by Sarah Ward
She fumbled around for her mobile and realised, with a shock, she had five missed calls from a mobile number she didn’t recognise. She checked her voicemail. No messages. Could Mark be calling from a different number?
The doorbell rang downstairs, and Kat heard someone being let into the hall. Patricia must have a client. She needed to get dressed and slip out. She heard footsteps on the stairs and a knock on the door. ‘Hold on.’ She got up and pulled on the jumper and trousers she had been wearing the day before. Patricia was waiting outside the door, and behind her stood Lena. Kat looked at her in astonishment. ‘How did you know I was here?’
‘I followed you.’
‘Followed me? You can’t have, I saw you walk off.’
‘You saw me go down the steps by the railway bridge. Then you turned and went in the opposite direction and made a call. I doubled back and followed you.’
Kat’s confused brain tried to remember the sequence of events. ‘Why? Why did you follow me?’
‘I was so angry that I’d got it wrong about you, I stalked off. But then I thought how utterly stupid this was and how much I needed to talk to you about everything.’
‘Everything?’
Lena looked at Patricia. ‘Maybe it would help if someone else was here when I told you this.’
Patricia backed away. ‘I’m Kat’s supervisor. If you want me to act in a professional capacity, I have to tell you the provisos. Kat knows them too.’
‘Provisos?’
‘If I hear something that leads me to believe that someone is in danger, and that includes yourself, then I am duty-bound to inform the police.’
‘It’s true,’ Kat confirmed. ‘It’s probably better that Patricia doesn’t hear this. It’ll be all right.’ She opened the door wider and pulled Lena into the room.
Lena looked around her. ‘God, I’ve forgotten how normal people live.’
‘I know. I woke up this morning and thought exactly the same. How did we get to this state?’ Kat sat down on the bed, and Lena joined her. For Kat, it was the closest she could remember being to Lena in over twenty years.
‘The man I killed in 2004 was called Philip Staley.’
‘Philip Staley? I’ve never heard of him. What was he doing in your bed?’
‘I was having an affair with him.’
‘An affair? But I never thought—’
‘That I was that type of person? Well, no one likes to think of themselves as an adulterer until they’re unfaithful to their partner. I met Philip one day and started an affair with him.’
‘So why did you kill him?’ Silence. Lena’s face took on an expression so familiar to Kat. Stubborn and blank. ‘Lena. You need to tell me. Why did you kill him?’
‘I killed him because he must have been the same man who raped me in 1987.’
‘What? If he was the man who raped you as a teenager, what the hell was he doing in your bed?’
Lena looked at her in consternation. ‘I didn’t recognise him.’ Kat stared at her. ‘Honest to God. I didn’t recognise him from the first time. Think about it. Think of someone you slept with in your early twenties. Did you have one-night stands when you were younger?’
‘Well, all right, yes,’ admitted Kat. ‘A couple of times, but I never enjoyed it. It wasn’t really me.’
‘Okay. Think about one of those people you slept with. Suppose he waltzed back into your life today. Would you recognise him?’
A pleading note had entered Lena’s voice. Kat leant back against the wall and thought. She remembered a man she’d met at a restaurant when she was living in Italy and struggled to find his name. Jacob, she thought. Something biblical from the Old Testament. Or maybe Joseph. He had blond hair. She could remember that much but that was about it. A possible name and hair colouring. That was all she could remember. She looked at her sister. Despite, or perhaps because of, everything, she deserved the truth. ‘No. I wouldn’t recognise him again. I could sleep with him tomorrow, and I wouldn’t remember him from last time around. But your attacker. Surely after being—’
‘Raped? You think that makes you more likely to remember someone? I can tell you, from bitter experience, that it doesn’t. I had no idea who that man was until . . .’
‘Until what?’
