by JANICE FROST
Tristan put the kettle on and took two mugs and two infusers out of a basin of murky water, gave them a shake and put them on the worktop.
Ivy spooned what looked like grass cuttings into two egg-shaped tea infusers. She placed them in the mugs and poured boiling water on top, then she handed one mug to Tristan, instructing him to let the tea infuse for five minutes.
Steph wondered what was wrong with plain old tea bags. She looked at Tristan. “Tell us how you got to know Mark Ripley and his friends, Adam Eades and Phil Lavin.”
“I met them back in my first week here. Mark came up to me in the Swan. The Savvy Swan, a student bar and restaurant? Adam and Phil were with him. They’re all second-years. They don’t live on campus. Adam and Phil share a house in town. Somewhere off Monks Road, I think. Mark lived somewhere else. We chatted for a bit, then one of them, I think it was Adam, asked me if I had a girlfriend.”
He glanced affectionately at Ivy, who gave him an encouraging smile. “I knew Ivy but we weren’t in a relationship yet. I said I wasn’t seeing anyone and admitted I’d never had a girlfriend at school. Too busy studying for my A levels, I guess. They were all like, how can you still be a virgin at your age? Actually, I wasn’t. That was just an assumption they made and I didn’t correct them. Mocking me, I suppose. Then Mark started telling me about this group he was starting up to coach ‘people like me,’” — air apostrophes — “strategies to help them hit on girls. His words, not mine.” Another glance at Ivy. “He said you could learn techniques to enhance your chances of success in persuading women to sleep with you.”
Ivy butted in. “Manipulation, bullying, lies, deceit, coercion.”
Tristan nodded. “Absolutely. I realised what their game was immediately, but I didn’t let on. When Mark asked if I wanted to come along to one of their groups, I agreed. I told Ivy about what I thought they were up to and Ivy told Lottie. They agreed that it would be a good idea to have a spy in their camp, so to speak. When I got there, I realised it was exactly what I thought it was going to be. I was disgusted with their behaviour and all the pathetic misogynistic crap they came out with.”
“Can you give an example of something you felt uncomfortable with?” Elias asked.
“Well, one of the strategies basically involved negging. That’s—”
“I know what it means,” Elias said. “Go on.”
“First you go along to their group, and Adam and Phil do a presentation about the ‘art of seduction.’ Then they outline a couple of techniques. Afterwards, they take you out on the street to practise approaching women.”
“Street harassment,” Ivy said. Again, Tristan nodded. “Exactly.”
“They gave us a lot of lines to use. Mark demonstrated what to say and do by going up to a couple of women and successfully getting their phone numbers. Then it was our turn. They advised starting by approaching a woman we liked the look of and maybe asking for directions, then complimenting her on some aspect of her appearance. Mark assured us it was okay, that you were making the woman feel good about herself. But when they did their talk ahead of taking us out, they focussed on the main goal, which was . . . well, obviously, getting a woman to have sex with you, even if she was initially reluctant. It was all about overcoming resistance, they said. I had to bite my tongue. I so wanted to ask if they really thought it fair that the man knew what the agenda was but the women didn’t.”
Ivy patted Tristan’s hand. “Tell them what Mark said about young girls.”
“He was pushing me to approach this girl who looked about fourteen, and I said, no, she’s way too young. He told me it was up to me to decide the morality of it, but he made it quite clear that he didn’t see anything wrong with approaching underage girls. That did it for me. I couldn’t have taken any more without decking him. I walked away.”
“You know about what happened to Kylie, right?” Ivy said.
She was referring to Kylie’s experience with Mark. “Yes,” Steph said.
“We should have put a stop to what they were doing,” Ivy added.
“There’s something else,” Tristan said.
“Something else you were uncomfortable with?” Steph asked.
“Yes.” They waited. Tristan took a breath. “I think Mark was secretly filming us approaching the women. Not Adam and Phil. Just Mark.”
