by A. J. Cross
Her back to him, her eyes on the door, those last few words hit Hanson’s ears. She realised that no one at headquarters or the university knew she was here. She felt the tremor of his footsteps approaching across the wooden floor. In an eye blink he was in front of her. Between her and the door. Now his voice was as flat as his eyes.
‘You think I had something to do with what happened to that woman in the paper?’
Hanson didn’t respond.
‘You think I’m the type that attacks women?’
Aware of his heat, the odour of his sweat, her body in tension, Hanson was weighing up her options: dart around him? Hit and kick before he did? Shout? Her gaze was fixed on his, her peripheral vision assessing the space each side of him and the distance beyond him to the door.
He took a step towards her. ‘Why would you think that? You don’t know anything about me. Do you?’ He took another step. ‘You’ve had plenty to say up to now. Why so quiet?’
A sudden, loud thump on the door threw Hanson’s heart against her ribs and sent her hands flying to her mouth. She and Gill stood, eyes locked, as a voice filtered inside. One she recognised but couldn’t place.
‘Gill? Open up!’
Gill’s eyes moved from her face and Hanson lunged for the door as it swung open, crashing into Hugh Downey who was coming inside. He steadied her, his face quizzical.
‘Dr Hanson …?’
‘I was just leaving,’ she whispered.
Downey’s eyes were fixed on Gill. ‘That’s fine. You do that.’
She went quickly down the steps, stumbling onto the rough ground, her eyes on her distant car. She crossed the deserted open space, reached it, got inside and engaged central locking then sat, eyes on the windscreen, getting control of her breathing.
Hanson pulled out her phone and rang UCU. No reply. She rang Watts’s phone, heard his voice.
‘What’s up, doc?’
She pictured his grin as he said the words, the little joke pulling her back to familiarity and safety.
‘I’m at one of Renfrew’s projects next to Sarehole Mill. I’ve just had what I wouldn’t call a conversation with a man named Sean Gill, who’s a kind of foreman here at the site.’
‘We know him. He’s got previous for GBH.’
She closed her eyes. ‘I want him questioned in connection with our cases.’
She ended the call, Gill’s three small words filling her head.
Look at me.
The bronze coloured Range Rover arrived, followed by a patrol car. Seeing her colleagues heading towards her, she got out of her car. The labourers who’d probably returned from a pub lunch were going about their work with intermittent glances towards the patrol car.
As Watts and Corrigan neared she pointed to the site hut then walked with them and the two uniformed officers they’d requested to where Hugh Downey was standing.
‘Where’s Sean Gill, Mr Downey?’ asked Watts.
Downey nodded towards the hut. ‘Getting his belongings together.’
Watts pointed at the constables. ‘You two get over there and fetch him. Tell him we want a word with him.’
He turned to Downey. ‘You’re working here today?’
Downey shook his head. ‘No. I came here to talk to Gill about …’ He turned towards the hut, frowning. ‘What’s that?’
Hearing the commotion Watts and Corrigan headed towards it. After a couple of minutes they emerged with Gill, his wrists joined together, followed by the two uniformed officers. As Gill was led past, he stared at Hanson. She and Downey watched in silence as he was escorted to the patrol car, Corrigan placing a hand on Gill’s head as he lowered himself inside.
‘What happened?’ she asked Watts as they returned.
‘He resisted, and hit one of the officers so I’ve arrested him for assault.’
TWENTY-FOUR
Hanson was against the far wall of the observation room away from the two-way glass, watching and listening to Sean Gill speaking to her colleagues. His face was calm and engaged, his hand movements expressive, the West Country burr drifting across the room to her. He was no longer a veiled threat. Now he was one of the boys.
‘OK, you’re right. I shouldn’t have kicked off like I did but I’ve had a crap day. First this woman arrived and I did my level best to help her, even though she had a bit of an attitude and then the boss comes to tell me I’m finished.’
‘Tell us about your conversation with Dr Hanson,’ said Watts.
