All the Rage (DI Fawley)

by Cara Hunter

  She returns to the entryphone. ‘I just wanted to check Faith is OK.’

  There’s a silence, and then the sound of the door lock being released.

  ‘Come up.’

  The flat is on the top floor. The lift isn’t working so Somer is slowing down by the time she gets to the right landing. But ahead of her a door is already open. Jess is standing there. It’s only just gone 9.00 but she’s in PJs and a long paisley dressing gown that looks like it was originally a man’s.

  She raises an eyebrow when she sees Somer. ‘We must stop meeting like this.’

  She has a mug in one hand. Steam is rising from it. Not coffee though, something earthy, herbal.

  ‘How is she?’ asks Somer.

  Jess makes a face. ‘Not great.’

  They’re keeping their voices low. As if someone’s ill.

  ‘Her mum called about twenty minutes ago,’ continues Jess. ‘She said you’ve arrested Nadine – actually arrested her.’

  Somer sighs. ‘I’m sorry – we really didn’t have much choice. Not with the evidence we now have.’

  ‘Faith wasn’t too bad before that, but she’s been crying ever since. She can’t believe Nadine could have done that to her.’

  ‘We don’t know if she did. Not yet.’

  Jess shrugs. ‘You must think it’s possible or you wouldn’t be questioning her. Have you got a sister?’

  Somer hesitates, then nods. ‘Yes. Actually, I do.’

  ‘Well then. How would you like it?’

  * * *

  ‘I don’t know her name,’ says Mr Brotherton, dragging the teabag out of the mug and dropping it in the bin.

  ‘But Ashley does have a girlfriend?’

  The old man snorts. ‘More like had, if you ask me. I don’t think he’s heard a peep out of her since all this started.’

  Everett’s detective antennae flicker at this. It might mean nothing, but on the other hand –

  ‘What’s her name?’ she says, taking the proffered mug.

  ‘Search me. He doesn’t bring ’em here.’

  Ev’s heart sinks. ‘You’ve never seen her at all?’

  The old man ferrets about in the cupboard for biscuits and comes up with garibaldis. She tries not to think about how long the packet has been in there.

  He shuffles across to the table and sits down. ‘I did see her once or twice at a distance. A couple of months ago, maybe? But she had her back to me. Brown hair, longish.’

  Which could be almost anyone, thinks Everett. But it could also be Nadine Appleford.

  ‘One thing I do remember though,’ he says, offering her the packet of biscuits. ‘He was teaching her to drive.’

  * * *

  Somer takes a seat on the armchair opposite Faith. She has her arms wrapped round her legs and one cheek is resting on her knees. A waffle blanket has been tucked round her shoulders.

  ‘How are you?’ says Somer softly.

  There’s no reply. She can see the tears on the girl’s face.

  ‘I just came to see how you were doing. There isn’t much I can tell you at the moment, I’m afraid.’

  Faith seems to register Somer’s presence for the first time. She raises her head and wipes her eyes. ‘Mum said that carrier bag came from our house.’

  Somer sighs. ‘I know. We still can’t explain that. I’m afraid Nadine’s not saying very much.’

  Faith drops her head again. Somer can’t imagine what it must be like – to discover someone who’s supposed to love you has betrayed you. And in such a cruel and deliberate and spiteful way.

  ‘Do you know many of Nadine’s friends?’

  Faith looks up at her then shakes her head.

  ‘Do any of them have a van? Any sort of vehicle that might have been the one you were taken in?’

  Another tiny shake of the head; the tears have started again. She’s begun to rock gently, her hands gripping tighter round her knees.

  ‘I’m sorry, Faith, but I had to ask.’

  Jess slides down next to Faith on the sofa and puts a hand gently on her shoulder. ‘I’ll put some food on in a bit,’ she whispers. ‘Mac and cheese, your favourite.’

  There’s no acknowledgement from Faith, but she doesn’t push the hand away.

  When Somer stops at the front door a few minutes later and turns back to look at them, they’re still sitting there, in the same position; the only sounds the patter of rain against the windows and the soft hiss of the gas fire.

