The Innocent Ones

by The Innocent Ones (retail) (epub)

  Dan looked through the pieces of paper Jayne was thrusting into his hands. ‘But Leoni and David were friends, attracted by the feeling of being outsiders.’

  ‘He’ll have stood out like a beacon to her,’ she said. ‘A toy to play with, but children get bored with their toys, and murders like this happen regularly and all over the world. Take these news reports.’ She passed over another couple of printed sheets taken from online newspapers, the pictures showing a teddy bear and candles, the remnants of a vigil. ‘A ten-year-old boy from a small place called Ljungby in Sweden killed a four-year-old boy, strangled him with a skipping rope, just for the hell of it. We don’t know his name, because he was too young to be prosecuted in Sweden, but it shows that it happens. And Scandinavia’s a real hotbed for it. In Norway, two six-year-olds beat and strangled a five-year-old girl to death, just a few years before William and Ruby were murdered in Brampton.’

  ‘Okay, I get the fact that children sometimes kill, but that doesn’t mean Leoni did.’

  ‘It doesn’t, but it means the police should have looked closer at her. They saw the obvious, that Rodney was the predator, because of all the things that linked him, and he dumped the body, but they didn’t consider the alternative, that he was just covering up for his daughter. Remember Chris Overfield, Ruby’s brother? He knows it wasn’t Rodney, and he told the police that but was talked out of getting involved because it might derail the case. But it should have just created a new case, a new suspect. Perhaps Mark Roberts followed the same trail I have and it cost him his life?’

  ‘What’s Leoni’s motive though?’

  ‘There isn’t one, and that’s the whole point. That was the thing with all these kids, and there are plenty more. With adults, you begin to understand, or even those teenagers who’ve reached puberty, as if somewhere in the growing-up process the wires became crossed. A twisted sexual drive is the usual explanation, or a psychosis, hard to control, a compulsion. It all fits because we can understand it, but with the younger killers we can’t understand it, because it feels like boredom, nothing more. Here.’ She passed some more articles across.

  ‘How many have you got?’

  ‘Oh, plenty. The next one, Amarjeet Sada, was an eight-year-old boy from India who murdered three babies. Strangled one cousin, then bludgeoned another to death. He was only caught when he murdered a neighbour’s baby. Another one,’ and she passed Dan some more printed sheets, ‘Eric Smith. A red-headed thirteen-year-old who battered to death a four-year-old boy, smashed in his skull with rocks and then posed the body. He went into the police station and offered to help, as if he enjoyed the fuss.’

  Dan held up his hands. ‘All right, I get it, plenty of children kill.’

  ‘But they all have similar traits. Loners who don’t fit in, often from families where they are neglected. Eric Smith was bullied by the other children and spent a lot of time on his own. If you look at the pictures from his court hearings, or even now, he’s dead behind the eyes. I’ve met Leoni’s mother and she’s just a selfish drunk. Rodney was out working and Leoni was quiet, introspective, and neglected. It takes a perfect combination to make a killer, but it’s the truth no one likes to acknowledge. Going back to the James Bulger case, what was the most shocking aspect? The death of a child, or that he was killed by two young boys just for the fun of it?’

  ‘The latter, I suppose.’

  ‘There you have it. That’s why Leoni was ignored. Rodney was the better fit. A twisted child killer. And do you know what the really sad thing is?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘They didn’t have to be like that. Mary Bell grew up to be a good mother and responsible adult. Some of the ones from Scandinavia went on to lead normal lives. All they wanted from the start was just some good old-fashioned love and attention, but they never got it. Just like Leoni.’

  Dan drained his coffee as he thought about what Jayne had said. ‘And if no one knew it was Leoni all along, her behaviour wasn’t challenged,’

  ‘Exactly. She was shunted from relative to relative and then dumped onto the streets to find her own way. She never got that love and attention she needed. She changed her methods, that’s all, and with her boyfriend in Wakefield, she found a perfect method. A slow torture, where she got to really enjoy the process, nudging him towards suicide.’

