by Lenny Brando
But wallowing in a heap wouldn't solve anything. Get a grip, she told herself. You can do this. She clambered to her feet with determination, washed her face and rinsed out her mouth.
Then it occurred to her the device would still be watching the bedroom. The temptation to smash it was enormous, but she resisted. Best to cover it instead. She took a cloth from a cupboard and covered the sensor in the bedroom. She made sure the cloth was tight in place over the lens and double wrapped over the front. Security specialists would have to examine them. Or the police. The estate agent may have left fingerprints on it. It occurred to her she shouldn't have covered it with a cloth and perhaps wiped away evidence. Too late now.
She examined the office for any other unusual devices. Satisfied there were no other rogue devices in the office, she then checked every room in the house. When she found no other potential spy cameras, she reasoned things out.
The intruder must have put the camera in place. He’d been watching her for days. Once more she shivered at the thought of a stranger watching her walk around her bedroom naked. Her privacy violated in the worst way. Putting a name to the stranger helped and she bolstered her conviction that Flanagan was the intruder.
She took those thoughts down to the kitchen while she waited for the police. As the last vestiges of the fear subsided, anger rose in its place. She knew she had been lucky and thanked herself for listening to Ian and keeping the mace nearby. Ian’s foresight had saved her, and for moment she wondered what had prompted his precaution, but it didn't seem important now.
What had Flanagan done to her? There had been no penetration. It would be a case of sexual assault, not rape. Perhaps it would count as attempted rape. The ease with which she fell into legalise surprised her, as if it was a way of standing aside from the incident, objectifying it, making it less real. Almost as if it had happened to someone else. A virtual Alice. Flanagan had tried to rape a different Alice. An Alice that could fight off an assailant and survive unscathed. This Alice only had a scratch on her chest, and another on her neck. They were painful but wouldn't scar, unlike the ones on her wrist.
The sharp ring of the doorbell made her jump. Sharp raps and shouts of ‘police’ followed the sound. She hurried to unlock the front door. The two uniformed officers stood in the doorway. Behind them, two paramedics in green and yellow overalls stood ready to enter.
“Alice Madsen? I’m Constable Aaron McNulty and this is Constable Stephanie Moore.”
“Are you all right, Alice?” Moore asked. “Are you injured?”
“I’m okay. I don’t need the ambulance.” She glanced at the beeping alarm panel.
“They need to check you, Alice,” Moore said. “Just in case.”
“May we come in?” McNulty asked. Without waiting for a reply, he entered. Alice shrugged and moved back. She waved them toward the kitchen and stood while they filed into the hall. She shut the door with a clunk and unset the alarm.
“Right, Alice. We need to check the house while the paramedics examine you. All right?”
“Yes. Yes. But...” Alice said.
“Okay, Alice.” McNulty raised a hand. “Like I said. Let’s secure the house first.”
While McNulty searched the house, Alice, Moore and the paramedics entered the kitchen. The first paramedic spoke to her. “Okay, Alice. I’m Tom and this is Susan. Why don't you sit down and let Susan have a quick look at you?”
“Did he harm you in any way?” Susan asked.
Alice nodded.
“How?”
Alice glanced at Tom, then looked at the floor. A glint of light caught her eye. Something had jammed in the crack between the kitchen island and the stone tiles. It looked like a sliver of glass, but she couldn’t be certain. She shuddered. The shape reminded her of Flanagan’s knife.
“It’s okay Alice,” said Susan. “Say, um, Tom’s going to get paperwork from the ambulance. Right Tom?”
Tom nodded and left, closing the kitchen door behind him.
“Alice, you can talk to me. It’s all right. PC Moore will take some notes for the record. Is this okay?”
Alice nodded. “Yes.”
“Did he sexually assault you?”
“He…he tied me to the bed. He h…had a knife.” Alice kept her eyes focused on the floor. “Then...”
“It’s okay Alice. Take your time.”
