Vivian Elmsley was having a difficult time. Close to midnight she was sitting in her sparse living room, her third gin and tonic in her hand and some dreadful rubbish on television. Sleep refused to come. Her mysterious caller hadn’t rung again, but she still regarded the telephone as an object of terror, ever on the verge of destroying what little peace of mind she had left. She wondered if she should have told the police about him. But what could they do? It was all so vague.
She had known the police would find out who she was and come for her eventually – she had known that the minute she knew Gloria’s body had been dug up – but she hadn’t been prepared for the effect that their visit would have on her. They knew she was lying; that was obvious. Chief Inspector Banks wasn’t a fool; he knew that nobody who had been as close to the people involved as Vivian had could know so little as she had professed. And she wasn’t a good liar.
Why hadn’t she told them the truth? Fear for her own well-being? Partly. She didn’t want to go to jail. Not at her age. But would they really prosecute her after so long, no matter what the law books said? When they heard her full story, would they really go ahead and put her through the pain and humiliation of a trial and a jail sentence? Were there not such things as mitigating circumstances?
She didn’t know what they would do, and that was the problem. When it comes right down to it, we fear the unknown more than anything else.
On the other hand, if she didn’t tell them, then they would never find out the truth about what happened that night. Nobody else knew. Living or dead. If she was careful, Vivian could take her secret to the grave with her.
Only one thing was certain: The police would be back; she had seen it in the chief inspector’s eyes. Tonight she had to make her decision.
“You’re right about one thing,” Annie began. “I’m in Harkside because I was a naughty girl.”
“What happened?”
“Depends on your point of view. They called it an initiation rite. I called it attempted gang rape. Look, I’m not going to tell you where it was or who was involved. All I’m saying is it happened in a big city, and it wasn’t in Yorkshire. Okay?”
“Okay. Go on.”
“This is hard.” Annie spooned down some more chocolate mousse. “Harder than I ever thought.”
“You don’t have to.”
She held up her hand. “No. I’ve come this far.” The waiter drifted by and they both ordered coffee. He didn’t give any indication that he had heard, but the coffee arrived in a matter of moments. Annie pushed aside her dessert bowl; it was empty. She played with the spoon.
“It was when I made DS,” she said. “Nearly two years ago now. I’d done my stint in uniform there, and I wasn’t sure where they were going to send me next. But I didn’t care. I was happy just to be back in CID again after… well, you know what I mean.”
“Patrols? Shifts?”
“Exactly. Anyway, there was a celebration at the local coppers’ pub. The ‘private’ room upstairs. I suppose I was dead chuffed with myself. I’d always wanted to be one of the boys. Naturally, we closed the place. It got down to just four of us left. One of them suggested we go back to his place and drink some more and we all agreed that was a good idea.”
She was speaking very quietly so that no one would hear. There wasn’t much chance of that. The restaurant was packed now, full of laughter and loud voices. Banks had to strain to hear her, and somehow that made what he heard so much more affecting, that it was delivered in not much more than a whisper. He sipped some black coffee. Through the occasional hush in the background noise, he could hear the lush, romantic strains of Liszt’s “Liebestraum.”
“We were already three sheets to the wind,” Annie went on, “and I was the only female. I didn’t know the others well. Things were getting pretty wild. I suppose I should have known what was coming by the way the conversation was going in the taxi. You know. Flirting. Sexual innuendos. Casual touches. That sort of thing. Call me naive. The other three kept making veiled references to initiation ceremonies, and there was a lot of nudging and winking going on, but I’d been drinking, too, and I didn’t really think much of it until we’d been at the flat for a while and drunk some more. One of them grabbed my arm and suggested we go in the bedroom, said he could tell I’d been wanting it all night. I laughed and brushed him off. I thought he was joking. He got angry. Things got out of hand. The other two grabbed me and held me down over the back of the settee while he pulled up my skirt, tore off my underwear and raped me.”
Banks noticed that Annie was gripping the spoon handle tightly in her fist. Her knuckles were white. She took a deep breath and went on. “When he’d finished, they started rearranging positions, and I knew what was coming. It was like there were no individuals in the room anymore; they were all caught up in this blind male lust and I was the object of it. It overwhelmed everything, conscience… decency. It’s hard to describe. I was terrified, but I’d sobered up pretty damn quickly over the last few minutes. Soon as I got my chance, I slipped free from their grip, kicked the one who’d raped me hard as I could in the balls and caught another on the jaw with my elbow. I’d done some martial-arts training. I don’t know, maybe if I hadn’t been drinking, my reflexes would’ve been quicker, my coordination a bit more accurate. Anyway, I managed to put two of them out of action long enough to make it to the door. The third one caught me, and by then the one I’d hit with my elbow was up again. They were sweating, red in the face, and mad as hell. One of them punched me in the stomach and the other hit me hard in the chest. I went down. I think I was sick. I thought that was it again, that they were going to do what they’d intended, but they’d lost their bottle. It had all got too real for them. Suddenly they were individuals again, each looking out for number one, and they knew what they’d done. It was time to close ranks. They called me a lesbian bitch, told me to get out and if I knew what was good for me I wouldn’t say a word. I left.”
“Did you report it? For crying out loud, Annie, you’d been raped.”
She laughed harshly. “Isn’t that so easy for a man to say? To sit in judgment over what a person in that position should or shouldn’t do? To be oh so understanding about it?” She shook her head. “You know what I did? I walked the city most of the night in a complete daze. People must have thought I was crazy. I wasn’t drunk anymore, I was plain cold sober, but I was drained, numb, I couldn’t feel anything. I remember trying to feel some sort of emotion, thinking I ought to feel anger or pain. I was really angry at myself for not feeling angry. I know it sounds impossible, but that’s the only way I can describe it. There was nothing. Just a deep cold numbness. When I finally found myself back at my flat, I had a long hot bath. Hours I must have lain there, just listening to the radio. News. Weather. Normal life. That was soothing somehow. And do you know what? I understand every one of those rape victims who never comes forward to report the crime.”
Banks could see tears glistening at the corners of her eyes, but as she noticed him looking, she seemed to draw them back in.
“What happened?” he asked.
“By morning I’d got a bit of nerve back. First thing, I went to see the chief super to tell him what they did. Know what?”
“What?”
“Two of the others had got there before me and queered the pitch. Preemptive strike. They told the super there’d been a spot of bother at a party last night, just an initiation rite that got a bit out of hand, nothing serious, like, but that I’d probably be coming to complain, making up all sorts of wild allegations. According to them I’d got totally rat-arsed and gone way over the top, telling them I’d take them all on and then backing down when it came to it.”