The Victim

by Max Manning

  She wondered if all of them, including Melanie, would be so eager for her to come back to work if she hadn’t fought off her attacker. How would they have judged her then? People want to believe that the world is fair, that you get what you deserve. Sometimes it’s easier to blame the victim.

  “That’s wonderful,” Gem said. “I really appreciate your understanding, and I’ll definitely make it up to you when I’m back. Take you out to lunch. Treat you. I promise. So lucky I’ve got a boss like you. Thank you so much.”

  She ended the call before Melanie had a chance to change her mind and slammed the phone on the table. Sitting down, she wiped her sweaty palms on her gym leggings.

  What the hell was happening to her? The Warrior for Women hiding indoors, too frightened to answer the telephone, too pathetic to go back to work. She’d always been scornful of people who let themselves be swept away by fear and self-doubt. She had to strike out, swim against the current, or drown.

  She took a deep breath, pushed herself to her feet, and checked her watch. Drew wouldn’t be back for a while, and she didn’t feel like moping around at home all afternoon. Not anymore. Snatching her favorite hoodie from the banister post, she opened the front door and stepped outside.

  The sky above Shoreditch was cloudless, but a strong breeze carried a memory of winter. Gem slipped on the hoodie and crossed the street. She and Drew were regular Sunday brunch customers at their local café, and the prospect of scrambled eggs and smoked salmon on toast made her mouth water. She had skipped breakfast because of a queasy stomach, not a good idea before going to the gym.

  Smiling to herself, her chin held high, she headed briskly toward the northern end of the street. Why is it taking me so long to shake off the trauma, pull myself together, and move on? she wondered. She’d survived a vicious assault unscathed, she had a good career, and she had Drew. Life was good.

  The streets in that part of the city were always hectic at lunchtime, and she found her way blocked by a group of students milling around outside a sandwich bar, engaged in a heated argument about the most effective cure for a hangover. As she stepped off the sidewalk to pass them, she glimpsed something out of the corner of her eye that made her stop dead.

  She turned to take a longer look. The tall figure stood motionless outside a jewelry store on the other side of the street, about thirty yards away. The man’s hands were tucked in his pockets as he peered intently at the items on display in the shop window.

  He wore tight jeans, a short dark jacket, and a black baseball cap. Even though he had his back to her, the angle of his shoulders and the slight tilt of his head made her throat tighten. The man turned slowly until he was looking directly at her. The peak of the cap was pulled low, putting his face in shadow, but Gem could make out the slant of a lopsided smile.

  Her heart drumming, she stepped back onto the sidewalk, pushed her way through the students, and ran.

  The Detective

  Day pressed the doorbell, unsure of the warmth of the reception he’d get from his detective sergeant.

  The rectangular security camera on the door flickered, and Day knew Shields was using her phone app to check the identity of an unexpected caller. He smoothed the front of his suit jacket and flashed her a toothy smile.

  A moment later, the door opened. Shields wore a baggy blue sweater, a well-worn pair of jeans, and a puzzled expression.

  “What the hell are you doing here, Boss?”

  Day held up both hands, spreading his fingers wide. “This isn’t a social call, don’t worry. I’m not expecting to be wined and dined. I’m on my way to speak to Gem Golding. Thought you might want to come along.”

  Shields stepped back and invited Day in with a sweep of a hand. “You do know it’s my day off?”

  Day glanced around the apartment, taking in the bare walls and sparsity of furniture. “I do know that, but I thought if you get as bored as I do when I’m not hunting down some lowlife, then you might be interested in joining me. I could do with your help.” He meant the last bit as a compliment and hoped Shields would take it that way. She knew he would have had his choice of the handful of detectives on duty.

  She tilted her head and offered him a smile. “What’s this all about? What’s happened?”

  “Golding has called in claiming that the man who attacked her has been harassing her. Stalking her. Making menacing telephone calls to her home and following her when she goes out.”

  “Shit,” Shields said. “And she’s certain that it’s the same person?”

  Day nodded. “She says she is. By all accounts, she’s in a bad way. Says she’s too terrified to pick up the phone or leave the house.”

  Day knew that didn’t sound remotely like the woman who’d bitten her attacker’s hand and taken him down by driving her car at him, but both detectives had been around long enough to know that coming face-to-face with a violent criminal, whatever the outcome, affected people in different ways.

  “As you haven’t kicked me out, can I assume you’re coming with me?” Day asked.

  “Give me five minutes to get changed.”

  “You look fine.”

  Shields glanced down at her faded jeans. “I can’t wear these for work. I’ll be a couple of minutes.”

  Day took a seat on the small leather sofa and took another look around the apartment. Rental agents would describe it as compact. With one bedroom off a single living room and an integral kitchen, he knew it was typical of the modern, low-level developments that had sprung up around the East End in recent years.

  Shields emerged from the bedroom having swapped her jeans for a pair of dark-gray tailored trousers.

  Day jumped to his feet. “Nice place,” he said. “I take it you’ve not been moved in long?”

