‘There’s a job going down, boss . . . A fifteen-year-old girl . . .’
Sergeant Kevin Scott seemed taken aback when Laura held up her palm for him to stop talking, the fire door thumping closed behind her. Kevin – single and childless and always at work thirty minutes before anyone else – let his words hang mid-sentence, smoothed the sides of his perfectly groomed, thinning and probably dyed hair, and stepped aside, scrutinising Laura’s face as she passed.
‘We’ll talk about it at the briefing meeting,’ she told him, continuing along the passage towards her desk. She sighed as he followed close behind, the rhythmic tap of his well-heeled, well-polished shoes on the tiles rankling her already rankled tolerance. Even the billowing aroma of fresh coffee failed to appease her until it was clear he had turned into the staffroom. She let go of churning thoughts about Kevin’s nerve-grating personality deficits, his total lack of emotional intelligence, and reminded herself that with a degree of fine-tuning under her continued supervision he could possibly shape into a good detective. She took a deep cleansing breath to gather her thoughts for the briefing session.
‘Laura . . . wait up.’ Constable Jenny Deakin called from behind.
‘I’m running late, Jenny,’ Laura said without turning. ‘Sorry, I’ll see you in the briefing room.’
‘But we have an interesting new case . . . fresh from CIB this morning,’ Jenny called.
‘Yep, I know. Kevin told me. Thanks . . . We’ll talk about it at the meeting.’
The specialist unit Laura headed within the Sex Crimes Branch was tasked with interviewing and supporting victims and witnesses, including those who faced the additional challenges of having special needs. She and her team shared the third floor in an almost symbiotic working relationship with the Criminal Investigation Branch. Laura swiftly navigated her way through narrow aisles and a maze of waist-high dividers, noticing their esteemed, always-to-be-feared Superintendent Tom Baker was currently in his office.
At her workstation she dragged off her jacket. ‘Oh that’s great, two staff down,’ she mumbled. She tossed the message slip back onto her desk and rushed to the briefing room.
Laura sat on the seat she usually took, nearest the door of. She glanced up at Kevin at the far end of the table, flanked as always by recent graduate Probationary Constable Mel Smith. Kevin wore Mel like a badge of honour since Tom Baker had personally insisted he mentor her. That had been despite Laura’s view that Mel may find Kevin’s shallow arrogance intimidating. She’d felt that Senior Constable Fiona Wicks would have most to offer the new graduate. Fiona was an intelligent, exceptionally skilled officer, somewhat emotionally detached but with a honed politeness that Laura believed would counter Mel’s obvious lack of confidence. But Laura had learned to choose her fights with Tom and had acquiesced on this occasion. The moment Laura had stepped into the room Mel looked up from the open file before her and tucked her dark curls behind her ears, straightening in her seat, while Fiona and Jenny’s avid chatter persisted, albeit in more subdued tones.
‘Morning, everyone,’ Laura said, glancing around the table. ‘Lyn is taking parental leave today and Pete is sick, so we’re two members short. Kevin, tell us about the new referral from CIB, please,’ she said her gut screaming for her first coffee of the day.
‘Alex Holt. Fifteen. Found in Connor Lane, Marchant Gardens, by her stepfather Greg Shepherd, at approximately 22:00 last night,’ Kevin read. ‘She was unconscious and partially clothed. Stabilised and transported to the Children’s Hospital by ambulance at 22:42. Initial medical exam reveals a single syringe stab to her right thigh. Blood on her jeans confirms she was still clothed at the time of the stabbing. A syringe was found near the scene. Her stepfather reports he found her damp jeans on the ground immediately adjacent to where she was lying. Her underpants are still missing. The doctors confirmed traces of a common sedative in the syringe. Uniforms, ambos and CIB all report no additional evidence of sexual assault, so it’s possible the perp was disturbed.’
‘I gather no one has spoken to Alex at this stage,’ Laura said as she took notes.
‘Correct,’ Kevin said. ‘The doctors have sedated her. They say we can interview her in . . .’ He extended one arm with a flourish and glanced at his watch. ‘. . . about an hour or so.
