by Keith Nixon
“Yes. We’d like to collect various samples. We have a kit to do so. Urine and a vaginal swab so we can check for semen.”
“Semen?”
“And alcohol or drugs.”
“Why?”
“Large quantities of alcohol or drugs could determine whether you were capable of consent.”
“Oh. We just drank tea.”
“If possible, Mrs Fowler, I need you to not go to the toilet until we’ve collected samples. The same goes for eating, drinking, or smoking.”
“I don’t smoke.”
“Disgusting habit,” said Alice.
“From here I’ll be stepping out of the process.”
“Why?” asked Margaret.
“We have specially trained officers to take you through the judicial process.”
“This will go to court?”
“If there’s sufficient evidence, then yes.”
“I don’t want that.”
“Yes, you do!” snapped Alice.
“No!” Margaret stood abruptly, faced Hamson. “I don’t wish to take this any further, Inspector. It’s not right.” Margaret lowered her head so her eyes were looking at the table.
“What isn’t, Mrs Fowler?” asked Hamson.
There was a long pause while Margaret gathered herself. “I just wanted to have sex, that’s all. It’s been so long since Mike and I did anything. I needed the appreciation of a man and Sol was there. It was a stupid, stupid impulse and I was embarrassed by my behaviour.
“Alice came round to see me, and she asked me what was wrong. I pretended Sol and I had had sex. Alice insisted he must have forced himself on me. She told me I should make a complaint to the police. She wouldn’t take no for an answer.”
Alice glared at Margaret.
“I’m sorry, Alice,” said Margaret.
Alice stood and left the comfort suite.
“I apologise for causing any trouble,” said Margaret. “Arrest me if you wish.”
***
When Gray entered Carslake’s office, Hamson and Fowler were already seated. At the sight of Gray, Fowler pushed himself out of his chair and lurched at Gray who squared up to take the assault head-on.
“DS Fowler!” barked Carslake, stopping Fowler in his tracks. “Sit down!”
Fowler stood his ground, forcing Carslake to repeat himself. Fowler only sat again when Hamson took hold of his arm and said, “Hear what he has to say.”
“She’s lying,” said Gray, taking a seat. “She said so herself.”
“Margaret always tells the truth,” said Fowler.
“Tell us your side of the story, Sol. It’s important Mike hears it for himself.”
“I went round to ask Margaret about Reverend Hill and she propositioned me.”
“Bullshit!” shouted Fowler. Hamson put a hand on Fowler’s forearm. He shook it off.
“Let him finish,” said Carslake.
“I went to the bathroom while Margaret made some tea. When I returned she was in her underwear. She asked me for sex, I asked her to get dressed. If Margaret had been subjected to an examination, nothing would have been found, because nothing happened. Whether you like it or not, Mike, I’m telling the truth.”
“Oh my God,” said Fowler. He wiped a hand over his face.
“Are you satisfied with Sol’s explanation, Mike?” asked Carslake.
“I need to talk to Margaret.”
“We’ve charged both Alice and Margaret with wasting police time. We had to.”
Fowler stood up.
“Mike,” said Hamson, but he walked out of the room.
“Go on,” said Carslake, giving her permission to go after him.
When they were alone, Gray said, “It’s absolutely what happened, Jeff.”
“She’s not pressing charges, so that’s what counts.”
Gray couldn’t quite comprehend what he’d just heard. “Nothing happened!”
“If you say so. It’s a dead end now. Unless Margaret changes her mind.”
“For Christ’s sake, Jeff, I’m innocent.”
“I believe you.”
But Gray didn’t believe Carslake. When he left the office, Sylvia gave him an even dirtier look than usual.
In the gents along the corridor from Carslake’s office Gray splashed cold water from the tap onto his face, ran wet fingers through his hair. He looked up as the bathroom door opened and Hamson stepped inside, shutting the door behind her. Gray turned around, leaned against the sink. “Mike’s gone home,” she said.
