Rope Enough (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 1) (3 page)

Marsh navigated her way using the strangely and at times confusingly positioned directional notices, eventually stumbling upon the suite of rooms she was looking for. In the small ante-room a uniformed woman police constable sat leafing through a glossy. Not recognising her, Marsh showed her identification.

‘Don’t bother,’ she said, as the PC began to stand and become more formal. She slumped gratefully back into the seat. ‘You ride in with her?’

‘Yes, Sarge.’

‘How was it? She say anything?’

‘Nothing much. She was pretty hysterical from the moment we found her.’

‘You found her?’

‘Yes. I’ve never seen anything like it. I hope I never do again. Whoever did that to her is a very sick individual indeed.’

‘How long you been a copper?’

‘Eighteen months.’

‘Tell me, what were your first impressions? I mean the reasons for it?’

The PC thought for a moment. ‘It looked to me like it was all about the sexual assault. Whoever it was must have had an understanding of what was there. You know: the layout, the timing, the staff, even down to the furniture.’

‘Why do you say the furniture?’

‘The way she was positioned – fastened to the table like that. It struck me he was there for the rape and that the details of it were planned even down to the position he was going to have her in. That couldn’t have been his lucky coincidence to walk in and find a table just right for his purposes.’ As Marsh considered this, the woman said, ‘I’ll tell you something else, Sarge. That lad, the one lying on the floor, I’d bet a week’s money he wasn’t as out of it as he would like us to believe when we got in there. I’ve got kids. They’re old enough to have tried playing asleep with me and I spot it a mile off. Mind you, I don’t blame him, poor sod. He was probably as scared shitless as he was embarrassed at his part in it all. He can only be a couple of years older than my youngest.’ She shook her head at that.

‘Any visitors?’

‘The manager who pitched up with the keys had emergency contact details for her. He phoned a number while we were still there, but there was no answer. He said he’d keep trying. No one’s been.’

Marsh peered through the glazed panel in the small ward’s door. Soft lighting showed the face of an attractive woman sleeping peacefully, one would think. Something heavy assumed a position in Marsh’s chest when she imagined what Claire Stamp would go through when she awoke.

She bid the PC a good night and eventually found her way back through the labyrinth of corridors to A&E, and then outside into a cold night made more inhospitable by heavy rain. The lateness of the hour closed in on her and she looked forward to her bed, a reunion she realised with a stream of profanity that was to be considerably delayed by the bright yellow clamp on her nearside front wheel.

***

2

Marsh was dismayed to see Romney already at his desk when she arrived the following morning. Despite her difficulties in the small hours, she was not late. This feeling turned to an embarrassed irritation when he glanced up to catch her sneaking past his glazed office wall to her desk. What she wanted more than anything was a coffee before it all began. He waved her in and looked at his watch. Standing, he took his suit jacket from the back of the chair and threw back the last of his own drink.

‘Morning, Sergeant.’

‘Morning, sir.’

‘Dump your things. You’re coming with me. Let’s go and pay a visit to our house guest. It’ll be good for you to meet our Mr Avery.’

Marsh followed the DI down stairs and through the warren of corridors until they came to the holding cells in the basement of Dover police station.

Romney greeted the duty sergeant.

‘Morning, gov.’

‘What sort of a night did he have?’

The duty sergeant smiled. ‘Quiet. Eventually.’

‘We’ll see him in number two if that’s all right with you?’

‘My pleasure, gov.’

Five minutes later Simon Avery was shown into the interview room. A large PC took a position just inside the door. Marsh was at once struck by the truly weasel-like appearance of the man: late twenties, slight build, thinning hair and pointed little features furnished with a miserable wispy attempt at a goatee. His small eyes shot rapid glances around the room. Despite his less than intimidating physical appearance, he exuded a menace that made Marsh instantly wary of him. He was dressed well and didn’t look like he’d spent the night in a cell.

‘Mr Avery,’ said Romney.

‘If you’re going to interview me, I want the court appointed lawyer present.’ Avery hadn’t yet moved up enough in the world to start demanding and commanding his own solicitor.

‘This isn’t an interview, Mr Avery,’ said Romney, smiling. ‘Just a friendly chat. Sit down. You’re actually a potential witness to a serious crime.’

Avery’s face darkened, but he did as he was told. ‘What happened to her?’

Romney waited several seconds staring intently at the man’s face. His level gaze was returned. ‘What is your relationship to Miss Stamp?’

‘She’s my girl.’

‘And how long has she been ‘your girl’?’

‘About eighteen months.’

‘Tell me, why is the ‘girl’ of someone like yourself, someone in your position in the community, working the late shift for minimum wage in some grotty, run-down garage?’

Marsh felt a crackle of energy spark in the room. It seemed suddenly very quiet. As if sensing her for the first time, Avery looked up and met her eye. ‘Who’s this then?’ A humourless smile distorted his mouth.

Romney had his reasons for dignifying the question with an answer. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Marsh. She’s new. I’m sure you two will have ample opportunity to become better acquainted in the not too distant future.’

Avery nodded slowly and, knowing he was the focus of their attention, allowed his gaze to wander over the standing form of the woman police officer. ‘I shall look forward to that,’ he said, with an undisguised suggestion of something lewd and disgusting.

Marsh flushed, which only encouraged him further. His smile widened at her obvious discomfort to reveal yellow, pointed teeth. The weasel-like image was complete.

‘She liked her independence,’ he said, returning his interest to Romney. ‘What’s it got to do with anything?’

