by Cara Hunter
‘Mrs Blake?’
She turns slowly to see Patsie hesitating at the door. It’s gone 4.00 but she’s still in a dressing gown, with that blurry look of someone who hasn’t even bothered washing. It’s the first time Fiona’s seen her all day.
Fiona frowns a little. ‘Are you OK, Pats?’
The girl takes a step forward. And now it’s obvious: there’s definitely something wrong.
‘Me and Iz and Leah,’ she says. ‘We’ve been talking.’
Fiona puts her glass down. ‘OK,’ she says carefully.
‘It was when I watched that appeal thing again that I thought about it. The one they did when Sash went missing. That bit when they asked people to get in touch – you know, if they’d seen her.’
Fiona waits, barely breathing. Has Patsie remembered something? Has Isabel?
‘It was that journalist – he said there’d been another girl, who got taken in a van.’ Her cheeks are flushed now. ‘We wanted to say something before but –’
‘But what?’ says Fiona. She doesn’t seem to be getting enough air. ‘What is it, Patsie?’
The girl drops her eyes. ‘Iz says it can’t be him because it isn’t a van, not really –’
Fiona’s on her feet now, gripping Patsie by the arms, shaking her. ‘What isn’t? Who are you talking about?’
* * *
Adam Fawley
6 April 2018
16.52
Ruth Gallagher takes her coffee black, no sugar, and she appears to like her discussions without sweeteners too. She gets straight to the point, and if she asks hard questions, she can take it as well as give it.
By the time we finish going through the Parrie case file I’ve become ‘Adam’ and she’s ‘Ruth’, and I’m starting to think Harrison is a better judge of character than I usually assume.
‘How did the rest of the team meeting go?’ I say finally as she puts down her pen and closes her notebook. I’ve been itching to ask her that this whole time but didn’t want to look completely paranoid.
‘DS Gislingham seems to have it covered. Though I had a word with him afterwards and suggested he might want to do a reconstruction – for Sasha Blake, I mean.’
In other words, she suggested it privately, so she didn’t undermine him in front of the team. I’m starting to like this woman, which is hands-down the best thing that’s happened so far today. Not that the competition is particularly stiff.
‘And Harrison agreed to stump up?’
She gives me a dry look. ‘Let’s just say I suggested he might owe you one.’
Which, of course, he bloody well does.
‘It has to be worth a try,’ she continues, ‘given how little we have to go on. And it will divert attention from the case review too, which is no bad thing either.’
I’d been reaching for my coffee but I look across at her now and I can’t see any irony. Nothing underhand either in her tone or in her eyes.
‘DS Gislingham is going to try to get it organized for tomorrow.’
I wait for her to get up to go, but she doesn’t. What she does instead is smile. Smile and sit back. ‘Now we’ve got those bloody files out of the way what I want to know is what never made it into them. I want to know what really happened.’
And so I tell her. The truth, and nothing but the truth.
Just not the whole of it.
* * *
When Gallagher opens the front door she looks flustered. She has a box of hundreds-and-thousands in one hand and a tea towel in the other. There’s a smear of what looks like flour on one cheek.
‘I’m sorry,’ says Somer. ‘They said you’d gone home already, and I did try calling but –’
Gallagher laughs. ‘Sorry. I had to get back to collect my daughter. And then she mugged me into baking. I must have left the phone upstairs.’ She takes a step back. ‘Come in.’
Somer looks tentative. ‘Look, if this is a bad time –’
She waves the objection away. ‘If it wasn’t important, you wouldn’t be here.’
The kitchen is out the back. There’s a tray of cupcakes cooling on a wire rack, and another batch still in the oven. The air is warm and sweet and chocolatey. A little girl of about eight is perched at the big wooden table, putting pale-blue icing-sugar flowers carefully on to the cakes; her little face is intense with concentration. From somewhere nearby, there’s the sound of a TV. A football stadium roar.
‘My son is at tae kwon do,’ says Gallagher, wiping her hands on her apron. ‘The football hooligan is my husband.’
She goes to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of wine. ‘Are you driving?’
Somer nods.
Gallagher pours a large glass and a small one, and hands the latter to Somer. ‘OK, so what have you got?’
‘I just had a call from Fiona Blake. Patsie Webb just told her something – something she hasn’t mentioned before.’
Gallagher raises an eyebrow. ‘Oh yes?’
Somer glances at the little girl and lowers her voice. ‘One of Sasha’s teachers was showing rather too much interest in her. His name is Scott. Graeme Scott.’
‘Eliza,’ says Gallagher to her daughter, ‘why don’t you take one of those cakes through for Daddy?’
The little girl looks up. ‘Can I have one, too?’
Gallagher nods. ‘Just the one though.’
When she’s gone, Gallagher turns to Somer. ‘Didn’t we speak to Sasha’s teachers already?’
Somer makes a face and shakes her head. ‘All of them apart from this man Scott. DS Gislingham was told he’d gone home with a migraine.’
Gallagher raises an eyebrow. ‘Had he really? How convenient.’
‘I just rang the head,’ says Somer. ‘Apparently he’s suffered from them before. So it could have been legit.’
