The Soprano, page 24
Behind the glass, Catherine had found herself smiling as Cameron had described her sister. That kind, irritatingly-friendly and upbeat character she’d seen first-hand throughout her childhood, described in action, summed her up perfectly.
“But then,” Cameron continued, “when we started second year, something changed.”
“What do you mean?” Damien asked.
“She was, I, she just wasn’t happy. Like, ever. She was angry all the time but wouldn’t say why, and she stopped coming to choir practice and concert rehearsals. Then all that business with Professor Nichols came out, and it made sense. Things calmed down pretty quickly once he was suspended, and she started to seem a bit more like herself again. For a little bit, anyway.”
“Then what happened?”
“She started arguing with Rhiannon - her housemate. Something to do with Rhiannon’s boyfriend being there, I think. She never went into detail, but I heard them arguing on the phone once. Sarah gave her an ultimatum - ‘tell him or I will’ is what she said, but I never knew what it was about. She didn’t seem to like going home too much, either. We used to book out the recording studio in the old music building and work there until the small hours. It wasn’t as grand or high-tech as what they’ve got now, of course, but it became a sort of sanctuary for her, and a spot for me to bask in her glow. I realise how pathetic this all sounds - I’m not a complete idiot - but I was in love with her, and spending so much time in her orbit just made me feel, I don’t know, special, I guess. Nobody ever made me feel like that before. Or since.”
He stopped suddenly, taking a moment to wipe his running nose with the back of his hand. The beginnings of a small smile had appeared in the corners of his mouth, and his tone was lighter when he resumed.
“Of course, as always, I had to go and fuck everything up.”
“How so?” asked Hales.
“I asked her out. As I told Mr Owens, we’d been working really hard and she said she needed to blow off some steam. I asked her out, but she said that she had a date. She left and I drank myself into a stupor, then marched to her house and unloaded every piece of pent-up frustration I had - how she didn’t deserve someone like me, how I’d loved her, and some fairly explicit things I was going to do with her. I don’t even know where they came from - I was still a virgin and had no idea how to do anything. Someone called the police, and I spent the rest of the night sleeping in one of your lovely rooms downstairs. Things were never the same between us after that.”
Hales nodded. “That’s understandable. What about the night she disappeared? What can you tell me about that?”
“Well, that’s where things get tricky.” He exhaled loudly. “After the choir party, I managed to corner Sarah in the corridor, outside the toilets.”
“Corner her? As in, physically accosted her?”
“No, God - nothing like that. It’s just a figure of speech. I saw her nipping off to the toilet, so I waited for her to come out. I had to talk to her - I needed to tell her how sorry I was. How utterly horrified I was with myself. How I hadn’t meant any of it. When she came out of the loo and saw me she tried to shove past me, but I begged her to listen. And being the wonderful and kind woman she was, she did. She listened as I told her how sorry I was, and that I’d never do anything like that again, but I loved her and couldn’t stand the thought of her being with anyone else. I asked her to be my girlfriend, and she ran off.”
“Without answering?” Hales asked. Damien struggled not to scoff at the question.
“As statements go, I’d say that was pretty emphatic… She left not long after that. I didn’t follow her back into the main room, where the party was. I spent a few minutes crying in the toilets first. By the time I went back in, she’d gone. I tried to ask if anyone knew where she had gone, pretending to be more casually interested, but they all knew what had happened. I’d heard some of the girls in the choir gossiping about us in the first few days after I was arrested. It was a big joke to everyone. I was a big joke to everyone.”
Damien offered a kind smile, which Cameron reciprocated. “That must’ve been hard,” he said. Cameron nodded.
“It was. I didn’t know what to do. After my little outburst I’d stopped drinking, and figured going to a bar and getting wrecked wouldn’t do me any favours, so I just grabbed my coat and left. I didn’t know where to go - I didn’t have a particular destination in mind - I just walked away from campus and kept going. I walked for a while, think I ended up in Roath somewhere. I was totally lost - phones were only just getting cameras and really slow internet then, so Google Maps wasn’t a thing. I’d just put my headphones in and gone. Thinking about it now, it was all a bit tragically emo, wasn’t it?”
