Authors: Elena Forbes
‘What about her family? Didn’t you think of them?’
‘No. Nobody thought of that.’ Fleming leaned forwards towards Tartaglia, hands spread palms up on the table. ‘Look, you’ve got to understand how it was. This was nearly twenty years ago, right? We were just kids. You don’t stop to think about other people’s feelings when you’re young. We’d just done our finals. We were over the moon. We’d had next to no sleep for days and we were all high as kites. Any form of rational thought was way beyond us.’
‘Are you trying to excuse what you did?’
Fleming shook his head. ‘No. Not in any way. I’m just telling you how it was. We acted on impulse, if you like. Later, when we had the time to think about it all properly, she was at the bottom of the lake and there was no going back. I often wondered about her out there somewhere.’ He gave Tartaglia a rueful look and rubbed his face. ‘Makes you think, doesn’t it? I mean, some stupid thing you do on the spur of a moment can reach out and grab you far into the future. Or is it the long arm of the past, some cliché like that?’
He stared at Fleming, trying to see through the veneer of fecklessness. He was an actor, like Logan. How much was real, how much just a part he was playing? ‘Do you have any idea how serious this is?’
Fleming nodded slowly. ‘Of course. What we did was really wrong, but you have to put yourself in our shoes. It was getting light real quick. Someone was bound to come along and I guess we all just panicked.’
‘You all?’
‘Yes. All of us, together.’
‘All for one and one for all? Was that how it was?’
‘In a way.’
‘So you’d cover up for one another?’
‘No. That wasn’t what I meant. We were mates, that’s all, although we were pretty close. For that last year, I suppose we more or less lived in each other’s pockets.’
‘Did you think you’d get away with it?’ he asked, wondering if there really had been such a consensus.
‘I don’t think any of us thought about it in a calculating way. We just reacted to the situation. But I do believe in karma. I had a feeling it would come out one day, one way or another. I’m only surprised it took this long.’ He rubbed his face vigorously again, then looked up at Tartaglia. ‘You know, I had a feeling someone saw us.’
‘You think someone was watching?’
‘I don’t know. Tiredness and stuff can make you paranoid.’
‘It’s important.’
Fleming shrugged. ‘It’s just an impression, that’s all. We were all tied up in what we were doing but I remember feeling sure that we weren’t alone. Maybe it was the girl’s ghost.’
‘Come on, Mr Fleming. Are you sure there’s nothing else?’
He shook his head. ‘No. That’s about it. I’m glad it’s out in the open now. Joe wrote that book because he wanted it to come out.’
‘You asked him?’
‘Not directly, but I know he felt guilty. I think he found the writing cathartic and maybe he felt if he exposed it all, he’d done his bit.’
Tartaglia grimaced at such a strange form of morality. ‘What about the others? How did they feel about it all?’
‘I can’t answer for them,’ Fleming said simply.
It was not clear from his tone what he really thought. On the whole, he had spoken from the heart and what had happened all those years ago appeared to have affected him deeply. He had even put his face in his hands and wept when he described finding the girl. In trying to understand the dynamics of the group of five, Tartaglia saw him as weak and indecisive, a follower rather than a leader and easily dominated. He knew little about Logan or Khan, but from what he had seen, Wade was a strong personality, used to taking charge. Such things didn’t change over time and he wondered what Wade’s role in it all had been. He seemed practical, analytical and emotionally detached. As far as he was concerned, what they had done was down to the folly of youth. It was stupid and unthinking, but none of them was to blame for the girl’s death. In Wade’s view, it was clear the matter should end there. Even though he was well aware of the legal standpoint, he refused to accept any moral responsibility. As for Black, it was impossible to know what he felt deep down. He seemed in a poor physical and psychological state, his senses and responses dulled by lack of sleep or drink or drugs, or a combination. He could barely stay awake and his answers had been monosyllabic most of the time. Interviewing him and getting a coherent account had been a laborious task. Wanting to make sure that what he said tallied with what they had learned from the others, they had had to be particularly careful not to lead him in any way. When pressed, he had mumbled that he felt very sorry for what he had done, but the words had a hollow ring, as though he knew what was expected and was just going through the motions.
‘Whose idea was it to get rid of the girl?’ Tartaglia had asked Fleming.
