Team Spirit (Special Crime Unit Book 1) (14 page)

‘If
you can.’ His face betrayed nothing except - he hoped - reassurance. ‘Normally
we wouldn’t trouble you after all this time, as our boss explained on the
phone, but the circumstances are exceptional.’

‘I
understand. You think they might have... other women.’

He
opened his briefcase and took out the faded copy of Miranda Hargreaves’s
witness statement. He scowled at it. ‘You were at home in the shared house
where you were living...’

‘2
Langley Park Road,’ Mrs Beckett said, swallowing hard.

‘...when
you heard noises in the vacant room next to yours.’

‘Yes,’
she said. ‘Look, do you mind if I try and tell it in my own words? In therapy
they teach you that; if you can talk about what happened to you it it’s one
stage of the battle won.’

Jeff
opened his mouth, but it was Lucky who said, rather loudly he thought, ‘No.
Please go ahead.’ He glared at her, but neither she nor Mrs Beckett noticed.

‘It
was late,’ Mrs Beckett said. ‘I was in my room reading. That room was empty at
the time, at least as far as I knew. I just assumed it had been let and they
were moving in.’

Lucky
said, puzzled, ‘In your statement you said it was half past ten at night.’

‘You’ve
obviously never lived in a house share,’ Mrs Beckett smiled. ‘People move in
and out at all sorts of ungodly hours.’ Her expression clouded. ‘I say it was
the next room; really it was the same, one big room, but there was a folding
wooden partition dividing it in two. Anyway, they... they tried to get it open.
I could hear them moving furniture out of the way and then they started
rattling it.’ She hugged herself and began rubbing her upper arms, although it
wasn’t cold. ‘Stupid of me, I called out that this was a private room on the
other side, and they stopped.’

‘Stopped?’

Mrs
Beckett took a breath. ‘For a while. Then I could hear them whispering.’

‘There
were two of them?’ Jeff said.

‘I
was frightened, but I didn’t cry out because I didn’t know if anyone else was
home. One of them went out into the hall and started banging on my door. I’d
locked it. But... um...’

For
a moment it seemed she couldn’t go on. Lucky stirred as if to rise. The door
opened and Mr Beckett reappeared with tea, milk and sugar on a tray, which he
set down on the table. From an unnoticed corner by the French windows he
extracted a stool and sat on it beside his wife.

‘Thanks.
Larissa,’ Jeff said, motioning to the tea. ‘Could you...?’

Nodding,
Lucky got up and poured Miranda Beckett a cup. The lid of the pot rattled.
Belatedly, Mr Beckett recovered what he called ‘my manners’ and served tea to
Lucky, Jeff and himself. ‘Everything OK, darling?’ he murmured to his wife,
sitting down again and taking her hand.

Jeff
said, ‘Are you all right to go on, Mrs Beckett?’

She
nodded jerkily. ‘I’ve forgotten where...’

‘The
banging on your door,’ he reminded her gently, trying to make it sound as
neutral as possible.

‘Yes.’
She nodded again. ‘They stopped. The other... person... had got the divider
part way open - about a foot - and called him back. Then they both squeezed
through.’

‘Were
you doing anything in the meantime?’ Lucky asked.

‘Trying
to find my key to unlock the door and get out of there,’ Mrs Beckett retorted,
as if this were obvious. ‘But I couldn’t get my bag open, I was too panicky.
Then they were on me.’ She crowded close to her husband, who gave her hand a
reassuring squeeze.

Jeff
nodded carefully and waited.

‘Two
of them, yes,’ she said, belatedly answering his earlier question. ‘One grabbed
hold of me and pinned my arms while the other one shone his torch around.’

‘It
was dark?’ Lucky asked.

‘Yes.’

‘Only
that was one of the things we weren’t clear about.’

‘I
had the light on, but one of them turned it off as soon as he was in the room.
Anyway - ‘

Lucky
was about to ask another question, but her eye caught Jeff’s warning glance and
she subsided.

