Backlash

by Lynda La Plante

  BACKLASH

  Also by Lynda La Plante

  Blood Line

  Blind Fury

  Silent Scream

  Deadly Intent

  Clean Cut

  The Red Dahlia

  Above Suspicion

  The Legacy

  The Talisman

  Bella Mafia

  Entwined

  Cold Shoulder

  Cold Blood

  Cold Heart

  Sleeping Cruelty

  Royal Flush

  The Little One: Quick Read 2011

  Prime Suspect

  Seekers

  She’s Out

  The Governor

  The Governor II

  Trial and Retribution

  Trial and Retribution II

  Trial and Retribution III

  Trial and Retribution IV

  Trial and Retribution V

  First published in Great Britain by Simon & Schuster UK Ltd, 2012

  A CBS COMPANY

  Copyright © Lynda La Plante, 2012

  This book is copyright under the Berne Convention.

  No reproduction without permission.

  ® and © 1997 Simon & Schuster Inc.

  All rights reserved.

  The right of Lynda La Plante to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by her in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988.

  Simon & Schuster UK Ltd

  1st Floor

  222 Gray’s Inn Road

  London WC1X 8HB

  Simon & Schuster Australia, Sydney

  Simon & Schuster India, New Delhi

  www.simonandschuster.co.uk

  A CIP catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

  Hardback ISBN 978-0-85720-183-6

  Trade Paperback ISBN 978-0-85720-184-3

  Ebook ISBN 978-0-85720-185-0

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Typeset in Bembo by M Rules

  Printed and bound by CPI Group (UK) Ltd, Croydon, CR0 4YY

  To the memory of George Ryan

  Sometimes in life you are fortunate to meet someone who has a special energy. George was a young woman when she joined my company. She became an important part of my life at probably the most important time. I was so proud of her achievements, and to see her marry Glenn and become mother to two wonderful children – Felix and Isobella – was a joyous time. George was vibrant and loving and leaves everyone who had the fortune to know her sad and bewildered by her passing. This book is dedicated to her memory, and my admiration for her burns bright.

  Acknowledgements

  Special thanks and gratitude go to all my team at La Plante Productions: Liz Thorburn, Richard Dobbs-Grove, Cass Sutherland, Sara Johnson, Karol Griffiths and Ellen Steers for all their committed and valuable support.

  Many thanks also go to Duncan Heath and Sue Rodgers at Independent Talent Agency and Stephen Ross, Dan Ross and Andrew Bennet-Smith at Ross, Bennet-Smith.

  To the stars of the Above Suspicion series, Kelly Reilly and Ciarán Hinds, I give thanks for their dedication to the show and their strong portrayal of my characters.

  My thanks for the constant encouragement from my literary agent, Gill Coleridge, and the team at Rogers, Coleridge & White.

  The publication of this book would not have been possible without the hard work and support of Susan Opie and the team at Simon & Schuster: Ian Chapman, Suzanne Baboneau, Kerr MacRae, Nigel Stoneman and Dawn Burnett; I am very happy to be working with such a terrific and creative group of people.

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter One

  ‘Quiet night so far, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, an’ we’ve still got seven hours to go before the shift finishes!’

  The two uniformed officers in the night duty patrol car were chatting whilst driving past a council estate in East London, and all was quiet in the residential street, in contrast to the numerous clubs, bars, restaurants and buzzing nightlife of Shoreditch, just down the road. And so the van bearing the logo KIDDIES PARTY DATES stood out as it failed to give way for a pedestrian waiting at the zebra crossing.

  ‘Is he on another planet?’ said the officer driving.

  ‘Bit late for a kiddies’ party,’ his colleague joked. ‘Go pull him over, we’ve nothing better to do at the moment.’

  As they drew closer the van driver began to accelerate away from them and suddenly, without indicating, took a sharp left down a side street.

  ‘He’s trying to avoid us. Turn the blues and twos on,’ said the officer at the wheel as he sped after the van and turned into the side street. ‘Where’s he disappeared to? There’s no way he could have made it to the other end of the road without us seeing him.’

  As the police car moved slowly down the street they saw the van parked up between two cars with its lights off. On their approach the driver ducked down, seemingly avoiding their headlights, and the officers could clearly see the van’s logo silhouetted in the patrol car’s blue flashing light: a grinning clown’s face with balloons and decorations painted around it.

  ‘My kids would run a mile if they saw that bloody clown’s face,’ said the officer driving as he pulled up in the middle of the road.’ Gives me the creeps. I wouldn’t hire them.’

  He got out and walked casually towards the driver, shining his torch into the van, and tapped on the window, indicating for the man to open it. As the window was slowly lowered, the driver put up a hand to shield his face.

  ‘Leave the keys in the ignition and step out of the vehicle, please.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because I’ve asked you to and you’re acting suspiciously.’

