Not Safe After Dark (9 page)

Nobody spoke during the journey, and when they got to the station one of the local policemen pointed Bentley towards a free interview room. It was a bare place: grey metal desk, ashtray, three
chairs. Bentley sat opposite Reed, and Inspector Rodmoor sat in a corner, out of his line of vision.

Bentley placed the folder he’d been carrying on the desk and smiled his funeral director’s smile. ‘Just a few further points, Terry. Hope I don’t have to keep you
long.’

‘So do I ,’ Reed said. ‘Look, I don’t know what’s going on, but shouldn’t I call my lawyer or something?’

‘Oh, I don’t think so. It isn’t as if we’ve charged you or anything. You’re simply helping us with our enquiries, aren’t you? Besides, do you actually have a
solicitor? Most people don’t.’

Come to think of it, Reed didn’t have one. He knew one, though. Another old university friend had gone into law and practised nearby. Reed couldn’t remember what he specialized
in.

‘Let me lay my cards on the table, as it were,’ Bentley said, spreading his hands on the desk. ‘You admit you were in Redditch last Friday evening to visit your friend.
We’ve been in touch with him, by the way, and he verifies your story. What puzzles us is what you did between, say, four and eight-thirty. A number of people saw you at various times, but
there’s at least an hour or more here and there that we can’t account for.’

‘I’ve already told you what I did.’

Bentley consulted the file he had set on the desk. ‘You ate at roughly six o’clock, is that right?’

‘About then, yes.’

‘So you walked around Redditch in the rain between five and six, and between six-thirty and seven? Hardly a pleasant aesthetic experience, I’d imagine.’

‘I told you, I was thinking things out. I looked in shops, got lost a couple of times . . .’

‘Did you happen to get lost in the vicinity of Simmons Street?’

‘I don’t know the street names.’

‘Of course. Not much of a street, really, more an alley. It runs by a number of disused warehouses—’

‘Now wait a minute! If you’re trying to tie me in to that girl’s murder, then you’re way off beam. Perhaps I
had
better call a solicitor, after all.’

‘Ah!’ said Bentley, glancing over at Rodmoor. ‘So you
do
read the papers?’

‘I did. After you left. Of course I did.’

‘But not before?’

‘I’d have known what you were on about, then, wouldn’t I? And while we’re on the subject, how the hell did you find out I was in Redditch that evening?’

‘You used your credit card in the Tandoori Palace,’ Bentley said. ‘The waiter remembered you and looked up his records.’

Reed slapped the desk. ‘There! That proves it. If I’d done what you seem to be accusing me of, I’d hardly have been as daft as to leave my calling card, would I?’

Bentley shrugged. ‘Criminals make mistakes, just like everybody else. Otherwise we’d never catch any. And I’m not accusing you of anything at the moment. You can see our
problem, though, can’t you? Your story sounds thin, very thin.’

‘I can’t help that. It’s the truth.’

‘What state would you say you were in when you went into the Tandoori Palace?’

‘State?’

‘Yes. Your condition.’

Reed shrugged. ‘I was wet, I suppose. A bit fed up. I hadn’t been able to get in touch with Francis. Hungry, too.’

‘Would you say you appeared agitated?’

‘Not really, no.’

‘But someone who didn’t know you might just assume that you were?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe. I was out of breath.’

‘Oh? Why?’

‘We’ll I’d been walking around for a long time carrying my holdall. It was quite heavy.’

‘Yes, of course. So you were wet and breathless when you ate in the restaurant. What about the pub you went into just after seven o’clock?’

‘What about it?’

‘Did you remain seated long?’

‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘Did you just sit and sip your drink, have a nice rest after a heavy meal and a long walk?’

‘Well, I had to go the toilet, of course. And I tried phoning Francis a few more times.’

‘So you were up and down, a bit like a yo-yo, eh?’

‘But I had good reason! I was stranded. I desperately wanted to get in touch with my friend.’

‘Yes, of course. Cast your mind back a bit earlier in the afternoon. At about twenty past three, you asked a woman what time the schools came out.’

‘Yes. I . . . I couldn’t remember. Francis is a teacher, so naturally I wanted to know if I was early or late. It was starting to rain.’

‘But you’d visited him there before. You said so. He’d picked you up at the same place several times.’

‘I know. I just couldn’t remember if it was three o’clock or four. I know it sounds silly, but it’s true. Don’t you ever forget little things like that?’

