The Whole Truth

IDENTITY AND LOCATION OF THE SUSPECT (IF KNOWN)

Marina Imogen Fisher, DOB 17/01/1976

Address: Monmouth House, St Luke Street, Oxford OX1

WHETHER MEDICAL ASSISTANCE IS REQUIRED AND DETAILS OF ANY INJURIES

N/A

Superficial scratches

A FIRST DESCRIPTION OF THE SUSPECT

IC1 Female, 42, 5' 6", approx. 150 lbs

IF THE SUSPECT IS KNOWN TO THE VICTIM, WHETHER THERE IS A HISTORY OF VIOLENCE OR SEXUAL OFFENCES

None

WHETHER STEPS HAVE BEEN TAKEN TO PRESERVE EVIDENCE

Victim advised not to wash and still wearing clothing that he was wearing during incident.

Scene is suspect’s address and will be secured upon arrest.

Suspect outstanding at this time.

WHETHER THERE ARE ANY PARTICULAR CONSIDERATIONS, FOR EXAMPLE, DISABILITY, LANGUAGE AND WHETHER AN INTERPRETER IS REQUIRED

N/A

DETAILS OF THE DEMEANOUR OF THE VICTIM OR REPORTER

Victim was calm, articulate and coherent, and did not appear to be under the influence of drugs or alcohol.

PREFERRED CONTACT POINT IF NOT AT THE SCENE

N/A

IF THE REPORTER WISHES TO REMAIN ANONYMOUS, THE REASONFOR THIS

N/A

ATTENDING OFFICERS

DI A. Fawley

DC G. Quinn

DC V. Everett

DATE AND TIME

07/07/2018

15:45

* * *

Taking Morgan to the Sexual Assault Referral Centre by squad car was only going to crank up the rumour mill, so Ev drives down to St Aldate’s and picks up a car from the CID pool. It’s only a Corsa, and the air con is struggling, which makes the small space even more oppressive. She’s uncomfortably aware of Morgan’s sheer size, crammed into the back seat behind them, so close she can feel his breath on the back of her neck.

No one says very much. Ev’s learnt over the years that it’s best to talk as little as possible in these circumstances, even when the Gen Pub in question is in a chatty mood. But Morgan shows no inclination to talk at all. He just stares out of the window, at the tourists and the families and the ice-cream vans; silent, unseeing, sunk in thought. He looks completely desolate.

* * *

4.15pm Saturday

It’s happened again. Just now. He was out there. I was upstairs and when I looked out of the window there he was, down the road. Too far away to see his face. He always makes damn sure of that. Just sitting there, behind the wheel. No one does that, no one normal anyway. I went straight back downstairs but by the time I got to the door he was gone.

I told myself I’d imagined it. That I’m just being paranoid and overreacting. That there’s some perfectly logical explanation – some bloke innocently checking his phone or looking at a map. But I know what I saw.

Jesus – even I think I’m starting to sound crazy now. Writing this stuff down is the only thing stopping me losing it completely. I can’t even talk to A, never mind anyone else. People would look sympathetic and say it’s understandable, after what happened, but I’ll see that look in their eyes. And next time we met that look would still be there.

* * *

Adam Fawley

7 July 2018

16.35

I called Tony Asante on my way over to St Luke Street, and though it’s barely a ten-minute drive, he’s still there before me. His new flat is only about half a mile away; no one else in the team could afford to live this central, but I guess it helps if your mother has the sort of job that gets her on the cover of Forbes.