by Alex Clare
‘This is really weird. I even talked to him on Saturday.’ Ravi tapped the picture of Newman. ‘He was just a regular bloke. Why would anyone want to kill him?’
Graham, looking as if the last conversation had not happened, pointed to another image of Newman, head lolling, skin bleached white by floodlights. ‘That is exactly what we are here to find out. Right. Raver, suspicious deaths. Rule number one: know who’s dead. Get on the phone to the girlfriend and get her over to the morgue to identify the body.’
‘Why do we have to ID him?’ Ravi frowned. ‘Surely we know all that already. The Guv and Lorraine were with him before he died, we’ve got his mugshot, fingerprints, everything.’
‘Because details matter.’ Graham adopted his lecture tone. ‘His girlfriend might notice something we haven’t, like “why doesn’t he have his lucky Gonk with him, he never travels without it?” Two, it shows her we’re serious about investigating and a handsome chap like you might get her to open up a bit about things we need to know. Chop chop.’
Out of the corner of her eye, Robyn could see Lorraine doing a bad job of hiding her giggles.
Half an hour later, Graham and Ravi left for the morgue. Robyn waited until she was sure they would not be popping back for a forgotten item, then stood up, going to lean on the front of her desk. ‘OK, now is a good chance to talk about the Lady Ann case. Chloe, has Lorraine told you what we found out on Sunday?’
Chloe nodded. ‘Yes, Guv. I still don’t see why you didn’t arrest Bartholomew at the time.’
‘As I said, we need evidence.’ Robyn saw outrage cross both faces. ‘I know we’ve got the doctor’s view but rape is unlike anything else. It comes down to one person’s word against another’s. Even getting a case to trial is hard and conviction rates are tiny. We have to think like a defence lawyer.’ She walked to the blank whiteboard, found a pen and drew two vertical lines.
‘Right. This column – facts suggesting it was rape.’ She began to write: the felt-tip squeaked on the board leaving almost no mark. ‘Bugger. Is there another pen?’
Chloe got up and fumbled in a drawer. ‘Try this one.’
The pen was supposed to be red and came out pink. ‘Thanks. OK. “Evidence”. Then we put how the defence would challenge it over here.’ She labelled the second column “Attack”. ‘And then we need to work out how we counter those points here.’ She wrote ‘Proof’ in the third column. When she turned back to face Lorraine and Chloe, she saw determination in their eyes.
‘OK, what facts have we got?’
‘Bartholomew admitted he had sex with Shazia.’ Lorraine’s voice was cold.
Robyn wrote ‘Confession’. ‘Now the Defence would say it was consensual.’ She wrote the word in the second column – the new pen was barely legible. ‘And how do we prove his story isn’t true?’
‘She jumped off the balcony!’ Lorraine spread her hands, jabbing the air. ‘Doesn’t Shazia trying to kill herself mean anything?’
Robyn took a deep breath. ‘It tells me she was upset, yes.’ She was conscious of the smell of her own sweat. ‘It doesn’t tell me what she was upset about.’ She met Lorraine’s eyes. ‘Any lawyer could come up with a hundred things a nineteen-year-old girl might consider the end of the world. Let’s see – she was jealous of the bride, angry because she hadn’t been made a bridesmaid or just guilty because she’d been caught when someone walked into the room. And because she can’t talk to us, we have to find another way of proving things.’ She tapped the board. ‘Come on. What else do we have?’
‘Bruises on her body.’ Lorraine leaned forward, elbows on her knees, chin cupped in her hands.
‘Bruises.’ Robyn wrote it down under ‘Evidence’ then added something to the next column. ‘Caused by the fall, I think the Defence will say. How do we prove not?’
‘What about the fact she didn’t have a boyfriend and was probably a virgin?’ Chloe sounded rather apologetic.
Robyn wrote it down, then added in the next column, ‘Gagging for it’. Both Lorraine and Chloe snorted.
‘Look, I don’t like this any more than you do but this is what we will be up against. We have to do this to be able to build a case the Crown Prosecution Service will consider worth taking forward.’
The silence built up. Robyn recapped the pen, waiting for someone to speak.
