The Keeper of Secrets: A stunning crime thriller with a twist you won't see coming (Detective Arla Baker Series Book 2)

by M. L Rose

  Harry looked at her. “What?”

  She told them. Harry said, “None of us have actually seen the ring, have we?”

  Arla conceded. “No, we haven’t, but there is one person who would have.”

  “Mrs B.”

  “Yes,” Arla said to Lisa and James. “Can one of you head down to their house and show Mrs B the photo? If she identifies it we have the makings of a case.”

  To Harry she said, “You and I are going back to school. Make sure we have a DNA swab kit with us.”

  Arla couldn’t stop thinking as Harry drove. Maddy had signs of sexual activity, but not recent, Banerjee had said. And it had been consensual. Did ‘recent’ mean longer than ten days? That was when Maddy had been abducted, ten days ago. Was it an abduction or had Maddy gone missing on purpose, aided by her lover? And then he killed her?

  “My God,” she whispered to herself. She turned to Harry. “We need to speak to Atkins’ wife as well. We know where he lives?”

  Harry nodded. “Got the house number as well, if you want to call her.”

  Arla took Harry’s phone and rang the number. Mrs Atkins answered, and agreed to the detectives coming around.

  She handed Harry his phone back. “That was easy,” he remarked.

  “She sounded relaxed. Let’s see what she’s like, then head over to the school.”

  Mr Atkins lived in Stockwell, up the road from Clapham. There was a pub in the corner opposite Stockwell tube station, and they drove down the road to find once stately homes built before the First World War now converted into apartments. The Atkinses lived in the first floor of a conversion, and Mrs Atkins buzzed them in through the door almost as soon as they knocked.

  Arla and Harry trudged up the darkened stairs. A door opened at the top, letting in a shaft of sunlight. Mrs Atkins stood framed in the doorway. Arla shook hands with the petite woman, who was almost half the size of her husband.

  “Thank you for seeing us at such short notice,” Arla said.

  “No problem,” the woman said. “Call me Laura, by the way.”

  Arla detected an Irish accent. They sat down on the sofa, and Arla had her first proper look at her. She was much younger than Arla had originally assumed. She put her age at mid- to late-twenties, which seemed a lot less than Charles Atkins, whom Arla put in his forties.

  “Dreadful business, this girl dying at the school,” Laura said. Arla noticed she wrung her hands as she spoke.

  “Did you ever meet Madeleine Burroughs?” Arla asked.

  “Oh no,” Laura said quickly. “I just saw the news.”

  “Did you ever go to the school?”

  “There has been the odd occasion. For the summer ball and things like that, you know.”

  “Did you meet any of the students?”

  “No.”

  Arla noticed Laura wasn’t good at maintaining eye contact. She answered the question, smiled, then looked away towards the window. The bay window had its blinds down against the blinding sun, and muted sounds of traffic came from Stockwell’s main road at the end of the street.

  Harry said, “Did you ever meet the Burroughs family?”

  “No.”

  “Where were you the night of 3rd June?”

  “At home, actually, just watching TV.”

  “On your own?”

  “Yes.”

  Harry asked, “And your husband?”

  “He was here with me.” Laura looked at the floor.

  Arla and Harry glanced at each other. Was Laura going through the motions? Arla remembered Charles Atkins’ statement – he was at home as well on that evening, and they could alibi for each other.

  Arla asked, “How long have you been married?”

  “Seven years now,” Laura said with a slight smile. “I moved from County Derry in Northern Ireland, and met Charles while I was living up north.”

  “Laura,” Arla asked with emphasis, “has your husband ever mentioned Maddy, or any other student to you?”

  Laura shook her head. “Not specifically. He talks about work, but he didn’t mention any student.”

  “Do you have any children?” Arla asked.

  Laura shook her head. A shadow passed across her face and she stared at the light bouncing off the window blinds.

  “Would you mind providing a DNA sample? It’s a simple mouth swab, and we have to do it as a matter of routine.”

  A puzzled look flashed across Laura’s face, and then she shrugged. “I don’t mind.”

  Harry took the kit out and handed it to Arla. She took the sample, put the swab back into its sterile container and snapped the lid shut. She gave it back to Harry who put it in the specimen bag.

  They said their goodbyes, then walked down to the car.

  “She’s hiding something,” Harry said as they got into the car.

  “Maybe.” Arla buckled herself in. “The body language was weird, there’s no doubt.”

  CHAPTER 54

  Half an hour later they were sitting in Charles Atkins’ office. He looked the same as last time, tie undone, suit crumpled, a definite departure from the suave and polished image Arla had seen before. He could do with a shave, and his eyes looked like he hadn’t slept for a long time.

