Текст книги "Scarred for Life"

Автор книги: Kerry Wilkinson

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

‘When I was a first year, it wasn’t too bad. I think it comes down to who the student president is. I had to do some drinking, late-night swimming in the water – I’ll bet that’s how your other lad got hypothermia – and this game where you had to do a lap of the park, then drink, then more laps, more drinking. I was sick a few times and took my beating on the final day but that’s as bad as it got.’

‘What might’ve gone wrong with Damon?’

Liam now seemed resigned to spilling everything. ‘I don’t know for sure – I don’t talk to anyone there – but things were beginning to get out of hand when it was my final year. We had this real sicko student president. Night one was swimming a width of the river, doing shots and pints, then going again over and over. People were collapsing and everyone else was uneasy. I mean I was there but . . .’

He didn’t need to finish the sentence – he hadn’t spoken up because he didn’t want to be kicked off the team.

‘The week got worse. On night two it was beatings, night three they had these eating challenges.’

‘Who could eat the most?’ Archie asked.

Liam shook his head. ‘Not how much, what could they eat. At first it was these awful meat products: offal, I don’t even know what that is. Then they’d have to drink milk really quickly, so people were vomiting. But because they were being sick, the president was saying that was cheating as they weren’t keeping it down, so he made them . . . well, you can guess . . .’

Ugh.

‘By day four, some people hadn’t come back and it kept getting worse. You might be surprised – but all the first years knew what hell week was, so they didn’t even bother starting it unless they thought they could do it. There’s a code of silence about it, too. What happens in the club stays in the club – that sort of thing. It was pretty grim but everyone from my year got through. I never heard of anyone pulling out until that year.’

‘And that was the year Holden was a first year?’ Jessica asked.

‘Exactly – but he was the one person who never flinched. I know you might not believe me but I never went in for any of that; it was only ever a few of the guys. That’s why student president is an odd position – it’s more social and organisational. The best athletes just want to row. It’s more of a tradition but certain people take it more seriously than others.’

‘Like Holden?’

‘Yes. I didn’t know he was student president until I read it but I’m not surprised. He wasn’t the best of athletes but he wanted to be a part of everything. If you get to student president, you’ve got to really want it – but also have to do some crazy things to get there.’

‘What sort of things?’

Liam glanced between the two officers and then turned away. ‘For a start you need the kind of mind to come up with things for hell week.’

‘Didn’t anyone ever say anything?’ Jessica asked.

A shrug: ‘I know it sounds bad . . . it was bad . . . but it was also part of this weird bonding thing. Especially if you weren’t popular, it gave you a chance to get in with the cool kids. When you first signed up, you’d start to hear the whispers, then you’d be told to get ready for hell week. If you chose to walk away, that was that – but no one would ever have told the lecturers or faculty. It would have been denied and there would have been a long line of people to call you a liar. Then you’d have all the pressure from the people who were into it. Ultimately you’re there to study, so it’s not worth it.’

That pretty much tallied with everyone they’d interviewed who might have seen Damon on the night he died. Some admitted they had spotted him but that he’d left the party early, others said they hadn’t seen him at all. The one thing they had in common was that nobody said anything to criticise Holden’s version.

‘Did things like hell week ever happen after Halloween?’ Jessica asked.

Liam shook his head. ‘Not that I ever saw. The party signalled the end of all that – if you got that far, then you’d earned everyone’s respect and you got on with it.’

Jessica had nothing left to ask, and from the look on Archie’s face neither did he. They’d have to speak to Holden again, perhaps even charge him with assault if they could make someone speak – but if any hazing Damon had had to go through was over by Halloween, then what had happened to him on the November night he died?

14

Jessica called the station when they got back to the car. The media appeal for information about Cassie’s death had barely got off the ground because of the lack of interest. They were following up a few lines of inquiry but nothing that had anyone excited. As for the list of seventy locals with a previous history of violence, all but nine had been eliminated as definitely being somewhere else, being in prison or, in one case, having died the year before.

That’s what you called an alibi.

She told the officers to arrange for all nine to be brought in for interview later that afternoon. Even if it was nothing to do with them, there was a chance they mixed in the circles where someone might know something. It was desperation tactics already.