  * * *

  Sent: Mon 08/04/2018, 21.55Importance: High

  From: DCVerityEverett@ThamesValley.police.uk

  To: DIRuthGallagher@ThamesValley.police.uk

  Subject: Ashley Brotherton – URGENT

  Something’s been bugging me about the whole Nadine thing so I just went over and spoke to Ashley’s grandfather again. He told me Ashley had a girlfriend he was teaching to drive. In car parks, places like that. Mr Brotherton doesn’t know her name and only has a vague description but from what he said, it could definitely be Nadine.

  So just because she’s only 15 and doesn’t have a licence doesn’t mean she couldn’t physically drive that van. And if she was his girlfriend she’d know about the spare key by the back door too.

  I think it’s possible Nadine got a bus down there the morning Faith was attacked and ‘borrowed’ the van while Ashley and his grandad were at the funeral. The timing is really really tight but I think she could just about have done it. And Mr Brotherton said Ashley parked the van in the next street that day, to make sure there was room for the funeral cars, which would have made it a lot easier for someone to take it without anyone noticing.

  I know it’s a crazy long shot, but it is feasible. Remember what that witness said about the van driver having their cap pulled down low over their face? That would make sense, if it was Nadine. She wouldn’t want anyone to clock how young she is.

  And it would also give us a v. good reason why she’s refusing to tell us who her accomplice was: she can’t do that, because she never had one.

  VE

  * * *

  ‘DC Everett? It’s Ruth Gallagher – I just got your email.’

  Gallagher is on her hands-free in the car, at the traffic lights in Summertown. Everett is only a hundred yards away, if she did but know it, upstairs in her flat, tipping a can of cat food into a bowl with her free hand.

  ‘That was a damn good hunch of yours – well done.’

  ‘Thanks – it just suddenly came to me – if someone borrowed Ashley’s van, why not a girlfriend? Why not Nadine?’

  ‘You’re right about the timing though – she’d need miraculously good bus connections. And both ways: she didn’t just have to collect that van from Blackbird Leys, she had to get it back there too, and get back to school.’

  ‘I know, but it’s only five miles – it could be done. Just.’

  ‘Well, it may be we’ll have to put that to the test ourselves, but first things first. Have you spoken to Ashley?’

  Gallagher can hear a vague wailing noise in the background; not a baby though, more like a cat. A particularly insistent cat.

  ‘I tried,’ says Everett, raising her voice a little, ‘but since he can’t work with his cut hand he’s gone up to Blackpool with some mates. I’m afraid he’s not picking up his phone.’

  ‘Did you ask his grandad to have a go? Ashley’s more likely to answer him than some number he doesn’t recognize.’

  ‘Yes, I did, but it just went to voicemail. But don’t worry, he’s promised to try again first thing tomorrow. And if I have to, I’ll go over there and watch him do it.’

  * * *

  Adam Fawley

  9 April 2018

  08.25

  Alex is still asleep when I get to the hospital. But she stirs a little when I take a seat next to the bed, and opens her eyes. She smiles, that delicious slow first-thing-in-the-morning smile of hers that makes my heart turn over.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be at work by now, Detective Inspecto
r Fawley?’

  ‘I think community outreach can do without me for a while.’

  Yesterday it was a talk to the local Deaf Club about how the police deal with vulnerable witnesses; today it’s a Careers session at Cuttleslowe Secondary. It’s important stuff and someone should be doing it. I’d just rather it wasn’t me.

  Alex sits up now, slowly, pulling the bedclothes around her. Instinctively, without thinking. As if she’s protecting the baby, even from me. Outside, in the corridor, I can hear the rattling trundle of the breakfast trolley.

  I reach across and take her hand. ‘I can’t stay too long but I’ll come back later, as soon as I can get away.’

  She smiles, but this time it’s a sad thin affair. ‘Ironic, isn’t it. All those years I wanted you not to work so late and now you’re home early all the time, and it’s all my fault.’

  ‘It’s not your fault, and with luck it won’t be for much longer. I heard on the grapevine that Ruth Gallagher may be near an arrest for Sasha Blake. One of her teachers. And if it was him, he was in north Wales in the late nineties, so there’s no way he’s a Parrie suspect we just failed to find. So try to put it out of your mind, OK?’