Steph frowned. “Did you confront him over it?”
“I asked him, and he denied it. He even showed me his phone. It didn’t occur to me until afterwards that he might have had two.”
“Did you mention it to Adam, or Phil?”
“Yes. They said no way was Mark doing that. I didn’t have any proof, and after he showed me his phone, I thought I was just being paranoid.”
Ivy interrupted. “If it was true, it kind of makes you wonder what else he might have been filming, right?”
Steph understood exactly what Ivy was insinuating. Still, she raised an enquiring eyebrow. Ivy elaborated. “Suppose Mark filmed himself having sex with the girls he picked up? You read about that sort of thing. I thought about it as soon as Kylie mentioned that nasty text Mark sent, marking her out of ten.” Her face tightened.
Steph turned back to Tristan. “You said you walked away that day. What did you say to them?”
“I told them I didn’t approve of what they were doing and pointed out that morons like them give all men a bad name. I said that I wouldn’t be coming to any more sessions, even though I’d paid up front.”
“Paid?” Elias said. They already knew from Jason Collins that Adam, Phil and Mark charged for their services.
“Yes. They charged me fifty quid. That covered the initial presentation plus a ‘bootcamp,’ as they called the walkabout, and a follow-up session. Then you could sign up for more if you found the sessions helpful.”
“Did you get the impression they’d held a lot of these sessions?” Steph asked.
“They showed me a few testimonials — four, maybe five, from clients saying they felt more confident approaching women after attending the sessions. There was no way of telling whether the testimonials were genuine. I got the impression, though they never actually said it, that the bootcamp I attended was one of the first they’d organised. It was all pretty amateurish, to be honest, as well as morally suspect.”
“Did you ever consider speaking to someone in authority at the university about what Mark and his cronies were up to?” Elias asked.
“No point. It’s not against the law or university regulations to teach the so-called ‘art of seduction,’ as they called it. I couldn’t prove that any bad stuff was going on. It all just seemed kind of . . . seedy. You know? Even though what they were all doing isn’t against the law, that doesn’t make it right. ”
“Street harassment should be a crime,” Elias said. Tristan and Ivy nodded.
Steph was mulling over what Tristan had said. There was no evidence that Mark Ripley’s death was related to his being involved in Adam and Phil’s group. But it was looking more and more likely that there was some connection between his murder and Kylie’s. Her anger at Jane Bell rekindled. If Bell had alerted them to Kylie sooner, perhaps they could have made the link sooner, maybe even have prevented her death.
“You’re here because you’re investigating Kylie’s murder, aren’t you? Are you investigating Mark Ripley’s murder too? Do you think their deaths had something to do with the pick-up group? With Adam and Phil?” Ivy’s question echoed Steph’s thoughts.
“We can’t discuss our investigations with you, and I’d appreciate it if you’d avoid indulging in speculation. There’s no evidence that Adam Eades and Phil Lavin are involved in any wrongdoing.”
“I didn’t feel sorry for Mark after what he did to poor Kylie.” Ivy’s eyes flashed with anger.
“Ivy!” Tristan looked shocked.
Ivy refused to back down. “Even if he didn’t murder her, he humiliated and bullied her. He . . . He practically raped her. He could have caused her to become depressed, suici
dal or . . . anything. Guys like him and Adam and Phil, they think they can get away with harassing and humiliating and harming women. Even if the university knew about it, they wouldn’t do anything. You read about them persuading women to sign these non-disclosure agreements, so the university won’t be dragged into a scandal.”
Steph let Ivy rant. She was upset and angry, and what she was saying was, regrettably, all too true. Quite recently, she’d caught an item on the news about universities trying to hush up complaints from young female students who had been sexually assaulted or even raped. One young woman who had signed an NDA after her case was dismissed through lack of evidence had actually been thanked by the university for not messing up her rapist’s life!
