by Louisa Scarr
‘They’ll destroy me.’
The room falls silent. Even the solicitor is quiet, hand paused on his pen.
‘Who?’ Freya asks. ‘Mark, Tyler and Lee?’
Connor nods. Then he looks up at Freya, tears streaming down his cheeks. ‘They made Grandad’s life a misery. They’d sit outside his house until the early morning, drinking and shouting. When I came to live with him, it got worse. Dog shit through his letter box, graffitied our house. You name it. They said—’ He stops abruptly.
‘What did they say? You tell us, and we can put them away. For good.’ Freya pauses, leaning forward, her face close to his. ‘This is manslaughter, Connor. Murder, if we can prove it. Potential life in prison. This isn’t criminal damage or trespass. This is serious.’
‘Connor, you don’t have to answer that,’ Reynolds snaps. ‘My client isn’t under arrest.’
Josh sits up straight. ‘You keep quiet and it’s not good for you either, Connor,’ he says. Freya glances at him as if to say, careful now. Overplay the bad cop and the solicitor will whisk him out of here in seconds. ‘Even if you didn’t do it, that’s still conspiracy. Assisting at least.’
‘I can’t, I can’t.’
‘Connor, you can.’ Freya takes over again. ‘You’re stronger than you think. You’re a survivor. Even now, you’re living alone, looking after yourself. Going to college, getting a qualification. Carving out a life you can be proud of. What would your grandad tell you to do, Connor?’
Josh places a hand on her arm and she sits back in her seat. The solicitor scowls. She knows there’s nothing else they can say; they’ve played all their cards. The boy still has his head on his hands, but his crying has lessened.
Then he mumbles something, but she misses it.
‘Say that again, Connor?’ she asks.
He sits up, wiping his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt. ‘They did it,’ he says. ‘They forced that guy into the freezer.’ He starts to cry again but his words are clear: ‘And I did nothing to stop them.’
53
Once Connor starts talking, he can’t stop.
His solicitor tries to interject, but he carries on, words falling from his mouth, unabated. He tells the detectives how he came across the three boys drinking in the bus shelter on his way home from the railway. At first he kept walking, his head down as they jeered, throwing bottles his way, feeling the glass shatter at his feet. But then he slowed.
‘Play with us, Vardy,’ one of them mocked. ‘Come on, join in.’ He paused. Although he hated these boys, the pull of belonging was too much. He’d always envied their tight gang, their in-jokes, their laughter and fun. He’d never had friends.
‘You want a drink?’
He turned. Mark Black was holding a bottle out to him. It was dark and the storm was gathering force, wind pulling at his coat. He knew he needed to get home, but what was waiting for him there? An empty fridge. Another can of watery baked beans.
He walked back to the bus shelter. At first he feared a trick, but Mark jiggled the bottle again, the vodka sloshing in the bottom. He reached forward and took it. Mark nodded.
‘Chill out, Vardy,’ he said. ‘It might do you some good.’
He took a swig, then Mark pushed the bottle up again into his mouth, forcing him to take another. The vodka was harsh but warming. The boys laughed, but in a different way, an approving way, then handed him an open can of beer.
For the next hour he sat with them. Listened to their laughing and joking as he drank can after can. It started to rain, but they were dry in the bus shelter. He took a proffered cigarette, even though he didn’t smoke, and felt himself get woozy and light-headed.
‘Truth or dare time,’ Mark said.
‘I’ll go first,’ Tyler replied. ‘Dare.’
‘Moon the next car that comes down the road.’
‘Fucking easy,’ Tyler said with disdain. He walked to the edge of the pavement, hood up against the rain, then pulled down his trousers as a car approached. The car sped past, throwing up a cascade of water as it drove through a puddle. Tyler laughed and rejoined them in the bus shelter.
‘You next, Lee.’
‘Dare.’
‘Chicken with the next one. The next car.’
Lee gave him a cocky stare. ‘As you wish.’
Connor’s heart was in his mouth as Lee stood in the middle of the road. Lit in the approaching car’s headlights, he stood squarely in front of it. A loud beep, a squeal of brakes, then Lee leapt out of the way, laughing.
