by Cara Hunter
He’s holding my gaze now, watching my reaction. And that last comment was definitely a message, and a pretty thinly veiled one at that. This man is Fleet Street.
‘As I said, we have no reason to believe there is any link between these incidents. Should that situation change, we will, of course, make an announcement at the appropriate time.’
Hands are going up all over the room now, but Knitted Tie isn’t giving up that easily.
‘That first incident – is it true the victim was abducted in a van?’
A pause. Only two heartbeats, but that’s one too many.
‘Yes,’ I say. ‘We believe a van was involved.’
You can almost hear the intake of breath. The woman in the front row glares at me. Everyone else is scrambling to write all this down. Everyone apart from Knitted Tie. He couldn’t make it any clearer: all I’ve just done is confirm something he already knew.
The questions are machine-gunning now, no one is bothering to wait their turn.
‘What sort of van?’
‘Who was this girl?’
‘Why didn’t we know about this before?’
I hold up a hand. ‘As I said, we have no reason –’
‘– to believe there’s a connection,’ says Knitted Tie, who’s still on his feet. ‘I know. I heard you the first time. But surely any reasonable person would think it was at least worth checking –’
‘We are,’ I say, quickly. Too quickly. I shouldn’t show how rattled I am. ‘But, as I’m sure you’re aware, I am not at liberty to divulge any information that might compromise an active investigation.’
He nods, a nasty smile spreading slowly across his mouth. ‘But presumably we can take it as read that this “checking” of yours also extends to other incidents employing a similar MO?’
I turn to fully face him. I can still see Harrison out of the corner of my eye, staring at me. Because I’m on thin ice here, and he and I both know it. I can’t lie, but there’s no bloody way I’m telling this pushy git of a journalist any more than I absolutely have to.
‘Of course.’
He nods slowly. ‘And that would include past cases too, I take it? Even – theoretically – those officially classed as closed?’
He stops; raises an eyebrow. Goads me.
‘DI Fawley has given you your answer,’ says Harrison quickly. ‘I think this would be a good moment to bring things to a close. And let me remind you all that our sole priority – my sole priority – is to find Sasha Blake safe and well and reunite her with her family. And, in the meantime, we would ask you to respect Mrs Blake’s privacy, at this very anxious time.’
It takes five minutes to clear the room. And throughout that whole time I feel the journalist’s eyes on me.
He knows. Of course he bloody knows. But he hasn’t got enough to go on. Not yet.
Back in reception, I see him go up to a woman who’s clearly been waiting for him. The two of them speak for a moment then walk away towards the door, their heads bent together. The woman has light-brown hair twisted into a clip at the back of her head. Crisp, anonymous clothes, which sit oddly with her heavy crêpe-soled boots. She looks vaguely familiar.
And not in a good way.
* * *
‘Why wasn’t I told?’ Fiona Blake is so angry she can barely speak. Fury is crackling round her like static.
Somer opens her mouth and closes it again. She can understand the anger; she’s just not sure how it’s going to help. She glances round nervously to check who’s in earshot: there’s always one or two press who think they might get a scoop if they hang about and eavesdrop. She takes Fiona’s arm and steers her back down the corridor to the witness suite. As soon as the door closes Fiona yanks her arm away and turns on her.
‘You got me to sit up there, in front of all those – those – vultures – answering their questions – letting them poke about in my life – and you didn’t even tell me there’d been another girl?’
‘I know it must look that way, but –’
‘But what? But what?’
Somer hesitates. ‘The other incident. We were working on the basis that it was a hate crime. That’s why we’ve been wary about saying anything to the press.’
Fiona is staring at her. ‘A hate crime – what do you mean, a hate crime?’
Somer takes a chair, hoping Fiona will too. She doesn’t.
‘The girl who was attacked – she’s transitioning.’
Fiona opens her mouth to say something, then stops, breathes. ‘Transitioning? So she’s a boy? Is that what you’re saying?’
Somer nods; it’s not as simple as that, but this woman has enough on her plate right now. ‘She’s a trans girl, yes. We thought that was the reason she was targeted. At least initially. Now, we’re not so sure.’
