Natalie giggled. “We put ourselves in. We're not babies.”
“What, all on your own?”
“Well, Mommy and Daddy help.”
“What, together?”
Tamara giggled now. “No, silly. They take turns. When Mommy is at work Daddy baths us, and when Mummy is at home Mommy baths us.”
“So your daddy baths you when your mommy is at work? On his own?”
“Of course.”
“Don't you mind?”
“Mind what?”
“Your daddy bathing you.”
“Why?”
“Does he help wash you?”
“Of course. We're only six. We can't do our hair properly. Only grown-ups can do hair properly.”
“What about...you know, down there? Does daddy wash you there?”
Both girls shook their heads. “We do that bit ourselves. Daddy says we should never let anyone touch us there.”
“Not even daddies?” Bamford could not disguise her disappointment. “Daddy doesn't touch you there? Ever?”
The girls looked at her as if she was stupid. Hadn't they just said so?
Tamara turned back to the doll's house. “Daddy says Santa might bring us a doll's house if we're really, really, really good.”
“We want a computer too,” added Natalie, “but Daddy says it isn't fair to ask Santa for really expensive things because he has to buy presents for all the children in the whole world, even the Eskimos, so he might not have enough money.”
Bamford had no interest in their Christmas prospects. Spoilt brats.
“Girls, I have to go now and do some work, otherwise I'll be in trouble with my boss. We wouldn't want that to happen, would we?”
The twins were too polite to say they couldn't care less.
“You two stay here and play. When I come back I'll bring that lady I told you about. And after that I expect your mommy will be here to collect you.”
“And Daddy too?”
“Of course. He telephoned me just now to say he was coming. He said to tell you to be very, very good and to tell the lady about everything you and your daddy do together when your mommy is at work, even if you usually keep it a secret. He said if you tell her lots of things then he'll have a word with Santa about that computer you wanted”
152
Bamford could hear the crying from the corridor.
She desperately rattled the keys in the lock, pushing the door open to see Tamara with her arms around her wailing sister.
The child looked up accusingly as she entered.
“What's happened? Is she hurt?”
A hint of panic.
She shouldn't have left them alone so long.
Supposing someone else had found them...
There could be repercussions.
“Natalie wet herself. She couldn't help it. The door wouldn't open.” Tamara was almost in tears herself. To her young mind it was the twins who were at fault.
Bamford heaved a sigh of relief. She turned on the child.
“You dirty, dirty, dirty little girl. Couldn't you wait? That is gross! I was only gone five minutes.” She knew it was more than an hour.
Natalie cried louder. Tamara's voice started to break as she defended her sister. “We called for you but nobody comed. And for Mommy and Daddy. But nobody comed. Nobody. She couldn't help it.”
“I want my Mommy!”
Bamford looked horrified. She glanced at the clock. Simmons would be along any minute.
She grabbed Natalie by the arm, yanking her to her feet.
“You, stay here,” she told Tamara. “I'm taking your disgusting brat of a sister to get changed, and I don't want a word out of you while I'm gone. Understand?”
Tamara nodded, too frightened to speak, tears welling in her brown eyes. She prayed for Mommy and Daddy to come as she watched Bamford drag Natalie away. She crouched down next to the doll’s house, crying.
Minutes later Simmons appeared in the doorway. Tamara eyed her warily.
“Hello. You must be one of the twins. Why the tears. You can stop that right now.” She looked around. “Is Miss Bamford not here? Where's your sister?”
Tamara stared back at her. She had a softer voice than the other lady, but the same cold eyes. Tamara decided she didn't like her. She began sucking her thumb, curling up into fetal position.
“I asked you a question.”
No response.
“Are you dumb? Take that stupid thumb out of your mouth for goodness sake. You'll make your teeth crooked.”
Tamara stared at her.
Simmons put on a friendly smile and softened her tone. “Are you Tamara or Natalie?”
The little girl hesitated. It wasn't as easy to be defiant on your own. The words were whispered around the thumb.
“Tamara.”
“Tamara. That's a lovely name. So your sister must be Natalie.”
Tamara nodded.
“Where's Natalie now? With Miss Bamford?”
“Toilet.”
Simmons forced a bigger smile. She leant down and picked up Tamara, seating the child next to herself on the sofa. “Come on, don't be frightened. You're safe now.”
Tamara held herself rigid.
“Come on, sit comfortably. Oh, I'm sorry. You can sit, can't you? Are you sore?”
“I want Mommy.”
“Of course you do. You'll see her later on, don't worry. Where does it hurt?”
Tamara looked bewildered.
“When Miss Bamford comes back with Natalie I need to ask you both some questions, okay? It's a little game. If you get the answers right you win some candies. How does that sound?”
“I want Daddy.”
“Daddy? Big girls like you don't need their daddies, do they?”
“Yes.”
“He'll be here later. Now, are we going to play this game or not?”
“When is Natalie coming back?”
“Any second now. Miss Bamford is with her. She'll look after her.”
“I don't like her.”
“But she's your sister.”
“No, the lady. I don't like the lady. She's mean.”
