Chapter Fifteen

Having obviously also decided to be hands on during his interview, Matthew guessed Davies would follow protocol to the letter, making sure the custody officer informed him of his rights, and then explaining again how long they could hold him before applying for permission to hold him longer without charge. Davies offered him the chance to privately consult with a solicitor, which Matthew had declined. He’d cautioned him again, even told him how often he could take breaks, as if Matthew didn’t know all of it by heart.

Currently he was informing him that the interview would be recorded, ‘to protect the police and yourself from any claims you’ve been made to say, things you did not wish to, or things that were untrue’; DCI Davies finished with that short smile of his, which was meant to be inscrutable, but which was actually anything but. Reserved for those ‘as guilty as sin’ in the DCI’s own words, that short smile relayed volumes.

‘So, Matthew.’ Davies laced his fingers together and placed his hands on the desk in front of him. ‘Finally, just a reminder that anything you say is voluntary. If you do not wish to say anything at all then you may exercise this right. If you do decide to talk to us, anything you say will be played to the court if you choose to plead not guilty to the charge and it goes to a trial. Do you understand?’

He really was doing it by the book, wasn’t he? ‘Yes, I understand.’ Sighing inwardly, Matthew told the man what he needed to hear.

‘Right. Good.’ Davies shuffled his various papers, a delaying tactic Matthew knew well. One Davies employed to make the detainee sweat before going in for the kill. Running a hand wearily over his neck, he looked at his DCI, the man who’d labelled him obsessed when he’d insisted Sullivan had engineered the accident that had killed his daughter, and his hope dwindled further. Davies hadn’t believed him then. Looked like he was suspending belief now, too.

Matthew couldn’t blame him, based on his psych report, and the fact that he’d walked out of his counselling session. The psychiatrist had suggested he might be feeling guilty, responsible because his ‘actions/obsession’ with bringing Sullivan to justice had instigated the kidnapping of his wife, Matthew recalled. As if he wouldn’t? The guilt never left him. Christ, he even felt guilty about Sullivan’s lingering death.

‘So how are you feeling, Matthew?’ DCI Davies started, with another one of those not-so-elusive smiles.

Matthew almost laughed at that. ‘Not great,’ he said.

‘Tired, I bet?’ DCI Davies furrowed his brow, looking concerned.

‘Some,’ Matthew answered, with a shrug. He wasn’t aiming to be disrespectful, but he really needed this to get where it was going.

‘Angry? Bewildered?’

‘Both of the above,’ Matthew concurred. ‘Plus …’ He paused, eyeing Davies levelly. ‘… ashamed.’

DCI Davies arched his eyebrows. Obviously he hadn’t been expecting him to admit to that. ‘Why’s that then, Matthew?’ he asked carefully. ‘Because of what you’ve done?’

Matthew did laugh then, a short sardonic laugh. Glancing down, he squeezed the bridge of his nose hard between his thumb and forefinger. He didn’t want to do this. How he was feeling, like the weakest specimen of manhood that ever walked the earth, truth be known, it didn’t matter. What mattered, what he needed, desperately, was some kind of reaction from whoever it was that wanted him here, humiliated, arrested, obviously. But that wasn’t all. Matthew was sure of it. Why would someone go to such lengths to get him banged up? Might it be someone already on the inside? Strings could be pulled, favours called in, minions instructed. Isn’t that exactly what that drug-dealing piece of scum Sullivan had done, engineering from behind bars to have his family targeted? Was him in prison exactly what whoever it was wanted, all he wanted, in order to exact some kind of vengeance? Possibly. It was one explanation, but still Matthew had no clue who or what might have precipitated this madness.

Taking a breath, he dispensed with whatever pride he had left and looked directly at Davies. ‘Isn’t that how victims of sexual crimes usually feel?’

Davies’ eyes shot wide. Obviously he hadn’t expected that either. Matthew waited while Davies and his sidekick, DS Anderson, otherwise known as Relentless because he didn’t give up on a case, swapped uncomfortable glances.

