Yeah, well, I go away a lot at weekends. I have a cottage in the Brecon Beacons. It makes sense to drive back Monday morning. Less traffic.ES: Were you at the cottage last weekend?GS: No. I wasn't.GQ: So you were at home on Monday morning? You didn't take the opportunity to go in early `“ catch up on all that marking you were talking about?GS: Look, if you must know, I didn't go in till after twelve that day. For obvious reasons.ES: I'm sorry, Mr Scott, I'm not with you.GS: It was bloody April Fool's, wasn't it? And, believe me, I've been through enough puerile pranks to last me a lifetime. Last year the little shits covered the bloody car in shaving foam `“ it took me an hour to get it all off `“ in front of the whole sodding school. I told her `“ if you've damaged the bloody paintwork I'll have you up before the head quicker than you can say fixed-period exclusion.ES: I see. So who did that? Who sprayed the car?GS: [pause]
Some of the Year Tens.ES: And this was last year? So that must have been Sasha's year group?GS: [pause]
Yes.ES: You said `her' `“ `I told her'. Was it Sasha you were referring to?GS: If you must know, it was that Patsie. I'd just given her 52 for a piece of work that frankly barely deserved 35 and she was getting her own back. She's a nasty vindictive little cow, always has been. She was egging on the lads, her and that Isabel and Leah. Sasha had nothing to do with it. I mean, she was there, but I could tell she was embarrassed. Not like the other three. They're just complete airheads. You wouldn't catch any of them at MOMA.ES: The Museum of Modern Art `“ in Pembroke Street?GS: [pause]
Yes, I go there a lot. I'm a Friend.ES: And you've seen Sasha there?GS: [flushes]
Once or twice.ES: I see.GS: No, you don't `see'. It's not what you're thinking `“GQ: Which is what, precisely?GS: I wasn't stalking her or anything. I just happened to be there a couple of times. I'd recommended a couple of their shows to her. Things I thought she'd like. Look, have we finished now?ES: Yes, I think that's all for now, Mr Scott. Interview terminated at 20.17.* * *
`I didn't believe a word that came out of his mouth.'
It's Gislingham. Quinn and Somer have joined him and the rest of the team in the adjoining room, where they've been watching on the video feed.
Baxter shrugs. `Just came over as a sad git to me. I mean, I can't see him abducting anyone. I just don't think he has the balls.'
`I bet he likes looking, though,' says Ev grimly. `I bet that house of his is stacked with porn.'
`Perhaps that's why he went into art,' replies Quinn. `All those tits and fannies.'
`He doesn't want us to search the car though, does he,' says Gislingham. `Can't see any good reason why not `“ not if he's really got nothing to hide.'
Ev considers. `What if he gave Sasha a lift sometime? Perhaps that's what he's worried about `“ that we'd find her DNA in the car, even though it was actually completely innocent.'
`If it was on the seat, yes,' says Quinn. `But not if it's in the bloody back.'
There's a silence. They're all remembering what happened to Faith. Whether it's her DNA they might find in the back of that car.
`I'm wondering,' says Somer slowly. `It's a bit of a long shot, but `“'
`Go on,' says Gislingham.
`Well, we still haven't found any connection between Sasha and Faith, have we? And no connection between Graeme Scott and Faith at all, beyond the fact that they live quite close to one another.'
`That may be all we need.'
`I know, Sarge. But what Scott said about seeing Sasha at MOMA `“ I'd have to double-check but I'm pretty sure there was a postcard from there on Faith's pinboard as well. An exhibition she must have been to. On Manolo Blahnik.'
Most of the men in the room look at her blankly.
`Shoes,' says Everett. `Extremely posh and expensive shoes. Though I bet Quinn knew that already, didn't you?'
And evidently he did, though he's clearly not about to admit it.
`So you reckon Scott could have seen Faith there?' asks Gislingham, coming to Quinn's rescue.
Somer nods. `It has to be possible, doesn't it? And if he did, it would have been easy enough to follow her home. Then once he knew where she lived `“'
Gislingham nods grimly. `All the bastard had to do was wait.'
* * *
Adam Fawley
6 April 2018
20.55
She's not the person I was expecting when I opened the door. She doesn't have a pizza box for a start. It's raining again and Ruth Gallagher looks half drowned, her hair stuck to her head.
`Should have taken my umbrella,' she says with a wry smile. `I never learn.'
I step back and open the door wider. `Come in. I've got a takeaway arriving any minute if you want to join me.'
She shakes her head quickly. `No `“ thank you, but no. I need to get back. There was just something I wanted to check and I thought it would be better done in person.'
`It's through there,' I say, gesturing towards the living room.
She shrugs off her mac and takes off her shoes, then pads after me in her stockinged feet.
The living room is empty, which I knew but she clearly wasn't expecting.
`My wife's having an early night,' I say, sitting down. `She needs to take it easy right now.'
She looks suddenly anxious, as if she's worried there's something she doesn't know.
`She's pregnant,' I say. `Twenty-three weeks.'
I've heard the phrase `face lit up' a thousand times but never seen it so suddenly and powerfully as I see it now. She is radiant with reflected happiness.
`Oh, I am so pleased `“ what utterly wonderful news.'
`Thanks. It's been difficult, what with the Parrie case being dredged up again.'
She's concerned now. `Oh, of course. What terrible timing.'
I pour her a glass of wine, though she only accepts a small one.
`What did you want to ask me?'
She fishes in her pocket for her phone then scrolls down until she finds what she's looking for.
`This man,' she says, handing me the phone. `His name is Graeme Scott. Do you recognize him by any chance?'
I frown. `No. Not at all. Who is he?'
Her sparkle has gone again and she just looks tired. Tired and dispirited. `One of Sasha Blake's teachers. And quite possibly her stalker.'
`You think he may have killed her?'
She makes a face. `Let's just say he fits that psych profile Gow gave you after the Appleford attack. Almost too well, in fact.'
And if he fits that, he fits the Roadside Rapist profile too. I don't need her to draw me a bloody diagram: she thinks this man could be in the frame.
`How old is he?' I say, looking up at her.
`Old enough. But we don't yet know where he was living twenty years ago.'
`Well, his name never came up at the time. That I do know.'
She sighs. `I thought you'd probably say that, but I had to ask.'
She finishes her glass and gets ready to get up. `I must be going. Science homework awaits.' She smiles quickly. `My son's, not mine. But of course you have all that to look forward to.'
Most people wouldn't say that. Most people would be too scared they might evoke the memory of Jake. I've seen that look on too many faces, these last two years. But not, perhaps, any more. Perhaps things really are going to be different now. The thought comes like a sudden rush of fresh sea air.
* * *
It's gone 11.00 but there's still a light under the door to Sasha's room when Fiona Blake goes up to bed. She hesitates, then knocks softly, but there's no reply. Patsie's fallen asleep with the light on, she thinks, but it's bound to wake her later. It was the same with Sasha `“ she loved reading in bed but was always dozing off over her book.