Celine Stroud greeted them. ‘Hi. Come on in.’
The tiny square hall led straight into a cosy lounge, the walls of which were painted off-white, ‘Old English’ white was how some of the motor trade referred to it. Fresh cream carnations in a vase were the only distraction on the windowsill and the wall-mounted flat-screen Sony TV allowed sufficient floor space for a pair of dark brown two-seater leather settees. On top of a circular, red Chinese rug stood a square, mahogany occasional table. The room looked newly decorated and the warmth from the gas fire was a welcome relief from the weather outside.
Celine ushered them to a seat. They declined the offer of a hot drink.
Sam introduced herself and Ed. ‘How long have you lived here?’
‘Oh, it’ll be five or six months now.’
Celine clasped her hands together, her fingers continually moving and stroking her knuckles. ‘Look, I’m not sure where to begin?’
After a slight pause, she went on. ‘I saw you on the TV,’ nodding towards Sam, ‘and I began to wonder about the rapes. You asked if any woman had any information about men they knew.’
‘I did,’ Sam replied, slowly nodding her head. ‘So what is it about Jason?’
‘It may be nothing. It’s just a thought. Maybe I shouldn’t have interfered. I shouldn’t have called. You’ll think I’m stupid… Perhaps I am stupid. I’m not sure I believe myself.’
Ed spoke softly, sensing this woman’s nerves. ‘Let us be the judge of whether it’s nothing, and we will certainly not think you stupid. We’re glad you called.’
‘Will you tell Jason I called you?’ Celine said, a noticeable tremor in her voice.
Sam leaned forward in her seat. ‘Not at the moment, Celine. Do you mind me calling you Celine?’
Celine shook her head.
‘Okay, Celine. Please call me Sam. Let’s hear what it is you have to say first.’
Sam and Ed would let her speak without interruption. The secret to police interviewing of a witness, any kind of witness, was to let them speak for as long as they wanted without jumping in with questions. Academics called it ‘free recall’ and studies had found it to be 90% accurate. The more questions the interviewers asked, the less reliable the answers became. Any questions Sam or Ed might have would come later.
Celine took two large breaths and began. ‘I left Jason about five months ago. I couldn’t stand it any longer. We’d been married for just under five years. Married 18 months after we met. He was lovely then. Very shy, though. I couldn’t believe he was a police officer.’
Sam and Ed remained motionless.
‘He started coming into the office where I work after an internal theft was reported. I thought he was nice, but if I’d waited for him to ask me out, I would still be waiting. It was me who asked him out. We started going out and I really liked him. He was very attentive, not like my previous boyfriends.’
She stopped. Sam stared at her. Was she dwelling on those times when everything was new? Thinking of how nice Jason was?
‘It’s okay, Celine. Carry on,’ Sam said quietly.
Celine took another deep breath. ‘He didn’t want to go to pubs and clubs. He preferred to go to the cinema or stay in. He would come to my house. That was rented just like this is. He lived at home with his mother. I got on well with her and when we decided to get married, she was the one who suggested we move in with her. It seemed a good idea. She’d lived in that house since it was built. We would have no mortgage or rent to pay and as she said, once she died the house was Jason’s anyway.’
Celine stopped and ran her fingers through her hair. Sam and Ed sat in silence, waiting for her to speak again. ‘I wasn’t sure whether Jason wanted to live there, but he never went against his mother. It was obvious to me even then that she was quite the matriarchal figure. Once I moved in, I could see how she all but controlled his life. To escape her, Jason would often go upstairs and sit on his computer or play on his Xbox. How many grown men do you know who buy an Xbox?’
Sam and Ed glanced at each other, their faces expressionless. They were too experienced to project ‘non-verbal communications’.
‘As I said, I got on with his mother, and when she became ill, I helped look after her. She died not long after I moved out. I know that none of this has anything to with why I called you. I’m just trying to give you an idea of what my life with Jason was like. I was Jason’s first and only girlfriend. He wasn’t my first sexual partner, and one of my mistakes was telling him that. I told him shortly after we married. I didn’t want to lie to him, although on reflection, I should have.’
