Rope Enough (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 1) (4 page)

‘Claire Stamp?’ said Romney.

The woman raised a mocking eyebrow. ‘Blimey, if you’re who we’re relying on to catch whoever did that to my daughter, I won’t hold my breath. You’d better come in.’

They followed her clicking heels down a narrow dark passageway and through into a lounge bathed with the day’s grey light from a pair of un-curtained patio doors that overlooked a small balcony and then rooftops at the back of the high street. Claire Stamp sat on a white leather sofa – one of the few items in the sparsely furnished room. It had the feel of a place that had the removals men in, and they were nearly finished. Her hair was wet and uncombed. She was wrapped thickly in a white towelling robe. Her feet were pulled up under her.

Romney realised his mistake immediately. ‘Claire Stamp?’ She nodded and didn’t smile. ‘I’m Detective Inspector Romney and this is Detective Sergeant Marsh. Firstly, can I offer you our sincerest apologies for having to trouble you so soon after what must have been a terrible ordeal? But, naturally, we want to catch whoever did this to you as much as I’m sure you want us to and, well, we need to get on with it, while things are fresh in your mind. If it’s not too difficult?’

It was the speech that they had agreed Romney, as senior officer present, should deliver. However, Romney hadn’t the training or experience in rape counselling and questioning that Marsh did. Neither would he have that natural connection that women, from whatever their walk of life, would have. Consequently, they had agreed that after his preamble Marsh would lead.

‘Very touching,’ said the woman’s mother from behind them. ‘Heartfelt, I’m sure.’

‘Mum,’ snapped Claire. Her voice didn’t have the roughness of her mother’s, but her rebuke was clear. ‘Make some tea or something, will you?’

The older woman turned without another word and left the room, shutting the door behind her. Her heels tip tapped over the tiled hallway to the kitchen.

‘Sorry. She’s so angry. It should be me who’s that angry. I am. But, well it’s not your fault, is it?’ She was softly spoken, with the accent of the local grammar school. A stark comparison to her mother.

Marsh said, ‘All right if we sit down?’

‘Yeah, sure, sorry.’

The police took off their coats. The room was hot and stuffy. It could have done with some ventilation, thought Romney – some air.

‘You know we’re going to have to ask you all about last night?’ said Marsh. The girl nodded. ‘We can wait for your mother to come back, or if you’d like someone else present, for support, we can arrange it.’

Claire Stamp snorted. ‘My mum’s the last person I’d want in here. She’s only here now because that idiot from the garage called her – told her what had happened and where I was. Sorry, no, there’s no one else I want here. To be honest the fewer people that ever know what he did to me the happier I’ll be.’

‘I can promise you that we will keep all details of what you tell us confidential unless we are obliged to reveal them as part of the investigation. I do have to advise you of that fact. I’d like to record what you’re going to tell us, again, if that’s OK with you, Claire? I’ll write up my notes later for you to sign and then destroy the recording.’

Stamp nodded again and Marsh set up her new toy: a mini-digital recorder.

The older woman tottered back into the room with a tray of steaming mugs and some wrapped cubes of sugar. There were no biscuits. She set it down roughly on the chrome and glass-topped coffee table.

‘If you don’t need me for a few minutes, I’m going out for some fags and fresh air.’

No one tried to dissuade her.

A minute later the front door banged. Marsh reached across and activated the recording equipment. She said, ‘Claire, I want you to tell us everything you can remember about what happened last night, no matter how insignificant it might seem to you. Anything and everything in the order that it happened. Take your time. I can switch this off if you need a break.’

The young woman on the sofa took a deep stabilising breath and said, ‘It was a quiet night. The weather was horrible. There wasn’t much passing trade. We lock up around ten. Start clearing things away and bringing stuff in from outside about nine-thirty. Carl had got everything in. We hadn’t had a customer for a while and then out of nowhere this bloke walks in. He had a gun. A pistol.’

Romney said, ‘Could it have been a replica, or an air pistol, perhaps?’

