by Jo Bannister
Afterwards Liz would say it happened too quickly for thought, that a moment came when the path divided and she had to choose with only instinct to guide her. In fact it wasn’t like that. She seemed to have all the time in the world to weigh the alternatives, and decide what mattered to her. She’d had enough of discretion: it was more in her nature to fight back.
Even then she didn’t rush. She glanced at the bench, where Judge Carnahan was red with indignation at what Fenton was doing but seemed somehow impotent to stop it. She glanced down at the Press table, saw Gail Fisher watching her with puzzlement growing to concern. She looked at the back of the court where the police officers, frozen in horror, didn’t dare meet her gaze.
Then she looked back at the defending barrister. ‘As a matter of fact, Mr Fenton,’ she said, very calmly and quite without ambivalence, ‘I know exactly how that feels.’
Part Three
Chapter Eighteen
Brian Graham had 3b for the first hour after lunch on Mondays. The lesson he’d prepared on design contained no nudes but the name of Charles Rennie Mackintosh was causing the usual hilarity when Mary McKenna put her head round his door and signalled him outside. ‘Can we have a word in my office?’ The same glance at the time-table that told her where he’d be also told her who he was teaching so she brought a student teacher to take over the class. The last time 3b were left alone for more than a few minutes they whitewashed the blackboard.
So this was going to take a little time. Puzzled, Brian followed the principal to her office and took the seat offered him. He’d left the door open; she closed it.
She had red hair and a forthright manner, and she came right to the point. ‘Brian, you should have told me about Liz. We could have juggled the schedule, got you a bit of time off.’
He dropped his gaze as if she’d caught him out in some mischief. The colour rose in his throat. He mumbled, ‘Me take some time off? I couldn’t get her to take some time off.’
‘So I gather,’ said Ms McKenna drily.
Brian caught the echo of import in that, made himself look at her. He knew he was behaving stupidly, as if he had something to be ashamed of. But when he looked up McKenna’s eyes were compassionate.
He didn’t understand. ‘How do you know about it?’
There were two questions there: the obvious one, to which the answer was that another teacher’s husband was a witness in another case that morning, and the important one. McKenna had never flinched from dealing with difficult issues and now was no time to start. ‘Brian, if you thought it was a secret I’d better tell you Liz made what amounts to a public statement in court this morning. I don’t know any details, just that. Do you want to go home, see if she’s all right?’
It was a kind offer but it went to his heart as straight as a well-aimed arrow. Liz wouldn’t be at home, and she would be fine. He didn’t need any details to know that this situation hadn’t been forced on her. She hadn’t been backed into a corner: Liz Graham didn’t allow herself to be used like that. Liz Graham didn’t do anything she didn’t pretty well want to. She’d done this because she chose to: out of pride or anger of tactics, regardless of its effect on anyone else. On him. Liz would be all right: Liz was the strong one, the bruiser. She’d come through this with her head up, bloodied but triumphant, as she came through everything. Brian felt he’d had the legs cut from under him with a chainsaw.
He didn’t trust himself to speak, just nodded. He collected his jacket and drove home. He sat by the phone for an hour before he picked it up.
‘Well,’ Superintendent Giles said manfully, ‘you’ve put the cat among the pigeons now.’
‘Yes,’ agreed Liz. There was no point denying it.
‘Can I ask why?’
She sketched a shrug. ‘It seemed a good idea.’
‘At the time.’
‘Yes. And since.’
‘Why?’ He wasn’t arguing, he genuinely wanted to understand.
‘The situation was becoming impossible. Everyone in Castlemere knew a policewoman had been raped: until they found out who, the innuendo was going to affect every woman here, me included. The damage was done already; I thought if confidentiality was no longer possible the next best thing was to put the facts on record.’
‘You thought all this,’ Giles murmured astutely, ‘between Fenton asking the question and you answering it?’
