All the Rage

Adam Fawley
3 April 2018
08.15

It's 8.15 a.m. The temperature dropped to below freezing last night, but according to the station central heating system, April is officially `˜spring' and the radiators have gone off. Quinn has his scarf round his neck in that loop knot thing that's clearly de rigueur these days. Several others are in their coats. And it's pretty obvious the weather has turned inside as well as out. The mood is harder, colder. There's a frown line cut across Everett's brow and Baxter has that stern look to his jaw I've seen far too many times over the years.

I finish telling them what I got from Gow and turn to Asante; this is something I need to do in public. `˜Good work on the Incel board, DC Asante. Even if it wasn't our man.'

He smiles. Not too much, because that would look smug; not too little, because he knows full well that he's done a bloody good job and he's not about to let that be undervalued. Or perhaps I'm reading far too much into it, and he always smiles exactly that way.

`˜Keep an eye on those boards, though, would you? Just in case something else surfaces.'

Somer looks up. `˜By the way, Hants Police did manage to identify YeltobYob. There was CCTV at the Starbucks so they could see the bloke who was using his phone at the exact times the posts went up. And he paid by card, so they know they have the right man. They're pursuing it as a possible hate crime.'

The mood in the room lifts a little: we've achieved something, at least.

I turn to Gislingham. `˜OK, so where are we with forensics from the allotments?'

`˜Er, right, there were two usable fingerprints on the Tesco bag,' he replies, struggling to find the right notes. `˜Along with a couple of partials and some smears. Nothing came up in the database though, so they aren't from anyone we know about already.'

`˜And DNA?'

`˜Several different profiles. No matches on the database there either `“ it could be anyone `“ shop assistants, shelf stackers, delivery drivers `“'

`˜But one of them could still be our man?'

Gis shrugs. `˜Sure, it's possible. But personally I can't see him going to all that trouble and forgetting to wear gloves when he handled that bag.'

Neither can I, frankly. But the pathological stupidity of the criminal classes has been our salvation before, and may well be again.

`˜And we did that house-to-house in the area round the garages,' he continues, `˜but no luck, I'm afraid.'

Baxter looks up. `˜Speed cameras on the Marston Ferry Road didn't turn up anything either so I checked with the school, in case he went that way, but nothing doing: you can't see the road from their cameras.'

`˜What about the CCTV at the petrol station?'

He nods. `˜Yep, done that too. Over a dozen vans either bought petrol or went past at around the right time `“'

`˜And?'

He makes a face. `˜Trouble is, you can only see the reg numbers if they actually pull into the forecourt. Most of those going past are just your average white vans with nothing on the side to identify them. Either that or they're half hidden by bloody buses.'

`˜Did you check the number plates of the ones you saw?'

He gives me a look that says What do you take me for?

He flips open a notebook. Which, unlike Quinn and Asante, he still uses. `˜Of those where we either have identifying marks and/or reg numbers we're looking at one plumber, three builders, two self-drive hire vans, a locksmith, a pest control firm, a carpet cleaners and one of those companies that rents out pushbikes.'

`˜Bloody things,' grumbles Quinn. `˜They're all over the sodding place in Jericho `“ people just chuck them on the pavement and walk off. Bane of my bloody life.'

I'm trying to ignore him. I keep looking at Baxter. `˜And?'

`˜The pest control guy was on call-out,' he says, `˜as was the plumber. Two of the building vans can account for their movements that morning and I've been able to verify that with ANPR. Same goes for the bike bloke.'

He flips the book shut. `˜That's as far as I've got. A whole heap of sod all, basically.'

When I look round the room it seems his apathy is infectious. And I can't afford to let that happen.

`˜Focus on the self-drives,' I say. Firmly. `˜Our man might be using a hired vehicle. To stay under the radar.'

Baxter considers. `˜OK, yes. I guess that's a possibility. I'll get on it.'

`˜No,' I say, looking at Quinn, who's now fiddling about on his iPad. `˜DC Quinn can do it.'

Quinn practically gapes at me. `˜Oh, come on, surely Asante can handle that `“'

`˜Just do it, please.'

If I sound rattled, there's a reason. An email just pinged in on my phone. It's from Alan Challow, and it's marked URGENT. There are plenty of people in this job who up their own importance by marking everything top priority, but Alan Challow isn't one of them.

We go back a long way, him and me. He started at Thames Valley barely eighteen months before I did. We've worked the same cases, made the same mistakes, known the same people. I've backed him up more than once over the years and he's done the same for me. Though I wouldn't call us friends, and he takes an inordinate pleasure in winding me up.

But that's not what he's doing now. I read the email and for a second `“ just a second `“ my heart contracts. But I'm being ridiculous. It's just a coincidence `“ a random accident of chance `“

Quinn is watching me, frowning a little. He heard the phone, watched me look at it, just like the rest of them. `˜Fine,' he says eventually. `˜Fine.'

Gislingham glances at Baxter and then at me. `˜I was also wondering, sir,' he begins slowly, `˜whether we could think about issuing an appeal.'

I look up. `˜What sort of appeal?'