‘It looked real. It wasn’t an air pistol. My sister had an air pistol when we were kids. I know what they look like. The hole in the barrel was small compared with this. It could have been a replica, I suppose. The thought occurred to me, but then I thought he’d only come to rob the place and I wasn’t interested in finding out how real his gun was.’

‘Can you describe him?’ said Marsh.

‘He was about as tall as you,’ she said, indicating Romney.

‘That’s Inspector Romney,’ said Marsh, pointing at the recording machine.

‘Yeah, sorry, he was about as tall as Inspector Romney but not as wide. He was thin. Skinny. He was wearing a hooded top and I think it was a balaclava type mask underneath. I couldn’t see anything of his face.’

Marsh said, ‘How about his clothes? Anything unusual?’

Stamp shook her head, ‘Nothing that I can think of – jeans, dark jacket.’

‘What about his speech?’

Stamp went quiet for a thoughtful moment. ‘He sounded foreign. But,’ she paused.

‘But what, Claire? Everything remember?’

‘I’m not sure if he was putting it on. Faking it. He didn’t say much. He shouted and I was so scared I wasn’t really paying much attention to how he sounded. But. He could have been foreign. I’ve heard people in Dover sounding like him.’

Marsh moved her gently on. ‘What happened next?’

‘He told Carl to lock the doors and turn out the lights. Then he made us go into the back room.’

‘Did he look in the till?’

‘No. He couldn’t have seen what was in there from where he was standing either.’

‘Would you say he was familiar with the layout of the place?’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, when he got you into the back room, did he hesitate at all? Did you get the idea that it was unfamiliar to him?’

Again, Stamp took her time, trawling her memories. ‘He seemed confident,’ she said, finally. Her voice dropped a little. ‘He grabbed me by the hair and pushed me down over the table, putting his weight on me. He threatened Carl to strap my wrists and ankles to the table legs.’

She noticed both of them cast looks at her exposed wrists. She lifted them and the sleeves of her bathrobe fell down so that they might get a better look. The angry crimson welts stood out against her otherwise pale skin.

‘After that I couldn’t see anything behind me. Carl was standing in front of me. He was terrified and useless. The man threw something at him and told him to put it over my head and pull the string tight. It was some kind of cloth bag. It must have been thick because when it was on me, I couldn’t see any light through it and I could hardly breathe. It stank of mothballs. There was more shouting. I heard Carl cry out and fall. For a few seconds it was silent and I prayed he’d just gone to the till to take whatever he wanted and get out. Then I felt his hands on me and I knew what he was going to do. I had to fight back from being sick into the hood. I started to scream and then I felt the point of a knife against my neck.’ She turned her head and lifted her hair so that they could see where the blade had nicked her. ‘He pulled my skirt up to my waist, cut and ripped off my tights and knickers. And then he raped me.’ Her eyes filled with tears at the memory, but she wiped them away, not wanting them to see how a man’s physical violation of her had affected her. ‘He used a condom. I suppose I should be grateful for that. And he was quick and,’ she paused, struggling with how to put it, ‘there wasn’t much of him if you know what I mean? It didn’t hurt. It was just uncomfortable and unwanted. It’s strange,’ she said, meeting their stares in turn. ‘I was raped: screwed against my will by someone I’ve never met, so why don’t I feel worse about it? I mean, it’s the ultimate violation. I can’t help feeling that I should be hysterical, ruined, a total mess. Isn’t that what happens to women after they’ve been raped? But I don’t feel it. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t enjoy it and I’d rather it hadn’t happened, but I don’t feel that it’s going to destroy me. That’s not normal is it?’

‘We all deal with traumatic experiences in our own and different ways, Claire,’ said Marsh. ‘The fact that you’re being so strong, so objective about it, shows that you can deal with this. You’re right: for a lot of women who suffer rape, it’s a life-altering experience and understandably so. But if you have the inner strength to deal with the emotions, if you can see that it’s not your fault, you did nothing wrong, you are not to blame, then you will be in a much better position to deal with it. Rape is about men’s need to control women: to own and humiliate them. Often the greatest effect of any rape is the mental aftermath. If you can rationalise your unwilling part in it and move on, if you are truly able to do that, you will make a quicker more complete recovery. But you’ve got to be honest with yourself, Claire. You can be supported through this. There are specially trained, experienced, kind and sympathetic counsellors who can really help. I’m going to leave you some phone numbers including my own. Don’t hesitate to call them, or me, if you need us, OK?’

