Personal Protection (19 page)

Dean fell in beside me as I started back to the car. There was more. I waited in silence. He’d work himself round to it. And he did.

“Look, Randall, I’m not going to go on about this, but you need to tell me everything. It might seem personal to you but it might just be significant to the case. You haven’t
been doing this long enough to make the judgement call. You’re too close to see the big picture clearly.”

I thought again about my run-in with the Chief Superintendent. I would tell him. Just not yet. “There are just some things I need to get straight in my head first, OK?”

He sighed. “Just don’t leave it too long.” Realising he wasn’t going to get any more out of me now he asked. “Why are we leaving? What convinced you the man
upstairs was telling you the truth?”

“I was right in his face, Dean. I know how much I was hurting him. It was the truth. Villiers –” I stabbed a finger in the general direction of the ward “– is just
a prick full of his own machismo.”

Grey was another matter. I told him so. “He feels like a prospect. He’s weird. Not that that’s a reason! Half the people in this town are weird, but they’re not guilty of
anything more criminal than non-payment of a parking ticket. I’m used to folks looking at me a bit off, so I didn’t think anything of it. But if he’s capable of throwing knives,
what else is he capable of?”

“Maybe he isn’t the only one. I think we need to widen the scope of our investigation. I want the names of all the bouncers, Randall. Maybe your Mr Grey, Lisa Moran’s detractor
and our friend upstairs aren’t the only ones who are weird.”

Hearing Tori speak of her incident – coherently – was almost more than I could bear. I’d wanted to do it at home, but that evening Tori came to the office
just like everyone else.

“Why should I have special treatment? Isn’t what happened to everyone else just as horrible? I don’t want to taint either your place or mine with such a vile memory. Besides, I
want to see where you work.”

I don’t know what she thought of the place. She eyed the strip lights on the stairs with a smile and ran her hands along the furniture, which – thanks to Dean’s family money,
which also put him through law school and helped to buy his house – is leather instead of cheap stacker chairs. She refused my offer of a drink and stood looking out of the window in the main
office for some time before allowing herself to be persuaded to a seat to begin. I can’t say I blamed her for her reluctance.

We made one concession. I sat beside her instead of across a desk.

She started out by handing me a typed list. “The names and as much of the addresses of the club members as I could find out. I hope you don’t mind. I used your PC. I didn’t
think you’d be able to read my scrawl.”

“This is great, thank you. You’re sure you won’t get into trouble about this?” She gave a shrug that said ‘What if I do?’ I suppose since she was probably
leaving she had a point. She took a moment to order her thoughts then began.

“I was walking from the bus stop to my parents’ house. I had my hands full with the flowers I’d bought Mum and some real ale chutney I’d picked up for Dad. For a wonder
the sun was out. I remember it glittering off everything reflective. Funny how stupid things stick in your mind, isn’t it?”

“Something like this imprints everything indelibly.”

“You think I should see someone professional to talk about this with, don’t you?”

“I’m not convinced talking to a counsellor will help. It can’t make it never have happened. You’ve always been level-headed and practical. If you think you’ve found
a way to deal with it, go for it. But if things start to feel as if they’re coming unravelled, do something about it. If that means getting professional help, so be it. I told you I
wouldn’t force you to do anything. I meant it. I’ll stand by you, whatever you choose.”

She hugged me. “Thank you, Randall. I don’t know why I didn’t just speak to you in the first place. You always make me feel so grounded.”

I held her until she felt able to go on.

“As I walked, I ran into all these people I used to know. Neighbours, postmen, old Mr Clement from three doors away who used to be kind of the local handyman. It’s a very close
community in Cleveleys. Mostly OAPs. I was just turning into their street when I saw a car I thought I recognised. It looked like Lucinda’s. My ex, two before you. A blue Vauxhall. Same
rainbow sticker on the bumper and the rainbow flag we brought back from Amsterdam in the back window. Well, I wondered what she was doing parked there. She doesn’t live anywhere remotely
nearby – last I knew she had a rented cottage out in Presall – so I went over to have a nosy. It was at the edge of an alleyway. As I peered through the window to see if I recognised
anything, someone came up behind me. I thought it was her. There was a blast of perfume. Lou Lou. I started to turn around and something hit my head. I saw stars, then everything got sucked down a
tunnel.” She shuddered. “You know the rest.”

