Greenwich Park(90)

I notice there is a charger plugged in by the door. It must be left over from when Rachel was here. As soon as the phone flashes back to life, I call Daniel. But it goes straight to voicemail. I hold my phone tight against my ear to stop the trembling. I wait for the beep.



‘Daniel? It’s me. Listen – you need to come home. I’ve found something, in the cellar – a mark. It looks … it looks like blood. I’m about to call the police. But please – come home.’ I feel a sob rising in my throat. ‘Please, I need you here. Be as quick as you can.’

As soon as I hang up, I dial DCI Betsky’s number again. It goes straight to voicemail too. I try once more, but after a couple of rings, the phone dies again. The ache is coming harder now.

I stumble back to the chair, try to slow my breathing, calm my thoughts. I remember a meditation exercise I learned once, something about focusing on fixed points, objects in the room. I look from one to another. The chest of drawers, with the changing top. The blinds, the books. The glass vase on the shelf.

When my gaze moves to the vase, something shifts in my mind. I walk over to take it down. As my hands close around its thick glass rim, it is as if a fog is lifting. I remember holding this. I remember turning round. And there it all was. It wasn’t just Daniel’s laptop. There were other things too – a note, money, boarding passes. Boarding passes – for who? And a passport. My passport, with my face cut out of it. But why?

But before I can even think about what it means, a new wave of pain drowns out the other sensations in my body. That’s when I realise. This is different. These aren’t just aches. The pains are radiating out, around from my belly and back and into the deepest parts of my abdomen. A tightening, squeezing pain. A pain that feels bright red. My bump is hardening. This is it, I know. It’s starting.





KATIE





I fill DCI Carter in as quickly as I can. He listens carefully, says nothing. He tips a little paper tube of sugar into the coffee I bought for him, then starts rolling the packet up very tightly with his thumbs and index fingers.

‘I think she came to Greenwich because she was after somebody,’ I say. ‘One of my friends. I’m sure it was something to do with what happened to her back then.’

I give him our names. Everybody. Me, Charlie, Rory and Serena, Daniel and Helen.

‘Can you think of any reason she’d have had to seek us out?’

He leans forward a little. ‘The names of the defendants in the previous case are a matter of public record,’ he says carefully, pointing to the article I’ve unfolded from my pocket. ‘Thomas Villar and Hector Montjoy. They both went abroad. Their parents got them jobs, you know how it is with that sort. One of them went to Hong Kong, went into banking. The other one to America – can’t remember what for. They managed to repair their so-called ruined lives, if you ask me.’

DCI Carter shakes his head. I sense he is starting to soften.

‘As for Rachel. I failed her, really. She was brave. Really brave.’ He stares out of the window. ‘She was drunk, of course. That was what did for her, in the eyes of the jury. But I never for one minute doubted she was telling the truth. She was completely consistent. Completely compelling. And her injuries … if we could have just found her witnesses, things would have been different.’

He takes the little ball of paper he has made between his forefinger and thumb and taps it on the table three times.

‘What do you mean? Were there witnesses?’

DCI Carter cringes, as if he regrets saying it. ‘Oh, I don’t know, Katie,’ he says. ‘Maybe not. A lot of my colleagues just thought it was her getting mixed up – with other faces she’d seen before, or at the hospital that night. It’s entirely possible there was no one there.’ He pauses. ‘But … yes, she thought there had been someone else there. Two people. A boy and a girl.’

He takes a sip of his coffee, sets it down neatly on the coaster, then centres it with his thumbs.

‘She gave us a detailed description. Said they’d seen her. She said they weren’t part of it. She said for a moment she’d thought they were going to help her. And then they disappeared.’

I think of Rachel, alone on the floor of the boathouse, looking up and seeing two faces, thinking she was going to be saved. How could anyone have done that? How could they have seen that, and done nothing? Said nothing? I shiver.

‘Did you ever find them?’

Carter gives me a sad smile, shakes his head.

‘I tried, believe me. We went through all the club members, anyone who might have been there working, or cleaning, or training. All the boats were signed in and out, in a book. We went through the lot. Not one of them fitted the description. So then we looked at anyone who’d been seen on the river that day. Anyone who was even seen nearby. At one point, I thought I’d found them.’



He pauses.

‘A group of them who’d taken a boat without signing it out. They weren’t supposed to. A girl and a boy admitted returning the boat. But they denied seeing anything. Said they’d been at the boathouse, but earlier in the day. That it had been empty when they got there, empty when they left. That they couldn’t help.’ He looks up. ‘I thought they were lying. That they’d been up to something they shouldn’t have. But I couldn’t prove it, and you can’t force people to testify. My boss wanted me to keep going, put more pressure on them. I didn’t think we needed to. We’ve got the DNA evidence, I thought. Her internal injuries. What more do we need?’ He smiles sadly. ‘I was still a bit naive about sexual offence cases back then, only just made detective. My boss always said it wouldn’t be enough. He was sorry to be proven right.’ He sighs. ‘It was a lesson for me. Juries can be … well. Rape cases. You know the challenges.’