He nodded absently. ‘I’ll watch it tonight then,’ he said before kissing her and hurrying out.
Maggie sighed. He didn’t seem to have heard a word she said.
Jack started to hit traffic as he neared Ladbroke Grove. He had Waze on his phone for directions, but he’d decided to rely on his own local knowledge. He used the backstreets to avoid the heavy traffic at Shepherds Bush and eventually found himself entering a large council estate. Parking his car, he placed a Met police card on the dashboard and headed towards a fifteen-storey tower block, looking for 151 Willow Court.
The first thing he saw was an out of order notice on the lift, so he reluctantly started up the stairs. He was out of breath as he reached the eleventh floor and rested for a minute before heading down the dank corridor. He could find 149 but not 151. He rang the nearest bell. He waited a few seconds and rang it again before he heard the latch chain being pulled back. A thin girl in a night-dress opened the door.
‘Sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for number 151. Do I need to go up another floor?’
‘This is the top floor, and we got no 151.’
‘Is this Willow Court?’ He showed her his notebook with the address.
She looked at it and laughed. ‘That says Willow Courtyard. It’s right at the end of the estate. It happens all the time with deliveries. With the lift out of order, it’s a big schlepp up here.’
Jack squinted at his note, furious that he had misread the address.
‘Should have gone to Specsavers,’ she said, closing the door on him.
Jack trudged back down the stairs. Returning to his car, he noticed a big gob of spittle running down the windscreen. He got in and slammed the door, now annoyed with himself for putting the police card on the dashboard and misreading the address. He turned the window washer spray and wipers on, but that just spread the spittle across the windscreen. He kept the wipers going as he drove down the estate to the far end. There were the usual low walls surrounding the big blocks, patches of brown grass, then there was a narrow archway which he turned into. The low mews houses had attached garages but no gardens and appeared well-maintained with flowering tubs on their doorsteps.
He parked in front of 151, reluctantly leaving his Met card on the dashboard as he was on a single yellow. It was ten past ten as he rang the doorbell. Stepping back, he looked at the drawn curtains on the ground floor window. He rang again, and a woman’s voice from behind the door asked what he wanted.
‘I’m Detective Sergeant Warr from the Met Police. I want to speak to a Mrs Barras, Maria Barras.’
She took her time before replying. ‘Thank you, but I don’t need to see you.’
‘Mrs Barras... I’m not here to cause you further distress. I’d just like a quick chat, then I’ll go. Please. This won’t take more than a few moments.’
The chain was removed, the door unlocked and the woman slowly opened it wider. Jack smiled through the small gap she’d created.
‘Can I come in, please?’ Jack showed her his warrant card, and she stepped back, allowing him to enter, before gesturing for him to go into the room to his right. He entered a comfortably furnished sitting room and she followed. Jack could see she had a swollen lip and a deep bruise around one eye that was already turning dark purple as well as surgical tape around two fingers of one hand. She was obviously nervous, shaking as she gestured for him to sit down.
Jack opened his briefcase to remove a copy of the incident report. Attached were details of two previous domestic incidents and police reports. Jack felt a bit guilty as he had not done more than glance through the file. ‘I’m just here to ask a few more questions about the 999 call you made and the subsequent investigation,’ he said. ‘You suffered quite nasty injuries, Mrs Barras. Two broken fingers, facial bruising...’ He also knew some of her hair had been torn out and he realised that she was now wearing a wig. ‘I see you reported incidents of domestic abuse on two previous occasions. But, like this last time, you refused to make a formal statement or press charges. I understand, of course, you are frightened, but making a statement will...’
She interrupted. ‘Thank you, but I really do not want to waste your time. I made that clear to the detective who first interviewed me... she was very kind, and I appreciate your concern.’
‘I can’t force you to make a statement, but there are domestic abuse agencies, social services and other support groups that can help you.’
‘I’ll be fine, thank you.’ Mrs Barras half rose from her chair as if the interview was over.
‘I would like to talk to your husband as well. Is he home?’
‘He’s at work. I did explain that he is on a lot of medication because he suffers from depression and insomnia.’
‘I understand how debilitating that can be,’ Jack said, noticing how she was constantly glancing over to the doorway.
‘What line of work is your husband in?’
‘He was a security guard, but he had to retire.’
‘Before that?’
‘What?’
‘Well, has he always been a security guard?’ She looked even more nervous, so he continued thumbing through the report. ‘What security company did he work for?’
The front door slammed shut and they both looked up. After a moment, a dark-haired, muscular-looking man walked in.
‘What’s that car outside? You a police officer?’
‘Detective Sergeant Jack Warr.’ Jack stood up, showing his ID.
‘What do you want?’
‘Are you George Barras?’
‘You got a warrant to be inside my house?’
‘Your wife kindly invited me in.’ Jack made no effort to hide why he was here. ‘I am following up on an allegation of assault made against you.’
‘I wasn’t charged with anything,’ Barras said with a half-smile. ‘No harm done, Officer. You can go.’
Jack glanced at Maria, who was clenching her uninjured hand to stop it from shaking. ‘I would say considerable harm was done, Mr Barras. I’m concerned for your wife’s safety, so it’s my duty to come and make sure she’s OK.’
Barras had dark, expressionless eyes matching his black, greasy hair and he stood beside his wife with his muscular arms folded and his legs apart, not quite goading Jack but certainly showing no respect.
‘Be assured that I will continue to monitor your wife’s wellbeing,’ Jack said calmly. ‘I have several support agency contacts for you, Mrs Barras, should you need to call for assistance or seek advice.’ Jack handed her a typed list of the agencies, on which he had also written in biro the clinic he had used for his insomnia condition. She took it from him with her good hand.
‘I also suggest, Mr Barras, that you contact the number I have written down for a clinic that can help with your insomnia and depression.’
George scowled, clearly angry that Jack knew about his problems. ‘This isn’t the usual follow-up visit. I know the procedure, so you can’t bullshit me.’
Jack ignored the comment. ‘Barras is a Spanish surname, isn’t it?’
‘What’s it to you? I was born here, she was brought up here. Is there anything else you want to poke your nose into?’
Jack put the file back into his briefcase, snapping it closed. ‘I suggest, Mr Barras, you seek help and consider yourself fortunate that your wife did not press charges.’ He left before Barras could respond. Jack had been longer with the Barrases than he had intended, and it was now too late for him to pop over to Adam Border’s school.
As he headed back to the station, Jack wondered again why DI Armani had insisted that he visit Mrs Barras, and whether she had another agenda.