CHAPTER 18
“Hello, Omar. I’m DC Owens. Diane, or Di, or whatever you feel comfy with. Blake being treating you well, or just boring you talking about sport?”

The slim young man was a mess, dressings everywhere I could see, and what were clearly his parents radiated a mixture of worry and anger. There were little touches by the mother to the father’s arm, and I stood for a couple of seconds trying to work out where the dominance lay, who had the lead in their family.

Chris piped up, camp as an entire Everest expedition, as ever.

“Drinkies, anyone? I’m going to troll off to the canteen!”

He took our orders and minced—really minced---out of the door as the father sat open-mouthed and the mother giggled. Omar shook his head, then winced.

“Is he always that over the top?”

I pulled another seat in from the corridor as I mulled over that one.

“Yes and no, Omar. Mind if I call you that?”

A smile. “I said to the others, yeah, it’s easier. Mister Mohammed makes me sound like my dad, isn’t it?”

His mother looked up, and I had been spot on with the dynamics.

"Hiya, girl. Debbie and Fahmi, that’s us. Done all the introductions, all the friendly rubbish, if you see what I mean. Not that friendly’s rubbish, but, well, business is what we need. Just that this needs sorting. What you got for us?”

Set your stall out, DC Owens.

“What I have are some pictures I would like to show Omar, er, Debbie, and see if he recognises anything”

Her face hardened, almost literally, as it set into planes and lines of tension. Fahmi’s gaze locked on me as his wife asked her question, quietly, politely, but with a very dark undertone.

“Would these be pictures of suspects you might have, Diane?”

“Need to know just now, Debbie”

“And you would like us to step outside for a moment while you show these pictures to our boy?”

“Er, yes”

“Well, as a simple Welsh couple, fully law-abiding in all ways, we shall have to assist you with this one, won’t we, love? We will get their names at the trial I am absolutely sure we will have, isn’t that right, Detective Constable?”

The two of them left the room as the breath I had been holding left me. Bloody hell---and Blake thought our boss was frightening! I put the files on the bedside unit, making sure that Evans’ was at the bottom of the heap.

“Omar, Blake tells me that you saw some tattoos on the hand of one of the attackers”

He nodded, once again gingerly, and I continued.

“Now, none of this is evidential, is it? I know Blake has got you to dictate what happened, and that is your evidence for court”

“Yeah, and that Inspector woman. This is going to court?”

“Well, yes, as long as we can get the lot of them”

“I meant you are taking this seriously?”

I looked at him, and saw myself in a bed with two arseholes telling me my fortune, and then a vague figure, Elaine’s sister, same process unfolding.

“Abso fucking lutely. Sorry. You really believed this would be allowed to go away without being sorted?”

He grinned, shyly. “Well, there have been so many other kickings, and nobody’s done anything over them. Just fairies getting a slap, innit?

I gave him my best Elaine-smile, as feral as I could make it. “Not this time, mate”

I turned to the pile of brown folders, and used the look away to compose myself.

“We have a number of leads we are following, so your cooperation here is solely to help us decide if it is worth pursuing them. I have a number of pictures of tattoos, and I just want you to let us know if any of them look familiar”

I started the process, and to my relief he seemed to be all there, switched on and paying full attention. My worry had been that the beating would have left him with issues, gaps that might leave him unable to give us what we needed, what he needed himself.

“No… no… God, those are shit, I hope he didn’t actually pay to get them done! No…”

We worked through them, one by one, until I arrived at Evans’ picture, and as soon as I brought it out, Omar started to shake. Chris had entered the room with our drinks partway through, and he simply reached across for the boy’s hand.

“Strength, love. We’re all here, yeah? All on your side. Talk to Di, now”

I looked him in the eye when he could regain the strength to raise his head again.

“You recognise that one, Omar?”

His mouth twisted. “Yeah, that’s the one. Not the biggest cock, but he still hurt”

Bastards. All of them. There was a knock at the door, and our uniform was there.