Sam nodded and gave a look that told Celine she understood.
‘He would often ask me to describe how he compared to my previous boyfriends. He became more and more insecure in our relationship. Our sex life became a little weird as a result. I was trying to do things that pleased him in a way that I could demonstrate my love for him. He said he wanted to play games. I agreed and at first I enjoyed them, you know, dressing up, a nurse, a policewoman. It just added a bit of spice and it made Jason happy. When his mother was ill, she was always sedated on an evening, so we knew that she wouldn’t disturb us.’
Celine’s eyes glazed over and she took another a deep breath. ‘One night, the last night, he wanted to have sex with me as if I was a stranger. I was a bit unsure but I agreed. I had to lie in our bed with the lights off, pretending to be asleep. He crept into the bedroom and shone a torch at me. He was wearing a mask. I went crazy. It terrified me. I jumped out of bed and turned on the lights. He had pairs of my tights in his hands, obviously to tie me up. I left him the following day. It was too scary, and I dreaded to think what it would have been next. I wasn’t going to stay with him any longer to find out. He said that it was just a bit of fun, but he clearly wanted to act out a rape. What sort of fun is that? It was sickening.’
Neither Sam nor Ed showed any emotion or reaction to Celine’s last few sentences. They both understood the potential significance of her words, but neither was going to allow Celine the opportunity to share that significance. They had both been on too many investigative wild goose chases over the years, seen too many so-called positive leads take them nowhere. Celine had given them some information, which may or may not prove useful. What she hadn’t given was evidence. Still, now was the time to probe further.
Sam moved forward, sitting on the edge of the sofa, reducing the distance between Celine and herself and spoke in a quiet voice. ‘Okay, Celine. Ed and I are going to ask you some questions.’
‘Do you mind if I smoke?’ asked Celine
‘It’s your house, Celine, feel free,’ said Sam. ‘You said that Jason’s mother, I’m sorry I don’t know her name.’
‘Nora, Nora Stroud. I’m sorry, I should have said.’
Celine took out a Richmond from the blue packet on the table, lit it with a disposable lighter, and inhaled deeply.
‘It’s okay. You described Nora as a matriarch. What did you mean by that?’
‘She was very bossy. I noticed that the first time I came to visit. Very outspoken. She would talk to him like he was a dog. Have him fetch and carry for her. If there was something on the news which she had an opinion about, she would scream at Jason if his opinion was different. At times she treated him like a small boy.’
The smoke drifted through her nostrils as she spoke.
‘He was a detective, Celine. Could he not stand up for himself?’
Celine glared at Sam, her eyebrows arched. ‘Did he stand up for himself at work?’
No one spoke and Celine, sensing that she wasn’t going to get a reaction, continued, her voice much quieter. ‘Like I said, I didn’t believe him when we first met in the office and he said he was a policeman. His mother’s word was law. He always kowtowed to her, always.’
‘How was she with you?’
‘Fine. I don’t know whether that was because I was a woman, or whether it was because I wasn’t her child, but we got on well together
.’
‘How old was she?’
‘Fifty-eight. No age really.’
‘What did she die of?’ Sam asked sympathetically.
‘Cancer,’ replied Celine, adjusting her gaze, staring at the floor, inhaling on the cigarette again.
‘You said Jason played on the Xbox. What games did he play?’
Celine looked up. ‘I don’t know. Football ones. Motor racing. Boys’ games I suppose.’
‘Do you know what websites he went on?’
‘Not porn, if that’s what you mean. Not that I knew of anyway.’
‘The sex games, Celine, how often did you play them?’
‘All the time. Well, whenever we had sex. Certainly the last two years of our relationship. He needed the games to help him get it up. Sorry, to get an erection.’
‘Are you okay talking like this, Celine, in front of Ed?’
Celine nodded, took one last deep drag from her cigarette and stubbed it out in an ashtray she retrieved from a sliding drawer in the occasional table. ‘I hide the ashtray. Trying to give up. I’m okay talking.’
