Tim Vicary - A Game of Proof

‘Not a thief either, I suppose?’

‘No, of course not. Look, you haven’t answered my question. What are you doing here?’

As the silence lengthened she thought perhaps he knows about the ring, the balaclava. Could he have been looking for them — or something else?

His answer came as a joke, of all things. ‘Cruising, o’ course. Waiting for tarts. They drop in from time to time, tha knows. All done up in kinky leather!’

He smirked, delighted with himself. Then he stepped towards her out of the shed. She backed away nervously. ‘That your bike, is it?’

‘It is.’

‘Fuck me.’ He swung his leg astride the saddle, and turned the handlebars this way and that. ‘Not bad. Fancy a ride?’ He patted the pillion seat.

Sarah took a deep breath, and felt in her pocket for the key to the house. ‘I’m going indoors now, Gary. If you don’t get off that bike straight away and piss off out of here, I’ll call the police and then we’ll have you for TWOC as well as breaking and entering and stealing whatever you’ve taken from that shed. Otherwise I’ll forget the whole thing. You choose.’

‘Right then, I will an’ all. Bitch.’ Her last challenge had been a mistake. Before she could move he swung his leg off the bike and with one long stride across the yard grabbed her arm and yanked her towards him. The other hand smacked her hard across the face. It was like being hit by a wall. The blow filled her mind, there was nothing else, only the massive jolt, the pain, the sense that her jaw had been realigned by a concrete block. When there was room for other thoughts she realized she was sprawled face down across the saddle of the bike, one huge hand tugging her leather trousers down to her knees.

She screamed, a brief bubbling sound which was choked off by his other hand which clamped over her mouth and nose.

‘Shut it, slag! I’ve always wanted to do this.’ He was spreading her legs behind her, she realized, trying to get one either side of the back wheel but hampered by the trousers around her ankles. She tried to bite his hand but it was too big and all-enveloping, squeezing her nose so that tears ran from her eyes and she thought I’ll die, he’ll suffocate me!

Then she fell sideways and there was a clatter and bang and a vast, immoveable weight on her right thigh. There were men shouting, doors slamming. White light blazed in her eyes.

‘Are you all right, love? Christ, she’s under the bike!’

If the words had a meaning it didn’t register with Sarah. There was swearing, a shout of ‘Get in there and shut it!’ Then what sounded like a radio crackling ‘Ambulance needed, 23 Bramham Street, urgent please.’

The weight lifted from her thigh and a man’s voice spoke from the darkness. Calm, reassuring, not Gary’s. ‘It’s all right, love, it’s off now. Harry, get a blanket. You just lie still. Sarah? It’s Terry Bateson.’

‘Look, I wasn’t raped, all right? Ooooh, my tongue!’

‘I know you say that, but the officers say you were unconscious when they found you. So it’s best to take samples to be sure. You might not know what happened.’

‘I know. ’ Sarah’s mouth felt as though it was about to fall apart like a rotten, bloated potato. ‘It’s my mouth that hurts, not …’ She gestured to the other end of the couch, where the female doctor was preparing her swab. And my pride, she thought. What a fool I look now, with my legs in the air and my neck in a brace while that police woman notes down what I say.

‘You’re lucky with your jaw. The X-rays show nothing broken, no teeth lost. The analgesics should kick in soon and you won’t feel it any more. Just shift this way, please. There, that’s it. Mmmm. No tears, no bleeding. Just these scrapes on your leg where you fell. You say he didn’t penetrate you?’

‘No!’

‘Vaginally or anally?’

‘ No! Can I sit up now?’

‘Yes, of course. I’m sorry, I do have to ask these things.’

Sarah swung her legs over the side of the couch. ‘My mouth hurts and my leg aches but he didn’t rape me, all right? I was lucky, the cabblly came in time.’

‘Yes. The what , love?’ The doctor looked up from her notes and smiled, cool and distant and professional. Checking my mind isn’t deranged now, Sarah thought in despair.

‘Cav — al — ry,’ she said, as clearly and distinctly as she could through her throbbing, bloated mouth. ‘The cavalry came in time. Joke.’

‘Oh. Yes, I see.’ The doctor smiled again, and squatted in front of her, looking directly into her eyes as though she were a child. ‘Well, do you feel up to talking to the police now? Or would you rather they came back in the morning?’

‘Talk now,’ Sarah said. ‘Get it over with.’

‘All right, if you’re sure. But if you feel bad just tell them to stop.’ The doctor stood up and spoke directly to the detective, Tracy Litherland. ‘No more than half an hour, maximum, all right? She’s had a nasty shock and she needs to sleep. I suggest you just get the basic facts now and leave the rest until tomorrow.’

The basic facts, Sarah thought as she got carefully to her feet. Where do we start?

‘Right, Harker, what’s your story this time?’ Terry noticed, with grim satisfaction, how stiffly Gary had manouevred himself into the chair, as though his ribs were hurting. The arrest had not been conducted with excessive gentleness. But his manner was surly, defiant.

‘I dunno what you mean.’

‘Oh, really?’ said Terry derisively. ‘We caught you in the act, old son. Four police officers saw you trying to rape this woman, Mrs Sarah Newby. You had her trousers down and your hand around her throat, for Christ’s sake!’

‘Not round her throat. It were her mouth.’

‘Is that supposed to make a difference?’

‘Yeah. Big difference.’ Gary leered. ‘She were kissing it.’

‘You liar!’ Terry rose from his chair without thinking, but Harry caught his arm, glancing pointedly at the two tapes running smoothly in the machine. Terry recovered himself, sat down.

‘You were attempting to rape her. I saw you.’

A cunning leer came over Gary’s face as he took in Terry’s reaction. ‘Got the hots for her yourself, have you, copper? Well you’re too bloody late, that’s what. What you saw was just sex, no more and no less. She wanted it like that.’

The sheer effrontery of the idea stunned both detectives. Harry Easby recovered first. His tone, to Terry’s irritation, contained a hint of amusement, as though he half admired the man for coming up with such a preposterous suggestion.

‘You’re saying, are you, that a respectable woman like that, a barrister, actually asked you to half strangle her and rip her trousers down across the back of a motorbike?’

‘Summat like that, yeah.’

‘For Christ’s sake!’ Terry was finding it hard to control himself. Perhaps the old days of policing were better after all, he thought. A man like this deserved to be kicked to a pulp on the floor of the cell. Then the only shit that came out of him would be the real thing.

‘What were you doing there anyway?’ Harry asked.

‘Looking for young Simon.’

‘Who? Simon Newby? Do you know him?’

‘Yeah, a bit. He lives there, doesn’t he?’

‘Not in his back yard,’ Harry smiled contemptuously. ‘He lives in the house , Gary, not the back yard where we found you.’

‘Yeah, well, I tried the door but he didn’t answer, so I thought he might be in his shed.’

‘Notice anything unusual about the front door, Gary, did you?’ Harry asked, mockingly.

Gary thought for a bit. Then light dawned. ‘Yeah, I did actually. There was a padlock on it. After you lot smashed the door, no doubt.’