by Cara Hunter
Somer frowns. ‘Are you in pain?’
The girl shakes her head again. She still hasn’t spoken.
Her mother sits down next to her and grasps her hand.
‘My name is Erica,’ says Somer, taking the armchair opposite. ‘I know this is difficult, but we really are just trying to help.’
The girl looks up briefly. There are tears still clinging to the clumps of her eyelashes.
‘Can you tell us what happened to you?’ says Somer gently. ‘The man who found you – Mr Mullins – he says you were very upset.’
Faith takes a deep shuddering breath. The tears start to fall and she doesn’t bother to wipe them away. Her mother grips her hand. ‘It’s OK, darling. Take your time.’
The girl glances at her and then drops her head again, pulling her hands into her sleeves. But not before Somer sees the grazes on her knuckles and the marks about her wrists. And though her nails are beautifully manicured, one of them is broken; a ragged spike that would draw blood if it caught her skin. She’s been home for hours and she still hasn’t filed it smooth. And that, more than anything else, with a girl as self-conscious as this, tells Somer something is badly wrong.
‘Your mum said you’re studying Fashion,’ she continues. ‘Is that what you want to do? Design clothes?’
The girl looks up at her. ‘Shoes,’ she says, her voice cracking a little. ‘I want to do shoes.’
Somer grins. ‘They’re my weakness too.’ She gestures at her boots. ‘As if you couldn’t guess.’
The girl doesn’t exactly smile, but there’s a sense of the tension easing. Even if only a little. And then she shivers suddenly. Even though the room is warm – too warm.
‘I think,’ says Somer, turning to Mrs Appleford, ‘that a cup of tea would actually be a good idea.’
The woman frowns. ‘She said she didn’t want any –’
‘I’ve had a lot of experience in dealing with people in shock, Mrs Appleford. Whatever it was that happened to your daughter, right now what she needs is hot tea with lots of sugar.’
Diane Appleford hesitates, then turns to the girl. ‘Will you be OK here for five minutes?’ she asks softly. ‘You can tell her to go whenever you want.’
Faith nods quickly. ‘It’s OK, Mum. Tea would be nice.’
Somer waits until the woman is safely out of the room before speaking again. Faith sits rigidly on the edge of the seat, her hands clenched between her knees.
‘You’re lucky to have a mum who looks out for you like that,’ says Somer. ‘I wish mine had.’
The girl looks up at her with a wan smile. ‘She worries about me, that’s all.’
‘That’s what mums are for.’
Faith shrugs. ‘I guess.’
‘But sometimes that makes it harder to talk about things. Especially difficult things. Because the more our family love us, the harder it is to say something we know will upset them.’
There’s colour in the girl’s face now, two red spots in her pale cheeks.
‘So, Faith,’ says Somer, leaning forward a little, ‘while there’s just the two of us, would you be able to tell me what happened to you?’
* * *
Ev turns sharply to find herself face to face with a girl with greasy dark hair and jeans with rips at the knees. A little shorter than Ev, a little heavier too. And without even thinking, the phrase that lodges in her mind is ‘no oil painting’. Everett’s own mother once said that about her, when she thought her daughter was out of earshot. Ev couldn’t have been more than ten at the time. She’d never even thought about her looks before, but once the damage was done it was impossible to go back. She started to notice how people reacted to girls she knew were prettier than her. She started to worry about what she wore, to feel she mattered less because she looked worse. And here she is now, thinking the same about someone else. She feels herself start to go red, as if she said the thought out loud. Did she judge Faith the same way, without even realizing she was doing it?
The girl is still staring at her, her face surly.
‘I’m sorry,’ Everett says quickly. ‘You’re Nadine, right?’
The girl doesn’t bother replying. ‘Did Faith say you could come in here? Don’t you need a warrant or something to poke about in people’s stuff?’
‘I wasn’t poking about – I came up for the loo and the door was open and –’
‘No, it wasn’t. She never leaves her room open. And I do mean never.’
There’s no answering that.
Nadine stands to one side and Everett makes her way past her, doubly embarrassed now. She’s never been a very good liar.
