by Lisa Hartley
With a sigh, Oliver rubbed her eyes and pushed herself into a sitting position.
‘What’s this about? Is Ghislaine okay?’
‘She’s fine. I saw her last night,’ Catherine said.
‘She works too hard.’
Catherine and Rafferty looked at each other, confused. Rafferty took another step towards the bed and stood beside Catherine.
‘Works too hard?’ she asked.
‘She’s a student. Graduating this year.’
Catherine hesitated. ‘She … You must be proud of her.’
‘I am. She’s always been a clever girl.’
‘Miss Oliver, we’d like to talk to you about an incident which occurred some years ago,’ Rafferty said. Oliver gripped her duvet with both hands.
‘An incident?’
‘You were arrested after a disturbance in Lincoln city centre.’
Pushing back against the headboard as if she wished she could disappear through the wall, her eyes searching their faces, Oliver whispered, ‘My sister said this this was about Ghislaine.’
‘A friend of Ghislaine’s has been murdered,’ Rafferty told her. ‘We believe there could be a link between her death and your arrest.’
‘Why should there be? I don’t understand.’
‘Does Ghislaine know you were arrested?’ asked Rafferty.
‘No, I never told her. I wanted to forget. It’s hardly something to be proud of.’ Oliver twisted the duvet cover between her fingers, clearly distressed. Catherine felt sorry for her, but they had to know.
Catherine said, ‘What about her father?’
The reaction was instantaneous. Oliver’s mouth opened and a tiny whimper of distress escaped. She blinked rapidly.
‘Her father … He’s not around.’
Catherine squatted by the bed, laying her hand on the duvet, but not touching Oliver.
‘We know what he did to you, Bethany.’
Rafferty frowned, not fully understanding. Bethany Oliver was silently weeping.
‘How about some tea?’ Catherine suggested. ‘Would you mind, DS Rafferty?’
Rafferty looked as if she might protest for a second, but she left the room.
Catherine went out to the landing, found the bathroom and brought back a roll of toilet paper. She handed it to Oliver, who took it with a tremulous smile.
‘Take all the time you need,’ Catherine told her.
She didn’t want to hear the details until Rafferty was back in the room, but she recognised this was going to be another ordeal for Bethany Oliver. Tea helped, gave a person a distraction as they talked, something to do with their hands. Taking a sip allowed them to pause when they needed to, Catherine had learnt early in her career.
‘I know she’s not a student,’ Oliver said.
‘Sorry?’
‘Ghislaine. She walked out one day. I always wanted her to go to university, and I’ve kidded myself she did. It’s been … I don’t know where she is. She’s phoned a few times, but from a mobile.’
Catherine said nothing. It wasn’t her place to tell the woman her daughter had been living on the streets less than ten miles away. Ghislaine was an adult, free to make her own decisions.
Oliver asked, ‘Is she … Is she well? Happy?’
Catherine thought quickly. ‘She’s obviously distressed about the death of her friend.’
‘She never had many mates. Poor Ghislaine, I wasn’t much of a mother.’ The tears welled again, and Oliver pressed the tissue to her eyes.
Catherine willed Rafferty to hurry, knowing they both needed to hear what she said. Oliver continued to sob while Catherine waited, wanting to offer comfort. She knew there was nothing she could do other than listen.
Eventually, they heard the stairs creaking and Rafferty came in with three mugs. Holding her drink close, Bethany Oliver wiped her eyes and nose.
‘How much do you know?’
‘You were arrested, taken back to the station. Later, in your cell …’
Oliver raised her chin, gazing into Catherine’s eyes.
‘I was raped.’
Although they had guessed, to hear the confirmation was shocking. Oliver said the words without emotion. They tumbled into the room, stark and indisputable.
‘Who?’ Rafferty asked. ‘Who was it?’
Oliver ignored the question. ‘I hadn’t been fighting, you know. I was living on the streets in those days. I’d been in my sleeping bag, trying to get some rest, when I heard the fighting. I was trying to get away when they grabbed me.’
