Quinn gives a low whistle. `Holy shit.'
`But Parrie's never admitted responsibility, has he?' says Asante slowly. `Because if he had, he'd have been out by now.'
Asante's sharp, no question.
`No, DC Asante, he hasn't admitted it. He's always maintained that we set him up `“ that he's entirely innocent, and someone else attacked those women. And given that sex offenders have to admit guilt to be eligible for rehabilitation, that's stood against him with the Parole Board. At least, till now.'
Somer frowns. `You said `њwe set him up`ќ? It was your case?'
I nod. `I was DS. Alastair Osbourne was SIO. But it's me he blames. Me he thinks framed him.'
They're not meeting my eye now, and I know why. It's every copper's nightmare. A case like this, rising from the grave.
I sweep a look round the room, trying to get them to meet my gaze. `I am absolutely convinced that we got the right man. I was then and I am now. But if the press gets hold of this `“ well, we all know what will happen then. Shit hitting the fan won't be in it. On top of which, if Parrie's barrister is even halfway competent he's going to use the parallels with the Appleford investigation to raise fifty shades of reasonable doubt about the original conviction.'
There's a shifting in the room now, a sense of adjustment, of recalibration. This is not the case they thought it was. It's not the case I thought it was either, and yes, I probably spent far too long refusing to believe what was in front of my face. I'm expecting them to be pissed off with me `“ for that alone, if nothing else `“ and for some of them, at least, to show it. Quinn certainly, perhaps even Ev. But she's staring at Gis. And she's not the only one. It's a look that says: You're supposed to be DS. Say something. And all at once it hits me that they're going to take their cue from him. And in that realization, I learn something else: what a damn good DS Gis has become.
Gislingham turns to me. His face is completely calm. `We've got your back, sir. I know I don't need to say that, but I'm saying it anyway. We've got your back.'
* * *
After his big reveal, Fawley only stays for another ten minutes. Gis decides to take that as a compliment `“ after all this time with the boss breathing down his neck, suddenly there's nothing behind him but cold fresh air. But at least he understands what all that was about now. No wonder the poor sod was under the cosh `“ who wouldn't be, with something like that hanging over you. He must have been bricking it. And as Gis well knows, old cases that come back to haunt you are like the undead `“ it's next to impossible to kill them off again.
As the door of the incident room swings shut behind the DI, Gis turns to face his team.
`Right. Fawley didn't say this, but I'm going to. If anyone has any reservations at all about this Parrie case, then speak now or keep shtum, OK? We all know the boss `“ he isn't just a bloody good copper, he's as straight as a die. There is no way `“ no way `“ he'd fit anyone up. And if you've even the slightest doubt about that fact then sorry, but you've no place in this team. Do I make myself clear?'
Evidently he does. The energy in the room lifts a level. People look up, stand a little straighter.
`Good. So let's bloody well get on with it, shall we? Because the quickest way to get Fawley out of the shit, and do ourselves a big favour at the same time, is to find the bastard who assaulted Faith and put paid to this Parrie crap once and for all.'
Murmurs of `Yes, Sarge,' `Right, Sarge.'
`OK then. DC Quinn, can you and Everett start with the builders on the petrol station CCTV we still haven't managed to speak to.'
Baxter looks up. `And there are two or three other vans going past on the road that look to me like they could be builders.'
`OK,' says Quinn, `give me what you've got and we'll try and track them down.'
Gis turns to Somer. `I need you to talk to Faith `“ see if the plaster thing means anything to her. It's possible she knows someone in that sort of trade. I don't think it's very likely, but it's a question we have to ask.'
`Of course, Sarge. I was going to check how she's doing anyway.'
`And when you've done that, help out Quinn and Ev with the builders.'
People are dispersing now and Gislingham takes advantage of the distraction to take Baxter quietly aside.
`I don't know about you, but all that stuff about Parrie `“ it was a bit bloody close to home. I'm not saying the boss got it wrong back then, but the similarities are, well, you know.'
Baxter's face is a masterclass of silent eloquence.
`So what do you think? A copycat?'
Baxter considers. `Has to be a possibility. Though he'd have to know a shitload about the MO to be able to pull it off. I mean `“ plaster dust wouldn't be hard to get hold of, but only as long as you knew about it in the first place.'
`Yeah,' says Gis thoughtfully. `That's just what I was thinking. Have a look online `“ see how much you could find out that way.'
Baxter nods. `I can dig out the trial transcripts, too.'
`Good idea. Best we know exactly what we're dealing with.'
He turns to go, then stops and touches Baxter lightly on the arm. `Though let's keep it between ourselves for the moment, yeah?'
* * *
At 11.15 Ev parks her Mini in a narrow street off Osney Lane, outside the offices of one of the builders on Baxter's list. Their boards are all over north and central Oxford, outside big Victorian houses bristling with scaffolding and college buildings swathed in plastic sheets, which emerge like butterflies from pupae, grey turned gold and the stone new-shone. The premises is a converted warehouse, a chic conversion in brick and glass and wood that gives its own understated but unambiguous message about the sort of outfit this is. The same message as the carefully consistent branding `“ the elegant typeface and the dark teal blue that appears to be on every item capable of taking dye `“ `Make no mistake about it, this is a class operation'.
There's no sign of Quinn yet so she wanders up and down a bit; it's not a neighbourhood she knows that well so it's an opportunity to be a bit nosey. This was an industrial area once but these days it looks as clean as a film set. From the `artisanal bean' coffee shop on the corner to the Гјber-classy block of flats opposite `“ that's the sort of place she'd imagine Fawley living in if she didn't already know he has an unexpectedly ordinary semi on the Risinghurst estate, just east of the ring road.
`You all right?'
Quinn's voice behind her takes her by surprise.
`Had to drive round the block three times before I could find anywhere to bloody park,' he says tetchily, staring (none too subtly) at where she's left her Mini. She wonders for a moment whether to point out she only got a space because she's been here over half an hour, but decides it isn't worth it.
`Right,' he says, pulling the list from his coat and looking up at the building. `This lot are called Mark Rose Co. Founded by the said Mr Rose ten years ago and doing pretty well as far as I could work out. They do commercial and residential work and some specialist stuff for the university. Forty-two full-time employees and about the same number of contractors.' He tucks the pages back in his pocket and the two of them walk up to the front door.
They're expected. There's a cafetière and a plate of gold-wrapped biscuits set up and waiting in a meeting room on the ground floor, and the smart and efficient (male) receptionist assures them that Mr Rose is on his way. Ev can see that Quinn's doing his best not to look impressed, but the surroundings are having an impact on him all the same. He picks up one of the glossy brochures on the table and starts studying it with what looks to Ev like more than idle interest.