  ‘We need to find Leoni,’ he said, more animated now. ‘She ended up here, in Highford, but dropped off the radar. If we locate her, we can see what else she’s been up to, see whether there’s a pattern. If we can show that Mark must have been on her tail, we start to create a new suspect, which makes Nick’s story ring true.’

  Before Jayne could say anything else, Dan’s phone rang. It was Barbara. ‘I was sorry to hear of your office, but the trial is close by. Have you got any news for me?’

  Dan pondered on what to say. There was something about her he couldn’t quite pin down. ‘I’d rather talk in person.’

  ‘I’m in my hotel,’ she said, and then she hung up.

  He turned to Jayne. ‘Good manners aren’t Barbara’s thing.’

  ‘She’s a grieving mother.’

  ‘We’ll see.’ He lifted his cup, now empty. ‘I’ll need some more of this, because it’s going to be a long day.’

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  ‘You said you had some news,’ Barbara said, as Dan reached her table, none of the faux politeness of their earlier meetings. Barbara had been waiting for Dan in the bar of her hotel and she didn’t suggest that he should stay for a drink.

  ‘It’s a development, but don’t read too much into it.’

  Barbara turned to look out of the window, as if she was putting off the moment when Dan would tell her whatever it was he knew. Eventually, she turned back to him and asked, ‘What is it?’

  ‘Is that all you’ve got to say?’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘My office has been burnt down and you don’t look surprised that I appear like this, battered and bruised. I saw you watching the office, but it looked as if you were trying to stay hidden.’

  Barbara put her cup down with a loud clink. ‘Mr Grant, my son was murdered when he came to this grubby little place. Do you really think I’m surprised by anything? What news have you got?’

  Dan sat down opposite. He wondered whether to say anything, but as he considered Barbara, he saw what Jayne saw: a woman coated in grief. ‘Your son had quite a story and we might be able to tell it for him.’

  She let out a short breath. ‘What have you found, Mr Grant?’

  Dan told her all he’d found out about Rodney Walker, and then said, ‘We’re wondering whether Rodney Walker is innocent, just like Mark thought. Your son kept on digging and discovered that Rodney didn’t kill those two children. Rodney is guilty of covering up a murder, yes, but he’s no murderer.’

  Her eyes narrowed. ‘Who was it, then?’

  ‘His daughter, Leoni.’

  ‘His daughter? How? I mean, why?’

  ‘Our theory is that she was a young psychopath and Rodney took the blame for her. Leoni moved here, to Highford, but she left a trail of death behind her. There was at least one suicide instigated by her. Mark must have got close. That has to be the reason.’

  ‘Yes, too close though. And for what noble end? No children will come back to life. Rodney will stay in prison. This Leoni woman will remain free. Really, what did he achieve? None of this was worth dying for.’

  ‘I thought you wanted justice for Nick Connor too, because that’s how we make amends. I’m going to visit Rodney again today. As soon as I leave here, I’m going to call the prison, stress how urgent it is.’

  ‘And what are you hoping to get out of the meeting?’

  ‘I want Rodney to give evidence, to give the full story of what happened.’

  Barbara laughed out loud. ‘Implicate his daughter? Why would he do that? If you’re right, he’d stayed in prison to protect her.’

  ‘But he must have done that to give her a sec
ond chance. He sacrificed his life for hers, perhaps even blamed himself. He needs to know that she didn’t change.’

  ‘And if he refuses?’

  Dan clenched his jaw. ‘We’ll say it anyway.’

  Chapter Fifty-Six

  Dan stood as Rodney entered the room.

  He felt the same as he did the first time he visited, that he was there to see a celebrity, the prisoner who carried with him the horror of his crimes, even though now he wondered about a different reality. It was the treatment Rodney received that made him different.

  Dan was used to seeing prisoners in the glass kiosks of the local prisons, just part of the pretrial routine. Going to see Rodney was visiting someone settled into a life, with a prison that would always be his home. He was able to see Rodney in a large and empty room, more befitting an old school assembly hall than a place for legal visits. There was a guard at one side, watching, his arms folded, scowling.