Alice’s bit down hard on her lip. It helped hold off the tears. She took several deep breaths. “Then he… he used the knife to cut off my underwear. He put his hands all over me. His finger... he put his finger inside me. He scratched my chest with the knife too. And there’s a cut on my neck. See?”
Susan leaned in and eased Alice’s chin up. “It’s just a small scratch. May I see the one on your chest?”
Alice snuffled and opened her robe. Susan nodded as she examined Alice’s chest. “Okay, Alice. You can cover up again. Thank you.”
“Will it scar? I have enough of them already. I don't want any more.”
“No. It’s not deep. It should heal in a few days.”
Alice dabbed her eyes and recovered her composure. She folded her arms tight against her chest. “Good. I don't want a doctor.”
Susan leaned in closer. “Look, I’d suggest you go to a Sexual Assault Referral Centre, they’re known as SARCs. There’s one not too far from here, it’s the Paddington Haven, near St Mary’s Hospital.”
“I don't know.”
“You may need a forensic medical examination if this case goes to court. You know, for evidence.”
“There was no penetration with his...” She shook her head. “Why can't I say the damn word?”
“It’s all right, Alice. You're safe. You can talk to me.”
She took a deep breath. “Not with his penis. He only used his finger.” She scoffed. “Only. As that counts for something. Only his finger...”
McNulty barged into the room, and all three women glared at him. McNulty took no notice. “There’s nobody else here,” he said. “How is she?”
Susan shook her head. “Alice is a victim of sexual assault. Traumatised, however, no obvious injuries requiring hospitalisation.”
Alice ran her teeth along her lip. It's as if I’m not here, she thought. “I’m fine,” Alice said. She looked at the paramedic. “Thanks. But I’m okay.”
Susan pulled out a notepad and wrote in it. She tore off a page and handed it to Alice. “The number for Paddington Haven. They’re available 24/7. You should at least talk to them. They’re very helpful.”
Alice took the paper and clutched it tight. She rubbed her eyes again and nodded. The kitchen felt crowded with the heavy uniforms and the weight of authority. She had no space. Indecipherable voices crackled on strangers’ radios. They forced themselves on her. The kitchen closed in. It grew smaller. Crushed her.
Then the other paramedic, Alice had already forgotten his name, poked his head into the kitchen, filling it further. A scream formed in Alice’s lungs. She wanted to vent with fury. To lash out. All the time her eyes remained rooted to the floor. She looked along a line of clumsy boots, each scuffed from contact with rough life. She blinked as she stared, thinking she now had her own scuff marks courtesy of Flanagan’s knife.
Alice looked up. McNulty shrugged at the paramedics. Moore looked at Alice. “Are you happy for the paramedics and the ambulance to leave, Alice?”
“Yes. Yes. Go. The kitchen is closing in on me. I can’t breathe.”
With a final sympathetic look at Alice, the two paramedics left, and she heard the front door click shut.
“Can you show us where it happened?” McNulty asked.
They climbed the stairs, and Alice led them into the main bedroom. It seemed different now, and she grimaced at the straps hanging limp at each corner. While the police stood by the door, she crossed to the bed and threw the duvet on it. When she turned back, the two police exchanged a querulous glance.
“Sorry, Alice,” McNulty said. “This is a crime scene. Please don't
touch anything else.”
Alice shrugged and moved toward the door. “I was in bed. Asleep.” She shivered at the memory. “S-something made me wake up. I don't know what. I saw the guy standing there.” She pointed over to the bed. “Holding a knife. Staring at me. I couldn't see his face. He wore a balaclava. And gloves.”
“Were you naked in the bed?” McNulty asked.
Alice thought she saw Moore glare at him, as if he shouldn't have asked, but he seemed to take no notice. He raised an eyebrow at Alice.
She shook her head. “No. And so what if I was? That’s irrelevant. It was hot, I had a sheet over me. And I had underwear on. But not a bra.”
“It’s okay Alice,” Moore said. “Go on.”