‘Are you saying everything we’ve found doesn’t prove anything?’ Lorraine slumped back in her chair. ‘He’s just going to get away with it?’
‘No, of course not.’ Robyn sighed. ‘I’m just saying we need to think about this in a different way.’
‘So what do we do?’ Lorraine was turning a biro around in her fingers.
‘We have to provide Shazia’s voice, represent her as she can’t do it herself. We need to talk to her friends, her family, show she wasn’t the type who would have casually picked up a bloke and gone upstairs with him.’ Robyn began wiping the board. ‘Also, we need to get as much as we can on Bartholomew – his background, habits, previous behaviour, so his shoplifting is relevant here. What do his mates think of him, the girl he lives with? Get out there and talk to people.’
At last, her words seemed to have generated some response. The pair bent over the guest list and began muttering together. Robyn watched them for a moment then went back to the monthly budget report she had to complete for Fell, already a week overdue.
She was lost in the figures when a noise made her look up. Lorraine and Chloe were on their feet. ‘We’re off to get started on the interviewing, Guv.’
Desperate for air, Robyn decided to stretch her legs and pick up some lunch. She reached for her bag. ‘Great.’
There was an awkward silence.
‘Ah, Guv, we were going to start with the family and, well, maybe as it’s already a difficult time?’ Lorraine twiddled her handbag strap.
Swallowing, Robyn tried to look as if the rejection hadn’t hurt. ‘Yes, well get on with it then. I’m going to lunch.’ She made a point of checking the catch on her handbag. ‘You two still here?’
The pair of them hurried to the door. Alone in the office, Robyn stretched back and let her eyes slide out of focus. The administrative side of policing bored her rigid and she knew she wasn’t very good at it. Now, if she couldn’t interview people because she would offend them, there was a real question over what she was supposed to do.
18
The beginning of a headache was tightening around Robyn’s temples and the quiet in the incident room seemed more oppressive than its usual buzz of chatter. She had given up on the budget and skimmed through emails, declined a number of meetings and waited for her appetite to return. Her phone ringing was a welcome distraction until she saw the name on the screen: Prentiss. Robyn had last spoken to the ex-DI at his retirement party two years ago. It was a bad memory: one of the funny stories he had dredged up had been one of Roger’s first cases as a rookie police officer when he had nearly arrested a transvestite after mistaking him for his wife. Guessing the call might be to do with Graham, she let it go to voicemail. A second after the ringing stopped, it began again and curiosity got the better of her.
‘Hello, Kenneth.’ Using his full name was a moment of pleasure because Robyn knew everyone called him Kenny.
‘Rog – ah, DI Bailley, where are you? I need to talk to you.’
There was the same note in his voice, the way you were expected to drop everything at a moment’s notice. ‘I’m at the station. This is a surprise.’
‘Can you get away?’
‘What’s this about?’
‘I’ve got some information. OK. I’ll meet you in the petrol station on the roundabout in ten minutes.’ Before she could ask another question, he had hung up.
Much as the summons irritated her, it was no loss to abandon the emails. She was curious about why Prentiss wanted to speak to her when he was mates with officers like Graham. She and Prentiss had never been close and the choice of venue was also odd. The garage was an anonymous place a
cross the other side of the roundabout from the police station, the last place to buy fuel before the motorway. She could walk to it, though it meant a dash across the dual carriageway. Retrieving her handbag, she walked out of the station. The muggy air outside didn’t help her headache. As she climbed over the crash barrier waiting for a gap in the traffic, she wondered again why she was doing this. A lorry turned off the roundabout, throwing up gravel from its wheels into her face. A gap opened and she started to cross. Halfway, a car turned without signalling, coming fast. She ran for the other side, having to leap onto the kerb, feeling her foot skid on the loose gravel. The car’s horn blared as it raced past her, gone too fast for her to see the number plate. She picked her way across the rough grass to the forecourt of the petrol station. Looking up, she saw Kenny Prentiss sitting on a high stool at a plastic bar next to a coffee machine. Next to Prentiss, a woman with two-toned hair seemed to be trying to inhale the contents of her paper cup.