“I’m sorry, babe, I need more detail than that.”

She flinched. I took her hands.

“You’re very good at this. Did all the girls get the same treatment?”

I winced. Dean had asked exactly the same thing after hearing the first two tapes. “No. You’re a special case. Aside from Sammi, you’re the only one who suffered sexual
assault. That needs more delicate handling. And I’m not in love with them.”

I turned off the tape and took a few moments to show her how much of a special case she was. Before things could get out of control she pushed me away.

“All right. You’ve convinced me,” she growled. But I could tell she was pleased.

I started the tape again. Tori frowned, trying to recall details that would help us. “I woke in a wrecked garage. The corrugated iron sheets of the roof didn’t meet. Neither did the
doors. But the sun was too bright to see anything through the gap. The concrete floor was cracked. Petrol stained. There was nothing in there except the sawhorse I was taped to. I was fastened up
with duct tape so tight my hands turned white. There was tape round my head, over my mouth. It tore hanks of hair out to remove it. I was on my knees. My panties were shredded on the floor in front
of me. My clothes were ripped, but whoever had taken me didn’t remove anything else.” She shivered.

“They only spoke once. I suppose they were making an effort to disguise their voice. It was a rasp. I’ll never forget it. If someone speaks to me that way again, I’ll recognise
them. But who it was? I don’t know, Randall. I really don’t.”

“It’s OK. I’ll find them, I promise you.”

She looked at me sadly.

“I will!”

She swivelled out of my arms and turned away. She began picking at a loose thread on stitching of the chair. I hadn’t the heart to stop her.

“After they’d spoken to me, they just started fucking me.”

“Tori, that wasn’t fucking. It was rape. It was assault. Never think what happened to you was sex. It wasn’t.”

She swallowed hard.

“I don’t know how long it went on. First they used something metallic. That cut me. I tried to scream but my mouth was taped too tightly. Then a splintery piece of wood. Then
something plastic. Rotting fruit. Rubber. Something icy cold that felt like Pyrex.”

She shuddered again.

“Honestly, Randall, if it hadn’t been for you and that bath, I’m sure I’d have all kinds of infections now. They didn’t use any lube. And they only put things where
they should go. Never anally. It was scary how practised they were. As if they’d done it before. They wore latex gloves. I felt them when they opened me. Whoever they were they came
prepared.”

I’d balled up my fists as she spoke and realised I was snarling. I tried to smooth out my features and give her a sympathetic face. It was hard. I wanted to smash something. She knew I
wasn’t angry with her. There wasn’t much more to tell.

“When they’d used everything they’d brought they hit me again. The next thing I knew I was in a sack on my parents’ doorstep. The bell rang. Then my parents pulled me
out. They’d cut all the tape off except over my mouth. I don’t know how I got there. I don’t know how I got to the garage, or where the garage was. I know it isn’t much
help. I’m sorry.”

“It’s more help than you know. It was the middle of the day. There were people about. Somebody must have seen something! Whoever it was couldn’t just wander around with a
body-shaped sack over their shoulder, without someone seeing and questioning them!”

Dean spent a day ringing doorbells in Tori’s parents’ street. He spoke to all the people she’d mentioned. Nobody remembered anything unusual.

There were no derelict garages nearby. The blue Vauxhall was nowhere to be seen.

Even though I knew more than I ever wanted to know about what had happened to the woman I loved I was just as powerless to bring her abuser to justice and give her peace than I’d been at
the beginning.

Over the next two days between other tasks Dean and I started looking into the client list. Interesting. A magistrate. A head teacher who wouldn’t have been any more, if his school
governors found out where he spent his evenings. More police than just our Chief Super. A few prominent clergymen. And a high court judge! But even Dean had to agree that they were unlikely to be
who we were looking for. We also went over the private lives of the bouncers: disturbing, but most of them equally unlikely as perpetrators, though we weren’t discounting Grey, yet. And of
course we went through all the women’s stories.

