In a Dry Season

by Peter Robinson

  At one point we went to someone’s house and drank some whisky. It was a wild party. People were packed in like sardines and I felt hands all over my body as I pushed my way through the crowd to go to the toilet. The house was full of smoke and it stung my eyes. Gloria was dancing, but I couldn’t see Brad. Someone fell down the stairs. At one point, I’m sure I saw a Negro dancing on the piano. PX was drunk, eyes closed almost to slits, and I saw him try to kiss a woman. She pushed him away and his face turned red, then he stormed off. Cynthia reappeared with a sailor in tow. I don’t know where she’d managed to find him, as we were at least fifty miles from the coast. It was almost one o’clock and we were back out on the street again when I told Cynthia and Gloria it was time for us to go.

  The three of us were a little drunk. It was the emotion and excitement as much as the alcohol, I think. We didn’t even bother trying to cadge a lift but danced and laughed our way home instead. Hobb’s End was quiet as a tomb.

  Bridge Cottage was dark. I went in with Gloria to make sure everything was all right and we heard Matthew snoring on the chesterfield as soon as we opened the door. Gloria put her finger to her lips and gestured me towards the kitchen. With the door shut, she poured us both another whisky, which was probably the last thing we needed. When she put her handbag down on the counter-top, it slipped off and fell on the floor. I bent over to pick it up for her and noticed how heavy it was. Curious, I opened the clasp and nearly fainted when I saw it was a gun. Gloria turned with the bottle and glasses in time to see me.

  “You weren’t supposed to see that,” she said.

  “But Gloria, where did you get it?”

  “From one of the Americans at the party. He was so drunk he won’t miss it.”

  “Not Brad?”

  “No, not Brad. Nobody we know.”

  “But whoever he was, he’ll get into serious trouble.”

  “I don’t think so. Anyway, I don’t care. It serves him right for being so careless, doesn’t it? He was trying to put his hand up my skirt at the time.”

  “What do you want a gun for?”

  She shrugged. “War souvenir.”

  “Gloria!”

  “All right!” She was whispering as loudly as she could, so as not to wake Matthew. “Maybe I just feel a bit more comfortable knowing it’s there, that’s all.”

  “But Matthew’s harmless. He wouldn’t hurt you.”

  She looked at me as if I were the biggest fool she had ever met. “Who said anything about Matthew?” she said, not even bothering to whisper, then she took the gun from me and put it in one of the kitchen cupboards behind the meagre supplies of tea and cocoa. “Now will you have that drink?”

  Vivian Elmsley was having a difficult time. Close to midnight she was sitting in her sparse living-room, her third gin and tonic in her hand and some dreadful rubbish on television. Sleep refused to come. Her mysterious caller hadn’t rung again, but she still regarded the telephone as an object of terror, ever on the verge of destroying what little peace of mind she had left. She wondered if she should have told the police about him. But what could they do? It was all so vague.

  She had known the police would find out who she was and come for her eventually—from the minute she learned that Gloria’s body had been dug up—but she hadn’t been prepared for the effect that their visit would have on her. They knew she was lying; that was obvious. Chief Inspector Banks wasn’t a fool; it would be clear to him that nobody who had been as close to the people involved as Vivian had been could know as little as she had professed. And she wasn’t a good liar.

  Why hadn’t she told them the truth? Fear for her own well-being? Partly. She didn’t want to go to jail. Not at her age. But would they really prosecute her after so long, no matter what the law books said? When they heard her full story, would they really go ahead and put her through the pain and humiliation of a trial and a jail sentence? Were there not such things as mitigating circumstances? She didn’t know what they would do, and that was the problem. When it comes right down to it, we fear the unknown more than anything else.

  On the other hand, if she didn’t tell them, then they would never find out the truth about what happened that night. Nobody else knew. Living or dead. If she were careful, Vivian could take her secret to the grave with her.

  Only one thing was certain: the police would be back; she had seen it in the chief inspector’s eyes. Tonight she had to make her decision.

