by Bill Kitson
Left helpless by the secret he would not reveal, and the lies he could not tell, Dean had no option. ‘Yes,’ he muttered, in answer to the repeated question. ‘I stabbed him.’
Despite a barrage of questions, pressing him for a motive or anything by way of explanation, more than that he refused to say.
Later, Clara told Nash, ‘There’s something really odd about this business. Apart from the bizarre nature of the attack, I mean. Wilson’s obviously hiding something, but what it is, I’ve no idea. He simply says he did it then shuts up. Not a word in his own defence, no explanation, no justification, extenuating circumstances, nothing whatsoever. At the same time, I don’t believe much of what the so-called victim or the eyewitness has to say either. To be honest, if I’d to choose between them, I’d pick out Wilson as the good guy and the others as villains.’
‘Did you ensure Wilson understood the possible consequences of his action on his career?’
‘Yes, but it didn’t seem to make the slightest difference.’
After the first week at university, Naomi was returning home for the weekend. It had been a hectic few days, settling back into the routine, but in spite of everything going on around her, she thought occasionally of Dean with much regret and a small degree of guilt. She knew how much she owed him, knew it was unfair to saddle him with his sister’s wrongdoing. The realization of who he was had shocked her and in that moment her quick temper had flared, ignoring the injustice and hurt she was inflicting.
The sprinter train to Helmsdale was quiet for a Friday evening, and as she sat down, Naomi noticed a copy of the Netherdale Gazette on the seat near her. She picked it up, thumbing idly through the pages, until an item near the bottom of page seven caught her attention.
‘SOLDIER CHARGED WITH ASSAULT’ the headline ran. ‘A soldier has been arrested and charged with assault following an attack last year in an alleyway in Helmsdale. The victim was treated in Netherdale General for his injuries. The alleged assailant, Lance Corporal Dean Wilson, was bailed to appear before magistrates on Monday.’
Naomi read the article several times. There couldn’t have been two such incidents, surely? Dean wasn’t the type to get into fights, of that she was certain. But if the incident referred to was the result of the attempted attack on her, why hadn’t Dean spoken up, said something to defend himself? Surely, if the police had learned that he was defending her against three men, they wouldn’t have proceeded with the charge. Had he kept silent to protect her? Was he unwilling to let her name be brought into it simply on the off-chance that the case might go public? If that was so, after the way she’d treated him that was incredibly noble. The more she thought about it, the more convinced Naomi was that such was the case. If so, the injustice would have to be put right. Naomi’s jaw tightened with determination. She would have to be the one to put it right, whatever the consequences.
chapter three
The rest of the team had left for the day, but Nash was still in his office when the phone rang. ‘Yes, Jack,’ he answered the sergeant.
‘I’ve a young woman in reception, desperate to have a word with someone about that biro assault. She’s seen the news of the arrest in today’s paper and wants to tell her side of the story. Will you come down and talk to her?’
‘Of course, just give me a couple of minutes to finish off here.’ Moments later he headed down to reception.
‘DI Mike Nash, how can I help you, Miss…?’
‘I’m Naomi Macaulay.’
Nash listened to her story with growing interest. ‘So you’re saying there were three men, not one, and that they were trying to force you to have sex with them when Wilson intervened, beat them up and took you out of harm’s way, is that it?’
Naomi nodded in agreement.
‘I have to ask this,’ Nash continued. ‘What possessed you to go down that ginnel alone and in the dark?’
‘I was desperate to get away from that club and there were no taxis on the rank. I didn’t know they’d followed me out of the place until it was too late.’
‘Lucky for you Wilson happened along at the right time.’
‘It wasn’t luck. He told me he was watching them inside the club; knew they were up to no good. He even saw one of them drop some sort of powder in my drink.’
‘Probably rohypnol or GHB,’ Nash remarked. ‘But of course it’s far too late to do anything about that now.’ He finished taking her statement and added, ‘The strange thing is, my sergeant who conducted the interview with Wilson was convinced he was concealing something: seems as if she was right. Thank you for coming forward, Miss Macaulay. In the light of what you’ve told me, we’ll be talking to the alleged victim and the eyewitness again. They won’t enjoy those interviews, I can assure you.’
