A Velvet Scream (9 page)

Crispin was a beefy man – almost as beefy as DS Mike Korpanski, but he didn't have the sergeant's height. Korpanski was six foot three; Crispin barely five foot nine, at a guess. He came in awkwardly, walking with a rolling gait, and in spite of the freezing weather he was wearing bleached denims and a sleeveless T-shirt which displayed tattooed arms as powerful as a gorilla's. These men, Joanna reflected, didn't appear to feel the cold. Or was it simply bravado?

‘Thank you for coming, Andrew,' she said politely.

Crispin looked at the floor. ‘Chawncy persuaded me,' he admitted. ‘He thought it'd be best if I came in of my own accord.' Then in a fit of candidness, he added: ‘It was that or get the sack.'

‘Quite,' Joanna agreed with a bright smile. ‘Sit down, won't you?'

Crispin dropped into a chair – and still looked awkward.

‘I take it you understand we're investigating an alleged serious sexual assault on a fourteen-year-old?'

Crispin nodded miserably.

‘Who had first spent the evening at Patches,' Joanna continued smoothly.

Another curt nod from Crispin.

‘I understand you were the doorman on duty on Tuesday night – the night of the alleged assault?'

Crispin nodded again.

‘It might help you remember the girl if I tell you she was wearing a very short silver skirt, a black boob tube and high-heeled silver sandals.' Joanna waited. ‘Do you remember seeing a girl who fitted that description on Tuesday night?'

The question provoked another miserable nod from Crispin.

‘OK,' she prompted gently. ‘In your own words.'

Crispin swallowed. ‘I did see her. I think I saw her about nine-ish.'

Korpanski interrupted. ‘Alone?'

Crispin shook his head. ‘No,' he said. ‘She was with someone. He had his arms around her as though he was keepin' her warm. She looked cold in her top.' He couldn't resist a cheeky grin. ‘If you can call it that.'

Both Joanna and Mike ignored the comment. ‘Did you check her ID?'

‘Well, no. She looked –' He stopped. ‘They just looked like a couple. The guy was obviously older than her but they looked OK together. I just took it he knew the rules. I mean, there's signs everywhere.' He sounded slightly aggrieved.

Korpanski stepped forward. ‘Can you give us a description of the man?'

Crispin swivelled his head round to look Korpanski straight in the eye. ‘Tall – about six foot. Thinnish. Brown hair. I can't remember anything else.'

‘What was he wearing?' Joanna sat back, letting Korpanski lead the questions.

Crispin squeezed his eyes shut. ‘A leather bomber jacket, I think. Jeans – maybe.

‘There's no dress rule on a Tuesday.'

‘Did you hear him speak?' Mike pressed on.

That stopped Crispin in his tracks. He frowned and didn't answer straight away, instead thinking silently. ‘I must have done, I suppose,' he mused.

‘Was he a local guy?'

Crispin shrugged. ‘I dunno,' he said. ‘I'm really sorry but I couldn't tell you, mate. There was so much noise going on.'

‘Had you ever seen him at Patches before?'

‘No. Not that I can remember. I don't think I did know him. He's definitely not a regular.' He looked pleased with himself now.

‘Did you see them leave?' Joanna asked.

Crispin shook his head. ‘No,' he said, turning to her. ‘I didn't.' He chewed his lip. Korpanski butted in again. ‘Do you ever leave your post?'

Crispin didn't like the sergeant's question. It made him truculent and defensive. ‘We-ell, I have to go for a pee break,' he protested.

‘Apart from that.' Joanna reflected that Korpanski could sound very hostile when he wanted to.

‘I generally clock off a bit early,' Crispin admitted. ‘Have a couple of dances myself and maybe a pint or two.'

‘So what time did you leave your post on Tuesday night?' Joanna asked silkily.

‘Round about a quarter past one. No one comes in at that time.'

‘And when you had had your “couple of dances” did you happen to notice Kayleigh in her silver skirt?'

Crispin nodded.

‘Was she alone or still with the tall man?'

Crispin drew in a deep breath. ‘She was with him but they were more havin' a laugh than flirting. They weren't necking or anything – just seemed to be having a good time.'

‘What time do you close the club?'

‘Two. We don't have a license for any later.'

Joanna nodded. ‘When you closed the club did you see Kayleigh there?'