Catherine forced herself to remain patient, knowing Oliver needed to tell them in her own way. Beside her, Rafferty shifted and Catherine placed her hand on her colleague’s arm, silently asking her to stay quiet. Rafferty tensed, but didn’t speak.
‘I tried to explain I hadn’t been involved, screamed as loud as I could, but no one listened. At the station, they dragged me into the cell and left me. All around, men shouting, threatening each other. Hammering on the doors, throwing up …’
She paused to sip her tea. Catherine waited, watching Oliver’s face. She realised she was still holding Rafferty’s arm, and relaxed her grip. Rafferty threw her the briefest of irritated glances as Oliver continued her story.
‘Soon, they came in.’
‘They?’
‘Four of them. Four men and me, in a tiny prison cell.’
‘What happened?’ Rafferty asked the question. Oliver closed her eyes, cradling her mug.
‘At first, they yelled questions at me. One of them, they called him John, he left after a few minutes. I didn’t see him again. The others … One backed me into the corner. He was tall, thin, with gingery hair.’
Clement, Catherine told herself.
‘He kept shouting at me, but he knew I couldn’t tell him anything.’
Oliver swallowed, rubbing her hand across her mouth.
‘You’re doing well, Bethany,’ Catherine told her.
Oliver glared.
‘You’re police as well, aren’t you? How do I know you believe me?’
‘We do,’ Rafferty said. ‘I can promise you that.’
‘I tried to report it before,’ Oliver retorted. ‘Ten years it took me to pluck up the courage, but no one would listen. They sent out this officer —’
‘The man who raped you,’ Catherine couldn’t help interrupting. The Chief Constable. Cruel, calculating bastard. Climbing the career ladder, shaking the right hands, kissing the right arses. All the time, keeping his filthy secret hidden and making sure his mates did too.
Killing to maintain the silence.
But Bethany Oliver shook her head.
45
He ignored the first call, continuing to drink his coffee, but when his phone immediately chirped again, Jonathan Knight knew he would have to answer. His ex-girlfriend was not someone who would be ignored.
‘What is it, Caitlin? I’m waiting to go back into an interview.’
‘Interviewing? Sounds more like you’re in the pub.’
‘It’s a canteen. What do you want?’
‘Don’t you want to hear about the baby? Had you forgotten she’d been born?’
Knight closed his eyes for a second. He hadn’t forgotten, of course not, but he’d pushed the fact to the back of his mind all the same. Caitlin in London, raising the child who may or not be his own daughter? Until he knew whether he was the baby’s father, he wasn’t going to allow himself to remember she existed.
‘Have you done the paternity test?’
Caitlin sniggered. ‘A little tricky for me to, wouldn’t you say?’
Knight bit back the curse trying to push its way out of his mouth. ‘You know what I mean. Has your boyfriend done it?’
‘Not yet. It’s been less than a week since the birth, Jonathan.’
‘So why are you ringing?’
‘God, do you have to be like this? I wanted to tell you her name.’
Knight turned away from the hubbub of the canteen. ‘I
’m sorry. Is she okay?’
‘She’s fine. Feeding well. Screaming half the night, but Jed’s a natural with her.’
Twist the knife, Caitlin, Knight thought. Zaman stuck his head around the door, eyebrows raised. Knight lifted a hand, acknowledging him. Hopefully, Danny Marshall was ready to talk. ‘Caitlin, sorry, I’m going to have to go. I’ll call you back.’
‘Jonathan? Her name’s Olivia.’
Knight blinked, the room blurring for a second. ‘Olivia. Lovely.’
‘I’m glad you agree.’
*
Marshall sat with his back straight, his fingers laced together on the table. As he and Zaman entered the room, Knight looked at him, suddenly weary. Two people were dead, one of his own officers was still clinging onto her life in hospital and he was here, playing games with a man who could give them at least some of the answers they needed. Procedures had to followed, and he respected them, but there were times when he wished he could lunge across the table and grab a suspect by the throat.
Knight took his seat, surprised and shocked by his own thoughts. He wasn’t a violent man, never had been. Perhaps the conversation with Caitlin has rattled him more than he’d realised.
When the preliminaries were over again, the solicitor cleared his throat.
‘My client would like to make a statement.’
