All the Rage

Adam Fawley
1 April 2018
12.35

I'm still on the ring road when I get the call from Everett.

`˜Sir? I'm with Somer on our way to the Lakes. We had a call about ten minutes ago `“ a girl's been found in a distraught state on the Marston Ferry Road. It looks like she may have been attacked.'

I signal to pull over into a lay-by and pick up the phone. `˜Sexual assault?'

`˜We don't actually know that. But to be honest, right now, we don't know much at all.'

I can tell something's off, just from her voice. And if there's one thing I know about Ev, it's that she has good antennae. Good antennae, and not enough confidence in them. Or herself. Something for Gislingham to pick up when he gets back from that HR course of his.

`˜There's something bothering you, isn't there?'

`˜She was found with her clothes torn and muddy and evidence that her hands had been tied `“'

`˜Jesus `“'

`˜I know. She was apparently in a terrible state but the point is she refused to go to either the police or the doctor. She made the minicab driver who found her take her straight home and told him she didn't want it reported. Which, thankfully, he ignored.'

I poke about in the glovebox for some paper and ask her to repeat the address in the Lakes. And if you're wondering how you missed all that standing water when you did the Oxford tourist tour, there isn't anything larger than a pond for miles. The Lakes is a 1930s housing development in Marston. People call it that because there are so many roads there named after them: Derwent, Coniston, Grasmere, Rydal. I like to think some long-ago town planner was homesick for the fells, but Alex tells me I'm just being Romantic.

`˜Do we know the girl's name?'

`˜We think it could be Faith. The cab driver said she was wearing a necklace with that on it. Though it might just be one of those `њLive Love Life`ќ sort of things. You must have seen them.'

I have. But not on Ev, that's for sure. As for the cabbie, it seems he wasn't just public-spirited but observant too. Wonders will never cease.

`˜According to the electoral roll there's a woman called Diane Appleford resident at the address,' she continues. `˜She moved there about a year ago, and there's no criminal record, nothing flagging anywhere. But there's no Mr Appleford `“ or not one living with her, at any rate.'

`˜OK, I'm only about ten minutes away.'

`˜We're just turning into Rydal Way now, but we'll hold off going in till you get here.'

The Appleford home is a neat bow-fronted semi, with a paved front garden and a low wall made of those square white bricks that look like stencils. Our next-door neighbours had exactly the same when I was a kid. What with that and the frilly nets in the window the house looks landlocked in 1976.

I see Somer and Everett get out of their car and come down the road towards me. Everett is in her standard combo of white shirt, dark skirt and sensible mac, though the bright-red scarf is definitely her little rebellion. Somer, by contrast, is in black jeans, a leather jacket and high-heeled ankle boots with fringy bits around the back. She doesn't usually dress like that at work, so I'm guessing she was at the boyfriend's this weekend and hasn't been home. She flushes slightly when she sees me, which makes me even more convinced I'm right. She met him when we were working on the Michael Esmond case. The boyfriend, I mean. Giles Saumarez. He's in the job too. I can never quite decide if that's a good thing.

`˜Afternoon, sir,' says Everett, hoisting her bag a bit higher on her shoulder.

I reach into my pocket for a mint. I carry handfuls of the bloody things now. Stopping smoking is a bastard, but it's non-negotiable. And by that, I mean between me and myself; I didn't wait for Alex to ask.

`˜Is that a good idea?' says Somer, eyeing the sweet. `˜With the teeth, I mean.'

I frown for a moment and then remember that's where I told them I was this morning. The dentist's. The universal white lie of choice. It's not that the baby is a secret `“ people will have to know eventually. It's just `“ you know `“ not right now.

`˜It was OK,' I say. `˜I didn't need anything doing.'

I turn to Ev. `˜So anything more before we go crashing in?'

She shakes her head. `˜You know as much as we do.'

The woman who opens the door has dried-out blonde hair, white sweatpants and a white sweatshirt with Slummy Mummy written on it. She must be mid-forties. She looks tired. Tired and immediately defensive.

`˜Mrs Appleford?'

She eyes me and then the women. `˜Yes. Who are you?'

`˜I'm Detective Inspector Adam Fawley. This is DC Everett and DC Somer.'

She grips the door a little tighter. `˜Faith was quite clear `“ she doesn't want the police involved. You have no business `“'

`˜Faith is your daughter?'

She hesitates a moment, as if divulging even so bare a fact is some sort of betrayal. `˜Yes. Faith is my daughter.'

`˜The passer-by who found her was extremely concerned for her well-being. As, of course, are we.'

Somer touches my shoulder and gestures back behind her. I don't even need to turn round. I can almost hear the sound of curtains twitching.

`˜Could we come in, Mrs Appleford? Just for a moment? We can talk more easily inside.'

The woman glances across the road; she's spotted the nosy neighbours, too.

