Backlash

by Lynda La Plante

  Oates was in the kitchen, red hair dye dripping down his face, the carving knife close to hand. As he turned towards them the officer with the Taser fired the dart-like electrodes into his chest, sending an electric current racing through his body. Oates’s muscles went into spasm and he collapsed onto the kitchen floor and was quickly handcuffed. Oates was taken to Hackney Police Station under armed guard in a police van using its blue lights and sirens along the route from the Kingsnympton estate.

  Anna followed hard on the heels of the armed officers and went straight to Timmy Bradford. She tried to be as diplomatic and as caring as possible as she untied his hands.

  ‘I’m afraid your mother . . .’

  ‘What? Is she okay? Is she all right?’

  ‘No, I’m sorry, we’ll have a medical team in straight away—’ She didn’t get the opportunity to tell him as Bradford started to push past her, heading towards the bathroom.

  The door was now wide open and the pitiful body could be seen hanging from the pulley ring. Bradford stood there, mouth opening and closing like a fish, his eyes wide in disbelief.

  ‘He’s killed her. Why, why, why?’

  ‘I’m so sorry.’

  It was very obvious Mrs Douglas was dead. She was dressed only in her nightgown; her eyes protruded from their sockets and her face was a purplish red colour. Her mouth was covered with masking tape and her hands were tied behind her back with the same tape. It was a tragic, hideous sight and Bradford crumpled onto the floor, sobbing.

  The flat was cordoned off for the forensic team to cut her down and then her body was taken to the mortuary as the distraught exhausted Timmy Bradford was helped from the flat. At one point he did become concerned about the moneybag, but was told it was safe and had to be kept for evidence. He agreed that he would go with them to give a statement at Hackney Police Station, where he was well taken care of. The police doctor came to see him and prescribed some sedatives, he was given food and a change of clothes and a family liaison officer sat with him until the team were ready to take down a full statement.

  Oates was being held at the station in the cells and had hardly spoken to anyone. The entire operation had to be written up and reports submitted before they could move on and interview him again. Although they had made a successful arrest and prevented any harm coming to Timmy Bradford, the fact remained that Henry Oates had murdered Mrs Douglas after he had escaped from police custody. This was something that the media had picked up on at once, with headlines and stories of police incompetence leading to the murder of an eighty-two-year-old woman. The Deputy Commissioner, along with Langton, held a big press conference, which in truth was nothing more than a damage limitation exercise. They both praised the skill and efforts of DCI Lewis in apprehending Oates and saving Timmy Bradford. When it came to the death of Mrs Douglas they said that as it was an ongoing enquiry and a suspect awaited interview they were not prepared to comment on that side of the investigation.

  The team all congratulated Mike Lewis on the way he had handled the arrest, but it was tainted by the fact that Mrs Douglas was dead. They knew it was possible she had been murdered as soon as Oates had forced her to let him inside her flat. The weary team did not break until two in the morning, knowing that they would reconvene early the next day to re-question Oates. There was no sense of achievement, more of relief, and it still wasn’t over. Anna, like everyone else, went home to recharge for the following days, which would finally lead to closing the investigation.

  As tired as she was, Anna was unable to sleep. The haunting picture of Mrs Douglas kept returning to her in flashes. It made her angry that the officers sent to question Bradford had not done their job properly. Oates had been inside that flat all that time, most probably in the bathroom, and she wondered if this might even have been when he killed Mrs Douglas in fear she’d cry out for help. Anna tossed and turned. Had he actually killed her as soon as she had let him in? Something didn’t add up, but she was too exhausted to put it together. She got up to make herself a cup of hot milk and brought it back to her bed. Sitting up with her hands cupped around it, having taken two aspirins and a sleeping pill, still she couldn’t stop her mind churning over all the facts and trying to figure out what was wrong – what was stored in the recess of her mind? The jigsaw pieces that linked one case to the other had all appeared to be in place, but the more restless she became the more fractured the pattern became. Adding a big slug of Scotch to the now tepid milk didn’t help. But it made her groggy enough to lie back and close her eyes. She sighed. Maybe it would fall into place in the morning.

