by Cara Hunter
A. Various cable ties of the same type and colour as those used in the attacks.
Q. But not the item of jewellery taken from Miss Donnelly, which we heard described earlier in the trial?
A. No.
Q. And nothing linking Mr. Parrie to any of the other victims?
A. No.
Q. But there was one other, highly significant item, was there not?
A. Yes. The Scenes of Crime team found three strands of Ms. Sheldon’s hair. The provenance was confirmed by DNA testing.
Q. And that testing was possible because the root was still present? Indicating that it was hair that had been ripped out, not cut?
A. That is correct.
Q. And you were certain, were you, that Ms. Sheldon did not go into the garage in the period of time between her call to you and the arrival of the police personnel?
A. I wasn’t there. But there is absolutely no evidence to suggest that she did.
Q. But if she had done so, she could have planted the strands of hair herself, could she not? Specifically to incriminate my client?
A. Theoretically, but –
Q. You must acknowledge she had a motive to do so. She thought this man had not only attempted to rape her, but since that incident had brutally assaulted several other women. It’s only natural she would want him caught.
A. At the time of her assault, Ms. Sheldon had long hair. The hair found in the garage was over ten inches long. By the time of the events in question her hair had been cut short. Very short. Even if she had indeed wanted to tear out her hair and plant it to incriminate Mr. Parrie, it was far too short by then to be of any use.
Q. One final question at this time, Sergeant Fawley. You referred again, just now, to the fact that she called you that day. She called you direct, rather than 999 or any other police number.
A. Yes, as I said.
Q. And how did she come to have your number?
MR. BARNES: My Lord, if I may, Sergeant Fawley has already explained that he interviewed Ms. Sheldon after her assault, and that he gave her his card at that time.
MRS. JENKINS: Is that correct, DS Fawley?
A. Yes, I gave my card to Ms. Sheldon at that time.
* * *
‘I didn’t know either, not till last night.’
Baxter, Quinn, Everett and Somer. Eight in the morning, in the coffee shop just along St Aldate’s, but upstairs, which is usually half empty and right now is completely deserted, apart from the four of them, sitting in the corner furthest from the window by the only radiator. There’s a pile of court transcripts on the table between them.
‘The defence obviously thought there was something to it,’ says Baxter. ‘Even though they clearly didn’t have enough to push it.’
‘And that Bowen woman definitely thinks there was something dodgy going on,’ replies Quinn. ‘Made us look like a right bunch of donkeys, by the way.’
‘Speak for your bloody self,’ says Baxter tetchily.
‘Come on,’ says Ev, staring gloomily at her coffee. ‘That’s not going to help. We need to stick together on this. Work out what to do.’
‘I’m not sure what we can do,’ observes Somer, ‘apart from come straight out with it and ask.’
‘But shouldn’t Gis do that?’ replies Ev. ‘As DS?’
‘Well, that’s why they pay him the big bucks,’ mutters Quinn sardonically.
‘Shouldn’t I do what?’
They all turn to see Gislingham at the door. And he doesn’t look happy.
‘I know it’s Saturday but we’ve got a bloody murder on our hands. The incident room looks like the bloody Mary Celeste. What the hell are you lot doing skiving off up here?’
They look at each other, and Quinn gives Baxter a nudge and a meaningful look: You’re the one with the proof – you tell him.
Baxter clears his throat. ‘It’s the Parrie trial transcripts, Sarge. There’s something you should know.’
* * *
Sent: Sat 06/04/2018, 08.25 Importance: High
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected],
[email protected]
Subject: Case number 1866453 Blake, S
A quick heads-up on Ashley Brotherton. We’ve had the test results back. There was no DNA from either Faith Appleford or Sasha Blake in the back of his van, and the female DNA on the condom is not a match for Blake. Furthermore, Brotherton is not a match for any of the male profiles found on the plastic bag used in the Faith Appleford attack.