Robyn pushed open the glass door and walked around to stand at the end of the counter. ‘Well, I’m here. What was the panic?’ She thought retirement seemed to be suiting Prentiss: he had lost some of his belly and looked tanned as if he spent a lot of time outside.
A flash of a smile passed across Prentiss’s face, broadening when he got to her chest. ‘Bailley, good to see you.’ His hands moved as if he couldn’t decide between clapping her on the shoulder or shaking hands. ‘You look – well. Very glamorous.’ His lips pressed together before he became more serious. ‘Thanks for coming. You need to talk to Dominika.’ He inclined his head at the woman on the next stool. A pair of kohl-defined eyes flicked up before returning to a contemplation of the bottom of the cup. The movement brought hair down over her face, as if there was something to hide.
‘Why do I have to talk to her, why now and why here?’ Robyn looked hard at Prentiss. Even with the air-conditioning blasting down, her skin prickled with heat.
‘I know, it’s a bit irregular – relax. Believe me, you’ll want to hear what this woman has to say and she refuses point-blank to report it formally so this is the only way.’ Prentiss gestured around. ‘This place seemed as good as any.’
Her old boss had always made her feel uncomfortable but this was new, something she’d never noticed before. Robyn kept her breath shallow. Whether it was aftershave, fresh sweat or the combination, he was giving off a scent that was almost aggressive, like a man about to throw a punch.
‘You OK? Right. You know my wife was a nurse?’
Robyn nodded. She’d wondered how Prentiss had found someone to put up with him and when she’d found out his wife was a professional carer it made a lot of sense.
‘Well, we were driving back from the golf club Friday night, about one am, and June sees this girl crying at a bus stop. Well, she insists we stop, see if the kid’s all right, you know?’ He shook his head. ‘Would do it when she’s on her own as well. I keep telling her she can’t be mother to everyone, hey, she doesn’t listen to me.’ He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. ‘Anyway, it was Dominika. June got her talking. Turns out, she’d been attacked. She was grabbed and dragged into a car, only just managed to get away.’
‘Why doesn’t she want to make a formal complaint?’
‘Well let’s just leave it by saying she was out on her own late at night.’ The look of scorn from Prentiss was one she remembered well. ‘So then I remember a couple of stories in the Gazette and think this isn’t the first time. Had a quiet word with a few people.’ He tapped the side of his nose. ‘And it looks like you’ve got someone who’s targeting young women. This girl can give you a description of him.’ When she didn’t reply immediately, there was impatience in his voice. ‘It took a lot of persuasion to get her here. Talk to her.’
The girl’s hand trembled as she poked the straw around the cup. It was enough to convince Robyn there was a story. ‘OK.’ She walked to the far stool and put her hand on the ridged plastic. ‘May I sit down?’ She didn’t want to move too quickly, making the girl any more nervous than she already was.
Prentiss followed, clapping Robyn on the back. ‘There you are love. Bailley always was the kindest bloke I knew.’ He stopped, arm still resting on Robyn’s shoulder. ‘Well, come on, I did know you as a bloke.’
The woman was gripping the cup between her hands. ‘You told me a woman.’
Prentiss smiled, the insincere beam Robyn remembered. ‘And she, Robyn, yes, she is a woman. As good as. Look, you’re here now, just talk.’
Biting her lip, Dominika glanced again at Robyn.
Robyn slid onto the stool, arranging her body to mirror Dominika’s. ‘Hello. I’m Robyn. I know I may not be quite what you expected.’ She paused, smiled: there was no answering movement. ‘I really want to hear your story. Will you talk to me?’
One of Dominika’s feet tapped against the cross bar of the stool. ‘I wanted talk with a woman.’ She didn’t seem to be opening her jaw fully.
‘Come on, sweetheart.’ Prentiss was standing at her shoulder. ‘It’s the closest thing to a woman we’ve got. It’s going to have to do, yeah? You’re both here now, might as well talk to – them.’
Keeping her voice soft, Robyn ignored him. ‘I’m used to being judged by people too. We can talk, Dominika, wherever you feel most comfortable. Would it help you to talk about it?’ Where sunlight fell on the woman’s face, the heavy patches of foundation couldn’t quite hide the dark bruising around her jaw.
