Behind Closed Doors

by Elizabeth Haynes

  Please do not hesitate to contact me if you require anything further.

  Kind regards,

  Zoe Adams

  Senior Analyst, FIB and OCG Team

  SCARLETT

  Tuesday 5 November 2013, 08:15

  It was the strangest thing, waking up and hearing Juliette’s breathing, steady and slow, coming from the bed next to her. It felt as though she had drifted off a few minutes ago, but she must have slept well because daylight was showing around the edges of the Travel Inn’s blackout curtains.

  At six, the mobile phone she had left charging under her coat, next to her side of the bed, had begun to buzz. She’d grappled for it, trying to silence it before it woke her sister. One missed call—the number was the only one she had stored in her phone. Sam’s mobile. There was no message, no text, no response to all the messages Scarlett had sent last night when Juliette was asleep. What was Sam supposed to say, anyway? There was nothing she could say. She had a job to do.

  Scarlett looked across at Juliette, who stirred and turned over. “Juliette?” Scarlett whispered. “You awake?”

  There was a murmur that might have been agreement, but then the breathing deepened again. Scarlett looked at Juliette’s watch. They would need to get up soon. They had to talk, had to work out a plan before Sam turned up. But for now she would let her sleep on while she could: today was going to be difficult enough to deal with.

  Not for the first time, Scarlett wondered what would have happened to them both if she’d never gone into the house in Russet Avenue that Tuesday in March.

  “I knew you’d come back,” Juliette had said. “I knew you’d come back for me.”

  They were sitting at the kitchen table eating toast. It felt very domestic and civilized, and mind-bendingly strange. There had been tears at first, Juliette crying and holding on to her sister as if she would never let her go again. And then, quite suddenly, she had stopped.

  She’d pointed at the clock in the living room. “They’ll be back soon; they won’t be out for long. You can’t be here when they get home.”

  “Come with me,” Scarlett had said impulsively. Even as she said it, she’d thought how crazy it was to think like that. Was she going to take Juliette back to her tiny room in the flat? They had no money, no proper place to live.

  But Juliette hadn’t wanted to leave. “No, I can’t, I can’t. It’s all right, it’s easier now. He doesn’t bother with me so much anymore; and I like being left alone. I can read in my room and get food when I feel like it, or watch films. Other people have to go out and get jobs, don’t they? They don’t want me doing something like that. As soon as I left school they never said anything more about it.”

  Juliette hadn’t asked anything about Scarlett. Where she’d been, what had happened to her, why she’d come back. Not that first day, nor on any subsequent visits. At first Scarlett, overwhelmed at seeing her sister again, didn’t notice; later she found it hurtful. But it took time for them to find each other again, to fit back together. And, after all, there were plenty of other subjects they didn’t discuss either: they didn’t need to. For example, why Scarlett waited until Clive and Annie went out before coming to see Juliette. It was just between the two of them, this bond, this understanding. The roles they had had once upon a time had changed and expanded, but at the core remained the same: Juliette knew what she wanted, was set in her ways. And Scarlett accommodated her.

  Juliette moved again, stretched, sat up on the edge of the bed for a moment and then shuffled to the en suite. Scarlett took advantage of the moment of privacy to get dressed. With the curtains open she felt more awake. She turned on the TV and the kettle, because she could hear Juliette crying in the bathroom. She had cried a lot last night too, had still been sniffing and trembling until she fell asleep. Nothing Scarlett said or did seemed to make a difference.

  “All right, Jul?” Scarlett asked, when Juliette eventually unlocked the bathroom door and came back in. Scarlett had made them both tea, and it was getting cold.

  Juliette mumbled something in reply, pulling on yesterday’s socks.

  “I know you’re upset,” Scarlett said, “but I wish we could talk.”

  “Talk about what?” Juliette said. “I want to go home. I want clean clothes. I don’t like it here. Do you think they’ll let me go home today?”

  “Me,” Scarlett thought. Not “us”. . .