  He opened the door when Arla knocked, and stood staring at them for a while. He didn’t know they were coming.

  “Can I help you?” Atkins asked, his tone hostile.

  Arla walked in without being invited, followed by Harry, who stared down at Atkins as he went past him.

  Arla perched herself on the desk and Harry guarded the door. Atkins looked from one to the other like a trapped animal.

  “I’ll make this easy on you, Mr Atkins. Let’s go back to the beginning. Where were you on the night of 3rd June?”

  Atkins licked his lips before replying. “I told you already…”

  “I know what you told us!” Arla snapped. “We have new evidence which casts serious doubt on your statement. I’ll ask you once again. Where were you that night?”

  Atkins rubbed his forehead. “I have nothing more to add, DCI Baker. Now, if you will excuse me…”

  “We saw a video where you put your hands on her waist,” Arla said softly. “After the inter-school volleyball match final. Remember?”

  Atkins looked at her, a haunted look in his face. He sat down on a chair. Arla continued. “You also had a ring on your right hand fourth finger. A skull-faced ring. That was hers, wasn’t it? She gave it to you.”

  Atkins shook his head. His face was pale and drawn, but he made his voice authoritative. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, DCI Baker.”

  “You are the lover that Paul Ofori was talking about. You met Maddy that night in Brockwell Park, outside the Wrangler’s Arms pub. You waited for her, then took her…”

  “No!” Atkins shouted, standing up. His face was still pale, but pockets of colour appeared on his cheeks. “You have this all wrong. I never met Maddy that night.”

  Harry said, “Then why don’t you tell us what happened?”

  “There’s nothing to say.” He slumped back on the chair. His legs shook. “Nothing at all,” he repeated.

  Arla said, “We need to take a DNA swab from you, Mr Atkins.”

  Atkins looked like he would crumble to dust if he was touched. “What for?” he asked in a shaky voice.

  “For the investigation into Maddy’s murder, for which you are now a suspect. Are you refusing?”

  Atkins hung his head. “No,” he replied, his voice almost inaudible.

  Harry stepped forward and took the swab. “Now you need to come with us to the station, to give an official statement,” he said.

  Atkins looked around the room like there was a solution to his problems hidden somewhere. He finally looked at Arla. “Are you arresting me?”

  “No. But if you resist coming down to the station I will be forced to.”

  “On what grounds?”

  “For being the prime suspect in Madeleine Burroughs’
murder, and for resisting arrest.”

  Atkins looked like he had been punched in the gut with a sledgehammer. “My God,” he whispered, lips barely moving. “This cannot be happening.”

  Harry stepped forward and put a hand on Atkins’ elbow. “Come on, Mr Atkins.”

  Atkins shook Harry’s arm off. “I want a lawyer,” he said, glowering at Harry.

  CHAPTER 55

  Detective Superintendent Wayne Johnson and Deputy Assistant Commissioner Nick Deakin faced the soundproof double-glass screen that separated them from interview room 2. Johnson fidgeted nervously and glanced at Deakin. His superior officer was wearing his uniform as usual, and looked calm, in control. Johnson wished he felt the same way. This case was shaping up to be one of the biggest of his career. Only a quick conviction now would bring it to a smooth conclusion. And Johnson, being the overall officer in charge, needed a smooth conclusion.

  Because the investigation had been anything but smooth. He had put Arla Baker as the SIO, against his better instincts. She ruffled feathers, but no one got results like she did. This time, however, the chaos had been widespread. For some reason, the killer was nagging Arla. Johnson had thought long and hard about who it could be. Someone who had close personal knowledge of Arla, and a vendetta against her. One by one, he had eliminated all her colleagues. Johnson had taken a personal interest in the triangulation of the phone message that had been sent to Arla. The photo message showing Madeleine Burroughs’ dead body. A pay-as-you-go phone that no doubt had been destroyed as soon as it was used, as the SIM card was never used again.

  The photo was sent to Arla’s personal phone. How did they get hold of that number? It hadn’t been the switchboard: Johnson had checked.

  He sighed. Whatever. It seemed like the psycho was finally in their grasp. As he looked at the suited, dishevelled form of Charles Atkins, a feeling of nausea passed over him. Johnson had teenage children, a boy and a girl. To think the principal of a school could stoop to such lows was unnerving.

  But was he the man who was chasing Arla as well? The one going to such extraordinary lengths to remind Arla of her turbulent family life?

  Johnson didn’t know. If he was, then that meant Charles Atkins was a deep, dark mind indeed. Bringing him to justice would be a big notch on his career post. And, he thought with relief, bring this whole fiasco finally to an end. After all, he was only one month away from being promoted to a Deputy Assistant Commissioner role as well. Mandy had already given his measurement to the Met tailor. Neither she nor Johnson could wait for the day to arrive.

