Kitabı oku: «Deceit», sayfa 3

Chapter 3

Kara looked around the room. It was soulless, with just the one table, four chairs, and a recording machine for company. She cupped her hands around the hot tea, hoping it would control the shakes. Was it the cold or shock? She didn’t care, either way; all she felt was a deep head-banging numbness.

The chief superintendent marched into the room, with files under her arm, and sat pertly on the chair. Stony-faced and with eyes that were open but glazed over, Kara slowly peered up to see the middle-aged woman, with cold, spiteful eyes and wrinkles around her eyes and mouth, probably from too many cigarettes. With lank, lifeless, and short hair, with a few stands of grey, the policewoman was hardly a looker in the feminine stakes.

Cynthia Lipton, the chief superintendent at Bromley Police Station had been called on to interview the woman because the victim, Jenny Langley, was in the hospital on a life-support machine, and if she died, which was probable, then the person now in custody was looking at an accidental manslaughter charge with arson, which would carry a hefty sentence.

She sharply placed the folder on the table and clicked her pen. Then, having given the young woman the once-over, she concluded fairly quickly from her pale-as-the-moon complexion that Kara Bannon was in shock. This was going to be either like pulling teeth or watching paint dry. She introduced herself and quickly ran through the formalities.

She nodded to the young smartly dressed duty solicitor. ‘Well, are we ready to take a statement?’ she snapped.

Paul Reeves was fresh out of law school and ready to take over at his father’s law firm. Lipton knew he was green around the ears and assumed he would be overly eager to get stuck in. However, she was taken aback when he replied, ‘She wants to give a statement and is not interested in being represented, so I’ll sit in, but to be frank, she’s all yours.’

It wasn’t like him. Lipton frowned. Usually, he was a pain in the arse, meticulous at putting her sort in their place.

‘So, for the recording, please tell me your name, age, and occupation.’

Kara reeled off: ‘Kara Bannon. Twenty-six. Epidemiologist.’

Lipton glanced at Reeves with a questioning expression.

‘It means she studies diseases, how they originate, and how they affect the population,’ responded Reeves, smugly. He loved it when he got one over the police.

Kara remained focused on a tiny spider crawling up the wall just above Lipton’s head. ‘Actually, I am a tropical epidemiologist. I study rare diseases of a class four nature that appear in Third World countries.’

Her well-spoken accent and precise tones stirred unease in Lipton because Kara appeared to be in a trance, yet she was able to answer clearly and precisely. ‘Okay, Miss Bannon, tell me what happened.’

‘I took two cans of petrol from the garage, doused the whole house, and then I set it alight.’

Now, Lipton had to ascertain whether or not Miss Bannon did it alone and whether it was an act of revenge.

‘Miss Bannon, was anyone with you? Were you made to do this? I need to know why you did it?’

Lowering her gaze, she replied, ‘No one told me to do it. I had to burn the house down. I couldn’t let Justin and his new girlfriend move in. It was my home too.’

That was it. Lipton had a reason to charge the young woman with criminal damage, an arson attack, and a possible death by recklessness. She called in the custody sergeant who formerly charged Kara. Still in a stupor, she asked innocently, ‘Is Justin here yet to take me home?’

As the detective looked down at Kara, she realised then that the woman was unaware of the seriousness of what she’d done. Lipton’s mouth formed a smile, but she knew it didn’t reach her eyes. She wasn’t going to question her anymore; she had all she needed to charge and have the defendant remain in custody. As far as the chief superintendent was concerned, she had done her job – it was yet another notch on her arresting record.

* * *

The sergeant took Kara to a cell and placed a thick red blanket around her shoulders. Robert Wise, the custody sergeant, a big middle-aged man, with a salt-and-pepper-coloured moustache and grey hair, felt sorry for the woman. She wasn’t the normal scallywag who came and went. She had class and was polite. He organised another hot tea and a sandwich and brought them to her. ‘You will appear in court first thing tomorrow morning.’

With grief clouding her face, she took the drink and machine-wrapped sandwich.

Kara wondered if there was anyone out there who even cared that she was locked in a police cell. She had no family except Justin and his mother. Her own mother lived abroad now, and their only real communication was the odd phone call. ‘Is it all right for me to go home now?’

Wise gave her a regretful sigh. ‘No, Miss Bannon, I’m afraid you will be held until the court appearance tomorrow, and there, they will decide if they will let you out on bail, but I wouldn’t bank on it. This is a very serious charge over your head … Look, eat that, and try to get some rest.’