  “You’re right about one thing,” Annie began. “I’m in Harkside because I was a naughty girl.”

  “What happened?”

  “Depends on your point of view. They called it an initiation rite. I called it attempted gang-rape. Look, I’m not going to tell you where it was or who was involved. All I’m saying is it happened in a big city, and it wasn’t in Yorkshire. Okay?”

  “Okay. Go on.”

  “This is hard.” Annie spooned down some more chocolate mousse. “Harder than I ever thought.”

  “You don’t have to.”

  She held up her hand. “No. I’ve come this far.” The waiter drifted by and they both ordered coffee. He didn’t give any indication that he had heard, but the coffee arrived in a matter of moments. Annie pushed aside her dessert bowl; it was empty. She played with the spoon.

  “It was when I made DS,” she said. “Nearly two years ago now. I’d done my stint in uniform there, and I wasn’t sure where they were going to send me next. But I didn’t care. I was happy just to be back in CID again after . . . well, you know what I mean.”

  “Patrols? Shifts?”

  “Exactly. Anyway, there was a celebration at the local coppers’ pub. The ‘private’ room upstairs. I suppose I was dead chuffed with myself. I’d always wanted to be one of the boys. Naturally, we closed the place. It got down to just four of us left. One of them suggested we go back to his place and drink some more and we all agreed that was a good idea.”

  She was speaking very quietly so that no one would hear. There wasn’t much chance of that. The restaurant was packed now, full of laughter and loud voices. Banks had to strain to hear her, and somehow that made what he heard so much more affecting, that it was delivered in not much more than a whisper. He sipped some black coffee. Through the occasional hush in the background noise, he could hear the lush, romantic strains of Liszt’s Liebestraum.

  “We were already three sheets to the wind,” Annie went on, “and I was the only female. I didn’t know the others well. Things were getting pretty wild. I suppose I should have known what was coming by the way the conversation was going in the taxi. You know. Flirting. Sexual innuendoes. Casual touches. That sort of thing. Call me naïve. The other three kept making veiled references to initiation ceremonies, and there was a lot of nudging and winking going on, but I’d been drinking, too, and I didn’t really think much of it until we’d been at the flat for a while and drunk some more. One of them grabbed my arm and suggested we go into the bedroom, said he could tell I’d been wanting it all night. I laughed and brushed him off. I thought he was joking. He got angry. Things got out of hand. The other two grabbed me and held me down over the back of the settee while he pulled up my skirt, tore off my underwear and raped me.”

  Banks noticed that Annie was gripping the spoon handle tightly in her fist. Her knuckles were white. She took a deep breath and went on. “When he’d finished, they started rearranging positions, and I knew what was coming. It was like there were no individuals in the room any more; they were all caught up in this blind male lust and I was the object of it. It overwhelmed everything, conscience . . . decency. It’s hard to describe. I was terrified, but I’d sobered up pretty damn quickly over the last few minutes. Soon as I got my chance, I slipped free from their grip, kicked the one who’d raped me hard as I could in the balls and caught another on the jaw with my elbow. I’d done some martial arts training. I don’t know, maybe if I hadn’t been drinking, my reflexes would’ve been quicker, my co-ordination a bit more accurate. Anyway, I managed to
put two of them out of action long enough to make it to the door. The third one caught me, and by then the one I’d hit with my elbow was up again. They were sweating, red in the face and mad as hell. One of them punched me in the stomach and the other hit me hard in the chest. I went down. I think I was sick. I thought that was it again, that they were going to do what they’d intended, but they’d lost their bottle. It had all got too real for them. Suddenly they were individuals again, each looking out for number one, and they knew what they’d done. It was time to close ranks. They called me a lesbian bitch, told me to get out and if I knew what was good for me I wouldn’t say a word. I left.”

