The Rapunzel Act, page 30
‘Hm. I knew he was hiding something.’
‘He says they just talked about their contracts, that she wanted more money and less hours. He wanted her to be reasonable, not push for too much.’
‘I bet he did. You saw the ratings. Before Rosie joined the show they were dire. Mr Fenwick clearly knew how valuable a commodity Rosie was.’
‘She sent him some messages in the morning, to thank him for his “advice”, but he no longer has them.’
‘Ah! And the afternoon?’
‘School prize-giving. I’ve passed his alibi on to Dawson to check out, but it doesn’t really add up, does it? Why would he hurt her, if he needed her so badly?’
‘No, it doesn’t. And I see Jason more as a poison in the teapot kind of guy, or a bite from an exotic snake, rather than battery with a blunt instrument.’
‘It would spoil his peach jumper.’
They both laughed.
‘What’s the second thing you wanted to tell me?’
‘Jason says Laura was seeing someone too.’
‘So what?’
‘He says Laura started to tell Rosie about it, but Rosie went in too heavily and Laura clammed up.’
‘I still don’t see the issue.’
‘Rosie thought he was probably married. She might have found out and confronted him, whoever it was.’
‘At her house on a Monday afternoon? Not likely, but more food for thought. It’s more interesting, isn’t it, that Jason has suddenly decided to be our best friend and informer. I wonder what prompted that? Although it makes Rosie’s life even more complicated. In addition to all those enemies she made at work and her feud with Ben over his choice of career, she had fallen out with Laura over her love life, she might have been romantically involved with her co-host and she was not flavour of the month with the people holding the purse strings on her contract. Maybe they all did it; you know – Murder on the Orient Express style.’
* * *
Nicki left the police station at 7pm that evening. She hadn’t said much, on the advice of her solicitor, but there hadn’t been much to say, in any event. Still, she hadn’t appreciated the direction of some of the conversation and she particularly hadn’t enjoyed the way Inspector Dawson had looked at her – or rather, through her. And he wouldn’t even tell them what it was all about. He just muttered about her attendance being voluntary for now and not being at liberty to say anything more. ‘They’re just trying to rattle your cage,’ her solicitor had said, ‘because of all the protests you’ve led recently. Don’t worry. If they had anything on you, they’d have said.’
But Nicki couldn’t help but feel uneasy. The first time she had been interviewed, shortly after Rosie’s murder, Dawson had opened the door for her and called her Miss Smith. Those niceties were glaringly absent this time around. Instead, he had insisted on calling her ‘Nicola’, and staring hard at her scar while he asked his tedious questions; stuff about her background, where she’d been living and where her income came from. When she was leaving, what were the words he had used? ‘Please stay local. We may need to ask you to assist again with our enquiries.’
She wondered how much he already knew and how much was just fishing around and whether she needed to change any of her plans as a result. But, if he did know something, why hadn’t he asked her directly? Well, Nicki had prepared for this eventuality and the events of the trial had played right into her hands. She would send out the call to arms today, via carefully selected channels, and there was plenty of time to galvanise the particular troops she required, in sufficient numbers by Monday. It would require some money changing hands, but not enough to make her concerned and the situation definitely merited it.
She wasn’t a nasty or vindictive person and she had sincerely hoped she might not have had to embark on this strategy. She almost felt sorry for Dawson; after all, he was just doing his job and he probably worked long hours for little pay and no perks. Who would be a police officer these days?
She consoled herself with the strongly held belief that she would have happily left him alone to ride out his current difficulties if only he had done the same, but needs must. He was the one who had forced her to put into action a scheme which would, hopefully, scupper all his best-laid plans.
39
‘What a week it has been, the first week of the trial of Debbie “call me by my name” Mallard and the debut of the Court TV channel!’ Katrina was resplendent in a demure petrol-blue trouser suit when the jumbo, extra-long Friday night edition of Court TV began that evening.
‘And tonight we’ve got a special report on the pressures on young footballers. You might be surprised to hear that it’s not all glitz and glamour, despite those massive salaries. But before we hear more about that, we have some breaking news.’
‘We do…sad news. There’s been a suspected arson at the offices of TransPress, a magazine serving the transgender community. The fire brigade attended around 3pm, but the latest is that the offices have burnt down to the ground. No one hurt in that one, but clearly the police are concerned it might have some connection to the Debbie Mallard trial and, more specifically, to the evidence Dr Alves gave today, which received mixed reviews.’
‘And, more serious, this one; there has also been an attack on four men in drag at a club in Salford, around an hour ago. The assailants, who all wore masks, are reported to have shouted: “This is for Rosie” as they beat the men. All of the victims required hospital treatment. One is reported as seriously injured.’
Andy felt nauseous. It was no comfort to him that he had voiced the view that Dr Alves should not have been in court in the first place. This was all down to Court TV for giving the case so much coverage. That was the problem with accessibility; you couldn’t pick and choose to whom you gave that access.
* * *
Constance called Greg. She had been contemplating calling him before the news broke, as she needed help with her latest lead. Now she wasn’t sure what she was going to say to him, but she was angry and he seemed like a suitable person to blame. He answered on only the second ring.
