In the Dark

by Cara Hunter

  I keep wondering if anyone is looking for me. Those people at the bedsit won’t be bothered. Mum doesn’t know where I am and probably wouldn’t care if she did. She’d probably say it served me right for being so stupid. That’s what she always says.

  I could die in here and no one would know

  I don’t want to die

  Please don’t let . . .

  [three sheets damaged]

  He raped me

  He RAPED me

  I don’t know how long ago because I’ve been lying here just crying and crying. Please, if you read this, don’t let him get away with it. Make him pay for what he did.

  He brought down more water but I think there was something in it again because I started to feel strange. As if I knew what was going on but I couldn’t do anything about it. One minute he was sitting there smiling at me and the next he was taking my knickers off and then he was touching me with his horrible wrinkly hands and putting his fingers in me and asking if I liked it. He didn’t untie me – I think he likes it that I’m tied up. He did it to me on my back then turned me over and did it to me again. And all the time I had my face in the dirt and it was hurting like he was ripping me inside.

  I was sick, afterwards. There was blood running down my legs.

  But he left the water and some food

  And he put the light on

  [several sheets missing]

  . . . how long I’ve been here but I can’t keep count because he took my watch and he took my phone. My period came today so it must be at least three weeks. I told him I needed things for it and he just brought me bog roll. He wouldn’t even give me my knickers back, the mean bastard. He says they’re dirty. And in any case he likes looking at me without them. Calls it my ‘vagina’.

  He sat there and watched while I stuck the paper between my legs. He had a strange look on his face. As if he liked the blood. As if it made it even better in his twisted screwed up mind. He said it was a pity we couldn’t have sex while I was bleeding but he could do it to me from behind if I want. It’s like he thinks we have sort of a relationship. I didn’t think anything could make this nightmare worse, but that does.

  [several sheets damaged]

  . . . nicer to me now. He says we can be a family and he’s always wanted a child and he hopes it will be a boy. He let me have my pants back and he’d even tried to wash them. He lets me have the light on too. And more food. But when I said I needed to see a doctor he laughed in a really nasty way and said I was in the right place. Then when I asked again he said women in the 19th century had babies in the fields and went straight back to work. That I was young and strong and he’d look after me. Me and the baby.

  But he must have been angry with me because he turned the light off again after that. I lay here in the dark. Feeling his kid in me. Eating me from the inside.

  [one or more sheets missing]

  It’s lying there now looking at me. When it cries its face crumples up and goes red. He told me I had to feed it but I turned my back on him. He wanted to have it – he can feed it. He got milk and managed to get the kid to drink some.

  He took the dirty bedding away and gave me new sheets. He kept saying he’d made sure everything was clean and hygienic and I said I didn’t care. I didn’t care if I died. Not any more. And he said I had to live for the baby’s sake and I just turned my face to the wall and cried.

  He said we were lucky I’m so young and the labour was so easy. And I said ‘Lucky? Lucky to be kept prisoner down here? Lucky to be raped day after day?’ And he said it’s not like that and I know it, and I need to behave myself. That he’s been lenient because I was pregnant but things are going to have to change now.

  He says I’ve got to look after the baby and he’ll leave me alone if I do so it’s in my interests. I tell him to take it upstairs and look after it himself but he won’t. He says it’s mine. Mine and his. He says it’s called Billy.

  I’m not going to give it a name

  Not down here

  Not in the dark

  He’s looking at me now. The baby. He has blue eyes. Dark hair just like mine. I’m trying to think of him as mine. As just mine and nothing to do with that horrible old pervert.

  He doesn’t cry much. He just lies there on the blanket looking at me. It’s over three months now. The old man is still being ‘nice’ to me. I get better food. Tampons. He even came back with some clothes. He must have got them in a charity shop but they could have been worse. He got some clothes for the kid too. A T-shirt and some onesies.

  Perhaps having the baby will be a good thing in the end. Because he can’t keep a baby down here forever, can he. What if it got sick? He won’t let it die. He doesn’t care about me but he won’t let anything happen to the baby.

