Author's note: The Community center described here really exists. I spotted it on Google Earth and its location and surroundings suited me well but I've never been there in person so please forgive any mistake I may have made in my description of the place.
Lynley and Barbara spent the evening working on the case. Barbara had a look at Follet's bank account but there was no trace of unusual movements while Lynley read the pathologist's report. It was indeed a massive blow to his head, resulting in a fractured skull and brain hemorrhage, which had killed Follett and it had been made with an iron bar. A first blow had come from behind, and then a second one more frontal had been the lethal one. The range for the time of death had been slightly shifted and narrowed to between 11 pm and 2pm. Blood samples showed no trace of alcohol or drugs.
In the meantime Winston had found and read the file on the sexual harassment complaint and it confirmed Follett's version of the story. The coppers involved in the case had found no evidence of any wrongdoing on the part of the teacher, and a psychiatrist had confirmed the girl's slight mental disorder. Winston informed Lynley and Barbara of his findings over a quick diner at the Met's cafeteria and proposed to contact the girl's parents to check whether they knew of anybody who thought Follett had really attacked their daughter and deserved to pay for his crime. Lynley agreed it was worth checking even if the chances of it were poor. After the diner Nkata left to go home and Lynley and Barbara did a bit more work till it was time to go to the Community Center.
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They arrived there at around a quarter to ten. The Community Center was located in a residential area not far from the Acton Main line. It was a two-storey rectangular building remote from the main road with a triangular car park surrounded by the garden hedges of the houses built around that hid it from sight. About fifteen cars were parked on the dimly lit car park. Lynley and Barbara entered the building and asked the security agent their way. Lynley went to see Blake whereas Barbara knocked at the door of the English classroom. Clare Davenport came to open the door. She had regained some composure but was still very pale.
- Good evening, Sergeant Havers. Please, come in, we were waiting for you.
Barbara stepped into a standard meeting room with tables arranged in a U-shape, a video-projector and a paperboard. About ten people were in the room, men and women of various ethnic origins, aged between 25 and 60 as far as Barbara could tell. To her amazement, she also spotted Josh Whickam.
She introduced herself and asked them the usual questions: had they noticed anything out of the ordinary, had Follett looked upset or afraid, did they know of anybody who may had wanted to harm him…She got the same reaction a teacher gets when asking for a volunteer to come out to the board: some were absorbed in the contemplation of their hands, others were reviewing their lecture notes, others still were looking through the window as if they could actually see something in the darkness surrounding the building. Barbara couldn't meet their eyes. She exhaled a sigh of irritation and decided that desperate situations called for desperate remedies. She threw her bag on a desk and her blouson on the back of a chair revealing a T-shirt with the inscription "I'm making perfect sense, you're just not keeping up!" [1] and perched herself on a table, facing the audience.
- All right. I'm a copper and I came here tonight to ask you some questions about your late teacher. And you're all wondering if I'm trustworthy or if I would twist your words to make them fit whatever story I may come up with to please my guv. I understand. Believe me, I do. We have the same effect on pretty much everybody, and to be perfectly honest with you, there's a whole section of the police instruction manual explaining why highly cooperative people should be regarded as suspicious. So where does that leave us? Well, I could tell you I don't care if my guv is pleased with me, by the by she's not, never was and won't change her mind any time soon. I could tell you that I'm only interested in finding Follett's murderer. I could tell you that I don't give a damn if you saw something while you were with your other other half or while you were buying pot. I could tell you that but you'd only have my word for it. So I suggest we resort to a third party, to someone you can trust because he's got nothing to gain by lying about me. Josh?
As the man didn't answer, Barbara raised her voice.
- Joshua Whickam! You poor little thing. Standing up to Robbie may be too hard for you but you could, at least, put these people in the picture about me. Or maybe you'd be more comfortable if I weren't in the room?
With that, she jumped on her feet, ready to leave. Josh rose reluctantly, grumbling: "It's OK, Barb, no need to make a fuss", then he addressed his fellow students:
- Barb, er, Detective Sergeant Havers and I were neighbours when we were kids. I know her well and as you've noticed she doesn't mince her words. She's all right. She says what she thinks and she does what she says. You can trust her. No problem.
He sat down again on his chair and one of the oldest women in the room, a Somali with a black hijab, rose to speak.
- I am sorry I cannot help you, Sergeant, but I wish I could. Mr. Follett was a good man. He was very cultivated but he never looked down on anyone. He lived as one of us here. He was the one who saw the need for the evening classes and set them up. He took on his spare time to teach us how to read. I loved this man. My grand-son has been one of his students at the college and he loved this man. I don't know what evil creature killed him but if I had any clue I'd tell you Sergeant, because everybody here in this room should help you. We owe this to Mr. Follett. I wish you good luck in your investigation, Sergeant.