AC
* * *
Adam Fawley
6 April 2018
09.35
Gis has already started the team meeting by the time I get there. I wait at the back, but I can tell the mood isn’t good. An initial search of Ashley Brotherton’s associates hasn’t turned up any promising suspects, and the news from the scene is hardly encouraging either. A notice has been set up on the main road, appealing for witnesses, but there’s still no sign of Sasha’s bag or phone, never mind the murder weapon. They can’t even be sure she went into the river where we thought. The rain is defeating everyone, dogs included.
Gislingham sums all this up neatly and concisely – he’s got a lot better at doing that recently, so it surprises me that he seems so tense. Perhaps it’s just what he was forced to witness at the PM. He’s made at least one good decision though: three other DCs who aren’t usually on this team have been drafted in. And he’s right: we need all the bodies we can get on this one. And no, I’m not going to apologize for the pun.
I wait until Gis’s report is over then join him at the front.
‘OK, everyone, I know this is all we need right now, but you should be aware that Harrison will be issuing a press statement on Monday morning. There’s going to be a review of the Roadside Rapist case. Only informal, at this stage, but there’s no guarantee it won’t end up with a full referral to the CCRC.’
People steal glances at each other, not sure how to react. It’s one thing being aware there was a potential issue, it’s quite another for the powers that be to go public on it. That makes a difference. To clean-up rates, careers, even to loyalties. At least that’s what I’d be thinking in their place. And there’s a definite undercurrent in this room, no question.
‘I know this is going to put extra pressure on everyone, and there’s bound to be a hell of a lot in the media. All of it inflammatory and most of it about Alastair Osbourne. Or about me. But none of it about you. So just stick to the job and don’t let the shitstorm distract you. And don’t speak to bloody journalists, even with the best of intentions. It never ends well.’
‘Actually, sir,’ says Gislingham. ‘About that –’
I open my mouth to answer, but the sound of the door at the back forestalls me. The woman who’s just entered is mid-height, angular, in a neat tweed trouser suit. Her hair is shorter and lighter than when I last saw her. She looks rather like Lia Williams. As well as open, positive and confident. Everything I don’t feel right now, in fact.
I look round the team. ‘Everyone, this is DI Ruth Gallagher. She’s going to be taking over the Blake and Appleford inquiries from here on in.’
You can hear the intake of breath, see the furtive looks, the glances at Gallagher they don’t want me to spot. Two parts shock to one part embarrassment. I suppose it’s only to be expected, but to be honest I haven’t got a bloody clue what’s ‘expected’ in a situation like this. This is all new to me; I’ve never been taken off a case before.
I catch Gallagher’s eye, invite her forward. ‘Do you want to say anything?’
She steps a little further into the room. ‘Not yet, I think. I need to familiarize myself with the case notes first. And I have a lot of catching up to do on the Parrie investigation. But this team has an excellent reputation; I look forward to working with you.’
She handled that well, I’ll give her that. Not throwing her weight about, not muscling in. Unassuming but bus
inesslike. ‘Inclusive’, as HR would no doubt say. But she must have picked up on the unease because she takes another step forward. ‘Let’s all be clear. No one is saying DI Fawley did anything wrong or that Gavin Parrie’s conviction is anything other than rock solid. But we all know what it’s like these days with the press and social media on our backs all day every day – it’s not fair, and it’s a pain in the arse, but there it is.’
She tries a smile, and I try one too.
I take a deep breath, feel my chest tighten. Because I’ve finally reached it. The point of escalation. The Rubicon I won’t be able to reverse.
I turn to the team. ‘There’s something else. I should have said something before, I know, but there was always a chance it wouldn’t come to this. Anyway, I hope you’ll understand why I didn’t. One of the women Parrie attacked – she was called Sandie Sheldon.’
There’s something wrong – I can’t read their faces.
‘Two years after the attack, she got married. To me. Sandie Sheldon – Alexandra Sheldon – is my wife.’
Gis clears his throat. ‘Yes, sir,’ he says quietly. ‘We know.’
* * *
* * *
Adam Fawley
6 April 2018
09.52
‘What do you mean, you know?’
Gis looks self-conscious, but only a little and only briefly. More than that, he looks annoyed. And let down.