Stamp nodded and managed a hint of a smile in thanks. Slight though it was, it transformed her features and was enough to show both of the officers just how naturally beautiful she was.

‘Can you remember what happened next?’ said Marsh.

She went back, again. ‘I suppose I was in shock. I wasn’t paying much attention to what was going on. I was panicking. Inside that hood I could hardly breathe. I was terrified in case I’d just been infected with something, about what he was going to do to me, whether he was going to kill me. It went pretty quiet. He never said another word. I heard him searching about and then he was gone. He must have gone into the shop, taken the money and legged it. There is one thing that I’m pretty certain of,’ she drew a deep breath. ‘He filmed what he did to me or at least took pictures.’

‘What makes you say that?’ said Marsh.

‘I heard the electronic sounds. It was the same sound my phone makes when I take pictures or video. You know, that’s what bothers me most about this whole thing. He’s got images of me like that. They’re proof that it happened. They could end up anywhere. I’ll never be able to forget it while they’re out there.’

Reluctant to dwell on that, Marsh said, ‘That could be a very important detail. What phone have you got?’

‘It’s a Nokia something or other. It’s still at the petrol station. Hang on, it’s newish. My boyfriend gave it to me.’ As the words tumbled out of her the realisation of something unpleasant distorted her features. For a moment she looked like she might break down. ‘I’ve still got the manual in a drawer in the kitchen,’ she said, and hurriedly got up to find it.

The officers had little time to exchange more than a look before she was back clutching a handful of paperwork. She handed the operator’s manual to Marsh, who noted the model number before saying, ‘And then what happened?’

Claire Stamp repositioned herself on the sofa. ‘And then I had to lie there spread-eagled across that table until the police showed up. I wish I could have passed out or something. I was so uncomfortable and my wrists were agony. I’ve never known pain and frustration like it. It was worse than what he did to me.’

Romney said, ‘Your boyfriend called us. Were you aware that he was there?’

Again her face clouded. ‘Yes. I heard someone banging on the windows and then I heard him shouting my name. I didn’t want him there. I didn’t want him to see me like that. I don’t know how he’ll take it. I haven’t seen him.’

The front door slammed and a tread heavier than the girl’s mother’s approached. The lounge door was thrown open and Simon Avery stood there swaying slightly and leering nastily at the gathering. His face was flushed and his eyes bloodshot. He’d been drinking.

‘How cosy. Is this why you kept me locked up all fucking morning? So you could get round here and get all the juicy details. I heard coppers get off on that sort of thing.’

‘That’ll do, Avery,’ said Romney, standing. ‘We’re here to interview Miss Stamp regarding her particularly nasty experience of last night. I would expect her boyfriend to be sensitive to that.’

Avery scowled at the DI. ‘Well you can piss off now. This is my flat. My name’s on the lease and I pay the rent and if you don’t have a warrant you’re trespassing.’

‘We were invited in,’ said Romney.

‘And now you’re being invited out.’

‘Simon,’ said the girl.

‘Shut-up,’ he said. ‘Shut the fuck up. When I want your opinion, I’ll give it to you. Now, you two, out.’

Marsh stood and looked as though she was going to argue with him. Romney laid a restraining hand on her arm. ‘Fair enough. If that’s what you want, we’ll leave.’ He turned to the young woman whose features were distorted with hurt and sadness at the way Avery had just spoken to her. ‘Thank you, Miss Stamp. I realise that this hasn’t been easy for you. Remember what DS Marsh told you: if you need anything, anything at all, or if you remember anything, no matter how small or insignificant you might think it is, please get in touch with us.’