by Alex Clare
‘His Facebook profile was a joy to look at.’ Chloe slipped into her seat. ‘About six photos a week of him in one daft pose or another. Let me see if we can get something there.’ She scrolled down the page. ‘He is so in love with himself – aha. There were only a couple of photos posted between the nineteenth and twenty-eighth of January and none of them showed his face. Right.’ She dashed over to the printer and fidgeted while the sheets chugged out. ‘And here are the photos posted on the eighteenth and the twenty-ninth.’ Although the quality was poor, a new kink in Newman’s nose was visible.
‘And here’s another thing.’ At her desk, Lorraine pointed at her screen. ‘He bought a car in February. A four-door Astra is registered in his name.’
Robyn stood up. ‘Right. Now we go.’ As they left the office, she was smiling.
30
The three of them walked across Flotilla block’s car park, Lorraine leading.
‘Last time I was here in Uniform, I had to deal with an argument over a poker game.’ Chloe was trotting to keep up with Lorraine. ‘They say online gambling is bad but at least you don’t get stabbed over a stake.’
‘There’s the Astra.’ Lorraine pointed to a faded green car parked diagonally across two spaces. ‘We need to impound it, check for traces of pepper spray. If we can get that, we’ve got another link.’
The block’s front door was propped open. ‘Do you think the girl knows about what Bartholomew does?’ Chloe stepped into the lift.
‘I don’t know and we shouldn’t rely on getting anything out of her.’ Robyn was planning the day: get the arrest over with, arrange an appointment with the doctor and then a better evening with Becky. ‘Most of the victims can’t give any description, so the car is our best hope for getting evidence of the other crimes.’ The doors opened and they stepped into the lobby.
‘Guv, just thinking about things.’ Lorraine put a hand on Robyn’s arm. ‘Last time we were here, the way I saw this girl, she was scared, damaged even. You can talk to people – I reckon she’d feel more comfortable with you.’ Lorraine looked around, no humour in her eyes. ‘And before you get paranoid, I didn’t mean because you’re damaged. It’s just you’ve got a lot more patience than me – I’d probably end up telling her to get a life.’
‘OK.’ Robyn decided to accept this at face value. ‘If Bartholomew isn’t there, can you two do some checking around, see if anyone heard anything on Saturday night?’
Outside Bartholomew’s flat, Chloe held up her hand. ‘Hang on.’ She put her ear to the door. ‘There’s a radio on.’ She knocked then listened again. ‘Now it’s been switched off.’
‘That probably means Lyndsey is on her own.’ Robyn kept her voice low. ‘Bartholomew wouldn’t care about people knowing whether he’s in or not.’
‘Where is he then?’ After a few seconds, Chloe knocked again. ‘Miss, are you there?’
‘Who is it?’ Robyn had to lean closer to catch the voice. ‘Colin’s not here.’
Behind her, she heard Lorraine and Chloe moving away. Robyn smiled, conscious of an eye at the peephole. ‘It’s Robyn Bailley. I need to ask a few more questions and it would be easier inside. May I come in?’
‘What questions?’ There was a muffled noise as if the girl was leaning against the door.
‘Questions about Saturday night. A friend of Colin’s died and we want to find out how.’ On the edge of her hearing, she caught a sound from inside, lost as Lorraine banged on a neighbour’s door. Robyn leaned closer. ‘Miss, can you help us find out how Jake died? His girlfriend needs to know because she has to tell their baby son.’ She held her breath, waiting to catch any response. ‘Miss, could I come in, please?’ The solidity against Robyn’s body eased as the latch clicked and the door swung inwards. She stepped in, just far enough so the door could be shut. ‘Thank you.’
The girl stood in the light, leaning back, her clavicles sharp lines under the baggy sweat top. The pose was like an imitation of a model in a fashion shoot though her hands were balled into fists. Behind her, the bathroom door was open: Robyn could see the stacked protein powders.
‘Perhaps we could sit down?’ Robyn took a step forward, willing the girl to relax.
The girl took an equal step back. Some of the multiple holes in her ears were scabbed.
‘There’s nothing to worry about.’ Robyn smiled. ‘I have some more questions and I think you can help me. This won’t take long, Miss – I don’t know your surname?’
‘Just Lyndsey.’ The girl dropped her eyes, a finger of her left hand picking at the skin around her thumb nail.
‘Lyndsey, OK. Let’s sit down.’ Robyn moved towards the one chair. The girl blinked before she jerked away and slumped onto the weight-lifting bench, knocking over a can of liniment spray which clanked against a weight.
Robyn sat down. ‘Thank you. I don’t have many questions. How long have you been living here?’
Lyndsey’s lips pressed together.
‘Don’t worry, I’m not from the benefits office.’ ‘I just need to check a couple of things and then I’ll go. Were you here on Saturday night?’