‘About time too.’ Zaman folded his arms.
Danny Marshall took a deep breath, blew out his cheeks.
‘You need to find Jake Pringle,’ he told them.
46
‘I’ll get the DCI on speakerphone.’ Rafferty opened the car door.
Catherine fastened her seatbelt, feeling as dazed as Rafferty sounded. They had their answer at last, and it wasn’t the one she had been expecting.
The sound of the phone ringing filled the car, followed by a clunk and Dolan’s voice, tense and businesslike.
‘Isla? Where are you?’
‘Leaving Bethany Oliver’s house. Ma’am, we …’
‘What have you found out? We’ve not located Ghislaine Oliver yet.’
Rafferty swung the car into the traffic. ‘Miss Oliver told us who attacked her in her cell that night. She told us who raped her.’
‘And?’ Dolan yelled.
‘It was Pat Kemp.’
There was a silence. Catherine pressed her hands to her cheeks. Rafferty hurled the car into the traffic, prompting a lorry drover to raise his finger and mouth abuse as she veered in front of him.
‘Kemp?’ Dolan said at last. ‘Pat Kemp? Are you sure?’
Rafferty opened her eyes wide. ‘Bethany Oliver is. She heard the other men call him Pat. We had an old photograph of him, from his days on the force. She’s prepared to give evidence. It was him, Ma’am.’
‘There is a way to confirm it,’ Catherine said.
‘DS Bishop? What do you mean?’
‘The rape resulted in Bethany Oliver’s pregnancy,’ Catherine told her. ‘Ghislaine Oliver is Pat Kemp’s child.’
‘Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. But Pat Kemp told us to go to Dawn McKinley. He must have known we’d catch up with him eventually. Did he murder John McKinley?’
‘We believe so,’ Catherine said. ‘Ghislaine knows nothing about her mother’s rape. She’s always been told her dad was killed in a motorbike accident before she was born. She has no motive.’
‘Unless John McKinley told her.’
‘He didn’t, Ma’am, she’d have said,’ Catherine insisted. ‘She’s innocent.’
Dolan said nothing.
Rafferty cleared her throat. ‘Kemp got away with rape for years. He no doubt imagined John McKinley’s death would be judged accidental. McKinley knew too much, especially as he’d met Ghislaine. It wouldn’t have taken him long to work out she was born nine months after Kemp visited Bethany Oliver’s cell.’
‘Still doesn’t explain why he’d tell us to go to Dawn McKinley. What about the Chief Constable and ACC Clement?
‘They were in the cell for a while, but they left Kemp alone with Bethany. Whether they knew, or suspected, only they can tell you.’
‘But Kemp said Southern got rid of Bethany Oliver when she came to report the crime. I know it was years later …’
‘It didn’t happen like Kemp told you it did,’ Catherine said.
‘What do you mean?’
Rafferty said, ‘Kemp made most of it up, presumably to confuse us, to throw more suspicion on the Chief Constable. Bethany spoke to some young officer who told her she didn’t have a case. She left the station in tears.’
There was another silence. ‘Kemp’s a conniving prick, as well as a rapist and murderer.’ Dolan was furious. ‘I’ll have his disgusting arse brought in. Not surprised he left the bloody force … And you two, good work. Back here, and get a move on. I want you ready to question Kemp when he arrives.’
47
‘Jake’s been staying with me ever since he left Phoenix House,’ Danny Marshall said.
Zaman stared at him. ‘You mean since he stole their money and ran?’
Marshall flushed. ‘Yeah.’
‘Why didn’t you tell us this before?’ Knight asked. ‘We’ve wasted time, Danny.’
‘I know, I’m sorry. I didn’t know about the drug dealing, I swear. And Jasmine …’ Marshall covered his face with his hands. ‘Does this mean Jake killed her?’
‘If she wasn’t coming to your house to see you, she must have been visiting Jake.’
‘But she did visit me.’ Marshall’s voice was tiny.
‘What?’
‘We were in a relationship. Jake realised. I agreed to give him a place to stay until he sorted himself out, if he kept his mouth shut about me and Jasmine.’