‘And the perp?’ Laura asked.
‘Uniforms and CIB doorknocked last night. So far there’s nothing.’
‘Because CIB do not yet have a suspect it’s our job to interview the victim. Jenny, are you able to do that this morning, please?’ Laura said.
Jenny’s lips tightened with regret. ‘Sorry, boss. I’m interviewing the victims and families on the Mason case all morning. I’m loathe to let them down yet again . . . but I could try to fit it in this afternoon,’ she added.
Laura shook her head. ‘We need to respond before Alex is released from hospital. Fiona?’ she asked, her sights shifting.
Fiona shrugged, scratched her scalp with her biro. ‘Do you really want me to leave those reports that Tom’s been nagging us for?’
Laura sighed. ‘Kevin, what about you and Mel?’
‘No can do, boss. We’ll be in court all day.’
Back at her desk, swallowing her first mouthful of coffee for the day, Laura booted up her computer and dialled CIB Senior Detective Noah Tamblyn’s number, gazing mindlessly at the emergency services building opposite where an ambulance burst into screaming sirens and flashing lights to cut across traffic.
‘Laura,’ Noah answered, catching her off guard. Noah had an uncanny knack for answering the phone a hair’s breadth before it rang out, or more commonly, not answering at all.
‘Where have you guys been? I haven’t seen you or Mia on the beach for a while,’ Laura said in a deliberate attempt at being sociable.
‘We’ve been around . . . In fact, we’re down the coast more often lately because Mia’s roster and mine seem to be in perfect synch for a change,’ Noah replied. ‘You and Simon should come over soon for wine and cheese on the deck.’
Laura’s stomach lurched at the thought of having to explain Simon’s hasty departure to anyone, let alone Noah. ‘That would be great,’ she said. ‘In the meantime, do you have anything new on Alex Holt? I’m waiting for the hospital’s call before I shoot over and interview her.’
‘Let me get it up on my screen . . . Alex’s mother, Cynthia Holt, and her stepfather, Greg Shepherd, are highly annoyed and anxious that we haven’t yet identified the perp. They’re concerned about a second assault, even though at this stage it seems this was a purely random attack. Oh yes. We interviewed a guy we believe was the last person to speak to Alex before the attack – Isaac Harrison, twenty, second-year med student who works with Alex at the store where she has a part-time job after school. He said she seemed fine when they parted just after 21:20. He said nothing out of the ordinary happened, apart from Alex saying a couple of times that it was a creepy night. He didn’t notice anyone loitering. We’re checking the store’s CTV cameras as I speak . . . I think that’s about it.’
Laura put down her pen and peered out at the clouds drifting aimlessly in the silver-blue sky. Unspoken between her and Noah was the statistical reality that Alex’s attacker was likely to be someone she knew rather than a stranger. ‘I’ll hightail it over there and talk to Alex the moment the hospital rings. I’ll be in touch again soon,’ she said.
‘Oh Laura, there’s something else. Is it possible for one of your team to drop in and talk to a Roger Grenfell? The uniform guys dropped into his house last night. He lives across the road from Connor Lane, the opposite end to where Alex was attacked. The uniforms said they couldn’t get much out of him because he quickly grew agitated. I think it’s worth talking to him again, but from what I’m told, we need someone with the right skills to make him feel at ease.’
‘Can it wait until tomorrow?’ she asked. ‘I’m down two staff today.’
‘We need to keep the ball rolling. I’ll
get one of my team to see him,’ Noah replied.
Laura was dragging her bag from her locker, more than ready for lunch, when the Children’s Hospital called to say Alex was finally awake. She shrugged on her jacket, shoved her notebook into her bag, and grabbed the keys to an unmarked car. As she was about to push through the fireproof door her phone signalled a message. Assuming it was Kevin having trouble in court, which was not unusual, she checked her screen.
We need to talk. I will be there Saturday morning. Simon xx.