‘The last time you role-played, when Jason wore a mask. What game were you expecting to play when he told you to lie in bed and turn off the lights?’
Celine’s response was quiet and measured. ‘I don’t know… I suppose I thought maybe I was going to be asleep in a hotel room, and he was a guest who had come into the wrong room. Something like that. What I wasn’t expecting was for him to be a wearing a mask. It totally freaked me out.’ Her eyes filled with tears.
Sam looked at Ed, and the quick movement of her eyes told him to ask any questions he felt relevant.
‘Celine, what was the colour of the beam on the torch?’ Ed asked, his voice quiet and reassuring.
‘Red. Why?’
‘Had you seen the torch before?’
She shook her head.
‘Is he into any sports?’
‘Running. He goes jogging a lot.’
Ed nodded at Sam and as Celine lit another Richmond, they stood up.
Sam told her that they would treat the information with confidence, and asked Celine to contact her if she thought of anything else.
Celine led the way out of the living room, back towards the front door. Before she opened it she turned. ‘I hope I’ve not wasted your time,’ she said. ‘I hope it’s not him. It’s just the thought of those poor women.’
Sam and Ed walked out of the house. Celine stood by the open door, smoking her cigarette.
Without breaking stride, Ed turned and said: ‘Celine. That night. The last night. What was the mask like?’
‘Wool. Like a ski mask. You know, the type that has slits in for the eyes.’
Chapter Twenty
An anonymous call reported an unconscious man lying in the toilets of the Jolly Roger, a town-centre pub which, from when it opened its doors at 9am, was favoured by the unemployed drinking cheap, heavily discounted lager and spirits.
Ambling into the pub, two uniformed officers were greeted by curious stares from some customers, utter indifference from others. The licensee, a man of about 50, black hair greased Elvis-style and a stomach born from a 30-year regime of eight pints a day, waddled towards them, back stooped, black trainers pointed outwards. The strain on his shirt from the enormous beer belly had the cops poised, ready to dodge popping buttons flying towards them like bullets leaving a gun.
‘Elvis’ pointed them towards the gents’ toilets where they found two paramedics kneeling down by a man who was sat on the wet, tiled floor, back against the wall.
His speech was slow and deliberate, a combination of the wound to the back of his head, which a medic was treating to stem the flow of blood, and excessive alcohol. Looking at the cuts and swelling to his face, it was obvious that his injuries were the result of an assault, not a fall.
The door flew open and a drunk, firing nose-twitching smell-waves of rancid body odour and wearing urine-stained trousers, staggered into the toilets. The younger police officer politely asked him to leave.
‘I need a fuckin’ piss.’
‘Fuck off into the disabled one then,’ the older cop said, in no mood for a discussion with a drunk at this time of the day.
The younger officer searched the injured man’s pockets with his grunted consent, looking for some identification. In his wallet was a picture of an attractive brown-haired female and a debit card in the name of Duncan Todd.
‘Do you know who assaulted you, Duncan?’ he asked.
‘There were two of them. He sent them.’
‘Who did?’
‘Brian Banks.’
‘THE Brian Banks?’ said the older officer.
‘Yeah.’
‘Why would Brian Banks have you beaten up?’
‘I punched his daughter.’
‘What the fuck do you expect then?’
The older cop walked to the urinal and unzipped his fly, staring at the white porcelain and the blue disinfectant block. ‘You want to make a complaint then?’
‘No.’
‘Thought not.’
Dave Johnson walked to his desk, snatched the report from the top of his ‘in-tray’ and dropped into his seat. He grabbed the pasty from its paper bag and took a large bite, greasy, flaky pastry dropping on to the document. This looks promising, he thought.
Officer’s Report
From: DC Stevens
To: Major Incident Room Intelligence Unit
Subject: Terry Crowther | 24 years | 104 Amble Drive | Gull Estate
Two convictions for theft (shoplifting) of men’s clothing four years ago.