Lena looked stricken. ‘Until he was in bed. He was a bastard anyway. It was just about sex. Even if it was good. Andrew and I had stopped. We were sick of the sight of each other. This man, Philip, was a friend of his. They were rugby drinking buddies apparently. I was never part of that crowd, but I did used to go to their annual Christmas dinners. Although I always hated it. The whole thing: dressing up and so on.’
‘I remember.’
‘Well, I met Philip there. It would be a lie to say we hit it off. We had nothing in common really but we did fancy each other. He took my number at the end of the evening and called me the next day.’
‘So that was Christmas—’
‘Christmas 2003, and for the first six months or so it was great. I didn’t even feel guilty about deceiving Andrew. I’m pretty sure he’d had some one-night stands along the way. I never paid him a single thought.’
‘And that night?’
Lena sighed and reached in her pocket for her cigarettes. ‘He had this phone. He was always on it. It was in the early days of smartphones, and he was obsessed. Always calling his mates, checking his texts. I got a bit obsessed about it myself. Wondering who he was texting and so on. I should have listened to my instincts. From his behaviour it was clear that he wasn’t to be trusted.’
Kat had heard these stories so many times. Women checking the phones of their husbands. It was something she always cautioned against. Better to challenge your spouse direct than live in a perpetual state of suspicion.
‘The funny thing was that he had another phone. One I didn’t even know about. That night in September, after he’d gone to sleep, I found it. When I looked at it, I couldn’t believe what was on it. Pictures of women. Six of them. I looked at them and knew straight away what they were.’
‘What?’
‘Kat, the bastard would photograph us. Afterwards, I mean.’
‘After what?’
‘After he attacked us.’
‘He photographed women after raping them?’ Kat couldn’t believe it. But Lena’s ashen expression couldn’t have been from anything other than the sickness that comes from a deep humiliation. ‘Did he photograph you? After you were attacked?’
Lena looked sick. ‘Yes. He pulled a camera out of his pocket afterwards and took a picture.’
‘Were they recent? The ones you saw on the phone? I mean, they weren’t from the time when you were raped, were they?’
‘Of course not. That’s the thing. I mean, you can’t always date an image just by looking at it now but this was twelve years ago. Phones had only just got cameras then, and these had definitely been taken with the phone. They weren’t photos of photos, if you see what I mean.’
‘Did you recognise any of the faces?’
‘Yes and no. I didn’t recognise any of the girls, but I looked at the photos, and I knew. Recognised those pictures for what they were and what those women were feeling. Repulsion and shame and fear.’
‘So you killed him?’
‘Yes. I didn’t even think about it. I put a pillow over his face and pushed. And then he was dead.’
Kat felt sick. She also felt, shockingly, a slight thrill of fear. It both excited and repulsed her. She resisted the temptation to shuffle along the bed away from her sister. There were still questions that needed to be answered. ‘But they thought it was Andrew.’
‘I know.’
‘But why pretend it was Andrew? Why not explain to the police what had happened? People would have understood. You could have got a decent lawyer.’
Lena bent over and traced with her finger a flower that decorated the duvet cover. She looked up through the hair that had spread across her face. ‘I sat there panicking about what I’d just
done but I was also thinking hard. If it came out that I’d killed Philip Staley and refused to say why, then they’d have started investigating him. And they would have checked his phone and private life and it all might have come out then. I might have been able to cope if it was just about me. But it wasn’t, was it? What about those other girls?’
75
‘I haven’t been entirely straight with you.’
Sadler sat opposite Llewellyn, and, for the first time in his life, his superior was refusing to look him in the eye. It was the cue, of course, for Sadler to say something non-committal. Along the lines of ‘I understand’ or perhaps, ‘I’m sure you didn’t have any other choice.’ But Sadler was sick at heart with his boss and that was a first for him too. ‘You haven’t been straight with any of us.’
This did make Llewellyn look at him. It was glance of fury. His pale freckled face reddened, and his large hands shook as he picked up his coffee cup. ‘You know how it is in this job, Sadler. Don’t pretend you don’t. There’s a chain of command, and not everyone necessarily knows everything about what’s going on. It’s always been this way. Do you tell your team everything?’