Steph wondered whether Ryan Brown had also been involved with the pick-up group in some way. If so, the theory that his assault was linked to the two murders would be much more plausible. It added a note of urgency to their need to interview Adam Eades and Phil Lavin.
Elias was already on it. “Have either of you heard of Ryan Brown? He’s a student here. Was he one of the group’s clients?”
Tristan and Ivy shook their heads.
“Kylie knew Ryan. You’re sure she never mentioned him?” Elias said.
More head shaking. Not surprising really, Kylie and Ryan had probably not had much time to get to know each other. Steph rose to her feet. “Thanks for your time. Please don’t discuss what’s been said here with anyone.”
“I take it we’re going to be calling on Mark’s buddies, Eades and Lavin?” Elias said when they were back outside.
“Yes, but first I need something to eat. I skipped breakfast and now I’m starving. Let’s nip into Starbucks for a wrap or something.”
Steph left Elias to contact the control room while she stood in the queue. She ordered a flat white for herself and a latte for Elias. When the barista asked their names, so that he could write them on their cups, Steph replied, “Holmes and Watson.” His expression remained unaltered as he scribbled the names on the labels. It wasn’t until they she placed Elias’s cup in front of him that she noticed he’d written ‘Holmes’ on the latte.
“He got the names mixed up.” She nodded at the cups. “I’m Holmes. Just so you know.”
Chapter Sixteen
Adam Eades and Phil Lavin lived in a house share in a street off Monks Road, a busy thoroughfare east of the city centre.
Steph knew the area a little. She’d lived there herself, briefly. She liked the Victorian and Edwardian red-brick terraces with their bay windows and attractive period details. But many of them looked tired and in need of a facelift, and where nineteenth- and turn of-the-century houses had been lost, modern infills had been thrown up with little sympathy for the overall character of the area.
Originally built to accommodate workers in the factories alongside the nearby River Witham, and to give easy access to the railway for those working farther afield, the houses were now home to an eclectic group of people, from long-term residents to recent immigrants, students and young families looking for somewhere reasonably priced to rent.
Steph and Elias walked past the local FE college, dodging the busy traffic to cross the road and turn down by the side of an imposing red-brick church, one of many on Monks Road. Methodist, Anglican, Wesleyan, all had once vied for the souls of the local residents. Nowadays, some of the churches had been refurbished and served the local community in more practical ways as offices, residences, local shops.
“I used to live along here,” Steph remarked to Elias. “Not this particular street, the one two blocks over. The landlady was putting the place on the market so she couldn’t extend my contract beyond six months. I had to find somewhere else pretty fast.”
“Nice and near the centre of town.” Elias stopped suddenly. “This is it.”
Steph noted that the downstairs curtains of the house were drawn. For privacy, no doubt. The landlord had probably turned the sitting-room into a bedroom so that he could fit in more tenants.
“Go on then,” Steph said. “What are you waiting for?”
Elias pressed the doorbell, setting off a series of musical chimes that brought a response within seconds, no doubt because the sound was so annoying. Steph made a face. Get rid of the thing, put up a sign telling callers to knock loudly.
A bearded man in his early twenties gave them the once over. “Can I help you?”
“Good morning. I’m Detective Inspector Warwick and this is my colleague, Detective Sergeant Harper. Do you mind if we come in?”
The young man yawned. “I think you want number forty-two.” He nodded at a house across the street with a boarded-up window. “They had a loud party last night and one of the neighbours put a brick through their window by way of a polite request to dial it down.”
“Actually, that’s not why we’re here. We’re here to speak with Adam Eades and Phil Lavin.”
“I’m Adam. What’s this about?” He took a step back, which Steph decided to interpret as an invitation for them to cross the threshold.
“Is there somewhere we can talk? It’s a bit cramped out here.”
“There’s the kitchen, but some of my housemates might be in there having breakfast. My bedroom’s tiny. There wouldn’t be room for all three of us.”
“Four,” Steph said. “I’d be grateful if you’d ask your mate Phil to join us.”