“Tamara, that's not very...” Simmons considered further. “Well, actually Miss Bamford isn't that nice, Tamara, you’re right.” She leant in and whispered conspiratorially. “I'll tell you what. When Natalie comes back I'll ask Miss Bamford to go away, so it will just be you and your sister and me here. What do you think?”
Tamara nodded. A hint of a smile.
“That way we can play the game and share all the candy and that mean and horrid Miss Bamford can stand out in the corridor all on her own.”
Tamara couldn't help but smile at the prospect.
Simmons clasped her tiny hand. “Listen, I can hear someone coming.”
Tamara perked up at the sound of approaching footsteps and ran to hug her sister, the wet dress exchanged for a pair of baggy jeans. Simmons motioned for Bamford to stay out in the corridor, joining her and pulling the door closed.
“What happened?”
“Little cow wet herself. I was only gone a few minutes. There was a phone call. I came back and she was standing there, doing it all over the floor. No warning, nothing. Then she laughed at me. Needs a good slap, that one.”
“Maybe she has a weak bladder.”
“Full, that's for sure. I had to change everything, even her socks.”
“Did you get anything out of them?”
“Loads. Get this: The father baths them regularly. On his own, while the mother is at work. I ask you. What type of mother would let a man bath a child?”
Simmons nodded her complete agreement. Some women weren't fit to be mothers.
“I didn't press them on it,” Bamford said. “Left that for you. But it's obvious what he's been up to. Even so, they talk of him quite affectionately, given what he does to them.”
“At that age they probably think it's normal. You'll be watching, of course?”
“Of
course. Want to make it more interesting?”
“Try me.”
“Ten bucks says you can't get a straight admission. Not the way these two cling together.”
Simmons pushed the door open and looked at the girls, beaming a smile. She winked at Tamara.
Tamara smiled back.
The bond was forged.
“Make it twenty.”
153
Isaac let out a low whistle. “And he asked for me personally?”
“By name.”
“I'm flattered. So what's the score?”
“Initially, Social Services received intelligence that Randall was abusing his two daughters.”
“Sexually?”
“What else?”
“It transpires Randall was undergoing some sort of treatment at a sex clinic. For a pedophile interest in little girls.”
Isaac took the statement in his stride. “So no crime committed so far.”
“On the same day the Gilham child was murdered, Randall was in White Plains.”
“That's a pretty tenuous link, Sergeant. You can't charge someone with murder just for being in the same town, even if he is Uncle Tom. And so far you've said nothing to suggest why he might be.”
Lovett grinned. He liked Isaac's style. “Social Services have a temporary care order on the two daughters. They’ll be examined later today and we’ll know where we stand.”
“And that's it?”
“Not quite. We recovered a hoard of little girls' panties at Randall's home.”
“Not his daughters', I'm guessing.”
“Young girls' undies, varying age groups, all under twelve. They may match with Uncle Tom's victims.”
“May?” Isaac seized on the point. “So they haven't been identified yet? He could just be a clothes-line thief.”
“Soiled underwear?”
Isaac caught his breath. He could feel the adrenaline rush. Had he bagged the elephant? Was he about to represent America's most wanted man?
“Still, there could be an innocent explanation.”
“He was unable, or unwilling, to provide one.”
“You've interviewed him already? Without an attorney present?”
“He was offered legal advice and declined. Only when we re-arrested him on suspicion of the murder of the White Plains child, did he ask for an attorney.”
“This is on video?”
“Of course.”
“I'd like to review the recording before I speak to him. Did he say how he knew of me?”
“He seemed to know all about you and Bristow. He demonstrates a familiarity with the murders that goes way beyond what I'd regard as casual interest.”
“It's had a lot of publicity. Everyone's an armchair expert.”
“Don't I know it.”
“How long since the latter arrest?”
“Less than an hour. We telephoned you immediately.”
“Unusual haste?”
“Mr Isaac, the Gilham child is not our affair. We’ve nothing as yet to link him to the Meadows child. Randall is unlikely to be with us long. We can only keep him here for anything Social Services turn up. Then it's out of our hands. You understand what I'm saying?”
Isaac understood only too well. “I want a full medical before he's moved. With photos.”
“Already in hand. We don't want a repeat of Bristow any more than you do.”
154
Simmons sat on the sofa with a drawing pad and felt-tip crayons, sketching. She rustled the paper a few time to attract their attention. Sure enough the twins left their toys and came over to see what she was doing.
Natalie's face lit up. “Mickey Mouse!”
Simmons glanced at the girl. Wearing jeans. The pisser. It must be Natalie.
“That's right, Tamara. Well done.”
“Natalie giggled. “I'm not Tamara. I'm Natalie.”
“I'm Tamara,” said Tamara, joining her sister.
“Goodness, I'll never remember which is which. I'll tell you what. You stand here, Natalie, on this side. Tamara, you stay where you are. Then I can write your names here on the paper and I won't mix you up.” She jotted down the girls' names.
