Shallow Waters (Detective Hannah Robbins crime series Book 1)

by Rebecca Bradley

  Thoughts of the previous night were interrupted by soft footfalls coming through the door.

  It was five a.m.

  “Morning, sleepy.” Ethan walked in holding a large white cup and saucer in each hand, the smell of coffee stronger as he neared the bed. He handed me one of the cups as I shuffled into a more upright position.

  “I know you need to get to work, so I thought we could do the morning thing early, rather than miss it out altogether.”

  “I don’t know what to say. I’m surprised you’re the make coffee in the morning type of guy. Thank you.”

  He eased himself down onto the bed and pulled at the sheets while balancing coffee in a hand. “What time do you have to leave?” An innocent question but filled with a meaning I could clearly see.

  I rolled my eyes as I retrieved memories of what was waiting for me. I needed to be in early. I needed to check in with DIU, view the images on Benn’s computer and plan another interview around what was in the partial report. We then needed to push all the evidence we had on him, give him no place to twist. The only place left for him would be the straight truth. That was the plan anyway. How many times it ever went to plan I’m not sure. When you deal with humans things are never predictable. Fight or flight mode kicks in. Criminals get grand ideas of how they can get away with crimes, even heinous crimes like murder. If we planned this right, though, we’d have our guy.

  “So?” Ethan interjected.

  “Sorry... I need to leave in about forty-five minutes. I have so much to do; this job isn’t in the bag yet. We can’t be too confident and lose track of what we’re doing.”

  He stroked my hair away from my eyes. “Isn’t he cooperating?” The movement was soft, sensitive and distracting.

  “He likes to talk; we need to get him to talk a bit more honestly.”

  “What’s he saying?”

  I flicked my free hand up and pushed Ethan’s away from my face. I felt uncomfortable.

  “You know I can’t tell you, Ethan. Is that the reason you’re here? To find out what’s happening on a case?” I pushed the cup onto the bedside table, frustration scratching away at me.

  “Of course it’s not the reason I’m here, Han. I’m here to spend time with you, to see you. The timing’s not great, but don’t think I only see you as an information source.” His voice hardened and the coldness of the day crept into the room. I wanted the warmth of the night to come back. I rubbed at my eyes with the heels of my hands.

  “You have to go, Ethan. I need to get into work.”

  The cup rattled in the saucer as he put it down. “Okay, okay, but if Natalie wakes, she’s only talking to you through the paper, so you’re going to have to work with me. This...” he said as he waved his arm across the bed sheets, “last night, was something else.” He sat on the edge of the bed, pulled on his jeans and, picking up his shirt, slipped into his pumps. He walked towards the door.

  “Last night was great, Han. Don’t let it go.”

  And he was gone.

  47

  After a quick shower, I drove to the office. The place was quiet and still. Paperwork was everywhere. The team were working different angles, creating mounds of information, not just on the murders, but on all the people involved. Histories and backgrounds on Rosie, Allison, Natalie, and Colin. We needed to know their lives as well as they knew them and more. I filled the kettle, flicked the switch on and picked a green teabag out of the box. The team would start to arrive soon. Plans for the day ran through my head.

  The click as the kettle boiled brought me back from my reverie. We had a big hole in our investigation and we needed to find some answers. Time was working against us.

  I phoned down to the custody suite and spoke with the sergeant on duty. Benn had had his eight hours and was awake and about to eat the microwaved cardboard that passed for breakfast down there. As soon as he’d eaten we were free to go back into interview with him. I needed to see what was on his computer beforehand. I pulled myself up the stairs, using the banister rail as a lever, every step an effort. Danny Scrivens was the only person in.

  “Morning, ma’am.”

  “Morning, Danny. What’ve you got?”

  “I thought you’d ask, that’s why I brought my lazy arse in early. I’m loading the results up.”

  I leaned in to look at the monitor. “I appreciate it,” I said as I watched him scroll through different drives until he found the one he wanted, opened it and clicked through the parameters he wanted to set for the images to be viewed. The screen loaded with a wave of thumbnails.

  “These are all the images he has on his computer including deleted files. There’s a lot on here, it could take some time to go through. Do you have someone who can view these for you?” Danny asked.

  “Yes, I can get someone to come up and do that. Can I have a quick look through to see what kind of images he has stored on here?” I grabbed the back of a chair, wheeled it over to where we were and sat down in front of the monitor.

  “Yep. You know the drill. Use the arrows to scroll through. Whoever does the full viewing can categorise any illegal images.”

  “Thanks, Danny.” I started to look through the page of thumbnails facing me. There was a lot of pornography. The usual stuff was present as well as more extreme images involving props and weapons. Pins pushed through the breasts of women as they were strung up in chains being held from the ceiling, and others whose breasts were bound so tightly in rope they were turning purple. Faces of pain and agony did not deter the dominant males inflicting the evils in the name of sexual arousal. This bloke’s tastes were hardcore, a sexual predator who couldn’t fulfil his sexual needs after gratifying them in a specific way for a period time. So he craved something a little harder, a little more extreme until that then failed to raise his interest as it had originally done and the cycle continued. I knew these images would get worse. I closed the window down. I had no need to see these. My career had brought me into contact with sexual predators many times. Their collections were disturbing, and the effects of viewing detrimental. It always gave me a sense of achievement when a child predator was sentenced at court. What I needed to know from this computer today was if there was any link on here with Rosie, anything we could use in interview. I’d ask Ross to view the images. He had his work cut out for him, though, with the volume Benn had stored on here. He needed to be alert to be able to identify if the girls were on here at all.

