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Fresh tears welled in Jodie’s eyes. ‘So you will help me?’
‘Yes, I will help you.’ Zara watched her wilt with relief. ‘Is there anything else I need to know? Anyone else who was involved?’
‘No. That’s everything.’
Zara drew two lines beneath her notes. She watched Jodie dab at her dripping nose and wondered how a jury would view her. A rape trial usually hinged on power – one person stripping it from another – but in this case, it would be difficult not to consider desire. Zara believed Jodie – had seen too much devious behaviour, met too many appalling men to doubt the young girl’s story – but felt a deep unease at the thought of her facing a jury. Could they imagine four young men wanting to have sex with Jodie even in some twisted gameplay?
Zara reached for her box of tissues and handed a fresh piece to Jodie.
She took it with a quivering hand. ‘What happens now?’
Zara’s lips drew a tight line, a grimace in the guise of a smile. ‘We would like to conduct a medical exam. All our doctors here are female. After that, if you’re ready, we can help you make a formal statement with the police.’
Jodie blanched. ‘Can we go to the police tomorrow? I want to think about it for one more night.’
‘Of course,’ said Zara gently. ‘We can do the exam, store the samples and see how you feel.’
Jodie exhaled. ‘Thank you for being on my side,’ she said, each few syllables halting before the next.
Zara offered a cursory nod.
‘No, I mean it.’ Jodie hesitated. ‘I told you it was hard to be at that party alone. The truth is it’s hard to be anywhere – everywhere – alone.’
Zara leaned forward. ‘You won’t be alone in this – not for any of it.’ She gestured to the door. ‘If you want me in the exam room, I can sit with you.’
Jodie considered this but then shook her head. ‘I’ll be okay.’
Zara led her to the exam room and left her with the forensic medical examiner, a brisk but matronly Scotswoman who ushered Jodie inside. Zara shut the door with a queasy unrest. A small, delinquent part of her hoped that Jodie would change her mind, that she would not subject herself to the disruptive, corrosive justice system that so often left victims bruised. The law stress-tested every piece of evidence and that included the victim – probing, pushing and even bullying until the gaps became apparent.
Beneath her concern, however, she knew that Jodie needed to pursue this. A horrifying thing had happened to her and only the arm of the law could scrub the stain clean and serve justice.
Erin Quinto watched the strange little girl walk to the exit with Zara, her metronomic shuffle almost jaunty in its motion. With unheard words, they said goodbye and Zara headed back to the pit.
‘What’s her story?’ asked Erin.
Zara sighed. ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’
‘Oh yeah, I’m just a babe in the woods, me.’ Erin laughed, deep and throaty, and followed Zara to her office. Inside, she reached into her jacket and pulled out a manila file. ‘I’ve got something for you guys.’ She placed it on the desk. ‘Can you give this to Stuart when he’s back? It’s the San Telmo financials he was after.’
Zara raised a brow. ‘Of course. I don’t want to know how you got them but thank you.’ She watched Erin, her angular features and lanky limbs clearly poised in thought. With her cropped hair, leather jacket and big dark eyes, she looked like a comic book anti-hero: an anime goth designed to drive a certain type of man wild.
Fittingly, beneath the dark hair and piercings, she was as wily as a snake. It was why Stuart had hired her as an investigator to freelance for Artemis House. It was five years ago and he was in the midst of his first big battle: Lisa Cox against Zifer Pharmaceuticals. The company’s sparkling new epilepsy drug, Koriol, had just hit the market. Alas, no one was told that depression was a rare but possible side effect. When Lisa Cox stepped in front of a moving train, she miraculously escaped without injury. The media went wild, Big Pharma went on the defensive and the Medicine Regulatory Authority denied all wrongdoing. When Lisa decided to sue, she was smeared as a money-hungry whore with little regard for herself or the three children she would have left behind. Lisa lost her job and almost lost her home. She was an inch from surrender when Erin – young, laconic, beautiful – strode into the Whitechapel Road Legal Centre and handed Stuart a file. Inside were memos between regulatory officials and Zifer acknowledging the drug’s dangerous side effects. Stuart couldn’t use the documents legally but a well-timed leak prompted an investigation that not only exonerated Lisa but made her a very wealthy woman.
