All the Rage (DI Fawley)

by Cara Hunter

  ‘First thing in the morning,’ says Everett, watching the flush spread over Quinn’s face. ‘Before 11.00.’

  Rose taps the screen for a moment or two, then puts the iPad down and slides it across the table.

  ‘As you can see, one of our vans did travel along that road that morning, but he was en route to a job in Wallingford. Apart from buying petrol, he made no other stops between leaving home and arriving at the site. I also have the receipt for the fuel on his company card. Would you like me to print it out for you?’

  * * *

  THE CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURT

  The Old Bailey

  London EC4M 7EH

  BEFORE:

  THE HONOURABLE MR. JUSTICE HEALEY

  R E G I N A

  v.

  GAVIN FRANCIS PARRIE

  * * *

  MR. R. BARNES Q.C. and MISS S. GREY

  appeared on behalf of the prosecution.

  MRS. B. JENKINS Q.C. and MR. T. CUTHBERT

  appeared on behalf of the defendant.

  * * *

  Transcribed from the Stenotype notes of

  Chapman Davison Ltd.,

  Official reporters to the court

  * * *

  Monday, 25th October, 1999

  [Day 7]

  ALISON DONNELLY, recalled

  Examined by MR. BARNES

  Q. Miss Donnelly, I would like to return to the events we were discussing yesterday. Specifically the assault that took place on 29th November last year. I appreciate this is a distressing subject, but it is important that the court is clear about exactly what happened. And you will be aware, I am sure, that you are still under oath. You said the incident occurred at approximately 5.40 p.m. that day?

  A. Yes. I was on my way home from work. I got the 5.15 bus.

  Q. And that’s the bus you usually got?

  A. That’s right.

  Q. Did you have any sense in the previous few days that you might have been being followed?

  A. One of my flatmates said she’d seen a van parked down the street a few times, but we didn’t think anything of it.

  Q. What colour was the van?

  A. Just one of those white ones.

  Q. Your flatmate didn’t notice if there was anyone in it?

  A. No, it was too far away.

  Q. On the night of the assault, did you see a van?

  A. No. I mean, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t there. I just didn’t see it.

  Q. So you got off the bus, and started to walk towards your flat. What happened next?

  A. It’d been raining, and this big truck came past really close and sprayed water all over me. I had my new coat on and I was really annoyed. I suppose I just stopped for a minute. That’s when it happened.

  Q. You felt someone behind you?

  A. Yes, first he grabbed me and then I felt a bag going over my head and he was dragging me off.

  Q. Do you know where he took you?

  A. He put me in the back of a van. He’d tied my hands with something that was digging into my wrists and I felt as if I couldn’t breathe.

  Q. Do you remember anything else about the van?

  A. There was plastic or something on the floor. Some sort of sheeting.

  Q. And what happened after that?

  A. He took me to a car park off the ring road. I didn’t know that then. But that’s where it was.

  Q. What did he do then?

  A. I heard him get out of the van and walk round to the back. He dragged me out and pushed me along a few steps. I couldn’t see anything because of the bag. Then he threw me on the ground. And then he pulled off my knickers and raped me.

  Q. A subsequent medical examination confirmed that you also received internal injuries from some sort of blunt object. Is that correct?

  A. Yes.

  MR. JUSTICE HEALEY: I appreciate this is extremely difficult for you, Miss Donnelly, but I must ask you to speak a little louder so that members of the jury can hear what you are saying. Do you feel able to go on?

  A. Yes, sir.

  MR. BARNES: Thank you, my Lord. Miss Donnelly, was the rape you described the full extent of the assault?

  A. No.

  Q. What else happened?

  A. He beat me up.

  Q. I’m afraid I must ask you to be more explicit.

  A. He did it to make me shut up – I was trying to scream so he took hold of my head and beat it against the ground.

  Q. That was how you sustained the injuries you have now? The injuries visible to the court?

  A. Yes.

  Q. You suffered a fractured skull?

  A. Yes.

  Q. And loss of sight in one eye?

  A. That was when he kicked me. After he’d finished.

  Q. And he removed your jewellery and some of your hair?

  A. My earrings. He pulled them out.

  Q. Ripping one earlobe, I believe?

  A. Yes. And he ripped out some of my hair too.

  Q. And where was that?

  A. Just here, behind my ear.

  Q. How long was it after he left before help arrived?

  A. They told me afterwards it was about an hour. I think I must’ve passed out because it didn’t seem that long. But then suddenly there was an ambulance and the police were there.

