What She Saw (7 page)

‘Corrigan,' said Rosen.

‘It'll be nice to spend quality time with you, Carol,' quipped Corrigan, as Rosen picked out three more members of the team to assist Bellwood.

‘Before you all go back to your work,' said Rosen, ‘I want to throw a possible motive in the mix. Revenge. Maybe John Glass has messed with someone and that someone's getting back at him through his son.' Rosen felt the collective desire for elaboration. ‘Are any of these businesses related to artists' materials? Paint, aerosols?' he asked.

‘I don't know,' replied Bellwood. ‘You thinking about the eye on the wall?'

‘Yes,' said Rosen. During his brief periods of sleep, the painted eye had crept into his dreams: it had been the last picture in his mind before falling asleep and the first there when he woke up. ‘Yes, the eye,' he said, heading away to call the hospital for a progress report on Thomas Glass. ‘OK,' said Rosen. ‘Let's go!'

17

12.29 P.M.

B
y noon, the Portakabin that Rosen had requested, the mobile incident room at Bannerman Square, was fully operational. He sat at a desk to open a text from DS Riley on surveillance at Lewisham's A & E.

Rosen called a number on his speed dial and was connected seconds later.

‘Lewisham Hospital, A and E reception.'

‘DCI Rosen. I need a list of all people present at the time of Thomas Glass's admission last night at approximately 9.40 P.M. and all those admitted within a two-hour time window either side.'

‘No problem. I have your contact details right here.'

Rosen thanked the receptionist, closed down the call and, noticing the empty Tupperware box on his desk, wished he hadn't eaten his three-bean salad at eleven o'clock.

It was twelve thirty.
They'll do it again
.

‘If you come this way.'

Rosen was surprised to hear Bellwood's kindly voice beyond the closed door of the chilly MIR.

He polished off the dregs of a coffee. He'd lost count of how many he'd had since waking, and the grim rumbling in his chest told him to cut the caffeine and switch to water.

The door opened and Bellwood indicated to a short, white woman – her face lined from sun beds or cigarettes but relatively young and attractive – that she could enter.

She held back a moment, consumed with anxiety.

‘Good afternoon, madam.' Rosen smiled at her and turned the piece of paper he had been writing on face-down on the table to hide his memo to self:

He flashed Bellwood a look.
What are you doing here
?

‘Lunchtime,' she said. ‘I needed a change of scenery.'

As the young woman climbed the metal steps into the Portakabin, a small girl, ten or eleven years of age, followed her. Beneath the girl's black padded coat, she wore a green cardigan and tie, a clean but well-worn school uniform. From one arm of her coat, her cardigan cuff poked out, the edge unravelling.

The girl's face was bruised, her lip bearing a fresh cut, both her eyes purple and swollen. She hovered at the entrance, fear playing out beneath the wounds.

Rosen smothered the deep concern the girl's face provoked in him and smiled. ‘Come in and sit down.'

The woman grabbed the girl by the hand and said, ‘Don't keep the police officer waiting, Macy. Tell him what you saw last night, what happened.'

‘You're Macy's mum?' asked Rosen.

She nodded and said, ‘Ms Conner.'

Macy came in and sat on the chair Rosen set out for her. She sat on her hands, looking around the Portakabin, glancing at Rosen.

Rosen looked directly at her and said, ‘My name's David Rosen, what's—'

‘Her name's Macy Conner and this is what two big brave men did to her for the sake of a tenner.' The woman had a Scottish accent; Rosen placed it as Glaswegian.

‘Hello, Macy,' said Rosen, stooping to be at eye level with her.

‘Hello, Mr Rosen. I'm going to be late for school.' On each syllable, her voice dithered with fear. Her accent was pure south London and his first impression was strong: she was a good kid.

As he sat facing her, Macy settled her gaze on Rosen's smiling face.

‘What happened to your face, Macy?' Sympathy flooded from him.