Stuart immediately offered the mysterious young Erin a job. She refused to take it and instead offered her freelance services pro bono, and now here she was pushing classified documents across a cheap fibreboard desk.
Zara placed the folder in her bottom-right drawer, the place she reserved for sensitive material.
Erin watched her, then asked, ‘Seriously, what’s the girl’s story?’
Zara locked her drawer and set down the key. In a measured tone, she relayed Jodie’s story, recalling the horrors of the story she’d told.
When Zara finished, Erin leaned forward, elbows on the desk, and said, ‘Tell me what you need me to do.’
Zara handed her a piece of paper. ‘Find out everything you can about these boys.’
Erin scanned the handwritten note. ‘Wait.’ She looked up. ‘They’re Muslim?’
‘Yes.’
‘Jesus. You’re telling me that four Muslim boys raped a disabled white classmate?’ Erin whistled softly. ‘The tabloids will have a field day when this gets out – not to mention the Anglican Defence League. Those right-wing nutjobs will besiege anyone that’s brown.’
Zara nodded tensely. ‘That’s a concern, but we can’t be distracted by what could happen or might happen. We need to approach this with a clear head.’
Erin’s features knotted in doubt. She smoothed the note on the desk and traced a finger across the four names. ‘What if I tried talking to one of them?’
Zara held up a hand. ‘No, don’t do that. Leave it to the police.’
‘Screw the police.’ Erin’s voice was heavy with scorn. ‘You think they’re going to get to the heart of this?’ She didn’t pause for an answer. ‘Look, the way I see it, these boys did the crime or they didn’t. Either way, the police are going to fuck it up. You think they can get more information out of these bastards?’
Zara thought for a moment. ‘Fine,’ she ceded. ‘Please just wait until the formal statement. We’ve overstepped the mark before and we can’t do it again.’
Erin’s eyes glinted in the sun. ‘Tell me which one refused to take part.’
‘Farid, but it wasn’t out of sympathy.’
Erin smiled. ‘Yes, but maybe he’ll confess to save his skin. When are you going to the police?’
‘Wednesday. Tomorrow.’
‘Perfect. I’ll scope him out on Thursday.’ Erin slipped the piece of paper into her leather jacket and readied to leave. ‘Four Muslim boys. Well, no one can accuse you of upholding the status quo.’
‘Yeah,’ Zara said dryly. ‘Rock ‘n’ roll.’
The bells of St Alfege Church cut across the quiet, sending birds fleeing across the early evening sky. Canary Wharf shone in the distance – Zara’s favourite feature of her tidy Greenwich flat. She watched from the balcony and raised a joint to her lips. A blanket of warmth clouded around her, loosening the painful knots in her shoulders. Her head felt light but her limbs were heavy, almost sensual in effect. She leaned forward and laid her head on the wrought-iron railings, welcoming relief.
Just as her mind quietened, the doorbell cut through the breeze. Cursing, she snuffed out the joint and stepped back inside. Her flat on the top floor of a converted warehouse was large and bright with creaky old ceiling beams and exposed brickwork. The giant cream corner-sofa sat next to her desk, a sturdy structure of reclaimed oak. Opposite, stood a large bookcase stuffed with legal textbooks next to floor-to-ceiling windows. At the far end of the enormous room was her rarely used kitchen, a modern mix of chrome and glass offset by her giant wooden dining table. In a sea of minimalism, the only signs of personality were her antique lawyer lamp – a graduation gift from her sisters – and five large posters on the western wall depicting headlines from what Zara considered the greatest legal achievements of all time. She padded past them now and opened the door to find Luka outside with two bags filled with takeout.