  Shields smiled. “Only about fourteen months.”

  He scanned the apartment again. “There’s not a lot of stuff in here for fourteen months.”

  Shields shrugged. “I detest clutter. It interferes with my thought processes.”

  Day nodded in the direction of the small television standing on the kitchen counter. “That’s not even plugged in.”

  Shields walked to the door and pulled it open. “The only thing I hate more than clutter is daytime TV.”

  Day brought Shields up to speed as he drove. She listened attentively as he ran through the details of Golding’s panicked telephone call, but she said little. He knew her well enough already to understand that she wouldn’t comment until she had something useful to say. He wished he had more detectives who worked that way.

  Golding had been praised in the media for fighting off her attacker, and no one could ever know what would have happened if she had chosen to be passive. That’s why it’s not a black-and-white issue, Day thought. It was never a case of fighting back is right and submitting is wrong. The Daily News had been right about the inconsistency of advice on what to do if you are attacked. If you can run away, then run. If the attacker wants your property, hand it over straightaway. After that, it gets complex.

  Day had taken dozens of statements from victims of violence, and many who had the chance to run away didn’t. They simply froze, a natural response to fear. It often happened in a flash and was beyond conscious control. No victim, male or female, should ever be blamed for freezing.

  The drive from Mile End to Shoreditch was no more than three miles, but the traffic was heavy. Day glanced over at Shields, who appeared deep in thought as she stared out the passenger window as the bustling streets of east London slid by.

  “What do you think, Cat?” he asked. “Was Golding right to fight back?”

  Shields answered without hesitation. “Well, she came out of it unharmed, didn’t she? Well, physically anyway. I’d like to think I’d do the same.”

  Day nodded. “Of course, but you’re a special case. You’re a detective. Trained to a high level
in self-defense. For civilians, it’s tricky.”

  He pulled up at a red light, and Shields waited until they were moving again before replying. “I agree, Boss. The only goal of anyone who finds themselves cornered by a violent attacker should be survival. If that means doing nothing, then you should do nothing. The problem is a victim would have to quickly assess the situation and the state of mind of the attacker to make an informed decision. How the hell can you expect an untrained woman or man to do that?”

  Ten minutes later, Day pulled up outside the house. By the time they had climbed out of the car and walked up to the door, Golding was already waiting for them, her face pale and strained. She shut the door quickly, double-locked it, and ushered them into the large living room.

  “Thank you for getting here so quickly,” she said, sliding over to the window and peering out between the curtains. “He’s definitely out there somewhere, you know. Waiting for his chance. I know it.”

  Day and Shields exchanged looks. This was a much less self-composed woman than the one they had interviewed after the carjacking. She wore gym leggings and sneakers, and her gray sports top was covered in sweat patches. The muscles around her shoulders and upper arms were thicker than Day remembered.

  “Why don’t you tell us exactly what happened?” he said.

  Gem looked at Shields and then back at Day, her expression blank. “He was there, on the street, watching. I’m sure he must have been following me from the moment I left the house. When he realized I’d seen him, he didn’t care at all. He stared across the road at me and smiled that scary smile of his.”

  Day took a step closer to the window. “I know you’re still a bit shaken, but can you start at the beginning and tell us exactly where you saw him?”

  Gem wrapped her arms around herself and hunched her shoulders. “I’d been to the gym and decided to go out for some brunch. I’d been spending too much time indoors, letting everything get to me, and wanted to start going out more. I was walking along Kingsland Road. About halfway up, I had to swerve off the sidewalk because a bunch of students were in the way. That’s when I first spotted him. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. He just stood there, cool as you like.”

  The living room was uncomfortably warm and smelled of coffee. Day guessed that the central heating was probably still on its winter settings. He took his jacket off, draped it over the back of the sofa, and loosened the knot of his tie.

  “Did he say anything to you, threaten you, do anything other than smile at you?”

  Gem shot Shields a desperate look, a plea for help.

  “Take your time,” the detective sergeant said. “Why don’t you sit down and try to relax. You’ve had a big shock.”

  Gem didn’t answer. She paced restlessly across the room, passing between the two detectives, then back to the window. “He had a baseball cap on, with the peak pulled right down, but I knew who it was straightaway. The way he stood there, like he owned the street, like he owned the city. I’m certain it was the man who attacked me that night. I wish I could say it wasn’t him, but it was.”

  Day didn’t doubt that she believed what she was saying. As soon as they were back at the station, he’d get Detective Constable Bill Stock to check for CCTV footage in the area.

  “What happened next?” he asked. “Did he approach you, try to speak to you?”

  Gem shook her head and snorted. “What the hell do you think happened? I ran, didn’t I? I ran and kept running until my heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. Then I made my way back here, avoiding Kingsland Road, of course, and telephoned the police.”

  Day crossed the room and nodded toward the armchair opposite the sofa. “DS Shields is right. I think you need to take a seat, try to calm yourself down.”

