Lost Innocence

by Susan Lewis

  ‘OK, I think,’ Annabelle answered, turning on to her back. ‘What time is it?’

  ‘Almost midday. Are you hungry?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  Sabrina went to sit next to her and smoothed the hair back from her face. ‘Are you hurting at all?’ she asked.

  ‘Not really. I mean, a bit.’ She frowned and closed her eyes as though her head ached.

  As Sabrina watched her she was thinking of Craig and what he’d be doing if he were here. Knowing he would almost certainly defend his son made her heart churn with awful emotions. It was too painful to imagine them being torn apart by something like this.

  Eventually Annabelle opened her eyes, and Sabrina smiled at her tenderly. ‘Would you like to stay in bed for today?’ she asked. ‘It’ll probably do you good to get some rest.’

  Annabelle nodded. ‘Yeah, maybe,’ she said faintly.

  Leaning forward to kiss her forehead, Sabrina rose to her feet.

  ‘Mum?’ Annabelle said, as Sabrina reached the door.

  ‘Mm?’ she answered, turning round.

  Annabelle’s face started to crumple. ‘It wasn’t my fault,’ she wept. ‘I mean, maybe a bit of it was at first, but I didn’t expect him to…’

  ‘Sssh,’ Sabrina soothed, coming back to the bed to comfort her, ‘whatever you did, even if you sent out the wrong signals because you’d had too much to drink, what he did can never be your fault.’

  Annabelle sniffed, and looked at her with big, haunted eyes.

  ‘Would you like me to sit with you until you fall asleep?’ Sabrina offered.

  ‘No, it’s OK. I’ll be fine.’

  After kissing her again Sabrina picked up a cup containing the dregs of a drink and three cigarette ends, but deciding now wasn’t the time for discipline, she simply took it away.

  As soon as the door closed behind her Annabelle fished out the mobile Georgie had left with her and called Theo. ‘Have the police been yet?’ she asked when he answered.

  ‘They’ve just left, and don’t worry, I said exactly what you told me to.’

  ‘Great. Thanks. What about this Neil guy, do you know him?’

  ‘Never heard of him, why?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter. I’ll work it out. Is everyone still going to Wells on Friday night?’

  ‘Yeah, but I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to come too.’

  ‘Why not? I’m not an invalid.’

  ‘No, but you’re underage and no one wants to risk it again. Come back when you’re a grown-up, Annabelle,’ and the line went dead.

  * * *

  Jolyon looked up as his wife put her head round his office door. Beckoning her in he said into the phone, ‘I’m sorry, Alicia, there’s nothing more I can tell you at this stage. The police have to gather evidence and take statements…’

  ‘But they wouldn’t have to if they waited for the results of the DNA,’ Alicia protested. ‘The whole village is being questioned…’

  ‘I know it must be difficult, but they have to follow procedure.’

  With an anguished sigh, Alicia said, ‘I know, and I’m sorry to bother you. It’s just that I’m going out of my mind here. Rumours are flying, people are already taking sides, and Nat won’t leave the house.’

  Saddened, but not surprised to hear that, Jolyon said, ‘How is he today?’

  ‘A very good question. I’ve no idea. He won’t speak to me. At least not about how he is, or what’s going on.’

  Feeling for her frustration, he said, ‘It’ll be over soon enough. The results are due back tomorrow, so we should have more information by Thursday, Friday at the latest.’

  ‘Should I expect a call? How will I find out?’

  ‘You might not know anything until Nat answers his bail on Monday, but I’ll do my best to get something out of them before that.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said warmly. ‘Actually, there’s one other thing, before you go. I’m afraid it might take me a while to pay you…’

  ‘Put that out of your mind now,’ Jolyon interrupted.

  ‘But…’

  ‘No arguments.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she said again, and after apologising once more for being a nuisance she rang off.

  ‘I take it that was Alicia,’ Marianne Crane said, as Jolyon put the phone down. She was a slight, pale-skinned woman in her early forties, with a neat auburn bob, intense dark eyes and a lively smile.

  ‘It was,’ he confirmed, ‘working herself up into a bit of a state, I’m afraid.’

