He made her think he was harmless – he made her think he was like her – a runner – someone who cares about kids
The UNICEF envelope, Shotover, that charade with the boy – all of it – it was all deliberate
He wasn’t running there by accident all those weeks – he was there because she was
How long has he been planning this?
She struggles again, trying to dislodge the gag, loosen her wrists, her ankles. Whatever he’s tied her with is soft against her skin but wire underneath. It will not move.
She can hear him now, in the bathroom, in the bedroom. The jangle of hangers, the slide of drawers. Fingering her things with those horrible latex gloves. He was in here earlier, laughing to himself
Reading her diary – laughing at his own cleverness – seeing just how pathetic she is, how stupid, how scared
She has no idea who this man is, but he’s been three steps ahead of her right from the start
And now –
Now it’s too late
* * *
‘Ma’am, can I have a word?’
Ruth Gallagher looks up. Gislingham, at her office door. He looks agitated.
She waves him in. ‘What is it, Chris?’
She gestures at the chair but he doesn’t take it. He has a piece of paper in his hand.
‘I need to get a message to Fawley – they said you’d charged him?’
She sighs. ‘Yes, I’m sorry, I should have told you. We’ve had new evidence – CCTV from Walton Well.’
He frowns. ‘I didn’t think there were cameras on the bridge?’
‘There aren’t. But there are some on the flats on William Lucy Way. It was Asante who worked it out –’
He gapes. ‘Asante? You got the evidence to charge Fawley from Asante?’
She looks a little embarrassed. ‘Yes, it’s rather awkward – I don’t think that was what he hoped –’
But he’s moved on. ‘Forget it – this isn’t about that. I just had a call from Nell Heneghan – she’s Fawley’s sister-in-law. His wife has gone into labour.’
Gallagher looks concerned. ‘That’s a bit early, isn’t it?’
He makes a face. ‘Yeah, way too early.’
She sits forward and reaches for her phone. ‘Newbury custody suite, please. Hello – is that the Custody Sergeant? It’s DI Gallagher, Major Crimes. Can you arrange for a squad car to take DI Fawley to the John Radcliffe hospital in Oxford. As soon as possible, please. Yes, the maternity suite. Tell him his wife is in labour, but that’s all the information I have at present.’
She puts the phone down.
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ says Gislingham. But he isn’t moving.
‘Was there something else, Sergeant?’
‘Alex – Mrs Fawley – you probably know – she’s a lawyer.’
She nods. ‘Yes, I did know that.’
He looks half embarrassed now. ‘Well, according to her sister, Mrs Fawley thinks she found something. About the Parrie case.’
Gallagher frowns. ‘What, exactly?’
‘That’s just it. I’m not sure. And neither is Nell. Alex didn’t get a chance to tell her. Just left a message to look on her notepad.’
He puts the sheet of paper down on her desk.
‘Nell took a photo and WhatsApped it to me.’
The image is slightly off centre, as if taken in a hurry. Words and phrases, single letters, underlinings, circlings, arrows, question marks. Ruth looks up at Gislingham.
‘How on earth are we supposed to make head or tail of this? It’s just a load of random jottings.’
Gislingham pulls out a chair and sits down, pulling the paper round so they can both see.
‘Not all of it,’ he says. ‘See this here, Ep? That must mean “episode”. I think Alex has been listening to that podcast about Parrie. The Whole Truth one.’ He points, ‘TWT, see?’
‘Ye gods, I can’t imagine anything I’d want to avoid more. Especially if I was one of his victims.’
Gislingham nods. ‘Me too. But if that’s what she’s been doing, perhaps there’s something in it – something new? She wouldn’t have been in court for the whole trial – perhaps she’s found out something she didn’t know before? Maybe even something we didn’t know before?’
Gallagher looks up at Gislingham. ‘She may have been listening to the podcast, but it’s not the Roadside Rapes she’s interested in. This is the Smith case.’
Alex Fawley is looking for a way to get her husband off. Gallagher sighs; not all that again. Just when she thought everybody had moved on. Though judging from the look on Gislingham’s face, that’s everybody minus at least one.
‘I’m not sure what she thought she could achieve,’ she says heavily. ‘I’m sure she’s a very good lawyer, but she can’t possibly know the case in enough detail to draw any conclusions.’
Gis shrugs. ‘I don’t know, it looks to me like she’s going about it pretty much the same way we’ve done.’ He points. ‘Transport, tag, DNA – the logic’s there.’
‘As far as it goes,’ says Gallagher drily. ‘Though she doesn’t appear to be aware that we found one of her husband’s pubic hairs in the victim’s vagina.’
‘Yeah, well,’ mutters Gislingham, staring at the floor, ‘she wouldn’t, would she.’
But Gallagher doesn’t seem to have heard him. When he lifts his head she’s looking at the paper, her forehead puckering into a frown. She glances up at him, a question in her eyes. ‘Ryan? Who’s Ryan?’
‘Parrie’s son. Must be twenty-odd now.’
The frown deepens. ‘Looks like there’s something relating to him at the end of episode six?’
They exchange a glance, then Gis gets out his phone. He finds the right page, swipes forward to the last five minutes and puts it on speaker.
‘Gavin was released from Wandsworth prison on May 23rd 2018. But that’s not the same as being exonerated. His conviction still stands. He has to wear an electronic tag and observe strict licence conditions, which effectively prevent him leading anything like a normal life. And that includes having the sort of ordinary social contact that other people take for granted. He had a girlfriend when he left prison, but the relationship wasn’t strong enough to withstand the difficult process of adjustment post-release,
