Lasting Scars

by Lenny Brando

  Marks stared at him with cold eyes and wondered what he would have done had Hassan spat at him. With all the cameras in the room, probably nothing. It occurred to him Hassan may well know that too, and perhaps it was the fear of being dragged to a place with no cameras that kept him in check. But anyone prepared to kill five innocent people and injure many others for no reason other than a twisted ideology would be capable of anything. The thought of the citizens who subdued him giving him a good hiding made Marks smile. His smile widened when he thought of the treatment Hassan would receive from fellow inmates in prison, although these days, they would segregate Hassan for his own safety. That thought made his smile fade.

  Marks pointed at the photograph. “Where did you meet?”

  “Work. She work TV. We speak Danish together. She understand.”

  Marks nodded. “Does the name Alice Madsen mean anything to you?”

  *

  Half an hour later, Marks signed the key back in and ushered Gilmore into the stairwell. “What did you make of that?”

  Gilmore shook his head. “I think he’s shitting us.”

  Marks adjusted his tie and sighed. “Yeah. But we’ll have to bring her in.”

  “An arrest?”

  Marks nodded. “We do it under the provisions of the ‘06 act. Get the paper together.”

  “14 days?”

  Marks clicked his tongue. “You know Barry, sometimes I love the law.”

  “You sure about this, Inspector? I got the impression she brushed off his amorous advances and hurt his sense of masculinity or pride.”

  “She said she couldn't remember doing that.”

  “Didn’t want to admit being a cold bitch?”

  “Let’s find out then, shall we?”

  “What about the boyfriend?”

  “Don't see that at all. But we’ll check him out anyway. An informal interview after we pick up his girlfriend.” He paused and scratched his jaw. “Unless she implicates him.”

  Gilmore leaned against the wall and rubbed his leg. “Somebody is fucking with us.”

  “Christ, man,” Marks looked down at Gilmore. “Everybody is fucking with us. We’re police.”

  19

  When they arrived at the restaurant for a late lunch, Kristin was last to the table. She grunted to herself when she saw Olivia slide onto the couch beside Ian, but she didn’t try to change the seating arrangement, and she took the chair next to Alice.

  “Let’s order drinks,” Olivia said. “And let’s get yesterday’s bad stuff out of the way first, so Alice can give us the low down on her new show. Then we get our postponed celebration going. I hope they have decent champagne.” She flipped through the menu and gestured at a waitress.

  Olivia taking over already, Kristin thought. Maybe I should say something? But she blinked away the notion and told herself to be reasonable. No point in ruining Alice’s celebration.

  “Aw, damn,” Olivia said. “They don’t have Laurent-Perrier. I suppose Moet will do.” She looked at Ian and then Alice. “Well, you know what I mean.”

  Kristin ran her eyes around the other three and for a moment felt as if she wasn't there. “Is it cool to celebrate?” she asked. “You know, with what happened yesterday and all the crap on Twitter?”

  Olivia put the menu down. “Oh come on, Kris. Look around.” She waved her arm around in the air. “Are these people crying into their food and drinks? Well?”

  Kristin shook her head. “No. But I...”

  Olivia pulled a long face. “Don't be horsey about it, okay?”

  “Whatever.” Kristin smiled, but her smile was weak, and Olivia’s look suggested she saw through it. It also suggested Olivia didn't care. The waitress took the drinks order, and when she left, Olivia reached across the table and put her hand on Alice’s. “So, tell us what happened with the police.”

  Alice rubbed her eyebrow. “They were cold. Uncaring. Didn't give a lort you know?”

  Ian leaned closer to Olivia and said, “It means shit in Danish.”

  Olivia smiled at him. “I know.”

  “They reminded me of the police before. In Copenhagen.” Alice looked down at the floor. “But this is different. They asked me lots of questions. And I told them the same thing I told all of you.”

  Olivia butted in. “You tell them about the way he came on to you last year?”

  Alice pursed her lips. “How do you know that?” Then she looked at Kristin with a pained expression. “Really, Kris?”

  Kristin scowled at Olivia. “Sorry. I told no one else.”

