Bleed For Me (joseph o'loughlin)

by Michael Robotham

  ‘I’m on it.’

  Stoner takes the phone and escorts me to an interview room. I’m left there, sitting in my wet clothes, drinking machine coffee that could be reclassified as a form of torture alongside water boarding and sleep deprivation.

  My mind keeps drifting back to Annie’s flat and the open bottle of wine, the gift bag; the thank you card on the counter. Someone tried to poison her. Why?

  Annie knew about Gordon Ellis and Sienna. She was asked to investigate by the school but failed to raise the alarm. Friendship can’t explain a decision like that. I think back to Annie’s flat - the expensive perfumes and designer handbags in her wardrobe. She complained about getting stitched up in her divorce settlement.

  When I asked her how she could afford such a nice flat she told me that she refused to wait for things any more. Perhaps she’d found a way to supplement her income. Blackmail can turn a profit.

  Half twelve and the detectives reappear, offering me their apologies. For a moment I think I’m going to be released but they each take a seat. A tape recorder is switched on. Stoner is wearing suspenders over his white shirt like some yuppie trader from the eighties.

  ‘Run through the story for us again, Joe,’ he says, sounding like we’re old friends.

  I tell them about the school musical and Annie not showing up and how I tried to call her.

  ‘So you went round to her place?’

  ‘Yes. I saw her car. I thought she must be home but she didn’t answer the bell.’

  ‘So you climbed the back fence?’

  ‘I was worried.’

  ‘When my friends aren’t home, I don’t climb over their fences and smash their patio doors.’

  ‘I saw water leaking under her bedroom door.’

  ‘You said there were no lights on.’

  ‘There was one in the bedroom.’

  ‘And you could see water?’

  ‘Yes.’

  This is how it continues. Every detail is examined and picked over: what rooms I entered, what I touched, when I saw Annie last. Then we go back to the beginning again. Stoner is playing the hard arse while Wickerson wants to be my best friend, smiling, offering me encouragement, winking occasionally. At other times he looks bemused, almost doleful, like he’s listening to an impaired person.

  Stoner stands and moves behind me so that I have to turn my head to keep eye contact with him. He’s not a complex man. Keeps it simple. Talks slowly.

  ‘Tell us again how you know Annie Robinson?’

  ‘She’s a friend. She teaches at my daughter’s school. We’ve met a few times socially.’

  ‘So she’s not your girlfriend?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So you’re not sleeping with her?’

  ‘Once.’

  ‘Really?’

  Stoner makes it sound like a telling confession. They’re not listening to me.

  ‘Tell us what you put in the wine.’

  ‘I didn’t touch it.’

  ‘Did she say no to you, Joe? Was it some sort of date-rape drug?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Are we going to find your semen on those bed sheets?’

  Wasted words. Wasted time. They should be talking to Gordon Ellis.

  After an hour of questioning, the detectives take a break. I’m left in the interview suite trying to put the pieces together. How does Novak Brennan come into this? The trial, the jury, the Crying Man - I have fragments of a story, photographs without a narrative.

  There are raised voices in the passageway. Ronnie Cray comes through the door like she wants to widen it with her hips.

  ‘I’ve got to hand it to you, Professor. When you step in shit, you just put on your wellies and jump right in over your head.’

  Stoner and Wickerson are behind her, protesting.

  Cray looks at me: ‘Have you made a statement, Professor?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Is there anything else you want to add?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Good. Get your coat.’

  Wickerson is having none of it. ‘You can’t just barge in here. This man is still being questioned.’

  ‘Take it up with the Chief Constable,’ says the DCI. ‘Give him a call. He loves getting woken at two a.m.’

  She’s walking as she talks, ushering me in the direction of the charge room. Stoner says something under his breath that ends with, ‘too ugly to get laid’.

  Cray stops and turns slowly, fixing him with a stare. ‘Do I know you?’

  ‘No, ma’am.’ He gives her a mocking smile.

