The Victim

by Max Manning

  The door cracked open, and a pair of dark-green eyes below deep-red bangs peered through the gap. “No vacancies,” the woman said. “Both rooms are rented out long term.”

  She moved to close the door, but Day slid his foot over the threshold, making it impossible. He showed her his badge but could tell by the wariness in her eyes that she’d already worked out that they were police officers.

  “We’d like to come inside if it’s not too much trouble,” he said. “We need to talk to you about someone we believe stayed here three or four months ago.”

  The woman opened the door wider. “What’s this all about?” she said. “I haven’t got time to waste, you know. I’ve got rooms to clean. My place has a reputation for being spotless.”

  She was an inch or so shorter than Shields, slim and smartly dressed in black slacks and a tight-fitting maroon sweater.

  Day gave up waiting to be invited inside and brushed past her, striding swiftly down the narrow hallway. The woman scurried after him, high heels scraping the tiled floor. Shields followed, closing the door behind her.

  Day paused at the end of the hall where he found himself with a choice of three doors. One straight ahead, one to his left, and one to his right. The woman caught up to him, pushed past, and led both detectives into the back room. It was surprisingly large and stylishly furnished. Day could see that double doors in the back wall led to an extension housing a modern kitchen.

  “Nice place you’ve got here,” he said, smiling broadly.

  She responded with a frown, her furrowed brow mostly hidden beneath her bangs.

  “The Roman Villa guesthouse is registered as being owned by Alice Shelton. I take it that is you?”

  “That’s right. This is my business. You can call me Ms. Shelton. Now what is it you want? I do have a record of all my guests somewhere on my laptop, but so many people have stayed here over the years, it would be impossible for me to remember them all.”

  “You’ll remember this one,” Shields said. “Trust me.”

  Shelton’s eyes flashed at the detective, but she turned her attention to Day. “Who are we talking about?”

  “Maybe we should sit down,” he said. “This could take a while.”

  Shelton sighed long and hard, making no attempt to hide her exasperation. “You can take a seat if you want to. I haven’t got the time.”

  Day shrugged and stayed where he was. “The guest I want to ask you about is a man called Connor Norton.” As he said the name, he studied Shelton’s face carefully. Her expression didn’t change, but he thought he glimpsed an involuntary tightening of her jaw.

  Shelton looked up and then to the right, adopting an expression of intense concentration. Day exchanged glances with Shields. They both knew she was playacting.

  “You claim you haven’t got time to waste, so it’s best if we don’t play games,” he said. “We have information that Norton stayed here for several weeks, and not simply as a paying guest.”

  Shelton didn’t flinch. “When you say ‘information,’ you really mean ‘gossip,’ don’t you? What have people been saying?”

  “That’s not important. We know Norton stayed here, and we know you were in a relationship with him.”

  Shelton closed her eyes for several seconds. When she opened them, they were full of humiliation, and she started to sob softly. “I don’t want to talk about him. I can’t.” Shields pulled a wad of tissue from her jacket pocket and held it out. Shelton took it and dabbed her eyes.

  “I’m sorry if this is upsetting for you, but we do need to ask you some questions about Norton’s stay here,” Day said. “He is wanted in connection with a serious assault on a woman.”

  If the news surprised Shelton, she didn’t show it. “What exactly do you want to know?”

  “Were you two very close?”

  Shelton had pulled herself together, and the tears had stopped flowing, but she gripped the damp tissues tightly in both hands. “I thought we were, but the truth was he was playing me. He wanted a warm bed, that’s all, and he didn’t want to have to pay for it. That’s what he told me before he left. Those were his exact words. Why would you say something like that unless you really wanted to hurt…” She faltered, blinked several times in succession, then bowed her head.

  Day didn’t want to give her time to start crying again. “Did you have a sexual relationship?”

  Shelton didn’t bother answering, but she twisted the wad of tissues so hard, they began to shred, the tiny white flakes falling onto the carpet. Shields flashed her boss a look that made him feel uncomfortable.

  “Can you remember how long Norton stayed here?” he asked.

  “Three months, I think. Yes, that’s right.”

  “And for exactly how long were you sleeping together?”

  Shelton lifted the tissues to her nose and sniffed. “We were together for about two months. He moved into my room so we could get another paying guest in. I thought it made financial sense. Con was lovely, at first. He even started to help me run the place. A bit of cleaning and cooking. He said he wanted to help because I wouldn’t let him pay rent once we were…you know. It didn’t seem right. He protested, but eventually, I persuaded him.” She walked unsteadily over to one of the three armchairs in the room and sat down.

  Day looked at Shields and tilted his head to the right. She accepted the invitation and asked, “Was there a particular reason he walked out when he did? Did you have an argument?”

  Shelton shook her head. “He woke up one day and out of the blue told me he was bored out of his skull. That was how he put it. Laughed in my face and said I was a dull bitch. That was it. Nothing else. He was gone before breakfast.”

  Shields took a step closer to where Shelton was sitting. “Didn’t you have it out with him? Get angry? Demand a proper explanation? I know I would have done.”