Barbara nodded gratefully and then it was as if the woman had given some sort of green light: her little speech had loosened the tongues and people began to speak. Barbara grabbed her notebook and started taking notes.
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Lynley went to the classroom where Timothy Blake was giving the IT classes. He knocked at the door and entered without waiting for an answer. Blake was bent over an old man's shoulder and was showing how to modify the font of a document. He turned to the door to see who was coming in and recognized Lynley.
- Inspector? You want to talk to me? Can you wait 10 minutes? We're almost done.
Lynley nodded and stood by the window, watching the room and the people inside. The room was similar to the IT classroom at the college except that, here, most of the students were pensioners. A cheerful old lady winked at him and tapped on the seat next to her. Lynley readily accepted the invitation and went to sit near her.
- Good evening, I'm Gladys.
- Good evening, I'm DI Thomas Lynley.
- Very pleased to meet you, Inspector. No matter how hard they try, all the social networks in the world will never replace a real face-to-face conversation, especially when one of the faces is as beautiful as yours.
Lynley smiled. He estimated the woman's age at around 80.
- I must admit, though, that I enjoy being able to talk to my grand-children via a webcam. They live in South Africa, those little darlings, so we don't meet very often.
Lynley heartily concurred with her that Internet was a good means to keep in touch with the dispersed members of one's family. If only Mother could start using it, he thought. She was still sending him letters.
- Did Mr. Blake teach you how to use Internet?
- Yes, that's a lecture on Internet and modern communication tools: emails, webcam, social networks. At the beginning I was afraid I wouldn't understand a thing but it's easy. Mr. Blake is a very good teacher.
-That or you're a particularly brilliant student.
- Oooooohhh, what a naughty flatterer you are, she purred. If I were a tad younger…
- Much younger, quipped her neighbour, a Sikh with deep black eyes and an impressive grey beard.
- Piara, you boor! She gave him a light slap on his forearm and he smiled.
Obviously, those two are friends, Lynley thought. And suddenly he had a vision of Barbara and him in forty years' time. If we can stand each other till then, of course, he added for himself. Or if she doesn't die from a tobacco-induced cancer in the meantime. I really must convince her to give up smoking. The touch of a hand on his wrist brought him out of his daydream.
- How old are you, Inspector, if I'm not indiscreet?
- I'm 38.
- Ah, 38…What a nice age. I'm 96. And still going strong!
Lynley was taken aback. She looked so fresh, so full of life. He would have never guessed her age.
At that moment Blake ended the class.
- Let's call it a day, Ladies and Gentlemen. Thank you for your attention and see you next week.
The students rose to leave and soon Lynley and Blake were the only remaining persons in the room.
The detective noticed that Blake had changed his shirt for a T-shirt offering a reward for the capture of Schrodinger's cat dead and alive. He briefly considered asking him where he'd bought his T-shirt as Barbara's birthday was fast approaching but he refrained from doing so. No need to encourage her bad habits, he thought, Winston's already taking care of that.
- I've seen that you met Gladys. She's by far my oldest student but she could show a thing or two to my college students.
- She seems to be a very nice lady.
- Oh, she is. She's always smiling and she likes flirting a bit. She first came here with Piara, the Sikh guy. They make an odd couple, the two of them, as he looks like a grumpy old man but they're great friends. But you're not here to hear me talk about Gladys, so what can I do for you, Inspector?
- Telling me the truth would be a good start, don't you think?
- I'm sorry, I don't understand.
- Oh, I'm sure you do, Mr. Blake. It seems that, for the last month or so, Mark Follett and you have been busy working on a very special project Follett wouldn't talk to anyone about, not even to his girlfriend. I believe this has something to do with the suicide of Carrie Mulligan, who happened to have been a student of Follett's. Care to explain me?
Lynley's gaze was fixed on Blake and he saw several emotions pass on the teacher's face: annoyance, apprehension, weariness, relief.
Blake let out a sigh.
- All right. As I'm sure you already know, Carrie committed suicide a month ago. Mark has been quite choked by her sudden death, all the more since nobody understood why she'd done that. He talked to her friends at the college and nobody seemed to have a clue. He then tried the social networks on the Net to see if Carrie had posted anything that could speak of her state of mind and that's where he found it.
- What? What did he find?