As the heavy metal door banged shut and she heard the rattle of keys, the silent cold truth slapped her in the face. This was it now. She was all alone. Not only had she lost her job, she also had to accept her relationship with Justin was over, and now her liberty was at an end. Everything had been destroyed in a single, petulant, and hostile act of revenge. She could not even begin to imagine what her future looked like.

Her hands trembled so much that she dropped the plastic cup, spilling some of the hot tea on her legs. The liquid quickly made its way through her thin tracksuit and burned her shins. She winced and curled herself into a foetal position, holding her knees close to her chest. She tried to sleep, as it was the only way to relieve herself of her haunting thoughts.

* * *

The next day, the door was opened, and the sergeant studied the frail-looking woman curled up like a baby. His heart went out to her. His own daughter wasn’t much older than this young lady. ‘Miss Bannon, do you need the ladies’ room? Are you hungry?’

Kara uncurled herself, temporarily released from the solitude and heavy weight of her sadness. With red-rimmed eyes hosting pools of deep sorrow, she shook her head.

They wasted no time in bundling her into the police van and hurrying her off to the courts. As soon as she arrived, she was sick, and this time there was no warning. Luckily, she missed her clothes but made a mess on the floor. The officer handcuffed to her was almost sick himself and tutted loudly, demonstrating how disgusted he was.

She was then led into the witness box, but she was barely able to comprehend what the judge was saying. The courtroom itself was daunting enough, let alone being there with no one she knew. Urged on by the duty solicitor to answer the questions, she obliged, and within minutes, she was taken away back to the holding room.

It all happened so fast that Kara was not really aware of her surroundings. The only person she hoped to see was Justin – but he wasn’t there. After spending the whole day in the holding cell, she was finally hustled into a sweatbox, as prisoners and prison staff called it, and was off to meet her new home for the foreseeable future.

* * *

Justin sat at the small dining table. Staring down at the spaghetti bolognese his girlfriend had made, he struggled to let the fork pass his lips. He was shocked to the core and his mind was a stifled mix of emotions.

‘Justin, sweetheart, it’s gonna be okay. The house was insured, right?’

Her voice was a little higher-pitched than Kara’s, and at times it was quite shrill. He glanced up and smiled awkwardly. ‘Yes, but …’

‘Oh, come on, Justin, once we get the insurance money, we can have the house rebuilt in no time and just how we want it. It will be perfect for our new baby.’

‘It’s not the house … it’s Kara I’m concerned about.’

Lucy’s eyes, carefully defined by heavy make-up, narrowed. Her lips tightened and pursed, but she reluctantly remained controlled. ‘Darling, people break up all the time, but they don’t go burning down a house and practically killing the neighbour. That poor woman will be lucky if she is able to ever walk or talk again … I mean, who does that? Jeez, I think you were lucky to get out when you did, because, sweetheart, sooner or later, her madness would have surfaced, and God knows what may have happened to you.’

Justin made a sad attempt at a smile, but underneath, he was racked with guilt. ‘I feel bad for her.’

Lucy flared her nostrils this time, unable to contain herself. ‘Look, listen to me: you need to put your energy into thinking about our baby, instead of worrying about some nutjob!’

Justin was in over his head. Lucy wasn’t anything like Kara and he had no idea why he’d shagged her. In fact, he couldn’t remember it at all. Two months ago, he was out with a group of friends from the workshop, Dave’s stag do. They did drink far too many shots and he recalled Lucy chatting him up, and if he was honest, he enjoyed the attention. Kara had been away for two months in Papua New Guinea on one of her expeditions, and he was lonely.

Then, he remembered nothing except calling for a cab the very next morning from Lucy’s flat. He’d felt guilty at the time but still decided not to come clean; after all, Kara would never know. How could she? They never went to that particular pub together.

When Kara returned home for a week, he spent every waking hour with her. He even took time off from work himself because he knew she would shortly return to Papua New Guinea for another month. He missed her so much when she was away. The house seemed so empty; he would wander from room to room, lost in his thoughts, his mind on Kara. It wasn’t as if when she was at home they talked all the time; often, she would just be there studying, but the fact that she was at arm’s length and he could plant a kiss just above her glasses or share a bath and even hold her tightly in bed was enough for him to feel contented.

However, this Papua New Guinea trip seemed to go on forever, and the week they had shared together, she wasn’t quite herself; at the time, he’d put it down to jet lag and overwork. Yet, she had seemed oddly cold, even snappy, as if she was under a lot of pressure from work. He didn’t push her, deciding it would be better if he left her alone.

