Shallow Waters (21 page)

71

It
didn't take long to get to Peterborough. We beat the sat nav by some
fifteen minutes or so. Aaron could have a heavy right foot when
necessary. I'd endured multiple questions on the silent phone calls I'd
been receiving. Aaron wanted to know if there had been any threats or
suspicious activity around work or even my home address. He asked
because he cared, but as I told him, they were just phone calls.
Nothing had happened elsewhere. I'd had no mail, no strange unannounced
visits, gifts left for me, or threats made. They were just silent phone
calls from an unknown number. I wasn't worried.

“But
keep your eyes peeled, Hannah. Don't become too comfortable with it. It
is a little strange, you have to admit. And it doesn't sit right with
me.”

Large
steel gates groaned as they closed behind us in the secure yard at our
destination. Aaron parked the car in a vacant space. “I will. It could
be anyone though. I give my number out to a lot of people,” I knew
Aaron was capable of taking measures a little far if he thought he
needed to protect one of his own and he'd be submitting authority
requests for who knew what if I didn’t go out of my way to reassure him.

“Yeah. Too many. I'm not surprised you've got some nutter calling you.”

As we got out the car we were met by a portly man. An obvious desk jockey with an amenable smile.

“DI Robbins?” he asked as he held out his hand. “It's Hannah.” I shook his hand.

“Shaun Harris.” 

“Shaun,
this is my DS, Aaron Stone.” They shook and Harris walked us into the
building, up a couple of flights of stairs to their incident room.
Though smaller than ours, I could see they were organised.

We'd
brought case files with us and we dropped these down on to the table
Harris had cleared for us. We'd also brought records of the taped
interviews with Benn.

The
murder of Isabelle Thomas had already been detected. A man, Karl
Howard, was inside a prison on remand, awaiting pre-sentence reports
and sentencing. Everything that led to the detection was now in this
room and we were going to cross reference all we had and go over both
cases again with both investigation teams present. We would talk to
witnesses again, go over post-mortem results. We would turn this inside
out until we knew what the link was. If we were doing this, we were
doing it properly. We needed to find the girl in the photograph.

Once
we had everything out and everyone was there, I spoke to the room
–  Harris, Aaron and a small team of three young looking DCs
introduced as Rob, Dave and Nick.

“We
believe there is a group involved in the abduction, abuse and murder of
these young girls and it seems likely Isabelle is a part of that.”

Harris raised his eyebrows. “You're talking about an organised group operating around the country.”

“It does appear to be that way, which is why we need to check both our investigations against each other.” 

“Okay. Where do you want to start?” Harris asked. The office was quiet as everyone took in what we could be dealing with.

“What
did the PM find?” I asked him. He stood and walked to another desk
where Nick held out a brown folder. Taking the folder he scanned the
material inside.  

“Welts
around her wrists and a similar one around her throat. Significant
visible proof of a rape. There were no defensive marks. The welts
appear to have been made by something like electrical wiring. Cause of
death was asphyxiation. Tox screens have gone off, as have stomach
contents. It will take a while to get those results back, though we've
put a rush on them.” Harris went on skimming the report which I knew
would contain a much more detailed account of injuries. “The
pathologist was more than happy to put the tests through as urgent. He
was quite sickened by the case. Just had his first grandchild. A girl.
He wasn't happy.”

Harris
spoke to his team. “Let’s work through this and see if there is any way
we can make some links and identify this girl. Alive…” he said, with
more conviction than I'd previously heard from him. 

72

Sally
was bored. The paperwork was tedious, time intensive and far from
stimulating. Ross, on the other hand, approached each action like it
was the most important task in the world. He was like a big puppy,
eager to please, and it annoyed her. It never used to, but she couldn't
keep her emotions in check at the minute and it frustrated the hell out
of her and made all other tasks, objects and people all the more
frustrating. Annoying. She wished she was the old Sally. The old Sally
but with the future Sally outcome.

She
turned her attention back to Ross and the job in hand. The amount of
follow up enquiries and paperwork created following an arrest and
charge were ridiculous. You could never rely on the admission alone.
Some offenders could admit the crime during interview then plead not
guilty at court, so if you were unprepared it could throw everything up
in the air. The investigation continued on as though no admission had
been made. With Benn, there was a hell of a lot of extra work to do. On
a basic murder enquiry you needed to know about the relationships of
both the offender and the victim and interview everyone involved in a
detailed fashion. Background enquiries often gave you information you
wouldn't have previously considered and doing a proper job was supposed
to counter any new defences the offender may come up with at the last
minute. Sally felt the need to speak with people rather than spend the
entire day sat at her desk listening to the enthusiasm ooze out of
Ross. It wasn't Ross, it was these bloody hormones, but they were
driving her insane and she felt so over-sensitive to everything and she
might be able to bear him if they were out and about talking to other
people. Even if it wasn't his fault, the work needed doing and now was
as good a time as any to get it done. 

“Come
on, Ross, let’s go and knock on a few doors. We can do the addresses
where there was no reply to knocking first time around on Benn’s
street, then chase up some of the customers identified as being at the
restaurant the night Rosie was dumped.”

Ross
looked at his desk, then at Sally and stood up with a grin across his
face. It didn't take much to persuade him. Sally wasn't sure he had a
life outside of work.

“What about the file?” he asked of the CPS paperwork.

“It
can wait until we get back,” she replied, conscious of how much time
she spent at work and how Tom was feeling. But if they worked together
it would help speed things up so she could get home at a reasonable
hour. She put her hand to her stomach again. She wasn't showing, but
she knew it wouldn't last forever.

