The Stalking of Louise Copperfield

by Robert W Fisk

  “Louise,” he breathed.

  ‘Interesting,’ thought Jayne. ‘That’s what he’s hiding. He knew that Louise had been drugged. Was he party to the attack?’

  She paused and then continued, “You were seen leading her upstairs to the bedroom area. I will give you one chance and one chance only to tell me the truth and to stop beating about the bush.”

  To Jayne’s surprise tears rolled down Nigel’s cheeks.

  Jayne pressed her point home. “Mr Jones? Did you sexually assault this woman on the night in question?”

  Nigel controlled his emotions, although his voice was shaking as he spoke.

  “No. I did not, Detective Hyslop. I found Mrs Louise Copperfield in a drunken or drugged state. I assisted her upstairs to Mr Larcombe’s bedroom, which I thought would be safe from couples looking for a bed. I was trying to save her from harm. ”

  ‘Nigel Jones is smooth,’ thought Jayne. ‘It’s as if he is giving evidence in Court. Rehearsed?’

  “I did not say the complainant’s name,” said Jayne. “So you took her upstairs? And then what, Mr Jones? Did you interfere with the lady in any way?”

  “No. I did not. I took her shoes off and then her clothes. I put a cover over her,” he replied. “I left her partly dressed in her underwear, under a top cover. I removed her outer clothing carefully, being absolutely careful to show her no disrespect.”

  'Show her no disrespect?' thought Jayne. 'Is this guy for real?'

  “She was in a drugged state, not asleep but not awake. I would have stayed and looked after her – we were at school together- but I had to get to a bottle store before they closed at eleven.”

  Nigel took a deep breath. He slowed his speech which had been getting faster and faster.

  “Mr Larcombe had asked me to get more alcohol and there wasn’t much time. Actually, there is something. I got stopped for a breath test. My car plate will be on your records. Along Nile Road, around ten thirty, ten forty five?”

  Jayne had something that she could check. She moved on to ask Nigel Jones about the people in the photos. He knew every one of them, and picked out the ones who were false leads.

  “Thank you Mr Jones,” she said. “You have been of great help. One last question: knowing the guest list as well as you do, can you hazard a guess as to who might have had or used Rohypnol?”

  “No, I don’t,” said Nigel Jones, a little too quickly, hoping that his lie would pass unnoticed. It did not.

  'Larcombe,' thought Jayne. 'Mr Big Boss. He talks, the small fry jump. Was Larcombe the rapist?'

  “Mr Jones, that is all for now,” said Jayne. “I will see you again, and perhaps you would be kind enough to search your memory so that you can give me a clearer answer to my last question.”

  Jayne left Nigel Jones’s office and took the stairs to the ground floor. She knew that she had made progress but was convinced that while Nigel Jones might not have been directly involved in the date rape of Louise Copperfield, he knew more than he was letting on. Jayne could also see that he was secretly in love with Mrs Louise Copperfield.

  Jayne talked to her husband, Bernard Smith, in bed that night. He never said much but what he did say was always sensible and sound. They had been trying for a baby and now faced the prospect of it not ever happening or of trying some expensive options such as IVF or surrogacy.

  “So, Larcombe or Jones?” Jayne asked as she finished recalling her interview.

  “Your gut feeling is Jones is in love with Louise so I go for Larcombe,” he said. “Shall we try tonight? Timing should be good?”

  “Oh, Bernard, I'm so sorry,” said Jayne. “I'm so wound up I don't think it will be any use tonight. Maybe in the morning.”

  Bernard said nothing, gave her a hug and rolled away so that he could sleep. He knew he had an early shift in the morning.

  CHAPTER 19.

  The team gathered for the Group Meeting. It was a laid back affair, coffee or tea in hand, with some scones or cakes bought form the nearby bakery on the table. It seemed low-key but as officers gave their opinions the others tore their ideas to shreds. It was healthy, but it could be harsh. It was not the place to show prejudice of any kind. It certainly taught each officer to think clearly and not to promote extreme ideas. Jayne was an exception. The team quite enjoyed Jayne’s brainstorming forays which had led to insights that had solved some puzzling crimes. She did not know it but it was to be a bad day for her.

