Cath Staincliffe: Dead To Me

‘I can’t remember.’

‘Perhaps I can help you there,’ Rachel said. ‘You worked on a placement in Ryelands in the spring of 2007, April and May. Rosie was resident there. You began the relationship then.’

‘OK,’ he was dismissive.

‘Is that correct?’ Rachel said.

‘Yes.’

‘Rosie moved out of care in February 2008, into a flat in New Moston. You continued to see her, to have sex with her?’

‘For a bit.’

‘Could you be more specific, Mr Raleigh?’

‘No, I can’t remember.’

‘So the relationship might have lasted until 2009 or even into this year?’

‘No not that long, it was over by the Easter, I’m sure.’

‘Easter 2008?’ she checked.

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘On June twentieth 2008, Rosie Vaughan was the victim of a serious sexual assault, rape, carried out at her home address. Can you tell me where you were on that date?’

‘How the hell should I know? It’s two and a half years ago.’

‘Was your relationship with Rosie Vaughan consensual?’

‘Yes.’

‘Like your relationship with Lisa Finn?’

‘Yes.’

‘And Angela Hambley.’

He closed down, his face impassive.

‘Or is that not consensual?’ Rachel said.

‘No, it is.’ He stretched his neck, discomfited.

‘We have forensic evidence that places you at the scene when Rosie Vaughan was attacked and beaten, when she was raped at knifepoint. Forensic evidence that you carried out that assault.’ Suck on that and swallow.

He shook his head, said vehemently, ‘No, no way.’

‘Rosie didn’t like the idea of sharing you, of you leaving her. She had threatened you in the past, that if you messed her about she would report you. Did she threaten you on that date?’

‘No, I don’t know what you’re on about.’

‘Did you rape and beat her to keep her quiet?’

‘I wasn’t there,’ he said.

‘The science suggests otherwise.’

He stroked at his head, the blond hair still shining, thick and healthy. ‘I wasn’t there,’ he said again. He kept it up like a parrot. Rachel was pissed off with him. She knew he had done this. There had been something satisfying about seeing him in his police-issue jumpsuit, stripped of his status symbols: no neat wool sweater, no fancy watch, no trendy shoes. Something sad too, when the DNA was confirmed, in the knowledge that she had been right about Rosie: she had known her rapist. This was the man who had brutally battered Rosie, robbing her of her hope and sanity, setting the seal on her descent into a twilight world of drugs and paranoia. Rachel had to trap him, but they had no other evidence to confront him with. All she could do was try and wear him down.

‘Rosie Vaughan had bruising to the face, her arms, back, legs, vagina and throat. She soiled herself in the course of the beating. She never recovered psychologically. On Thursday she took her own life.’

‘Very sad,’ he said blandly. ‘But as I keep saying, I had nothing to do with any assault. I wasn’t there.’

Rachel felt a tremor of rage grip her, she thought of Rosie’s eyes, livid with panic, the unsteady way she had walked along the canal, the shape of her when she hit the ground. ‘I don’t believe you,’ Rachel said, fighting to sound strong and in control.

‘That’s your problem,’ he said.

Tosser, with his smart little comments. Heat flared through her, her guts tightened. She’d slit his throat, cut his cock off first. She stood suddenly, he jerked back in reaction. ‘Interview terminated.’ She rattled off the time, and quit the room. Halfway down the corridor she stopped, hit at the wall with her fists – fucking fucking bastard. Choking with rage.

Janet came and stood close by. ‘You did your best.’

‘It’s not good enough,’ Rachel rounded on her. ‘He’ll walk. He’ll walk, Janet. He did it, he did Rosie, whatever else. Maybe not Lisa, but Rosie.’

Gill sent them home. ‘Too late to go back for more,’ she said.

‘Tomorrow?’ Rachel asked. Was this it? Would she get another chance?

‘I’m not sure we’ll get further. Let’s sleep on it. You did all right, kid.’

Rachel shook her head, rejecting the praise, eyes aching. No. She did crap. He was gonna get away with it and there was nothing she could do.

‘HOW WAS MR Fairley?’ Janet asked Ade.

‘He wants to put her on a behaviour plan. She’ll be monitored for a month and she’s barred from the Christmas trip.’

‘That’s a bit steep,’ Janet said.

‘He wants to make an example of her, apparently.’

‘And you let him? Didn’t you object? She’s eleven years old, Ade, she didn’t think about-’

‘If you wanted to express an opinion, you should have been there.’

‘Didn’t you stick up for her? What about the others? She didn’t dream this up on her own,’ she said.

‘She won’t say who they are,’ he said.

‘God. How’s she taking it?’

Ade shrugged. ‘Hard to tell.’

‘I’ll have a word.’

‘Wait,’ Ade said, ‘there’s something else.’

Janet felt dizzy. He did know. That explained the peculiar visit at work. ‘I’m tired,’ she tried, ‘just want to get to bed.’

‘Janet, we need to talk about this now.’

Her throat closed. Sweat on her scalp. Her chest hurt. ‘What?’ she managed. She wanted to freeze things, rewind, change everything. She wanted to disappear.

‘Sit down, for chrissakes,’ he said.

She did as he said. She couldn’t look at him.

‘It’s Elise,’ he said. ‘She’s seeing this lad.’

Elise? Elise! Oh God. Janet began to laugh.

‘What’s so funny?’ he said. ‘She’s thirteen.’

‘Well, who is he? How serious is it?’

‘I don’t know, some boy at school. He’s in Year 11.’ Like it was the mark of Satan. ‘You’re her mother, you need to talk to her, make sure she’s not doing anything stupid.’

‘We’re talking about Elise here. When have you ever known her to act stupid? She’s got common sense stamped through her like Blackpool rock.’

‘If she got into trouble…’

‘She knows all about safe sex. And she’s only thirteen. I don’t think it’s anything to worry about. It’s normal. We should be pleased. Anyone who can cope with Elise and her high standards has my vote. She’s a great kid.’

‘Sure about that, are you? It’s not as if you see much of her,’ he said.

‘That’s not fair,’ Janet said.

‘No, it isn’t. Not on any of us.’

‘If you want to have another row about my work patterns, I’ll try to fit you in next month. Meanwhile, I’m going to see my daughters, and then I’m going to bed.’

Janet fetched Taisie’s phone. Upstairs, Taisie was in bed but awake. Janet sat down on the bed. ‘Here-’ She handed the phone to her.

‘You said a week.’ Taisie glowered suspiciously.

‘Well, it will be a week, tomorrow. Dad told me about Mr Fairley. Seems a bit tight.’

‘He is proper tight. Candice Waller swore at him and she’s still going on the Christmas trip.’

‘I’m sorry,’ Janet sympathized. ‘I don’t think there’s anything I can do. Maybe those friends of yours who were in on the joke should not go on the trip either. Show some solidarity.’

Taisie shook her head. ‘They wouldn’t do that.’

‘No, thought not. Hey, think next time.’ Janet tapped her own temple.

‘Can I go to Phoebe’s for a sleepover on Saturday?’

‘Is it a party? Aargh! I’ve got déjà vu.’ Janet clutched her head.

Taisie laughed. ‘Just a sleepover.’

‘Give me their number first.’

‘OK.’

‘I love you.’ Janet kissed her.