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AP: Having spent the previous evening in a bar for homosexual men, having a drunk a great deal of alcohol?
Witness: Yes, sir.
AP: And isn’t it true that you had never met the defendant until that night?
Witness: Yes, it is true.
AP: Would the term for your relationship with the defendant be “hook up”?
Witness: Possibly. I wouldn’t argue with it.
AP: To sum up. You picked up a man you had never met before, had a great deal to drink and took him back to your hotel room, where you had sex and presumably fell asleep. Is that what happened?
Witness: Yes, sir.
AP: In your statement to the police, you insisted that the defendant had been with you all night. I believe your words were, “I would have heard if he’d got up to murder someone.” Is that what you said?
Witness: Yes, sir.
AP: On reflection, would you stand by that statement?
Witness: In the light of later events, I may have been mistaken.
DCI Freya Ravensbourne was a remarkably untidy woman. She was the first to arrive, bearing pathologist Hector Powell and the team of forensic investigators. Ravensbourne came in a marked car, with a uniformed driver, and when she got out she showered the ground with crumbs and chocolate wrappers. The wrappers she carefully picked up, and handed to the driver. Her brown hair was streaked with grey and looked as if it had been last brushed several weeks before. Her black trousers were frayed around the bottom, and her lime green padded jacket leaked padding. But her eyes were sharp, and her head turned this way and that, taking everything in, looking at the walls of the main building and then the less salubrious sheds and workshops. She sniffed the air, foul with decay.
The whole area from the car park through to the fire door Tom had used had been taped off. All the sheds and workshops were inside the tape, some of their users having left under protest. As a precaution, Charlie had asked Tom to close those sections of corridor and offices overlooking the crime scene. If they needed to, Forensics could erect a tent, not least to hide moving the body. In the meantime, no one could watch what was happening.
Charlie stepped forwards. “Ma’am,” he said, “I’m DS Charlie Rees.”
She smiled, showing uneven teeth stained by tobacco, the smell of which came from her clothes. “Charlie, call me boss. Save ma’am for when you meet royalty.” She gripped his arm and all but frogmarched him back to the car. “Take a walk, Etheridge,” she said. The uniformed constable exited the car with a nod, and opened the back door for Charlie. She slid in next to him. “Chewing gum?” Ravensbourne asked, fishing a packet out of her trouser pocket. Charlie shook his head. “Better than smoking, or so I’m told,” she said.
“I don’t smoke either, ma … boss.”
“Don’t suppose you do, working for clean-living Kent.” She laughed and smacked his arm, hard enough to bruise. “Don’t take me seriously. Mal and I are old friends.” Her voice changed, and this time, it matched the sharp eyes. “Mal Kent has been suspended in all but name. They won’t get anywhere with it, but the big cheeses have got it into their heads that they can blame him for everything that went wrong here. That way, no one will look too closely at what they were doing for the last six months. It took them a while to get the courage to call him in, so they’re all relaxed now, and not concentrating properly. They think they can start slipping their friends back into the job, with Kent out of the way. But we don’t want that, do we Charlie?”
“Do you mean reinstating the officers suspended from Llanfair?” Charlie asked.
Ravensbourne nodded, sharply.
“Then, no,” Charlie said, “But this is different—this murder, or whatever. And the assaults are still going on, or rather we think there has been another one. The police station was attacked—did you know about that?” Charlie heard his own voice rising as some of the panic from the last thirty-six hours leaked out.
“Deep breath, Charlie, and tell me everything, in order please. We’ve got about ten minutes, max, before the circus arrives.”
Charlie took a deep breath and told her.
She produced a tiny police-issue notebook and a pencil and made the occasional scribble.
“So,” she said, when Charlie had finished. “Harrington-Bowen is either dirtier than we thought, or someone just as dirty has got it in for him, and planted that video. The college has been so focussed on keeping its reputation so it can attract foreign students who pay the biggest fees, that it was easy pickings for a bunch of officers who don’t know the law—or were protecting someone they knew. The new guy, Tom Pennant, didn’t pay any attention to the two missing students because a, he didn’t want the job, and b, until you came along, he bought into the whole protect the college thing. One of the missing students is back, and his story has more holes than my gardening trousers, and the other one is lying dead in that workshop. Then one of your officers thinks the flasher is still doing his thing, and finally, someone attacked the police station.”
Charlie remembered the fake email from superintendent Kent, and told Ravensbourne.
“Anything else?” she asked, but there was kindness in her voice.
He shook his head. There was bound to have been something he’d forgotten, but he thought this extraordinary woman would probably forgive him when he remembered what it was.
“You’ve done well,” she said. “I want you to concentrate on the kid who came back. I can tell you’ve got a few ideas about this Vitruvious bloke. Follow your hunch. Check with Kaylan’s parents that what he told you is true. Get Eddy on to Molotov cocktail man. You’ve got witnesses and a description. We can grab that little scrote at least. Van was stolen locally, and I’d bet on the thief being a local. I’ll get the video of our flasher enhanced as much as I can. I need your two other officers looking for witnesses here.” Charlie thought there was more to come, but a battered Volvo pulled in next to them, managing to park across two spaces, and a familiar figure got out: Hector Powell, pathologist.
Ravensbourne gripped Charlie’s arm again. "Before you do anything, I need you in there with Hector and the body. If it’s looking like this Rico kid, I’m going to want you to ring the parents for dental records, DNA or whatever.” Having given him the worst job of the day, she pulled her chewing gum out again and unpacked another stick. “Sure you don’t want some?”
