The Victim

by Max Manning

  Day moved closer to the screen to get a good look at the man’s profile. Is there a chance this is the man who attacked Gem Golding? he wondered. The images from the parking lot security camera were fuzzy, and the heavy beard disguised the jawline, but there was something familiar about the man’s posture.

  Shields touched Day’s shoulder again. “This footage was taken two minutes after Bentley supposedly jumped. The escalator is taking people out of Liverpool Street Tube station. He hasn’t wasted any time getting out. He was very close to Bentley when he toppled onto the track, but he didn’t wait around to tell anybody what he saw.”

  Day stood up and headed out of the incident room. “Thanks, Cat. Excellent work,” he said over his shoulder.

  Shields followed him into his office. She took a seat while Day stood with his back to her, staring out the window into the darkness of the parking lot.

  Shields let the silence stretch before speaking. “Maybe we should think about handing this case to the murder investigation team, Boss.”

  Day didn’t answer. He took a deep breath, rested his hands on the windowsill, and dropped his chin to his chest.

  “It’s looking more and more likely that Bentley’s death was not suicide or a tragic accident,” Shields said. “By rights, we should release the files and pass them on to your old squad.”

  Day lifted his head and turned to face her. He knew she was right. He also knew that sometimes, doing the right thing wasn’t always the best thing.

  “I’d like a bit more time to take a closer look at the Bentley case. If it’s linked to the attack on Gem Golding, and I’m pretty sure it is, then we’re entitled to investigate it, aren’t we?”

  Shields tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. “I think that’s stretching it a bit, Boss. I know you want to work your way back onto the murder investigation team, but breaking the rules isn’t the way to do it.”

  Day gave Shields a half smile. He hadn’t known her long, but he also knew he could trust her not to go telling tales behind his back. With some people, you just knew. She was talking sense, but catching killers, seeing a victim’s family find some solace in the fact that justice had been done, was an addiction, an addiction that had cost Day his marriage.

  “Back me up on this one. Let’s see what we come up with in the next few days, and I’ll let you call me Elliot instead of Boss.”

  Shields kept a straight face, but Day detected a hint of a smile around her eyes. “I suppose, like you say, because of the connection to the Gem Golding inquiry, we could justify it if we really had to.”

  Day nodded. He had judged her right. In addition to being as smart as a whip, she wasn’t afraid to take a risk.

  Shields stood to leave. When she reached the door, she hesitated. “There is one thing that’s been bothering me about the CCTV footage we’ve just seen.”

  “Go on then. Tell me.”

  “The man in the cap. If he did kill Bentley, if he deliberately pushed him off the platform, he would have known he would be caught on London Underground’s CCTV system. Apart from wearing the baseball cap, he didn’t seem to care about being seen. Unless it was a spur-of-the-moment thing, he could have chosen somewhere less visible to kill Bentley. That strikes me as stupid.”

  Day had thought the same thing, but he’d come to a different conclusion. This man wasn’t stupid. Far from it. Some people kill because they don’t possess the intelligence to solve their problem in a different way. They strike out in a blind rage, unable to consider the consequences. Others, the rare ones, kill because they can and because they enjoy it.

  “To be honest, I don’t think this person cares whether he was caught on camera,” he said. “He probably believes he’s too clever to ever be caught by the likes of us. You saw yourself that in the crush of bodies on the platform, it was impossible to see any contact between the suspect and the victim. It would have needed only the slightest nudge to send him over the edge. I think the suspect chose this method of murder because he wanted to be seen on CCTV. It’s calculating. He’s taunting us. He thinks he’s untouchable.”

  21

  Fight

  The Mastermind

  Norton rubbed his chin, the skin dry and itchy. He hadn’t slept well. The Golding interview had been on his mind. Was she deliberately trying to provoke him? He’d even considered that the police had put her up to it, encouraged her to try to enrage him, make him careless. Eventually, he’d dozed off at about 4:00 a.m., after he’d planned exactly how he was going to make her pay for what she’d done.

