Face stunned as though she’d been slapped, June nodded slowly, tears spilling over onto her cheeks. ‘Yes, yes of course you’re right’ she whispered. ‘Thank you, Robert.’ She looked up at him, solemn, thankful and entirely too full of blind trust.
Robert shifted uneasily.
‘Alright then. So, we will adjust your testimony accordingly and move forward. But June, ‘ he leaned forward, ‘no more surprises. Okay?’
June nodded, numb.
Robert and Anita rose. ‘We will leave you now. Please think back through your statement. Someone will be in touch soon to make a time for you to come to the station and revise the details to reflect the night more accurately.’
‘Okay,’ June murmured eyes downcast.
‘We’ll see ourselves out.’
‘Wait! Please, please don’t tell my family about me and Grant. It’s… everything is just so terrible already.’
‘We will do our best to keep it private, it’s not important to our case. But, I can’t speak for the defence and how they may wish to use this information. It may be worth making time to speak with all concerned, privately.’
June nodded, eyes going distant. ‘Thank you anyway,’ she said.
Robert stood on the street outside June’s home and looked down towards the beach. He could hear the crashing waves, smell the salty air. Pale sunlight kissed his face. He rolled his shoulders and breathed deeply, releasing the tension of the interview.
Anita walked past him and paused at the car. ‘You didn’t mention the affair. Helene and Grant, I mean. She said she had been seeing Grant for months, it seems at the same time as he was seeing June, and his wife.’
‘Helene said June didn’t know. I don’t think it’s important.’
‘But if June knew, then Eloise may have too.’
‘Neither have ever suggested it. Let’s not put words in our witness’s mouth shall we?’
‘Helene said that she felt uncomfortable coming forward about the car because of the affair and her previous friendship with the sisters. All pretty tangled. Grant sure got around…’ Anita persisted.
‘He did. But that’s more a motive for Eloise. The jilted wife.’
‘So why not talk to June about it? Gauge her reaction.’
‘Because Eloise did it. She was seen in Beesands and returning here. The timeline fits, the evidence fits.’
‘And asking June if she knew about Grant and Helene’s affair affects this how?’
‘Doubt,’ Robert said making his way to the curb and the passenger side of the car. ‘It casts doubt. Gives June a motive, and makes Eloise into a more sympathetic figure. She’s already a nightmare culprit: white, gentle, well mannered. A jury bonding with her as the betrayed wife, that is something we don’t need.’
Anita nodded and opened her car door. ‘He really was a pig wasn’t he? Grant Huxley, I mean. Cheating bastard.’ She paused, eyeing Robert.
‘His life choices don’t matter, Anita. He didn’t deserve to die like that. Cheating is bad, sure. But it’s not murder. He is the victim in all of this, don’t forget that.’
‘Sure, but he kinda made his bed, don’t you think? I mean, you piss off enough women someone’s gonna get ya.’ Not waiting for his response, Anita climbed into the car.
Robert frowned, considering her words. Could anything really justify murder? No, he thought. But his instant response rang dull. He knew he didn’t believe it. If anyone ever hurt Tom... Robert took a deep breath filling his lungs with the sea air, pushing the flood of primal fatherly protection that laced his limbs aside and re-focusing his mind, before following Anita’s lead and settling into the car, ready to return to the city.
It was unnerving how thin the line between a good man and a killer could be.
17: Against better judgement
The tequila slid down Harriet’s throat. A welcome burn. Around her the dim lights of the Red Lion pulsed to the rhythm of the DJ set, bodies covered in a sheen of sweat despite the outside cold. She grinned at Phoebe. ‘God it’s good to be out on a Friday!’ she shouted across the din. ‘No morning alarm to cramp my style.’
Phoebe threw back her head in laugher then leaned over the bar to catch the bar tender’s attention. ‘Two more slammers,’ she yelled. He nodded. In short order another shot slipped down Harriet’s thirsty throat. Fuck, what a week, she thought. Then shoved it aside. Tonight was not about work. Tonight was about partying.
‘So,’ Phoebe crooned, dark eyes dancing, ‘drunk enough to let me take you home yet?’
Harriet smiled wide and laughed, ‘Give me an hour.’