Alice leaned against the wall. She pointed at the motion sensor above the door to the landing. “Someone installed that. I think it’s a camera, so I covered it.”
“You think the person who broke in put it there?” McNulty asked.
“For sure. I think it's the estate agent. Because he knew the alarm code and had a key to the house. Who else would have all that?”
“Could it have been anyone else?” Moore asked.
“No. It’s him. He knew my name. I think he said things about watching me. Wanting me. He whispered in my ear that eyes were watching me. He... he put his hands around my throat and tried to choke me. I couldn't breathe.” She trembled at the memory and rubbed her neck.
“How about your partner?” McNulty looked in his notebook. “Ian Morgan. Where was he tonight? He was here two weeks ago when your window was broken.”
“What window?”
McNulty looked to Moore with a puzzled expression. “Someone put a brick through your lounge window along with a note saying, ‘Fuck off back to Mecca’. Peed through your letterbox.”
Alice put her hands on her hip. “What? That’s the first I’ve heard about this. No wonder he gave me...”
“Gave you what?”
“Um, nothing. It doesn't matter. Anyway, why didn't he tell me about the window?”
“Probably didn't want to worry you,” Moore said.
McNulty shrugged. “We told him it was a one off.”
“Christ. It’s probably the same person.”
McNulty shook his head. “We don't know that.”
“Alice, you recognised the estate agent’s voice?” Moore asked.
Alice shook her head. “No. He turned the radio up loud and whispered all the time. I couldn't hear him. He seemed familiar though.”
“Okay,” McNulty said, drawing out the two syllables. “What’s his name?”
“Flanagan. Mark Flanagan. He has damp, clammy hands. I remember that.”
“All right, Alice,” Moore said. “We need to secure the room. The Sexual Offences Team will take over. They’ll arrange SOCOs, who will check the room for evidence. They’ll also deal with that device you told us about. If you need anything from this room, get it now, because you won't be able to enter until they’re finished with it.”
“He dropped a packet of pills. They’re over there.” Alice pointed to the bedside table.
“We’ll leave those for the SOCOs. We need to leave now.”
“What are SOCO’s?” Alice asked.
“Scene of crime officers.” McNulty said. “These ones specialise in sex crimes. They’ll look for hairs, fibres, fingerprints, body fluids.”
“But he only took off his gloves for a minute.”
“Yeah. Well, let’s see what they turn up.”
Alice looked at the two officers. Her gaze took in assorted tools, lurking in pockets and belts. Instruments of an unfamiliar world. She swung her eyes to the hidden camera now covered by a cloth, then back to the bed, where the straps taunted her helplessness and her humiliation. A sense of multiple violations struck her, and she leaned against the wall for support.
“I’m sorry, Alice,” Moore said. “I’m sure you can stay in another room. Do you have anyone you can talk to? I know it’s the middle of the night, but you could use a friend right now.” She glanced at McNulty. “It might take a while for the team to arrive.”
“How long?” Alice asked.
Moore tightened her lips and looked at her watch. “Several hours at least. I’m guessing they won't be her until 8 at the earliest.”
“What am I supposed to do until then?”
Moore shrugged. “Sorry, but there’s nothing we can do.”
Alice nodded in slow motion.
“Alice,” Moore pointed to the camera above the bedroom door. “If that’s a camera, it’s probably using your internet connection. You should switch the router off or change the access code.”
Alice sighed and got to her feet. “It’s in the office. I’ll switch it off for now.”
After she powered off the router, they went down to the kitchen.
“Alice? You okay?” Moore asked. “Are you going to call someone?”
“No. I’m not okay.” Alice’s voice was low, more of a whisper.
“It’s not your fault,” McNulty said. “You're the victim.”
Alice folded her arms and stared down McNulty. She took a deep breath and held her voice steady. “I’m a survivor. Not a victim.”