‘I slept in this morning because I didn't get to sleep 'till five o'clock 'cause of what they did to me.' Her voice was soft, fragile and new to being broken by the world. She smiled but her eyes dipped like birds pressed down by a storm.
She is learning about suffering
. The thought saddened Rosen. She looked directly at him and said, ‘I've never had a day off school in all my life. And I've never been late and it's spoiled it all now. And it ain't my fault. Afternoon register's one o'clock in school.' His heart was captivated

‘Which school would that be?'

‘Bream Street Primary.'

‘Don't worry. If you've got something to tell me, I'll phone the school and explain that I made you late.'

Rosen glanced at Bellwood and took in the mother in the same moment. He knew that Bellwood would intervene to distract the mother if she interfered with her daughter's testimony.

‘I'd very much like to hear what happened last night, Macy,' said Rosen. ‘Just you.'

‘I was on my way to the Mini Mart, on the high street. . .' Tears
welled up in her swollen eyes. ‘I went to buy a card for the meter 'cause the electric'd run out.'

Silent tears rolled down her cheeks. She wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand. Rosen noticed the length and fine shape of her fingers – the hands of a pianist or a surgeon. But he guessed neither occupation would be an option for her.

‘Macy.' Rosen smiled. ‘OK with you if I record our chat?'

The girl glanced down at Rosen's feet, frowned and looked up.

‘OK, Mr Rosen.' Her expression was heavy. Rosen pressed ‘record' on his phone. ‘I saw. . . the burning car. . . I saw two men running away.' Her brown eyes locked onto Rosen's. ‘It was like the fire in the car had only just started and they'd turned the corner off the square. I thought,
They're baddies
. I seen them and they seen me. So then I started running, to the high street, off of Bannerman Square.'

Rosen looked through the open door at the front elevation of Claude House. It was entirely possible that Stevie hadn't seen anyone if the perpetrators had run off the square in the early moments of the fire.

Macy took five shallow breaths through her nose and covered her lower face with her hand. Bellwood crouched to Macy's eye level and she offered her a tissue.

Macy took it and looked directly at Bellwood as she dabbed her face.

‘My name's Carol. I'm a policewoman. I got punched on the street by two men when I was a constable. It was horrible then. But I'm all right now.'

‘Yeah?'

Bellwood nodded. ‘Macy?' She pressed gently. ‘You know you said you saw the two men running away from the burning car. Did you see them actually
at
the car?'

Macy considered the question.

‘One on, like, each side of the car. Yeah.'

‘Did you see them set the car on fire?' asked Bellwood.

Rosen stood up and Bellwood sat directly in front of Macy.

‘No. I didn't see them set the car on fire. The car was burning. I ran away. They run after me.' Macy blew her nose into the tissue and screwed it into a tight ball. ‘They caught me, and surrounded me and then. . .'

‘Take your time,' said Bellwood, leaning back in her seat to give Macy that extra crumb of physical space.

‘It was dead rude.' Macy's voice dropped to a whisper and her eyes closed.

Rosen felt his stomach turn, a mixture of horror and anger at what was about to come.

‘He used a swear word. I don't swear.'

Rosen sighed inwardly with relief.

‘In this instance, it's OK to swear,' said Bellwood, looking up at Macy's mother.

‘It's OK,' confirmed her mother. ‘Tell 'em what they said to you, Mace.'

‘OK. He said, “Did you think you could out-run us, little. . .
bitch
.”' She mouthed the last word, and looked completely uncomfortable. ‘One of them grabbed my hands and took the tenner and. . . then. . . one of them . . . I just felt his fist going
bam bam bam
in my face and then there were flashing lights in my head and then it was like they were in a real big hurry to get away and they were, like, angry with me because I'd seen them and they were trying to scare me into saying nothing.'

The mother caught Rosen's eye. ‘I didn't want to send her out at that hour. I had a migraine. She wanted to go.'

‘I didn't mind going,' said Macy. ‘You were really sick, Mum, in bed with your head banging.'

‘What did they look like?' Bellwood steered the interview back.

‘I didn't see their faces. Their hoods were all pulled up. Hiding their faces, like.'

‘Sure they were both men?'

‘They moved like men. The one who spoke was a man.' She considered briefly but with concentration. ‘Both were men.'

‘What about their clothes? Any distinguishing marks?'

