Farrow glances back. ‘We’ve verified what time DI Fawley left the Headington gym from the cameras in their car park. It was 8.43. And he was definitely wearing a white T-shirt and dark shorts, just like the witness in Shrivenham Close saw.’
‘Yeah,’ says King, ‘but he’s admitting he went over there, so that’s no sodding use. His brief’ll crap all over that. What else?’
‘We’ve also checked out the route from the gym to Smith’s house, but it’s all residential – no ANPR, no CCTV, nothing.’
‘For fuck’s sake –’ begins King.
‘DC Jenkins also went up and drove it, and it took twelve minutes, which means the timings Fawley gave us tally. So that’s something.’
‘No it fucking isn’t,’ says King. ‘All that is is three steps forward, two steps back.’
‘I’m also checking on ANPR for the Clelands’ Honda –’
King straightens up. ‘I thought I told you to drop that shit.’
Farrow flushes. ‘But surely we still need to eliminate him –’
‘No,’ says King, his own colour rising now, ‘we don’t. There is no forensic evidence whatsoever linking that tosser to this crime, and there’s a whole truckload putting Fawley right in the middle of it.’ He stares at Farrow. ‘If you’re having problems coming to terms with that, I’d be happy to look into a transfer –’
‘No,’ says Farrow quickly. ‘No. No need for that, boss. I’m onside. Totally onside.’
* * *
‘And where were they – your mummy and Caleb – when he was hurting her?’
The little boy sits up. He sniffs and wipes his hand across his eyes. It’s hard to know what’s suddenly changed, but something has.
‘By the sink. Mummy was at the sink and Caleb was behind her, pushing her. She looked funny.’
‘Really? What sort of funny?’
He shrugs. ‘I dunno. Floppy. Like she was sleepy.’
‘And Caleb had his shirt completely off?’
He stares at her, then shakes his head.
‘So it had just slipped down? That’s how you saw the tattoo?’
He nods.
‘What about your mummy? Did she have her clothes on?’
He looks away. ‘Her dress was pulled up. Like when she goes to the toilet.’
‘Did your mummy see you, Tobin?’ asks the officer gently. ‘Did either she or Caleb know you were there?’
* * *
‘Jesus,’ says Quinn, staring at the screen. ‘As if this wasn’t complicated enough already.’
Ev looks dismayed. ‘I can’t see how an eight-year-old could come up with a story like that unless he’d really seen it.’
‘Yeah, OK,’ says Baxter, ‘so they had sex. But how do we know it wasn’t just consensual –’
‘Seriously?’ says Somer. ‘How clear does it have to be?’ She looks pale – so pale Ev is surprised she bothered coming in today at all.
Gis looks round at the rest of the team. ‘Somer’s right. Looks like a crime was committed that night. But the victim wasn’t Morgan. It was Fisher.’
* * *
‘They didn’t see me,’ says the little boy sulkily. ‘I ran away.’
‘Back up to your room?’
He nods.
‘And that’s on the top floor, isn’t it?’
Another nod.
The officer checks something in her file. ‘But Mummy’s room is somewhere else, I think. On the floor below?’
No response this time.
‘So you probably didn’t hear her go to bed, then?’
He looks away and mumbles something. She asks him gently to say it again and eventually he does.
‘I was under my bed.’
‘What were you doing there, Tobin?’
He looks down; his lip is trembling. ‘I was hiding.’
* * *
‘But if Morgan raped her, why isn’t she saying so?’ says Quinn. ‘Why doesn’t she accuse him? In fact, why didn’t she do that right from the start?’
‘Because she can’t remember,’ says Ev quietly. ‘Because Morgan slipped her something.’
Asante nods. ‘Classic date-rape MO: she’s a bit tipsy already, he makes sure he pours the drinks. And sparkling wine is the predator’s best friend. The bubbles disguise the drug.’
‘The lab didn’t find anything –’ begins Baxter.
‘They wouldn’t,’ says Asante. ‘If it was GHB, it would have metabolized too quickly to register, even in a full tox screen. That’s why those bastards choose it in the first place.’
There’s a silence.
‘Might be worth noting,’ says Quinn eventually, ‘that Morgan made sure to rinse those champagne glasses afterwards. Either he had something to hide or he’s going to make someone a lovely wife one of these days.’
Somer shoots him a fierce look, but he just ignores her.
Baxter turns towards Everett. ‘You’ve done the sexual offences training, Ev. Wouldn’t Fisher have realized the following morning if she’d been raped?’
Ev takes a deep breath. ‘Not necessarily – a lot of victims don’t. Not if the rapist uses a condom and is careful not to leave any marks. And if nothing looks wrong the following morning.’
‘Like Fisher’s dress being hung up and her shoes tidied away,’ says Asante grimly.
‘Right. Exactly.’
‘Tobin was frightened, though,’ says Somer quietly. ‘Frightened enough to hide.’
Baxter folds his arms. ‘But even if you’re right, where does that leave us? Are we seriously planning to rock up to the CPS and say, “Actually, guys, we’ve changed our minds. We now think he might have raped her but all we have to go on is the word of a slightly weird eight-year-old kid backed up by absolutely no hard evidence at all”? Hands up anyone who thinks they’re going to buy that.’
No one moves.
He shrugs. ‘There you are then. They’d laugh us out of the bloody building.’
Asante frowns. ‘It’s worse than that. Not only do we have no evidence that he raped her, what we do have points in exactly the opposite direction: her assaulting him.’
‘Fisher had already showered,’ begins Ev, ‘so that was always going to cause a problem with the forensics –’
‘No,’ he says quickly. ‘I’m not talking about that, I’m talking about Morgan. He had her DNA in his groin area, but nothing on his penis. Even if he used a condom there’d be more there than we found.’
‘Right,’ says Quinn. ‘If he really did rape her, he’d have had her all over him.’
‘Yeah, OK,’ says Ev, ‘but it wouldn’t have been beyond the wit of bloke to find a flannel, now would
