by Max Manning
Norton wondered what the boyfriend would think if he knew the truth about what had passed between him and Gem that night. The chemistry he’d felt had been unexpected but, at the same time, undeniable. He’d frightened her, but not in a bad way. She’d never admit it, at least not until he had had the chance to explain, but she’d felt something too. He had no doubt about it.
She’d done everything he had asked her to do, without complaint. She’d submitted to his will, and he hadn’t wanted to hurt her. Not really. She’d even promised not to call the police.
When he’d pressed close to her, he’d felt something stir. It wasn’t purely physical. There was so much more to it than that. Then the stupid bitch had to go and spoil it, didn’t she? He’d had to punish her for her transgression. What else could he have done?
Norton rubbed the stubble on his cheeks and chin with his fingers. He’d been growing it for only three days, but it was already thickening nicely. A beard was a quick and easy way to alter his appearance.
Everyone makes mistakes, and he was prepared to give Gem another chance. Lucky for her, he happened to be that kind of person. The boyfriend posed a problem, but problems can be solved if you’re prepared to do what’s necessary. Nothing and nobody would be allowed to come between Norton and Gem. She wanted him. She just didn’t know it yet.
He stood up, dusted himself down, and flexed his back. The couple had emerged from behind a clump of tress and were making their way toward the park’s Lansdowne Drive exit. They were walking slowly, arm in arm.
Norton snorted a humorless laugh and followed.
The Detective
Sitting in his car outside the Victorian terraced house, Day pulled his phone from his jacket pocket and fired off a one-word text message to his wife: Here.
Walking up to the doorstep, knocking, and engaging in polite but extremely awkward conversation was out of the question. He couldn’t trust himself to behave in a civilized manner. Not yet. Maybe never. He’d arranged to see his boy, take him out for the day. He didn’t want to set eyes on—or worse still, have to talk to—anyone else in that house.
The front door opened slightly. Tom slipped out, ran to the car, and slid into the passenger seat. Day reached out a hand and ruffled his son’s hair. It had been only a week since he’d seen his boy, but he looked at least an inch taller.
“I don’t know what they’re feeding you, but it’s working,” he said.
Tom beamed. “Where are we going, Dad?”
Day shrugged. “Well, we’ve got plenty of time. I’ve got to bring you back by 5:30 p.m. I thought we might go to Greenwich Park, walk up the hill, then find somewhere nice to eat lunch. What do you think?”
Tom sniffed and rubbed his nose with the back of his hand. “Sounds boring. Why can’t we go bowling or something and have a burger? I’m starving.”
Day started the engine and pulled away from the curb into a gap in the slow-moving traffic. “It will be good for both of us to stretch our legs,” he said. “A walk will give us a chance to have a chat.”
Tom didn’t argue. He sat in silence until a set of lights up ahead turned red and Day braked to a halt.
“Dad?”
“What?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course. I can’t guarantee I’ll give you an answer though.”
“Are you and Mum going to get divorced?”
Day’s throat tightened, and he swallowed hard. This wasn’t the sort of chat he’d had in mind. “No. I mean, I don’t know what’s going to happen. We’ll have to sort things out when we’re ready.”
Tom frowned. “Rob said you and Mum will have to get divorced. That you won’t have any choice.”
The lights changed, and the traffic started to move again. Day stared ahead, gripping the steering wheel so tight, his fingers turned white. Who the hell gives a fuck what Rob thinks? Nobody with any sense, that’s who. What the hell does that miserable asshole think he’s doing, discussing stuff like that with my twelve-year-old son?
He looked across at Tom, forcing a smile. “Nothing’s been decided yet. When it has, then we’ll make sure you know what’s going on. I promise. It’s between Mum and me, and we’ll sort it out. It’s got nothing to do with that, with him, with…” Day faltered. He couldn’t bring himself to utter the man’s name.
13
Fight
Gem the Warrior
Gem had been expecting the doorbell to ring, but the double chime still startled her. She walked down the hall, feeling more nervous than she’d expected. She and Drew had lain in bed talking into the early hours about the wisdom—or otherwise—of agreeing to be interviewed.
Drew had argued that talking to a reporter about what had happened would be a huge mistake, whipping up interest in something they’d be better off putting behind them. Mark my words, he’d warned her. You feed one hungry wolf and it won’t be long before the rest of the pack closes in.
Reluctantly, in the end, he’d accepted that Gem wasn’t going to change her mind. She believed that no matter how difficult it might be, speaking out about the attack was the right thing to do. If it helped just one person unfortunate enough to find themselves in the same situation, then it’d be worth it.
She opened the door to the half smile of a man wearing a smart gray suit with a white shirt and red tie, the whole ensemble slightly out of kilter with his unruly mop of dark hair. She estimated him to be about her age, maybe younger.
“Matt Revell, a reporter for the Daily News,” he said. “I spoke to you on the phone about an interview.”
Backing away a fraction and tilting his head, he gave Gem the impression that he half expected her to have had a change of heart and had prepared himself to be disappointed.
