Dark Mirror (7 page)

The music was too loud, the lights too bright, and the smell of beer rancid. The place was packed, and she had to force her way through the crowd, mostly men, who smelled of sweat and beer and jostled her as she pushed through. She saw a glossy black head of female hair at the bar, but when she got there found it wasn’t Pip. She could see no sign of Keith Rafferty either. She saw the door to the ladies’ toilets at the back of the room and struggled through to it. Pip wasn’t there. Panicking now, Kathy made her way out again, through the throng, ears battered by the noise, and saw another door at the back marked
FIRE EXIT
.
A male voice called, ‘Oi, darlin’!’ She pushed through into a narrow corridor with another door at the far end with the same fire exit sign. Beyond was a small courtyard with boxes, crates and beer barrels. Kathy stumbled over a pile of boxes, through an opening in a brick wall and into a puddled laneway. A white van was parked up ahead, its rear door open, figures huddled. They looked up as she charged towards them. She saw Keith Rafferty’s face, eyes ablaze, and then a woman’s legs, hanging half out of the back of the van. Another man turned towards her, swearing, hand raised up. She grabbed his fingers and he screamed as she twisted his arm behind his back.

‘Police! Stay where you are.’

Rafferty was looking around, over her shoulder, as she struggled with the other man. Then he turned and hauled the woman out of the van and dumped her on the ground, slammed the door and turned to go.

‘Stay where you are, Keith!’ Kathy shouted. She had the phone in her hand now, pressing buttons. ‘Officer in trouble.’

Keith Rafferty turned back towards her, fists up. For a moment they stared at each other, then he deflated, unclenched his hands and held them up. His friend stopped struggling. On the ground at his feet Pip gave a low moan.

‘This is all a mistake,’ Rafferty said. ‘We were just trying to help the lady. She was legless. We just offered her a lift home. Isn’t that right, Brendan?’

•

Accident and emergency at Ealing is one of the busiest hospital departments in West London, and it took Brock a little while to find his way to the bed where Pip lay, face ashen, eyes closed.

‘How’s she doing?’ Brock pulled a chair up beside Kathy’s.
He saw the dark shadows around Kathy’s eyes, and when he took her hand he felt a tremor.

‘She’ll be all right. Rafferty tried to throw away some orange pills when the uniforms arrived. They think they’re Klonopin, similar effect to Rohypnol. They’ve stabilised her.’

‘Was she assaulted?’

‘A few bruises. The way they were handling her . . .’ Kathy stopped and took a deep breath. ‘She hasn’t said anything yet. Apparently she may remember nothing.’

‘Where’s Rafferty now?’

‘Down the road, at Ealing police station. His mate’s called Brendan Crouch, no record.’

‘Have they been charged?’

‘Yes.’

‘Witnesses?’

‘They’re taking statements in the pub now.’

‘Okay, good. We don’t have to do anything till morning.’

‘I think we should speak to them now, while they’re still rattled.’

Brock looked at her cautiously. ‘You’re sure?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, I can take care of that.’

‘I need to be there, Brock. This is about Marion as well as Pip.’

‘You think Rafferty had something to do with Marion’s death?’

‘That’s why we were there, at the pub.’ She explained about their visit to the fireworks company and then going to question Rafferty. ‘I’ll bet he’s done this before, lacing women’s drinks. Maybe the arsenic was an experiment that went wrong, maybe it was more than that.’

‘Hm. Has the doctor had a look at you?’

‘I’m fine, really.’

‘Have you had anything to eat tonight?’

She shook her head.

‘All right then. First we get you a meal and a good wash, and then we’ll go down the road.’

At the Ealing police station they were met by the duty inspector, who advised them that the pub interviews weren’t promising. ‘No one saw anything, or at least admits to it. No one even remembers Rafferty and Crouch being there, or DC Gallagher. Sorry.’

They decided to interview Brendan Crouch first, in the hope he would give them something. He had a strong Liverpool accent and an air of mystified innocence. ‘I don’t know what this is all about,’ he said, then looked accusingly at Kathy. ‘She nearly broke my fuckin’ finger.’

‘How did you meet the woman in the pub?’ Brock asked.

‘Which woman was that?’

‘The one I caught you loading into Rafferty’s van,’ Kathy snapped.

