‘Oh, I’m sure I will. I’m sure she can’t wait to put me in there for the whole … fucking … world to see. What’ll they think then?’
‘I don’t know.’ Another centimetre forward. ‘What do you want the world to think?’
Haig pulled himself up. Abigail gasped. Donovan moved forward but Haig, brandishing the knife, his eyes wide and staring, made him stop where he was. Haig waited a few seconds then spoke again.
‘I’ve spent all my life … working for other people. People who didn’t … fucking deserve it, people who should have been left to rot. Some of them wrote books. Got TV careers out of it. Became famous. What did I get?’ He screamed his next words, like a rabid wolf howling at the moon. ‘What did I fucking get? Cancer.’ He slumped forward slightly, regaining his breath. Continued. ‘That’s all. They’ll be … they’ll be remembered … and I get cancer. Well, this way, I’ll be remembered as well.’
Another centimetre forward. ‘Remembered as what, Tom? Someone who killed children?’
‘Why not?’ He spat the words out in rage and hatred. ‘At least it’s something. I mean, look at these kids here. They’re more important than me, aren’t they? Don’t pretend they’re not.’
Donovan didn’t answer.
‘What I thought. You wouldn’t have come if it wasn’t for them, would you? Eh? No. You’ll come to save them. But not me. Well, that’s a shame. Because I’ve got nothing to … nothing to live for. When I’ve said what I want to say, when Anne Marie gets here, I’m going over that ledge. And I’m taking these two with me.’
Donovan’s legs felt weak. He heard both Abigail and Jack whimper and cry. ‘Don’t do that, Tom. We can talk about this.’
‘Fuck off.’ Haig clutched his stomach as if a band of pain was encircling him. Got a grip. Straightened up. Thought for a moment. ‘Five, isn’t it?’
‘Five what?’
‘You need to kill five people to be officially classified as a serial killer, isn’t that right?’
‘I think so,’ said Donovan, not liking this latest turn in the conversation at all. ‘At least five.’
Haig smiled. There was no humour in it. Only madness. ‘At least five.’ He tightened his grip on Jack and Abigail. Laughed. ‘At least.’
Donovan risked another move forward. From his peripheral vision, he noticed Flemyng was moving alongside him. He hoped the other man wasn’t going to do anything stupid.
‘So that’s how I’ll be remembered.’ He stopped talking, his body wracked by a coughing fit. He kept the knife where it was. Jack closed his eyes as the blade bounced against his skin with each cough. Haig regained control. ‘Tom Haig … serial killer. Might get a book written about me.’
‘You might.’
‘Will you write it?’
‘I don’t think so, Tom.’
Haig became angry again. ‘Why not? You’ll write hers, why not mine? Why does, why does … she get a book and not me?’
Donovan realized by now that Haig was totally unhinged. He had to say or do something to bring him back to rationality.
‘OK, Tom,’ said Donovan, ‘I’ll write your book.’
Haig looked at him suspiciously, eyes narrowed, expecting a trap. ‘Really?’
‘Yeah. Really.’ Donovan swallowed hard. ‘Just … just let them go, come over here and we’ll talk about it. Yeah?’
Haig seemed to be mulling over Donovan’s offer, his expression clear and open. Then his features changed, his face twisted once more. ‘You fucker,’ he said, panting for breath at the energy behind the vehemence of his words, ‘I nearly believed you then. Give these up—’ He squeezed the knife tighter against Jack’s throat. Jack gave a whimper. ‘—let them go … you think that would work with me? Eh?’
Donovan had no answer. He doubted there was anything he could say that would reach him, affect him, make him change his mind from what he had planned. If words weren’t going to work, he would have to stop him any way he could. He risked another couple of centimetres. Flemyng did the same.
Haig was still ranting. ‘Bastard. And I nearly believed you … So tell me. Why should she be … be famous for, for … what she did?’
‘Because Anne Marie has suffered,’ said Donovan. He was exhausted. He didn’t know how long he could keep this up for. ‘Suffered. Her whole life. Her mother, prison …’ He gestured to both Flemyng as well as Haig. ‘The bad choices she made with men … all of her life. Nothing but suffering. She needs release.’