There was a sharp exclamation, the sound of things hitting the ground. An angry man’s voice yelled something. Dominika’s eyes flicked towards the sound. A child began wailing. Robyn kept her eyes locked on Dominika’s, willing her to look back at her. ‘Talking about this might make it easier to deal with.’
The girl blinked a couple of times, meeting Robyn’s eyes for the first time. She gave a tiny nod.
‘Good. Now, you start any time you want.’
In anticipation of the story, Prentiss lolled against the counter, slurping the last out of his own coffee. Dominika’s shoulders hunched forward; her foot was tapping again. Robyn turned to Prentiss. ‘I really appreciate you doing this so maybe you could leave us alone?’
‘I already know what she said.’ The tone was one Robyn remembered that had never failed to irritate her. She hated the way Prentiss was always so sure of himself.
‘I know you do. But clearly, having to say it again is making her uncomfortable, so let me talk to her on her own.’
‘Christ’s sake, OK, I’ll wait in the car.’ Prentiss marched away, throwing his cup at a bin. He didn’t stop when the cup missed and bounced across the tiles.
‘I’m sorry.’ Robyn let the seconds pass wondering if the girl had changed her mind. It was only when her lips moved she realised Dominika was whispering.
‘– and he grab me round the neck.’
She couldn’t move the stool forward without entering Dominika’s space. All she could do was try to block out the surroundings and create an aura of safety around the two of them. ‘Go on.’
‘He squeeze my neck, scratch me –’ The child’s scream rose in intensity. ‘– thought I was going to die.’ Her shaking hand pulled down the scarf around her neck showing the edge of a yellow mark.
Still struggling to hear, Robyn risked leaning closer. ‘Go on.’
The door opened, Dominika’s eyes flicking to the movement, her body tensing. Under the fear, Robyn detected a hardness about the woman’s looks. The most likely reason was she was a prostitute. It would explain Prentiss’s sarcasm.
‘He pull me to car, back, off the road to New Town.’ Dominika stared down again into her empty coffee cup. ‘He start, he start …’ She choked off a sob and mimed hands tearing at clothing.
Robyn reached for her handbag, keeping the movements slow. In one of the outer pockets was a packet of tissues. She lifted the first one and held out the packet, shocked when the woman flinched away from her outstretched arm. The certainty of Dominika’s situation and a suspici
on of what she had to endure made Robyn more determined to get her story.
From the edge of the stool, Dominika glanced up. When she focused on the tissue, her shoulders lost their hunch, her lips pressing together. She took the tissue: her nail varnish was chipped, showing yellow underneath. After wiping her eyes, Dominika seemed able to continue. ‘He start to try and not ready.’ She held up her hand, little finger crooked down and there was a hint of a smile. ‘Then a car went past. He duck down so not be seen. I manage to get my bag and spray him.’
‘What do you mean –?’
The woman mimed using an aerosol.
‘You used a pepper spray on him?’ It had come out sharper than Robyn intended.
Dominika tensed. ‘I knew things be like this. Exactly is why men like him on the streets and not arrested because women not allowed to defend themselves.’
Robyn shook her head. ‘Dominika, I’m sorry. I was just surprised. I know it’s not easy to get hold of those things in England.’
‘No. My …’ She stopped, blinking. ‘My friend he buys it at home and brings it here.’
‘What else can you –?’
Robyn stopped as Prentiss got out of his car and walked towards them. He pushed open the door.
‘Just getting a paper. Didn’t know you two were going to take so long.’ He paid for a Daily Journal and left, casting a searching look at Robyn.
‘Take as long as you need.’ Robyn smiled at Dominika. ‘What else can you tell me about him? Did you see what he looked like?’
‘All in black. With hood up and a scarf over face. Just his eyes. Blue, blue eyes.’
‘What about his build?’ Robyn saw a flash of uncertainty cross Dominika’s face. ‘His body – was he tall?’ She sat up straight, one hand over her head. ‘Fat?’ She puffed her cheeks out, bulking her arms around her body.