  Olivia raised her hands in apologetic fashion. “My bad. I didn't know it was a secret. Kris never said it was.”

  Kristin turned to Alice. “You never said it was a secret either. And I only said he came on to you, and that you brushed him off. I didn't go into any detail. You didn't give me any and I never asked.”

  “Guys,” Ian said. “It’s okay. No big deal. Right Alice?”

  “You’re right. It’s not a big deal. And I’m the one who should apologise.” Alice put her arm around Kristin. “I guess I never told the full story. Sorry, Kris. Forgive me?”

  Kristin hugged Alice and held her tight until she felt Alice pull away. “Sure.”

  “Jeez, Kristin,” Ian said. “You trying to steal her from me?”

  “No more than you would try to steal Olivia from me,” Kristin said as she stared at Olivia, but Olivia smiled, threw her arms around Ian and kissed him on the cheek, then winked at Kristin.

  For a moment Kristin thought she saw Ian’s face colour, but he brought a glass of water to his lips and hid behind it, so she couldn’t be sure.

  “Don't worry, Alice,” Olivia said. “He’s not my type. But you however...”

  Alice laughed. “Can I get on with my story?”

  “Nobody’s stealing anybody here,” Ian said as he rubbed his shoulder against Olivia’s. “Go on, Alice. Tell us. I haven't heard the details either.”

  “I didn't think it was a big deal.” Alice looked around and lowered her voice. “You think it’s okay to talk about him?”

  “Like yeah,” Olivia said. “We want to know everything. So go on. Tell us...”

  Alice leaned into the table, closer to Ian and Olivia. “He was a nobody. Just a gofer on set that nobody paid much attention to. His English wasn’t great, but as he’d grown up in Denmark, he spoke Danish. That meant I had to translate sometimes. Although looking back, he might have used that as an excuse to chat me up. I was nice to him, but towards the end, one girl said he had felt her up. But nothing came of it, she didn't make a formal complaint and just avoided him. Then...”

  The waitress arrived with the champagne and flutes. She wrapped the bottle in a cloth and opened it with a loud pop. Kristin noticed other people glance towards the sound and wondered what they thought. Then she chided herself for caring what others thought. What’s wrong with me today? But no answer came to her as the waitress filled the glasses.

  The four of them clinked glasses and Alice continued. “Last summer, there was a big wrap up party on Exhibition Street, around the corner from the Provence. Everyone was there, including Samir. The drinks were free, so we weren’t holding back. There was lots of the usual stuff, people snogging, running to the bathroom for coke, getting drunk, you know, a typical wrap party. I hung out with a few who weren’t doing coke. I knew who to avoid, and people didn't dare try anything with me. Except...” She took a sip of champagne and sighed.

  “Samir, right?” Olivia asked.

  Alice nodded. “I was tipsy, and I don't remember everything word for word. He was waiting for me near the loo. Kinda pounced on me and tried to kiss me. It brought back too much. Too like, you know...” She looked down at the table for a moment. “Anyway, I was sick of men hassling me, and because I had a few drinks, I skipped the nice girl part and told him to eff off instead. A little out of character for me, I know. However, I’d had enough... enough harassment, and I felt safe. I felt I could make a stand as I w
asn't alone. But he persisted. So, I pushed him away and shouted at him. Can’t remember what I said, but others heard and came over. Then I slapped him. I think it’s called bitch slapping. Called him a loser and a creep. He said he was sorry. Kept saying he loved me.” She paused and drank from her glass. “I might have said racist stuff too. Not proud of that, but I’d lost it. Truth was I got frightened. The memories, I guess.” She shook head then continued before Kristin could cut in, “I got someone to bring me to a taxi after that. Dee Stansfield, I think. A few days later, I heard the guys were rough with him and chased him off. Weeks later, he sent a card to the studio for me. He apologised in it, and I felt guilty. Didn’t hear from him again until yesterday. Maybe that’s why I said hello to him. Guilt.”

  “No way, Alice,” Kristin said. “No guilt. Not for any man. Especially after...”

  “Er, hello?” Ian waved his hand at her. “We’re not all bad.”

