One Dark Night, page 11
“Yes,” she says. “I’m OK. Are you next, Jasmine?”
The girl nods, though seeing Rachel’s expression, she sinks a little lower into the seat.
Rachel tries to rally. “Don’t worry.” She conjures a weak smile. “Just go in there and tell the truth. That’s all you have to do.”
Jasmine nods, but Rachel notices how the girl averts her gaze, not quite meeting her eye. Just like Danny, she thinks, remembering his evasive looks. Something happened in those woods, something the kids aren’t sharing. The realization chills Rachel to the bone.
Chapter 14
Monday, 4:00 p.m.
Connor Carlisle is pumping bullets into a gang of balaclava-clad assassins when Ben first comes across him. He’s sprawled on a faux leather couch, Xbox controller in hand, long legs clad in black joggers stretched out before him, his expensive Nike Airs propped on a glass coffee table littered with cups and empty pizza boxes. “Be right with you,” Connor says, though he doesn’t look up, his attention fixed on the huge flat-screen TV.
Ben doesn’t say a word. He lowers himself onto a nearby leather chair, the foam cushion wheezing beneath him as he sits and looks around. The curtains are drawn, casting the room in the flickering glow of the TV and the air is heavy with the cloying tang of aftershave and sweet vape fumes.
It’s been a surprise to Ben that he’s gained such easy access to Connor. Given his frequent brushes with the law, Ben had assumed he might find it next to impossible to get an impromptu conversation with the lad. As he’d pulled up outside the riverside flats on the edge of Bristol, he’d considered his options, deciding in the end to play it straight and see where it led. He’d parked in a visitor’s space, next to a massive black four-wheel drive, and buzzed up to the “Penthouse” on the door intercom.
After a long moment, a male voice had grunted an indecipherable greeting.
“I’m here to see Connor,” Ben had said, glancing up at the redbrick facade. He’d assumed he was being watched on the door cam. Expecting more questions, his fingers had rested on his identification badge, but to his surprise, there hadn’t been any further discussion. The front door had clicked open and Ben had slipped inside, taking the elevator to the top floor where a huge man wearing too-tight skinny jeans and a suspiciously glazed expression had waved him into the darkened flat. “He’s at the back.”
The flat was all monochrome, glass and steel, a bland modern pad in dire need of an injection of color and a good clean. As he passed through, Ben glimpsed a tower of washing-up, unmade beds with duvets heaped and pillows scattered, discarded takeout containers spread across a kitchen table, weights and dumbbells dumped in the hall. Following the sound of grunts and gunfire, he’d entered the back room where he’d found Connor on the Xbox.
Waiting for him to finish his game, Ben looks around and notes the expensive-looking speaker system, a ring light and laptop as well as several cardboard boxes stacked high against one wall. The place is a cross between a student apartment and a pimped-up bachelor pad.
“Who the fuck are you?” Seemingly satisfied with his body count, Connor has lowered the controller and is staring at Ben.
“DS Chase. I’m with the Avon & Somerset Police.” He flashes his badge and takes some satisfaction at the lad’s obvious double take.
“Jesus Christ,” says Connor, glancing in alarm at the doorway. “Big Kev just let you wander in here?”
Ben shrugs. “Well, Big Kev didn’t exactly ask for my calling card, if that’s what you mean. Pretty lax door security you’ve got going on.”
Connor’s gaze darts nervously over the coffee table and then sweeps the room, hesitating momentarily on the stack of boxes towering behind the sofa, before returning to Ben. He shifts in his seat, tries to wrestle himself a little more upright on the sunken sofa cushions, his chin lifting. “I haven’t got time for this. I’m busy. I’ve got a business meeting.”
“So I see.” Ben throws a pointed glance at the controller in his lap.
“If this is about the videos, I can tell you right now it’s freedom of speech. Pure and simple.”
“This isn’t about your YouTube channel. I’m here to ask some questions about Sarah Lawson.”
Ben watches Connor, sees his defiance slide to confusion, cogs slowly turning before recognition dawns in his eyes. “Oh shit.” His face splits into a wide grin. “The posh bird?”
