Dead Like You

national average of 4 percent to just above 2 percent. This is not acceptable.’
    ‘Do you think that’s down to the attitude of some police officers?’ asked Norman Potting, dressed in one of the tired old tweedy jackets that reeked of pipe smoke that he always seemed to wear. In Grace’s view they made him look more like an elderly geography teacher than a detective. ‘Or that some victims are just not reliable witnesses – because of other agendas?’
    ‘Other agendas, Norman? Like that old attitude police officers used to have that women who got raped asked for it? Is that what you mean?’
    Potting grunted, non-committally.
    ‘For God’s sake, what planet are you on?’ Bella Moy, who had never liked him, rounded on him furiously. ‘It’s like living a real Life on Mars working with you.’
    The DS shrugged defensively and then mumbled, barely audibly, as if he wasn’t convinced enough to say whatever he had on his mind more boldly, ‘We know that some women cry rape out of guilt, don’t they? It does make you wonder.’
    ‘Makes you wonder what?’ Bella demanded.
    Grace was glaring at him, scarcely able to believe his ears. He was so angry he was tempted to kick the man off his investigation right now. He was beginning to think he had made a mistake bringing this tactless man in on such a sensitive case. Norman Potting was a good policeman, with a range of detective skills that were, unfortunately, not matched by his social skills. Emotional intelligence was one of the major assets of a good detective. On a scale of one to a hundred, Potting would have rated close to zero on this score. Yet he could be damned effective, particularly on outside enquiries. Sometimes.
    ‘Do you want to stay on this investigation, Norman?’ Grace asked him.
    ‘Yes, Chief, I do. I think I could contribute to it.’
    ‘Really?’ Grace retorted. ‘Then let’s get something straight, from the start.’ He glanced around the assembled company. ‘I hate rapists as much as I hate murderers. Rapists destroy their victims’ lives. Whether it is a stranger rape, a date rape or a rape by someone the victim knew and thought they trusted. And there’s no difference in that, whether it’s female rape or male rape, OK? But at this moment we happen to be dealing with attacks on women, which are more common.’
    He stared pointedly at Norman Potting, then went on: ‘Being raped is like being in a bad car crash that leaves you disabled for life. One moment a woman is going about her day or her night, in her comfort zone, the next moment she is shattered, and she’s all smashed up in the wreckage. She faces years of counselling, years of terror, nightmares, mistrust. No matter how much help she receives, she will never be the same again. She will never lead what we know as a normal life again. Do you understand what I’m saying, Norman? Some women who are raped end up maiming themselves afterwards. They scrub their vaginas with wire wool and bleach because they have such a need to get rid of what happened. That’s just a small part of what being raped can do to someone. Do you understand?’ He looked around. ‘Do you all understand?’
    ‘Yes, chief,’ Potting mumbled in his thick burr. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive.’
    ‘Does a man with four failed marriages know the meaning of the word insensitive ,’ Bella Moy asked, angrily snatching a Malteser from the box, popping it in her mouth and crunching it.
    ‘OK, Bella, thank you,’ Grace said. ‘I think Norman knows where I’m coming from.’
    Potting stared at his notepad, his face a dark shade of beetroot, and nodded, chastened.
    Grace looked back down at his notes. ‘We have another slightly sensitive issue. The Chief Constable, the Deputy Chief Constable and two of our four Assistant Chief Constables were all at the same dinner dance at the Metropole Hotel on New Year’s Eve which Nicola Taylor, the first rape victim, attended.’
    There was a moment of silence as everyone reflected on this.
    ‘Are you saying that makes them suspects, boss?’ DC Michael Foreman asked.
    ‘Everyone who was in the hotel is a potential suspect, but I think I’d prefer to call them at this point material witnesses to be eliminated from our enquiries ,’ Grace replied. ‘They’re going to have to be interviewed along with everyone else. Any volunteers?’
    No one raised a hand.
    Grace grinned. ‘Looks like I’ll have to allocate that task to one of