Liz conceded his point with a tiny grin. ‘Not exactly. It was one of those seminal moments: I had either to tell the truth or lie. I suppose it made me think about how we were handling it. It seemed right then; I still think it was right’
The superintendent pursed his lips. He had very clear eyes; now the blue in them was cool. ‘If Fenton deliberately put you in that position to help his case I’ll complain to the Bar Council.’
Liz shook her head. ‘Coincidence, sir. There was no way he could have known; unless someone here told him and I don’t believe that. I was damaging his case, he wanted to shut me up. He expected me to have to say no.’ Again the little smile. ‘It ruined his day when I said yes. Now he has to explain to Sharon Burke why she’s going to be in custody for the next six months while the CPS gets its case together.’
‘And’ – Giles looked for words that made no assumptions – ‘what are you going to do next?’
‘You mean, will I tidy the place up by going into purdah for a while?’ Her voice took on an edge. ‘No, sir. I’ve done nothing to be ashamed of, I’m damned if I’m going into hiding.’
‘How does your husband feel about it?’
Liz blinked. ‘Brian?’
‘Brian. He does know?’
‘I shouldn’t think so, not yet. He’ll still be in school.’
Superintendent Giles regarded her thoughtfully. As policemen go he was a New Man: he valued the contribution of women officers to a police service which sometimes needed an infusion of compassion and sensitivity. He regretted that the only way women seemed able to get on the promotions ladder was by sacrificing those very virtues and starting to behave pretty much like men. He sighed. ‘I shouldn’t count on that, Inspector.’
Dead on cue, Miss Tunstall tapped and put her head round his door. ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir. But I’ve got Detective Inspector Graham’s husband on the phone, and he sounds rather upset.’
She found Brian at the kitchen table with three mugs in front of
him, each half-full of the coffee he kept making but was too agitated
to finish drinking.
She dropped into a chair opposite him, slinging her bag over the back. ‘We’ll have to make this quick, I’m needed back at the office.’
He literally gasped. She really had no idea what she’d done, what either of them was doing here. ‘Liz, talk to me. Damn the office. Tell me what’s going on. What happened, why you did it. What you were thinking of!’
She wasn’t surprised he was upset. He was a private man, she could imagine how the news of this getting out would affect him. But there was nothing she could do to shield him. The situation was not of her making: she was sorry he was having problems but he’d have to rise above them just as she had. Now the facts were a matter of public record the gossip would soon wither and die.
She swallowed her impatience and told him how it had come about. ‘It seemed the lesser of two evils. Things couldn’t go on as they were. Every woman at Queen’s Street was under pressure – I had to do something to protect them.’
‘You didn’t think maybe it’s their job to protect you?’
Her eyes were wide with censure. ‘No, Brian, I didn’t. I’m the senior woman officer in Castlemere: I didn’t get there by dumping my problems on my juniors.’
‘Fine,’ spat Brian, white-faced with fury. ‘Well, we’ve established what’s best for you and what’s best for Queen’s Street, and once we’ve got the traffic wardens’ vote we can be quite sure all the legitimate interests have been catered for. What about me, Liz? Do I figure anywhere in this? You must have asked yours
elf how going public was going to affect me. Didn’t you? Please, Liz, you must have.’
The extent of his anger and distress amazed her. She honestly didn’t understand why he felt betrayed. Shapiro when she told him, and Giles when she told him, had been taken aback but respected her right to set the pace on this. It was a difficult situation, there were no perfect answers, but they were prepared to back her decisions simply because they were her decisions and no one else had a better right to make them. She didn’t understand why her husband didn’t feel the same way. ‘Brian – does it affect you?’
It would be hard to find a gentler man than Brian Graham. It showed in everything he said and did, in the low voice, the self-effacing humour, even the way he walked. His virtues were the modest ones of kindness, dependability, generosity of spirit. Violence appalled him.
But he came as close then as he ever had to slapping her. His long hands fisted at his sides and it seemed to take an effort of will to keep them there. His bony skull rocked back, eyes shut as if in pain. His voice was a desperate whisper. ‘Liz, what do you mean, does it affect me? Everything you do – everything that happens to you – affects me. You told a crowd of strangers that you’d been raped. You didn’t ask me first. You didn’t even tell me first. If Big Mac hadn’t pulled me out of class I might have heard it from 3b!’