Arms folded around herself, Lyndsey shook her head once.
‘Were you out? It was a miserable night, wasn’t it?’ This meant another lie Bartholomew had told them. Robyn smiled again, even though the girl’s head was down.
‘I was working.’
‘Can you tell me where?’ There was no answer. ‘Was anyone with you?’
‘Cleaning. Just me.’ For the first time, Lyndsey’s eyes met Robyn’s.
‘Do you get lonely? Working on your own?’ The young woman’s defiance looked brittle: Robyn kept her tone soothing, thinking the girl was used to aggression so might be disarmed by sympathy. ‘I hope you don’t have to travel alone late, there have been some attacks on women recently. Did you know about them?’
Her lips pressed together, Lyndsey shook her head.
‘What time did you get home?’
‘Dunno.’ The answer was automatic.
‘We think Colin and a man called Jake may have had an argument on Saturday and, somehow, Jake ended up in the back of his van. Did you know?’ Robyn was sure Lyndsey’s breathing had speeded up. ‘It’s just, I know you know about it because we found your fingerprints on Jake’s van.’ She leant forward. ‘Now I don’t think for a second you would be able to carry a big bloke like Jake around. Maybe you looked into the van to see if he was all right?’ The lines of blusher on the woman’s cheeks glared out because the colour had drained from her face. ‘Lyndsey?’
‘He was asleep, so I made him a pillow.’ The words came out in a whisper. ‘I got off the bus and Colin was in the car park doing something in the van. He was in a really bad mood. When he’d gone, I looked and saw the man. His face was on the floor, so I made him a pillow so he’d be comfortable and found something to cover him.’
Robyn let a long breath go. ‘Do you know what Colin and Jake had been fighting about?’
‘I wasn’t there.’ Lyndsey pushed up her sleeves.
‘Are you and Colin a couple?’
Lyndsey cocked her head on one side, arms folding again. When Robyn kept up the same easy smile, at last she shook her head.
‘You’re just flatmates?’
There was a sharp nod.
‘So you know Colin pretty well then? I’m just trying to understand him so I know why he and his friend Jake had a fight.’
‘I told you, I wasn’t there. I didn’t see him all day because he was at the wedding. Why don’t you ask him?’
Robyn had what she needed. ‘I will when he’s here.’
‘You fancy him?’ Lyndsey’s eyes widened. ‘He wouldn’t even look at you. What are you anyway?’ Her shoulders went back and in the crook of her left arm, Robyn saw lumpen marks on the white skin.
Robyn’s stomach twisted: she focused on keeping her face neutral. ‘I’m a police officer, Lyndsey. Nothing else.’ She stood up. ‘Thank you. You’ve been very helpful. Ple
ase tell Colin we need to speak to him.’
In the corridor, Robyn pulled the door shut and took a deep breath. In the lobby, she could hear voices: Lorraine and Chloe were waiting by the lift.
‘We’ve got something, Guv.’ Chloe pressed the lift button. ‘Most of the neighbours were either out or not saying anything but an old lady downstairs remembers a thud on the ceiling at about eleven fifteen on Saturday.’
‘Good.’ Robyn nodded. ‘Lyndsey told she made Newman comfortable with the rags and the dust sheet after Bartholomew put him in the van.’
Behind her, the fire escape door banged shut.
Lorraine whistled. ‘Does she realise what she did?’
‘I don’t believe so.’ Robyn shook her head. ‘In terms of charges, I think we would struggle to get Bartholomew on any more than assault whereas Lyndsey is potentially guilty of manslaughter.’
‘Christ. How can the bastard keep getting away with things?’ Lorraine stabbed at the lift button. ‘He’ll find some way to wriggle out of the attacks at this rate. Can we at least give his car a parking ticket?’
The lift bumped to a stop. The three of them straggled out to Lorraine’s car.
‘Now what, Guv?’ From the back seat, Chloe sounded plaintive.
‘We keep watch here for a bit.’ Robyn tried to make this sound positive but in reality, she didn’t have any other suggestions. He’ll come back here.’
‘There must be something else we can find.’ Lorraine struck the steering wheel with the flat of her hand. ‘Guess we can track the car on cameras now we know the number plate, see if it was parked near the attack sites.’
‘And find where his mobile was. We can also check CCTV on his route home.’ Chloe stretched out across the back seat. ‘Leave it with me. And do you think we can track down the woman you met, Guv? Would DI Prentiss help us find her?’
The thought of asking Prentiss for help was not appealing. ‘We can try. It’s just people like her often take steps to make sure …’ Robyn paused as another thread in her mind made a connection. She looked between Lorraine and Chloe’s blank faces. ‘We’ve got him. Steps. We can nail him with steps.’
