by Lisa Hartley
‘One of the nurses brought it for me. Who are you?’
Bowles was still pale, his voice slightly husky. Bishop wondered if this was a result of whatever they’d had to do to get all the whiskey and paracetamol out of his system. Perhaps he always sounded like that. Bowles looked tiny in the hospital bed; Bishop bet he was about the same height as herself, on the small side for a man.
‘Detective Inspector Knight and Detective Sergeant Bishop.’ Knight said, observing Bowles closely to gauge his reaction. It wasn’t subtle. Bowles grew even paler and shrank back against his pillows.
‘Police?’
‘Well done.’ Bishop replied.
‘But trying to commit suicide isn’t illegal … is it?’
Knight didn’t reply, just settled himself in the chair at the head of Bowles’ bed. Bishop plonked herself down next to him, set the carrier bag she’d been holding on the floor and opened her notebook. Bowles’ eyes flicked worriedly between them.
‘Why are you here? Do I need a solicitor?’
‘We just want to have a chat, Mr Bowles.’
‘A chat? About what?’
‘Why don’t you tell us about Craig Pollard and Steven Kent?’
Bowles’ face crumpled like that of an unhappy child. Tears ran down his cheeks, and he did nothing to hide or stop them.
‘They’re dead.’ Bowles managed to say.
‘We know that, Mr Bowles. Why?’ Bishop was curt.
Bowles glanced quickly around the ward. Of the four beds, only two more were occupied, one by an elderly man who was snoring. In the other, a younger man read a thick paperback.
‘I don’t want to talk here. Can’t we go somewhere else?’
‘We can have a trip to the police station if that suits you better.’ said Bishop, making as if to stand.
Bowles protested, ‘I’m ill, I’ve got to stay here.’
‘Your doctor’s just told us you can leave when you’re ready.’
Staring, Bowles said, ‘But that’s rubbish, I’ve only just woken up, how can I go home?’
‘Think of it as a miraculous recovery.’ Bishop deliberately sounded bored.
‘I’ve got no clothes…’
Bishop bent down to open the carrier bag, then threw a black tracksuit and plain white T shirt onto the bed.
‘Put these on. We’ll wait.’
She and Knight stood and a nurse stepped forward to pull the curtains around a stricken David Bowles’ bed. After a few minutes, Bowles reappeared dressed in the tracksuit.
‘It’s too big.’ He flapped his arms pathetically, the sleeves hanging over his hands.
‘Beggars can’t be choosers Mr Bowles, haven’t you heard that one?’
Bishop strode away from the bed, Bowles scurrying along behind her, Knight following.
‘I don’t understand why you’re being so awful, I’m ill, I’m … ’
‘You’re coming with us.’ Bishop said grimly.
In the interview room, Bowles looked terrified, glancing around him as if he expected to be attacked at any second. Perhaps he did. Knight sat quietly opposite Bowles, content to let Bishop do the talking. She entered and placed a plastic cup of water on the table in front of Bowles.
‘Thank you.’ His hand shook visibly as he lifted the cup to his lips. ‘Am I … have I been arrested?’
‘No, Mr Bowles. You’re just answering some questions.’
Bishop took the seat next to Knight. Bowles licked his lips.
‘Helping with enquiries?’ He risked a smile.
‘If that’s how you want to describe it.’
‘About Craig and Steve?’
‘That’s right.’
‘I didn’t kill them.’
‘Can you help us find who did?’
Bowles looked wretched.
‘I don’t know.’
‘Why don’t we start at the beginning? How did you know Craig and Steve?’
They knew Bowles was the man who’d made the anonymous phone call asking for details of Pollard’s death. Even from the grainy image they had there was no mistaking him.
‘I lived near Craig. He knew Steve from somewhere, I don’t know how.’
‘So you were friends with Craig?’
‘I wouldn’t say friends, he wasn’t really the sort of person you were friends with. He was the leader around where we lived, people followed him.’
‘You followed him?’
Bowles’ head went down.
‘I suppose so.’
‘Did you like Craig?’