Damien chuckled, but Hales looked at Cameron, confused.
“Emo?”
“Sorry, it was a musical movement that attracted people of an overly sensitive nature. I think it was a contraction of ‘Emotional’ and ‘Hardcore’. Lots of lyrics about depression, self-harm and suicide. As a musical subculture, it actually defined almost a whole generation for a while, until cooler heads prevailed.”
“Sounds wonderful, but I think I’ll stick with the Stones” was Hales’ riposte, and Damien had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep himself from laughing.
“So, you’re off walking somewhere, then what happened?” Hales’ rejoinder had been a welcome diversion from Cameron’s account, but Damien was keen to keep them on track.
“I had a call. Jimmy rang me to see if I was okay.”
“How did he know anything was wrong?” Damien returned. Hales kept his head down, continuing to scribble notes.
“He didn’t. Not really, anyway, but he was in Rocko’s with some people from his tutor group - Rhiannon being one of them - and he said Sarah had turned up, really upset. He guessed something had happened.”
Hales looked up again. “Sounds like quite a friend.”
“He was. It’s a shame we lost touch in the end. I think he’s living in Perth, now. Australia, not Scotland.”
Hales nodded, writing PERTH, AUSTRALIA on his notepad and underlining it three times.
“Is that when you went to Rocko’s?”
Cameron hesitated, looking from Hales, to Damien and finally to Rachel. Damien could see from the way that his eyes were darting back and forth that his mind was working in overdrive. It was understandable - telling the truth would blow his whole alibi and make him a suspect again, but doubling down on the lie would rob him of the peace he obviously craved, having carried around so much guilt for almost twenty years. Hales had to put him out of his misery. He nodded towards the mirror.
“DC James, could you please load exhibit 7714-14 onto the screen for us?” There was a pause before the screen on the wall flickered to life, showing the CCTV image that had formed Cameron’s alibi for so many years.
“We’ve spoken with your brother, Cameron. We know that wasn’t you.”
Cameron’s expression dropped and his face went white, and under the table Damien could feel Cameron’s leg shaking as it brushed against his own.
“What happened at Rocko’s?”
Rachel leant in and whispered something into Cameron’s ear, but he immediately pulled away from her.
“No, it’s okay. They already know I was there.” He turned his attention to the picture on the screen, focusing on it rather than the men opposite him as he continued to recount the evening. “I found my way back into town, although because I wasn’t a hundred percent sure where Rocko’s was I had to go all the way back to campus to walk the only route I knew. Jimmy had rung me about ten, but by the time I got there it was nearer eleven and I was afraid she might have left already.”
“And what was the plan when you saw her?”
“I was going to try and talk to her. I think, while I was walking, I decided that I was going to leave, drop out of uni and go somewhere else unless she told me she didn’t want me to.”
“Seems like a lot of pressure to put on the girl…”
“Alas, another generation brought up studying Romeo & Juliet and the art of the grand, sweeping gesture. But when I got there she was with Rhiannon and a boy I didn’t recognise, and I didn’t have a chance to get near her. I waited for a while. I was patient, biding my time. Just waiting for them to break off and dance or go to the bar, but she was never alone, and I didn’t have the courage to go up to her. I kept on lurking, but they slipped away in a crowd and I lost them. That was the last time I ever saw her, and she was running away from me. With her gone, I stayed there and had a drink. Just one - I think it was two-for-one on shots until midnight, and I ended up giving one to a girl who looked young and had lost her ID so they wouldn’t serve her. Then I walked home. Back to Canton. Via Cyncoed. Not exactly a direct route, I realise. I just needed to, I don’t know, just let my soul scream or something, you know? I just… I couldn’t breathe any more, like she’d wrapped my chest like a Christmas present and pulled the bow too tight. I walked and I walked, no idea where or why. I had a minidisc full of Bach, Rachmaninov and Verdi which I used to listen to when I needed to calm down and get lost in myself and the music, so I turned it up and just went where my legs took me.”
“And did they take you via Cathays Terrace?”
