Vogel had chosen his team of arresting officers with care. One of the uniforms, PC Steve Braddock, was a rugby player.
Braddock filled the doorway with his extremely large frame and effortlessly wrapped one muscular arm around Cooke, making it impossible for the other man to move.
‘Cuff him,’ Vogel ordered Willis, who did so with alacrity, whilst Braddock continued to hold on to Cooke, even though he no longer really needed to. The man made no attempt to struggle and looked totally beaten down.
Vogel thought his ineffectual attempt to run had probably been only a reflex action, but the DI was taking no chances. He completed the caution then told Willis and Braddock to load Cooke into one of the squad cars.
Only then did a stunned looking Cooke speak again.
‘Wait, wait, I don’t believe this is happening,’ he said.
Braddock was already in the process of leading Cooke towards the door. Willis was right behind him, just in case. Braddock paused and looked enquiringly towards Vogel.
Vogel gave a little nod, which indicated that Braddock should hold on for a moment and let Cooke speak.
‘I’d never hurt my Melanie,’ Cooke continued. ‘I’d never hurt her. Why do you think I did it? Why?’
Vogel did not reply, instead he addressed Braddock and Willis.
‘Take him away,’ he said.
Sarah Cooke began to cry. She joined in her ex-husband’s chorused protests of innocence.
‘He wouldn’t hurt our Mel,’ she said. ‘He’s not done it. I know he’s not done it.’
‘Mrs Fisher, your family liaison officer will stay with you and answer any questions that she is able to…’
It was Sarah Fisher’s turn to suddenly lunge forward. She threw herself at Vogel, wrapping her arms around him.
‘Please Mr Vogel, please, this can’t be right,’ she cried.
Vogel disentangled himself, not without difficulty.
‘Mrs Fisher, I can assure you we do not make arrests in such serious cases as this without having very good reason to do so. That’s all I can say at the moment. Now, please let us get on with our job.’
The FLO took Mrs Fisher by the hand and led her to a chair.
‘Come on,’ she said. ‘Try to keep calm. I’m here to help in any way I can.’
Sarah Fisher obediently slumped into the chair. She, too, looked totally beaten.
Leo
I gave in and opened the door.
I didn’t have time to change the way I looked. Again.
I was no longer a gay man. I’d cleaned the gel out of my hair, of course, removed my fake tattoo and given my man tan a bit of a rub in the bathroom at the Premier Inn. I’d dressed in my straight clothes. I couldn’t risk being spotted on the journey, or anywhere near my home, looking the way I did when I was in London consorting with Tim.
My ‘pulling jeans’ and my trendy Year Zero T-shirt were for Soho only.
As soon as I’d arrived home, I had changed swiftly into my usual indoor wear, a baggy sweatshirt over a pair of old cords. Clothes that had never even been to London. I neither looked nor felt like gay Leo.
Tim was purposeful.
‘So you don’t live in a new-build in Stevenage after all,’ he pronounced rather obviously.
I could think of no reply, so I said nothing.
‘This is ridiculous Leo,’ said Tim. ‘We can’t continue like this. What’s going on?’
‘You followed me, then,’ I said, dodging the question by making a remark as obvious as his had been.
‘Terrible thing deceit, isn’t it Leo?’ said Tim. The question was clearly rhetorical.
‘Look, I’m sorry, this is a really bad time. I know we have to talk, but not now…’
‘Let me in, Leo,’ said Tim.
‘Uh, not now. I’m sorry.’ I searched desperately for an excuse, not that any were likely to deter him. ‘I uh, have to go to work. I’ve been called in at short notice.’
‘Really.’
‘Uh, it’s a bit of an emergency.’
‘You’re an accountant, or so you told me, not a bloody fireman.’
‘I’m sorry,’ I said again.
Tim looked me up and down.
‘Are those the clothes you wear to work? I thought an accountant would be suited and booted.’
I shrugged. What was there to say.
‘Let me in, Leo,’ Tim said again.
I shook my head.
Tim raised his voice.
‘Let me in Leo, or I am going to shout and yell as loud as I can, loud enough so that everyone living in your stupid, neat and tidy, middle class road will hear me.’
I just stared at him. I couldn’t have him inside my house. That was my place. My sanctuary. I really couldn’t let him in.
Tim threw back his head and opened his mouth wide, preparing, rather theatrically it seemed, to fulfil his promise and shout as loud as he could.
I had no choice. I stepped out of the doorway and beckoned him in. I led him into the sitting room. It was an anonymous room. I didn’t want anything personal around me. I never had. The furniture was a mixture of IKEA and DFS. The walls were Dulux magnolia and decorated only with two incongruous Alpine snowscapes on either side of the blocked-off fireplace, probably adding to the cold atmosphere. I kept everything very clean and tidy. I certainly wouldn’t want the mess of an active fireplace. A fifty-inch TV dominated one wall. I liked to escape into other worlds. After all, I was less than happy in my own.
Tim sat down on the sofa without being invited, leaned back and stretched his long legs, as if he were making himself comfortable. It was all an act, of course.
‘No wife then, or live-in lover?’ he queried.
I knew he didn’t really need to ask, because it was fairly obvious from the austerity of my home that nobody shared it with me.
I decided to go on a kind of attack. It was silly, but I guess I was playing for time.
‘I can’t believe you would follow me,’ I said.
‘I can’t believe a lot of things, Leo,’ responded Tim. ‘I don’t know if I even believe your name.’
I saw his eyes focus on a small pile of mail on the desk by the window.
I walked across the room, as casually as I could manage, and stood in front of the desk. I started to speak again, trying to reassure him, at the same time reaching behind me to move a magazine on top of the mail.
‘Leo,’ I said. ‘I’m your Leo.’
‘Really.’ He paused. ‘You seem different.’
‘It’s the clothes and how I am at home, but I’m your Leo and I love you. Nothing will ever change that.’
I was prepared to do or say anything to get him to calm down and, ultimately, to leave quietly.
‘I don’t understand,’ he responded. ‘I really don’t understand. If you love me, you sure as hell have a funny way of showing it.’
He didn’t sound angry any more, just bewildered and weary.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Look Leo, you clearly don’t have a wife. Nor do you share your life with anyone else, I shouldn’t think. You’re single, right?’
I nodded.
‘You’re single. OK. That’s something I suppose, but this is 2017. Why all the subterfuge? What are you afraid of?’
‘I thought you understood,’ I said hopefully. ‘After all, aren’t we in the same boat? You haven’t told your parents you’re gay. You’ve been unable to do that. It’s the same.
‘It is not the same, for God’s sake.’ Tim sounded angry again. ‘I’m eighteen years old,’ he said. ‘I’m in my first year at college and I still live at home because I can’t really afford to do anything else. I’ve told you. All that is changing soon, very soon. I will have my own place and I will live my own life. I didn’t even know for sure I was gay till I met you and it will not be easy explaining it to my parents. They are kinda old-fashioned but, as soon as I can get myself sorted, I will tell them.’