“Of course,” she said, waving him in. She led the way to the living room and sat down on one of the two white leather armchairs. After a moment’s hesitation, the reporter perched on the edge of the sofa.
“Thank you so much for agreeing to do this,” he said. “It’s a fantastic story. I know the police have already told you that speaking out could assist with the investigation, but it could also help other people who find themselves in the horrible predicament that you did.”
As a public relations executive, Gem dealt with journalists all the time, but this was different. She was the story. She knew the reporter would be hoping for plenty of gory details and an angle that would get the story splashed across the front page. If he didn’t get exactly what he wanted, then he wouldn’t be averse to a little spin.
“Would you like a coffee?” she asked.
“If it’s okay with you, I’d rather get started straightaway.” Revell pulled a digital recorder from his jacket pocket, switched it on, and slid it onto the oak coffee table between them.
Gem stared at the device.
“We record everything nowadays,” Revell said. “It protects us both from any dispute about what was and what wasn’t said, and it’s much easier than scribbling down everything in shorthand. I never could get the hang of that.”
“Of course, I’m happy about being recorded. I think this is an important story and I want it to be reported accurately. I don’t want my words spun, or angled in a way that distorts the truth. You understand that, don’t you?”
Revell raised his eyebrows and gave her a look that suggested the thought had never crossed his mind before reaching out and nudging the recorder slightly closer to Gem’s side of the table.
“I already know the nuts and bolts of what happened. What I’m really interested in is the fact that you fought back against a violent attacker. Fought back and won.”
Gem ran her hands along the arms of her chair and dug her fingertips into the leather. This was going to be harder than she’d thought. She lifted a hand to her neck and slid her fingertips gently across the skin. The bruises had faded, but her
throat was still tender.
“It’s hard to describe how terrified I was. He said he had a knife. The truth is, I had no idea what to do. No one ever tells you how to react when you’re attacked. You know this type of thing happens all the time, but you never let yourself imagine that it’s going to happen to you.”
“Did you see the knife?”
Gem shook her head.
The reporter held up a hand. “Sorry, but could you please say yes or no for the recorder?”
Gem nodded. “Yes. Sorry, I mean I’m not sure if I actually saw the knife, but he told me he had one, and why wouldn’t I believe it?”
Revell sat back in his seat, but only for a second. He edged forward again, eager to ask his next question. “When did you decide that you were going to put up a struggle? That you were going to risk everything and fight back?”
Gem paused for a moment and took a deep breath, her mind a jumble of shadowy images. “I don’t think I actually decided anything. I panicked and didn’t know what to do. I’d heard such conflicting advice about how to react in those situations and had never thought it through. I was so badly prepared. I had no idea what to do.”
The shrill sound of the house telephone ringing in the hall interrupted them. Revell smiled. “Do you want to get that?”
Gem hadn’t been expecting a call. Drew always phoned her cell. She shook her head, and they waited in silence until the ringing stopped. Revell jumped straight in with another question.
“Can you remember when and why you fought back against an obviously very violent, extremely dangerous attacker? Weren’t you worried that it would make things worse? That you might end up getting seriously hurt, or worse?”
Gem rubbed her hands back and forth on the arms of her chair as she recalled the terror she had felt that night, the feel of her attacker’s hands on her body, his fingers tightening around her throat.
“I knew that if I resisted, I could make things worse, of course, but I was also frightened about what he would do to me if I submitted. He said he wouldn’t harm me, that he was only interested in the car, but there was something about him that made me feel he wanted to hurt me, whether I did what he said or not.” Gem could hear herself breathing and took a moment to compose herself.
“You decided to fight rather than surrender because you thought your life was in danger either way?”
Gem shook her head, then remembered what Revell had said about the recorder. “No. It’s not as simple as that. I told you before, I don’t think I made a decision to fight. Not consciously. It just happened. I don’t know what it was. Something deep inside, instinct maybe.” She paused again and made an effort to breathe slowly.
Revell sat back on the sofa and stayed there. “Take your time,” he said. “You’re doing great. If you can remember exactly what you did, how you got away, that would be good.”
Gem could remember. It was all there, every detail, inside her head. She had tried to bury the memory, but it always resurfaced, like a recurring nightmare. What she couldn’t do was forget. That’s what she wanted. What she longed for. She desperately needed these memories erased. They were doing more than scaring her. They were changing her. Eating away at her confidence, her strength. She’d never known her father, but she’d been brought up to be strong. Be fierce, her mother had told her. Be fierce and better yourself. She’d stood up to the carjacker; she’d been fierce. But since that night, the memories, the flashbacks, the thought of what might have happened had shaken her confidence. The last thing she wanted was for what happened to change her for the worse, and she’d told Drew that speaking out publicly might be the first step to forgetting.
“He pressed me against the car and rubbed the top of my thigh with his hand. I could hear his breathing getting faster. That’s when I thought—well, knew—that he wasn’t going to leave me alone and take the car. He put his hand over my mouth to stop me screaming. I bit him. Hard. He got mad and tried to strangle me. He was so strong, I almost blacked out. I went for his weak spot, dug my nails into his wounded fingers, and it worked. I ran to the car, got in, and locked the doors.”
