by Gemma Rogers
56
Sunday 28 January 2018 – DC Becker
I exit the toilets; using my wet hands to cool the back of my neck as I make my way down the corridor. Guy is coming from the opposite direction, striding briskly, and I feign a weak smile.
‘Transport is around half an hour away,’ he says as he whisks past. I’m glad he doesn’t stop. The headache I was trying hard to keep at bay has broken through the surface and feels like a relentless woodpecker at my temple.
‘Thanks, Guy, you’ve been great today. I’m going to recommend you join the team permanently,’ I call over my shoulder.
Hicks is back at his desk, waiting for me to return and jiggling his leg up and down like an impatient child. ‘You okay?’ he asks.
I nod and take a seat, steeling myself to reveal the new information that could prove Eve’s actions were premeditated.
Hicks whistles and runs his palm across his stubble. His frustration evident, but before I can speak he jumps out of his seat. ‘Did Guy catch you? She’s getting picked up shortly,’ he begins pacing, ‘and I don’t know what else I can throw at her.’ I’ve never seen him so agitated.
‘Maybe, you’ve just got to let it go, Hicks,’ I offer, searching his eyes for a sliver of understanding or empathy.
‘I can’t let her win.’ He slams his hand down onto the desk making me jump.
‘It isn’t about winning. She’s lost too. Eve Harding is going to prison; isn’t that enough?’
Hicks narrows his eyes at me, indignant because I don’t understand why he’s so upset. He’s right, I don’t. Is it because she’s got one over on him? Compounded by the fact she’s female? What does it matter? It isn’t a game. Eve’s been shafted by the system that was supposed to protect her. If Ian was her attacker, and Alice’s too, there may be countless others we haven’t connected him to yet. Maybe he got what he deserved?
Hicks huffs and turns back to his computer, hammering his mouse loudly and he thunders through the online file.
‘There must be something,’ he mutters.
I grit my teeth and turn back to my screen. My mouse hovers over the delete button, my brain whirring. What would a jury do? I can imagine how a prosecutor would tear her apart on the stand. She’d be sent to prison for the rest of her life. Maybe it’s time for a change of career after all? I delete the email from James and the CCTV from Guy, then empty the deleted folder.
‘Our time’s up on this one. She’s practically out of the door. It’s in the hands of the CPS now. All we can do is build the case to secure a conviction.’
‘She’ll be out in four years, or roll over on a suspended sentence,’ Hicks snaps without bothering to turn round.
I smile and breathe a sigh of relief. I’m counting on it.
Saturday 27 January 2018
When I returned to the table, composed and focus intact, my steak was waiting. Ian was measuring the cleanliness of his fork. I could see he didn’t like to be kept waiting and enjoyed the flicker of irritation in his eyes as I took my seat. He was trying hard to control it.
‘I’m sorry, there was a queue,’ I said, rolling my eyes for effect.
He smiled, lips pressed tightly together and picked up his knife and fork. He could have started without me, but good manners, the gentleman in him, didn’t permit it. The different sides to Ian were extreme. It was odd. I’d read somewhere that most sexual assaults were more about power than carnal desire. He fitted that theory; he was an obvious control freak.
‘What are you thinking?’ he asked.
I was holding my knife and fork mid-air but hadn’t attempted to cut my steak yet.
‘Oh nothing. How’s your steak?’ I cut a slice and popped it into my mouth. It wasn’t a spaghetti carbonara, but it was melt in the mouth tender. My taste buds kicked into gear and hunger pangs niggled my sides.
‘Fantastic, don’t you think?’
I nodded, my mouth full. The plate had been delivered with the sauce on the side as requested and chunky chips. I forgot myself for a second and dived in, as he watched on in amusement.
‘How long have you lived with Ben?’
Hearing his name made my steak hard to swallow. I sipped my wine to help it go down.
‘Not long, a few months. I don’t know him that well. He works nights, so I don’t see him much.’ I was babbling, trying to remove Ben as far as I could from the situation.
‘The best kind of lodger then.’ Ian seemed content with my response.