- A video. There's a party going on and it's pretty wild. Everyone's drunk, and then we see Carrie, and she's comatose, drunk and possibly drugged, and then there are…
Blake swallowed hard, he was struggling with the words and Lynley had a dreadful feeling he knew what the professor would say.
- There are these guys, and they…they rape her, they rape her!, three of them, and they film the whole scene, can you imagine that!, and they're laughing and people around just don't care, they let them rape the poor girl and everybody seems to think it's funny! And then someone put the video on the Net, and apparently when Mark found it there had been over 25 000 viewers of the video. Can you believe that? 25 000 morons who think that a girl being raped is nothing but a good show! That's sickening! What sort of world is that, Inspector?
Lynley couldn't answer right away; the lump in his throat was just too big. He had seen the worst of humanity in his job but was still amazed at how there seemed to be no end to the level of perversion one can reach. Each time he thought humanity had touched bottom, somehow someone always managed to put one's hand on a spade and dig further.
- I understand how you feel, Mr. Blake. Unfortunately people do have a taste for voyeurism and sensationalism even, or perhaps especially, when it's at someone else's expense. I suppose the individuals on that video could not be identified?
- No, that was some sort of fancy-dress party, everyone was wearing a mask. Carrie's one had been removed so that everyone could see it was her.
- What did Follett do after he found the video?
- He went to see Carrie's parents. I tried to talk him out of doing it, because I thought there was no need to add to their grief but Mark told me that he had to do it. That the blokes on the video had to be brought on trial and that Carrie's parents ought to know what may have led their daughter to commit suicide. He told me that his brother had committed suicide because he was being bullied at school and no one had helped him. He told me that was the same story as for Carrie: in the end the victim paid the highest price and the aggressors were left unpunished. He hoped Carrie's parents would lodge a complaint, at least for the rape. He certainly wasn't prepared to hear what they told him.
- Which was?
- Which was that they knew about the rape. Carrie had left a note explaining the circumstances of the rape and that she couldn't face the buzz around it on the Net and, that she was too ashamed to talk to anyone about it and too ashamed to carry on. And the parents were feeling just the same. They wouldn't talk about it.
- Wait a minute. You're telling me the parents knew their daughter had been raped and bullied and had taken her own life because she couldn't cope with the aftermath of her aggression and still they didn't want to contact the police? asked Lynley incredulously. He couldn't believe his ears.
- That's exactly what happened and let me tell you that Mark and I were as appalled by their reaction as you are, Inspector. Apparently they are very conservative people. They said Carrie had drunk a lot and had done drugs at the party and, they didn't want to sully their daughter's memory. But Mark told me he'd had the feeling they thought that somehow she was a bit responsible for what had happened to her. That's the world turned upside down. The victim's ashamed of having been raped, her own parents are ashamed of her, and the attackers walk free and have a good laugh.
- But Follett wouldn't let it rest.
- That's right. He tried to convince Carrie's parents but to no avail so he decided to take the matter in his own hands. And that's when I came onboard.
- What was your role?
- Mark wanted to know if it was possible to find the IP address, and from it the location, of the computer used to put the video online. He had done some research on various online forums to find a methodology but he soon realized that he couldn't do it by himself, so he asked me for help. I told him it was illegal, that only the police was allowed to do that, and under some special circumstances only. But he convinced me. He told me he wasn't trying to identify the rapists but that he wanted to talk to whoever had posted the video, making him or her understand the consequences of this act. I knew Mark, he was some sort of idealist, I knew he meant what he told me, so I helped him. I must confess I've done some hacking when I was younger, and I still have some contacts in the field. Not that I hack any longer. I have a job I like, and a very nice life, and I don't want to jeopardize all that.
- Did you find the IP address?
- Yes, and from it the computer.
- So you know who posted the video? asked Lynley impatiently. He could feel the warmth of anger growing in his chest. Blake was telling his story by fits and starts and the detective was tired of having to worm information out of him.
- No, not who posted the video. But to my greatest horror and to Mark's, it turned out the computer was one of those used for the edition of the Insider.
- The college newspaper?
- That's right.
- Who has access to this computer?
- The students working on the newspaper and some staff members, myself included. The room is always locked. There's a safety lock and one needs to know the code to enter.
- I need the list of everybody who has access to this room.
- Sure. You'll have it tomorrow morning on your desk.
- No, you didn't understand me Mr. Blake. I want the list now. You've delayed this investigation long enough by not telling me the truth when I saw you this morning. Why did you conceal this information? Can't you see the importance of it?
Blake looked at his feet, uneasy.
- I'm so sorry, Inspector. But I didn't think it had anything to do with Mark's murder.