  ‘You like her, don’t you?’ she says. ‘This Ruth Gallagher.’

  ‘Yes, I do. She’s good at the job but she doesn’t make a show of it. And she’s managed to get the team doing what she wants without forcing them to work a whole different way. That’s not easy.’

  ‘Even Quinn?’ says Alex.

  ‘Even Quinn. Probably because she’s got a teenage boy at home and she’s just transferred the technique.’

  We exchange a smile. I’m telling myself I can see a little more colour in her cheeks now, and perhaps I can.

  I get up and give her hand a last squeeze.

  ‘Adam?’ she says as I get to the door. But when I turn again she seems to have changed her mind.

  ‘It’s nothing,’ she says. ‘It’ll keep.’

  * * *

  ‘So that’s as far as we’ve got,’ says Ruth Gallagher. ‘Full marks to Everett, but until we can speak to Ashley himself, it’s all still supposition.’

  It’s the morning meeting and the room is full. The sense of anticipation is now as palpable as the smell of office-machine coffee. Perhaps they really are going to finally crack this bloody case.

  ‘What’s Nadine saying?’ says Gislingham.

  ‘Nothing,’ replies Gallagher. ‘No surprises there. Though her mother claims a) she’s never heard of anyone called Ashley Brotherton, and b) Nadine doesn’t have a boyfriend. Which, as any parent of a teenager will know, has no evidentiary value whatsoever. But that being the case, and with nothing else to fall back on, I had no option but to bail Nadine and send her home.’

  Quinn gets up and goes to the whiteboard. He’s the only one with a proper shop-bought coffee; no surprises there either. He stares at the photos for a moment then turns to the group. ‘Well, if you ask me, we’re barking up totally the wrong tree on this one.’

  No one was asking you, thinks Everett, her hackles rising. Typical bloody Quinn to stick a spoke in.

  ‘Why do you say that?’ asks Gallagher evenly.

  ‘Well, you only have to look at her – Nadine, I mean. Ashley Brotherton’s way out of her league. He wouldn’t look at her twice.’

  There’s a ripple round the room at that. Some of them may have been thinking it, but only Quinn would actually come right out and say it.

  Gallagher raises an eyebrow. ‘One thing I’ve learned in this job, DC Quinn, is that if you base an investigation on your own personal assumptions, you’re likely to land yourself well in the shit.’

  Somer and Everett exchange a glance: neither have worked for a female DI before, but it clearly has its upsides.

  ‘So are we clear?’ she continues, looking round the room. ‘Regardless of DC Quinn’s misgivings, we’re going to assume there is a connection between Nadine and Ashley Brotherton, until such time as we prove there isn’t. And while we’re doing that, we’re also going to work out if it was physically possible for that girl to get to Blackbird Leys and back on April 1st and still be in school for double Geography. Extra brownie points on offer for anyone who volunteers to do the buses, otherwise I just pick a victim.’

  * * *

  Adam Fawley

  9 April 2018

  10.05

  I see her as soon as I pull up in the car park. She’d be hard to miss anywhere, and even more so in this place. She’s standing just outside the entrance, a messenger bag slung over one shoulder, her long dark-red hair in a jaunty ponytail. Over-the-knee boots laced up the front and a skirt that only gets halfway down her thighs. She looks at her watch twice in the time it takes me to lock the car. And then she sees me.

  ‘DI Fawley,’ she says, coming quickly in my direction. There’s no question in her voice, no rising intonation. She knows who I am.

  ‘I’m busy. Talk to the press office.’

  She comes to a halt, directly in my path. ‘I already did. They won’t tell me anything.’

  ‘Well, I’m not going to tell you anything either. It’s not even my case any more. As you well know.’

  I start walking again, and she follows me. ‘But you’re still part of it – if they find the killer, that’s going to have a direct impact on the Parrie case. That’s what I’m working on –’

  ‘Look, Ms –?’

  ‘Bowen. Nicole Bowen.’

  ‘It’s DI Gallagher’s investigation. Talk to her.’

  She makes a face. ‘I did. She told me to sod off. Unquote.’

