Sophie Hannah - Hurting Distance

‘What about the survivor story from the other website, Tanya from Cardiff?’ asked Simon. ‘If that’s her real name. There was no audience for that rape, was there? That one seems the most different from the others. The only links are the star-of-the-show and warm-up references, and they could be a coincidence, two completely different attackers.’

Charlie was shaking her head. ‘There was an audience of one. While each of the two men raped Tanya, the other watched. The words “show” and “warm-up” were used—that’s enough of a link for the time being, until we prove it’s unconnected. And photos were taken. Sam?’

‘Sandy Freeguard said she was photographed naked and spread out on the mattress. The word “souvenir” was mentioned, as it was to Naomi Jenkins. Prue Kelvey says she thinks she was photographed. She heard clicks that she assumed came from a camera, but the crucial difference in her case was that the mask was never removed from her eyes, not at any point during the attack. The rapist worked that into his act. He seemed angry with her, she said, and kept saying that she was so ugly she had to have her face covered up or he wouldn’t be able to perform sexually.’

‘She’s all right,’ said Gibbs. It was the first time he’d spoken since the meeting began. ‘Nothing special, but not a dog.’

Everyone but Charlie turned to the pictures on the board. She didn’t need to: she’d already studied them in detail and been puzzled by the lack of physical similarities between the victims. Usually, in any crime series of a sexual nature, the scrote had a preferred type.

Prue Kelvey had a thin, pretty face with a small forehead and dark, shoulder-length hair. Naomi Jenkins had a similar hairstyle, though her hair was wavier and borderline auburn. Her face was fuller, and she was taller. Kombothekra had said Prue Kelvey was only five feet two inches tall, while Naomi Jenkins was five feet nine. Sandy Freeguard was a totally different physical type: a blonde with a square face, and about two stone overweight, whereas Kelvey was skinny and Jenkins was slim.

‘Everyone else cares about what’s happened to these women, even if you don’t,’ Charlie told Gibbs, feeling ashamed of him. Sam Kombothekra had frowned at the ‘dog’ comment. Charlie didn’t blame him.

‘Did I say that?’ Gibbs challenged her. ‘I’m just saying, Kelvey’s not especially ugly. So there must have been another reason to leave the mask on throughout.’

‘Just think before you speak,’ Charlie snapped. ‘There are better and worse ways to put things.’

‘Oh, I’m thinking, all right,’ Gibbs said ominously. ‘I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. More than you lot.’

Charlie had no idea what he meant.

‘Do we have to listen to you and Gibbs squabbling, Sergeant?’ said Proust impatiently. ‘Continue, Sergeant Kombothekra. I apologise on behalf of my detectives. They don’t usually brawl like toddlers.’

Charlie made a mental note to forget to remind the Snowman of his wife’s forthcoming birthday. Sam Kombothekra smiled apologetically at her, on Proust’s behalf, she suspected. Instantly, he went up in her estimation. When he’d first arrived, she’d written him off as what, aged fifteen, she and her friends would have called a cuboid. She amended her snap judgement now; Sam Kombothekra was simply polite and well behaved. Later, if they got a moment alone, she would apologise to him for Proust’s rudeness as well as Gibbs’s callous remark.

‘Prue Kelvey estimated that she was in the car for about an hour, give or take,’ Kombothekra went on.

‘She lives where?’ asked Simon.

‘Otley.’

Proust looked irritated. ‘Is that a place?’ he said. A bit bloody rich, thought Charlie, coming from a man who lived where he did. What did he think Silsford was, Manhattan?

‘It is a place,’ said Kombothekra. Another of his habits that had annoyed Charlie when she first met him: answering questions with ‘It is’ and ‘I am’, rather than simply saying, ‘Yes.’

‘It’s near Leeds and Bradford, sir,’ said Sellers, who was originally from Doncaster, or ‘Donnie’ as he called it.

Proust’s slight nod indicated that the answer was acceptable, but barely.

‘Sandy Freeguard said it could have been an hour or as much as two hours that she was in the car,’ Kombothekra said. ‘She lives in Huddersfield.’

‘Which is near Wakefield,’ Charlie couldn’t resist adding. She kept her face totally straight; Proust would never be able to prove she wasn’t being genuinely helpful.

‘It sounds as if this theatre where the women were attacked is nearer to where Kelvey and Freeguard live than to Rawndesley, where Naomi Jenkins lives, then,’ said Proust.

‘We don’t think Kelvey and Freeguard were attacked in the same place as Jenkins and survivor number thirty-one,’ Simon told him. ‘There was no stage or theatre mentioned in either Kelvey’s statement or Freeguard’s.’ Kombothekra nodded at this. ‘Both described a long, thin room with a mattress at one end and the audience standing at the other. No chairs, no dinner table. The spectators at Kelvey and Freeguard’s rapes were drinking alcohol but not eating. Freeguard said champagne, didn’t she?’

‘A significant difference, then,’ said Proust.

‘There are more similarities than differences,’ said Charlie. ‘The line about warming up before the show—that’s consistent across all three cases. Kelvey said the room she was in was freezing cold, and in Naomi Jenkins’s statement, she says her rapist made a point of leaving the heating off until the audience arrived. He taunted her with it. Freeguard was attacked in August, so it’s no surprise she didn’t mention cold.’

‘Sandy Freeguard and Prue Kelvey both said the room they were in had a strange acoustic.’ Kombothekra consulted his notes again. ‘Kelvey said she thought it might have been a garage. Freeguard also said the room didn’t seem domestic. She thought it might have been an industrial unit of some kind. She said the walls didn’t look real. The one she could see from the mattress wasn’t solid—she said it was covered with some sort of material, thick material. Oh—there were no windows in the room Freeguard described.’

‘Jenkins mentioned a window in her statement,’ said Charlie.

‘You thought it was safe to assume Kelvey and Freeguard were attacked in the same place?’ Proust asked Kombothekra.

‘I did. The whole team did.’

‘Jenkins was attacked somewhere different,’ said Simon with certainty.

‘If she was attacked at all,’ said Proust. ‘I still have my doubts. She’s an habitual liar. She could have read those other two survivors’ stories on the rape websites, both posted before hers, and decided to adopt a similar experience as a fantasy. Then later she met Haworth and wove him into the fantasy, first as rescuer, then later, when he understandably got fed up of her and dumped her, as rapist.’

‘Very psychological, sir,’ Charlie couldn’t resist saying. Simon grinned and it made her want to cry. Sometimes the two of them shared a joke nobody else understood, and a sense of tragedy that they were not together and probably never would be overwhelmed Charlie. She thought about Graham Angilley, whom she’d left dissatisfied and confused in Scotland, promising to ring him. She still hadn’t. Graham was too silly ever to make her cry. But perhaps that was a good thing, perhaps a less intense relationship was what she needed.

Kombothekra was shaking his head. ‘There are details in Jenkins’ statement that correspond with details in Kelvey’s and Freeguard’s, things she couldn’t have known about from reading the stories on the Internet. For example, Jenkins says she was made to describe her sexual fantasies in detail and list her favourite sexual positions. Both Kelvey and Freeguard were ordered to do the same. And they were made to talk dirty, talk about how much they were enjoying the sex that was being forced on them while it was happening.’