* * *
Downstairs in the sitting room, Somer is on her feet, putting her notebook back inside her jacket. When she sees Ev she gives a minute shake of the head. It seems the interview is over too.
Diane Appleford has her arm round her older daughter. ‘I only left her alone with you for five minutes and you start giving her the third degree.’
‘I wasn’t,’ says Somer, ‘really, I wasn’t –’
‘I told you already,’ she continues, cutting across her, ‘Faith said she was not assaulted. And that’s what she told you too, right?’
‘Yes, but –’
Faith’s cheeks are red and she’s staring at the floor.
‘In which case I’d like you to leave. All of you. I’m sure you have much more pressing things you should be doing. Like investigating some actual crime.’
Nadine appears in the doorway.
‘Darling, could you show the policewomen out?’ says Diane. ‘They’re leaving now.’
As she passes Faith, Somer makes sure they make eye contact. ‘You know where I am. If you want to talk.’
The girl bites her lip, then gives a tiny nod.
* * *
Out on the street Fawley is waiting by his car, looking at a piece of paper the size of a photograph. But when he sees them approaching, he hurriedly puts it away.
‘I’m guessing from your faces that we’re not much further forward.’
Somer shakes her head. ‘Sorry, sir. I was just starting to get somewhere when the mother came back with the tea and decided I was being too “intrusive”. Not sure how I could have questioned her without being at least mildly intrusive, but there you are.’ She shrugs.
‘But there was something, sir,’ says Everett. ‘Something Somer spotted.’
Fawley raises an eyebrow and turns to Somer. ‘Oh yes?’
‘It was as we were leaving,’ she says. ‘The girl’s hair. She’s in such a state I hadn’t noticed before, but when we were on our own, I noticed she kept pulling at it. On the right-hand side. I can’t be a hundred per cent sure but I think some of it is missing.’
* * *
Adam Fawley
1 April 2018
14.15
‘So what do you want us to do?’ says Baxter.
It’s just gone two and Everett is briefing the rest of the team on the Appleford case. Or rather the Appleford incident, which is all it’s ever going to be, unless and until we get a good deal more to go on. Which is pretty much what I say.
‘There’s not much we can do. Faith is claiming that it was all a misunderstanding. An April Fool’s joke that got “a bit out of hand”.’
‘Pretty nasty April Fool,’ says Quinn darkly, folding his arms. ‘And doesn’t yanking out someone’s hair without their consent count as ABH these days?’
‘It could have been cut,’ says Somer. ‘I couldn’t really see.’
I intervene. ‘Either way, Quinn is right: that’s ABH. But we’re still just guessing. Faith hasn’t actually said that’s what happened. And given she’s also refusing to say which of her friends was responsible –’
‘Pretty nasty friends too, if you ask me. To do something like that.’ It’s Quinn again. And I can’t be the only one who’s slightly wrong-footed by this sudden access of empathy on his part. I see Ev raise her eyebrows but thankfully no one actually says an
ything. I don’t want this promising new development strangled at birth.
‘Though it had to be a friend, didn’t it?’ says one of the other DCs. ‘I mean, you don’t get an April Fool’s played on you by a complete stranger, do you?’
‘But you can be raped by one,’ says Asante quietly.
There’s a silence, then Baxter repeats his question. Stolid first, last and in the middle. ‘So what do you want us to actually do?’
He’s frowning, and to be honest, I sympathize. This could well end up being a colossal waste of time. On the other hand, what if it happens again –
‘If a big case lands on us tomorrow, all bets are off, but in the meantime, I think it would be worth doing a bit of digging. Discreet digging. Let me be clear, Faith has done nothing wrong, and I don’t want it to look like we’re investigating the victim, but it’s possible a crime’s been committed and I don’t want someone getting away with that just because Faith is too frightened to talk to us, OK? So let’s start by talking to that minicab driver again – Mullins. Has he given a formal statement?’
‘No, sir,’ says Somer. ‘But we have his details. We can give him a call.’
‘Good. And check the speed cameras along the Marston Ferry Road – see if we can work out where she came from and whether there was anyone with her before Mullins picked her up. And ask that petrol station on the roundabout for their CCTV.’
