Brock cut in. ‘What’s going on here is that you’ve been arrested for drugging a woman in a pub and trying to abduct her. So answer my question, Mr Rafferty. What’s your version of what happened in the pub this evening?’
But Rafferty just sat back, shaking his head. ‘Oh no. This ain’t right. I’m not saying nothing till I’ve spoken to a solicitor.’
‘Your refusal to cooperate will go against you.’
‘Uh-uh. Not a word.’
‘Very well, we can arrange for a duty—’
‘No thanks,’ Rafferty sneered. ‘I’ll make my own arrangements, thanks.’
‘We’ll speak to you again first thing in the morning, Mr Rafferty. In the meantime, think very carefully about what you’re going to tell us.’
When they got outside, Brock said, ‘Go home, Kathy. Get some rest. You look all in.’
‘I’m sorry. This shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have let it happen.’
‘We’ll sort it out. The fact is, they’re both up to their ears in it. Let’s hope they can lift Rafferty’s prints from the bag of pills.’
‘I’d like to speak to the publican at the Three Bells. I saw him watching me when I went in, trying to find Pip.’
‘I’ll do that, Kathy. You go home. That’s an order.’
He watched her get into her car, then headed for his own.
•
The Three Bells seemed subdued when he pushed through the doors, with only a few customers huddled at tables. The band on the tiny stage at the back was in the final stages of packing up their gear. They looked fed up.
Brock went to the bar, picking out an older man at the till and nodding to him.
The man noted him with a frown. ‘What now?’
‘DCI Brock. And you’re Mr Cornford?’ He’d seen the licensee’s name over the door.
‘That’s right. You lot trying to put me out of business?’
‘A young woman was almost raped here tonight, Mr Cornford.’
‘So you say.’
‘Do you know Keith Rafferty?’
‘He’s a local, comes in a fair bit.’
‘And Brendan Crouch?’
‘Didn’t know his name, but he’s often with Rafferty.’
Brock watched one of the other barmen drawing a pint.
‘Fancy one?’ Cornford said.
‘Saw the look in my eye, did you?’
The publican smiled.
‘Yes, it’s been a long day.’ Brock unbuttoned his coat and sat heavily on a stool. ‘Have one yourself.’ He put a tenner on the bar, watching the golden liquid foam into the straight glass. ‘Has this happened before?’
‘Drink-spiking? Get it all the time, young lads slipping an extra double vodka into their girl’s mixer.’
‘What about pills?’
‘Pills are everywhere you look these days.’ He hesitated, then went on, ‘Couple of weeks ago a young woman came in, Saturday lunchtime, said her friend had been drugged and raped the night before, after coming in here. When I talked to her she was a bit confused. They’d been to at least two other pubs, then got separated. When she found her friend later she was in a bit of a mess. I told her to go to the cops if she thought something bad had happened. I don’t think she did.’
‘Two weeks ago?’
‘Maybe three now.’
‘Know their names?’
Cornford shook his head.
‘Was Rafferty in that night?’
‘Friday night, bound to have been.’
Brock thanked him, drained his pint and left. When he got in his car he put a call through to DI Bren Gurney.
six
Kathy drove a few blocks away from the Ealing police station before pulling in to the kerb. She got out her phone and keyed in Nicole Palmer’s number.
‘Kathy! You’ve sorted things out?’
‘’Fraid not. They’re getting worse, actually. You’re not in bed, are you?’
‘It’s only ten. Lloyd just got in.’ Her partner was also a detective, in North London.
‘I need a big favour, Nicole. I’m trying to find out about two guys who were in the army together. There’s not much on them on the PNC. I was wondering if you could access their army records, and dig up anything else.’
‘Sure. I’ll get onto it tomorrow.’
‘I was wondering if you could manage it now. We’re interviewing them first thing in the morning. It would really help if I could have something by then.’
There was a silence. ‘You want me to go into the office now?’
Kathy sighed. ‘No . . . I’m sorry. It was a stupid idea. Forget it.’
Another long silence. ‘What are their names?’
‘No, really, Nicole. Forget it.’
