Briggs changed view again on the tape, with a slight smile to Kate. ‘And, oh look, here it is again.’ She turned the screen so it was pointing at Steve. ‘In the barman’s hand, passing it to Thea.’
‘So I’ll sack him. You have my word. Job done.’
‘That’s what we thought, except we found that glass when we searched your office. Fallen down the side of the sofa where Mr Holmes had dropped it, and you know what we found? Traces of flunitrazepam, in high concentrations. And your fingerprints.’
‘I pick up glasses every day. I’m sure my fingerprints are on half the glasses in the club.’
‘Yes, but …’ Kate gestured to Briggs and he scrolled again through the video. Kate sat back in her seat, enjoying the moment. ‘Here you are in your office, with that glass in your hand and a strange substance in a little plastic bag. See the timestamp on the CCTV, Steve? Twelve fifty-three a.m. And guess what we found in your office when we looked?’ Kate pushed the photo of the evidence bag with the drugs inside across to Steve. ‘Quite a nice little stash you have here, Mr Morgan.’
Steve Morgan frowned, pulling his handsome features into a grimace. He leaned forward over the table, putting his face close to Kate’s.
‘You think you’re so clever, don’t you? You little bitch.’ Kate raised an eyebrow but didn’t flinch, matching Steve’s expression. She could smell his breath, sour and bitter. ‘So you found my drugs. So fucking what? So I might have slipped some in that bird’s drink. It’s hardly attempted murder. Your beloved CPS aren’t going to give a shit about this. I didn’t touch that woman the whole night.’
‘Not once?’ Kate asked.
‘No,’ Steve said, smiling.
‘So, how can you account for the fact that we found your skin cells, your DNA, under her fingernails?’ Kate paused, as Steve opened and closed his mouth. ‘You see, Steve, even though Thea can’t remember anything, she fought back that night. She managed to catch you somewhere. Maybe on your hand or your arm? Who knows? But we took fingernail scrapings, and those came back to a sample of DNA we had on file from 2002. Do you remember what happened in 2002, Steve?’ He looked down at the table, saying nothing. ‘Let me refresh your memory.’
Kate opened the file in front of her and showed him a picture. It was a young girl, her face bloody, her eye bulging and painful. ‘This is Alice Young, do you remember her? You went to university together and she accused you of rape after you’d all been drinking one night. We arrested you and took your DNA but somehow the case collapsed after she showed up looking like this and said, on reflection, what you two did that night was consensual even though her blood alcohol level was so high there was little chance she’d have been conscious. Do you remember now, Steve?’
He shook his head and stared at the table.
‘So the case broke down, but we had you on file. And look who popped up this week when forensics ran the sample.’ Kate leaned back in her seat and crossed her arms. ‘What I don’t understand, though, is why you did it. Why hit Thea over the head? Did you try it on with her and she said no? Were you angry, Steve? You don’t like it when a woman rejects you, do you?’
Steve looked at her, his face defiant. ‘That’s ridiculous.’
Kate shrugged. ‘Is it? I guess what’s ridiculous is an attractive young woman like Thea Patterson wanting to be with a washed-up sleazy nightclub owner like you. She could have any man she wanted,’ Kate paused, looking at Briggs and laughing. ‘So why on earth would she choose you?’
‘She didn’t reject me,’ Steve snapped. ‘She wanted me. In fact, I would have had sex with her that night, if some woman hadn’t interrupted us.’
Kate paused, steeling herself. ‘We know, Mr Morgan. We know exactly what you were trying to do, as this camera shows.’ Briggs turned the laptop round again and Kate continued. ‘Here you are, dragging Thea Patterson to the toilets. At one thirty-nine a.m.’ They all looked at the CCTV.
Kate had watched it a few times now, and each time her anger grew. The woman on the screen was clearly incapacitated, her head rolled to one side, hair over her face, her legs unable to support her. The man, Steve Morgan, had his arm around her tiny body as he pushed her up against the wall in the corridor. He put his free hand under her dress, pushing it up, groping her breasts, before glancing around then pulling her into the toilets. Kate fought back her revulsion, imagining him trying to screw her in a cubicle, her unable to fight back, barely aware of what was going on.