They got worse from there. Down this can in one. Smash the window in the bus stop. Set fire to the bin. Nothing stopped them. Connor’s turn – take a punch in the face. Nothing he hadn’t experienced in the past – and Lee’s blow was feeble, barely bruising his cheek. He rubbed it as he sat down, enjoying the gleeful cheers from the boys.
He felt accepted. He was one of them.
The storm was fiercer now. The wind whipped the trees into a frenzy, rain so hard it blew into the shelter, soaking their clothes. And then Connor saw him. He’d seen him around, the homeless guy. Sometimes, during the quiet moments, the man would make his way up to the railway station and Barry would welcome him into the café, sitting him down with a sausage sandwich and a cup of tea. He was always quiet, always polite. Connor couldn’t believe he was out in this weather.
He passed the bus shelter where they were all sat, and Mark shouted to him.
‘We in your house, mate?’ he taunted. ‘Come and say hello.’
The man went to turn, but Mark walked out and took him by the hand.
‘Hey, mate,’ he said, pulling harder. ‘Let’s find you a bed for the night.’
The homeless guy tried to pull away, but Mark held fast. ‘Come on, guys,’ he directed to Connor and the other two. ‘It’s my dare. And I say we find this guy somewhere to sleep.’
Tyler and Lee leapt to their feet, and the three of them pulled their hoods up, surrounding the homeless guy. They pushed and cajoled the man across the road and up the track leading to the station.
Connor watched them, unsure. This was more than a bare bum towards a car. He had a bad feeling about it all.
Then Mark called back. ‘Come on, Connor. You’re one of us now.’
And Connor followed them.
With an increasing sense of horror, he saw the freezer in the lay-by, the white almost glowing against the darkness. It had been there since Sunday night; Barry had cursed loudly when it had been dumped. And through the darkness and the pouring rain, Connor watched.
He did nothing as they dragged the man towards it.
He did nothing as Mark opened the lid.
He did nothing as he listened to the man protest, his shouts of anger, almost drowned out by the cackle and the laughter from the boys.
He did nothing as they forced the man inside, closed and sat on the lid, drumming their feet against the sides. Tyler stood up and danced a mocking jig on the top, the rain soaking him to the skin.
He did nothing as the rain fell and the wind howled.
And the man suffocated inside.
* * *
Once the boys grew bored, they climbed off the freezer and opened the lid. And he was dead.
Connor could tell that even Mark Black was shocked. The colour drained out of his face. Hushed, they looked at the dead man, curled up at the bottom of that chest freezer. Still and silent.
‘What the fuck are we going to do?’ Lee stuttered. Connor could see he was on the edge of tears.
Mark turned. ‘Nothing,’ he shouted. ‘We do nothing.’ He glanced around. They were alone, in the middle of the deserted track. ‘We go back to mine, play Xbox, make sure my mum and dad clock us.’ He turned to Connor. ‘You go home. But you say nothing, you hear me?’
The three boys crowded round him. Mark prodded a hard finger into the centre of Connor’s chest.
‘You keep quiet, Vardy. Because if you don’t… if you don’t…’ His features were hard. Resolute. ‘If you don’t, we’l
l go to your grandad’s grave and we’ll dig him up. We’ll dig him up and lay out his rotten, stinking corpse for all the world to see.’
Connor felt vomit rise in his stomach.
‘You hear me?’ Mark repeated. ‘You were as much a part of this as we were. Agree, you bastard.’
Connor nodded, mute.
‘Right. Now let’s go.’
Connor watched them walk back down the track, then turn left towards where he knew Mark lived. He stared down at the freezer. What could he do? Call the police and he’d be fucked.
He did nothing.
Until now. Now he talks until his mouth is dry, the story is told and the detectives in front of him are pale and unblinking.
54
Freya and Josh emerge stunned from the interview room. After Connor had finished talking, Josh did the only thing he could be expected to do.
