Rope Enough - The Romney and Marsh Files #1

by Oliver Tidy

  Romney said, ‘Anything you can remember. Any detail that could help us to catch this man.’

  ‘He took his time. He used his fingers first. The most perverted thing about it is that I think he was actually treating me like a lover, not just a piece of meat. It was like he was trying to get me in the mood. Like he wanted me to enjoy it. How sick is that? How could he imagine that I could ever enjoy being bound to a table by a complete stranger, raped and enjoy it? How could he be that deluded?’ There was no answer that either officer could offer. ‘Eventually, he forced himself on me. He took his time. It was just like he was making love to me in his sick mind. It was the most horrible, disgusting experience of my life.’

  ‘Did he wear a condom?’

  ‘Yes.’ She looked up at Romney. ‘There’s something else. He didn’t ejaculate inside me. When he got near he pulled himself out and finished himself on my backside.’

  ‘You are absolutely positive about that?’ said Romney.

  She nodded. ‘When he’d finished, he cleaned me up – washed himself off me. He was a bit rougher then. He’d had his fun. Lived out his fantasy.’

  ‘Thank you,’ said Romney. ‘I understand how hard that must have been for you to remember. Did you notice anything unusual about his speech?’

  ‘He had an accent. Like the immigrants in the town.’

  ‘Could it have been put on?’

  ‘Yes, it could. It crossed my mind. I don’t think that he was very old. There was something about the quality of his voice. He didn’t say a lot, and I wasn’t really concentrating on his speech, but I remember thinking that he wasn’t old.’

  ‘Anything else that you remember?’

  ‘He might have taken pictures. I heard something that sounded like a camera.’

  ‘Can you describe the sound?’

  ‘It was electronic.’

  ‘Would you recognise the sound if you heard it again?’

  ‘Possibly.’

  Romney asked Marsh to bring Claire Stamp’s phone to the interview room. When she returned they demonstrated the camera function.

  ‘It could be,’ said Mrs Goddard. ‘I can’t be sure.’

  Romney said, ‘Are you aware of the incident that took place at the petrol station on Crabble Hill last week?’

  ‘I heard about it. Why?’

  ‘From what you’ve told us, we have good reason to believe that the man who attacked you is the same one that carried out that attack.’

  ‘Someone was raped? I didn’t know that.’

  ‘Yes. In very much the same circumstances you’ve described.’

  ‘Oh God,’ she breathed. ‘How is she?’

  ‘She’s dead,’ said Romney, and instantly regretted the disclosure. Jane Goddard put her hand to her mouth. Her eyes widened. ‘She fell from a high building the following day.’

  ‘She killed herself?’

  ‘It seems so,’ said Romney.

  ‘Oh my God. The poor cow.’

  ‘Mrs Goddard, because of the similarities in the attacks, I have to tell you something else,’ said Romney. ‘Before I do, I want to impress upon you that you must not discuss what I’m about to tell you or indeed anything else I’ve told you about the similarities of yours and the other attack. We can’t afford to have details of the investigation made common knowledge. They could be how we can catch him.’

  ‘I understand,’ she said. ‘What else?’

  ‘Soon after the other victim was attacked she received photographic messages sent to her mobile phone. The images were of the rape. He might not have finished with you. You need to know that you might receive such images. You need to be prepared for that. You also need to contact us immediately, if you do. Don’t delete them. It could provide crucial evidence for our investigation.’ The news had a physical effect on the woman.

  ‘We can have your phone’s SIM card, if you would like us to?’ said Marsh. ‘We could arrange a new one with your service provider – a new number that you could forward on to your contacts so that you don’t have to see them, if he chooses to send the images to you.’

  ‘How would he get my number?’

  ‘He might not. We don’t know if he can, or if he will, or even if he would send images to you. But you need to be prepared.’

  ‘I’ll keep my SIM card,’ she said. ‘If he sends anything, I want to have control of it.’

  ‘But you will alert us, Mrs Goddard?’ said Romney. ‘I’m sorry, but it is essential.’

  ‘I’ll tell you.’

  As she had done with Claire Stamp, Marsh offered Mrs Goddard her card with her personal contact details. They discussed the availability of counselling, which Mrs Goddard declined. She told them she had arranged to meet her husband in a coffee shop in the town. Both Marsh and Romney walked her to the front reception.

  As they entered the station’s main entrance lobby they met Mr Logi. He was being shown out after having provided his sample. There was a difficult moment as the four of them stood there, people coming and going around them, oblivious to the tableau of awkwardness. Mr Logi wore a pained expression. There was something horribly sad in the look he gave Jane Goddard. Romney and Marsh excused themselves, leaving the pair to what few words it looked like they had for each other.

  As they made their way back upstairs to CID, Marsh said, ‘Do you think he will send her images?’

  ‘Yes, I do,’ said Romney. ‘I’m hoping for the best but fearing the worst. I appreciate how traumatic that would be for her, but if he sends her images it could provide us with a firm link between the two, perhaps a lead to his identity. He would have to have knowledge of, maybe even contact with, them both.’