CHAPTER FIVE
Laura crossed the carpark and pondered Simon’s cryptic message. His kisses were incongruous with his failure to make even passing mention of their wedding anniversary. She wondered why he was being so mysterious. What was suddenly so urgent? She climbed behind the wheel of the white unmarked police vehicle, considering the possibility that Simon intended to front up on Saturday with his trailer-load of gear in tow, his heart full of remorse and his arms laden with a dozen red roses – his traditional anniversary gift. She watched the roller door crank its way open and glanced out onto the street at the suddenly overcast day, visualised Simon’s soulful expression, the agony in his eyes as he told her it had all been a horrible mistake and that he desperately wanted to move back home. Anxiety and confusion churning she decided she needed more time, even if Simon had suddenly realised what he wanted. Edging the car out onto the street she turned towards the Children’s Hospital, her heart heavy.
Her nails tapping against the steering wheel, Laura stared at the Children’s Hospital looming tall to her right while she waited to turn across endless streams of traffic. Simon’s pained expression, his whining tone from the evening before his final departure, revisited her now. In the amber glow of the sinking sun she had poured them both a drink, determined to make one valiant and final attempt at breaking through his stubborn silence.
‘I wish that just once, I could leave my shoes out and find them in the same spot a day later . . . or that I could make a second sandwich if I wanted one, without having to drag everything out of the fridge again. You don’t live like a normal person, Laura’ had been the most illuminating words he had uttered the entire time. His accusations rankled. She could sense their truth. Yet she had always been able to overlook his shortcomings – the frequency with which he overindulged in red wine, his distinct inability to communicate on other than a superficial level, the way he could tell lies without flinching – why all of a sudden could he not tolerate hers?
Finally there was a break, and Laura gunned the motor and turned into the hospital grounds and the parking space designated for police use.
‘Sergeant Nesci.’ A small, pleasantly rounded woman in a white coat extended her hand. ‘I’m Marianne Badenoch, Alex’s attending physician. Let’s find an office where we can talk in private.’
Laura followed the doctor along a blue carpeted passage before she showed the way into a moderately sized, very beige office. She gestured for Laura to sit while she moved to a chair on the other side of the desk.
‘How is Alex?’ Laura asked.
‘She’s ready to go home. Her mother and stepfather have been buzzing like blowflies in a bottle all morning. It will be a huge relief for everyone when we finally discharge her.’
‘Have Forensics finished their tests?’ Laura asked, her eyes drawn to a woodlands poster on the wall behind Marianne, the only hint of colour in the room.
Marianne nodded. ‘Yes. The preliminary report is on its way to Noah Tamblyn, but STD and DNA analysis won’t be available for a few days. Preliminary findings reveal no evidence of semen or sexual interference. Of course, DNA testing will be carried out on her clothing, but again the outcome won’t be known for some time.’
Laura sighed. ‘In that case let’s hope Alex can tell us something.’
Marianne made a face and slowly shook her head. ‘That’s doubtful, I’m afraid.’
‘Why?’ Laura said, unable to conceal her frustration.
‘The syringe contained traces of a general anaesthetic.’ Marianne rested her clasped hands on the desk.
‘So?’ Laura frowned.
‘Her attacker used only a mild sedative, such as that used for simple medical procedures. But even a small dose is very effective in ensuring the patient, or in this case Alex, has no awareness or recollection of events.’
‘But some people claim they’ve woken up during operations when a light anaesthetic has been used. Doesn’t it follow that Alex may have some recollection – if not immediately, then in time?’
Marianne shrugged. ‘Perhaps. But the reports you are referring to are generally rare. If I were a betting person, I wouldn’t put a cent on Alex’s memory returning at all.’ She rose slowly from her seat and smiled with an air of exhaustion. ‘So . . . I will bring Alex to you now. You two can talk before she is discharged. Would you like some water, tea, coffee?’
Laura shook her head, privately choosing to believe that Marianne’s opinion was severely flawed.