`˜OK. But only for a couple of minutes, all right?'

The sitting room is painted pale mauve, with a sofa and armchairs which are obviously supposed to match but the colour's just far enough off to mess with your head. And they're much too big for the space. It never ceases to baffle me why people don't measure their rooms before they buy their furniture. There's a strong smell of artificial air freshener. Lavender. As if you had to ask.

She doesn't invite us to sit down, so we stand awkwardly on the narrow strip of carpet between the seats and the glass-topped coffee table.

`˜Was your daughter here last night, Mrs Appleford?'

She nods.

`˜All night?'

`˜Yes. She didn't go out.'

`˜So you saw her at breakfast?'

Another nod.

`˜What time was that?' asks Somer, slipping her notebook discreetly from her jacket.

The woman wraps her arms about herself. I'm trying not to draw conclusions from her body language, but she's not making it easy. `˜About 7.45, I think. I left with Nadine just before 8.00, but Faith had a later start today. She'd have left around 9.00 to get the bus.'

So she doesn't actually know what her daughter did this morning. Just because something always happens, doesn't mean it always will.

`˜Nadine's your daughter too?' asks Somer.

The woman nods. `˜I drop her off at school on my way to work. I'm a receptionist at the doctor's in Summertown.'

`˜And Faith?'

`˜She goes to the FE college in Headington. That's why she gets the bus. It's in the opposite direction.'

`˜Did you have any contact with Faith during the day today?'

`˜I texted her about tennish but she didn't reply. It was just a link to an article about Meghan Markle. You know, the wedding. The dress. Faith's interested in all that. She's doing Fashion. She has real talent.'

`˜And that was unusual `“ that she didn't reply, I mean?'

The woman considers then shrugs. `˜I suppose so, yes.'

My turn again. `˜Does she have a boyfriend?'

Her eyes narrow a little. `˜No. Not at the moment.'

`˜But she would tell you `“ if she did?'

She gives me a sharp look. `˜She doesn't keep secrets from me, if that's what you're getting at.'

`˜I'm sure she doesn't,' says Somer, placatory. `˜We're just trying to work out who might have done this `“ if it could have been someone she knew `“'

`˜She doesn't have a boyfriend. She doesn't want a boyfriend.'

There's a silence.

Somer glances across at Ev. Why don't you have a try.

`˜Were you here,' Ev says, `˜when the cabbie brought her back?'

The woman looks at her then nods. `˜I wouldn't be, normally. But I'd forgotten my reading glasses so I popped back.'

Ev and Somer exchange another glance. I suspect I know what they're thinking: if Mrs Appleford hadn't chanced to be at home the girl might well have tried to hide what happened from her as well. As for me, I'm more and more convinced Ev is right: there's definitely something off here.

I take a step closer. `˜Do you know why Faith has decided not to talk to us, Mrs Appleford?'

She bridles. `˜She doesn't want to. That should be enough, shouldn't it?'

`˜But if she was raped `“'

`˜She wasn't raped.' Her tone is unequivocal. Absolute.

`˜How can you be so sure?'

Her face hardens. `˜She told me. Faith told me. And my daughter is not a liar.'

`˜I'm not saying that. Not at all.' She's not looking at me now. `˜Look, I know rape investigations can be traumatic `“ I wouldn't blame anyone for being daunted by that prospect `“ but it's not like it used to be. We have properly trained officers `“ DC Everett `“'

`˜It wasn't rape.'

`˜I'm very glad to hear it `“ but we may still be looking at a serious crime. Assault, Actual Bodily Harm `“'

`˜How many more times? There was no crime and she is not going to press charges. So please, will you people just leave us alone?'

She looks round at us, one after the other. She wants us to start leaving, to say Faith can contact us if she changes her mind. But we don't. I don't.

`˜Your daughter was missing for over two hours,' says Ev gently. `˜From 9.00 to just after 11.00, when Mr Mullins saw her wandering along the Marston Ferry Road in a terrible state `“ crying, her clothes all muddy, her shoe broken. Something must have happened.'

Mrs Appleford flushes. `˜I gather it was an April Fool. Just a silly joke that got a bit out of hand.'

But no one in the room believes that. Not even her.

`˜If it really was just a prank,' I say eventually, `˜then I would like Faith herself to confirm that, please. But if it wasn't, the person who did this to Faith may do it again. Another girl could suffer the same trauma your daughter has just been through. I can't believe you'd want that. Either of you.'

Mrs Appleford holds my gaze. It's not exactly checkmate, but I want to make it damn hard for her to refuse.

`˜Faith is here at the moment, I assume?'

`˜Yes,' she says at last. `˜She's out in the garden.' For fresh air? For a smoke? Just to get away from all this damn purple? Frankly, I'm with her on all three.

