Chapter Eleven

‘Hello, Jasmine. I’m Detective Chief Inspector Davies,’ the man introduced himself, even though the detective sergeant had just announced his presence in the room for the benefit of the tape. ‘Are you comfortable with my being here, Jasmine?’ he asked her, his brow creased with concern. There was a wariness in his eyes though, Jasmine noted. As if one of his most highly esteemed officers couldn’t possibly be capable of the terrible crime she was claiming he was.

Well, he could. As far as Jasmine was concerned, a copper who’d done what Adams had done was capable of anything. It was time people realised it, and that the punishment should fit the crime. Jasmine didn’t need to work too hard at the tear that squeezed from her eye. ‘Yes,’ she said, wiping it away. ‘I just want to get this all over with and go home.’

‘Yes. Yes, of course you would.’ DCI Davies smiled understandingly. Then, placing the statement he’d brought in with him on the table, he plucked a tissue from the box there and handed it to her. ‘We’ve registered the incident,’ he said kindly, seating himself opposite her. ‘And I believe DS Collins has explained to you about the need to have a little chat with one of our Specially Trained Officers?’

A little chat? Jasmine would hardly call it that. Mentally rolling her eyes, she blew her nose and nodded.

‘And you’ve offered to refer Jasmine to specialist counselling?’ DCI Davies turned questioningly to his oppo.

DS Collins nodded. ‘Yes, sir,’ she said. ‘I explained to Jasmine we can refer her to Rape Crisis, but—’

‘I’d rather not,’ Jasmine interjected. ‘I just want to get home and get back to normal. You know…’ She wrapped her arms about herself and looked beseechingly at him.

‘Yes, yes, of course,’ DCI Davies repeated, leaving Jasmine wondering whether he might be verbally challenged. ‘We do need to record as much information as possible before passing it on to our referral centre though, Jasmine, so if you could bear with us a bit longer?’

‘Sexual Assault Referral Centre,’ DS Collins supplied, smiling supportively in Jasmine’s direction.

‘Yes, thank you, DS Collins,’ Davies said, his expression back to serious as he laced his fingers and placed his hands on the desk in front of him. ‘I just need to clarify a few things. You’re not obliged to answer anything you don’t want to. Is that all right with you, Jasmine?’

Jasmine sighed and nodded stoically. ‘Yes,’ she said, and sniffled.

‘Right. Thank you.’ He smiled shortly again, which was becoming irritating, and actually a bit intimidating. She should report that. ‘So.’ He took a breath and referred to the statement. ‘You say you had an affair with Detective Inspector Adams. Can you just confirm—’

‘A brief affair,’ Jasmine corrected him.

‘A brief affair.’ Davies glanced curiously up at her, and then back to his papers. ‘Yes, right. Can you confirm when that was again, Jasmine?’

Jasmine sniffled and dabbed at her eyes with the tissue. ‘Three months after his daughter died,’ she answered assuredly.

‘Definitely September of that year then?’

‘Definitely. I’m not sure which day it was, but he said he’d been through hell at home since losing her. Obviously he told me when it was, and I remember I calculated how many weeks it had been.’ Jasmine shrugged, making sure to look suitably concerned.

Davies nodded and scanned his notes. ‘And you met at a garage?’

He looked dubious at that, but it seemed perfectly feasible to Jasmine. ‘That’s right. I hadn’t been driving long. I couldn’t get my petrol cap off and he offered to help. We got talking, met for a coffee, and …’ Shrugging again, Jasmine trailed off.

‘And where and how often did you meet thereafter?’

‘One or two times a week. Different hotels. His car sometimes.’ Feigning embarrassment, Jasmine glanced down. ‘He had to be careful, you know?’

‘And when did the affair end, Jasmine? Refresh my mind, will you?’

‘After a few weeks or so. It was all getting a bit heavy, to be honest, and he had a family and … Well, you know. I didn’t love him or anything, so …’

‘So it was you who ended the relationship?’