‘Given the concentration when we took the samples and her body weight, the doctors estimate Thea had enough in her blood to render her almost unconscious.’ Kate paused. ‘Certainly not aware of what was happening to her.’
Steve Morgan looked at her, his lip curling. ‘You can’t prove that for sure,’ he growled.
‘No, but we have your semen on her dress, and a witness.’ The video continued to roll, showing a blonde woman going into the toilets two minutes after Steve and Thea. ‘Is this the woman you said interrupted you, Steve?’ Kate asked sweetly, pointing to the screen. ‘Do you remember? Because she remembers you, and she’s willing to testify that there was no way in hell Thea Patterson gave consent. And that, Mr Morgan, is what we call attempted rape.’
He crossed his arms in front of him. ‘I want that legal advice now,’ he said.
Kate and Briggs left the room, doing a quiet high five once the door was shut behind them.
Kate shook her head. ‘What a repulsive piece of shit,’ she muttered and Briggs nodded. They knew they had him; they knew there was little he would be able to say now. They’d call his solicitor, who’d hopefully advise their client to come clean on what he knew.
So evidence was weak for the attempted murder but one followed the other, it was clear. Perhaps he wanted another go; perhaps she fought back this time. They knew the CPS would like it: he had previous form, no remorse or sympathy for the victim. Whatever the reason for the attempted murder, the case was closed, they had their man. They didn’t care why. What did it matter now?
54
‘The gun’s gone, Gabriella.’
‘What are you talking about?’ Gabi asked, surprised at seeing Thea at her front door, relieved Mortimer was at work. Her sister pushed past her into the house without being asked, going through to the kitchen.
Gabi followed, her brain trying to catch up. ‘You knew where the gun was?’
‘Of course I knew where the gun was, Harry told me years ago.’ Thea stood next to the kitchen table, facing her sister. ‘But it’s not there now. I thought I heard something in the garden last night, so I went out this morning and noticed bits of the bird box round the bottom of the oak. I checked. The gun’s gone.’
Gabi shook her head. That sodding tree. Thea and Harry were always pissing about in that bloody oak when they were kids. ‘So where is it?’ she asked.
‘Harry must have it.’ Thea sat down at the kitchen table.
Gabi stared at her. ‘If you knew where the gun was, why didn’t you get rid of it sooner?’ she asked.
‘Harry wouldn’t let me. He said we might need it if his dad ever wanted to appeal.’ Thea shrugged. ‘I guess he didn’t hate his dad as much as he made out.’
‘But it …’ Gabi started, but Thea cut her off.
‘I know. But Harry treated it like some sort of penance. The sword of Damocles hanging over his head.’ Thea stopped. ‘I shouldn’t have listened to him. I should have got rid of it years ago.’
‘So what does Harry want with it now?’ Gabi asked.
‘I don’t know, and that’s what worries me.’ Gabi saw the concern clear on her sister’s face. ‘Do you love him?’ Thea asked.
Gabi was confused by the change of subject. ‘Do I love Harry? What sort of question is that?’
‘An honest one. Because he loves you. He always has, you know that. And more than just this brother-sister crap you like to hide behind.’ Thea frowned, pulling the sleeves of her jumper over her hands. ‘He was happy, he was okay without you.
And now you’re back, and he’s a mess.’
Gabi took a deep breath and sat down opposite Thea at the table. ‘I know. But I can’t be responsible for Harry’s happiness, Thea. Or yours, for that matter.’
‘No, God forbid you would worry about someone else for a change.’ Thea stood up and faced her sister. ‘Why don’t you just leave again, walk away? Stop pretending you give a shit about Harry.’
‘I do give a shit. He’s my friend too, Thea.’
‘Is he? Really? How much do you know about him? What he’s been through?’ Thea’s jaw clenched, her eyes aflame. ‘Where were you after Mum and Dad died?’ Thea confronted her, shouting. ‘Where were you for the nightmares, Gabi, when Harry would wake up screaming? When he couldn’t leave the house because he was afraid a loud noise would trigger a panic attack?’