Gallagher goes over to the oven to check the cakes, then turns back to Somer. ‘What exactly did Patsie say?’
‘According to her, this man Scott has been trying to cosy up to Sasha for a while, but the girls were just laughing it off. Teasing her about it, calling him a creep – you know, like girls do. Apparently they call him Spotty Scotty. Among other things.’
Gallagher gives a rueful smile. ‘God, I’m glad I never have to be fifteen again. Do we know if Sasha said anything about it to anyone?’
‘Certainly not to her mother, and apparently not to any of her teachers either.’
‘What do we have on him? He must have been DBS-checked, surely?’
Somer nods. ‘Yes, but there’s nothing flagging.’ She opens her bag and passes Gallagher a printout. The photo clipped to the top shows a man in his late thirties. He isn’t that bad-looking, but he has a defeated, hang-dog air about him.
‘Definitely looks a bit desperate,’ says Gallagher. ‘But he doesn’t look dangerous – like he’d do you any actual harm. And I know teenage girls do sometimes go for older men,’ she says, making a face, ‘but I’d be absolutely staggered if this is that elusive boyfriend of Sasha’s we still can’t find. If you ask me, this man is about as far from a babe magnet as it’s possible to get while still having a pulse.’
Somer gives a wry smile. It’s almost word for word what Ev said.
Gallagher scans down the rest of the page. ‘Lives alone, never married, no criminal record. Not even a parking ticket.’ She looks up at Somer. ‘Have we sent this to Bryan Gow?’
Somer nods. ‘He’s away till Sunday but he’ll have a look and get back to me as soon as he can. And there’s something else. We checked out what Scott drives.’ She gives Gallagher a heavy look. ‘It’s a Morris Traveller.’
Gallagher gets it at once. ‘Which is a lot smaller than a van but if you had a bag over your head and were shoved in the back, would you be able to tell? I’m not sure I could.’
Somer shakes her head. ‘Me neither. And Faith did say she didn’t think the vehicle she was taken in was very big.’
‘Right,’ says Gallagher crisply. ‘Do we have an address?’
‘That’s the other thing. It’s 73 Grasmere Close.’
The name alone gives it away. It’s in the Lakes. No more than half a mile from the Applefords; even less from the Blakes.
‘Oh dear,’ says Gallagher. ‘Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.’
‘Baxter is trying to get hold of his employment records – to see if we can establish a link to Faith as well as Sasha. Whether he’s ever worked at Faith’s college or any of the schools she’s been at.’
Gallagher nods. ‘Good work. Exactly what I’d have done.’
Somer flushes a little at the praise. ‘But even if we get nothing there, he could have seen Faith on the street any number of times. He’d have to drive past the bus stop she uses every day on his way to Summertown High.’
‘And what about the historical attacks,’ says Gallagher, taking a sip of her wine, ‘the Roadside Rapes – could we be looking at Scott there too?’
‘He was eighteen in 1998,’ says Somer. ‘So yes, we could be.’
‘OK,’ says Gallagher. There’s a sudden shout from the sitting room; someone has evidently scored. ‘Let’s find out everything there is to know about Scott: everywhere he’s lived since the late nineties, everywhere he’s worked, and whether there’s any reason why there might be plaster in the back of his car. And whether there’s anything linking him to any of Parrie’s victims.’
Somer notes the last two words – notes and approves: Gallagher is still on Fawley’s side. At least for now.
‘And let’s hope we turn up something, because right now, we don’t have a warrant for either his house or his car, and we aren’t likely to get one.’ Gallagher puts her glass down and gets to her feet. ‘But that’s no reason not to have a nice little chat.’
‘Do you want us to bring him in?’
Gallagher nods. ‘Yes, I do. And take DC Quinn with you.’
Somer frowns. ‘Quinn? I mean,’ she says quickly, ‘there’s no reason why not, I just wondered –’
Gallagher smiles. ‘Horses for courses, DC Somer. I want Mr Scott to be decidedly unsettled. And something tells me DC Quinn is going to get right up his nose.’
* * *
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.
* * *
Thursday, 11th November, 1999
[Day 20]
JENNIFER GODDARD, sworn
Examined by MR. BARNES
Q. Is your full name Jennifer Goddard?
A. Yes.
Q. Your daughter, Emma, was the victim of a sexual assault on November 14th 1998, is that right?
A. Yes.
Q. Did Emma live at home with you at that time?
A. Yes. She was only nineteen. We lived in Headington then. I moved to Wantage after, because of what happened.
Q. On the night in question, Emma was due home at her usual time, I believe?
A. That’s right. She worked at the JR.
Q. The John Radcliffe Hospital?
A. Yes. She was training to be a midwife. She always got home between 6.30 and 7, unless she called to say she’d be late.
Q. But she didn’t call that night?
A. No. That’s why I started to get worried when she wasn’t back by 8.
Q. Did you call the police?
A. Yes, but not till later. I was worried they’d think I was fussing.
Q. And what happened when you spoke to them?
A. They said they’d send someone over. That’s when I knew it was bad. And then there was a woman in uniform at the door. They said I had to go with them. Em had been attacked and she was in A&E.