‘I tell them enough.’
Llewellyn winced. ‘I’m not particularly proud of myself but I had orders from up high not to reveal anything about what happened. There were reasons for this too. I can tell you, reading some of those files, I’m not surprised they’re trying to do things properly this time. There are reasons why procedures are put in place in this kind of job. I didn’t like the skulduggery of keeping quiet about the internal investigation, but I’m one hundred per cent sure about the need for an inquiry.’
‘Are you able to tell me now?’ Sadler turned his head and looked towards the window. Through the slatted blinds, he could see pale sunlight. The room nevertheless felt stuffy, and he resisted the urge to loosen his shirt collar.
‘You’re not that young, Sadler. You know things were different then.’
‘It’s not that I have a problem with. I know how things were then.’ It’s the past that once more comes back to haunt us. ‘The problem is keeping me in the dark about what is happening with the old cases. It’s impacting on my current investigation.’
‘I know and I’m sorry about that more than anything. I’d never deliberately hinder an investigation. You have to believe me on this.’
Now it was Sadler who found it difficult to look his boss in the eye. ‘When did you realise the two aspects collided? What went on in the past and Andrew Fisher’s death?’
‘This week. After you met Rebecca Hardy. Good God, do you think I would have told you to look at the sexual aspect of this case if I thought it was to do with these cases?’
‘This has nothing to do with sex. It’s about power and humiliation.’
‘Don’t lecture me. I know exactly what it’s about. I’ve read those files. It’s about a bunch of bloody incompetents masquerading as police officers.’
Sadler stared at his boss. ‘Incompetents? We’re not talking about an institutional failing here.’
Llewellyn stood up. ‘I’m older than you. It was just after I started my policing that changes were made to how we dealt with rape cases and accusations of sexual assault. There were guidelines in place, and we didn’t follow them.’
‘Why not?’
Sadler’s tone seemed to infuriate his boss. ‘Because this station was being policed by a bunch of lazy-arsed sods,’ he shouted and sat back down in his chair.
Sadler heard a movement outside the door. Margaret knocked softly on the door and opened it. ‘Your visitor is here.’
Llewellyn acknowledged her with a nod.
‘How many women in total have we let down?’ asked Sadler.
Llewellyn didn’t make any attempt to contradict him. Or to obfuscate. That, Sadler was willing to credit him for.
‘At least ten. I’d say nearer fifteen for definite. And, given the total disgrace of some of the people who had the temerity to call themselves police officers, the number of victims could easily be more than that.’
I can name two, thought Sadler. Rebecca Hardy and Anna. What a complete bloody mess. And I’m too young to retire. I’d resign, but there’s nothing else I want to do.
Llewellyn said nothing, but his eyes were on Sadler. ‘There’s someone I want you to meet.’
76
Palmer was silent on the drive out to Bampton rugby ground. Connie let him be. His earlier joshing had been replaced by awkward pauses and introspection. In the space of a few hours. God knows what was going on in his head. Men were a complete mystery to her, and she’d decided long ago not to bother trying to fathom them out. She let him concentrate on the driving while she stared out of the window. ‘Good God.’
‘What?’
‘There’s a man out there wearing a pair of shorts. It’s not warm at all today.’
Palmer made a face but didn’t look in her direction. ‘Probably a tourist.’
Connie humphed. ‘The first sign of spring, and they think they can get their legs out. It wasn’t too bad last week, but it’s freezing today.’
A large green sign told them they had arrived at the rugby ground. Palmer pulled the car into a space, and they sat, for a moment, in silence.
‘Do you know anything about rugby?’ Connie asked.
‘Absolutely nothing. You?’
‘Me? You’ve got to be kidding.’
‘Great. You can lead the questioning then.’
He was being awkward. She hated it when men were like this. All fun one minute and difficult the next. She opened the car door. The weather was even colder than she thought. The man in the shorts must be seriously regretting his choice of clothes.
