Dead Wrong. Noelle Holten
had asked how he was doing and neither he nor his solicitor had made an objection. Maggie also came across a point where she had commented on his state of mind. Again, no objection or concern from his solicitor.
‘Is that a smile I see on your face?’ Nathan called out from his office.
‘I’ve just read the statements and there’s no way I was at fault here.’ She bit her lip.
‘Exactly. See what I mean, you’re shit hot on details. Wish I could say the same about me!’
Maggie laughed. Nathan was a ‘by the book’ officer, but his notes could do with some work. She frequently felt he was her moral compass. Whenever she was unsure of something, she often thought to herself what would Nathan do? Though she would never tell him that.
Maggie headed upstairs to meet with Donald Stanford from the CCRC. She wiped her hands on her trousers before knocking on the door. Her nerves were on the verge of exploding.
‘Come in.’ The deep bellowing voice did nothing to set her mind at ease.
‘Hello, sir. DC Maggie Jamieson.’ She held out her hand, waiting for him to shake it.
The man stood and extended his arm. ‘Pleased to meet you. Can I call you Maggie? And please, call me Don. Make yourself comfortable.’
‘Thank you.’ She took a seat across from him.
‘I take it you know why you’re here? Your DI should have explained the process, that way we can just get on with things and I won’t have to keep you from work.’
Maggie nodded.
‘Good. I’ve read all the statements taken from the moment Bill Raven was arrested and subsequently charged. I have to say, you seem to be very detailed, Maggie.’ He smiled smugly.
‘Thank you. I try to ensure that all bases are covered.’ Maggie forced herself to smile back.
‘Yes, you do.’
‘Is there a problem?’ She was a bit surprised by the frown on his face.
‘Err, well …’ He leaned forward. ‘I wouldn’t say a problem, but I did come across something of interest.’ He cleared his throat. ‘Mr Raven was questioned a few times, for long but manageable periods. You seem to take great care about his well-being, making sure he was comfortable.’
‘Yes …’ Maggie felt a bead of sweat run down her spine.
‘During the second interview,’ he turned his laptop towards Maggie. Pointed to a paragraph. ‘Could you read that section for me?’
Maggie leaned forward and scanned over the text, then nodded when she’d finished. Damn!
She’d wait to hear what he had to say before responding.
He spun the laptop towards himself. ‘Mr Raven tells you that he stole a pig, killed it, collected its blood and brought it back to his flat. Did you investigate that claim further?’
Maggie swallowed. ‘I’d have to check my notes, but as far as I can remember, we didn’t. When Bill Raven was arrested, the duty GP was concerned that he may have been suffering from drug-induced psychosis. His behaviour was erratic. One moment he was lucid, the next he was rambling about nonsense. The GP gave him meds and said we could interview him. When he fed us that story about stealing a pig, we believed it was a psychotic episode. If you look at the transcript, he starts talking about blood dripping from the ceiling, the way it looked under the glare of the lights, what it felt like to walk barefooted through pools of blood. Then he gets increasingly distressed and starts making strange noises, shouting, grunting and squealing like a pig.’ Maggie took a sip of water and tried not to think about those initial interviews and the long hours she spent with him, listening to his every word. ‘I’m sure you’ve noted I stopped to ask him if he was OK. Our reason for not wasting time on pursuing that point was the fact that no one reported a missing or stolen pig. As you can see from the interview, Mr Raven mentioned the pig and then moved on to something else entirely.’
‘Yes, he did. However, just prior to his appeal – around a month ago now – it seems further tests were undertaken, and that Mr Raven did indeed, at some point, have pig blood in his flat. You see, despite the initial tests finding nothing, a piece of wood was retested, and a small droplet had not been affected by the cleaning agent he had used.’ He raised his eyebrows and continued. ‘Not only that, but when we checked the records, a local farmer had reported the theft of a pig.’ He stopped there and Maggie sat back in her chair.
There was a long moment of silence and Maggie felt her hand begin to tremble. ‘With all due respect, sir, that offence would have been dealt with by another team. There was more than enough other circumstantial evidence that led us to believe Raven was guilty – his confession for one.’
‘DC Jamieson …’ Maggie shifted uncomfortably in her seat as he leaned forward. ‘Mr Raven alleges that he tried to tell you about the pig incident numerous times, to explain why there was blood in his flat, but you dismissed it. Because he was so tired, after hours of interrogation, he felt the only way that you would relent would be to admit to everything.’
Maggie let out a bitter laugh. Her hands balled into fists and she could feel the heat rise on her neck. ‘The statements are all there. Are you insinuating that I doctored evidence? We wouldn’t have known about the murder, or the missing women, if not for Mr Raven coming to the police station and confessing.’
‘Please. Calm down.’ He raised his hands in a patronizing manner. ‘I’m not saying you doctored evidence at all. However, Mr Raven claims he told you things … in private …’
‘I can assure you – if Mr Raven ever said anything to me in private, it would have been recorded in my notebook and then transferred onto the system. It just didn’t happen.’
‘Well, that’s what we’re here to—’
‘I’m sorry,’ Maggie cut him off. ‘This is getting ridiculous. I thought this would be more objective but you’re all playing into Raven’s hands. He must be laughing in his cell right now. I’ll admit, I underestimated him, but he is involved in these crimes.’
‘Maggie, don’t—’
‘And if you don’t start focusing, more people are going to die. I’m through answering your questions without my union representative.’ Maggie stood and picked up her bag, then stalked from the room without another word.
Bill had heard voices for as long as he could remember. It had started with the weed, but he’d graduated to heroin and other class A drugs just before his eighteenth birthday. The whispers had only got worse. His parents were so fucked on crack that they barely noticed; his mother a schizo like him who never went to her appointments. Bill was raised off and on by his grandmother from the age of nine, and she was the only person who made him feel loved. He missed her home, his childhood home. So many happy memories, all lost when she had to sell it and move into a smaller place. She had died before any of the crimes came to light and he attended her funeral knowing that she would never learn of this period in his life. One day he would be free to leave flowers on her grave.
Whenever things had become too much, and the cravings returned, he thought about his waste-of-space mother. The beatings, the way she leaned close and screamed, spittle showering his face …
‘So how has everything been since my last visit, Mrs Raven?’ The woman looked around the room and must have noticed the dirty walls and smell from the couch as she rubbed her nose.
‘Just great. He’s been a good boy, haven’t you darlin’?’ He flinched when she