  I can’t help a dry smile at that. Then over the woman’s shoulder I see a car signal and pull in from the main road. It’s a red Jaguar coupé, which I’m fairly sure I’ve seen before. A hunch that hardens into conviction when I see who’s driving. It’s Victoria Parker; Isabel’s mother. And I don’t want Nicole bloody Bowen anywhere near her.

  I turn away and start walking, but Bowen keeps pace with me. ‘I heard a rumour,’ she says. ‘They say you’ve arrested someone. For the Blake murder.’

  I stop and turn to face her. ‘Who told you that?’

  She comes a step closer. ‘Word is it’s one of her teachers. Graeme Scott?’

  I don’t control my face quickly enough – she sees the blow land. On the other side of the car park Victoria Parker is already locking her car and starting towards me.

  ‘So it’s true,’ says Bowen, her eyes searching mine. And one thing I do know: this woman needs to get herself a much better poker face if she wants a career in crime reporting – that knowing smirk of hers is going to get every copper’s back up.

  ‘Look, Ms Bowen, I have better things to do than standing here listening to wild, uninformed speculation. If you want to keep your job, don’t even think about doing that in public or putting any of it in your bloody documentary. Do I make myself clear? Good. Now, if you’ll excuse me.’

  There must be something in my face because this time she doesn’t try to follow. Victoria Parker has stopped at the main door now and raises an eyebrow as I approach. ‘Problem?’

  ‘Press,’ I say. ‘Occupational hazard in a case like this, I’m afraid. Was there something we can help you with?’

  ‘This terrible thing with Sasha Blake – the rumour mill at the school’s gone into complete overdrive.’ She looks embarrassed. ‘I mean, I don’t usually do the whole gossip at the gate thing, but I was talking to Leah Waddell’s mum and I suddenly thought – I mean, I’d totally forgotten about it before that, but –’

  She’s a little flushed now. ‘Sorry, I’m gabbling, aren’t I? It’s probably nothing –’

  ‘Mrs Parker, there’s one thing I’ve learned from doing this job: if people make the sort of effort you have to come to a police station it’s very rarely for “nothing”. So why don’t you come inside and tell me what this is about and I’ll find someone you can speak to.’

  Her eyes widen. ‘Can’t I talk to you?’

  I
shake my head. ‘Not formally, no. I’m not part of the investigation any more. But there’s DS Gislingham, or DC Somer if you’d prefer to talk to a woman –’

  She hesitates, then nods. ‘OK. But I’ve only got half an hour. I told Isabel I was going to Waitrose. I didn’t want her to know I was coming here.’

  * * *

  Gallagher didn’t have to dump the bus job on anyone in the end, because Asante volunteered. To a ripple of smirks and an audible mutter of ‘teacher’s pet’ from Quinn. But Asante doesn’t care. He’s always had a healthy respect for enlightened self-interest. And besides, the rain has finally stopped and he could do with some fresh air.

  He parks the car in a side road near Summertown High, then walks up to the bus stop. There’s one into town in five minutes.

  * * *

  Adam Fawley

  9 April 2018

  10.26

  When I push open the door to the incident room, Gislingham is up at the front, gesturing towards the whiteboard. People are clustered close around him. They’re all on their feet. And take it from me, as a snap indicator of case morale, the ratio of sit to stand is usually pretty reliable. ‘Up and at ’em’ isn’t just a cliché – not in this job.

  Heads turn, people register it’s me.

  ‘We were just going through the latest developments, sir,’ he begins.

  I move up towards the front. ‘I’m sorry to barge in but this can’t wait. There’s a witness downstairs who needs someone to take her statement.’

  Gislingham frowns slightly. ‘A statement about what?’

  ‘About Sasha Blake. And Graeme Scott.’

  * * *

  Interview with Graeme Scott, conducted at St Aldate’s Police Station, Oxford

  9 April 2018, 11.52 a.m.

  In attendance, DC G. Quinn, DC A. Baxter, Mrs D. Owen (solicitor)

  DO: I assume you’ve had a chance to check my client’s alibi by now, so I’m at a loss to know what this is about.