Detectives Merry & Neal Books 1-3

by JANICE FROST

  In fact, the lounge that Roxy led Ava in to was far tidier than she would have expected the average student flat-share to be. It did smell of stale cigarette smoke and the carpet looked like it hadn’t seen the vacuum cleaner for some time, but it was otherwise orderly and a bit sparse. Obviously Roxy and her flatmates would spend a lot of time in their own rooms, using this one mainly for socialising.

  “What’s this about then?” Roxy asked, guardedly. Ava came straight to the point.

  “Roxy, I think it was you who sent an anonymous letter to the police tipping us off that Professor Christopher Taylor was having an affair with Amy Hill, the girl who was murdered and found on the South Common.”

  Roxy took out a roll-up and lit it. “Say it was me, would I be in some kind of trouble?”

  “Not really. It’s not a particularly serious allegation to accuse a lecturer of messing about with one of his students. Did you send the letter, Roxy?”

  “Have you told Taylor about it?”

  “He only knows that an anonymous letter was received. He denies any sort of relationship with Amy Hill. I should tell you that he does have a rock solid alibi for the night she died.”

  “Why am I not surprised?”

  “Do you have reason to suspect that Taylor was involved in Amy’s murder, Roxy?” Ava watched Roxy closely for signs of hesitation. The girl took a deep drag on her cigarette and the cuff of her long-sleeved tee-shirt rode up slightly revealing a cluster of scars just above her wrist. She must have caught Ava looking, for she tugged her sleeve down, hastily tucking the cuff under her fingers.

  “I don’t do that anymore,” she said.

  No, Ava thought, you’re tarring up your lungs instead. But you’re still punishing yourself. What for?

  “It’s okay. I’m not here to judge or to pry,” she reassured the girl. “If you have any information about Professor Taylor that you think might be relevant to our investigation into Amy’s death, that’s all I want to hear about.”

  “How did you find me?”

  Ava explained about her enquiries in Sheffield.

  “I could walk past the women in the community I used to be a part of and they wouldn’t give me a second glance. Except Rukhsana, of course.” Ava nodded.

  “You mean they wouldn’t recognise you?”

  “That’s right, just like he didn’t have a clue who I was when I stood right next to him in the queue in the diner in my first week at the uni.”

  “I take it you mean Professor Taylor?”

  “He was plain old Mr Taylor when I first knew him. ‘Call me Chris,’ he used to say and we called him, ‘Mr Chris.’ We were so bloody polite. Of course, it had been four years since he last saw me, and my appearance had changed just a bit,” she said wryly. “My own mother wouldn’t have known me. And believe me, compared to how I looked when I was eighteen, I’m a conservative dresser.”

  Ava did the maths. Roxy was a postgraduate student, so around twenty-two or twenty-three. “You were fourteen when Taylor was your English tutor?”

  “Only just.”

  “Did he behave inappropriately towards you?” Ava asked, carefully.

  “Yes,” Roxy answered without hesitation. “For a long time I felt — and was made to feel — that what happened was somehow my fault. I know better now.” She looked at Ava defiantly. “Right?”

  It wasn’t the first time that Ava had come face to face with a victim of sexual abuse, but it was the first time she had encountered one so defiant. Then she thought of the scars, the makeover, saw the way Roxy was holding herself rigidly against a sudden lapse of self-control. On a sudden impulse, Ava leaned over and touched the thin Asian girl on the arm; just the lightest touch but it dissolved the tension between them. That’s how easy it was then, Ava thought, to be spontaneously compassionate, just like Neal could be.

  Roxy asked, “You’re sure his alibi is watertight?”

  “He was in London on the night of the murder. With a bunch of students who all testify that he went to the Globe Theatre with them, then on to a nightclub until three in the morning. There’s no way he could have killed Amy.”

  “Then why are you here?”

  Ava sighed. She had asked herself time and again why she was pursuing this angle, when Taylor’s alibi eliminated him so definitively from guilt. She looked at Roxy. The girl’s eyes were heavily made up with shades of grey and black kohl, two flicks like wings at the outside edge of each eye giving her a look that was both exotic and classically punk. Still, she looked startlingly young. In the photograph of her at fourteen, she had looked prepubescent.