  Rodney seemed more cautious than the previous time, as if unsure why Dan was there again. His walk was a slow shuffle, although he watched Dan all the way. It wasn’t hostility in his eyes though. It was curiosity. Rodney wanted to know what Dan knew.

  All Dan had was a bluff, to see how he reacted.

  Dan gestured for Rodney to take a seat.

  Rodney nodded his thanks, even though he had no need to express any gratitude. He wasn’t there as Dan’s guest, and he could have refused to see him.

  His attitude was the same though. He sat back and flopped his arms on the table. ‘You’re back.’

  Dan sat down opposite. ‘There have been developments.’

  He pointed to Dan’s face. ‘I can see, and you couldn’t wait to tell me. Well, here we are.’

  ‘We’re working on our new defence. Do you want to hear it?’

  ‘Anything to break the monotony, I suppose.’

  Dan watched carefully as he said, ‘It involves your daughter, Leoni.’

  Rodney’s eyelids flickered, just a fraction, and he swallowed. ‘How is she? Haven’t heard from her in a while.’

  ‘I’ve not met her yet, but I thought you’d be keeping an eye on her. After all, it’s in your interests.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘To make sure she doesn’t kill again.’

  Rodney pursed his lips and flexed his fingers, as if he wanted to clench his fists but was stopping himself. Dan guessed that Rodney was having the conversation he’d always braced himself for.

  ‘That was the deal, wasn’t it?’ Dan continued. ‘You pay the penalty for her crimes, on the condition that Ruby was the last one?’

  ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

  Dan felt a growing sense of excitement, because Rodney was acting exactly as he’d expected if Jayne’s theory was right. If they were wrong, Rodney would laugh it off, even defend his daughter, treat Dan like a fool and go back to his cell. Instead, he was closing down, trying not to give anything away, as if trying to gauge what Dan knew.

  Dan jabbed his finger on the table. ‘Oh yes, you do. I can tell from the way you’re grinding your teeth, despite your attempt to look relaxed. I know the story. I’ve been following the same trail Mark Roberts had, before he was murdered.’

  Rodney took a sharp breath.

  Dan held out his hands. ‘Just like last time, I’m not making notes, not recording anything, but secrets don’t stay buried forever. Is it the truth?’

  ‘What does that matter?’

  Dan leaned forward and hissed, ‘Because your daughter didn’t end her spree with Ruby. Don’t you get it? People like her never stop. She just learned subtlety. She made a teenage boy kill himself like it was her hobby. She picked on a vulnerable young boy and wore him down until he gave in. He thought she was his confidante, his friend, but really she was his tormentor, relished it the same way she enjoyed torturing William, and then Ruby.’

  Rodney swallowed but stayed silent.

  ‘Did you really think she’d stop? She tortured and stoned a young boy to death. She watched a girl struggle for breath on your garage floor until she died.’ Rodney closed his eyes and grimaced, but Dan carried on regardless. ‘People like your daughter don’t stop. Call it an illness or a compulsion, call it whatever you want, if it takes away some of her blame, but your daughter enjoyed the torture too much to stop. If you’ve chosen to spend your life in prison as a way of making her change, you’ve wasted your time.’

  Rodney opened his eyes. ‘What do you want me to say?’ His tone was still defiant, but there were tears in his eyes.

  ‘I want you to see that you’ve had it wrong all these years, that you’ve been staying loyal to a lie.’

  ‘Why should I care what you think?’

  ‘It’s not what I think that’s important though. It’s that you know, deep down, that you weren’t protecting Leoni, and you haven’t protected those who died after Ruby. David Green. Mark Roberts. And there must be others. People died because Leoni was still out there.’

  Rodney stared at the table for a few seconds, his lips pursed, his fingers tapping on the surface. He looked at the guard, and for a moment Dan thought he was going to come over, but Rodney said, ‘What am I supposed to do?’