  “Did you report it? For crying out loud, Annie, you’d been raped.” She laughed harshly. “Isn’t that so easy for a man to say? To sit in judgement over what a person in that position should or shouldn’t do? To be oh so understanding about it?” She shook her head. “You know what I did? I walked the city most of the night in a complete daze. People must have thought I was crazy. I wasn’t drunk any more, I was plain cold sober, but I was drained, numb, I couldn’t feel anything. I remember trying to feel some sort of emotion, thinking I ought to feel anger or pain. I was really angry at myself for not feeling angry. I know it sounds impossible, but that’s the only way I can describe it. There was nothing. Just a deep cold numbness. When I finally found myself back at my flat I had a long hot bath. Hours I must have lain there, just listening to the radio. News. Weather. Normal life. That was soothing somehow. And do you know what? I understand every one of those rape victims who never comes forward to report the crime.”

  Banks could see tears glistening at the corners of her eyes, but as she noticed him looking, she seemed to draw them back in.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “By morning I’d got a bit of nerve back. First thing, I went to see the chief super to tell him what they did. Know what?”

  “What?”

  “Two of the others had got there before me and queered the pitch. Pre-emptive strike. They told the super there’d been a spot of bother at a party last night, just an initiation rite that got a bit out of hand, nothing serious, like, but that I’d probably be coming to complain, making up all sorts of wild allegations. According to them I’d got totally rat-arsed and gone way over the top, telling them I’d take them all on and then backing down when it came to it.”

  “And he believed them?”

  “Their word against mine. Besides, they were all mates.

  People around the station already thought I was a bit weird. Some of them even used to call me the ‘Hippie Cop’ behind my back, or so they thought. You know, I did yoga and meditation and I didn’t eat meat and watch sport on the telly and talk about sex all the time. That’s enough to make you seem weird, for a start. I also had a reputation around the place for not being very interested in men, just because I didn’t find any of the blokes I worked with particularly attractive. I’m sure they all thought I was gay. That hits a certain kind of male the wrong way. He thinks all a lesbian needs is a big hard cock in her and she’ll soon come to her senses. And, of course, he’s just the bloke to give it to her. As it happened, I did have a boyfriend at the time, nothing serious, but I kept my private life separate from the job.”

  “Did you tell the chief super what really happened?”

  “Yes. Every detail.”

  “What was his reaction?”

  “He looked very embarrassed.”

  “Didn’t he initiate some sort of inquiry?”

  “Like I said, their word against mine. And apart from a pair of torn knickers, I’d pretty much destroyed the evidence, hadn’t I?”

  “Even so . . . These days . . . ”

  “What about these days?”

  “Annie, there are procedures to guard against these things.”

  “Procedures? Hah. Tell that to the chief super. He also told me, by the way, that no one wants that sort of internal investigation going on. It hurts everyone, and it especially hurts the force. He said the officers involved would be disciplined for their excessive high spirits, but it would be best for all concerned if it went no further than his office. He told me to put the good of the force as a whole above my own selfish concerns.”

  “You agreed to that?”

  “What choice had I?”

  “He should have been kicked off the force.”

  “I’m glad you agree.”

  “So all that happened was they got a slap on the wrist and you got shipped off to the middle of nowhere?”

  “Not quite. Not immediately.” Annie looked down into her coffee cup. “There were complications.”

  “What complications?”

  She wrapped a strand of hair around her forefinger and stared down into her cup for a few more seconds before looking up at Banks. “Remember, I told you I kicked one of them in the balls?”

  “Yes? What about it?”

  “Something went wrong. They had to operate. He lost them. Both of them. The devil of it was that he was the youngest of the three and the most junior in rank. Just a DS himself and only married a year. Planning a family.”

  “Jesus. I can imagine you were a popular woman around the station after that.”

  “Exactly. For a while I thought of leaving the force altogether. But I’m stubborn. The chief super suggested it might be better for all concerned if I transferred somewhere else. He said he’d look into some possibilities, and they came up with Harkside. Millicent Cummings was immediately sympathetic to me, of course, and I think our ACC used to work with Chief Constable Riddle.”

