by Gill Mather
“Why was that?”
“She didn't say precisely. It seemed at the time to be to distance herself from me and Grace.”
“Why would she want to do that?”
“Well. It appeared she didn't actually like it that I was living with a partner.”
“Do you mean she was jealous?”
“No not really. More disgusted. And not liking a stranger being in the house which, I suppose, was quite natural.”
“Why would she be disgusted that you were living with a woman?”
“It….er….didn’t get off to a very good start. The day Emma got back from university, she arrived home early. I was going to collect her from the station later, but she’d got an earlier train and she turned up before we were expecting her. She found us, me and Grace, in the kitchen together. We were only kissing, more or less. But I suppose….” he trailed off. “Anyway, she didn't like it and rushed to her room. She wouldn't let me talk to her about it properly and she just went into a sulk. Then I found her one morning moving her things into this room downstairs on the pretext that she was used to being independent. But as it happens our paths don't cross much as her working hours are so long.”
“So she found you in a clinch with another woman. That surely wouldn't have caused such a problem. Isn't it more likely that she moved to a different part of the house to be convenient for you to visit her?”
“No. Definitely not. I hardly ever went in there.”
“But the fact that she moved her bedroom from upstairs so soon after she came back and you were sharing your own bedroom with your new girlfriend upstairs could suggest that you and Emma needed the privacy of a room further away so that you could get together in there.”
“No. I told you already why she said she had moved to this room downstairs.”
“And you’re saying you’re quite sure she wasn't jealous of you having a relationship with Grace Bennett.”
“Yes I am saying that.”
“So what was her problem? I’m just trying to understand what her motivations were to move to another part of the house.”
“Well, this is all part of the reason I wasn't happy about her relationship with Luke. She’d never had boyfriends to my knowledge. She couldn't cope with me having a relationship with someone or at least the way she saw us together that first day. I suppose as kissing goes, it was pretty heavy. Before long we would have gone up to the bedroom. Because of Emma’s reaction, I just thought she wasn't grown up enough to have a full blown relationship with a young man. I was worried she was being pressured into it. Not by anyone in particular but just because she saw me with someone and no doubt there are other pressures on young girls to start dating and so on. I just thought she hadn't sufficient experience and wasn't ready. There’s also the possibility of unplanned pregnancy. I’m her father. I was worried about her.”
“She’s been away at university for a year though. Did you think she was still a virgin when she came back home this summer?”
“I haven't the least idea and I didn't give the subject any consideration whatsoever.”
“OK. You mentioned Emma’s working hours. What are they?”
“She works every day except Sundays. She leaves about noon and gets home at about eleven. She always gets a lift both ways. They have lots of staff and there’s always someone passing who’ll give her a lift.”
“And I believe your partner Mrs. Bennett works?”
“Yes she does.”
“What are her hours?”
“She works weekdays. She leaves about eight thirty every day and gets back about six or six thirty, depending on shopping etc.”
“So on weekdays, from eight thirty until noon, you’re alone in the house with Emma.”
“That’s correct. Unless I have to go out for an appointment.”
“What about Emma. Does she go out in the mornings?”
“No. Hardly ever as far as I know. I think she sleeps late in the mornings because she works so late.”
“Mr. Morrison. On the weekday mornings before Emma goes to work, have you ever visited her in her room and had sexual intercourse with her.”
Don’s face darkened. The DI observed his anger, more obvious in someone who managed to conceal his emotions so adeptly as this person did. “No,” said Don. “I did not.”
“Could you describe your movements in the evenings then. You said Emma got home about eleven. Would you normally be in bed by then?”
“Not necessarily,” said Don truthfully. “I told you earlier that I had to work during the night before when Carol was alive. It’s a habit that’s hard to break. Sometimes I’d still be up when Emma came home from work. Though these days I rarely stay up after midnight. I don't need to any more.”