They walked into the long oblong building. The only person about was someone wiping glasses behind the bar. He seemed to be expecting them. ‘Over to the left.’ He nodded towards a door.
As they entered what looked like a boardroom, a man stood up, casually dressed in a long-sleeved polo shirt and shiny tracksuit bottoms. ‘Geoff Bradley.’ He introduced himself with a handshake, and they all sat around one end of the long table. ‘I can offer you coffee. It’s not that nice here though, I will warn you.’
Palmer made a face, and Connie shook her head. ‘No thanks.’
‘You mentioned over the phone about Andrew Fisher.’
‘You knew him personally?’ asked Palmer.
‘I’ve known him since he was a young lad. He played here from the age of about eight or nine. That was before my time, admittedly, but I definitely remember him from twelve or so onwards.’
‘What was he like?’
Geoff shrugged. ‘Nice guy.’ Silence.
‘What about someone called Philip Staley?’ asked Connie.
‘Philip? I know him vaguely. That’s a blast from the past. He hasn’t been around here for years. He was very friendly with Andrew though. I heard he’d emigrated to Australia.’
‘What was he like?’
‘Nice guy.’
Connie, her hackles rising, leant forward. ‘Listen, Mr Bradley. We’re investigating murder, possible rape, and conspiracy to pervert the course of justice. If I hear you describe one of the suspects as a nice guy one more time, I’m going to haul you down to the local nick. Do you get me?’
Geoff Bradley swallowed. ‘Suspects? Surely Andrew’s a victim. His wife killed him. Well, she killed someone and now he’s been found dead—’
‘When I said suspect, I know exactly what I meant. So let’s move away from the “nice guy, what goes on tour stays on tour” bullshit and get down to what those two were actually like.’
Geoff Bradley swallowed again. ‘Andrew Fisher was a decent guy. I’d swear on it. Philip was a bit of a player. If you know what I mean.’
‘I think you need to define “player” for us, Mr Bradley,’ Palmer told him.
Here we go, thought Connie. Good cop, bad cop. And, once more, I’m the baddie.
‘He slept around. A differen
t woman a night, given a chance.’
That gives a lot of possible victims, thought Connie sourly.
‘Did any of these women ever make a complaint against Philip Staley?’
Geoff looked shocked. ‘Not that I’m aware of. I think he was quite attractive to women. He didn’t force himself on them if that’s what you mean.’
‘Oh really?’
‘And what about Andrew Fisher?’ continued Palmer.
‘In his younger days he had an eye for the women too. In fact, as a teenager, he was worse than Philip.’
Connie froze.
‘Definitely a woman a night. He used to disappear outside with them and then he’d be back inside picking up another.’
‘Here?’ barked Connie.
‘Not here. This would be for after-match drinks and events. The lads liked to go on the razz in Bampton on Saturday evenings. He and Philip were thick as thieves on those nights out.’
‘So let me get this straight,’ said Connie. ‘Andrew and Philip would go out drinking in Bampton together and pick up girls.’
Geoff Bradley looked between the two of them. ‘It was only a bit of youthful fun.’
‘And more recently?’ asked Connie.
‘Andrew settled down with Lena. I never heard of anything after that. Philip, as I said, I haven’t heard about him for years.’
‘But as a teenager he regularly left Bampton bars with someone he had picked up?’ said Palmer.
‘He was a devil,’ said Geoff Bradley, a note of pride in his voice.
*
On the way back to the station, Palmer put his foot hard on the accelerator.
‘Slow down for God’s sake. If you get caught, we’ll both be in trouble.’
‘The two of them were as bad as each other, that’s what Sadler meant, wasn’t it?’
‘What do you mean?’
‘He told us to look at the definition of aggravated assault, remember? I thought he was talking about the photographs but there are other possible scenarios too. There’s a category, “more than one offender acting together”. It’s not just the photographs. They were working as a team.’