Retribution

by Jay Nadal

Bennett had been shown through to an interview suite. The dark grey floor and white walls of the room drained it of any character or warmth. It could have been described as functional, with a solitary square table and two plastic chairs either side. The Ritz it most certainly wasn’t. The room felt stuffy and claustrophobic during lengthy interviews, and with no natural daylight, it was easy to succumb to fatigue and tiredness quickly.

  After Abby had done the introductions and set up the tape recorder, Scott began. “Mr Bennett, thank you for coming in. This isn’t a formal interview and you’re not under arrest. We’re recording this interview as standard procedure. You’re free to leave at any stage should you wish to. I understand that you waived your right to legal representation, is that correct?”

  Bennett nodded.

  “Mr Bennett, you’ll need to say your answers for the tape.”

  “Yes.”

  Scott went through some questions asking him about his role at Edmunston-Hunt, what he liked, didn’t like, etcetera, to develop some rapport, before he probed a little further.

  “Mr Bennett, how well do you get on with the staff at the school?”

  Bennett held Scott’s gaze for a brief moment with his standard deadpan expression. For a moment Scott thought he’d need to repeat the question in case Bennett hadn’t heard.

  Bennett shook his head and shrugged. “I don’t really have much to do with them. I don’t think most even know I exist. I’m there to clean up after them and make the place look tidy like.”

  Scott flicked through a brown file. “Mr Bennett, I understand that you did a stretch of twenty-seven months. ABH for glassing someone in a pub in Soho, London, plus a further four months for assaulting a police officer involved in your arrest. Do you get angry often?”

  “No.”

  “So what happened in this situation?”

  Bennett paused; his hands were firmly clasped on the table between them. He looked between Abby and Scott. “Because they kept saying I was thick, said I looked like a retard.”

  “Who did?”

  “Dunno, some blokes in the pub. Then one tripped me up as I went to leave. I fell. I was mad. I hate it when I’m called thick.”

  “So you lashed out and attacked one of them.”

  Bennett nodded.

  “Mr Bennett,” Scott said as he nodded in the direction of the recorder.

  “Yeah.”

  “Did anyone call you thick at the school? Pupils? Perhaps the teachers?”

  “Nope.”

  “How well did you get on with the principal, Mr Collier?”

  Bennett fixed his gaze on his locked hands and shrugged. “He was okay. He gave me a chance. No one else would. See, I can’t fill in those forms the job centre gives us. I can’t read or write.”

  “At all?” Scott questioned.

  “Other than writing my name. Sees I left school at nine, didn’t see the point. I had no dad; he fucked off before I could walk. Mum was a pisshead and a tart. Had lots of men come round and take her out and stay the night. She’d tell me to stay in my room all day, gave me a can of cider and a few fags and a packet of cheese and onion crisps to keep me quiet. I’d sleep most of the day cos Mum kept me up half the night with her men and the things they used to do.”

  Scott and Abby exchanged a brief glance.

  “Your aviary, do you like birds?”

  Bennett’s faced softened as he eyes gazed off into the distance. “Yeah, they’re lovely creatures. Won’t harm a soul. They love me talking to them.”

  “Who else had access to them?” Scott asked.

  Bennett thought for a moment. “Well, anyone really. I used to have the odd student come and see them. They liked feeding the birdseed.”

  “Any staff?”

  Bennett shook his head. “I don’t even think most of ’em know they’re there.”

  “So to clarify, anyone on the site could and did have access to the aviary because it wasn’t locked?”

  “Yeah, why is that a problem? I don’t want harm coming to my birds.”

  “Mr Bennett, you’ve been extremely helpful. I’ll get an officer to show you out. Oh, just one last question. Has anyone come to you to borrow any of that boundary rope or ask for packaging tape?”

  “No, but a few weeks ago, I found one of the black wheelie bins round the kitchen on its side, everything out of it. I thought it was foxes looking for scraps.”

  “What’s your thoughts on Bennett?” Abby asked as they made their way out of Brighton.