  ‘With something like this hanging over her, I’m not surprised. Have there been any developments since yesterday?’

  ‘Who do you think would tell me if there had?’ he said sardonically.

  ‘Oh, I know you, Jolyon Crane,’ she teased, ‘a spy in every camp.’

  ‘And don’t you forget it,’ he warned playfully. ‘So what brings you to Small Street in the middle of the afternoon? No babies coming into the world today?’

  ‘None that are scheduled,’ she replied, going to the window to find out what all the fuss was about outside. ‘Is there a big case going on over at the court?’ she asked. ‘The press seem to be gathering.’

  ‘One of the Bristol City players is up for assault,’ he answered. ‘So, what are you going to do with your time off, Mrs Crane?’

  ‘Go shopping, I think, until my husband is ready to take me for dinner. I fancy the Hotel du Vin, if that’s OK with you?’

  Since it was less than a five-minute walk from his office, on the edge of the city centre, he had no problem agreeing.

  After she’d gone, he continued mulling over the unfortunate situation Nathan Carlyle had managed to get himself into. He’d been in this job long enough to know how grief could unhinge people, and drive them to behave in ways they never would otherwise – in fact, his files, and the nation’s prisons, were full of them. Not that he thought Nat had raped the girl, but he had it on good authority (DS Bevan during an off-the-record chat outside the courts that morning) that Annabelle had told Nat about Craig’s affair with her mother during the build-up to the disputed encounter. There was no doubt in Jolyon’s mind that this had played a big part in tipping Nat over the edge into trying to throttle the girl, and it was almost certainly why the lad was finding it so hard to talk to his mother. He hadn’t even been able to mention it to Jolyon yesterday, which told Jolyon how hard the boy must be struggling with this suddenly tarnished view of his sainted father’s character.

  With a sigh, Jolyon turned back to his computer and called up the notes he’d taken the day before to go over them again. He’d got no further than the first page when his secretary announced a call from Oliver Mendenhall.

  Picking up the phone, Jolyon swivelled in his chair to face the window. ‘Oliver,’ he said, to Craig’s former colleague in chambers.

  ‘I got your message about Nathan,’ Oliver told him. ‘How’s it looking?’

  ‘To be frank, I’m worried,’ Jolyon answered. ‘The DNA results are due back tomorrow, but whatever they are, given the girl’s age, and the history between the two mothers, I have a nasty feeling this isn’t going to go away easily.’

  ‘Then we’ll have to make it,’ Mendenhall stated.

  Lisa Murray was in the back garden of the red-brick semi she shared with Detective Sergeant Clive Bevan, whose divorce was still pending in the acrimony tray. The house, which she’d managed to buy with a small inheritance from her gran and a hefty mortgage, was in the Bradley Stoke area of Bristol, whose dubious claim to fame was being one of the largest private housing estates in the country, or certainly in the South West.

  Since it was a lovely balmy evening Lisa was setting the table on the patio in preparation for a barbecue she and Clive were hosting for a few friends from outside the force. It did them both good to get away from the job whenever they could, even though the conversation invariably found its way round to the cases they were working on – no names mentioned – since Joe Public’s fascination
with crime seemed to have no saturation point.

  Hearing the front door slam shut, she finished clipping the tablecloth in place and went back inside for the plates.

  ‘Hey,’ she said, as Bevan came into the kitchen looking hot, tired and unusually dishevelled for him. ‘Bad day?’

  ‘You could say that,’ he answered, coming to kiss her briefly on the mouth. ‘The psycho footballer got off with a fine, some idiot cameraman nearly knocked me out with his sodding camera, my soon-to-be-ex-wife has raided the joint account and taken the lot, and the statements coming out of the teenage contingent of the Holly Wood case are a bigger load of bunkum than those soaps you watch.’

  ‘Let me pour you a drink,’ she said soothingly.

  ‘Make it a stiff one,’ he responded, tugging off his tie. ‘What time’s everyone arriving?’

  ‘Not until eight, so plenty of time to relax and shower. Go and sit in the garden. I’ll bring the drinks out.’