Mrs Appleford takes a deep breath. `˜Look, I'll go and ask if she wants to talk to you, but I'm not going to force it. If she says no, then that's her decision.'

It's better than nothing.

`˜Fair enough. We'll wait here.'

When the door's closed behind her I start to wander around the room. The pictures are Impressionists'. Monet mostly. Ponds, water lilies, that sort of thing. Call me a cynic, but I suspect they were probably the only ones on offer in the right shade of mauve.

`˜I'd love to go to that place,' says Ev, gesturing towards one of the bridge at Giverny. `˜It's on the bucket list if I win the lottery. And can find someone to go with.' She makes a face. `˜Along with the Taj Mahal and Bora Bora, of course.'

Somer looks up and smiles; she's by the mantelpiece, scrutinizing the family photos. `˜Mine too. The Bora Bora bit, anyway.'

I see Ev give Somer a meaningful look that leaves her smiling again and glancing away when she sees I've noticed.

Ev turns to me. `˜I think it might be a good idea if I went looking for the loo. If you catch my drift.'

I nod and she slips quickly out of the room, and almost at once there's the sound of footsteps in the hall and Diane Appleford reappears.

`˜She's prepared to talk `“'

`˜Thank you.'

`˜But only to a woman,' she continues. `˜Not to you.'

I look towards Somer, who nods. `˜It's fine with me, sir.'

I return to the woman and adopt my most charming `˜only here to serve' smile. `˜I quite understand, Mrs Appleford. I'll wait for my colleagues in the car.'

* * *

Ev pauses at the top of the stairs. To her left, the bathroom door is open. White tiles, a heavy plastic shower curtain and a strong smell of bleach. The towels, she notices (neatly folded, unlike the ones in her own flat), are the same colour as the mauve downstairs. It's starting to become a Thing.

Facing her are three more doors, two of them open. A master bedroom with a satin bedspread (no prizes for guessing the colour), and what Ev decides must be the younger daughter's. A jumble of clothes and trainers left where they fell. A duvet carelessly dragged across, a scatter of soft toys, a make-up bag. She crosses as quietly as possible to the closed third door, giving silent thanks for the thickness of the carpet. She could never have anything like that in her flat `“ the cat would have it for breakfast. He loves `˜shreddies'.

The room that opens before her is the polar opposite of the other sister's. Cupboards neatly closed, nothing escaping from the chests of drawers. Even the pile of Grazias is neatly stacked. But that's not what Ev is looking at; it's not what anyone in this room would look at. The whole space is dominated by a pinboard stretching across the full length of the far wall, festooned from top to bottom with pictures cut from glossy magazines, little plastic bags of brightly coloured beads and buttons, hanks of yarn, swatches of material, bits of lace and fake fur, notes written in thick red pen on Post-its and, in among it all, a scatter of sketches which must be by Faith herself. Everett's hardly the one to ask about clothes but even she can see the flair in some of these. How Faith has taken a small detail and made a whole outfit turn on it `“ the shape of a heel, the hang of a fabric, the fall of a sleeve.

`˜Her mother's right about one thing,' she says softly, `˜she really does have talent.'

`˜Who the hell,' says a voice behind her, `˜are you?'

* * *

`˜This is Faith.'

The girl moves forward past her mother, into the light. She is very lovely, Somer can see that at once. Even the tangled ponytail and the smeared mascara can't hide how exquisite her features are. She's as skinny as a rake too `“ the huge jumper she's wrapped round herself like a security blanket only emphasizes how thin she is. She must have had the jumper for years: there are holes in the wool and the cuffs are fraying.

Somer takes a step towards her. `˜Why don't you sit down? Is there anything you'd like `“ tea? Water?'

The girl hesitates a moment, then shakes her head. She moves slowly towards the sofa, feeling her way with one hand like an old woman.

Somer frowns. `˜Are you in pain?'

The girl shakes her head again. She still hasn't spoken.

Her mother sits down next to her and grasps her hand.

`˜My name is Erica,' says Somer, taking the armchair opposite. `˜I know this is difficult, but we really are just trying to help.'

The girl looks up briefly. There are tears still clinging to the clumps of her eyelashes.

`˜Can you tell us what happened to you?' says Somer gently. `˜The man who found you `“ Mr Mullins `“ he says you were very upset.'

Faith takes a deep shuddering breath. The tears start to fall and she doesn't bother to wipe them away. Her mother grips her hand. `˜It's OK, darling. Take your time.'

The girl glances at her and then drops her head again, pulling her hands into her sleeves. But not before Somer sees the grazes on her knuckles and the marks about her wrists. And though her nails are beautifully manicured, one of them is broken; a ragged spike that would draw blood if it caught her skin. She's been home for hours and she still hasn't filed it smooth. And that, more than anything else, with a girl as self-conscious as this, tells Somer something is badly wrong.