‘Yes.’ Jasmine took a shuddery breath. ‘He was really upset, but there was no future in it. I mean, he’s a lot older than me, isn’t he, and he has so much baggage.’

‘Right.’ Davies furrowed his brow. ‘Okay, Jasmine, moving on to the night of the alleged assault, you say DI Adams asked for something stronger when you offered him coffee?’

Glancing down, Jasmine fiddled nervously with the tissue. ‘Yes, he did.’

‘And he had several alcoholic drinks, you say, and I quote, “you couldn’t get rid of him”? Is that correct, Jasmine?’

Jasmine answered with a small nod.

‘Could you answer out loud, Jasmine?’ Collins asked, pointing to the recording machine.

‘Yes,’ Jasmine obliged. ‘I couldn’t get rid of him. He wouldn’t take the hint. When I said I was tired, he just parked the whisky bottle on the coffee table, propped his feet up next to it and loosened his tie.’

That was a nice touch, she thought, noting the sharp, worried glances the two exchanged.

‘And what time was it when he said, “I know you want it as much as I do”, approximately?’

‘I don’t know exactly,’ Jasmine answered falteringly, twisting her tissue into a long rope as she did. ‘I’ve already said. He asked if I wouldn’t mind topping his glass up and when I passed it to him—’

‘You passed DI Adams the glass?’

Jasmine eyed him curiously. What was he up to? ‘Yes. Why?’

‘No reason in particular. I just wondered why you would take the glass off him to top it up when the bottle was on the table in front of him.’

‘I don’t know,’ Jasmine said, flustered. ‘He passed it to me. I can’t remember.’

‘No, sorry.’ The furrow in Davies’ brow deepened. ‘I can understand you’d be a bit muddled. The shock, I imagine.’

‘Exactly.’ Jasmine nodded, pacified. ‘But I’m not muddled,’ she added quickly.

‘Right. Good. It is important we get every detail as precisely as we can though, you do see that, Jasmine?’

‘Yes,’ Jasmine acquiesced, with another brave nod.

‘So, can you remind me what happened next, Jasmine? Just for the record.’

As if it wasn’t already recorded, in triplicate. Quelling her irritation, Jasmine answered. ‘He caught hold of my hand and said … what you just said … and then he pulled me down on the sofa and …’ she hesitated. ‘I’ve already said. It’s in my statement. Do I have to say it all over again?’

‘No, that’s fine, Jasmine. Just take a breath and take your time,’ DCI Davies replied, glancing again at his DS, who was about as much use as a fart in a spacesuit, as far as Jasmine could see, sitting there as if she’d been struck dumb.

‘Are you all right to continue, Jasmine?’ he asked gently, after a pause. ‘Would you like a glass of water?’

‘No, thank you. I’m okay.’ Jasmine smiled tremulously and dabbed at her nose.

DCI Davies didn’t smile back. Steepling his hands and pressing them under his chin, he shot her another loaded question instead. ‘Are you absolutely adamant you weren’t interested in rekindling the relationship with DI Adams, Jasmine?’

‘Yes!’ Jasmine widened her eyes. ‘I didn’t mind talking to him, it was obvious he needed a shoulder, but I didn’t want to have sex with him. I have a boyfriend.’

‘Connor Preston?’ Davies eyed her dubiously. ‘The one who hit you?’

‘It was just an argument,’ Jasmine reiterated. ‘I said some awful things to him. He’s a great big puppy really. He was just exhausted. He looks after his sick mum, and … He just lost it, that’s all. He’s not like that really.’

‘And did you explain this to DI Adams? Before he insisted on coming into your apartment, I mean?’

Jasmine cautioned herself to be careful. He was trying to trap her. Wondering why she’d have let him in if she hadn’t believed Connor was a threat. Very good, Mr Policeman. ‘No.’ She sighed and shook her head. ‘I was confused and upset. And Matthew said that because of what happened he felt obliged to “check out the property”. But Connor isn’t like that, really he’s not. He came round this morning to apologise. It was him who persuaded me to come here. He’s in love with me. He’d do anything for me.’