  Q. How long did you spend in hospital, Miss Donnelly?

  A. Five weeks.

  Q. And have you been able to return to work since the attack?

  A. No.

  MR. BARNES: I have no further questions.

  MR. JUSTICE HEALEY: That seems a convenient moment to break for lunch. Members of the jury, we will resume at 2.15, please.

  * * *

  ‘Shall we ask this lot if their vans have satnav tracking, too?’

  Ev slides a glance at Quinn. She knows she’s probably pushing it, but it was irresistible. He’s so easy to wind up.

  He’s frowning now, knowing she’s taking the piss. Because if Mark Rose & Co is a premium service, the second firm on their list has to be the construction equivalent of Ryanair. Judging by the rather endearingly amateurish logo on their website they certainly haven’t invested any of their hard-earned cash in a graphic designer, and the offices aren’t even offices at all, just an eighties bungalow at the end of a cul-de-sac with paving down one side of the building and a double garage on the other. Ev had to check twice when they arrived, just to make sure it was the right place.

  The door is opened by a middle-aged woman in a jumper and baggy track pants. There’s a strong smell of cigarette smoke.

  ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘We’re from Thames Valley Police. Is this the offices of Ramsgate Renovations Ltd?’

  ‘That’s right.’ To the woman’s credit she doesn’t look immediately wary, which is the usual reaction to an unexpected visit from the police.

  ‘Can we speak to Mr Ramsgate?’

  ‘I’m afraid Keith’s on-site. You can talk to me, though. I’m Pauline. His wife. And the manager.’

  She takes them through to an extension which opens off the kitchen, fitted out with cheap but functional office furniture: a filing cupboard, a couple of desks, a big pinboard with charts of their different jobs. There’s a PC as well, but it’s obvious Pauline is more of a paper person. There are stacks of files and invoices covering almost every surface. Out the back, two white vans are parked up on the concreted garden. One has the rear doors open and a couple of lads are loading supplies.

  ‘Have you got permission to run a business from here?’ asks Quinn, gesturing at the vans.

  The woman shrugs. ‘We’re not overlooked, so why should anyone else be bothered? But if you want to push it the answer is yes. We do.’

  If Quinn thought it was a good way to get her on the back foot he appears to have misread his woman. They’re staring at each other now and Ev suspects Pauline won’t be the first to blink.

  She decides to have a go at good cop and see if that works any better.

  ‘Mrs Rams
gate, we were hoping you could help us. There was an incident involving a van on Monday 1st April. So we’re talking to all van owners, just to eliminate them from our enquiries.’

  ‘What sort of “incident”?’

  ‘It’s just routine, Mrs Ramsgate.’

  ‘Doesn’t sound like it to me. And how come you’re picking on us? There must be hundreds of vans in this city.’

  Pauline, evidently, didn’t come down in the last shower of rain.

  Everett takes out two sheets of paper and puts one down on the table. ‘This is from the CCTV at the petrol station on Cherwell Drive, taken that morning. We think this vehicle here may be one of yours.’

  The quality isn’t good, and there’s a lorry blocking most of the view, but it’s just about possible to see the front of a white van with a ladder strapped to the top of it, and on the side a word beginning ‘RA–’.

  Pauline’s eyes narrow. ‘I can only see two letters. That doesn’t prove it’s one of ours.’

  Everett nods, looking at the second sheet. ‘You’re right. There are actually three builders with names beginning like that in a ten-mile radius from here. Yourselves, Razniak Ltd and Rathbone & Sons. We’re just working through them alphabetically.’

  Pauline gives a heavy sigh; a waft of nicotine prickles Everett’s nose. ‘So you want to know where our vans were? Is that it?’

  ‘If you don’t mind.’

  Pauline folds her arms. ‘I know exactly where they were – everyone was on the same job.’