The two friends were jostled by the sea of fellow weekend revellers as they ordered drinks and tried out new pick up lines.
‘Against my better interests,’ Phoebe drawled, ‘Mr wanted-to-go-professional-but-injured-my-knee-so-I-coach-football over there has been eyeing you for ages. Easy pickings, I’d say. And not bad on the eye. Definitely dumb though. But good for the night.’
Harriet swivelled round and took in the fair haired man Phoebe indicated. Slim but broad across the shoulders, shirt a size too small to enhance his physique, his lip curved up at her glance.
‘Fuck it,’ Harriet said downing the last of her tequila before making her way across the bar to Mr Coach. Behind her Phoebe let out a whoop of encouragement and turned to the group beside her, striking up conversation.
Harriet lowered her lashes and smiled secretly at the man. ‘Wanna dance?’
He was nodding to the music, eyes intense. He held up his hand, a wedding ring caught the dim light. ‘Gonna be a problem?’ he asked.
Harriet smiled darkly, ‘Isn’t usually,’ she said and grabbed him round the waist, hauling him against her body and onto the dance floor.
The music swam around her, sweat licked down her throat, strong arms wrapped around her waist. She pulled him closer, willing his heat into her body, losing herself in the moment, his breath hot on her neck, the touch of his lips on her skin.
Out of nowhere, the details of Danny Flint’s rape case slapped her from her subconscious. Images of wild eyes filled with fear flashed through her mind, hands forced above a terrified face, wrists bound, hair bunched in a fist, face forced into the hard dirt, an evil sneer.
‘Stop,’ she breathed, suddenly desperate for air.
‘What?’ Laughter in his voice. His hands gripped her hips thrusting their bodies together with the music.
‘No,’ Harriet said, pressing against his chest, ‘Stop!’ she shouted.
The man pulled back, stunned. ‘Fucking cock-tease!’ he shouted, face twisted with the anger of rejected arousal.
’Back off mate!’ Somehow Phoebe was there, arm around Harriet, body between her and the furious man. ‘Whatever, cunt,’ he said dismissively, turning away. Phoebe flipped him off, then gathered a shocked Harriet in her arms and pulled her over to the side of the room.
‘You ok?’ Phoebe’s eyes flashed concern.
Harriet shook her head, taking a deep breath.
‘Damn, Harrie,’ Phoebe said. ‘I thought you wanted to get laid.’ She grinned mischievously at Harriet.
‘I did. I do. Fuck!’ Harriet ran her hands through her hair. ‘That was probably my fault… I should apologise.’ She went to break away from Phoebe, but her friend held on to her, grip like a vice.
‘Woah, there mate,’ Phoebe said. ‘Firstly, you don’t owe that guy shit. No means no, regardless of what was happening before. Got it?’ She stared into Harriet’s eyes until she saw the understanding she wanted. ‘And second, I don’t think he wants to talk to you again…’ Across the room Mr Coach stood brooding with a group of equally well toned men. Harriet cast her eyes down.
‘Hey,’ Phoebe said, pressing a finger under Harriet’s chin and bringing their eyes level. ‘No bad here. You’re ok.’
Harriet nodded slowly. ‘It’s this rape case I’m working. Its just got me all fucked in the head at the moment.’ That and the fact I think Eloise is innocent.
‘No, I’m fine. I think I just need a drink.’
‘White wine coming up,’ Phoebe gripped her hand and led her to the bar.
In a matter of moments Harriet was at a table, wine glass in hand, bottle before her, Phoebe talking shit in her ear. She rolled her shoulders, feeling better already. What a silly turn. She laughed at herself. So something her mum would say.
Half a bottle later the two friends were laughing and joking like nothing had happened.
Harriet gripped Phoebe’s hand. ‘Thank you,’ she said sincerely.
‘Always,’ Phoebe said finishing her wine. ‘Except right now, coz that one is not getting away.’ She pointed at a leggy red head off to the side of the room.
‘I thought you invited me home?’ Harriet joked grinning widely.
Phoebe shrugged, ‘Snooze you loose,’ she replied. Then fixed Harriet with serious eyes. ‘You ok if I go chat?’
‘Of course,’ Harriet smiled. ‘Go, go.’