‘So you asked the woman on the bridge? That
was
you?’

‘Yes. Look, I’d hardly have done that, would I, if . . . I mean . . . like with the credit card. I’d hardly have advertised my intentions if I was going to . . . you know . .
.’

Bentley raised a beetle-black eyebrow. ‘Going to
what
, Terry?’

Reed ran his hands through his hair and rested his elbows on the desk. ‘It doesn’t matter. This is absurd. I’ve done nothing. I’m innocent.’

‘Don’t you find schoolgirls attractive?’ Bentley went on in a soft voice. ‘After all, it would only be natural, wouldn’t it? They can be real beauties at fifteen or
sixteen, can’t they? Proper little temptresses, some of them, I’ll bet. Right prick-teasers. Just think about it – short skirts, bare legs, firm young tits. Doesn’t it
excite you, Terry? Don’t you get hard just thinking about it?’

‘No, it doesn’t,’ Reed said tightly. ‘I’m not a pervert.’

Bentley laughed. ‘Nobody’s suggesting you are. It gets
me
going, I don’t mind admitting. Perfectly normal, I’d say, to find a fifteen-year-old schoolgirl sexy. My
Methodist inspector might not agree, but you and I know different, Terry, don’t we? All that sweet innocence wrapped up in a soft, desirable young body. Doesn’t it just make your blood
sing? And wouldn’t it be easy to get a bit carried away if she resisted, put your hands around her throat . . . ?’

‘No!’ Reed said again, aware of his cheeks burning.

‘What about those women in the magazine, Terry? The one we found at your house?’

‘That’s different.’

‘Don’t tell me you buy it just for the stories.’

‘I didn’t say that. I’m normal. I like looking at naked women, just like any other man.’

‘Some of them seemed very young to me.’

‘For Christ’s sake, they’re models. They get paid for posing like that. I told you before, that magazine’s freely available. There’s nothing illegal about
it.’ Reed glanced over his shoulder at Rodmoor, who kept his head bent impassively over his notebook.

‘And you like videos, too, don’t you? We’ve had a little talk with Mr Hakim in your corner shop. He told us about one video in particular you’ve rented lately. Soft porn,
I suppose you’d call it. Nothing illegal, true, at least not yet, but a bit dodgy. I’d wonder about a bloke who watches stuff like that.’

‘It’s a free country. I’m a normal single male. I have a right to watch whatever kind of videos I want.’

‘
School’s Out
,’ Bentley said quietly. ‘A bit over the top, wouldn’t you say?’

‘But they weren’t
real
schoolgirls. The lead was thirty if she was a day. Besides, I only rented it out of curiosity. I thought it might be a bit of a laugh.’

‘And was it?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘But you see what I mean, don’t you? It looks bad: the subject-matter, the image. It all looks a bit odd. Fishy.’

‘Well it’s not. I’m perfectly innocent, and that’s the truth.’

Bentley stood up abruptly and Rodmoor slipped out of the room. ‘You can go now,’ the superintendent said. ‘It’s been nice to have a little chat.’

‘That’s it?’

‘For the moment, yes.’

‘But don’t leave town?’

Bentley laughed. ‘You really must give up those American cop shows. Though it’s a wonder you find time to watch them with all those naughty videos you rent. They warp your sense of
reality – cop shows and sex films. Life isn’t like that at all.’

‘Thank you. I’ll bear that in mind,’ Reed said. ‘I take it I
am
free to go?’

‘Of course.’ Bentley gestured towards the door.

Reed left. He was shaking when he got out onto the wet, chilly street. Thank God the pubs were still open. He went into the first one he came to and ordered a double Scotch. Usually he
wasn’t much of a spirits drinker, but these, he reminded himself as the fiery liquor warmed his belly, were unusual circumstances. He knew he should go back to work, but he couldn’t
face it: Bill’s questions, Frank’s obvious disapproval. No. He ordered another double, and after he’d finished that, he went home for the afternoon. The first thing he did when he
got into the house was tear up the copy of
Mayfair
and burn the pieces in the fireplace one by one. After that, he tore up his video club membership card and burned that too. Damn Hakim!

•

‘Terence J. Reed, it is my duty to arrest you for the murder of Deborah Susan Harrison . . .’