  “Thanks. I appreciate the early morning support. I’ll send Ross up to do the viewing if that’s okay?”

  “It’s fine. Ready when he is.”

  The incident room had started to fill. Grey was in and hovering, casting his eye over proceedings. Even though we had Benn in the cells, he wouldn’t look any more settled until we had him charged and locked up in a prison somewhere. Grey was a seasoned detective and he knew we still had a long way to go before this was in the bag and Benn was in front of a judge. He was skimming the room like a good host does at a party, checking in with everyone, making sure they were up to speed with their actions. He wanted the team tight, and we had that. I trusted them. As I stood inside the doorway watching him work, he looked over and saw me.

  “Hannah. Good morning. Great to see everyone here so early. Can we have a moment in your office please?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  As we walked I stopped and asked Ross to go upstairs to view the images on Benn’s computer. “Take a photo of Rosie and Allison with you, Ross, to make sure.”

  He walked over to one of the desks and collected the photos before leaving.

  “Shall we?” asked Grey as he walked into my office and sat behind my desk. “Okay, Hannah. What does today have in store for us?”

  I bristled as he questioned me on the investigation from my chair. As he wrote his notes, his blue hard-backed notebook began to shift my paperwork from its given place.

  “Other than the DNA evidence from Rosie Green, what do we have to link Benn to the murder and attemp
ted murder of Allison and Natalie Kirk?” he asked.

  I took a deep breath before I answered and attempted to keep my face from showing any signs of annoyance. “Following on from what I said last night, we’re still awaiting forensic results from the dump sites, post-mortem and his address. The quickest result we will get from his address will be fingerprints, but he’s not denying being in a relationship with Natalie so there’s every reason to expect her prints and potentially Allison’s to be there. CSIs are still working at his address. As long as we can get a charge on Rosie’s murder we can keep him locked up and that gives us time to continue processing the evidence from the other scenes.”

  He paused, seemed to think, then scribbled in his notebook again.

  “Have Rosie’s parents been updated?”

  “Yes. I spoke with Martin yesterday, after we arrested Benn. He was going to see them with Chris, the FLO over there, and let them know. I’ll call him again today and see how the visit went and find out other lines of inquiry he may have.”

  “Okay. Good. What about neighbours of Benn, what do they have to say?”

  “We’re a bit thin on the ground with Sally off and Martin in Norwich so I’m going to borrow a couple of uniform today and get them to do more door knocking.”

  Grey nodded. My response seemed to appease him. He closed his notebook with an over exaggerated snap and walked out my office. “Keep me updated, Hannah.”

  I let go of my annoyance with a deep sigh, walked around my desk and sat down, claiming the space as my own again.

  I updated my officer’s log, signed through overtime forms and re-read the notes from yesterday’s interview before Ross came through the door.

  “You need to see this, boss.”

  48

  She was hungry and her stomach moved like rolling thunder. It seemed so long since anyone had come in to feed her. So long since anyone had been in to see her. She scratched at the dried brown mark on her knee, her nail bending as she pressed it down to scrape the skin. It was light; didn’t that mean it was morning? She tried to remember when she had last seen him and couldn’t. The mark split in two as the substance concertinaed under the feeble nail.

  It was quiet. She flicked underneath the bending nail with another weak nail to remove the grime and strained to hear. It was so often quiet. The darkness made the quiet much more tangible, like she could reach out and touch the silence.

  Dust danced in the streams of light shining through the narrow gap where the dirty curtains hung, not quite drawn together, over the window at the top of the wall. She continued to scratch at the mark on her knee long after it had gone. She scraped the bending nail on the plastic beneath her, just to hear the sound. Why didn’t anyone come? She’d been good. She’d done as she was told and she’d even stopped crying now. It was quiet, apart from the scratching of her nail on plastic. She didn’t like the quiet. She was a good girl. She was trying.

  49

  The eyes of Rosie and Allison stared back at me from the desk where I’d put their photographs. Absently I flicked the bottom corner of Rosie’s picture. I felt as though I was about to violate them again, even if they were now a world away.

  I shifted the mouse, bringing the screen back from sleep with a vicious start, from the quietly moving unobtrusive screen saver badge of Nottinghamshire police to a page of thumbnails. My eyes flicked across from the screen back to the photographs with a sense of sorrow. You never get used to these things. Maybe slightly removed, compartmentalised, but never used to.

  The sound of shifting feet behind me pulled me back to the task in hand. No one wanted to speak. I could feel the collective breath holding of Danny, Ross and Grey.

  “You’re sure?” I asked of Ross, looking down at the photographs, not wanting to see it for myself.