“Mr. Morrison. Again on the weekday evenings when Emma got home from work, have you ever visited her in her room and had sexual intercourse with her.”
“No.” This time there was no other reaction from Don.
“Have you been violent towards your daughter recently or in the past or both?”
“No.”
“Have you caused her to have bruises on her upper legs or body?”
“No.”
“You said earlier that you found out about your daughter’s relationship with your partner’s son because you heard them when you went to her room. Why did you go to your daughter’s room early in the morning? Was it to have sexual intercourse with her?”
“No. I didn't say I went to her room for no reason. I was in the kitchen I think it was and I heard noises. That’s why I went and listened at the door. It was very obvious what it was and I went away immediately.”
“You said that you got up early that morning. Why was that?”
“As I said because I couldn't sleep.”
“Are you quite sure that it wasn't with the specific purpose of going and having sexual intercourse with your daughter?”
“Yes I’m quite sure it wasn't.”
“Before your wife died Mr. Morrison, did you force your daughter to have sex with you?”
“No.”
“You had no sexual partner. You must have been frustrated at times. Emma was growing up. Developing. She was studious you said. Presumably didn't go out much. There probably wouldn't have been anyone she could have confided in or gone to for help. You were close. She would have been grateful to you for everything you did while she was growing up. All the sacrifices you made. Weren’t you ever in the least tempted to go to her room and take a bit or relief. When you kissed her goodnight, didn't you ever find that it went that bit too far with Emma being nearly a woman. She wouldn't have been able to resist you physically if….”
“For God’s sake stop this,” cried Don, his face creased up. “It’s disgusting! Truly disgusting. It’s incredible that you or anyone should think such things. The short answer is no. None of what you suggested happened. Ever. Not at all. And I hadn't the slightest temptation to do any of the things you mention. Oh dear,” he said shaking his head, looking close to tears.
Emotion at last, thought Norton. “We’ll stop now and have a short break,” he said. “Interview suspended at seven thirty pm.”
GRACE WAS AT home trying desperately to get hold of Luke. She had received a call from Martin earlier that evening and he had told her briefly what had happened. By lunchtime that day when she’d looked at her emails at work, there was nothing from Luke but she wasn't particularly concerned then. Now however after the call from Martin, she had tried phoning Luke over and over again to no avail, when an email from him suddenly appeared in her received mails as she peered at her laptop screen. Hurriedly she opened it and scanned it. She read:
Hello mum. I’m sending this from the campsite internet café. We’re having a great time. We’re near Bordeaux. The campsite is near the sea and it’s idyllic. We’ll stay here for another day or two and then probably move on and go down to the Spanish border. Emma’s fine. She’s gone lovely and golden brown but she’s managed not to
get sunburned. Naturally I’ve turned almost black. We went to a great church yesterday and I drew. I’m trying to get quite a bit of drawing in. Emma doesn't mind. She’s reading and exploring and things and she loves being abroad. She’s hardly ever been abroad. Tell Don not to worry about her. I’ve put the number of the campsite below in case you need to get in touch for anything. Must dash now. We’re off to have a paella dinner and then to the campsite disco with the other two. They’re better now but we had a bit of a night of it on Friday and then they got sunstroke on the beach on Saturday. I caught Emma in time but not them quite! Love you. Luke
Grace frantically pressed “reply” and wrote:
Don’t go. I must speak to you. It’s urgent. Please call or wait for another email. Love mum.
She emailed several times but with no success. So she tried his mobile several more times, mindful of the bill she was running up for him and that it might put the phone out of action altogether. There was no answer anyway. Then she opened his email again and scribbled down the campsite number and dialled it. The other end picked up.
“Bonjour. Camping…” the rest was just gabble to Grace.
“Parlez-vous Anglais?”
“Non.”