‘What about Dean? I mean, Lance Corporal Wilson, what will happen to him? He was very brave, putting himself in danger for someone he’d never met, and I don’t want him to suffer for what he did. I’m grateful to him.’
‘I think in the circumstances the charge for the assault will be dropped. In fact I’d go so far as to say that if I tell the men who were supposedly attacked that you’re prepared to give evidence about the attempted rape, they might even forget that the incident ever took place.’
He saw the look of alarm in her face and hastened to reassure her. ‘I shall only say it to them. That doesn’t mean you’ll have to testify, but they won’t know that.’
Naomi lifted her head and looked Nash in the eye. She shuddered. ‘If it came to it, even though I wouldn’t relish the prospect, I’d be prepared to give evidence, as long as it meant that Dean didn’t suffer a miscarriage of justice. He has suffered enough already, and what I put him through certainly didn’t help.’
Nash looked at her enquiringly, but Naomi refused to elaborate, merely asking, ‘Can I tell Dean that the charges are going to be dropped?’
Nash smiled. ‘I think it will be in order for you to say that.’
Sergeant Jack Binns was more than a little surprised when Nash, after watching Naomi Macaulay walk out of the station, instructed him to contact the Crown Prosecution Service and ask them to cancel the court appearance.
‘Is there a problem?’ Binns asked. ‘She’s not some fancy solicitor he’s hired, surely? No, she can’t be’ – he realized his error – ‘she’s far too young.’
‘It seems that Clara’s opinion of both the victim and the eyewitness was correct. She said she trusted Dean Wilson far more than those two. They also have selective memories. They conveniently forgot to mention that the guy with the mutilated member and his cronies were attempting to rape that young woman when Wilson intervened.’
‘I suppose that’s the sort of thing that can easily slip your mind when you’re worried about your mangled manhood,’ Binns agreed.
‘Possibly so, and I think that it’s our duty to remind them, don’t you? I’ll get Clara on it when she comes in on Monday.’
‘I’m sure she’ll get the bit between her teeth, if you’ll pardon the expression,’ Binns said, straight-faced. His expression changed suddenly. ‘Of course, that’s who she is.’ He saw Nash’s puzzled expression. ‘The girl who’s just left. Haven’t you made the connection? His name’s Wilson, hers is Macaulay. I’m surprised she didn’t stab Wilson.’
‘I don’t get you. I know her name and address, that’s all. Why, should I know more?’
‘Didn’t her name ring a bell? Didn’t you realize the significance? For her to give evidence on behalf of someone called Wilson is remarkable, to put it mildly.’
‘Sorry, Jack, you’ve lost me completely.’
‘I forgot you weren’t dealing with Bishopton area then, but surely you remember the scandal? Unless I’m mistaken, that girl is one of the Macaulay family, principal shareholders in Wilson Macaulay Industries. They were the biggest losers when Bishopton Investment Group went bust. In fact, now that I think about it, young Naomi looks a lot like another one of the family I knew slightly years back. She�
�d be Naomi’s aunt, I guess. She went to live in America.’
‘Of course, and the woman who legged it with the loot was called Linda Wilson, wasn’t she?’
‘Yes, and I’ll bet all your money Dean Wilson is her brother.’
Dean was seated by the window in his lounge, from where the view was of the corner of the market square. He saw nothing of the vehicles or pedestrians that passed under his window, though, being immersed in his own woes. Would his life ever turn around? Would he ever be able to shake off the chains of the past, or free himself from the spiral of misfortune that had dogged his whole existence?
He had returned home following his release on bail and had started drinking within minutes of letting himself into the apartment. Today, in topping up the previous night’s alcohol, he ignored the fact that he hadn’t eaten since the slice of toast that had formed his breakfast.
