, Churchill pushed his chair back. ‘Yes, of course. Very well. We’ll take a full statement tomorrow when you’re feeling better.’ He got up and opened the door. ‘Your husband’s waiting outside.’
With a little sympathy and tender loving care, I hope, Sarah thought. Or has that gone out of fashion, too, these days?
‘So he didn’t actually ...’
‘He didn’t actually rape me, no.’ Slumped in the passenger seat of the Volvo, Sarah studied Bob wearily. ‘Christ, is that all that matters to you?’
‘No, of course not.’ His left hand hovered in the air for a moment between them, as though to touch her, then landed instead on the gear stick as he changed down. ‘I’m just trying to understand, that’s all.’
‘Are you?’
‘Yes. I mean, why was he there?’
‘I don’t know, Bob. He di ... didn’t say.’ Her bruised jaw throbbed, and the precise articulation of some words hurt more than others.
Bob glanced at her thoughtfully. ‘God, I should have come with you, at least.’
‘Mmn.’
‘Though if you hadn’t gone into the wretched shed in the first place. If Simon hadn’t ..’
‘It’s nothing to do with Simon, this ...’
‘Isn’t it? Then why were you there? He’s at the root of this somehow. I know he is.’
‘It wasn’t Simon, Bob!’ Sarah screamed, then stopped, checked by the pain. More quietly, but with equal intensity, she continued. ‘It was Gary Harker. I defended the bastard, remember? Laugh at that if you like.’
‘For God’s sake, I’m not laughing, Sarah. Come on, let’s get you home. Tuck this round you.’ He stretched out his left arm to adjust the blanket which a policewoman had wrapped around Sarah’s shoulders. She shrugged it off irritably.
‘I’m not an invalid.’
‘You’re a victim, though. Let’s get you home to a warm bath and a whisky.’
‘That sounds more like it.’ Sarah gazed idly out of the window as the car swung over the river Ouse, with the lights of the Archbishop’s Palace on their left. So peaceful it looked, so far removed from the cramped violence of Simon’s back yard. Or was it? Down to her left, in the bushes by the footpath fifty yards south of the road, Jasmine’s body had lain all night, with a fox gnawing at her throat. Sarah groaned.
‘Not far now,’ Bob murmured encouragingly. ‘Did they give you any painkillers?’
‘An injection, I think. Bob?’
‘Yes?’
‘Don’t tell Emily.’
‘What? She’ll have to know sometime.’
‘Yes, but not tonight. She’s got exams tomorrow, hasn’t she?’
‘Exams! True, but ...’ Bob shook his head in silent wonder. ‘You never change, Sarah, do you? Super Student to the last.’
‘Bob, please. Why should she be hurt?’
‘She won’t be. I’ll keep it quiet.’
‘Thanks.’
He drove on for a while in silence, round the ring road to their country home. On the edge of the village he spoke again, as though the conversation hadn’t stopped.
‘The only one who should be hurt is that swine Harker. I hope they clamp his balls in a vice and tighten it every half hour.’
He pulled into their drive, and - a first for him - got out and opened the passenger door for her while she was still fumbling with the blanket. She thanked him with a faint, ironic smile. ‘I should be raped more often.’
‘Never again.’ He put his arm round her and she leaned against him gratefully. ‘Now, inside with you. Come on. What do you want first - a bath?’
‘Oh God, yes please.’ Only now as she walked through her own front door, did the trembling begin. Her knees started shaking and her legs felt like jelly. She collapsed into an armchair. ‘Go upstairs and run it for me, would you, Bob? A deep hot one with bath salts if you can find any. Then bring a whisky and some candles, too.’
‘Candles?’ At the foot of the stairs, Bob hesitated. ‘Why?’
‘For the bathroom. I want it to be warm and comfortable and womb-like. Bring up a CD with some Mozart as well.’
‘Anything you say.’
I don’t want to see anything clearly tonight, she thought as he went upstairs. Tomorrow will be a day for decisions, rows of them waiting for me in the sun. Tonight I want to close my eyes, lie there and get clean.
Clean. The word formed like a pearl on her lips, perfect and pure. She leaned her head back and whispered it again. That’s what I want to be.
Clean.
Chapter Twenty-Two
WHEN SHE returned the following morning Sarah was met, to her great relief, by Terry and Tracy Litherland. ‘Where’s your famous male chauvinist, then,’ she asked. ‘DCI Churchill?’
‘Senior management meeting,’ Tracy shrugged. ‘I thought if DI Bateson ...?’
‘Yes, that’s fine. Thank you,’ Sarah twitched her sore mouth, hoping it looked like a grateful smile. All the muscles of her jaw were stiff.
Terry sat down opposite her. ‘I hope you got some sleep.’