  “I don’t know.”

  But Juliette’s shoulders were shaking again and a second later she let out a loud, gasping sob. Scarlett went to sit next to her, to put her arms around her, but Juliette shrank back.

  “Jul,” she said, “it’s okay. It’ll be all right, I promise . . .”

  “No,” Juliette wailed. “It won’t, it won’t.”

  “It will,” Scarlett persisted. “We can start again, just you and me, it will be good. You won’t need to worry about anything.”

  Juliette said something then, and Scarlett thought she hadn’t heard correctly. She said, “What?” quietly, not really wanting it repeated but at the same time hoping she’d misheard.

  And Juliette’s voice, quiet, miserable, full of tears: “I want my mum . . .”

  LOU

  Tuesday 5 November 2013, 08:45

  Lou was sitting in Rob Jefferson’s office with Zoe Adams, waiting for the DI to get back from the morning meeting. If it hadn’t already been going on for nearly half an hour, she would have gatecrashed it. As it was, everything would have to wait for the warrant, and Sam was busy putting the paperwork together.

  “I could really do with a network chart,” Lou said. “I know it takes a while. But I think that’s the only way to see the links between all these individuals. And I’m sure you’d find more intel supporting it, especially given that some of our officers can’t spell and don’t seem to be able to link things up properly.”

  “I’ll get right on to it. I’ve finished the download analysis on the phone retrieved from the Volvo, anyway—I just need to email it out to you.”

  “Thank you, Zoe. I’m sorry to throw all this at you.”

  “Don’t worry. It’s my job, after all.”

  That reminded her of her awkward conversation with Jason yesterday, and the likelihood that he’d had a conversation with Zoe about who was doing what and why Lou felt she had to pass extra work to another senior analyst who wasn’t even connected with the investigation.

  “Did you see that addendum to the previous phone analysis?” Zoe added.

  “No,” Lou said.

  “I sent it to you. Only about ten minutes ago, though. Some very interesting links there—”

  Rob Jefferson came in, looking flustered. “Sorry, sorry,” he said. “You been waiting long?”

  “No, you’re fine. How’s it going?”

  “Lots of things coming in. What was it you wanted to discuss?”

  Lou explained about Reggie Stark, summarizing the intelligence. “I’d really like Zoe to do me a network chart when she’s got a minute. I think it will help to clarify things. In the meantime, I’ve got Sam Hollands doing us a warrant.”

  “That’s great, thanks. Let’s hope that baseball bat is still tucked behind his door, and that it’s got McVey’s DNA on it.”

  Zoe said, “The phone analysis I’ve been doing supports everything you’ve just said, too. I’ll leave you to read it, but basically it looks as if the phone in the burned-out Volvo can be attributed to Reggie Stark.”

  “Can you copy Sam Hollands on the phone analysis, Zoe?” Lou asked. “Anything extra to go on the warrant will help.”

  “Of course.”

  “And Rob—can I leave it to you to get Tac Team tasked for the warrant?” Lou asked.

  “Yep, no problem. Just give me the nod when it’s ready. I’ll go and see what the availability is now. Are you able to help with the briefing later? Helen Bamber can do the interview; I’ll see who else is free to assist.”

  Date: Tuesday 5 November 2013

  To: DI 905
5 Rob JEFFERSON

  cc: DCI 10023 Louisa SMITH; DS 10194 Sam HOLLANDS

  From: Zoe ADAMS

  Re: Op Vanguard—Phone found in vehicle

  Rob,

  Following receipt of phone download data from the CCU, please find attached the pertinent information. Full spreadsheets of data available on request.

  Samsung handset containing SIM card ending 512

  This phone was retrieved from a green Volvo S40 1.6S which was found alight and extinguished by Eden Fire & Rescue Service at approximately 00:12 on 04/11/2013 (CAD 1104-0021 refers.) Downloads were made of the handset and call data obtained for the period 01/09/13 to 04/11/13.

