Deadly Friends (2 page)

‘Do you need me, now?’ PC Kent wondered.

I turned to Janet Saunders. ‘We have you outnumbered, I’m afraid, but do you mind if PC Kent stays?’

She shook her head and mumbled: ‘No.’

‘Thank you,’ I said. It was all experience for the young PC, and it didn’t create the impression that she had something better to do.

Janet Saunders was about thirty and had once been blonde. There were crow’s-feet around her eyes and deep lines down her cheeks, but you could still tell that she’d be attractive under different circumstances. She was wearing a black leather jacket and jeans. I couldn’t fault that – I was wearing the same.

Maggie said: ‘I’ll bring you up to date, Boss, and Janet can interrupt if I get it wrong. She’s single – divorced – with a five-year-old daughter. She lives on Marsden Road, about half a mile from the Tap and Spile public house, where she works as a barmaid three nights per week. She was working there on Christmas Eve, and a man she only knows as Darryl bought her a drink and later he offered to walk her home. She declined and walked home in the company of two neighbours.’ Maggie turned to the alleged victim. ‘Did you say they lived next door to you, Janet?’

‘No. Next door but two. Mr and Mrs Brown, they’re called.’

‘Right. Janet’s ex was bringing their daughter round at nine a.m. It was her turn to have her over Christmas. She left the pub at midnight, sharp, because she had presents to wrap and other things to do.’ Maggie turned to Janet.

‘Would you like to go on from there, Janet. I don’t want to put words into your mouth.’

Janet gazed at the table for a moment. She was wearing a wedding ring but no other jewellery. Her fingernails were short and unpainted and the sleeves of the leather jacket were too long so she had to keep hitching them up. She shuffled her position until she was more upright and said: ‘I wanted to make a trifle. Clean up a bit. And I had presents to wrap for Dilly.’

‘Dilly’s your daughter?’ I asked.

‘Mmm. Working at the pub, you come ’ome stinking of cigarettes. First thing I always do is have a shower. I had a good long soak and dried myself. I was going to put my jogging suit on and get stuck in for a couple of hours. Make things nice for …’

Up to then she’d been in control, but as we approached the offence she lost it and pulled a scrap of tissue out of her pocket. PC Kent produced a box of man-size and placed them alongside her.

‘Thank you,’ she sniffled, taking one.

I said: ‘You normally only work three nights at the Tap and Spile, Janet?’

She nodded. ‘Wednesdays, Thursdays and Fridays. They’re not busy enough on Mondays and Tuesdays.’

‘And not at weekends?’

‘Not usually. I have Dilly at weekends.’

‘Do you have a full-time job?’

She shook her head.

‘Tell us what happened next, Janet, if you can.’

She bit her lip for a second before answering. ‘I heard a noise. Thought it was someone outside, you know, revellers. I was drying my hair on the towel when, all of a sudden, I went cold. There was a draught and the light changed somehow. I lowered the towel and … he was standing there, with the door wide open. I screamed. Tried to cover myself. He just stood there, laughing.’

‘This was the man you know as Darryl?’ Maggie asked. ‘Yes.’

I said: ‘Janet, we’re not recording this, but Maggie will do a statement later and we’ll ask you to check it and sign it. If you’re finding this too difficult would you prefer to write it down yourself?’

She shook her head. ‘No, I’m all right.’

‘Well, we can break off anytime you want.’

‘You’re doing fine,’ Maggie assured her.

Janet had a drink of coffee and went on: ‘I shouted: “What the ’ell do you want?” or something. He said: “What do you think I want?” and he waved a knife at me. He grabbed me by the ’air and dragged me into the bedroom and … he did it to me. On the bed.’

She took another tissue and blew her nose.

‘You must have been terrified,’ I said.

She looked at me and gave a little sniff of disdain at my description of her fear. Her eyes were blue. ‘Did he say anything else?’ Maggie asked.

‘He pointed the knife at me, said he could kill me. But he said that was messy. He said if I reported ’im he’d just say I’d consented. Nobody would believe me. It would be my word against his. He said … he said …’ She couldn’t go on.

After a moment I asked: ‘What did he say, Janet?’

‘He said … that everybody knew I was a slag. It isn’t true. I’m not. Then he went.’

We sat in silence for a minute. Maggie made several notes. PC Kent bit her lip and fidgeted with the cuffs of her blouse. I said: ‘And then you had to pick up the pieces and get ready for little Dilly coming as if nothing had happened. And play the best mum in the world for the next three days while all this was churning away inside you.’

‘Mmm.’

‘And everybody around you was enjoying themselves,’ Maggie added.

