The Falcon Tattoo (The National Crime Agency Series Book 2)

by Bill Rogers

  ‘On one condition,’ she said. ‘Anything that I say that is not in my notes you will have to verify through your own enquiries, including the interview with the patient.’

  Jo nodded. ‘I understand.’

  Dr Hollis looked at the other detective.

  ‘Me too,’ said DS Watts.

  The doctor folded her arms and sat back in her chair.

  ‘At sixteen thirty-two hours, Laura Razero, aged twenty-two, arrived at Reception saying that she believed that she had been raped.’

  ‘I’m sorry to interrupt, Doctor,’ said Jo, ‘but were those the actual words she used? She believed that she had been raped?’

  ‘That’s what I was told,’ Dr Hollis replied. ‘All of the staff here are extremely aware that everything we hear, do and say is potentially part of an evidential process that could end up in court proceedings. So I think you can take it as read that was what she said.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Jo. ‘I apologise for interrupting.’

  The doctor smiled.

  ‘You already did.’

  Medical professionals and scientists shared a lot in common, Jo reflected, such as pedantry. Mind you, she’d also heard that said of police officers.

  ‘Laura spent half an hour with one of our crisis counsellors,’ the doctor continued. ‘Following which, she decided that she wanted to proceed with a formal allegation and was prepared to undergo the necessary medical examination and forensic evidence gathering, and then to be interviewed by the police.’

  ‘How did she seem to you, Doctor?’ asked DS Watts.

  The doctor raised her eyebrows.

  ‘That depends on what you mean? Physically, emotionally, psychologically?’

  ‘All three,’ said Jo. She looked at DS Watts. ‘Preferably starting with the second two since I’m sure you’re going to take us through the forensic evidence?’

  DS Watts nodded her agreement.

  ‘Very well,’ said the doctor. ‘Emotionally, she was fragile. She was badly shaken, and it had taken a lot of courage to come here and complain. She told me that herself. Psychologically, she seemed of sound mind. Very much so. But, judging by her manner, body language and hesitations, she was clearly conflicted.’

  ‘About whether she had done the right thing?’ asked DS Watts.

  ‘You’ll have to decide that for yourselves,’ Hollis replied. ‘I’m a little uncomfortable about straying into the realm of conjecture. My role is to make a medical assessment, gather forensic evidence and provide a therapeutic service. I’m neither a psychiatrist nor a detective.’ It was said in a gentle matter-of-fact manner, but it still felt like a rebuke.

  ‘She is fit to be interviewed though?’ asked DS Watts, saving Jo from having to respond.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘No drugs or alcohol?’

  ‘One almighty hangover. She had twenty milligrams per hundred millilitres of blood twenty minutes ago. You’ll have to wait for the tox results. I’ve asked for them to be fast-tracked.’

  Well below the drink-drive limit, Jo reflected. But even if she hadn’t stopped drinking until the early hours, it still meant that she must have been heavily intoxicated.

  ‘And how did the medical examination go?’ she asked Dr Hollis.

  ‘By the book. There is clear evidence of intercourse having taken place. There was slight external bruising to the upper arms consistent with them having been lightly held, or leant on with the palm of the hands. There was no abnormal internal bruising. I took the full range of swabs, and also retrieved loose strands of what appeared to be pubic hair, foreign to the victim.’

  ‘Nothing to indicate forcible penetration then?’ asked DS Watts.

  Dr Hollis tilted her head, and stared over her glasses at the detective. ‘No, but then you’ll know as well as I do that does not preclude the possibility of rape. Especially if she was not in a position to consent.’

  ‘Did you recover any semen?’ asked DS Watts.

  ‘Yes,’ said the doctor. ‘She told me that she’d showered after the assault, but there was still seminal fluid in her vagina.’

  ‘There was mention of a tattoo?’ said Jo. ‘Could you describe it for us?’

  ‘I can do better than that.’

  The doctor swivelled to face her computer, brought up a series of pictures and selected one.

  ‘This is the inside of her right thigh. One of the shots routinely taken in such cases.’

