by Gayle Curtis
‘Yes, one of the best.’
‘How do you know someone hadn’t planted the evidence to frame Player?’
‘That’s an impossible theory,’ Rita said, inhaling through her nose. ‘All his properties, gymnasiums and land were protected by a heavy police presence. We spent days scouring the grounds long after we’d finished with the house.’
Lester nodded and glanced at his notes again. ‘The CPS suggested there was no proof from these garments that Cara had been murdered, and there was no link to her disappearance. That’s why he was charged with child sex offences rather than murder.’
‘Yes, they did, but a jury found Adrian Player guilty. The CPS agreed there was enough evidence for a conviction, and twelve random people found that to be the case.’
‘It was such a gamble, wasn’t it? Were you ever worried that if you’d got this wrong, it would be the end of your career?’
‘No. Because I knew I wasn’t wrong. I didn’t care who Adrian Player was, or who he thought he was. My job was to protect the public and bring a guilty man to justice.’
‘You were very focused on Player. Some people intimated you were a little obsessed with him, that you might have been blinkered during the investigation. What do you think about that?’
‘I don’t care, Lester. Adrian Player is a guilty man, and yes, I was determined to break down the barriers he believed were protecting him and get a positive conviction, whatever it took. If that makes me obsessed, so be it.’
‘I think the phrase “whatever it took” is what makes people nervous . . . There are whisperings you were determined to make him guilty, whatever it took.’
‘I hope you’re not suggesting corruption, Lester?’
‘I’m not suggesting anything, Rita, but it has to be said, your ruthless determination to convict Adrian could well have blurred your vision.’
Before Rita could stop herself, she had spat out the sentence she’d promised she’d never say in public: ‘I don’t give a shit whether he’s guilty of murder or not. Adrian Player is a fucking paedophile and he’s exactly where he belongs.’
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
The sound of Gloria’s keys dropping into the cavernous metal bowl in the entrance hall echoed like chimes through the large, silent house. It didn’t take her long to find Adrian – he was in the kitchen, sitting at the island, staring at a laptop. He turned and looked at her over his glasses and she stared back at him as if she were seeing a stranger.
‘Where have you been?’
‘Just for a drive,’ Gloria said. ‘I had thought about going to see Emma, try to talk to her, but decided against it.’
Adrian got up from his stool and embraced her, kissing the top of her head. She allowed him to hold her for a few brief moments and then pulled away.
Gloria pointed at the laptop. ‘Where did you get that from?’
‘It’s a new one. I can’t wait around for the pigs to return my software and I need it for work.’
Gloria wanted to ask him what that work consisted of, because these days she had no idea what he was up to.
‘Adrian, we haven’t really spoken properly since everything that happened . . . the arrest and the police search . . .’
‘There’s nothing to talk about, that’s why.’ He was immediately defensive, as she had expected him to be. ‘You have seen Emma, haven’t you?’
‘No, no, I’d tell you if I’d seen her. I don’t want to feel any more confused than I already am.’ She ran her fingers across her forehead, pulling the skin taut.
‘Confused? Confused! Have you given one thought to the way I’m feeling right now? No, because all you’re focused on, as usual, is yourself.’
‘I have thought about nothing else!’ she shouted, startling him. It was rare these days that she raised her voice, but today she had discovered some anger within herself and she’d gripped on to it, not wanting to return to the familiar old numbness. She wanted to make her own decisions, not be told what to do by anyone else. The other day, Gloria had made it up the stairs to the doors at the police station, and that’s where she’d stopped, much to the fury of DCI Cannan.
‘Don’t fucking raise your voice at me.’ Adrian sounded dangerously angry, and Gloria could feel her hands begin to shake.
‘Adrian, I want a divorce,’ she said, keeping her head up, shoulders back and her voice steady. ‘I don’t know what it is you’ve been doing here, or what’s been going on with Emma. Quite frankly, I don’t want to know. I’m prepared to be reasonable. I won’t talk to the press or the police, and once I get what I’m owed, I’ll leave you alone.’
‘Right.’ Adrian stared at her, searching her face, her eyes, which always made her uncomfortable.
She slid a piece of paper across to him. ‘That’s all I want.’
He opened up the piece of paper and burst into deep laughter. Gloria went upstairs to pack some things, and she was surprised when he didn’t follow her. The anticipation of seeing his large, imposing frame in the doorway made her entire body shake, and she couldn’t help glancing behind her.
Struggling down the sweeping staircase with a suitcase and a couple of bags, Gloria found Adrian in the same spot in the kitchen, engrossed in his laptop, his glasses perched on the end of his nose. He didn’t even look up when she entered the room. His reaction was making her feel uneasy. She almost felt like goading him into saying something, but managed to control herself.
Getting into the car and driving through the electric gates, she felt an immense lightness, a relief she’d never felt before.