‘Take another look at the tape,’ he suggested. ‘You might find some indication I wasn’t in full possession of my faculties.’

‘Evidently,’ Anderson muttered facetiously.

Matthew ignored that. There was no love lost between Anderson and him. A thickset intimidating bastard, Anderson used his bulk to his advantage, preferring an aggressive policing approach, which Matthew found frankly unpalatable and meant they were never going to be best of friends.

‘I was drugged,’ Matthew said, taking a deep breath and fully expecting Anderson to guffaw out loud.

Davies stared at him, incredulous. ‘Drugged?’

‘Drugged. GHB, Rohypnol, something else, obviously,’ Matthew confirmed, an avalanche of conflicting emotion hitting him all at once. He felt defiled, dirty, responsible and utterly stupid. There should have been another female present when he went into that apartment. He should have called someone immediately when he woke at the hotel. Anyone. Steve, he could have … Matthew attempted to block it, to curtail his rage and his shame. He couldn’t. He was feeling it. All of it. Every confidence crushing emotion a victim would live through, some finding it impossible to live with. He wasn’t sure he could. What frightened him most though, was that he wasn’t sure Becky could.

Looking back to his ‘colleagues’, he caught a definite smirk on Anderson’s face and suppressed another almost overwhelming emotion: the urge to lean across and wipe it off.

‘Right,’ the man said, folding his arms and eyeballing Matthew amusedly. ‘But you didn’t come straight in and get tested?’

Matthew answered calmly. ‘No, I didn’t.’

‘Why, Matthew?’ Davies picked up his pen, eyeing him curiously as he tapped it on the table.

Matthew met his gaze. ‘Because I was scared,’ he told him truthfully.

‘I bet you were,’ Anderson retorted. ‘Panic struck, I should think.’

Matthew turned to him, now trying very hard to temper his rising fury. ‘Definitely,’ he assured him. ‘Wouldn’t you be if you woke up stark bollock naked in a hotel room to find blood all over the fucking place, a video of you in your own porn flick all over the internet and no memory of what the hell had happened?’

‘Ahem.’ Davies coughed awkwardly. ‘Would you like to take a break, Matthew?’

‘No, I would not like to take a break.’ Matthew turned angrily back to Davies. ‘I wasn’t scared for me, John. I had no idea what was going on, what had gone on in that room. Obviously violence of some sort. For Christ’s sake, John, I was scared for my family, not me. Why else would I run?’

Anderson emitted a derisory snort. ‘So why did you? Talk us through it, Matthew. Why did you leave the scene of an “obvious” crime? How was it you ended up with the victim of that crime in another location? We’re all ears.’

Matthew tugged in another terse breath. ‘Because I needed time.’

Anderson leaned back in his chair, his look openly sceptical. ‘So you bought time at the cost of proof of your innocence?’

‘Yes!’ Matthew grated angrily. ‘I figured the drugs would probably be out of my system anyway. Knew I’d have a hell of a lot of explaining to do and I had no explanations. I needed to find out why I’d been set-up. I needed to find out who the blood belonged to.’ Jesus Christ. Matthew sat heavily back in his chair, realising he’d almost said comprendre?

Shaking his head, Anderson doodled on his pad, while Davies continued to tap his pen on the table.

‘Do you know who administered these drugs?’ Davies asked him, appraising him carefully.

Matthew ran his hands wearily over his face. ‘Jasmine Francis,’ he supplied, guessing what was coming next.

‘The girl you took home?’ Davies didn’t sound convinced.

‘Escorted for her own safety,’ Matthew corrected him.

Anderson shook his head again, exasperatedly. ‘The girl who claims you raped her,’ he said flatly.

Matthew held his gaze as the man looked back to him. ‘I didn’t,’ he stated emphatically.