Fiona sits down heavily, all the fight in her gone. ‘So what happened?’
‘She was taken in a van. To the allotments on the Marston Ferry Road. The attacker – whoever they were – tied her hands and put a plastic bag over her head.’
She sees Fiona wince.
‘He pulled her underwear off, but then a police car went past on the road with the siren on and we think he got spooked.’
Fiona looks up, her eyes wide. ‘So he just left her there? In that state?’
Somer nods. ‘She eventually managed to get free. A minicab driver picked her up.’
Fiona takes a deep breath. ‘That poor girl, she must have been absolutely terrified.’
‘She was. She’s being very brave. We’ve been trying to protect her privacy. As far as we can.’
Fiona nods. ‘Of course,’ she says quickly. ‘You should have told me. I’d have understood. If it had been Sasha –’
But her daughter’s name is too much for her. She bites her lip but the tears still come.
‘Do you think it could be the same man?’
Somer takes a deep breath. ‘We can’t rule anything out right now.’
‘And the place he took her – could Sash be there?’
Somer shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry. It was one of the first places the uniform team checked.’ She reaches forward and takes the woman’s hand. ‘But we’re not giving up. They’ll be out again at first light. We’ll find her, Fiona. We’ll find her.’
* * *
Abby Michelson @Hopscotch22098 19.07
Does anyone know anything about this attack on a young woman in #Oxford? Not poor #SashaBlake, something that happened before. Just saw a bloke from @ThamesValleyPolice talking about it on TV
Jimmy Post @JJP098456 19.09
Replying to @Hopscotch22098
I saw that too – something about a girl being abducted in a van? Can’t remember anything about that in the news
Rona Mitchell @Corona1966765 19.11
Replying to @JJP098456 @Hopscotch22098
Tagging @StaySafeinOxford to see if they know anything #Oxford
Stay Safe in Oxford @StaySafeinOxford 19.15
Replying to @Corona1966765 @JJP098456 @Hopscotch22098
We haven’t heard any more than I’ve seen on here. Will check the news broadcast online. Does anyone know when and where it’s supposed to have happened?
Micky F @BladeGamer 19.16
Saw a pic of that #SashaBlake online – no wonder she got picked up by a pervert – bloody asking for it, wearing kit like that
Scott Sullivan @SnappyWarrior 19.17
Replying to @BladeGamer
stupid bint looked like a bloody tart
Rona Mitchell @Corona1966765 19.17
Replying to @BladeGamer @SnappyWarrior
That’s a disgusting thing to say – you should be ashamed of yourselves. No one deserves to be assaulted or abducted, whatever they’re wearing. And there was nothing wrong with what she had on in that photo anyway #SashaBlake
Scott Sullivan @SnappyWarrior 19.17
Replying to @Corona1966765 @BladeGamer
Here we go again – fucking lefty dykes poking there noses in
Micky F @BladeGamer 19.17
Replying to @Corona1966765 @BladeGamer
Bitches like that got no fucking idea and its blokes like us gets blamed when there off there tits and gagging 4 it
Janine Wheeler @MuddyBarvellous 19.18
Replying to @StaySafeinOxford @Corona1966765 @JJP098456 @Hopscotch22098
My mates OH is a copper. Apparently the other girl was tied up & a bag put over her head. Like *serious* sicko stuff.
Susan Hardy @LivingmyBestlife5761 19.19
Replying to @MuddyBarvellous @Corona1966765 @JJP098456 @Hopscotch22098
Shit – like that Roadside Rapist bloke? Remember, back in 98 or 99? We weren’t living in Oxford then but I still remember it on the news.
Rona Mitchell @Corona1966765 19.19
Replying to @LivingmyBestlife5761 @MuddyBarvellous @JJP098456 @Hopscotch22098
Oh lord, you’re right, I just looked it up online. It’s exactly the same #SashaBlake #RoadsideRapist
Stay Safe in Oxford @StaySafeinOxford 19.22
Hearing reports of a serious incident of #assault earlier this week in #Oxford which happened BEFORE the disappearance (abduction?) of #SashaBlake. We’re contacting @ThamesValleyPolice right now and we’ll share anything we find out here + on our FB page. In the meantime protect yourself and #staysafe
* * *
‘Are you sure you’ll be OK?’ says Somer, putting on the handbrake and turning to Fiona Blake. There’s a uniformed officer on the doorstep of 87 Windermere Avenue, and two outside-broadcast vans parked opposite, but the press appear to be keeping a tactful distance. For now.