  ‘Sure I do. Derek Stoner. Deadly Derek. You’re a ladies’ man. You dated one of the WPCs at Trinity Road. Sweet thing. She told me you had a pencil dick and couldn’t find a clitoris with a compass and a street directory.’ Cray pauses and winks at him. ‘Guess only one of us made her scream.’

  Moments later we’re outside. Monk is behind the wheel.

  ‘Where are we going?’ I ask.

  ‘Trinity Road,’ she answers. ‘Sienna Hegarty gave us a statement. We’re arresting Gordon Ellis at dawn.’

  ‘You’re going to charge him?’

  ‘We’re going to talk to him, but I wouldn’t get my hopes up.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Ellis has been through this before - the police interviews, the searches, the covert surveillance - when it comes to being a suspect, he’s a fucking expert.’

  46

  Sienna is curled up on a camp bed in Cray’s office, lying with her head in shadow covered by a thin blanket. A woman PC watches over her, sitting beneath a reading light, a magazine open on her lap.

  ‘Tell me if she wakes.’

  A nod. She goes back to reading.

  Most of the incident room is in darkness except for a pool of brightness like a spotlight on a stage. Cray hands me a transcript and tapes of Sienna’s interview.

  ‘We can’t corroborate her story. There are no emails, notes or phone calls. Nobody saw them together except for Danny Gardiner, and he only puts them in a car. We’ve tracked both their mobiles. Apart from at the school, we can’t put Sienna and Ellis within fifty yards of each other.’

  ‘Gordon made her turn her phone off. What about the chat-room conversations?’

  ‘We’re getting the transcripts. Even if they show Sienna was coerced, we still have to prove that Ellis created this “Rockaboy” persona. We’ve got a search warrant for his home and office but I doubt if we’ll find any computers.’

  Cray’s eyes continue to search my face. ‘Tell me how Annie Robinson comes into this.’

  ‘I think she was blackmailing Gordon Ellis over his affair with Sienna.’

  ‘Evidence?’

  ‘Annie knew about the relationship but she didn’t tell the school or Sienna’s parents.’

  ‘She was protecting a colleague.’

  ‘It was more than that. She’s living beyond her means. Expensive clothes. Shoes. Her flat. She also lied about dating Gordon Ellis at college.’

  ‘And Novak Brennan?’

  ‘He and Ellis shared a house together at university. Brennan was supplying drugs to half the campus, according to Annie. Ellis was one of his dealers.’

  ‘That was years ago.’

  ‘They say the friends you make at university are the ones you keep for life.’

  ‘You think Ellis sent her the wine?’

  ‘I don’t know. It seems too clumsy.’

  ‘Clumsy?’

  ‘He doesn’t make many mistakes.’

  ‘Maybe he panicked.’

  ‘Somehow I doubt it.’

  Cray stands, stretches her arms and rolls her head from side to side.

  ‘We’re running out of time, Professor. We can’t prove that Gordon Ellis groomed Sienna. We can’t prove he slept with her. And we can’t prove he got her pregnant. Unless Annie Robinson can corroborate Sienna’s story, Ellis is going to walk out of here with a spring in his step and a hard-on for more schoolgirls.’

  I look at th
e clock. I have just a few hours to come up with an interview strategy. I need to know everything I can about Gordon Ellis - his history, his friends, his relationships . . . I need to know about his state of mind, his personality, the light and shade of his existence. I have to walk through his mind, see the world through his eyes; discover what excites him and what he fears most.

  Finding a quiet corner, I sit down at a desk and begin listening to the tapes of Sienna’s police interview. Fast-forwarding and playing excerpts, I listen to Sienna explaining how she was groomed by her favourite teacher, wooed with kindness and compliments. Eventually, the relationship became a physical one and they would rendezvous in Gordon’s car after school, parking in lay-bys and quiet lanes, always somewhere different. Occasionally, he took her to cheap motorway hotels or organised for her to stay overnight when she babysat Billy. Gordon would slip into her bed during the night, getting a thrill out of taking her while his wife lay sleeping.

