All the Rage

Adam Fawley
4 April 2018
08.55

I open the cardboard file in front of me and take out two sheets of paper. A couple of people exchange surreptitious glances, wondering what the hell this is about.

`˜I spoke to Alan Challow yesterday. He's had the results on Faith Appleford's shoes.'

I turn and pin the papers to the whiteboard, hearing the slight stirring behind me.

I take my time, but in the end I have to face them. `˜Along with soil from the allotment site and bits of gravel and all the other usual crap, he found something else. Something we didn't expect. Traces of calcium sulphate.'

They're none the wiser. Of course they aren't. None of them were here back then, not even Baxter. Quinn looks at me and shrugs. `˜And?'

`˜It's plaster dust.'

`˜So, you think our bloke is, what `“ a builder? Decorator?'

The glances aren't surreptitious now; some people are frowning, openly confused. Others are wondering why I've been sitting on this `“ why I didn't mention it straight away `“ and why, incidentally, we've been wasting time with bloody carpet cleaners and locksmiths. But they know better than to say any of that out loud. Asante, on the other hand, apparently doesn't.

`˜When exactly did you speak to Challow about this, sir?' he says as the noise in the room rises. `˜Only I spoke to him at six o'clock last night and he never said anything to me.'

I feel myself flushing. `˜I asked him not to.'

Asante frowns and opens his mouth to say something but I cut across him. `˜There was another case in this area. Twenty years ago. They called him the Roadside Rapist.'

Some of them register recognition; most don't. Somer is staring at me. As well she might.

`˜He raped six young women and attempted to rape a seventh,' I continue. `˜And he brutalized them. One of his victims lost an eye. Another committed suicide a few months after she was attacked.'

`˜But he was convicted, wasn't he?' says Ev. `˜The man who did it? I can't remember his name `“ Gareth something?'

`˜Gavin Parrie. He's currently doing life in Wandsworth.'

She looks bewildered. `˜In that case, why `“?'

`˜Parrie ripped out his victims' hair. It was one of his signatures.'

Gislingham gets the point at once, but he's still reserving judgement. `˜That doesn't prove anything. Not necessarily.'

I look round the room. Slowly. `˜Parrie dragged his victims off the street, put plastic bags over their heads and bound their wrists with cable ties.'

`˜Even so, sir`¦' begins Ev. But I can see the beginnings of doubt in her eyes.

`˜The last two women to be attacked were thrown into a van and driven away. Traces of calcium sulphate were found on both of them.'

`˜So this bloke Parrie was a plasterer?' asks Ev.

I shake my head. `˜No, he just did odd jobs, house clearance, that sort of thing. But his brother was a builder. Our theory was that Parrie borrowed the brother's van to commit those two assaults, though we were never able to prove it, and there were no forensics in either his van or his brother's by the time we got our hands on them.'

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.

Rose arrives barely two minutes after the receptionist has gone. He has a tan, pale-cream chinos, a button-down pink shirt and an iPad. It's the same model as Quinn's. Ev suppresses a smile; boys and their toys. Rose smiles at them both, holding steady eye contact. `˜Good morning, officers. I hope you're being well looked after?'

Ev reaches for her coffee. The mug is blue. The same blue as the vans and the logo and the receptionist's tie. Diane Appleford would give her eye teeth for colour coordination of that calibre. And the coffee is `“ predictably `“ very good. Everett also has a weather eye on the biscuits. She isn't going to get caught eating one in public but she might try to snaffle a couple as they leave. It's always worth having something in your back pocket for the next time you need a favour from Baxter.

`˜My assistant said it was something to do with our vans,' begins Rose. `˜But I've done a quick check and everything is definitely up-to-date. Road tax, MOTs `“'

`˜It's nothing like that,' says Quinn quickly. `˜It's about a young woman who was attacked on Monday on Rydal Way.'

`˜I'm not with you.'

`˜She was forced into a van and taken to the allotments on the Marston Ferry Road.'

Rose blinks. A frown is forming. `˜But there are hundreds of vans in Oxford `“'

Quinn nods. `˜No doubt. But we have reason to believe one of your vans was in the vicinity at the time.'

