Accident and emergency at Ealing is one of the busiest hospital departments in West London, and it took Brock a little while to find his way to the bed where Pip lay, face ashen, eyes closed.
‘How’s she doing?’ Brock pulled a chair up beside Kathy’s. He saw the dark shadows around Kathy’s eyes, and when he took her hand he felt a tremor.
‘She’ll be all right. Rafferty tried to throw away some orange pills when the uniforms arrived. They think they’re Klonopin, similar effect to Rohypnol. They’ve stabilised her.’
‘Was she assaulted?’
‘A few bruises. The way they were handling her…’ Kathy stopped and took a deep breath. ‘She hasn’t said anything yet. Apparently she may remember nothing.’
‘Where’s Rafferty now?’
‘Down the road, at Ealing police station. His mate’s called Brendan Crouch, no record.’
‘Have they been charged?’
‘Yes.’
‘Witnesses?’
‘They’re taking statements in the pub now.’
‘Okay, good. We don’t have to do anything till morning.’
‘I think we should speak to them now, while they’re still rattled.’
Brock looked at her cautiously. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, I can take care of that.’
‘I need to be there, Brock. This is about Marion as well as Pip.’
‘You think Rafferty had something to do with Marion’s death?’
‘That’s why we were there, at the pub.’ She explained about their visit to the fireworks company and then going to question Rafferty. ‘I’ll bet he’s done this before, lacing women’s drinks. Maybe the arsenic was an experiment that went wrong, maybe it was more than that.’
‘Hm. Has the doctor had a look at you?’
‘I’m fine, really.’
‘Have you had anything to eat tonight?’
She shook her head.
‘All right then. First we get you a meal and a good wash, and then we’ll go down the road.’
At the Ealing police station they were met by the duty inspector, who advised them that the pub interviews weren’t promising. ‘No one saw anything, or at least admits to it. No one even remembers Rafferty and Crouch being there, or DC Gallagher. Sorry.’
They decided to interview Brendan Crouch first, in the hope he would give them something. He had a strong Liverpool accent and an air of mystified innocence. ‘I don’t know what this is all about,’ he said, then looked accusingly at Kathy. ‘She nearly broke my fuckin’ finger.’
‘How did you meet the woman in the pub?’ Brock asked.
‘Which woman was that?’
‘The one I caught you loading into Rafferty’s van,’ Kathy snapped.
He gave her a cool, considering look. ‘She approached us. We were having a quiet drink when this tart comes up to us, giving us the big eye. She chats for a while and offers to buy us a drink, but her speech is slurred, and she’s obviously had a skinful. We tell her she’s had enough, so she asks if we could take her home. Well…’ Crouch gave a little smile. ‘Why not? Keith’s van was parked in the lane out the back, but she keeled over as soon as the cold air hit her. We were just trying to help her into the van when this lady started screaming at us.’ He nodded at Kathy.
Through this account, Brock was aware of Kathy at his side, chewing her bottom lip, her nails dug into the palms of her hands, trying to contain herself.
‘That’s a lie,’ she said, voice tight.
He gazed at her. ‘Which bit?’
‘All of it.’
Brock came in quickly. ‘That isn’t what your friend is saying, Brendan. His version has you making the running. The way he says it, you couldn’t keep your hands off her.’
Crouch turned his eyes slowly to meet Brock’s, then he said, quite softly, ‘Now there you’re wrong, pal. Keith and I spent four years together in the army, and one thing I know about him for sure is that he’d never shop a mate.’
It was an elementary mistake, Brock told himself furiously as they led Crouch away: showing your hand before you understand the game. I’ve been spending too much time in bloody meetings. He glanced at Kathy. She looked subdued, head bowed. ‘Why don’t we leave this till morning?’
She just shook her head.
Rafferty walked in with a swagger in his step. He yanked back the chair as if he was an old hand and sat down and folded his arms. He stared at Brock coldly as he listened to the caution.
‘Why don’t you tell us what happened in the Three Bells this evening, Mr Rafferty?’
Rafferty’s eyes flicked across at Kathy, then back to Brock. Then he stiffened and looked at Kathy again, frowning. ‘Hang on, I know you, don’t I? I didn’t recognise you before. You were the one came to our flat, weren’t you? The one told Sheena about Marion, right?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Well, what the fuck were you doing at the pub? What’s going on here?’
‘I came back to ask you some questions about Marion, and we saw you going into the pub.’
‘She was with you, that woman?’
Kathy nodded.
‘But she never said she was a copper. She never mentioned Marion. What the fuck’s going on?’
Brock cut in. ‘What’s going on here is that you’ve been arrested for drugging a woman in a pub and trying to abduct her. So answer my question, Mr Rafferty. What’s your version of what happened in the pub this evening?’
But Rafferty just sat back, shaking his head. ‘Oh no. This ain’t right. I’m not saying nothing till I’ve spoken to a solicitor.’
‘Your refusal to cooperate will go against you.’
‘Uh-uh. Not a word.’
‘Very well, we can arrange for a duty-’
‘No thanks,’ Rafferty sneered. ‘I’ll make my own arrangements, thanks.’
‘We’ll speak to you again first thing in the morning, Mr Rafferty. In the meantime, think very carefully about what you’re going to tell us.’
When they got outside, Brock said, ‘Go home, Kathy. Get some rest. You look all in.’
‘I’m sorry. This shouldn’t have happened. I shouldn’t have let it happen.’
‘We’ll sort it out. The fact is, they’re both up to their ears in it. Let’s hope they can lift Rafferty’s prints from the bag of pills.’
‘I’d like to speak to the publican at the Three Bells. I saw him watching me when I went in, trying to find Pip.’
‘I’ll do that, Kathy. You go home. That’s an order.’
He watched her get into her car, then headed for his own.
•
The Three Bells seemed subdued when he pushed through the doors, with only a few customers huddled at tables. The band on the tiny stage at the back was in the final stages of packing up their gear. They looked fed up.
Brock went to the bar, picking out an older man at the till and nodding to him.
The man noted him with a frown. ‘What now?’
‘DCI Brock. And you’re Mr Cornford?’ He’d seen the licensee’s name over the door.
‘That’s right. You lot trying to put me out of business?’
‘A young woman was almost raped here tonight, Mr Cornford.’