‘It was going to come out sometime,’ she said reasonably. ‘It seemed better to pick my own moment.’
‘But why didn’t you warn me?’
‘I didn’t know what Dan Fenton was going to say! My only choice was between lying, glossing it over or telling the truth. I told the truth. I really don’t see the problem.’ The tragedy was, she really didn’t.
His breathing was ragged. ‘The problem? The problem is that tomorrow I’m going to have to face a bunch of kids who know my wife’s been raped. Half of them are going to be embarrassed, the other half’ll be over the moon. Christ almighty, they think they’ve put one over on you when they find out your first name! When they have this for ammunition they’ll snipe and they’ll snipe, and they won’t stop until either I break down in front of them or I do some corrective dentistry on them with the board rubber. How can I teach like that? What if one of them knows who attacked you – an older brother, an uncle, a father even? Your honesty may have made your job easier but it’s made mine damn near impossible.’
Unused to criticism from him she reacted with more speed than grace, leapt to her feet so quickly the chair spilled from under her. ‘Brian,’ she exclaimed in exasperation, ‘don’t be so pathetic! Of course it’s difficult. Do you think it isn’t difficult for me? But there’s only two options: lie down under it or get up and kick back. You lie down if you want to but it’s not my style. If the alternative to keeping my head down and telling fibs is everyone knowing, then so be it.
‘I’ve been raped once. Well, my wits were fluttering round the eaves like a flock of starlings so I wasn’t best able to prevent it. But I’m not concussed now, and I’m not submitting to any more violations. I won’t be hustled out of sight by the kind of prejudice that expects the victim of a sex attack to pay the price – and pay it again and again for as long as anyone remembers. Women leave town to avoid that, but I’m not doing so. This wasn’t my fault, not in any way at all, and I’m not going to act as if it was.
‘Now you can deal with that, Brian,’ she said fiercely, ‘or you can take that holiday in Bognor while the fuss blows over, but that’s how it’s going to be. I’ve earned the respect of this town, and I’m damn well going to have it. Not sympathy – I don’t want sympathy – I want justice and respect. I’m going to stand up for my rights. Not just for me: for the other women who aren’t strong enough to; and even for you, Brian, and all the other halves who’re worried about what the folk at work might say. And if you haven’t the guts to stand with me, then God damn you!’
She didn’t wait for a reply. She snatched up her bag and flung out to the car, and the wheels spat grit.
Half-way to Castlemere she found herself regretting some of that. Not what she’d said, because it was important and not just to her, but how she said it. She had a lot of anger to dispose of, she couldn’t afford to do it at work, but Brian wasn’t her enemy and he hadn’t deserved what he got. She’d have to apologize. For two pins she’d have gone straight back and done it then. But she glanced at the clock on her dashboard and decided it could wait till this evening when they’d both be calmer and could perhaps move on from regrets to working out a compromise. She’d get away from work around five, they could talk properly then.
In fact she finished at seven, and when she got home Brian’s car was gone from the drive and a drawerful of clothes from his chest. There was no note. She sat on the bed in stunned disbelief. She couldn’t think where he might have gone. She couldn’t think of anyone who might know. When she was forced to accept that she had no way of finding him, she cried – brokenly, desolately – for the first time since the attack.
Chapter Nineteen
DC Morgan was also in court on Monday morning, giving evidence before the magistrates in a case of handling stolen goods. The defence counsel asked for it to be called early to enable her to appear elsewhere in the afternoon; which would have been all right, Morgan thought morosely, if she’d reciprocated by getting on with the damn thing. Instead she challenged every word he said, and had her witnesses repeat themselves endlessly, with the result that Morgan was there from ten-twenty until noon. The eventual conviction was scant reward: no one was going to send a grandmother to prison for handling a frozen leg of lamb. Probation was the best Morgan had expected. Mrs Thelma Dickens, doyenne of petty crime in that sink of iniquity known as The Jubilee, gave him a wink as she left the court.
