by Paul Gitsham
“What did you do?”
“Well, I shit myself. I didn’t know what to say. I was nineteen, in college, earning bugger all. I didn’t even love her. She was in the same position. She worked two days a week in the small parts shop attached to the garage and spent the rest of the time studying hair and beauty at the tech college.
“I said we couldn’t keep it, but she refused to consider an abortion. Her family are strict Catholics. My parents are too. So in the end I proposed.”
Warren raised an eyebrow. “I thought Sally was your first serious relationship.”
Blackheath blushed. “She was. Kim meant nothing to me. I was just panicking. Getting married seemed to be the right thing to do. Fortunately, Kim turned me down. Called me a bloody idiot. Either way, we knew we had to tell our parents, which neither of us was looking forward to.
“So she went home to tell her old man…” Blackheath’s voice started to shake “…but I was too scared to go with her. I wish I had now, then maybe she wouldn’t have done what she did.
“I knew I should tell Mum and Dad, but I couldn’t figure out how to, so I went to bed, praying the phone wouldn’t ring, promising myself I’d tell them in the morning.
“I never got the chance. Two a.m., the doorbell rang. It was the police.”
Blackheath’s voice was getting quieter and quieter. “They arrested me on suspicion of rape. I’ll never forget it. Mum was in tears and Dad was demanding to know who I was supposed to have done it with.”
Blackheath’s eyes were looking watery again, but this time his voice was tight with anger. “They took me straight down the police station. I was fingerprinted and a DNA sample taken, then I was strip-searched and they photographed me.” His lip curled in disgust. “It was the most humiliating experience of my life.”
Warren ignored the faint feeling of sympathy, knowing that whatever indignities Blackheath had suffered were nothing compared to the violations heaped upon rape victims.
“Anyway, I was charged and spent the weekend in jail before being bailed on the Monday morning, pending trial in six months.”
“It says in the file that the case was dropped. The prosecution changed their case at the last moment. What happened?”
Blackheath shook his head, slowly as if he still couldn’t believe it.
“It was all part of the plan. It’s obvious now. She got what she wanted. If her old man knew she was pregnant because of a drunken one-night stand he’d have disowned her. As things stood, she was the victim. The fact was, the prosecution case was really weak. We had a really strong defence and we knew that we were going to win. There were holes in her story and her credibility was poor. We had the texts that she sent to me the morning after the night we did it and the text she sent me asking to meet up when she told me about the pregnancy. If I really had raped her, why would she have wanted to meet me again?”
The question was clearly rhetorical and Blackheath continued without prompting. “Anyway, you know how this country works. Rape victims are granted anonymity, of course, but the accused is dragged through the mud, his life laid out for everyone to see. Obviously I lost my job, I couldn’t carry on working for Kim’s dad, and college suspended me indefinitely — in reality they kicked me out. I couldn’t continue there.
“And the anonymity thing is a joke. They couldn’t report Kim’s story in the papers obviously, but she made sure that everyone in the community knew. And her old man made sure every business in the area knew the story. I couldn’t go for a pint without people pointing or staring. Some places wouldn’t even let me through the door. I was attacked twice and my parents’ house was spray-painted and the tyres slashed on their car.
“Anyway, finally the day comes for her to testify. It was a Monday and I turn up and after hanging around all day I’m told that the prosecution have requested a delay because Kim is ill.
“The next day I turn up and she isn’t there. I’m told that the prosecution case has been dropped and I’m free to go.”
“Well, surely that was a good thing?” Karen Hardwick looked confused. Warren said nothing, letting Blackheath explain.
“No! That was the worst thing that could happen, other than being convicted of something I didn’t do. I wasn’t acquitted or cleared of any wrongdoing. Everyone reckons I ‘got away with it’. The story Bradshaw and her family put out was that the stress was so bad she had a miscarriage and they decided that it wasn’t worth putting her through the ordeal and dropped the case.
“It’s bollocks, of course. Everyone knows that she got a late abortion and that her case was so weak it shouldn’t have made it to court. But you lot are under pressure to solve more rapes. They must have figured they were going to lose this one, so they didn’t raise a stink when she said she wanted to drop it.” The bitterness was strong in his voice and he stared the three police officers straight in the eyes, as if he held them personally responsible for his ordeal.
“So what happened next?”
Blackheath snorted derisively. “Well, you know what they say — ‘no smoke without fire’. Obviously I couldn’t get my job back and those bastards in the college admissions department refused to enrol me again, so I spent the next nine months on the dole. Nobody was interested in employing me.
“Eventually, I got a call from Jack Bradley.” Here, Blackheath’s expression softened slightly. “He’s a good bloke. He needed a tyre fitter and he knew I had enough training for the job. He’s a Methodist preacher and he believes in giving people a second chance. He said that in the eyes of the law I’m an innocent man and if Jesus could forgive convicted criminals, then the least he could do was give someone like me a helping hand.” Blackheath shook his head. “Twelve months previously, I’d have called him a patronising bastard and told him to stick his job, but I was desperate.”