  I was worried because I lost an earring. It was Mum’s favourite pair. I thought it might have slipped down the sofa or been in the bed. Gordon got really angry because Natasha found it in the main bedroom and accused him of sleeping with me. She wouldn’t let me babysit after that. Mum went crazy looking for the earring. She turned our house upside down. You won’t tell her, will you?

  Monk tells her no. He asks if she kept any notes, photographs or gifts from Gordon.

  He said I couldn’t tell anyone.

  But you must have kept something - a memento.

  What’s a memento?

  Something to remind you, like a souvenir.

  No, not really. I used to write a diary on my computer, but I used different names.

  Where is the computer now?

  It was stolen . . . when Daddy got . . . when he died.

  The interview switched to the day of Ray Hegarty’s murder. After Danny Gardiner dropped Sienna on a street corner in Bath she waited for Gordon Ellis. He arrived with another man and they made her lie down on the back seat.

  What did the other man look like?

  I wasn’t supposed to see his face.

  But you did.

  Yes. He had black tears coming from his eyes.

  Tattoos?

  Yes.

  Do you know his name?

  No.

  What did Gordon tell you?

  Sienna hesitates. Faltering. He said I had to have sex with someone. I asked him why and he said I had to prove how much I loved him.

  ‘But you know I love you,’ I said.

  ‘Prove it one more time.’

  ‘What if I don’t want to?’

  ‘You’ll do it anyway.’

  ‘What if he’s ugly?’

  ‘Close your eyes and think of me.’

  Monk asks her about the drive, which took longer than fifteen minutes but less than an hour, according to Sienna. When the car pulled up, Gordon told her to brush her hair and put on fresh make-up. She was wearing her black flapper dress from the musical.

  Gordon took me to the door and knocked. A man answered.

  What did he look like?

  Old - maybe fifty - he had a red face.

  What colour hair?

  He didn’t have much hair. He offered me a glass of champagne. I made a mistake and told him I was too young. Then I remembered that Gordon had said I wasn’t to tell him my age. ‘How young?’ the man asked. I lied and said I was eighteen.

  ‘You’re shivering. Are you cold?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Have you done this before?’

  ‘No.’

  Then he put his hands on my shoulders and pushed my dress down my arms. I tried to cover myself, but he said I shouldn’t be ashamed . . .

  Sienna began to weep and Monk suspended the interview, announcing the time. There is a pause in the recording and I hear his voice again - commencing a new session.

  At that moment I catch a movement out of the corner of my eye. Sienna is awake. Sleepy.

  ‘What are you listening to?’ she asks.

  ‘Your interview.’

  She lowers her eyes. Embarrassed.

  ‘How are you feeling?’

  ‘Like an elephant sat on my chest.’

  I pull up a chair. She hugs her knees. ‘Pretty stupid, huh?’

  ‘Don’t be too hard on yourself.’

  ‘Are they going to arrest him?’

  ‘Yes.’

  The WPC brings her a cup of tea. Sienna nurses it in both hands, warming her fingers. I can barely recognise the girl I first met. Her sassy, in-your-face attitude and confidence have been stripped away.

  How will she recover from this? It’s possible. She’s intelligent and sensitive. With the right role models and advice she can still make something of her life. Otherwise she’s going to end up in the arms of some wife beater or abuser who will recognise that Ray Hegarty and Gordon Ellis have done all the hard work in breaking her spirit.

  I ask her about the house she visited. The man she had to sleep with. She hesitates, not wanting to go over it again.

  ‘Remember what we did before? If you don’t want to answer a question, all you have to do is raise your right hand, just your fingers. It’s our special signal.’

  Sienna nods.

  ‘What do you remember about the house?’

  ‘It had lots of old stuff. Furniture. Antiques, maybe. And one of those big clocks that bongs every hour. It was bonging when he was . . . when he was . . . you know.’

  ‘He took you upstairs?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Were there paintings on the walls?’

  ‘Dead people in frames.’

  ‘What was he wearing?’

  ‘A dressing gown. And he had on a pair of those half slippers like my grandad wears. They flap up and down when you walk.’