  ‘And where was that?’

  ‘Out at Bicester. Complete hotel refit – we’ll be on it for weeks.’

  ‘And what time would your people typically start work?’

  She bridles a little. ‘Seven thirty on the dot. It’s not a bloody holiday camp.’

  ‘So you’re saying you can account for all your blokes that morning?’ says Quinn. ‘No flat tyres, sick cats, dental emergencies?’

  Pauline glares at him. ‘They were all there except Ashley Brotherton. It was his nan’s funeral that day. She brought him up after his mum walked out.’

  ‘What does he do?’ says Ev. ‘As a job?’

  Pauline shoots her a look. ‘He’s a plasterer.’

  ‘And where is he today? At Bicester, I assume?’ asks Ev, hoping her voice isn’t giving her away. And that Pauline doesn’t realize Quinn’s telegraphing behind her back. ‘Just so we can have a quick chat and eliminate him from our enquiries?’

  Pauline lifts her chin. ‘He’s not due on-site till later so I expect he’s at home.’

  Everett smiles brightly. ‘Well, if you could just let me have his address then. And the reg number of his van. If you don’t mind.’

  * * *

  ‘She’s not in any trouble, I just need to know where she is. I’m sorry to call you on your mobile but I’ve texted everyone I can think of and spoken to the school and I know she’s not there – I’m going out of my mind – please, Isabel.’

  Fiona hates the pleading in her voice, the desperation. It’s like a bad smell.

  ‘But I don’t know where she is.’ Isabel’s voice rises into a wail. ‘I told you – she got off the bus and I didn’t see her after.’

  ‘Is there anyone else she could be with?’ She can feel the tension in her jaw, the weight behind her eyes. ‘She told me she doesn’t have a boyfriend, but is there someone she likes? A boy who might have stopped and offered her a lift?’

  ‘No, really –’

  ‘Someone she’d have trusted – someone she knew from school perhaps –’

  ‘I’d have told you already – why won’t you believe me?’

  There’s the sound of voices in the background, playground noises; it must be morning break. Fiona takes a deep breath. ‘So you really don’t know where she could be?’

  ‘I’m sorry. I really don’t.’

  There’s the sound of a bell now and a moment later the line goes dead.

  * * *

  Every time Everett goes to Blackbird Leys she forces herself to find something good about it. A nice garden or a tree in blossom or even just a particularly sassy local cat. She hates giving in to stereotypes but, no matter how hard she tries, the place always seems to do its best to defeat her. As they drive up Barraclough Road there are two men slumped on a bench surrounded by beer cans, and an overturned bin has spewed rotting food and rubbish halfway across the road. She swerves and Quinn swears. He hates being a passenger, but there was no way he was bringing his car here. And however determined she is not to prejudge this place, she really can’t blame him. As they pass, one of the men waves his can at her and shouts, ‘Fuck off!’ And they aren’t even in a squad car.

  ‘It’s about ten houses further on,’ says Quinn, squinting at the numbers. ‘Ninety-six, right?’

  The house is on the corner at the end of the terrace. These houses must have been The Next Big Thing once but the seventies architecture hasn’t aged well. The windows are too small and the whole of the ground floor is dominated by the garages jutting out from the facade. But all they are now is receptacles for junk: modern cars are too big to even get through the doors. Unlike its neighbours, 96 still has some scrubby grass out the front rather than a concrete parking space, but like the rest, the roof sags as if it just can’t be bothered any more.

  Ev pulls up and they get out. There’s music coming from upstairs; someone’s in.

  ‘I’ll go round the side,’ says Quinn. ‘See if I can spot the van.’

  Ev nods, takes a deep breath and rings the bell.

  The music stops, but there’s no other sign of life. She rings again. And a third time. Quinn appears round the corner.

  ‘Did you find the van?’

  He nods. He’s not smiling. ‘I could see some cable ties in the back. Looked the same type to me.’

  ‘That doesn’t prove anything. They’re hardly distinctive.’

  ‘Just saying.’

  There’s a noise from inside now – the sound of chains being taken off and a bolt sliding back. The door opens slowly. It’s an elderly man, breathing heavily from the effort. He’s wearing a threadbare cardigan and a pair of brown slacks that hang loosely off his thin hips. His face and hands are freckled with dark age spots.