He paused for a moment. “He really is a good man. Everyone who works for him has been in trouble of some kind. Two lads have been in jail and Joe is a recovering alcoholic. Ken, our store man, had a nervous breakdown when his wife left him and ended up on the street. Jack took him in, gave him a job and ten years later he’s got a new wife and two kids.”
“Sounds as if it all worked out, then,” said Sutton crassly, still playing the role of ‘bad cop’.
Blackheath’s eyes flashed. “Well, I was getting by. I had a job at least and over time people were starting to forget about the court case.”
“Is all this why you don’t speak to your parents?” Hardwick asked softly.
Blackheath glared at her for a few seconds, then sighed. “Yeah. They stood by me and all that and I know they don’t believe I did it, but it cost them. Dad said I had been bloody stupid to get mixed up with the boss’ daughter, let alone get her pregnant. They said they thought I’d been better brought up than that.”
“What do you mean it cost them?”
“Kim Bradshaw’s old man is a big name in the local community. My dad was a painter and decorator with a really good reputation. He never had to advertise — he had more work than he needed just by word of mouth. That all dried up. He had to let his three lads go. They’d worked with him for over twenty years. They were like family. We stopped going to church. Mum couldn’t stand the whispering and the pointing. And then Nan died. She took the court case really hard. She was terrified I’d go to prison. She had a heart attack just before the trial. I know Mum and Dad blame me.
“Anyway, I couldn’t afford to move out and Mum and Dad wouldn’t let their son go homeless, so I moved into the annexe where Nan used to live.”
The tears were back and Blackheath did nothing to stop them. “I hated it. Even though I’d emptied it all out, it was still Nan’s flat. It had its own separate entrance, so I locked the connecting door and that was it. I never set foot in Mum and Dad’s house again. I spent Christmas at a mate’s.”
“And then you met Sally?”
Blackheath nodded. “She was the best thing that happened to me.”
“And she
knew about the Bradshaw affair?”
“Who bloody didn’t? Her father certainly did. At first I think she was attracted by the bad-boy image — she was going through a bit of a rebellious streak — but pretty soon she got over it and we fell in love. At least living with Mum and Dad was free. I got a pay rise at work after Jack arranged for me to qualify to do MOTs and we managed to scrape together enough to rent the flat and start saving for the future.”
He looked into space, a sad, wistful expression on his face. “Finally things were going well, you know. We were going to get married and when things picked up we were going to move away. Sally would try for a management position in a travel agent — she’d get a great reference from Far and Away — and I’d try and get another apprenticeship, maybe even start college again. Jack has already said he’d write me letters of introduction or anything I need.”
After a few seconds, Warren started again.
“We know that Sally and her father disagreed over you. Were you aware that the day before she disappeared, she met her father and told him that she thought you were going to propose?”
Blackheath looked thunderstruck.
“What? I don’t understand. How could she have known? I never said anything.”
Warren shrugged slightly.
“You didn’t hide the ring as well as you thought. Regardless, she spoke to her dad about it. He claims that she was having cold feet, that getting married seemed like a big step. He thinks she was going to leave you and come back to live with them.” This last bit was probably a bit of an exaggeration, but Warren was keen to see Blackheath’s reaction.
“No! No way!”
Blackheath shook his head violently, his voice rising. “We were in love. We’d planned our future out together — she wanted to get married. She wanted kids. He’s lying.”
“Why would he lie to us, Darren? He was her father. He just wanted what was best for his little girl. No offence, son, but you’re hardly a prize catch, are you? A poorly paid tyre fitter with a questionable police record hanging over you. And what about those football trips, eh? Whilst Sally was away with her mates in the sun, you’d be off with the lads doing drugs and shagging birds. I hope at least you learnt from your last mistake and you use a condom.”
Blackheath recoiled from Sutton’s accusation as if he’d been physically slapped. “How dare you? I’ve never so much as looked at another woman since I met Sally. And as for drugs, I’ve never touched them. Those football tours are hard work, five games in five days. We’re aiming to top our league — coach won’t let us have more than two beers in the evening and we have to be in bed by midnight. Who told you this bullshit?”
Sutton shrugged. “Not important. The thing is, I can’t help wondering what your response might have been if she decided she didn’t want to get married. You’ve told us repeatedly how great life was with Sally, how finally things were moving forward and how you had plans for the future. Well, what if you suddenly find out that isn’t going to happen? You said yourself how she was going through a rebellious streak when she met you. Maybe she didn’t ‘get over it’. Talking about getting married and having kids — it was just a fantasy. One in the eye for her old man. Maybe he was right and she was coasting, then when she realised you were serious and really did want to get married she got cold feet. It wasn’t a game any more. And who would she turn to to rescue her? Well, Dad, of course.”
Blackheath was shaking his head violently. He was gripping the edge of the table, and his knuckles had turned bone white. “No. Why would you say that? We loved each other.” His voice was strangled, whether with grief or anger Sutton couldn’t be sure. Regardless, he pressed on.