The sight of his smile brings a rush of fury. Ben would like to kick Connor’s feet off the coffee table and wipe that smug smile off his face. Instead, he leans forward and narrows his eyes. “You know Sarah?”
“She’s not made a complaint, has she? For fuck’s sake.” He reaches for one of the energy drink bottles on the coffee table and untwists the cap. “The rich ones are always the worst. They dish it out, but they can’t take it. I told Danny not to get messed up with her. What’s she said then?” He takes a swig of the lurid-colored liquid. “Cos I can tell you now, it was all her. No one made her do anything. If anyone should be complaining, it’s me. She wasted my time.”
Ben’s hands clench into fists. He waits for Connor to replace the cap on the bottle before he speaks. “She’s not said anything. Sarah Lawson is dead.”
The drink bottle hovers in midair. Ben studies Connor closely, watching to see how his words have landed.
“She’s dead?” Connor’s eyes widen.
Ben nods.
“How?”
He doesn’t answer, just holds his gaze.
“Shit.” Connor shakes his head. Even in the dim light of the room, Ben can see that his face has drained of color. “Does Danny know?”
“He knows.”
“Fuck.” Connor twists the bottle round in his hands. “What did she do? Top herself?”
“We’re treating Sarah’s death as suspicious.”
Connor leans back in his seat. “Suspicious?”
“Were you involved with Sarah Lawson?”
“Me?” He shakes his head. “Shit no.”
“But you were with her on Saturday night? In the woods?”
“With her?” He shakes his head. “I went to see Danny and his mates. I didn’t stay long. Should’ve known it would be a lame-ass party. A few rich kids from that jumped-up school he goes to playing stupid party games in the dark.”
“But Sarah was there?”
Connor nods. “She was there.”
“We’ve heard you and Sarah were quite… friendly that night.”
Connor rolls his eyes. “She was all over me, if that’s what you mean.” He holds up his hands. “I know. Danny was pissed about it, but I can’t help it if women find me irresistible. It’s the energy I give off.” He looks Ben up and down. “You should watch my YouTube channel. I teach guys all about this stuff. How to pull chicks. How to get them to do anything you want. It’s all about the BDE.” He grabs his crotch. “You should check it out.”
Ben really doesn’t want to think about Connor’s self-professed Big Dick Energy. “I’m good, thanks. We’ve got a witness saying that you took drugs to the woods on Saturday night with the intention of dealing.”
Connor folds his arms across his muscled chest. “I didn’t sell anything to anyone on Saturday night.”
“Did you supply drugs to Sarah Lawson?”
“No.” His reply sounds like a yes.
“So, if our toxicology reports come back and show illegal substances in her system, that wouldn’t be on you?”
Connor tilts his chin, but Ben can see the flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Is that what you think happened? She took something dodgy? Because I’m telling you, that’s not on me. She had a little smoke. That’s it.”
“What were you smoking?”
“Just some skunk.”
“Skunk like the stuff you were dealing last month outside Thorncombe High? Skunk laced with spice that saw three near-comatose kids rushed to hospital.”
“You lot tried to pin that one on me,” Connor tilts his chin, “but you couldn’t prove anything.”
“Sarah didn’t take anything else?”
“Not that I saw.” Connor does a good job of staring him down. “She was fine when I left her. Better than Danny, anyway. Gave him a right shiner. Little prick, coming at me like that.”
“We’ve heard you had an altercation with Danny. What prompted that?”
He shrugs. “His girl was out of control. Thirsty. All over me, like she had a point to prove. Danny didn’t like it. Can’t blame him, really. Need to keep a chick like that on a tight leash or you’re in a world of trouble. Danny came at me and I defended myself. Plain and simple.”
Ben swallows down his distaste, tries to keep his voice neutral. “Then what?”
