Dead To Me

43

AS FAR AS the high-tech crime unit could see, James Raleigh had been circumspect in his use of the computer for his sexual activities. No email traffic with the women he manipulated, no Facebook friends or chat-room sites. Nothing with other men that implicated him in any wider abuse.

Gill summarized for the team: ‘He’s been careful to target women who were over sixteen and so avoid prosecution for statutory rape if found out. Of course his behaviour is totally unprofessional and we’ll see him struck off for what he’s disclosed so far. We’ve nothing on him for the murder. He’s put his hands up to consensual sex with Lisa and that’s our lot. We ask him about Rosie Vaughan next. Now, riddle me this – Lisa’s cross and chain: DNA traces from skin cells on the chain tells us it’s a woman. No hits, no previous record.’

‘Her mother,’ Rachel said. The girl had a real downer on Denise Finn.

‘Her mother gave her the necklace,’ Janet pointed out, ‘she would have handled it. That could easily account for it.’

‘Back in April – that’s eight months ago,’ Rachel said.

‘Dating DNA is a minefield,’ Gill reminded them. ‘It can last months, years even, and there’s no reliable way to pinpoint when it was left there. Thankfully, that didn’t occur to James Raleigh or he could have blown you off by saying he shagged Lisa weeks ago and the mucky mare hadn’t washed the sheets since.’

‘Probably hadn’t,’ Rachel said.

‘What about Angela?’ said Andy. ‘She’s besotted with Raleigh. If she caught wind he was two-timing her with Lisa-’

‘The pair have a history of animosity, fights at Ryelands,’ Mitch agreed.

‘Angela was slagging Lisa off when we were there,’ said Janet.

It was worth following up. ‘Mitch and Kevin, can you go fingerprint Angela and get a DNA sample. If necessary, we ask Denise after that. But I don’t see any reason to go disturbing her at this time of night.’

‘So, how you fixed, lads?’ Gill looked from Rachel to Janet. ‘Round two?’

‘Yes, boss,’ said Rachel.

‘Think on,’ Gill said to her. ‘He’s getting tired, but so are you. Collected, clear, impersonal – yes?’

‘Yes,’ Rachel said impatiently. Gill raised an eyebrow. ‘Ma’am,’ Rachel added.

That attitude showing again. Gill wasn’t going to pull her up now; she’d been very pleased with Rachel’s conduct in the first suspect interview and hoped she would maintain it in the second one.

‘I told you earlier that there were two matters I wished to discuss with you,’ Rachel said. ‘I now want to ask you about your relationship with Rosie Vaughan.’

His face set, frozen like a rabbit in headlights, except Rachel couldn’t see any fear in his eyes. She wanted to see it there, she wanted him to be petrified, chattering with panic, the way Rosie had been.

‘What about it?’ he said.

‘You had a sexual relationship with Rosie Vaughan?’

‘Long time back, yes.’

‘When was that?’

‘Two or three years ago.’

‘How did you meet her?’

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Perhaps I can help you there,’ Rachel said. ‘You worked on a placement in Ryelands in the spring of 2007, April and May. Rosie was resident there. You began the relationship then.’

‘OK,’ he was dismissive.

‘Is that correct?’ Rachel said.

‘Yes.’

‘Rosie moved out of care in February 2008, into a flat in New Moston. You continued to see her, to have sex with her?’

‘For a bit.’

‘Could you be more specific, Mr Raleigh?’

‘No, I can’t remember.’

‘So the relationship might have lasted until 2009 or even into this year?’

‘No not that long, it was over by the Easter, I’m sure.’

‘Easter 2008?’ she checked.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘On June twentieth 2008, Rosie Vaughan was the victim of a serious sexual assault, rape, carried out at her home address. Can you tell me where you were on that date?’

‘How the hell should I know? It’s two and a half years ago.’

‘Was your relationship with Rosie Vaughan consensual?’

‘Yes.’

‘Like your relationship with Lisa Finn?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Angela Hambley.’

He closed down, his face impassive.

‘Or is that not consensual?’ Rachel said.

‘No, it is.’ He stretched his neck, discomfited.

‘We have forensic evidence that places you at the scene when Rosie Vaughan was attacked and beaten, when she was raped at knifepoint. Forensic evidence that you carried out that assault.’ Suck on that and swallow.

He shook his head, said vehemently, ‘No, no way.’

‘Rosie didn’t like the idea of sharing you, of you leaving her. She had threatened you in the past, that if you messed her about she would report you. Did she threaten you on that date?’

‘No, I don’t know what you’re on about.’

‘Did you rape and beat her to keep her quiet?’

‘I wasn’t there,’ he said.

‘The science suggests otherwise.’

He stroked at his head, the blond hair still shining, thick and healthy. ‘I wasn’t there,’ he said again. He kept it up like a parrot. Rachel was pissed off with him. She knew he had done this. There had been something satisfying about seeing him in his police-issue jumpsuit, stripped of his status symbols: no neat wool sweater, no fancy watch, no trendy shoes. Something sad too, when the DNA was confirmed, in the knowledge that she had been right about Rosie: she had known her rapist. This was the man who had brutally battered Rosie, robbing her of her hope and sanity, setting the seal on her descent into a twilight world of drugs and paranoia. Rachel had to trap him, but they had no other evidence to confront him with. All she could do was try and wear him down.

‘Rosie Vaughan had bruising to the face, her arms, back, legs, vagina and throat. She soiled herself in the course of the beating. She never recovered psychologically. On Thursday she took her own life.’

‘Very sad,’ he said blandly. ‘But as I keep saying, I had nothing to do with any assault. I wasn’t there.’

Rachel felt a tremor of rage grip her, she thought of Rosie’s eyes, livid with panic, the unsteady way she had walked along the canal, the shape of her when she hit the ground. ‘I don’t believe you,’ Rachel said, fighting to sound strong and in control.

‘That’s your problem,’ he said.

Tosser, with his smart little comments. Heat flared through her, her guts tightened. She’d slit his throat, cut his cock off first. She stood suddenly, he jerked back in reaction. ‘Interview terminated.’ She rattled off the time, and quit the room. Halfway down the corridor she stopped, hit at the wall with her fists – fucking fucking bastard. Choking with rage.

Janet came and stood close by. ‘You did your best.’

‘It’s not good enough,’ Rachel rounded on her. ‘He’ll walk. He’ll walk, Janet. He did it, he did Rosie, whatever else. Maybe not Lisa, but Rosie.’

Gill sent them home. ‘Too late to go back for more,’ she said.

‘Tomorrow?’ Rachel asked. Was this it? Would she get another chance?

‘I’m not sure we’ll get further. Let’s sleep on it. You did all right, kid.’

Rachel shook her head, rejecting the praise, eyes aching. No. She did crap. He was gonna get away with it and there was nothing she could do.