  Abby had offered to drive, but Scott was forever saying that his life insurance wasn’t adequate enough when she was behind the wheel, much to Abby’s consternation. Scott always found it easy to wind Abby up, especially on the topic of her driving. He’d often teased her saying that men were better drivers, which seemed to always hit a raw nerve with Abby.

  “I don’t think Bennett is our man. For starters, he’s just said that he can’t read or write. And when I asked him to write out a sentence in the interview, it looked like a three-year-old’s scribble. He couldn’t even hold the pen properly. The aviary isn’t locked, so anyone could get in there and help themselves to feathers, and as for the rope, he’s got loads of it by his back door, easy enough for someone to cut off a length without him noticing.”

  They’d only just passed the marina when Scott’s phone rang. He clumsily fiddled around inside his jacket pocket before retrieving it and throwing it into Abby’s lap. “See who that is…”

  Cara’s name popped up on the screen. “It’s the scalpel queen,” Abby replied teasingly.

  “See what she wants will you?”

  It crossed his mind that in recent days the case had taken up a lot of his time and energy. He’d neglected his relationship with Cara, something that she’d been keen to point out in several texts recently. He felt bad, their relationship was only just taking off, and here he was doing what most coppers did, putting their job above and beyond most things in their lives.

  He recalled hearing the phrase ‘Join the force, get a divorce,’ when he first signed up, and never really understood its meaning until now. Shift work had a destabilising effect on home life, the earlies, lates and nights, bigger workloads, tighter budgets, staffing cuts, coupled with the stress and pressure of the rank often took their toll. It was a thankless task sometimes. The public rarely thanked the police. The public was quick to blame them for not doing enough, and the senior management jostled in the politics of policing.

  A long-serving DS had once taken Scott under his wing and given him an insight into what was to come.

  “I speak from experience of two marriages and one divorce,” the old-timer had said. “Going to bed early, and getting up at five a.m., or getting in around midnight absolutely drained, or getting home around eight a.m. just wanting to hit the pillow and then getting ready to go out again around nine p.m. was very telling on family and social life,” he’d pointed out to a youthful and exuberant Scott.

  “Whoa, hold a minute. Calm down; take a few deep breaths. Who’s there?” Abby said calmly tapping the dashboard.

  37

  Abby had kept the line open as Scott turned around and raced back to Cara’s flat. On loudspeaker they could hear Cara’s screams, a male voice shouting, the sound of glass breaking and loud thuds as bits of furniture were being thrown around. Abby had also called through for a local unit to get there immediately as there was a threat to life. Scott’s mind raced, his pulse throbbed in his neck as images flashed through his mind. Who was there? What did they want? What were they doing to his precious Cara?

  It felt like déjà vu…a loved one in need of his help and him powerless to do anything about it. This time he hoped he wasn’t too late.

  He was taking corners and traffic like a man possessed. Abby did her hardest to hold on to the door handle whilst exchanging nervous glances with Scott. She knew what would probably be going through his mind right now, and thought better of asking him to slow down. She tried her hardest to reass
ure him that everything would be okay, that other units were on the way, but knew her words were falling on deaf ears. Scott stared straight ahead, his lips pursed tight, his hands gripped the wheel like his life depended on it. In Scott’s world, that was probably an accurate assumption.

  Scott screeched to a halt in the middle of the road outside Cara’s apartment just as the flashing blue lights and wail of police sirens approached him from the opposite end of the road. The sight of four police officers abandoning their cars and racing towards one of the properties was enough to raise the curiosity and interest of passers-by and residents as curtains twitched and front doors opened.

  Wood splinters and the front door hanging off one hinge greeted them. Scott tensed, the hairs on the back of his neck prickling. Breathing rapidly and fearing the worst, they barged in, only to be confronted by a tall, unshaven white male who stepped out into the hallway, a knife in his right hand clearly visible to the officers. Scott fully expected the assailant to come towards them as the uniformed officers released their retractable batons and screamed “Put the knife down now!” Instead, the man’s eyes widened in a mixture of fear and rage. He snarled at them, his jaws clenched tight before he turned and raced for the kitchen and the rear courtyard garden beyond.