Davies paused again, unnervingly, to peruse the statement. ‘But you did mention to DI Adams that Connor had a key?’ he asked, without looking up.

Crap. She’d already said she had. ‘Only because he asked,’ she said defensively. ‘I would have said no if I’d thought for a minute that Matthew was looking for reasons to come in.’

Davies drew in a long breath. ‘Right.’ He smiled, again. ‘Thank you, Jasmine. We do like to double-check we have all the information down correctly. You do understand?’

‘Yes,’ Jasmine said, making a show of dabbing her eyes this time, as Davies got to his feet.

‘DS Collins will stay with you while you’re here. I just need to have a quick word with her about our next step.’ Making eyes at his DS to follow him, Davies turned to the door.

‘Would you like another cup of tea, Jasmine, or coffee?’ the woman asked, obviously finding the use of her vocal chords.

Jasmine shook her head. ‘No, thank you.’ She smiled gratefully. Tastes like piss water.

‘I’ll be back in two minutes,’ Collins said, leaving her with the duty officer. They were obviously going to have a conflab about her. That was okay. Jasmine had accomplished everything she’d set out to. They had more than enough evidence to cast serious doubt on anything Adams would say now. He would have so much shit on his plate he would wonder whether there was any way out. And that’s what Jasmine was working towards: Adams considering his options, until he realised he didn’t have any. Her mouth curving into a slow smile, Jasmine leisurely examined her fingernails.

‘Sorry to keep you waiting, Becky.’ DCI Davies gave her one of his forced smiles as he came into the interview room. ‘I just needed to check a few details.’

Rebecca didn’t smile back. She doubted she’d ever smile again. ‘Has he been in contact yet?’ she asked shakily. She couldn’t bring herself to say, Have you found him yet? Couldn’t make herself believe he didn’t want to be found. His reasons why were too horrific to contemplate.

Taking a seat, DCI Davies shook his head. ‘It appears he’s running, Rebecca,’ he said gravely. ‘It doesn’t look good.’

Rebecca pulled her jacket tight around her. ‘What do you need?’ she asked, notching her chin up, striving desperately to stay strong, when all she wanted to do was to go home and crawl into bed.

‘You know what the girl’s accused him of?’ DCI Davies was blunt.

Rebecca tugged in a terse breath. ‘Yes,’ she said, fury welling up inside her. ‘She’s lying, John. You know she—’

John held up a silencing hand. ‘I have to establish the facts, Becky. I can’t know anything until I’ve done that.’

‘Followed protocol, you mean?’ Rebecca retorted angrily. ‘The same protocol that robbed us of our daughter? The same protocol that drove Matthew half out of his mind? That caused his family to be kidnapped?’

John glanced awkwardly down.

‘That was me John.’ Thumping a fist hard against her chest, Rebecca brought his attention sharply back to her face. ‘That was my daughter!’

John searched her eyes. ‘I know, Becky,’ he said quietly, agony in his own. ‘I live with it every day.’

‘As do we,’ Rebecca reminded him. ‘Matthew most of all. It almost destroyed him. He needs you now, John. Whatever bureaucracy you have to abide by, this time he needs you to believe in him.’

Nodding, John picked a pen up from the table and twirled it thoughtfully. ‘Matthew’s not making this easy for me, Becky. I want to believe in him. Of course I do. Do you honestly think I don’t?’ Tossing the pen back to the table, he leaned wearily back in his chair.

‘No,’ Rebecca conceded, her rage waning impotently inside her.

Sighing, John straightened up. ‘In order to do that, I have to establish the facts, Becky,’ he said, his eyes holding hers. ‘I know this is hard, but I need you to confirm what the girl told you in the Skype call. I need you to answer one or two other questions honestly. Can you do that?’

‘I’ve no reason not to,’ Rebecca replied staunchly. ‘Whatever she claims Matthew did, he didn’t. That’s a fact.’