‘How do you mean, like? I just hung around with him sometimes.’
‘When Craig asked you to?’
‘I didn’t go with them very often. He … they liked to tease people.’
‘They teased you?’ Bishop’s voice was gentler now.
‘Sometimes.’
‘Craig especially?’
Bowles glanced at her.
‘Yeah. Everyone joined in, but he always started it.’
‘A bully.’ Knight added.
‘Yeah.’
‘You were in hospital because you took an overdose of paracetamol, Mr Bowles. Could you tell us why you did that?’
‘I’d had enough.’
‘Enough of what?’
‘Of everything. I left a note … ’
‘I know. I read it.’
He frowned, confused. ‘How could you have?’
‘A colleague and I went to your flat to question you and found you unconscious.’
‘So you called the ambulance?’
‘My colleague did.’
‘Oh. I suppose I should thank you.’
‘You’re welcome. In your note, you said,’ she glanced at her notebook, ‘“I’m not going to wait for him to come and get me like he did Craig and Steve”. Who were you referring to?’
‘I thought it might be Nick, but now I think it’s the boy from the moor.’
Bishop paused, startled. ‘Which boy from the moor?’
Bowles raised his head to meet her eyes.
‘The one whose little brother we killed.’ he said quietly.
55
As Bowles was led to a cell, Knight and Bishop ducked quickly into the room usually reserved for legal representatives to wait in.
‘Well, I wasn’t expecting that.’ Bishop said.
‘Seems we’re going to get the full story at last. Is Anna around?’
‘Not sure, she went out earlier to talk to Pollard’s parents again.’
‘I’ll find out, get her onto checking the records, see if we can start piecing this together. There can’t have been that many people killed on the moor. How have we missed this?’
‘No idea, sir, I don’t remember hearing about it before. We don’t know, the body could never have been found.’
‘I don’t want Bowles telling us any more yet.’
‘Understood.’
‘Can you make sure the duty solicitor’s on the way? Not that Bowles seems to care, I think he just wants to get it off his chest now. I’ll find DCI Kendrick, bring him up to date too. He’ll probably want to observe. I want you to lead the interview, Catherine.’
Bishop stared.
‘Okay, sir, if you’re sure.’
‘I am. We need to handle Bowles carefully, remember he’s just recovering from taking an overdose, we don’t want to upset him or traumatise him anymore than his story’s going to. Kid gloves all round, unless it’s necessary to change the strategy. I don’t think it will be, I’ll think the floodgates are about to open. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’
Knight rushed out of the room. Bishop ran her hands through her hair. This was it, the breakthrough they had been waiting for and yet it seemed almost an anticlimax. Bowles sitting there ready to spill his guts and it was a result of his own suicide attempt, not the hours of work they’d put in. She supposed it was their investigation that had led them to Bowles; if she and Varcoe hadn’t found him they wouldn’t have him here at the station now. She didn’t think
he was the man they were looking for though and she knew Knight didn’t either, but at the same time, he’d just confessed to a crime they hadn’t even known about until this point. There was the possibility of closing three cases here, the Pollard and Kent murders and attempted murder of Brady, always supposing he did survive, the crime Bowles had just admitted, and the people traffickers, if Knight had his way. She felt expectation building, as well as the hope that the case would soon be over. The messages and photos would stop, her house would feel like her own again. The image of Milica Zukic’s shy smile appeared in her mind, she imagined the faces of Pollard’s children, thought of Kent’s sister, Brady’s parents. There were so many victims in this case, and from what Bowles had said, more to come. Her own mother’s face when she spoke of the child she’d lost … Bishop took out her phone. No messages. She was suddenly desperate to hear Claire’s voice, her reassurance, for her to say that however long it took, she would be waiting, whatever state Bishop was in after this was all over, Claire would still be there. It was so early in the relationship and although the feelings she had were the most intense she had ever experienced, Bishop knew she couldn’t ask so much from Claire this soon. She’d have to do without the pep talk.
