‘Just one, a selfie I took. Honest to God, I never pretended to be anything I wasn’t, I was always straight down the line with her …’
‘And did she post any photos?’
‘Yes, but I never kept a copy.’
Neil took out the photo he had. ‘Is that her?’
‘That’s the exact same photograph she put up online.’
‘OK. So you made the booking. Then what?’
‘I told her and she got really excited. She started saying how wonderful it was we were going to meet face to face at last, how she just knew we would have a really lovely time. Then she … she started saying what things she would like to do to … do with me, when we were together …’
‘Sex talk, you mean?’
He blushed again. ‘Y-yes. But-but I’m no good at that sort of thing, so I tried to change the subject. She said, that’s OK, I just wanted you to know I’m not going to get all funny and pretend that’s not what I had in mind, I wanted you to know that everything we want to happen, will happen.’ He made a funny choking sound.
‘Are you all right, Mr Taverner?’
‘No! No, I’m not all right! How can I be all right, when you’re going to …’
‘Just go on with your story, please.’
Shaun was silent for a few moments. He looked from Neil to Soumela, his eyes round with fear. Sweat beaded his upper lip. Soumela’s face was stern and unmoving but Neil gave him an encouraging smile.
‘Tell us what happened next.’
‘You have to believe that I’m telling the truth about this. Everything I’m telling you, it’s the absolute truth … I swear to God …’
‘Please, Mr Taverner, just tell us what happened.’
‘We made plans to meet. I said did she want to meet in a public place, like you’re supposed to, like everyone says to do, the police, everyone … but she said, no, she’d come to my place, we could leave from there. So I gave her my address. She said she’d be there at six o’clock on the Friday evening, Friday the thirteenth. I said did she have a mobile phone number, in case we needed to contact each other, but she said she didn’t have one. She’d meant to get one but she’d never got around to it. She said don’t worry, nothing will go wrong, I’ll see you at six on Friday night. And … and I never heard from her again. I swear … I waited and waited but she never came. What could I do? I had no way of contacting her. I was just stuck at home, waiting and waiting for her to show up. By ten o’clock that night I finally accepted she wasn’t coming. And then I started to think I’d been taken for a fool. I started to wonder who I had been talking to, all this time, was it a woman, or a man, maybe it was a whole group of people all having fun at my expense. And I had given this person or these people my address. I couldn’t sleep, I felt sick all night. On Saturday I worked in my back garden, for hours and hours, trying to calm down, to stop feeling so jumpy. I told myself no real harm had come of it, just hurt pride. But I was still worried that they knew my address. I asked my next door neighbour to keep an eye out for me, let me know if someone was hanging about …’
‘Yes, yes, this is all very well, Mr Taverner, but surely you saw the reports of Katie Campbell’s disappearance in the news, on the TV?’
‘Yes … well, yes, I did …’
‘So when you knew she was in fact a real person, why didn’t you come forward then? Tell us this story?’
‘Because I knew what you’d think! That you wouldn’t believe me! You’d think I did something to her! That’s what you think, isn’t it?!’
‘Mr Taverner, we have a witness who saw Katie Campbell leaving her flat that Friday afternoon, carrying a suitcase. She told this person the name of the hotel where she was going, she told this person your name. According to our witness, she seemed very happy about it, looking forward to it. And now you’re asking us to believe she never showed up? Why don’t we try again? What happened when she turned up at your house?’
‘She didn’t! I’m telling you she didn’t!’
‘Did something go wrong? When you finally met in person was something not quite right, did you have an argument …?’
‘We never met! She never showed up!’
‘Mr Taverner, I’m trying to help you here. Just tell us …’
‘No! I’m not saying another word! I’m not saying anything more because there’s nothing more to say! She never turned up and that is the truth!’
Neil looked at him grimly for a moment. ‘All right. Interview terminated at fourteen forty-five.’ He stood up.
Shaun looked up at him. ‘What happens now?’
‘You’ll be taken back to the cell, while …’
‘No! No! You have to let me go! I haven’t done anything!’ He staggered to his feet, took a couple of steps, then his legs seemed to give way beneath him and he collapsed to his knees.
