All the Rage

Adam Fawley
6 April 2018
14.49

`˜Can I have a quick chat?'

I look up to see Ruth Gallagher at my door, one hand still on the handle.

I sit back. It's not as if she's interrupting; I've been staring at the same report for the last half-hour and haven't got beyond the first paragraph.

I beckon her in. `˜Of course.'

`˜You've got a good team there,' she says, taking a seat.

`˜I think so.'

She puts a thick cardboard file down on my desk. `˜I've just been reading through the Blake and Appleford material. That offer of help `“ does it still stand?'

I nod, but I must look wary because she hurries on. `˜Look, I know this is a shitty situation, but I hope you realize I didn't want this to happen any more than you did. From what I can tell from the file, Alastair Osbourne did everything a good SIO would do. As did you. I don't see how any competent officer could have come to a different conclusion.'

So she has read the file. She just didn't want to push it in the first five minutes. My respect for her inches up.

`˜Look, I know why you're here `“ you want to ask me about my wife `“ about what it says in those trial transcripts. But the defence were just fishing `“ trying to get me on the back foot. Alex and I didn't get together until long after the trial ended. At the time she was assaulted she was engaged to someone else. They split up a few weeks after it happened `“ he just couldn't hack it. If you spoke to Alex she'd confirm all of that. But I'd rather you didn't have to.'

`˜I don't think there's any need,' she says, looking me steadily in the eye. `˜But thank you anyway.'

I sit back. `˜OK. So what did you want to talk about?'

She gets to her feet. `˜I don't know about you but I'm gagging for some decent coffee. And after that, we can get started.'

* * *

Fiona Blake is sitting in the dark, alone, behind her drawn curtains. The TV is glowing in the corner, but the programme she was pretending to watch has long since finished and she hasn't bothered to change the channel. On the plate in front of her, her long-cold lunch is congealing, uneaten. She can smell the heavy scent of the huge bunch of lilies stuck anyhow in a jug she hardly ever uses; she's never liked them but Isabel brought them round and she didn't want to upset her by throwing them away. Not after everything those girls have been through. The Family Liaison Officer is in the kitchen, no doubt making yet another cup of bloody tea. The sound of him moving about puts her teeth on edge.

`˜Mrs Blake?'

She turns slowly to see Patsie hesitating at the door. It's gone 4.00 but she's still in a dressing gown, with that blurry look of someone who hasn't even bothered washing. It's the first time Fiona's seen her all day.

Fiona frowns a little. `˜Are you OK, Pats?'

The girl takes a step forward. And now it's obvious: there's definitely something wrong.

`˜Me and Iz and Leah,' she says. `˜We've been talking.'

Fiona puts her glass down. `˜OK,' she says carefully.

`˜It was when I watched that appeal thing again that I thought about it. The one they did when Sash went missing. That bit when they asked people to get in touch `“ you know, if they'd seen her.'

Fiona waits, barely breathing. Has Patsie remembered something? Has Isabel?

`˜It was that journalist `“ he said there'd been another girl, who got taken in a van.' Her cheeks are flushed now. `˜We wanted to say something before but `“'

`˜But what?' says Fiona. She doesn't seem to be getting enough air. `˜What is it, Patsie?'

The girl drops her eyes. `˜Iz says it can't be him because it isn't a van, not really `“'

Fiona's on her feet now, gripping Patsie by the arms, shaking her. `˜What isn't? Who are you talking about?'

* * *