The twins seemed delighted with the arrangement. Tamara edged onto the seat. Natalie followed suit. Simmons knew she could rely on them to copy each other here after. She cast a quick glance at the mirror and mentally began spending the twenty dollars.
“Do you both like Mickey Mouse?”
“I do.”
“Me too.”
“How about Minnie Mouse?” She drew another mouse, identical to the first. “There you are. Mickey and Minnie. What do you think?”
Natalie stared at the figures. “They both look the same.”
“They are the same,” said Tamara.
“Perhaps they're twins, like you two.”
The girls laughed at the idea. “Mickey and Minnie aren't twins. One's a boy and one's a girl.”
Simmons let the technicality pass. “What's the difference between a boy and a girl?”
The twins exchanged superior glances and giggled. Didn't she know?
Simmons adopted a confused expression. “What's so funny about that? What's the difference between boys and girls? Tamara, you tell me.”
Tamara considered her answer carefully. “Boys are stronger?”
“Sometimes. Not always. Anything else?”
“Boys bully you at school.”
“Do they? Have you told your teacher?”
“Uh-uh.”
“You should always tell a teacher. Anything else? Any other differences?”
“Boys wear trousers.”
“Natalie's wearing trousers. That must mean she's a boy.”
“I'm not a boy!”
“How do you know? How can you tell?”
The girls giggled at one another.
“What's so funny?”
“Natalie isn't a boy. She hasn't got a...” Tamara's voice trailed.
“A what?”
“You know...” Tamara giggled. She dropped her voice to a whisper. “A winky.”
“How on Earth do you girls know about things like that?”
More giggling. “Everyone knows.”
“All boys have winkies,” Tamara declared.
“And grown-ups,” added Natalie. “Man grown-ups I mean.”
“What, even your daddy?
The twins were giggling hysterically. “Of course he has.”
“Really?” Simmons let the drawing pad slip to the floor and leaned back, putting an arm round each girl, securing the bond of conspiracy. She leant forward to whisper the question.
“Have you seen it?”
The girls nodded.
Simmons cast a smug glance at the mirror.
155
Bamford leaned forward earnestly. “I bet you haven't really. You're just making it up.”
“We have so,” Natalie declared indignantly.
“When?”
“When we were little Daddy used to get in the bath with us.”
“What, with no clothes on?”
The girls laughed. “Of course, silly. You can't have a bath with your clothes on.”
“You said when you were little. Doesn't he get in the bath with you now?”
“Not any more. He stopped.”
“He stopped? Why was that?”
“Because we were getting too big. There wasn't room for all of us.”
“I see. Is that the real reason?”
The girls looked confused. Simmons thought Natalie looked anxious.
“Is that the only reason daddy does not get in the bath with you anymore?”
The girls fell quiet. Simmons moved in for the kill.
“Or was there something that happened, that made him stop. You can tell me, girls. I promise I won't tell anyone.”
There was a long pause. Natalie looked at Tamara anxiously. Tamara fought back a smile.
“Well, there was one thing,” Tamara said slowly.
“Tamara, no!” Natalie tried to lean over and hit out at her sister. “You promised you wouldn't tell anyone.”
Simmons separated them. She cast a triumphant glance at the mirror. Behind the glass Bamford mentally reached for her purse. She checked the camera light to make sure it was recording. An admission from the child in the first ten minutes! It would be drinks all round when the team met up after work.
Simmons spoke in soothing tones. “You can tell me, Tamara. What happened?”
Natalie was almost in tears. “No, Tamara! It's a secret!”
Tamara looked at her sister's angry face, then at Simmons, earnest eyes waiting for the revelation.
“I'll tell Daddy if you say anything, Tamara.”
“I'm sure daddy won't mind, Natalie. Was it daddy who told you not to tell anyone?”
Tamara nodded. “He said it was our special secret. Just us.”
Behind the glass Bamford was on tenterhooks.
Simmons was thinking fast. “Daddy won't mind if you tell me, though, surely? We're all girls together. It will be our little secret too.”
“Tamara, if you tell her I won't be your friend ever again. Even tomorrow.”
Simmons lifted Natalie on to her lap. “Girls, girls, please. You're sisters. You should be friends. We should all be friends. And friends don't have secrets from one another. Isn't that right, Tamara?”
Natalie gave her sister a warning glare.
“Anyway, you share the secret with your daddy.”
“And Mommy.”
“And mommy?” Simmons glanced at the mirror to register her disgust. The mother knew! “What does mommy say about it? Tamara?”
“She says it’s disgusting.”
Natalie squirmed. “Tamara!”
“Well it is disgusting,” Tamara said. “I would never do it.”
Simmons was having to think fast. Parental collusion made things that much more serious. “So who's going to tell me?”
There were no volunteers. Natalie was clearly the dominant twin on this occasion.
“How about if we have some candies? You must be hungry by now.” Simmons knew the girls had missed out on lunch. She reached into her bag and pulled out a packet. “Who likes M&Ms?”
The girls eyed the sugary sweets enviously.
Simmons sensed victory was within her grasp. “Mmmm, I love the green ones. What colors are your favorites?”
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