Anderson looked away first, which was small satisfaction to Matthew.

Davies ran through his notes, still tapping his pen repeatedly as he did. ‘I’d like to put another scenario forward, Matthew, if I may?’

Guessing what that scenario might be, Matthew curbed his frustration and waited.

‘The girl, Natalie.’ Davies paused.

Matthew closed his eyes, inwardly wincing as images of the girl’s lifeless body immediately emblazoned themselves graphically on his mind.

‘She’d obviously decided to video, shall we say, events, with a view to blackmail.’

Matthew emitted a despairing sigh. The man was barking completely up the wrong tree. Natalie hadn’t videoed ‘events’ with a view to anything. She hadn’t videoed events full stop. Nor had she posted them online. Natalie’s intention had been no more than to pick up her cash and lay low for a while. Matthew was positive of that.

‘You’d have a hell of a lot to lose as a policeman,’ Davies went on, and then paused again, for effect, Matthew guessed. ‘Isn’t it more likely that you found out what she was up to, Matthew? That you realised you were being filmed and that you got angry?’

‘Furious, I imagine. I would have been,’ Anderson chipped in.

Matthew kept his gaze on Davies. ‘No.’ Again, he was emphatic.

‘The girl denies it. Possibly even admits it. Taunts you, maybe? You lose your temper, lash out and—’

‘No!’ Matthew slammed his hand on the table. ‘That’s not what happened!’

‘There’s DNA all over the body, Matthew!’ Davies banged his pen down. ‘Fibres, your skin under her nails, scratches all over you. For God’s sake, man, she was strangled with your tie!’ Leaning forward, he eyeballed Matthew furiously.

‘That is not what happened,’ Matthew repeated, holding his gaze.

‘The body was moved. Can you explain that, Matthew?’ Anderson asked him.

‘I gathered,’ Matthew said, more quietly. ‘And no, I can’t.’

Davies contemplated for a second. ‘You do realise this is going to have to be passed up, Matthew?’

‘Yes.’ Matthew nodded. That was a given.

‘Meanwhile, we’ll need to take photos and samples: saliva, photos, blood, urine. We’ll need your consent for the latter.’

‘Yes, whatever,’ Matthew agreed, growing more frustrated by the second. While he was in here, anything could be happening out there. ‘What about the MO?’ he asked, wondering whether they’d even bothered to try to establish one.

‘MO?’ Davies’ expression was back to curious.

Apparently they hadn’t. ‘Her shoe was missing. One shoe. Remind you of anyone?’

Davies looked blank for a second, and then utterly despairing. ‘Oh, come on, Matthew. Not that?’ he said, with an elongated sigh. ‘Again!’

‘She was face down, John. Her head twisted to one side. I’m guessing the arm was fractured, am I right?’

‘Sullivan’s dead!’ Davies reminded him forcefully, and then eyed the ceiling. ‘Are you saying we’ve got a copycat?’ He looked back at him, obviously attempting to control his agitation.

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying,’ Matthew stated evenly. ‘Thus, my concern for my family.’

Davies drew in a breath and blew it out slowly. ‘Right.’ He nodded and looked directly back at Matthew. ‘Small problem with this theory, Matthew. In regard to Sullivan’s MO, the missing shoe was never made public.’

‘Fuck.’ Matthew squeezed his eyes closed. ‘You’re joking.’

‘Doesn’t look very amused to me,’ Anderson observed as Davies tapped his pen hard, once, pointedly, scraped his chair back and then got to his feet.

‘Davies!’ Matthew did likewise. ‘What about my family?’ He came around the table, as Davies headed for the door.

Davies faltered, but didn’t turn back.

‘John, there’s more to this!’ Matthew tried, feeling desperate. He’d go down for it. He’d do it, if he had to, but he had to know they’d at least try to get to the truth, that they’d take his claims seriously enough to protect his family. ‘Much more! I know how it looks, but—’

‘Looks cut and dried to me,’ Anderson imparted dryly.