‘Yes, thanks.’ She experimented with a second smile, which hurt less. She had no idea what it looked like. She had tried to cover her bruised jaw with make-up, but she could do nothing about her half-closed eye.
‘Well, I’m glad you’re well enough to come in.’ Terry slid a pad of paper across the desk. This shouldn’t take long. We just need your statement, to confirm what you said last night.’
‘Yes. I’ve been thinking about that.’ Sarah bit her lip. ‘I don’t want to press charges.’
‘What?’ Terry stared at her. ‘But Sarah, this was a serious assault.’
‘I know. But I’m still alive.’ Sarah was so glad it was this man, not the bumptious fool who had insulted her last night. She tried to speak as clearly and persuasively as she could. ‘Look, Terry, I’m grateful to you all for rescuing me, of course - very. But because you came, nothing really bad happened. I mean, I wasn’t raped and in fact I’m hardly hurt at all apart from this eye and my jaw, and that’s just bruised, not broken. It’s my pride that’s hurt most, and a trial won’t help that. Quite the opposite, in fact.’
‘But ...’ Terry was bewildered. ‘We caught him in the act! I was there; four police officers saw what happened. It’s an open and shut case!’
‘So he’s admitted it, has he?’
‘Well, no, not yet. But he’ll have to, he’s got no choice.’
‘He can still plead not guilty, Terry. And that’s what he’ll do, just to humiliate me. Believe me, I know this man. I defended him. Remember?’
There was a stunned silence. Neither detective had expected this. Unpleasant questions stirred in Terry’s mind. He liked this woman, but what was all this about? Had she known Gary was guilty in that trial, and been able to live with it? Why had she gone to her son’s house last night?
Sarah broke the silence. ‘So what did he say? You might as well tell me.’
‘He ... claimed it was consensual. He said you’d arranged to meet him there and you liked ... rough sex.’ Terry was embarrassed, but the words did not seem to shock her. Was there anything in Gary’s story, after all?
‘And you said?’
‘That I didn’t believe him, of course. I saw what was happening, Sarah! We all did.’
‘Yes. And I’m very - deeply - grateful that you came when you did.’ Sarah studied him thoughtfully. ‘But there’s that tiny doubt in your mind, isn’t there, Terry?’ She turned to Tracy. ‘Maybe in yours too. You don’t want to admit it, because you’re decent people, but when a man says that sort of thing you wonder, don’t you?’
‘Not me, Mrs Newby,’ Tracy Litherland insisted. ‘I can see the bruises on your face. He hasn’t got a hope. No one’s going to believe a daft story like that!’
‘Aren’t they?’ Sarah sighed. ‘Look, if he pleads not guilty I have to go in the box and give evidence, which is hard enough for any woman in a case of sexual assault.
But this isn’t just any case, it’s a sensation! I was his barrister, remember! Normally a rape victim’s name can’t be published but in this case no one could hide it from the newspapers: after all, I previously defended this man on a rape charge in open court. And his counsel is going to ask me if it’s true that I had secret meetings with him for - what did you call it? - rough sex! Jesus, Terry! It’ll be like dropping meat in a shark pool; the press will have a feeding frenzy. And then they’ll find out that my son is charged with rape and murder as well. It’ll be the crime story of the millennium! I’ll be all over the tabloids, they’ll be camped outside my front door twenty deep asking me to pose in a wig and gown and my underwear! Do you really think that’s what I want?’
‘Do you want Harker to go free? Again?’
‘Right now, Terry, I’d like to chop his balls off. But the fact is I have to think of myself in this situation. I’m the victim, remember? In cases of sexual assault the police are supposed to consider the victim’s feelings. So I’m telling you now I don’t want to press charges. OK? Just forget it.’
Terry tried again. ‘Look, Sarah, it may not come to that. His story’s absurd, we’ll break him in questioning and get him to plead guilty. Then you won’t have to give evidence.’
‘It’s still a sensation, though, isn’t it? Even with a guilty plea. Reporters aren’t stupid.’
‘Maybe not, but at least he’ll be locked up. Otherwise he’ll do it again to some other innocent woman. Just as he did to Sharon Gilbert before you. And the others.’
‘We don’t know he raped Sharon, Terry.’ Sarah met his disbelieving eyes and sighed. ‘All right, I admit it’s likely and what happened last night makes it even more likely, but the fact is the evidence didn’t convince a jury. That’s why he got off. It wasn’t some sort of wicked trick that I pulled, you know. You didn’t have the proof.’
‘Maybe. But I’ve got it now, Sarah. I can show you.’
‘Proof that he raped Sharon?’
‘Yes.’
It was Sarah’s turn to look astonished. ‘How come you’ve got it now and not before?’