One conviction indecent exposure to a 15-year-old girl (Crowther 17 at the time).
Internet Open Source check – Crowther doesn’t appear to use social network sites, doesn’t shop online, has no loyalty cards.
Local authority confirms his house has four bedrooms, and he is claiming single-occupancy reduction for purposes of council tax.
House is owner-occupied. No outstanding mortgage.
He looked up and took a smaller bite from the beef and vegetable pasty, the stomach-churning hunger of a few seconds ago reduced. He chewed slowly as his eyes returned to the document.
Saeed Jamal is the owner of Romeo’s Kebab and Pizza shop. He is Iraqi, and Crowther is the only non-Iraqi to work there.
Crowther is a good employee. He works every night except Monday, and is paid £6.50 per hour + a free 10’ pizza or kebab every night.
Crowther drives a white van when he is at work. It has the pizza shop logo on the van sides.
Crowther owns a black Ford Focus. It’s about 10 years old. Registered number yet to be confirmed.
Dave Johnson examined the photograph of Crowther attached to the report. A skinny man standing in between two Arab-looking men, taken inside a take-away food shop, presumably Romeo’s.
He stared into Crowther’s eyes. Is it you, you twat?
He returned to the report.
Crowther was stopped by the police at 4.30am Saturday – three weeks ago. He was out jogging. Uniform found nothing suspicious about him. The stop-check form shows he wasn’t searched.
He stood up and slowly brushed the flakes of pastry off his shirt. Who the hell goes running at 4.30 in the morning?
Sam and Ed were silent as they drove away from Celine Stroud’s, reflecting on what they had just been told.
Ed was the first to speak. ‘Shit… what did you make of that?’
Sam stared ahead at the road and considered her response. She had been asking herself the same question since they walked out of the house. ‘What people get up to within their four walls is a matter for them, but I’ll never look at him in the same light again. Neither will Celine. He actually wanted to play out a rape fantasy. How sick’s that? Makes my skin crawl.’
Sam shuddered. ‘That said, just because you play out a rape fantasy, if that was the intended fantasy, doesn’t mean that you’ll commit a rape. People fantasise about many thing
s. It’s why there is such a variety of porn available on the net.’
‘But?’ Ed said, knowing from her tone that there was more.
‘It was some of the other things she said… the domineering mother, limited sexual experience, loner, playing computer games, jogging. Throw all that together with the close geographical location of his house to the victims, the ski mask… even the bloody red-beamed torch. It could be him. He could be the one. And when she spoke about the rape fantasy…’ She paused, rubbing her eyes. ‘It was like we were listening to a victim.’
‘But she’s not,’ Ed said. ‘She’s telling us about Jason’s fantasy. As you’ve just said, people fantasise about many things. It’s not an indicator of him being a suspect. There’s no evidence that points to him as a suspect.’
‘There’s not,’ Sam agreed. ‘But what if we’d just got that info about Crowther?’
‘I know. I know. We’re going to have to look at him. We have no choice. Not with that information.’
‘Ed, we may need to make him a TIE.’
The police acronym for ‘Trace’, ‘Interview’, and ‘Eliminate’ was one step down from a suspect. All TIE’s were subject to stringent elimination criteria set by the SIO.
Ed nodded, tension in his eyes.
‘I think we need to establish whether we can alibi him out in the first instance,’ Sam continued. ‘Do it in a way that doesn’t get out. If the hierarchy believes that we have a cop who might remotely be a suspect, half of them will want him suspended. Professional Standards will definitely want him suspended. You know what they’re like. I don’t want to see a guy suspended because he played sex games with his wife, even if they are sick.’
‘Me neither,’ Ed said. ‘But nor do we want this bastard, whoever he is, roaming the streets.’
Sam drew breath, buying time, considering her options.
‘Okay. Start off by seeing if Jason was working when the attacks were committed. Maybe he was on annual leave. Hopefully he’ll have been away one of the weekends with lots of friends and we can move on.’
Be My Girl Page 12