by Sarah Ward
Connie exhaled rapidly.
No crimes, thought Sadler. The phrase used to fob off Anna. Before the creation of the Crown Prosecution Service in 1986, it had been the police who had taken the decision as to whether there was enough evidence to prosecute. A big mistake that had left vulnerable people at the whim of incompetent and lazy police officers.
‘I’m going to open some of those files to you. It’s clear that your ongoing investigation into the deaths of Andrew Fisher and Philip Staley is related to that time. However, what we can and can’t use in a resulting prosecution is up for debate.’
‘Debate?’ asked Sadler.
Rhys smoothed down an invisible crease in her trousers. ‘You want to find out what happened in 2004. Well, my concern is what went on between 1985 and that time. You read the files first, but I’m telling you, some of the police officers serving at that time are still on the payroll of Her Majesty’s constabulary. Even if it’s via their pensions.’ She smiled at them. ‘And I’m going to have their balls for breakfast.’
81
Lena had gone. She’d spilt out her secrets and then left. A confession of sorts, but Kat wasn’t the person she should be asking for forgiveness. Kat sat shell-shocked on the bed with a hollow pit in her stomach. Finally, she rang the only person who she really wanted to speak to, the man she’d been avoiding for the past few days.
Mark answered on the first ring. ‘Who’s Daniel?’ His voice was cool.
‘A friend of Lena’s. He turned up a couple of nights ago. Have you been to the house?’
‘This Daniel was leaving when I arrived. He didn’t seem to want to talk to me. He said he’d seen you and that you’d let him sleep on the sofa. And that he was looking for Lena. Aren’t we all?’
Kat struggled to form a sentence. He picked up on her mood immediately. ‘What is it?’
‘She’s been here. Lena.’
‘Lena? When?’
‘She got in touch through that boy again.’
‘Where are you? Don’t move. Are you in danger?’
Even down the phone she could sense his tension. Tears welled up in her eyes. ‘Not me. Lena. It’s Lena who’s in danger.’
It took him twenty minutes to arrive. Kat stood outside Patricia’s house waiting on the pavement. There was a north wind blowing, chilly and relentless. She couldn’t wait inside the house because she couldn’t risk introductions. Patricia was a diligent therapist, and she would be putting her in an impossible position if she introduced her to a former client. She could see that her career was in jeopardy, but Mark was the solid presence that she needed now.
She felt relief wash over her when he came around the corner in the car and drew up beside her. He looked over to the house. ‘It belongs to my supervisor. I stayed here last night, but we should go elsewhere.’
She didn’t need to explain any further. He put his hand over hers and squeezed it. ‘Where to?’ He looked like he hadn’t slept in days. Dark shadows ringed his eyes, and stubble covered his jaw.
‘I have no idea.’
‘Right. I do. Hop in.’ He drove her onto the moor. She’d once told him it was her favourite place, and he hadn’t forgotten. The sand-coloured grassland rippled in a single direction in the soft breeze. Despite everything, Kat felt her spirits lift.
He parked in one of the small gravelled areas used by walkers to leave their vehicles. One couple, returning from a hike, gave a condescending look towards Kat’s trainer-clad feet. She felt like shouting that she was a local and could wear what the hell she wanted, but what was the point of adding to the prickle of tension she already felt.
They followed a path, of sorts, for about ten minutes, leaving the traffic behind them. Reaching a hollow, they could have been the last people left on earth. The silence was eerie. Mark sat down and hugged his knees. Kat stood over him but, feeling the balance of power tilt in her favour, sat down next to him. She felt him reach for her, and she leant back into him. When will I ever be able to forget he was my client? she wondered and then shook the thought from her mind. Instead, she told him Lena’s story. He listened without interrupting. When she had finished he was silent for a moment, processing what she had told him.
‘So Lena killed Philip Staley but says she didn’t shoot Andrew Fisher. Who did then? The boy?’
