Sophie Hannah - Hurting Distance

‘Naomi wasn’t in prison,’ said Chris Gibbs. ‘She came in to answer some questions.’

‘And now she’s bailed, she’s back at home,’ said Charlie, who had accompanied Gibbs to make sure he did a thorough job of questioning Naomi Jenkins’ ex-lodger. He’d made it clear he didn’t think they’d get anything useful from Yvon Cotchin, and Charlie didn’t want it to be a self-fulfilling prophecy.

‘Bailed? That sounds awful. Naomi hasn’t done anything that bad, has she?’

‘Has she done anything at all?’

Cotchin looked away. She fiddled with the cellophane on her cigarette packet.

‘Yvon?’ Charlie prompted. Open the packet and light a fag, for fuck’s sake. She hated people who faffed around endlessly.

‘I told Naomi I was going to tell you. It’s not as if I ever said I’d go along with it, so I’m not betraying her by telling you.’

‘Go along with what?’ asked Gibbs.

‘It’s better if you know the truth before Robert . . . He’s bound to be all right, isn’t he? I mean, if he’s survived this long . . .’

‘You told us you’d never met Robert Haworth,’ Charlie reminded her.

‘That’s true.’

‘What did you tell Naomi Jenkins you wouldn’t go along with?’ Gibbs persisted.

‘She lied. She pretended Robert had raped her. I couldn’t believe she’d do something like that, but . . . she reckoned it was the only way to make you care about finding him.’

‘Are you sure he didn’t rape her?’ asked Charlie.

‘Very sure. Naomi worships the ground that man walks on.’

‘It has been known for a woman to fall in love with her rapist.’

‘Not Naomi.’

‘How can you be certain?’

Cotchin considered the question. ‘The way Naomi looks at the world. It’s all black and white, all about justice. You’d have to know her to understand. She starts talking about revenge if someone nicks her parking space.’ She sighed. ‘Look, I’ve never been a huge fan of Robert Haworth. I’ve not met him, but from what Naomi’s told me . . . But I know he didn’t rape her. Hasn’t she admitted to the lie, now that Robert’s been found? She said she would.’

‘It’s a bit more complicated than that.’ Charlie opened the file she was holding. On the sofa beside Yvon Cotchin, she laid out copies of the three survivor stories: the one from the SRISA website—Tanya’s, the waitress from Cardiff—and numbers thirty-one and seventy-two from the Speak Out and Survive site. She pointed to number seventy-two, the one by ‘N.J.’. ‘As you can see, this has got Naomi’s initials at the bottom and it’s dated the eighteenth of May 2003. When Naomi came in to tell her lie about Robert Haworth, she directed one of my detectives to the Speak Out and Survive website and told him how to find her contribution.’

‘But . . . I don’t understand.’ Cotchin’s face had lost all its colour. ‘Naomi hadn’t even met Robert in 2003.’

‘Read the other two,’ said Gibbs.

She didn’t have the confidence, or a good enough reason, to refuse. Wrapping one arm around her knees, she began to read, narrowing her eyes, as if to block out some of the words, or lessen their impact. ‘What are these? What have they got to do with Naomi?’

‘The statement Naomi Jenkins signed on Tuesday—Robert Haworth’s fictional attack on her—shares many details with these two accounts,’ said Gibbs.

‘How is that possible?’ Cotchin sounded panicky. ‘I’m too stupid to understand this on my own. You’ll have to tell me what’s going on.’

‘There are also two cases in West Yorkshire that fit the same pattern, ’ Charlie told her. ‘You’re not the only one who wants to know what’s going on, Yvon. We need to find out if Robert Haworth raped Naomi Jenkins and these other women, or if someone else did. We’re hoping you can help us.’

Cotchin was squeezing her cigarette packet hard in the middle, crushing its contents. ‘Naomi can’t have been raped. She’d have told me. I’m her best friend.’

‘Did you live with her then? Spring 2003?’

‘No, but I’d still have known. Naomi and I have been best friends since school. We tell each other everything. And . . . she seemed fine in spring 2003, totally normal. Her usual strong self.’

‘You can remember that far back?’ said Charlie. ‘I can’t remember what sort of mood my friends were in three years ago.’

Cotchin looked wary. ‘Ben and I were going through a bad patch,’ she said eventually. ‘The first of many. It was pretty serious. I was spending the night at Naomi’s twice a week, if not more. She was fantastic. She cooked for me, emailed my clients and smoothed things over—I was too upset to work. She made me have showers and brush my teeth when all I wanted to do was neglect myself out of existence. Has either of you ever been through a marriage break-up?’

Charlie couldn’t interpret the noise Gibbs made. ‘No,’ she said.

‘Then you can’t imagine how painful and destructive it is.’

‘I find it a little unusual that you came here, after your fight with Naomi,’ said Charlie. ‘Most women don’t run to their ex-husbands in times of trouble.’

Cotchin looked embarrassed. ‘My parents are too preoccupied with their work. They don’t like people staying. And my siblings and all my friends apart from Naomi have got partners or kids. I was upset, all right?’

‘There are hotels, B&Bs. Is a reconciliation with Ben on the cards?’ Charlie prodded. ‘Is that why you’re here?’

‘That’s none of your business. We’re not back together, if that’s what you mean. I’m sleeping in the spare room.’

‘Why did the two of you split up?’ Might as well ask, thought Charlie even though it’s probably irrelevant. Unless . . . A hypothesis began to take shape at the back of her mind. An unlikely one, but it was worth a try.

‘I don’t have to tell you that!’ Cotchin protested. ‘Why do you want to know?’

‘Answer the question.’ Gibbs’ voice was full of unpleasant consequences.

‘Ben drank too much, okay? And he refused to get a job.’

‘This is a big place.’ Charlie looked around. ‘And that’s an expensive telly and DVD player. How does Ben afford it all if he doesn’t work?’

‘It’s all inherited.’ Cotchin sounded bitter. ‘Ben’s never done a day’s hard work in his life and he’ll never have to.’

‘You mentioned the first bad patch . . .’

‘In January 2003 he slept with someone else while I was away visiting my brother and his family. When I got back, the woman had gone, but I found Ben fast asleep—or unconscious, more like—in bed with the used condom and one of her earrings. He’d been so drunk, he’d passed out and hadn’t woken up in time to cover his tracks before I got home.’

She hasn’t forgiven him, thought Charlie. If she had, she’d have said, ‘He was unfaithful to me, but it was only a one-night stand. It meant nothing.’

Gibbs looked down at his notes. ‘So you and Naomi Jenkins were together in her house on the night of Wednesday 29 March and all day on Thursday 30 March until she left to go and meet Haworth at the Traveltel?’

‘That’s right.’ Yvon Cotchin looked relieved. She preferred to talk about the attempted murder of Robert Haworth than her love life.

‘Could Naomi have left the house during Wednesday night or Thursday without you noticing?’

‘I suppose she could have, in the middle of the night while I was asleep. But she didn’t . She was asleep too. On Thursday, no. My office and bedroom are in the converted cellar of Naomi’s house. Were,’ Cotchin corrected herself. ‘You’ve seen for yourself,’ she said to Gibbs. ‘My desk faces the window, with a clear view of the drive. If Naomi had left the house any time on Thursday, I’d have seen her.’