  A few minutes later they were lounging side by side on a swinging hammock chair, absorbing the earthy smell of gardens recently watered and the mouth-watering drift of someone else’s barbecue.

  ‘So,’ she said, ‘what’s new in the Holly Wood case?’ With a protracted sigh he said, ‘They’re having the devil of a time tracking everyone down, as you might imagine, but going by the statements so far we don’t have any witnesses to the actual event. What is becoming clear though, is that our Annabelle and her chums are a pretty racy bunch, who go in for all kinds of stuff, from partner swapping, to topless parties, to spit-roasting…’

  ‘Spit-roasting?’

  He cocked an eyebrow. ‘Think about it.’

  She did, and as the image of two boys either end of one girl came into her mind her eyes closed. ‘Delightful,’ she murmured.

  He grinned. ‘So you’re not up for it?’

  She glanced at him sideways. ‘I could be, if you managed to clone yourself,’ she challenged.

  ‘Is the right answer,’ he laughed, and kissed her.

  ‘Anyway, it’s all hearsay and to a large degree irrelevant,’ he continued. ‘CSI on the other hand have turned up a couple of interesting items in the woods, not the least of which was a girl’s thong.’

  Lisa’s eyebrows rose, already guessing where this might be going.

  ‘It’s been sent to the labs for analysis,’ he continued, ‘but I’m thinking of Nathan Carlyle’s claim that our Annabelle wasn’t wearing any underwear, so, presuming he’s telling the truth and didn’t take it off her himself – and she’s not saying he did, so I guess we can count that out – did she turn up to the party like that, or did it come off when she was making out with one of the other two and she didn’t bother to put it back on again?’

  ‘And I’m thinking,’ Lisa said, ‘that there was a thong among the clothing Annabelle brought with her when she came to the suite.’

  Bevan nodded. ‘So either the one being tested isn’t hers, or it is, and she popped another in from the laundry basket at home. I guess we’ll know soon enough. Now, I’m going upstairs to shower, then I’ll come back down and get the barbecue going.’

  After he’d gone Lisa continued swinging in the chair for a while, mulling over their conversation and her initial instincts regarding Annabelle Preston. While the girl was beautiful, and, like most teenagers, probably a great deal more full of herself with her peers than she’d exhibited yesterday at the suite, Lisa had sensed a genuine vulnerability about her that was far more in keeping with her age than her rumoured behaviour. The mother had interested Lisa, too. Another beauty with cracks beneath the surface, was Lisa’s opinion, and she couldn’t help wondering if the mother’s inner problems were connected to the affair Annabelle had told Nathan Carlyle about on Saturday night.

  Whether they were or not wasn’t particularly relevant in itself – everyone who walked the planet bore the scars of previous experience – what the issue was doing for Lisa, however, was firming up her belief that Annabelle Preston had triggered something in Nathan Carlyle that had turned her into the victim of a spontaneous, and fairly violent rape.

  The following evening just after five o’clock Bevan was in DI Caroline Ash’s office, updating her on the Holly Wood case, when a call came in from the labs with the DNA results.

  As he listened Bevan’s expression went into shutdown. DI Ash watched him intently, her flinty lichen-coloured eyes raking his face as though trying to find a way in. She was a formidable woman of ample proportions and a fierce ambition that might have hoisted her several rungs higher by now, had Craig Carlyle QC not brought her promotion trajectory to a sudden and tragic end. The fact that she’d screwed up over an accused’s civil rights, allowing Carlyle to get him off on a technicality, was not the issue, as far as she was concerned. It was the fact that Carlyle had known full well that his client was a compulsive arsonist with three previous convictions and should, for society’s sake, be behind bars. However, instead of doing the right thing and overlooking the procedural gaffe, he’d used the miserable specimen of pondlife to slap her down for having got one over on him during an earlier trial. The pondlife had then walked, and less than a month later Caroline Ash had been one of the officers called to the scene of a fire on Fishponds Road, where a mother was screaming hysterically because her two children were trapped in a blaze set by Carlyle’s despicable client. Both had subsequently perished.

  ‘Well?’ she prompted when Bevan tucked his mobile back into an inside pocket.