  Shelton stared into space, her eyes wide and unfocused. Day sat down in the armchair closest to her, rested his elbows on his thighs, and leaned forward.

  “During the weeks you were sleeping with Norton, did he ever assault or threaten you?” he asked. “Men like him are skilled at using violence or the threat of violence to control people, especially women.”

  Shelton glanced up at Shields, then shifted her gaze to Day. “I never saw him lose his temper once. He’s not a patient man, and I noticed that some men—no, most men—are intimidated by him. But I honestly never saw him lose it.”

  That doesn’t mean a lot, Day thought. Some of the most violent men he’d put behind bars were cold-blooded, emotionless.

  Shelton jumped to her feet, hands flapping. “I really haven’t got time for this,” she said. “I’ve got to get my guests’ rooms ready, and I’m already behind schedule.”

  She walked briskly into the hallway, expecting the detectives to follow so she could see them out. When it became clear they were staying put, she walked back and stood in the doorway, fists on her hips.

  “Bear with us a little bit longer,” Day said. “This is a major investigation, and the sooner you answer our questions, the sooner we’ll leave you in peace.”

  Shelton let her hands drop from her hips but kept her fists clenched tight.

  “Think carefully about this, please,” Day said. “When you were with Norton, I mean after he moved into your room, did he ever talk about his past, his family background?”

  Shelton raised a hand to her forehead. “I told you I don’t want to think about him. I want to put this behind me. I’m trying to get the bastard out of my head.”

  Shields stepped toward her and offered her a smile. “Then help us catch him and lock him up. Take your time. This is important. There must have been some moments, intimate moments, when you talked about your lives.”

  Day could tell Shelton was struggling, torn between her desire to airbrush Norton out of her life and her desperation
to get him and Shields to leave the house. Her eyes flicked around the room, searching for an answer.

  “He never was much of a talker,” she said, her voice so soft, Day stood up and joined Shields so he could hear what was coming next. “But he did once mention a children’s home in south London, or maybe Surrey. He was there for years and hated every minute of it. I don’t think he ever told me the name of the place.”

  Day glanced at Shields, who raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t a lot to go on, but it was a new lead. “Is that it?” he said. “Nothing else that might help us?”

  “Yes, that’s it,” Shelton snapped. “I told you I’m busy. I’ve done my best to help you, but if you want to waste more of my time, then I’m afraid you’ll have to arrest me.” She turned around, walked down the hall, and opened the front door.

  This time, Day and Shields followed her.

  Shields walked straight to the car, but Day lingered on the threshold. “Thanks for your cooperation, but there is one last thing,” he said. “Did you say your guest rooms are occupied at the moment?”

  Shelton half closed the door. Day didn’t move.

  “That’s right, both of the rooms upstairs,” she said. “Both long stays and prompt payers. I don’t want to give them any reason to leave.”

  Day nodded, smiled, and stepped out. He turned to thank Shelton again, but she slammed the door in his face.

  33

  Fight

  Gem the Warrior

  Gem stood in her bedroom and studied her reflection in the full-length mirror. She found herself looking at a person she didn’t know. A person she never thought she’d become. Where had the self-confident, ambitious, young woman gone?

  Drew had nagged her again that morning about skipping breakfast. Over the last few days, she’d been feeling queasy, but her appetite usually returned by lunchtime. Nervous energy had always unsettled her stomach. She’d never been able to eat before presentations to clients. That’s why she had preferred to arrange them for early in the working day. Once they were over, she’d feel ravenous and fill up at lunch.

  She’d been so lethargic recently, she’d even cut short her last couple of workouts at the gym. She walked out of the bedroom and went downstairs, determined to keep her promise to Drew that she’d at least venture out of the house for a walk.

  Sitting on a wooden stool in the hall, she pulled on her lilac sneakers. Tying up the laces, her arms felt leaden. Her fingers were so stiff and clumsy, it took her three attempts to complete a task a seven-year-old could manage with their eyes shut.

  She stood up, flexed her knees, and touched her toes. Panic rose in her chest at the thought of stepping outside. She sat back on the stool and buried her head in her hands. Why the hell was she letting this happen? She’d always prided herself on being adventurous, always up for a challenge. Not long ago, she’d stood up to and fought off a man who got his kicks out of terrifying women, and now the thought of him walking the streets turned her legs to jelly.

  During the carjacking, she’d stayed strong, physically and mentally, but now it felt as if her life was crumbling around her, and she couldn’t understand why. He was winning. She felt she was morphing slowly from a warrior into a victim. She closed her eyes and tried to shake away that thought. How has it come to this? she wondered.

  Gem wanted to cry. She thought that maybe it would make her feel better, but no matter how hard she tried, the tears wouldn’t come. She took that as a good sign. You can beat this, she told herself.

  She stood up and walked to the door. A gentle jog around London Fields in the spring sunshine would do her a world of good. Lift her spirits. She’d promised Drew she’d do it, and she wanted to prove to him that she had turned a corner.

  She stretched out a hand and grasped the handle. Her brain urged her to turn it, but her arm refused to obey the instruction. She sank to her knees and pressed her head against the central door panel.