Gill looked from Watts to Corrigan and back. ‘I can’t tell you anything about it because I don’t get what the hell happened. Whether she got upset because she misunderstood something or she didn’t get what she wanted, I don’t know. You’ll have to ask her.’ The duty solicitor nodded at this seeming reasonableness.
Watts studied him. ‘I’m asking you.’
Gill shifted on his chair and sighed. ‘All I can tell you is she’s asking about some teenager who’s gone missing, I tell her I know nothing about it and she starts giving me funny looks. Next thing I know, one of the bosses is at the door, telling me to get my stuff together and then you lot arrive.’
He lowered his head onto his folded arms then looked up at Watts. ‘How long are you keeping me here?’
‘Until we’re satisfied we’re hearing the truth. You’re attitude to Dr Hanson was threatening.’
Gill straightened. ‘Oh, yeah? Has she said how I did that? Did I raise my voice? No. Lay a hand on her? No. Stop her leaving? No. If she said I did any of that, she’s a liar. She’s the one with the problem, not me. You ask my lads if they heard anything. They’ll tell you they didn’t.’
Corrigan hadn’t taken his eyes off Gill’s face since the interview began. ‘You meet many women who have problems with you, Mr Gill?’
Gill’s eyes narrowed. They went to the duty solicitor and back to Corrigan. ‘Meaning?’
Hanson watched Corrigan pick up an A4 sheet. She knew what it was: Gill’s police record.
‘According to our information, another woman had a problem with you. In 2001.’
Gill’s face was dismissive. ‘You don’t want to take any notice of that. That was years ago. That bitch was a liar but the police and the judge bought every word she said.’
Hanson came to the glass. Gill’s face was getting increasingly red and he was becoming loud and fidgety. The duty solicitor’s eyes were on her colleagues.
‘This is the exact same situation! That woman shows up. I’m pleasant towards her, helpful. I don’t lay a hand on her! I don’t raise my voice!’
‘Which you are doing now, Mr Gill,’ advised the solicitor quietly.
Gill turned on him, his face congested. ‘What!’
Pressed to the glass, Hanson watched horrified as Gill lunged at the solicitor who shrank away, arms raised to protect his head. Corrigan seized hold of Gill who began aiming punches and kicks at anyone and anything. A distant alarm shrilled, followed by feet rushing past the observation room. She saw the door of the interview room fly open and hit the wall as four officers piled inside, took hold of Gill, still fighting, cuffed him and hustled him out.
They passed the door of the observation room, Gill raving as he went, ‘She turned her back on me! I don’t take that from anybody, let alone a woman!’
Hanson had provided a formal statement about her experience of Gill at the site. Hugh Downey had done the same although she hadn’t seen him at headquarters. She wanted to thank him. He’d arrived at that site office with no awareness of the scene playing itself out inside. She preferred not to think of the possible outcomes if he hadn’t. She and her colleagues were inside UCU, Watts looking more upbeat than she’d seen in a while.
‘What happens to Gill now?’ she asked.
‘We hold him until he gets a court hearing, maybe tomorrow and hopefully he’ll get remanded, which gives us a chance to take a closer look at him,’ said Corrigan. ‘He’s got another problem. According to Hugh Downey’s statement, Gill is suspected of theft
of building supplies from Renfrew. That’s why Downey was at the site: to fire him.’
Watts gave her an intent look. ‘Gill’s got something else to worry about as far as I’m concerned. His possible involvement in Elizabeth Williams’ abduction and murder. He told you to turn round and look at him. What do you think about him as a potential suspect?’
Hanson was reviewing the whole scene and her responses inside the site hut. ‘His threatening attitude was so covert I didn’t pick up the cues when I should have done. Which makes me think that young women such as Elizabeth might not have seen them at all. On the other hand, yes he said those words but in such a charged situation I’m reluctant to give them a significance they might not have. They’re fairly commonplace words.’
Watts’s eyes were on her. ‘Doc, this is no time to be even-handed. Gill’s got form for violence against a woman. You’ve said you felt threatened by him. He doesn’t like women. Commonplace or not, he said those words. We have to consider him for Williams.’