  *

  ‘Her description of the rape was odd, particularly when you compare it to the description that Claire Stamp gave us,’ said Marsh, as they sat in Romney’s office. ‘Stamp said it was over quickly. Goddard made it sound like he was making love to her. He took his time and was trying to get her in the mood. And the way that it finished. It just doesn’t sound like the same man.’

  ‘I know what you mean,’ said Romney. ‘But in the petrol station he would have been aware that anyone could turn up and spoil his fun. And it was his first one. Maybe he’s refining his methods, giving himself more of an opportunity to live out his fantasies to the fullest. He’s taken a hell of a risk this time.’

  ‘Perhaps his confidence is growing,’ said Marsh.

  ‘I’m sure it will be.’

  ‘He’ll strike again, won’t he?’

  ‘You can bet your pension on it. Get a list together of all the male contacts in Claire Stamp’s phone book. Every man whose name has cropped up in the investigation. Give Jane Goddard the rest of today then go and see her with the list. See if she recognises any of them. I’m not sure he’s that stupid, but after the risk he took with his fun and games, he might be.’

  *

  Last thing that evening, Romney received a visitor from forensics. Marsh found the woman wandering around the corridor outside CID. She tapped on Romney’s door and entered. ‘Diane Hodge from forensics would like to see you, sir, if you’ve got a minute. She seems rather perturbed about something. Not her usual bubbly self.’

  Romney held Marsh’s gaze for a few moments trying to work out what she was getting at. ‘All right. Show her in. You can come in, too.’

  Miss Hodge’s face lit up, noticed Marsh, as she set eyes on Romney, quashing any doubts regarding her woman’s intuition where Hodge’s feelings for her boss were concerned. She briefly wondered whether she should mention the woman’s obvious crush to Romney as he seemed oblivious to her adoring looks. She scotched the idea quickly. It was none of her business.

  ‘Miss Hodge, Diane,’ said Romney. ‘What can I do for you?’

  She smiled at Romney’s welcome, and then her features adopted a troubled look. ‘I’ve brought up the results of the samples you asked me to take from Mr Logi. I did it myself this afternoon. I know that it’s an urgent matter.
’

  ‘Well, thanks very much,’ said Romney. He extended his hand to take the file, but she kept it clutched to her chest.

  She said, ‘It’s not as straightforward as I thought it was going to be after our phone conversation about Mr Logi.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ said Romney. ‘We interviewed the second victim a little while ago. She thinks that the attacker might have left traces of himself on her after all. I should have phoned you. Sorry.’

  ‘Oh, that’s all right,’ she said. ‘I would have done a thorough check anyway on anything that was recovered. No, it’s not that exactly. I’ve brought the file up myself because I thought it might need a little explaining.’

  ‘I see. Take a seat.’ She perched on the vacant seat opposite him. Romney exchanged a quick look with Marsh but got nothing out of it. ‘So, what’s the problem?’

  ‘Bear with me would you?’ Romney nodded. ‘We collected one sample from the petrol station: the saliva sample you suggested we look for on the top of the condom packet. Let’s call that Sample A. From the second victim we collected two samples. Let’s call those B and C. Sample B matched the sample that Mr Logi provided for us. If the second victim has not had sexual relations with anyone else then Sample C must be that of the rapist. And therefore must match Sample A.’ Romney saw it coming, but it didn’t make any difference. ‘Samples A and C do not match.’

  The little office became very quiet while this information was digested by the police.

  ‘What possible reasons could there be for that?’ said Romney.

  ‘There is no mistake in the lab work,’ said Hodge. ‘I took the samples myself and did every test personally. When I saw this,’ she waved the file she was still holding, ‘I double-checked everything.’

  ‘Jane Goddard could have had sex with her husband recently or someone else,’ said Marsh.

  Hodge said, ‘That’s one of the possibilities. Another one is that the top of the condom packet recovered from the garage was nothing to do with the rape there. And there is, of course, one more possibility.’

  ‘Which is?’ said Romney.

  ‘That the man who raped Jane Goddard is not the same man who raped Claire Stamp.’

  ***

  25

  ‘It has to be the same man,’ said Romney. ‘It’s bordering on impossible for there to be two rapists operating with the same extraordinary MO, the same props and within a few days and a few miles of each other.’

  ‘I agree,’ said Superintendent Falkner. ‘So that must mean that if there is no doubt about the reliability of the samples taken, either this Goddard woman was shagging someone else, or the sample from the garage isn’t from the rapist.’

  ‘DS Marsh is going to see her this morning. That’s one of the things on her list to find out.’

  ‘Keep me informed. How’s everything else?’

  ‘Sir?’

  ‘You look tired, Tom. Burning the candle at both ends?’ Romney fidgeted uncomfortably. ‘Little bird told me you’ve got yourself a pretty young filly. None of my business, of course, but I wouldn’t want your private life getting in the way of business. Not when business is how it is. Make myself clear?’

  ‘Perfectly, sir.’ Romney knew Falkner well enough to understand that he was a straight-talking man and that the comment was not intended to be taken as anything other than the good advice of a senior officer protective of his staff and his station’s reputation. He was doing his job. Romney didn’t resent him for it.

