Peter Robinson - Not Dark Yet

‘When we find out who they are,’ said Annie.

The enhanced image showed a young girl in semi-profile. It was a segment from after the rape, when the rapist had gone and she had turned over on to her side and curled up in the foetal position. Her eyes were glazed and her jaw slack, but there was just enough definition to her features to make identification possible. The waifish look and the short hair were clear enough, and they had already estimated from the original footage, measuring her against the length of the bed, that she was maybe five foot seven or eight in height, or about 170 centimetres. It was impossible to tell her age beyond estimating that she was probably in her late teens.

Annie and Gerry watched the recording again, and it was even clearer that the girl was being raped, perhaps because they had a stronger idea of what she looked like. She had no chance. The man threw her down on the bed, ripped off her clothes and raped her. It didn’t last long. Her struggles were weak and ineffective because she was clearly drunk or drugged, and after a while she didn’t resist at all. There was no sound, so it was impossible to tell if she had screamed or called out, but when he left her half-naked among the rumpled bedsheets, she appeared to be sobbing.

And there the recording ended.

‘Do you remember seeing the girl in any of the other videos?’ Annie asked.

‘No. Those women were all Tadić’s hookers. Or at least we assume they were. None of them resembled her, at any rate, and they seemed to at least pretend they liked what they were doing.’

‘It’s true she doesn’t look like a classy hooker.’

‘Maybe she was working behind the scenes?’

‘Possible,’ said Annie. ‘We need to find out how the parties were set up and organised. How people got invited. I know we’ve already recognised a few prominent figures from what we’ve watched, but there must have been other people there, ones we wouldn’t recognise. Ones who might be more likely to talk to us. Someone must have seen something. Were any of the other films taken at the same party?’

‘Only two,’ said Gerry. ‘I checked them out, and they were both fine as far as quality goes. Different rooms, too. So it was clearly just that one defective camera.’

‘Who have we got?’

‘One of them I recognise, but it’s a woman.’

‘Did Blaydon or Tadić supply men for fun, too?’

‘Er... well, maybe,’ said Gerry. ‘But, I mean, it’s not a man she’s—’

‘Another woman?’

‘That’s right.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Rosemary Vale.’

‘No! You mean that actress? The one in that costume drama that’s on at the moment?’

‘That’s the one,’ Gerry said.

‘She’s gay? I don’t believe it.’

‘Well, you would if you watched the video.’

‘OK. Who’s in the other video?’

‘Craig Lonegan.’

‘What, that footballer with the big house out Swainshead way?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘And what’s he doing, or need I ask?’

‘I’d blush if I told you,’ said Gerry. ‘But it involves rubber sheets and cooking oil, and whatever it is, he appears to be enjoying it.’

‘We need to have a crack at them,’ said Annie. ‘One of them might have seen something. At the very least they might be able to fill out the guest list a bit.’

‘Do you think it could have been Blaydon himself?’

‘I suppose it’s possible,’ Annie said, ‘but there’s no way you could even guess from what we’ve got, let alone prove it. It could have been any one of a number of people.’

‘What it amounts to, then,’ said Gerry, ‘is that we don’t know who the girl is or who she was with. She’s definitely quite young, and she’s not the same type as the others, if that’s not a terribly judgemental thing to say. But that’s all we know about her.’

Annie smiled. ‘I wouldn’t worry about being judgemental,’ she said. ‘I’m the last one to judge you on your woke quotient. Besides, it’s our job to make judgements about certain things. No matter what “type” she is, she’s somebody’s daughter, and it’s our job to find out who she is and get the perpetrator behind bars. If there is a connection with Blaydon’s murder, then all well and good, that might come out, too. What about guest lists for the parties? They must be somewhere.’

‘There’s that woman who used to work as Blaydon’s personal assistant,’ Gerry said. ‘Remember her? She’s on our list. Her name’s Charlotte Westlake, and she lives near Leeds.’

‘Right. If she was working for Blaydon back in April, she might be able to point us in the right direction.’

‘Any more ideas?’

Annie shook her head, then said, ‘Except that Zelda knows the Tadić brothers. I know she’s talked to Alan about them, and in the photo of Keane she saw, he was with Petar Tadić. If they supplied the women for the parties, maybe she could shed some light on things?’

‘Where is the super today, by the way?’

‘London,’ said Annie. ‘Left early this morning. And very cagey about it. Some sort of mysterious appointment.’

‘What about Timmy and Tommy Kerrigan?’ Gerry suggested. ‘I know we’ve interviewed them about the murders, but remember those photos taken around the pool in the cache, too? People having fun, letting their hair down. Timmy and Tommy feature in some of them. They don’t seem to be doing anything illegal, unless smoking big cigars and drinking extremely large glasses of whisky is illegal now.’

‘And wearing skimpy thong swimming trunks if you look like Timmy Kerrigan,’ Annie added.

Gerry laughed at the image. ‘Right,’ she said. ‘Well, it seems there are a few directions to follow up on after the weekend. The assistant and the Kerrigans for a start. Maybe the Kerrigans will be able to tell us something about this Charlotte Westlake? First off, though, I want to have another trip to Blaydon’s house and check out the actual room.’

Banks found himself with a lot to think about as he made his way back to Vauxhall Underground station. He had originally intended to do some shopping while he was in London, check out the big Waterstones on Piccadilly, visit FOPP at Cambridge Circus, but he decided he couldn’t face it. Like everyone else, he did most of his shopping online these days. London was too hot and too crowded today; he just wanted to go home.

He wondered how he had managed to become such a recluse and homebody. He had always enjoyed trips to London before, as he had also loved living there with Sandra in Kennington in his early days on the force. The disenchantment seemed to have crept up on him slowly, ever since he had first moved into Newhope Cottage alone, after their divorce. There had been women since then, of course, but nothing that lasted. Commitment had never been a strong point with him after Sandra; he was dedicated to his job, and he tended to take up with women who were similarly dedicated to something other than hanging on to a partner. This meant, inevitably, that they drifted apart before long. Now he had women friends and colleagues, but not lovers.

He caught a mid-afternoon train, which would get him home by about six o’clock, in plenty of time for a little pottering in the garden and a good read. As he listened to Bach’s Sonatas and Partitas for Solo Violin, played by Rachel Podger, he drifted and gazed at the passing landscape as he had done on the journey down, this time mulling over what Burgess had told him.

It seemed as if Zelda had been busy behind his back, if the accounts were to be believed. And he saw no reason why they shouldn’t be. Why was she asking the barman questions in her dead boss’s local? He had no idea. Was she becoming overzealous in her search for Keane, or was there some other reason? Banks and Annie had warned her not to get too involved right from the start, told her that Keane was dangerous, but she seemed to have ignored them. Where had she come across the connection between Hawkins and Keane in the first place, and what was it? Was Keane now working with Tadić?