  Gem did as he suggested, dropping her head into her hands. “I’ll calm down when that man has been arrested. Until then, I think calming down is out of the question.”

  “We understand that you’ve been getting menacing telephone calls as well,” Shields said.

  Gem looked up. Her eyes were dry, but the rims looked sore. “Every single day. Sometimes two or three times a day. He calls only after Drew has left for the office and never once he’s home. That’s how I know he must be watching the house. How else would he know?”

  “What does the caller say? Does he threaten you?”

  “The caller doesn’t say anything,” Gem said. “That’s the whole point of silent calls, isn’t it? Sometimes I can hear him breathing, sometimes I can’t. He never speaks. Not a single word. But I swear it’s him. It’s not some random caller. It’s him. Why don’t you believe me? Drew doesn’t believe me either.”

  Day stepped closer and sat down in the other armchair. “We’re not saying we don’t believe you,” he said. “It’s just the way we have to ask these questions.”

  He glanced over at Shields as they waited for Gem to compose herself. Neither of them spoke while she rubbed her eyes and took a couple of deep breaths.

  “You did tell your boyfriend about these telephone calls then?” Day said.

  Gem sniffed and nodded slowly. “I didn’t want to at first. I knew he’d think I was being stupid. I thought they’d stop. Hoped they would. When I did tell him, he said I was worrying about nothing. That they were probably faulty calls from call centers.”

  “The calls were made to your home phone, not your cell?”

  “That’s right. Can’t you trace the calls or something? That must be possible.”

  Day nodded. It made some sort of twisted sense that the carjacker would come after Gem. Her refusal to submit and the way she had fought him off would have been humiliating enough. If this suspect was the type of loaded weapon Day feared he was, then the Daily News interview could easily have pulled the trigger.

  Gem let out a long breath. “You do believe me, don’t you? Don’t think I’m going crazy, because I know what I saw.”

  “We definitely don’t think you’re crazy,” Day said. “We can access the telephone data, no problem. Whether we can trace the calls depends on where they were made from and what type of phone was used. We’ll also pull in CCTV footage from Kingsland Road and surrounding streets. I assure you, we’re taking this very seriously.”

  Gem’s shoulders shook, and Day thought she was about to burst into tears. Instead, she managed a grateful smile.

  “Have you told your boyfriend what happened today?” Shields asked.

  Gem shook her head. “He’s at work. He’s always busy, in meetings with clients most of the time. Drew doesn’t like me calling him at the office.”

  “When are you expecting him back home? Maybe you should call him, tell him what’s gone on. I’m sure he’ll come back early.”

  Gem paused to give the suggestion some thought. “Well, maybe I will. He’s rarely home before eight or even nine. That’s usually okay for us, because when I’m at work, I’m often even later.”

  Shields exchanged glances with Day. He gave her a quick nod. “How has your relationship been since the carjacking?” Shields asked. “Sometimes partners can find it difficult to come to terms with what has happened, especially when violence is involved.”

  Gem shook her head. With the exception of his criticism of her speaking out in the press, he’d been rock-solid in his support. He’d surprised her, because he hated her working late, and she’d been half expecting him to use what had happened as a good argument for giving up her job. “That’s the one positive thing about all this,” she said. “Drew has been fantastically understanding and caring. I’d say we’re closer than we’ve been for a long time. This has definitely brought us together.”

  Day wanted to ask a question, but he stayed silent. Shields knew what she was doing. She’d gotten Golding talking freely, and he didn’t want to break the flow.

  “You were having problems before the carjacking then?” />
  Gem frowned at the suggestion. Day thought she was about to clam up, but Shields knew exactly how to nudge her along.

  “Every relationship goes through tough times,” she said. “I know all about that, believe me. If you come through them, then the bond is almost always going to be stronger.”

  Gem nodded and summoned a brave attempt at a smile. “We’d had one or two horrible arguments about Drew pressuring me to give up work. Only because he wants to spend more time with me, that’s what he says. It’s always caused a bit of friction between us. He says we don’t need my salary. I couldn’t get him to understand that it wasn’t about money, that my career is so important to me. We argued every day for weeks, especially on the nights when I came home later than he did. It got to the point where I couldn’t see a way forward, so I packed a case and went to stay with a friend.”

  “You actually walked out on him?”

  “For a couple of weeks, yes. Drew was devastated. He called me every day, sent me texts saying sorry, promising to stop nagging me to give up my job. I figured we were both so miserable, it was worth giving it another try.”

  “And it’s worked out for you?”

  “Not at first. Drew kept his promise. He stopped going on about my work or about me coming home late, but I could tell he still wasn’t happy. He didn’t exactly sulk. It was more that he seemed subdued. Since the night of the carjacking, it’s all changed. I thought that maybe he’d use the attack to insist that I shouldn’t work late, but the opposite has happened. He’s been caring and attentive and is encouraging me to go back to work. It’s me who wants time off. I need to get my head together. I’m sure I will go back. When things return to normal. When I feel safe.”

  24

  Surrender