Lasting Scars

by Lenny Brando

  Kristin pulled back. “No. Not really.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.”

  Ian came out of the lounge. “Hi Kris. All good?”

  She eyed him for a moment. “Yes.”

  “I’ll leave you guys to it.” He nodded at her and went back into the lounge.

  In the kitchen, Kristin put her arm on Alice’s shoulder. “Come on, then. Tell me what happened.” Kristin listened with held her hand over her mouth as Alice described her ordeal. By the time Alice finished, Kristin felt tears rise and she grabbed a hold of Alice and squeezed her tight. “Oh Alice. I don't know what to say. I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you call me after it happened?”

  “I didn't want to upset you and anyway, there was nothing you could do. You were in Copenhagen.”

  “That doesn't matter. I could have come home. We could have spoken. I’m supposed to be your friend.”

  “You are. And you're here for me now.”

  “How long do you have to stay in the hotel?”

  Alice shrugged. “I wish I knew. The police don't know who it is. They don’t know what he’ll do next either. Nobody does.”

  “You maced him. Maybe he’ll think twice before trying it again. And you've changed the locks, so he can’t get in.”

  “And he still has those videos of me in the bedroom.”

  “Shit.”

  “He’ll put them on Twitter or YouTube or somewhere.”

  “Bastard.”

  “Have you checked?”

  Alice shook her head. “Don't want to.”

  Kristin arched an eyebrow but lowered it when she saw Alice look away.

  “It’s okay,” Alice said. “The whole thing’s a mess. I think the job’s gone too.”

  “Aw no.”

  “Yes. I’m too toxic for them.” Alice got off her stool. “You want a drink?”

  “Bit early, isn’t it?”

  “Meant a coffee.”

  “Sure.”

  “How’s Olivia?”

  “Dunno. Haven't seen her. She was in Birmingham at that conference.”

  “Birmingham? You told me it was Glasgow?”

  Kristin waved a hand. “I got mixed up. Why?”

  Alice shrugged. “Maybe Ian saw her.”

  “Ian? He was with her?”

  Alice filled the coffee machine with water. “What? No. He never mentioned seeing her.”

  “He wouldn't though, would he?”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  Kristin took a deep breath and looked down to her hands. “Nothing.”

  Alice turned the tap off and stared at Kristin. “You sure?”

  “Yes. Sorry. I’m upset with her that’s all. You know, the things I found in her bag...”

  “But you told me what they were for.”

  “Yeah right. Would you believe her? I think she was in a hotel room shagging some man’s brains out while I cried alone in another hotel room a thousand miles away.”

  “You need to talk to her.” Alice switched the coffee machine on. “I’ll ask Ian if he saw her with anyone. Maybe he was being discreet and didn't want you to find out.”

  I bet he was, Kristin thought. But she kept that to herself. “Thanks Alice, that would be good.”

  “A reporter from Xtra News is coming later.”

  “You doing an interview?”

  “Haven't decided yet. It’s Laura Bowfield.” Alice reached into a cupboard and took two mugs out.

  Kristin folded her arms. “Why’s she coming here then?”

  “To sell the interview.”

  “What's her angle?”

  “I’ll let you know when I have her figured out.”

  92

  Laura looked around Alice's lounge. A few changes here and there. Rearrange the furniture. Maybe put flowers on the table. But what caught her attention most was the large framed photograph of a naked woman bound in chains above the mantelpiece, and by the time her eye left the photograph, she had established the best camera placement to get it in shot.

  “Your home would be better than the hotel,” Laura said.

  Alice put her hands on her hips. “I haven't agreed to anything yet.”

  Laura raised a hand in apology. “Sorry. I don’t mean to get ahead of myself.”

  “What is it about the Marquez photo?”

  “That one?” Laura pointed to the wall.

  “Yeah. What do you think of it?”

  Laura shrugged. “I guess it depends on what you’re looking for.”

  “And what are you looking for?”

  Laura turned to Alice. “Sometimes I wonder. But right now? I’m looking for a killer interview.”

