The Truth-Teller's Lie (29 page)

25

4/8/06

THEY ARRIVED AS daylight began to fade. Charlie didn’t stop where she should have, in the circular gravelled area where chalet guests parked their cars. Instead, she drove up on to the grass, feeling the muffled bump beneath the car. She kept up a steady pressure on the accelerator. There was only one thing in her mind and that was the necessity to keep going, keep looking straight ahead, not allow herself to think too much. How many times had she wondered, about both the victims and the perpetrators of violent crimes, how they had done it, how they had made themselves carry on? Now she understood: the trick was to avoid, at all costs, seeing the full picture, the overview. To avoid seeing yourself.

Charlie slammed her foot down on the brake only when the blue door with the arched top was right in front of the windscreen. Her and Olivia’s chalet. Not long ago, she’d leaned against that door, smoking a cigarette and talking to Simon on her mobile phone while Graham waited in her bed. It would be easy to think, And now . . . , but Charlie wasn’t going to fall into that trap. Thinking about the past in relation to the present and the future would be enough to make her lose it, and she couldn’t risk that. She was here to get the information she needed from Graham and Steph; that was what she had to focus on.

She heard Naomi’s ragged breathing as it harmonised with her own; it reminded her she wasn’t alone in the car. ‘This is it,’ said Naomi. ‘The cottage I saw through the window.’ She pointed to the chalet beside it, which was bigger than the one Charlie and Olivia had stayed in and had a rectangular, pistachio-coloured front door with matching window frames. ‘That’s the one I was attacked in. And that’s the window.’

Charlie didn’t bother asking if she was sure. Naomi was looking around, eyes bright and sharp, as if trying to remember every physical detail of the place for some future test. Charlie wondered how she would feel now if she too had been raped by Graham, instead of what had actually happened. Instead of her going out of her way to flirt with him, to seduce him . . .

A loud banging on the car window made her jump. Knuckles as well as several bangles knocking against the glass, a flash of pink fingernails. Steph.

‘Who’s she?’ Naomi sounded jumpy.

Coming here had been a mistake. Another one. Charlie was in no fit state to interview Steph or to reassure Naomi. I ought to phone Simon, she thought, and then, I can’t face it. He’ll know. There’s no way he won’t already know. She pressed the button to open the window. Cold air filled the car. Naomi huddled in her seat, wrapping her arms round her body.

‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ Steph demanded. ‘You can’t park here. You can’t drive over the grass like that.’

‘Too late,’ said Charlie.

Steph sucked on the inside of her glossy upper lip. ‘Where’s Graham?’

‘That’s what I was going to ask you.’

‘Don’t be stupid! I thought he was staying with you. I thought the two of you were having a nice, romantic weekend together. That’s what he told me, anyway. Don’t tell me he’s got someone else on the go as well. Typical.’ She folded her arms.

Charlie didn’t think she was acting. ‘He’s not here, then?’

‘As far as I know, he’s at your house. What do you want, anyway?’

Charlie felt Naomi’s horrified stare branding itself on her skin. She couldn’t look at her, kept her eyes fixed on Steph instead. She should have told Naomi about her and Graham, should have known Steph would let it slip. But that would have involved thinking ahead, and even Charlie wasn’t self-destructive enough to do that at the moment.

She opened the car door and stepped out into the chilled air. It wasn’t raining anymore, but the grass was wet, and so were the tops of the cars in the car park. The walls of the chalets were streaked with dark, damp patches. Even the air seemed thick with moisture.

‘Let’s talk in the lodge,’ said Charlie. ‘For the sake of your guests.’

‘About what? I’ve got nothing to say to you.’

Naomi emerged from the car, pale and solemn. Charlie watched the expression on Steph’s face change from one of irritation to one of shock. ‘You recognise Naomi?’ she said.

‘No.’ Steph’s denial was too quick, too automatic.

‘Yeah, you do. Graham raped her, in that building there.’ Charlie pointed. ‘There was an audience of men, eating dinner. I bet you cooked that dinner, didn’t you? Your famous home-cooked meals.

‘I don’t know what you’re on about.’ Steph’s face was red. She was a bad liar; at least that was something. Charlie didn’t think it’d take long to break her.

‘She didn’t see me,’ said Naomi. ‘I didn’t see her. How could she recognise me?’