  Chapter Twenty

  Oates was still being held in the cells, apparently having accepted that his bolt for freedom had failed. He was showing no visible signs of stress – on the contrary, he was eating and sleeping well. He looked very odd, as part of his hair was a bright orange colour where he had attempted to dye it.

  Anna told Mike that she had arranged to go over to the mortuary to discuss the four bodies recovered from the woods with the pathologist and to get an estimate of how long Mrs Douglas had been dead. She asked Mike what he thought.

  Mike shrugged and said that he reckoned that Oates had probably killed her after a few hours. He further suggested that Oates, with Kumar’s advice, might try to claim that he left her standing on the stool and she must have slipped and accidently hanged herself.

  ‘See you later then.’

  ‘We got good news about Barolli. It’s not as bad as we first thought; he should be on his feet in a week or two,’ Mike added.

  ‘That’s great. How long do they think before he’ll be back at work?’

  ‘Good few months – he’ll have rehab treatment at the police home in Goring, but at the moment his condition is stable and he’s been visited by Barbara and Joan.’

  Anna felt a little guilty that she hadn’t really given Barolli much thought so she went over to Barbara.

  ‘When you see Paul, give him my best.’

  ‘Will do. Joan’s been to see him and took him in some home-cooked meals her mother prepared.’

  ‘That’s nice.’

  ‘Yeah. Well you know Joan, she’s got nothing else to do with her spare time and it gives her mother something to do.’

  ‘Well, thanks.’ Anna paused. ‘The girls recovered from the woods, can you do me copies of their “Misper” files?’

  ‘Now?’

  ‘Yes please, I need to take them to the pathologist, might help with how long they have been dead. Never know, evil bastard Oates could have kept them alive for a while before killing them.’

  Anna crossed to the incident board and studied the photographs. It was strange: Kelly Mathews, Mary Suffolk, Alicia Jones, Angela Thornton, Rebekka Jordan, Justine Marks and Fidelis Julia Flynn all looked as if a light had been turned off in their eyes, as if it was finally over. Even Mrs Douglas looked distant in the picture most recently attached to the board.

  When Anna arrived at Lambeth the mortuary assistant told her that the pathologist, Professor Hall, was currently working on the body of Mrs Douglas in the main examination room. Anna told the assistant that if possible she’d first like to see the remains of the bodies they had recovered from the quarry. He took her into the cold room where dead bodies were kept in metal fridges with four in each compartment stacked on sliding removable trays. The assistant had already removed the bodies, the remains of which were now in new zipped body bags. Each bag was laid out on a trolley along with a copy of the post mortem paperwork attached to a clipboard.

  It would be chilling to go from one body to the next unzipping each bag to see how much remained of each victim. Anna stood for a while looking at the first body, the tiny figure of what was left of Rebekka Jordan. She looked through the report; amongst the paperwork was a request for burial and the release of the remains to her parents. It had not yet been signed. As the lab assistant came over, Anna jumped in surprise.

  ‘You see these, and you think at one time they were all young a
nd vibrant with their whole life ahead of them, and one crazy sick bastard is responsible and took it all away. You ever think about why evil is punished? I’m not talking about hang them high, I’m not talking about capital punishment, it’s something else and I don’t understand it . . .’

  Anna turned to face the young man, he was no more than mid-twenties and had a quiet authority. He was so calm, almost dispassionate.

  ‘What don’t you understand?’ she asked.

  ‘That it doesn’t hurt, that he could take these lives in a brutal way, one after the other, and keep walking around, keep living as if there was to be no punishment.’

  ‘Well, the punishment will be meted out at his trial.’

  ‘Going to jail isn’t punishment enough, it should be an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth.’

  She shook her head.

  ‘I don’t think I want to get into this, I’m sorry. I’ve not got a lot of time.’

  Anna moved on from one body to the next, glancing through the reports. Kelly Mathews, Mary Suffolk and Alicia Jones’s identities had all been confirmed through their dental records. The assistant told her that Kelly and Alicia had broken hyoid bones, which were ante mortem, and so it looked like they had been strangled.