Mrs
Beckett said urgently, ‘I struggled. Don’t think I didn’t struggle, scream. It
didn’t do any good. The other one, the one with the torch, he came and took
over, it was one of those heavy rubber torches, and he just hit me with it till
I stopped. Then he threw me on the bed and said something like, “That’s her
sorted. She’s all yours.”’ A sob escaped her and her husband, his eyes sharing some
of her pain and anger, put his arms round her. She blinked, deliberately, and
said, ‘He was egging the other one on - the man who’d grabbed me first. I don’t
think he wanted to... he was hesitating. His friend kept on at him - he was
saying, “Go on, it’s easy,” and getting him to...’ She had to stop again,
blushing a terrible scarlet. She rummaged on the table for a box of tissues
half-hidden under some blank stave paper, grabbed a handful and covered her
face, dabbing away tears. Jeff waited. Finally she looked up again, staring
past him into space. ‘Getting him to take my... clothes off.’ She all but
swallowed the words.

‘It’s
OK,’ her husband whispered.

‘The
first man still wouldn’t do anything,’ she went on. ‘Until the other one got
fed up and got me to tell him where my key was. He went out of the room, I
assume to look for more pickings.’ She laughed bitterly. ‘Some chance, in a
place like that.’

Jeff
nodded neutrally.

‘Well,
apparently all the first man was waiting for was no-one watching him,’ Miranda
Beckett continued, anger fighting now through the tears. ‘Because
that’s
when he did it. Raped me.’

‘Just
him on his own?’ Jeff asked.

‘Just
him,’ she snarled back, ‘would have been enough.’ She turned to Lucky, who at
once looked down. ‘The other one came back just as he was... ejaculating.’ The
word was bitten off again. ‘He hit the roof. I thought he was going to kill his
friend -
and
me. He yelled out, “You stupid bastard - don’t you know they can get your DNA
from that. It’s just like a fingerprint.” The first... He said, “I thought you
wanted me to.” The other man said, and I remember this very, very vividly,
“Stick anything you like up her, but not your knob.” I’ll tell you why I
remember it vividly, shall I?’

She
glared at Jeff, who again nodded.

‘I
remember it,’ she said, crying without restraint now, ‘because he found my
flute and...’

This
time, it seemed, she really couldn’t go on. There was no need. Jeff and Lucky
waited while Miranda Beckett fought back the nausea, and wept, doubled up,
while her husband clasped her heaving shoulders helplessly.

When
she’d recovered, Jeff levelled his eyes at her.

‘Believe
me,’ he said, ‘we wouldn’t’ve bothered you with this again if we didn’t think
it was totally necessary.’

‘I
wouldn’t wish what happened to me on my worst enemy,’ she said. ‘If it helps
you catch them, even after so long...’

‘I
hope so,’ he agreed. ‘D’you mind if I ask you one or two more questions? Not
intimate,’ he added hastily, seeing her blanch.

‘Ask
away.’ She poured herself more tea with unsteady hands.

‘Now
you probably remember helping a police artist come up with some sketches.’

‘I
told the detectives at the time I wasn’t sure. I only caught a glimpse of their
faces for a moment before the light went off.’ She set her tea down quickly as
she realised what he was saying. ‘You want me to take another look, don’t you?’

As
he’d feared, it was a pointless exercise. Her freely admitted flight of
imagination bore even less resemblance to her darkened memories, five years
later. He moved on. ‘You were quite clear on a couple of points. The second man
- the one who acted like he was in charge, the one who went out of the room:
you told DI Arnold he was tall?’

‘Very
tall,’ she agreed, ‘and thin.’

He
nodded. ‘And both quite young, you reckoned?’

‘Oh,
yes,’ she said bitterly. ‘Younger than me. Still at school, I wouldn’t be
surprised.’

‘Sixteen,
seventeen...?’

‘If
that.’

‘Couple
of other things,’ Jeff said, making a note. ‘I know this is hard for you. In
your statement you never mentioned the second man assaulting you sexually. Now
I can appreciate why you didn’t. But can you tell me, did they take the flute
with them when they left?’