Rose looks a little pale under his tan. `˜I see.'

`˜Buying petrol at the BP on the roundabout, to be precise.'

Rose reaches for his iPad and turns it on. `˜If you bear with me a moment I'll run a quick check on exactly where our crews were last Monday.'

`˜Seriously?' says Quinn, unable to contain the surprise in his voice. `˜You can do that?'

Rose shrugs; if you hold as many cards as he does you can afford to be gracious. `˜The vans are tracked by satnav. And we keep all the records. This is a premium-priced operation, Officer. I can't afford complaints so I need to know where my people are. What time was it you were interested in?'

`˜First thing in the morning,' says Everett, watching the flush spread over Quinn's face. `˜Before 11.00.'

Rose taps the screen for a moment or two, then puts the iPad down and slides it across the table.

`˜As you can see, one of our vans did travel along that road that morning, but he was en route to a job in Wallingford. Apart from buying petrol, he made no other stops between leaving home and arriving at the site. I also have the receipt for the fuel on his company card. Would you like me to print it out for you?'

* * *THE CENTRAL CRIMINAL COURTThe Old BaileyLondon EC4M 7EHBEFORE:THE HONOURABLE MR. JUSTICE HEALEYR E G I N Av.GAVIN FRANCIS PARRIEMR. R. BARNES Q.C. and MISS S. GREYappeared on behalf of the prosecution.MRS. B. JENKINS Q.C. and MR. T. CUTHBERTappeared on behalf of the defendant.Transcribed from the Stenotype notes ofChapman Davison Ltd.,Official reporters to the courtMonday, 25th October, 1999[Day 7]ALISON DONNELLY, recalledExamined by MR. BARNESQ. Miss Donnelly, I would like to return to the events we were discussing yesterday. Specifically the assault that took place on 29th November last year. I appreciate this is a distressing subject, but it is important that the court is clear about exactly what happened. And you will be aware, I am sure, that you are still under oath. You said the incident occurred at approximately 5.40 p.m. that day?A. Yes. I was on my way home from work. I got the 5.15 bus.Q. And that's the bus you usually got?A. That's right.Q. Did you have any sense in the previous few days that you might have been being followed?A. One of my flatmates said she'd seen a van parked down the street a few times, but we didn't think anything of it.Q. What colour was the van?A. Just one of those white ones.Q. Your flatmate didn't notice if there was anyone in it?A. No, it was too far away.Q. On the night of the assault, did you see a van?A. No. I mean, that doesn't mean it wasn't there. I just didn't see it.Q. So you got off the bus, and started to walk towards your flat. What happened next?A. It'd been raining, and this big truck came past really close and sprayed water all over me. I had my new coat on and I was really annoyed. I suppose I just stopped for a minute. That's when it happened.Q. You felt someone behind you?A. Yes, first he grabbed me and then I felt a bag going over my head and he was dragging me off.Q. Do you know where he took you?A. He put me in the back of a van. He'd tied my hands with something that was digging into my wrists and I felt as if I couldn't breathe.Q. Do you remember anything else about the van?A. There was plastic or something on the floor. Some sort of sheeting.Q. And what happened after that?A. He took me to a car park off the ring road. I didn't know that then. But that's where it was.Q. What did he do then?A. I heard him get out of the van and walk round to the back. He dragged me out and pushed me along a few steps. I couldn't see anything because of the bag. Then he threw me on the ground. And then he pulled off my knickers and raped me.Q. A subsequent medical examination confirmed that you also received internal injuries from some sort of blunt object. Is that correct?A. Yes.MR. JUSTICE HEALEY: I appreciate this is extremely difficult for you, Miss Donnelly, but I must ask you to speak a little louder so that members of the jury can hear what you are saying. Do you feel able to go on?A. Yes, sir.MR. BARNES: Thank you, my Lord. Miss Donnelly, was the rape you described the full extent of the assault?A. No.Q. What else happened?A. He beat me up.Q. I'm afraid I must ask you to be more explicit.A. He did it to make me shut up `“ I was trying to scream so he took hold of my head and beat it against the ground.Q. That was how you sustained the injuries you have now? The injuries visible to the court?A. Yes.Q. You suffered a fractured skull?A. Yes.Q. And loss of sight in one eye?A. That was when he kicked me. After he'd finished.Q. And he removed your jewellery and some of your hair?A. My earrings. He pulled them out.Q. Ripping one earlobe, I believe?A. Yes. And he ripped out some of my hair too.Q. And where was that?A. Just here, behind my ear.Q. How long was it after he left before help arrived?A. They told me afterwards it was about an hour. I think I must've passed out because it didn't seem that long. But then suddenly there was an ambulance and the police were there.Q. How long did you spend in hospital, Miss Donnelly?A. Five weeks.Q. And have you been able to return to work since the attack?A. No.MR. BARNES: I have no further questions.MR. JUSTICE HEALEY: That seems a convenient moment to break for lunch. Members of the jury, we will resume at 2.15, please.* * *`˜Shall we ask this lot if their vans have satnav tracking, too?'

