‘Caleb Owen Morgan, I am arresting you on suspicion of sexual assault on 6th July 2018. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.’
Morgan is gaping. ‘What the fuck –’
‘Let us handle this, Caleb,’ says Melia, turning to Gislingham. ‘What the hell’s going on? Our client is the victim here – oh, but I forgot, men can’t possibly be victims, can they. This is unbelievable –’
‘What I would like to know,’ says Dunn, cutting across her, ‘is what evidence you have for this absurd allegation.’
Gislingham matches him stare for stare. ‘Contrary to what we previously believed, there was, in fact, a witness to what happened that night.’
Morgan looks incredulous. ‘What?’
Meredith Melia looks up. ‘A witness?’
Gislingham relishes the pause. ‘Tobin Fisher.’
Morgan shakes his head. ‘No. No way. He was asleep. I checked on him only a few minutes before Marina got back.’
‘That’s as may be, but he told us he came down to get a drink.’
Morgan sits back. ‘Well, I never saw him.’
‘No. That’s what he said too.’
A frown flickers across Morgan’s brows. ‘So what did he say?’
‘He said he saw you having sex with his mother.’
The room detonates with silence.
‘Never happened,’ says Morgan tersely. ‘Never. Bloody. Happened.’
‘Well, his description was pretty damn detailed,’ observes Quinn.
‘So what?’
Quinn raises an eyebrow. ‘So how does an eight-year-old describe the mechanics of sex unless he’s actually seen it? He said you took her from behind, by the way, is that how you like it?’
Morgan shoots him a savage look, then turns to Gislingham. ‘Who knows how many lovers Marina’s had? He could have seen her with any one of them.’
Dunn sits forward. ‘My client makes an extremely valid point, officer. And for the record, I find your colleague’s last comment exceptionally offensive.’
‘Likewise,’ says Melia. ‘And in any case, the child is only eight. I doubt anything he says can be considered reliable.’
‘True,’ says Gislingham, ‘he is very young. But we do have specially trained officers with extensive experience in questioning children of his age. Should it come to it, I’m sure the CPS would consider it fully admissible. So, to confirm, Mr Morgan’s position –’
Quinn stifles a snort. Melia glares at him.
‘Mr Morgan’s position is that no such sex act took place between him and Professor Fisher?’
‘No,’ says Morgan. ‘It did not.’
‘According to Tobin, you were hurting his mother –’
Morgan starts shaking his head.
‘– not only that, he said she looked “floppy” and “sleepy”. A description that leads us to believe that some sort of date-rape drug may have been involved.’
Morgan’s been struggling to keep his anger down, but this is too much. ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding me – I’ve never heard so much bullshit in my whole fucking life –’
‘Caleb,’ begins Melia but he shakes her hand off, his eyes still on Gislingham.
‘You’re actually believing that shit?’
Gislingham shrugs. ‘Why would he make it up?’
Morgan leans forward, elbows on the table. ‘He’s just a kid. A pretty vulnerable kid too, frankly. I’m not the only one who thought he might have some sort of a problem. So if you think you can rely on a single word he’s saying, I’ll have some of whatever you’re smoking.’
Quinn and Gislingham exchange a glance. Gislingham turns a page in the file.
‘There was also the question of the tattoo.’
Morgan frowns. ‘The tattoo?’
‘The one on your shoulder. The red dragon?’
‘What about it? You knew about that already.’
‘Tobin knows about it too,’ says Quinn. ‘In fact, he’s been doing a version of it in his colouring book.’
Morgan looks baffled. ‘I really don’t see –’
‘I suspect your lawyers do,’ says Gis drily, glancing across at them.
‘Caleb,’ says Melia, turning to him, ‘can you think of any occasion when Tobin might have seen that tattoo?’
‘Oh, right, OK.’ He looks away, pulls a hand through his hair. ‘Well, yeah, there was definitely one time – I was babysitting and Tobin threw one of his wobblers and spilt his juice all down me. I’m pretty sure I took my T-shirt off and ran it under the tap. I guess he must have seen it that way.’
‘There you are,’ says Melia quickly, with a gesture at Gislingham. ‘Happy now?’
‘And in any case,’ says Morgan, ‘if I’d raped Marina there’d have been evidence. DNA – all of that –’
‘Not necessarily,’ says Gis, ‘as I’m sure your lawyers are aware –’
But Melia hasn’t finished. ‘And as for Tobin Fisher – I say again, children that age are extremely suggestible. No court will ever take that so-called “evidence” seriously.’
‘I rather think that’s for a jury to decide,’ says Gislingham evenly. ‘Should it come to that.’
* * *
‘So what do you think?’ says Quinn, glancing at Gis as he presses the button on the coffee machine. Morgan is on his way downstairs to be processed.
Gis frowns. ‘Interesting what he said about Tobin.’ There’s a pause, then, ‘And was it just me or did he react a bit weirdly when we asked him about the tattoo?’
Quinn kicks the machine and it starts to gurgle. ‘Nope. It wasn’t just you.’
Gis is looking thoughtful now. ‘Get me a copy of that interview footage. I’m going to talk to Bryan Gow.’
* * *
‘So what did you want to talk to me about?’
Penelope McHugh takes a seat and opens her file, keeping her tone brisk. Her client seems a little more measured today, a little more in control. The fanaticism in his eyes has gone, and he’s agreed to come upstairs to a meeting room. The tiny room is as stifling as the cell, but at least all it smells of is far too much plug-in air freshener. Every room McHugh finds herself in seems to have one of those bloody things. It’s an occupational hazard in criminal defence.
‘Emma Smith’s clothes,’ he says quickly. ‘What she was wearing when she was found.’
McHugh picks up her