  “Even if he didn’t kill Amy, I couldn’t shake the feeling that he’s involved somehow, and now at least I know he’s guilty of something.”

  “You want me to tell you what he did to me, don’t you? You want me to make a statement and go to court and have him charged with being a paedophile.” Roxy’s dark brown eyes challenged Ava to deny it.

  “You’re probably not his only victim, Roxy. If you come forward, others might follow. We can get him the punishment he deserves.”

  “You’ve fucked him, haven’t you?” Startled by the directness of the question, Ava could only nod.

  “Maybe the good professor’s predilection for young girls has changed. Or, maybe he’s still too clever to get caught. He had a girlfriend in her twenties when he was fucking me, just for show, I suppose.”

  “He raped you.”

  “That’s one way of putting it. There were some who saw it somewhat differently.”

  “You were under the age of consent. It was rape.”

  “I brought disgrace upon my family.” There was an edge to Roxy’s voice.

  “No, Roxy, you didn’t.”

  Roxy laughed, “You’re fucking right, I didn’t. Do you know how many hours of counselling it took for me to start believing that? And that was after I’d run away from home because my family saw me as unclean and wanted to send me off to a country I’d never visited to stay with relatives I’d never met and marry a half-witted second cousin with a face like a rat’s arse.”

  “Don’t you want Taylor to pay for what he did to you, for taking your life away from you, making it so hard for you to find a way to survive? I know I would.”

  “It’s more complicated than that.”

  Ava waited for an explanation. It was all she could do to contain her frustration. She wanted results and she wanted them quickly.

  “Plenty of people have told me I should do what you suggest, go to the police; expose my abuser for what he is. I never revealed his identity to anyone before. I never thought you’d be able to track me down from an anonymous note. You’re obviously in the right job, Detective.”

  Ava accepted the compliment with a nod.

  “I could have ruined his career, his reputation, stopped him from getting to other young girls.”

  Ava’s patience was tipped over the edge, “Why didn’t you?”

  As if provoked to vent her anger, Roxy rolled up the sleeve of her T-shirt and revealed the scars that zigzagged all the way up to her elbow. Despite herself, Ava flinched from the sight of such terrible self-mutilation.

  “Like I told you, I don’t do this anymore, and I know I’m not to blame for what Taylor did to me. I’m not the same person I was and, do you know what, I’m glad of that. I’ve got a new life now; I’m in control, I’m in charge, no one tells me what I can and can’t do. My family did me a big favour telling me they were ashamed of me; it allowed me to discover things about myself that I might never have known: what I could achieve, who I might love. And I have found someone to love, you know? Her name’s Tanya and my family wouldn’t approve of that either.”

  Ava was confused. Was Roxy trying to say that Taylor had done her a backhanded favour by releasing her from the expectations of family and culture? As if reading her mind, Roxy said, “And no, it’s not what you’re thinking, that I owe him for setting me free or anything like that. These hideous scars are a daily remin
der of just how much he damaged me. Fuck, I’m not going to say something pathetic and corny like, ‘the scars inside are still there,’ but that’s pretty much what it amounts to. Selfish or not, I’ve no desire to revisit what happened to me, let alone stand up in court and announce it to the whole world.”

  Ava was silent for a few moments because she genuinely did not know what to say, then she leaned forward and forced Roxy to look her in the eye.

  “Did you know Amy Hill, Roxy? Did you warn her what Taylor’s like?” There was no doubt that the question unnerved the truculent, vulnerable woman in front of Ava. She looked like someone whose guilty secret had just been exposed.

  “Have you been keeping a watchful eye on him? Is that why you chose to study at Stromford, the last place on earth you’d be expected to choose, given Taylor’s presence here? You’re not selfish at all, are you? You’ve been trying to protect other potential victims from a sexual predator.” Ava leaned back, convinced she’d hit the nail on the head.