“No - I stopped in a shop on Wellfield Road, then walked up the hill to Cyncoed. I think it’s called Pen-y-Lan Hill?”
Hales nodded, trying to remember if there had ever been a Spar on that road. He couldn’t recall, but it would be easy enough for him to check.
“I never saw her after she left the club, Detective. That’s the truth, I swear.”
“Okay, well, that’s not for us to determine. What time did you get home?”
“I think it was about four. Jimmy was still up - as usual, he hadn’t packed and his father was picking him up at eight the following morning to take him home for Christmas. Robin and Ed were both in bed, asleep, as far as I know.”
Damien flipped to a page in his notepad. “Why did Jimmy lie to the police for you?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I didn’t ask him to. I’d never do that. Maybe he thought it would look bad, me not coming home for so long. And once he’d told you I was with him I couldn’t take it back without getting him into trouble. He was a good friend.”
Hales flipped his notebook closed, heavy-handedly closing it and making a noise louder than Damien would ever have expected from such a small book. “You know,” Hales spat, “I should arrest you both for perverting the course of justice. You get three years in prison for that.”
Rachel placed her hand on Cameron’s arm and cut him off before he could continue speaking. “DI Hales, did Mr Barnes ever tell you that he was not at the nightclub? Or that he was getting chips on Caroline Street? Or did you take the word of a member of the public who came forward, and assume that the picture you obtained from the takeaway was of this Mr Barnes, not his twin brother? I think you and I both know that the CPS wouldn’t touch that, if you decided to charge him. Now, I believe Mr Barnes has told you everything he knows. He’s answered your questions, and I think it’s time for you to let him go home.”
She stood, taking Cameron by the arm as she did so, and didn’t give him time to object. As she led him to the door he stopped and turned to Hales.
“I didn’t kill her, Detective. I wish I could tell you more - tell you anything that might help - but I can’t. I let her down, I know that, and that’s something I’ll have to keep on living with for the rest of my life.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
THE DEBRIEF OF Cameron’s interview had gone long into the night, and by the time he had dropped Catherine at home and then driven to the other side of the city it was gone three before Damien had gone to bed. Exhilarating as the police work had been, it had been many years since he had worked so many consecutive days of any length, let alone the fourteen-plus hour days he and Catherine had been putting in, and the dramatic increase in exertion had started to take its toll on him.
The clearest sign that all wasn’t right with him was that Kevin had started getting up before him. For the second day in a row, Damien had come downstairs to be greeted by a pile of breakfast dishes on the side, next to the sink. While yesterday’s offering had been a straightforward pastry, today Kevin had indulged in a large bowl of microwave porridge, using two bowls onto which the thick porridge had set like concrete and would take more than a spin through the dishwasher to get clean. If he thought it would make a difference he would leave them until Kevin thought to clean them, but there was a high likelihood of needing to use them again this side of the apocalypse.
The other trait of Kevin’s that Damien was struggling to find endearing was his tendency to leave the small television in the kitchen on when leaving the room, and today was no exception. Although he could hear the same news programme playing from the big television in the living room - where Kevin would doubtless also not be watching - the sound on the kitchen set was muted and playing to itself. After a short search he found the remote control perched on the half-shelf above the kettle, where the tea, coffee and sugar were supposed to live, and was about to turn the television off when he saw Anton Nichols’ bruised face speaking in front of Central Police Station. He unmuted it.
“…a serving police officer, who also happens to be the victim’s sister, assaulted me in my own home earlier this week. So desperate are they to get me after I made them look so utterly foolish the last time, it now looks as though the very police service that is meant to protect us has resorted to extracting confessions with force.”
The image cut back from Nichols to a fresh-faced news anchor in a studio in the city centre.
“In response, South Wales Police have issued a statement assuring the public that the officer in question has been suspended, and that a full enquiry will take place. Rugby now, and Wales will be without talismanic centre-” Damien switched it off and tossed the remote control onto the counter with more force than he’d intended, cracking the battery cover and sending the two AAs flying across the room.
“Shit!”