The boredom, mixed with missing her, foolishly led him to soak up the attention from Lucy. He spent more time in the pub and in her company, and the incentive to do so was there. She was very flirtatious and the compliments she paid him boosted his ego, although he couldn’t blame Kara for any loss of self-esteem he felt. Far from it, yet Lucy was making him feel very special indeed, and as a man, he lapped it up, until once more Justin found himself drunk and in Lucy’s company.

Again, he couldn’t remember anything until he woke up in her bed the next morning. When Kara was home for good, he pushed the incidents out of his head. Kara’s mood swings and tetchiness continued and once again he assumed it was work. After a short while, Kara returned to her usual self and things were back to normal but then the unthinkable happened – fast. Lucy called him one night in floods of tears. Shocked that she even had his number, he managed to calm her down and agreed to meet up in the park across from where he worked. That was when she dropped the bombshell that hit him like a concrete post.

Justin was brought up never to shirk his responsibilities. It was bred into him, being raised by a mother and no father in sight. He could still hear his mother’s words: ‘You made your bed, now you must lie in it.’ But it wasn’t just his mother who had that opinion – he did too. All his life he had wished for a father and vowed if he had a child he would never abandon it.

Lucy removed his untouched plate and toddled off like a moving Barbie doll towards the kitchen. Justin followed her with his eyes and sighed deeply. It was all too fast and like a mad dream; sitting in the dining area with Lucy playing happy families was surreal. She was acting as if they had been together for years, and yet he was torn. On the one hand, he loved Kara, but on the other, he was faced with the cold reality that Lucy was having his baby.

He knew why he had liked Lucy initially: because although she was very different in personality, she was similar in appearance to Kara. It was not the overdone make-up or her hair, or the neat thin nose, but those amber eyes. He fell in love with Kara because of those hypnotic flecks and swirls like tiger stone. She was aloof at times with her head in a book and her oversized glasses perched on the end of her nose. But he loved the way she was so natural, with her blonde hair pulled up in a scruffy bun, and he was attracted by the way she could look highly desirable, even in just a loose tracksuit. Her beauty was innate, and if she did get dressed up in a tight sexy dress with a sprinkling of make-up, then she looked stunning and turned heads.

What he loved the most about her was that she never knew how beautiful she actually was. Despite her intelligence, she had a sweet naivety about her.

He watched as Lucy, in her high heels and skintight catsuit, came walking back with a confidence that emanated self-importance. She waved a bottle of wine and two glasses. ‘Here you go, sweetie, I bought us a special pressie.’

‘Lucy, firstly, I’m not in the mood. My house has just burned to the ground and Kara is in some prison somewhere. That’s probably down to us. Secondly, since you are pregnant, you cannot drink.’

‘Oh, don’t be like that, darling. I thought it might take your mind off all the drama.’

Justin rolled his eyes and left the room. He was drained and needed to sleep and hoped things would be clearer in the morning. He stared for a while at the plain white sheets and the grey walls – there was nothing warm or inviting here – and then he looked at his bags. They were still packed, apart from the bare essentials. Maybe he was too hesitant to really put his feet under Lucy’s table. He had no choice now, though. His home, their home, was totally destroyed. He just needed to be alone to think things over.

As he lay with his arms under his head, staring up at the ceiling, he thought about Kara and wondered how she would ever cope in prison. She wasn’t made for any such place. She was his delicate princess, his soul mate, and he’d let her down very badly. That said, she wasn’t born with a silver spoon in her mouth – far from it. Not that Kara spoke much of her past.

Her mother, who wasn’t rich by any means, brought her up in a cottage down in Kent; however, she managed to pay for Kara to go to a posh boarding school. Kara hadn’t been exposed to the real world. He gritted his teeth, when he thought of how she would never survive if anyone hit her. She hadn’t had a physical fight in her life, and he’d never seen her be rude to anyone. She didn’t like confrontation. True, she’d certainly put up a fight to keep him when he’d delivered his bombshell, but the fact was he’d committed the act and he didn’t blame her for defending her own corner, even though her intense anger was a shock and that expression on her face haunted him.

* * *

The first thing that hit Kara was the smell; it could be best described as sweat mixed with a school canteen odour. With the overpainted metal doors and polished concrete floor enhancing the harshness, Kara longed for her warm bed and to be wrapped in a blanket, safe and secure. She realised then that peace and tranquillity, words that had been so important to her, were now just words.

Every noise now had an almost frightening meaning to it. Every unexplained bang was making her jump, the rattling chains were setting her teeth on edge, and the periodic sound from the entry buzzer left her ears vibrating. The speed at which she was pushed from one section to another, expecting to take everything in, was alarming. She wasn’t slow either, yet the list of dos and don’ts, times and places, all seemed to merge into one big blur.