He smiled sheepishly. ‘You said you missed lunch so I brought you some food.’ His gaze fell to the joint cooling in her hand.
She drew it back. ‘I’ve had a bad day.’
‘I didn’t say anything.’ He gestured inside. ‘Can I come in?’
She held the door ajar.
Luka set the food on the breakfast bar and started to unpack. ‘So why did my beautiful girlfriend have a bad day?’
She baulked. Six months and she still wasn’t used to ‘girlfriend’. They were meant to be casual. He was meant to be a distraction, a mindless and uncomplicated diversion, and yet here he was buying her comfort food and calling her his girlfriend.
She waved a hand. ‘It’s just something at work.’
Luka stopped. ‘What happened? Are you okay?’ His concern only reminded her that she had told him too much, pulled him too close.
‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘It’s fine.’
He met her gaze, his eyes a stormy green, frustrated by her caginess. She wanted to reach out and touch him, to somehow soften her sharp edges, but opted instead to do nothing. She moved to the dining table and he followed, sitting next to her instead of opposite. We’re closer this way, he had once said. His hand rested on her knee, a subtle non-sexual gesture. She moved her leg so that he fell away. Don’t forget, it warned. She poured a large glass of wine and offered it to him.
He waved it away. ‘I can’t. I’m training for the climb.’
She set the glass on the table, noting the irony of a white man refusing a drink from a Muslim woman. She pushed it towards him. ‘You’ve still got a few weeks before you leave.’
He reached forward and wiped a crumb off her lip. ‘Yes, I do.’ His fingers rested there a moment too long. ‘I’ll miss you.’ He paused. ‘You know what’s happening between us, don’t you, Zara?’
She looked at him, eyes narrowed ever so slightly. It was her Ralph Lauren stare: part anxious, part vacant, detached but intense. Was she still playing or not? Even she couldn’t tell anymore.
His dark blond brows knotted in a frown. ‘I know what this is and what this isn’t but …’ He watched her stiffen. ‘I know you don’t feel the same but I need you to know.’
‘Luka—’
‘You don’t have to say anything.’ He leaned forward and pulled her into his arms.
Against her instinct, she let him hold her. If she was going to use him as a salve, at least she could let him heal.
‘I love you,’ he whispered.
She swallowed hard, as if rising emotion could be curbed at the throat. She held him tight, knowing full well that it was time to let go.
Chapter Two (#ulink_1e8644fd-e71d-5e48-a246-fcff7287dce6)
Zara’s black blazer was stark against the windowless white walls. The fluorescent light reflected off the blue linoleum floor, casting a pallor beneath her eyes. She greeted Detective Constable Mia Scavo, gripping her hand a touch too firmly. In the back of her mind, she tried to remember the writer who said the sight of women greeting each other reminded him of nothing so much as prize fighters shaking hands.
Zara appraised the young detective: the sober manner and formless clothes, the light blonde hair scraped back in a bun. Did she know it only accentuated her cheekbones and brought out her blue eyes?
With greetings safely exchanged, Zara took her seat by the left-hand wall of the interview room: in Jodie’s eyeline but in the background nonetheless. She was here not to interact but to lend support.
Mia began with a short preamble. ‘Jodie, my name is Mia Scavo. I’m a detective constable with the Metropolitan Police. I’ve been a police officer for six years and I work specifically with victims of sexual assault. My job is to support you from today onwards, right to the conclusion of the case.
‘We’re going to start with some formalities and then we will go over your complaint. I don’t know what happened so try to give me as much detail as you can. Our conversation is being recorded on video so it can be used as evidence. It’s important to be as accurate as possible. If you can’t remember something, just tell me. If you want to clarify or correct something at a later date, you can contact me and tell me, okay?’
Jodie nodded. ‘Okay.’