‘Crispin thought for a minute then shook his head. ‘No,' he said. ‘I didn't. But I seem to remember they left together.'

‘Thank you.'

‘What time did
you
leave?'

‘A bit after two. I have to see everyone off the premises and then supervise the locking up. It's part of the job.'

‘OK. Is there anything else you can tell us about either the girl or the man that she was with?'

Crispin shook his head. ‘Not that I can think of.' He looked from one to the other, searching for a smile he was not getting. It made him go the extra mile. ‘If I do remember anything I'll get back to you. OK?'

‘Fine,' Joanna said and couldn't resist pressing home her advantage. ‘You do realize that we could prosecute Patches for allowing a fourteen year old to be admitted and drinking alcohol?'

Crispin nodded warily. ‘I'd lose my job,' he said. ‘I'll be lucky to keep it anyway after this.'

She actually felt sorry for him. ‘Mr Crispin – Andrew,' Joanna said. ‘You've come here today of your own accord and helped us as far as you can. For that we're grateful. I cannot promise that we won't prosecute or even close Patches but your help today has saved us time and money from having to dig you out. At the moment all we're interested in is the greater crime: the alleged assault on a fourteen-year-old.'

Crispin absorbed this information into the small eyes set in his puffy face. ‘OK,' he said. ‘I understand.'

‘One more question.'

Crispin looked instantly wary.

‘Are you in a relationship at the moment?'

To her surprise Andrew Crispin didn't seem to know how to answer this very simple question.

‘I am  . . . seeing someone,' he finally admitted.

‘Her name?'

‘Shula McIvoy.'

‘She lives with you?'

‘No – with her mum and dad.'

‘Where does she work?'

Crispin looked even more uncomfortable. ‘She doesn't,' he said, ‘yet.'

And suddenly Joanna understood. ‘How old is Shula?'

‘Nearly sixteen.' And now his eyes were both wary and evasive.

‘I see.' Joanna met Mike's eyes and knew what he was thinking.

‘Well, that's all.'

Crispin didn't move.

‘You're free to go,' Korpanski said.

‘Thanks.'

And he was gone.

The minute the door had closed behind him Joanna said, ‘
Now
you can look him up on the PNC.'A few flicks of the keys and they were staring at Andrew Crispin's criminal record. Two convictions of ABH dated 2006 and 2008.

‘I'm not so interested in the details of the 2008 conviction,' Joanna said, scanning the screen. ‘Outside the nightclub; a couple of drunks. No weapon. Just a boozy punch-up. Part of the job, I suppose.' She grinned at Mike. ‘Or should I say one of the perks of the job?' She scanned further. ‘He would have got away with this except that the boy he assaulted had a father who was a criminal solicitor. Take away that one small fact and it would never have got as far as the courts. At most the club might have paid out a bit and got the boy to sign a disclaimer.' She scrolled down the screen. ‘But the 2006 conviction is a bit more interesting. It's a case of domestic violence against his partner, who was a very young girl. Only sixteen at the time.' She looked up at Mike. ‘How old is he?'

Korpanski clicked a few more keys. ‘Thirty-eight.'

‘So the girl was almost twenty years his junior.' Their eyes met. ‘Like Shula. He likes his younger women, doesn't he?'

Danny Hesketh-Brown was enjoying himself. He had tracked Johnny Ollerenshaw via a mobile phone to the banks of the Caldon Canal where Kayleigh's father's erstwhile friend was fishing. Hesketh-Brown had recently taken up fishing himself and occasionally even took his son with him. Ollerenshaw had also been a farmer in the Staffordshire moorlands but had sold up a few years ago and was living off the proceeds. He was a plump, relaxed, friendly man with an open manner. After a brief preamble, mainly about fishing and bait, Hesketh-Brown settled down on the bank beside him. Ollerenshaw had erected a shelter, inside which were a couple of folding chairs. When they were settled, keeping an eye on his line, he poured him a welcome cup of tea.

‘Tell me about Peter Harrison,' Hesketh-Brown said. ‘You and he were good friends?'

‘Yeah. Very.'

‘What about his wife, Christine? Were you good friends with her too?'