‘I’ve had a couple of drinks. You’ll have to pay for the cabs.’
•
It was a short drive to Bradshaw Street. TV screens flickered through curtained windows as Kathy made her way to flat three. It took a long while for Sheena to come to the door. She blinked at Kathy, bleary-eyed, racking her brains.
‘Kathy Kolla, Mrs Rafferty, from the police. I came about Marion, remember?’
‘Oh . . . oh aye. I’m . . .’ She looked vaguely back over her shoulder. She was wearing a dressing-gown, hair mussed, a cigarette burning in her fingers.
‘Can I have a quick word?’
‘S’pose so.’
There was an empty vodka bottle on the floor in the living room, clothes scattered, TV emitting canned laughter.
‘Can we turn that down?’
Sheena blinked, looking around for the remote. Kathy found it and handed it to her. The sound boomed louder, then dipped to a murmur.
‘How have you been?’
‘Oh, you know. How does a mother feel, eh?’
‘Yes. Can we sit down? I’m afraid I’ve got a bit more bad news. Keith’s been arrested.’
Blank incomprehension. ‘Keith what?’
‘He’s been arrested.’
‘Keith? Did he hit somebody?’
‘We think he spiked a girl’s drink, in a pub.’
Sheena’s eyes came abruptly into focus. ‘What?’
‘Him and Brendan Crouch.’
‘Jesus Christ. The stupid . . . Where was this?’
‘The Three Bells.’
‘Och no. Pissing on his own bloody doorstep, the stupid . . . Ah’ll kill that bastard.’
‘Has he done anything like this before?’
‘Is the Pope a fuckin’ Catholic? Where’d ah put ma fuckin’ drink?’
‘With Marion?’
‘What?’ Sheena’s eyes widened, the whites ringed with smeared mascara.
‘Did he try stuff with Marion?’
‘What . . . what are you tryin’ to say?’
‘Come on, Sheena. You know, don’t you? Marion didn’t tell you when she moved three months ago. Why was that? It was to keep Keith from finding her, wasn’t it?’
Sheena opened her mouth but nothing came out. She was taking quick shallow breaths. Suddenly she gave a little cry, and looked down at her hand, where the cigarette had burned down to her fingers. She stabbed it in an ashtray and wheeled on Kathy.
‘Git out,’ she said hoarsely.
‘I want to help you, Sheena. I want to help you do the right thing for Marion.’
‘GIT OUT!’ she screamed. ‘GIT OUT! GIT OUT!’
‘Calm down.’ Sheena was looking wildly around, as if for a weapon. ‘All right, I’m going. Just think about it, Sheena. I’ll be here when you want to talk.’
•
Brock had told her to go home and so, belatedly, she did. The place was cold and she put the heating on and made a cup of hot chocolate, then sat, waiting, trying to think.
Towards 2 a.m. her phone rang.
‘Kathy?’ It was Nicole, sounding weary. ‘Rafferty left the army six years ago. He was in the Second Battalion, Light Infantry, along with Crouch. They served together for four years, in Iraq and Northern Ir
eland, and on the mainland. There was one incident of interest, in Belfast. A girl accused the two of them of rape. Later she withdrew her complaint and the charges were dropped. I’ll email you the details. You’ve got the later assault and prostitution charges against Rafferty from the PNC, I take it?’
‘Yes. That’s fantastic, Nicole. I’m really grateful.’
‘Make it up to me by coming to Prague, Kathy.’
‘No chance, I’m afraid. It’s already Friday. Next time.’
‘That’s the thing though. There may not be one.’
She hung up and ran a bath, then lay down on her bed, unable to sleep.
When the green digits on her alarm clock reached 5:00 she got up and dressed and took the lift down to the ground floor to get her car.
The forecourt to the accident and emergency entrance was alive, ambulances moving steadily through, the steady pulse of trauma beating through the night. Pip was dressed, standing talking to a nurse at the counter. She gave Kathy an anxious smile.
‘Hi!’ Kathy beamed. ‘How are you?’
‘Fine. Doctor’s just told me I can go. They need the bed.’