Shit.
‘When you first told us about Parrie,’ he says, ‘we thought – well, I thought – that it was possible we were looking at a copycat, in which case we needed to know how much of Parrie’s MO someone could have picked up just from reading about the trial.’
Which is exactly what I’d have done, in his place. Only I didn’t need to. I was there.
‘That’s when we realized: the defence brief – he called her Alexandra.’
‘She used to shorten it to Sandie back then,’ I say, my throat cracking. ‘She doesn’t any more.’
I risk a look at Somer. And I can see: she understands that bit, at least. Just as Faith Appleford might understand, if she were here. The overwhelming need to start again. To have a new name, a clean slate. A chance to forget.
‘You should have told us,’ says Ev softly. ‘We’d have been on your side.’
And they aren’t now, is that what she means?
I swallow hard.
‘I’m sorry if anyone feels let down. I know I should have told you before. But I wanted to protect my wife. That’s all. Not myself or my poxy career. My wife.’
I turn to Gallagher, and I can see how uncomfortable she is. How much she’d give not to be in this room right now. ‘It’s your case now – I’m not going to interfere. But I still care about getting this bastard. So if you need me, ask, OK?’
She nods. ‘Yes,’ she says. ‘I will.’
* * *
Gislingham watches the door swing shut behind Fawley. And now everyone is looking from him to Gallagher and back again.
So now what? he thinks. It’s not that he’s unsympathetic – he’d have moved heaven and earth to protect Janet, if she’d been in that situation. But all the same –
‘Sergeant?’ says Gallagher, giving him a meaningful look. She’s clearly expecting him to keep calm and carry on regardless of the amount of shit piled in the way.
He sighs inwardly; just his bloody luck. I mean, this Gallagher woman has a good rep, but you never know, not until the crap hits the fan.
‘Right,’ he says, taking a deep breath. ‘Best idea for us is to stick to our knitting. Get this bloody case sorted once and for all.’
He picks up the pen and goes over to the whiteboard. ‘Way I see it, right now we have four possibilities. One: what happened to Faith and Sasha – the plastic bag, the cable ties, Faith’s ripped hair – it has nothing to do with Gavin Parrie and it never did. It’s all just one hell of a sodding coincidence.’
Silence. The whole team knows how Fawley feels about coincidences. But this time it’s different: this time a coincidence is the one thing that would get the DI off the hook.
‘Two,’ says Gis. ‘The man who attacked Faith and Sasha is the same man who committed the Roadside Rapes, which means the real killer not only managed not to get caught, but not even to get bloody questioned. Which, OK, has happened – we all know that.’
‘Peter fucking Sutcliffe, for starters,’ mutters Quinn.
‘But in that case why did the attacks stop the minute Gavin Parrie was arrested, and where has this other bloke been for the last twenty years?’ It must be pretty obvious, just from his tone, what Gislingham thinks about that as a theory. But, frankly, he doesn’t give a toss.
He turns to the board again. ‘Number three: Faith and Sasha were attacked by someone who actually knows Parrie – someone who’s trying to make it look like he was set up for something he didn’t do. And the reason all this is happening now is because Parrie’s up for parole. And because those Whole Truth people are suddenly poking their noses in. And we all know where that could end up.’
Baxter mumbles something about Making a Murderer, and there’s a ripple of agreement.
But Quinn is looking sceptical. ‘That’s all a bit convoluted, though, isn’t it? Who’s going to go to that much trouble to get Parrie off the hook? It’s like something off the bloody telly.’
Ev agrees. ‘I could just about buy it if it was just Faith, but Sasha? Assault is one thing, but would someone really commit murder – a really brutal murder – just to put Parrie in the clear? Not even your own family’s going to do that, surely?’
‘I know blood’s thicker than water,’ mutters Baxter, ‘but not that bloody thick.’
Gis shrugs. ‘I’m with you, but we still need to take it seriously, at least until we can prove otherwise.’
‘I’ll check who’s been visiting him,’ says Everett. ‘Where did the boss say he was – Wandsworth?’