“That’s not going to be an easy discussion,” said Gray. “How is he?”
“Angry and blaming you.”
“Great. Just what I need.”
“And we’re all going out for a drink later.”
“Mike’s still coming along tonight?”
“I’m trying to persuade him.”
Alcohol and anger, thought Gray. What a great combination.
Thirty Four
“Come on, Sol!” said Hamson.
It was time for the dreaded birthday pub crawl and Gray was pretending to be on the phone again, faking an animated conversation with the speaking clock. The build-up to the main event had been underway all day, Hamson’s deliberations increasing in frequency as the event neared.
She accosted and cajoled every cop who crossed her path – beaming at them when they accepted the invite (again) or pulling a pout when they turned her down.
With half an hour to go Hamson got changed in the women’s toilets, selecting something a little more daring than her work clothes, and spent the intervening period perfecting her make-up in the detectives’ office.
As the shift’s conclusion crawled ever nearer and Hamson’s excitement grew, so did Gray’s desolation. Hamson coerced her colleagues once more to ensure her popularity. While the clock ticked, the office filled with fellow partygoers. DI Pennance and even Brian bloody Blake were included.
At the top of the hour Hamson beckoned to Gray, mimed drinking. He shook his head, mouthed, “Important call.” Incredulity splashed across Hamson’s face.
Ever the gentleman, Pennance jumped to aid the damsel in distress, striding over to Gray’s desk and holding out his hand for the phone. Gray ended the call before Pennance reached him. “They rang off,” said Gray.
“That was fortunate. Looks like you can join everyone now.”
“First round’s on you,” said Hamson.
“Great.”
***
Gray stood at the bar of the Britannia, trying to avoid leaning against the bar top, which was dripping wet. The Britannia was a low-slung establishment sporting a fort-like appearance typical of the area. The attempt failed. No one cared about faux history.
Its major draw was proximity: the pub stood across the road from the Winter Gardens, a once-popular entertainment venue sunk into the chalk cliff, and the police station. The Britannia was next door to the latter; it took seconds to clock off from one shift and clock on to another.
The interior swelled with bodies and commotion at the cops’ entrance, a hubbub of joviality and anticipated excess with Hamson at the centre and loving every moment of it.
Pennance had effectively escorted Gray to the pub. Pennance stood with his back to the bar, watching the unfolding frivolity. Slade’s “Merry Xmas Everybody” hammered through the speakers.
“Your lot certainly know how to enjoy themselves.” Pennance shouted in an effort to be heard over the guitarist’s simplistic yet catchy riff.
“Why do you think I was trying to avoid the festivities?”
“You’re a miserable bugger.”
“Never pretended to be anything else.”
A cheer went up and Gray glanced over his shoulder. DCI Carslake was threading his way through the crowd, Sylvia and Blake behind him. Carslake nodded at Pennance, who made space for him. His secretary hung back a pace.
“Bit of a surprise seeing you here, Jeff.”
“Couldn’t resist when I heard your wallet w
as getting an airing,” said Carslake. “It’s been a while.”
“My sides are splitting.” Gray narrowed his eyes. “Is that lipstick on your cheek?”
“What?” Carslake rubbed at a smudge of red. “Yvonne’s doing, that.”
“Your secret’s safe with me.”
“I’m relieved.”
It seemed that every other cop on the island had heard about it being Gray’s round by the numbers merrily ordering alcohol and pointing at him. He suspected some of them were still on duty. Blake ordered a lager, Sylvia a gin and tonic.
“I just hope they take credit cards,” said Gray.
“We do,” replied the barman, pulling another pint. A colleague was assembling a line of shot glasses and pouring a clear spirit into each, ready to be deposited into the lager.
“In that case, make mine a double scotch,” said Carslake.
Gray suspected it was going to be a long night. And an expensive one.