Ev slides a glance at Quinn. She knows she's probably pushing it, but it was irresistible. He's so easy to wind up.

He's frowning now, knowing she's taking the piss. Because if Mark Rose Co is a premium service, the second firm on their list has to be the construction equivalent of Ryanair. Judging by the rather endearingly amateurish logo on their website they certainly haven't invested any of their hard-earned cash in a graphic designer, and the offices aren't even offices at all, just an eighties bungalow at the end of a cul-de-sac with paving down one side of the building and a double garage on the other. Ev had to check twice when they arrived, just to make sure it was the right place.

The door is opened by a middle-aged woman in a jumper and baggy track pants. There's a strong smell of cigarette smoke.

`˜Can I help you?'

`˜We're from Thames Valley Police. Is this the offices of Ramsgate Renovations Ltd?'

`˜That's right.' To the woman's credit she doesn't look immediately wary, which is the usual reaction to an unexpected visit from the police.

`˜Can we speak to Mr Ramsgate?'

`˜I'm afraid Keith's on-site. You can talk to me, though. I'm Pauline. His wife. And the manager.'

She takes them through to an extension which opens off the kitchen, fitted out with cheap but functional office furniture: a filing cupboard, a couple of desks, a big pinboard with charts of their different jobs. There's a PC as well, but it's obvious Pauline is more of a paper person. There are stacks of files and invoices covering almost every surface. Out the back, two white vans are parked up on the concreted garden. One has the rear doors open and a couple of lads are loading supplies.

`˜Have you got permission to run a business from here?' asks Quinn, gesturing at the vans.

The woman shrugs. `˜We're not overlooked, so why should anyone else be bothered? But if you want to push it the answer is yes. We do.'

If Quinn thought it was a good way to get her on the back foot he appears to have misread his woman. They're staring at each other now and Ev suspects Pauline won't be the first to blink.

She decides to have a go at good cop and see if that works any better.

`˜Mrs Ramsgate, we were hoping you could help us. There was an incident involving a van on Monday 1st April. So we're talking to all van owners, just to eliminate them from our enquiries.'

`˜What sort of `њincident`ќ?'

`˜It's just routine, Mrs Ramsgate.'

`˜Doesn't sound like it to me. And how come you're picking on us? There must be hundreds of vans in this city.'

Pauline, evidently, didn't come down in the last shower of rain.

Everett takes out two sheets of paper and puts one down on the table. `˜This is from the CCTV at the petrol station on Cherwell Drive, taken that morning. We think this vehicle here may be one of yours.'

The quality isn't good, and there's a lorry blocking most of the view, but it's just about possible to see the front of a white van with a ladder strapped to the top of it, and on the side a word beginning `˜RA`“'.

Pauline's eyes narrow. `˜I can only see two letters. That doesn't prove it's one of ours.'

Everett nods, looking at the second sheet. `˜You're right. There are actually three builders with names beginning like that in a ten-mile radius from here. Yourselves, Razniak Ltd and Rathbone Sons. We're just working through them alphabetically.'

Pauline gives a heavy sigh; a waft of nicotine prickles Everett's nose. `˜So you want to know where our vans were? Is that it?'