‘Yes.’

I pointed at a disposable cup and held four fingers up to PC Kent. I was convinced that Maggie had deliberately not told me her first name. She asked how I liked my coffee. When she’d gone Janet said: ‘I wasn’t going to report it. I’m trying to win custody of Dilly again and I thought that this might go against me. Then
I thought: No! It’s my body. He’s not getting away with it.’

‘I admire your guts, Janet,’ I told her, ‘and we’ll do everything we can to nail him, but I can’t guarantee that we’ll succeed. You’d better give us a description.’

He was about twenty-eight, liked to dress smartly in a three-piece suit, with close-cropped hair, no earrings or tattoos and stockily built. He answered to Darryl and drank occasionally in the Tap and Spile, leaning on the bar, chatting to the staff. If he lived locally we’d find him.

‘You obviously haven’t been back to the pub,’ I suggested as WPC Kent came in with four cups in a purpose-designed tray.

‘No. I’ve had Dilly with me until tonight.’

‘Will you?’

‘I don’t think so, but I need the money.’

‘Right. Can you describe the knife?’

‘It was one of my kitchen knives. On Christmas Day Dilly came in from the garden carrying it. “Look what Dilly found, Mummy,” she said. I nearly fainted.’

‘Jesus!’ I sighed. I leant back in my easy chair and glanced round the room. There was a pile of chunky plastic toys in one corner with a little slide, kiddies for the use of. The place was starting to look grubby. That’s the trouble with pastels.

I said: ‘I’ll leave you with Maggie and she’ll ask you all the personal stuff we need to know. Meanwhile I’ll see what I can find about Darryl. We might need you
to point him out to us, if we go looking for him. Will that be OK?’

‘Through the week,’ Janet replied. ‘I can get away anytime through the week. I have Dilly at weekends.’

‘Fair enough. If we need more information would you prefer it if Maggie or PC Kent called to see you, or is it all right if I call? It’s just that sometimes they’re not available.’

‘I don’t mind who calls, if it helps catch him.’

‘Right. Thanks. You’re a brave lady, Janet, and you’re doing the right thing. I’ll say goodnight, and Maggie will take you home when you’ve finished.’

She thanked me, and I wandered off to set the wheels in motion. Except that I was the wheels, and I didn’t have much motion in me. The happy gang were leaving the canteen in various states of jollity and I zig-zagged against the flow, shaking the occasional extended hand and returning seasonal compliments. Sparky and Nigel weren’t among them.

I leant on the bell push at the front desk and the duty sergeant came steaming out of the office with murder on his mind. He unclenched his fists when he saw me. Unfortunately, Darryl the Rapist didn’t ring any bells in his memory. He just pursed his lips and shook his head. I half turned to leave, then said: ‘Oh, one more thing, Arthur. WPC Kent helped with the interview. She seems very competent. What’s her first name?’

The big sergeant, built like a mausoleum, looked over his left shoulder and then his right. When he was
sure we were alone he leant conspiratorially across the front counter. I put my ear close to his face.

‘Roger Bannister,’ he whispered.

It had started already.

Tomorrow I’d have a word about Darryl with our local intelligence officer and the regional rape squad. After that we’d have to go looking for him. I drifted up to the office and turned the lights off. Five minutes later the car started first time and I drove home on empty roads. There were no messages on my ansaphone. I flicked round the TV channels, didn’t find anything worth the electricity and went to bed. Another Christmas gone.

It didn’t take me long to deploy the troops next morning because DCI Makinson had commandeered most of them in his hunt for the doctor’s killer. In the run-up to Christmas we put everyone we can afford out mingling with the shopping crowds, looking for pickpockets and fraudsters. It’s amazing how many we catch. After Christmas it’s back to burglaries. We’d had the usual spate and several victims were complaining about our lack of response. The front desk handles most of the grumblers, but if I can’t find a reason to be out of the office the more persistent ones come through to me. I patiently explain how thinly we are stretched at times like these, but feel like screaming down the phone that this was the first Christmas I’ve had off since Bing Crosby was in short trousers and most of my staff can’t
remember when they last saw their children out of their pyjamas. The burglaries would go unsolved, or perhaps be Taken Into Consideration if we got lucky, and our rating in the public’s eyes would sink even lower.

‘Yes, Colonel,’ I said into the phone for the tenth time as Maggie seated herself at the other side of my desk. ‘We have a patrol car in that area, and we’ll ask them to keep their eyes open.’ I grimaced at her and nodded repeatedly at the earpiece. ‘You’re right, sir – horse-whipping is too good for them.’ I put the phone halfway down and snatched it back again. ‘Yes sir, … we will … thank you for calling.’ This time it made it back to its cradle before he could ramble on some more.