“Cheers, Sol,” said Pennance, raising a pint in salute. Sylvia scurried off, drink in hand, without so much as a thank you.
“You’re welcome,” said Gray to her back.
***
Several hours later, the night well in progress, Gray was loitering outside the latest destination, The Frog and something. The pub crawl had reached the Old Town’s square and almost reached the roughest pub in Margate, The English Flag. The landlord was a dick, but Gray had managed to save them from what would have been a challenging encounter with the locals, steering them here instead. It was a good job someone had remained relatively sober.
Gray was cold. He didn’t care. Better to be outside in the elements than stuck in the middle of Hamson’s celebration. He had a drink in his hand.
The door swung back, liberating a blast of noise from within. A shriek from Hamson, a bellowed laugh from Blake, the blast of sickeningly cheerful seasonal music. Pennance emerged from the pub. Just when Gray thought the evening couldn’t get any worse.
“Not enjoying the party?” Pennance asked.
“Not really.”
“Me neither.”
A group of carousers entered the square, women dressed in bright outfits and pointy hats, all of them holding balloons. Hen party or Christmas party paraphernalia, it was difficult to tell. They made their way over to the pub and spilled inside. Right on cue, a huge cheer went up, from both groups.
Pennance said, “We haven’t really had the opportunity to speak.”
“We’ve had plenty, DI Pennance,” said Gray. “You’ve just been unwilling to engage.”
“I meant on a personal level. And please, call me Marcus.”
“I’ll stick with the formalities, thanks.”
“Suit yourself.”
“I will.”
“I can understand how frustrating it is for someone to come down from another force and take over your investigation.”
“Believe it or not, DI Pennance, I’ll be delighted whenever you get to the bottom of whatever well you’re looking down. What I don’t like is being kept in the dark.”
“It’s… necessary.”
“Right.” Carslake’s prediction returned to Gray, that perhaps Pennance wasn’t here for Buckingham at all. Could he trust him? “One question.”
“Fire away, though I may not be able to answer.” Pennance smiled thinly.
“Is it corruption?”
Pennance stared at Gray. “Not as far as I know.”
“I don’t believe you.”
Gray was about to ask a question that would connect the Reverend Hill and Nick Buckingham when the pub door opened again. Both men twisted towards the movement. Framed in the doorway was Tanya, stunning in a scarlet dress.
“Fancy meeting you here,” she said to Gray, and smiled at Pennance in an effort at politeness. Gray liked her even more for it.
“Hello,” said Gray. He tried to sound nonchalant, wasn’t sure it came off.
Pennance checked his watch. “I’d better be getting off anyway. I’ll catch up with you tomorrow, Sol.”
Gray nodded. If Pennance was anticipating some thanks in the morning for clearing off he’d have a bloody long wait. Pennance left and Tanya moved towards Gray, joining him in leaning against the wall which offered partial shelter from the wind.
“You two don’t seem to like each other,” said Tanya.
“Me and Pennance? What makes you think that?”
“The atmosphere out here, I’d have struggled to cut it with one of my sharpest knives.”
“It’s complicated.”
“Usually is.”
“Yes.”
“I guess all that lot inside are with you?”
“Sort of. Part of my team.”
“Having fun?”
“Not really.” The alcohol intake and Pennance’s guarded behaviour afforded him an unusual amount of honesty and openness. Gray was feeling pretty drunk. “A colleague’s birthday party. She’s my boss, so no choice really.”
“Same here on the choice bit. Hen do for my niece.”
“The bunch that went in a minute ago?”
“My worst nightmare. Drunk women out on the pull, egging each other on.”
“Does that include you?” Gray kicked himself as soon as the words passed his lips, felt Tanya’s eyes boring into him. “Sorry, that just slipped out.”
“Pass me a cigarette and I may forgive you.”
“How about I buy you that drink?”
“Now you’re pushing it.”
“Worth a try.”
“Always.” She smiled. “Do you enjoy being a policeman?”
