Chapter 32
Ramouter had thought that playing The Verve loudly would have made the car journey bearable, but he was wrong. Henley had barely said two words to him since they’d left the office. When they stopped at the traffic lights on Blackfriars Bridge, Ramouter broke.
‘Is everything all right, boss?’ he asked. ‘You just seem … a bit annoyed.’
Henley released her foot off the brake and turned onto Farringdon Street. ‘Did you know that Copeland was going to be joining the SCU?’ she asked.
‘Why do you think I knew?’ Ramouter asked, turning his face towards the window.
‘Because you’re the only one who wasn’t surprised when she walked in.’
Ramouter put a hand to his chin and rubbed at his beard. ‘It’s not what you think,’ he eventually said. ‘We were out for a drink last night. She told me then it was a possibility.’
‘A drink? I didn’t realise you were that close.’
‘We’re not close. I bumped into her when I was at Lewisham for the press conference, and she suggested drinks. It just happened that I was there when she got the call from the borough commander that her transfer had gone through.’
‘And you didn’t think to tell me?’ Henley asked, her tone sharp.
‘To be honest, I assumed you already knew, and you’d agreed to it.’
‘I didn’t know it was approved, and I can’t say I’m pleased about it.’
‘I think it could be a good thing she’s here, DC Copeland that it is,’ said Ramouter as Henley parked the car. ‘It can never hurt to have an extra pair of hands.’
‘This restaurant. The Itria,’ Henley said, pointing to it. ‘I’ve been here a couple of times with Rob. You should take your wife.’
Ramouter opened his mouth to respond but then thought better of it.
Henley scanned the posters on the walls of the Starlight Community Centre. The elderly woman on reception had directed them to room four which had been booked for the legal clinic and victim support group.
‘I’m surprised a place like this is still going,’ Ramouter commented, stopping outside a community library. Every table in the room was occupied with people, either reading on their own or being taught to read. A young mother and her child sat with an older woman as they conversed in Swahili.
‘There would be more of them if the government wasn’t intent on shutting every good thing down,’ said Henley. She thought back to the moments when her sanity had been saved by the mother and baby groups at her local library. ‘Here we are.’ She pushed a door open.
A couple sitting on a sofa in the corner looked up, their chatter immediately silenced. The room was set up for a meeting with the chairs arranged in a semi-circle.
‘Can I help you? You look a bit lost.’
Both Henley and Ramouter turned around to find themselves facing a woman in her mid-forties.
Her long, thick brown hair framed her face, but it couldn’t hide the visible scars that stretched like a road map across rugged terrain from her throat, along the lower right side of her face and ended at her temples.
She adjusted the pink and grey chiffon scarf that had been draped loosely around her neck.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Henley and this is Detective Constable Ramouter.’
Ramouter flinched when he realised that Henley omitted the words ‘my partner’ from her introduction. She was still pissed.
‘I’m looking for Jorge Menjivar,’ said Henley.
She put her warrant card away and scanned the room.
The last time she’d seen Jorge was when she’d sat in his parents’ living room and taken his victim impact statement.
She’d been impressed by his resilience and his determination not to be defined by Fox-Carnell’s attempt on his life.
‘He popped out to grab a coffee. He’s not a fan of the coffee in here, not that I can blame him.’ The woman led them to the office at the back of the room. ‘You can wait for him in here.’
She walked off quickly, phone in hand, before Henley had a chance to ask for her name.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about DC Copeland,’ said Ramouter. ‘I just assumed.’
‘You should know better than to assume anything.’
‘I know,’ answered Ramouter. His phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out, grateful for the opportunity not to push the matter further with Henley. ‘That was Ezra,’ he said. ‘Anthony couriered Nathan Hall’s phone over and he was able to get into it.’
‘Anything useful?’ she asked.
‘He’s sent some files but the reception in here is rubbish. I’ve barely got one bar.’
‘We’ll deal with it later,’ said Henley, extending her hand to the man who had just arrived. ‘Jorge Menjivar. I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m DI Anjelica Henley.’
‘Your face looks familiar,’ Jorge said, switching the coffee to his left hand so that he could shake hers. ‘But I can’t think how we would have met.’
‘You were very ill at the time, but I took your statement,’ Henley reminded him. She released Jorge’s hand and closed the door behind him.
‘How could I forget. You came to my parents’ house with the other detective, the tall one,’ Jorge said, taking a seat.
‘That would have been Stephen Pellacia.’ Henley remained standing.
‘I take it this is about her, the nurse?’
‘Sian Fox-Carnell. Yes,’ said Henley. ‘And sorry, I forgot to introduce you to my partner, DC Ramouter.’
Jorge nodded in Ramouter’s direction. ‘If I’m honest, I’m not sure how I can help you.’
‘What do you do here?’ asked Henley.
‘I run a victim support group. After everything that happened to me, I knew I had to give something back. I completed my degrees in psychology and neuroscience of mental health a couple of years ago at Middlesex University. I have group sessions a couple of days a week. I appreciate that therapy isn’t cheap, and trauma isn’t means tested.
