Rope Enough (The Romney and Marsh Files Book 1) (6 page)

Marsh and Romney exchanged a look. The automatic door slid open and Carl Park slouched in. 

‘We know the way,’ said Romney.

There were only two chairs. Romney indicated that Park should sit and he took one for himself. Park looked uncomfortable at being in the room that held such keen and unpleasant memories for him. Romney noted that the battered circular table was still there. It displayed a mug of half-drunk coffee and an empty cellophane wrapper from something microwavable. Crumbs littered the chipped surface. Unbelievable. If he’d been manager, he’d have splashed out ten quid on a new plastic patio table from Argos. People.

‘Just a few questions we need to ask you, Carl,’ said Romney. ‘We found no tape for the security camera last night. What can you tell us about that?’

‘He must have taken it. There was always one in the machine. Mr Patel’s very particular about it. We’ve had a few drive-aways lately.’

‘Mmmm, thought he probably did. We noticed that all the racks of cigarettes were full up last night, except one.’

‘I filled them all up last night. It was a slow night and I filled up mostly everything. I definitely remember filling up all the fags.’

‘Good. I’m going to ask you something and I want you to think very carefully before answering, all right?’ The youth nodded. ‘To your knowledge, were there ever any goings on of a sexual nature in here?’ Park assumed a mixture of embarrassment and horror. He shook his head sharply. ‘You’re sure, Carl? Nothing at all?’ He shook his head again, but his skin had altered its pallor. It was as though someone had drained something from him. ‘Anything new occurred to you about last night?’ continued Romney. ‘Anything that might have struck you as odd or familiar?’

Again the head shaking. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Nothing’.

‘You get many deliveries here?’ said Marsh.

Park looked up at her as though he had forgotten she was in the room. ‘Yeah, a few. You know, petrol. We have a rep bring oils and things for cars. She’s a woman. Someone Mr Patel knows, might be a relative of his, brings the magazines and DVDs. Mr Patel gets most of the other stuff from the Cash and Carry.’

‘Think about the attacker,’ said Marsh. ‘Nothing familiar about him at all? His size, his walk, his voice?’

‘I told you last night, he was eastern European.’

Marsh pressed him. ‘You’re absolutely sure about that, Carl?’

‘Positive.’

‘All right,’ said Romney. ‘Call in at the station to give a formal witness statement of what you’ve told us. Sooner the better.’

‘I don’t start here until twelve. I can come in tomorrow morning.’

‘That’ll be fine. Ask at the desk for DS Marsh. She’ll look after you. We might even be able to stretch to a biscuit and a cup of tea.’ The youth nodded, but he didn’t seem thrilled at the prospect.

‘Right, Mr Patel,’ said the DI, stepping back into the shop. ‘We’re done. Thank you for your cooperation.’ They waited as Park left the shop to resume his duties. ‘How much did you lose?’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘In the robbery. How much did he get away with?’

‘A little over seven hundred pounds,’ said Mr Patel, looking away.

‘As much as that? That seems very high for a little out-of-the-way place like this.’

‘We have our good days, Inspector.’

‘Insured?’ said Romney.

‘Of course.’

‘Well, I’ll be sure to keep a personal eye out for when the insurance company get in touch regarding our role in your claim.’ The manager stiffened. ‘Anything else missing apart from the takings?’

‘Cigarettes. He cleaned out several racks.’

‘Really? When I took a look around last night it was only the,’ Romney leaned over the counter to peer at the display behind the man, ‘the Marlboro Lights that were empty.’

Patel bristled. ‘What are you suggesting, Inspector?’

‘I’m suggesting that you consider the details of your insurance claim very carefully before submitting it, Mr Patel. Insurance fraud is a serious offence. Do you sell condoms?’

The manager went from rising indignation to bewilderment at the policeman’s change of tack. ‘Yes,’ he replied. ‘Is that a problem, also, or are you asking as a customer?’

Marsh turned away to hide her smirk.

‘Where are they?’ asked the policeman. Patel indicated an area behind a display of biscuits. Romney walked over and picked up a box. ‘And this is the only brand you sell?’

‘Yes,’ said Mr Patel. ‘If you’re looking for something a little more specialised, or in the novelty line, there is a shop in the precinct that I understand carries a wider selection.’

Romney eyed the man severely but could see no sign he was making sport of him. He replaced the packet. ‘Good day to you, Mr Patel.’

Romney led them out of the shop. Marsh hung back from his field of vision fighting the desire she had to grin. ‘Make a note, Sergeant,’ said Romney, ‘our attacker likes his Marlboro Lights and the garage only sells Zeus condoms. Have a word with forensics; see what brand of condom that part of the packet they found under the table came from. If it’s not Zeus, it shows he came prepared and lends more weight to our theory that the rape was pre-meditated. And when Mr Patel’s insurance claim details find their way into out department I want to know. Understand?’

*

It was late afternoon by the time they arrived back at the station. To Marsh it had seemed like dusk for most of the miserable grey day. Back in CID, Romney discovered that a wider search of the area surrounding the garage had recovered no condoms, used or otherwise, and nothing else that jumped out at the searchers as being possible ephemera from the incident. The cable ties that had been used to restrain the victim could be bought off the shelf in quantities ranging from individually to by the box and were available at three electrical wholesalers in Dover and both of the large DIY stores. Finally, DC Grimes reported that both men whose prints had been recovered from the counter at the garage had freely admitted to visiting the garage in the day for fuel and both had solid alibis for the evening.

Romney was forced to admit that they had nowhere to go with their enquiries. They sat around going over details, suggesting and dismissing ideas, but were soon forced to accept the reality of their situation: they were stumped. The officer responsible for liaising with the local rag would speak to the paper and in return for a few official words of police comment would secure assurances that the paper would publish a phone number that anyone with any information relating to the incident would be able to contact.