Kat shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. He seems completely under Lena’s control.’
‘But he waved a knife at you.’
‘Yes, but when I shouted at him, he ran away. It was like I frightened the life out of him. The sense of menace is still there, but it’s not coming from him.’
‘You sure?’
Kat nodded. ‘Pretty sure.’
Mark looked unconvinced. ‘Who is he anyway?’
‘Someone Lena seems to have picked up along the way. Got him to do her dirty work. Including dropping me all those clues. To try to make me link why she had disappeared to those teenage days. She was trying to explain. She’s used him, but . . .’
‘He was asking for a gun. Andrew was shot, remember?’
Kat shook her head. ‘I don’t know. The boy is a bag of nerves. His hand was shaking when he was holding the knife. The policewoman said that whoever shot Andrew had a pretty good aim. It was straight into his chest.’
‘That’s the easiest part of the body to hit, Kat.’
‘Is it?’
‘Think about it. In the movies you see someone’s head getting blown off, or someone shot in the legs when they’re trying to run away. That’s actually pretty hard to pull off. Especially when the target is moving. The easiest way to kill someone is to keep them still and aim for the chest. Take it from me.’
Silence.
‘Don’t ask the question, Kat. I served in Iraq. Of course the answer is yes.’
‘Then if it’s not the boy who killed Andrew, who?’
‘Andrew Fisher was a rapist, and so was Philip Staley. Serial attackers. That gives us a wide pool of suspects if one of his victims saw him in Bampton again after all these years. Or perhaps someone enticed him back from Whitby, where he was hiding out, in order to kill him.’
‘But I don’t know who the victims are,’ wailed Kat. ‘I need to see the police and tell them what happened. There will be lots of traumatised women because, let’s face it, a leopard never changes its spots.’
Kat felt him tense next to her. ‘What? What did you say? Of course. You’re right. A leopard never changes its spots. Someone like Andrew Fisher isn’t going to change just because he isn’t in his home town.’
‘You mean when he was in London?’
‘Don’t be dim, Kat. I mean much more recently than that. Where’s Andrew Fisher been the past twelve years?’
‘Whitby? He wouldn’t be so stupid. Lena said that it was Philip Staley who was the instigator of those attacks.’
‘Wake up. You’re talking about a serial rapist. You think he stops doing it just because he’s been found out? He does what most people would do in that situation. He blames his actions on a person who is no longer in a position to answer back.’
Kat’s head was spinning. ‘Oh my God.’
‘The trouble is that we haven’t got any credible leads when it comes to Whitby. We don’t know anyone there, do we?’
82
‘Why did you ask me to help you? To hide Andrew in Whitby?’
Lena used the ancient sofa to steady herself. She was tired. Exhausted from lack of sleep, from lying on the floor in a strange flat, from running from everyone.
She’d come back to the house one last time before going to the police. Kat hadn’t been attacked and her desire to protect her sister had overruled any sense she had once had. What a stupid mistake and yet, if she had her time over again, would she do anything differently? It was only now, according to Kat, that victims were getting the support and understanding they needed. It was time to stop running and let the truth come out. In any case, where could she go? Whitby had been her place of refuge, and she’d
given it up to protect Andrew, although God knows he’d deserved nothing from her. In doing so she’d ruined another relationship. Daniel was calm, but she could sense a deeper hurt underneath.
‘You were the first person I called. I admired your competence.’
He looked hurt. ‘My competence. Is that all?’
‘I’d just killed someone, and you were the person I thought of to help me. Doesn’t that explain things?’
‘You never gave me any reason for what you’d done. Didn’t I at least deserve that?’
Lena turned away from him. ‘I’m not sure there was a reason. I was thinking and not thinking at the same time. While I was waiting for you and Andrew to get here, I came up with a way of admitting to the murder so their crimes wouldn’t come out. There were all those girls I wanted to protect. You wouldn’t understand and, anyway, things were different then. You got no support when you reported a sexual assault and I don’t think anything had changed in 2004. I wasn’t going to let it all come out. I wanted to preserve the dignity of the victims, which I thought included my sister.’