‘Great. I’ll give you a lift home. No after-effects then?’
Pip shook her head. ‘It wears off after about eight hours, apparently. Only, I can’t remember much.’
‘Never mind.’
‘Brock was here.’
‘Really? When?’
‘He left half an hour ago. He took a statement. He was very nice about it all.’
They walked together to the front doors. ‘Oh, it’s still dark,’ Pip said. ‘I thought it was morning.’
‘Nearly. What did you tell Brock?’
‘About going into the pub. I stood near Rafferty at the bar, trying to get myself a drink, but it was packed. He was talking to another guy, and I heard him mention Marion’s name.’
‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes. I tried to get closer, and suddenly he turned around and started chatting me up. That’s when I phoned you—I told him I was waiting for a friend.’
They got into Kathy’s car and set off along Uxbridge Road.
‘Go on.’
‘They saw I didn’t have a drink and insisted on buying me one. I know, it was stupid, but what could I do?’
‘He said you spoke to him first.’
‘Yes, that’s what Brock told me, but it wasn’t like that. Rafferty pushed himself into my face, very close. He wouldn’t let me move. The other one too. It was suffocating in there, and deafening. You couldn’t hear yourself think.’
‘What happened then?’
‘I don’t know. That’s all I can remember.’
‘Maybe it’ll come back to you. Do you remember anyone else nearby, anyone who might have seen what happened?’
She shook her head.
When they reached the house that Pip shared, she said, ‘I’ll just get changed and come back with you.’
‘Not today, Pip. You have a long weekend. Take it easy.’
‘I’m not suspended, am I?’
‘Nobody’s suggested that,’ Kathy said. Not yet.
Brock was already at the Ealing police station when she arrived. He was reading through a file, a mug of coffee and a bacon sandwich at his elbow. ‘Ah, Kathy. Feel a bit better for a good night’s sleep?’
‘Great. How are we doing?’
‘We start interviewing at 8.30.’ He checked his watch.
‘I’ve got something on their military service.’ She showed him Nicole’s email.
‘Good.’ He read. ‘All part of a pattern, isn’t it?’
‘Any luck with the prints?’
‘Yes, he certainly handled those pills. But that’s all we have. We haven’t found any witnesses, and Pip can’t remember anything useful.’
‘Then there’s me.’
‘Yes, there’s you.’ He patted the report in front of him. ‘I’ve been reading your statement to the duty inspector last night.’
‘And?’
‘You won’t be taking part in the interviews this morning.’
‘But I think—’
He shook his head. ‘Bren’s coming in. He’ll do it with a sergeant from this station.’
There was a rap on the door and a uniformed inspector stepped in. She introduced herself and shook hands, then said, ‘We are honoured this morning.’
For a moment Kathy thought she was making a sarcastic remark about them, but the woman added, ‘Julian Fenwick has arrived.’
Julian Fenwick was well known as a high-profile criminal defence lawyer, often seen on TV news bites at the shoulders of notorious crooks, whose guilt and simultaneous release seemed to be guaranteed by his presence.
‘He’s representing Rafferty?’
‘Both of them, apparently. He’s with them now.’
‘How did they manage that, I wonder?’
After briefing Bren, Brock took his place beside Kathy to watch the interviews on closed-circuit TV.
They took Rafferty first, slumped beside his lawyer opposite the two detectives. Bren opened the interview, inviting Rafferty to describe the events of the previous evening. Rafferty replied in a careless monotone. He and his friend had been having a quiet drink together when a young, attractive woman approached them, acting flirtatiously, and wondering if they could get her a drink through the scrum of people at the bar. Soon she had begun to act in a way that suggested she was drunk. When her behaviour became more erratic they agreed to her request to give her a lift home. She collapsed as they got to their van, at which point another woman appeared, claiming she was a police officer, and attacking Rafferty’s friend.
Bren and the other detective picked away at the details of this account without making much headway, until Bren suddenly produced the plastic packet of Klonopin pills. Without telling Rafferty that his prints had been found on it, he invited him to agree that he’d been seen trying to dispose of it at the scene in the lane.