‘Sure?’
‘Go!’
Phoebe leaned forward and kissed Harriet’s cheek. ‘You’re still the most beautiful back up plan in my life,’ she smirked.
‘Fuck off,’ Harriet said, pushing her friend away playfully, laughing. Phoebe retreated across the room, hands up in mock supplication. Harriet grinned and poured the rest of the wine into her glass, reaching for her phone. Flicking through her emails she drained the last of the wine and decided it was probably time to head home. She reached for her purse when…
‘Fancy meeting you here,’ a deep voice said.
Harriet looked up and smiled, ‘We have to stop meeting like this,’ she returned.
Robert, dressed in a white shirt and jeans, stepped into the bar. And there she was, sitting at a table across the room. Alone. His heart fluttered oddly in his chest and he shook his head. He wasn’t yet ready to admit how much he’d been hoping she would be here. He waved to Bobbie to say hi and made his way over to Harriet.
‘Fancy meeting you here,’ he quipped lightly.
‘We have to stop meeting like this,’ she smiled. God that smile.
His mind emptied. For a moment he just stood there, frozen. Her eyes flicked to her wine glass, empty. Robert surged into motion, ‘Can I buy you a drink?’
‘I thought you’d never ask.’
She smiled. Robert headed to the bar.
They chatted for hours. About what, Robert couldn’t rightly remember. But the bottle of white he’d bought was empty and the clientele were thinning out. She seemed, different, subdued. Less spicy, but more substantial somehow. Harriet’s friend, a tall dark haired woman with eyes of onyx was leaving, hand cradling the butt of a glorious red head. Lucky lady, Robert though ruefully.
‘So you got custody?’ Harriet was saying. Robert pulled his mind back to the table. They’d been talking about family and Robert had mentioned it was just him and Tom at home. Which wasn’t exactly a lie, but… he opened his mouth to correct her assumption but Harriet continued, ‘Or you just got him by default coz he didn’t want to change schools. Either way, you win. Kept your kid. Odds are well against father’s on that score. Good for you.’
Robert smiled and nodded. ‘I love my son,’ was all he said, for some reason unwilling to properly explain the situation with Gemma and their marriage.
‘Of course,’ Harriet replied, then checking her mobile, ‘It’s late. I really should get some sleep tonight.’ She grinned at him suggestively then reached for her jacket. ‘But I really enjoyed this. Even if it’s not really… sensible.’
Robert smiled, ‘Just drinks. No shop talk. I think we are good.’
‘Yeah,’ she replied, ‘just drinks.’ She hovered before him as if considering, then leaned in and pecked him on the cheek.
‘See you in court,’ she said, walking away.
‘Not if I see you first,’ he called.
She spun on a heel and raised a hand in a wave, her sultry lips curved in amusement, then walked out of the pub.
The dark outside was complete as Harriet made her way up the stairs to her apartment, but she didn’t mind. She felt light and strangely excited. Silly woman, she chided herself, you’re acting like a teenager. Everything about DS Robert Fields was a warning sign, flashing neon. He was older, divorced or something, a father and working a murder case against her. Not a good set of criteria for starting a relationship, even if it was only casual. And yet… Harriet liked being around him. I need to smother this, she thought. Still, the smile stayed on her lips.
She turned the key in her door and crept in quietly, not wanting to wake her brother. She needn’t have bothered. The soft glow of the TV illuminated the lounge, the sound of gunfire ricochetting around her living space. Walking into the lounge, Harriet saw her brother stretched over the couch, beer in hand. Next to him sat a shorter man with a wispy beard, beanie snug around his head, hands clasping a Playstation controller. Both men’s eyes were firmly fixed on the TV where computer generated characters in army camo ran, ducked and shot their way across the screen. It felt like she’d travelled back in time to her uni days. She scoffed to herself, two grown men wasting their days gaming…
‘I don’t own a Playstation,’ Harriet announced.
Neither man looked up.
‘Mine,’ her brother answered, monosyllabically.
Ignored, Harriet padded to the kitchen and helped herself to a lager and a packet of crisps before curling up on the floor, back against the couch.