As a result Morgan wasn’t at his desk when Keith Baker phoned at ten-thirty. The switchboard asked if anyone else could help but Baker said he’d call back later – it was nothing urgent, just something DC Morgan had been asking about. By the time Morgan got the message, however, Baker was half-way down a cow with a drenching tube. It was mid-afternoon before they finally made contact.
‘That dog you were asking about,’ said the vet. ‘I treated it this morning.’
Morgan pricked up his ears. ‘The Chinese thingy?’
‘Crested Dog, yes. Painter brought it in. Shut its foot in a car door. Funny business.’ Baker’s answer to pressure of work was to talk like a telegram, omitting pronouns and conjunctions and anything else that didn’t earn its space. ‘Funny dog for a painter to have; but then he was funny sort of painter. More your interior decorator.’
‘Did you fix it up?’
‘Could have done. Would have done. Didn’t want me to. Didn’t want a lame dog. Had me put it down.’
Morgan frowned, disappointed. ‘Then he’ll not be back.’
‘No – paid his bill before he left. Cash. Funny little sod – tried to tip me. Point is, though,’ he went on, returning to the purpose of his phonecall, ‘I got a look at the car that picked him up.’
Shapiro pushed the facts about like pushing cold food round a plate with a fork. ‘They were on a raid this morning: the look-out was in white overalls for visibility. But his dog got hurt and he went to find a vet instead. So they’re still here and still in business. We knew that, of course – Donovan would’ve been back if they’d left town.’
‘Probably,’ Morgan agreed cautiously.
‘The car Baker saw – that’s not the 4x4 so it’s the look-out’s car. That means it’ll be in the target area for some minutes before the raiders arrive. We have the number, we know what the look-out looks like – pity about the dog but even without it he’s pretty distinctive. We know the sort of goods they’re interested in, and the times of day that suit them.’
He was thinking aloud. Morgan was good for thinking aloud to: he never interrupted, never got to the punchline first, but if questioned afterwards could repeat the salient points as proof that he hadn’t nodded off half-way through.
; Shapiro went on. ‘Well, they missed their chance this morning. They must be getting anxious about hanging round here so long: my guess is they’ll go straight to the next slot – tonight, an hour either side of seven – get it done and get out, hope for better luck elsewhere.’
He was convincing himself. He hoped he wasn’t raising stout walls on marshmallow foundations. But Castlemere hadn’t been good to them, even before the dog’s accident they’d lost their driver somehow and had to waste time finding another. In fact they’d been unluckier than they knew, but hopefully they wouldn’t realize that for a little while yet.
‘All right,’ he decided, ‘I’ll go see Mr Giles – grovel a bit, threaten a bit, whatever it takes to reinstate the stake-out. If we can watch those half dozen shops for two more hours we’ll get them, I know we will.’
‘If they go tonight,’ said Morgan lugubriously. ‘If nothing else goes wrong.’
After thirty years as a detective it took a lot to make Shapiro feel like an irrepressible optimist. Morgan was worth keeping around for that reason alone.
‘Same time, same place,’ said Gates, ‘just the other end of the day. I’ll be in place by ten-to-seven, you hit Owens at seven. I’ll go as a golfer – Andy, put the clubs and the big umbrella in the car.’
They went over the timings yet again. ‘Two minutes,’ insisted Gates. ‘I don’t care if they’ve got the Crown Jewels in there, you’ve only got two minutes so concentrate on the good stuff and get out when your time is up. Unless there’s a police patrol nearby, two minutes isn’t long enough for them to respond to the alarm. If it goes well, we’ll meet back here at seven-thirty.’
When the time came they produced their ski-masks, Donovan started the 4x4 to prove it hadn’t died during the day, then Andy drove Gates away. The raiders waited the statutory ten minutes then set off.