With that sorted, it was time to talk to Holden again: this time with a tape recorder and video camera running. Considering it was his day off, Archie seemed particularly in the mood for round two with ‘posh boy’. After first trying his flat, a swanky studio apartment overlooking Salford Quays, they found him at the rowing clubhouse. Jessica knew something was different the moment they walked in. Instead of the athletic gear from before, Holden was wearing a smart suit with a tie and recently shined shoes. He was chatting to someone on his phone but hung up when he saw them, acknowledging Jessica with a clipped nod and ‘Inspector’.

‘What’s with the get-up?’ Jessica asked, as Holden led them across to the bar area where there was a circular table that had three chairs placed around it.

He took a seat, leaving them standing as he replied. ‘I thought it was time for a change.’

‘To the untrained eye, it could seem as if you were waiting for us.’

‘What exactly do you want?’

‘We’ve been speaking to a few of your members – current and former. We’ve heard some very interesting stories about things that go on here.’

‘Like what?’

‘Hell week, for one.’

Holden shrugged dismissively.

‘Don’t you have anything to say?’ Jessica added.

‘I think I’ll call my lawyer.’

On arriving at Longsight Police Station, Holden had gone downstairs to meet with his solicitor. Jessica hung around upstairs asking where her nine ‘people of interest’ for Cassie’s murder were as officers hurried around making excuses. When it was clear she was going to have to wait regardless, she ushered Archie into her office and closed the door.

‘Enjoying your day off?’ she asked.

‘I was hoping posh boy was going to be a little unhappier about coming in for interview.’

‘Hmm, I wouldn’t say “hoping” but I wasn’t expecting him to cooperate either. Somewhere along the line, news of your phone calls to current and former club members has got back to him.’

After Holden had had an hour with his solicitor, Jessica finally got into interview room one, with her and Archie on one side of the table, Holden and the legal representative on the other. The student’s suit was marginally sharper than his solicitor’s but there wasn’t much in it as the pair sat impassively opposite them, looking somehow resigned and defiant at the same time.

Jessica told them she had first-hand witness testimony that the rowing club hazed new members, leaving it slightly woolly that she had no proof about what had happened to that year’s intake, specifically Damon.

As it was, Jessica didn’t even have to let Archie loose before Holden started telling them what they wanted to know.

‘It’s not what you think,’ he said, not looking up as his solicitor watched on silently.

‘What do I think?’

‘Damon’s death was nothing to do with me.’

‘Let’s go backwards. Tell me about hell week.’

Holden glanced at his solicitor and then up at the camera high in the corner recording everything he said. ‘It’s a silly tradition.’

‘Something you’re in charge of as student president?’

He looked at Jessica properly for the first time but there was no focus to his gaze. ‘To a degree.’

‘Did Damon Potter take part in hell week?’

There was a pause punctuated by a sideways glance towards his solicitor. ‘Yes.’

Holden gave the names of the other half-dozen first-year students involved but refused to implicate any of the other senior members in whatever had gone on. Jessica didn’t know if the loyalty should go in his favour considering he was apparently the ring-leader, or if he was trying to cover up for others. For now, it didn’t matter.

‘What did you force the new members to do?’ Jessica asked.

‘It was their decision – nobody coerced anyone to do anything.’

‘But they wouldn’t have been allowed to join your club if they didn’t undertake your challenges – so the pressure to take part came from you, didn’t it?’

Another glance at his solicitor: ‘I suppose. Everyone wants to be wanted, don’t they? It’s about feeling a part of something.’

Jessica paused for a moment: he couldn’t have said a truer thing. ‘What did you do to them?’

‘Immature things: drinking, exercising, eating things.’

‘Did you beat them?’

‘Yes.’

‘I need to know specifics.’

And so he gave them, talking for half an hour about the tasks he had set for the new members. Detail after detail of activities meant to degrade and humiliate. It wasn’t so much the individual aspects that Jessica found disturbing, more the fact that someone could speak so matter-of-factly about thinking them up. She had interviewed serial murderers and psychos in the past who would hurt and kill for their own gratification but Jessica didn’t get the sense that Holden had enjoyed any of it – more that he saw hell week as a custom it was his duty to maintain.

The one thing she did get the sense of was that, if Damon was looking happier in the few days before he died, it was likely because he had got to the end of hell week unscathed.

Holden’s solicitor was silent throughout, listening and making the odd note but never interrupting. By the time his client had finished, Jessica knew they could definitely charge the student with actual bodily harm and sexual assault at the minimum. Depending on how the Crown Prosecution Service read things, it could even be revised up to grievous bodily harm if any of the victims made statements. Even without that, his own confessions would condemn him – and in any normal situation, his solicitor would have stopped him from implicating himself.