‘Colonel Blashford-Ormsby-Gridpipe,’ I explained to Maggie. ‘Someone has popped-off all his Christmas tree lights with an airgun.’ I stretched my arms out as if aiming a rifle.

She said: ‘A proper tree, out in the grounds, I presume.’

‘Perchow!’ I said. ‘Got one. Good shot. No, I think he said it was standing on the piano.’

She gave me the resigned look I’ve seen so many times. ‘Dare I ask you about Janet Saunders?’ she wondered.

‘Janet Saunders,’ I told her, ‘would come as a welcome relief. What else did she tell you?’

‘Nothing useful. She said he didn’t wear a condom, but she doesn’t know if he was circumcised or not. She’s
started her period, so that’s a relief. I had a word with her about AIDS and the availability of counselling, but she says she definitely wants a test.’

‘Good for her. Let’s go see Mr Wood and kill two birds with one well-aimed missile.’

Superintendent Gilbert Wood was spooning coffee into a mug as he shouted a come in to my knock.

‘Ah, just in time,’ I said as we entered. ‘It must be at least six minutes since my last one.’

He dropped a teabag into another cup, saying: ‘Maggie?’

‘Ooh, coffee please,’ she replied. ‘I’ve just had one, but it’s not often the super makes it for me.’

‘Jesus washed his disciples’ feet, Margaret,’ he replied.

We sat down at his desk while the kettle boiled and small-talked about Christmas. When it clicked off, Maggie jumped to her feet. ‘I’ll do it,’ she said. ‘Don’t want you scalding yourself.’

There were sounds of stirring behind me. ‘Just two sweeteners for me,’ Gilbert called to her. ‘Oh, and don’t put the teabag in the wastepaper bin.’

‘Where do I put it?’

‘Anywhere but the bin. The cleaning ladies have complained. They jam the shredder, or something. I don’t know what we’re supposed to do with them.’

‘Those cleaning ladies are growing too big for their boots,’ I grumbled.

Maggie placed three mugs on the table and we
shuffled beer mats under them. ‘I left the used bag on a saucer,’ she said.

‘When you have a few dry ones you could always put them in an envelope and post them to someone,’ I suggested.

Gilbert took a sip and pulled a face. ‘Anyone …?’ He made a pouring gesture over his coffee.

Maggie and I shook our heads and he looked disappointed.

‘Or you could let them drop out of the bottoms of your trousers as you walked across the car park every evening.’

‘Right,’ Gilbert said. ‘Having solved my problem of how to dispose of wet teabags, is that it, or is there something even more pressing?’

I looked at Maggie and spread my fingers, inviting her to talk. She told the super everything Janet Saunders had alleged the night before, and the little we knew about Darryl the Rapist.

Gilbert looked grave and gave a big sigh. ‘Has anyone recognised him?’ he asked.

I shook my head. ‘No, but it’s early doors. And if he’s local he shouldn’t be too hard to find. He seems to be a creature of habit.’

‘So you want to fetch him in?’

‘I think we should. We need to know who he is, at the very least.’

‘OK, but don’t waste too much time on it.’

There was a look of panic on Maggie’s face as
she looked from one of us to the other. ‘What’s the problem?’ she demanded. ‘He’s a regular in the Tap and Spile. We’ll get him.’

‘It might be better, Maggie, if we didn’t,’ I suggested. ‘And let him get away with rape!’

‘Which would Mrs Saunders prefer: not catching him, or we arrest him and the CPS refuses to prosecute?’

Gilbert said: ‘Darryl was right, Maggie. It’d be her word against his. The vast majority of rapists are known to their victims, and we have a less than thirty per cent conviction rate – if we go ahead with it. It looks as if he knows the score.’

‘We can’t just let him get away with it,’ she protested.

‘What would happen if it went to court?’ I asked her. ‘I liked Janet. I admire her courage and believe every word she said. But how would she look in the witness box?’ I took hold of my thumb, as if counting. ‘Her husband has the daughter through the week. That looks to me as if he has custody. Why is that? Was she the guilty party?’ I moved to my index finger. ‘Janet works in the pub three nights per week, but doesn’t have a full-time job. Is she on benefits? Almost certainly. Does she declare her pub income?’ I shrugged my shoulders. ‘They’re just for starters. What else might we find out about her that can be twisted by a barrister to destroy her character? She’d get torn to pieces, Maggie. It’d be worse than the rape.’