He hesitates. `˜Look, it's only a matter of time before this gets out. Then it'll be the works `“ the whole Twitter shitstorm. So why not get in first and issue an appeal for witnesses? We could ask Harrison `“'

`˜Ask him what, precisely?'

`˜You know, whether he thinks a TV appeal might be helpful `“'

I take a deep breath. `˜If we start announcing that young women are being randomly dragged off the streets and assaulted we'll have panic on our hands, and the odd snide comment on Twitter will be the least of our bloody worries. I'm not about to provoke that sort of class-one mass hysteria unless and until we have completely discounted the possibility that this was a hate crime, perpetrated by someone Faith knew.'

I look round the room, drilling in the point. `˜So where are we with her friends? Her classmates `“ her wider circle?'

Somer's head goes up. `˜She doesn't really have one, sir. She's very private. She doesn't seem to have many friends.'

`˜There must be somebody `“ someone she's pissed off `“ someone with a problem with the whole transgender issue `“'

Somer looks bleak. `˜We have been looking, sir, honestly we have. But she really does keep herself to herself. The picture we've been getting is of someone who goes out of her way to be anonymous, who is careful to the point of paranoia about not upsetting anyone.'

`˜So who have you actually spoken to?'

Her turn to flush. `˜Her teachers, mainly. We've been circumspect about saying much to other students because she's so concerned about keeping her status a secret `“'

`˜You know as well as I do that her status may be the very reason she was attacked `“ how the hell can we rule that out if we can't even bloody mention it?'

Somer glances at Everett. I'm starting to lose patience now.

`˜Look, I'm not about to out anyone for the sake of it, but that's not what we're talking about here `“'

`˜I promised her, sir,' says Somer, cutting across me, bright red now, but holding my eye, standing her ground. `˜I promised her we'd respect her privacy.'

I try to count to ten, but only get to five. `˜And what if it happens again, what then? What if some other poor kid like her gets attacked? And what if next time the bastard who did it doesn't get interrupted? How are you going to explain that to the family? How do you think they'll react when you tell them that we knew there was someone targeting trans kids but did sod all about it because we were too frightened we might upset someone? But it won't be you telling them that, will it? No. It'll be me. As per bloody usual. Well, I'm sorry, Somer, but in future you're going to have to be a lot more careful what promises you make.'

I force myself to stop; I'm overreacting, I know I am. I'm pushing this too hard because I'm off-balance. Because I want hatred to be the answer. Because bad as that is, it's better than `“

`˜I could do some work on anti-trans groups, sir,' says Asante evenly. `˜See if there's anything local `“ anything on social media.'

`˜I've already looked,' says Baxter quickly, giving him a stare that says Get off my lawn. `˜Nothing doing.'

I flash a glare at him. `˜Then look harder.'

I turn to Everett and Somer. `˜And talk to her friends. And that's not a request. It's an order.'

* * *

Sent: Weds 03/04/2018, 08.35 Importance: HighFrom: AlanChallowCSI@ThamesValley.police.uk To: DIAdamFawley@ThamesValley.police.uk Subject: URGENTNot tagging this email with a case number for reasons that will become obvious. I just heard back from the lab `“ they found calcium sulphate on Faith Appleford's shoes, presumably picked up from the back of that van. There wasn't much, but it was there.Call me as soon as you get this.* * *

`˜What the fuck happened there?' says Quinn, keeping his voice low. He's just joined Everett and Gislingham at the coffee machine. Somer is nowhere to be seen. Asante is a few yards away, apparently reading something on the noticeboard.

`˜Has Fawley lost it or what?'

Gis shrugs. `˜Search me. I've never seen him like that before, that's for sure.'

`˜How come he's still flogging the bloody hate crime angle when he knows damn well we can't find shit-all evidence for it?'

Ev makes a face; she's never seen Fawley like that before either, and especially not with Somer. He's always gone out of his way to encourage her `“ to respect her judgement. So much so that at one time they all thought `“

`˜Could be more trouble with the wife?' says Quinn, a little louder now. `˜It was only a few months ago that we all thought she'd left him `“ what do you reckon? More shit in that quarter?'

Gis gives him a warning look and a meaningful glance towards Asante, who's well within earshot. But he still seems completely absorbed in the proposed changes to the Police Service Pension Scheme.

Ev shakes her head. `˜I don't think it's that `“ not this time. I saw them last weekend at the Summertown farmers' market. She had her back to me but they looked pretty loved-up.'

`˜So what then `“ has he got Harrison chewing his ear?'

Gis considers. `˜Hasn't he always? But whatever it is, I say we just keep our heads down and avoid pissing him off, eh?' He reaches for a plastic cup and presses the button for cappuccino. `˜Which in your case, Quinn, means tracking down those hire vans. And pronto.'

Quinn gives him a sardonic look Gis pretends not to see, and the three of them make their way back to their desks. A few moments later Somer emerges from the Ladies. Her hair is smooth and her face calm, but there's a slight redness about her eyes that only someone observant would see. As she draws close to Asante he turns from the noticeboard.

`˜Everything OK?'

He says it pleasantly enough but there's something about him that always makes her unsettled.

`˜Of course,' she says, quickening her step. `˜Why wouldn't it be?'

* * *