Something was definitely going on but she still had a couple of key questions.

‘How much does James Jefferies know?’ Jessica asked.

The question surprised Holden, who reeled back in his seat. ‘James?’

‘He’s your life president, isn’t he?’

‘Yes . . . but that’s more of a figurehead position. He might come to the odd practice and big race day but that’s about it. The guy’s in a wheelchair.’

That was something Jessica didn’t know. Why hadn’t anyone told her?

‘What about the night Damon died?’ she added.

This time, Holden looked at her directly, holding his arms out to the side. ‘I really don’t know anything about that. After hell week, that’s it – we get on with the rest of the year. We hold elections for the new student president in March or April and I would have been graduating. I don’t know anything about his death. Everything I told you is true – I didn’t see him after around an hour of the party. I think he left.’

‘There were drink and drugs in his system. What if we’ve been speaking to someone who’s told us they came from you?’

Finally, Holden’s solicitor cut in: ‘You don’t have to answer that.’

His client responded anyway: ‘They’d be lying because I didn’t. I don’t know what happened to him. It was just a party and I had things to organise on the night.’

‘I want the names of the other people involved in the assaults.’

Holden shook his head in a show of baffling loyalty.

Jessica waited for a moment, wondering what to say. It wasn’t often she was lost for words but eventually they came: ‘Why have you told us all of this?’

‘It’s the truth.’

‘Okay, say it is. We’ve heard these sorts of allegations from at least one other club member and I’m pretty sure we’d have got evidence soon enough about everything that went on behind closed doors at your club. Chances are, we’d have ended up in this room anyway and I would’ve been putting all these allegations to you. But it wouldn’t have happened today, perhaps not even tomorrow. So why admit to everything now?’

Holden’s eyes flickered to his solicitor and Jessica knew that this was a question the legal representative had asked himself. When Holden peered back, he held Jessica’s gaze. ‘Because I know how it looks but it wasn’t me who killed him, dumped him, or did anything else. James Jefferies called me, asking if I knew anything about Damon. He said that if I did, then I should step forward.’

‘Why did he tell you that?’

‘He’s probably seen things on the news and wants to protect the club. I might’ve done a few silly things but I didn’t do that.’

‘Do you know who did?’

‘No.’

‘Could it have been any of the other members who didn’t realise the hazing was over?’

‘No.’

With that, there was little else to say. Jessica called for one of the officers to take him back to the cells downstairs while they decided what to do with him.

Jessica led Archie back to her office while she tried to clarify her thoughts. By the time they sat down, he beat her to it: ‘What do you think?’

It was the kind of thing she would have asked a supervising officer when she was a gobby young pup. ‘How about you tell me what you think?’ she responded.

‘He might be a snooty, toffee-nosed tosser but I think he’s telling the truth. The job would be a lot easier if everyone took responsibility for the things they did. It sort of makes sense – I spoke to a few people, so someone would’ve told him. Plus he looks up to that Jefferies Olympic guy. There’s no way he would have been able to keep everyone quiet, and the minute one breaks, they all would. We’d have had him strung up by the bollocks sooner or later.’

Quite.

‘What else?’ Jessica asked.

‘He’s not an idiot. If he killed Damon, even accidentally, why would he have dumped the body in the bin outside the place where he’d get asked about it? He could’ve lumped it in the river and it would have floated down stream. Or buried it somewhere else in the park. Or taken it anywhere.’

‘Perhaps because he knew the bins were supposed to be emptied the next day? The only reason they weren’t was because of the strike.’

‘Pfft. He also knew the cleaners would come the next day. He might have done all those other things but I don’t think he knew anything about our lad ending up in that bin.’

Archie raised an eyebrow, wondering what Jessica thought, but her tight smile said it all: she agreed with him completely.

15

Before they decided whether to charge Holden with anything now, or bail him to return to the station in a few days, Jessica knew she needed to get some advice. She also had nine local scroats apparently on their way in to the station to deal with too, plus a colleague who’d been with her all afternoon who wasn’t actually on duty.

Out in reception, the desk sergeant, Patrick – or Fat Pat to everyone who knew him – was two-thirds of the way through a family-sized packet of steak-flavoured crisps, barely concealed under the counter.

‘Let’s have one then,’ Jessica said.