  Not his son

  Not his Billy

  [one or more sheets missing]

  THERE’S NO FOOD LEFT AND THE WATER IS RUNNING OUT I DON’T KNOW HOW MUCH LONGER I CAN MAKE IT LAST

  I CAN HEAR PEOPLE NEXT DOOR BUT HOWEVER LOUD I SCREAM NO ONE COMES

  NO ONE COMES

  * * *

  * * *

  Baxter calls me from the custody suite at 5.30 p.m. My head is full of words. The girl’s words and the pictures my brain has made from them. I knew what he must have done to her but it’s different – hearing it, watching it play out in my brain. I’ve an anger now that I know I’m going to have to be very careful of. And the most immense pity.

  On the other end of the line, Baxter is waiting. ‘Boss?’

  ‘Sorry, miles away. What is it?’

  ‘It’s Harper. He’s lucid. And he says he wants to make a statement.’

  Time to count to ten.

  ‘Right. Have you called his lawyer?’

  ‘She’s going to be at least an hour, I’m afraid, and I’m not sure we can afford to wait. Not in the state he’s in – by the time she gets here we could have lost him again. His doctor’s here though, so if you’re OK with it she’s willing to be the appropriate adult.’

  ‘Fine by me. Bring him up to Interview One. Is Quinn around?’

  ‘Haven’t seen him.’

  ‘You then. I’ll be there in ten minutes.’

  * * *

  *

  Harper looks me straight in the eye when I go into the room, which is definitely a first. His back is straight and he seems aware of his surroundings. The doctor is a capable-looking woman with tired grey hair and unexpectedly pretty eyes. I take my seat next to Baxter and look across at Harper.

  ‘I believe you want to make a statement, Dr Harper?’

  I sense Baxter glance at me; he can tell something’s changed just from my voice.

  Harper hesitates, then nods.

  ‘And you are aware that this is a formal interview, and you are still under caution?’

  Another nod.

  ‘In that case, for the recording, I am Detective Inspector Adam Fawley. Also present besides Dr Harper are Dr Lynda Pearson and DC Andrew Baxter. So, Dr Harper, what is it you want to tell us?’

  He looks at me, then at Baxter. But he says nothing.

  ‘Dr Harper?’

  He looks around at us all, slower this time. ‘It’s her, isn’t it?’ he says.

  ‘I’m sorry?’

  ‘You want me to talk about her.’

  Baxter opens his mouth to speak but I put out a hand to stop him. I want to hear this the way Harper tells it. I’ve heard the girl’s version; now I want to hear his.

  He reaches for the cup of water in front of him, then looks up at me. His eyes are wet and streaked with tiny red veins. ‘Have you ever wished you could put the clock back – even just for a single hour?’

  My heart hammers and for a moment I don’t think I can breathe. Whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t this. The anger, it’s still there, bu
t what I’m feeling most now is loss. Not Hannah’s, not Vicky’s, not even the child’s. My own. Because I wouldn’t even need an hour; I’d give everything I have for five minutes. The five minutes I spent sorting out the dustbins the night Jake died. The five minutes that meant I was too late reaching him, cutting him down, getting life back into his lungs. That’s all it was.

  Five minutes.

  Five bloody minutes.

  ‘She haunts me, you know,’ he says suddenly. ‘That red dress that made her look like a whore. Her cold little hands closing round my cock. I knew it couldn’t be her – that she wasn’t actually there. But it didn’t stop. Night after night. She wouldn’t leave me in peace.’

  I lean forward. ‘Who are you talking about, Dr Harper?’

  ‘It was a moment of madness. That’s what they say, isn’t it? A “moment of madness”. But you can’t go back. Afterwards, I mean. You have to live with what you’ve done.’

  He puts his head in his hands and rubs his eyes. ‘These last few months, I know I’ve not been myself. The bloody booze. Blackouts. Seeing things. Waking up somewhere and not knowing how I got there.’