  Summary of findings

  Data for this number begins on 25/09/13. It is likely that another phone was in use before this (see note under “Attribution,” below).

  Key numbers in contact with this phone include numbers ending:

  119

  This number is saved as “D” in the address book of the handset. It has featured in numerous phone billings and intelligence suggests it may be attributed to Darren CUNNINGHAM DOB 12/11/1976 (principal subject of Organized Crime Group 233). Daily contacts, incoming and outgoing, throughout the billing period. No SMS.

  121

  This number is attributed on the intelligence database to Lisa JACKSON DOB 01/06/1989. The contact is saved as “Bird” in the address book of the handset. JACKSON is known to be the partner of Paul “Reggie” STARK DOB 04/05/1982. Contact with this number incoming and outgoing on a daily basis between 25/09/13 and 03/11/13. Last contact during the afternoon of 03/11/13.

  528

  This number is saved as “Big R” in the address book of the handset. It is believed to be in use by another member of the CUNNINGHAM network as it is sequential with 512 and other numbers attributed to members of the group. There are sporadic contacts all through the billing period. No SMS.

  891

  This phone number has been attributed to Scarlett RAINSFORD, DOB 11/02/1990 as it was found in her back pocket following the SB warrant conducted at Carisbrooke Court, Briarstone on 31/10/13. Please see phone analysis conducted by Brian TEMPLE, SB analyst, on this number. Regular contact between these numbers between 25/09/13 and 31/10/13.

  441

  This number is saved as “K” in the address book of the handset. The first contact is an incoming call received on 01/11/13 at 22:44 (18 minutes 55 seconds). A further incoming call was received on 03/11/13 at 21:24 (duration 1 minute 23 seconds). There is a final outgoing call on 03/11/13 at 23:42 (duration 2 minutes 11 seconds). This was the last use of the handset.

  In addition to these contacts, there are a further 14 telephone numbers which remain unattributed, but are in contact just once or twice, and at none of the key time periods provided.

  Attribution

  It is possible that the phone discarded inside the Volvo was in use by Paul “Reggie” STARK DOB 04/05/1982. Facts in support of this inference include:

  – data for the phone commences on 25/09/13 which is known to be the same day STARK ceased using the SIM ending 210.

  – the most frequent contacts are with number ending 121, attributed to Lisa JACKSON, STARK’s partner.

  – cellsite activity shows the “home” cell for this phone is in Briarstone, at the back of the Park Hill estate, which is near where STARK lives (H/A 14 Ambleside Crescent).

  – call activity follows a very similar pattern to previous billings received for other phones attributed to STARK, including the SIM ending 210 (for example, STARK favors calling rather than using SMS).

  – additional numbers identified as having contact with this phone are attributed to the Ying Sun Chinese Takeaway, London Road, Briarstone; Briarstone Borough Council; Domino’s Pizza; William Hill, Ladbrokes and Paddy Power; Sky TV helpline and NHS Direct. All of these numbers were also called by the previous number attributed to STARK.

  Conclusion

  Call activity on this phone would seem to indicate that the user may have been involved in the burglary in the early hours of 03/11/13 at 14 Russet Avenue (during which the Volvo was stolen) as well as the murder of Clive RAINSFORD at around 23:10 on 03/11/13 at the same address.

  Recommendations

  Identify the user of number ending 441 (identified as “K” in the address book)—as this was the last number contacted before the phone was abandoned.

  Please do not hesitate to contact me if you require anything further.

  Kind regards,

  Zoe Adams

  Senior Analyst, FIB and OCG Team

  SAM

  Tuesday 5 November 2013, 09:10

  Sam had completed the paperwork, taken it down the road to the Magistrate’s Court, and waited all of five minutes to see the magistrate who, possibly because he hadn’t started hearing cases yet, was in a benevolent mood. The warrant was duly signed and Sam headed back to Headquarters wondering if that was some sort of record. She had just logged back in to the computer when the email from Zoe Adams arrived.

  Sam read through the email, then Zoe’s analysis document.