  Alice shook her head. “I want to know what you think of the photograph. Go on. Look. Tell me what you see.”

  Laura winced. “I prefer to ask the questions. It’s what I’m good at.”

  “You wanted to build trust, right?”

  Laura relented and studied the photograph. “She, the woman in the photograph, is being held back by something. The chains represent the bind to some past event. She’s trying to conceal this from the viewer, but it’s pointless. She’s exposed. Perhaps she’s embarrassed, but if she could get past the embarrassment and overcome the fear of what others think of her, she might free herself.”

  Laura stepped back and glanced to Alice. “Well?”

  Alice nodded once. “Interesting.”

  Laura furrowed her brow. “It’s you, isn't it?”

  Alice laughed. “No. She’s a model.”

  “That’s not what I meant. What’s holding you back, Alice?”

  93

  Later that night Ian sat on the edge of the hotel bed while Alice flipped through TV channels. He looked to her, “I’m struggling with this situation.”

  “You think I'm not?” she asked without taking her eyes off the screen.

  “Being cooped up in here? Driving me mad.”

  “You’re not the one in danger.”

  “I know. But...”

  “But what?”

  “I feel useless in here.”

  She shrugged. “Whatever.”

  He got to his feet. “Is there something else bothering you? You’ve been different since Kristin came to the house earlier.”

  She switched the TV off. “Did you see Olivia when you were in Birmingham?”

  “Didn't know she was there. Why?”

  She looked hard at him. “Kristin thinks you're seeing her.”

  Ian laughed. “Olivia’s gay.”

  “It's not funny Ian.”

  “You think I’m seeing Olivia?”

  “I don’t know. The condoms. The things you said about her.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like she’s an attractive woman, and any penis that shagged her would be a lucky penis.”

  “Christ.” Ian threw his hands up in the air. “I was being frivolous.”

  “Well, if it’s okay for you to be frivolous, then it’s okay for me to be suspicious, yeah?”

  “There’s no reason to be suspicious. Look at me.” He turned to face her. “Look at me. I am not sleeping with Olivia, okay?”

  “If you could get away with it, you would. Men are like that.”

  Ian rolled his eyes. “Not all women are like you in that department.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean.”

  “Do you expect me to just let you?” Her eyes widened and her face reddened. She shook her head with deliberate movement. “After what happened?”

  “Oh for God’s sake Alice. Get a grip. What do you think I am? Get real.”

  She switched the TV back on. “Leave me alone. Go to the bar.”

  Ian left without another word and made his way to the bar where he sat on a stool. His mind whirled as he drank a large gin. He picked up his phone, then set it down again. He ordered another large gin. It tasted better than the first. He let out a breath so long it moved the straw in his drink. With a
n almost imperceptible shake of his head, he picked up the phone again. When he found Olivia’s number, he thumbed a text. We need to talk.

  94

  Kristin sipped on a glass of ice cold Pinot Grigio in her apartment and wished Olivia would call. After an hour of festering thoughts passed by, Kristin gave in and called.

  “Hi. You home?”

  “Uh huh.” Olivia sounded like she had just woken up. “Not long in. It was heavy going.”

  “You wanna come over?”

  “Aw Kris, I’m too tired. I want to go to bed.”

  “So do I.” Kristin drank more wine. “But with you.”

  “Look, we need to talk. I know things haven't been great between us, so let’s work it out, okay?”

  “Maybe I could come over now?”

  “No. I have work tomorrow. I’m in the City all day with follow ups from Birmingham.”

  “You in Lloyd’s?”

  “In the morning, yeah. Why?”

  “Just curious. Maybe we could meet for lunch?”

  “Can't. Have something on.”

  “Somewhere nice?”

  Olivia laughed. “If you call Leadenhall Market nice.”

  “Oh.” Kristin caught her reflection in the window and scowled at herself. “Someone nice?”

  “Yeah. You’d want to see her. She’s gorgeous.”

  “Her?”