  ‘Come clean.’

  ‘You think people will believe what I’ve got to say? More than twenty years in prison and I suddenly get to remember what happened. And what do I do? I blame it on my daughter, my angel-faced little girl. She’s in her thirties now and never been locked up. How desperate would I look? No, it would be pointless.’

  ‘Help me then.’

  ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Because I think Leoni killed the reporter who was looking into your case. My client is accused of it, but you could help free him. Don’t let my client rot away in prison like you have, for something he didn’t do. For something your daughter did.’

  Rodney wiped his eyes. ‘Have you got children, Mr Grant?’

  ‘Why should that matter?’

  ‘Then you’d know how far you’d go to protect them. And sometimes it’s because you don’t know how much blame is your own. Sarah left us, and I had to somehow cope with two young children, and not only keep a roof over their heads but also provide the love and support their mother couldn’t. But how? I was too busy trying to sort my own head out. I didn’t have enough time left for them; I neglected them. The only thing I could say is that I stayed, but is that enough? Don’t think I haven’t wondered how much of it is my fault. If I’d been a better father, perhaps all of this wouldn’t have happened. I deserve this. Did a ten-year-old girl deserve it? No.’

  ‘Mark Roberts didn’t deserve it. David Green didn’t deserve it. Do the right thing, Rodney. For my client, because you might think you deserve to be where you are, but he doesn’t.’

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t spread the guilt, Mr Grant.’ He stood, making the guard begin to walk over. ‘I wish things were different, or that I could go back, but I can’t. It’s your theory, but you don’t care about me or Leoni. You just want to win your case.’

  The guard was at the table, leading Rodney away.

  ‘Final answer?’

  ‘Final answer, Mr Grant.’

  Chapter Fifty-Seven

  Rodney paced as he waited for the phone.

  Dan had been gone a couple of hours, and he was used to the slow drag of time, but this was the call he’d been dreading for twenty years.

  He was in a corridor close to the rooms where the guards sat when they weren’t walking the wings. The phone was the cause of many fights, as prisoners used it for too long, tensions boiling as people waited to make calls. Prison is about patience, waiting for those moments that break the monotony. A phone call is one of those things, and delays test everyone.

  He wondered about those wasted years as he waited. Had they been wasted years? He’d received enough advice, with calls from lawyers hoping to make a name from his case.

  He wasn’t interested in that. They were after making their name, not his
. Ken Goodman had been his lawyer throughout his time. He was incompetent, but he’d served his purpose.

  Dan Grant was different, because Dan hadn’t been interested in him but only ever about his own client.

  If Rodney wanted legal advice, there were always plenty of self-taught prison-wing experts to ask. That was the nature of prison. There was time to fill. Long days that stretched into nothing and the only thing to occupy his mind was what was going on outside. Memories of the people he would no longer see, and fear of the threats he faced along the wings.

  It was the threats he hated, from those prisoners who saw attacking him as somehow atoning for their own sins. They’d ruined lives too, but it didn’t give them special rights. On the outside, they were bad people, ones to avoid, but on the inside? Why did they get to hold the moral compass?

  The noises too. Shouting, banging, sometimes screams. On the quiet nights, sobs could be heard, the gasping sorrow of the new arrivals, not yet acclimatised to the utter tedium.

  It was different for him, he knew that. He was on a protected wing, to keep the monsters locked away, even if it was for their own protection. A cell to himself. A television. He could read and while his hours away, provided he could endure the scorn of the guards. Not for him the shared cell, the bunks, the perpetually open doors, always waiting for an attack from one of the inmates who thought that the only reputation worth having was a bad one.

  And then there were the perverts.

  He didn’t mean the lovers, those men who found solace in each other. Who was he to judge anyone? No, it was those who loathed their yearnings, who saw the terror in someone else’s eyes as a turn-on, because it was all about power in the end. One thing he’d learned in prison was that there were some humans who didn’t deserve to be free, alive even, whose wires had got jumbled along the way and posed nothing but a threat.