  ‘It’s the decomposition, makes it hard. Mary there and the other one at the end, well Prof Hall’s got to do more work on them yet.’

  ‘Her name’s Angela Thornton,’ Anna said, picking up the report.

  ‘No, there’s no Angela Thornton here. That one’s a UI.’

  Anna picked up the report and, sure enough, clearly marked on the front in large red marker pen were the letters ‘UI’ for unidentified. She looked at the dental records in the report; there was a copy of Angela Thornton’s with ‘no match’ across them, again written in red marker pen.

  ‘The dental records don’t fit. We had her listed as possibly being . . .’

  ‘Angela Thornton,’ Anna said quietly.

  ‘Yes, but so far we don’t have a Scooby Doo who she is. Her body was caked in mud so we didn’t really see the hair wasn’t a match until we washed her down . . .’

  Anna unzipped the bag and this time the smell that hit her from the rotting flesh made her gag, as it was much stronger than the other bodies. The corpse, she noticed, was also the least decomposed of all the recovered victims.

  ‘You’re right, Angela had thick blonde curly hair, but this is braided,’ Anna remarked as she touched one of the tightly woven braids that was laid out around the skull, which still had a few braids attached to it. It was impossible to tell what colour skin she had or what she originally looked like; her skull with its empty sockets gave no indication of the colour of her eyes, or the shape of her lips.

  ‘Where is the clothing that was removed from her?’

  ‘Wasn’t any, not even any fragments. She was the only one in her birthday suit, but with so much on we’ve not been able to do much more on her yet. Could be a West Indian with hair like that.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  Anna went into the examination room where the pathologist was working on Mrs Douglas and gestured at him to see if he could spare her a moment. He was masked and gowned up and not happy with the intrusion.

  ‘Detective Travis, I am working as fast as I can, this has been bordering on the farcical. Detective Chief Superintendent Langton has been bombarding me not only with so many bodies that I’ve almost lost count, but he’s continually on the phone. I’ve got a forensic anthropologist coming later this afternoon to look at the remains of all the bodies from the quarry and help with how long they have been dead. There is no way I will complete the post mortem on Mrs Douglas today.’

  Anna interrupted.

  ‘I’m sorry, Professor Hall, for disturbing you; I have no intention of putting any more pressure on you and your dedicated team.’

  ‘Well that is very civil of you, I am sure.’ He was a very old hand and near to retirement age, a tall hooked-nosed man who wore half-moon glasses. He loosened his face mask, revealing his rugged features.

  ‘What is it exactly you want from me?’

  ‘The unidentified remains – we sent you the dental records of a possible victim called Angela Thornton . . .’

  ‘I unfortunately can’t recall names, but I am aware the odontologist did not get a match from one of the bodies’ dental records.’

  ‘Yes, I know, and we have been very grateful for your immediate attention with regard to all the victims that were brought in. It’s just there is one big favour . . .’

  ‘I knew there had to be something, and you are fortunate that you happen to be a sweet-faced young woman. What is it?

  Anna asked if he could give her an estimated time of death for the one unidentified victim.

  He sighed and said that after he had finished with Mrs Douglas he would get her brought back in and examine the body with the anthropologist, but it wouldn’t be until later that afternoon.

  ‘Would it be possible for me to take a sample of her hair for a DNA test?’

  ‘Yes of course, but you don’t need me to be there for that – get my assistant to do it for you.’

  He turned away, and Anna hesitated.

  ‘Professor, I just wondered, with regard to Mrs Douglas, how long you think she might have been dead.’

  He sighed and glared at her over the top of his glasses and gestured to the examination table.

  ‘A rough estimate based on the skin coloration and the fact that there was no longer any rigor mortis in her body would be at least forty-eight hours. Also the hypostasis is somewhat strange.’

  ‘Sorry, what do you mean strange?’