‘What about you? I know you said your dad lives in Oxford, but do you have any other family nearby?’ I poured more wine into Ian’s near empty glass and topped mine up. He was on his third glass already.
‘No, my mother passed away when I was six.’ He took another mouthful of wine and I momentarily felt sorry for him. Until I remembered what he’d done to me and the other women whose lives he’d destroyed.
‘I’m so sorry, Ian.’
‘It was a long time ago and I’m an only child, like you, so no family here.’ He forked the last slice of steak into his mouth. ‘Would you excuse me?’ he said a minute later, standing and placing his napkin on his plate. He disappeared through the door to use the bathroom upstairs.
Glancing around at the surrounding tables: one couple were deep in conversation and the second were feeding each other dessert. There was a man sat alone, at the table closest to us, eyes down as he scrolled on his mobile phone. Confident I wouldn’t be seen, I causally tipped my wine into the plant pot. The rest of the bottle, I poured into Ian’s glass. The waitress who was passing stopped to ask if I would like another? Hesitating, I didn’t know what to do. Yes, I wanted another bottle. I wanted Ian well lubricated for when we got back to his. Would it upset him if I ordered another one without asking him first? To hell with it. What was he going to do, punish me? I agreed and before Ian had returned a full bottle sat on our table and I was still trying to finish my steak.
‘You eat like a bird,’ he mused when he came back.
Knowing he was watching made finishing my meal even harder. I managed three quarters of the steak and half the chips, which were cold by then, and was full. My stomach churned with the combination of food and nerves. It would be a miracle if I kept anything down tonight.
‘Do you fancy dessert?’ he asked, as the waitress cleared our plates away, returning with a menu. What was the right answer? I didn’t want anything, but would he be annoyed? Would our meal be cut short? I didn’t want to go back to his any sooner than I had to. Although I was only postponing the inevitable.
‘I don’t think so,’ I said, perusing the dessert menu. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him lift the bottle, frowning at the weight, and pour us both another glass of wine.
‘I ordered another, I hope you don’t mind?’ I stretched my hand across the table and laid it on top of his. The feel of his skin made me squirm.
‘Of course not,’ he replied, gifting me an easy smile.
The waitress returned but I declined dessert. Ian chose a cheese board and I was pleased I’d had a reprieve in the restaurant for a bit longer.
I was eager to text Ben. He’d been playing on my mind, I had to try and explain. I didn’t know when I’d get to see him again after tonight.
‘Would you mind if I went for a cigarette?’ I wasn’t sure why I was asking, I was going regardless of what he said. The role of subdued Eve was becoming a bit of a habit and I didn’t like her one bit.
Ian raised his eyebrows, the corners of his mouth twitching. ‘You never said you smoked?’
I was expecting a lecture, but it never came.
‘Only socially. When I have a drink.’
‘I’ll join you.’ My heart sank, texting Ben would have to wait.
Ian popped to the front of the restaurant to advise the hostess we were leaving the table to go for a cigarette. I used the seconds he had his back turned to pour my half-full glass of wine into the plant pot. As he returned, I raised the glass to my lips to sip the drops that
remained. I slipped my phone back into my bag, no point in taking it with me.
‘They’ve got a balcony out the back, upstairs.’ He held the door open for me and as we reached the door to the balcony I cursed not taking my jacket. It was freezing and the thin material of my camisole clung to my body. Ian had left his blazer downstairs too. He gasped as we emerged into the icy air and we huddled in the corner to light our cigarettes. ‘You look beautiful tonight,’ he said, lacing his finger through the spaghetti strap of my top. It made me shiver, though it was masked by the cold. I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat.
‘I’m not the sort of girl you would normally take out, am I?’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘I don’t know. I get the impression I’m not really your type.’
Ian stared at me, his chin jutting upwards. Cupping my cheek, he guided my face towards his. Penetrating me with his stare. I wanted to shrink back, to run. I avoided looking in those eyes for fear he would see who I really was. Forget the hair and the contacts, I was sure he would see straight through me and the damage he’d left behind. ‘You are perfect,’ he whispered.