“Oh. Erm,” her French was modest to hopeless. “Je cherche pour un garcon et une fille Anglais. Ils sont reste a la camping avec un autre,” she didn't know the word for couple, “garcon et fille. Er. C’est urgence. Le garcon il s’appelle Luke Bennett. Er, pouvez-vous demander a Luke pour telephoner moi, son maman.”
“Je ne sais pas. Il y a beaucoup d’ anglais ici. Quelle nom est la réservation?
“Pardon. J’n sais pas.”
“C’est urgent? Je vais devoir maintenant et l’office se termine bientôt. Je vais laisser une note pour le personnel demain essayer de trouver Luke. Quel atait le nom de famille?”
“Bennett.” Grace spelt it.
“Bien. Au revoir.”
“Au revoir. Merci.”
The line went dead.
For completeness, Grace went online again and wrote an email to Luke. She didn't give him any information about what had happened however. She just said that she needed to speak to him. Would he call her. Hopefully at some point soon he’d sign on again and see it.
DESPITE THE AIR conditioning the campsite office was desperately hot since the door had been open all day rendering the aircon basically useless. The girl wrote a short post it note using the last one on the pad and stuck it on the diary page for the next day. A large desk fan was turning back and forth creating a little relief in the close atmosphere. It blew the note onto the floor. The girl noticed it out of the corner of her eye as it floated to the floor and she tutted and gave a heavy Gallic shrug to herself as she got ready to leave. The Brits always expected too much. They should sort out their own problems.
DI NORTON AND DS PEARCE were puzzling over the preliminary forensic reports they had received. Hairs had been found on the girl’s bed and had been compared to hair samples taken that day from Don. On examination the hairs were very similar, probably from the same person though it wouldn’t be conclusive until the DNA results later showed it was the same person.
However, samples of substances collected from the bed sheets showed that Mr. Morrison’s semen was present though it was mixed with vaginal fluid from a woman probably not related to him.
The report said that what looked like dried blood had been visible on the mattress once the sheets had been removed. A layer of the mattress had been removed. Tests on the substance showed apparently some semen from an unknown male and menstrual fluid from a female who, preliminary DNA results showed, was related to Mr. Morrison. But the semen didn't belong to Mr. Morrison.
The report said that the semen on the mattress was from a male probably related to the female whose vaginal fluids were found on the bed sheets.
The report finished by saying that oddly the sheets and pillow cases taken from the bed appeared to have been freshly laundered and were possibly completely new before laundering. It continued that, apart from the strands of hair, the semen, the vaginal fluid and the menstrual fluid, the sheets and pillow cases bore no traces of other bodily substances at all as would normally be present, such as dead skin or saliva. There were no hairs either apart from those which were probably Mr. Morrison’s. It also named some possible makes of the detergent.
“This is a mess,” said Norton to Pearce, “if you’ll pardon the pun.”
“So. What do you think? That all four of them were at it together?”
“God knows! But we’ve heard stranger things. I suppose you didn't notice any black cockerels in the garden waiting for sacrificial slaughter!”
“No. Sorry. Just the odd bluetit.”
“Oh well. We’d better have them back in and see where we go.”
“Will you let them know what the forensic report said?” asked Pearce.
“Some of it.”
“But,” said Pearce, “if he’s been fitted up, then knowing what the report says might give him some idea who did the fitting up. It seems only fair. Newly laundered sheets with only sexual fluids and Mr. Morrison’s hair on them seems pretty fishy. I don't think we can hold him can we with such contradictory evidence?”
“We’ve got to try to get to the bottom of it without handing over the forensic evidence just yet. The background, you know the ill wife, and the way he was upset she had a boyfriend and she was upset that he had a girlfriend, it all seems indicative to me of at least the sort of circumstances in which you’d be likely to find that abuse had been going on.”
“But with respect sir,” said Pearce, “how reliable do you think the informant is? So she worked with Emma. But did she know anyone else who might’ve put her up to making a report like that? And what about the other girl? Don’t you think it's coincidental that she also used to work at that same restaurant?”
