There are the usual castrators and hang ‘em high brigade, plus a lot of students. A lot of angry students.’
‘Yes, sir,’ Davies said. ‘Not much peace and love by the sound of it.’
‘I want you to get over there and try again. Charlotte and DC Jackson this time. The beauty and the beast act, please.’ Hardin continued to look out of the window as if he could see all the way across the city to the station in the centre of town. ‘If that doesn’t work we release him, do you get my drift?’
*
Interview room three stank of vomit, the grey carpet tiles in one corner turned a lighter shade by the contents of some drunk’s stomach. A whiff of stale cigarette smoke suggested that somebody had ignored the big red ‘No Smoking’ sign on the wall as well. They had been scheduled to start at eleven but the interview didn’t begin until nearer twelve since Amanda Bradley, Trent’s brief, had turned up late. Bradley sat down next to Trent, her short skirt riding up to expose chunky thighs wrapped in sheer black tights. The outline of a black bra showed through her flimsy shirt as she removed her jacket and hung it on the back of the chair. Jackson’s eyes widened as Bradley apologised for her tardiness.
‘Had to come in from a previous appointment out of town,’ she beamed through white teeth, glossy red lips and a mouth that was a bit too big. ‘Traffic was horrendous.’
Savage didn’t believe her excuse. Bitch Bradley had the handle on them. She knew the PACE clock was running and, even allowing for a twelve hour extension, come five thirty the next morning Trent would be out. They might be able to get a further extension following a court application, but if the searches turned up nothing at all it was unlikely.
Jackson put fresh tapes in the machines and got the formalities out of the way, introducing those present and cautioning Trent. He explained to Trent why they were continuing the interview and went through the rapes one by one asking Trent where he had been on the dates they had taken place.
Trent sat fidgeting, first with his hair, winding the strands around his fingers like a teenage girl, and then with the zip on the over-sized shell suit he was wearing. Some kind soul had rooted the purple and aqua monstrosity out of the lost property box to replace Trent’s own clothes which were covered in DC Denton’s blood and had now become evidence. In contrast to his body language Trent’s voice came out in a flat monotone and he answered each allegation the same way. The final date brought the same reply.
‘Like I told you yesterday, I was at home that night.’
‘Mr Trent, we know you were at home,’ Jackson said, bristling with anger. ‘The question is whose home and what you were bloody doing there!’
‘My home. Watching TV.’
‘What did you watch?’
‘Can’t remember. Some reality show, maybe later the news?’
‘The news? How convenient. The news is on every fucking night so the fact you watched the programme isn’t exactly an alibi, is it? Next you will be telling me that you went to bed with the bloody Guardian.’ Jackson thumped the table with his fist. Savage could only imagine what the interview had been like the previous night with Davies joining in as well. Time for beauty to step in.
‘Richard,’ she said, trying to bring an air of calm to the proceedings. ‘Has anybody told you David Forester is dead?’
‘No!’ Trent put his hands together in front of his opened mouth, as if in prayer. ‘Dead?’
‘Yes. Murdered.’
Trent swallowed and glanced at his brief. Bradley turned to Trent for a moment, her eyes wide, before she returned her attention to Savage.
‘I don’t believe I have been informed who David Forester is. Do you mind if I consult with my client?’
The two heads bent towards each other and a few murmured words passed between them.
‘My client doesn’t know who David Forester is,’ Bradley said, her composure restored.
‘Bollocks!’ Jackson said, ignoring the solicitor and addressing Trent. ‘You do know, and you killed him!’
‘Wait a moment,’ Bradley said, putting her arm out in front of Trent as if shielding him from the accusation. ‘Is this a fresh allegation?’
‘Did you know David Forester, Richard?’ Savage said. ‘It seemed as if you did a moment ago.’
‘I… no. I never met him. Don’t know who he is. I must have seen his name in the papers or on TV.’
‘Wrong answer Mr Know-it-all lecturer,’ Jackson said. ‘The papers never reported his death. You just flunked your finals.’
‘I don’t know who he is.’ Trent seemed more confident, as if he had weathered the storm. He repeated the denial several times and neither Savage nor Jackson could persuade him to say anything else on the matter.
Bradley had a smile on her face now, the glee evident. On the desk in front of her a latest model iPhone flashed a little icon on the screen as it recorded Bradley’s own copy of the interview. Savage fancied shoving the phone right in between those big teeth, ramming the hideous pink contraption down her throat until she choked on Trent’s weasel-like words. Instead she decided it was time to move to the back up plan Hardin had proposed.
‘OK, Mr Trent, I think we are finished for now. You are free to leave.’
‘Interview suspended at 12.13 PM,’ Jackson said and proceeded to stop the tapes and remove and seal them up.
‘There’s a bit of a crowd waiting for you outside, but you should be able to get through.’ Savage smiled at Trent and pushed back her chair to get up.
Trent’s face cracked like an egg hit with a spoon and he turned to plead with his brief. Bradley put a hand on his arm to stop him.
‘My client will require an escort away from here.’
‘Oh I don’t think that will be necessary. There are only a few photographers and a couple of hundred students. I have no idea what they are doing to be honest. Something about a paedophile.’
‘Paedophile?’ Trent said. ‘But they…’
‘They?’ Savage said. ‘The girls you mean? Tracy Williams was I believe fourteen. Granted she appeared a whole lot older covered in makeup and wearing a cutesy little skirt. The push up bra helped too, amazing what those things can do. Obviously the press don’t know any of that because we have to shield her identity.’
‘You have to protect my client. You have a duty of care.’ Bradley had picked up the phone, but Savage noticed she hadn’t stopped recording.
‘Calm down, Ms Bradley, of course we do. We will put Mr Trent in a car and take him home. I believe a few people are hanging around Moor Vale as well, but we can put a uniform on the door. For tonight, at least.’
Bradley nodded, but did not comment. Trent stared at his hands on the table, almost as if they did not belong to him. The right hand jerked up and down with little shaking movements until he put the left hand on top.
Savage continued. ‘To be on the safe side we will put out a statement saying Mr Trent cooperated fully with us and has provided some very valuable leads. We will explain that we expect to be making a number of arrests in the next few hours.’
‘No!’ Trent said. ‘I mean I don’t want to go home. I want to go somewhere else. Away from here, away from Plymouth. I need a new identity, I need protection.’
‘This isn’t a movie, Mr Trent, this is real life, and the last time I enquired Devon and Cornwall Police weren’t running a travel agency. Pity really, I could do with a break.’
‘But it’s not safe, they will get me and kill me.’
‘Who exactly, Mr Trent? The mob outside or someone else? We can’t do much about either, I am afraid.’
‘Jesus!’ Trent leant forward and put his head in his hands. He started to hyperventilate and talk to himself. Then he began to sob. Bradley wriggled on her seat and Savage noted she didn’t make any attempt to comfort him. Cold bitch. After a couple of minutes Trent looked up, his eyes glassy and his face white like a blank sheet of paper awaiting a story. Jackson unwrapped a fresh set of tapes and stuck them in the machine.
*
Alice had been in danger of losing track of the days until she hit on the idea of the pips. Every morning she woke to find a tray with fresh fruit and a bottle of water at the door and from the third day she started to secrete apple pips under a corner of the mattress — one for every day. Now she held the little brown seeds in her hand and counted off the days until she arrived at Tuesday. Or Wednesday. She couldn’t quite figure the precise day because she didn’t know how long she had slept at the beginning of the ordeal, but as she put the pips back under the bed she reckoned it was a pretty good guess.