  “Yes.”

  Nothing else was needed. Grey shifted into my peripheral vision, the movement alone telling me he wanted to know.

  I turned back to the screen, leaving my thumb resting on the photograph. I double tapped the mouse over the first image in the line. The screen changed. A single image of a female child filled the screen. She looked to be between about seven and nine years of age. The child was wearing pants in front of a backdrop that looked to be a cheap white sheet. She was smiling for the camera. Ross leaned over my shoulder and pointed towards the monitor. “There’s one on the top row, third one in, and the second one in on the second to bottom row is also relevant.”

  I ground my teeth together to prevent myself bawling him out. It wasn’t him I was angry with. I closed the window and moved the cursor across the tiny images. I could see what they all were. Skin tones melding into one disgusting story. Eventually I steadied the cursor enough to click on the image Ross had indicated. As it opened, my teeth ground harder together, the force pushed up to my temples. I looked down at the photograph of Rosie I was touching, then looked back at the screen.

  “Filthy, fucking, dirty bastard.”

  Danny leaned over my shoulder and deftly moved around in the software. “It’s the whole file these images are stored in that you need to be looking at. It’ll give you a wider picture.” His fingers moved quickly and soon, two folders were on the monitor, waiting to be viewed in their entirety. Photographs of both Rosie and Allison were saved in named folders on the hard drive. One folder contained pictures of Rosie. It had been given the name Rosie Shared.

  I recognised the locations in the photos, recalling the dark blue flat weave of the carpet and the paper falling from the walls. I saw in the background the very same computer the photographs were now stored in. The photographs of Rosie had been taken in Benn’s dingy two bedroom terrace house.

  Not for the first time since picking up this case I found myself fighting to contain a stomach lurching sickness as I worked my way through the folder with Ross; Grey and Danny apparently doing the same if their silence was anything to go by. Benn couldn’t deny knowledge of Rosie now, but I still didn’t get the link. She was so far away.

  I moved through the images in the Rosie Shared file, taking in how Benn had started photographing her dressed in a dirty white vest and pink pants. They didn’t look like they had been washed in a long time. Where were her clothes? What had happened to her? I knew I needed to check back on the original missing report to see what she’d been wearing when last seen. The look on her face told me all I needed to know about how she felt. She was utterly terrified. There was no colour to her skin, and her mouth, though attempting a smile, wavered at the sides, cracking in fear, cheeks forced out, eyes registering every feeling she was pretending didn’t exist.

  The collection of images changed and Rosie’s two items of clothing made their way to the floor as she was further posed and she became more distressed. Her body looked thin, the way I had seen her. The forced smile so difficult to keep in place now, her mouth a straight line across her ashen face. Then Benn joined her and the still images made way for videos, the camera placed in such a way it captured everything. A picture of violation and horror unfolded in front of us. No one spoke. Then just when you think you can’t be shocked in this job, the next video started. All the evidence of Rosie’s wrist welts and bruises were played out for us in full colour and with sound. At the end of the film, the marks around her neck were explained as the silent office watched Benn pull the belt from around his jeans. As I watched him pulling at it, it dawned on me what I was about to witness.

  No one said a word.

  50

  Today she wasn’t as sore. She had no idea how long she had been here. Though days and nights were different, there had been times when she hadn’t cared what day it was, she just wanted the pain to stop, the fear to subside and for her mum to hold her.

  Today was a better day but she was hungry. She heard the grinding sound of the metal bolt as it was dragged across the door and the key turn in the lock. She sat upright as she hoped it was food. There was a semblance of routine that she was getting used to and she was hungry.


  “Good morning, little angel,” he said, carrying a small plastic tray. She could see the rim of the pink plastic plate he always used.

  She twitched her nose in an attempt to figure out what he was carrying.

  “So you’re not speaking to me today?” he asked.

  “Yes, sorry,” she apologised, staring hard at the approaching utensils.

  “Hungry?”

  “Yes.”

  “Are you going to be a good girl today?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’ll be good,” she answered on her knees trying to look up.

  He crouched down. His face appeared close to the bars. She stumbled back landing on her bottom. “S… s… sorry.”

  “You want your breakfast, little angel?”

  “Yes please.”

  He placed the tray on the floor while he unlocked the small padlock that secured the cage door. She could see the food now. A slice of burnt toast with little sign of butter. She was hungry and desperate for it. She pulled her feet up to her bottom, raised herself from the floor into a crouch, waiting for the plate but keeping some distance between them. She saw his smile. Her reaction to him always delighted him.

  He put the plastic plate through the open doorway and down on the cage base in front of her. He then closed the door and padlocked.

  “Tammy?”

  “Thank you,” she answered as she moved the toast towards her mouth. She ate ravenously. He sat in the chair and watched her. His presence no longer putting her off as she ate to sustain herself.

  51

  With a heavy feeling I exported the photographs of Rosie onto an HTML file and burned a disc for use in interview with Benn. I leaned back in my chair hard, pushed my fingers together on top of my head and released a sigh of complete mental exhaustion.