  “You’re good,” Roxy conceded. “But there’s a slight twist in Amy’s case.”

  “Go on.”

  “Taylor started seeing her when she was fifteen. Amy wasn’t naïve like I was; Taylor wasn’t her first sexual partner, although I think he was the first who wasn’t of an age with her. She was besotted with him. What girl wouldn’t be — you fucked him, right? Never did anything for me, mind, but then my tastes lie elsewhere as I’ve said. Yes, I warned her off him, but she laughed me off, told me she knew exactly what she was doing and she considered herself old enough to give her consent whatever the law maintained.”

  Ava said, “I take it his interest in her was short lived?”

  “Yes, and he must have realised how stupid it was of him to have picked a local girl.”

  “How did Amy react?”

  “She was furious. She came to me with a plan, saying that she was going to blackmail him and that she would use my name — my former name — as leverage. I warned her not to be stupid, but Amy was a stubborn girl. The most I could do was beg her not to reveal my new identity or whereabouts, which she agreed to.”

  Something Anna Foster had said about Amy Hill’s selfish behaviour towards her mother popped into Ava’s head. Richard Turner had hinted that Amy was ‘on the wild side,’ not easy to control, that despite Nancy’s having tried to keep her on a very tight leash, she had rebelled and spent evenings, sometimes whole nights, away from home. In her own way, she too had been straining at the restraints of family and convention, and when the story of her murder was told, if her killer were caught, she too would be judged harshly and her status as victim diminished as people judged her by her behaviour. The two cultures were not so different after all.

  A current of anger shot through Ava. At the same time she felt exasperated. If Amy had been blackmailing Taylor for money to pay for designer clothes and visits to beauty spas, that gave him a possible motive for murder. He might have feared an escalation in her demands, particularly as he was set to become considerably richer if his boasts about publishing houses bidding for his novel had any substance. Damn the man and his perfect alibi.

  The intensity of their conversation was broken suddenly by the sound of the front door banging and a cheery voice calling “Roxy! You home?” A punky young woman strode into the room.

  “Fuck’s sake, Rox, haven’t you got the fire on? It’s as cold as a witch’s tit in here.”

  “It’s been condemned. Bloke came this morning to do a service. He’s going to get in touch with the university accommodation office and let them know.”

  “Who’s your friend?” the woman asked, noticing Ava for the first time.

  “This is Detective Sergeant Ava Merry. She’s investigating Amy Hill’s murder.” Turning to Ava, she said, “This is my partner, Tanya. She knows everything.”

  Tanya said, “Are you going to arrest that bastard professor?”

  “He has an alibi,” answered Roxy.

  “Then have you come to your senses at last and decided to report what he did to you to the police?” Roxy shot her girlfriend a look that required little interpretation. Ava decided to take her leave. “You have my card,” she said to Roxy, “Stay in touch.” It was Tanya who showed her out.

  Chapter 20

  Neal was still sitting in the driver’s seat waiting for Ava twenty minutes after parking his car in a side street close to the address Ileana had given him for Maya. He had texted Ava straight after leaving Anna Foster’s shop, and half expected her to be at the meeting point before him. She was only coming from the station, after all. From his radio, he knew that there had been no incidents to hold up the traffic more than usual. This was the second time Ava had turned up late; last time it had been a bogus emergency dental appointment. What would be her excuse this time, he wondered?

  As he was wondering and drumming his fingers unconsciously on the steering wheel, he saw a flash of red in his left wing mirror and as he looked over his shoulder, Ava’s Ford Fiesta pulled into the space behind his. “At last,” he muttered under his breath, stepping out of the car.

  * * *

  “Explain later,” he said, as Ava joined him on the pavement, mouth open to speak, expression apologetic. “I’ve tracked down Simon Foster. Follow me.” His voice was stern, but driving here, he had been in the grip of an excitement he had not felt so far on this case: the familiar buzz of knowing that finally he had a lead that just might open the whole thing up. As they descended the two terraced streets to Maya’s address, he explained about his conversation with Ileana outside Anna’s shop. He had hoped the news would prove as thrilling to Ava as it had to him, but she seemed distracted, her only comment being that it was a ‘solid lead.’ Perhaps she was feeling guilty about her tardiness. Well, with good reason.

