Backlash

by Lynda La Plante

  He smiled, shaking his head, and continued to describe how he had eventually reached the quarry where he had tried to get work, but then changed his mind and found a back road and made for the disused quarry, passing a heavily wooded area.

  ‘I was getting into a right state. I didn’t know where the road came out, but then I reckoned as there was no one around I’d get rid of her there.’

  Oates chewed at his wet lips and this time drummed his fingers on the table.

  ‘Now, how about this? Left in the back of the Jeep was a spade, a big shovel – talk about lucky. Was I lucky? And she was feather-light and easy to carry.’

  In the viewing room Barolli and Langton remained silent, listening as Oates professed his luck as he carried his little victim over his shoulder and made his way through the woods. What surprised him was that after only a short while the wood thinned out and he was looking down into the disused quarry. He told them he had intended to toss the body in at first, but lost his footing and slithered down the embankment; it was by now pitch-dark. He had the girl by her hair and the spade in the other hand and as soon as he had found firmer footing he dug a grave.

  There was another lengthy pause as Oates opened a bottle of water and drank in gulps. He gave a ghastly smile.

  ‘Thirsty work.’

  His eyes were bright, no longer glazed, and so Anna asked if he had removed Rebekka’s clothes. He snapped at her that she should mind her own business, and she could see the Oates she had first questioned returning with a vengeance.

  But it wasn’t over. It took a lot of carefully structured questions, stroking his sick ego, to see if he could recall the exact location. He swore that he could easily find it again as he’d climbed all the way back up and then nearly killed himself.

  ‘I didn’t see the fucking ditch. I was in the wrong fucking gear and instead of going backwards I shot forwards smack bang into the fucking ditch and there was this soddin’ big fir tree; the bonnet buckled up and it started smoking and the more I tried to rev it up and back out the more it got stuck.’

  Oates described how he’d set the Jeep on fire, worried he might have left evidence inside, and then he ran and kept on running until he made it back onto a road and thumbed a lift. He was gloating again, saying that no witness had ever seen him and all the press about the missing girl never mentioned her getting into a Jeep.

  ‘I was so in the clear it wasn’t true, but when I went back there I saw the fucking thing had gone. I thought the police had found the Jeep but then I saw it at the gypsy camp with no plates or wheels on it.’

  He hesitated and drank more water. Replacing the cap he shook the bottle.

  ‘Why not get it all off me chest, right?’

  It was almost ten when Langton and the team gathered in the incident room. They now knew that Oates had returned numerous times to the same location – he even knew the gypsy camp and had seen the stolen Jeep broken up amongst the other wrecks. He said he was certain there had been three more car thefts, three more victims, and he had become adept at stealing vehicles, dumping the bodies and leaving the cars in a side street or anywhere he chose. He had kept the shovel hidden in the woods and he came to know the area like the back of his hand.

  Oates was returned to his cell for the night as the exhausted team went over in some detail what the next move would be. There was no feeling of accomplishment or exhilaration; their depression hung heavy. Langton said that they would need to arrange for a search team and Oates to be taken to the quarry as he had claimed he knew exactly where he had buried his victims. Rebekka Jordan’s was the only name he could recall, managing just a sketchy description of the other women. He had made it very clear that he had not molested or sexually abused ‘the little one’, only the women.

  It would take time for a search of the quarry to be organized and any bodies found to be exhumed. First they needed another session with Oates to see if he could remember any more details of the other victims and who the ‘trinkets’ he had kept might belong to. They would then transport Oates with armed officers to the disused quarry and from his directions uncover the graves. Mike queried why they would need armed officers with Oates in handcuffs, and Langton said that as much as he disliked doing it he had to be aware of Oates’s safety in case a disgruntled member of the public took a pop at him.

  Everyone was tired. Langton suggested to Anna that she accompany him early the next morning to give the Jordans the news about their daughter, as it was too late to call on them that evening. It was a duty that he had dreaded having to perform, but at least the Jordans might now be able to have closure. If their daughter’s remains were uncovered they could arrange a funeral, but first the body would have to be carefully exhumed by a forensic archaeologist, followed by a full post mortem.

  ‘Let’s hope to God we find her,’ he said quietly.

  Anna nodded as they walked out of the station together. She gave him a sidelong glance.

  ‘So what made Oates make the statement?’

  Langton shrugged and said that he’d elaborated on what life would be like in Broadmoor.

  ‘But it’s closing down, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yeah, but he doesn’t know that. I showed him these.’ He passed her the folded pictures that Joan had printed for him from her computer. She bleeped open her Mini, threw her briefcase onto the passenger seat, and opened the pages, staring at the photographs of Peter Sutcliffe, the notorious Yorkshire Ripper. The second picture had been taken after he was seriously assaulted with a razor blade by another inmate in Broadmoor. The hideous distortion of his features and his bloated face made him almost unrecognizable. Anna refolded the pages and put them on the seat beside her. Sutcliffe now looked the embodiment of evil and whatever punishment had been forced on him, he deserved. Henry Oates would deserve as much, if not more.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Anna had never known Langton to be so emotional. Not that he said anything; it was the way he constantly touched the knot of his tie and kept on giving a light cough as if clearing his throat. The morning papers had been full of the news that a man was being held on suspicion of multiple murders and they had mentioned Rebekka Jordan’s name. Langton was furious and extremely concerned that Mr and Mrs Jordan might have read about it before he and Anna had had time to warn them.