It was short-lived. The following day, the newspaper she’d ordered to be delivered to her in the morning at the hotel contained a story about her. The headline read: ‘PLAYER’S PLAYER – SEX, LIES AND VIDEOTAPES’. Inside, there was a photograph of her in a very uncompromising position with a well-known MP, whom Gloria knew Adrian had been waiting to stitch up. As she scanned the article, the air squeezed from her lungs, the words flicking her in the face like tiny shards of glass. Adrian had told a journalist she had all sorts of weird fetishes, that her sons had banned her from seeing her grandchildren, and that she’d once had an affair with a PR guru, Jefferson Peters, a man convicted of child sex offences. The entire article was wholly and utterly damaging, showing she was untrustworthy – and, in turn, it intimated she might have been just as complicit as Adrian. She was finished. Her life was over.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
THE LESTER BARCLAY SHOW
FIVE YEARS LATER
After Rita had asked for a break, filming had ceased until after lunch, and she could feel the relief of it all coming to an end. That night she’d be at home, relaxing in a bath, without having to worry about any more filming. But for some reason, the final couple of hours of filming were making Rita feel more uneasy than she had at the beginning, as if the rumblings of a storm were brewing above her. The questions had been too simple. Lester wasn’t going to let her off that easily. There were areas they still hadn’t covered, and it was unsettling her. At this stage, she could relax too much, get carried away with the relief it was the last one, and that’s when she was likely to say something she shouldn’t – as she had done in the previous interview. There was the truth the public believed and then there was the actual truth. These interviews had been an opportunity to cement public opinion about Adrian and convert anyone who still believed he was innocent. Instead, it had just made everything worse. His appeal couldn’t have come at a worse time. Instead of coming forward with information about historical offences, people she thought she could trust were reporting investigational negligence, which would only strengthen his case at a retrial.
Lester pulled his suit jacket from underneath him when he sat down – navy blue today, smart, officious. He wasn’t a bad-looking man when he was in a finely cut suit; she could see why women loved him so much. Although, without his charisma and status, she doubted anyone would be interested. Take all that away and he was just an ordinary person. For all hi
s sharp, intrusive questions, Lester had kind blue eyes and a round face which softened his persona. Looking at him now, Rita thought about Adrian Player and a wave of nausea swept over her. Too good-looking, too suave to be a nonce, too successful to be a pervert – exactly why he’d got away with it for so long.
Rita watched Lester flicking through his notes, and she swallowed heavily, pushing the nerves down into her swirling stomach. She breathed deeply through her nose and calmed herself.
‘Ready?’ said Lester, smiling at her, a slight look of apprehension on his face that she hadn’t noticed before. There was a tiny crease in his brow – he was nervous about something.
‘As always,’ she replied.
There were a few moments as they were timed in. The noise lowered to an acceptable hush and Lester introduced her.
‘Okay, there’s one primary reason for these interviews,’ he said. ‘This case wouldn’t have received this level of publicity if it weren’t for the prime suspect being so high-profile. I mean, Adrian Player was a national treasure, a household name, and yet people were making jokes about him, even when he presented the game show. I can remember when I was a kid at school, him being joked about because he did so much work with children and charities, disabled people, the list is endless. Why do you think he got away with these crimes for so long, seemingly in full view of us all?’
Rita looked past Lester at a camerawoman who was staring intently at her. Then she swept her gaze across all the people standing behind, a mass of faces locked on her own. The pressure was immense; they were waiting for her to answer the archetypal million-dollar question.
‘Would it be fair to say that Adrian Player had friends in high places?’ Lester added to his already loaded set-up.
‘Which question do you want me to tackle first?’ Rita snapped, the words coming out sharper than she’d intended.
Lester’s expression visibly altered, and he shifted in his seat. ‘Police reports containing allegations have been leaked,’ he said. ‘Some police officers admitted they didn’t deal with Sir Adrian Player as they might have done had he been a normal member of the public. What is your response to that?’
There was silence. Lester was using his best journalistic skills and he was waiting for her to speak first. One word from him before she spoke and he would have lost, ruining the suspense of their final interview. Rita wondered how long she could carry on with this mini battle. If she didn’t speak, how awkward would the silence become? She didn’t say anything for quite a few moments and the atmosphere began to stiffen.
‘We’re all human,’ she said at last. ‘We all make mistakes.’
‘But wasn’t it true that high-ranking police officers ignored allegations made against him regarding sexual abuse claims, and that they warned colleagues off Adrian Player?’
‘If you’d let me finish, Lester, I’ll try to answer as best I can. Arresting and charging anyone with such offences is always tricky. The correct procedures have to be adhered—’
‘So you admit mistakes were made, things were overlooked? I mean, it seems to quite a few people that he was so obviously corrupt, and yet nothing was ever done. It would appear that mixing in the right circles gave him a free pass, would it not?’
‘You interrupted me again, Lester. Let me finish.’
‘But you’re not answering the question.’
‘Which one? You’re firing so many at me,’ she said, leaning forward in her seat, eyes wide with frustration.
Lester ignored her, irritating her further, and continued with his tirade. He was no longer talking to her, he was giving the viewers a dramatic piece of footage, using her as his prop. ‘Would you say that the television producers turned a blind eye? Other celebrities, politicians, royalty even?’
Rita didn’t answer him, waiting for him to continue with his formulated rant. She could tell he was reaching a crescendo and he didn’t care whether she joined in or not.