  The silent telephone calls would stop. They were starting to bore him. He had another, much bigger game to play. Fight or surrender. Live or die. That woman had no idea what was coming her way. By spouting her lies to the papers, she had chosen to goad him, challenge him. That was an unwise thing to do. Her fate was sealed anyway, but the level of pain inflicted was up to him.

  Heading west along the southern perimeter of Victoria Park, Norton stepped to the side as a couple of cyclists sped past. The place was already filling up with east Londoners eager to make the most of the spring sunshine. Norton preferred the park in the winter. In his opinion, the trees were at their most beautiful stripped of leaves, grabbing at the clouds like giant, twisted skeletal claws.

  He pulled out his phone and checked the time. He’d probably hang on to the prepaid burner for another week or two at the most before getting rid of it and buying a new one. You could never be too careful. He tapped the top of his right thigh, checking that the thick roll of notes was still safely in his pocket. He had enough cash to comfortably see him through the next few months, as long as he could avoid coughing up rent to his weasel-faced landlord. It galled him that he’d only been paid half of what had been agreed for the carjacking. When you lived by your wits, you couldn’t allow anyone to rip you off.

  Show weakness and you’re done for. That was a lesson he’d learned very early in life. His parents had been weak. They’d lived in a haze of alcohol and drugs because they didn’t have the strength to cope with life in the stinking tower block hovel they had called home.

  He was uncontrollable, they told the social worker, so violent toward his younger sister, they were scared what he might do. He knew the truth. Getting rid of him meant there’d be one less mouth to feed. They gave him up officially three days after his sixth birthday, and although he’d screamed and flailed his arms in rage, later, when he’d been crying himself to sleep in a strange bed, he’d been glad. He hated them, hated their weakness, their disgusting lack of control.

  22

  Surrender

  Gem the Victim

  Gem Golding sat curled up on a white leather armchair wrapped in the fluffy blue dressing gown Drew had bought her for her birthday. She gripped a half-full mug of tea tightly in both hands, the bottom edge of the plaster cast on her broken wrist poking out of her right sleeve. The tea had gone cold a long time ago.

  In the hallway, she could hear her mother speaking in hushed tones, explaining to the detectives that she’d traveled up from Wales by train as soon as she’d heard what had happened.

  Day entered the room first, followed by Shields and then Gem’s mother. Both detectives nodded sympathetically as they sat side by side on the sofa.

  Gem’s brain had started toying with her from the moment they’d telephoned to say they were on their way. Maybe they were coming to tell her that there had been a mistake, that Drew wasn’t dead after all, that it had all been a terrible case of mistaken identity. Their eyes told her what she already knew. There had been no mistake.

  Day cleared his throat and broke the awkward silence. “We are very sorry for your loss. We understand this is a difficult time for you.”

  Gem’s mother, a tall, stylishly dressed woman, walked across the room and into the kitchen, announcing over her shoulder that she was going to put the kettle on and make them tea. That’
s a good idea, Gem told herself. That’ll solve everything, won’t it? Why didn’t I think of that?

  “We appreciate you agreeing to talk to us now,” Day said. “We’ll try to be as quick as possible.”

  Gem lifted her chin, opened her mouth to speak, but gave a slight nod instead.

  Shields put her hands on her knees and leaned forward. “I know this is difficult for you, but is it all right if we ask you a few questions about Drew?”

  Gem’s red-rimmed eyes flicked from one detective to the other as if searching for an answer. Did they really believe that Drew had deliberately dived in front of the train? That was crazy. There was no reason on earth he’d want to want his life.

  “Drew didn’t kill himself. You know that, don’t you?”

  Day and Shields exchanged glances. “That’s what we’re trying to establish,” Shields said. “We’ve been told by witnesses, including the train driver, that he jumped off the platform, but in a crowded situation like that, it’s difficult for anyone to know what really happened.”