Rafferty stared at the packet, then at his lawyer, then at Bren. ‘Can I have a closer look?’ he asked, and Kathy was aware of Brock at her side stirring and murmuring, ‘Oh dear.’
Bren passed over the packet inside its transparent plastic evidence pouch.
‘Yes, you’re right. I’d forgotten about that.’
‘Do you know what the pills are?’ Bren asked.
Unruffled, Rafferty said, ‘E? I’m just guessing.’
‘You think those are ecstasy tablets?’
‘That’s what I assumed.’
‘Where did you obtain them?’
‘She gave them to me, the girl, in the pub.’
‘But her fingerprints aren’t on the packet. Yours are.’
‘Well it’s true. When she started acting pissed she pressed them into my hand and asked me to look after them for her.’
Bren made him repeat this several times.
‘So when the other woman said she was a copper, I remembered them and threw them away.’
‘Oh dear, oh dear,’ Brock grumbled.
When it came to his turn, Crouch had less to say. He had witnessed the girl approaching Rafferty, and had given his friend a hand, just trying to help, but he hadn’t seen any pills. He was the one who had bought her drink, and he could guarantee it hadn’t been tampered with when he put it in her hand.
When Bren finally brought the second interview to an end, Julian Fenwick, who had said almost nothing up to this point, spoke. ‘Now that we’re off the record, Inspector, I wonder if I might have a quiet word with you? Just the two of us.’ He didn’t quite wink up at the camera, but Kathy sensed that he might have.
‘What can I do for you?’ Bren said as they sat down again at the table.
‘There are some disturbing features about this case that I feel I should bring to your attention, DI Gurney, in the interests of avoiding wasting police time and resources.’
‘Go on.’
‘The arresting officer was DI Kathy Kolla, yes? She isn’t with you today?’
‘What of it?’
‘Are you aware that she engineered that absurd little cameo in the Three Bells?’
‘How do you mean?’
‘She sent DC Gallagher in to approach my clients, while she waited outside in her car; she then appeared miraculously in the lane at the critical moment. Obviously she arranged the whole thing. It is the most blatant attempt at entrapment I’ve ever encountered.’
‘If you have any criticism . . .’
Fenwick raised his hands. ‘This is completely off the record, yes? For the moment, at any rate. Do you also know that she met Mr Rafferty two days ago, at his home, in the course of investigating the tragic death of his stepdaughter, Marion Summers—who was poisoned, so I understand, possibly by someone interfering with her drink?’
‘Yes?’
‘It is a cliché, is it not, that murders are committed by close relatives of the deceased? Close family are the first suspects, yes? Stepfathers of beautiful young women most of all. Ergo, Mr Rafferty is guilty as sin. Sadly, though, there is no evidence to support this. Therefore an enthusiastic officer—an over-enthusiastic officer—might be tempted to create some.’
Bren started to say something angrily, but Fenwick waved his hand at him. ‘No, no, please, I’m making no accusations. At this stage. I’ve met DI Kolla. She has an interesting record. Impressive, but not really a team player—that was my impression. Bit of a chip on the shoulder? And newly made up to inspector, and no doubt anxious to justify . . .’
Bren was getting to his feet.
‘Please don’t take offence, Inspector Gurney,’ Fenwick said smoothly, rising also. ‘I’m trying to do us both a favour. I suspect the Crown Prosecution Service will be looking very hard at this one.’ He held out his hand. ‘Good morning to you.’
Bren ignored the hand, opened the door and stood aside.
‘What do you think, Kathy?’ Brock said.
‘I think he has a point,’ she said heavily.
‘Well, I’m afraid he’s right about the CPS. Come on.’ He got stiffly to his feet. ‘You’ve got a murder to solve.’
seven
Kathy sat at her desk, furious with herself. Across the way, Pip’s empty chair was a vivid accusation. You screwed up, it said. You let Pip down. The worst of it was that Rafferty would now be so much harder to touch. How had he got Julian Fenwick to come out at the crack of dawn? It was just one of many mysteries. What did she really know about Marion Summers, after all?
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