Q. What had happened to her?
A. They didn’t tell me much then. Not till we got to the hospital. That’s when I found out that she’d been raped.
Q. What effect did the assault have on your daughter, Mrs. Goddard?
A. It was devastating. She stopped going out – not just on her own, even with me or her friends. She was just too terrified. By December she was barely leaving her room at all. They’d signed her off long-term sick from the JR, but I was starting to worry that she’d never be able to go back. She said she couldn’t bear being around babies. It was enough to break your heart.
Q. And on December 24th last year, what happened then?
A. I got back home from work and found her on the bed. She’d taken pills. Pills and vodka. She’d written this beautiful note saying she loved me and she was sorry but she just couldn’t carry on any more. But she wasn’t the one who should be sorry. It’s him – that bastard over there – Gavin Parrie –
MRS. JENKINS: My Lord –
MR. JUSTICE HEALEY: Mrs. Goddard, I appreciate how difficult this must be, but it is important that you confine yourself to answering the questions put to you. Do you understand?
MRS. GODDARD: Yes, my Lord.
MR. BARNES: Did your daughter succeed in her suicide attempt, Mrs. Goddard?
A. I called 999 and they took her to the JR but they told me in the ambulance it was touch and go.
Q. And when you got to the hospital?
A. The doctor came out to see me about an hour later. He said they’d done everything they could but it was no use. Some of the nurses were crying. They knew Em, you see.
* * *
You wouldn’t know they were police, just from looking at them. The woman is a real looker, for a start, and as for him, well, he has that swagger-shagger look that’s always pissed Scott off. Men like him – they don’t know they’re born.
‘Yes?’ he says, holding the door as close to shut as he can manage.
‘DC Erica Somer,’ says the woman. ‘I was wondering if you’d mind answering some questions. About Sasha Blake.’
‘Can’t it wait till tomorrow?’
The man looks supercilious, like he knows something Scott doesn’t. ‘’Fraid not. We can do it here or you can come to St Aldate’s. Your choice.’
Scott hesitates. What’s worse – letting them stick him in one of those nasty little interview rooms or having them looking down their noses at his house and making excuses to go to the lav and snoop into his things. He glances up and down the street. There doesn’t seem to be anyone about. And it’s an unmarked car. At least the nosy cow opposite won’t be putting two and two together and making forty-six.
‘Give me five minutes,’ he says. ‘So I can lock up.’
* * *
Interview with Graeme Scott, conducted at St Aldate’s Police Station, Oxford
6 April 2018, 7.55 p.m.
In attendance, DC E. Somer, DC G. Quinn
ES:Before we start, I would like to thank you for coming here tonight, Mr Scott, and especially so late and at such short notice.
GS: You didn’t exactly give me much choice. But, of course, I want to do anything I can do to help. This is a terrible situation. For Sasha’s mother, I mean.
ES: You taught Sasha art?
GS: That’s right. For the last two years.
GQ: Since she was thirteen.
GS: Right. She was very talented. I kept telling her she should do A level.
ES: You were encouraging her?
GS: Of course. That’s my job.
GQ: So, what – you gave her extra lessons? Personal coaching?
GS: [laughs]
This isn’t the private sector, mate. I just did what I could to bring her on.
GQ: Well, that’s certainly the impression we’ve been given.
GS: [frowns]
I’m not sure what you’re getting at. I was just taking an interest. As her teacher.
ES: From what we’ve been told it was a lot
more than that. The way it’s been described to us, it sounds like it was completely inappropriate.
GS: Now hang on a minute –
ES: You’re what – thirty-eight? She was fifteen.
GS: It was nothing like that. Look, I don’t know where you’re getting this from – no, wait, I know exactly where you’re getting this from. It’s Patsie and Isabel, isn’t it? And that Leah? They’ve been blabbing –
ES: ‘Blabbing’, Mr Scott? I believe I’m correct in saying that the meaning of that word is to ‘reveal information’. Specifically, information people would rather wasn’t generally known. Secrets, for example.
GS: [red in the face]
I didn’t mean that – there’s nothing to reveal. Because there was nothing going on.
ES: But you’d have liked there to be, is that it? I mean, she was a very attractive girl.
GS: She was fifteen. Even if it were legal – which it wasn’t – it would still have been unethical. She was a talented student. That’s all.
GQ: Do you know a girl called Faith Appleford?
GS: [frowns]
Sorry?
GQ: Faith Appleford. She’s a talented student too. A very talented student.
[passes across a photo]
GS: She’s not in any of my classes. I don’t know her.
ES: She used to go by another name. Perhaps that might jog your memory?
GS: I told you, I don’t know her. Look, if it’s all the same to you I have things I need to be doing.
GQ: This won’t take much longer. And you did say you wanted to help.
GS: [pause]
OK. As long as I can go in about ten minutes.
ES: We’re asking everyone who knew Sasha where they were on Wednesday evening. Could you tell us where you were? For the record?
GS: I was at home. I’m at home most nights.
ES: No one was there with you?
