Never Look Back (21 page)

‘Right. And what did you see when you passed the Tesco’s, Mr Turner?’ The detective’s voice was quiet now. He looked angry.

Malvern didn’t want to remember but maybe if he answered the questions they would let him go. Let him go home to Sarah. He closed his eyes. He could see the man; he could see the girl beneath him. ‘I saw a girl.’

‘What was she doing, Mr Turner?’

‘She was, she was hurt. The man was hurting her,’ Malvern said. He knew the man had hurt her, not because she screamed; she didn’t. Not because of the blood; there was lots of blood. It was her face, her mouth open, in a silent scream.

‘Was the girl still alive when you saw her, Mr Turner?’

‘No, I don’t know. She was cold. I helped. I covered her up. I helped,’ he said, realizing he was whining like a child.

‘Mr Turner. Who else did you see in the alleyway?’ the detective asked, his hands hovering over the table.

‘A man, I saw the man.’

‘Did you walk closer to the alley, Mr Turner?’

‘Yes, sir, I did.’

‘That’s good. You’re doing very well. Can you tell me what happened then?’

Malvern could feel a buzz around him, it felt like it was coming from the detective. ‘I don’t know. It was dark and he . . . moved away . . . I covered her up. I helped the girl. I helped, didn’t I?’ he said, reaching out and trying to touch the detective’s hand.

‘Did you see the man leave the alleyway?’ the detective snapped, snatching his hand away.

‘Yes, sir,’ Malvern said.

‘Now . . . this is very important, Mr Turner. Can you remember what the man looked like? Could you describe him?’

Malvern’s head was pulsing, lights dancing in front of his eyes. ‘I don’t know . . . he was tall, like you. He was white.’

‘What was he wearing?’

‘I . . . I don’t remember. Trousers. A top, a jacket or a jumper. I don’t know, it was dark. Can I go now?’ he asked. He was so tired.

‘I’m afraid not, Mr Turner, but we will take a break. I am going to send in one of my colleagues. You can tell him what you saw, what this man looked like, and he will draw a picture. You tell him when the picture is right. Understand?’

‘Yes, sir, I do,’ Malvern said, looking up at the detective who had stood up. ‘Can I call Sarah, to let her know I’m OK?’ he said.

The detective didn’t answer him. He just stopped the tape recorder, said a few words to the officer Groves, thanked Mrs Brunswick and walked out of the room. Mrs Brunswick didn’t have her hand on Malvern’s arm any more.

4 February – Tuesday

Sarah folded up her newspaper. She had hoped for a distraction but the headlines were dominated by the discovery of the body of a young girl in Richmond. Some poor man, walking his dog, had found her just inside the park. She shivered as she looked out at Lewisham High Street, still peppered with snow. She should consider herself lucky but she didn’t. It was 10.30 and she had already spent half an hour in Bella’s Coffee House, waiting for Bennett. They had agreed to meet here, rather than the station. Sarah couldn’t bear the idea of being in the same building as him, even if he was behind bars.

The impact of Bennett’s call yesterday had been short lived. Once the shock had worn off and the relief hadn’t fully come, she had been left with questions, dozens of questions. What happened now? What happened to him? There was so much doubt circling in her mind it was making her dizzy. She sipped her coffee, glad for the extra shot of espresso after yet another sleepless night.

Outside the café the temporary traffic lights changed to green, cars edged forward, horns blaring. She leaned forward and looked up the street at Lewisham Police Station as her eyes filled with tears. She dropped her hands on the table with a thump, sending her teaspoon spinning to the floor. As she bent to pick it up, sniffing, she heard the café’s door open, the bell jingling a friendly welcome.

‘Sarah?’

She looked up to see Bennett’s boss. His name vanished from her lips as soon as she opened her mouth. It was Mike something. ‘Good morning . . . Detective,’ she said before dropping her eyes back to her coffee cup.

As if by magic a young girl appeared behind the counter and cleared her throat. ‘What can I get you?’ she called out. When Sarah looked over she could see that the girl was blushing. She hadn’t got table service.

‘Espresso, please, double shot,’ he said, not really looking at the girl and clearly clueless to her crestfallen expression as she skulked off to get his coffee. ‘May I join you?’ he said, indicating the seat opposite Sarah.

She heard herself say, ‘Please, go ahead.’