‘I’m sorry, Connor,’ Josh said. And Connor looked down at the table, resigned for what was to come. ‘But I am arresting you for the false imprisonment of Duncan Thorpe…’
Freya listened as he finished the caution. A caution he’d already received at the beginning of the voluntary interview, but one which had to be repeated.
Josh and Freya stand in the corridor. The solicitor joins them, looking back to where Connor has been escorted away to be booked into custody. Face cast down, silent.
‘Are you going to arrest him for murder?’ Reynolds asks.
Josh frowns. ‘Maybe, Alex. And let the CPS decide the charge later.’
The solicitor puts his notes into his rucksack and heaves it onto his shoulder. ‘Well, keep me informed.’ He tilts his head at the detectives. ‘Wasn’t expecting that one when I got the call this morning,’ he comments ruefully. ‘Some days are just full of surprises.’
Freya and Josh watch him leave. There is no doubt about the case now: the other three boys will be arrested, their fingerprints and DNA taken, and Freya knows they’ll be a match to the exhibits collected from the crime scene and the bus shelter. Whether the three plead guilty or not doesn’t matter. Even now, Freya knows they probably have enough for the CPS to agree to charge.
Freya looks in the direction of the custody suite. ‘That poor boy,’ she murmurs.
‘Not even a boy,’ Josh replies. He sighs. ‘He’s eighteen, an adult. Same as the other three.’
‘Yeah, but that’s it. Their lives are over.’
Josh nods grimly. He knows what Freya is saying, why she feels so down, despite the fact that they have got justice for Duncan Thorpe.
Connor Vardy was someone with potential. He’d survived a shit childhood. He’d survived his mother dying, and his grandfather dying. He had support around him from Barry at the railway, and the tutors at college. Yet, on one walk home, the desire to be wanted, to be part of a group, had overtaken all common sense.
‘You don’t need me for the moment, do you?’ Freya asks. She needs a breath of fresh air; she wants to get away from the station for a while.
Josh nods. ‘Go ahead. Mina and I can take over for a bit. I’ll call you when the other three have been brought in.’
Freya goes back to the office, grabs her bag and heads out. She walks down to the car park, then phones Robin. He answers on the second ring, but his voice sounds slow and distracted.
‘You okay?’ she asks. She can hear traffic noise in the background.
‘Yeah, good. Just had a weird day. Where are you?’
‘On a break. At the station.’
‘Do you want to come and meet me?’
He tells her where he is and hangs up. She squints at the phone in confusion, then gets into her car.
* * *
Traffic is light, and the day is sunny and warm. She parks in the centre of town then walks up pedestrianised streets until the huge, dominating sight of Winchester Cathedral comes into view.
Robin isn’t the only one taking his break in the cathedral grounds. Groups of teenagers sit on the grass, sandwiches and drinks in hand. There is a feeling of fun in the air, of summer being just around the corner. She spots Robin on the far side, sitting on the grass, his legs out in front of him. His face is pointed up to the sun; his eyes are closed. He’s smiling slightly and has such an air of relaxation about him that it almost doesn’t seem like her boss at all.
He opens an eye as she comes closer, then sits up properly, crossing his legs. She collapses down next to him on the grass.
‘Are you okay?’ she asks tentatively.
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘You seem… Are you on drugs?’
He laughs. ‘No. It’s just been an odd day.’
And he tells her about Liv, and the labour ward, and the baby being born, while her mouth drops open in surprise.
‘So, it’s not yours?’ she manages at last.
‘Definitely not.’
‘Are you…’ She’s not sure how he might feel about the news. ‘Relieved?’ she tries.
‘I don’t know what I am. It’s one less thing to worry about, that’s for sure. But the idea of it all wasn’t so bad in the end.’ He turns to her. ‘And how’s your case coming on?’
She talks about Connor and the confession, his face creasing in sympathy as she tells the story.
‘It’s just so depressing,’ she finishes. ‘All so fucking unnecessary. That the guy would be homeless in the middle of the storm. That three nasty teenagers would think it fun to force him into a freezer. That he would die as a result.’
‘You can’t change any of that, Freya,’ Robin says. ‘You can only do your job.’