‘If you need anything, you can call me. Any time, OK? Even if it’s just for some company.’
Fiona nods. ‘Thank you but I’ll probably be OK. Yasmin’s been fantastic and Patsie’s going to stay over. It’ll be nice having her around. Not sitting there in silence, wondering what to do with myself.’
Somer nods. ‘She seems like a nice girl.’
‘She is. They all are.’
‘I promise I’ll call you,’ Somer says as Fiona gets out of the car. ‘If there’s any news.’
* * *
Telephone interview with Charlotte Collyer
5 April 2018, 8.15 a.m.
On the call, DC E. Somer
ES: I’m Detective Constable Erica Somer – the switchboard said you have some information for us?
CC: I saw the TV thing last night – about Sasha Blake. I drive along there a lot, the Marston Ferry Road, I mean. What with the school and work and the gym.
ES: Did you see something? Did you see Sasha?
CC: No, sorry, I’ve never seen her before. No – it’s what people have been saying on Twitter – about that other girl. The one they said got taken in a van on April the 1st? I’ve been thinking about it and I’m sure it was the same day.
ES: What was the same day?
CC: I was a bit late for Pilates – I’d usually have been going past there at least fifteen minutes before. That’s why I remember the time – I kept looking at my watch and getting agitated – you know what it’s like. Sorry, I’m gabbling now. What I mean is, I think I saw a van that morning. Last Monday, I mean. I remember there was a police car up ahead with the siren on and everyone was slowing down, and then I heard a screech of brakes and there was a van coming past really fast on the other side of the road.
ES: Did you see where it came from?
CC: No, sorry.
ES: Could it have been from the allotments?
CC: God – is that where it happened? Well, yes, it could have been. I was a bit too far back to see.
ES: Did you see the driver?
CC: Not really. Though I think he had some sort of cap.
ES: A baseball cap?
CC: Yes – that sort of thing. Pulled down low.
ES: Was he white, black?
CC: Definitely white but that was about all. It all happened really quickly.
ES: What about the van – what do you remember about that?
* * *
‘And that’s it – that’s all?’
Somer shrugs. ‘Sorry.’
‘OK,’ says Baxter with a heavy sigh, ‘tell me again?’
‘It was a white van, with a logo on the side shaped like a shell.’
‘But no company name?’
Somer shakes her head. ‘Not that she saw. It all happened too quickly – I reckon we’re lucky she saw that much.’
‘And it was shell as in the petrol station?’
‘No, more like shell as in snail, she said.’
Baxter frowns. ‘There’s nothing like that on the CCTV from the garage, but I guess that doesn’t prove anything.’ He sighs again. ‘All right, leave it with me. I’m still drawing a blank on the password for Sasha’s laptop, so what the hell – why not alleviate the tedium with yet another hopeless and Herculean task.’
Somer smiles. ‘I’ll get you a tea.’
‘Three sugars,’ he calls to her retreating back. ‘And a Twix.’
* * *
Fiona is spooning cereal into bowls when she looks up to see Patsie at the kitchen door. She’s still in her pyjamas and has her phone in her hand. But that’s nothing unusual. She always has her phone in her hand. Like Sasha did –
Not ‘did’, she tells herself, ‘does’. Like Sasha does.
‘You want milk or yogurt on this, Pats?’
The girl shrugs. There are dark circles under her eyes and Fiona suppresses the urge to ask if she’s getting enough sleep. She’s not Patsie’s mum. Though sometimes, these last few months, she might as well be, the amount of time Patsie spends over here. Sasha hinted more than once that there might be a problem with Denise’s new boyfriend, and Fiona was in two minds about asking Patsie if that was true, but she didn’t want Denise to think she was interfering. And now – well, now she has more than enough troubles of her own.