‘Oh, for fu—’ Matthew dragged his hands through his hair. ‘John, please, I’m begging you. I’m not imagining this. Dear God, I wish I was. My family needs protection.’

John turned, finally. ‘Based on what, Matthew?’ he asked, his expression back to inscrutable. ‘Have they been threatened?’

‘I … don’t know.’ Matthew searched frantically for a way to make him see. ‘I don’t have anything to back up my claims. I just know, John. They’re in danger. Please don’t walk away. Not this time.’

Matthew’s gut twisted, as Davies turned back to the door. ‘For Christ’s sake, John! You owe me!’ he shouted, going after him.

Anderson blocked him. ‘Not a good idea, mate,’ he suggested, ‘unless you want to be physically restrained?’

‘John, don’t do this,’ Matthew pleaded, his throat tight. Useless. He swallowed hard, as Davies reached for the door. He’d been working on the assumption it was him they wanted: behind bars, if not eventually convicted, some kind of vengeance meted out thereafter. What if he’d got it wrong? What if that vengeance was to be gratified on the outside, while he was locked up, powerless to do anything about it?

Jesus. ‘I need to make a call,’ he said as Anderson walked to the door, gesturing the duty officer to come in. ‘Do you hear me?’ he shouted. ‘I want my phone call! Now!’

Five minutes later, Matthew got his call. He’d deliberated, and fast come to the conclusion that he might have a battle on his hands if he asked Becky to go away for a while. Becky would be reluctant and Ashley … The girl had dogged his every move when Becky had been missing, stuck like a limpet to his side, until he’d tried to make her see sense and go temporarily back to the care home. Then she’d done a runner, straight into Sullivan’s arms. Could he take the risk she might do that again? Debating for a second longer, Matthew punched in Kristen’s telephone number and hoped Ashley would understand why he’d needed to involve her.

‘Kristen, it’s Matthew,’ he said quickly, when she picked up. ‘I don’t have much time.’

‘Shoot,’ Kristen said. ‘What do you need?’

Matthew heaved out a sigh of relief. As an alcoholic Kristen was unpredictable, incoherent, abusive; the only thing she could be relied upon to do was to get as drunk as possible. Sober, she was dependable, his sister, cut from the same cloth he was. He could rely on her now to get this done.

‘I need you to pick up Becky,’ he said. ‘Don’t ring her. Don’t make any destination plans. Just grab a few things, get her and the kids in the car and drive. Do you think you can do that?’

Kristen drew in a breath. ‘Consider it done,’ she said. ‘Anything you want me to tell her?’

Matthew hesitated. If he was wrong about this he was risking terrifying Becky for no reason. Ashley too, but … ‘Tell her there’s a possible link to Sullivan,’ he said and prayed that he was wrong. ‘That I’m struggling to get anyone to see it. She’ll understand.’

‘Will do.’

‘Dump your phones, Kristen,’ he said, knowing they could be tracked by pretty much anyone. ‘All of them. Get new pay as you go and ring the station once you know you’re safe.’

‘That bad then?’ Kristen asked him worriedly.

Matthew ran a hand over his neck. ‘Honestly, I don’t know. Hopefully not, but …’

‘You’re playing it safe,’ Kristen finished. ‘Fair enough. I’m on my way.’

Matthew closed his eyes and nodded, relieved she was intuitive enough not to ask too many questions. ‘Take the B roads, Kristen. Make sure you’re not followed.’

‘I will,’ she assured him. ‘I’ll do a car switch somewhere. Don’t worry.’

‘Smart thinking,’ Matthew said, grateful for her astuteness.

‘Yeah, well, Dad’s influence rubbed off on me too, you know. Unfortunately, not all of it good,’ Kristen joked self-deprecatingly. Meaning the booze, Matthew knew. ‘One question, though, Matthew,’ she asked, moving swiftly on from that subject. ‘Have you called a solicitor?’