‘You mean like a logo?'

‘Yeah?'

‘They were all plain, plain tops, tracksuit bottoms, dark trainers. I went sick when they robbed the money. Sorry, Mum.'

‘It's not your fault, Mace, I've told you.'

‘What happened when they ran off?' asked Bellwood. Macy looked puzzled. ‘What did you do when they ran off?' she clarified.

‘I stayed on the ground, listening as they ran away. When I couldn't hear them any more, I got up. My lip was bleeding a lot. I could taste blood in my mouth. My head was banging with pain. I thought I was going to faint. But I stood up anyway. I was crying me eyes out. But there was nobody about.' Macy suddenly dropped her head and sobbed loudly into the flats of her hands.

‘Macy, you're a really brave girl,' encouraged Bellwood.

Over the space of a minute, Macy's tears subsided. Then she leaned forward and raised the hem of her long, black trousers up to the knee to reveal a saucer-sized bruise on her shin. She looked up and caught Rosen's eye.

‘How did that happen, Macy?' asked Rosen.

She dropped her trouser leg. ‘I banged my leg on the kerb as I fell. It's very sore but the doctor took an x-ray and said it's not broken, which is lucky, I guess.'

‘What did the men sound like?' Bellwood probed.

‘Only one of them spoke. He had an accent. Just before he ran away he said something about “coming back” and “burning me alive”. He sounded like maybe he was from, say, Ireland.'

Macy's eyes were alert and intelligent.

‘Macy,' said Rosen. ‘Did they smell of anything?'

‘What like?'

‘Beer? Cigarettes? Aftershave?' Rosen shrugged. ‘Anything?'

‘Yeah,' she replied. ‘Yeah, they did. But not the things you just said.'

‘What did they smell of?'

‘Petrol. You know that smell when you go past a garage, that petrol-pump smell. They smelled of that.' Macy looked at Rosen. ‘Want to see a drawing of them?'

A bolt of energy screamed through him. ‘Yes please, Macy.'

The girl reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of white paper. She handed the paper to Rosen and he unfolded it to reveal a child-like cartoon of two hoodies, roughly drawn and crudely shaded with an HB pencil. Where the faces should have been, there was darker, deepening shadow, but no facial details.

‘Good thinking, Macy. They
both
smelt of petrol?'

Macy's face scrunched up tight as she silently explored her memory.

‘Both smelt of petrol, the truth?' said Macy.

Rosen nodded.

‘It's a strong smell, petrol. I know definitely one of them did.'

‘Which one, Macy?'

‘The one who hit me. When his fist. . . hit me. . . I smelt petrol. If I had to swear on the Holy Bible, the hitter had petrol on his hands.' Her eyes looked sad, as if the awful truth about the world had descended like a foul night. ‘But I couldn't swear the other one did.' Her face clouded over again and she leaned back in her seat, the memory of what had happened brought alive in her eyes by the mention of those words.

‘Macy, can you read a street map?' asked Bellwood, retrieving a large white sheet from the nearby desk.

‘I like Geography.'

Bellwood lay the map on the floor at Macy's feet and sat on the floor of the Portakabin. Macy slid off her seat and sat next to Bellwood, who indicated Bannerman Square on the map.

‘Show me where you ran away from them, stop where they caught you.'

Macy traced her finger along Lydia Road, stopping not far from the
start of the chase, about four hundred metres from where the road led directly to the high street.

‘And how long did you listen before their footsteps were gone?' asked Rosen.

‘It felt like a minute.' Macy looked up at Rosen.

‘Is it true?'

‘Is what true, Macy?'

‘There was a boy in the car.'

‘I'm sorry to say there was.'

‘So they set him on fire?'

‘We don't know—'

‘They said they'd come back, that they'd burn me alive.' The blood had drained from Macy's face and it seemed that she was about to faint. Rosen took her by the hands, picked her up from the floor and settled her back on her chair. Bellwood was up and pouring water from a bottle as Rosen opened the door to let fresh air in.

She sipped the water, staring into the middle distance, a film of sweat forming on her brow. Rosen sat down again and leaned in gently.