  They were heading for a mid-terrace house in an area of town that was populated by an eclectic mix of students, recent immigrants and low earners unable, in the present climate, to get a foot on the property ladder. The houses had been bought up by the dozen a few years before the recession hit, when the university was still in its planning stages and prices in the county were below the average for the rest of England — as indeed they still tended to be. Neal thought of his own comfortable house in the more sought-after Uphill area, which would have been out of his price range in many other parts of the country.

  Despite the paucity of architectural styles (every street looked the same, row after row of terraced houses) and the lack of landscaping (not a tree in sight), numerous interesting, small, independent businesses were thriving. A Chinese supermarket, Polish and other Eastern European food shops and an Indian takeaway were testimony to the growing diversity of the city’s burgeoning population.

  “Here it is,” Neal said, pausing outside the number he had been given by Ileana. Net curtains at the window obscured the room within, but Neal thought he caught the shadow of a figure moving. Or was it just his eager imagination playing tricks? After knocking three times and receiving no response, they slipped round to the back of the house, via a narrow passageway, to a small backyard that offered a view through the kitchen window to the living room beyond.

  Ava said, “Two up, two down. Think he’s hiding upstairs?” Rather optimistically, she tried the door handle, forgetting for the moment that they had no right to enter uninvited. Above them, the upstairs curtains were open, but there was little light on this side of the house this late in the afternoon and besides, unless Simon stood by the window and waved, there was no way of knowing if he were inside. Neal gave a frustrated grunt.

  “He’s in there, I’m sure of it,” Neal called out, looking up at the bedroom window, “Simon! Open the door, or I’ll have this place surrounded and be back with a warrant.”

  Neal looked around, amazed that his yelling had not produced an army of nosy neighbours across the walls marking out the boundaries between the back yards. Then it hit him; of course, to a lot of people in this area, the police weren’t friends and protectors. So
me of them probably had good reason to fear or at least be suspicious of a police presence so near their back door. He wished he could reassure them, but the truth was, arrests in this area tended to be more numerous than elsewhere in the city, and besides, today he was not on a mission to bolster police and community relations.

  “Sir!” Ava’s cry jolted him, despite his already heightened tension. “Round the front!” Neal didn’t stop to question how his sergeant had heard the front door open and close; he was hot on her heels as she bolted past him.

  Back out front, ahead of them, a young lad was racing along the pavement, not stopping to look back. They took up the chase, Ava in the lead before she started to drag her left leg. Before long she was limping outright. Neal ran past her when she was forced to stop, catching a flash of the pain and anger in her eyes.

  Foster was fast, Neal gave him that, but Neal was faster; he did not carry his fitness routine to extremes like Ava, but his running and trips to the gym kept him in shape. Simon had soon slowed to a virtual halt. Neal could hear his laboured breathing long before the boy doubled over, gasping for breath.

  Out of puff himself, Neal stopped alongside him and read him his rights, cuffing him as he did so. Walking Simon back along the street in silence, Neal saw Ava, still red with anger (and possibly shame), struggling to her feet.

  “Leave your car here. You can’t drive on that foot,” Neal said, no hint of pity in his voice. He was about to order her to have her ankle seen to by a properly qualified practitioner, when he caught the look of pain on her face and checked himself. Leading Simon Foster by the arm, he could offer her no assistance as she limped back to his car.

  * * *

  Back at the station, Simon was placed in an interview room while Neal briefed Ava on his conversations with Anna Foster and Ileana.

  “It seemed a bit too much of a coincidence that they ended up in the same town,” Ava commented. “Did Simon find out about his sister before Anna had a chance to discuss it with him and Nancy?”

  Neal said, “Nancy turned up unexpectedly at Anna Foster’s book group on a night that Simon just happened to be there. She didn’t expect Simon to recognise her, but seeing Nancy again must have awoken some long-suppressed memory in him.”