During the time he was seated there, he had already downed a tumbler of whisky, and as his thoughts darkened, he poured another large glassful. He had gone to the girl’s assistance, prevented her being assaulted, and what thanks had he got for his effort? None, apart from a mouthful of abuse from her, and an assault charge that seemed likely to end his army career. ‘Well, yippee-doo,’ he muttered savagely.
He lifted the glass to take another drink, and was mildly surprised to find it empty. He looked round suspiciously. Had someone sneaked in and drunk his whisky? Then he remembered he’d locked the door. ‘Must be evaporating,’ he muttered, ‘better drink faster.’ He refilled the glass and took another large gulp.
The doorbell rang, breaking into his melancholy. He frowned. He wasn’t expecting visitors. He didn’t want visitors. Visitors only mean trouble. ‘Fuck off, fuck off, whoever you are,’ he chanted.
The doorbell rang a second time. Either they were hard of hearing or insensitive. ‘Which part of “fuck off” didn’t you understand?’ he shouted.
The caller was persistent, he’d give them that. When the bell rang a third time, Dean knew he would have to deal with it. He’d get no peace until he answered. He got out of the chair and lurched towards the hall and almost fell over the coffee table. He steadied himself against the arm of the sofa and glared down at the table. ‘Somebody’s moved it,’ he growled, ‘probably the same bugger that’s been nicking my whisky.’
The doorbell rang again. ‘All right, all right, I’m coming. Don’t be so bloody impatient.’ Dean squinted at the hall door, which appeared to be slightly out of focus. He reached it and fumbled with the catch, muttering under his breath all the time; nothing worth saying out loud, most of it unrepeatable. After several failures, he managed to unlock the door, and flung it back. The handle collided with the wall, dislodging a piece of plaster. Dean stared down at the grey lump on the hall carpet. ‘Oops!’ He looked up, peering myopically into the dimly lit landing. After a moment, he recognized Naomi, who seemed to have brought her twin sister along. ‘What do you two want?’ he demanded.
Naomi glanced round. ‘Two?’
‘You and her.’ Dean pointed towards Naomi’s left shoulder, but as he did so, his focus returned. ‘Oh!’ He glanced round. ‘Where’s she gone? She was here a second ago.’
‘There’s nobody here but me, Dean. Have you been drinking by any chance?’
‘Bloody silly question. Course I’ve been drinking. Except some bugger keeps nicking my drink. If I catch the sod, I’ll kill him. Amount they’ve nicked, there could be more than one. Thieving bastards, all of them.’
‘All of who?’
‘Them.’ Dean swung round to indicate the empty flat. The move was disastrous. He staggered and would have fallen, but for Naomi’s hand bracing the small of his back.
‘Come on, you’re not safe to be wandering around, the state you’re in. Let’s get you into bed where you can sleep it off without risking harming yourself.’
‘Into bed?’ Dean leered at her. ‘You want me in bed? Are you propos … propos…? Am I on a promise?’
‘Not in the condition you’re in,’ she told him firmly. ‘Not that you’d be much use to me even if I’d said yes.’
She guided him to his bedroom and tugged and pulled him until he was standing with his back to the edge of the bed. She removed the duvet before giving him a firm push and as he staggered back his knees caught the top of the mattress, leaving him spreadeagled on the sheet. She lifted one leg after the other and deftly unlaced and removed his trainers.
As she straightened the duvet over him, Dean squinted up at her. ‘What are you doing here? Are you with them? Are you a shoe thief?’
‘No, but you can’t go to sleep with your trainers on. If you want to undress, the rest is up to you. I came to deliver some good news, but that will have to wait until you’re in a fit condition to hear it.’
Naomi stopped there. She might have said more, but a loud snore from the bed told her that she hadn’t got Dean’s complete attention.
Waking up was a painful experience. Dean couldn’t remember going to bed, couldn’t remember much after coming back from the police station days earlier, but as he glanced around, moving his eyes cautiously to prevent the pounding in his head worsening, he realized he must have managed somehow, even if he hadn’t been able to undress. That scarcely mattered. At least he’d had the sense to take his trainers off. The thought of his footwear stirred a vague memory, but he was unable to recall it.