‘Mr Taverner, get up.’ Neil walked around the table to the young man. As he leant over to grab his arm he felt himself taken hold of and pulled forward. Off balance, he fell to his knees and braced himself for an attack. But instead Shaun placed his hands on Neil’s shoulders and buried his face against his chest. He began sobbing wildly. ‘Please … you have to believe me … please … you have to believe …’
Neil looked across at Soumela, who was staring at them, aghast.
‘Mr Taverner, pull yourself together. Please.’ But the man clung to him, his grip tightening on Neil’s shoulders. Neil felt his tears, soaking through the thin fabric of his shirt. It was a decidedly unpleasant sensation.
‘Mr Taverner. Shaun.’ He placed his hands over the young man’s, freed himself and stood up. Leaning forward again, he grasped Shaun by the forearms and raised him gently to his feet. ‘Shaun. Shaun, look at me. I’m going to take you back to your cell, now, while we pursue our enquiries. All right? Will you come with me now, without any fuss? Shaun?’
Shaun nodded. His cheeks were wet but he had stopped crying. He gave a couple of sniffs and fumbled in his pocket for a handkerchief. Neil took out his.
‘Here. It’s clean.’
Shaun wiped his face, blew his nose, then handed the handkerchief back.
‘Keep it.’ Neil took him by the arm, and under Soumela’s and the duty solicitor’s wondering gaze, led him back to his cell.
Neil sat at his desk, staring fixedly at the opposite wall. In his twelve years as a police officer he had consoled many weeping men – men who had lost their wives, parents, sons and daughters. But never a murder suspect and the experience had left him feeling slightly shaken. Such a terrified young man … Neil found it almost impossible to envisage him as a cold-blooded killer and was coming more to the idea that something catastrophic had happened, some terrible accident – but if so, why stick to such a ridiculous lie? Shaun Taverner had had six weeks to get his story straight. And if it wasn’t a lie, where the hell did that leave them?
He called everyone available into the incident room. Bringing a large-scale map of London up on the screen, he said,
‘Right. According to Ruth Harrison, Katie Campbell passed her window at a little after five p.m. on Friday May thirteenth, heading in this direction. Shaun Taverner lives over here, in South Acton. So how, logically, would she have got there?’
‘She’d take the train from Wandsworth Common to Victoria,’ said Soumela immediately. ‘Then switch to the Tube and take the District Line to Acton Town.’
‘Yes.’ Neil gaped at her. It had taken him five minutes on the computer to work that out.
Tony laughed. ‘She’s amazing, Sir. It’s like she has a map of the London transport system inside her head.’
Soumela blushed modestly. ‘I’ve moved around a lot.’
‘OK.’ Neil zoomed in on Shaun Taverner’s street. ‘Then she’d walk along Gunnersbury Lane, take this street and turn left, or this one and turn right. Now we can do some door to door – or rather, we’ll ask our colleagues over in Acton to do it – and see if we can jog people’s memories. I’ve checked the weather record
s and it was fairly warm that evening, but if she was wearing her coat we might have some luck. Meanwhile, I want Shaun Taverner’s life history on my desk by first thing tomorrow. Thank you.’
He returned to his office and concentrated on other work. At five o’clock Tony Pavel came in.
‘I just thought you’d be interested to know, Sir, Andrew Bryson has been arrested and charged on one count of voyeurism and one of committing an indecent act. An old woman in Richmond saw him looking in her bedroom window while she was getting dressed, and in Epping Forest last summer a young couple were having a kiss and a cuddle – no nudity, they said, maybe a bit of touching through clothes – when the woman looks up and sees Bryson in the trees, staring at them. His arm was moving, it was obvious what he was doing – the young man chased him off but they still reported it. All parties have made a positive ID. So you were right, Sir.’
‘Yes.’
Tony shook his head. ‘What a sad, pathetic life …’
‘No, Tony. He’s crossed a line, causing distress … knowing he was doing wrong …’ he broke off with a smile. ‘Well, it seems we’ve both come round to the other’s point of view.’