Seeing the frustration on his face she understood. She’d already considered Gill as a potential suspect for the Williams murder but her experiences of him suggested another possible explanation.
‘I think there may be more to it.’
He looked at her. ‘There usually is with you. What’s your objection to considering the most obvious line?’
She returned his look, recognising his frustration with their two cases. He didn’t like the message she was giving. He still had to hear it.
‘When Gill said those words to me, yes I felt threatened. I thought exactly the same as you but isn’t it possible he said them because he believed I was being dismissive of him. Look at his 2001 conviction. Statements from the time indicate that he made a nuisance of himself around the woman he attacked and that she rebuffed him. Gill’s problem is that he becomes impulsive and aggressive when he believes women are dismissing him.’
‘We don’t know that that didn’t happen with Elizabeth Williams or Amy Bennett for that matter,’ he said.
‘I see a difference where those few words are concerned,’ she said. ‘When Amy Bennett’s attacker used them I think they were part of a situation he was trying to create with her, rather than borne out of anger. He had a situation already inside his head which is why he was so insistent that she had to be facing him. “I’m going to turn you round to look at me.” There’s a difference between that and what Gill said to me.’
She’d worked with Watts long enough to know how irritated he was.
He spoke slowly. ‘We’ve all had cases involving sex attackers driven by fantasy, doc. I say we do some digging where Gill’s concerned.’
Suddenly weary, she rubbed her eyes. Watts was right. They didn’t know nearly enough about Sean Gill. A glance in Corrigan’s direction told her that he agreed with Watts.
She learnt towards them. ‘OK, I hear what you’re saying. But what I’m saying is we need to consider that Elizabeth Williams’ murder and the attack on Amy Bennett happened because the man who did both had a picture inside his head of something other than physical violence.’
Watts got up from the table. ‘If you want my advice you won’t say that to Amy Bennett. He punched her in the head.’ He turned to her. ‘Chong couldn’t find evidence of sex in the Williams case and Amy Bennett hasn’t confirmed it. We don’t know what those two cases are about. But Gill is a thug with a GBH conviction against a woman. That does it for me where he’s concerned even if it doesn’t work for you.’
Hanson searched for words. ‘I just have this idea that our two cases are something very different from Sean Gill’s crude, antisocial response to what he perceives as female rejection. Yes, the man who killed Elizabeth Williams and attacked Amy Bennett is controlling, yes he’s capable of violence but he’s also … creative.’
She saw the surprise on Corrigan’s face. Watts turned to her, his hands propped either side of his waist. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
She thought of Myers’ crooned words at the field. ‘I’m not sure. Maybe it’s to do with loss or regret. Something he’s trying to recapture.’ She was aware of a heavy silence. ‘Right now, that’s the best I can do.’
Corrigan’s focus was on the table as Watts stared at her. ‘Let’s hope you’re right about Gill having no involvement in our cases. His threats towards you, plus the scam he was pulling at Renfrew if he’s charged won’t bring him much custody.’
Hanson thought of Gill’s voice, his accent. Amy Bennett had told them that her attacker wasn’t local to the Midlands. She gathered her belongings. This wasn’t the first time her thinking was at odds with that of her colleagues.
Which is why I’m here. To think.
She started as the phone shrilled. Watts answered it then hung up.
‘That was reception. Lawrence Vickers has arrived.’
He stood as they appeared in reception.
‘I’ve had to cancel one of my lectures to come here. I really do think that—’
‘Take it easy, Dr Vickers,’ said Watts. ‘We need to sort something out with you. Are you OK to talk with us or would you prefer your solicitor here?’
Vickers stared at him. ‘My solicitor? Why would I need her?’
‘It’s your choice. We don’t mind waiting until she gets here.’
Hanson watched as Vickers took some deep breaths. ‘I want to get on with whatever it is you want clarified so I can get back to college.’
They walked with him into the informal interview room where he dropped onto a chair, looking irritated.
‘OK, Dr Vickers. We’ve talked to you already about what happened between you and Elizabeth Williams—’
‘Nothing happened with her. All I did was ask her out to dinner. It had been a tough year and I was tired. There was nothing to it.’