‘But it’s all so senseless. Same with Jon.’ Freya stops. She hadn’t meant to get onto this subject, but sitting here, with Robin, it feels good to let it out. ‘Why did he have to die?’
Robin looks across at the massive cathedral, the shrine to a supposedly benevolent god that created a world where these injustices happened. ‘I don’t believe in any of this stuff,’ he says. ‘In God, or his plan, or that we have a destiny we can’t control.’ He picks a daisy from the grass and rolls it around in his fingers. ‘I asked the same question when Georgia and the twins died.’ He looks sideways at her for a moment. ‘And I couldn’t find any answers. Not straightforward ones, anyway. We just have to carry on, living our lives in a way that would make the people that loved us proud.’
Freya remembers her own words to Connor, merely hours before. He hadn’t made his grandfather proud, had he? Not in the end. But he’d owned up to what he’d done, and maybe that was a start.
‘Robin,’ she begins. ‘About what happened with Amy.’ He looks across at her, the usual frown back on his face. ‘Is it over?’
‘I think so, Frey. Yes.’
‘Okay.’ Next to them a pigeon looks for crumbs; a peal of laughter from a toddler echoes round the cathedral grounds. ‘What are you going to do about Finn?’ she asks at last.
He sighs. He lies back again in the grass, his hands behind his head. He stares up at the sky. ‘I really don’t know,’ he replies. Then he closes his eyes.
Freya stays sitting. The sun is warm, and a gentle breeze blows across the grass. It’s hard to imagine the storm from a week ago, given the beautiful weather now. She looks at Robin. He’s wearing jeans and a navy-blue polo shirt pulled up slightly around his waist, exposing a thin strip of skin. His eyes are still closed, and she thinks about that odd night in the Premier Inn. What was that? What is this?
Normal DCs don’t sit in parks with their sergeants. They don’t go on trips to Devon; they don’t have heart-to-heart conversations about love, and life, and God. But then, normal DCs and DSs don’t have the secrets that they have between them.
She pulls a daisy out of the grass, makes a hole in its stem with her nail, then threads another through it. She repeats it, until there are five or six in a line. The action is soothing, a meaningless pursuit from her childhood.
But the calm can’t last for long. Robin’s phone rings; he awkwardly pulls it out of his pocket, then answers i
t.
‘Steph?’ he says, pushing himself up to a sitting position with a grunt. ‘What have you found?’
Steph? Freya thinks. When did he start talking to Steph again? Freya watches as Robin listens, then he gets to his feet.
‘I’m on my way,’ he says, finishing the call.
‘I have to go to Reading,’ he tells Freya and she realises that she doesn’t want to go back to the station. To listen to three horrible teenagers bluff and deny and no comment their way through their interviews.
‘I’m coming, too,’ she replies.
55
Any love for the universe that Robin might have fostered from his experience with Liv is lost as he battles the traffic up the A33 towards Reading.
The dual carriageway is crowded, all the traffic lights against them. Robin arrives in the Royal Berkshire car park with his patience tested to the limit.
Freya follows wordlessly behind him as he walks quickly towards Finn’s private room. Even from a distance, he can see a crowd of people in the corridor, recognising familiar figures as he gets closer.
DI Craig and DC Grey stand on one side, silent and grim-faced. On the other, Sandra is talking to Josie, her hand resting reassuringly on her arm. They all turn as they see Robin and Freya approaching.
Robin introduces Freya to the pair from Thames Valley Police, and Craig gestures to an empty room to the side. Josie watches the four coppers leave, her face questioning.
‘What’s going on? Where’s Steph?’ Robin asks once the door is closed.
‘I was going to ask you the same thing, Butler,’ Craig snaps. ‘It’s bad enough that you felt the coroner needed a second opinion and went behind my back to get it without keeping me waiting for the results.’
‘She’s with the coroner,’ Freya says quietly, looking at her phone. Craig turns to her sharply. ‘Dr Harper,’ she continues, showing them the screen with Steph’s message. ‘She says she wanted to update him first.’
Craig throws her hands up in the air with exasperation. ‘So I’m supposed to hang around here, waiting for something that could potentially destroy my entire case?’