  The Jordans’ front door opened before they even had time to ring the bell, and it was clear at once from the way they both stood there expectantly that the couple had seen the papers. It was Stephen who asked them to come in and Anna noticed the way he reached out for his wife’s hand as he drew her into the kitchen.

  Langton didn’t waste any time. He couldn’t, there was something heartbreaking about their tense frightened eyes.

  ‘We have a development. It’s not good news: we have made an arrest and I’m afraid the suspect has admitted to the murder of your daughter.’

  ‘Where is she?’ Stephen Jordan asked, all the while tightly gripping his wife’s hand. She was shaking so much, he had to put his arm around her shoulders.

  ‘We have a location, a disused part of a chalk quarry, and we will be searching for her and as soon as we know for certain we will contact you.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’ Stephen looked so confused, it was pitiful, as Langton attempted to explain in as comforting a way as possible that their detainee had admitted burying their daughter. He added that they also suspected that the same person had been involved in other murders and he had agreed to help the police recover the bodies. Langton was so hesitant and unsure of himself that Anna couldn’t help but move closer to the distraught couple. She took over.

  ‘The reason we are here is that the press have been informed of the arrest and we wanted to make sure you were aware of the possibility we will find Rebekka. If it is any comfort to you, the suspect has adamantly denied that she was in any way sexually abused and we will endeavour to bring you details as soon as we have confirmation we have found her. Right now we just have the suspect’s statem
ent admitting to her abduction and murder.’

  Stephen helped his wife to sit down. She was gasping, taking short breaths, her face was stricken, but it was as if she had already shed so many tears she was now unable to cry. The dreaded news they had been waiting for was now confirmed. Five years of waiting and hoping were over. It was wretchedly sad and neither Anna nor Langton could ease the pain. They left as soon as it was apparent the Jordans wanted to be alone.

  Langton remained silent as they drove towards the station. Eventually, without looking at her, but staring out of the passenger window, he said quietly, ‘You shouldn’t have said that.’

  ‘Said what?’

  ‘We don’t know if he was lying – you said there had been no sexual abuse; we don’t know that, we don’t even have her body. He might have cut off her bloody head.’

  ‘For God’s sake, I was trying to give them some comfort.’

  ‘I know that,’ he snapped, pinching the brow of his nose and sighing. ‘Sorry, but comfort or not, you should never give out details that you are not certain about, and until we find her and the post mortem has been completed we won’t know if it was a broken neck that killed her, or . . .’ He paused, shaking his head. ‘You know what really got to me? His describing that fucking pink Alice band. As soon as he described it I wanted to put my hands round his neck and squeeze the life out of him.’

  She agreed and continued driving as he got out his mobile phone, barking out instructions to Mike to begin coordinating the search of the quarry and organizing POLSA and underwater search teams along with firearms officers for Oates. He then rang his surgeon for an appointment to see how his knee was recovering so he could get a clean bill of health. No sooner had he cut off that call than his mobile rang again. As he answered Anna noticed his voice changed.

  ‘Good morning, ma’am.’

  Langton listened to his caller and then gave her a brief update of the latest developments. He must have been asked about his health as he assured her that he would be fit and well that afternoon. He repeated his thanks, and then said that he would be available and looked forward to the meeting. When he shut off the mobile he was smiling.

  ‘Good news?’

  ‘You could say that. Area Commander asking to see me – she’s given clearance for whatever we require for the search but wants a full update, so drop me off at the Yard. It’ll be a big security job and I want a slew of men, plus a helicopter with all the new-fangled camera equipment. If that bastard buried his victims in the quarry we’re going to find them.’

  He was back to his brusque delivery. In the previous call he’d used a very soft cultured tone – not exactly arse-licking, but close. It reminded Anna of something she had thought of when interviewing Oates during their last session.

  ‘You know Samuels suspected that Oates could have many different personality disorders with highs and lows, well did you notice how different he was when he was describing his abduction of Rebekka? His voice was lighter and he changed the way he tapped along the edge of the table with his fingers.’

  ‘Don’t go there.’

  ‘Pardon?’

  ‘I said don’t go there. Right now I couldn’t give a toss if he was talking like Gloria Swanson – he’s talking, that’s all I care about, and we keep him in whatever character he wants to play until we get what we want out of the little turd.’

  The press were already picking up on the scent now that they had a serial killer under arrest. A few reporters and photographers had gathered outside Hackney Police Station and Mike was under pressure to give a press conference to control the media furore. Wherever the leaks were coming from, it was obviously someone close to their investigation. The last thing they needed was any press attention when they searched the quarry, so Mike intended to keep that under wraps when he agreed to hold a mid-morning press conference at Scotland Yard.