‘Bullshit. She killed a kid.’
‘When she was a kid herself. An angry, damaged kid. She didn’t know what she was doing. She didn’t know right from wrong or life from death.’
‘So what? Boo fucking hoo. She’s not the only one who had a bad childhood.’
‘She was just a kid,’ said Donovan. ‘You were old enough to know what you were doing.’ He risked another centimetre forward. Haig spotted it.
‘What are you doing? Get back! Now!’
Donovan stopped moving. ‘I’m trying to talk to you, Tom—’
‘You’re trying to fucking grab me! Now get back!’ He waved the knife in the air before him.
Donovan noticed Jack tense. Not just from pain. He hoped that because the knife had been moved the boy wasn’t going to try anything. He had to stop him. ‘Jack,’ he called out, ‘stay where you are.’
Haig looked quickly down, put the knife back in place against Jack’s throat. The movement caused Haig another bout of pain. It showed on his face. Donovan kept calling.
‘Don’t move, Jack, stay where you are.’ He risked another step forward.
Haig looked between the pair of them, pain and madness in his eyes, tracing arcs through the air with the knife, his control slipping. ‘I’m warning you, stay back …’
Donovan moved further forward. ‘Tom, put the knife down. Jack, stay where you are, don’t move.’
Haig looked between the two of them, confused now. Donovan moved again, as did Flemyng. ‘Jack, don’t … Tom … put it down …’
Haig, pain clouding his vision, didn’t know where to look.
Then there was a sudden noise behind Donovan. He turned. Peta had reached the door, kicked it open, and come on to the roof. She saw what was happening, stopped dead.
Haig looked over to her, confused as to what was now happening, who she was. The knife dropped, pointed downwards in his hand as his concentration fell and the pain took him over.
And in that moment, Flemyng was on him.
‘Flemyng …!’ shouted Donovan.
Flemyng ran forward from where he was standing next to Donovan and, before Donovan could stop him, was on top of Haig, his left hand outstretched to grab Haig’s knife.
Donovan rushed forward also. He heard the sound of footsteps behind him, knew Peta was joining him. Jack and Abigail, freed from Haig’s grip, stumbled out of the way, on to the roof, away from the edge of the building.
Donovan grabbed Abigail, Peta Jack. Donovan looked up. Flemyng and Haig were on the edge of the building, fighting for the knife. As he watched, Haig took a step backwards, unbalanced himself. Flemyng, rather than pulling him back, pushed him. Haig grabbed on to Flemyng for balance but only succeeded in pulling the other man with him.
‘No …’ Donovan tried to make a grab for Flemyng, missed. As he sailed over the edge of the building, Donovan was sure he had smiled at him.
Peta and Donovan went to the edge of the building, saw the two bodies hit the ground. They heard sobbing behind them, turned. Donovan moved towards Abigail, enfolded her in his arms. Peta did the same to Jack. Abigail kept sobbing.
‘It’s OK now,’ said Donovan, holding her as tight as he could, ‘I’ve got you. You’re safe now. You’re safe now …’
PART FIVE
THROUGH A LONG AND SLEEPLESS NIGHT
In the room is a table. At either side of the table are two chairs. On the table is a tape recorder. Two on one side, two on the other. She leans forward, introduces herself into the micropho
ne.
‘The time is 10.39 a.m. Detective Inspector Diane Nattrass. At my right is Detective Sergeant David Jobson. Opposite me is Christopher Renwick. And because Christopher Renwick is a minor he is accompanied by Jane Foreman, child liaison officer.’
She turns to the boy. ‘So, Christopher. You’ve been read your rights.’
He nods.
‘For the tape please, can you say yes or no.’
‘Yes.’ His voice is small, mumbled.
She looks at him as he speaks. Sitting in his paper suit, he looks like he has been crying. She understands. A night alone in the cells will do that to an adult never mind a child.
‘And you understand them?’
He starts to nod, then speaks. ‘Yes.’
‘Good. Well, you know why you’re here. You’re charged with the murder of Theresa Preston-Hatt. You were found at the scene of the crime standing over the victim holding a knife in your hand and covered with blood. Your clothing has been sent to the lab for analysis.’ She stops talking, looks at him. ‘It looks conclusive. Did you do it, Christopher?’