‘Not really.' Ollerenshaw dragged it out. ‘I think she resented her husband going off with me, fishing, like. She'd have preferred him to take her shopping.' He gave a sly grin which exposed two missing top incisors that added an odd whistling sound to his speech. ‘Very feminine sort of woman, she was. Liked pretty clothes and nice things and always wantin' sommat new for the house.' He spoke in a slow, Potteries accent. ‘Bit of a romantic, she were, always wantin' kissin' and cuddlin' and reassuring that he loved her. Well, he did in his way but he couldn't take all that attention. All that need. Specially when little Kayleigh come along. To be honest,' he said thoughtfully, ‘havin' Kayleigh didn't really suit either of them. Anyway, he went off when she were no more 'an a tot. Struck out on his own, as I understand.'

‘When did you last see him?'

Ollerenshaw scratched his head. ‘Years ago,' he said. ‘Years ago. He's never even rang. We've kind of lost touch. Fishin', you see,' he said.

Hesketh-Brown was momentarily thrown. ‘Sorry?'

‘It was what we had in common,' Ollerenshaw explained. ‘Once we'd lost that – well.'

He turned and grinned at Danny. ‘See what I mean?'

Hesketh-Brown tried another tack. ‘What about Terence Gradbach? Didn't the three of you used to go fishing together?'

‘Aye,' Ollerenshaw agreed warily.

‘See much of him, do you?'

‘Now and again.'

‘Does
he
see anything of Kayleigh's father?'

‘Not as I know.'

‘Do you happen to know whether Peter had any contact with his daughter?'

‘Couldn't say. Doubt it.' He gave a throaty chuckle. ‘Not very fatherly, you could say.'

‘Do you have any photographs of Peter?'

‘I really couldn't say. Happen I have.'

‘If you do come across one perhaps you'd drop it into the station?'

‘'Course.'

Coincidentally, at this very moment, Peter Harrison was the subject of Joanna and Mike's exchange. Korpanski was curious. ‘Why are you so interested in Kayleigh's father? He dropped out of her life years ago.'

‘Background.' She paused. ‘He fits the description she gave.'

‘Well, it was a pretty vague description, Jo: tall and skinny.'

‘There was more to it. Teeth, an accent. Somehow I felt a presence.' Without looking at Korpanski she knew he'd be rolling his eyes heavenwards. ‘Besides, as well as entering the club with Kayleigh our perpetrator was happy enough to be seen in her company that evening and didn't try to conceal his interest in her. He was perfectly open.'

‘What on earth are you getting at, Jo?' Korpanski was appalled. ‘Are you suggesting Peter Harrison raped his own daughter?'

‘He wouldn't have known it was his daughter,' Joanna said, ‘if he hadn't seen her since she was a baby.'

Korpanski sat, scowling.

‘As usual I don't really know. Just thinking aloud, Mike,' she said. ‘Going over things in my mind. Our perpetrator probably wouldn't have dreamed that Kayleigh was only fourteen. He might naturally have thought sex would take place, particularly as she got more drunk. He might have thought he could persuade her into it or even force her without there being such consequences. She probably wasn't in much of a state to fight him off. She's a tiny little thing. But having been seen with her and possibly realizing she was very young or a virgin, perhaps by physical means or by the way she reacted he then panics, abandons her, leaving her to her fate. I can't get a handle on this man, Mike. What sort of a person is he?'

Though he knew she did not expect an answer, Korpanski couldn't resist. ‘Person?' His look was one of surprise. ‘I'd have thought, being a woman, you'd have used the word monster.'

She shrugged. ‘It really isn't helpful. We need to understand his actions as a man. Careless, open, cruel. Sexually predatory but careful. Wise enough to use a condom, leaving no DNA. He's in a strange environment, in a town where no one knows him; presumably the geography's unfamiliar. Have our enquiries come up with anyone staying in Leek on Tuesday night?'

Korpanski shook his head. ‘Not a soul.'

‘So where did he go after abandoning Kayleigh?' Joanna was silent for a moment before adding, in a note of frustration: ‘He must have gone
somewhere
on Tuesday night. It was snowing. Driving would have been difficult.'

‘He could have driven back to London or Manchester or Birmingham – even Stoke.'

She couldn't argue with this. But she was still unhappy. The police often find it helpful to imagine the sequence of events. Piecing it together using forensic evidence from the scene and witness statements. This all seemed unpleasantly vague and out of focus. She needed to find some evidence or a reliable and memory-fast witness to sharpen the picture.