Adam took out his phone. “Sorry to wake you, bro’, but there’s a pair of detectives down here wanting to talk to us about something. No, no idea.” He looked at Steph, raising his eyebrows in expectation.
Steph didn’t respond. She disliked his tone. And why claim to be clueless about the likely reason for a police visit, when one of your friends had been murdered so recently? The question of why Adam and Phil had not been in touch with the police themselves also niggled.
“Do you want some tap water? I’m out of tea and coffee, and Phil only drinks beer.”
“That’s okay. We’re fine.”
“There’s a café on Monks Road that does a decent cup of coffee.”
“Just had one, thanks.”
They were joined by another young man, Phil Lavin. He entered hesitantly, suggesting he was less self-assured than Adam. The first thing he did was catch Adam’s eye.
“DC Harper and I are investigating the murder of Mark Ripley. I expect you’ve heard about it on the news. Maybe you knew him? He was a student at the university.”
“There are a lot of students at the uni, but actually, Phil and I did know Mark, yes. He was a good mate. We were shocked at what happened to him.”
“Terrible.” Phil glanced at Adam. One hand strayed to his chin, then to the back of his head. He rolled his neck from side to side.
Steph directed her next question to Phil. Otherwise, she sensed, Adam would dominate. “When was the last time you saw him?”
“Last week. In a bar on the High Street. We were all watching the football.”
“We’ve been speaking with a local lad, Jason Collins. He told us about your pick-up course.”
“Who? What?”
Steph ignored Adam’s interruption.
Phil gave Adam a nervous glance, as if to say there was no point in lying about it. Which, in Steph’s estimation, made him smarter than his friend.
“I sort of remember him. He didn’t sign up for the group.”
“Was Mark involved with the group?”
“Er . . . yes.”
“What was his role?”
“A bit of everything, but as the best looking out of all of us, he did the modelling. We got our clients to watch him in action, observe how he went about making successful connections with women.”
“You mean harassing young women on the street. Hitting on them for sex?” Steph said.
“If you want to be crude about it,” Adam said.
“So, he demonstrated the techniques you all taught on your course?” she asked.
“Must be rewarding work,” Elias remarked.
&n
bsp; Adam ignored the sarcasm. “Absolutely. I used to look around at all these sad young men who were really awkward and shy around women — you know, the undateables — and think, how can I help them?” He made it sound like a public service.
“That’s very commendable of you,” Steph said. “It might surprise you to learn that Jason Collins had been following Mark on the day of his murder.”
Adam affected surprise. “Seriously? You think he killed Mark?”
Steph glanced at Elias who was studying Adam clinically. Adam appeared unperturbed. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying their interchange. Unlike Phil, who was jumpy as hell.
“Shit,” he said. “He didn’t seem like he’d have it in him to kill someone. Just shows you can’t tell a book by its cover.”
“We don’t know who killed Mark,” Elias said. “Yet.”
Steph addressed Phil. “We’re going to need more information on your group. A list of your former and current clients for starters.”
“Sure. Whatever we can do to help. Mark was a good mate.” Phil lowered his head. “But we don’t have any clients now. We never had many in the first place. That’s partly why we packed it in.”
“Tell us about your group. When did you start it up? How many clients have you ‘helped,’ and how do you go about recruiting them?” Steph said.
“We talked about starting it up over the long break last summer. It seemed like a good idea to have our business up and running for freshers’ week, so that we could take advantage of the fresh meat, so to speak.”
He cleared his throat, as if realising how unfortunate that sounded. “It only ran for a couple of months, and we only ever had a handful of clients. As far as recruitment went, it was word of mouth mostly. To begin with we approached guys we thought might struggle connecting with women. You know, the less-confident ones who look awkward at mixed social gatherings.”
“Right. I don’t suppose it ever occurred to you that what you were doing when you went out on the streets with your ‘clients’ could be construed as harassment of the young women you approached?” Steph said.