‘From the photographs Graham took with your phone and sent to his,’ said Charlie. She saw Naomi wince and thought that perhaps she’d tried to forget that detail. ‘Isn’t that right, Steph? I bet I’d find plenty of photos if I had a look round. You’re probably stupid enough to keep souvenirs, and Graham’s certainly arrogant enough. Where are the pictures of Naomi and all the other women? In the lodge? Shall we go and have a look?’

‘You can’t look anywhere! You haven’t got a warrant, so it’s against the law. Get lost, all right? I’m not wasting time talking to one of my husband’s many whores!’

Charlie’s arm flew out, knocking her to the ground. Steph scrambled up on to her knees and tried to speak, but Charlie grabbed her by the throat.

‘You could kill her,’ said Naomi quietly.

It was probably meant as a warning. Not as the excellent suggestion it was.

‘You know what your husband is, don’t you?’ Charlie spat at Steph. ‘You know about the rapes. You cooked the meals. Probably sold the tickets and did all the admin, like you do for the chalets, the legitimate side of the business.’

‘No,’ said Steph, gasping for breath.

‘Why the change of venue, from one of your chalets to Robert Haworth’s lorry? Were you worried someone’d recognise the location? Or did some of the chalet guests hear screams in the night and start asking awkward questions?’ Charlie took pleasure in embedding her nails into Steph’s flesh.

‘Please let me go, please! You’re hurting me! I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Did you know Robert had changed his name from Angilley to Haworth?’ Charlie positioned her mouth so that it was next to Steph’s ear. ‘
Did you?
’ she shouted as loud as she could. It felt good, a necessary release of tension.

‘Yes. I can’t breathe . . .’

‘Why did he change his name?’

‘Charlie, for fuck’s sake! You’re choking her. You’ll kill her if you don’t watch out.’

Charlie ignored Naomi. She wasn’t interested in hearing about how she ought to be behaving. It was too late for that. ‘Why did Robert change his name?’ she asked again, feeling Steph’s throat fluttering in panic beneath the skin of her palm.

‘He and Graham had a row. They haven’t spoken since. Robert . . . I can’t breathe!’ Charlie relaxed her hold, but only slightly. ‘Robert didn’t want anything to do with Graham or the family. Even the name.’

‘What caused the row?’

‘I don’t know.’ Steph coughed out the words. ‘That’s Graham’s private business. I don’t get involved.’

Charlie kicked her in the stomach. ‘Like fuck you don’t! How do you think it’d feel to be kicked to death in front of an audience? How much would
you
sell the tickets for? Hey? What about Sandy Freeguard? You recognise that name, don’t you? Juliet Heslehurst? Prue Kelvey? Although it was Robert who raped her, not Graham. Why? Why the change, after Graham had raped all the others?’

‘I’m not saying anything until I’ve spoken to Graham.’ Steph sobbed. She curled into a ball on the grass, clutching her stomach.

‘You’re not going to be speaking to him, shit-face. Not today and not for a fucking long time. What, do you think we’re going to put the two of you in a cosy little furnished cell together, let you play house?’

‘I haven’t done anything, I don’t know what you’re talking about. I haven’t done anything wrong, nothing at all!’

Charlie pulled her handbag out of the car and lit a cigarette. ‘That must be a nice feeling,’ she said. ‘To have done nothing at all wrong.’

Steph didn’t try to get up. ‘What’s going to happen to me?’ she asked. ‘What are you going to do? None of it was my fault. You’ve seen how Graham treats me.’

‘None of what was your fault?’ Charlie asked, feeling better for the nicotine.

Steph covered her face with her hands.

Charlie felt like kicking her again, so she did. ‘If you want to spend the rest of your life in prison, that’s up to you. Keep denying everything. If you want to stay out of jail, though, you’ve got choices.’ Yeah, right. Steph was an idiot if she believed there would be any way out of this for her. If she was involved in arranging the rapes and profiting from them, she’d be going down for a very long time. Charlie had no doubt that both the lodge and Steph and Graham’s home were full of pictorial evidence of their crimes. Never in their most extravagant and far-fetched dreams had they expected to get caught. Charlie gleaned all of this from Steph’s eyes, from her manner. Graham must have promised her there was no danger, that he had it all under control.

What sort of stupid bitch would believe a man like Graham Angilley?

Steph looked up. ‘What choices?’ she said, tears and snot dripping down her face.

