by Cara Hunter
He swallows, glad – again – that Somer and Everett don’t have to see this. Half Sasha’s face has broken in under the weight of the beating, the eye socket shattered and slivers of bone breaking through flesh swollen and stained by river water. The Sasha he’s seen in her mother’s pictures, the Sasha they were all looking for – she’s never coming back. Boddie’s team’s ability to make the dead fit for the living to see is little short of legendary, but this – this is beyond even their skills to save.
‘That wasn’t just someone’s fists, was it?’ says Gislingham quietly.
‘No,’ says Boddie, training the light closer and bending to get a better look. ‘The cuts were made by a knife, but the blunt-force trauma was caused by something else. I assume you didn’t find any sort of weapon at the scene?’
Gislingham shakes his head. ‘Not yet.’
‘Then I’d look for something with edges to it. Something sharp but irregular. A piece of concrete, a rock – I’m sure you know what I mean.’
Gis gives an inward sigh. Something like that – it could have just been lying around on the riverbank. And if that’s what he used, what are the odds of finding it now?
‘I’m assuming we haven’t got a hope of DNA,’ he says, stifling the urge to retch. ‘The killer’s, I mean.’
Boddie shakes his head. ‘Afraid not. The water’s put paid to that. And not just DNA. Fibres, skin. Plaster dust.’ He raises an eyebrow. ‘Just by way of example, of course.’
* * *
‘Can you tell me – did he, you know –?’
Somer knows what she’s being asked. Fiona is staring at her now, with her hollowed, haunted eyes, begging to be told her fifteen-year-old daughter wasn’t raped.
‘There’s stuff online – people are saying it might be that Roadside Rapist – that he’s back. Please, tell me the truth – did he – I need to know –’
Somer bites her lip. Fiona thinks she wants the truth, but the truth won’t set her free. It’s a brutal one-way street leading only to grief.
‘No one’s told me anything,’ she says, even though she knows full well how Sasha was found. ‘It may be some time before we can be certain. But, believe me, there’s nothing to suggest it has anything to do with the Roadside Rapist. DI Fawley is absolutely convinced that man is in prison. Where he belongs.’
Fiona nods, the tears coming again. ‘It’s just that I’m not sure I could bear it, if – if her only time was like that – if that was the only –’
Somer reaches across and clasps the woman’s cold, dry hands. ‘Please – don’t torture yourself with maybes.’
It’ll be bad enough, soon enough, without that.
‘I can’t,’ she says, her voice breaking, ‘I can’t stop thinking about it – his hands on her – touching her – his disgusting disgusting –’
She breaks down now, and Somer moves quickly to her side, wrapping her arms around her as she sobs.
‘Whatever happens,’ she whispers, ‘I’m here. I’m here.’
* * *
It’s nearly 8.00 when the phone rings in the incident room. It’s the desk officer. Someone’s come in with information, he says. About the Sasha Blake case.
Quinn sighs audibly and looks round the room, but there’s no one junior enough to dump on. He hauls his jacket off the back of the chair and heads downstairs.
* * *
‘Ah, Sergeant, good of you to rejoin us.’
Gislingham closes the door behind him. ‘It was the boss. I had to take the call. I didn’t realize it would take so long.’
The body is on its front now, a sheet covering it from the neck down. The back of the head is a snarl of wet hair and gluey brain tissue, and near the crown of her head, a paler, rawer patch where the scalp is hanging away from the skull.
‘I thought as much at the scene,’ says Boddie, seeing his stare, ‘and I was right: quite a large quantity of her hair was pulled out. And it was done before she died.’
He moves further down the table and lifts the sheet, and even Gislingham, who’s no rookie, who’s done this many times before, has to turn away.
‘The underwear was missing, as you know,’ continues Boddie. ‘I’ve taken vaginal swabs, but I doubt they’re going to be much use.’
‘Because she was in the water?’ asks Gislingham, keeping his gaze fixed on Boddie. ‘Or because he was wearing a condom?’