  “So Riddle knows all about what happened?”

  “He knew my chief super’s side of the story, yes.”

  “Which means that to him you’re a troublemaker? A ballbusting lesbian bitch?”

  Annie mustered a crooked smile. “Well, I’ve been called worse, but thanks for the compliment.”

  “No wonder he put us together. Never was much of a judge of character, though, wasn’t Jimmy Riddle. I’m surprised he got as far as he did. I’m sorry about what happened to you, Annie. Sorrier than I can say.”

  “All water under the bridge.”

  “I’m also amazed you would even consider getting involved with me, a DCI. I would have thought that what happened would have been enough to put you off your fellow coppers for life, especially senior CID ranks.”

  “Oh, come on, Alan. You do yourself a disservice. Do you really think I’m that stupid? That’s insulting to both of us. I’ve never, not for one moment, seen any similarity whatsoever between you and the men who assaulted me. I didn’t even know you were a DCI when I first saw you, and I fancied you right away. The thing is, I thought I’d faced up to it and got on with my life.”

  “Haven’t you? You seem to be doing all right to me.”

  “I’ve been in hiding. I shut myself away. I thought I was over it and that I’d simply chosen a quieter life. The celibate life of reflection and contemplation. There’s a laugh. I thought that was my choice, but it was really a result of what happened, of not facing up. But I already practised meditation and yoga, had done for years, and I came from a small seaside town, so it seemed only natural to dig in my heels at Harkside.”

  “You aren’t happy there?”

  “What’s happiness? Something you measure in relation to unhappiness? I get by. I have my nice, safe, little life at the centre of the labyrinth, as you so astutely pointed out. I have few possessions. I go to work, I do my job, and then I come home. No social life, no friends. I certainly didn’t dwell on what had happened to me. I didn’t have recurring nightmares about it. I suppose I was lucky that way. And I felt no guilt about what happened to that young DS. That might sound harsh, but I’ve probed myself deeply enough to know it’s the case. He was egged on by his superiors, true, caught up in the spirit of drunken revelry. I suppose some people might excuse him by saying he was too weak to resist or he simply lost his rag, temporary insanity. But I was the one he raped. And I was the one wh
o saw his face while he was doing it. He deserved all he got. The only real shame is that I didn’t get the chance to do it to the other two as well.” She paused. “But let’s face it, I haven’t even done any serious detective work in Harkside. I know I’m good at the job—I’m quick, I’m bright and I’m hardworking—but until this case came along it’s all been break-ins, vandalism, the occasional runaway kid.”

  “And now?”

  She shrugged. “Now I don’t know. You’re the first person I’ve told since it happened.”

  “You didn’t tell your father?”

  “Ray? No. He’d be sympathetic, but he wouldn’t understand. He didn’t want to me to join the police to start with.”

  “A hippie artist? I shouldn’t think he did.”

  “He’d probably have led a protest march to New Scotland Yard.” She paused and played with her hair again. “Now it’s your turn. Remember, you promised to tell me something, too.”

  “Did I?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “What do you want to know.”

  “Did you really punch Jimmy Riddle?”

  Banks stubbed out his cigarette and slipped his credit card on the little tray the waiter had left. It was snatched up almost immediately. The theatres had come out now and people were queuing at the restaurant door.

  “Yes,” he said. “I did.”

  She laughed. “Bloody hell. I wish I’d been there.” The waiter finished with the card in no time flat. Banks signed the receipt, Annie gathered her packages and they walked out into the busy West End evening. The streets were packed with people standing drinking outside the pubs. Four men blocked the pavement, all talking and laughing at once into a mobile phone. Banks and Annie skirted them. Across the street, Banks saw a drunken woman in a tartan schoolgirl mini, black thigh stockings and fuck-me shoes try to carry on an argument with her “boyfriend” and walk at the same time. She failed, teetered at the edge of the pavement and went sprawling in the gutter, cursing all the way. Sirens blared in the distant city night.