- Notwithstanding the fact that this was not for you to decide Mr. Blake, a freelance investigation of the rape and suicide of a young girl seems to me to be quite the sort of things that could result in murder should the rapists feel threatened, don't you think?
- They're only kids! They wouldn't-
Lynley didn't let him finish.
- Do any harm? May I remind you what's on that video you've mentioned?
- But a murder…
- They raped a girl, humiliated her and drove her into suicide out of despair. This was murder! Lynley thundered unable to control his rage and exasperation any longer and the result on Blake was immediate.
The man slumped down onto a chair, all colours drawn out of his cheeks. He drew his hands to his face and Lynley thought he was going to cry but he merely rubbed his face hard as if trying to wake up from a bad dream.
- You must think I'm an idiot, Inspector. And you're bloody right. I'm an idiot and an egoist. When you came and asked me all these questions this morning, I thought I had to respect Carrie's parents' decision and not tell you what I knew about the rape but, the truth is that I was afraid that you'll learn about my participation in Mark's investigation and how I broke the law doing so. This tells a lot about what sort of man I am, don't you think?
- Don't blame yourself too much, Mr. Blake. It's never easy to put someone's interest before one's own. But this is your chance to do what's right: help me solve your friend's murder.
Blake considered the detective thoughtfully then rose and went to the paperboard. He tore a piece of paper and taking a marker pen he wrote a list of 7 names on it.
- Here's the list, Inspector. I didn't put my name on it but you already know I have access to those computers.
- Thank you, Mr. Blake, Lynley said pocketing the list. Is there anything else I should know?
- I think that's all I can tell you but you may want to talk to the security agent at the reception desk. After the lectures, we hand him the keys of the rooms and I know that Mark liked to spend some minutes talking with him before leaving. As Mark had given a lesson the night he was killed, the guard should have been the last person to see him alive, apart from his murderer of course.
Lynley bid the teacher goodnight and left. He went to the English classroom in search of Barbara but the room was locked so he headed for the reception desk where the guard was killing time reading. As he saw Lynley approaching he put down his book.
- Did you find what you were looking for, sir?
- Let's say I've learnt a thing or two.
- That's what the adult classes are for, the man replied wittily.
Lynley laughed.
- That's true. I'm sorry, I have not introduced myself. I'm DI Lynley, New Scotland Yard. I'm in charge of the investigation on Mark Follett's murder.
- I guessed so when I saw you arrived earlier. That's terrible what happened to Mr. Follett. He was such a decent man.
- Did you know him well?
- Oh, no, but I close the Community Center so we met twice a week, when he came to give his lectures. We sometimes talked a bit, about books mainly, when he came to fetch the key to his room or to bring it back, but that was all.
- Did you notice anything unusual the night he was killed?
- No but I remember we didn't talk much that evening, he was in a rush.
- In a rush? Where to? Do you know?
- I'm afraid not. At the moment I thought he was going to meet his girlfriend. He had told me he had one so I just assumed he was running up to her.
- Mr. Follett had been badly beaten about a week before his death. He told his friends he had been attacked near the Community Center. Did you know about that?
- I sure noticed the bruises but I didn't ask and he didn't tell but… near the Center you say? I'm surprised, I'm always the last to leave, I should have…Wait a minute…Did it happen last Monday, by any chance?
- That's right.
- Ah, it was different that evening. I was the one who was in a rush. My car had broken down and my daughter had come to fetch me so I locked everything in no time and I dashed off. When I left Mr. Follett was on the phone, on the car park.
- Was he alone?
- For all I saw he was alone but I noticed his car was not parked in front of the building. We don't have many parking spaces so sometimes he parked his car by the side of the building. There's no light there, somebody must have been waiting for him. Christ, I shouldn't have let him alone.
- You've no reason to blame yourself, Mr…er, Mister… ?
- Jefferson Ludumba, sir.
- Did you notice people hanging about on the car park or around the Center in the days or weeks prior to the attack on Follett?
- No, Inspector. I would have gone and met them to know what they were up to. We had never had any problem here until last Monday.
- Do you have a CCTV system?
- We've got two old cameras: one at the entrance and one round the building near the back door but they stopped working a long time ago. We keep them only to act as a deterrent.
- I see. Well, thank you Mr. Ludumba. Have a good evening.
- Likewise, Inspector.
Lynley went out. On the car park Barbara was waiting for him, smoking near the car. From the way she was puffing at her cigarette and from her scowling look, he knew something was bothering her.
- What's wrong?
- Josh.
[1] Courtesy of Dr. Who!