“Got a visitor, Di”

It was another young man, and I could see Dai Gould in him as I waved him over to the bed. We left Omar and Scott to comfort each other as we packed up for the return to the nick.

Bastards. I didn’t care whether Debbie and Omar believed us, I fully intended to get every single one of the shits.

Blake was quiet on the trip back, as I had to drive the three of us, Elaine having purloined the other car. I tried to break the silence in as gentle a way as I could.

“Dad says ta for the invitation. He’s off that day, as well”

“Really? Should be a good game, they’ve got the Scarlets”

“Don’t get him too drunk, mate”

“Didn’t have him down as a drinker, Di. Anyway, I am sure your Mam wants him back compos mentis”

I had put the call in, and Mam’s reaction hadn’t exactly surprised me.

“Yeah, she says she’s doing a roast for the Sunday. Asked if you fancied dropping by”

“I could be up for that. No tongues, though”

“You what?”

“Alun texted me. Watch your back with any female PCSOs, girl!”

“Sod!”

“Slapper!”

That little sally brought a welcome burst of levity, but I noticed Chris was quieter than usual.

"What’s up, mate?”

“Ah, love, just the mess they left that boy in. I mean, I have most certainly met my share of arseholes, and no, Blake, don’t even think of making that a joke. I have had my kickings, the abuse, the whole shebang, but what they did to that poor boy went so far beyond what I’ve experienced it made me shudder. There’s going to be a death if we don’t stop them”

Blake turned to him, sat as I was in the driving seat for one.

“Then we make bloody sure we stop it, Chris. That’s what we will do”

The Inspector collared me as we entered our room.

“How was he with the pictures, Di?”

“Don’t think the lad should ever take up poker, Elaine. He started shaking when he saw the Evans picture; I left him with his boyfriend, he was starting to get distressed again”

Everyone was back, and Elaine stepped into the middle of the room, holding a sheaf of reports. What had SOCO turned up?

“Right, boys and girls, we have had some very valuable confirmation of the identity of one of the rapists, and that is our little friend Evans. His tattoos have been confirmed by the latest victim, and this morning we have received a positive on his DNA from the fibres and blood from the hedge. The DNA traces on the used condom have unsurprisingly come from Omar, but we also have a match on of all things a taxi driver who was arrested three years ago for indecent assault but never charged”

I glared at her. What fucking reason had they come up with for dropping that one? The boss gave me a little gesture, no, leave it for now, before she continued the briefing.

“No discussion today on that one, boys and girls. We all know what the CPS can be like. Our second suspect lives over on the East of, er, Swansea. His name is Manfred Hansen. Now we have the name, I want his face looked for in the camera footage, and from the obs teams we’ll be putting on him. Let’s put him together with Evans, and then we can look for a pattern of movement. I want all the times and days they have been seen together. And two of you find out who he cabs for and what his vehicle is, and feed that into the mix. Boring work for now, but we have an opening on this one. Let’s make the most of it”

A week later, after some stupendously boring reading, photo comparisons and visits to a number of Local Intelligence Officers (“No, ta; just leave us with your files, we know who we’re looking for, and you don’t need to, just yet”) we started getting a much, much fuller picture. Ellen had his employers, Candice had a record on Hansen’s wife, and working patterns started to gel. That one oversight, the condom, had given us the shit, and Evans’ carelessness with a thorny hedge had tied him directly to the vehicle. After those seven days of slog, we had two names, a car and a transit van. There were still three bastards more to pin down, but nothing yet to go on.

I could have screamed with frustration. Thankfully, we had a decent weekend, for once, Dad coming home a little merrier than I remembered seeing him. It wasn’t quite at the ‘you’re my beshtest mate’ stage with Blake, but they were clearly happy in each other’s company, a win for Cardiff not hindering the process. Mam took one look at their grins and laughed.

“I think tonight is a trip down the chippy by way of the off-licence. Son, there’s a spare bed if you want”