  The Detective

  Day sat in the unmarked police pool car outside the main entrance to Newham General Hospital. In the five minutes he’d been there, he’d been approached by two different parking wardens ordering him to move on or be towed away. Each time, he’d seen them off with a wave of his badge.

  When his detective sergeant finally emerged from the building, he felt it had been worth the wait. The sight of her in a wheelchair being pushed by a male nurse made him smile. The expression of fury on Shields’s face was the funniest thing he’d seen for months.

  He climbed out from behind the driver’s seat and ran around the car to open the nearside back door. Shield waved an angry hand at him.

  “In the front. I’ll sit in the front.”

  “You’ll have more leg room in the back,” Day said. “It’ll be more comfortable for you.”

  Shields glared at him until he stopped grinning. He slammed the back door shut and helped her into the front passenger seat as the nurse hurried back into the hospital with the wheelchair.

  Day slipped back behind the steering wheel. “Have you been causing trouble in there? The nurse looked relieved to see the back of you.”

  Shields adjusted her position in the seat and winced, turning her head to try to hide the fact that she was in pain. “We had a difference of opinion about whether I needed to leave the hospital in a wheelchair. I’m quite capable of walking, but he claimed that the stitches could tear and if I didn’t let him push me out to the car, then I’d have to stay in another night. One night in that place was more than enough for me.”

  Day had decided to pick her up from the hospital himself because he wanted to assess if she was up to viewing the CCTV footage of the attack. Watching the video would certainly put her resilience to the test.

  “I assume they’ve given you something for the pain,” Day said, starting the engine and pulling away. “If not, we can stop at a pharmacy on the way back.”

  “Thanks for the thought, but I’m good. Fully medicated.”

  The traffic on the A12 was flowing smoothly for a change, and the drive to Hackney Central took them twenty minutes. Apart from a bit of complaining about how the hospital ward smelled of bleach, blood, and decay, Shields didn’t say a lot. Day guessed she was gearing herself up for what was to come, and he couldn’t blame her.

  He parked and hurried around to the front passenger door to help Shields get out, but she waved him away. “I can do this myself,” she insisted. “I’m not an invalid, you know.”

  Day walked slowly to the station entrance to give his limping detective sergeant the chance to keep pace, and they took the elevator to his second-floor office. CCTV footage was usually viewed on one of the larger screens in the detectives’ squad room, but Day didn’t want Shields to have to cope with an audience.

  He sat behind his desk, and Shields took the seat opposite. After adjusting the position of his computer monitor until they could both see it clearly, he opened the CCTV file.

  “Are you sure you’re ready for this?” he said. “If not, it can wait a day or two.”

  “For God’s sake, just do it. Play the video.”

  Day did as she asked. Both of them edged their chairs a fraction closer to the screen and leaned forward eagerly. Day had watched the footage several times the previous day and had formed his own opinion about what was going on, but he was interested in the victim’s take on what had happened that night.

  They watched the car pull up outside the gates of the tire-fitting unit and Norton walk around to the driver’s door, a hunting knife in his right hand. When he yanked the door open, the glare of the security light lit up Shields’s pale but remarkably composed face.

  A sharp intake of breath from across the desk prompted Day to offer reassurance. “You did well to stay so calm,” he said. “It must have been difficult.”

  “I might have looked calm, but the truth is I was anything but. I should never have le
t myself be handcuffed like that.”

  “You didn’t have a choice.”

  They fell silent again as the action unfolded. Before they reached the point where the knife fell from Norton’s hand and he turned his back on Shields, Day paused the footage.

  “Watch this carefully,” he said. “I’d be interested to know what you think.”

  “About what?”

  “Watch and tell me what you see.”

  Norton pulled the handcuffs from his pocket and held them up. The knife dropped from his other hand onto the ground with a clang. He turned and squatted to pick it up. Day felt Shields stiffen. He knew she was reliving that fraction of a second when Norton had his back to her, that moment when consciously or subconsciously, she decided not to fight back.

  He paused the video again and clicked on rewind. He hated putting Shields through this, but it was necessary. “This time, I’m going to zoom in on the hand holding the knife.”

  After a few seconds, Shields sat back. “Oh shit,” she said.

  “You see it too then?”

  Shields nodded. “The knife doesn’t slip accidently from his fingers, does it? He lets it fall to the ground.”

  “That’s exactly what I thought,” Day said. “Then he deliberately turns his back on you while unarmed.”

  Shields thought for a moment. “The son of a bitch gave me an opening. A chance to resist. He was testing me, and I failed.”

  “I don’t see it that way,” Day said. “I think it might be more of a case that somehow you followed some set of warped rules. Maybe, in his twisted mind, you did the right thing by not resisting when you had the chance, so he let you live.”

  Shields stood up and limped over to the window behind Day. “But if I’d gone for it and managed to overpower him, then we’d have him locked up and this nightmare would be over.”

  Day spun his chair around until he faced her. “That’s right, but what if you’d tried to take him on and come off worse?”