  There was a moment when everything was all right, and then she felt her stomach drop. No. No, that couldn’t be right. . .

  She reached in her bag for her phone, accessed the address book and scrolled through the numbers.

  Spare phone. 07101 405441.

  She looked back at the phone analysis document. There had to be a mistake. . .

  . . . 441. This number is saved as “K” in the address book of the handset. . .

  “You said something about a Reg to me, on Friday. You said something like, you had friends, you could have been sitting on Reg’s sofa watching Sky TV . . .”

  She scrolled back up through the addresses until she got to “Lou mobile” and dialed. It rang, and rang, and clicked to voicemail.

  “Ma’am, it’s me. I’ve got the warrant here, I’ll leave it with Les. I need to go and meet Caro; I said I’d go with her to collect Scarlett and Juliette from the hotel this morning. Can you give me a call when you get this?”

  She rang off, then scrolled back through the addresses. “Caro S mobile.” This time the call was answered after two rings.

  “Hello?”

  “Caro, it’s Sam Hollands. Whereabouts are you?”

  “I’m just on the way to the Travel Inn. I was going to call you when I got to the nick, wasn’t I? Everything okay?”

  “Um . . . no . . . I just . . . I don’t know.”

  “Sam? What’s the matter?”

  “I’m not sure. I need to think. Caro, can I meet you at the hotel? Is that okay? I’ll leave right now.”

  “Of course. I’ll see you there.”

  Sam disconnected, reaching for the Airwaves radio unit which had been charging on her desk and scooping up the warrant. “Les! Les, can I leave this with you?”

  Les Finnegan was on the phone to someone, his feet up on Jane Phelps’s swivel chair. He made no sign that he’d heard but he picked up the sheet of paper as it landed on his desk.

  At the door, Sam grabbed her coat and ran.

  SCARLETT

  Tuesday 5 November 2013, 09:12

  The wind was strong, harsh enough to penetrate through her coat. She pulled it tighter around her, as if that might help keep it out.

  What are you waiting for?

  Funny, that it was going to end up here. She was thinking about it all, thinking of all the times she’d been afraid for her life: of being abused by her father, a man who was supposed to love and take care of her; of being in the back of a van, tied up, terrified, thirsty, in pain; of watching another girl’s head explode open in a cloud of red; of lying on a dirty bed while men she didn’t know raped her. Of a man who wanted to drink her blood; of another man who had pretended to be kind and had instead been sent to trick her; of the men in a warehouse who sold lives, destroyed lives, for profit. There was no scrubbing brush good or hard enough to clean all that away.

  But then, there was the kindness of
a Dutchwoman who had given her a coat and probably saved her life; the love of her sister, even though she had had her life destroyed by two indifferent, selfish parents. And Mark Braddock, who had had something to tell her after the holidays, and never got the chance; and Mrs. Rowden-Knowles, who had always cared and always tried to do the right thing. And, at last, there was Sam. The last person who cared.

  It wasn’t enough.

  The wind buffeted her where she sat, threatening to topple her backward.

  Not yet. I’m not ready.

  She hadn’t been afraid, since she met Sam. It was as if it didn’t really matter, everything she’d done. It was ironic, Scarlett thought, that at this most scary moment, when she really should be afraid, she felt unnaturally calm and at peace. There was nothing else for her to do, after all. She had done what she set out to do.

  Annie was still in hospital, but the chances were that she wouldn’t recover. And she deserved punishment as much as Clive, after all, didn’t she?

  On that night in August, the last night of Scarlett’s holiday in Rhodes, a Greek man she didn’t know yammering at her and seconds away from pushing her into the back of a van, Scarlett had looked back toward the Aktira Studios and seen her mother there, watching. Their eyes had met. Annie had obviously been confused by what she had seen—she had been expecting to see Scarlett meeting a boy, after all—and yet, when the van had driven off with her daughter in the back, she had done nothing about it.

  Why?

  Why had she not done something, stopped it, called the police there and then?