`I'm sorry, sir,' says Somer, cutting across. There's a flush to her cheeks now. `But I just don't think this is getting us anywhere. I know Faith is incredibly wary about coming out as trans, but so what? We don't all exhibit our personal lives on Facebook for the world to see. People keep all sorts of things secret for all sorts of perfectly good reasons `“ not just their sexuality but where they come from, whether they're in a relationship, or religious, or pregnant `“'
There's an awkward pause. An intake of breath. Gis has a moment of panic `“ no one else knows about that, do they? And in any case, he knows he didn't let it slip. But if anything it's Asante Fawley is looking at.
`So,' says Fawley icily. `What do you suggest we do instead?'
Somer flushes again. `I'm not saying we rule out a possible link `“ of course not, we can't.' She stares him in the eye and her chin lifts. `But if you're asking for my opinion, I think we should start looking back through our old cases. Because I'm prepared to bet this isn't the first time this man has done something like this.'
Gis glances back at Fawley, and for the tiniest moment there's something on his face Gis has never seen before. Not anger now, something else. Something that, in another man, you might even call fear.
The others must have seen it too, because the room is suddenly falling silent.
Fawley takes a deep breath. `There's something I need to tell you. About the Appleford case.'
* * *
`Denise? It's Fiona. I just wanted to check `“ Sasha did stay over with Patsie at yours last night, didn't she?'
She's gripping the phone so tight she can feel her own heartbeat against the plastic. As long as she answers straight away it's OK `“ as long as she answers straight away `“
There's a silence `“ an intake of breath. Please `“ please `“
`I'm sorry, Fiona, but I haven't seen her. Patsie got back about 10.15 but she didn't have Sasha with her.'
Fiona can hear it in her voice. That toxic combination of sympathy and relief. That it's not her daughter who's not where she should be `“ it's not her world tipping into disaster.
`Do you want to speak to Patsie?'
Fiona grasps at the offer like a drowning woman. `Yes, yes `“ could I? Is she there?'
`I was just about to drive her in `“'
`Could I just speak to her?'
`Sorry, of course. Hold on a minute.'
The phone goes mute and Fiona imagines the woman going out to the bottom of the stairs and calling up. Imagines Patsie coming slowly down, looking confused, wondering what Fiona is doing calling her this early `“ calling her at all `“
The sound comes on again. `Yes?' The girl is slightly out of breath.
`Hi, Patsie,' she says, forcing casualness into her voice. `I'm sure it's nothing, but Sasha isn't here. I thought she said she was staying over with you last night?'
`She was going to but then she changed her mind.'
Fiona's breath is so shallow she has to sit down. She can't afford to lose it `“ she has to think clearly `“
`So when did you last see her?'
`On the bus. She was still on it when I got off.'
`What time was that?'
`Dunno `“ about 10.00?'
The fist tightens another notch. It's only a ten-minute walk from the bus stop `“ she should have been home by 10.15 `“ 10.30 at the latest `“
`Have you tried calling her mobile?'
Of course she's tried calling her bloody mobile, she's been calling and texting every five minutes `“ she must have left a dozen messages `“ two dozen `“
`It's just going straight to voicemail.'
`I'm so sorry, Mrs Blake `“ I really really want to help but I just don't know anything.'
Fiona feels the tears come into her eyes. She's always liked Patsie `“ ever since she was a little girl with her hair in plaits and scratches on her knees. And these days she seems to spend more time at their house than she does at her own.
`You will call me, won't you, if you hear from Sash? Just get her to ring me? Tell her I'm really worried.'
Suddenly she hears the girl's breathing change `“ hears the gasp of real fear. `But she is all right, isn't she?'
`I'm sure she is,' says Fiona firmly. `It's probably just a silly mix-up. I bet she's already at school and will give me a right talking-to later for embarrassing her like this.'
But when she puts down the phone there's a fist of ice around her lungs.
* * *
Adam Fawley
4 April 2018
08.55
I open the cardboard file in front of me and take out two sheets of paper. A couple of people exchange surreptitious glances, wondering what the hell this is about.
`I spoke to Alan Challow yesterday. He's had the results on Faith Appleford's shoes.'
I turn and pin the papers to the whiteboard, hearing the slight stirring behind me.
I take my time, but in the end I have to face them. `Along with soil from the allotment site and bits of gravel and all the other usual crap, he found something else. Something we didn't expect. Traces of calcium sulphate.'
They're none the wiser. Of course they aren't. None of them were here back then, not even Baxter. Quinn looks at me and shrugs. `And?'
`It's plaster dust.'
`So, you think our bloke is, what `“ a builder? Decorator?'
The glances aren't surreptitious now; some people are frowning, openly confused. Others are wondering why I've been sitting on this `“ why I didn't mention it straight away `“ and why, incidentally, we've been wasting time with bloody carpet cleaners and locksmiths. But they know better than to say any of that out loud. Asante, on the other hand, apparently doesn't.
`When exactly did you speak to Challow about this, sir?' he says as the noise in the room rises. `Only I spoke to him at six o'clock last night and he never said anything to me.'
I feel myself flushing. `I asked him not to.'
Asante frowns and opens his mouth to say something but I cut across him. `There was another case in this area. Twenty years ago. They called him the Roadside Rapist.'
Some of them register recognition; most don't. Somer is staring at me. As well she might.
`He raped six young women and attempted to rape a seventh,' I continue. `And he brutalized them. One of his victims lost an eye. Another committed suicide a few months after she was attacked.'
`But he was convicted, wasn't he?' says Ev. `The man who did it? I can't remember his name `“ Gareth something?'
`Gavin Parrie. He's currently doing life in Wandsworth.'
She looks bewildered. `In that case, why `“?'
`Parrie ripped out his victims' hair. It was one of his signatures.'
Gislingham gets the point at once, but he's still reserving judgement. `That doesn't prove anything. Not necessarily.'
I look round the room. Slowly. `Parrie dragged his victims off the street, put plastic bags over their heads and bound their wrists with cable ties.'
`Even so, sir`¦' begins Ev. But I can see the beginnings of doubt in her eyes.
`The last two women to be attacked were thrown into a van and driven away. Traces of calcium sulphate were found on both of them.'
`So this bloke Parrie was a plasterer?' asks Ev.
I shake my head. `No, he just did odd jobs, house clearance, that sort of thing. But his brother was a builder. Our theory was that Parrie borrowed the brother's van to commit those two assaults, though we were never able to prove it, and there were no forensics in either his van or his brother's by the time we got our hands on them.'