Romney maintained his civil manner. ‘Oh, just asking. Seems odd that’s all. I mean, there’s you, a moderately successful local businessman and his long-term girlfriend is working the night-shift in some grubby out of the way petrol station. That must be a bit of an embarrassment for you. Can’t fit well with the image you’re trying to cultivate?’

‘I’ll ask you again: what’s this got to do with last night?’ said Avery, struggling with his composure and ignoring Romney’s jibe.

‘If you mean, what have your business dealings got to do with the serious sexual assault that took place last night? I don’t know. Maybe nothing. Maybe everything.’

The implication of the comment hung in the air for a long moment before Marsh saw the penny drop for Avery as he made the suggested connection. His jaw set and his eyes roamed as though he had become oblivious to his surroundings and transported to another time and place. The overall effect was of a confused man of mean intelligence struggling with a bombshell of information.

‘Tell me what happened when you arrived at the garage last night. What time was it? Why were you there? What did you see?’

Brought back to the present, Avery’s features and voice had lost all trace of his earlier cocky playfulness. ‘I always pick her up when she does the night-shift. I was there at closing time: tenish. It was locked up and all the lights were out. They never turn all the lights out. They leave them on all night. She didn’t answer her phone, but I could hear it ringing inside. I spent a few minutes banging on the doors. Got no response, so I called you lot.’

‘And got yourself arrested.’

‘I was upset. They wouldn’t let me in to see what had happened. My girl was in there.’

‘I don’t think you would have liked it if they had.’

‘What happened to her? What did they do?’

‘Did you see anything else? Anyone else that might have a bearing on our investigations?’

Avery shook his head. ‘I saw no one.’

After a brief pause, Romney said, ‘The place was robbed and there was a serious sexual assault. That’s what you’ll read in the papers and as you have no lawfully recognised relationship with the victim that’s all I’m obliged to tell you. You want the sordid details of what was done to her, you’ll have to ask your ‘girl’, but I don’t think she’s going to want to talk about it for a while. You can take him back to his cell now, Constable.’

Avery glowered at the DI. ‘When do I get out of here?’

‘Nothing to do with me,’ said Romney, standing. ‘Assaulting a police officer is still, as I remember, a serious offence. You’ll have to wait and see what the superintendent decides in your case. Given the circumstances, you might get off with a caution, but I wouldn’t count on it. He should be in...’ Romney made a show of studying his watch, ‘...in about an hour or so. Breakfast and a coffee. You might get seen by mid-morning.’

The constable encouraged Avery – a simmering body of anger and frustration – out of the room.

‘You don’t like him, do you, sir?’ said Marsh.

‘He’s a thieving, cruel, ruthless, scrote who’s brought more misery to the people of this town in his short and horrible life than the incumbent Conservative government and that, Sergeant, is saying something.’

As they made their way back to the squad room, Marsh said, ‘What were you suggesting in there, sir? Do you really think that this has something to do with him and his business interests?’

‘Probably not, but I’ll take any opportunity to rattle his cage. It’s something that occurred to me last night: there just might be more to this than a straightforward rape and robbery. I spoke to a colleague of mine in regional this morning. Seems that Avery could be branching out in his criminal aspirations. Bootlegging possibly. With the extortionate taxes the government levy there’s a lot of money to be made in contraband cigarettes and booze these days. A lot of money. It’s also an area of enterprise that some of our longer established eastern European resident immigration population seem to have an interest in developing –Kosovans mainly. Perhaps it was a message to him. Apparently, some of the methods they are using to deter others from gaining a foothold in the industry are proving particularly brutal. It’s a lucrative business and they want to protect it. Given his connection to the victim, the possibility that the attacker was eastern European, and the, let’s say, unusual details of the assault, we shouldn’t rule anything out. Ignore possibilities at your peril. Keep an open mind, Sergeant. Always keep an open mind.’

*

Despite pressures from the DI, forensics was unable to guarantee that the full results of their tests of samples lifted from the crime scene would be with CID before lunch. Finger prints taken would need to be cross referenced with employees of the garage and they were all being traced and taken.

A meeting of those assigned to the case determined and settled on several possible avenues of enquiry to be investigated. In order of favouritism based on the facts available these were that the incident was a pre-meditated rape with an opportunist robbery; that the incident was robbery focussed with an opportunist rape; that the incident was part of some kind of turf war.

Enquiries into employees both current and former covering the time that Claire Stamp had worked there showed only two males. One was the manager who had been called out the night before and the other was the youth, Carl Park. Both were soon eliminated from enquiries with solid alibis. The manager had been at a snooker hall all evening with numerous witnesses to testify to his presence. Park’s lack of involvement in anything other than as a pathetic victim was never in doubt.

Later, Marsh received word that Claire Stamp had been released from hospital. Enquiries revealed she had returned to her home address. Marsh got hold of her home number and spoke with her. The victim was made to understand the importance of making her police statement at the earliest opportunity and agreed to have Marsh and her DI call on her at her home.

*

Within the hour Romney and Marsh were standing outside the apartment building in the town centre that had been given to them as Claire Stamp’s address. A florist was trading out of the ground floor shop. The smells wafting out of the open front door in the gloomy breezy winter’s day were both strange and welcome.

Romney admired the renovated structure. ‘Difficult to see how someone earning minimum wage can afford to live in a place like this,’ he said.

They were buzzed in and took the freshly painted and well maintained stairwell to the fourth floor. The woman who met them at the door was not at all what Romney was expecting. She was attractive in her made-up and contrived way but looked much older than he imagined she would. There was a hardness around the mouth and eyes that suggested that life had not been kind to her. Marsh saw immediately the resemblance to the younger version she had spied through the hospital door viewing panel in the early hours of the morning.