With the gentle click of Marianne closing the door behind her the tension left Laura’s shoulders. She studied the sylvan setting on the poster. Allowed her thoughts to drift along the shaded path flanked by ancient oak trees. Imagined the glorious isolation, the tinkling of hidden birds, the crunch of leaves underfoot. Recalling she had walked with Simon through a similar forest during a holiday in the Kharkiv Region of the Ukraine, she immediately pushed all thought away, dropping her sights to a dark stain on the beige carpet.
A soft tap at the door caused her to turn as Marianne Badenoch appeared, pushing a wheelchair into the room. Blond and ashen-faced, Alex Holt dropped her gaze the moment her eyes met Laura’s. Without speaking, Marianne parked Alex’s wheelchair alongside Laura, and the teen finally lifted eyes the same shade of blue as her dressing gown, eyes that screamed fear with their stillness.
Marianne gently touched Alex’s shoulder, and the girl turned to look up at her.
‘Alex, I’m going to leave you with Sergeant Nesci,’ Marianne said softly. ‘And then you can go home.’ She left the room, pulling the door gently closed behind her.
Apart from her piercing blue eyes, Laura’s first impression was that Alex’s porcelain skin was impossibly clear for a sixteen year old. Her hair had been brushed back into a ponytail, hands resting in her lap, her lips compressing into a tight line with the message, ‘Let’s get this over with.’
‘Did Dr Badenoch tell you why I’m here?’ Laura said gently.
Alex cleared her throat and her eyes dropped for a second to where her long fingers played along the hem of her sleeve. ‘She told me you’re from the police. That you talk to people who’ve been affected by crime.’
‘Yes. That’s about it in a nutshell. The police and CIB detectives haven’t been able to find any clues about what happened last night. They’ve asked me to talk with you, to see if you can remember anything that may help.’
Alex nodded. Cleared her throat again. ‘Okay,’ she said, straightening slightly in the wheelchair.
‘Let’s start with what you remember about last night,’ Laura said.
Alex frowned and grasped the hem of her sleeve.
‘Take your time,’ Laura said in almost a whisper.
Alex’s eyes shifted from Laura to the sylvan poster. ‘I remember leaving the grocery store and Isaac riding away on his bike . . . Then I remember running down the side of the store to the road, and freaking out at the shadows. Same when I was running along the footpath.’ Her eyes still trained on the poster, Alex’s frowned thoughtfully. Finally, shaking her head she said, ‘That’s all I remember. I’m really sorry.’ Her eyes threatened tears.
‘That’s okay, Alex. I know you’re doing your best. Who is Isaac?’ Laura asked, by way of reconciling Alex’s account with what Noah had told her.
‘He’s a med student,’ Alex said. ‘He works in the store with me some nights.’ Her forehead crinkled. ‘But it wouldn’t be him.’
�
��You sound pretty certain about that,’ Laura said, wondering why CIB had seemingly discounted Isaac in the absence of an alibi or other mitigating factors.
‘I am absolutely certain. He’s a pretty cool guy, but nerdy at the same time. There’s nothing creepy about him.’
‘How old is Isaac?’ Laura asked.
‘Twenty,’ Alex said with a lift of her chin.
Laura nodded. ‘Has he ever done anything to make you feel sexually uncomfortable?’
‘No. Course not. He’s a cool enough guy but he’s not my type.’
‘Okay,’ Laura continued, leaning forward and stretching her mind to pick up her thread of questioning. ‘You said you remember the shadows on the footpath. Try to remember anything else that happened, anything you noticed during the walk home. Take your time.’
Alex’s frown intensified as she stared at the poster through narrowed eyes. She turned her sights briefly to Laura before looking down and scratching at a small mark on the blue fabric of her dressing gown. ‘No. Nothing,’ she said slowly, thoughtfully, shaking her head.
‘Are you absolutely sure? You said you were walking along the footpath and the shadows were freaking you out. What else?’
Alex straightened her shoulders and shook her head. ‘No. There’s nothing. I’m sure. The next thing I remember after that is waking up here in the hospital, with spotlights glaring into my eyes and a hundred voices asking me over and over to tell them my name.’
Things We Cannot See Page 3