Fleming shrugged. ‘I honestly can’t remember who suggested it first. But the only other options – by that I mean telling our parents or the police – weren’t very appealing. I know it sounds callous, but we all had plans for the summer, which we were looking forward to. I guess we didn’t want anything to put a dampener on things. I’d say there was no disagreement.’
‘You’re sure about that?’
‘Positive.’
Tartaglia studied his face, but could read nothing from his expression. ‘We’re obviously going to have to try and trace the girl. No doubt someone reported her missing. Can you describe her? Can you remember what she looked like?’
Fleming scratched his head. ‘I never saw her in proper daylight, you know. I remember standing over her, looking down. It was then I realised she wasn’t the other girl, but it’s funny, however hard I try, I can’t see her. I mean, I can’t see her face. It’s as if I never really looked at her properly.’
‘Really? You blocked it out because what you did was so terrible?’
Fleming looked horrified. ‘That’s not what I meant at all. This was nearly twenty years ago. Think of all the people you pass by on the street. Do you remember any of them?’
‘But she wasn’t on the street. She was dead.’
Fleming shrugged, as though it was pointless. ‘I’m just telling you how it was and I’m not making it up. One thing I do remember, though, is how light she was. There was nothing to her. That’s what strikes me most.’
Tartaglia studied Fleming for a moment. How could he recall so little about her? Was it important that she wasn’t particularly heavy? Fleming was lean and muscular. Even in his late teens, allowing for physical immaturity, picking up a young woman in his arms would have been relatively easy. It was an odd detail to focus on. Maybe he was being deliberately misleading.
‘Were there any marks on her?’
‘Marks? What do you mean?’
‘You know . . . Any signs that someone might have hurt her.’
Fleming jerked his head back, looking genuinely shocked. ‘No. Not that I was aware of.’
‘No bruises, swellings, marks, signs of abuse of any kind . . .’
‘No. I tell you I didn’t notice anything.’
‘Could anybody have interfered with her in any—’
‘Interfered with her? Of course not. Whatever happened to her was an accident. I’m absolutely sure of that.’ He raised his voice in emphasis.
‘When you remember so little about her, how can you be so sure?’
Fleming frowned and didn’t answer for a moment, then he shook his head. ‘Because I am. In my mind I’ve never questioned it.’
‘And now?’
Fleming sighed. ‘You’re trying to put ideas in my head. At the time, as I said, I thought she’d just passed out. I didn’t think of anything else. If there was anything suspicious, I’m sure I’d have noticed.’
‘Even in the state you were in?’
‘Yes,’ he said, practically shouting. ‘Talk to the others. They saw her too and they’ll tell you the same. She looked normal, like she was asleep. When I left her, I thought she was still alive. I mean, she could have been, couldn’t she? She could have died after I left her.’
Tartaglia said nothing. Fleming’s insistence aroused his curiosity. Surely, it would have been morally more justifiable to leave her on the grass and go to bed if he knew she was beyond help. Why did it matter so much to Fleming that she had been alive?
‘So, you don’t know how long she’d been in the water?’
‘No.’
‘But she may have been one of the swimming group?’
‘Maybe.’
‘I can’t believe you just left her there. She was already dead, or in a coma. Surely you should have gone for help.’
‘Look, I was really out of it. I wasn’t thinking clearly.’
Tartaglia shook his head. ‘It doesn’t add up. You say she was naked when you found her.’
‘That’s right.’
‘And you were naked too.’
‘Yes. We all were. What’s your point?’
‘You were drunk and you’d taken drugs, by your own admission.’
‘I’m not trying to hide anything.’
‘Did you have sex with her?’
The words seemed to take Fleming by surprise. He coughed and slapped the table with the palm of his hand. ‘What? Are you joking?’
‘Maybe she didn’t want to. Was that it? Did you force her? Did she drown? Was that what happened?’
Fleming gasped and took a deep lungful of the stale air. His lips were wet with saliva and he wiped them quickly with the back of his hand. ‘No. I tell you I didn’t hurt her.’
‘You raped her, didn’t you? You wanted sex and she wouldn’t play ball.’
‘Stop saying that,’ he shouted. Tears stood in his eyes and he was breathing fast.