Gabi reeled. ‘I didn’t know,’ she stuttered.
‘Did you know he can’t go near a fireworks display? That bonfire night and New Year’s Eve is a write-off? That he gets horrendous flashbacks if he hears a car backfiring?’ Thea continued, her eyes narrowed. ‘But why would you know? Why would you care?’ She turned and walked to the kitchen door, looking back for a second, her face defiant. ‘Leave him alone, Gabriella, I’ll sort this out. Go back to your own life, go back to doing what you do best: caring about number one.’
Gabi didn’t try to follow her. She heard the front door open. ‘And you didn’t answer my question,’ Thea shouted back, followed by a final slam of the door.
Gabi put her head in her hands, then felt the rage build. She picked up the first thing in reach and threw it with all her force at the wall. The mug smashed with a splatter of leftover tea and shards of ceramic.
‘Fuck.’ The gun was gone. Thea had gone, at least for now. ‘Fuck,’ she muttered again, quieter this time.
A muddle of guilt and worry flooded her system. She hadn’t known Harry had been so ill; he’d never said, but then, why would he? He’d always been there for her but she’d run when he’d needed her most.
Over the years she’d tried not to think about him, but every now and then when she least expected it, a memory would resurface. Snippets of their time together. The taste of salt on his skin. The feeling of him on top of her. His face when he came, and the shy, self-conscious smile afterwards.
She had never regretted it, but she knew it hadn’t been fair on Harry. For years she’d fought with her feelings: the pull, her attraction to Harry, while living with the inescapable truth of what had happened that day.
And now he was struggling again. She hadn’t helped him then, but she could do this now.
She picked up her mobile phone. And she pulled a small white card out of the back pocket of her jeans, four pieces crudely taped together.
Gabriella dialled the number.
‘DS Munro?’ she said, when she heard the voice at the end of the phone. ‘This is Gabriella Patterson. We need to talk.’
Part 3
Friday
55
Harry lay in the grass, looking up at the sky. The sun was shining down, but it was freezing. His fingers were numb; he felt the wet grass of the garden starting to seep through his jeans, stray blades scratching at his neck, but he didn’t want to move.
Ever since the day of the murders, the only place he’d felt truly calm was surrounded by green. Fields, woodland, anywhere where tarmac and metal couldn’t touch him. When he could he’d run off-road, enjoying the mud underfoot, trees around him, fields as far as the eye could see.
That night in the police cell he’d felt suffocated. Drowning in concrete. He couldn’t imagine how his dad had been coping all these years. He couldn’t imagine what would have happened if he’d had to do the same.
He heard the swishing of grass, and a figure loomed above him dressed in a long black coat, black boots on her feet, blocking out the sun. Her hair blew around her face in the wind.
‘What are you doing here?’ Gabi asked.
‘Breathing.’
She sat down cross-legged next to him, and he pulled himself up to do the same.
‘Thank you for everything you’ve done for me,’ Harry said. ‘For getting me out on Wednesday.’ He smoothed his hair down, pulling out the grass that had stuck there.
‘That wasn’t me.’
‘It was Mortimer, I know. Still – thank you. You didn’t have to do it, given the circumstances. He didn’t have to.’
‘The circumstances?’ she asked.
‘Our history. Everything that’s happened between us …’ He stopped, feeling uncomfortable. Harry felt embarrassed about what had happened the other night, for being such a mess in front of her and her cool and collected husband. He pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. A light wind had started to blow, and it took two attempts to light the last one in the box. He took a drag, then offered it to her.
She shook her head and Harry took another deep breath in. ‘I should give up. But there never seems to be a right time.’
‘Maybe when things calm down a bit.’
‘You tell me when that happens, and I’ll quit.’
They sat together for a moment, listening to the wind in the leaves around them. The quiet percussion of nature. Harry felt the sun on his back, the warmth soaking through his jumper.
‘Thea still sleeping?’ he asked.