  “Still going on about your silly assumptions after you rummaged through my bag, huh?”

  Kristin winced and drank more wine to wash away the feeling. “Something happened to Alice.”

  Olivia hesitated. “Uh, what?”

  “It’s a long story, but a man let himself in to her house with a key and tried to rape her.”

  “Oh my God. No. That’s, like, awful. Did they catch him?”

  “No. They arrested the wrong guy. Alice and Ian are staying in a hotel until they get the right guy.”

  “Shit. Maybe I should call her?”

  “No. Best to leave her alone.”

  “Sure.”

  Kristin knocked back the glass of wine and refilled it. “Yeah.”

  “Poor Alice.”

  “Poor me.”

  “Are you okay?”

  “No.”

  “Come on Kris. Don't do this. Please?”

  “Do what?”

  Olivia sighed. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” She paused as if she waited for Kristin to say something, but Kristin said nothing. “Okay then,” Olivia said. “Be like that. But take it easy on the wine.”

  95

  On Monday morning, Kapoor sat at her desk and stared at her computer. It drifted out of focus as her mind wandered. She had made no progress on the Madsen case since she spoke to Marks on Saturday and he still hadn’t got back to her with the information she requested. Despite Sunday being her day off, she ended up working the Johnson case, getting a sore back from typing reports and assembling a case for the CPS. Manning wasn't in yet, and Kapoor wasn't sure whether it was because Manning was late or she was early.

  She groaned at the thought of calling Marks, but she had little choice. “Inspector, it’s...”

  “Yes, yes, Sergeant. What do you want now?”

  “I was hoping to get that report. You know, on the South Ken witnesses?”

  “I gave that task to DS Gilmore. You need to speak with him.”

  “Very good, Sir. Do you have...”

  “His number is in the system. You can look it up.”

  Kapoor cleared her throat. “Do you still think...”

  But Marks killed the call. Kapoor muttered a curse, and several minutes later, she found Gilmore’s number and called him.

  “This is DS Meera Kapoor, I’ve just spoken with DI Marks and he told me he asked you to run a query for me. I was hoping you had it?”

  “What query?”

  Kapoor paused, inhaled through her nose and clicked her pen on the desk several times. “I’m investigating the Alice Madsen assault. Do you have the case file number?”

  Gilmore grunted. “Wait a minute.”

  She continued to tap out a beat with her pen while she waited. The beat got louder with each passing moment. Finally Gilmore spoke. “I’ve got a list of names for you, but nothing on the phones. They refused the request. Have you any idea of the number of phones that would have been in the area at the time?”

  “Aw come on. I thought you could do it?”

  “We could, but if the guy had any sense, he wouldn't have brought the phone with him. So it would likely be a wasted effort. I think your best bet would be to work the full list of names. Get alibis and do it that way. Old fashioned police work.”

  “But you said you could investigate individual numbers?”

  Gilmore laughed. “This isn’t a SO15 case. From what I read, it’s an attempted sexual assault. I mean, it’s not even a rape. The guy had a key. Sounds like someone the woman knows. Most of these things are, right?” He sniffed, then continued. “I’ll upload the list of names and their contact details as requested, but that's it. SO15 won't do anything else on it. We don't have the remit, never mind the time or resources. I don’t see why we should do it when you can get a warrant on the numbers and run them by the carriers yourself?”

  “Because it’s way longer going by the book.”

  She heard him tap on a keyboard. “The list is now in the case file,” he said. “Time for you to go knock on doors, Sergeant.”

  96

  Ian arrived at the Lloyd's building in Lime street around 9am on Monday morning. In his office, he hadn't even got as far as logging on to the computer when Paul came in. “We need to talk.”

  Ian shrugged. “Sure.”

  “Mark got fired.”

  “Oh? Was it something to do with having sex with his girlfriend in a client’s house?”

  “No.” Paul came closer and peered at Ian over his glasses. “It seems it was a security issue. Something to do with a viewer getting a copy of the keys.”