  Scott ran after him, followed hotfooted by the two uniformed officers. Abby tailed off as she went from room to room looking for Cara, shouting, “Cara, where are you?” The lounge was in disarray, ornaments and flowerpots lay scattered around the floor. Potpourri had been trodden into the carpet, daffodil stalks lay broken on the floor. A bottle had been thrown against the wall, leaving a shimmering shower of green glass across the carpet. The evidence all pointed towards a violent episode, but Cara wasn’t there.

  Abby turned into the next room and found Cara draped across the end of a bed, her hair knotted and untidy, her T-shirt ripped from the violent struggle that had taken place, her cream bra partially exposed, and what looked like the red impression of a bite mark on her shoulder. Abby noticed that the button on her jeans was undone, but from where she lay, the jeans hadn’t been removed. Lying there dazed and confused, Cara glanced towards the doorway; her left cheek flushed bright red, the corner of her lip crimson with a trail of fresh blood.

  Scott shoulder-charged the intruder, forcing him to collide with the kitchen table and lose his balance before falling head first into the rear patio doors. The fall and subsequent impact dazed the man sufficiently to give the officers enough time to wrestle the intruder on to his front and secure his hands behind his back. Scott knelt down to see if he recognised the scrote, perhaps he’d come across him previously, but the face didn’t register with him.

  More officers streamed through the door. The small apartment was beginning to feel claustrophobic. That was the good thing about being a police officer. When an officer or a member of their family was in trouble, officers were quick to respond. From the looks of it, half of Brighton nick had arrived, including a dog handler with a very large and aggressive black German shepherd straining at the leash, barking and snarling at all the commotion.

  Scott left his uniformed colleagues to deal with the intruder as he sought out Cara. He found her wrapped in a cardigan, with Abby offering her a protective arm around her shoulder. His initial reaction was to rush over to her and wrap her in his arms, but he was stopped in his tracks by her repeatedly saying, “I’m sorry…I’m sorry,” as tears streamed from her puffy, red eyes.

  “Hey, it’s fine. It’s really fine. You’re safe now,” Scott reassured her, as he knelt in front of her and glanced briefly towards Abby who rubbed Cara’s back. “We need to get you checked out to make sure you’re okay.”

  “I’m sorry, Scott. I’m so sorry.”

  “Listen, there’s nothing to be sorry about. We can get the details later.”

  Cara leant forward, resting her elbows on her thighs. “You don’t understand,” she whispered softly through swollen lips. “I…I know him. He’s my ex.”

  Scott dropped his hands and knelt back on his heels. “He’s your ex?” he said, sounding confused. “I don’t get it. What’s he doing here and why now?”

  “He wanted me back. He’s been following me for weeks, stalking me, scaring me. All those things were down to him…” she said almost apologetically.

  Abby shifted awkwardly, but Scott didn’t even register Abby’s reaction. His mind raced, trying to make sense of the last few moments as he glanced away.

  “Scott, he damaged my car. He scared me at the office, the pig’s head…it was all him. He was after me, not you. Even down to the break-in I had here. It’s all him.” Cara shivered, the shock setting in, her shoulders quaking. “He was the reason I left London, to get away from him. Listen to me, Scott…”

  Scott appeared stone-faced, his eyes glazed as he looked straight through her. What was going on here? What else hasn’t she told me?

  He was brought back into the room, “Scott…Scott.”

  “I don’t understand…why did he want to track you down?”

  “Because…” Cara paused for a moment knowing that what she was about to say would hurt Scott beyond belief. “Because he was a bully. I fell pregnant, but knew I couldn’t bring a child into the world with that monster as its dad. I…I had a termination.”

  38

  The events of the prior evening had meant that their visit to see Stephen Barrington had been postponed. Scott had left shortly after Cara’s revelation. The news had left him confused, his mind replaying the scene in Cara’s apartment over and over again.

  He wasn’t sure why he had reacted to her news. As the evening had worn on, his confusion had been replaced with sadness and then with an overwhelming feeling of guilt. On reflection, he felt foolish, stupid, almost childlike for his reaction. The more he brooded over it and ignored her texts, the stronger the feeling grew. Why can’t I get a grip?