It affects everyone and everyone should have access to help.
Sorry, I can get on my soap box a bit,’ Jorge apologised.
‘I understand completely,’ said Henley. ‘It’s a good way to give back.’
‘That woman. The nurse. She tried to kill me, but I survived. It would be wrong of me not to use my life to be of service,’ said Jorge.
‘I notice that you don’t say her name.’
‘To call her by her name gives her humanity. No,’ said Jorge shaking his head, ‘she doesn’t deserve that. I’m not even sorry that she’s dead.’ Jorge took a breath. ‘The right thing to say is that I’m sorry but—’
‘I’m not expecting you to be sorry,’ said Henley. ‘But you understand that we have to investigate her murder. To find out who was responsible.’
‘I can’t say that I have much faith in the justice system. They put her back on the street after all.’
Henley ignored the statement, not wanting to get into a debate. She indicated to Ramouter to take over.
‘Jorge, you may or may not be aware, but Sian Fox-Carnell was being electronically monitored.’ Ramouter unfolded several sheets of paper that he had in his pocket.
‘The day before she went missing her tag placed her at a number of locations including the Williams Therapy Practice in Aldgate, last Tuesday at 11.36 a.m..’
‘The Williams Therapy Practice,’ Jorge repeated, his voice shaking. ‘That’s where I work.’
‘We’ve got CCTV footage showing Fox-Carnell going into the building where your practice is based,’ said Ramouter. He turned the page and showed a screenshot of Fox-Carnell entering the building. ‘Did you see her?’
Jorge didn’t look at the picture. He kept his eyes focused on a space behind Henley.
‘Jorge, did you see her?’ Ramouter repeated, shifting his position forcing Jorge to look at him.
Jorge placed the coffee on the table behind him and stood up. ‘I’ve got my session starting soon.’
‘You didn’t answer the question, Jorge,’ Henley pressed gently.
Jorge looked across at Henley and saw that she was blocking the door.
‘I did. I did see her,’ Jorge admitted finally.
‘What happened?’ Ramouter asked.
‘She called me, not by my full name but JV. That was her nickname for me when she was looking after me. She would call me JV.’ Jorge inhaled deeply and when he looked up his eyes were dark with fury.
‘It brought it all back. Seeing her standing over me. Telling my parents that she would look after me as though I was her own.’
‘Did you talk to her?’
‘I told her to leave otherwise I would call the police.’
‘And what did she do or say?’
Jorge snorted with disgust. ‘She said I had grown up well. Such an evil … I went back inside. I don’t know where she went after that.’
‘Why didn’t you call the police? She would have been arrested and remanded in custody immediately,’ said Henley.
‘In custody but alive but I didn’t call the police and now she’s dead,’ Jorge said with a shrug. ‘Some would call that a win-win.’
Henley stepped aside and opened the door.
‘Thank you very much for your help, Jorge,’ said Ramouter. ‘We’ll leave you to it.’
‘Are you speaking to her other victims and the families of the ones who didn’t make it?’ Jorge asked.
‘We’re talking to everyone. But we will contact you again if we have more questions.’ Henley looked around the room. A trio were standing at the beverage table, and a few others had already taken their seats. They looked up but continued with their conversations.
‘Seems like a full group,’ Henley commented.
‘We usually are,’ answered Jorge. ‘A lot of them have been coming here for years. We all need support.’
‘Yeah, we do,’ Henley agreed as a man reached for his jacket on the back of his chair and quickly left. ‘Who was that?’ she asked.
‘I can’t say. Confidentiality. This is a safe place,’ Jorge said.
Henley smiled tightly. ‘We’ll let you get on.’
‘What do you think that was all about?’ Ramouter asked as they headed out of the room.
‘The man ran out as soon as that woman told him who we were,’ said Henley, looking up and down the hallway.
‘Do you think that’s what happened?’ Ramouter asked.
Henley spotted the man stepping out of an alcove in the corridor with a woman and then push through the double doors.
‘That’s exactly what happened. Stay here,’ Henley said. She took out her phone and jogged towards the woman who was walking towards her.
‘I’m sorry, this is my first time here and I was just in the group with that guy you were talking to, and he left his phone,’ Henley said, holding up her own phone. ‘He told me his name, but I’ve forgotten.’
‘Oh. You mean Larry,’ the woman said, turning around as though expecting him to still be there.
‘That’s it. Thank you so much. Hopefully I can catch him up. You don’t know his last name, do you?’ Henley asked gratefully.
‘Durant.’
‘Thank you so much,’ Henley said as she ran down the corridor.
‘Where did he go?’ Ramouter asked as he joined Henley outside on the steps of the community centre.
‘The number sixty-two,’ Henley said, pointing at the single decker bus that had just pulled away from the bus stop.
‘It was Durant. Larry Durant. I think we’ve been looking at this case all wrong,’ said Henley.
‘We’ve been looking at outside vigilantes, people with no links to Fox-Carnell and the others but what if it’s a little bit closer to home? ’