Hope's Vengeance (25 page)

The video whirred to a stop, and, regardless that she’d only taken the interview that morning, Claudia began to watch the footage for the fifth time. A light fuzzing, a quick sound-check, and the camera was focusing on the unexpected witness. Claudia listened to herself questioning the woman, studying her body language, her voice patterns, and again she had no doubt that the details Eva was remembering were truthful.

Eva was tiny, Griffin obviously had a penchant for petite women, a trait she, Hope, and Mrs Hall all shared; bar the latter woman’s weight problem, she probably didn’t even register five foot when standing straight. Eva had severe black hair, exceptionally shiny, sliced into a harsh bob, framing her delicate features, the ivory skin pallid, and there was an odd fragility to her robustness. The glasses on her nose, small and barely there, accentuated the austerity of the haircut, and the quality business suit impacted the image. Claudia doubted that Eva had a wild side, she was too in control, in strict control. Every word she spoke, recollection she told, was considered carefully before being allowed to escape. But the answers weren’t premeditated, they were honest.

Eva’s account of her traumatic childhood was astoundingly similar to Hope’s, the only major difference being the year and location it took place. She stated that Griffin had befriended her at an after school club in her childhood town of Newmarket, where he worked for the parish of St Andrews as a vicar. Befriending her, she mentioned to him that her home life was difficult, and he’d suggested visiting her mother, now deceased.

The abuse had started after he’d been visiting for a few weeks, her mother had left her in Griffin’s care for an hour or so in order to get some groceries, he’d taken her upstairs, forced her to have vaginal sex, then finish him off orally. Claudia winced at the thought, as she had done the previous five times, and also when she’d conducted the interview. She had wanted to work for the Rape and Sexual Abuse team for years, working her way up the ladder, training intensively, but she had never become hardened to hearing the horrific details the victims had been subjected to.

Eva’s account was concise, detailed, and she also bizarrely recollected Griffin’s hairy toes, leading Claudia to question the significance, for which Eva had no answer, she just remembered them.

Eva was an only child, her mother had died twenty years before, leaving her an orphan, and she had been brought up subsequently by an aunt, who was also now deceased. She had no witnesses to Griffin’s visits. However, just the fact that she was prepared to testify against him, and with such a shockingly similar accusation, strengthened the case against Griffin dramatically.

Claudia watched the video to the end, stopping it before rewinding again, and lifted the handwritten statement that lay before her, detailing much the same as she had just seen five times in a row. Although Claudia was certain they had enough evidence to warrant a conviction, part of her wished there were at least one witness on Eva’s side, and she debated the worthiness of digging into the woman’s childhood a little deeper, maybe find a friend like Hope’s Tracy, or a parishioner who perhaps saw more than they’d let on at the time.

Claudia sipped her stone cold coffee, a slight grimace, before strutting to the kitchen to replace it with a hot one, and resolved to get enough evidence to arrest the man, what they had currently was still circumstantial, the judge would throw it away with derision.

Session Fifteen

They’d politely greeted, shaken off the cold, the winter wear, and were both cupping steaming mugs of coffee in their hands, Hope’s red from the still bitter cold, Dawn’s red from the excessive heating in the building. Hope sipped before speaking wryly. “Friday the thirteenth.”

“Unlucky for some!” No irony or sarcasm, just a loose ending to the saying that popped out automatically.

The statement had clearly meant something to Hope, she had more to say. “Definitely unlucky for some! I had a call from the detective in Bedford who’s dealing with the investigation, Claudia Horseferry.” Dawn was firmly at attention now, eager. “They have new information, they’re hoping to arrest him within the week.”

Dawn was nearly off her seat, shocked, knowing the case would need more that just statements agreeing Griffin visited Hope’s childhood home to justify arrest. “So what’s the new information? Have they given you any details?.”

Hope was nodding, sincere, but with an enigmatic smile. “Unbelievable, too. Another woman, Eva Brunel, has come forward, says he abused her when she was a child. She came forward out of the blue after she read about my case.” The smile widened.

“Oh my God, that’s fantastic news, I mean, not for the woman being abused, but for your case. He might actually get done for it, go down. What a turn-up! Do you know anything about her?” It occurred to Dawn that the police shouldn’t have the name of the other witness, it was unprofessional.