Before I could react, his mouth was on mine. He tasted of red wine and smoke. His hand found the curve of my behind, pulling me towards him. I knew he was excited as he leant in to kiss my neck. My head whirled, his words echoing in my mind. I couldn’t move. Bare shoulders pressed against the brickwork took me straight back to that morning. He pulled away. Looking me up and down as I leaned against the wall for support, catching my breath, he began to laugh.
57
Sunday 28 January 2018
I didn’t have long to wait, and I’m surprised to feel relieved when the door finally opens. No point trying to put off the inevitable. The floor of the cell seems to shrink by the hour. The walls close in on me. The acidic smell of my vomit has settled in my nose and I can barely breathe in here. A man in uniform that I haven’t seen before stands in the doorway. He’s stocky with a shaven head and looks like he can handle himself. He won’t have any fight from me.
‘Eve Harding?’ he asks flatly, and I nod as he checks his list and ticks me off. ‘You’ll now be taken to HMP Downview where you’ll be remanded in custody. You’ll have the opportunity to speak with your solicitor again when you arrive. You’re in luck, it’s only fifteen minutes in the van, so it won’t take us long.’
My stomach gurgles and I feel the urge to go to the toilet. I can’t hide my terror. I’ve been so naive. How did I not see this would happen?
I am handcuffed before we leave. It’s such a strange sensation to be shackled. Metal cuffs drown my tiny wrists. They are heavy, pulling on my arms which hang limp in front of me.
Once the paperwork is completed at the desk, I’m led onto the van. I snatch a glimpse of grey sky and suck in a lungful of air before it is gone. The freshest I may have for a while. Inside the van, I’m locked in a small cubicle which feels like an upright coffin. It’s claustrophobic. The inside like a public toilet, with a seat instead of a pan, but much more confined. There’s barely enough room to move. No gaps beneath the doors either. The familiar smell of urine comforts me like an old friend.
I gaze out of the small tinted window as the engine starts and we bump along the road. Driving past places I recognise. It’s surreal. My jaw aches from grinding my teeth. It’s been constant since my arrest and I have little control over the compulsion. I start again, wringing my hands, unsure what is ahead of me. How will I cope? I’ve heard stories of beatings and abuse in prisons and the unknown makes me feel sick. Tubes constricting, sharp shooting pains in my chest hindering the ability to breathe. I tell myself it’s just another panic attack, but there is no room in my cubicle to lower my head to my knees. I close my eyes to ride it out. My body sways with the motion of the van. The fight has left me. I’ve lost.
Saturday 27 January 2018
‘I’m sorry, I got carried away,’ he said, licking his lips and taking another cigarette out of the packet I was holding. We’d dropped the first ones and they had burnt out at our feet.
We smoked in silence for a minute.
‘Do you want to come back to mine? We can have a drink there?’ he said, his bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly.
‘Sure,’ I replied. Relieved that the invitation had been extended and I wouldn’t have to suggest it myself. It came with a plummeting feeling down to my ankles that I had signed my own death warrant.
Back at the table, Ian’s cheese board had arrived, and he took pleasure in feeding me different types as I sipped the Malbec. I was a bit light-headed since we’d returned into the warm. Ian was on his fifth glass and was beginning to slur slightly.
I tried to go halves when Ian asked for the bill, but he would not hear of it.
‘Thank you, it was lovely.’ I leant across the table to give him a quick peck on the lips.
He slid his foot up my calf under the table and winked at me, leaving me cold.
‘You’re welcome.’
I wobbled as I stood from the table, Ian wrapped an arm around my waist to steady me.
‘Ready to stumble home?’
I nodded, happy to let my nerves be confused with inebriation. We exited the restaurant onto the street. The bitter air a shock after being indoors.
‘You know what I fancy?’ I said, and Ian smirked.
‘Do tell.’
‘A gin and tonic,’ I replied. I didn’t want one in the slightest, but it was all part of the plan.
‘I have gin.’
‘Ah, but do you have lemons?’
He grimaced and pushed me towards the door of Tesco Express. ‘If the lady wants lemons, lemons she will have.’