Damien wasn’t the only one to have seen the news that morning. Hales had seen it over breakfast with his wife, and had quickly been put off his scrambled eggs when his phone had rung before seven o’clock and the DCI had started shouting at him before he’d even finished saying hello. He’d expected Nichols to make a move like this, but had hoped they’d be a little closer to a result before the story broke.
The entrance to the station car park had been mobbed by journalists, photographers and camera operators from all of the local news outlets, as well as representatives from BBC Wales, Sky News and even CNN. The story had intrinsic selling points; a serving officer, the sister of a murder victim, beating a confession out of a high-profile suspect - had all the hallmarks of a bad movie, and was why the DCI had insisted that Hales remove Catherine from the case in the first place. Allowing Catherine to return to duty and join the investigation team had been a mistake that he’d already had to defend to the DCI, but Hales hadn’t expected her, an experienced officer, to go rogue and assault a suspect - provoked or otherwise - and he knew that it wouldn’t be easy to save her job once the investigation was over.
The DCI’s orders were clear and Hales had followed them to the letter, knowing that he was already in for a kicking as soon as he entered the building. Although she normally didn’t come in before Hales or the morning shift, she’d arrived at the station before five that morning. She’d told him to say nothing to the vultures gathered at the gate, take the lift to the sixth floor, and come straight to her office. He was not to stop and talk to anyone, and he certainly wasn’t allowed to stop and waste time making coffee. He knew that would make him irritable later in the day, but he hadn’t been willing to chance incurring her wrath any more than he already had.
In her office, DCI Maria Haynes was not alone. Three men in civilian dress - representatives from Human Resources, Media Relations and the Crown Prosecution Service - had been assembled and were waiting eagerly around a large, mahogany circular table, for him to arrive.
“DI Hales,” she began as soon as he crossed the threshold into her office. “Please, come in and shut the door.”
He did as he was bid and took the only available seat at the table - between the HR and CPS representatives - directly in front of DCI Haynes who, from her gnarled expression, he could see was not in a patient mood.
“Everyone knows everyone,” she continued, “so let’s make a start. Peter - everyone is aware that Mr Nichols made several complaints during the original investigation into Sarah Green’s disappearance, but the details are sketchy and none of us were here then. So, for the benefit of our colleagues here, could you explain - in as much detail as possible - just how badly you and your team have fucked this up?”
He noted that her tone was calm, which was never a good sign when she was angry. It was generally accepted around the upper echelons of the station that if the DCI swore at you then you were in trouble, but if she remained calm while giving a bollocking you’d be out of a job by the end of the week. Hales had never seen her quite so calm.
“Yes, Ma’am. I’ll start back in ‘04, so you all know where we’re coming from.” He looked around the table for nods of assent, but nothing came. “Professor Anton Nichols was arrested in connection with the disappearance of one of his students - Sarah Green - who had gone missing after a night out with friends in the early hours of December 23rd, 2004. Professor Nichols was questioned more than once in January 2005 before being arrested on January 26th. Not only was he Sarah’s teacher, he was her landlord too - and she’d made complaints about him entering the house unannounced, and accused him of sexually harassing her and offering her preferential treatment in exchange for, well, preferential treatment, shall we say. The accusation went public, and a rake of former students came forward with similar allegations. The University sacked him, he lost his position with the National Opera, and his wife kicked him out. At the time, DI Cooper and I thought this was enough motive for him to want to harm her. As the landlord of Miss Green’s residence on Cathays Terrace, Professor Nichols had access to the property where Miss Green was dropped off in a taxi just before midnight on December 22nd. When asked, Mr Nichols was initially unable to provide an alibi, stating that he’d got drunk at home and passed out at home around midnight, waking up late the following morning with a heavy hangover. A colleague - Mr Graham Croft - later corroborated this. When Professor Nichols was asked why he hadn’t mentioned Mr Croft being present, he said that he must’ve been confused and not realised that the date in question and the drinking session with Mr Croft were the same day, citing the stress of his work situation, the allegations against him, and the stress of his impending divorce as his reason. Apparently getting blind drunk and passing out was something of a regular occurrence for a while…”