Boddie shrugs. ‘The first, absolutely; the second, quite possibly.’
‘But she was definitely raped?’
Boddie makes a face. ‘All the circumstantial signs say so – the missing underwear, the scratches on her thighs. But without DNA we may not be able to prove it one hundred per cent.’
He looks down at the body and then at Gislingham. And then he pulls the sheet gently back in place.
* * *
It was worth shifting his arse down here, after all. The ‘informant’ in reception is about twenty-five, with a sleek auburn ponytail and a leather skirt that only just escapes the word ‘mini’. Quinn elects to ignore the knowing smirk from the desk officer and walks across to where the woman is sitting, staring intently at her mobile phone.
‘Miss –?’
She looks up and smiles. ‘Nicole. Nicole Bowen.’
‘I believe you have some information for us? About Sasha Blake?’
‘Yes,’ she says, still looking at him confidently. ‘I think I might have seen her.’
Quinn sits down next to her, gets out his iPad and starts to make an entry on the system.
She looks across, straining to see what he’s writing. ‘I thought policemen still used notebooks and manky old biros with chewed ends.’
‘Some do,’ he says drily. ‘But I don’t.’
‘You have single-handedly shattered all my illusions. TV crime shows will never be the same again.’
She smiles once more. She has her legs crossed and her fingers laced around one knee.
‘The sighting, Miss Bowen?’
‘I told you, Nicole,’ she says, leaning on the name. And leaning forward. He can smell her hair.
‘OK, Nicole. When was it that you saw Sasha?’
‘I think it was about two weeks ago. She was with two other girls.’
Quinn looks up, sits back. ‘That was ten days before she went missing. What made you think it’s relevant?’
She flushes. ‘Well, I just thought –’
His eyes narrow. What’s this woman playing at? Or perhaps it’s him she’s playing. ‘You didn’t see her at all, did you?’
Her chin lifts. ‘No, I’m sure I did –’
‘Who are you, Miss Bowen? Assuming, of course, that really is your name.’
‘I don’t know what you mean –’
He gets to his feet. ‘You’re press, aren’t you –’
She’s shaking her head. ‘No – I’m not – not in the way you think, anyway –’
He’s really angry now. ‘Don’t you know what you just did is completely unethical? Not to mention wasting police time, which I could book you for if I could be bloody bothered. But I am going to report you to your bloody editor. Who is it – who do you work for?’
She gets up and pulls a lanyard from her pocket. The thick plastic card shows her face, her name. And along the bottom, ASSISTANT PRODUCER, POLYMUS STUDIOS.
That stops him in his tracks. ‘You’re in film?’
She shakes her head. ‘TV, mainly.’
‘I’m not with you. What’s that got to do with Sasha Blake?’
She puts her ID away. ‘We’ve been commissioned to make a series about the work of The Whole Truth.’
Quinn makes a face. ‘Oh, for Christ’s sake, that bunch of useless do-gooders?’
‘Actually, they’ve put right some appalling miscarriages of justice –’
‘And ruined some damn good coppers’ careers in the process. You people – you have no bloody idea what it’s really like –’
He starts to move away but she reaches for his arm
. ‘Hear me out – please? Five minutes? I’ll even buy you a beer.’
He hesitates. It occurs to him that it might actually be useful to know what these idiots are planning. You never know, Fawley might even thank him for it.
‘Please?’
* * *
Baxter, meanwhile, is up to his neck in paperwork. It’s the first time he’s managed to get to the Roadside Rapist transcripts today, but he can get in an hour or so now before he goes home. His wife is at that Body Balance thing of hers, so she won’t know if he gets back late. And the plate of quinoa and avocado salad waiting for him in the fridge is hardly enticing.
He opens the cardboard file and starts reading. Judging by what he’s been through so far, Gis’s theory is holding up pretty well: there’s more than enough detail for a potential copycat to fake Parrie’s MO. Baxter starts to make notes, but the long day is catching up with him and he’s soon stifling a yawn. Which makes him feel bad, because it’s not as if what he’s reading is boring; it’s completely bloody awful. He sits up a little straighter and starts again. And that’s when he spots it. He blinks, stares and reads it again. Then he crosses over to his PC and does a quick database search. He checks it against the transcript, then sits back and lets out a long slow breath.