  Because the team was understaffed and had no sergeant or Senior Constable, Inspector Chadwick sat in on as many of these meetings as he could. Burly Gareth Evans was there with an unpressed regulation blue shirt worn with his mufti clothing, a no-no. With a tribe of kids to cook and clean for his poor wife probably made him iron his own shirts. His jacket was frayed around the cuffs. Despite his general appearance, he still looked thoroughly professional.

  Next to him sat Hans Zimmerman. His family had come from Switzerland but he had been born in New Zealand. He was very tall, with shaven fair hair from his temples to a crown of fair hair on top, what the army once called ‘short back and sides’. His features were not rounded and fleshy like Gareth’s but sharp and strongly defined. He could have been an officer in the German Army but nobody dared to make that comparison.

  “I don’t think Nigel Jones date raped Louise Copperfield,” said Jayne.

  “Why not? He took her to a bedroom, she was stupefied. His wife was getting it publicly. No-one would know.”

  Gareth Evans, was a blunt man, ten years older than Jayne, often crude but so often right in such matters.

  “I’ve met him. He’s Old School. Would never be able to live with his conscience if he touched a woman without her permission,” said Jayne.

  “My kind of guy,” said Tracey Fox. Tracey was tall and angular, one of those women one could imagine in jodhpurs and jacket, with brown hair tied back in a bun. She was the youngest on the team, at twenty six. She was dedicated to the job and was not in any kind of relationship.

  “Evidence, where is the evidence that Jones is so different from Gareth’s kind of guy?” asked Hans Zimmerman.

  “The way he looked at me, his shyness, his long winded way of talking about sexual issues,” Jayne answered. “I think he wouldn’t do anything to harm her because he is in love with Louise Copperfield, and always has been.”

  “Women’s intuition?” asked Gareth. “Poppycock. No such thing.”

  “Hold on a minute Gareth,” said Tracey Fox. “You know how you would feel if, God forbid, a woman wanted to go to bed with you. That sort of feeling communicates itself. It’s not a woman’s intuition, it’s our sensory systems and I’ll report you to HRC if I hear you make that sort of remark again.”

  Tracey was always reporting men to the Human Rights Commission. She had never heard back from them but hoped that one day she would get a reply.

  “Move on,” said Inspector Chadwick. “If not Jones, then who have you got lined up?”

  “Three people,” said Jayne. “The first is an unknown male, who may one day break the law and be forced to let us take a DNA sample. The second and third are Larcombe and Bannister.”

  “Could be the husband,” said Tracey Fox. “It’s usually someone close to the victim.”

  Inspector Chadwick said, “Add Copperfield to your list, Jayne.”

  “Hadn’t thought of him. He was apparently blotto, sleeping it off,” said Jayne.

  “Apparently? Hah! Think, Jayne,” said Inspector Chadwick. “Your snout described a heavy drunken man who recovered very quickly when he met a Polytech student. Is that Frank Copperfield?”

  Jayne shuffled her photo file. She had earned a black mark for making an assumption and in not having interviewed Copperfield.

  “It could be,” she said. “I’ll ask him for DNA and match him to the photo. I’ve been to the Copperfield home but have never met him. He is always too busy working.”

  “Larcombe and Bannister?” asked Tracey Fox. Like Jayne, she was a de
tective constable. The pair often worked together. When a mixed couple was needed, Jayne teamed up with Gareth Evans and Tracey with Hans Zimmerman.

  “Larcombe said he was already on file. Bannister refused point blank. Court order needed,” she said.

  “What for?” asked Inspector Chadwick. “Larcombe. What was his DNA test for?”

  “I haven’t checked yet,” said Jayne apologetically.

  There was an awkward silence. Jayne knew she had earned another black mark.

  “See me afterwards, please Jayne,” said Chadwick. “We can sort out what Larcombe has done, it may be quite innocent or he may be a serial rapist. We can see what can be done about a Court Order for Bannister. The Mayor told me you had asked him for a sample. Did you really?”

