MF: No – I want to. I want to get this over with and take my son home.
NK: [turning to the officers]
OK, so what exactly did Tobin say?
VE: He said Professor Fisher looked ‘floppy’ and ‘sleepy’. That’s why we believe she could have been administered with some sort of date-rape drug, possibly in the champagne.
[to Fisher]
Do you remember if you were watching when Mr Morgan poured it?
MF: No, he had his back to me. I didn’t think anything of it at the time.
CG: I see. We’ve already checked the bottle and glasses, but there was no trace of such a substance in either. Nor was anything detected in your toxicology screen, which, as you no doubt realize, is going to make it almost impossible to prove.
NK: Why am I not surprised –
CG: Having heard what your son said, is there anything else you can recall about that night? Perhaps something that may not have seemed relevant before?
MF: No. I’m sorry. I’ve already told you everything I can remember.
VE: If Morgan hadn’t used such a substance before he might not have realized how long it would take to take effect, especially as you’d had a heavy meal. That could account for the scratches – he might have started to assault you before you were fully sedated, and you attempted to defend yourself. Are you sure you don’t remember anything like that?
MF: [hangs her head]
No.
CG: If you were given such a drug, it would of course throw a very different light on the subsequent accusation made against you. Do you know why Mr Morgan would have made such an allegation, that being the case?
NK: Isn’t it obvious? He wanted to cover up his own criminal behaviour by turning the tables on my client.
CG: That’s one explanation. But there may be others. Revenge, perhaps? Is there any motive at all that you can think of?
MF: [despairing]
No, absolutely nothing. I always thought we got on very well. I’ve gone out of my way to support him –
NK: Are you proposing to charge Morgan?
CG: Clearly we have yet to interview him about this –
NK: You were quick enough to arrest Marina. No wonder Tobin’s been having nightmares – he saw his mother being raped –
* * *
‘Blimey, he doesn’t do things by halves, does he? Must be nice having parents who can afford to call in a whole platoon.’
Gislingham and Quinn are back at St Aldate’s, watching as Caleb Morgan and his lawyers are shown into Interview One. Meredith Melia is in a mint-green trouser suit and Patrick Dunn in his trademark white open-necked shirt; he must buy them by the hundredweight. They’ve brought a bag-carrier too, an earnest-looking young woman in glasses, laden with two pilot cases and a stack of files.
‘They’re probably full of bricks, just to intimidate us,’ says Quinn, nodding towards the bags.
Gislingham gives a grim smile. ‘Well, it’s working.’ He draws himself up a little, then turns to Quinn. ‘Find Ev, would you? Let’s rustle up a little posse of our own.’
Quinn grins. ‘I’ll see if I can find you a nice big sheriff badge too.’
* * *
Unlike his lawyers, Caleb Morgan hasn’t bothered dressing for the occasion. In fact, Ev wouldn’t be at all surprised if they’d told him exactly what to wear: the slightly grubby T-shirt and cargo shorts might as well be a big flashing sign saying, ‘Our client is completely relaxed about this whole process.’
By the time everyone has a seat and a glass of water, the room is already fugging up, and Ev’s starting to envy that T-shirt. She can feel the sweat prickling under her arms.
Gislingham looks round the table and it’s not until the room is absolutely silent that he begins to speak.
‘Caleb Owen Morgan, I am arresting you on suspicion of sexual assault on 6th July 2018. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
Morgan is gaping. ‘What the fuck –’
‘Let us handle this, Caleb,’ says Melia, turning to Gislingham. ‘What the hell’s going on? Our client is the victim here – oh, but I forgot, men can’t possibly be victims, can they. This is unbelievable –’
‘What I would like to know,’ says Dunn, cutting across her, ‘is what evidence you have for this absurd allegation.’
Gislingham matches him stare for stare. ‘Contrary to what we previously believed, there was, in fact, a witness to what happened that night.’
Morgan looks incredulous. ‘What?’
Meredith Melia looks up. ‘A witness?’
Gislingham relishes the pause. ‘Tobin Fisher.’
Morgan shakes his head. ‘No. No way. He was asleep. I checked on him only a few minutes before Marina got back.’
‘That’s as may be, but he told us he came down to get a drink.’
Morgan sits back. ‘Well, I never saw him.’
‘No. That’s what he said too.’
A frown flickers across Morgan’s brows. ‘So what did he say?’
‘He said he saw you having sex with his mother.’
The room detonates with silence.
‘Never happened,’ says Morgan tersely. ‘Never. Bloody. Happened.’
‘Well, his description was pretty damn detailed,’ observes Quinn.
‘So what?’
Quinn raises an eyebrow. ‘So how does an eight-year-old describe the mechanics of sex unless he’s actually seen it? He said you took her from behind, by the way, is that how you like it?’
Morgan shoots him a savage look, then turns to Gislingham. ‘Who knows how many lovers Marina’s had? He could have seen her with any one of them.’
Dunn sits forward. ‘My client makes an extremely valid point, officer. And for the record, I find your colleague’s last comment exceptionally offensive.’
‘Likewise,’ says Melia. ‘And in any case, the child is only eight. I doubt anything he says can be considered reliable.’
‘True,’ says Gislingham, ‘he is very young. But we do have specially trained officers with extensive experience in questioning children of his age. Should it come to it, I’m sure the CPS would consider it fully admissible. So, to confirm, Mr Morgan’s position –’
Quinn stifles a snort. Melia glares at him.
‘Mr Morgan’s position is that no such sex act took place between him and Professor Fisher?’
‘No,’ says Morgan. ‘It did not.’
‘According to Tobin, you were hurting his mother –’
Morgan starts shaking his head.
‘– not only that, he said she looked “floppy” and “sleepy”. A description that leads us to believe that some sort of date-rape drug may have been involved.’
Morgan’s been struggling to keep his anger down, but this is too much. ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me – I’ve never heard so much bullshit in my whole fucking life –’
‘Caleb,’ begins Melia but he shakes her hand off, his eyes still on Gislingham.
‘You’re actually believing that shit?’
Gislingham shrugs. ‘Why would he make it up?’
Morgan leans forward, elbows on the table. ‘He’s just a kid. A pretty vulnerable kid too, frankly. I’m not the only one who thought he might have some sort of a problem. So if you think you can rely on a single word he’s saying, I’ll have some of whatever you’re smoking.’
Quinn and Gislingham exchange a glance. Gislingham turns a page in the file.
‘There was also the question of the tattoo.’