“A few people left, Danny included, until it was just me, Big Kev, and that Sarah girl. She was in a funny mood, agitated. I guess because of Danny, but you know what? I was buzzing. Sounded like she’d been taking him for a mug. I was glad he’d seen the light. Happy to help illustrate the point,” he adds with a leer. “I suggested we head up to the folly for a smoke. We hung out up there for a bit, lit a fire, chatted shit until Big Kev got bored and suggested we resurrect the night back in Bristol. We offered to take Sarah with us, good-looking girl like that. I don’t mind buying her a few drinks in a club, but she said no. Said she was going to walk home. It was the opposite direction to us, so we left her to it.”
Ben bristles. “You left a seventeen-year-old girl alone in the woods in the middle of the night? Not very gentlemanly.”
“She wanted us to go. Told us to fuck off, if you must know. So Big Kev and I walked back to the car and drove into Bristol. Hit up Lakota.”
“What time did you get to the club?”
“I’d say around 1:00 a.m. I got home at 5:00 a.m.” Connor looks pleased with himself.
“We can check the CCTV at the venue to confirm you were there.”
“Be my guest.”
“Can anyone else vouch for your whereabouts that night?”
“Yeah. Kev, until he peeled off. And a chick from the club. Kayla. She was up for it,” he adds, his smug grin spreading across his face. “Desperate to come home with me.”
“Do you have Kayla’s surname? Her contact details?”
“Don’t know her last name, but she left her number. Insisted on it. Not that I was planning on calling… but I don’t mind if you do.” He leans forward and rummages among pizza boxes to pull out a scrap of paper. “Here. Have it. I won’t be needing it.”
Ben makes a note of the number, then pulls his own card from his pocket. He throws it onto the coffee table between them. “My number. In case you think of anything else important.”
Connor rolls his eyes, already reaching for the Xbox controller in his lap.
Back at the car, Ben pulls out his cell phone and dials the number from the torn napkin. A woman answers on the third ring. “Hello?” She’s softly spoken. Tentative. Hopeful.
Kayla goes quiet when Ben tells her who he is, though he senses her interest lift at the mention of Connor. “I was with him. We got kicked out of the club at 4:00 a.m. and went back to his, via a kebab shop.”
“And you were with him for the rest of the night?”
“Yeah, I left his place the next day, around twelve. He said he had work to do.”
“You’ve been very helpful. Thank you.”
He’s about to hang up when she jumps in. “If you’re talking to Connor again, tell him he still owes me for the Uber. And tell him he can call me… anytime.”
Ben sighs. “You sound like a nice girl, Kayla. I know you’re not asking for advice, but I’d say the same thing if you were my daughter. You’d do well to stay clear of men like Connor Carlisle.”
Kayla is quiet, her silence sullen and heavy, and Ben knows as he finishes the call that she isn’t going to listen.
Leaving the concrete suburban sprawl of the city behind him, he heads back along the M4 toward the distant vale of Thorncombe. As he drives, he thinks about Connor, his misogyny, his bluster, his unpleasant narcissistic ego. He knows exactly the type of videos he’s been making—the men he’s been idolizing. Men who think women are less, there to serve, to manipulate, to degrade. This is the world Ellie is growing up in, the one she must learn to navigate safely. He’d be lying if he said the thought didn’t terrify him.
Inevitably, Ben’s thoughts segue to Sarah. He remembers the way her body lay on the ground, as if placed there, tenderly, her long blond hair lifting in the breeze. He thinks about the words daubed on her skin. He thinks of that word that had come to him in the clearing. “Reverence.” Someone had taken care with her.
Police training and years of experience have taught Ben never to underestimate what a person is capable of, but every mile he drives away from Bristol, he feels it more strongly, more instinctively: Connor isn’t Sarah’s killer. A young man like Connor Carlisle is basic, brash, full of bravado. As much as he might disrespect and denigrate women, he doesn’t have the imagination or the artistry for such a disturbing crime scene. Sarah’s killer had more going on in their mind. More intent behind their actions. More they wanted to say.
Chapter 15
Monday, 6:00 p.m.
After concluding the last interview for the day, a drained Rachel and DC Maxwell leave the administration building together. Darkness already cloaks the school grounds as Rachel walks with the officer to her vehicle. “Thank you,” says Maxwell, meeting her eye over the hood of the police car. “I know it’s not been easy, but I’m glad you were there for the kids.”