  There was another stunned silence. One needed due cause before asking for a sample. Jayne’s face was beetroot red. She couldn’t find any words, she realised that was not even breathing.

  “Fortunately for you, he thought it was a hoot. Roared with laughter as he told us all at the Club,” said Inspector Chadwick.

  They all relaxed. Apart from another black mark, Jayne heaved a sigh of relief but she knew she had made another blunder. Suggestions were made for what to do next. Frank Copperfield’s DNA was high on the list. An interview with the girl he took to the sunroom was also on.

  “How are things between Louise and Frank Copperfield?” asked Gareth. “I sense you feel a degree of unease.”

  “I haven’t asked directly,” said Jayne. “You are right. I wonder whether he set her up so he would have grounds to divorce her. She’s RC. No divorce.”

  “She is divorced,” said Gareth Evans. “Her oldest kid is Kezia Ricciardello. It’s a modern world, Jayne.”

  Another black mark. This meeting was sending her to Hell in a handcart.

  Inspector Nicholson left them shortly after. The team appreciated his attendance but felt a little uncomfortable that errors they made in procedure were seen immediately by the top man, rather than being softened by being filtered through the system.

  “Boss wants you, Jayne. Now,” said Gareth, who, being the oldest, seemed always to take the lead.

  “Sir?” asked Jayne as she slipped into Inspector Chadwick’s office.

  “Sit down Jayne,” said Inspector Chadwick.

  “Two things. First, you made a few blunders in procedure. You are relatively inexperienced as a detective, Jayne. We are short staffed and you need a Sergeant to help direct you. You have a fine copper’s instinct and I like the way you think outside the square. But procedures are there because they are tried and true.

  “Also, I think you are tired because your shifts and your husband’s clash. That brings me to my second point, one I wish you to keep quiet about for the moment. I know you two are desperate to begin a family. With you both working in separate divisions it must be hard to find the time.”

  Chadwick coloured a little.

  “That did not come out right. Forgive me, please. I want to bring Smith into the team. How do you feel about that?”

  “I talk to him about our cases, Sir, said Jayne. “He gives me good advice. He is irritatingly meticulous. We work well together. And it would solve a lot of personal problems if we were in the same division.”

  “It may come to nothing,” said Inspector Chadwick, “so please keep it under your hat.”

  Jayne left the Inspector’s Office feeling better than she had entered it. She was pleased to have Chadwick as her boss and hoped he would choose a good Sergeant to replace the hopeless one that Chadwick had transferred to Mangere in the North Island. She hoped Bernard would be asked to join the team. He would enjoy being a detective.

  CHAPTER 20.

  Finisterre where the Copperfields lived was a quiet residential suburb where small business owners and tradesmen lived in large older houses with gardens front and back, and off-street parking that left the roadsides clear. There were mature trees to shelter under from the burning summer sun, mainly European trees such as oak and chestnut and liquid amber that turned brilliant colours in the autumn. There were also trees native to New Zealand, kowhai with its golden flowers beloved of birds, korokio, familiar to the world as corokia, titoki, puriri, horopito the lacebark and tree fuchsia which brought the birds, and entwining clematis with gorgeous scented flowers. It was a pleasant area where houses were well-kept, churches still drew small flocks to worship, a family area where children were growing up but where school enrolments were declining as families aged.

  It was difficult to remain anonymous, to slip into properties without being seen, but Charlotte Hoar managed to do so by going jogging. Very early in the morning Charlotte slipped around the side of Louise’s house in Allnatt Street. The dog Tess wagged her tail at the sight of a friend who brought treats. Tess was kept inside a dog motel, a kennel with an attached run where she had some toys and some freedom to move about within the attached cage. Tess was often let off in the morning by Frank as he left for the building site, returning to the dog motel when little Alexander fed her. Whenever Charlotte sneaked into the house, she gave Tess some doggy treats.

  “Good dog,” she said as she fed Tess on a doggy treat from the local supermarket. Tess wagged her tail and took the bar into her kennel to savour it. Her wagging tail thumped against the wooden sides of the kennel, startling Charlotte for a moment. But there was no disturbance, nobody came.

