‘They NFA’d Oliver Norris.’
NFA stood for No Further Action; it meant that the coppers who’d arrested him had decided there was no point in charging him or investigating further.
‘How come? William Turner was in shreds. Not to mention that he hit you.’
‘Yeah, I did notice that.’ The bruise was bluish purple and looked painful.
‘Josh decided not to make a statement about it.’ There was no judgement in Una Burt’s voice but Derwent took it badly anyway.
‘Only because I thought it would be a waste of time to get him charged with assaulting me. He’d beaten the tar out of Turner.’
‘And you didn’t want to have the bother of getting him prosecuted for punching you,’ Una Burt said. ‘Very understandable.’
‘Look, I had more important things to do.’
‘Didn’t Turner give a statement?’ I had left him in the hospital, dozing, compliant. ‘I thought Norris would get charged with GBH.’
‘He said he didn’t see who hit him.’ Burt shrugged. ‘You can see his point. He has to live in the street. Not much fun when you’ve accused one of the neighbours of something that carries a heavy sentence.’
‘He has to live with a neighbour who was prepared to beat him to a pulp. I’d say that’s worse than a little social embarrassment.’
Una Burt sighed. ‘There’s nothing we can do about it, Maeve.’
‘We witnessed some of the attack,’ I said. ‘What if we make statements about it?’
‘If Turner isn’t going to cooperate the CPS aren’t going to be all that keen to take it to court. It’s hard to explain why the victim doesn’t want to give evidence in a case like this. It makes juries think they’re not being told the whole story and they don’t convict.’
I turned to Derwent. ‘What about you? You could make a statement now. That bruise has come up lovely.’
He raised a hand to it, defensive. ‘Yeah, I could. But realistically he’s not going to be held in custody for thumping me, is he? He’ll be out on bail in an hour or two and we’ll be back to square one.’
‘So he’s back at home?’ I bit my lip. ‘What about Turner?’
‘They kept him in overnight but I think they’ll be releasing him today. He didn’t need surgery. It was concussion they were worried about.’
‘I think someone needs to pay Norris a visit to remind him to stay away from Turner,’ I said.
‘I volunteer,’ Derwent said grimly.
‘That’s not a good idea,’ Una Burt said.
‘Oh, come on. I’m not going to pick a fight with him. But he’s not going to listen to Kerrigan asking him nicely not to cause any trouble, is he?’
‘Much as it grieves me to say it, he’s right. Norris isn’t the sort of man who pays much attention to women at the best of times.’
‘Fine,’ Burt said. ‘But go with him, Maeve. And I don’t want to get any complaints about your behaviour, Josh. I’m still filling out forms from the last time.’
Derwent blinked, innocent. ‘I told you, that was all a misunderstanding.’
‘You did say that, yes.’ She flipped open a file and started reading. ‘Off you go.’
I parked a short distance from Oliver Norris’s house and walked back with Derwent. In spite of the horrors the street had seen, normal life was reasserting itself. This was the Valerian Road Kate Emery had known – window cleaners, Ocado delivery vans, scaffolders slinging metal poles and bad language about as they built a framework around a house.
Normal, privileged, middle-class life.
And behind door number one: blood-soaked carpets, bloodstained walls.
Behind door number two: bruised knuckles, empty beds, the word of the Lord.
Behind door number three: fractures, stitches, fighting for breath, fighting for life.
What private hell would I find if I knocked on door number four? Or five?
It was Oliver Norris himself who came to the door.
‘What do you want?’
It took me a second to respond. I was distracted by the way Norris looked: his hair dishevelled, his eyes puffy and red as if he’d been crying. Stubble darkened his chin and a sour smell emanated from him: rank sweat. He was squinting at the sunlight as if he hadn’t slept much, or at all. Somewhere in the house, music was playing: a gospel choir. Even as I noticed it, the sound was turned up.
‘Is everything all right, Mr Norris?’
‘Yes, of course.’ He seemed to pull himself together. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘We popped round to give you a few words of advice,’ Derwent said. ‘About Mr Turner.’
Norris nodded. ‘I thought you might.’
‘You need to stay away from him. Don’t talk to him, don’t look at him, don’t cross to the same side of the street as him. Pretend he doesn’t exist.’
‘Is that it?’
Derwent didn’t move or speak, but something in his expression made Norris take a step back. ‘OK. OK, I get the picture. I’ll ignore him.’
‘You’ve been very lucky not to be charged with some serious, serious offences. If there’s any reason for Mr Turner to make a complaint about you, I will make sure that you are prosecuted properly and promptly for anything I can think of.’
‘Noted.’ Norris cleared his throat. ‘Sorry about your face. It looks painful.’
‘About as painful as your hand, I’d say.’
Norris looked down at his knuckles, flexing his hand. They were swollen and bruised, his skin scratched. ‘Yeah. I made a bit of a mess of myself yesterday. Lesson learned.’
‘I hope so,’ I said.
He flicked a look at me and I wasn’t imagining the hostility. I had challenged him and he had lost, after all. I was surprised I hadn’t been struck down by a bolt of divine lightning.
‘Thanks for calling round.’ He started to close the door and two things happened: the choir fell silent and I stuck my foot in the door.
‘Hold it. What’s that?’ There were six, maybe seven seconds of silence before the organ thundered into life again, and in that time I heard, very clearly, the sound of sobbing.
‘I didn’t hear anything,’ Norris said.
‘Someone is crying,’ I said.
‘I heard it too.’ Maybe Derwent had and maybe he hadn’t, but he wasn’t about to let me down. ‘What’s going on?’
Norris’s shoulders slumped. ‘I’d hoped – I wanted – look, she got back very late last night. I don’t think she’s in any condition to speak to you.’
‘Who got back? Bethany? With Chloe? Where were they? Why didn’t you tell us?’ The questions were tumbling out of my mouth and Derwent brushed the back of my hand with his knuckles, so subtly that Norris would never have noticed it.
‘It’s Bethany. Bethany came home.’
‘Not Chloe?’
He shook his head.
‘When?’
‘Eleven – twelve. Some time like that.’
‘Did you tell anyone? The police?’
‘No.’ Norris shook his head. ‘I rang the officer we’d spoken to about her disappearance but he wasn’t on duty. I did leave a message for him.’