Revell waited for her to go on, but she stayed silent. He prompted her. “Then you started the engine and drove the car right at him. Ran him down because you wanted to punish him for what he’d done to you. You wanted revenge.”
Gem frowned. What’s he suggesting? she thought. That doesn’t make sense. Where had this come from? Surely the police don’t think I ran the attacker down deliberately. She was considering how to respond when the telephone rang again.
This time, she welcomed the interruption. She stood up. “Sorry, better get this one,” she said. She picked up the receiver. “Hello?” No one answered, but she sensed a presence on the end of the line. “Hello, can you hear me?”
The silence was broken by the faintest whisper of breath.
“Hello?” Still, no answer came. “What do you want? Stop calling me.” She slammed the phone down and returned to the armchair.
Revell had switched the recorder off. He quickly reached forward and pressed the Power button. “Do you want me to repeat the last question?”
Gem didn’t answer straightaway. Her thoughts were still on the telephone call. She could have sworn someone had been there. She looked down at the red light flashing on the recorder and then back at Revell.
“Saying that I ran him down because I wanted revenge is spinning it a bit too far. I didn’t intentionally drive at him. I don’t think I did anyway. I didn’t want to hurt him. I’m not like that. But he got in my way, and I wasn’t going to stop. My only thought was to get out of that parking lot as quickly as possible. He tried to prevent me from driving off. Jumped in front of the car. I put my foot down, but I didn’t really mean to hit him. Don’t expect me to feel sorry for him though. The bastard can’t have been hurt that badly, because he got up and walked away, didn’t he?”
The reporter looked at her for a moment. She could tell he either didn’t believe her or didn’t want to believe her.
“Surely there must have been some satisfaction, some feeling of justice being done when you saw him go down?”
That was true, of course. She hadn’t intended to use the car as a weapon, but the moment of impact, the thud, had felt good. Gem was media savvy enough to understand that admitting this to Revell might not be sensible.
“I think we’ve been through everything,” she said. “It’s not been an easy experience for me, and I’m pretty tired.”
Revell had a lot of good stuff, enough to blow every rival newspaper out of the water, but it was obvious from his pained expression that he wasn’t quite ready to leave.
“One last question, if that’s okay?” Gem didn’t refuse straightaway, so he carried on. “Based on your experience as a victim of an extremely violent crime, what advice would you give to women who find themselves in the same situation? Submit? Or should they follow your example and resist?”
Gem closed her eyes and dropped her chin to her chest. The question was impossible to answer, dangerous even. She desperately wanted to help women who found themselves in the situation she had, but she didn’t know how to, and that made her angry. She felt like shouting her answer at the top of her voice, grabbing the recorder off the coffee table and hurling it at Revell’s head. She took a moment to compose herself and think carefully before meeting the reporter’s gaze.
“First, this isn’t an issue that only applies to women, you know. Far from it. Men often suffer violence, and they have the same decision to make. Second, I don’t think I can give anyone advice about what they should do if attacked. Even the so-called expert advice seems contradictory. Each situation is different, each attacker is different. Only you can assess the danger you are in and the best course of action. But you could think carefully about what you might do if it happens, maybe attend self-defense classes, give yourself options. Be ready.”
Revell blinked hard, nodded, and reached for the recorder. “That’s great. Perfect. I’ve got a snapper waiting outside to take a couple of pictures.”
“Wait a second,” Gem said. “Leave the recorder on.”
She had fought off her attacker, and that was a positive thing. It should make her even stronger, but as the days passed, she felt more vulnerable than ever. She still had a fight on her hands, and she thought that if she said it, then maybe it would be true.
“There is one more thing I want to say. I want to make it clear that I’m not a victim. I’ve been victimized by my attacker, of course, but I refuse to be a victim.”
After Revell and the photographer had gone, Gem poured herself a white wine and put her feet up. It was early in the afternoon but not too early. She had drunk half the glass when the telephone rang again. She ran into the hall and snatched it up.
“Hello. Hello? Who is this? Hello?”
Gem’s breath caught in her throat. Silence. But not dead silence.
14
Surrender
The Detective
Day sat at his desk and flicked through a hard copy of the Gem Golding file. His team was struggling to make progress on the case. The electronic facial identification technique, or e-fit, of the suspect sent out to newspapers and television had sparked a flurry of calls to the hotline, but all the leads fizzled out.
If they didn’t get a breakthrough soon, he’d have to consider putting the investigation on the back burner. He grabbed the telephone and dialed through to the press office. The call was answered immediately. Day had dealt with Helen Moody on a couple of murder cases and admired her no-nonsense approach.
“Just the person I need,” he said. “I wanted a word about the Gem Golding carjacking.”
“Hang on a minute while I get the folder up on my screen.”
Day heard her fingers skipping lightly across a keyboard and pictured Moody at her desk, the phone wedged under her chin, her lips pursed in concentration.
