The Fall by Claire McGowan Page A

back.’
    Charlotte put her head under the pillow. She wasn’t going to think about any of it. She had no strength to do anything but fall back into the dark.
Hegarty
    ‘Bad business, Matthew.’ Hegarty’s boss, Detective Inspector Bill Barton, shook his head as he put down the paper. ‘Banker Butchers, indeed. You’d think they’d never heard of contempt of court.’ A career policeman who was widely rumoured to wear some kind of holding-in corset under his shirt, DI Bill Barton was pretty dull. He didn’t listen to opera or do crosswords, he didn’t have colourful nicknames for his staff or a maverick way of getting things done. He’d got where he was through playing by the rules, absorbing pressure from ‘up above’, and being nice to everyone. Everyone apart from wrongdoers that is, and there was no one he hated so much as a journalist. ‘These bally reporters, they don’t seem to realise people can walk free if they plaster this all over the headlines.’
    ‘Will it affect the case, sir?’
    ‘Never worry, lad, you did sterling work, bringing him in. Very good for our PR, they tell me. White man kills a black fellow, it’s a powder-keg. Your actions put a lid on that sharpish. Now we just have to build the case and he’ll be in the slammer where he belongs. Excellent job.’
    Hegarty nodded, but somehow this wasn’t as rewarding as it should have been. What was the matter with him? He’d been hungry for this: success, promotion. ‘Sir – you know Stockbridge’s fiancée was attacked at the hearing?’
    The DI sighed. ‘Another bad business. Goes to show how high feelings can run.’
    ‘Yeah. Thing is . . .’ He didn’t know how to explain what was on his mind. He wasn’t even sure himself what it was. Like something you’d seen in the corner of your vision and then it was gone. ‘We haven’t found that other witness yet. The other white guy. Got his picture off a phone, though.’
    Bill Barton winced. ‘Phone pictures – it’s dodgy, Matthew. Be careful with that. It was easier in the old days, I’m telling you. Now where’ve you got with the investigation?’
    ‘Spoke to Stockbridge’s bank – they were very helpful, I must say. Didn’t even ask for a court order. Just handed it all over, his HR records, the lot.’ In fact, he’d been wondering about how helpful they’d been. A woman called Kerry Hall had sent over a packet of documents on Dan Stockbridge, his medicals, disciplinary record, appraisal notes, the lot. Interesting reading.
    The boss prodded the paper again. ‘Is it true then, this story about bullying black staff?’
    ‘Looks like it. They’ve had to pay a few people off over the years. All that City boy stuff, sir. You know how it is.’
    ‘I do. But I wonder how the papers got hold of it.’
    Same place Hegarty had, he shouldn’t wonder – from Haussmann’s themselves. And that was a strange thing to do to your own employee. ‘Sir, I’d like to keep looking for this other witness, if I can. I might have a lead.’
    ‘Hmm. Be mindful of resources, lad. We’re all watching the pennies now.’ DI Barton jabbed a finger at the paper. ‘Main thing is to get that fellow behind bars, safe and sound.’
Keisha
    So, odd choice. The last place she’d thought she’d end up that Monday, in fact. When she’d realised that Chris had locked her in, and obviously didn’t want her out of his sight, Keisha had panicked. Could you rattle a brain? If so, hers was going round like a coin in a washing-machine. Oh fuck. She had to get out. Thank God all the ex-council flats had to have fire escapes. It was a tight squeeze, but she’d made it out of the window in the bedroom and down the iron stairs. Then she was down on the road and running as fast as she could, trainers pounding, her little bag bouncing on her back. But where to? She couldn’t go to her mum’s; she’d never get Ruby back if they knew what Chris had done. Again. He hadn’t changed a bit, the