He shrugs.
‘For the tape is that a yes or a no?’
He sits for a moment, thinking. He seems to be weighing up more than just the answer he will give. Eventually he nods. ‘Yes,’ he says.
Nattrass sits back. ‘Good. So you’re pleading guilty, you did it.’
He nods.
‘For the tape—’
‘Yes … I did it, yes …’ And then the tears start. He sits there, hands in his lap, shoulders hunched, seemingly getting smaller with each tear that falls.
‘Right. Why did you do it, Christopher?’
‘She … she said she would tell everyone what I’d done …’
‘Why? What had you done?’
Renny, realizing he was about to incriminate himself further, closes his mouth. Nattrass leans forward.
‘What had you done, Christopher?’
His only response is a shrug.
Nattrass sits back, opens the folder before her on the desk. ‘Calvin Bell. He was a friend of yours, wasn’t he?’
Another shrug.
‘Yes or no. For the tape, please.’
‘Yes.’
‘Thank you. And he was killed this week. Stabbed. With a knife identical to the one that killed Theresa Preston-Hatt. Did you do it?’
‘No.’
‘Did you, Christopher? Because we’re waiting for lab results that should be with us any moment and they will be able to tell us better than you.’
Another shrug.
‘Do you watch CSI, Christopher?’
‘Yeah.’
‘So do I. Good, isn’t it? Well that’s where all of Calvin’s clothes have gone. To our CSI lab. And the knife you killed Theresa Preston-Hatt with. And all your clothes. And you know how they always catch the criminals in CSI? Through lab results? Well, that’s what’ll happen here. So I’ll ask you again. Did you kill Calvin Bell?’
He thinks for a moment. Then sighs. ‘Yes …’ He starts to cry again.
‘Right. Good. Thank you for being honest. But why, Christopher? Why did you kill him? He was a friend of yours, wasn’t he?’
Renny nods.
‘For the tape.’
‘Yes.’
‘So why did you kill him?’
‘Because … because he dissed me.’
‘He … dissed you?’
‘Yeah. He dissed me. Made me look small in front of my friends, you know?’
‘How?’
‘Well, I like told him somethin’ that I’d done an’ I hadn’t really done it. But I wanted him to think I had an’ he didn’t.’
‘What was it? What did you tell him?’
‘That I’d been for a ride with one of the kids in their cars. The racers. In Tesco’s car park. And I hadn’t.’
‘Why did you tell him that?’
‘’Cos … ‘cos he’s always … he’s a good kid. Popular. Everyone likes him. He’s, like, really brainy but not a boff an’… an’ I just wanted to show him that I could do somethin’ too. An’ then he made me look small’ He shakes his head. ‘An’ I couldn’t have that, man. I couldn’t have that.’
‘So you killed him.’
He nods. ‘Yes.’
‘Right.’ Nattrass turns over a page in the report in front of her, looks up again. ‘John Pearson. Pez. Did you kill him as well?’
Renny shakes his head. ‘No.’
‘Are you sure? You killed Calvin and Theresa Preston—’
‘I didn’t kill Pez.’
‘Why not?’
‘Because Pez was my friend.’
‘So was Calvin.’
‘Yeah, but I wouldn’t do that to Pez.’
‘You wouldn’t?’
He shakes his head. ‘Nah.’ Then thinks. Well, not unless he realty pissed me off.’
Nattrass sighs. ‘Do you know the difference between right and wrong, Christopher?’
He shrugs.
Nattrass is about to pursue the matter when the child liaison officer reminds her that the boy needs a rest. Nattrass doesn’t ask him to clarify his shrug for the tape. She looks down at the report once more, turns over another page. There is a report from social services, investigating allegations of physical and perhaps sexual abuse by Christopher Renwick’s father on Christopher himself at the behest of a teacher at his school. Renwick senior was found to be very unhelpful and incommunicative and the investigation went no further. The situation, the report said, was being monitored but at present no further action was being taken. Nattrass looked up, back at Renny.
‘Your dad’s not here.’
Renny shakes his head.