The interview, the prison officers, and the stark coldness of it all was a world so far removed from her own that Kara could never imagine getting used to it. She was led through locked door after locked door, with her arms out holding prison issues, a plastic cup, and basic toiletries. The clothes they gave her to wear after the horrid strip search were too big, yet she wasn’t in a position to complain. The fierce glare on the officers’ faces was enough to imply she was fucked if she argued. Her head was spinning, feverish with fear.

Eventually, she was escorted down a long corridor with heavy doors on either side and was stopped at a door partially open. ‘In ya go, Bannon!’ ordered Anna Larson, the burly female officer. Kara shuddered at the small space and tiny cold-looking bed. ‘Meet Colette Connor.’

The inmate, who was lying on the opposite bed propped up by pillows, deliberately sized Kara up. ‘Aw, for fuck’s sake, no one told me I was gonna ’ave a cellmate!’

Colette Connor was a heavyset woman with a fat face. Her menacing sneer was enough to shit the life out of Kara. Instantly, she stepped back, treading on the officer’s toes and was roughly prodded on the shoulder. ‘Move, Bannon! And you, Connor, can shut it. She’s in with you, so be fucking nice and no nonsense.’

A faint smile lurked in the corners of the officer’s broad mouth. Her narrowed eyes and her cropped hair emphasised the spiteful appearance. She chuckled, as she slammed the door shut.

Kara was still trembling when she placed the prison issues on the bed. The reality of her predicament was creeping into her bones, inch by inch. This was no university campus set-up where everyone could share a joke, relax, and have fun. This was a whole different ballgame. She gingerly sat down and tried to give the inmate a warm smile. It wasn’t reciprocated. Instead, she received a stony glare that gave Kara the shits.

‘Oh, my name’s Kara Bannon. It’s nice to meet you.’ As soon as the words left her mouth, she realised how ridiculous they sounded. And to make matters worse, Colette repeated them in an over-the-top posh voice, trying to intimidate her.

‘So, Posh, what ya in for, then?’ asked Colette, with her cocky head tilted to the side.

‘Well, I, er … arson, I think, and oh, yes, reckless bodily harm or something. I’m not quite sure.’

Colette, or Cole as Kara soon found she was commonly known, looked Kara up and down. ‘Who did ya hurt?’

‘My neighbour.’

‘Why? Did she fuck ya ol’ man?’

Colette was getting excited. She was bored, and this young woman might have something interesting to make the daily grind of prison life actually bearable for once. Colette loved aggro. It was in her DNA. Not only did she want to hear all the gory details, she needed to size up this Kara bitch. For all she knew, she could be a raving nutter, sharing her cell.

‘I don’t know. I, er … I mean, I can’t remember exactly what happened.’

Colette frowned and thought it best to back off. If this posh bird couldn’t remember what she’d done, then she didn’t want to be the one who suffered from a red-mist moment at the hands of a fucking psycho.

‘Right, Posh, lights are out in twenty minutes, so you’d better sort ya shit out and no fucking snoring. I ’ate noise, when I’m trying ta sleep. The last bird cried all night, and I swear to God, I gave her something to cry about, so no blubbering, right?’

Kara took a few deep breaths as if she was trying to stop herself from being sick. ‘I don’t snore, and I won’t cry, but I might be sick. I have a virus I picked up from abroad.’

Colette noticed the girl’s face looked almost grey. She pointed to the toilet tucked in the corner. ‘Use that, and I swear, if ya fucking puke anywhere near me, I’ll make sure you fucking eat my next shit.’

Kara’s lower lip trembled. The tension was so hostile and downright scary. Suddenly, the light went out and she had to feel her way around the cell. Running her hands along the bed and to the small partitioned wall, she finally found the place she wanted. Kneeling beside the chrome toilet, she hoped beyond hope that she wouldn’t be sick anywhere near her cellmate.

For over an hour, Kara gripped the basin, with nothing but the tremendous feeling of guilt for company. She just couldn’t get Mrs Langley off her mind; it was eating away at her. Silently, she prayed for the poor woman’s full recovery. The nausea was relentless, so she sat on the hard floor with her chin resting on the stinking toilet bowl until she felt her head nod as she began to drift off to sleep.

The sickly feeling at last receded, so she crept onto her hard bed and entered the world of darkness. In no time at all, a loud sound pulled her from her nightmares. Doors were opening, and the small room lit up. Colette was rolling a cigarette, her fat tongue sliding along the sides of the rolling paper before she stuck it together. She didn’t look at Kara but just jumped up and left, with the cigarette in her mouth.

Kara sat upright, trying to get her bearings; everything was still surreal. The night before when she was in reception, the officers were reeling off so much information, she couldn’t take it all in. It was something about breakfast, showers, jobs, and times.