  The driver suddenly grabbed the ignition keys and tried to start the van. The officer yanked open the door, pulled the man’s hand away from the keys and dragged him out of the vehicle while his partner, seeing what was happening, hurried out of the patrol car to help.

  ‘Hands where I can see them.’

  ‘I was just having a rest. I’ve been working all afternoon.’

  The officers quickly had the driver face down on the pavement with his hands cuffed behind his back while they patted him down, discovering a worn leather wallet, which contained a few five-pound notes and a library card in the name of Henry Oates.

  ‘Just stay still, Mr Oates. Is that your name?’

  ‘Yeah, Henry Oates.’

  Oates didn’t argue, but remained calm, as one officer pulled him up from the pavement and pressed him against the side of the van, while his partner returned to the patrol car to check on its registration plates and the identity of its driver.

  ‘You’ve been working, you say?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Do you live round here?’

  Oates straightened and half turned. The officer pushed him in the small of his back.

  ‘Just stay where you are. This shouldn’t
take long.’

  ‘Christ.’

  ‘This your van, is it?’

  ‘It belongs to a friend. I just help him out.’

  It turned out that the van was neither insured nor registered to Oates, and the MOT was out of date. The control room radio operator informed them that there had been a number of overnight break-ins in the area, leading the two officers to suspect that Oates might be involved and could be using the vehicle to carry stolen property.

  ‘Why were you trying to avoid us?’ asked the police driver.

  ‘I wasn’t. I didn’t even see you. I’ve parked up here cos it’s near home.’

  ‘What’s in the back of the van?’

  ‘For fuck’s sake, just party gear, balloons, pumps and stuff like that,’ Oates replied, becoming noticeably more agitated as he tried to turn towards the officers.

  ‘So we won’t find any nicked gear then?’

  ‘No way,’ Oates said as he suddenly started to gasp for breath and mutter something inaudible as one officer started to walk to the rear of the van.

  The officer opened the back door of the van and leaned forward with his torch then suddenly jumped back startled as a helium balloon with the grotesque clown’s face on it wafted almost mockingly out of the van. Composing himself he continued his search, making out a number of cardboard boxes with something large wrapped in black bin liners between them.

  The officer leaned in closer so he could reach the edge of the bin liner without getting into the van. He pulled at it gently, then gave it a hard yank, at which part of the bin liner came away easily. The beam of his torch fell on what appeared to be matted blonde hair covered in wet blood. Cautiously he leaned further forward and pulled away more of the bin liner. Now he realized that what he was looking at was a body – a woman’s body. Slowly he reached out and felt her neck for a pulse, but although she was still warm it was clear she was dead.

  Easing himself from the van, he radioed for immediate backup, before turning back to his fellow officer and Oates.

  ‘Well, well, Henry,’ he said. ‘What sort of party have you been to tonight?’

  During the journey to Hackney Police Station Oates stopped muttering, even appearing to accept his situation in a resigned, offhanded manner, and on arrival was booked in just after midnight on Friday, 12 October 2012. He said that he was thirty-eight and had no permanent address because he was living rough. He was given a clean police-issue tracksuit to wear, then after his DNA sample and fingerprints were taken Oates was allowed to speak with the duty solicitor on the phone, who advised him to say nothing and informed him that an Adan Kumar would attend the station in the morning to represent him. Oates was then placed in a cell for the night. He asked for a cup of tea, but made no reference to why he had been arrested.

  The next morning at 5 a.m., much to the annoyance of his wife, DCI Mike Lewis was awoken by the sound of his mobile vibrating on his bedside table.

  ‘Mike Lewis,’ he grunted into the phone.

  ‘Sorry to disturb you, sir, this is DC Roy Hunter from the murder squad. A woman’s body has been discovered in the back of a van over in Hackney and they’ve arrested a bloke called Henry Oates.’

  Mike sat up, and his wife moaned as he threw the duvet to one side.

  ‘What?’ Mike asked, still not fully awake.

  ‘DCS Hedges is heading up the investigation and he wants you in for a 7 a.m. handover briefing at Hackney Police Station.’

  ‘Gimme the address . . . no, the crime scene!’

  He jotted down the address and leaned over to kiss his wife and give her his apologies, but she was fast asleep. Dressed and using his battery shaver he headed across the landing and peeked in to see his twin boys, who were still asleep, before quietly heading down the stairs.

  En route to the station Mike visited the scene, and was immediately taken to one side by the Crime Scene Manager, who told him that a handbag had been recovered containing documents in the name of Justine Marks. The body was still in the back of the van as there were a lot of items around it that needed to be photographed then seized and bagged before she could be removed and taken to the mortuary. The post mortem was to take place at 2 p.m. that afternoon.

  Mike decided that he would carry out a short interview with Henry Oates beforehand. Paul Barolli would assist him in doing so, while DC Barbara Maddox and DC Joan Falkland, with whom Mike had worked many times previously, set up the incident room at Hackney Police Station and obtained details of any next of kin for Justine Marks.