‘Hi there. How are you bearing up?’
‘Have you seen it, what’s happened, because of your Court TV friend?’ she spluttered.
‘What do you mean? What’s happened?’
‘The attacks, in Salford and at the newspaper office. Four people injured.’
‘Oh that! I have seen it. You can’t lay that at his door.’
‘I can and I am. They’ve been stirring things up all week. The judge would never have allowed Dr Alves to speak if Andy Chambers hadn’t rubbished her in the first place, saying she got it wrong with Caroline Fleming. And no one would have heard the stuff Dr Alves spouted, if it wasn’t all recorded.’
‘I agree that it’s awful, what happened. But some people are just mindless thugs with horrible, backward views. You can’t blame Court TV for that. I think some of its coverage has been excellent and balanced and, if you’ve been watching this evening, you’ll know they’ve already slammed the attacks.’
Constance was silent. She felt a little better, now she had got things off her chest, but she wished Greg wouldn’t be so reasonable about everything.
‘Look, I can see why you’re angry. I’m pretty angry too. But this really isn’t the fault of the TV coverage. You must be exhausted with so much going on. Is there anything else I can help you with? You know you can trust me.’
‘The police have, finally, given me access to Rosie Harper’s laptop and I need help with something. I thought I could do it myself, but I’m not clever enough. Could you…’
‘I can come over, if you like.’
‘When were…’
‘Now, if it’s urgent. You tell me. Is it urgent?’
‘It’s super-urgent. I’d like you to come.’
* * *
Judith sat, in her apartment, papers strewn around the floor, a large glass of red wine in her hand and a smoked salmon salad balanced on her lap. She paused the TV, put down her dinner and its liquid accompaniment and went over to her laptop. First, she Googled the arson incident in Liverpool. There were a few photographs of the offices burning and the firemen in attendance. Then she moved on to the Salford story, but it was too recent for anything more than the barest details and a picture of the most seriously injured victim, in happier times.
She took her wine back into the kitchen and poured it down the sink. Then she returned to collect her plate of food and tipped it into the bin. Finally, she slumped down in her armchair, stared at the frozen TV screen, leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
* * *
Constance was playing football with Jermain and her mum in Haggerston Park, or at least she was trying to dribble the ball past Jermain, to shoot at goal, but he kept tackling her over and over. ‘Come on,’ her mum shouted, still enthusiastic, her breath hanging in the chilly air as Constance advanced one last time, her shins smarting from the battering her little brother had administered. She dribbled to the right and, as Jermain closed in, she dummied him by stepping over the ball.
This time, as he kicked out to the right, his toe hit thin air as she ducked left and struck the ball cleanly, so it soared towards the waiting goal. Only her mother to beat now, her mouth gaping, ready to celebrate, when she saw her mother’s gloves; not goalie’s gloves, but enormous, black, leather, motorbike gloves, expanding by the second and filling the goal, and her hope turned to despair.
And then, as the ball spun in the air, and the gloves became larger and larger, Constance heard a light tapping sound. She tried to make sense of the tapping. Was it someone knocking some impromptu rounders bases into the soft ground, or the woody Wisteria bumping against the gazebo? The tapping increased in volume and then Greg was standing over her, in her bedroom, speaking softly.
Constance sat up. She had fallen asleep on her bed, fully clothed, slumped across her laptop. Her curtains were open, but it was dark outside. Greg stepped back.
‘Sorry to give you a shock. I did knock and I thought I heard you say to come in.’
‘It’s OK,’ Constance swung her legs around to the floor. ‘I probably did. I talk in my sleep…apparently.’ Greg retreated again to the doorway. ‘So much for my good intentions and giving you space to work. How long have I wasted?’ she asked.
‘You probably needed it.’
‘I can sleep once this is all over. You wanted me?’ Constance began to focus and remember why she had invited Greg over.
‘I’ve found something,’ he said.
‘You’ve found out if the diaries are genuine?’ It was all coming back to her now, as her dream slipped away.
‘The diaries? Rosie certainly wrote them, or at least they were composed on her laptop. That took me about five minutes to solve.’ Greg threw her a boyish grin. ‘I’ll get to that in a minute. No, I’ve found something much more interesting, although I haven’t got into it yet. This, you have to see.’
He crossed the floor in one stride and pressed a few buttons on Rosie’s laptop. He re-ordered her downloads, pressed another key and then a folder with a padlock symbol appeared on the screen. Constance squinted at the name. Greg blew it up to 200%. Constance read the name out loud.
‘Rapunzel,’ she said.’
40
Constance arrived at Judith’s flat shortly after 11am on Saturday morning. She was carrying the September edition of Esquire magazine under her arm, which she waved under Judith’s nose.
‘Oh,’ Judith said, as her eyes skimmed the front cover. ‘That explains the cufflinks then.’
‘And the signet ring and the gold watch…and the makeup.’