With Varcoe and Sullivan trawling the system and Kendrick watching through the two way mirror the interview resumed, more formal now, Bowles having been cautioned and with the duty solicitor sitting by his side. Bowles was calm, almost serene, ready to tell his story. The solicitor was a woman about Bowles’ own age, neatly dressed in a navy suit and white shirt. Bishop, now entirely focussed on the task in hand, went through the official preliminaries for the recording and began the interview.
‘Mr Bowles, when we spoke to you earlier, you mentioned a boy that was killed on the moor. Which moor were you talking about?’
‘Laughton Moor. You know, just out of town. We went up there a couple of times. I think Craig and Steve and a few of the other lads went up there quite a lot back then, it was somewhere to have a few drinks, a swim if the weather was warm enough.’
‘You’re referring to Craig Pollard and Steven Kent?’
‘Yes.’
‘So, you and Craig and Steve went up onto the moors?’
‘I was at home, messing around in the garden, I think. Mum came and said there were some lads asking for me, so I went round to the front and Craig was there, he said I could go with them. I was pleased to be asked, to be honest. I don’t know what it was about Craig, you just wanted him to like you, take notice of you. It was like he was a celebrity round here. I know that sounds stupid, but that’s how it felt. He told me where they were going, that they had some cans of beer and I took a few bags of crisps from the cupboard as well. It was really warm, I thought it would be like a picnic.’
‘Can you tell me when this was?’
‘Summer. Mid July, twelve years ago. Hot, I was sun burnt when I got home, I remember that.’
‘And you and Craig and Steve walked up to the moors?’
‘Yeah, we called for Nick on the way.’
‘Nick’s surname?’
‘Nick Brady, well, Nicholas Brady. He lived nearby too. He was another mate of Craig’s, though I don’t think Nick liked Craig much really, he always seemed to be laughing at him behind his back, being sarcastic or muttering about him.’
‘But Nick still came with you that day?’
‘Yeah, like I said, Craig was God where we lived. Even if you didn’t particularly like him, it was still good to be seen with him, people would respect you. Nick wasn’t above knowing that.’
Bishop thought of Nick Brady lying in hospital, his parents by his side not knowing when or if their son would wake. Craig Pollard and Steve Kent, both dead and Bowles himself, seeing suicide as preferable to coming to the police. Bowles had said they’d killed, presumably a child. Bishop took another deep breath.
‘So the four of you arrived at the moor. Can you remember the time?’
‘Late morning. Before twelve, because we’d gone by the church as the clock struck eleven, and it wouldn’t take that long to walk up there. Around eleven thirty. We walked quite a way, just talking, messing around. Craig was talking about some girl he’d been with the night before, I can’t remember the name but … It was always like that with him, a different girl every night if you believed him.’
‘And did you?’
‘Why not? All the lads wanted to be around Craig, no doubt the girls did too. I didn’t like the way he talked about them, though, he wasn’t very nice, not respectful. Laughing at what they’d done, things they said. It didn’t seem fair for him to tell us. I think Nick felt the same, he wandered off in front, but Steve wanted to know every detail and Craig loved boasting. We were walking alongside the stream by then, that’s what everyone calls it, though it’s bigger than a stream really. Nick was skimming stones, Steve and Craig sat on the bank. I wasn’t sure what to do, I watched Nick for a while then had a go myself but he was much better at it than me. Story of my life really.’
He looked to Bishop for sympathy, but found none. Her face remained impassive.
‘Eventually, Nick went and sat down too. I followed and Craig gave us a can of lager each. It was warm, but we drank it down, and then had another can each. I was feeling a bit drunk by then, I wasn’t used to drinking like Craig was. He could get served in pubs and everything, he went out at the weekends, in the week too, he told us. Beer or vodka. Then Craig said he bet he could jump over the stream, and Nick laughed, said no way, he’d fall in. Craig stuck to his guns, but so did Nick. Craig started to get annoyed, told Nick he didn’t know what he was talking about. Craig had to prove it, of course, so he took a run up and jumped. He just made it and then came back and sat down, cocky as anything. He told Nick he owed him a tenner. Nick said if he could do it too they were even and Craig agreed, so Nick had a go. He nearly fell in on the way back, had to scrabble with his feet, but he got across.’