He gave her a cool, considering look. ‘She approached us. We were having a quiet drink when this tart comes up to us, giving us the big eye. She chats for a while and offers to buy us a drink, but her speech is slurred, and she’s obviously had a skinful. We tell her she’s had enough, so she asks if we could take her home. Well . . .’ Crouch gave a little smile. ‘Why not? Keith’s van was parked in the lane out the back, but she keeled over as soon as the cold air hit her. We were just trying to help her into the van when this lady started screaming at us.’ He nodded at Kathy.

Through this account, Brock was aware of Kathy at his side, chewing her bottom lip, her nails dug into the palms of her hands, trying to contain herself.

‘That’s a lie,’ she said, voice tight.

He gazed at her. ‘Which bit?’

‘All of it.’

Brock came in quickly. ‘That isn’t what your friend is saying, Brendan. His version has you making the running. The way he says it, you couldn’t keep your hands off her.’

Crouch turned his eyes slowly to meet Brock’s, then he said, quite softly, ‘Now there you’re wrong, pal. Keith and I spent four years together in the army, and one thing I know about him for sure is that he’d never shop a mate.’

It was an elementary mistake, Brock told himself furiously as they led Crouch away: showing your hand before you understand the game. I’ve been spending too much time in bloody meetings. He glanced at Kathy. She looked subdued, head bowed. ‘Why don’t we leave this till morning?’

She just shook her head.

Rafferty walked in with a swagger in his step. He yanked back the chair as if he was an old hand and sat down and folded his arms. He stared at Brock coldly as he listened to the caution.

‘Why don’t you tell us what happened in the Three Bells this evening, Mr Rafferty?’

Rafferty’s eyes flicked across at Kathy, then back to Brock. Then he stiffened and looked at Kathy again, frowning. ‘Hang on, I know you, don’t I? I didn’t recognise you before. You were the one came to our flat, weren’t you? The one told Sheena about Marion, right?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Well, what the fuck were you doing at the pub? What’s going on here?’

‘I came back to ask you some questions about Marion, and we saw you going into the pub.’

‘She was with you, that woman?’

Kathy nodded.

‘But she never said she was a copper. She never mentioned Marion. What the fuck’s going on?’

Brock cut in. ‘What’s going on here is that you’ve been arrested for drugging a woman in a pub and trying to abduct her. So answer my question, Mr Rafferty. What’s your version of what happened in the pub this evening?’

But Rafferty just sat back, shaking his head. ‘Oh no. This ain’t right. I’m not saying nothing till I’ve spoken to a solicitor.’

‘Your refusal to cooperate will go against you.’

‘Uh-uh. Not a word.’

‘Very well, we can arrange for a duty—’

‘No thanks,’ Rafferty sneered. ‘I’ll make my own arrangements, thanks.’

‘We’ll speak to you again first thing in the morning, Mr Rafferty. In the meantime, think very carefully about what you’re going to tell us.’

When they got outside, Brock said, ‘Go home, Kathy. Get some rest. You look all in.’

‘I’m sorry. This shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have let it happen.’

‘We’ll sort it out. The fact is, they’re both up to their ears in it. Let’s hope they can lift Rafferty’s prints from the bag of pills.’

‘I’d like to speak to the publican at the Three Bells. I saw him watching me when I went in, trying to find Pip.’

‘I’ll do that, Kathy. You go home. That’s an order.’

He watched her get into her car, then headed for his own.

•

The Three Bells seemed subdued when he pushed through the doors, with only a few customers huddled at tables. The band on the tiny stage at the back was in the final stages of packing up their gear. They looked fed up.

Brock went to the bar, picking out an older man at the till and nodding to him.

The man noted him with a frown. ‘What now?’

‘DCI Brock. And you’re Mr Cornford?’ He’d seen the licensee’s name over the door.

‘That’s right. You lot trying to put me out of business?’

‘A young woman was almost raped here tonight, Mr Cornford.’

‘So you say.’

‘Do you know Keith Rafferty?’

‘He’s a local, comes in a fair bit.’

‘And Brendan Crouch?’

‘Didn’t know his name, but he’s often with Rafferty.’

Brock watched one of the other barmen drawing a pint.

‘Fancy one?’ Cornford said.

‘Saw the look in my eye, did you?’

The publican smiled.

‘Yes, it’s been a long day.’ Brock unbuttoned his coat and sat heavily on a stool. ‘Have one yourself.’ He put a tenner on the bar, watching the golden liquid foam into the straight glass. ‘Has this happened before?’

‘Drink-spiking? Get it all the time, young lads slipping an extra double vodka into their girl’s mixer.’