A few minutes later we continued our journey, a shopping bag swinging from Ian’s hand. I couldn’t believe the time, noticing as we left the store that it was almost eleven. Where had the evening gone? It seemed to have flown by. My legs were heavy. Dread weighed in the pit of my stomach like a bowling ball. I was sinking in it. Turning into his road, I had to fight the urge to run. Thankfully Ian was mid-conversation, airing his annoyance that people parked on grass verges. He hadn’t noticed me slowing my pace. I could do this. I would do this. Now was the time to focus.
We’d barely made it inside the door when Ian pushed me against the wall in a passionate embrace. I hadn’t expected it to happen so fast and my knees buckled underneath my weight.
‘I’ve been dying to get you here all night.’ Did his tone sound sinister or had I imagined it?
I squeaked and wriggled out of his grasp. He stepped back, lip curled. Did he think I was being a tease?
‘Gin,’ I slurred, pushing him towards the kitchen and slipping out of my boots. Alcohol would be my excuse.
As soon as he was out of the room, I dived for the camera, still hidden in the bookcase. A thin layer of dust coated the top and I was satisfied it hadn’t been found. I unplugged the small device and slipped it into my handbag. The lead I discarded on the floor, hidden behind the plant pot.
I took off my jacket and joined Ian in the kitchen, leaning on the door frame. I watched him stumble around, it was like he was in slow motion.
‘I think we may have had too much wine,’ he said, reading my mind and pausing to grin at me. He took a tray out of a cupboard and placed two glass tumblers on it.
Whilst he was occupied, I returned to the front room. Underneath the low coffee table was the metal box still there from my last visit and I knelt to pick it up. All the time straining my ears to listen, sounds of the fridge opening and shutting carried from the kitchen.
‘Fuck,’ Ian yelled, and I jumped, banging my wrist on the table.
‘You okay?’ I called, praying I wasn’t about to be discovered.
‘Yep, cut my finger that’s all.’ I heard him mutter. ‘Fucking lemons.’
I lifted the lid of the box and froze. The balaclava stared out at me accusingly, eyes slashed. I tried to move, but I was rigid, unable to take my eyes off t
he black woollen mask. If I wanted proof that Ian was a monster, here it was. I tried to stand, to run, but my joints locked. I was paralysed.
‘Eve,’ Ian called.
My heart was in my mouth. I moved my lips to speak but nothing came out. I didn’t have enough time. Any second now he would poke his head around the door and I would be found knee deep in his box of tricks. Game over.
‘Eve!’ Ian shouted.
Forcing my legs to work, I clambered up, tipping the contents of the box into my handbag and slipping it back under the table. In the kitchen, Ian was by the sink, holding his thumb under the tap. The water diluted the blood that dripped onto the steel below.
‘Shit, I didn’t realise it was so bad.’
‘It’s not, but can you grab me some kitchen towel? There’s plasters in the drawer, I think.’
I ripped a few sheets off the roll and held them out to Ian. Saving a sheet for myself to open the drawer. It was a mess, a mixture of phone chargers, batteries, measuring tape, tealights and matches. The plasters were at the back. I grabbed one, peeling the film off as he held his hand out to me. Blood was still oozing from his finger. I cringed for a second but successfully wrapped two plasters around his thumb. Hoping that would stop the bleeding. Then I rinsed the knife and placed it back on the tray.
‘Thanks,’ he said, leaning in for a kiss. My throat constricted.
I can’t do this. I really can’t do this. Faced with the reality I couldn’t believe I ever thought I could. I needed to get some air. My chest was wound tight like a spring.
‘Let me carry this in.’ I picked up the tray and carried it to the coffee table. Before slicing his finger, Ian had filled the tray with almost everything we needed to mix our gin and tonics.
‘I’ll get the ice,’ he called from the kitchen.
‘I’m just going to use the bathroom,’ I called back. He wouldn’t check the box, would he? There was nothing I could do. I scooped my bag from where I’d left it and locked the door behind me. Sitting on the toilet, my chest felt like it was in a vice, slowly compressing. I tried to concentrate but my head swam. I needed to get out of here. No, I had to stick to the plan. I put my head between my knees, gasping for air. I couldn’t breathe.