  She leaned back so that the two detectives could see. According to the scale on the side of the photograph, the tattoo was a little over one and three-quarter inches wide and half that in length, in shades of black, brown and white. They had to crane forward to make it out.

  ‘Can you zoom in please, Doctor?’ asked Jo.

  It was indeed a bird of prey, but not a falcon. Possibly an eagle. The wings were spread wide as though in flight. It had little in common with the one the unsub had used to mark his victims.

  ‘Is that a permanent or a temporary tattoo?’ Jo asked.

  ‘Permanent. It’s been there for several years at least. I’ll email my report to whoever you tell me is the SIO, as well as providing a hard copy. You’ll also find a copy of these photos on an SD card in one of the evidence bags.’

  She pointed to a collection of brown paper bags on the shelf behind her.

  ‘Is there anything else we should know at this stage?’ Jo asked.

  ‘I offered her emergency contraception, even though she’s already on the pill. She’s thinking about it. I also explained the potential risks of infection and offered her post-exposure prophylaxis for HIV and Hepatitis B. She agreed to the Hep B, and I’ve already given her the first of the injections.’ Hollis pursed her lips. ‘She wants to think about the HIV medication. I told her she’d better not leave it too long.’

  Jo knew what she was thinking. If the victim was waiting for HIV test results, she was wasting her time. It would take up to a month at the earliest for any infection to be detected, and if she didn’t start taking the preventive medicine within 72 hours of the attack, it would be too late.

  ‘You’ve counselled her to talk to the Independent Sexual Advice adviser?’ she said.

  The doctor frowned.

  ‘Of course.’

  Jo didn’t care that she might have offended her professional dignity; it was always better to be sure. She turned to DS Watts. ‘Was there anything you wanted to ask?’

  ‘Did you carry out a self-harm risk assessment, doctor?’ said Watts.

  ‘I did. You’ll see from the notes that I categorised her as low to moderate risk. Although you probably know as well as I do that it is nigh on impossible to predict how a victim of serious sexual assault may respond in the short and medium term.’

  The two police officers nodded. They had both known victims who had managed to pick themselves up and get on with their lives, as well as others whose lives were never the same again. Worse still, a few who had taken their own life.

  ‘If it’s okay with you, one of us will collect the evidence bags after the interview with Ms Razero,’ said Jo.

  ‘Of course,’ Hollis replied. ‘That’s thoughtful of you. The fewer reminders she has, the better.’

  ‘Thank you, Dr Hollis,’ said Jo. ‘You’ve been most helpful.’

  Carol Hollis smiled wearily. It was the look of someone who’d seen it all, and knew that she’d see even more before she was done.

  ‘Just doing my job,’ she said.

  Chapter 27

  Laura Razero and Maureen Bellamy, her crisis worker, were in the police interview room.

  To any outsider, the room was indistinguishable from a comfortable lounge, with upholstered chairs and a coffee table, the discreet video cameras, microphones and recording facilities blending in like normal hi-fi accessories. Three glasses, a jug of water and a box of tissues lay on the table. The two detectives had agreed that DS Watts would conduct the questioning. Until proven otherwise, this was a case for the Operation Talon t
eam, not for Operation Juniper.

  A quick appraisal told Jo that although she was short, Laura had a size 12 frame, larger than any of the other victims, and the true colour of her shoulder-length blonde hair was betrayed by auburn roots along the centre parting. Jo assumed that she must have brought a change of clothes with her because the pullover, jeans and pumps were a perfect fit and the colours suited her.

  They introduced themselves and sat down. Jo deliberately took the chair furthest from the victim. She moved it so that she was not in her direct line of sight. This was DS Watts’s interview. It also meant that she could observe unobtrusively.

  ‘Laura has requested that I stay with her,’ said the crisis worker. ‘She understands that I won’t be able to say anything or take any part in the proceedings.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ said DS Watts. She turned to the student. ‘So, Laura,’ she said, ‘I take it that Maureen’s explained what happens next, and after the interview, if you choose to go ahead?’

  Razero glanced at her crisis worker as though seeking permission to respond, and then nodded.