  He sits back in his chair and his arms drop to his sides. ‘That shit Ross wants to put me in a home. Says I’m fucking doo-lally. Perhaps he’s right.’

  I see Lynda Pearson glance at him and I think I know why. The swearing – it’s like a warning light. A sign he’s slipping. That we’re losing him.

  I open my cardboard folder quickly and take out a picture of the girl. It’s the first time I’ve looked at her face since I read what Challow found.

  ‘Is this the woman you’re talking about?’

  He looks at me blankly. Blinks.

  ‘This young woman is called Vicky. She was found in the cellar of your house. With a little boy.’

  I pass across a second picture. He pushes it away. ‘Priscilla always was an evil cow.’

  ‘This isn’t your wife, Dr Harper. This is a young woman called Hannah Gardiner. Her body was found in your shed. She’d been missing for two years.’

  I pull the photos together side by side, facing him. ‘What can you tell me about these women?’

  ‘I know what you’re thinking but you’re wrong. I am not a bad man. She probably told you I was. She probably said I was a pervert.’ There is spit dribbling from his mouth now. ‘One of those paedophiles the press get so uptight about. That’s what she said. That I was a nasty twisted peedo and I ought to be locked up.’

  ‘Who said that?’ says Baxter. ‘It was Vicky, wasn’t it – when you were doing whatever sick things you were doing to her –’

  Harper shrinks back. ‘What’s he talking about?’ He turns to Pearson, louder now. ‘What’s he talking about?’

  I point to Vicky’s picture. ‘Dr Harper, we have evidence that you raped this girl –’

  He starts to rock backwards and forwards, snivelling quietly. ‘It’s not my fault, it’s not my fault.’

  ‘– raped her and kept her locked up in your cellar for nigh on three years –’

  He covers his ears. ‘I don’t go down there – not any more – there’s something down there – I hear it – in the night – wailing and scratching –’

  I lean forward, forcing him to look at me. ‘What did you hear down there, Dr Harper? What did you hear?’

  But Pearson turns to me and shakes her head. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector, I don’t think we can carry on with this.’

  Outside, in the corridor, Pearson catches up with me.

  ‘I think there’s something you should know. I’d have said something before, but it’s the first time I’ve seen that picture – there’s been nothing in the press.’

  ‘I’m sorry, I’m not with you.’ If I’m a bit short with her, well, that’s not going to come as any great surprise.

  ‘That girl,’ she says. ‘Vicky. She’s the image of Priscilla. The hair, the eyes, everything. I’m not sure what it means – or if it means anything – but it’s something you need to know.’

  ‘Was Mrs Harper your patient too?’

  She shakes her head. ‘No. She went private. But I met her a few times. Let’s just say that she wasn’t a very easy person.’

  ‘According to our records, the police were called out twice to disturbances at the house. On both occasions it appears she was the aggressor. That she attacked her husband.’

  She nods. ‘I can’t say I’m surprised. By all accounts she led him a dog’s life. I remember Bill telling me he’d been to infertility testing because they were trying to get pregnant. It was only much later that he found out she’d had a coil fitted privately years before. He was furious. As much for the lie as for the fact that he’d missed his chance to be a father. He and Nancy had wanted kids but it never happened.’

  I nod slowly. ‘Anyone would be angry. That sort of deception.’

  She sighs. ‘I think he hated her, even before that. Because of what their affair did to Nancy. I tried to tell him the breast cancer would have happened anyway, but he kept blaming himself – saying that between them, he and Priscilla had killed her. Apparently, when he told Priscilla he would never leave Nancy, she went round to the house and told her what was going on. Nancy had no idea – she was very trusting. The thought of Bill being unfaithful would never even have occurred to her. She was diagnosed less than a year later and she only lasted six months after that. That’s where a lot of the animosity is coming from now. All that fury he had to suppress while Priscilla was alive – the Alzheimer’s is letting it all out. And then when you show him a picture of someone who looks so like her – well, it’s small wonder he reacts how he does.’