‘Someone may have dropped her off,’ observes Somer. ‘Mullins said the heel had come off one of her shoes. She can’t have walked very far like that. Or very fast.’
One of the DCs points at Somer’s boots. ‘Been there, done that, eh, Somer?’ he says, grinning.
I wait a moment for the laughter to subside. ‘And let’s have a word with the FE college. See if we can identify any of Faith’s friends. Or if she’s been having problems with anyone.’
‘Girls that pretty aren’t always popular,’ observes Ev.
‘There could be a bloke in the mix,’ agrees Quinn. ‘Even if she really doesn’t have a boyfriend, someone else’s could have been showing too much interest. I mean, if she’s as gorgeous as you lot say.’ He runs one hand through his hair. He probably doesn’t even realize he’s doing it, though needless to say it doesn’t go unnoticed. Quinn always has put the ‘I’ into ‘eye candy’. Ev opens her mouth to say something, then with truly superhuman effort manages at the last minute not to. But I can see Somer grinning.
Baxter, meanwhile, still has his mind firmly on the job. ‘I can have a look at her online stuff too. Shouldn’t be hard to track down who she hangs out with.’
‘Good – do that. Asante, can you talk to Mullins, and Somer, I want you and Quinn to pick up on the college end.’
Somer looks concerned. ‘We’ll have to be careful though – you know what those places are like. The way gossip gets round.’
‘I’m sure you’ll think of something. Safety on the streets, if all else fails. And Somer – don’t change before you go.’
Her eyes widen. ‘OK, if you think it’ll help.’
I smile drily. ‘What I think is that it’s a fair bet Faith’s friends are studying Fashion too.’
And if that doesn’t work, there’s always the not-so-subtle charms of Detective Constable Gareth Quinn.
* * *
The FE college reminds Somer of the school she taught at for a few months before joining the police. The same slab of concrete and glass, the same scuffed grass and plasticky shrubs, the same tired old cars that make Quinn’s gleaming Audi look like a thoroughbred at a donkey derby. When they were still an item, Somer teased him once by playing that Shania Twain track about the guy who kisses his car goodnight, but wasn’t at all surprised when he completely failed to see the joke. Right now, he’s making a big show of parking next to a battered old Saab, and then takes an inordinate time locking up afterwards. Somer can see the looks they’re getting from the students, about evenly divided between the car (boys), and the driver (mostly girls, but not entirely). And that’s no surprise either. Quinn is tall, athletic and very good-looking, and he exudes confidence and self-belief. Even now, and despite what a shit he was to her after they broke up, Somer can still see the attraction. Though to be fair, he did eventually manage something as close to an apology as he ever probably gets. She’s heard rumours of a new girlfriend lately too.
Quinn finally finishes fiddling about with his car keys and walks round to join her.
‘So how do you want to play this?’
‘I was thinking about that. How about we start with the principal to get the background, and if she’s OK with it we can tell the students that we’re here to talk about taking proper care on the streets. Like Fawley suggested.’
Quinn makes a face. He likes Fawley, she knows that, and the DI’s had his back more than once, but Quinn’s nothing if not competitive and he’d much prefer to come up with an idea of his own. A better one. As if that needed saying.
‘How about we ask her?’ he says. ‘See if there’s anything that’s happened here recently that might justify CID turning up out of the blue. Drugs or something.’
And she has to admit, that is actually a rather better idea.
She looks around for a sign to the offices, but Quinn forestalls her.
‘Don’t worry,’ he says. ‘I’ll ask someone.’
Five minutes later she’s following Quinn and a student up the stairs towards the principal’s office. They’re taking the stairs because that will take longer and the student Quinn asked for directions just happens to have long blonde hair, a very short skirt and an apparently limitless readiness to be immensely impressed with anything Quinn says. He’s already talked her through two murder cases Somer knows for a fact he barely worked on, but she’s not about to rain on his charade. She just hopes the new girlfriend knows what she’s letting herself in for.