`˜If you don't mind.'

Pauline folds her arms. `˜I know exactly where they were `“ everyone was on the same job.'

`˜And where was that?'

`˜Out at Bicester. Complete hotel refit `“ we'll be on it for weeks.'

`˜And what time would your people typically start work?'

She bridles a little. `˜Seven thirty on the dot. It's not a bloody holiday camp.'

`˜So you're saying you can account for all your blokes that morning?' says Quinn. `˜No flat tyres, sick cats, dental emergencies?'

Pauline glares at him. `˜They were all there except Ashley Brotherton. It was his nan's funeral that day. She brought him up after his mum walked out.'

`˜What does he do?' says Ev. `˜As a job?'

Pauline shoots her a look. `˜He's a plasterer.'

`˜And where is he today? At Bicester, I assume?' asks Ev, hoping her voice isn't giving her away. And that Pauline doesn't realize Quinn's telegraphing behind her back. `˜Just so we can have a quick chat and eliminate him from our enquiries?'

Pauline lifts her chin. `˜He's not due on-site till later so I expect he's at home.'

Everett smiles brightly. `˜Well, if you could just let me have his address then. And the reg number of his van. If you don't mind.'

* * *

`˜She's not in any trouble, I just need to know where she is. I'm sorry to call you on your mobile but I've texted everyone I can think of and spoken to the school and I know she's not there `“ I'm going out of my mind `“ please, Isabel.'

Fiona hates the pleading in her voice, the desperation. It's like a bad smell.

`˜But I don't know where she is.' Isabel's voice rises into a wail. `˜I told you `“ she got off the bus and I didn't see her after.'

`˜Is there anyone else she could be with?' She can feel the tension in her jaw, the weight behind her eyes. `˜She told me she doesn't have a boyfriend, but is there someone she likes? A boy who might have stopped and offered her a lift?'

`˜No, really `“'

`˜Someone she'd have trusted `“ someone she knew from school perhaps `“'

`˜I'd have told you already `“ why won't you believe me?'

There's the sound of voices in the background, playground noises; it must be morning break. Fiona takes a deep breath. `˜So you really don't know where she could be?'

`˜I'm sorry. I really don't.'

There's the sound of a bell now and a moment later the line goes dead.

* * *

Every time Everett goes to Blackbird Leys she forces herself to find something good about it. A nice garden or a tree in blossom or even just a particularly sassy local cat. She hates giving in to stereotypes but, no matter how hard she tries, the place always seems to do its best to defeat her. As they drive up Barraclough Road there are two men slumped on a bench surrounded by beer cans, and an overturned bin has spewed rotting food and rubbish halfway across the road. She swerves and Quinn swears. He hates being a passenger, but there was no way he was bringing his car here. And however determined she is not to prejudge this place, she really can't blame him. As they pass, one of the men waves his can at her and shouts, `˜Fuck off!' And they aren't even in a squad car.

`˜It's about ten houses further on,' says Quinn, squinting at the numbers. `˜Ninety-six, right?'

The house is on the corner at the end of the terrace. These houses must have been The Next Big Thing once but the seventies architecture hasn't aged well. The windows are too small and the whole of the ground floor is dominated by the garages jutting out from the facade. But all they are now is receptacles for junk: modern cars are too big to even get through the doors. Unlike its neighbours, 96 still has some scrubby grass out the front rather than a concrete parking space, but like the rest, the roof sags as if it just can't be bothered any more.

Ev pulls up and they get out. There's music coming from upstairs; someone's in.

`˜I'll go round the side,' says Quinn. `˜See if I can spot the van.'

Ev nods, takes a deep breath and rings the bell.

The music stops, but there's no other sign of life. She rings again. And a third time. Quinn appears round the corner.

`˜Did you find the van?'

He nods. He's not smiling. `˜I could see some cable ties in the back. Looked the same type to me.'

`˜That doesn't prove anything. They're hardly distinctive.'

`˜Just saying.'