Tony smiled too. ‘Not really, Sir. Tell me, what made you suspicious?’
‘If you read his diaries right through, like I had the unhappy job of doing, you realise there’s something glaringly obvious missing. So I started wondering what else might be missing, too. And knowing Bryson’s proclivities, it wasn’t hard to guess what.’
‘No. Well, he’ll be on the Sex Offenders Register forever now, that should put a stop to it.’
After Tony had gone, Neil reached for the file on Katie Campbell. He re-read Steve’s notes on their first meeting with Andrew Bryson, then the transcript of the interview, then the relevant diary entry. In the first two Bryson had said, “I went into my flat and slammed the door”, but the diary entry read, “I wanted to slap that smirk right off her face. Back in my flat …”
Such a subtle difference, but did it indicate some greater than assumed lapse of time? Could Andrew Bryson be their killer? He looked up the number for “La luce della luna”. The woman who answered was extremely helpful. Yes, Andrew Bryson had a standing booking for six-thirty every Friday night. On May thirteen he was thirty minutes late. She remembered this because a table of twelve had arrived at the same time, and Mr Bryson had been jostled a bit, which had upset him out of all proportion. They had ended up giving him a free glass of brandy to settle him down.
A few more quick searches on the computer and Neil felt he knew Bryson’s movements that evening – a ten minute walk to Balham Tube station, twenty-five minutes to Tottenham Court Road, a further ten minute walk to the restaurant – that left an hour and fifteen minutes in which to – what? Follow Katie Campbell, drag her into an alley, kill her, then somehow hide her body so it had never been found? It was a fair stretch of the imagination. Far more likely was that he attacked her then and there in the foyer, out of sheer, blind rage, then dragged her body into his flat – though how did he then dispose of it, without a car? And that would mean that Ruth Harrison had been wrong, when she had been so sure. Well, it would be rather pleasant visiting her again. He took Andrew Bryson’s diary down to the front office and organised for a copy to be made.
***
At six forty-five that evening Neil was back at Josh Martin’s flat. This time he was home.
‘Chief Inspector Hammond! Are you here to find out more about Katie Campbell? Because, you know, I’ve racked my brains and there’s nothing more I can tell you.’
‘Er … no, I’m not. May I come inside, please?’
Inside the flat, Neil asked, ‘Is your wife home?’
‘No, she’s at her mother’s.’ His face fell. ‘For good.’
‘Oh! Well … I’m sorry to hear that.’
‘She wanted me to move there too but I said no. I mean … we’ve only been married a few years, you know? You don’t want your mother-in-law in the next bedroom when you’re … well, do you?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
‘She says I’m being selfish, that I … well, you’re not here to listen to all my problems. How can I help you?’
‘Actually, Mr Martin, in a way I am. Please … sit down.’
‘OK. You’ve got me a bit worried now.’ Josh sat on the couch, while Neil took the armchair opposite.
‘Mr Martin … Josh … it’s come to my attention that on the night of May thirteenth you found yourself on Andrew Bryson’s kitchen floor.’
Josh instantly looked sick. ‘I don’t want to talk about that.’
‘Well, Josh, see, I think you do. I think, last time I was here, you were going to say something, but you changed your mind.’
‘You know, I was. You seem like the sort of bloke it would be easy to confide in. But that other one, well, he seemed a bit cocky, you know? Like it would all be just one big joke to him.’
‘Can you tell me what happened?’
‘I don’t even know how I got there. God, I was so drunk … Steph and I had had this enormous row and I’d stormed out and deliberately got plastered. I remember walking from the pavement to the foyer, and then … waking up on this cold floor. The door to the next room was open, and a faint light was coming through. He was there in the kitchen, sitting on a chair, watching me, and he was … well, you know.’
‘I’m afraid you’re going to have to be specific, Josh.’
‘All right. He had his dick out, and he was jerking himself off, and just as I fully understood what the hell was happening, he gave a sort of shudder, and … came. Is that specific enough for you?’