‘I believe he was asked but didn’t want to come down.’
Renny looks scared as soon as the conversation turns to his father. He shrugs.
‘Would you like us to call him again? See if we can get him here?’
He shakes his head. ‘No … no, don’t get him in here.’
‘You sure?’
He nods. ‘Don’t …’
And then he starts to cry again. And the tears he has shed so far are nothing compared to the ones he is now shedding.
Nattrass closes the report, sits back. She thinks of Mae Blacklock. How the abuse she experienced was ignored until it was too late and manifested itself as murderous rage. Looks at Christopher Renwick crying before her. Thinks how little has changed in the intervening years.
She leans forward to speak into the microphone. She concludes the interview.
There is nothing more to be said for the time being.
30
Anne Marie looked at the figure before her, lying in the hospital bed. She had cried rivers – oceans – of tears over him in the time they had been together. And now she wiped her eyes with a tissue, letting the latest watery emissions dry up.
She had come to the General Hospital as soon as Donovan had called her, Amar driving. Once there, a nurse had directed her to the waiting room and told her to wait. Mister Hutchinson was in surgery and she would let her know how he was as soon as she could. Anne Marie had pestered her until she had brought a doctor who then told her the extent of Rob’s injuries. Neither his neck nor his back were broken, nor was there any sign of brain damage which were all encouraging signs, but his legs were broken, his ribs were shattered, one of them puncturing a lung which meant for the time being he couldn’t breathe unassisted. Seeing Anne Marie’s face the doctor added that he was in a good state and that, although it might be slow and painful, given the right kind of care there was no reason why he couldn’t make a good or perhaps even full recovery.
There were police everywhere in the hospital, almost as many of them as medical staff. They had questioned her and questioned her until she couldn’t think straight and then left her alone.
Hours Anne Marie had sat there, worrying about Rob. And Jack. He was in another part of the hospital. Donovan had contacted her, told her what had happened with him and
that he was dealing with the police in Scotswood but he would be at the hospital as soon as possible. Jack and Abigail had already been taken there and their injuries were being treated. Abigail’s were mostly superficial, but Jack had four broken ribs and they wanted to keep him in for observation in case of internal bleeding. He was sleeping now, comfortable, as the nurse had said. Expected to make a full recovery. Anne Marie tried to take what positives she could from it. She knew it could have been a lot worse. Haig and Flemyng weren’t so lucky.
So as she sat in the waiting room, a plastic cup of something claiming to be coffee in her hand, certainly nowhere near as good as Donovan’s coffee, she allowed herself to feel relief. With me police leaving her alone for the time being, she felt that, for the first time in more years than she could remember, she could relax. A little. If she could get beyond this then she could allow herself to experience something a little like hope. There was still stuff to get sorted, and she would have to move again, but if they could just get through the rest of the night, then the next day might not be so bad after all.
The door to the waiting room opened and a nurse walked in.
‘Ms Smeaton? Your son’s awake if you would like to see him.’
She didn’t need to be told twice. She stood up, overturning the plastic cup of toxic liquid into the carpet, expecting it to sizzle.
‘Sorry,’ she said to the nurse.
‘Doesn’t matter. Come with me.’
The nurse led her to a ward. And there, lying down and heavily bandaged, was her son. She wanted to run forward, hold him, but she knew that would only make things worse. So she stood there, trying to contain her emotions, hoping he understood.
There were tears in his sleepy eyes. ‘Mum … I’m sorry …’
She frowned. ‘What for?’
‘Running off like that.’
‘Don’t be stupid.’
‘I’ve been thinking. About what you did …’
Anne Marie tensed, not wanting to hear the rest but knowing, despite everything else that had happened, she wouldn’t be able to move on until she had. ‘It’s all right,’ she started to say but Jack stopped her.
‘No, Mum. I’ve got to say this now. Because I’ve been thinking about it and we’ve got to get it said. Now.’ He paused, took a deep breath, exhaled. It seemed to hurt him. She sat on the edge of the bed, held his hand. ‘I just wanted to say … you were just a kid. What you did, you were just a kid. You didn’t know what you were doing … you can’t punish yourself all your life for something you did when you were a kid …’
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