She takes the bowls to the table and sits down. She isn’t hungry – hasn’t been hungry since it happened – but she’ll be no good to Sasha if she doesn’t eat. Something else she keeps telling herself. Along with how she’s going to cut down on the red wine as soon as Sash is back. It’ll be easy then, but today, this minute, it’s the only thing that takes the edge off. Patsie comes slowly to the table and slides on to a chair, then reaches for the carton of milk in the centre of the table. Fiona’s stillness must have communicated itself to her because she looks up and smiles, a weak, brave, sad little smile. Fiona feels the tears burn her eyes and reaches out and grips the girl’s hand. Thank God for you, she thinks. Thank God you’re here. Because if you weren’t, there’d be no one to stop me going over to the cupboard right this minute and opening another bloody bottle.
* * *
Everett is the only person in the ladies’ loo on the first floor, staring at her reflection in the mirror. There’s an odd distortion in the middle of her left eye that’s been getting worse ever since she left the flat. Not blurring or double vision – it’s more elusive than that. Almost as if there’s nothing there at all; even though that makes no sense and she couldn’t begin to describe what it looks like to someone else. But it’s like that, all the same. She’s never had a migraine before, but she’s guessing that’s what this must be. She doesn’t have a headache as such – not the Nurofen-grabbing kind anyway. No flashing lights either, just a vague but heavy sense of unease. There’s a noise at the door and Somer comes in. She smiles when she sees Ev, but something in her friend’s face brings her up short.
‘Are you all right?’
Everett does her best to smile. ‘Yeah, just feeling a bit off. Must have been that curry last night.’
Somer frowns a little; she can’t remember Everett ever eating curry. ‘You sure?’
Ev nods. ‘Absolutely. What about you, everything OK?’
Somer gives a wry smile. ‘Just dumped another crap job on poor old Baxter. He’s exacting intravenous confectionery by way of recompense.’
Everett manag
es a smile. ‘What is it this time?’
‘We just got a new witness who saw a white van on the Marston Ferry Road the morning Faith was abducted. She remembered it had some sort of logo but it isn’t giving Baxter much to go on. I mean “a bit like a shell” could mean just about anything.’
Everett turns from the mirror. ‘What sort of shell?’
‘A snail, apparently. All I keep thinking is Brian from The Magic Roundabout –’ She stops, mid-smile. ‘What?’
Ev fishes her phone out of her pocket, swipes to the web, then holds it out. ‘Is it possible it was this?’
Somer’s eyes widen. ‘Oh my God. Shit – yes.’
Ev takes a deep breath. ‘Email this over to your witness and ask her. And then we need to find Fawley.’
* * *
Adam Fawley
5 April 2018
09.19
I’m still in the shower when the doorbell goes. By the time I make it downstairs ten minutes later Somer and Everett are standing awkwardly in the kitchen as Alex fiddles about with the kettle. Fussing is not like her, but it’s obvious enough why she’s doing it now: she wasn’t expecting company and she’s wearing a favourite but now tight-fitting jumper which makes it quite obvious she’s pregnant. When Somer catches my eye she looks quickly away, her face flushed; she must be remembering what she said a couple of days ago. About the reasons people might not tell the whole truth.
‘Oh, Adam – there you are,’ says Alex with manifest relief. ‘I’ll leave you to it.’
‘Sir,’ says Somer as soon as the kitchen door closes, ‘the other day, I didn’t mean –’
‘Forget it – it’s not important. What is it?’
‘We may have something,’ says Everett. ‘Remember Ashley Brotherton?’
I frown. ‘I thought we’d discounted him?’
‘We did.’
‘So what’s changed?’ I look at Somer and then back at Everett. ‘He had an alibi, didn’t he? His bloody van had an alibi.’
‘A woman rang in first thing this morning,’ says Somer. ‘She said she saw a van on the Marston Ferry Road the morning Faith was attacked. She didn’t remember much apart from the fact that the van was white and had a logo like a shell on the side. Baxter’s been trying to track it down but it was looking like a wild goose chase. Only then –’
