‘How on earth are we supposed to make head or tail of this? It’s just a load of random jottings.’
Gislingham pulls out a chair and sits down, pulling the paper round so they can both see.
‘Not all of it,’ he says. ‘See this here, Ep? That must mean “episode”. I think Alex has been listening to that podcast about Parrie. The Whole Truth one.’ He points, ‘TWT, see?’
‘Ye gods, I can’t imagine anything I’d want to avoid more. Especially if I was one of his victims.’
Gislingham nods. ‘Me too. But if that’s what she’s been doing, perhaps there’s something in it – something new? She wouldn’t have been in court for the whole trial – perhaps she’s found out something she didn’t know before? Maybe even something we didn’t know before?’
Gallagher looks up at Gislingham. ‘She may have been listening to the podcast, but it’s not the Roadside Rapes she’s interested in. This is the Smith case.’
Alex Fawley is looking for a way to get her husband off. Gallagher sighs; not all that again. Just when she thought everybody had moved on. Though judging from the look on Gislingham’s face, that’s everybody minus at least one.
‘I’m not sure what she thought she could achieve,’ she says heavily. ‘I’m sure she’s a very good lawyer, but she can’t possibly know the case in enough detail to draw any conclusions.’
Gis shrugs. ‘I don’t know, it looks to me like she’s going about it pretty much the same way we’ve done.’ He points. ‘Transport, tag, DNA – the logic’s there.’
‘As far as it goes,’ says Gallagher drily. ‘Though she doesn’t appear to be aware that we found one of her husband’s pubic hairs in the victim’s vagina.’
‘Yeah, well,’ mutters Gislingham, staring at the floor, ‘she wouldn’t, would she.’
But Gallagher doesn’t seem to have heard him. When he lifts his head she’s looking at the paper, her forehead puckering into a frown. She glances up at him, a question in her eyes. ‘Ryan? Who’s Ryan?’
‘Parrie’s son. Must be twenty-odd now.’
The frown deepens. ‘Looks like there’s something relating to him at the end of episode six?’
They exchange a glance, then Gis gets out his phone. He finds the right page, swipes forward to the last five minutes and puts it on speaker.
‘Gavin was released from Wandsworth prison on May 23rd 2018. But that’s not the same as being exonerated. His conviction still stands. He has to wear an electronic tag and observe strict licence conditions, which effectively prevent him leading anything like a normal life. And that includes having the sort of ordinary social contact that other people take for granted. He had a girlfriend when he left prison, but the relationship wasn’t strong enough to withstand the difficult process of adjustment post-release, and now, once again, he’s on his own.
But with luck and perseverance this won’t be the end of Gavin’s story. We’re still supporting Gavin and his lawyers, with a view to making a second application to the Criminal Cases Review Commission early next year.
In the meantime, Gavin’s determined to make the years he still has left count for something. He’s spending a lot of time with young offenders and rebuilding his relationship with his children. And, of course, they’re not kids any more. Ryan is working in the leisure and wellness sector, and Dawn now has a family of her own …’
‘A gym,’ says Gislingham. ‘Ryan Powell is working at a bloody gym. Jesus, why didn’t I think of that? How much DNA do you think gets left behind on a bloody gym towel? You just dump the damn things in those bins and don’t give it a second thought. That’s how they framed Fawley –’
‘Hang on, hang on,’ says Gallagher. Though she seems to have gone very pale. ‘You’re jumping to vast conclusions –’
Gislingham’s stabbing at his phone, breathing heavily now. ‘Look,’ he says after a moment, holding it towards her, his hand trembling with purpose. ‘Look – Headington Health and Leisure – HHL – it’s the boss’s gym –’
A line of PT instructors smile out of the screen, neat and tidy in branded polo shirts, by a row of gleaming exercise machines. Rhona Hammond, Daryl Jones, Polly Lewis, Jad Muhammad, Ryan Powell.
A bright, open face, fair hair. He looks clean-cut, honest, genuine. But Gallagher is not fooled.
Gislingham is watching her. ‘That pubic hair you mentioned? The one thing the boss has never been able to explain?’
She looks up. ‘Yes?’
‘If you were trying to filch one of those from someone without them knowing, I can’t think of many better sources than a used gym towel. Can you?’
She opens her mouth, closes it again. Shit, she thinks. Shit.
* * *
Alex watches the doctor standing over the foetal heart monitor. Even with the oxygen, her own pulse is beating so fast she feels light-headed. The midwife has her by the hand, trying to calm her, telling her it’s all going to be fine, but they wouldn’t have called the obstetrician if there wasn’t a problem – they wouldn’t have brought in that machine if they weren’t concerned –
The doctor looks up. ‘The heart rate’s tachycardic,’ she says crisply. ‘Prep for caesarean, please, and notify Theatre Two. We need to get this baby out.’
* * *
‘But even if you’re right about the hair,’ says Gallagher, ‘we still need to check if you can actually transfer viable DNA from a towel –’
Gislingham cuts across her. ‘But it fits, doesn’t it? It all fits.’ He points at the ‘RP’ ringed at the bottom of the page. ‘And it looks like Alex thinks so too.’
‘Do we know if Ryan’s been in contact with his father?’
Gis shakes his head. ‘I don’t, no, but we can easily check. Though from what I know of Parrie, he’ll have found a way to do it that doesn’t leave a trace. Snail mail would be my bet.’
Gallagher looks back at the paper. ‘This point she makes here, about him watching their house –’
Gislingham makes a face. ‘According to Nell, Alex’s been convinced there was someone watching the house for weeks, but everyone kept telling her she was imagining it – that Parrie had a tag so there was no way it could be him.’
Gallagher nods slowly. ‘And they were right. He wasn’t.’
‘No, he wasn’t. But we were all reckoning without his son, weren’t we? He was completely under the radar. Especially if he’s been calling himself Ryan Powell. And if he’s been watching the Fawleys, he’d know a shitload about both of them – where they shop, who their friends are, the fact that the boss goes to Headington Health and Leisure –’
Gallagher takes a deep breath. ‘So he gets himself hired at the same gym – is that what you’re thinking?’
Gis shrugs. ‘Why not? Places like that are always looking for staff. And Alex is right about the car too. It’d be easy enough to rent a Ford Mondeo – there must be hundreds of the bloody things.’
‘And poor Emma Smith just happened to do the wrong thing at the wrong time.’
Gislingham is nodding. ‘Going round to see the Fawleys when Ryan was sat outside, right.’ He sits back again; he looks troubled now. ‘He must have worked out pretty smartish that she was just what they were looking for: a single woman who lived alone and had hardly any friends. The ideal victim.’
Gallagher sighs. That poor woman, she thinks. She was sure someone was stalking her, she just didn’t know why.