Two attacks had taken place outside. One on the street – the girl walking home after being dropped off. (Joy.) One in the doorway of her home. (Liu.) One woman had had dog excrement posted
through the letterbox. (Terri.) Two women had vandalised flats. (Tori and Stace.) Sammi and Tori had suffered sexual assault, both attacks very different.

Even without the testimony of Lisa Moran we reluctantly had to conclude that we had at least two perpetrators.

I stood in the pouring rain outside the church of Our Lady Of The Assumption at Lisa Moran’s memorial service, wondering just how many of the colleagues of the
innocent-looking girl in the newspaper photograph had known about the sex-games she regularly indulged in.

Dean’s media buddies had come back with the rest of the goods on Lisa. What they’d found – if it was true – was the stuff of sensationalist tabloid wet dreams.

The scene the landlady had walked in on was exactly that. A Scene gone wrong. Bondage. S & M. Call it what you will. Lisa Moran had been spread-eagled on the grubby carpet of her flat,
fastened by wrists and ankles to the legs of her bed and the butane gas powered stove, with two pairs of fishnet tights. She had recently been flogged and was wearing the shredded remains of a
latex slave playsuit. She had sex toys stuck in every orifice. In fact it was one of the huge silicone dongs which had suffocated her. The official cause of death was Erotic Asphyxiation! According
to the coroner’s report (you can get your hands on anything if you grease the right palms) she was no novice with any of these, except the whipping. Which hardly surprised me. She
couldn’t dance at the Paradise with her back laid open. The remaining injuries – she’d been badly beaten with fists – had been afflicted postmortem. Possibly by her lover,
angry that she died before she could finish their little game. There were neither fingerprints nor bodily fluids at the scene. Whoever her playmate had been, whoever the murderer was, whether or
not they were the same person, they’d been meticulous in their clean-up.

I don’t know much about BDSM. I’m not a player. Which is why when Cecily’s love play had become violent I’d called the whole thing off. If I wanted inside information,
I’d probably have to talk to her, since players were reluctant to talk to outsiders. Not a conversation to look forward to. Cess being Cess, she’d probably insist that the only way she
could properly explain was with a practical demonstration.

So who was the abuser? According to the other tenants, the only people she ever had up to the flat were women. An endless parade of them.

“I even found her with her tongue down somebody’s throat on the landing!” one outraged former lodger was quoted as saying.

No prizes for guessing what theory my money was on. Every victim was a lesbian.

As soon as this memorial was over I was going to have words with Vic, the bouncer I’d heard bad-mouthing Lisa. He might not have done the deed, but he might know who had. If nothing else,
he might know who Lisa had been seeing in the last days of her life. In spite of the plethora of information we’d gathered we still had no idea where to go next. Frustration was eating me
alive.

I was thinking very hard about ignoring Dean’s warning and bulling straight in, shaking the tree to see what fell out. Only two more days before Tori left for London. I badly wanted to bag
her attacker. What else could I offer that might make her come back to me?

Before I had the chance to storm inside and do something that would cause Dean to reconsider our partnership or get me landed in the local lock-up, the church doors opened. The service was
concluded; I scanned the mourners on their way to cars waiting to take them to the reception. I didn’t see anyone looking anything but miserable about Lisa Moran’s death.

I didn’t recognise everyone. Hardly surprising. Even if I had known all the participants there are always ambulance chasers at funerals. What did shock me was the appearance of someone so
recently in my thoughts. Under a dark umbrella and keeping subtly to the back, Cecily stepped lightly down the church steps into the rain. Pushing as politely as I could though the mourners, I made
my way to where she was standing. Gripping her elbow, I steered her, unresisting, away from the crowd.

“What are you doing here?” I hissed when I judged we were far enough away not to be overheard.

Carefully disentangling herself, she countered my question with another. “I might ask you the same.”

“I’m here with Tori. What’s your excuse?”

“Here I was thinking you were a bodyguard. Are you qualified as a PI now?”