After turning to Chloe, Lorraine raised an eyebrow. ‘OK, Guv, what are you talking about?’
‘When we met him, he was wearing a fitness tracker. If he’s got the data linked to an app, it will show where he was.’ Robyn twisted in her seat. ‘Think about it, we should be able to place him at the crime scenes on the days of the attacks. Those things also measure heartbeat – if his pulse goes up at the right time, we’ve got him.’
‘Self-tracking criminals.’ Lorraine laughed. ‘They’ll do us out of a job.’
‘And there’s another thing.’ Robyn replayed the recent interview. ‘I think I know what Dominika meant by the attacker smelling “intense”. It’s the sport liniment he uses.’
‘Look!’ Chloe was staring through the passenger-side window. Lyndsey ran out of the flats, a holdall slung across one shoulder, a bulging plastic bag in her hand. As she turned her head, a red streak was visible across her face.
‘Christ, someone’s attacked her. Looks like she’s running for it.’ Lorraine ripped off her seatbelt.
Robyn’s thoughts were now catching up with her actions. ‘Hang on. We need to think this through. Bartholomew must have been there all along. Christ, if he realises she’s talked to us, she’s in danger.
Chloe, go after her, she’s the type who’s used to disappearing.’ Chloe was already out of the car when Bartholomew charged through the flat’s front door and stood, chest heaving. He could easily catch up with Lyndsey, only halfway across the car park, moving in a clumsy half-run, half-walk. He set off in the opposite direction. Robyn started after him, her feet protesting, hearing Lorraine’s breathing close behind. ‘No, back, he’s going for his car.’
Bartholomew had started the engine before Robyn could intercept him. The Astra revved hard and took off down the lane towards the car park’s exit. Robyn sprinted after him, burnt rubber scorching her nose. Ahead, Chloe was helping Lyndsey to cross the road. From behind, Robyn heard Lorraine’s car in the next aisle.
The Astra swerved right towards the road, crunching as it knocked the wing of a car at the end of the line. Lorraine didn’t try for the exit but drove her car straight at the kerb, cutting straight across the pavement and bumping down, blocking the road. Robyn raced across behind her. Screeching, the Astra swung into the exit. Robyn made it to the opposite pavement where Lyndsey lay at Chloe’s feet. Hooking her arms around the skinny body, Robyn lifted Lyndsey, bloodied hair blowing into her face. Chloe’s mouth was open: Robyn couldn’t hear her over the crunching of metal as the Astra rammed Lorraine’s car out of the way. Robyn turned, clumsy with Lyndsey in her arms. Bartholomew was driving straight towards them. The wall behind her was five feet high. If she dropped Lyndsey, she could get over it.
31
The Astra mounted the pavement. Lorraine’s car surged alongside trying to barge it out of the way. Glass went flying but the Astra was still coming, there was nothing else in its way. With the engine’s screaming in her ears, Robyn bundled Lyndsey’s body over the wall. There was no pain when the car struck her, she couldn’t see anything apart from the green blur that filled her eyes. She felt her feet losing their solid contact with the ground as she was scooped up onto the bonnet, flung into the air and began falling, falling.
Acknowledgements
This is a second book and writing it was a different experience to the first one.
A very special thing was the reaction of my colleagues. They made the whole process very enjoyable by being encouraging, regularly asking about progress and saying nice things about my first book. Thank you everyone.
This book has been supported by a number of people who have been so generous with their time and personal stories, in particular Katy-Jon and Kate.
Huge thanks to PCs Nick Pulham and Matt Essam who took me on a ride-along police shift, involved me in what they were doing and answered my endless questions. They do an amazing job.
I’m very grateful to the people who donated to Emmaus UK for the chance to get their name into She’s Fallen. The winners drawn were Crystel Marcos and Ed Jones. I also couldn’t resist adding Henrietta (Hetty), as this was to commemorate an anonymous donor’s mother and grandmother. I hope you are all happy with your characters and thank you again for your generosity.
Emmaus UK helps homeless people across the UK by providing them with a place to live and a job. Find out more at www.emmaus.org.uk.
About Alex Clare
After nearly twenty years of being a committed corporate person, Alex Clare was made redundant. She had always enjoyed writing, studying fiction part-time through the Open University and managing to complete a novel in her commuting time, though no one had ever read it. Now, with lots more time on her hands, there was the opportunity to take writing more seriously. She began to enter competitions and joined a writing group, which encouraged her to try out new genres and styles. After a period focusing on short stories, she wanted to try another novel. Inspiration came from watching Parliament debate the Equal Marriage Act in 2013. Astounded by the intensity of feeling generated, she created a fictional world to explore some of the issues and attitudes.
Twitter feed: @_alexandraclare
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