“Alice, excuse us for a moment.” Moore beckoned to McNulty and they went out to the hall. The sound of a heated conversation filtered through the kitchen door, but Alice couldn't make out what they said. Moments later, Moore came back in. “Provided I don't get another call,” Moore said, “I can stay with you until the team arrives. My colleague will go back and do the paperwork.”
Alice felt her shoulders relax. “Thank you.”
69
By the time Cole reached Notting Hill Gate, he could no longer walk fast, never mind run. His heart hammered. Both eyes stung with sharp pain. To avoid stumbling into things, he had to squint through one eye. Even then he stubbed his left toe on the kerb when he crossed the street. His breathing laboured hard as he glanced around. No-one followed. It appeared he was safe for now. He cursed himself for his carelessness. One mistake could cost him, and he needed to fight his stupidity.
He considered getting the night bus, but he worried about the on-board CCTV. No, his best bet would be to get a mini cab and pay the bastards the thirty odd quid. There was a cab company nearby, and before he approached it, he peered at his reflection in a window. Not clever to resemble a weirdo or criminal, so he patted himself down and smoothed his hair.
In the back of the cab he tapped on his phone. He copied the latest files from the hidden camera in Alice’s bedroom to his phone. The download took 15 minutes, and when it completed, he used the app to delete everything from the card on the camera.
Around half an hour later, he threw his jacket and bag onto the living room floor and went straight for the bathroom. He peeled off all his clothes and stepped into the shower. The water ran over his face and he let it wash out his eyes as much as he dared. That eased the pain and he relaxed a little. Then the urge to piss overcame him, and he aimed a long steady stream at the shower’s plug hole.
Feeling better for relieving the worst effects of the mace, but worse for the comedown from the pills, he towelled and dressed again. He needed booze to help him, and he made for the fridge. One lonely beer. He should have brought more. Then he remembered there was a bottle of vodka in one cupboard. He hated the stuff, but it would do.
He grabbed the beer and went to his computer. While it booted up, he put his hands in his pockets for the pills. When he couldn't find them, he picked up his jacket. No fucking pills. Bitch Alice had almost ripped the pocket off his jacket. He threw the jacket down and stomped to the computer. The only saving grace was that he still had plenty of the pills stashed in his bedroom.
Cole sat on his sofa and planned his next moves. He tapped on the camera app again and saw there was no signal. That meant the camera had been discovered. Despite his failure, the thought of her reaction to the camera brought a smile to his face. After all, he had told her about it.
It had served its purpose, and he still had the video clips.
He lit a cigarette and sucked hard at it. The police would soon investigate, yet he was relaxed about it. The odds of Alice recognising him were remote. He had whispered when he spoke to her, and the radio would have distorted his voice further.
As he saw it, there were two main weaknesses. One was the bag of Captagon pills and the risk of fingerprints, but he had wiped them after they fell into the sink, so with luck he’d be all right there.
The second risk was that the police would interview Flanagan, as he would be an obvious person of interest, and Flanagan would have to give a list of everyone who viewed the house. Cole concluded during the viewing that Flanagan didn't recognise him from the TV interview after the attack. There would be no trace of someone called Brian Hailsham and no accurate description either. Cole’s disguise of hat, glasses and fake accent with the bullshit about Oxford would see to that.
The techies from the police would recover the video clips from the camera in the bedroom, but he hadn’t removed the balaclava, so they wouldn’t identify him from the clips.
That left his flat. First, he should get rid of any evidence linking him to the scene. He backed up all the video clips from Alice’s bedroom on his phone to his computer. Then he replaced the SD card in the phone with a blank one and copied the clips from the computer onto that. That gave him two copies of the videos on micro SD cards.
He logged on to his VPN and clicked open the double VPN option. It would be slower, but far more secure and meant no-one could trace his IP address. Then he set up two accounts on a video sharing site in fake names. The video sharing site he used allowed anything and was a great source of revenge porn. He uploaded all the videos in private mode to one and uploaded the one of Flanagan to the other.