Watts slow-nodded, his eyes on Vickers’ face. ‘That’s what you told us. Have you ever propositioned another of your students?’
Vickers looked up at the ceiling. ‘I don’t like the word “propositioned” but no, I haven’t.’
‘Sir, we’d like you to tell us about a student named Chloe Jacobs.’
At Corrigan’s words Vickers folded his arms but said nothing. Hanson studied him. Why isn’t he bothered by what he’s just heard?
‘Have you anything to tell us, Dr Vickers?’ asked Corrigan.
‘This is idiotic. I’d forgotten all about this Chloe, whatever her name is.’
‘Jacobs,’ said Corrigan. ‘We understand you invited her out to dinner.’
‘What if I did? Which, by the way I don’t recall doing.’ He narrowed his eyes at Watts. ‘Somebody has evidently said something to you. Well, let me tell you, colleges are a hotbed of gossip and—’
‘A lot else besides, by the sound of it,’ said Watts. ‘Why did you ask her to have dinner?’
‘If I did, it would have been a casual thing. I probably wanted to discuss her work, her progress.’
Watts grunted. ‘Course you did.’
‘I’m tiring of your attitude,’ said Vickers.
‘I’m not mad about yours so we both know where we stand.’ Watts gave him a slow once-over. ‘When we spoke to you about inviting Elizabeth Williams out, you were worried. You don’t seem worried about Chloe Jacobs. I’m wondering why not.’
Vickers stared at him. ‘Because Elizabeth Williams was murdered, that’s why. I know about how the police operate, how they get it wrong. I didn’t want to get mixed up in that. Chloe Jacobs is different. For a start, she’s still alive as far as I know!’ He folded his arms and stared down at the table.
‘You admired something about Chloe Jacobs’ appearance on the day you suggested taking her to dinner.’
‘Did I?’ Vickers let his head fall back. ‘You obviously know all about it so you’ll have to enlighten me because I can’t remember.’
‘OK,’ said Watts easily. ‘She was wearing an item of jewellery.’
Vickers straightened, regarding him with what looked l
ike dislike. ‘I don’t even remember inviting her to dinner so why would I remember what she was wearing?’
Watts stood. ‘OK, Dr Vickers. We don’t seem to be getting anywhere so we’ll be seeing you again. How about at your house if that’s all right with you?’
Vickers looked up with an expression on his face which Hanson read as smugly triumphant. Now she got it.
He’s told his wife about Elizabeth Williams.
‘Perfectly. My wife knows about what happened with Elizabeth Williams. She knows it’s nothing. That it wasn’t important. She understands.’
Watts went to the door and opened it. ‘Let’s hope she’s as understanding about Chloe Jacobs if she gets to hear about her.’
Vickers sauntered out. ‘She will be. She knows the strain of the work I do. She knows I do it for her and the children.’
‘In that case, we’ll be seeing you at the college.’
Vickers gave him an angry look as he headed out of reception.
Hanson walked inside her silent house. Kevin had taken Maisie to the Midlands Arts Centre to make up for his missed contact. She felt nauseous and shaky, probably because she hadn’t eaten for hours. The memory of Sean Gill was back inside her head.
Going into the kitchen, she fetched chicken from the refrigerator, rolls from the breadbin, set them down on the table and stared at them.
If I feel like this because of how Gill was towards me earlier, how must it have felt for Amy Bennett on that lonely, dark road?
Closing down her thinking on Elizabeth Williams’ experience at her killer’s hands, she went to the glass doors. Mugger was sitting on the grass looking plump, kittenish even, in his black and white ‘dress suit’, his eyes half-closed. He looked a cat’s version of relaxed. She needed to do the same. What had happened to her today had been disturbing. She’d taken pride in her ability to read situations, avoid danger. It was one of the upsides of the work she did. Yet, she’d walked into the situation with Gill with zero awareness of his potential threat. So unaware that she’d doubted the shadows crossing Gill’s face, the tiny cues around his behaviour. Until it was almost too late.