‘Your sister?’
‘Don’t you see? I wanted to look after my sister.’
‘I do see that.’ He looked at her, his eyes blank. ‘So you came to me.’
‘It’s one of the things I’ve always liked about you. No need to explain myself.’
‘He was a rapist. A violent attacker of women.’
‘How did you find out?’
‘You asked me to help you, and I did. I looked after him, helped settle him in a house. Introduced him to my friends. To my family.’
‘You didn’t need to.’
‘I did though, didn’t I? For you. I went the extra mile. I didn’t just hide him, I set him up in a new life. You have to take responsibility for that.’
‘For what?’
‘For me helping him. Because it’s you who introduced the serpent into paradise. You.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘You knew what he was like, and you let me take him into my life. Use your imagination, Lena. What do you think happened?’
83
All three left the meeting subdued. They instinctively gathered in Sadler’s office, but he didn’t seem keen to pick over what had been said. ‘Let’s call it a day. You two go home. There’s a lot to think about, and I want to review the case from the start in the light of what we now know.’
‘What, tonight?’ asked Connie.
Sadler shrugged. ‘Why not? But don’t you two hang around. There’s going to be plenty to keep us busy over the next few days. Take the rest of the day off. I want to have a think.’
They left Sadler sitting at his desk. He looked disheartened, which gave Connie a feeling of disquiet. She felt the fragile stability that she’d carved for herself over the past couple of years begin to fray. Instinctively her thoughts turned to Palmer. She wondered if he was going to ask her out for a drink. Despite her reservations, she would have said yes. It really had been one of those days. But he’d been cool with her all day. A change in tune from immediately after their tryst in her flat. It had left her feeling confused and vulnerable. She watched out of the corner of her eye as he put on his jacket and left without saying anything to her.
She waited a couple of minutes, and then she too left the station. Back home, she looked around at her tidy flat. There was nothing she didn’t like about being a copper. She’d wanted to join the force since she was fourteen, when a young policewoman had come to give a talk to her school. Most of her friends had been joking both before and after the talk, but, curiously, not while the young officer had spoken, because she had a natural air of authority about her that had subdued even the rowdiest in that large comprehensive school. Being a police officer these days meant having a degree, and Connie had studied sports science at Nottingham Uni simply to get that precious certificate so she could join up after graduation.
One of the first surprises had been the sheer mundanity of some aspects of modern-day policing. Lots of sitting around in cars, dealing with minor infringements, and endless cups of bad coffee. Less surprising was that the young officer who had spoken to her as a teenager was now Chief Superintendent in Derby. Their paths had yet to cross, but when they did, Connie had her speech ready.
The downside was the hours. If truth be known, Connie had few close friends in Bampton. Normally she didn’t mind. When she got home from work, all she wanted to do was have a shower, pour a glass of wine and sit in front of the TV. Socialising was the last thing on her mind, but tonight it was company she needed. She took out her mobile, and her finger hovered over a name. He’d asked her to call him, and it hadn’t felt like a come-on. She pressed the number.
‘Scott here.’ His voice had a tentative tone. He clearly didn’t recognise the number.
She took a deep breath. ‘It’s Connie.’
The voice warmed up. ‘I only know two people called Connie. One’s my great-aunt, and you don’t sound like her.’
‘Is the other a grumpy copper?’
‘That’d be the one. You okay?’
‘Fine. How’s Bill?’
‘Oh, he’s all right. Just about getting over his sulk about misidentifying the body in 2004. You never know, he might have regained his good humour by Christmas.’
‘Good to hear.’ There was a short silence. ‘I’m calling because you mentioned going out for a drink sometime. I’ve had one of those days. You up for something?’
‘Yeah.’ He sounded surprised but pleased. ‘Where were you thinking? I can come to you?’