  ‘About six hours after death the blood in the body will settle in direct response to gravity. After a period of time the staining becomes permanent. In Mrs Douglas’s case her blood had settled in her back and legs so she’d clearly been lying flat on a hard surface for some time.’

  ‘You mean she was already dead before she was left hanging from the pulley ring?’

  ‘Ten out of ten, DCI Travis.’

  ‘How did she die then?’

  ‘Can’t say until I’ve completed a full internal examination. I’m not happy with the marks on her neck either so I need to dissect the throat and tongue as well. Now I really do need to get on and, please, no more interruptions, especially from DCS Langton.’

  Anna had obtained one of the braids from their unidentified victim and took it to Pete Jenkins’ office in the forensic science department. As she entered the room Pete gave her a warm welcoming smile.

  ‘Hi, Anna. Is there a dead body left in London that you haven’t unearthed?’

  ‘Don’t go there, Pete. How’s the forensic work going?’

  ‘I’ve got more fragments of clothes, but trying to ascertain what they were before they rotted to shreds is very difficult. I’m using the labels mostly, but I don’t honestly have much for you to go on and I won’t for some time.’

  ‘I need a DNA test on the hair taken from one of the bodies brought out of the woods near the quarry.’

  Pete mock-slapped his head and then offered her a coffee as he’d just made a fresh pot.

  ‘I don’t have the time, Pete, and if you could do this a.s.a.p. for me, here’s the sample. I need to know ethnicity and have it checked for a match if possible.’

  ‘Well, you know hair samples take a lot longer and this one will be pretty degraded due to the decomposition. It’ll be at least twenty-four hours, but I’ll get it first in line. Anything else?’

  She smiled and asked if she could have one more look at the evidence brought from Henry Oates’s basement. He raised his eyebrows and said that it had been bagged, tagged and moved into one of the secure rooms.

  ‘Truth was, we couldn’t wait to get the stuff out of the lab, it stunk the place out. I doubt most of it is of any use to your case and we’re waiting to get it cleared and off our hands – all the vitals have been sent over to the station. Is it anything particular?’

>   ‘Yes, it’s the women’s clothing. I remember there were a number of items and there’s now a chance some of it may have belonged to one of his victims.’

  Pete led Anna into the ante-room, where the bagged items were stacked in large plastic boxes on long wide shelves.

  ‘Help yourself. With all the work you’ve been bringing in I don’t have the time or inclination to dig around in here with you, but my offer of coffee still stands, so come back to my office if you want to join me.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  He turned to go and paused. ‘How’s Paul Barolli?’

  ‘Recovering very well.’

  ‘That’s good.’

  ‘How’s Matilda?’

  ‘She is the light of my life, and I don’t get much light, been here for night after night, but I read you’ve got the guy under arrest.’

  ‘Yes. We have.’

  He smiled and closed the door, leaving her in the musty-smelling room. There were strip lights overhead and the neon shed a bluish light on the rows of tagged plastic bags. She moved along the shelf until she got to a bag marked women’s clothes, then she carried it to a small side table and opened it. There was some rather unpleasant dirty underwear, a pair of drainpipe jeans and some sweaters. She took her time sorting them and then checked the labels, putting a couple of items aside. She then replaced the bag on the shelf and listed the items she had removed. Next she found a smaller bag containing ladies’ shoes and opened it. There was one high-heeled shoe and a pair of patent leather knee-high boots. They were all very worn and the shoe was a different size to the boots. She made a note of the sizes and replaced them.

  Anna didn’t take Pete up on his offer of a coffee. Instead she went back to her flat as it was just across the river from the Lambeth laboratories. There she made herself a sandwich and a cup of tea and skimmed through the Angela Thornton file. She had disappeared after a night out with girlfriends in the Mile End area of London. She had to all intents and purposes been a pleasant young woman, well dressed and still living at home with her parents. The inscribed bracelet that had led eventually to her missing person file was, of all the items removed from Henry Oates’s stinking basement, the odd one out because of its value. The fact that the clasp was broken and it was missing some stones, which her parents had said were garnets, also made it different. Nothing else they had recovered had been of anything like the same value.