A few minutes later, in the doorway, a tall woman with wild black hair, grinning from ear-to-ear, was showing a neat row of gold teeth. Kara couldn’t work out if she was black or white. Her features were African, but her skin was milky, and her eyes were green. Kara was uncomfortable because the woman’s gaze was anything but welcoming.

‘Cole tells me ya burned ya house down, fucked up the neighbour, ’cos she fucked ya ol’ man.’ She had her hands on the doorframe and was gently swinging in and out of the cell.

A bead of sweat trickled down Kara’s back and her face flushed. She recognised that feeling. The sickness was coming up, and this time she couldn’t hold it. Ignoring the tall woman, she leaped from the bed and hurled her stomach contents down the toilet. As she pulled away, she noticed how disgusting the toilet actually was and then remembered she’d been leaning on it for some time during the night. With that thought in mind, she heaved again. There was nothing left to bring up.

With wobbly legs, she tried to stand up and had to grip the wall. As she turned, she saw the small sink and leaned heavily, bowing her head and catching her breath. She turned on the taps and ran her hot face under the flowing water, whilst slurping mouthfuls of the cold liquid. She spat twice and then wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. Falling back onto her bed, she glanced up at the woman in the doorway. The ordeal had no doubt made her own eyes bloodshot and evil-looking.

Kara took a deep breath. ‘What did you say?’ she tried to sound friendly, but her voice was hoarse and her expression demonic. The woman stopped swaying on the doorframe and stepped back, as if unsure what to make of Kara.

At that moment, the inmate was shoved away from the entrance to the cell and in her place stood a square-shouldered, tall, and heavily built screw, as they called them. Kara should have been relieved. Weren’t they the good guys?

‘Bannon, you’re supposed to be back at reception!’ the screw growled, her voice deep and husky. ‘Get up and follow me.’ Kara naively expected the officer to be less harsh and less manly. It was the big tits that gave her sex away. Dressed in the prison sweats, Kara dragged herself up, still shaking, and stepped forward. The screw huffed, ‘Jesus, woman, what’s the fucking matter with ya? Get a wriggle on. I ain’t got all day!’

Kara gulped back a breath, hoping she could get enough oxygen to her brain to stay upright and walk on. Outside the cell, she noticed prisoners bustling from one place to another, all on some kind of mission. She tried to keep her head down, too afraid of making eye contact with anyone. This was so far detached from anything else she’d ever experienced, that it was hard to stomach. Even her first day at boarding school wasn’t this intimidating. The banging and clanking of keys and doors was a stark call of reality to the situation.

As the officer marched ahead, Kara noticed the inmates looked away. The officer was the one who called the shots – that was a given. As they approached the end of the landing, an inmate, who was standing in the doorway of her cell, swiftly stepped out and unexpectedly pinched Kara’s arse and whistled. A fear crushed her, and she could feel the tears welling up.

No, this wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening. How would she ever survive? She wasn’t gay, she wasn’t streetwise, and she certainly wasn’t hard. She felt the tear trickle down her face and quickly she wiped it away. The screw unlocked the end door and pushed her through, locking it behind her. They marched down the stairs and along another hallway, until, finally, they were in the reception area. Kara was too afraid to look at anyone, until she heard a man’s voice. ‘Kara Bannon?’

Slowly, she glanced up and nodded.

There, a tall, dark-haired, and smartly dressed man in his mid-forties, who reminded her of a younger Hugh Bonneville, smiled compassionately, giving Kara a feeling of hope. Please tell me I am going home?

‘You need to fill out this form. They forgot yesterday.’ He spun a piece of paper around on the desk and handed her a pen. The female officer stood by her side like a concrete statue. Kara looked at the form. It had two questions: name and next of kin. She scribbled her name, and on the line below, she wrote ‘no one’.

The male officer took the form from her, and then he raised his eyebrow. ‘You have no next of kin?’

Kara shook her head.

‘What, no parents, partner, brother, sister, or even aunts?’

Kara shook her head again. ‘No one,’ she whispered.

‘Okay, now it was a mad rush yesterday. It always is on the weekends. Have you been told the process, like how it works?’

Before Kara could answer, the screw jumped in. ‘Yep, Gov, she was given the full low-down—’ She was cut short.

‘Sandra, was I talking to you? Go back to the wing. I want to talk to Bannon alone.’

Sandra gave him a spiteful sneer and stomped away. Once the door was slammed shut, the man looked Kara up and down. She gathered he must be the governor or assistant governor. ‘A lot to take in, isn’t it?’