Daisy in Chains (31 page)

‘Which do you recommend?’ she asks the jovial, grey-haired man behind the counter.

‘You look cold to me. Why don’t I warm you up a toddy?’

Conscious of the day outside getting dark and not wanting to be driving over the moors too late at night, she agrees and takes her seat opposite the man she has come to meet.

‘The Temperance movement started in Lancashire.’ His accent is Northern, his voice pitched surprisingly low for such a small, thin man. ‘Back in the nineteenth century. Suddenly, working people had more money and alcohol took off in a big way. By 1880 there was a temperance bar in every Northern town. Now, this is the only one left.’

There are red veins in James Laurence’s cheeks and eyes. His face has the saggy appearance of someone for whom bloating has been a problem in the past. He is forty years old, looks considerably older.

‘James, why do you think the judge didn’t take you seriously?’

Laurence’s hand rests on the half-pint glass of black liquid. He lifts
it continually, taking minuscule sips. ‘I was stitched up in court. They made me look a fool.’

‘The defence barristers?’

A begrudged nod. ‘I mean, everyone’s a twat at university, aren’t they? They found pictures of me wasted at parties. They kept asking me how much I used to drink. Whether I took drugs. They implied I’d been out of my head all the time I was there, so how could I be relied upon? As if you can’t get a medical degree at Oxford if you have a drink problem.’

Maggie avoids looking at his hands, which she already knows have a tremor more pronounced than normal. ‘I’ve looked at the court reports,’ she says. ‘I don’t think it was so much that you were deemed unreliable, as that there was no supporting evidence. No trace of the porn business you talked about, and none of the sex tapes you described have ever been seen.’

He makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. ‘Oh, they’ve been seen all right. Just not by anyone who’s prepared to admit it.’

‘Of Hamish Wolfe’s social circle at Oxford, you were the only person called to testify against him. Any idea why?’

‘The others couldn’t shop Wolfe without dropping themselves in it. So, by default, it was my word against that of all five of them. What with that, and the defence barrister trying to discredit everything I said, I was on a hiding to nothing. In the end, the judge practically told the court I’d been lying.’

As hot, spiced steam wafts through the small room, the bartender brings a clear plastic beaker in a silver-coloured cup to the table. Maggie can smell lemon and ginger. He waits for her first sip and she gives the expected nod of approval, even though the brew tastes like something she’d take for a cold.

‘Do you think Hamish was guilty?’ she asks Laurence.

A shrug. ‘The evidence was there. And it fits with what I remember from college days. They were a nasty bunch.’

In court, James Laurence had claimed to have been one of the group. A close friend. ‘How much do you know about what they were up to? The so-called Fat Club. The porn business.’

‘Quite a lot. I was on the same floor as Chris Easton, that first year. He and I used to study together sometimes.’

‘It would really help if you could tell me what you know.’

Laurence shrugs as though it makes no difference, one way or another. ‘I think, in fairness, it started as a bit of a laugh. Hamish was keen on this girl on the course. She was a real chubster, and the other four kept on at him. You know the sort of thing: What do you see in her? Is there any room in the bed? Then Oliver Pearson decided he was going to shag a fat bird too – his words not mine – and it went from there. Turned into a sort of competition. They’d go out into Oxford town centre in the evenings, to the sort of clubs and pubs where the townies went, not the students, on the hunt for bigger women. Then Simon—’

‘Simon Doggett?’

‘Yeah, that’s him. He and Hamish were on our floor one evening, they came into the kitchen to find Chris, and Simon announced he’d videotaped his session the previous night with a girl he’d picked up. He asked who wanted to see it. So the three of them set off for Simon’s room. They said something about going to find Warwick and Oliver too.’

‘Did you go?’

His face tightens. ‘I wasn’t asked. I didn’t really come on to their radar screen, except when I could be useful. Took me a long time to see that. Anyway, a few days later, Chris needed some help setting up a hidden camera in his bedroom. He’d made a complete mess of it. Wanted me to sort it out.’

The bartender is still in the room. Maggie drops her voice. ‘Did he tell you what he was doing with the films?’

‘Nope. He was very tight-lipped.’

‘So how did you know about the business? The one that was mentioned in court?’

Now it is Laurence who is conscious of their one-man audience. He lowers his voice. ‘I needed to borrow one of Chris’s textbooks one day. He wasn’t in. I think he was in the bathroom, because his clothes were on the floor, but his computer was switched on.’

Maggie nods her head, knowing that appearing judgemental at this stage will make him clam up.

‘He was using some sort of graphics package to design labels for the videos. As soon as I saw the branding, Fat Girls Get Fucked, it all made sense. Next time he was out, I let myself into his room and looked
round. There was a cardboard box under the bed, full of videotapes. More than a dozen different films. All the guys had kept their faces from the camera, but I recognized the backs of their heads, and their rooms. Warwick, Oliver, Simon, Hamish. They were all at it.’

‘How many tapes did Hamish feature in?’

‘I only saw one, but there could have been others.’

‘The girl he was with, was it the one you mentioned, the one on the course?’

He thinks for a moment, and shakes his head. ‘No. This was a blonde girl, even bigger than Daisy.’

‘Daisy?’

‘Yeah, Hamish’s girlfriend. Well, sort of. They obviously weren’t exclusive.’

‘Did any of the tapes feature Daisy?’