‘Or was it that Adrian Player was totally innocent of all the crimes he was accused of and used as a scapegoat, resulting in countless promotions within the police force and protection for certain politicians who might otherwise have been convicted?’
‘Know this, Lester Barclay: the right man is in prison, currently serving a sentence for countless sexual offences,’ Rita said, her eyes shining with anger. ‘He is guilty. We secured, through a lot of hard work, a conviction. A jury unanimously agreed that we had the correct man. And, I might remind you, I didn’t receive a promotion. It ultimately ended my career. But it was worth it to get that bastard locked up.’
Lester held her emotional gaze. ‘But you lied.’
‘Like I said, I retained information. There’s a difference.’
‘Isn’t it also true that two people on that jury recently sold their stories to the papers, citing that they were coerced, bullied and pressured into agreeing with the other ten jurors?’
‘It’s a good story, a quick buck for anyone, that’s all it is. It’s common for jurors to feel guilty after a conviction, especially when someone gets such a long sentence and is later granted an appeal. Adrian Player is just that: a player. He knows how to manipulate people, make them feel sorry for him.’ Rita sat back and breathed deeply, willing herself to calm down.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement, unsettling her slightly. She didn’t like the atmosphere that was descending on the room.
‘I have nothing more to say, Lester.’
Two loud bangs sounded, in quick succession, and a sharp, debilitating pain was suddenly crushing her chest and stomach. The studio full of faces seemed to speed away from her and then rush towards her. Rita heard screams and looked down to see blood seeping through her blouse. She’d been shot.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SEVEN
THE LESTER BARCLAY SHOW
FIVE YEARS LATER
There had been a split second when Rita thought she knew what had happened to her, but she couldn’t speak. There’d been the gunshots, one to the chest, the other to her stomach, and she had rolled on to the floor, barely conscious. There was chaos all around her as people ran to help, and she could hear voices asking where the ambulance had got to, was anyone a first aider.
Rita imagined she would think about her husband, her son, siblings, maybe even her friends, while she lay dying. But she didn’t think of anyone in the present. She found herself back at the scene on Blue Green Square, where Raymond had been found. She could see Raymond now. He was standing at her feet, staring at her with those huge brown eyes that had always made her heart melt. She reached out to him now, but her arm was pushed down to the floor.
‘You know,’ Raymond mouthed to her. ‘You know.’
Rita tried to respond but nothing came out as she opened and closed her mouth.
Two paramedics were with her now, asking questions, but there was still no sound coming out of her mouth.
The battle for survival began to lift, and a calm painlessness smothered her, like the after-effects of adrenalin running through her veins.
Rita’s breathing became shallow, and she looked past all the people around her, believing she could see Adrian Player standing at her feet, with the same smile he’d always had for her when she was a child.
She could still feel remnants of the excitement she’d had back then, of being in a posh black car with Kristen and Lorna. Rita had been at school with Kristen, they were the same age, twelve at the time. They’d taken it upon themselves to look out for Lorna whenever they were together. The three of them were members of Adrian Player’s gymnastic club.
Rita had been on the waiting list for Player’s gymnastic club for what seemed like forever, and it had been one of the happiest days of her childhood when one of the coaches had called to say there was a space for her. That’s when she and Kristen had very quickly become best friends, as they attended the gymnasium twice a week.
Adrian Player owned lots of gymnasiums around the country. Everyone knew who he was from his television pr
esence. Years later, Adrian received an OBE for his outstanding fundraising for charity. Everyone wanted to be picked for try-outs at the gymnasium situated in the grounds of Adrian’s home, and Rita and Kristen had felt so lucky to be chosen. It had been a dream come true when he’d come to one of the gymnastic sessions at the club they’d been going to in town and chosen the three of them.
The first time they went, they’d been collected from their respective homes in a large black car and all three girls had spent the twenty-minute journey giggling until they felt sick. They were the chosen ones, the special girls, destined for greater things. Then the visits had changed, and there were things they had to do in return for entry into competitions and try-outs across the country. The more you wanted, the more you had to repay.
Eventually, Lorna Devlin told someone, the first of two accusations she was to make. There had been an investigation – low-key, because of Adrian’s status – and Kristen and Rita had denied any knowledge of wrongdoing. They so desperately wanted to stay in the fold, to have his attention, which was waning as they grew older and he turned his attentions to new, younger talent. Later, when Lorna had become an adult and accused him again, she’d turned to Kristen for legal advice, but Rita had let her down again, hiding behind her married name, refusing to come forward and tell the truth, something she’d felt terrible about ever since.
Making sure Adrian Player was found guilty of whatever crimes Rita could pin on him had been for Lorna. She knew Lorna had told someone in the hope that Rita and Kristen would back her up. Her subsequent suicide many years later had been their fault.
CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT
FIVE YEARS LATER
The shopping bags collapsed on the doorstep, spilling their contents all over the path. A tin of chopped tomatoes rolled on to the front lawn. Kristen swore, opened the front door and then crouched down to collect it all.
‘Here, let me help.’
A voice behind Kristen startled her and she fell back on to the step. She was even more shocked when she looked up and realised who it was. A much older and slightly taller Jody Brunswick towered over her.