He really didn’t want to be right about this.
But he is.
* * *
He’s technically off-duty, so having a beer is technically OK, but all the same Quinn opts for a pub where there’s no danger of meeting anyone he knows. In fact, if he’d asked TripAdvisor for the seediest bar in a five-mile radius he couldn’t have chosen much better: the one-arm bandit jangling in the corner, the packets of pork scratchings hanging by the bar, the ceiling still yellow with cigarette smoke more than ten years after the ban. And if this Bowen woman takes one look and concludes he’s trying to tell her something, then so much the better.
Though to give her her due, she doesn’t seem that fazed. So much so that she even braved the trio of builders’ bottoms on the bar stools to get in a round. They’re still eyeing her up as she comes back to the table and puts down the drinks.
‘So,’ he says, picking up the glass, ‘shoot. And I want the truth this time.’
‘The Roadside Rapist case,’ she says. ‘That’s what we’re focusing on. In the series. You know about that, right?’
Quinn gives her a heavy look. He’s not rising to that one. Does she think he just fell off the Christmas tree?
Bowen is still speaking. ‘The plan is for a fly-on-the-wall following the entire Whole Truth investigation, including full reconstructions and some eminent talking heads. Ex-judges, CSIs, psychologists. You know the sort of thing. Jocelyn is completely up for it, and we might even be able to include Gavin Parrie himself – the Beeb were allowed to record a phone call from prison for something similar last year –’
Quinn cuts across her. ‘The Parrie case is twenty years old. Why now?’
If she thinks he’s being deliberately obtuse, her face doesn’t show it. She has colour in her cheeks now – the flush of professional fervour.
‘Well, obviously these latest cases put a whole new angle on it, don’t they? And the timing really couldn’t be better – what with Gavin Parrie coming up for another parole hearing. And, of course, he’s always maintained he’s innocent. He’s never wavered from that. It makes for such an interesting angle.’
‘I think you’ll find they all say that,’ says Quinn heavily.
Nicole Bowen raises an eyebrow. ‘They may all say it, but sometimes it’s actually true.’
‘Yeah, right,’ replies Quinn. The beer has gone to his head already. He had no lunch and he’s drinking rather more quickly than he should.
Perhaps she senses this, because she sits forward a little now. ‘This case review of the Roadside Rapist investigation – how’s that going to work?’
He frowns; this is news to him. ‘Who told you about that?’
A shrug. ‘Oh, you know. The grapevine.’ She leans closer. ‘When’s it all happening, do you know? Cos if we could feature that in the series as well, it would be amazing.’ She smiles. ‘Have you ever done any TV work? Because I can tell you now, the camera would really love you –’
‘Investigations like that – they’re confidential. They’re not entertainment.’
She’s shaking her head. ‘It’s not about that. Don’t people have a right to know what’s being done in their name? And with their taxes? And now there’s new evidence –’
‘You don’t know that. We don’t even know that.’
She sits back again, eyes him, cooler now. ‘And then there’s Adam Fawley.’
Quinn’s eyes narrow. ‘What about Adam Fawley?’
‘Well, he was on the case, wasn’t he?’
Quinn tries to play dumb, and manages it rather better than he probably intended. ‘You tell me.’
There’s a small sharp smile now, at the edge of her mouth. ‘As I’m sure you know, he was the DS on the original case. Same rank as you. Or rather, as you were.’
She picks up her glass of sparkling water. Quinn stares at her. This woman shouldn’t know that – what else does she bloody well know? If she’s found out he was demoted for sleeping with a suspect –
Bowen is clearly finding his discomfiture distinctly amusing. A sly smile curls her lips. ‘I’m sure the public would like to know why Adam Fawley was assigned to the Sasha Blake inquiry, given it’s such a clear conflict of interest.’