Hope shook her head, rich mahogany waves tumbling from side to side. “No, nothing at all, except her abuse happened after mine.”

Dawn grinned, delighted for her client. “You never know, when word gets out, more women might stand up and admit he’s abused them, I doubt he stopped at two.”

The fire in Hope’s eyes was sudden, burning the grin from Dawn’s face instantly. “How many fucking witnesses do you want? Don’t you think two victims is enough?” Dawn had been completely unprepared for the outburst, she fiddled with her fingers, nervous, feeling like a victim herself. “I’ll tell you what, Dawn, I had so much hope when I came in ten minutes ago, and you’ve just dashed everything.”

A moment of uneasiness passed before Dawn remembered her place in the room, that she was in charge and her client was misbehaving. She leant forward, forcing her face to stay confident, her voice to stay calm. “What brought that on?” Firm. Back in control.

For a second Hope’s expression could have taken her either way, a choice between the full anger with flashing glare, or the timid shell with watery eyes and down-turned mouth. Neither registered, she remained still, one leg over the other, emotionless. “I’m sorry, it means so much to mean that Griffin pays for what he did, for destroying me, I’m terrified the judge will throw it out of court.”

“I can understand. Do you want to discuss it in here?”

Shaking her head again, the well conditioned hair such a contrast to the greasy rat tails she used to have before her confidence increased. Dawn let her eyes flicker over Hope, taking in the outfit, the new woman. Or was it the old woman who had returned after a bout of depression? Hope had remarked weeks ago that she used to dress similarly to Dawn before she went to prison in Brazil, maybe her old sense of style had been freed. Or maybe she was deliberately, or even subconsciously, mimicking a woman she admired. An unexpected shudder coursed down her spine, a brief moment of fear, and Dawn felt confused at the sudden trepidation.

Hope buried the moment with her words, and Dawn relaxed, shoulders easing, legs releasing. “No. I’ll keep you informed of how the case is going, but I don’t ever want to discuss it. He did what he did, he’s going to pay, albeit too many years too late, and the other woman and I will do our part in getting our revenge.”

The inexplicable shudder was back, and it occurred to Dawn that Hope never mentioned conviction, or jail, or justice, she always wished for revenge, as if custody wasn’t enough for his crime. She wondered whether to pursue this, or just make a mental note for the next time the conversation was raised. She let it go, but not without an immense relief that she wasn’t in Griffin’s shoes.

“I’ll tell you what I do want to get off my chest.” Dawn imagined Hope was teasing with her eyes, there was a wicked glint that she couldn’t place, but the statement that followed convinced her that she was being tested by her client again. “Working as a prostitute after Olive was born.”

Dawn, desperate to stay in control again, could feel her jaw moving, mouth opening and closing lamely, her tongue knotted and words being forced inside. She noticed Hope’s challenging derision, which tempted her to doubt the truth in the statement, Hope loved shocking people and wasn’t averse to dropping a bomb just for the reaction. The fact she was laughing now didn’t enforce any honesty, and Dawn, irritated, waved her hand, dismissive, crossing her legs and arms in defiance. “Hope, you’ve got to stop doing things like that. It doesn’t help you, and it’s counterproductive for me.”

Hope’s giggling intensified, wiping at her eyes, hand over mouth. “You should see your face!” Dawn was annoyed, she hated to be played like a fool, a game of which Hope appeared to be a star player. In her mind she wanted to stomp her foot and walk out, Hope was pissing her off today, and she wasn’t in the mood, but in reality her job was to stay put and take the flak. “Thing is, Dawn, I’m not lying. Maybe the term prostitute was a bit harsh, but it’s the same thing whatever you call it.”

This time Dawn acted. She stood, tall frame dripping with aggravation, and stamped, a tempestuous child in a grown woman’s body. “Look Hope, let’s just stop it with the games, okay. Last week you were going to think about how competitive your family is with each other, why don’t we take it from there and stop the silliness, it’s just wasting your time and mine.”