He shrugged out of his jacket, slung it over the back of one of the chairs and slid into his seat. ‘These chairs remind me of the dinner hall at school, but if I remember rightly, ours were nailed to the floor.’ He spoke in a laughing whisper, leaning towards her as if they were old friends sharing a joke.

‘We didn’t have chairs. We had benches,’ she said, feeling a blush flare at the base of her neck. What the hell was she talking about? Before she could say anything else banal the young girl walked over, plonked the espresso on the table and walked away again.

‘I think the service is better in Starbucks,’ he said, again in a stage whisper, ‘but I just can’t stomach their coffee.’ He took an appreciative sip and smiled. Sarah wasn’t sure if the smile was for her or the coffee.

‘I expect you’ve been busy?’ she asked, immediately wondering where that had come from. He wasn’t going to want to talk about his job, not to her. And she didn’t want to hear about it anyway. Not after what she’d just read.

He seemed to think for a minute, his lips hidden behind his cup. She thought for a second that he wasn’t going to answer at all, but then he said, ‘It’s been a tough couple of weeks but we’re getting there.’ He shrugged his shoulders.

‘How long have you been a detective . . . Detective?’ she asked, unable to think of another topic of conversation but unable to stay silent either. Despite feeling uncomfortable talking to the detective, it was a significant improvement on crying into her coffee. She needed a distraction.

‘Call me Mike.’ He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. The tiredness she had seen last week was still there. In fact now that she looked at him she could see the grey bags shadowing his deep-set eyes.

‘Of course,’ she said, taking a sip of her coffee. It was already starting to cool beyond the point of enjoyment but she didn’t care. She was surprised by how relaxed he seemed, his arm resting casually on the back of the chair next to him. She could smell lavender and something else. Every time he moved another waft of the scent drifted under her nose. She breathed it in, pushed her shoulders down and tried to relax, if only by an inch.

‘. . . I guess I’m coming up to twenty years . . .’ He was still talking about his job but Sarah found she couldn’t focus. Instead, she was thinking of the other times they had met. Their first meeting had been at Bennett’s desk. He, Mike, had walked over with an expression bordering on angry. He was all eyes and rudeness.

‘. . . when I left university I went to the . . .’ he continued.

Sarah was only half listening. The second time they met, when it was just her and Mike, she had been crying. When he had walked into that interview room, she remembered wanting to scream at him but then he had been so different; kind, softly spoken, sympathetic. She could still see his hand reaching across the table to her.

‘. . . and that’s when I was promoted to inspector, and I’ve been running the HSCC, Homicide and Serious Crime Command, quite a mouthful, I know, but no one calls it that.’

She looked at him and finally focused on what he was saying. ‘Did you say homicide?’ she asked.

‘Yes. There are offices in Lewisham, Hendon, Barnes, Belgravia . . .’

He had probably talked for five minutes but the only word she really heard was homicide. ‘Is Sergeant Bennett . . .?’ she asked, feeling the coffee in her stomach begin to churn, threatening to come back up.

‘Jane is my lead detective sergeant, has been for the last five years. She’s my right hand.’ He seemed to accentuate the end of his sentence as if Sarah had somehow cast doubt on Bennett’s abilities.

‘So . . . why was she assigned to my case?’

Now it was his turn to pause. She watched as tiny red blotches came out on his temples and around the nape of his neck where he had loosened his collar. ‘Simple,’ he said, his eyes scanning the coffee shop. ‘Sergeant Bennett oversees your borough and the matter was handed to her initially. It is then up to her whether to handle the case herself or delegate to a more junior member under her supervision.’ He finished speaking, raised his cup as if to indicate he needed a refill. ‘Can I get you another? What would you like?’ he asked, pushing his seat back with a screech.

‘Americano,’ she said, unable to say anything else.

Sarah watched as he walked over to the counter, staring at the board as if unsure what to order. She had a sudden desire to leave, to get out of the café before he said anything else, but before she could bolt he was back. There was only one cup. It was obvious. She was staying, he was leaving.

He seemed to be struggling to find the right words, the right sentiment to leave her with as he escaped. ‘Sergeant Bennett asked me to speak to you,’ he said. Sarah felt her eyebrows bunching together. He had just spent five minutes chatting away like they were old chums but he never mentioned being here to see her. She assumed it was a coincidence. Why wouldn’t she? Why the hell hadn’t he said anything?