Matthew realised he hadn’t, and knew now that he had to. ‘No, not yet.’ He scrambled through his brain for a name. ‘Call Steve for me, would you? Becky has the number,’ he asked her, and then recalled Ashley saying something about Steve being here. Matthew hadn’t seen him, but then, they were playing it by the book, weren’t they? He wasn’t likely to be allowed to see anyone other than his solicitor.

‘Got it.’

‘Oh, and one more thing,’ Matthew paused and glanced towards where Anderson was conversing with the duty officer, glancing pointedly in his direction occasionally as he did. One more snide comment from him and Matthew might well be up on another charge. ‘Tell her I’m sorry, will you?’

‘I’ll make sure to, but I’m not sure you have anything to be sorry for, Matthew.’

‘Yeah, maybe.’ So many times he’d tried to convince victims of abuse that it wasn’t their fault, that nothing they’d done was the cause of it. He was going to have to try a lot harder to convince himself. ‘Got to go,’ he said tightly, his attention on the door as Davies returned. ‘Take care, Kristen.’

‘I will, I promise. You too, Matthew.’

Giving himself a second to compose himself, Matthew turned to his erstwhile colleague, his expression probably as contemptuous as he felt, but Matthew really didn’t give a stuff.

‘Matthew.’ Davies smiled that short smile of his. ‘How are you doing?’

‘Fabulously,’ Matthew replied, his tone definitely contemptuous. ‘I’m about to be charged with two serious crimes I didn’t commit, no doubt remanded in custody. My family are possibly in mortal danger and I’m powerless to do anything about it. Couldn’t be better really, could I, sir?’

DCI Davies glanced down. He wasn’t quick to look back at him, Matthew noticed. ‘The doctor’s arrived.’ He glanced through the papers he placed on the table instead, as he imparted that delightful piece of news. ‘I hadn’t realised you were on steroids for your asthma, Matthew.’ He did look at him then, questioningly.

Matthew ran his hand over his neck. They weren’t about to do him for withholding that information, he supposed.

‘You might want to have a word about replenishing stocks,’ Davies suggested, pretty much indicating he was being detained. ‘In regard to the drugging incident you mentioned, would you like to chat with a Sexual Assault Response Coordinator? We could get that organised for you, if you’d like.’

His tone was sympathetic but, given the allegations against him, Matthew couldn’t help but smile at the irony of that. ‘No. Thanks,’ he said. Something else he tried to do was to convince people to get the help they needed, starting with talking through what had happened. Matthew seriously doubted he would ever be able to talk about this. ‘Maybe. Sometime.’

Davies looked him over, his expression troubled. ‘Well, if you change your mind …’

‘I won’t.’

Drawing in a long breath, Davies nodded despairingly. ‘We’ll be requesting a full toxicology report obviously, hair strand test, etcetera,’ he assured him, ‘but that will take time. You are aware of that, Matthew?’

‘Fully,’ Matthew assured him. ‘I factored that in when I was trying to decide where I could best help my family.’

‘Right.’ Davies nodded again, awkwardly this time, and collected up his papers. ‘Well, if you’re ready?’

‘Would it make any difference if I wasn’t?’ Matthew asked him disappointedly. Davies was either playing his cards close to his chest or he didn’t believe a word he’d said. The latter, Matthew assumed, acquiescing with a tired nod.

Definite sympathy in the man’s eyes now, probably because he was about to be swabbed, prodded and poked, Davies turned for the door, only to find DS Collins barrelling through it, which didn’t please him. ‘Isn’t it usual to knock, DS Collins?’ he barked agitatedly.

‘Yes, sir. Sorry, sir,’ Jamie replied quickly, looking flustered. ‘It’s just there’s been some developments and …’ Trailing off, she glanced pointedly in Matthew’s direction.

‘Outside,’ Davies instructed, striding forward to usher her out.