73

We
spent hours comparing notes on Rosie, Allison and Isabelle. The
similarities with the injuries and lifestyles of the girls were
significant. The way they had all been reported as missing at one point
or another and a marked change in behaviour stood out. Signs, though
not picked up at the time, pointed to the potential for sexual
exploitation and, going on Benn’s recent admissions in interview, it
was likely this was the same group operating around the country. The
weakness in our theory was the man, Karl Howard, locked up in Lincoln
prison for the rape and murder of Isabelle. He didn't give a very
strong account of how he had taken Isabelle. There had been no mention
of networking on the internet or talking with others who had the same
interest in children as Benn had talked about. On review of the
interview transcripts it was obvious the initial admission on the
abduction of Isabelle was vague, but the murder detailed. There was no
way Shaun Harris could have known this was a network of people working
together and the interview was taken at face value because of the
admission of murder. It was now he could see the importance. He removed
his spectacles and placed them on the table in front of him. The glass
inside the frames looked as tired as he did, with smears and
fingerprints covering them.

“So
we go back and interview him again. We find out who he's been talking
to, who's behind this and how they organise themselves.” Harris looked
over at me. I could see his guilt at not identifying the issue in the
first place weighing him down. “I take it you would like to interview
him, DI Robbins.” More of a statement than a question.

“Please
call me Hannah.” I corrected him again. “And yes, if it's feasible, I'd
like to be in on the interview. Having already interviewed one of the
offenders, I have a pretty good feeling for the case and knowing more
than he thinks we know will be an advantage when interviewing him.”

“We'll
set it up for this evening. Considering the very high possibility
there's a child being held whose life is in danger, I can't see the
prison being difficult about it; we have a pretty good relationship
with them.” He looked across at Rob. “Would you mind setting it up
please, Rob? Three visitors for Howard.”

“Three?” I queried. Interviews were usually set up with pairs of interviewers.

“Yes.
I believe the interview will run better and be more productive with two
new interviewers, yourself and Aaron. I'll be about if you need any
information in relation to the Isabelle Thomas case.” He surprised me.
My experience of police officers, not just in other force areas but in
other units in our own force, was that they liked to keep a tight rein
on their own investigations and someone else coming in resulted in some
massive brick walls being built. Harris was another thing altogether.
He wanted this girl found and he recognised the best way to do that was
with Aaron and I going in. I didn't think he'd messed up as much as he
felt he had. They had the murderer of Isabelle Thomas locked up tight.
There was no way he could have known there were other children at risk
with Howard behind bars. I was grateful to have come across such a
dedicated detective.

“Thank you, Shaun. Let’s hope Howard talks before time runs out.” If it hasn't already, I thought to myself.

Prisons
are always grim. They make me feel on edge. The level of security and
suspicion on entry automates a guilty reflex in me. Dealing with
offenders in a police station custody suite is one thing, but prisons
are another thing altogether. Harris manoeuvred the car into a parking
bay. I could feel Aaron's natural calm behind me. I wasn't sure if
anything unnerved him. It was another reason I liked working with him
so much. 

As
we entered the building, the hairs on the back of my neck started to
rise. The reception area was shielded behind thick glass and a
uniformed member of staff eyed us over his oval framed glasses. Harris
informed him who we were and why we were there. After a couple of
minutes, a prison intelligence officer came through the doorway,
introduced himself as Alex Foster and led us through the doors. His
keys and chain clinked as he walked.

“It's a late one for you today then,” he stated. The doors locked behind us.

“It's one of those days,” Harris replied as we waited for the next set to unlock.

“You
know the drill. All property in the trays and lockers. Only paper and
pens allowed through.” This guy enjoyed his job too much I mused as I
emptied my pockets. Once our property was secured we were wanded and
told to sit in the boss chair. You have to love a chair whose sole
purpose is to see if you have items secreted inside your body cavities.
It's a plastic moulded chair, high backed with arms, that acts as a
metal detector. It lets staff know if you've inserted anything metal
inside your anus or vagina.

Once
all the security protocols had been passed, Foster showed Aaron and I
into a single interview room and Harris into the communal interview
room where he would wait until we might need him.

I'm
not sure what I expected when I met Howard but he caught me off guard.
Benn was a permanent loser, the type of person I've come across on a
daily basis since I first joined the job.  Howard, however looked
previously well groomed and cared for, though it was obvious time
inside, albeit short, had had its effect. A significant weight loss was
evident around his neckline as the t-shirt he wore hung loose around
him. He had a decent haircut which was now growing out and was curling
around the bottom of his ears; his nails were clean and not bitten down
to the quick. They looked neater than mine and I pushed my hands into
my pockets. Howard's stubble seemed to be something he was not used to
as he continually rubbed at it with one hand. He looked, to all intents
and purposes, to be a blue collar worker, in here for a crime of the
financial kind rather than the horrific abuse and murder of a child.

My
own surprise was reflected back at me as he looked at us. I imagined he
would be used to being interviewed by the local team who arrested him
and then probation officers and those inside the prison, but he
obviously hadn't expected to see anyone different, especially at this
time of the evening, long after visitors were allowed in.

“DI
Hannah Robbins.” I held out my hand as I introduced myself. “And this
is DS Aaron Stone.” Aaron kept his hands in his pockets but nodded his
greeting. A puzzled look crossed Howard's face and I could see the
informality and first name terms were causing confusion. In here, he
would be used to disdain and disgust on a daily basis and would be
expected to call the prison officers either Miss or Sir. For someone to
enter this environment, use first name terms and shake his hand would
be disconcerting. It was meant to be.