  ‘Good,’ said Falkner. ‘How do you find old Crow?’

  ‘I like him. I respect his methods and his thinking.’

  ‘He’s a good copper. Old school. I used to work with him, you know? Long time ago.’ Falkner’s memories scudded across his features. ‘I trust you on this, Tom, but if you need a second opinion, don’t be proud. Know what I mean?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I’ll bear it in mind.’

  Walking back to his office, Romney reflected that that was the second time in forty-eight hours that Falkner had expressed his support for him. He found it disconcerting.

  The superintendent was right about one thing: he was tired. The previous evening – wining, dining and making love to Julie Carpenter – had seen him fall into his own bed after two in the morning.

  The late nights and early mornings were bound to take their toll on him. He didn’t realise that it was showing. But even so, even with the high profile aspect of the case that he was leading, it was worth every minute for him in her company. She had rekindled some long dormant emotion within him that was now consuming him with the intensity of his feelings. His ego was in something of its zenith.

  Romney kept these feelings from the new woman in his life. He didn’t want to frighten her off. Despite the time and intimate nature of much of it they were spending together, he was unsure of exactly how she viewed their relationship. He didn’t even know if she would consider it a relationship or simply a casual fling. Until the day that things became clearer, he would enjoy it for whatever it was and, if the opportunity should present itself for some sort of permanency to be discussed, he would certainly consider it.

  Partly because he couldn’t believe that the shred of evidence taken from the floor of the petrol station’s back room wasn’t pertinent to the rape case, Romney had held off from exploring other possibilities for how it came to be there on that night. It was the only evidence the police had that would convict a suspect. If it weren’t evidence at all they would have nothing. With all the demoralisation that went with it they would have less than nothing.

  Romney found himself hoping that Marsh would discover that Jane Goddard would have another explanation for the second semen sample found on her.

  *

  Marsh returned from her meeting with Jane Goddard late morning. Romney could read from her face that he shouldn’t expect good news.

  ‘There was no one on the list of Claire Stamp’s contacts that meant anything to her,’ she said.

  ‘That’s not such a surprise. And the other matter?’

  ‘She was adamant that there was no one else who it could have been – not even her husband.’

  ‘You made her understand the importance and confidence of her honesty?’

  ‘Yes, sir. She understood. I’m sure that she was telling me the truth.’

  Romney scowled. ‘Shit. Well that screws up what we already had or thought we had.’

  ‘It does and it doesn’t, sir.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘All we had before was a sample of the rapist’s body fluid. We’ve still got that. It’s just a different sample.’

  ‘I suppose you’re right. But then I want to know how the top of that condom packet came to be lying around on the floor near a rape scene. It’s too much of a coincidence. I don’t like coincidences. Start by organising the taking of DNA samples from everyone who works there. Claire Stamp’s DNA will need eliminating too.’

  ***

  26

  That afternoon was Claire Stamp’s funeral. Romney decided he would go alone.

  Claire Stamp was to be buried at the town’s Connaught Park cemetery. As Romney made his way there, he wondered what sort of a turnout there would be. With her mother dead and a sister that lived counties away, he could cut a lonely figure. One person he didn’t expect to see there was Avery.

  A cold winter’s drizzle was falling as he pulled into the car park of the municipal burial ground. Apart from the hearse there were two other vehicles. He spied a small group of mourners huddled around an excavation across the field of the dead. From his distance and in their black clothing they put him in mind of crows around carrion. With a heavy sigh, he stepped out of the warmth of his car into the chilly dismal afternoon. Thankfully, he’d remembered his umbrella. He picked his way across the soggy paths of turf that separated the memorials to the dead.

  Trudging across the sodden earth, he tried to make out the identities of the mourners. He recognised Avery. His diminutive figure made him i
nstantly recognisable. Believing as he did that this man had probably had two hands in the death of Claire Stamp, Romney found his attendance repugnant. Was his presence an attack of remorse or guilt, or was he simply there to see her off?

  Apart from the vicar, there were only two other people at the graveside who were clearly not part of the undertaker’s staff. One was a woman who, when Romney came close enough to make out her facial features, bore a strong resemblance to the deceased. Romney believed he must be looking at Claire Stamp’s sister. She took Romney in with a long, cold look before returning her attention to the casket and the words being spoken by the vicar who was getting a good soaking.

  The third figure stood head bowed with his back to Romney. He had no umbrella. As he stood taking his drenching, Romney realised there was something familiar in the way he held himself, or rather slouched.

  When the vicar had finished and the coffin had been lowered into the ground those who were there in a professional capacity went about their business. The three that represented the life that the corpse had left behind paid their independent last respects, and without speaking to one another they began to make their lonely ways back towards the exit.

  Avery treated Romney to a challenging glare as he departed, daring him to say something. Romney was surprised to realise that the third figure, who had had his back to him the whole time, was Carl Park. The youth turned to find Romney staring at him. He no longer wore the bandaging around his head. He’d made an obvious effort with his clothing.