  ‘Did he say anything?’

  ‘He was nice. He asked my name. When I told him he said, “I don’t suppose that’s your real name.” I knew I should have made one up.’

  ‘Did he tell you his name?’

  ‘No.’

  Sienna is looking at me, gauging my reaction, wanting to know whether I think less of her now.

  ‘At first I thought he was just lonely, you know, like old and on his own, but then I found out he was married.’

  ‘How?’

  ‘I opened one of the wardrobes. I saw dresses and shoes. And I think he might have had a daughter my age because once he called me by a different name.’

  ‘What name?’

  ‘Megan.’

  I know I could get more details from Sienna if I took her back to that night and did a proper cognitive interview, getting her to concentrate on the sounds, the smells, the images. But what would it cost her? I’d risk traumatising a girl who had been through enough.

  Instead I choose another event: her weekend away with Gordon Ellis. It was in the autumn, not long after they went back to school.

  ‘Danny picked me up from school and dropped me at a lay-by on the A26. Gordon wanted to make sure nobody saw us together, so he made me lie down in the back seat under a blanket.

  ‘Where was Billy?’

  ‘He was next to me in his booster seat. He thought it was a game, like peek-a-boo.’

  ‘Did Gordon say where you were going?’

  ‘To the seaside; I think he said the caravan was in Cornwall.’

  ‘That’s a long way.’

  Sienna shrugs.

  I quiz her about the drive, but she can’t remember any road signs or place names. At one point Gordon said he was hungry and they stopped for fish and chips. He made Sienna wait in the car and took Billy with him.

  ‘I want you to close your eyes and think back. You’re in the car alone. Remember how it smelled and what you were wearing. You were excited. Anxious. Nervous perhaps. Gordon has gone to get the fish and chips. You’re waiting. What can you remember?’

  ‘There was a Lily Allen song on the radio.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘An
d I forgot to tell Gordon to get me ketchup. I don’t like vinegar on my chips.’

  ‘Did you go and tell him?’

  ‘No. He told me to stay in the car.’

  ‘What about your mobile?’

  ‘He made me turn it off.’

  ‘What did you see outside?’

  ‘A picture-framing shop . . . another place with salamis in the window.’

  ‘What else?’

  ‘There was a pub over the road with a sign outside. It said, “Dogs Welcome.” I laughed and showed it to Gordon because I kept thinking of these dogs going in and ordering drinks at the bar.’ She opens her eyes and looks at me. ‘I don’t suppose that’s much use.’

  ‘You’d be surprised.’

  I take her over the rest of the journey, plucking out small, often random details. She recalls certain songs on the radio and a billboard advertising a golf course and the smell of a poultry farm.

  ‘After that I guess I just fell asleep.’

  ‘For how long?’

  She screws up her face in concentration. ‘Gordon said I had food poisoning.’

  ‘You must have woken up at some point.’

  ‘Gordon said I’d been sick on my clothes, which is why he took them off. “I brought pyjamas,” I told him, but he said I was sick on those too.’

  ‘You were naked?’

  Sienna blushes and the details turn to dust in my mouth.

  ‘Tell me about the caravan?’

  Her forehead furrows. ‘It had a bed and a little sink and a table that folded away.’

  ‘Did it have curtains?’

  ‘They were black and they were taped down.’

  ‘Did you ever manage to look outside?’

  ‘I woke up during the night. I was so thirsty. At first I was frightened because I couldn’t remember where I was and it was so dark.’

  ‘Where was Gordon?’

  ‘He must have gone out. My head was really heavy. I hooked my fingers beneath the tape on the windows and lifted a corner. I could see coloured lights and hear music. Kids were yelling. It was a fairground. It made me think of when I was eleven and we went to Blackpool. Lance won me a panda on the shooting gallery and I kissed a boy from Maidstone who Mum said was my cousin but he was just a friend of the family.’

  Sienna smiles shyly.

  ‘This fairground, what rides could you see?’

  ‘I think it had a merry-go-round. I could see the coloured lights on the canopy. Is that important?’