‘It all went horribly wrong and you tried to cover it up.’
‘No. All I did was carry her out of the water. I didn’t even notice she was naked, I swear.’
‘You expect me to believe that?’
‘She was well out of it when I found her. I left her exactly as I found her. I promise you.’ Sweat was pouring down his face and he had turned red. Even though it might have been righteous indignation, Tartaglia wasn’t convinced. But if he had killed her, accidentally or otherwise, proving it would be well nigh impossible. And if he hadn’t killed her, was he covering for someone else?
‘You have no idea who she was?’
‘No, I tell you. I looked in the papers every day for the next few weeks but there was no mention of a missing girl. Maybe she wasn’t local. She could have come from absolutely anywhere.’
‘Was she a student?’
‘I haven’t a clue.’
Fleming had then had a nosebleed. He had been taken to the gents and had cleaned himself up. When he returned, they had gone over and over the facts with him, but his story remained the same. Although it didn’t add up in Tartaglia’s eyes, they couldn’t get him to change it. Tim Wade and Daniel Black both independently believed Fleming innocent of any crime. They had also separately corroborated the rest of his account, bar some minor discrepancies which could be explained by the passage of time and the state they had all been in that morning. Fleming was the only one of the three who had mentioned the possibility of someone watching. As to the other people who had been there that night, the field was wide open. All three men had struggled to give him more than twenty or so names. But several important questions remained unanswered. None of them had a clue who the girl was, who had brought her, indeed if she had been at the party at all or had arrived earlier in the day, or how or when she had died. Nor, more importantly, did they have any idea why Joe Logan and Paul Khan had been murdered. He began to wonder if maybe he was looking at everything the wrong way.
While he waited for Wade and Black’s statements to be prepared and signed, he decided to go and stretch his legs. As he stood up, the door burst open and Carolyn Steele swept into the room. ‘I got your messages. I came as soon as I could.’ She was a little out of breath as though she had run all the way up the stairs. She was dressed in a smart, pinstriped trouser suit and dark blouse. On closer inspection, he saw that she was wearing make-up for a change and a pair of very high red heels.
‘Any chance of a coffee? I’m absolutely knackered.’ As she dropped her bag on the floor and sat down at the table, he caught a whiff of perfume, something sweet and floral.
He was intrigued to know who she had been schmoozing. Whilst she was politically more astute than most he had worked with, he wasn’t sure where the war paint and heels came in. She had never bothered with it before and although she looked good, in his view she didn’t need it. ‘I was just going to get one. What would you like?’
‘Strong, with milk, no sugar, please. Any format will do.’
He left the room and went along the corridor to the machine. Unlike the ancient one in their office, it was state of the art and offered a perplexing variety of options. It took him a moment to work out how to order a cappuccino with an extra shot of coffee for Steele. As he punched in the code and waited, he thought of Anna Paget. It was now clear why her article had excited Logan’s interest and he wondered if Logan had unburdened himself to her about what had happened at the lake. Instinct told him that he had and he felt angry at the thought of her withholding the information. Burning his fingers as he roughly extracted the first cup of coffee, he set it to one side and ordered up a large black for himself. While he waited, he took out his phone and dialled Anna’s number, but it went straight to voicemail. He left a message asking her to call him, collected the two coffees and went back to the meeting room.
Steele had taken off her jacket and shoes and was rubbing her bare feet. The shoes lay discarded beside her on the carpet. ‘These bloody shoes, they’ve crippled me,’ she said, as he handed her the coffee.
‘I’m not surprised,’ he replied, amazed that anyone could walk in such things. She had always struck him as a sensible sort.
‘I know. They’re new. I should never have chanced it in this weather.’
He smiled and sat down. ‘That wasn’t what I meant.’
Without further comment, he filled her in on the main points of what had happened that morning and gave her the gist of Fleming’s statement. She then insisted on reading the whole thing for herself. When she had finished, she looked up. ‘Do you believe him?’
‘I’m in two minds. Part of it rings true, but I feel it’s an edited version. Reading between the lines, there was a lot of stuff going on there that night. It’s difficult to know whether he’s holding back just because we’re the police and he doesn’t want to get anyone into trouble, or if it’s actually something more relevant.’