  ‘Yes, but I’m not sure if I want to involve the police.’

  Her voice was querulous, and Jo detected the slightest hint of a Spanish accent. It was the way she emphasised her Rs. She also looked confused. Conflicted was the word Dr Hollis had used, and it seemed about right to Jo. It wasn’t a surprise – far from it. Many victims of serious sexual assault, both male and female, wavered at this stage. They would be asking themselves so many questions. Was I responsible? Did I encourage him? Is he going to claim it was consensual sex? Did I imagine it? It’s only his word against mine. I was drunk. Will anyone believe me? Am I going to have the whole of my sex life dragged up in court? What will my parents think? And on and on, round and round it went. No wonder she was confused.

  ‘Well, I can tell you, Laura,’ said DS Watts, ‘that it’s perfectly normal for you to feel like this. It has to be your decision. Nobody can make it for you. But it generally helps if you tell us why you’re in two minds. We’ll respond, and then you can ask us anything you want to about the implications of going ahead with the interview, and what will happen if you don’t. What do you say?’

  Once again Laura looked at her crisis worker, realised that she was unable to help and turned back to reply.

  ‘Maureen has already done all that,’ she said. ‘What I really want to know is what will happen to him if I do go ahead, and he’s found guilty.’

  ‘That will be down to the courts,’ said DS Watts.

  Laura frowned. ‘But you must be able to give me some idea?’

  ‘I’m afraid not, Laura. You see, it all depends on the degree of culpability of your assailant, the amount of harm caused, and whether or not there are any aggravating or mitigating circumstances.’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘I can’t tell you that either. It could be construed as my having coached you. I need you to tell me what happened, and then I’ll be able to answer part, but not all, of that question.’

  A textbook reply. Jo was very impressed, despite the fact that DS Watts was a highly trained specialist officer. Laura took a tissue from the box, blew her nose and dropped the tissue into a small bin by the side of the table.

  ‘You’ll be able to change your mind at any stage in this process,’ said the Talon detective.

  Laura’s eyes registered surprise.

  ‘Even after you’ve interviewed me?’

  ‘Yes. Right up to, and including, any trial.’

  The student looked up at the ceiling, down at the floor, at Maureen Bellamy and then decided.

  ‘I’ll do it,’ she said.

  The next ten minutes were spent establishing a little about Laura Razero. It served the dual purpose of giving them some idea about who she was, her background and lifestyle, as well as easing her gently into the interview proper. Her father was Spanish, her mother English. They were both teachers and had first met at Barcelona University where her mother was on an exchange. Laura was bilingual, having lived all of her life in Guildford in Surrey, and three months a year in Spain with her grandparents. She had a first-class Honours degree in Spanish, Portuguese and Latin American Studies, and was one year into an MPhil in Latin American Studies. She worked part-time in a tapas restaurant and bar in Manchester, as she had done throughout her time at the university. She still lived at home, but in term time shared a three-bedroom house with three female postgraduate friends opposite Platt Fields Park, at a weekly rent of £70. She was single, not currently in a relationship. None of this had any direct bearing on the alleged offence, but it was useful context. And it meant that they were listening to a person, not just a victim.

  ‘Thank you, Laura,’ said DS Watts. ‘Now, could you tell me about last night?’

  ‘Where do you want me to start?’

  ‘At the beginning?’

  The student had a drink of water, sat up straight on the edge of her chair and began.

  ‘I’d done a ten-hour shift at the restaurant. I should have done the full twelve hours, but the manager agreed I could finish early because it had quietened down and I’d promised to meet my flatmates in town.’

  ‘What time was this, Laura?’ asked DS Watts.

  ‘I finished at ten thirty pm, then I went to join them at All Bar One.’

  Jo knew it well. A stylish wine bar with a long list of beers, wines and cocktails. It was a favourite of Abbie’s.

  ‘When I arrived, I discovered they had company. Three guys they’d met earlier in the evening. One of them was Meredith’s latest boyfriend. The other two were his mates. They claimed it was coincidence they’d bumped into each other.’

  She paused and looked directly at DS Watts.

