The Whole Truth by Hunter, Cara (ebook reader with internet browser .TXT) 📗

convinced that this man was also choosing the locations of the attacks very carefully. They all took place on stretches of road that had no speed cameras or CCTV, where there was dense undergrowth adjacent to the pavement, and no overlooking houses or buildings. That suggested to us that this perpetrator was recce-ing the sites in detail beforehand.’

[JOCELYN]

Thames Valley officers did question people who lived or worked nearby, but it never yielded anything useful. They had no evidence, no leads. But in due course they did have a new theory.

[‘MR X’]

‘It was one of the Detective Sergeants on the team who first suggested that the rapist wasn’t just casing out the sites of the crimes in advance: he was stalking his victims too.’

[JOCELYN]

The name of that Detective Sergeant was Adam Fawley. And this wasn’t the only significant contribution he would make to this investigation. In fact, his work on the case would eventually earn him a commendation from the Chief Constable, and accelerate his rise to Detective Inspector. Because it was Adam Fawley who helped secure the evidence that convicted Gavin Parrie.

So you could say, with some justification, that this case changed Adam Fawley’s life. And not just professionally, either.

In September 2000, not quite a year after Gavin Parrie was pronounced guilty and sentenced to life at the Old Bailey, Adam Fawley married a woman called Alexandra Sheldon.

She was a lawyer, and had lived in the Oxford area all her life. She was also the Roadside Rapist’s third victim.

[UNDER BED OF ‘EMOTIONAL RESCUE’ – THE ROLLING STONES]

I’m Jocelyn Naismith and this is Righting the Wrongs. You can listen to this and other podcasts from The Whole Truth on Spotify, or wherever you get your podcasts.

[FADE OUT]

* * *

Alex Fawley presses stop and pushes her tablet away. Her hands are trembling.

She knew this would happen – she’d steeled herself against what they’d say, but knowing it and hearing it are not the same thing.

She folds her hands about her belly to still them; the skin that shields her child is warm, but her fingers are freezing.

She needs to talk to Adam.

She’d prayed she wouldn’t have to – she didn’t want him to know she was listening to this thing. But now – now she has no choice.

* * *

Back at St Aldate’s, Somer is feeling the worst kind of sidelined. Because she can’t blame anyone else; she’s managing to do it all by herself. Ever since the news came in from Boddie, the team has been hectic with adrenaline, but she feels muffled, quarantined. Like those adverts where there’s someone sitting in the middle of a busy office, barely moving, while people buzz around them in fast-forward. Those marooned people always have something wrong with them – a cold, a headache, flu – but it’s never anything serious. It’s always easily fixed. She sighs. It’s not that she doesn’t care about what happened to the woman on the railway line; she just can’t find the energy to do anything about it. She’s achieved precisely nothing all morning, and is now rapidly running out of thankless tasks that will stop her thinking and require no thought.

She gets up and wanders over to where Baxter is staring at his screen, the blue light reflected back on his face. There are three empty chocolate wrappers by his mouse pad. As stress indicators go, that’s pretty reliable.

‘Need a hand with anything?’

He glances up briefly and frowns. ‘Fuck me, that’s a first. You feeling OK?’

How long have you got? she thinks. ‘Hey, don’t look a gift horse, and all that.’

He raises an eyebrow. ‘Well, if you’re sure, you could have a look at that Twitter feed the Super’s getting so uptight about. The one that exposed Marina Fisher. I’ve had a quick look but I haven’t gone through all the replies and that.’

‘Great,’ she says. ‘Just send me the details.’

He gives her a dry look then turns to his screen and taps at the keyboard. ‘Knock yourself out.’

Somer opens what he’s sent her, then sits back. ‘This is the one? This is definitely the username?’

Baxter glances up and frowns. ‘Yeah. So? Didn’t mean anything to me.’

‘No,’ she says softly, almost to herself. ‘But it means something, all the same.’

* * *

It’s Ev who picks up the call. ‘Asante?’ she says, looking up. ‘Line three for you.’

He recognizes the voice straight away.

‘Ms Monroe, what can I do for you?’

A slight pause. ‘What you said before, when you were here –’

Asante reaches for his pen. ‘Oh yes?’

‘You were asking about any of our clients who might have had a motive – some sort of grudge? I’ve spoken to my colleagues and even though it goes against all our professional instincts, we’ve agreed that the circumstances justify making an exception.’

She stops, takes a breath. Asante says nothing. He knows the value of silence.

‘There was someone. A couple she was assessing as potential adopters. Unfortunately, they didn’t turn out to be suitable.’

‘I see.’

‘And they were in their forties. It was probably their last chance. The gentleman – he was very angry. Shouting, making threats –’

Asante frowns. ‘Physical threats?’

‘Oh no,’ she says quickly. ‘Nothing like that. He said he had “contacts”, that he’d ruin her career, that sort of thing. It was very unpleasant. We were on the point of calling the police.’

Asante gets out his notebook. ‘And can you tell me why they were rejected?’

‘Not “rejected” – “not considered suitable”,’ she says quickly. ‘And no. I’m pushing it as it is.’

‘But that makes it difficult for us to –’

‘It was only two or three weeks ago,’ she says, cutting across him. ‘Couldn’t you just say you’re speaking to all the clients who’d seen her recently?’

She’s shrewd, this woman.

‘Fair enough. We can probably get away with that. Can you give me the address?’

He starts to write it down, only to find himself stumbling at the postcode and checking his prejudice. Because it’s not Cowley or Blackbird Leys or Littlemore, but sought-after OX2.

‘Thanks,’ he says. ‘I’ll do my best not to land