There's a noise from inside now `“ the sound of chains being taken off and a bolt sliding back. The door opens slowly. It's an elderly man, breathing heavily from the effort. He's wearing a threadbare cardigan and a pair of brown slacks that hang loosely off his thin hips. His face and hands are freckled with dark age spots.

`˜Mr Brotherton?' says Ev, holding up her warrant card. `˜DC Verity Everett. Could we come in for a moment?'

The man looks suspicious. `˜What's this about?'

`˜It's about your grandson. Ashley, isn't it?'

`˜What about him? He hasn't done anything. He's a good lad `“'

`˜No one's saying he isn't,' she says quickly. `˜We just need to ask him a couple of routine questions. It'll only take five minutes. Is he in?' She smiles. She can see the old man wants to deny it but they both know hip-hop isn't likely to be top of his own playlist.

He sighs heavily. `˜Through the back.'

Ashley Brotherton is leaning against the breakfast bar in the tiny kitchen, drinking orange juice from a carton. The room is tidy but not especially clean; Ev can feel the lino sticking under her shoes.

`˜Who are you?' he says, wiping juice from his mouth. He's not tall but he's well built. Very short hair, very pale blue eyes. Handsome, in a rather belligerent way. He pulls out a chair for his grandfather, who sits down slowly, in obvious pain.

`˜Thames Valley CID,' says Quinn. `˜Just wanted to check on your movements on the morning of April 1st.'

Ashley and his grandfather exchange a glance. `˜That was Nan's funeral,' says the young man. `˜And in any case, what business is it of yours?'

`˜Where was it held?' says Ev, taking her notebook from her bag.

`˜The crematorium,' answers the old man. `˜The one in Headington.'

`˜You still haven't answered my question,' says Ashley.

`˜There was an attack on a young woman that morning,' says Quinn smoothly. `˜We think the perp does the sort of work you do.'

Ashley walks over to the pedal bin in the corner and drops the empty carton inside. Then he turns to face Quinn. `˜Like I said, I was at my nan's funeral. Cars got here at 8.30. Ceremony was at 9.00. Wake at the Red Lion at 10.30. You can check all that. Whoever you're looking for, it ain't me.'

Quinn offers his most unpleasant smile. `˜So you won't mind us searching your van, then, will you. Just to make sure.'

The old man looks up. `˜You got a warrant?'

`˜No,' says Everett quickly. `˜It was just an informal request, Mr Brotherton `“'

`˜In that case the answer's no. Like I said, Ashley's a good lad. He's got a good job, a proper skill. You've got no right dragging him into this for no good reason. Just because we live on the estate, you people immediately assume we're dirt `“'

Ev bites her lip. So much for trying to find something decent about this place; seems she can't even spot it when it's sitting right in front of her. `˜I'm sorry, Mr Brotherton. We didn't mean to cause any offence.'

The old man gestures to his grandson. `˜Show them out, will you, Ash. I've got things to do.'

On the doorstep, Ev stops a moment and turns. `˜Ashley `“ can I just ask `“ is it at all possible someone else could have used your van that day? Does anyone else have keys?'

She's half expecting him to tell her to piss off, and she couldn't really blame him if he did, but he doesn't. Just looks her straight in the eye. `˜No,' he says. `˜Only me and the office.'

Back in the car, Quinn snaps on his seat belt. `˜What do you think?'

She puts the key in the ignition and then sits back. `˜I think we check what he said with the crematorium but I'm pretty sure they're going to confirm it. I don't reckon he attacked Faith. Not least because I just don't think he's that good a liar.'

There's the sound of an engine starting now and they look up to see a Ramsgate Renovations van turning right out of the side road. It passes barely three feet from their car yet Ashley Brotherton stares straight ahead, refusing to look at them.

They watch him down the street and out of sight.

`˜If he really did attack Faith, he'll have that van cleared and valeted within the hour,' says Quinn.

Ev shrugs. `˜Who says he hasn't done that already? And even if he hasn't, the old boy was right `“ we don't have a cat's chance in hell of getting a warrant.' She checks her watch. `˜Look, we'd better get a move on if we're going to be back in time for the meeting.'

Quinn makes a face. `˜What's the bloody point? Right now, we have absolutely sod all to say.'

* * *