John sighed. He looked exhausted. This was hard for him too, but how could Rebecca make it any easier? She couldn’t just sit by and watch them convict her husband of these horrendous things he was being accused of. One of their colleagues, who would put his life on the line for any one of them. That knowledge had constantly terrified her, but that was also a fact. It was who Matthew was. He wasn’t the monster the media were portraying him to be.

John drew a breath. ‘You say she said she didn’t have sex with him?’ he asked, glancing down at his paperwork.

‘That’s right.’ Rebecca took a breath, bracing herself for what would inevitably come next.

‘But she insisted he wanted to.’

‘For old time’s sake, yes.’ Rebecca held eye contact with him, though inside another little piece of her died. ‘Also bullshit, John. Pure fabrication. The girl’s a pathological liar. Surely you know that?’

‘I can’t know anything, Becky,’ John insisted forcefully. ‘Not without the facts.’ Wiping a hand over his forehead he sighed heavily, clearly trying to curtail his own frustration. ‘Confirm something for me, Becky, will you?’

His look was hesitant, Rebecca noted. ‘If I can.’ She nodded.

‘The holiday you and Matthew took after Lily … Can you remember when it was?’

‘I can remember exactly when it was,’ Rebecca assured him. ‘It was almost three months after she died. Two months, three weeks and six days, to be precise. Do you need the minutes?’

John now looked extremely contrite. ‘No. That’s fine, Becky. I’m sorry I had to—’

‘It was her birthday,’ Becky continued, glancing down. ‘But …’ Confused, she looked narrowly back at him. ‘… surely you have all this on record? Matthew went on a training course, directly afterwards.’ For another two weeks. Rebecca recalled how she’d had to convince him she’d be fine, though she’d ached for him every single night and day, and Matthew had rung her at least three times a day. It was a period of their lives she wasn’t likely to forget.

John gave her another one of his elusive smiles. ‘We do,’ he said. ‘I just wanted to make sure I’d got it right. I have one or two other questions. Sorry,’ he repeated, obviously noting her despair. It was a heartfelt apology Rebecca knew, but it didn’t help.

‘You say she’d seen the internet video?’ John went on, checking his notes, as he did.

‘Yes. She pretended sympathy.’

John glanced back at her. ‘But she couldn’t say what time he left?’

‘John, I’ve been through all this,’ Rebecca reminded him exasperatedly.

‘I’m just trying to piece things together, Becky. Humour me, will you?’

Humour him? Rebecca sighed inwardly. ‘She was vague. When I pressurised her, she said he’d stayed “about an hour and a half”.’

‘Ah,’ John said, and made a note. ‘And they just talked?’

‘According to her, yes.’ Rebecca refrained from using her name.

‘And Matthew drank a lot?’

Seeing where this was going, that Matthew perhaps hadn’t been in control of his actions, Rebecca gritted her teeth. ‘Again, according to her, yes.’

John nodded slowly, his eyes still downcast. Clearly, as Matthew had used alcohol as a crutch once, that was his line of thinking. He’d lost his father to suicide, and then his daughter to a hit-and-run driver, paid for by Sullivan. Wasn’t he entitled to slide off the bloody rails? Rebecca wanted to scream. It had been a blip. And John damn well knew it.

‘What did they talk about,’ John looked back to her, ‘exactly?’

‘I don’t know exactly, John. How could I?’

‘He talked about Lily though?’ John’s gaze was sympathetic again.

Rebecca simply nodded.

‘And he mentioned Sullivan?’

‘Yes.’ Rebecca felt her heart bleed afresh at the mention of her baby’s name so close to that animal’s. ‘So she said.’

‘Clarify another couple of points for me, Becky, will you?’

Rebecca massaged her temples, now feeling very close to tears. Did they really think Matthew was a rapist? A murderer?

‘You say you asked Jasmine outright whether she’d slept with Matthew?’