  Gem shook her head. “What reason would he have to take his own life? I don’t care what your witnesses say. They’ve got it wrong. He wouldn’t do that, to himself or to me. I know he wouldn’t.”

  At that moment, her mother returned carrying mugs of tea and a plate of chocolate cookies on a tray. She placed the tray on the coffee table. “Help yourself to cookies, officers.”

  The detectives shook their heads in unison. “We’re fine, thanks,” Shields said.

  Jan Golding stepped closer to her daughter, leaned over, and gently pried the empty mug from her fingers before going back into the kitchen.

  “If you don’t feel up to this right now, then maybe we could leave it a little longer,” Day said.

  Gem said nothing. She stared down at the space between her hands where the mug had been.

  “Was Drew worried about anything?” Day asked. “Can you think of anything at all? Even something small.”

  Gem took a moment to think before nodding to herself. “He was worried about me. About what had happened to me. I think he was worried about how the attack would affect me in the long term. That’s not a reason for someone to kill themselves, is it? It’s more of a reason to stick around and look after the person you’re concerned about.”

  Day gave Shields a sideways glance, and she took her cue. “Drew had no financial concerns? No problems at work?”

  Gem shook her head. “He was so ambitious, and it was all going so well. He’d overcome so many difficulties to become a lawyer, and his career was taking off and he deserved it.”

  “What about your relationship, then? Had everything been going well? Sometimes becoming the victim of a crime can cause difficulties for a couple.”

  Gem sniffed, pulled a crumpled tissue from the pocket of her dressing gown, and buried her face in it. She waited for tears to come, but they didn’t. She wondered if emotional numbness was her mind’s way of protecting itself.

  “Drew didn’t kill himself. There is nothing you can say that will make me believe that. We are very…were very different characters. He was a quiet, thoughtful man, but we were happy. He talked a lot about our future together, about me having a baby and giving up work.”

  Day picked up his mug of tea and took a sip. “What about you? How did you feel about starting a family?”

  Gem turned to Shields. Maybe she’d understand. “We were good together. Every couple has things they need to work on, don’t they? He was happy. We both were.”

  Shields nodded. “We won’t keep you much longer,” she said. “But do you think you are up to looking at an image taken from CCTV footage filmed at the station where Drew died?”

  Gem shrank back into the armchair. “No. I don’t think I want to see. Don’t make me look.”

  Shields stood up, walked over to the armchair, and knelt on the carpet facing Gem. “It’s not Drew falling off the platform or anything like that. I promise. It’s a still showing a side view of a man on an escalator.”

  “What man? Who is he?”

  “We don’t know who he is, but we’d like you to take a look and tell us if there’s anything familiar about him. Do you think you could do that for us?” Shields pulled the printout from her jacket pocket and handed it over.

  Gem cupped it in both her hands and took a long look. At first, she said nothing. She stared motionless at the image, her eyes unblinking, her face an alabaster mask.

  A beard hid the man’s jaw, but she scanned the sharp slant of his cheekbone, straight nose, and angle of his shoulders. Recognition hit her like a punch in the gut. First, her hands started shaking, then her whole body. Her breathing became raspy and rapid. “Him,” she said. “It was him, wasn’t it? He killed Drew, didn’t he?”

  23

  Fight

  Gem the Warrior

  Gem dropped her gym kit in the hallway, closed and double-locked the front door. Her shoulders and arms ached. Tuesday was an upper body day. Tomorrow, she’d focus on squats and leg presses.

  In the kitchen, she made herself a coffee, sat down, and powered up her laptop. Most of the new emails in her inbox were from clients asking how she was and congratulating her on the Daily News coverage of her brush with crime.

  She clicked on the top message. It had been sent by the owner of a new wine bar who’d hired Gem’s company to arrange and publicize its opening night. She’d been working on the event for weeks. Cradling her head in her hands, she skimmed the text. Hi, Gem. Can’t believe what you’ve been up to. What an amazing story. You are incredible. I knew you were a feisty lady, but wow. What an example to us all. We women don’t have to take this shit anymore. Can’t wait to see you at the launch. Mia.