  “You mean the viewer who let himself into our house and assaulted Alice in her bed?”

  “It wasn't Mark's fault.”

  “It wasn't Alice’s either.”

  “You could help get his job back. Call the agency and praise Mark’s professionalism. Tell them the issue with the keys could have happened to anyone. Perhaps you left a spare set lying around?”

  Ian rubbed his nose and squinted at Paul. “Seriously?”

  “Yes, Ian. Seriously.”

  “What about Alice?”

  “What about her? I understand nobody raped her and the police are looking for the culprit. They'll soon catch him, and Alice will be fine. But Mark needs that job.”

  “I’m sorry, Paul, but I can’t do that. I hold Mark responsible for Alice’s ordeal.”

  Paul removed his glasses and his face darkened. He pointed the glasses at Ian. “I’ll let you consider this over the course of the morning, and I shall ask you again later. We’ll take 5 minutes before the team meeting at 14:30, and I shall expect a different answer.” He put his glasses back on and stormed out of the room.

  Ian sighed and let his shoulders slump when Paul left. Christ, he thought. The Flanagan DNA must result in a lot of arseholes. I need to get out of this place. He logged on to his computer and groaned at the number of emails. Rather than face them, he decided to call Jo Page and wrangle his way out of the coffee. As he held his phone ready to call her, he admitted the truth to himself. He needed to end it with Jo. The guilt now exceeded the benefits, despite the ache of last night’s argument with Alice.

  “Jo, hi.”

  “Didn't think you'd call.”

  “Look, I, um...”

  “You need to cancel, huh?”

  “Yes. Something came up.”

  “Spare me the excuses, Ian. You want to end it, don't you?”

  His eyes wandered around the desk as he spoke. “It’s just awkward with, you know, Alice...”

  “Oh come on. At least have the courage to be honest with me
. You owe me that.”

  “I don't want to do this on the phone.”

  Jo sighed. “I can take it. But I won't make it easy for you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Say it. Say you don't want to see me anymore.”

  He glanced to the photo of Alice on his desk, shook his head and looked away. “I’m sorry. But...”

  “Say it.”

  “Maybe I could call you in a few weeks?”

  “When Alice moves back to Copenhagen?”

  “I don't think that's going to happen.”

  “I see.” There was an edge to her voice. “So what is going to happen?”

  “I hate saying this, Jo.” He leaned back in the chair and looked to the ceiling. “Maybe it would be for the best.”

  “Oh for fuck’s sake, Ian. Stop bullshitting.”

  He clenched his fist until it hurt. “I don't want to end on bad terms.”

  “Afraid I’ll tell her?”

  Ian looked to the portrait of Alice again. “Let’s be adult about this, huh?”

  She said nothing for a moment, then she sighed. “Goodbye Ian. And thanks for all the room service champagne.”

  Before he could reply, she killed the call. He tossed the phone onto a pile of documents and started work on the email.

  97

  At 11:30 on Monday morning, Cole shifted from one foot to the other outside the ICU at Hammersmith Hospital. Either the Xanax he’d taken earlier hadn’t kicked in yet or he hadn’t taken enough. The nurse didn't smile like she usually did as she let him in, instead she nodded and avoided eye contact. When the implication dawned on him, Cole contemplated taking another pill, but he opted to wait and see how things went before taking any more. There was a good chance he’d need a higher dose later.

  Cole went to the bed where Daz lay, but there was no sign of the doctors. He took a seat and pulled close to Daz. If he hadn't known it was Daz in the bed, Cole would have had difficulty in recognising him.

  Daz was a strange colour. More yellow than he had been on Saturday. His lips were cracked and dry, like he’d been exposed to frosty weather. As Cole looked closer, he saw Daz’s facial muscles had relaxed, like Daz was melting into the pillow, and when Cole took Daz’s cold hand, the skin was brittle and stiff. The machines still beeped, but Cole was certain they sounded different. The longer he stared at what was left of Daz, the more the beeps sounded like bells.