‘Good. Then we’ll begin.’ Mia glanced at the two-way mirror. ‘It is Wednesday the third of July 2019. This is DC Scavo interviewing Jodie Wolfe. Also present is Jodie’s independent sexual violence advisor.’ She paused for Zara to confirm her name and began with some basic questions: Jodie’s name, date of birth, address and school. She then eased into the interview, first asking about Jodie’s hobbies and favourite shows on TV, a basic technique to build rapport. After five minutes, she broached the assault and asked her to recount what happened.
Jodie shared the tale of her first real party, of drunken teens and raucous laughter. She spoke of the grinding social embarrassment and how she had fled for air. She described Amir’s footsteps – so evocative they could hear the crunch of gravel. There, frozen in frame by his side, she stopped.
‘What happened next?’ asked Mia.
Jodie hesitated. ‘Amir asked me what I was doing there alone. I said I needed a break.’ She paused. ‘He told me that Nina had left the party and that he could take me to her so I followed him.’
Zara looked up in surprise. This wasn’t the story she had told before. What had happened to Amir’s overtures? ‘Whenever I see you, I wonder what it would be like to kiss you.’
Jodie gazed at a burl in the wooden tabletop, not daring to look up at Zara. ‘Amir said that they were having an after-party. He said I wouldn’t normally be allowed to go but since I came with Nina, he’d take me there.’
Zara searched her face for a trace of the lie but she noted nothing.
‘Can you take me through what happened next?’ asked Mia. ‘Take your time and be as detailed as you can.’
Jodie was still for a moment. Her eyes grew narrow and her features creased as if in the midst of a major decision. She took a breath, trembling and thin, and said, ‘He took me to an empty building.’
Jodie’s account segued smoothly to her original. She spoke with a tight discipline but her voice broke in the grooves of the taunts – I ain’t gonna touch ’em if they’re ugly like the rest of you – and she finished in a curtain of tears.
Zara felt a swelling pity. She could see that Jodie was in pain, but also that she was trying so extraordinarily hard to cling onto composure. Perhaps it was no easier for a sixteen-year-old to cry like a child with abandon than it was for someone older.
Mia reached forward and squeezed Jodie’s arm. ‘You’ve been very brave.’
Zara watched the simple act and felt an inexplicable frisson of annoyance.
Mia flipped through her notebook. ‘Jodie, you said the accused were boys from your school. Would you say that you were friends?’
Jodie clutched the cuff of her sleeve. ‘No.’
‘Have you ever been romantically involved with any of them?’
She grimaced. ‘No. Never.’
Mia flipped a page. ‘You said you had one glass of punch with alcohol that night. Had you taken any drugs?’
Jodie shrank into herself, as if she were being blamed. ‘No.’
Mia made a note. ‘Were there drugs at the party?’
‘I think so but I’m not sure.’
‘That’s fine. It’s always right to say you don’t know if you’re unsure.’ Mia continued to flesh out the night in question and then explained what the police would do next: contact witnesses, interview the suspects, visit the scene of the assault, review CCTV footage and examine any DNA. ‘If we can gather enough evidence, we will formally charge the suspects,’ she finished.
The whites of Jodie’s eyes were wide: fear laced perhaps with shock that this was really happening. ‘How long will it take?’ she asked, the words low and timorous.
‘The suspects will be arrested for questioning immediately. After that, we usually work to charge them within three weeks.’
Jodie flinched. ‘Three weeks? But what if I see them in the area?’
‘They won’t be allowed to talk to you,’ assured Mia. ‘They can’t approach you or communicate with you in any way.’ She smiled gently. ‘I know this process is scary but we will be with you every step of the way.’ She nodded at Zara. ‘You will hear from me or your caseworker when we have an update.’
‘Thank you.’ Jodie stood unsteadily and said goodbye after final formalities.
Outside, Zara led Jodie to her car. Then, in a tone that was perfectly neutral, said, ‘Jodie, I noticed a small anomaly in the interview. Can we talk about it?’
The girl frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