  “Sorry, Ian. I don't mean you.”

  Olivia put her hand on Alice’s again. “You don't think he went back there for revenge, do you?”

  “No,” Alice said. “Why wait until yesterday?”

  Olivia frowned. “The festival, right? He came on to you at the summer festival last year. He could have been radicalised since, and when he went looking for a suitable target, he remembered his humiliation and chose this year’s festival?”

  “Good point, Olivia,” Ian said. “I like it.”

  Kristin watched Olivia take her hand off Alice’s and then squeeze Ian’s arm with a contented looking smile. Kristin pretended she hadn't noticed. “I think you’re right too,” she said. “But Alice, did you tell this to the police?”

  “Not the detail. They annoyed me. But it doesn't matter does it? They knew about the party. I suppose people rang them when they heard, you know, people who had been at the wrap party. The police know he messed with me. I told them that and they accused me of being a drinker. Anyway, I’m sick of talking about him. He’s history now.”

  Kristin took a deep breath and raised her glass. “Let’s drink to that.”

  They clinked again and Olivia stood. “Excuse me. Gotta go to the ladies.”

  Kristin watched Olivia make a show of adjusting her short skirt and saw Ian’s eyes following her long bare legs and swinging hips until she turned the corner.

  When Olivia returned and they’d given the food order, Kristin prompted Alice to tell them about the new show. “Come on, Alice. It’s why we’re here.”

  “It’s with FMP Film and TV Productions. They’re making a new drama series based around a news channel and they wanted someone with experience with TV and documentaries. I was worried because I don't have a lot of TV...”

  “Yes, you do,” Olivia said. “You’ve had a lot of stuff on TV.”

  Ian reached across the table and laid his hand on Alice’s shoulder. “You’re the girl.”

  Alice smiled. “Thanks guys. I think last year’s documentary helped a lot. They told me there were several other good candidates. In fact, it ended up between me and one other person. I think money was an issue. So they got me cheap, even though it’s more than the last one.”

  “Are you the lead producer this time?” Kristin asked.

  Alice nodded. “Yes. I make the key decisions on the project. I still have to answer to the company, but I have control. Real control.”

  Ian filled the glasses with the last of the champagne. “I think we should drink to Alice’s success. Well done, girl. Well done.”

  Alice laughed. “Stop guys. You’re making me all embarrassed.”

  “Don't be,” Olivia said. “You earned it.”

  Alice looked across at Ian. “We might afford an apartment in the area now.”

  “Depends on whether my parents give us a hand,” Ian said.

  Olivia gave a quizzical look and Kristin spoke before anyone else had a chance. “Ian’s parents own the house and they are selling it.”

  Ian nodded. “Retirement in the country is more expensive than they thought.”

  “Oh,” Olivia said. “That’s a pain.”

  “Not really,” Alice said. “It’s time we had our own place anyway.” She took a large sip of champagne and smiled. “And you know something? I think everything will work out fine.”

  20

  Laura checked her phone again. Still no response from her contact. The editorial room was fuller than would be normal for a Saturday. Senior management had summoned extra bodies to keep coverage of the South Ken attack rolling and now they all mumbled as one. Laura spoke up. “Are we waiting for something?”

  Tim Burnham, the head of production, stopped writing on the white board and turned around. “We’re waiting for Sally.”

  Daisy, one of the associate producers moaned. “Why’s she coming?” Daisy whined a lot. Even if she had a point. Some said director Sally McKee was a tyrant. Others said she did her job.

  Minutes later, the door swung open and a chill breezed through the room. “Right,” said Sally. “Tell me about the South Ken champagne terrorist. Have we got a killer story? Tim?”

  Tim leaned against the wall and addressed Sally. “We think it may be a dead end.”

  “Think?” Sally asked. “What do you mean think?”

  Again, Laura spoke up and everyone turned to look at her. “The police identified the woman in the video...”

  “Give me something I don't know already.” Sally’s eyes drilled into Laura.

  “The police interviewed Alice Madsen last night and have classified her as a witness, not a suspect.”