  Gem closed the email, moved to open another, but decided she couldn’t face it. She switched the laptop off, picked up her coffee, and took a sip. This reaction to what had happened was one of the reasons she didn’t feel ready to go back to work. No one knew what she was going through. Not even Drew. The thought of all the backslapping and the prospect of having to repeat the events of that night over and over again like a dinner party anecdote made her feel physically sick.

  She’d done the newspaper interview because she’d believed it would help her process what had happened and make other women think carefully about what they would do if they found themselves in the same situation. She’d wanted to do something positive.

  Now, she was starting to think Drew might have been right about keeping things low-key. People were treating her like some kind of superhero, the leader of a campaign against male-on-female violence. She didn’t feel heroic. Far from it.

  She didn’t like leaving the house unless it was to go to the gym, and the sound of the home telephone ringing filled her with dread. When she’d told Drew about the silent telephone calls, he’d laughed them off. Most call centers used automated calling systems, he’d explained, and often, they’d cut off. It was, he’d assured her, a common glitch.

  He’d wanted to put her mind at rest over the calls, and she didn’t want him to think she was cracking up. So she’d smiled, feigned an expression of thankful relief, and hugged him, but she knew the truth.

  She stood up, refilled her cup with coffee, and took another sip. Drew had been amazing since the attack. His patience had surprised her. Their relationship had been showing signs of strain, but now they were growing closer than ever.

  Sighing, she picked up her coffee. As the rim of the cup touched her lips, her cell phone rang. The sound made her start, and a drop of the hot, brown liquid spilled down her sports vest. She flicked a finger over the stain and shook her head. Why the hell was she so jumpy? She picked up her phone off the kitchen table and checked the screen. It was her boss.

  “Hi there, Melanie,” she said, doing her best to sound upbeat.

  “Hi there. How are you doing, honey?”

 
Gem hesitated. She knew what was coming and didn’t feel ready to deal with it.

  “I’m good, I suppose,” she said. “I’m fine, thanks.” She didn’t expect her boss to detect the reluctance in her voice. Melanie usually only heard what she wanted to hear.

  “Okay, that’s great, really great, because I was wondering when you were thinking of coming back to the office. Soon hopefully. All our clients have been asking about you. The media coverage has been fantastic. We all think you’re amazing, Gem. So brave. What you did, it’s incredible. I don’t think I could have done it. In fact, I’m pretty sure I couldn’t. Haven’t got the balls.”

  It wasn’t bravery, Gem wanted to shout. It was desperation, an instinctive reaction. If she’d chosen not to resist her attacker because her gut instinct told her that was the best thing to do, would that have been wrong, cowardly? Of course not. What’s the matter with everybody? Why don’t they get it? She’d been terrified. She had thought she was going to die. She had made a split-second choice, and it had worked out for her. It could so easily have gone the other way. Nobody could imagine how that felt unless they had experienced it firsthand.

  “The thing is, Melanie, I do feel I need a little more time off,” she said. “Would you mind if I took another week or so, to get things together? I want to be able to focus on the job when I do go back. You understand, don’t you? After everything that’s happened, I still haven’t quite got my head sorted out. Would that be okay?”

  A sharp intake of breath at the end of the line gave Gem a strong clue as to her boss’s true feelings about the request. The words that followed were spoken slowly and chosen carefully. “If you really think that you need more time, then take it, honey, but you know we are all dying to see you.”

  Gem imagined her boss shaking her head and gritting her perfectly whitened teeth. She was pretty sure that the main reason her colleagues and clients were asking when she’d be back was because they were itching for the chance to get a blow-by-blow account of the story. Simply thinking about their eager faces, their hunger for gossip, made it hard for her to breathe.