Frowning, Pat reluctantly pulled the bag out and offered it to her, gripping the bottom half tightly so she couldn’t go delving. As soon as her hand was withdrawn with a broken crisp, he snatched the bag away again, returning it to the hiding place.

‘What are you doing in?’ he asked, nodding at Archie. ‘He’s helping me,’ Jessica interrupted with her mouth full. ‘Don’t worry, I’ll sort the overtime. Now there should be nine scumbags hanging around here somewhere. Where are they?’

Pat’s eyebrows curved downwards into one long caterpillar. ‘Haven’t you heard?’

‘Heard what?’

He grinned in the way he always did when he knew things others didn’t. ‘Loads of officers have been moved away from investigating the Cassie Edmonds death so we’ve got enough people to interview the rowing-club members.’

Pat reached for another crisp, eyebrows leaping into two separate entities again, apparently in surprise that she didn’t know.

‘We’ve already spoken to the rowing lot once.’

He shrugged and munched at the same time. ‘Dnt sk mmf.’

‘What?’

He finished chomping his way through the crisp. ‘New priorities – don’t ask me.’

‘Who authorised it?’

Pat raised his index finger skywards, indicating DCI Jack Cole. ‘Who do you think?’

After telling Archie to wait for her, Jessica headed for the stairs, trying not to make it seem so obvious that she hadn’t known anything about it. The chief inspector had every right to make such a decision – but it would be rare for that to happen without a discussion involving her, or a word in her ear at the very least.

Through the glass front of his office, Jessica could see Cole sitting behind his desk talking to someone on the phone. She knocked gently but he held a hand up, indicating for her to wait. It wasn’t necessarily untoward – there was every chance he was on a private or confidential phone call – but it left Jessica standing by herself in the corridor, leaning on the wall opposite staring at a mixture of her own reflection and Cole’s silent conversation. As he spoke, he glanced up towards her, catching her eye for the merest fraction of a second and then quickly looking away again. He had aged dramatically over the past couple of years, with the break-up of his marriage, shared custody of the children and pressures of his role taking their toll.

Then there was their own relationship.

Izzy had been right: Cole had seemed to have some sort of problem with her over recent months but had never told her specifically what it was. He was the reason she had returned to the force when she wasn’t sure if that was what she wanted to do with her life. It was he who was instrumental in her promotion, and in getting Izzy the detective sergeant’s job on a trial basis. It wasn’t as if he didn’t know the way she worked – he’d been out on jobs with her enough – so why now?

Jessica watched him spin in his chair until he was facing the wall away from her, the light catching the bald spot on his head.

Check phone, put it away again. Run fingers through hair – why is it always knotty in that same area at the back? Straighten trousers. Trace the line of bricks in the wall – is there meant to be a crack there? Wonder what might be for tea tonight. Has it always been so quiet up here? You can’t even hear the bustle of everyone downstairs; perhaps this isn’t such a bad spot to work after all—

‘Jessica . . .’

Jessica was so surprised at Cole’s voice that she literally jumped and took a second to compose herself. ‘Sorry, er . . .’

Cole was peering along the corridor, as opposed to actually at her. ‘Did you want to see me?’

‘Shall I come in, or . . . ?’

Cole held his office door open but everything felt so awkward. When he took his seat behind the desk, the DCI still didn’t look at her, instead picking up a cardboard folder from his desk and examining the papers inside.

Jessica began hesitantly, wanting to be diplomatic: ‘After Cassie Edmonds was found, we put together a list of people with a history of violence against women around here. I know it was a bit of a long shot but we’d got it down to nine men without alibis who we thought we might be able to put some pressure on. I know it was a bit of desperation but we’ve done far worse in the past. I was expecting them to be brought in this afternoon, but . . .’

Cole didn’t look up. ‘But what?’

‘But Pat said those nine weren’t being brought in yet because you wanted all the members of the rowing club spoken to again . . .’

‘Correct.’

This was torturous – he really did want to make her squirm. ‘I was wondering why . . . ?’

Cole sighed, dropping the documents on the desk and finally looking at her with a frown. ‘I don’t need to explain everything that happens around here to you.’

‘I know, Sir, it was just that we’d had people working on those lists most of the weekend . . .’

‘Word has come down from above to get the Potter case sorted.’

‘At the expense of Cassie Edmonds . . . ?’ The words blurted out with far more of an edge than Jessica intended.