‘Not that I saw, but I do remember hearing the others talking about a tape with Daisy in. They described it as a bit special.’

The door opens and a rush of cold air comes in, along with a middle-aged couple. It is completely dark outside now, the lights of the town stretching up and over the moors.

‘What happened to Daisy?’ Maggie asks.

‘She disappeared. When it all kicked off.’

‘What kicked off?’

‘The business I tried to testify about. It happened one night in Hilary term. That’s between Christmas and Easter.’

‘Thank you, I know. Go on.’

‘Simon and Oliver came banging on Chris’s door. They woke me up. I went outside, asked them what was up, and they told me, “Nothing, go back to bed.” ’

‘Your room was next door to Chris’s?’

‘That’s right. I couldn’t hear much of what they were saying and they left quickly, but I did hear them talking about picking up Hamish. I assumed that they were on their way to Warwick’s house.’

‘What did you do?’

‘I went back to bed. What else could I do? But next day, there were rumours going round about the police being called to Warwick’s house. That someone had died there in the night. The university kept it quiet.
There was a small piece in the
Oxford Mail
about an unnamed girl being found dead in a Magdalen College house, but then nothing more was heard until the inquest.’

‘Did you ask them about it?’

‘I asked Chris. But he said they hadn’t gone to Warwick’s, and they knew nothing about what happened there. He said they’d gone to Hamish’s because he’d drunk too much and they were worried about him.’

‘Did you believe them?’

‘No. I saw Hamish that day. He didn’t look to me like he was nursing a hangover. He looked like he was shitting himself.’

‘Did you say anything to the authorities?’

‘What was I supposed to say? That three guys had gone somewhere in the night and I’d just assumed they were going to Warwick’s?’

‘So, what do you think happened?’

‘I think Warwick took a girl home with him, planning to make a video. I think something went wrong. Maybe he was trying something a bit more adventurous than normal. Maybe it wasn’t just him, maybe Oliver and Simon were involved too. Something went wrong and the girl died. The gang got together and made it look like she’d died accidentally.’

‘Not as easy as it sounds, surely?’

He gives her a pitying look. ‘They were medical students. They knew about causes of death and what post-mortem examinations look for. If nothing else, they would have stripped the room of the recording equipment, removed any signs of kinky sex. At worst, Warwick killed that girl and the others helped to cover it up. At best, they conspired to pervert the course of justice. And they got away with it.’

Laurence’s hands are shaking noticeably now.

‘You’re angry about it, aren’t you?’ she says.

‘Yeah, I’m angry. I’m angry that some people believe themselves to be a cut above the rest of us. I’m angry that the rule of law doesn’t apply to all of us equally, and I’m seriously pissed off that my word, when set against that of five upper-class, over-privileged twats, wasn’t believed.’

She gives him a moment. ‘Tell me about Daisy.’

‘What’s to tell? Nobody saw her again after that night.’

‘Do you think they killed Daisy too?’

‘Oh, I wouldn’t be a bit surprised.’

NEW YEAR
’
S EVE
is arguably one of the most depressing shifts to work in a police station. The 0600–1400 hours crew had practically congaed their way out to the nearest pub when their shift ended, but the 1400–2200 bunch are having to make do with soft drinks and snacks. Halfway through the shift, the cola is warm, the crisps are soft and the team are feeling the party might have passed them by already.

Liz comes back from the loo, makes a quick detour to her own desk and then leans over Pete’s. ‘Fifteen possibilities,’ she says, putting the file down in front of him.

Pete reaches across and sees a printed list of industrial estates. Liz has followed Maggie’s instructions to the letter: look for modest-sized units, rented out in January 2013, due for renewal in 2018. ‘We can get round them all in the next week or so,’ she says.

Pete nods. ‘I suspect Maggie is working on it as well. She could find it before we do. If it exists. Which I seriously doubt. Did I mention that?’

Liz smiles, starts to walk away, then turns back again. ‘If Hamish gets out, it won’t be good for you,’ she says. ‘Not in the short term.’

Pete wonders if he can sneak a beer out of the Asda carrier bag under his desk. The chances of a call-out at this hour on New Year’s Eve are slim, but you never know. ‘I guess at the end of the day, all we can do is the right thing,’ he tells her.

What Liz does next is completely out of character. She bends over, and kisses him on the temple. ‘I kind of love you,’ she says.

Christ, he needs a beer. ‘Get out of here,’ he tells her.

THE BASEMENT BENEATH
Maggie’s house is large and high-ceilinged, with several interconnected rooms. The first, at the bottom of the staircase, is the biggest. In this room, there are narrow, horizontally configured windows, very high in the walls, that allow in weak beams of dusty light, but even in daytime the single, low-watt electric bulbs – just one in each room – are needed.

Close to midnight, in winter, the subterranean rooms are full of shadows, but Maggie knows what lurks in each. Every time she comes down here, she thinks about ghosts, but she hasn’t seen one yet.

‘Bit early for spring cleaning,’ says the voice that is never silent for long, and that always has plenty to say for itself below ground.

‘Technically, late.’ Maggie carries a box to the bottom of the stairs. ‘Still a few more minutes of 2015 left to run.’ The box joins several others stretching up the wooden staircase. Before the night is out, Maggie will carry them upstairs and put them in the back of her car. She has already identified four household-waste disposal sites, none of them too close to home, where she will drop them off in the next couple of days.