‘What about pills?’

‘Pills are everywhere you look these days.’ He hesitated, then went on, ‘Couple of weeks ago a young woman came in, Saturday lunchtime, said her friend had been drugged and raped the night before, after coming in here. When I talked to her she was a bit confused. They’d been to at least two other pubs, then got separated. When she found her friend later she was in a bit of a mess. I told her to go to the cops if she thought something bad had happened. I don’t think she did.’

‘Two weeks ago?’

‘Maybe three now.’

‘Know their names?’

Cornford shook his head.

‘Was Rafferty in that night?’

‘Friday night, bound to have been.’

Brock thanked him, drained his pint and left. When he got in his car he put a call through to DI Bren Gurney.

K
athy drove a few blocks away from the Ealing police station before pulling in to the kerb. She got out her phone and keyed in Nicole Palmer’s number.

‘Kathy! You’ve sorted things out?’

‘’Fraid not. They’re getting worse, actually. You’re not in bed, are you?’

‘It’s only ten. Lloyd just got in.’ Her partner was also a detective, in North London.

‘I need a big favour, Nicole. I’m trying to find out about two guys who were in the army together. There’s not much on them on the PNC. I was wondering if you could access their army records, and dig up anything else.’

‘Sure. I’ll get onto it tomorrow.’

‘I was wondering if you could manage it now. We’re interviewing them first thing in the morning. It would really help if I could have something by then.’

There was a silence. ‘You want me to go into the office
now
?’

Kathy sighed. ‘No . . . I’m sorry. It was a stupid idea. Forget it.’

Another long silence. ‘What are their names?’

‘No, really, Nicole. Forget it.’

‘I’ve had a couple of drinks. You’ll have to pay for the cabs.’

•

It was a short drive to Bradshaw Street. TV screens flickered through curtained windows as Kathy made her way to flat three. It took a long while for Sheena to come to the door. She blinked at Kathy, bleary-eyed, racking her brains.

‘Kathy Kolla, Mrs Rafferty, from the police. I came about Marion, remember?’

‘Oh . . . oh aye. I’m . . .’ She looked vaguely back over her shoulder. She was wearing a dressing-gown, hair mussed, a cigarette burning in her fingers.

‘Can I have a quick word?’

‘S’pose so.’

There was an empty vodka bottle on the floor in the living room, clothes scattered, TV emitting canned laughter.

‘Can we turn that down?’

Sheena blinked, looking around for the remote. Kathy found it and handed it to her. The sound boomed louder, then dipped to a murmur.

‘How have you been?’

‘Oh, you know. How does a mother feel, eh?’

‘Yes. Can we sit down? I’m afraid I’ve got a bit more bad news. Keith’s been arrested.’

Blank incomprehension. ‘Keith what?’

‘He’s been arrested.’

‘Keith? Did he hit somebody?’

‘We think he spiked a girl’s drink, in a pub.’

Sheena’s eyes came abruptly into focus. ‘What?’

‘Him and Brendan Crouch.’

‘Jesus Christ. The stupid . . . Where was this?’

‘The Three Bells.’

‘Och no. Pissing on his own bloody doorstep, the stupid . . . Ah’ll kill that bastard.’

‘Has he done anything like this before?’

‘Is the Pope a fuckin’ Catholic? Where’d ah put ma fuckin’ drink?’

‘With Marion?’

‘What?’ Sheena’s eyes widened, the whites ringed with smeared mascara.

‘Did he try stuff with Marion?’

‘What . . . what are you tryin’ to say?’

‘Come on, Sheena. You know, don’t you? Marion didn’t tell you when she moved three months ago. Why was that? It was to keep Keith from finding her, wasn’t it?’

Sheena opened her mouth but nothing came out. She was taking quick shallow breaths. Suddenly she gave a little cry, and looked down at her hand, where the cigarette had burned down to her fingers. She stabbed it in an ashtray and wheeled on Kathy.

‘Git out,’ she said hoarsely.

‘I want to help you, Sheena. I want to help you do the right thing for Marion.’

‘GIT OUT!’ she screamed. ‘GIT OUT! GIT OUT!’

‘Calm down.’ Sheena was looking wildly around, as if for a weapon. ‘All right, I’m going. Just think about it, Sheena. I’ll be here when you want to talk.’

•

Brock had told her to go home and so, belatedly, she did. The place was cold and she put the heating on and made a cup of hot chocolate, then sat, waiting, trying to think.