It only remained for Romney to inform his senior officer of where they were with the case. With nothing else to be done and with the late night that some of them had had the previous evening, he told them to go home.

*

Marsh’s exasperations of her small hours’ experience and subsequent lack of sleep were catching up with her. Instead of staying behind to write up Claire Stamp’s statement, she decided to return to her small flat that overlooked the harbour, take a bath, open a bottle of wine and write it up later on her laptop.

Driving along the windswept seafront towards home, she thought she saw Claire Stamp. A young woman was sitting on a bench under a street light staring out over the seemingly infinite darkness and oneness of sea and sky. In the summer such a sight wouldn’t have attracted a second glance, but on a cold, blustery winter evening on an otherwise deserted stretch of promenade, she cut a lonely and remarkable figure.

Marsh pulled in at the kerb and having overshot by some distance turned to study the woman. Perhaps she was with someone. She watched her for several minutes caught in two minds. The young woman didn’t move. Marsh huffed, grabbed her overcoat from the rear seat and stepped out onto the path. The wind was biting as it whipped off the open sea and before she reached the woman she was shivering with the cold. She settled herself down next to her. ‘Hello, Claire.’ Claire turned to look at her and Marsh could see sorrow and hurt in her cried-out eyes. ‘What are you doing?’

‘Nothing.’

Marsh said, ‘Come and do nothing in the warm with a cup of tea in the cafe over the road.’

‘All right,’ said Stamp, surprising Marsh, who had expected a prolonged negotiation in the freezing conditions.

*

Marsh set a mug of steaming tea before the young woman.

‘Thank you.’

‘You’re welcome.’

‘For stopping, I mean. You didn’t have to. Thanks for caring.’

They sipped their drinks in silence for a minute.

‘My mum doesn’t have a very high opinion of the police. I’m sorry she was rude today.’

Marsh shrugged it off. ‘I’m used to it. What are you doing out here, Claire? It’s seriously cold.’

‘I needed some fresh air. I needed some space to think.’

‘About what?’

‘About where I’m going to go.’

‘You’re leaving? What about your flat?’

‘That’s not an option anymore.’ She pulled down the high neck of her sweater to reveal angry purple bruising where someone had had their hands around her throat.

‘Jesus Christ,’ said Marsh. ‘Who did that to you? Avery?’

‘He was drunk and upset.’

Marsh had to check the anger rising inside her. ‘Don’t defend him. I’ll arrest him myself.’

‘I’ll deny it. I won’t press charges.’

‘What? Why?’

‘I forgive him. Like I said: he was drunk and upset.’ She looked Marsh in the eye. ‘He’s been very good to me. Really good. And I forgive him.’

‘Nothing gives anyone the right to do something like that to another human being, Claire.’

Claire smiled at her, a full smile that truly illuminated her features and Marsh felt a pang of terrible sadness for the young woman opposite her. ‘You’re wasting your breath. Anyway, he’s told me to leave the flat and I wouldn’t stay with him now, even if he begged me sober. But he won’t. Seems that what happened to me is too much of an embarrassment for him professionally. He has aspirations you see and it just wouldn’t fit in with his image if it got about that his girl-friend had been raped and he kept her on. It would make him look bad. Weak.’

Marsh shook her head with a mixture of dismay and disgust. ‘Where will you go? Back to your mother?’

Claire actually laughed out loud. ‘God no. You met her. I’ve got a sister in Blackpool. She’s on her own at the moment. She’ll put me up.’

‘What about the case?’

‘How is it going?’

Marsh opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

‘Honestly,’ said Claire.

‘It’s very early days.’ Claire continued to stare at her expectantly. ‘We’re working hard on what we’ve got, but there isn’t much. He didn’t leave a trace of himself. But that doesn’t mean we’ll give up. The DI is good copper.’

Claire said, ‘I’ll leave contact details with you. I’ve got until the end of the week to leave the flat and Simon said he’d give me some money.’

‘Buying you off?’

‘If he thinks that, let him. Like I say, I wouldn’t press charges against him anyway and I’m not staying, so, if he wants to give me some money to ease his conscience, why shouldn’t I take it? I’ve got money put by that I’ve earned.’

‘My DI isn’t going to like it.’

‘Then he’ll have to lump it.’

*

Romney left the station just after six o’clock. Despite the temporary dead end of the case, his mood was not bad. Superintendent Falkner had agreed that all that could be done was being done. He seemed satisfied with the DI’s summary of the action they had taken. On top of this, the flowers that Romney had organised to be sent to Julie Carpenter at her school to both apologise for his abrupt departure the previous evening and show his regard for her seemed to have had the desired effect.

It had taken him a long time in his chequered personal life to realise just how effective sending something as simple and cheap as a good bunch of flowers to a woman at her workplace could be. The flowers themselves were always appreciated, as was the gesture and the thought, but the envy generated in a woman’s co-workers was what really counted. That, it seemed, was priceless. The phone-call she made thanking him gave him the opportunity to invite her out for a meal, which she accepted immediately.

Romney lived alone for most of the time and that suited him. A daughter from his first marriage was in her final year at university and he saw little of her. She had found a life for herself free of her warring parents, refusing to takes sides, happier well out of it. She would visit him when it suited her and she was always welcomed.

Caught up in the DIY development boom inspired by various television shows, Romney had risked the security of a comfortable, if rather boring, home in the suburbs of Dover that he owned outright to plough it all, plus borrowed money, into financing a project that he believed he’d fallen in love with one summer’s day while cycling around the back lanes of the local countryside. With the passage of time, Romney had come to soberly reflect that, like many things, and people, that wandered into one’s life, it was only the idea of it all that he had fallen in love with. The reality of the work, time and expense registered far less affection.