She paused and opened her mouth to say something, then closed it again. She nodded.
‘I’m glad you’re home, Gabi. I missed you.’ He stubbed the cigarette out on the sole of his shoe, then put it in the empty cigarette packet. ‘I still love you, Gabriella. You know that, don’t you?’
She was silent, and he forced himself to look at her.
She was staring at him, her lips slightly parted, as if wanting to say something in reply. Then she stood up, and slowly walked back to the house.
He watched her go, walking away from him again. But he sensed something was different this time. Different from the last time they’d been together, three years ago, in Bournemouth.
Harry sang a tune under his breath as he walked along the promenade on his lunch break. It was a perfect summer’s day: all around him people were enjoying the sunshine – reclining on the beach, screaming as they jumped in the sea, a few ambitious joggers sweating as they ran.
As he walked, he heard a voice: his name shouted out on the breeze. He turned and there she was.
She looked different. Her hair was blonde, long, falling on her shoulders in messy waves. Her face was tanned, with a scattering of freckles across her nose.
‘Gabriella.’
She hugged him. She was in a white sundress and flip-flops, barely coming up to his shoulder. After a moment he put his arms round her, bending his face to the top of her head. She smelt of suncream.
She moved away and looked up at him.
‘You’ve barely changed,’ Gabi said, smiling.
He walked her home. They moved away from the beach, past the flashing lights and electronic beeps from the arcade, the tempting smell of fried onions from the burger joints. They stopped to get ice creams and as they walked, Gabi licked the drip from the side of the 99 cone.
They stopped in front of a new-looking block of flats. ‘This is me,’ she said, and Harry felt his heart drop.
‘How long have you been here?’
‘A few weeks, it’s only temporary.’ Gabi stood in front of him, looking up. She reached up to his mouth and wiped something away.
‘Ice cream,’ she said quietly.
He paused, speechless. He couldn’t let her leave, not again.
Without thinking he bent down and kissed her. She tasted of ice cream, of softness, and desire, and a childhood shared. Of all the feelings he had harboured for so long.
‘Do you want to come up?’ she asked, her voice soft.
He nodded, and she took his hand.
They kissed, all the time; he touched every single part of her, from her eyelids to the very tips of her toes.
And the
y talked. About their lives, their jobs, their friends. The words flowed freely, with teasing and mocking, their mouths wide open with laughter. As evening turned into night, they moved to the kitchen to find food and drink, raiding her sparse fridge for anything that could be turned into a meal. They had eaten in bed – basic omelettes with no filling, plain yoghurt and chunks of Dairy Milk – and Harry didn’t think he had ever enjoyed a meal as much in his whole life.
Hours later he woke, his arm full of pins and needles. He tried to shift her gently, sharp spikes charging up his arm, and winced.
She opened her eyes and looked at him through the darkness. Harry smiled at her.
‘What time is it?’ she asked.
He pushed himself up and glanced at the clock. ‘Just after three,’ he said, his voice gruff from sleep.
Harry reached down and moved her hair gently away from her face.
‘I wish this wouldn’t end,’ he said, without thinking. She was watching him, her face serious. ‘It’s always been you, Gabi. I’ve never stopped thinking about you.’
She shook her head, dismissing what he’d said. ‘Please, let’s just enjoy what we have now. Why do we need to turn it into something else?’
‘Because I love you, Gabi. I always have.’
‘You know it’s not as simple as that.’ Gabi turned over, her back to him, but he pulled at her shoulder, forcing her to look at him.
‘I wish everything had been different that day,’ Harry said, his voice little more than a whisper. ‘You know I’d do anything to turn back the clock. But I can’t. Please forgive me,’ Harry pleaded with her. ‘I need you to forgive me for what happened.’
‘I can’t …’ She stopped and pulled away from him, pressing her lips together. ‘I’d like you to go now.’
‘No, Gabi. Don’t do this.’
She sat up in bed, tugging the duvet round her, her arms crossed across her chest. She shook her head. ‘I want you to leave.’
Ask Me No Questions Page 21