Reed couldn’t believe this was happening. Not to him. The world began to shimmer and fade before his eyes, and the next thing he knew Rodmoor was bent over him offering a glass of water, a
benevolent smile on his bible salesman’s face.

The next few days were a nightmare. Reed was charged and held until his trial date could be set. There was no chance of bail, given the seriousness of his alleged crime. He had no money anyway,
and no close family to support him. He had never felt so alone in his life as he did those long dark nights in the cell. Nothing terrible happened. None of the things he’d heard about in
films and documentaries: he wasn’t sodomized; nor was he forced to perform fellatio at knife point; he wasn’t even beaten up. Mostly he was left alone in the dark with his fears. He
felt all the certainties of his life slip away from him, almost to the point where he wasn’t even sure of the truth any more: guilty or innocent? The more he proclaimed his innocence, the
less people seemed to believe him. Had he done it? He might have done.

He felt like an inflatable doll, full of nothing but air, manoeuvred into awkward positions by forces he could do nothing about. He had no control over his life any more. Not only couldn’t
he come and go as he pleased, he couldn’t even think for himself any more. Solicitors and barristers and policemen did that for him. And in the cell, in the dark, everything seemed to close
in on him and some nights he had to struggle for breath.

When the trial date finally arrived, Reed felt relief. At least he could breathe in the large, airy courtroom, and soon it would be all over, one way or another.

In the crowded court, Reed sat still as stone in the dock, steadily chewing the edges of his newly grown beard. He heard the evidence against him – all circumstantial, all convincing.

If the police surgeon had found traces of semen in the victim, an expert explained, then they could have tried for a genetic match with the defendant’s DNA, and that would have settled
Reed’s guilt or innocence once and for all. But in this case it wasn’t so easy: there had been no seminal fluid found in the dead girl. The forensics people speculated, from the state
of her body, that the killer had tried to rape her, found he was impotent and strangled her in his ensuing rage.

A woman called Maggie, with whom Reed had had a brief fling a year or so ago, was brought onto the stand. The defendant had been impotent with her, it was established, on several occasions
towards the end of their relationship, and he had become angry about it more than once, using more and more violent means to achieve sexual satisfaction. Once he had gone so far as to put his hands
around her throat.

Well, yes he had. He’d been worried. During the time with Maggie, he had been under a lot of stress at work, drinking too much as well, and he hadn’t been able to get it up. So what?
Happens to everyone. And she’d wanted it like that, too, the rough way. Putting his hands around her throat had been her idea, something she’d got from a kinky book she’d read,
and he’d gone along with her because she told him it might cure his impotence. Now she made the whole sordid episode sound much worse than it had been. She also admitted she had been just
eighteen at the time, as well, and, as he remembered, she’d said she was twenty-three.

Besides, he had been impotent and violent only with Maggie. They could have brought on any number of other women to testify to his gentleness and virility, though no doubt if they did, he
thought, his promiscuity would count just as much against him. What did he have to do to appear as normal as he needed to be, as he had once thought he was?

The witnesses for the prosecution all arose to testify against Reed like the spirits from Virgil’s world of the dead. Though they were still alive, they seemed more like spirits to him:
insubstantial, unreal. The woman from the bridge identified him as the shifty-looking person who had asked her what time the schools came out; the Indian waiter and the landlord of the pub told how
agitated Reed had looked and acted that evening; other people had spotted him in the street, apparently following the murdered girl and her friend. Mr Hakim was there to tell the court what kind of
videos Reed had rented lately – including
School’s Out
– and even Bill told how his colleague used to make remarks about the schoolgirls passing by: ‘You know,
he’d get all excited about glimpsing a bit of black knicker when the wind blew their skirts up. It just seemed like a bit of a lark. I thought nothing of it at the time.’ Then he
shrugged and gave Reed a pitying look. And as if all that weren’t enough, there was Maggie, a shabby Dido, refusing to look at him as she told the court of the way he had abused and abandoned
her.

Towards the end of the prosecution case, even Reed’s barrister was beginning to look depressed. He did his best in cross-examination, but the damnedest thing was that they were all telling
the truth, or their versions of it. Yes, Mr Hakim admitted, other people had rented the same videos. Yes, he might have even watched some of them himself. But the fact remained that the man on
trial was Terence J. Reed, and Reed had recently rented a video called
School’s Out
, the kind of thing, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, that you wouldn’t want to find your
husbands or sons watching.