  ‘I did wonder if Meredith had known all along where they were going to be and had set it up. Anyway, we all got on really well. I already knew Meredith’s bloke, Tom, and the other two were bright, funny, articulate and good-looking. Mel, that’s our other housemate, was clearly taken with one of them. Zac, I think it was.’

  She winced, and reached for her beaker.

  ‘Are you alright, Laura?’ the crisis worker asked.

  She took a sip and nodded.

  ‘It’s this bloody headache,’ she said. ‘Serves me right. I shouldn’t have been drinking on an empty stomach.’

  ‘What were you drinking?’ asked DS Watts.

  The student cradled the beaker in her lap, like a comfort blanket. ‘A couple of cocktails. Then we shared two bottles of sparkling wine. It’s only fifteen pounds a bottle on Fridays.’

  ‘When you say we is that the six of you, or just the girls?’

  ‘Just the girls.’

  ‘And what were the three men drinking?’

  ‘Beers and shorts.’

  ‘Okay, then what?’

  ‘We stayed chatting until last orders. That would be close to one pm. I wanted to go home because I was really tired, but the others insisted on going on to a club. Zac, I think it was, said he was a member at one of those upmarket guest-list clubs in the Northern Quarter. I don’t remember what it was called, but the others will know. It was near Stevenson Square. I wanted to get a taxi and go back to the house, but the others persuaded me to go with them. They said I’d be queueing for ages, which was probably true. And Meredith said it’d be safer if I stayed with them.’

  She shook her head dolefully.

  ‘So much for her power of prophecy.’

  She stared down at the beaker in her lap, and swirled the water round. DS Watts decided to gently prompt her.

  ‘So you went to this club?’

  Laura nodded, and looked up. ‘It was packed. There was a DJ on, and it was really noisy. They showed us to a booth upstairs. I didn’t want a drink, but I was starving. I asked if they’d got any nuts, or crisps, anything like that. The waiter brought bowls of each with the drinks. I only had a few mouthfuls because the three guys scoffed the rest of them. They ordered a cocktail for me too, even though I�
��d insisted I was fine.’

  ‘Did you drink it?’ DS Watts asked.

  She nodded.

  ‘To wash the nuts down. And the salt left me feeling thirsty. Then I must have dozed off, because I remember Meredith waking me and saying we were going. Mel and Daz were staying, but Tom had ordered us a taxi. While we were waiting, I asked for a bottle of water. I drank most of that, and perked up a bit.’

  Mention of the bottle of water reminded her that she had some left in the beaker. She lifted it to her lips, drained it, and put the empty beaker on the table.

  ‘On the way back in the taxi, Meredith and Tom began snogging. Justin, that was his name, Tom’s other mate, had his arm around me. He kissed me on the cheek. Then he kissed me on the lips.’

  She faltered, and looked down at the floor.

  ‘Did you respond, Laura?’ DS Watts asked.

  There was a slight nod of the student’s head.

  ‘It doesn’t make a massive difference whether you did or not,’ the detective told her. ‘It has nothing to do with consent to intercourse. But I do need to hear you say it for the tape?’

  Laura Razero looked up, as though only now aware that she was being filmed. For the first time she looked close to tears.

  ‘I let him do it,’ she said. ‘Kiss me. I can’t swear that I responded. I’d had quite a lot to drink, so who knows? I may have done. A bit.’ Her voice tailed off as she reflected on how pathetic that must sound.

  ‘How many times did he kiss you?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I don’t know. Two or three?’

  ‘Were they short kisses, or long ones?’

  She shrugged.

  ‘Quite long?’

  Jo felt so sorry for Laura Razero. It was a familiar story. A night out with friends and new acquaintances. A good time had by all. Plenty to drink. A grope or fumble in the back of a taxi. A few drunken kisses. Nothing remarkable. Until it all went wrong.

  ‘What happened next, Laura?’ said DS Watts.

  The student glanced up to the right.

  ‘The taxi pulled up at the house. The two guys were supposed to be carrying on to Hale where they both live, but Meredith must have invited them in. I said I was going to bed, and I did.’