She had lied.
Nine
Stacey paused before knocking on Lesley Skipton’s door. Was she really being fair to the woman raking it all up again if everyone felt there was no real hope of closure?
As a victim of rape, Lesley had already been subjected to enough. Not least the physical attack, but everything else that came afterwards.
Rape investigation had moved on in the last twenty years, but women still had to fight through the disbelief and doubt that came into the eyes of everyone to whom they told the story: police officers, medical staff, solicitors, a jury, in some cases even friends and family.
It was the only crime Stacey knew where everyone immediately looked for a loophole. Was she drunk? Was she being provocative? Was her skirt short? Did she invite it? No one accused a mugging victim of waving their wallet in the air or a burglary victim of advertising their worldly goods in the window. Only in cases of sexual assault was the victim made to feel like they had invited the crime. Stacey was yet to imagine any action at all that a woman could do to invite the horror of a sexual assault.
No, Stacey decided as she knocked the door, she wasn’t making a mistake in trying to get justice for a rape victim. And so what if the original investigating team thought it was a done deal? If she’d learned anything from her boss over the years, it was that you didn’t give up on something just because it was hard.
The door was opened a fraction by a fair-haired girl with the majority of her hair tied back in a ponytail. A few wisps had broken free and framed a pretty face reddened by activity. The sportswear indicated she’d been doing some kind of physical activity.
Stacey held up her ID above the second chain fixed to the door. ‘May I come in?’
Lesley frowned. ‘For what?’
Stacey would have liked to explain inside, but she could understand the woman’s reticence in allowing a stranger into her home.
‘I’m from Halesowen station and I’m taking another look at your case.’
‘It was handled by Brierley Hill,’ she said, narrowing her eyes as though she’d caught her out in a lie.
‘Please, ring Halesowen and check. I’ll wait,’ Stacey said, taking a step away from the door.
Lesley closed the door and locked it.
Stacey took another step back and noted the small CCTV camera looking down at her. The green wheelie bin to the left of the front door overflowed with broken-up delivery boxes. In front of that were two empty glass milk bottles.
Stacey heard the locks slide before the door opened for a second time, but wider.
‘Okay, you’re legit but I still don’t see why you’re here.’
‘May I come in and explain?’
Lesley sighed and stood aside.
Stacey entered the ground-floor flat and almost tripped over a box from ‘Jane’s Kitchen’, a local health food supplier.
‘Sorry, it’s just come,’ Lesley said, picking it up and taking it through to the kitchen before pointing Stacey to the lounge.
Stacey immediately noticed there were few hard furnishings in the room. One oversized armchair and a few beanbags strewn around the place. An exercise bike with a laptop attached to the handlebars stood in front of the window.
‘Please, take the chair,’ Lesley said, disconnecting the laptop from the bike. ‘Daily Peloton class,’ she explained.
Stacey had seen the remote exercise workouts advertised on the television; just the thought had made her sweat. She’d considered joining a gym a month ago, during her disastrous attempt to lose weight in time for her wedding, but had decided she wasn’t going to fork out a monthly payment for something that she didn’t enjoy and was unlikely to ever use.
Lesley sat on a beanbag as Stacey took the seat she’d been offered.
‘I’ve been asked to take another look at your case,’ Stacey said, and then took a moment to explain the shuffle process.
As she spoke, she saw a range of emotions flit across the woman’s face. Not least of which was fear.
‘Why did you choose my case?’ Lesley asked, picking at a loose piece of cotton on the bean bag.
‘Because I want a conviction. I want the person responsible to pay for what he did to you.’
Lesley lowered her head for a moment and then lifted it. In that time Stacey could see that the mask had dropped. The Lesley who kept her emotions closely guarded and well hidden had moved aside to reveal the real Lesley hiding behind the screen.
She shook her head. ‘I’m sorry but I don’t think I can go through that again. You can’t even begin to understand.’
‘Talk to me,’ Stacey said, trying to figure out what the officers at Brierley Hill had seen to stop them putting her on the stand. How could putting Lesley before a jury have held the potential to weaken the case against Sean Fellows? Surely two victims presented a stronger case than one.
Right now, she was looking at a presentable, eloquent young woman who would have been authentic and believable in the courtroom.
‘It’s too much,’ Lesley said, shaking her head. ‘The questions, the doubt in people’s eyes when you’re telling them the most horrific thing that’s ever happened to you; the shame that it ever happened at all. I’m sorry but no, I can’t go through it again. The attack was almost two years ago. Please choose another case. I’ve managed to put it behind me. I’ve moved on with my—’
‘Well, that’s not totally true, is it?’ Stacey asked gently. ‘You have two dead bolts on your front door, a CCTV camera so you can see who is approaching. You have your meals delivered and just about everything else you buy comes from Amazon. The milkman keeps you topped up with basics, and you exercise via an internet site.’ Stacey paused. ‘So when exactly did you last leave your home?’
Lesley stared at her for a moment and then burst into tears.
Stacey wondered if the presentation of just how much her life had changed beyond normal had somehow held a mirror up to what she’d allowed her life to become. Had it been a gradual process as she’d retreated behind the safety of her front door, or had she never addressed the fear of leaving the house directly after the attack?
Stacey tried to comprehend that basic right of free movement being taken away from her.
For some reason, a memory played in her head. She remembered when she was thirteen years old and the school netball team had played another local school. Her team had won, and Stacey had netted the winning shot from her position as Goal Attack. Three girls from the other team had followed her home, chanting and calling her names. As she’d turned into her front gate, the lanky, redheaded one had told her they were going to wait until she came back out and beat her up. She remembered running upstairs and looking out the window every few minutes for the next two hours to see if they were still there. Eventually they’d grown bored and left and she’d never seen them again, but for those couple of hours she had felt helpless, scared and trapped, and yet no one had even laid a finger on her.
Stacey reached out a hand and touched the woman gently on the arm.
‘Please, Lesley, I really would like to try and help.’
Ten
‘Hey, guv, you’re not gonna question the little girl yet, are you?’ Bryant asked as he pulled up outside the narrow townhouse at the edge of Merry Hill Shopping Centre.