‘They didn’t say anything. They left things on the doorstep.’
‘Like what?’
‘White lilies at first. Then a postcard with the three monkeys on it.’
‘Hear no evil. See no evil. Speak no evil.’
‘Yes that’s the one. Finally there was a wreath, I think their message was pretty clear.’
‘Yes.’
‘All the time I felt like I was being followed. Watched. I know I am bound to be nervous, but it was more than that.’
Delaney nodded to Sally, who held out the photo to the distraught woman.
‘Do you recognise this man?’
‘No, should I?’
‘He matches the description of a potential rapist. Someone else was attacked on the hill.’
‘Poor woman.’
‘Do you have any connection with someone called Michelle Riley?’
‘She runs a rape victims support group, not far from here.’
‘And were you a member of that group?’
‘I went once, on the advice of a friend. But it wasn’t for me. Talking about it made it all come back. Can I see that picture again, please.’
Sally handed her the photo.
‘He does remind me a little of someone though,’ said Stephanie Hewson.
‘Of whom?’ asked Jack Delaney.
‘The guy who took me to the group.’
‘He was a friend?’
‘No. Well, sort of. I had had a blind date with him on the night I was attacked. But he came too … I don’t know. He was always turning up with gifts asking if I was okay. He knew I didn’t want a relationship. I told him that but he said he was happy just being a friend. In the end I told him to stop calling.’
‘And he did?’
‘Yes.’
‘What’s his name, Stephanie.’
‘John Smith.’
‘Jesus!’ muttered Jack Delaney.
‘Do you know him, sir?’
Delaney gave Sally a withering look. ‘I should think there’s a good few million people know a John Smith, Constable.’
‘Sir.’
‘Do you have his address?’ he asked Stephanie.
‘He did give me a mobile phone number but I threw it away. Sorry. Do you think he was part of this group then?’
‘Possibly.’
‘My God. I had him in the house. All that time.’
‘I told you I’d take care of you, Stephanie, and I will. No one’s going to hurt you again. Not on my watch.’
Sally Cartwright thought about commenting on the expression, then decided against it.
‘Come on, Sally,’ Delaney said to her. ‘We need to go back a step.’
Kate Walker looked anxiously at her watch. The traffic had been horrendous. She was already twenty minutes late and had had to park quite a way from the hall where Siobhan’s dancing classes were being held. She’d be looked after in the hall, but, even so, Kate felt guilty for keeping her waiting.
She tightened her coat and was walking briskly along the pavement when a voice called out to her.
‘Excuse me.’
Kate swivelled round to see a figure in a hat, a scarf wrapped around his face and a knife in his hand.
‘Be very careful what you do. I know you are pregnant.’
‘What do you want?’
‘I want you to follow me back to my vehicle and keep very, very still.’
‘Just don’t hurt me, or the baby. I’ll do anything you want.’
‘That’s a very good attitude to have.’
The man took her arm and marched her along to a black van parked behind her car. The sliding side-panel was open. ‘Get in,’ he said, then followed Kate inside, and shut the door.
67
DELANEY RANG THE doorbell for a second time, long and insistent.
‘She said she was going to her mother’s, sir,’ said Sally.
‘I guess we’ll just have to let ourselves in then.’ Delaney kicked at the door. There was a cracking sound, but it remained closed. Another kick shattered the lock and the door flew wide open. It was dark inside. Delaney flicked on the light switch and hurried down to Michelle Riley’s office. He went straight to the filing cabinet while Sally checked the desk.
‘Stephanie said she had to register to join the group and John Smith likewise. Find his details, quickly.’
‘I still say we should wait to get a warrant, sir,’ she said.
‘And I say you look good in uniform, Cartwright. So shut it or I’ll bounce you back to the beat before you can say due legal process.’
‘Sir.’
‘Also we’re not going to be arresting Michelle Riley, are we?’
Sally opened the left-hand drawer and took out a wooden box wrapped in a red silk handkerchief. She unwrapped it and looked inside. ‘Are you sure about that, sir?’
‘What is that?’
Sally held up a pack of tarot cards. ‘Maybe somebody crossed her palm with silver?’
‘Count them. There’s supposed to be twenty-six Major Arcana cards. See if there are two missing.’
Sally took out the cards, separating them into two piles, Major and Minor, while Delaney tackled the filing cabinet. It had three drawers. The bottom was filled with rape-counselling literature and pamphlets. The second had a number of textbooks, sociological studies, videos and DVDs. The top drawer had an alphabetical filing system. Delaney pulled out the index card filed under S. There was no John Smith. He tipped the cards on top of the cabinet and went through them all. Stephanie Hewson’s contact details were there, but there was no sign of any John Smith. Delaney knew it probably wasn’t even the man’s real name. His luck wasn’t that good. He looked over at Sally Cartwright. ‘Full deck?’ he asked.
‘No. There’s five missing.’
‘Five?’
‘Sir.’
‘Shit! You know what I’m thinking now, Sally?’
‘This isn’t about a group of men raping. It’s about a group of people taking revenge.’
‘Why John Smith, if that’s his name?’
‘Michael Robinson queered his pitch big time, didn’t he, sir? And from what Stephanie tells us, he’s not actually playing with a full deck himself.’
‘And then he went on to try it himself. So fixated with the woman that he acted out his fantasies on Lorraine Eddison at the back of the Ryan Theatre.’
‘Or tried to.’
‘What was the date Lorraine Eddison was attacked?’
Sally dug out her little black notebook and flipped back through some pages.
‘Twentieth of April, sir.
Delaney snapped his fingers.
‘Is that significant, sir?’
‘Very significant. Come on, we’re out of here.’
Kate Walker leaned against the side of the van. Her hands had been tied behind her back with the kind of plastic slip-knot cuffs the police use.
The van was moving slowly but it skidded every now and then, and Kate was thrown forward. She couldn’t use her hands to protect her belly and every movement made her almost cry with despair. She knew how fragile was the life she was carrying inside her. Particularly at this relatively early stage of the pregnancy. She silently prayed to God to save them both, but mostly she prayed for Jack.
Delaney and Sally Cartwright waited impatiently in the plushly carpeted entrance foyer of the Ryan Theatre. A couple of ridiculously tall schoolboys in their mourning outfit of a school uniform watched them curiously.
A short while later, and the theatre’s technical manager came hurrying through the entrance door, slightly red-faced and out of breath. He was about five foot eleven with curly, mousy hair, in his forties, but with a pampered, youthful look about him.
‘What kept you?’ said Delaney.
‘I was in The Castle.’