Bowles paused, took a sip of water, then another. He held out the empty cup.
‘Could I have some more, please?’
More water was brought in, Bishop grateful for a cup too. Knight stretched in his chair, settled back. Bowles drank, fidgeted. Bishop waited patiently.
‘Steve went across too eventually and of course Craig was going on and on about me having a go, but I knew there was no way I could do it, they were all miles taller than me. I just said no way and they let it drop eventually. We sat around for a while, and then we saw these two kids heading our way. One had a fishing net in his hand, he was the youngest. He was about the same size as my cousin, so he must have been about six, I’d say. The other was older, thin, eleven or twelve maybe.’
‘Boys?’
‘Yeah, they went down to the water and the younger one started trying to catch fish. I don’t think there were even any fish in there. The older one was watching. It didn’t take long for Craig to start showing off. He jumped across the stream again and stood on the other side, opposite where they were fishing. He asked them where they lived. The younger one said they were travellers, staying down the road somewhere and that their dad was doing some work for one of the farmers. Craig thought that was hilarious. He called them gyppos.’
Bowles’ unseeing gaze was fixed on the tabletop as he relived the events that had haunted him, replaying the scene in his mind.
‘I thought you looked like peasants,’ Craig sneered, hands on hips. ‘How many times have those clothes been handed down then? Bet your dad wore them first twenty years ago. You’d think someone would have washed them in the meantime, you stink you scruffy little shit, I can smell you from here.’
The younger boy glared at him.
‘Ignore him.’ the older one said.
‘That’s right, ignore the nasty man,’ Craig mocked. ‘What are you doing then, trying to catch some fish for your tea? Can’t you afford anything else? Not sold enough pegs lately, or hasn’t your mum had enough customers? Maybe Nick and Dave here could come over and hav
e turns with her, God knows they have to pay for it.’
The older boy stared across at Craig.
‘ Come on, Tommy, let’s go.’ he said softly.
‘No,’ Tommy said. ‘I want to catch some fish.’
Craig laughed nastily.
‘That’s right, you can’t go back to your hovel with no fish, what will your mummy and daddy say? What will you have to eat? Maybe you’ll be lucky and your dad will have found a turnip at the side of the road, you can take it in turns to have a chew on that.’
The older boy said again, ‘Come on, Tommy.’
‘No, I’m staying here, he doesn’t scare me.’
The older boy stared at him in frustration, then walked away. He disappeared over the bank. Craig shook his head.
‘You’re a brave boy, Tommy. Not like scaredy cat there, running off home.’
‘You’re not clever,’ said Tommy, dipping his fishing net into the water again. ‘You’re just a bully.’
Craig narrowed his eyes.
‘A bully? What do you mean, a bully? We’re just having a chat, you’re lucky I’m even bothering to speak to you, you filthy fucking gyppo.’
Nick looked uncomfortable.
‘Come on, Craig,’ he said. ‘He’s only a kid.’
‘Shut up, Nick, or fuck off home.’ Craig snapped.
With a snort of derision, Nick got up and began to walk away.
‘So,’ Craig addressed the child again, ‘How much scrap have you collected this week?’
‘Scrap?’ the boy looked bemused.
‘Yeah, you know, scrap. What your dad brings home when he’s finished stealing for the day. He brings it back and leaves it outside your shitty caravan where your mum’s sitting making pegs and bunches of lucky heather, then you all go inside and look at the pictures in the newspaper, ‘cos none of you can read.’
The boy glared, annoyed at last.
‘I can read.’ He said.
Yeah, ‘course you can.’ laughed Craig.
‘I can read!’ the boy yelled, trying to launch himself across the stream towards Pollard.
Pollard stepped back, laughing.
‘Stupid little bastard, he’ll never make it.’
Tommy was in the water, struggling and splashing. Nick ran back and started pulling off his shoes.