  “Shit,” Sally said. “What does that leave us with?” Nobody said anything as Sally focused her stare on each person in turn. “I need more than this. What’s the competition got?”

  “They’re focusing on the terrorist, Samir Hassan,” Tim said. “His relatives, his path to radicalisation.”

  Laura cleared her throat and raised her hand. “There may be something in the Alice Madsen angle yet. Madsen and the terrorist worked together on a documentary last year. My source close to the investigation tells me there was an incident between Hassan and Madsen in Exhibition Street and they’re looking at it to see if it has any relevance.”

  Sally furrowed her brows and clicked her fingers several times. “Are you suggesting this was a personal motive rather than a terrorist one?”

  “I don't have enough yet.”

  “Can we use it?” Tim asked.

  Laura shook her head. “Not yet. I’d need to talk to Madsen.”

  “Be careful,” Daisy said. “She’s a witness to a terror attack and integral to an ongoing investigation.”

  Tim rapped on the table. “Nothing to say we can't investigate her. We should find out everything we can about her. We could also come at it from the on-line abuse angle. Portray her as another victim.” He turned to Sally. “My team got an address for her. She’s off Portobello Road. I suggest we doorstep her.”

  “Yes, do it,” Sally said. “Who’s on her?”

  “I’m going to send Mike...”

  “Hey,” Laura said. “Come on. I already interviewed another witness, Lewis Cole. I should get her side of the story.”

  “No Laura,” Tim said. “We need to ask tough questions. Mike’s the man.”

  “Are you saying I’m not up for it? Well?” Laura’s phone beeped and she ignored it.

  “No. No. Not at all. It’s just...”

  “Just what?”

  “Stop it,” Sally said. “We don't have time for this. Put Mike on the police presser. Laura got the witness, put her on the girl.” Sally turned to Laura. “Get Alice Madsen on record. Push her. I’ll get Stephanie to co-ordinate with your crew. Head over now. Watch the house. When you file, we’ll decide which way to tell her story.”

  “Don’t you want to go live?” Laura asked.

  “No. Let’s see what she’s got. She could be victim, villain or somewhere between. Get the story.”

  “And if she won’t talk?”

 
; “You’re a journalist. A well paid one. Improvise.”

  Laura stood and glanced down at her phone. She read the text with clenched teeth. “Whoa. Just got something from my police contact. They’re on their way to Madsen’s with an arrest warrant.”

  “What the fuck happened?” Tim asked.

  “Dunno,” Laura said.

  “Who cares?” Sally looked at Laura and pointed to the door. “Go. Go. Go.”

  “Fine.” Laura ran from the room, waving at Ricky and Nafeez on her way to the lifts. They caught up with her as the lift doors opened.

  “Where’s Simon?” she asked.

  “Sitting in the van. Waiting in anticipation,” Ricky said. “What’s the rush? What’s going on?”

  “Police on their way to arrest Alice Madsen.”

  “Ah shit. It’s Saturday. Portobello will be mental. I hope she’s not at the market end. Lugging that gear through a heaving throng of tourists and civilians is not my idea of fun.”

  “Quit moaning, Ricky,” Laura said. “Just run.”

  *

  As the van worked its way through the streets of London, Laura rehearsed what she’d say in front of the camera, but the persistent doubt she’d arrive at the house after the arrest distracted her.

  She glanced at her watch. The text from her contact told her the police were still waiting on paperwork. She reckoned that gave her an hour at least, but if the traffic was bad, she’d need every minute, if not more.

  “How long, Simon?” she asked.

  “How the fuck do I know? This traffic? Christ, Laura.”

  She muttered a curse and turned to Ricky behind her. Ricky’s quick-fire phone conversation with the team back at HQ was on-going. She gestured at him to hurry, but he had the temerity to wave her away. She rolled her eyes at him. “I don't have enough. I need background. Context.”

  Nafeez leaned into the front. “He’s on to Stephanie. Give him a minute.”

  “I know what he’s doing,” Laura said. “I want him to hurry.”

  “Chill Laura. You’ll know when he does.” Nafeez waved his phone at her. “In the meantime, check out the latest on Twitter.”