“But the father’s semen was on Emma’s bed. How do you account for that?”
“No idea. But from what he says, him and his girlfriend are pretty active in that department. Maybe him and the girlfriend liked to spread themselves around the house. Maybe they did it in Emma’s bed after Emma disappeared off to France.
“Well if that’s so, don't you think he might have volunteered the information.”
“Well what if….I don't know….what if someone got the partner’s knickers and wiped them on the bedclothes. Would that produce a result?”
“I don't know. We’d have to ask forensics. But for the time being, I think we ought to stick to the simplest explanation. We were told that Emma told the informant that he was forcing her to have sexual intercourse with him, that she was frightened of him, the background fits, they were closer that most fathers and daughters would be and were both upset that the other had entered into a relationship with someone else. Someone else claims he previously sexually assaulted her. And his semen’s on Emma's bedclothes. Perhaps he skipped from having sex with his partner to having sex with Emma in her room without any cleaning up. No. We have to look out for Emma first and foremost. So we’ll go back in, hmm?”
“Yeah all right.”
“But thanks for your ideas. We’ll go over them again later OK?”
“Yeah. Thanks boss.”
“MR. MORRISON, BEFORE we carry on talking about your relationship with Emma, there's another matter I should raise. I told you before that we'd had a report from another party. It's alleged that about two years ago you sexually assaulted a girl who was visiting your house. Do you recall the incident?"
Don screwed up his eyes, his whole face and frowned in disbelief. "Recall….? What girl? Who are you talking about?"
"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to say, sir, but we have a signed statement from a girl who's a couple of years older than Emma. She says that she came to your house once and that you attempted to rape her. Specifically you got her up against a wall, pulled her knickers down and tried to have sex with her but that you were interrupted and had to stop. Once aga
in do you recall the incident?"
"I don’t believe it. I don’t believe anyone would make up such a dreadful lie. I've no idea what you're talking about. And why did this person only come forward now anyway? If it were true, surely she'd have gone to the police straightaway."
"Well it's not for me to speculate about her specifically or discuss the specifics with you Mr. Morrison, but many victims don’t do anything straightaway about the attacks they've suffered for a variety of reasons. They're too frightened, they don’t want family and friends to find out, they're ashamed, they blame themselves, they don’t think they'll be believed. We are aware that the fact that someone doesn’t come forward immediately doesn’t mean that the allegation is false. You still haven't directly answered the question. Do you recall the incident?"
"No," said Don firmly though he felt as though his head was being torn apart and he tried to stop himself from shaking. "Surely it's highly coincidental that this person has chosen to make an allegation against me now, just at the time that someone else has."
But the Inspector changed the subject abruptly, a tactic no doubt calculated to fox him.
"We've had some preliminary forensic results. Could you tell us if you’ve ever been in your daughter’s bed. Ever laid down on the pillow. Anything like that.”
“No. Of course not.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“So if you were to be told that hairs resembling your own had been found on and around the pillow on Emma’s bed, how would you account for that? Or would you still deny you’d been on her bed?”
“Yes I w….Oh….Oh dear.” Don put his hand over his mouth.
“What is it?”
“I….it was very foolish of me. I’d started to wonder about Luke and Emma. My partner Grace told me that before Luke came to live with us, that his father thought he’d had a girl to stay overnight and the reason he thought so was that he’d found an empty condom packet in the bathroom. So I’d just thought that it would be a good idea if I looked for some evidence that Luke and Emma were consorting, that is if they were. There didn't seem to be much point in worrying about it if nothing was happening. So one afternoon when she was at work, I think it was only about Tuesday last week, I went to her room and just had a look round. I was looking specifically for condom packets. And yes I pulled the counterpane back and felt around under the pillow and in the pillow case, and I put my hand down the sides of the bed in case there was anything down there. I had to lie my head on the bed to do that. I suppose that’s when my hair might have got onto the bed. I can't think of anything else.”