He gave up on the futile effort; it wasn’t worth the struggle. Besides which, he’d more important things on his mind. First of all, he needed the loo. When he emerged from the bathroom and walked into the lounge, Dean was surprised at how neat and tidy the room appeared. He frowned. He couldn’t remember tidying up last night. Had he really done that before staggering off to bed? Something else that had slipped his mind?
Then, he heard a sound. It was a rustle, as of someone moving. It seemed to have come from the kitchen. Someone was in his flat! He crept to the archway leading into the kitchen and peered round the opening.
‘Oh, hello, you’ve surfaced at last, have you? About time!’
Dean blinked in amazement. His mouth opened and closed a couple of times, but no sound came out.
‘Coffee?’
‘Er … yes, please. I don’t understand. What are you doing here? And how did you get in?’
‘You let me in. Don’t you remember?’
Dean shook his head. Not a good idea.
‘You were a bit drunk.’
‘I was more than a bit drunk. I was pissed, deluxe.’
‘So drunk that I was unable to give you the news I came here to tell you.’
Dean was struck with a sudden, dreadful thought. ‘What day is it today?’
‘Saturday, why? Do you have to be somewhere?’
‘No, but I got this awful feeling that it might be Monday, and I’m due in court on Monday.’ The words slipped out before Dean could stop them.
‘No, you’re not. That was the news I came here to give you.’ She passed him a mug. ‘Will you be able to manage that, or do you want me to carry it through to the lounge for you?’
‘I’ll be fine. What did you mean about me not being in court?’
‘It’s cancelled. The charge is being dropped.’
Dean stared at her, mouth agape. ‘How do you know?’ he asked, eventually.
‘Because when I read about your arrest in the paper I went to the police station and told the inspector what really happened that night.’
‘You did that? You did that for me? But I thought….’
‘Of course I did. You don’t think for a minute I’d let you suffer and take the blame after what you did for me, do you? And by the way, it was sweet of you to try and keep my name out of it. However, I told Inspector Nash that if necessary I’m quite prepared to stand up in court and tell my story. Happily, he said he didn’t think it would be needed.’
‘You did? And did you tidy up in here? Did you put me to bed last night?
‘Yes, yes and yes.’
/> ‘Did you stay the night?’
Naomi nodded.
‘Where did you sleep?’
She pointed to the spare room. ‘In there, despite your kind invitation.’
Dean groaned. She was teasing him. He’d obviously made a fool of himself. ‘What invitation – or shouldn’t I ask?’
Naomi grinned. ‘Probably better not to. Now, would you like me to make you something to eat? I still don’t think you’re in a state to operate a gas cooker.’
Dean suddenly realized how hungry he was. ‘Yes, please, I’m famished.’
‘When did you last eat?’
‘I’d some toast yesterday morning, I think. I’m not really sure.’
‘No wonder you were in such a bad way, drinking whisky on an empty stomach. Was that a full bottle when you started?’
‘I think so,’ he admitted.
‘There’s only an inch left in the bottom now. I hope you don’t make a habit of drinking so much.’
‘No, certainly not. I was upset.’ Dean looked at her. ‘Partly because of the court thing, but mainly because of what you said.’
‘I’ll make breakfast. After you’ve eaten, I suggest you shower and clean your teeth.’
Dean demolished the substantial breakfast then meekly followed her instructions by going to the bathroom. When he emerged, he was surprised at how disappointed he was to find that she’d put her coat on.
‘I have to go,’ she explained. ‘When I phoned my parents last night, I promised I’d be home for lunch. Will you walk with me to the bus station, like you did before?’
‘Of course I will. You didn’t tell them you were staying the night here, did you?’
‘I’m not that daft. It wouldn’t have gone down at all well, especially if I’d mentioned your name. As far as they know, I stayed over in York.’