If Ruth Gallagher registers that ‘boss’ she gives no sign. ‘Actually, I have that information,’ she says, opening a file. ‘DI Fawley already requested it.’
There’s a half-awkward moment as she walks up to Everett and hands her the sheet of paper, and Gis wonders for a second if she’s about to take over, but her task done she returns to her place and gives him an encouraging nod.
‘OK, Ev,’ he continues, ‘perhaps you could check where those people were on the days Faith and Sasha were attacked. Just so we can scratch them off our list.’
‘What about friends? Previous associates?’ asks Asante. ‘He could have got a message out to someone via his family – it didn’t need to be someone who actually visited.’
‘That sounds like something off the bloody telly too,’ says Quinn, rather louder this time.
‘Let’s start by eliminating the nearest and dearest,’ says Gislingham firmly. ‘See where that gets us.’
He writes ‘4’ on the board, and turns again to face them. ‘Last, but deffo not least, a copycat. Which is why Baxter was checking the transcripts in the first place.’
Baxter looks up. ‘Right, yes. Basically, all the details of the MO are in there – the hair, the plaster dust, the cable ties, the plastic bag. And all that was in the press too. It might take a while to dig it all up, given how long ago it was, but I reckon anyone could get their hands on the right info if they were determined enough.’
‘What about Sasha’s boyfriend, Sarge?’ says Somer. ‘Are we still looking at him?’
‘More like looking for him,’ says Baxter stolidly. ‘Because I for one am beginning to doubt the bugger even exists.’
‘Yes,’ says Gislingham firmly, glancing at him, ‘we are. Sasha had a half-empty box of condoms that didn’t use themselves. Can you stay on that, DC Somer?’
She nods and he looks round the room again. ‘Anything else for now?’
But if there is, no one appears to want to raise it in front of Gallagher.
* * *
Adam Fawley
6 April 2
018
14.49
‘Can I have a quick chat?’
I look up to see Ruth Gallagher at my door, one hand still on the handle.
I sit back. It’s not as if she’s interrupting; I’ve been staring at the same report for the last half-hour and haven’t got beyond the first paragraph.
I beckon her in. ‘Of course.’
‘You’ve got a good team there,’ she says, taking a seat.
‘I think so.’
She puts a thick cardboard file down on my desk. ‘I’ve just been reading through the Blake and Appleford material. That offer of help – does it still stand?’
I nod, but I must look wary because she hurries on. ‘Look, I know this is a shitty situation, but I hope you realize I didn’t want this to happen any more than you did. From what I can tell from the file, Alastair Osbourne did everything a good SIO would do. As did you. I don’t see how any competent officer could have come to a different conclusion.’
So she has read the file. She just didn’t want to push it in the first five minutes. My respect for her inches up.
‘Look, I know why you’re here – you want to ask me about my wife – about what it says in those trial transcripts. But the defence were just fishing – trying to get me on the back foot. Alex and I didn’t get together until long after the trial ended. At the time she was assaulted she was engaged to someone else. They split up a few weeks after it happened – he just couldn’t hack it. If you spoke to Alex she’d confirm all of that. But I’d rather you didn’t have to.’
‘I don’t think there’s any need,’ she says, looking me steadily in the eye. ‘But thank you anyway.’
I sit back. ‘OK. So what did you want to talk about?’
She gets to her feet. ‘I don’t know about you but I’m gagging for some decent coffee. And after that, we can get started.’
* * *
Fiona Blake is sitting in the dark, alone, behind her drawn curtains. The TV is glowing in the corner, but the programme she was pretending to watch has long since finished and she hasn’t bothered to change the channel. On the plate in front of her, her long-cold lunch is congealing, uneaten. She can smell the heavy scent of the huge bunch of lilies stuck anyhow in a jug she hardly ever uses; she’s never liked them but Isabel brought them round and she didn’t want to upset her by throwing them away. Not after everything those girls have been through. The Family Liaison Officer is in the kitchen, no doubt making yet another cup of bloody tea. The sound of him moving about puts her teeth on edge.