* * *
Interview with Neil Mullins, conducted at St Aldate’s Police Station, Oxford
1 April 2018, 4.15 p.m.
In attendance, DC A. Asante
AA: Thank you for coming in, Mr Mullins. Hopefully this shouldn’t take too long.
NM: It’s OK. It’s on my way home anyway. How is she – the girl?
AA: She’s very shaken up. We’re still trying to find out exactly what happened. That’s why we wanted to talk to you again. See if you remember anything else. Something you might not have mentioned before.
NM: Not as far as I know. It was like I said on the phone: I saw her walking ahead of me on the side of the road. Well, not so much walking – staggering really. That’s why I thought she was drunk.
AA: She had her back to you?
NM: Right. I was heading towards Marston and she was near the turn for that pub – the Victoria Arms.
AA: That’s a long way from any houses, isn’t it? Didn’t that seem odd to you?
NM: Yeah. I suppose it did. That’s why I slowed down. That’s when I noticed.
AA: Noticed what?
NM: The state she was in. Crying – make-up all over her face, clothes all torn. I thought she was bleeding to start with but I realized after that it was just mud. It was all over the bloody car.
AA: What was she wearing?
NM: Don’t you collect people’s clothes after something like this? They always do that on the telly.
AA: It’s just for the records, Mr Mullins. You know what it’s like.
NM: Tell me about it. I used to spend half my life on bloody paperwork – that’s why I switched to the cabs –
AA: The clothes, Mr Mullins?
NM: Yeah, right. Sorry. Some sort of blue jacket. Denim, I think. A white top underneath but I couldn’t really see much of that. Those sandal things, like I said. And a short black skirt.
AA: Did she have a handbag – any sort of bag?
NM: No. Definitely no bag.
AA: What happened when you stopped?
NM: I leant across and asked her if she was OK – if she needed any help. Pretty bloody stupid
question – I mean, of course she wasn’t OK –
AA: What did she say?
NM: She sort of staggered towards me and asked if I could take her home.
AA: But she didn’t mind getting into your car? She wasn’t frightened of you?
NM: I suppose it being a cab and all that, she thought it was OK. And to be honest I think she was more concerned about getting the hell out of there. Though she wouldn’t get in the front with me – she’d only sit in the back. And she had the window wound all the way down even though it was bloody freezing.
AA: So she could call for help if she needed to?
NM: I suppose so. I hadn’t really thought about it.
AA: Did she say anything at all about what happened?
NM: No. I mean, I didn’t like to – you know – be too pushy. I said I was taking her straight to the cop shop and she started panicking and saying no, she didn’t want anything to do with the police, and then I said the JR then, but she didn’t want the hospital either. So I just took her where she said she wanted to go.
AA: Rydal Way?
NM: Right. I thought afterwards that it must have been why she was walking that way. She was trying to get home.
AA: And was there anyone there when you got there? Anyone in the house?
NM: Dunno. She went round the back.
AA: You didn’t mention that before.
NM: Sorry. I didn’t think it was important.
AA: You said before that she didn’t have a bag with her. Could she have had her keys in her pocket?
NM: I suppose so, I didn’t really think about it.
AA: But you definitely think she was able to get in?
NM: Oh yeah. She said she could go and get me some money if I waited but I said it was fine. She didn’t need to pay. She was crying, when she got out. Poor little cow.
* * *
Sasha Blake puts down her pen and closes her notebook. She’s sitting cross-legged on her bed, music on low in the background. The pen has a feather on the end and the notebook is pale blue, with a scatter of white flowers across the front. She likes the sheen of the pages, the feel of the book in her hand, but the real reason she chose it was because it’s small enough to fit in her bag. She knows better than to leave it lying about anywhere, that’s for sure. She loves her mum, she really does, and she knows she wouldn’t snoop deliberately, but no mother has the sort of willpower you would need to stumble across a book like this and not read what’s inside. Isabel gets round it by using code, and Patsie sticks everything on her phone, but Sasha likes being able to write things down. It makes it easier to demuddle her thoughts – helps her work through what to do. But her mum wouldn’t get that. She’d think everything in the book was true. And it is, in a way. Just not the way her mum would understand.