  Barolli had been instructed to check on Oates and make sure that he had been given breakfast and then interview him about cases of women going missing over that last six years. In readiness Barbara prepared photographs of the women in question and Barolli set up the interview room with the items from the jewellery box. He laid them out on white paper, including the gold bracelet they now knew belonged to Angela Thornton. Her parents had returned from holiday and confirmed it had belonged to their daughter, as they had given it to her as a twenty-first birthday present.

  Oates had been given bacon and eggs and fried bread and two mugs of coffee. He was affable and very talkative and all those coming into contact with him were warned to keep him sweet. It was ten-thirty when he was brought into the interview room, where Kumar was already waiting.

  Barolli explained that they had some missing persons photographs for him to look at and see if he recognized any of the women as his victims.

  Oates sat as the photographs were spread out in front of him. Again he appeared to be enjoying the attention. It was sickening the way he dismissed one after the other, muttering derogatory remarks about the women, shoving the pictures aside as he went through them.

  Anna slipped into the viewing room with a bacon roll and coffee. There were a couple of other members of the team there already, taking the opportunity to observe Oates, and it was almost as if they were watching a film in a private cinema. With Mike at the press conference she had spent the morning coordinating the upcoming search of the quarry. Costs were no longer an issue now they had clearance from the Deputy Commissioner to use whatever manpower was necessary. The forensic archaeologist, specialist POLSA and underwater search teams and the foot officers and their sniffer dogs all had to be ready to go when they received the call, along with sufficient transport. Even caterers had to be organized. If they were to work in bad light or into the night they would require arc lamps and high-powered torches. Protective suits and footwear would be needed, as the chalk quarry was likely to be bogged down after heavy rain. They would also have to bring abseiling equipment and ropes to access some areas of the massive quarry as Oates claimed he had buried his victims deep down. By now Anna had been supplied with detailed Ordnance Survey maps covering the area, and all they were waiting for was the green light for the convoys to go.

  ‘What have we got so far?’ Anna asked.

  The way they were working the interview was that as soon as Oates identified a victim this was fed directly back to the incident room, then they could get the missing woman’s file brought over from the station that did the original investigation.

  ‘We’ve got two so far,’ a young fresh-faced officer said, as he stood up to allow Anna to take his seat.

  Oates had selected two photographs of missing girls: Kelly Mathews, aged twenty-two, who had disappeared four years ago, and a curly-haired redhead, twenty-one-year-old Mary Suffolk, missing for three years. Anna watched as Oates continued dismissing one photograph after another before he started to laugh. His hand was covering a photograph of a dark-haired girl with buck teeth.

  ‘This one reminded me of my bitch of a wife – yeah I did this one.’

  ‘Has he identified the girl that owned the gold bracelet? Angela Thornton?’ Anna whispered.

  Just as she mentioned the name, they saw Oates hold up the last photograph – it was Angela. He seemed irritated, saying he thought there had only been three, but this meant he’d miscalculated. There must have been four victims.

  Barolli stopped the interview shortly after this when Oates had said he was hungry and asked for lunch. He came back up to the incident room, totally worn-out. That afternoon they would proceed with the viewing of the jewellery and ask Oates to place each item he recognized next to the victim to whom it belonged.

  ‘My face feels stiff from giving the bastard encouragement. He’s enjoying himself, loves the attention; he’s stuffing his face down in the cells. I can’t face eating, he sickens me.’

  Barolli slumped into his chair at his desk. Meanwhile, Barbara and Joan had the task of arranging the photographs of the dead girls Oates had claimed he�
��d killed in a row across the interview-room table. They all now had names: Kelly Mathews, Mary Suffolk, Alicia Jones and Angela Thornton. From the missing persons reports it appeared they didn’t live in the same area of London, and had no connection to each other bar the fact that Oates, by his own admission, had abducted them. At this point there was no information on the vehicles Oates claimed to have stolen. He could not remember the makes of the cars, just that he had taken them from various car parks and streets in and around London. He had always dumped them after returning from the quarry.

  The afternoon was taken up with Oates going through all the items discovered in his basement. He seemed to like the way he was asked to put on the light latex gloves. He joked that they were too small, that he had fighter’s hands, but eventually he seemed satisfied with a pair that fitted and then prodded and inspected one item after another.

  ‘Bit like a car boot sale, this, isn’t it?’

  Barolli smiled, nodding.

  ‘So what you want me to do? Eh, you remember that old game show they used to have on the TV? They have this conveyor belt, right, and they’d pass along all these things, like a teddy bear, a toaster, a cream jug, pair of gloves, and then the contestant had to remember what they were, and if he or she was able to remember, they got them all at the end of the show.’

  Barolli forced himself to look interested.

  ‘Yeah, it was terrific, but my memory is rotten – I’d never get anything, but I bet you can though. Play the game, Henry, let’s see if you can match these items to the girls you took them off.’

  ‘Are you gonna time me?’

  ‘I haven’t got a stopwatch – just see if you can do it.’

  Anna was back in the viewing room observing Oates acting like a teenager, laughing and joking. He also kept up a light shuffle with his feet. Langton walked in and stood behind her chair, watching.