“Enjoy? It’s not really a word I’d associate with the job. Most of the time I’m dealing with tragedy.”
“That explains why it sometimes looks like you’ve got the weight of the universe on your shoulders when you come into my café.”
“Didn’t we have this discussion earlier?”
“We never finished it. Humour me.”
“A lot of bad things have happened around me. Still do.”
“You’re hardly talking me into that drink.”
“Sorry.”
“And off you go again, apologising.”
Gray opened his mouth. His brain vetoed any further apologies. He closed his mouth again.
“There, we’re making progress,” said Tanya.
For the third time the pub door opened. Hamson came out into the square, pulling up short when she clocked Gray. Her eyes flicked to Tanya. “I just came outside to see where you were, make sure you’re okay.”
“I’m fine, Von, thanks.”
“Are you going to introduce me?”
The pub door crashed open. Fowler, obviously drunk, staggered out and put an arm around Hamson. “Look who it is.”
“I told you to stay inside,” said Hamson.
“What’s wrong with saying hello to my old friend, Solomon?” Fowler sneered.
“Nothing happened, Mike. I swear it,” said Gray.
“That’s what she says too. I don’t know what to believe any more.”
“Let me buy you a beer.”
“I don’t want anything from you. Bastard. It was all okay until you came along. We had an understanding.”
“That’s enough, Mike,” said Hamson. She turned around and thrust a palm at Fowler’s chest until they were back indoors.
“What was all that about?” asked Tanya.
“Just work stuff. It’s a long story.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not really.”
“She’s attractive.”
“Yvonne? I suppose.”
“Do you want that drink, then?”
Gray was taken aback. He thought he’d blown it. “Sure.”
“Not here, though. I’d never hear the end of it from my lot. They’d want to know all about you. Can I have a moment to get my coat?”
The wait was a nervous one, and one during which Gray grew increasingly convinced that she’d stood him up, that th
is was all a big joke she was sharing with her mates at his expense. He was about to leave and get a taxi, rather than face the shame of facing a flock of laughing women, when the door swung open again.
“My turn to apologise this time,” said Tanya. “The girls were trying to persuade me to stay. The bastards hid my handbag.” She held up an arm, a coat draped over it and black bag on her wrist.
“That’s okay. I didn’t mind the wait.”
“You’re a bit out of practice at this, aren’t you?”
“What?”
“Talking to women.”
“You can tell?”
“It’s okay. I don’t mind giving you some guidance.”
“Thanks. Where do you want to go?”
“Well away from here.”
“Works for me.”
“Are you going to say goodbye to your friends?”
“They won’t notice I’ve gone.”
“Where do you live?”
“Broadstairs.”
“We’re neighbours then. We could go back to yours?”
“To my house?” he asked, worrying about the crudity of his decor, hardly a great advert for a prospective partner.
“I was thinking of a pub? Somewhere near both of us?”
Gray kicked himself, yet again getting ahead of himself. “Good. That’s what I was thinking too.”
“You sound relieved.”
“Not at all!”
Tanya eyed Gray, gave him a wry half-smile.
“I’ll call for a taxi,” he said.
“I’d prefer to walk and find one. I could do with some fresh air. I’m feeling pretty pissed.”
“Into the New Town, then.”
As Gray started to walk across the square he felt Tanya fall into step beside him. A moment later her hand slid into the crook of his left arm.
The decision to go straight home was made by Tanya somewhere between Margate and Broadstairs.
“What’s your address?” she asked Gray.
Gray told her and she relayed the location to the driver, who nodded. Ten minutes later, Gray was struggling to close the front door with his foot while returning Tanya’s passionate kiss.
***
The intruding sunlight woke Gray. He hadn’t closed the curtains, too distracted last night. Silence. He raised his head, tentatively glanced over. The bed was empty, although a depression in the mattress and the hint of residual heat remained to prove it hadn’t been a dream.