  It was just after dawn, so Charlotte knew she would have to hurry if she wanted to get away before Frank came into the yard to pee on the lemon tree before letting Tess have a run.

  Charlotte moved quietly to the porch at the back door. The porch had a glass door that was never locked, a back door which she assumed was locked, and a laundry door which was always a little ajar, a convenience that allowed the utility room door to be pushed open by Louise or Kezia when they carried in an armful of washing. The laundry was just a box-like room with a window, a laundry tub, a washing machine and a dryer, and a large store cupboard.

  Charlotte had several times watched Alexander open the cupboard and use a scoop to fill Tess’s dish with biscuits from the bag on a low shelf. Alexander never saw her. He was too fixated on his task to notice Charlotte in her black clothing standing behind a shrub.

  Two weeks ago, Charlotte had been with Louise when she put a new bag of Friskies dog biscuits in the cupboard after Louise had come home from work. From the car port, Louise had seen Charlotte at the gate of the house and had called out, “Charlotte, how nice to see you. Do come in and have a coffee.”

  “Just passing by,” said Charlotte. It was day time so the hoodie and the black pants had been replaced by a dark blue tracksuit. “Been for a bit of a run. Yes, I’d love a coffee. Here, let me help with that.”

  Louise was carrying a big bag of dog biscuits.

  “No problem. Had to leave these by the carport,” said Louise. “I could manage to take the shopping in, but the biscuits are just too much.”

  Charlotte followed Louise down the path to the back porch, and into the laundry.

  “You are just so lucky to have a room like this,” said Charlotte. “My washing machine is in the kitchen, would you believe.”

  Louise opened the cupboard door, took out the old bag of biscuits and put what was left in the bag into a dish. Louise replaced the old bag with her new bag, which she opened by pulling a tape at the top. She put both her hands into the bag and lifted up the small coloured biscuits.

  “Pretty, aren’t they?” she said to Charlotte. “I wonder which colour Tess will like best?”

  “I like the red ones,” said Charlotte.

  “Yellow bin,” said Louise, taking the now empty bag and folding it in half. She was referring to the colour of the lid of the rubbish bin that sat against the outside wall, the bin in which she would place the empty bag. “Dustbin day tomorrow.”

  The next morning just as the birds began to sing and dew hung like gems from the golden kowhai blooms, Charlotte returned with a paper bag ful
l of Pindone pellets. She slipped into the laundry where Louise kept the dog biscuits for Alexander to give to Tess. Opening the top of the bag, she poured in the green pellets from her paper bag. Then she lifted the biscuits and let them fall from her hands as she stirred in her poisonous gift. She thought the little green biscuits looked pretty among the yellow and blue and black and brown triangular, square and round shapes of the standard mixture. They looked good enough to eat. Especially if you were a hungry little boy. For a moment Charlotte had qualms about what she was doing, but it shouldn’t matter. If Alexander ate some, they shouldn’t do any harm. The poison was for rabbits not for humans. It would kill a rabbit but would only make a dog sick. Worry about the pet and the children’s reaction and the expense of the vet; two strikes for the price of one.

  ‘This is a neat trick,’ Charlotte said to herself. ‘Maybe she’ll get the message – leave my man anlone.’

  CHAPTER 21.

  The streets were empty of cars. The footpath on the way to school was in places overhung with branches of trees or garlands of flowers, whose scent hung on the warm heavy air. When she married, Kezia wanted to walk through an arbour such as this, with leafy arches and sprays of summer blooms. She particularly liked the montana rubens, a clematis with a lovely flower. It was idyllic on a summer’s morning.

  When she thought about her wedding, Kezia thoughts turned to the young Syrian. She arrived early and had time to chat with friends. She was seen as sensible and level-headed, often the voice of reason when things became emotional.

  Kezia had an early class. As she sat beside the window she thought about Youssef. He had lovely eyes. She tried to draw his face on her note pad but gave up after four attempts. She thought that he might want more than one wife. Couldn’t Moslems have as many wives as they liked? My God! Imagine sharing your husband! With a whole GANG of girls?

  “Wakey wakey, Kezia,” said Mr Harvey’s voice. “Do you know the answer?”