Constance reclaimed the magazine and directed Judith’s attention away from the photograph of Jeremy Laidlaw decorating the front to the article about him on page 62. There, Laidlaw posed in a series of designer outfits, across a double-page spread, replete with expensive accessories, under a piece entitled ‘Legal: the new cool?’
‘Is he allowed to do this?’ she asked.
‘I’m not sure,’ Judith said. ‘Probably. There are all the rules about not devaluing the profession, but in this new climate, when we’re being forced to break down barriers and be more user-friendly, I imagine he’ll say this is positive publicity.’
‘Do you think he got paid?’
‘Maybe not for the interview, but for wearing all the jewellery, definitely. Think of the enormous potential market, with two million viewers a night.’
‘I suppose all he’s doing is being entrepreneurial, at the same time as doing his job. Greg said we should do the same.’
‘Greg?’
Constance’s heart skipped a beat. Now she was uncovered, there was no point going back. ‘Yes. I saw him a few weeks back,’ she said. ‘We had dinner. He predicted a lot of what’s happened, actually, suggested you and I should take advantage of the opportunities too.’
‘Did he?’
‘He asked after you. I think he was worried you were lonely.’
‘Was he?’ Judith’s face was hard, but only for a moment. ‘All of this is right up his street, I suppose,’ she said, “manipulating the public”.’
‘That’s a bit unfair. He was trying to help, to give us some advice.’
‘He’s good at advice, as I remember.’ Judith closed the magazine and allowed it to drop to the table. ‘Let’s leave Laidlaw’s antics and Greg’s advice to another day, shall we? It has the potential to be an enormous distraction.’
Judith ran her fingers over Laidlaw’s face and then threw it across the room, to land on top of a pile of papers. ‘You saw the two incidents yesterday; the fire and the assaults?’ She looked away from Constance as she spoke.
‘Yes.’
‘I can’t help thinking…’
‘No.’ Constance said. ‘Some people are just full of hate. It wasn’t you.’
‘I lost focus and went for the headline. That’s the only reason Bridget allowed Dr Alves in.’ Judith’s voice cracked and she coughed to hide her discomfort.
‘Bridget allowed Dr Alves in because of all the things they said about her in the media. You know that.’
‘Well I certainly didn’t help. Shall we talk about Monday? That’s presumably why you came.’ Judith said. ‘Debbie’s turn to face the music.’
‘Are we definitely going to call her?’
‘We have to. Laura did well, really well, but it’s not enough. I’ll keep things short, though, and clinical, I think – remind her again of the need to present herself properly; calm and reserved, like we discussed.’
‘You think Laidlaw will push her.’
‘I would. Top of the list must be those diaries and what Debbie’s going to say about them. Shall we begin there?’
‘Sure, that’s my first bit of good news. I got access to Rosie’s laptop and Greg came over last night and has given me some ideas of what you could ask.’
This time Judith said nothing, but her face registered her suspicion.
‘There wasn’t time to start searching around for anyone else,’ Constance said.
‘You’re right. I’m sure if there’s something useful there, Greg will find it. I’ll get the coffee and I bought cannoli. How much more are they going to throw at us before this trial ends, I wonder?’
Constance walked over to the pile of magazines in the corner. While Judith was in the kitchen, she picked up the copy of Esquire and tucked it back inside her bag. There was one more thing she hadn’t yet shared with Judith and she wondered how best to do it.
* * *
‘Hi there. How’s it going? I need to ask you about some new leads we’re following.’ Constance thought back to her early morning visit to Debbie, the way she had tried to sound matter-of-fact, when her reason for calling in was anything but.
‘Isn’t it a bit late for that?’ Debbie had leaned her head back against the wall, her hair long over her shoulders.
‘They’re things we’ve been working on all along, really, but they’re all becoming more relevant now. Do you know someone called Nicki Smith? She’s leader of a number of green protest groups. She used to pester Rosie for help.’
‘I’ve never heard of her.’
‘Here’s a photo, although she’s been in court at least once. She has a distinctive scar on the left side of her face.’ Constance had shown the image of Nicki, on her phone, to Debbie, but there had been no flicker of recognition.
‘You think she might be involved in Rosie’s murder?’
‘It’s possible. And do you know anything about someone Laura might be seeing?’
‘You mean like a boyfriend?’
‘Yes, but maybe someone a bit older.’
‘I’ve never pried into the children’s relationships. Laura once brought a boyfriend home in sixth form, but Rosie was too busy to talk to him for more than five minutes.’
‘There’s a suggestion that Laura tried to tell Rosie about a new friend and that Rosie was worried he might be married.’
‘She never said anything to me. Why don’t you ask Laura?’
‘I may do that.’ Constance had sighed. ‘And now, the last one, and it’s a bit of a strange one,’ she had said. ‘Does the name Rapunzel mean anything to you?’
‘No.’ Debbie’s mouth had said the word, but her face had said something different.
* * *
Constance flicked through her downloads and readied the folder to open it for Judith.
Judith returned with two pastries, nestled in the centre of a small plate.
‘What is it?’ she said, sensing Constance’s anxiety.
Constance’s fingers hovered over her screen.
‘It’s something you need to see,’ she said.
41