  ‘Mr Brotherton?’ says Ev, holding up her warrant card. ‘DC Verity Everett. Could we come in for a moment?’

  The man looks suspicious. ‘What’s this about?’

  ‘It’s about your grandson. Ashley, isn’t it?’

  ‘What about him? He hasn’t done anything. He’s a good lad –’

  ‘No one’s saying he isn’t,’ she says quickly. ‘We just need to ask him a couple of routine questions. It’ll only take five minutes. Is he in?’ She smiles. She can see the old man wants to deny it but they both know hip-hop isn’t likely to be top of his own playlist.

  He sighs heavily. ‘Through the back.’

  Ashley Brotherton is leaning against the breakfast bar in the tiny kitchen, drinking orange juice from a carton. The room is tidy but not especially clean; Ev can feel the lino sticking under her shoes.

  ‘Who are you?’ he says, wiping juice from his mouth. He’s not tall but he’s well built. Very short hair, very pale blue eyes. Handsome, in a rather belligerent way. He pulls out a chair for his grandfather, who sits down slowly, in obvious pain.

  ‘Thames Valley CID,’ says Quinn. ‘Just wanted to check on your movements on the morning of April 1st.’

  Ashley and his grandfather exchange a glance. ‘That was Nan’s funeral,’ says the young man. ‘And in any case, what business is it of yours?’

  ‘Where was it held?’ says Ev, taking her notebook from her bag.

  ‘The crematorium,’ answers the old man. ‘The one in Headington.’

  ‘You still haven’t answered my question,’ says Ashley.

  ‘There was an attack on a young woman that morning,’ says Quinn smoothly. ‘We think the perp does the sort of work you do.’

  Ashley walks over to the
pedal bin in the corner and drops the empty carton inside. Then he turns to face Quinn. ‘Like I said, I was at my nan’s funeral. Cars got here at 8.30. Ceremony was at 9.00. Wake at the Red Lion at 10.30. You can check all that. Whoever you’re looking for, it ain’t me.’

  Quinn offers his most unpleasant smile. ‘So you won’t mind us searching your van, then, will you. Just to make sure.’

  The old man looks up. ‘You got a warrant?’

  ‘No,’ says Everett quickly. ‘It was just an informal request, Mr Brotherton –’

  ‘In that case the answer’s no. Like I said, Ashley’s a good lad. He’s got a good job, a proper skill. You’ve got no right dragging him into this for no good reason. Just because we live on the estate, you people immediately assume we’re dirt –’

  Ev bites her lip. So much for trying to find something decent about this place; seems she can’t even spot it when it’s sitting right in front of her. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Brotherton. We didn’t mean to cause any offence.’

  The old man gestures to his grandson. ‘Show them out, will you, Ash. I’ve got things to do.’

  On the doorstep, Ev stops a moment and turns. ‘Ashley – can I just ask – is it at all possible someone else could have used your van that day? Does anyone else have keys?’

  She’s half expecting him to tell her to piss off, and she couldn’t really blame him if he did, but he doesn’t. Just looks her straight in the eye. ‘No,’ he says. ‘Only me and the office.’

  Back in the car, Quinn snaps on his seat belt. ‘What do you think?’

  She puts the key in the ignition and then sits back. ‘I think we check what he said with the crematorium but I’m pretty sure they’re going to confirm it. I don’t reckon he attacked Faith. Not least because I just don’t think he’s that good a liar.’

  There’s the sound of an engine starting now and they look up to see a Ramsgate Renovations van turning right out of the side road. It passes barely three feet from their car yet Ashley Brotherton stares straight ahead, refusing to look at them.

  They watch him down the street and out of sight.

  ‘If he really did attack Faith, he’ll have that van cleared and valeted within the hour,’ says Quinn.

  Ev shrugs. ‘Who says he hasn’t done that already? And even if he hasn’t, the old boy was right – we don’t have a cat’s chance in hell of getting a warrant.’ She checks her watch. ‘Look, we’d better get a move on if we’re going to be back in time for the meeting.’