‘This restaurant. The Itria,’ Henley said, pointing to it. ‘I’ve been here a couple of times with Rob. You should take your wife.’
Ramouter opened his mouth to respond but then thought better of it.
Henley scanned the posters on the walls of the Starlight Community Centre. The elderly woman on reception had directed them to room four which had been booked for the legal clinic and victim support group.
‘I’m surprised a place like this is still going,’ Ramouter commented, stopping outside a community library. Every table in the room was occupied with people, either reading on their own or being taught to read. A young mother and her child sat with an older woman as they conversed in Swahili.
‘There would be more of them if the government wasn’t intent on shutting every good thing down,’ said Henley. She thought back to the moments when her sanity had been saved by the mother and baby groups at her local library. ‘Here we are.’ She pushed a door open.
A couple sitting on a sofa in the corner looked up, their chatter immediately silenced. The room was set up for a meeting with the chairs arranged in a semi-circle.
‘Can I help you? You look a bit lost.’
Both Henley and Ramouter turned around to find themselves facing a woman in her mid-forties. Her long, thick brown hair framed her face, but it couldn’t hide the visible scars that stretched like a road map across rugged terrain from her throat, along the lower right side of her face and ended at her temples. She adjusted the pink and grey chiffon scarf that had been draped loosely around her neck.
‘I’m Detective Inspector Henley and this is Detective Constable Ramouter.’
Ramouter flinched when he realised that Henley omitted the words ‘my partner’ from her introduction. She was still pissed.
‘I’m looking for Jorge Menjivar,’ said Henley. She put her warrant card away and scanned the room. The last time she’d seen Jorge was when she’d sat in his parents’ living room and taken his victim impact statement. She’d been impressed by his resilience and his determination not to be defined by Fox-Carnell’s attempt on his life.
‘He popped out to grab a coffee. He’s not a fan of the coffee in here, not that I can blame him.’ The woman led them to the office at the back of the room. ‘You can wait for him in here.’
She walked off quickly, phone in hand, before Henley had a chance to ask for her name.
‘I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about DC Copeland,’ said Ramouter. ‘I just assumed.’
‘You should know better than to assume anything.’
‘I know,’ answered Ramouter. His phone began to vibrate in his pocket. He pulled it out, grateful for the opportunity not to push the matter further with Henley. ‘That was Ezra,’ he said. ‘Anthony couriered Nathan Hall’s phone over and he was able to get into it.’
‘Anything useful?’ she asked.
‘He’s sent some files but the reception in here is rubbish. I’ve barely got one bar.’
‘We’ll deal with it later,’ said Henley, extending her hand to the man who had just arrived. ‘Jorge Menjivar. I’m not sure if you remember me. I’m DI Anjelica Henley.’
‘Your face looks familiar,’ Jorge said, switching the coffee to his left hand so that he could shake hers. ‘But I can’t think how we would have met.’
‘You were very ill at the time, but I took your statement,’ Henley reminded him. She released Jorge’s hand and closed the door behind him.
‘How could I forget. You came to my parents’ house with the other detective, the tall one,’ Jorge said, taking a seat.
‘That would have been Stephen Pellacia.’ Henley remained standing.
‘I take it this is about her, the nurse?’
‘Sian Fox-Carnell. Yes,’ said Henley. ‘And sorry, I forgot to introduce you to my partner, DC Ramouter.’
Jorge nodded in Ramouter’s direction. ‘If I’m honest, I’m not sure how I can help you.’
‘What do you do here?’ asked Henley.
‘I run a victim support group. After everything that happened to me, I knew I had to give something back. I completed my degrees in psychology and neuroscience of mental health a couple of years ago at Middlesex University. I have group sessions a couple of days a week. I appreciate that therapy isn’t cheap, and trauma isn’t means tested. It affects everyone and everyone should have access to help. Sorry, I can get on my soap box a bit,’ Jorge apologised.
‘I understand completely,’ said Henley. ‘It’s a good way to give back.’
‘That woman. The nurse. She tried to kill me, but I survived. It would be wrong of me not to use my life to be of service,’ said Jorge.