Mrs
Beckett nodded and lowered her head, ineffably sad. Jeff saw Lucky swallow, and
he understood why. The flute had been Miranda Hargreaves’s most cherished
possession.

‘Can
you tell us a bit about it?’

‘I
inherited it from my gran. It was very valuable... a Böhm eight-key ivory
flute, 1866.’

‘Many
of those about?’

‘About
fifty in the whole world.’

‘How
much was it insured for?’

‘Ten
thousand,’ she said. ‘And I suspect even that was low. Not that it mattered. I
never bought another.’

‘Understandable,’
Jeff said. He waited for a beat, fighting his own feeling of sickness at what
had been done to this woman, what he was doing to her all over again. He said,
‘One more thing, and then we’ll not outstay our welcome any longer. In the
report it says the intruders got in through a ground floor window. Can you
remember what sort of window it was?’

‘What
do you mean, what sort of...?’

‘Was
it double glazed, or - ?’

‘In
that place? You must be joking. No, it was an ordinary, old-fashioned front
room window, probably the original one.’

‘How
did it open?’ He mimed something.

‘That’s
it,’ she said, pointing. ‘A sash window.’

Lucky waited until
they were back in the car before voicing her thoughts.

‘The
accomplice,’ she said.

‘
An
accomplice,’ Jeff argued. ‘She
said specifically they were both kids. In Denise Cole’s case the second man was
older. Also, he seemed to be the one in charge. This time it was very much
other way round.’

‘Same
person, though?’ Lucky said. ‘You reckon?’

‘Oh,
aye,’ he nodded, slowing for the turn into the main road. ‘I had me doubts
before, but there’s the MO - sash window, lights extinguished - and now we know
about the flute. It’s our boy.’

‘Right,’
she agreed absently. ‘Jeff?’

‘Mmm?’

‘The
first guy: the, erm...’

‘Rapist.’

‘Yeah.
Did he use a condom or something?’

‘FME’s
report didn’t mention one.’

‘Then
wouldn’t his DNA be on file? If he’s a burglar there’s every chance he’s got a
club number, so we might be able to...’ She tailed off. Jeff was shaking his
head.

‘Check
the date of the crime report against the date in Miranda Hargreaves’s
statement.’

She
looked puzzled.

‘She
didn’t report it for two days,’ he said. ‘By then any medical evidence was up
the Swannee.’

Beneath
her cinnamon skin it was hard to tell if Lucky was blushing, but her head went
down and she said, ‘Oh, shit.’

‘Easy
mistake to make,’ Jeff smiled. ‘Don’t worry. Done it myself enough times.’

‘Yeah?’

‘Aye.’
He stared fixedly at the road ahead. Actually he’d made a similar error over
dates once, and only once, and it had almost resulted in a hit and run driver
getting a free alibi. The bollocking his DI of the time had given him had
ensured his unflagging thoroughness in the matter of witness statements ever
since. A flash of guilt passed through him for his failure to let rip now, but
Lucky deserved a break, and anyway she was keen enough without needing to be
bludgeoned into learning this particular lesson.

He
said, ‘We need to trace that flute.’

‘It
was five years ago,’ she said, astonished. ‘How are we supposed to - ?’

‘What
use’d a couple of burglars have for an antique flute?’ he declared with
certainty. ‘They’ll’ve sold it on or pawned it. Prepare yourself for several
hundred pointless phone calls once we get back to the nick.’

They
drove on in silence for a while.

‘Seems
to’ve put it behind her, though,’ Lucky said suddenly, brightly.

‘Mrs
Beckett?’

‘Married,
well enough off by the look of it, got a family. House in the country. All
since it happened. She’s picked up her life.’

‘Aye,
she has.’

‘But?’
She’d detected the dubious note in his voice.

‘You
saw how hard it was for her to talk about it, even after all this time. It’ll
never not be there. In her case I think she’s lucky. Her husband’s
understanding and supportive, and like she said counselling’s helped.’ He
sighed. Outside the sky had turned warship grey, pregnant with rain. ‘Rape gets
women different ways. Some come to terms; others, it destroys them and those
around them. What you can’t do is forget it ever happened.’