‘And that’s why you didn’t want to tell us he was living with you.’
Marshall hung his head. ‘I’d lose my job. He told me he was looking for work, I didn’t know about the drug dealing, I swear.’
Knight formally ended the interview.
‘What happens now?’ Marshall asked fearfully.
‘Now? We find Jake.’
*
Dolan massaged her temples. ‘Jake Pringle’s behind the robberies, the attack on Anna Varcoe.’
‘Yes, Ma’am,’ Zaman said quietly.
‘What an afternoon.’ Dolan mustered a laugh. ‘DS Rafferty and DS Bishop will soon be in the interview room, having a chat with Pat Kemp.’
She explained before sending Zaman off to organise the hunt for Jake Pringle.
‘He’s not at Marshall’s house, and there were no drugs on the premises. No cash either. Pringle’s done a runner.’
‘He could be anywhere by now. If Marshall had spoken up sooner …’ Knight frowned.
‘Well, he didn’t. We’ll find Pringle. Can you check with Thomas Bishop, see if he can confirm Pringle’s the man who stabbed Anna? We’ll have a mugshot. Should have looked more closely at him before, but everything pointed to him being long gone.’
‘Will do.’
Dolan rubbed her hands together. ‘Get them both brought in, interviewed and charged, and we might get home early tonight.’
*
‘Yes,’ Thomas said. ‘I’m sure it’s him, the fucker. Let me hear his voice and I’ll know for certain.’
‘We’ll need to find him first,’ Knight told him.
‘Why didn’t someone realise? He’s got a criminal record, hasn’t he?’
‘Not for robbery. Everyone said he’d left the city. It’s not an excuse, we should have tried to find him.’
Thomas looked at Anna. ‘Bastard. Roaming around while she’s lying here.’
‘How is she?’
‘The same. No worse, but no better. I don’t know, they talk in riddles.’ Thomas ran his hands over his face, obviously exhausted. ‘Do you know where Catherine is?’
Knight nodded. ‘I’ll see her later.’
‘Ask her to phone me, will you please? I’d like to see her. This course she’s been on seems intense.’
/>
‘It’s over. She’ll be home soon.’
Thomas unzipped his jacket, took something from the inside pocket. ‘And I’d like her opinion on this.’ He held a small blue box out to Knight, who took it, opening it to reveal an engagement ring.
‘It’s for Anna,’ Thomas said unnecessarily. ‘If she ever wakes up.’
48
Pat Kemp had answered the door himself when the uniformed officers arrived at the door, already wearing his coat. He said farewell to his dog, kissed his wife goodbye, climbed calmly into the waiting car. When Catherine and Isla Rafferty entered the interview room, he greeted them. Rafferty announced the time, date, location, and introduced herself. Catherine said her own name, then asked Kemp to state his. He spoke clearly, his expression resigned. He smiled at Catherine.
‘You were a copper all along. Maggie told me about you. You had her fooled.’
Catherine dipped her head, embarrassed, although she had no need to be. ‘It was necessary.’
‘You know what I’ve done. Listen, I don’t want a solicitor, nor any fuss. I’ll tell you what happened, you can charge me. No need for a search warrant.’
They ignored him – Kemp might be co-operating, but he was a rapist, and a murderer. The case against him would need to be watertight.
Rafferty said, ‘Tell us about John McKinley.’
Kemp studied the table top.
‘I’m sorry about John.’
Catherine laughed. ‘You’re sorry?’
‘He was a mate, a good mate back in the day. Everything I told you before was true.’
‘Except you raped Bethany Oliver. You, Patrick Kemp. Not John, not Edward Clement or Russell Southern.’ Catherine glared at him. ‘Did you honestly believe we wouldn’t find out?’
‘No. I wanted you to. It’s been a burden, all these years.’
‘A burden? A fucking burden? How do you think Bethany Oliver feels? You destroyed her for your own gratification, your own … Why? Why did you do it?’
Kemp swallowed, shocked by Catherine’s rage.
‘I never meant to, I went in there to question her. She wouldn’t answer, I lost my temper, grabbed her, she struggled. I don’t know why, how I could. I still can’t believe it.’