And now it was Hope’s turn to be defiant, ruffled. She also rose, somehow appearing larger than her counsellor through her anger, when she was crossed her personality seemed to swell, dominating every person nearby. “Fuck it, Dawn, I was giving it away for nothing, which I now know was a result of low self-esteem following the sexual abuse I didn’t know I’d suffered, I was sleeping with them all, practically a different one each night, and I was drinking, and smoking, and I’d been made redundant, and I was trying to bring two kids up on my own, and I was strapped for cash. One day I lay in bed, being humped by god knows who, and thought I might as well get paid for it rather than give it away for free.”

Their stance was a stand off, but Dawn wasn’t remotely aggressive, her face pale, regardless of the bright, sparkling make up. “No. No.”

“Are you taking a moral high ground on me now? Huh? Make me out to be some fucking dirty tart? Is that it, have I dropped in your estimation now? Go on, Dawn, say it like it is, say what you think.” Antipathy oozed from her, a coiled spring, ready to shoot. Dawn, suddenly small, meek, sat without sound, her palms together between her knees, shoulders sloping. Her booted toes pointed together, deportment deflated, wounded. Hope’s anger couldn’t persevere against such tormented opposition, and she too sagged into her seat. “I’m ashamed of it now, that’s why I got annoyed before. I know it was a symptom, and I know the reasons I went into it, so I don’t want to beat myself up about it, but the truth is I do. I lie in bed, remembering how dirty I felt, how dirty the money felt. I couldn’t spend it. I fucked them to earn money to make us more comfortable, but the money was filth, I couldn’t spend it.” Her voice was tailing, pained.

Dawn swallowed hard, and did exactly what she was trained not to do; leaning forward, she took Hope’s hand, stroking the soft skin gently, making eye contact, prising out the story in a calm atmosphere, soothing the hurt. “How old were you?”

Hope mulled for a second, calculating. “Twenty three. I only did three, I was finding it too hard to live with myself, and I got paid a hundred and twenty pounds each time. I worked through an escort agency, Pussycats in Reading. I had an appointment to meet them, so I went along in a tight black mini, lycra, it was. High boots, black stockings. I’d blow dried my hair, which always defines the natural curls, it looked great, and my make up was subtle but dusky. The women, they looked me up and down, smiling, told me I’d get plenty of work. I felt really good right then. Appreciated. Sexy.”

Hope’s expression turned from furrowed to confused, eyes watery. She sighed, setting the long drained mug on the table. “The first guy, he was sixty, I had to go to his house, it was about twenty miles away, High Wycombe.” A deep breath, spacing the memory, she caught Dawn’s pools of concerned hazel. “You know, I wasn’t thinking about what I was about to do the whole journey, the only thing that filled my thoughts was how could an old guy manage to perform, I guessed he’d be old, wrinkly, a little floppy dick, dribbling like a dirty old man, I mean, he was near on forty years older than me.”

The eye contact was lost as she disappeared back inside herself. “He wasn’t like that. Right from the first moment he was kind, treated me with respect, nicely. He was a masseur, and he asked me to,” sharing stares again, “asked me to, Dawn, he didn’t order me. He asked me to strip to my undies, he would give me a full body massage to relax me. Well, this didn’t fit the knowledge I had of the trade, I guessed he was a lucky ‘employee’ of Pussycats, got a shag for a reduced rate, something like that.”

Dawn motioned her hand, the light catching on the glitter of the metallic green tips, halting Hope’s flow. “You mean he sort of tested the new girls to see if they were up to the job?”

“Exactly that.” She nodded in emphasis, eyes returning to the denim stretched over her knees. “I always want to be the best, regardless of what it is I’m doing, so I decided I wanted a glowing report back. I closed my eyes, I was lying face down on his couch, and let his fingers work their magic on me while I imagined a more handsome face, a fitter body, a different man. He really turned me on, well, his hands and my fantasy, and after a blissful half an hour, we walked to the bed and got to work. I gave him a show, I’d bet I gave him the best sex he’d ever had. I was so horny I came too, and that made him happier than anything, he was truly moved, asking again and again if it was him who’d made me come. Of course I said yes, for his pride, but my imagination did most of the work.”

Hope swallowed, the dryness scraping in her neck, and she coughed lightly to clear her throat. “He paid me, I left. I went home, kissed the kids, stuffed the money at the back of my drawer, knocked back a whisky, and went to bed. It was as if I had no emotion, I’d detached myself completely, and, you know, I was proud of being able to do that.”