Neil smiled gently. ‘Thank you. What happened next?’
‘Well, I scrambled to my feet, yelling things like “You disgusting pervert! How dare you!”, and I pushed him. He fell off his chair, and I fell too, and was sick on the floor. He said, “I’m disgusting? What do you call that?” If I’d been in a fit state I would have smacked him one. As it was it was all I could manage to get to my feet and stagger through the lounge. I was grabbing at things, trying to stay upright – furniture, shelves, I remember knocking things flying, hearing things break. I heard him cry, “That was my grandmother’s vase!” and then I was outside, throwing up on the grass.
‘I lay on the ground for a bit, and when I could, I crawled up the stairs and into my flat, only to have Steph screech at me for half an hour about where the hell had I been, and why was I so late, and why was my shirt unbuttoned like that?’
‘He unbuttoned your shirt?’
‘Yes … God, to think of his hands on me …’
‘Josh, what you’re describing is sexual assault. If you press charges, Bryson will go to jail for this.’
‘No! Look, it’s been really good telling you all this, you know? Getting it off my chest. But that’s as far as I want to take it. I was sick on his floor, I broke his things, in a way I’ve got my own back. But court – no. I can’t stand up in court and say any of this in public.’
‘Why not?’
‘Why do you think? Because I feel ashamed. He’s twice my age. If I hadn’t been so drunk … that’s what women are told, isn’t it? Don’t get drunk, or you’re just asking for it …’
‘Josh, victim blaming is abhorrent, whether they’re female or male. No-one asks to be sexually assaulted …’
‘Yes, you say that. But other people … I can’t even tell Steph because I know she’d say I brought it on myself …’
Then maybe you’re better off without her, Neil thought, but he didn’t say it.
‘What if I was to tell you that Bryson is already to face court for other, less serious, sex offences?’
‘I’d say exactly the same. And that means he’ll be punished, won’t he? Well, let the punishment stand for me, too.’
‘Josh …’ but Josh suddenly buried his face in his hands. He started trembling. ‘No … you don’t understand … you don’t understand …’
‘What don’t I und
erstand? Josh?’ Neil went and sat by him, placed his hand on his shoulder. Josh turned to him … and for the second time that day Neil had a man sobbing against his chest.
He held him. ‘Josh, it’s all right. Ssh … it’s all right.’
‘I don’t know how I got there. Did he invite me in? Did I willingly go into his flat? And, oh God, did I let him start undressing me, before I passed out?’
‘No, Josh …’
‘I have nightmares, you know, where he and I are …’
‘Josh, listen.’ Neil repeated to him what he had read in the diary. ‘So you see, you have absolutely nothing to blame yourself for.’
‘No. But I still don’t think you really understand …’
‘Then help me to understand, Josh.’
Josh had moved a little way along the couch and was watching him.
‘I’m bisexual,’ he said.
‘All right. But that doesn’t have any bearing …’
‘Yes, Chief Inspector, it does. And you know it does. I know how these sorts of cases work, how my entire life would be under scrutiny. And I won’t have my sexuality brought into question, made an issue of, just so the defence can score points for that creature downstairs.’
‘No. Well, Josh, I’m not going to bully you into going to court. It’s your decision and I respect that.’
‘Thank you.’
‘If you want, if you think it might help, there’s an organisation you can get in touch with, specifically for men …’
‘No … no …’ Josh managed a smile. ‘I go to the gym several times a week. I imagine Bryson’s face on the punching bag and I let him have it, you know?’
Neil smiled back. ‘Well, that sounds like excellent therapy.’
They shook hands at the door.
‘I suppose you’re regretting hugging me like that, now?’
‘No,’ said Neil. ‘Why would I? You turned to me for comfort and I hope I provided some.’
‘You did.’ Josh looked at him for a moment in awe. ‘What a remarkable man you are, Chief Inspector.’
‘Call me Neil. And not really, no. Goodbye, Josh. I hope, if it’s what you want, that you and your wife can work things out.’
The Woman in the Peacock Patterned Coat Page 9