“I just hope you catch whoever did it.”
“We will.” Maxwell eyes her with concern. “Are you going to be all right?”
Rachel shrugs. “I think I need to go home and hug my daughter. Will you be OK? I know the stress you deal with. I’ve seen it up close. You police officers act tough,” she adds, seeing Maxwell’s frown, “but it’s a lot.”
“Me? Oh sure. That’s the joy of dating a hot chef. Steph will shower me with food and affection the moment I walk through the door. She’s the perfect antidote to all of this.” She hesitates. “I owe you an apology, Rachel. I shouldn’t have shown you that photo earlier. I’m sorry—I messed up.”
Rachel swallows. She wishes she hadn’t seen it either. “I understand why you did.”
Maxwell’s car is pulling away down the drive when Rachel hears her name being called. She turns to see Margaret Crowe hovering by the building entrance, wrapped in a black shawl. She beckons to Rachel. “Do you have a minute? I wanted to ask how the interviews went.”
Rachel frowns. She’s almost certain she’s not allowed to share the details of what was spoken about, bound by confidentiality to both the police and the kids. “The students were troopers,” she says, keeping her reply vague. “A credit to the school,” she adds, hoping the praise will appease her boss.
“Were the police satisfied?”
“I… I don’t know. It was an information-gathering exercise. I’m not sure they’ll be satisfied until they’ve brought someone to justice.”
“Of course,” agrees Margaret. “I meant, were they satisfied that the school wasn’t involved? Nothing arose that might have… posed an issue for anyone? No one on the faculty, for example?” She lets the question hang.
The way the light is falling from the building behind her makes it impossible to read Margaret’s expression. What is she asking her? Rachel clears her throat. “I think the police have various lines of enquiry to pursue. I’m not across their exact thinking.”
Margaret gives a small wave. “I’m sure you understand my concern. I have a duty as head teacher to protect the school. Reputation is everything for an institution such as ours.”
A girl has died. It doesn’t feel like quite the right time to be focusing on the school’s reputation.
“Children can get so muddled,” Margaret continues. “Whispers and rumors can be twisted and gather momentum. Students say things sometimes for attention, just to be part of something… well… exciting. You can’t always believe everything they say, can you? I’m sure you understand.”
Rachel’s not sure that she does.
As if sensing her confusion, Margaret adds, “All I’m saying is that if there was something troubling… something that you thought might affect the school, then I’d expect you to bring it to me. Do you understand? Above and beyond. Everyone playing their part. That’s what we stand for here.”
Rachel nods slowly.
“Good.” Seemingly satisfied, Margaret turns back to the building. “I hope you have a restful evening, Rachel. Good night.”
Relieved to escape Margaret’s interrogation, Rachel darts down the steps and scurries across the campus, seeking out the pools of light falling from lampposts, keen to avoid the shadows and the less well-lit pathways. Her senses are on high alert, conscious of every bush masquerading as a hiding place, startling at every twig crack and the distant hoot of an owl high up in the hills.
It’s not like her to feel so rattled, especially in a place that has always felt so safe and secure, but then she supposes the day’s not been like any other she’s experienced in her career. The corridors had echoed all day with the students’ whispers. Perhaps it was natural for Margaret to be concerned about what they might be saying. Perhaps the strange conversation was nothing more than a badly phrased request, coming from a place of pastoral concern, rather than anything more sinister or calculated. They were all hypervigilant, jumping at shadows, wary of the danger looming over the school.
Rachel shivers and pulls her coat a little tighter, relieved when the cottage finally appears through the gloom, the light in Ellie’s bedroom window guiding her home.
Letting herself in through the front door, she just has time to kick off her shoes, sling her coat over the banister, and start chaotic preparations for a scrambled-together meal when Ben arrives, announcing himself with three sharp raps on the front door. She slings the tea towel she’s been using to waft smoke from the kitchen over her shoulder and pushes strands of damp hair from her face. “Come in,” she says, flustered. “Sorry about the smell. I’m burning dinner.”