  ‘So how would he have reacted if he’d actually met her? If he’d seen Vicky outside his house?’

  The doctor goes pale. ‘Oh Lord – is that what you think happened? Is that what he meant about a moment of madness?’

  I shrug. ‘I don’t know.’

  She shakes her head sadly. ‘That poor, poor girl. And that poor child. Do you know how he’s doing?’

  I could say something, but I don’t. ‘He’s in good hands. At least for now.’

  * * *

  * * *

  In the incident room, Somer is on one of the computers, scrolling down through batch after batch of images. One of the DCs wanders past behind her and bends to have a look. ‘If it’s furniture you’re after you could try Wayfair. My girlfriend swears by it. I should know – I have to pay for all the bloody stuff.’

  Somer is still staring at the screen. ‘It’s not for me. There’s a particular type of cupboard I’m trying to track down.’

  The DC shrugs. ‘Suit yourself. I was just trying to help. We’re not all after a shag, whatever you might think.’

  She watches him walk away, her cheeks burning, wondering what she did wrong. Or if she did anything wrong at all. Then she sighs, knowing exactly what her sister would have said if she could see her now. But Kath was the most beautiful girl in the school from the first day she arrived: she got used to the cost of her looks very early on. Somer, by contrast, spent her childhood being told she was merely ‘nice-looking’, and the change, when it came, forced her into attention she had no idea how to handle. There are times, like now, when it feels as if she’s hardly made any progress at all.

  She turns back to the computer, and a few minutes later she sits back, gazing at the screen. Then she logs on to the shared CID server and pulls up the photos taken in Frampton Road.

  ‘Gotcha,’ she says, under her breath.

  * * *

  * * *

  Donald Walsh is sitting in exactly the same chair William Harper was sitting in half an hour ago, if he did but know it. In the room next door, Everett is watching on the screen. It’s clear that Walsh is in full performance mode. He’s making a great show of checking his watch every thirty seconds and looking around with an i
ncreasingly irritated expression. The door opens and Gislingham comes to join her. His face says it all.

  ‘So you got something?’

  ‘Yup. Walsh’s prints are an exact match to the unidentified sets in both the cellar and the kitchen. They are also – and this is where it gets interesting – a match for some of those we found in the shed. But only on the paint tins and the garden stuff.’

  ‘So you’re going to interview him?’

  Gislingham nods. ‘He’s deffo got some explaining to do.’

  On the screen, the door opens to reveal Quinn, who looks around, clearly expecting Gislingham to be there already.

  ‘Oops,’ says Gislingham, ‘I’d better go.’

  Everett watches as he joins Quinn, taking his seat and pushing his chair back.

  ‘Mr Walsh,’ begins Quinn, ‘I am Detective Sergeant Gareth Quinn. DC Gislingham you already know. For the purposes of the tape, I can confirm that you have already been cautioned –’

  ‘Which is a preposterous bureaucratic overreaction, if you don’t mind me saying so – I had absolutely nothing to do with any aspect of this ludicrous shambles.’

  Quinn raises an eyebrow. ‘Really?’ He opens the file he was carrying. ‘We’ve just had confirmation that some of the fingerprints we found at thirty-three Frampton Road are a match for yours.’

  Walsh shrugs. ‘That’s hardly surprising. I have visited several times. Albeit not recently.’

  ‘When exactly were you there last?’

  ‘I’m not entirely sure. Perhaps the autumn of 2014. I came to a conference in Oxford that October and popped in to see Bill for a few minutes. To be honest, I pretty much stopped going after Priscilla died.’

  Gislingham raises an eyebrow; that doesn’t sound right, not with everything he’s heard about her. ‘So did you get on well with Priscilla then?’

  ‘If you must know, I thought she was a terrible woman. A vicious bitch and a marriage wrecker, though I’m aware the latter is a rather old-fashioned concept these days. She turned my aunt’s final years into a complete hell. I made a point of only going there when I knew she’d be out.’