Cole’s eyelid twitched and for a moment she could almost see a fire in him that had rarely been there before. He’d always been known for being laid-back but now he seemed like a different person. When he replied, his tone was level but there was no warmth. ‘Not “at the expense of” – this is just the priority for now. We’re going to charge Holden Wyatt with GBH and aggravated sexual assault—’

‘Aggravated?’

‘Yes. Do you have a problem?’

‘No, I just hadn’t realised anyone had been watching the interview – or that it had been discussed. That was the other reason I was coming up here.’

‘Things have been moving quickly while you were in the interview room. A few of the other club members have come forward to say their recollections of the party might have been incorrect.’

‘Why didn’t anyone say something?’

‘I didn’t want to interrupt your flow – besides, everything was in hand.’

Jessica didn’t know if she was confused or annoyed – probably both. What on earth was going on? ‘What have they changed their story to?’

‘One of the members said they thought they were mistaken at seeing Holden in the later parts of the evening. They couldn’t say for sure they’d seen Damon and Holden leave together, just that they hadn’t seen them after a certain point in the evening.’

‘And they just so happened to change their stories at the exact time Holden was admitting to the initiation ceremonies?’

‘Perhaps that was why he came clean? He knew other members were going to turn on him, so he got in first.’

‘He didn’t admit to murder – or dumping a body.’

‘We’ve got a confession that he assaulted Damon Potter on numerous occasions, now we have witness statements to say both Holden and our victim disappeared at around the same time on the evening Damon died. We have people talking to the other witnesses to clarify what they saw—’

‘Clarify?’

‘Yes, clarify. Do you have a problem?’

‘No, it’s just—’

‘Holden Wyatt is our prime, indeed only, suspect in the death of Damon Potter – be it accidental death, manslaughter or murder. While he’s in custody for the assaults he has admitted to, we have the opportunity to find out exactly what happened.’

I might’ve done a few silly things but I didn’t do that.

It wasn’t that what Cole was saying didn’t make sense; Jessica’s issue was that she didn’t believe Holden was their man. She didn’t think he’d confessed to the assaults to cover up for anything else but she also didn’t sense he’d had any inkling the other club members would blow apart his alibi.

‘You said word had come down from above . . .’ she stammered.

‘Your point?’

‘Does that mean there’s someone trying to make sure this case gets closed?’

Cole’s lips barely moved as he replied, teeth gritted, stare fixed. ‘Don’t question me, Inspector.’

He always called her ‘Jess’.

‘I’m not questioning you—’

‘Good, then you can go and interview James Jefferies.’

‘Why?’

‘He’s in a wheelchair and you know what the ramps are like around here, so we’re going to him. You can call me when you’re done.’

Archie seemed to have learned without being told when it was a good time to ask what was up with Jessica and when it was a good time to say nothing. The journey to James Jefferies’ house was definitely a say-nothing ride, with Jessica fuming silently at everything from pedestrians having the audacity to cross the road when she wanted to drive on it, to the way certain places seemed to be sign-posted only from the opposite direction to the one in which she was travelling.

Not to mention lorry drivers, of course. That was a given. And people who owned BMWs.

And DCI Cole. What an arse.

James Jefferies lived in a small detached bungalow just outside Leigh to the west of the city, part-way towards Liverpool. When Jessica rang his doorbell, she heard a crotchety, ‘All right, blimmin’ ’eck, gimme a minute’, even though she’d only pressed the button once.

The door was heaved open to reveal a wrinkled man in a wheelchair, still wearing pyjamas. His hair was thinning, arms and legs stick-thin, betraying no sign of the Olympian he had once been. The only evidence that he wasn’t as old as his frame indicated was his eyes, which darted suspiciously between Jessica and Archie but with the verve of someone around fifty, instead of seventy. Across his lap was a blanket and a walking stick, which he kept one hand on, as if to defend himself in case either of them tried anything.

‘You lot,’ he said. ‘You better come in.’

James’ bungalow had been custom-fitted to allow for the fact that he was in a wheelchair, with lower handles on the doors and wider passageways to accommodate his condition – which Jessica didn’t ask about. The kitchen was both terrific and strange at the same time, containing everything you might expect to see in any other house – but eighteen inches lower. It was a disorienting experience because most homes were set up with surfaces and objects at roughly the same height. Here, Jessica was left feeling taller than she actually was. For someone who had to live their life in a wheelchair, this must be a godsend.