  The drive to Rottingdean was silent for most of the way. Scott hadn’t mentioned anything else and Abby had left him with his thoughts, but she could tell that it still bothered him.

  He repetitively tapped his fingers on the steering wheel, his lips drawn in a thin line with the occasional shake of his head. Scott struggled to deal with what Cara had revealed. It wasn’t like him to walk away. He was awash with emotions. One moment it was sadness, then recalling Cara’s confession would flood his body with hurt, before being replaced with guilt over his reaction.

  Abby couldn’t sit there any longer. “Pull over…”

  “What?” Scott asked softly, not taking his eyes off a point in the distance that had him transfixed.

  “Pull over,” Abby repeated, pointing to an approaching lay-by.

  “Why?”

  “Just do it, please?”

  Scott indicated and pulled in before turning in his seat to look at Abby. “What’s the matter?”

  “You’re the matter!” she said forcibly, poking him in the arm. “I’m not being disrespectful, Guv. I’m talking to you as a friend, Abby to Scott. I know what you’ve been through, and any loss of a child is difficult and painful. It’s something no parent should experience in their lifetime. I know I’d find it hard to continue if I lost one of my brats. But an outsider would think that it’s you who’s been assaulted.”

  “Abby, we’re in the middle of a multiple murder investigation and you want to give me a pep talk? It’s none of your business…my private life is none of your business,” Scott said angrily.

  “Pot and kettle spring to mind. I’ve lost count of the amount of times we’ve talked about my personal life. You’ve given me some great advice in the past. You’ve also taken the piss out of me over my poor choice of men…and admittedly, you’ve had a point. I’ve always been shit at choosing men.” Abby shrugged in agreement. “But I was surprised by your reaction yesterday. She didn’t hurt you on purpose, did she? She clearly lived in fear of that tosser, and decided on a clean break, a new life…a life that now involves you…you big clut! She clearly loves you…a
nd whether you choose to admit it or not, you love her.”

  Scott remained silent, dropping his eyes to fiddle with the stitching on his steering wheel. A mixture of embarrassment and surprise robbed him of his usual confidence.

  “Do you honestly think any woman takes the decision for a termination lightly? Terminating a life? She made a decision based on what she thought was right at that time in her life. Regardless of whether you or I think it’s a right or wrong decision, she chose to do it based on her circumstances and the evidence available to her at that time. How can you punish her for that?”

  Scott shook his head slowly. “I know…I know what you’re saying…but…”

  “There’s no buts, Scott. Just zip it for a moment,” she interrupted, pinching her thumb and finger together and pulling an imaginary zip across her lips. “How could she possibly bring something like that up so early in a relationship?…Any relationship? ‘Oh, by the way, Scott, I’ve had a termination. Hope you don’t mind.’ Get real, Scott.”

  Abby’s voice rose an octave. “The woman is hurting still. It’s probably played on her mind since that day, and she’s carried it with her afraid to tell anyone, especially a new fella in case that changes their feelings towards her. And with what you’ve been through, how the fuck could she possibly find the right words and time to tell you?”

  Abby abruptly stopped and stared in silence at Scott, fearful that she’d gone too far with her lecture. More softly she said, “Listen, just think for a moment about how she’s feeling. A new life, a great but weird job, a new bloke in her life who’s more vain than her,” she added trying to lighten the mood. “Things are finally looking good for her…and you. A fresh start. So are you really going to ruin that, or throw it away? Because I thought you were better than that. You’re one of a few people I admire and want to be when I grow up. Grow a pair and deal with this the way it needs to be dealt with, huh?”

  Scott sat there gazing out towards the coast feeling suitably chastised. He had to admit that everything Abby said was true, but admitting it himself was another matter. He’d been an idiot, a red mist moment had clouded his judgement and he’d jumped to the wrong conclusion. He was feeling sorry for himself, when in reality it was Cara who was hurting, not him. Yes, he hurt from losing Becky. And, yes, he felt that anyone who willingly aborted a child’s life was being selfish when to him a child’s life was so precious. But rightly or wrongly, it’s was an individual decision, her decision.