Common Murder

Rigano looked down at her and smiled grimly. “You can say that the police have had everything under control and both sets of demonstrators were dispersed peacefully.”

“And the assault?”

“The alleged assault, don’t you mean?”

It was Lindsay’s turn for the grim smile. “Alleged assault,” she said.

“A woman is in custody in connection with an alleged assault earlier this evening at Brownlow Common. We expect to charge her shortly. She will appear before Fordham magistrates tomorrow morning. That’s it.” He turned away from her abruptly as his men began carrying the peace women down the steps. As soon as one women was carried into the street and the police returned for the next, the first would outflank them and get back on to the steps. Lindsay knew the process of old. It would go on until police reinforcements arrived and outnumbered the protesters. It was a ritual dance that both sides had perfected.

When she saw a face she recognized being dumped on the pavement, Lindsay quickly went over and grabbed the woman’s arm before she could return to the steps. “Jackie,” Lindsay said urgently. “It’s me, Lindsay. I’m doing a story about the protest. Can you give me a quick quote?”

The young black woman grinned. She said, “Sure. You can put in your paper that innocent women are being victimized by the police because we want a nuclear-free world to bring up our children in. Peace women don’t go around beating up men. One of our friends has been framed, so we’re making a peaceful protest. Okay? Now I’ve got to get back. See you, Lindsay.”

There was no time for Lindsay to stay and watch what happened. She ran back to the phone box, passing a police van loaded with uniformed officers on the corner of the marketplace. Gavin was standing by the phone box, looking worried.

Lindsay dived into the box and dialed the office copy taker’s number. She got through immediately and started dictating her story. When she had finished, she turned to Gavin and said, “I’ll put you on to give your quotes in a sec, okay? Listen, what’s the name of this woman who’s accused of the assault? The lawyer will kill it, but I’d better put it in for reference for tomorrow.”

“She comes from Yorkshire, I think,” he said. “Her name’s Deborah Patterson.”

Lindsay’s jaw dropped. “Did you say… Deborah Patterson?”

He nodded. Lindsay was filled with a strange sense of unreality. Deborah Patterson. It was the last name she expected to hear. Once upon a time it had been the name she scribbled idly on her notepad while she waited for strangers to answer their telephones, conjuring up the mental image of the woman she spent her nights with. But that had been a long time ago. Now her ghost had come back to haunt her. That strong, funny woman who had once made her feel secure against the world was here in Fordham.

2

Lindsay stroked the four-year-old’s hair mechanically as she rocked her back and forth in her arms. “It’s okay, Cara,” she murmured at frequent intervals. The sobs soon subsided, and eventually the child’s regular breathing provided evidence that she had fallen asleep, worn out by the storm of emotions she’d suffered. “She’s dropped off at last,” Lindsay observed to Dr. Jane Thomas, who had taken charge of Cara after her mother’s dramatic arrest.

“I’ll put her in her bunk,” Jane replied. “Pass her over.” Lindsay awkwardly transferred the sleeping child to Jane, who carried her up the short ladder to the berth above the cab of the camper van that was Deborah’s home at the peace camp. She settled the child and tucked her in then returned to sit opposite Lindsay at the table. “What are your plans?” she asked.

“I thought I’d stay the night here. My shift finishes at midnight, and the boss seems quite happy for me to stop here tonight. Since it looks as if Debs won’t be using her bed, I thought I’d take advantage of it and keep an eye on Cara at the same time, if that sounds all right to you. I’ll have to go and phone Cordelia soon, though, or she’ll wonder where I’ve got to. Can you stay with Cara while I do that?”

“No sweat,” said Jane. “I was going to kip down here if you’d had to go back to London, but stay if you like. Cara’s known you all her life, after all. She knows she can trust you.”

Before Lindsay could reply, there was a quiet knock at the van’s rear door. Jane opened it to reveal a redheaded woman in her early thirties wearing the standard Sloan Ranger outfit of green wellies, needlecord jeans, designer sweater, and the inevitable Barbour jacket.

“Judith!” Jane exclaimed, “Am I glad to see you! Now we can find out exactly what’s going on. Lindsay, this is Judith Rowe, Deborah’s solicitor. She does all our legal work. Judith, this is Lindsay Gordon, who’s a reporter with the Daily Clarion, but more importantly, she’s an old friend of Deborah’s.”

Judith sat down beside Lindsay. “So it was you who left the note for Deborah at the police station?” she asked briskly.