6 April 2018
16.52
Ruth Gallagher takes her coffee black, no sugar, and she appears to like her discussions without sweeteners too. She gets straight to the point, and if she asks hard questions, she can take it as well as give it.
By the time we finish going through the Parrie case file I've become `Adam' and she's `Ruth', and I'm starting to think Harrison is a better judge of character than I usually assume.
`How did the rest of the team meeting go?' I say finally as she puts down her pen and closes her notebook. I've been itching to ask her that this whole time but didn't want to look completely paranoid.
`DS Gislingham seems to have it covered. Though I had a word with him afterwards and suggested he might want to do a reconstruction `“ for Sasha Blake, I mean.'
In other words, she suggested it privately, so she didn't undermine him in front of the team. I'm starting to like this woman, which is hands-down the best thing that's happened so far today. Not that the competition is particularly stiff.
`And Harrison agreed to stump up?'
She gives me a dry look. `Let's just say I suggested he might owe you one.'
Which, of course, he bloody well does.
`It has to be worth a try,' she continues, `given how little we have to go on. And it will divert attention from the case review too, which is no bad thing either.'
I'd been reaching for my coffee but I look across at her now and I can't see any irony. Nothing underhand either in her tone or in her eyes.
`DS Gislingham is going to try to get it organized for tomorrow.'
I wait for her to get up to go, but she doesn't. What she does instead is smile. Smile and sit back. `Now we've got those bloody files out of the way what I want to know is what never made it into them. I want to know what really happened.'
And so I tell her. The truth, and nothing but the truth.
Just not the whole of it.
* * *
When Gallagher opens the front door she looks flustered. She has a box of hundreds-and-thousands in one hand and a tea towel in the other. There's a smear of what looks like flour on one cheek.
`I'm sorry,' says Somer. `They said you'd gone home already, and I did try calling but `“'
Gallagher laughs. `Sorry. I had to get back to collect my daughter. And then she mugged me into baking. I must have left the phone upstairs.' She takes a step back. `Come in.'
Somer looks tentative. `Look, if this is a bad time `“'
She waves the objection away. `If it wasn't important, you wouldn't be here.'
The kitchen is out the back. There's a tray of cupcakes cooling on a wire rack, and another batch still in the oven. The air is warm and sweet and chocolatey. A little girl of about eight is perched at the big wooden table, putting pale-blue icing-sugar flowers carefully on to the cakes; her little face is intense with concentration. From somewhere nearby, there's the sound of a TV. A football stadium roar.
`My son is at tae kwon do,' says Gallagher, wiping her hands on her apron. `The football hooligan is my husband.'
She goes to the fridge and pulls out a bottle of wine. `Are you driving?'
Somer nods.
Gallagher pours a large glass and a small one, and hands the latter to Somer. `OK, so what have you got?'
`I just had a call from Fiona Blake. Patsie Webb just told her something `“ something she hasn't mentioned before.'
Gallagher raises an eyebrow. `Oh yes?'
Somer glances at the little girl and lowers her voice. `One of Sasha's teachers was showing rather too much interest in her. His name is Scott. Graeme Scott.'
`Eliza,' says Gallagher to her daughter, `why don't you take one of those cakes through for Daddy?'
The little girl looks up. `Can I have one, too?'
Gallagher nods. `Just the one though.'
When she's gone, Gallagher turns to Somer. `Didn't we speak to Sasha's teachers already?'
Somer makes a face and shakes her head. `All of them apart from this man Scott. DS Gislingham was told he'd gone home with a migraine.'
Gallagher raises an eyebrow. `Had he really? How convenient.'
`I just rang the head,' says Somer. `Apparently he's suffered from them before. So it could have been legit.'
Gallagher goes over to the oven to check the cakes, then turns back to Somer. `What exactly did Patsie say?'
`According to her, this man Scott has been trying to cosy up to Sasha for a while, but the girls were just laughing it off. Teasing her about it, calling him a creep `“ you know, like girls do. Apparently they call him Spotty Scotty. Among other things.'
Gallagher gives a rueful smile. `God, I'm glad I never have to be fifteen again. Do we know if Sasha said anything about it to anyone?'
`Certainly not to her mother, and apparently not to any of her teachers either.'
`What do we have on him? He must have been DBS-checked, surely?'
Somer nods. `Yes, but there's nothing flagging.' She opens her bag and passes Gallagher a printout. The photo clipped to the top shows a man in his late thirties. He isn't that bad-looking, but he has a defeated, hang-dog air about him.
`Definitely looks a bit desperate,' says Gallagher. `But he doesn't look dangerous `“ like he'd do you any actual harm. And I know teenage girls do sometimes go for older men,' she says, making a face, `but I'd be absolutely staggered if this is that elusive boyfriend of Sasha's we still can't find. If you ask me, this man is about as far from a babe magnet as it's possible to get while still having a pulse.'
Somer gives a wry smile. It's almost word for word what Ev said.
Gallagher scans down the rest of the page. `Lives alone, never married, no criminal record. Not even a parking ticket.' She looks up at Somer. `Have we sent this to Bryan Gow?'
Somer nods. `He's away till Sunday but he'll have a look and get back to me as soon as he can. And there's something else. We checked out what Scott drives.' She gives Gallagher a heavy look. `It's a Morris Traveller.'
Gallagher gets it at once. `Which is a lot smaller than a van but if you had a bag over your head and were shoved in the back, would you be able to tell? I'm not sure I could.'
Somer shakes her head. `Me neither. And Faith did say she didn't think the vehicle she was taken in was very big.'
`Right,' says Gallagher crisply. `Do we have an address?'
`That's the other thing. It's 73 Grasmere Close.'
The name alone gives it away. It's in the Lakes. No more than half a mile from the Applefords; even less from the Blakes.
`Oh dear,' says Gallagher. `Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.'
`Baxter is trying to get hold of his employment records `“ to see if we can establish a link to Faith as well as Sasha. Whether he's ever worked at Faith's college or any of the schools she's been at.'
Gallagher nods. `Good work. Exactly what I'd have done.'
Somer flushes a little at the praise. `But even if we get nothing there, he could have seen Faith on the street any number of times. He'd have to drive past the bus stop she uses every day on his way to Summertown High.'
`And what about the historical attacks,' says Gallagher, taking a sip of her wine, `the Roadside Rapes `“ could we be looking at Scott there too?'
`He was eighteen in 1998,' says Somer. `So yes, we could be.'
`OK,' says Gallagher. There's a sudden shout from the sitting room; someone has evidently scored. `Let's find out everything there is to know about Scott: everywhere he's lived since the late nineties, everywhere he's worked, and whether there's any reason why there might be plaster in the back of his car. And whether there's anything linking him to any of Parrie's victims.'
Somer notes the last two words `“ notes and approves: Gallagher is still on Fawley's side. At least for now.