Daisy in Chains(77)

‘The Temperance movement started in Lancashire.’ His accent is Northern, his voice pitched surprisingly low for such a small, thin man. ‘Back in the nineteenth century. Suddenly, working people had more money and alcohol took off in a big way. By 1880 there was a temperance bar in every Northern town. Now, this is the only one left.’

There are red veins in James Laurence’s cheeks and eyes. His face has the saggy appearance of someone for whom bloating has been a problem in the past. He is forty years old, looks considerably older.

‘James, why do you think the judge didn’t take you seriously?’

Laurence’s hand rests on the half-pint glass of black liquid. He lifts it continually, taking minuscule sips. ‘I was stitched up in court. They made me look a fool.’

‘The defence barristers?’

A begrudged nod. ‘I mean, everyone’s a twat at university, aren’t they? They found pictures of me wasted at parties. They kept asking me how much I used to drink. Whether I took drugs. They implied I’d been out of my head all the time I was there, so how could I be relied upon? As if you can’t get a medical degree at Oxford if you have a drink problem.’

Maggie avoids looking at his hands, which she already knows have a tremor more pronounced than normal. ‘I’ve looked at the court reports,’ she says. ‘I don’t think it was so much that you were deemed unreliable, as that there was no supporting evidence. No trace of the porn business you talked about, and none of the sex tapes you described have ever been seen.’

He makes a scoffing noise in the back of his throat. ‘Oh, they’ve been seen all right. Just not by anyone who’s prepared to admit it.’

‘Of Hamish Wolfe’s social circle at Oxford, you were the only person called to testify against him. Any idea why?’

‘The others couldn’t shop Wolfe without dropping themselves in it. So, by default, it was my word against that of all five of them. What with that, and the defence barrister trying to discredit everything I said, I was on a hiding to nothing. In the end, the judge practically told the court I’d been lying.’

As hot, spiced steam wafts through the small room, the bartender brings a clear plastic beaker in a silver-coloured cup to the table. Maggie can smell lemon and ginger. He waits for her first sip and she gives the expected nod of approval, even though the brew tastes like something she’d take for a cold.

‘Do you think Hamish was guilty?’ she asks Laurence.

A shrug. ‘The evidence was there. And it fits with what I remember from college days. They were a nasty bunch.’

In court, James Laurence had claimed to have been one of the group. A close friend. ‘How much do you know about what they were up to? The so-called Fat Club. The porn business.’

‘Quite a lot. I was on the same floor as Chris Easton, that first year. He and I used to study together sometimes.’

‘It would really help if you could tell me what you know.’

Laurence shrugs as though it makes no difference, one way or another. ‘I think, in fairness, it started as a bit of a laugh. Hamish was keen on this girl on the course. She was a real chubster, and the other four kept on at him. You know the sort of thing: What do you see in her? Is there any room in the bed? Then Oliver Pearson decided he was going to shag a fat bird too – his words not mine – and it went from there. Turned into a sort of competition. They’d go out into Oxford town centre in the evenings, to the sort of clubs and pubs where the townies went, not the students, on the hunt for bigger women. Then Simon—’

‘Simon Doggett?’

‘Yeah, that’s him. He and Hamish were on our floor one evening, they came into the kitchen to find Chris, and Simon announced he’d videotaped his session the previous night with a girl he’d picked up. He asked who wanted to see it. So the three of them set off for Simon’s room. They said something about going to find Warwick and Oliver too.’

‘Did you go?’

His face tightens. ‘I wasn’t asked. I didn’t really come on to their radar screen, except when I could be useful. Took me a long time to see that. Anyway, a few days later, Chris needed some help setting up a hidden camera in his bedroom. He’d made a complete mess of it. Wanted me to sort it out.’

The bartender is still in the room. Maggie drops her voice. ‘Did he tell you what he was doing with the films?’

‘Nope. He was very tight-lipped.’

‘So how did you know about the business? The one that was mentioned in court?’

Now it is Laurence who is conscious of their one-man audience. He lowers his voice. ‘I needed to borrow one of Chris’s textbooks one day. He wasn’t in. I think he was in the bathroom, because his clothes were on the floor, but his computer was switched on.’

Maggie nods her head, knowing that appearing judgemental at this stage will make him clam up.

‘He was using some sort of graphics package to design labels for the videos. As soon as I saw the branding, Fat Girls Get Fucked, it all made sense. Next time he was out, I let myself into his room and looked round. There was a cardboard box under the bed, full of videotapes. More than a dozen different films. All the guys had kept their faces from the camera, but I recognized the backs of their heads, and their rooms. Warwick, Oliver, Simon, Hamish. They were all at it.’

‘How many tapes did Hamish feature in?’