‘I’m sorry, Sergeant Bennett asked you to come here and see me?’ she asked, aware that she sounded as incredulous as she felt.

‘Yes, she isn’t in the office today, I’m afraid. She was called out on some private business. She called and told me about your meeting this morning and asked if I would come and explain that she was unable to attend and could she possibly reschedule when she’s back in the office, tomorrow, most likely.’

Sarah was surprised by how young he sounded when he made excuses. ‘But,’ she began, unsure what to say, ‘Bennett told me she would explain what happened next . . . what I do now?’

He seemed to study his hands for a moment. ‘I can help you with some of that,’ he said, trying to smile in what was obviously meant to be a reassuring way.

‘So tell me,’ she said, not letting him look away. She didn’t know where the forceful voice was coming from.

‘Wouldn’t you prefer to come into the station? I’m not sure this is the best place to talk, Sarah,’ he said, gesturing to the café around them.

The place was empty. Even the girl behind the counter had vanished. Sarah felt something inside give way. She couldn’t take any more games. ‘It’s not as if we’ve got half of Lewisham listening, is it?’ She saw the disquiet on his face but she couldn’t stop now. ‘Just tell me. I really don’t think I can take this any more. If I’m in some kind of danger, tell me. If I’ve imagined it, tell me. If he’s watching someone else and I’ve got it wrong, tell me. If he’s an old boyfriend hoping for reconciliation, just tell me. Don’t I deserve that much?’ She said the last sentence barely above a whisper. Her strength had vanished as quickly as it had come.

He put both hands on the table, flat, fingers spread out. It was becoming a familiar gesture. ‘Sarah. I can understand how difficult this must be for you.’ He seemed to be waiting for her to agree so she forced herself to nod. He was fiddling with whatever he wore around his neck. She remembered him doing the same thing when he had interviewed her last week. She realized she was watching his fingers rather than listening to him. ‘. . . as Sergeant Bennett told you, a suspect was brought into the station for questioning on Sunday evening,’ he said, raising his thumb as if the first point on his agenda had been dealt with.

‘Sunday?’ Sarah said. ‘But Bennett only called me yesterday. Have you still got him? Has he been there since Sunday? Who is he?’ She was trying to control the rising panic in her voice.

‘The suspect is still in custody. He is being questioned in relation to another matter,’ he said, raising his index finger. Sarah realized she was going to get the information, what little of it there seemed to be, piecemeal.

‘Another matter?’ she said.

‘Not relevant at this time. It is separate to your case and I am not at liberty to discuss it with you, but I can tell you that the individual was arrested, questioned and Sergeant Bennett is preparing to charge him in relation to your complaint. His identity can’t be released until the charges are formalized, I’m afraid.’ He shifted in his seat as a beeping sound invaded the space between them. It didn’t take a body language expert to see his relief. ‘At this stage it is up to you how you want to proceed. Sergeant Bennett will have to go through the details with you,’ he said, glancing at his phone and then sliding it back into his pocket. ‘As I say, Jane will be able to go through the procedure in detail.’

‘Proceed with what?’ she asked.

‘A restraining order is possible. The individual has been advised that not only are his attentions unwanted but that he will be committing a serious offence if he continues. I have spoken to the suspect myself and I feel confident that he will take heed and keep his distance.’ He reiterated his statement with a decisive nod.

‘Why have you spoken to him?’ She felt like she was either being utterly dense or going over the final edge of crazy. Why was the head of homicide speaking to her stalker?

He waited a second before replying, his voice calm but authoritative. ‘I am Sergeant Bennett’s superior officer. In the course of her investigation I came into contact with the suspect. As I said, I really think the charge and the warning will be heeded but, of course, when you speak to Jane you can discuss the options available to you to ensure that you feel totally at ease.’

She slumped forward in her chair, no longer able to hold herself upright.

‘Sarah, go home. Get some rest. I will ask Sergeant Bennett to call you as soon as she’s in the office.’ Before she could respond he had risen from his seat. When he held out his hand she took it almost without thinking. They didn’t so much shake hands as hold hands for what felt like several minutes. He looked at her and she looked right back at him. And then he was gone, the jingling bell the only proof that he was ever there.