“We’re just brainstorming, son. It’s just that I can’t help asking myself what your response would be. I know that if I was in your position, I’d be pretty pissed off. Everything is finally rosy. All that shit about Bradshaw is in the past and the future is looking great. Then ‘wham!’ it all comes crashing down. She finds the ring — in your sock drawer, come on, lad! — and tells you it’s over, she can’t get married.” Sutton leant forward, his expression looking for all the world like a bad actor trying to look sympathetic towards someone he despised. “I bet she even did the whole ‘it’s not you, it’s me’ thing. Did she tell you that she’d always love you and you’d remain friends?” Sutton shook his head and looked at Warren. “I hate it when they do that, don’t you, sir?”
Warren nodded. “I wish they’d just be honest. I reckon it’s a way of feeling less guilty for treating you so badly.”
Sutton turned back. “Doesn’t make you feel any better though, does it? Makes you feel even more humiliated. And how do you tell your mates? Or the blokes at work? And what about your mum and dad? If she leaves you can you afford the rent on your own? It’s back to the granny flat with your tail between your legs. And what about the whispering? I’ll bet there’s a few crass enough to tell her it’s for the best and bring up the whole Kim Bradshaw thing. No wonder you were so angry.”
Blackheath was now crying. “No, never. It never happened like that. I know what you’re saying, that I was so angry about being dumped by Sally that I killed her. But I didn’t. I couldn’t do that to her. She never said anything about finding the ring. And even if she had, I’d never lay a finger on her. I love her too much.”
For the next few moments, the room was silent, save for Blackheath’s sobbing. Eventually, he wiped his eyes and sniffed loudly. “I’m not going to say another word without a lawyer.” He nodded towards the tape machine. “I was stupid to say anything without one.”
Warren shrugged. “No need for a lawyer. Like I said, you aren’t under arrest and are free to leave at any time. We have no more questions. Interview terminated at witness’ request.” Stating the time, he leant forward and turned off the tape recorder.
“Thank you for your time, Mr Blackheath. Would you like a lift back to work, or can we arrange for a cab to take you home?”
Blackheath could only look on with surprise. “I’ll walk,” he mumbled.
With that, Warren called the duty sergeant. Within a minute, the young man was out on the street, breathing in the icy December air.
* * *
Back in the interview room, Warren polled his fellow officers. “Thoughts?”
“I think he’s genuine. I rattled his cage good and hard but his story never changed. My gut tells me he didn’t do it.” Sutton shrugged apologetically as if sorry that he hadn’t been able to wring a confession out of the young man.
“I have to agree with DI Sutton, sir. He seemed genuine when we saw him yesterday and he hasn’t changed a single detail since then. I think he really did love her. I also think her father was wrong and that she was going to marry him.”
Warren agreed with both Sutton and Hardwick. “My gut feeling is exactly the same. But we can’t completely rule him out without eyewitness evidence or forensics—” he glanced at his watch “—which I am expecting any minute. Tell you what, why don’t you two go and have an early lunch? We’ll get the rest of the team together and have a meeting at one p.m.”
“Yes, sir,” both officers replied as Warren left the room.
Karen Hardwick turned to Sutton. “How do you do it, sir?”
Sutton knew what she was asking about. “You just have to put aside your feelings. It doesn’t matter if you feel sorry for them or not. Policing isn’t a popularity contest. Sometimes you have to be harsh and nasty, because it’s a harsh and nasty world.” He grimaced slightly. “Even if it does leave an unpleasant taste in your mouth.”
“Well, when we find the real killer, hopefully he’ll understand.”
Sutton shrugged. “Time will tell.”
Suddenly the door opened again and the desk sergeant poked his head around the door. “DCI Jones says don’t be late back from lunch. Blackheath’s off the hook and you’ve got a new suspect.”
Chapter 15
After a revelation like that, lunch was the last thin
g on Sutton’s and Hardwick’s minds and both raced upstairs to the CID main office. One p.m. was nearly an hour away and detectives by their very nature were insatiably curious; there was no way that the two officers were going to wait to find out what had been discovered. Unfortunately, the door to Warren’s office was closed. The DCI’s rules were very clear — if the door was open, they could knock and enter. If the door was closed, they shouldn’t knock unless it was an emergency. Sutton looked at Carol, Warren’s unofficial PA. She shrugged apologetically and pointed at the highly complex telephone unit that sat on her desk. “He’s in there with DC Hastings on a conference call.”
“Any idea who he’s talking to?” blurted Karen Hardwick, without thinking.
Carol pursed her lips in disapproval. “I’m sure that if DCI Jones wants you to know who he is talking to on his private line, he will tell you himself, Detective Constable.”
Hardwick blushed and stared at her shoes.
Sutton thanked Carol for her assistance and led the embarrassed constable away.
“OK, plan B. When Gary comes out of there and you two disappear off for lunch together, you find out what he’s got.”
Hardwick turned even redder. “What do you mean ‘disappear off for lunch together’?”
Sutton looked at her in amusement. “You’re working with a team of trained observers, Karen. How long did you two think you’d keep it quiet?”
Karen covered her face with her hands. “Oh, no. We were so careful, trying to be professional at work.”
Belatedly Sutton realised why she was so uncomfortable. “Don’t worry, lass. Nobody thinks otherwise. So long as you keep your private life at home, nobody cares.” He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder. “If anything, the guv thinks you make a sweet couple.”