‘Get me a photograph of Graham. And I’ll need the keys to that chalet.’ She indicated the pistachio-coloured door. ‘Naomi needs to identify the man and the place. After she’s done that, we’ll go to the lodge and you’ll tell me everything I want to know. If you fob me off with even the smallest lie, I’ll know, and I’ll make sure you rot in the shittiest prison I can find,’ Charlie lied confidently. In reality, the police had no control over where prisoners served their sentences. Steph might end up in the new, cushy Category D resort on the other side of Combingham. Everyone in CID knew it as ‘The Resort’ because it had boarding houses instead of cells, and the inmates’ food was rumoured to be reasonable.

Steph staggered across the field towards the lodge. The back of her skirt was soaking. She’d been lying on the wet grass, but Charlie was pretty sure she’d pissed herself as well: the smell gave it away. I ought to feel some compassion for her, thought Charlie. But she didn’t. There was not even an ounce of sympathy for Steph inside her.

‘What if Graham forced her into it?’ said Naomi. ‘What if she really doesn’t know anything about it?’

‘She knows. Nobody forced her into anything. Can’t you tell when someone’s lying to you?’

Naomi rubbed her hands together and blew on them. ‘You and Graham—’ she began tentatively.

‘We’re not going to talk about that,’ Charlie cut her off. Naomi couldn’t have chosen a worse combination of words than those three if she’d tried.

The lodge door opened and Steph emerged. She began to make her way across the field, steadier on her feet. She’d changed into black tracksuit bottoms and trainers. From a distance, Charlie saw the photograph in Steph’s hand, saw Naomi recoil. ‘It’s only a picture,’ she said. ‘It can’t hurt you.’

‘Spare me the therapeutic crap,’ Naomi snapped. ‘You think it can’t hurt me to see his face, after all these years? What if he comes back? I’m not sure I can do this. Can’t we just go?’

Charlie shook her head. ‘We’re here,’ she said, as if that state of affairs were somehow irreversible. That was how it felt. She would always be stuck here, at Silver Brae Chalets, with the wet grass tickling her ankles through her tights.

Steph looked as terrified as she had before. As she approached, she began to speak frantically, too desperate to wait until she got closer. ‘I didn’t know they were raping the women,’ she said. ‘Graham told me they were actresses, that the frightened-victim thing was all an act. Like it was when I did it.’

‘When you did it?’ Charlie echoed. She snatched the photograph out of Steph’s hand and passed it to Naomi, who looked at it for a second and passed it straight back. Charlie tried to catch her eye, with no success; Naomi was staring fixedly in the opposite direction, at a bank of trees. Charlie put the photo in her handbag, which she dropped on to the driver’s seat of her car. She didn’t want to be anywhere near a picture of Graham. Why wasn’t Naomi saying anything? Was Graham the one who’d raped her or not?

‘Most of the time, I was the victim,’ Steph went on, breathless. ‘I was the one Graham tied to the bed, I was the one who had to scream and beg and try to struggle free. It was knackering. I had the chalets to see to as well, all the cleaning and the reservations, the confirmations—’

‘Shut the fuck up.’ Charlie held out her hand. ‘Give me the key. Go and wait for me in the lodge. And do
nothing
else, do you hear me? Don’t try to ring Graham on his mobile. If you phone anyone, I’ll find out. I can get the information from BT, from your mobile service provider—easy. One wrong move and you’ll spend the next twenty years in a dirty, stinking cell. You won’t see daylight till you’re an old woman, and even when you get out, someone’ll probably knife you in the street.’ If only, Charlie thought. Still, she was enjoying the pretence. ‘Women who collaborate with serial rapists tend not to be popular,’ she concluded.

Whimpering, Steph handed her the key and stumbled back towards the lodge. ‘Well? Is that the man who attacked you?’ Charlie asked Naomi.

‘Yes.’

‘How do I know you’re not lying?’
Please be lying.

Naomi turned to face her and Charlie saw how white her skin had gone, almost translucent. It was as if she’d been bleached by the shock of seeing that face, Graham’s face. ‘I don’t want it to be him,’ she said. ‘I don’t want to say yes. In a way it was easier not to know, but . . . it’s him. That’s the man who raped me.’

‘Let’s look at the chalet, get it over with,’ said Charlie, walking towards the door with the key between her thumb and forefinger, ready to stab anyone who got in her way. She stopped when she realised Naomi wasn’t following her. ‘Come on,’ she said.

Naomi was staring up at the window. ‘Why do I have to go inside?’ she said. ‘I know it’s the place.’