  When he gave her the answer a frown line deepened between her eyes.

  Bevan got to his feet and returned to his desk. After filling in the rest of the team he picked up a phone to call Lisa. ‘The results are back,’ he told her.

  ‘And?’

  ‘Turns out they’re both lying.’

  Chapter Sixteen

  ‘I’m not sure about this,’ Alicia was saying to Nat. ‘We’ll have to cover the carpet and find somewhere to put all the furniture.’

  ‘We can get plastic sheeting for the floor,’ he suggested, ‘and why don’t we just let the furniture go? No one ever comes in here, and it’s not valuable, is it?’

  As Alicia shook her head she was gazing round the disused wing of the Coach House that used to be her father’s waiting area and surgery, until her mother had turned it into a playroom for the children with a small study for herself at the garden end. ‘I think we should keep Grandma’s things,’ she said, opening up a wooden chest to check what was inside. Old board games and books. ‘But the toys and play furniture can go.’

  Since it would have been too awkward for both Nat and Robert to go to the cricket, as planned for today, Nat had insisted that he and Alicia make a start on turning the wing into a temporary studio until she could legitimately use the one at the shop. It would mean transporting her workbench and a few materials back to the Coach House, but Nat was certain Simon and a couple of other friends would help out.

  ‘You have to focus your mind on something else, Mum,’ he’d told her last night, ‘or you’re going to drive us both nuts, the way you keep worrying.’

  ‘You’re right,’ she’d agreed, ‘and I’m sorry. I know everything’s going to be fine, it’s just hard to think about other things while it’s all still up in the air. I hope they don’t make us wait till Monday to hear the results.’

  Now, as she watched him moving about the room, so like a man in his build, and attitude, and yet still her precious boy, she felt a sob of pure love forming in her throat. He was so much a part of her that sometimes it was as though they were still joined. Her blood ran in his veins, he saw the world through eyes identical to hers, and he shared a sensitivity with her that his father had adored in them both. Only the mother of a son would ever really understand the complexity of the relationship she shared with him, and know how utterly indestructible the bond was that secured them.

  ‘What?’ he said, realising she was watching him.

  Smiling, she resisted the urge to go and hug him, and gave
a brief shake of her head. Please God, she murmured inside as she carried on sorting through dolls’ clothes and Action Men, don’t hurt him any more. He’s a good person who’s never caused harm to anyone. He doesn’t deserve what’s happening now, especially while he’s still trying to get over losing his dad.

  Hearing a car pulling up outside, she glanced round to check if it was someone coming into the Coach House. They weren’t expecting anyone, but with any luck Rachel had found a few spare minutes to drop in. However, when she saw who it was she felt the bottom drop out of her world. Why was DC Croft here again, with another man she didn’t recognise? Surely they wouldn’t come in person to deliver the results. Something else must have happened.

  Sensing Nat coming to stand behind her she glanced up at him, and for one disorienting moment she felt as though she’d been struck. He was so white it was as though the blood had been sucked from his veins. His eyes were burning and wide, and his mouth was disappearing in a thin, tight line.

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said, squeezing his arm, ‘they’re probably just in the area and have a couple more questions they need to ask.’

  By the time she reached the front door DC Croft was already there, but it was the other man who spoke.

  ‘Mrs Carlyle,’ he said, his tone as grim as the Reaper’s. ‘I’m Detective Sergeant Bevan. Is Nathan at home?’

  ‘Uh, yes, he …’ She turned as Bevan’s eyes moved past her.

  ‘Nathan Carlyle,’ Bevan said, stepping in through the door, ‘I am arresting you for the rape of Annabelle Preston on the twenty-ninth of July…’

  ‘No!’ Alicia cried. ‘It’s not true. Please …’

  Bevan continued. ‘You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’

  Stricken with horror, Alicia watched as Croft went to take Nat by the arm. Nat’s face was a mask. It was as though he’d withdrawn deep inside himself, leaving only a shell.

  ‘Don’t worry, darling,’ she said, hearing the roar of a distant storm as they led him past her. ‘We’ll sort it out. I’ll call Jolyon now.’