‘Is that okay? I’m a mix of super-hyper and dog-tired. I don’t trust myself behind a wheel of a car, to be honest. Meet you in the Glass Room at eight?’
‘The Glass Room?’ he sounded dubious. ‘That’s a bit more upmarket than I’m used to.’
‘But it’s big. We can find a table to ourselves and chat without being overheard.’
‘Is this about work?’
Connie hesitated, but, sick of lying, decided that honesty was the best policy. ‘No. I just need a drink with a mate, to be honest.’
The warmth came back into his voice. ‘Sure. See you in half an hour.’
The Glass House was technically a restaurant with half of the tables reserved for diners. Towards the long windows that had given the place its name were comfortable sofas where you could have a drink and chat. Scott was already waiting for her when she arrived. His piercings were in place, but he had clearly made an effort in the time since the call. She could smell lemon soap and shampoo. His hair, curling around the collar of his polo shirt, was still damp at the ends.
Connie plonked herself down next to him on the sofa and checked to see what he was drinking. Peroni beer.
He saw her looking. ‘I’m not used to drinking it out of a glass.’
She smiled. ‘I thought Becks would be more your drink.’
He leant forward to pick up the bottle. ‘I got used to it on holiday in Italy last year. I always have it if the pub is selling it.’
‘Italy? I’ve always wanted to go there. Where did you go?’
‘Rome, Assisi and then Florence. I’m interested in art. I went to as many art galleries as I could. It was wonderful.’
‘Art?’ Connie turned to face him full on. ‘I thought computer games were more your thing.’
‘I like gaming, but also art. They’re not a million miles from each other, you know. When they’re done properly, both can draw you into a world completely different from this one.’
Connie suddenly had an urge to smoke. She touched her pocket to check she’d brought her vape out with her. She hadn’t.
He saw her checking. ‘I’ve got some fags if you’re desperate.’
She grimaced. ‘Couple of drinks and I’ll be snatching them out of your hand.’
‘I tried to give up once. I lasted about four hours.’
Connie sniggered, feeling suddenly much better. She’d forgotten what it was like to go out for a dr
ink with a mate and just chat. Despite the effort he’d made with his attire, he didn’t look like he was expecting anything at the end of the evening. Unlike Palmer.
Reading her thoughts, he put down his bottle. ‘Anything in particular you wanted to talk to me about?’
Connie felt sick. ‘I’ve had a hard day.’
‘Can’t be easy, your job.’
Connie thought to the meeting with Sioned Rhys. Well, she couldn’t tell him anything about that. ‘It’s not just work. I’ve got a bit of a problem, that’s all.’
‘Man problems?’
‘How’d you guess?’
‘You said it wasn’t about work. So my second guess was a man. Is it Sadler?’
‘Sadler?’ Connie coughed over her drink. ‘Of course it’s not Sadler. He’s my boss, for God’s sake. Anyway, he’s not my type at all.’
Scott shrugged. ‘He’s good-looking though. A favourite among some of our female staff. Him and Palmer. Everything stops if those two come in together.’
Connie looked at the floor.
‘It’s not Palmer is it?’ Scott sounded shocked.
‘I know he’s married—’
‘It’s not that. It’s just, well, no offence, but I wouldn’t have had you pegged as his type.’
‘Why not?’ Connie tried to keep the hurt out of her voice.
‘Well, you’re one of us. You know, normal. Palmer looks like he’s come from a fashion shoot. He’s never got any dirt on him.’
Connie looked down at her grey trousers and black boots. The trousers were okay but didn’t fit her that well. She’d bought them in a sale, and the only ones left were a size too big. She’d bought them anyway because of the price. Her boots were scuffed. Not in an embarrassing way, but they could have done with a polish. She looked, as Scott had gently pointed out, ordinary.
‘Is it affecting your job?’
‘Not yet. We slept together just the once.’