‘Inspector Fawley,’ says Reynolds with a small cough, ‘I’m grateful you were able to join us. This is Caleb Morgan. He’s with the Mathematics faculty, working on compressed linear algebra for large-scale machine learning.’
Condescending and inconsequential; I have to hand it to Reynolds – as irrelevant information goes, that was pretty stellar.
Quinn must be sensing my irritation because he steps in quickly. ‘There’s been an allegation of sexual assault, boss.’
I stare at him. What the fuck is he playing at? This is Policework 101 – get your facts together before you go anywhere near the perp. And I mean, all your facts.
I pull Quinn to one side. ‘What’s he doing here?’ I say quietly. ‘You didn’t think you ought to speak to the victim first?’
He flushes. ‘I did,’ he says. ‘He is the victim.’
I turn to look at Morgan. His pale-blue eyes are intent on my face and I feel myself flush. And now I look properly, I can see the livid red mark on his neck. But even though it goes against all the training, against everything they drum into us these days, I just can’t stop myself thinking – this lad is six foot two, he’s built like a full back, surely he could have defended himself –
‘So,’ says Reynolds, looking at Quinn and then at me, ‘now we’ve got that straightened out, I imagine you’ll want to speak to Professor Fisher?’
Ev glances quickly at me. ‘Professor Fisher is Mr Morgan’s supervisor –’
Reynolds cuts across her. ‘I would, of course, prefer that you did not conduct that interview on college premises, especially given that the incident did not take place here. Professor Fisher’s address is Monmouth House, St Luke Street,’ he says, sitting back in his chair. ‘And it being a Saturday afternoon, I would imagine it’s more than likely you will find her at home.’
Her?
Morgan’s assailant was a woman?
* * *
In Risinghurst, Alex Fawley is saying goodbye to her sister. It’s taken the best part of half an hour to get both the dog and the boys into the car, and the dog was definitely the easiest of the three. Gerry is in the driving seat now, impatient to be away before one of his sons decides he needs the loo for the third time.
Nell reaches her arms around her sister, holding her close.
‘You will tell me if you need anything, won’t you?’
‘I’m fine, really. Adam’s being wonderful.’
Nell pulls away. ‘When he isn’t rushing back to work when he’s supposed to be having a day off, you mean.’
‘It’s not his fault. Comes with the job.’
Nell makes a face. ‘You don’t need to tell me – I’ve known him almost as long as you have.’
There’s a sudden bang in the street – a couple of skateboarders, taking advantage of the hill and the speed bump to try out some tricks – but Nell sees her sister flinch, then try at once to disguise it.
‘It’s only a few lads mucking around – you’re just being paranoid. That man – Parrie – he won’t be allowed anywhere near you. You do know that, don’t you?’
Alex forces herself to smile. ‘It’s just my nerves – they’re all over the place.’
The car door opens and Gerry leans out. ‘You coming?’
Nell gives her sister’s arm a quick squeeze. ‘Remember what I said, OK? If you need anything – and I mean anything – I’m only a phone call away.’
Alex nods and Nell gets into the car, but even after they’ve pulled away, Alex lingers there, her arms wrapped tightly around herself. The two skateboarders are still coasting up and down, flipping and twisting as they come off the slope, but Alex isn’t looking at them. She’s looking beyond them, through them, at the white van parked a few doors down. There’s a man in the driver’s seat, with a baseball cap pulled down low over his eyes.
It doesn’t matter how many times people tell her that Gavin Parrie will be miles away, that he’ll be strictly monitored, under electronic curfew, she still sees him on every corner, in every van, in every shadowed and half-glimpsed face.
Because he knows. And one day – maybe not today, maybe not this week or this month or this year – but one day, he’s going to find her, and he’s going to make her pay for what she did.
It’s 30 degrees but she’s shivering suddenly, her hot skin iced with sweat.
* * *
[IVY PARRIE]
‘Hi, Gav, it’s your mum. Just wanted to let you know I got your message about the hearing. We’re all rooting for you here, love, and Jocelyn and the team are working really hard on your behalf. See you next week.’
[SOUND OF PHONE CALL ENDING]
[JOCELYN]
My name is Jocelyn Naismith and I’m the person referred to in that clip. The voice you heard was Mrs Ivy Parrie. Ivy is 76, she lives in Coventry, and you just heard her leaving her son a voicemail. She couldn’t call him direct because he was in prison. In Wandsworth, to be precise. Serving a life sentence for a crime he has always claimed he did not commit.
The clip was recorded in April 2018, shortly before Gavin Parrie appeared before the parole board. Thanks to the work done by my team, and with the support of Gavin’s solicitor, the long battle for justice was finally won, and he regained his freedom in May this year.
This podcast series tells Gavin’s story. How he was convicted in the first place, what The Whole Truth organization has discovered about the original investigation, and why we think the real perpetrator is still out there.
I’m Jocelyn Naismith, and I’m co-founder of The Whole Truth, a not-for-profit organization that campaigns to overturn miscarriages of justice. This is Righting the Wrongs, series 3: The Roadside Rapist Redeemed? Chapter one: Prologue
[THEME SONG – AARON NEVILLE COVER VERSION OF ‘I SHALL BE RELEASED’ [BOB DYLAN]]
Standing next to me in this lonely crowd
Is a man who swears he’s not to blame
All day long I hear him shout so loud
Crying out that he was framed
I see my light come shining
From the west unto the east
Any day now, any day now
I shall be released.
[JOCELYN]
Bob Dylan wrote that song in 1968, the same year Gavin Parrie was born. He was the second of three Parrie boys, sandwiched between the oldest, Neil, and the youngest, Robert (who the family called Bobby). His mother worked part-time as a shelf-stacker in a local supermarket, and his father, Vernon, was employed at what was then the British Leyland car plant in Cowley, on the outskirts of Oxford. The family lived in a small terraced house off the Cowley Road, and all three boys attended the local primary school, and then Temple Green Secondary Modern.
Ken Waring was Gavin’s form teacher in his first year at Temple Green.
[KEN WARING]
‘He was a bit of a tearaway, there’s no getting away from that. Always getting into scrapes. But I never thought he was a bad lad. He struggled with his reading, but looking back with the benefit of hindsight I suspect he may have been dyslexic. But of course, back then, you didn’t get assessed for things like that, and you didn’t get any extra help either. Kids like him often became disruptive just because they were having trouble keeping up. He was good with his hands, though, I remember that – he always got good marks in Woodwork and Metalwork. I guess I assumed he would follow his father into the car industry. That’s what the majority of our lads did.’