  Mike Lewis and Paul Barolli entered the custody suite interview room. Oates was sitting on one side of the table with his legal representative, Adan Kumar, by his side. They sat down opposite Oates and Kumar. Paul informed Oates that the interview would be recorded and leaned over to the DVD equipment attached to the wall and pressed the start button, causing the recorder and two wall-mounted cameras in the room to light up. Mike introduced himself and Paul then cautioned Oates, telling him that he didn’t have to answer any questions but that anything he did say might be given in evidence. Mike was about to commence his questioning when to his and Paul’s surprise Oates suddenly sat upright and then leaned across the table.

  ‘Right then, I may as well tell you what I already told my solicitor. Now where shall I start – or should I ask where you would like me to start?’ Oates enquired.

  Mike was about to ask a question when Oates raised his hand, indicating to Mike to be quiet.

  ‘If you want me to tell you what happened then please don’t interrupt me.’

  Mike and Paul looked at each other in surprise, taken aback by Oates’s willingness to speak freely and Kumar allowing him to do so. Mike decided it was best to hear what Oates had to say before putting any questions to him and allowed him to continue.

  Oates told his story: he had borrowed the van off the owner James Hully, who was selling it. He had taken it out at night for a test drive only because he didn’t have a driving licence or insurance and he knew there would be less traffic and fewer police about. He went on his own to the Eagle pub in Hackney just before closing time where he’d noticed a group of ‘pissed-up’ women. After one pint he left to go home and was driving down the road when he saw one of the women and was worried because she was drunk and on her own so he stopped to offer her a lift, but she had refused and continued to walk on. Oates had followed her and asked her again if she needed a lift. This time she had been, in his words, ‘Rude, told me to leave her alone.’ He had driven past her for about fifty yards and then stopped and got out to tell her he was just trying to help. Oates claimed that she told him her name was Justine and she agreed to accept his lift and got into the passenger seat. She agreed to have sex with him and he had driven to some waste ground by Hackney Marshes and they had both got into the back of the van to ‘do the business’. After they had sex she suddenly turned hysterical and violent, kicking him in the balls, and he had panicked and hit her to keep her quiet. Oates explained that he had just reached out for anything close to force her to stop screaming. He thought he had struck her with a section of the pump used to blow up the balloons.

  Mike was not happy with Oates’s claim that Justine’s death was unintentional but he knew before a further interview that he would need not only the results of the post mortem, but also to speak with Justine’s friends who were at the pub and importantly with any next of kin, who should by now have been traced by Barbara. Before ending the interview Mike asked Oates where he currently lived.

  ‘I live rough.’

  ‘Then why did you say you left the pub to go home?’ Mike asked.

  ‘I don’t have a home as such, just a squat that I use sometimes.’

  ‘Where?’ asked Mike.

  ‘Number eight, Holcroft Road,’ Oates indignantly replied.

  ‘That’s a two-minute walk from the Eagle pub where you first saw Justine, isn’t it?’ Barolli enquired.

  Oates made no reply and Mike Lewis informed him that he would remain in polic
e custody while ‘the squat’ was searched, the post mortem carried out and some further enquiries were made about him. Oates suddenly became agitated.

  ‘I’ve told you what happened. It was an accident so why do you need to keep me here?’

  ‘You don’t just hit someone by accident, Mr Oates, and the post mortem will tell us if your story is a lie or not. So unless there is another version of events that you want to tell us about, this interview will be terminated.’

  There was a long pause; Mike began to gather up his paperwork and Barolli was about to turn the recording equipment off when Oates said that there was something he’d like to tell them.

  ‘Are you going to tell us what really happened to Justine?’ asked Barolli.

  ‘I’ve already told you.’

  Mike said that he had had enough of Oates’s truculent behaviour and that the interview was over.

  ‘Justine wasn’t the first. Before her was a ginger girl, exchange student from Dublin called Julia.’

  ‘Are you saying you’ve committed other murders or you know who has?’

  ‘If you let me finish I’ll tell you. Julia was about a year and a half ago, but she was the second.’

  ‘You just said that the student Julia was before Justine,’ Mike said, and Oates interrupted him.

  ‘No. You’re not listening to me, are you! Julia was the second, long before her was Rebekka Jordan – she was the first.’

  Mike was taken aback by Oates’s sudden admissions, particularly about Rebekka Jordan. There had been extensive press surrounding her disappearance just over five years ago when she was only thirteen years old. The enquiry, which had been quickly moved up from a missing person case to a suspected child abduction and probable murder, had been headed up by none other than Detective Chief Superintendent James Langton. Mike knew that he needed detailed answers from Oates, who appeared to relish the sudden renewed attention, but with Kumar present he would have to play this by the book as he needed Oates to make a full and frank confession concerning any other murders he might have committed.

  ‘Have you murdered other women?’ Mike asked.

  ‘You’re the detective, you tell me,’ Oates replied and laughed loudly.