‘Yes,’ Rebecca supplied tiredly.

‘Was that because you thought there was a possibility he might have, Becky?’ John asked his question gently, but still it hit Rebecca like a slap across the face.

‘No!’ she refuted angrily. ‘I do not bloody well think there was a possibility he might have!’

‘I’m sorry, Becky,’ John said, uncomfortably. ‘I have to ask.’

Rebecca eyed him disappointedly. ‘Do you? Has Matthew ever given you any indication his marriage was in trouble? Have we given you that impression?’ She was referring to the many police social functions they’d been to, where she’d danced with her husband, talked with him, laughed with him, left with him and made love with him. This was so ludicrous it was laughable.

John reached for his pen again, rolling it thoughtfully between his thumbs and forefingers. ‘Honestly?’ He smiled a more genuine smile. ‘No.’ He gave her that much, before moving swiftly on. ‘She definitely said he’d left, though, and stayed approximately an hour and a half?’

‘Yes.’ Composing herself, Rebecca answered that one too. ‘Definitely. She made a big issue of how she’d advised him against driving.’

John tapped his pen on the table. ‘Well, he definitely didn’t do that.’

‘He didn’t do what he’s being accused of either, John,’ Rebecca assured him.

John’s answer to which was to look troubled.

‘What about forensics?’ Rebecca asked as he pondered, knowing he’d know exactly what she meant.

Grazing a hand over his chin, John nodded eventually, reluctantly. ‘The, er, timings may be questionable,’ he offered, his eyes flicking to hers and then down to the table. ‘I can’t say any more.’

Rebecca understood. He shouldn’t have said that much, she knew, and was grateful for at least a tiny sliver of hope.

‘And she definitely claimed she’d met Matthew once before when you spoke at the reception, but Matthew appeared not to remember?’

‘That’s correct,’ Rebecca answered, wishing he would hurry up and get to the point. ‘That was a load of codswallop too. She was obviously weaving her web as she went along.’

John pondered, grazing a hand over his unshaven chin as he did. ‘Did she make any overt advances? In your opinion, that is?’

Rebecca shook her head. ‘Not overt, no. It was just obvious she had designs on him. You’d have to be a woman to understand.’

John smiled wryly at that. ‘Did Matthew?’ he asked. ‘Encourage her in any way, I mean.’

‘Absolutely not.’ Rebecca was adamant.

‘But they did swap telephone numbers?’

‘Swap?’

Clearly, John recognised her uneasiness at his odd choice of word. ‘Sorry,’ he said, ‘I’m quoting your friend, the bride’s mother. She said she witnessed Matthew and the girl exchanging telephone numbers.’

‘You spoke to her?’ Rebecca eyed him with a mixture of surprise and suspicion.

‘We have to collect information, Rebecca. It’s like a jigsaw, you know that. All the pieces have to fit. Confirming people were where they say they were at the time they claim they were is all part of the information gathering process,’ John reminded her patiently.

Conceding the point, Rebecca nodded.

‘We also spoke to your friend, Melanie, at the hospital,’ he went on. ‘Can you just confirm for me what Ashley meant when she said Matthew was visiting a trollop?’

Realising the innuendo, Rebecca stared at him, astonished. ‘She meant Jasmine. I’ve already explained. She made it obvious she … Oh, for … John, this is ridiculous. I told him to take the girl home. She was distressed, in tears, in trouble, or so I thought.’

Nodding, John searched his papers again, and then looked back to her. ‘One last question, Rebecca. It’s a delicate one, I’m afraid.’ He held her gaze, and from the look in his eyes, Rebecca guessed it was an unpalatable one. ‘Can you confirm what kind of contraception you use?’

‘Contraception?’ Rebecca balked. Why on earth would he …? Noting John’s worried expression, she answered, her heart plummeting. ‘The pill.’ She searched his face. ‘Why?’

Again, John nodded, contemplatively. ‘So Matthew would have no reason to be carrying condoms in the glove compartment of his car?’