`˜Your mum said you're studying Fashion,' she continues. `˜Is that what you want to do? Design clothes?'

The girl looks up at her. `˜Shoes,' she says, her voice cracking a little. `˜I want to do shoes.'

Somer grins. `˜They're my weakness too.' She gestures at her boots. `˜As if you couldn't guess.'

The girl doesn't exactly smile, but there's a sense of the tension easing. Even if only a little. And then she shivers suddenly. Even though the room is warm `“ too warm.

`˜I think,' says Somer, turning to Mrs Appleford, `˜that a cup of tea would actually be a good idea.'

The woman frowns. `˜She said she didn't want any `“'

`˜I've had a lot of experience in dealing with people in shock, Mrs Appleford. Whatever it was that happened to your daughter, right now what she needs is hot tea with lots of sugar.'

Diane Appleford hesitates, then turns to the girl. `˜Will you be OK here for five minutes?' she asks softly. `˜You can tell her to go whenever you want.'

Faith nods quickly. `˜It's OK, Mum. Tea would be nice.'

Somer waits until the woman is safely out of the room before speaking again. Faith sits rigidly on the edge of the seat, her hands clenched between her knees.

`˜You're lucky to have a mum who looks out for you like that,' says Somer. `˜I wish mine had.'

The girl looks up at her with a wan smile. `˜She worries about me, that's all.'

`˜That's what mums are for.'

Faith shrugs. `˜I guess.'

`˜But sometimes that makes it harder to talk about things. Especially difficult things. Because the more our family love us, the harder it is to say something we know will upset them.'

There's colour in the girl's face now, two red spots in her pale cheeks.

`˜So, Faith,' says Somer, leaning forward a little, `˜while there's just the two of us, would you be able to tell me what happened to you?'

* * *

Ev turns sharply to find herself face to face with a girl with greasy dark hair and jeans with rips at the knees. A little shorter than Ev, a little heavier too. And without even thinking, the phrase that lodges in her mind is `˜no oil painting'. Everett's own mother once said that about her, when she thought her daughter was out of earshot. Ev couldn't have been more than ten at the time. She'd never even thought about her looks before, but once the damage was done it was impossible to go back. She started to notice how people reacted to girls she knew were prettier than her. She started to worry about what she wore, to feel she mattered less because she looked worse. And here she is now, thinking the same about someone else. She feels herself start to go red, as if she said the thought out loud. Did she judge Faith the same way, without even realizing she was doing it?

The girl is still staring at her, her face surly.

`˜I'm sorry,' Everett says quickly. `˜You're Nadine, right?'

The girl doesn't bother replying. `˜Did Faith say you could come in here? Don't you need a warrant or something to poke about in people's stuff?'

`˜I wasn't poking about `“ I came up for the loo and the door was open and `“'

`˜No, it wasn't. She never leaves her room open. And I do mean never.'

There's no answering that.

Nadine stands to one side and Everett makes her way past her, doubly embarrassed now. She's never been a very good liar.

* * *

Downstairs in the sitting room, Somer is on her feet, putting her notebook back inside her jacket. When she sees Ev she gives a minute shake of the head. It seems the interview is over too.

Diane Appleford has her arm round her older daughter. `˜I only left her alone with you for five minutes and you start giving her the third degree.'

`˜I wasn't,' says Somer, `˜really, I wasn't `“'

`˜I told you already,' she continues, cutting across her, `˜Faith said she was not assaulted. And that's what she told you too, right?'

`˜Yes, but `“'

Faith's cheeks are red and she's staring at the floor.

`˜In which case I'd like you to leave. All of you. I'm sure you have much more pressing things you should be doing. Like investigating some actual crime.'

Nadine appears in the doorway.

`˜Darling, could you show the policewomen out?' says Diane. `˜They're leaving now.'

As she passes Faith, Somer makes sure they make eye contact. `˜You know where I am. If you want to talk.'

The girl bites her lip, then gives a tiny nod.

* * *

Out on the street Fawley is waiting by his car, looking at a piece of paper the size of a photograph. But when he sees them approaching, he hurriedly puts it away.

`˜I'm guessing from your faces that we're not much further forward.'

Somer shakes her head. `˜Sorry, sir. I was just starting to get somewhere when the mother came back with the tea and decided I was being too `њintrusive`ќ. Not sure how I could have questioned her without being at least mildly intrusive, but there you are.' She shrugs.

`˜But there was something, sir,' says Everett. `˜Something Somer spotted.'

Fawley raises an eyebrow and turns to Somer. `˜Oh yes?'

`˜It was as we were leaving,' she says. `˜The girl's hair. She's in such a state I hadn't noticed before, but when we were on our own, I noticed she kept pulling at it. On the right-hand side. I can't be a hundred per cent sure but I think some of it is missing.'

* * *