Quinn frowns. ‘I don’t know what you’re getting at.’
She looks at him disbelievingly. ‘Oh, come on. You aren’t seriously telling me you don’t know? About Fawley?’
But apparently he is. She gives him a meaningful look. ‘Well, I suggest you have a good look at the trial transcripts.’ She leans forward and puts a business card on the table. ‘And when you have, give me a call.’
* * *
THE CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT
The Old Bailey
London EC4M 7EH
BEFORE:
THE HONOURABLE MR. JUSTICE HEALEY
R E G I N A
v.
GAVIN FRANCIS PARRIE
* * *
MR. R. BARNES Q.C. and MISS S. GREY
appeared on behalf of the prosecution.
MRS. B. JENKINS Q.C. and MR. T. CUTHBERT
appeared on behalf of the defendant.
* * *
Wednesday, 10th November, 1999
[Day 19]
ADAM FAWLEY, recalled
Examined by MRS. JENKINS
Q. Sergeant Fawley, I’d like to return to the incident you were describing to Mr. Barnes yesterday. Specifically the sequence of events which led to the arrest and detention of my client. You told us that you received a telephone call from Ms. Sheldon at 11.45 on January 3rd this year.
A. Yes, I did.
Q. She rang you on your mobile, I believe?
A. Yes.
Q. One might have thought that she would have called 999, in the circumstances.
A. I couldn’t say.
Q. Someone in her situation would normally do so, surely?
A. I was the officer who interviewed her after the attempted assault. I would imagine that’s why she chose to call me, but you’d have to ask her.
Q. And the reason for this call was that she believed she had identified the man who attacked her.
A. That’s correct.
Q. But how could she have done that, if, as you have already told us, she never saw his face?
A. She had recognised his smell. She was queuing up to pay for petrol at a garage on the ring–road and noticed a distinctive odour. A sweet smell, like overripe fruit.
Q. From the man standing behind her?
A. Yes.
Q. And she recognised this?
A. Correct. She said she suddenly became extremely anxious while standing in the queue but it took a few moments for her to realise why.
Q. Had any of the other victims me
ntioned a smell?
A. No. But they had plastic bags tied tightly over their heads. In Ms. Sheldon’s case, the perpetrator fled the scene before he was able to put the bag fully in place. We concluded that this would account for it. We also ascertained that Mr. Parrie suffers from type 1 diabetes. If the condition is not well-managed it can sometimes lead to a distinctive smell on the breath. A smell very much like what Ms. Sheldon described.
Q. What did Ms. Sheldon do next?
A. She followed him back out to the forecourt and started to follow his van in her car.
Q. She was putting herself in considerable danger, was she not?
A. She was. She was very brave.
Q. What happened next?
A. She saw Mr. Parrie park outside a garage off the Botley Road, open the door and go inside. She called me from her own car at that point.
Q. And help was dispatched?
A. Yes. I also advised her to go to an appropriate public place, where there were other people, and remain there until back-up arrived.
Q. And that’s what happened?
A. Yes. She went to the Co-op supermarket and I met her there approximately half an hour later.
Q. And where was my client at this time?
A. By the time we reached the scene, Mr. Parrie had adjourned to the Fox & Geese pub. We were able to secure the garage and van for forensic testing, and take him in for questioning.
Q. Some people might say you did all this on rather tenuous grounds. You arrested a man on the basis of a bad smell?
A. When I interviewed Ms. Sheldon immediately after her assault I found her to be intelligent, observant and articulate. It was my judgement that this potential identification of her attacker had to be taken seriously. And the items subsequently found in the garage bore that out.
Q. What were these items, Sergeant Fawley?
A. A quantity of pornography, assessed as category A.
MR. BARNES: Members of the jury, item 17 in your bundle is a schedule of these items, in the form of Agreed Facts. Both prosecution and defence accept that these items were indeed discovered in the garage.
MRS. JENKINS: What else was discovered, Sergeant Fawley?