James wheeled himself through the kitchen into a wide conservatory. Even though the skies were grey, the natural light was a little dazzling, making Jessica squint awkwardly as she sat on the sofa next to Archie, who had apparently accepted the fact that his day off was anything but.

‘What is it then?’ James asked.

Jessica was on the back foot, partly because of his abrupt tone but also, she suspected, because she was literally talking down to him. ‘I understand you’re the life president of the university rowing club.’

‘Yes.’

‘What exactly does that entail?’

‘Why do you want to know?’

People didn’t usually ask that.

‘We’ve been investigating the death of one of the members – Damon Potter. His body was discovered in one of the bins at the back of the club last week . . .’

‘I heard.’

Jessica decided to try her original line: ‘Perhaps you could tell us what being the life president means?’

James sighed loudly, a deliberate act to make it apparent he was going out of his way to help them. ‘They wheel me out a few times a year, mainly at the bigger events towards the end of the season. I bring along my medal and smile for the camera, they feed me something fancy and then I’m back here again.’

‘Do you have anything to do with organising things?’

‘Not really.’

‘We were told you had a position on the committee.’

The reply snapped back instantly: ‘What do you think that means?’

This was tough work.

‘That’s what I was hoping you could tell us . . .’

‘I’ll tell you what it means – it don’t mean shit. I’m an old man with a round piece of metal – these kids don’t want anything to do with me nowadays.’

‘We met the student president, Holden, and he seemed impressed by your achievements.’

‘Pah, these kids are all the same – they see an old fella in one of these chairs and think, “What does he know?” I know what it’s like – I only do these things because it’s a day out at the river in the sun and a free meal. Some of the girls are all right too, if you get what I mean.’

He winked at Jessica and she knew exactly what he meant.

‘We’ve heard disturbing reports about initiation ceremonies for new recruits,’ Jessica said. ‘What do you know about that?’

‘Nothing.’

‘You’ve never heard any rumours?’

James fixed Jessica with a fearsome stare, the type she’d rarely seen since the days when her dad had caught her up to no good. He didn’t need to say ‘are you questioning my honesty’ because everything about his gaze already said it.

‘You understand why I have to ask,’ Jessica added.

‘I told you I don’t know anything.’

‘How well do you know Holden Wyatt?’

‘I know the name – they have a new president every year. It’s nothing to do with me. I shake a few hands, turn up when I’m asked, and make a few phone calls now and then.’

‘Phone calls?’

James frowned, as if this was something he shouldn’t be questioned about. ‘Just because I’m in a chair, it doesn’t mean I can’t use a phone.’

‘Holden said that you called him and said that he should tell the police anything he knew about Damon’s death.’

‘Did he now . . . ? Was that the wrong thing to do?’

‘That’s not what I meant,’ Jessica replied. ‘I wondered which of the students you were calling – and why.’

Jessica suddenly found herself in a staring contest, locked in a battle of wills with a man in a wheelchair, neither of them wanting to give ground.

Unexpectedly, Archie’s was the voice of reason: ‘Can I see your medal?’

The man’s eyes snapped from Jessica to Archie, giving her the window to look away herself. A moment later, she could feel James searching for her gaze again but she refused to acknowledge it, even if she did still want an answer.

‘An Olympic bronze is impressive,’ Archie added. ‘I’ve never seen a medal before.’

James wheeled himself across to a cabinet, making sure his back shielded what he was doing. After a bit of fiddling, there was an electronic-sounding whirr and a pop, then he wheeled himself to the side, revealing what looked like the interior of a safe. Because it was inside a wooden cabinet, it was disguised from the outside by its innocuousness. He waved Archie across with a flick of his wrist and held out a brown-grey medal on a dark ribbon.

Considering the way he had asked Holden whether James had ‘fallen in’ because he’d only won bronze, Archie did a good job of portraying someone transfixed by what he was holding. Even Jessica didn’t know if the aggression towards Holden had been the act, or if this was one now. Either way, Archie knew what he was doing. With Holden, he had known who to be: off the leash, aggressive, intimidating. Here, he was respectful and interested. He asked about the year that James had won it, making a crude joke about the host nation that would’ve been entirely inappropriate anywhere else – except that James cracked and laughed himself. Suddenly, they were like grandfather and grandson, sharing stories and gags. All the time, Archie kept his hands on the medal, showing the reverence it was clear its owner thought it deserved.