Wordlessly her brother held out his hand for some crisps and Harriet poured a generous handful into his palm. All waited in silence, watching the battle unfold before them. At length Billy’s friend tensed and then exclaimed, ‘Fucking bullshit!’
‘Nah,’ Billy countered, ‘you just weren’t quick enough. Ok, my turn.’
Glumly the friend handed over the remote, eyes registering Harriet.
‘Hare, this is Nicky, Nicky, Hare,’ Billy offered.
‘We’ve met,’ Nicky said.
Harriet cocked her head at him quizzically.
‘We were at uni together. I was in your year, but spent most of my time with this dickhead.’ He punched Billy in the arm.
‘Sorry, I don’t remember.’
‘No dramas. Big night then hey?’ He shamelessly eyed Harriet’s stockinged legs. Harriet frowned and reached for her brother’s blanket, covering herself up. Nicky’s eyes glittered.
Silence fell as Billy started up his campaign and Harriet passed the remainder of the crisps along to Nicky.
‘Actually, I knew your client too,’ Nicky announced, ‘Well, at least her husband. When I did my first degree in 2000.’
Harriet looked up at Nicky sharply, then glared at Billy. ‘Bill’s not meant to talk about my work,’ she said.
‘Didn’t say nothing Hare,’ Billy said, eyes glued to the TV.
‘Nah, it’s true, he didn’t. Saw it on the news. You don’t forget Grant Huxley,’ Nicky said, eyeing Harriet. ‘He was a final year, I was in first. Guess I kinda looked up to him. Real ladies man, always on the pull. Lots of knickers to juggle.’ He grinned.
Harriet rolled her eyes. Men and their admiration of each other’s conquests. Lame. She watched Nicky’s unkept face, eyes bright, chin unshaved, wrinkles beginning to frame his eyes. How old was this guy, 35-40? And still talking like a fucking teenager tallying notches on his belt.
‘Hot girlfriend too. What was her name… Jinny, Judy, no, June! That’s it.’
Harriet’s eyes snapped up to Nicky’s face. ‘You knew June?’
‘Well sure, by association.’
‘June Lane. Eloise Lane-Huxley’s sister?’
‘Yeah, pretty twisted hey, marrying your sister’s ex. Especially after the pregnancy.’
‘What pregnancy?’
‘Shhh,’ Billy hissed, ‘some of us are working.’
Harriet glared at the side of Billy’s head, th
en turned back to Nicky. ‘What pregnancy?’ she repeated. She didn’t lower her volume. Working, really Billy!
‘June and Grant. Final year. Grant was pissed. They broke up soon after that. Wonder what happened to her. She was fucking hot.’
Gossip spun, Nicky returned his attention to the war game on the screen. ‘Watch the bomber!’ he exclaimed.
‘I know, I know. Shut up.’
Harriet rose, no longer able to stand the staccato of the fake gunfire. Mind whirling she headed to bed.
18: To lose a child
The Devon Expressway slipped past Harriet’s window. Brown tree limbs pressed against the invisible barrier of the highway, trimmed mercilessly to maintain traffic safety, about to burst forth in vibrant green foliage with the spring sunshine. But not just yet.
Harriet turned on the air-conditioning and blasted cold air into her face. She wasn’t hot. She was tired. Exhausted from the week and drinking with Phoebe (and Robert), Harriet had intended to find her bed and let it keep her until at least midday. But Nicky’s announcement about June’s possible pregnancy during her uni days had rattled around her head incessantly as she tried to calm her body into sleep. She wasn’t sure why yet, but it felt important.
What had happened to that baby? And did its existence matter to her case?
She’d finally accepted defeat at around 8 a.m. and padded to the kitchen for coffee. On the couch, Nicky snored. God knows what time those two had made it to bed. Restless, Harriet had tried to occupy herself reading case files, but fatigue and the niggling sense that she needed to know more about the pregnancy had her checking the time on her phone every few minutes. At 8:23 a.m., she broke and dialled.
‘Hello?’ the gentle voice of Dorothy Lane answered the phone.
‘Hi, Mrs Lane, it’s Harriet Bell here. I was hoping to ask you a few questions about your daughter June. Is now a good time?’
‘Oh, hello Harriet. Working early! Yes of course, not a problem. What did you want to ask me about?’
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