  But at the back of his mind, a sense of doubt kept niggling away. Johnson knew something was wrong about this case still, and he couldn’t put his finger on it.

  Nick Deakin leaned closer to Johnson. “Do you think he’s our guy?”

  Johnson nodded. “The evidence is stacked against him, sir. Absolutely stacked.”

  CHAPTER 56

  Harry pressed the button and did the introductions for the recorder. Arla looked at the two men opposite her. Charles Atkins was slouched against the chair, his lean, athletic figure now looking wasted, shrivelled. His cheeks were sunken, but not as much as his eyes, which seemed to be receding further into their sockets each time Arla looked. She couldn’t muster much sympathy for the man. He had lied, misdirected them, and was guilty of sex with a minor, who was a student as well. But was he guilty of murder? That was what Arla had to figure out now. She had to keep an open mind.

  Of course, it had been natural for him to lie. It would have been the end of his career if he had confessed at the beginning. She looked down at the DNA report that had arrived just before they went in. It hammered in the final nail in the coffin for Charles Atkins. His DNA matched the DNA found inside Maddy. All the other DNA samples they had taken – her parents, close friends – turned up negative.

  Next to Atkins sat a portly, bald-headed man wearing a blue and white Oxford rower’s tie and black suit. He was Malcolm Hindmarsh, a well-known adversary, who had frustrated many a police case by representing the rich and famous.

  Arla began her questions. “Mr Atkins, where did you first meet Madeleine Burroughs?”

  He licked his lips before replying. “When she joined school two years ago.”

  “When her parents moved from USA. She was fifteen years old then.”

  “Fifteen and a half,” Atkins said.

  Arla looked at him, a feeling of revulsion rising up inside her. What kind of man, what kind of teacher, acted out his base fantasies on his students?

  “Where exactly did you meet her personally?”

  “I am the president of the girls’ volleyball club. She was the captain, and I had to approve the girls’ choice.”

  “So it was the night of the vote?”

  Atkins nodded. “Do you remember the date?”

  “Early September, 2016. I cannot remember the exact date.”

  Arla wrote it down. “How often did you meet her after that?”

  “Every now and then… Look, Maddy wasn’t your average shy teenage girl. She was much more confident and mature. She knew how to have an adult conversation.”

  “What do you mean by adult conversation?”

  Hindmarsh leaned towards Atkins, and the two had a whispered conversation. Arla got the impression Atkins was being scolded.

  Atkins said, “By adult I mean a grown-up conversation about politics, news, that sort of thing. She was a remarkable girl who was very aware of the world around her.”

  “What did you talk about?” Arla felt an uneasiness, a slimy repulsion slide down her skin. This man and Maddy locked in solitary conversation was not an image that came easily to the mind.

  “She was passionate about climate change, the ozone layer. She also felt strongly about the way African Americans and Native Americans had been treated historically, and so on. Like I said, she was quite political.”

  “Then you started to have a relationship with her?”

  Atkins face went red briefly, then he blew out his cheeks. Arla stared at him intently. Hindmarsh moved in and did his lawyer thing, then moved away.

  “What do you mean, relationship?” asked Atkins stiffly.

  “Let’s not play games here, Mr Atkins. Your DNA was found in the genitals of the deceased. Do you admit to having a sexual relationship with Madeleine Burroughs?”

  Another hushed conversation followed, and Arla waited patiently. Atkins finally straightened in his chair. “Yes, I did.”

  Arla glanced at Harry, relief evident on her features. One step closer.

  The question she really wanted to scream at him lay silent in her soul.

  Are you the one ripping my life apart?

  But she knew she couldn’t ask that question yet. Certainly not here, in her official capacity, and not now. She swallowed and continued.

  “Did you have relations with any other girls, like you did with Maddy?”

  A look of incredulity, then of irritation passed across Atkins face. Arla tried not to smirk. He was acting righteous here? Really?

  “No, of course not.”

  “Are you sure of that, Mr Atkins?”

  His face was suffused with colour now. “Listen, I am not some pervert…”

  Harry raised his voice, speaking over him. “Just answer the question, Mr Atkins.”

  Atkins stopped and looked from Arla to Harry, his jaws locked tight. “No. Never.”

  Arla said, “So if we dig up all the schools you have worked in, we will not find any evidence of inappropriate relations you had with other girls?” This was a trick question. The team had already checked: no scandals had been uncovered at the three other schools that Atkins had tutored in.

  “No.”

  “Did you ever think about the consequences of your actions?”

  “Yes, of course I did. But it just happened, you know. Couldn’t help it. It was she who started it, by the way.”

  Arla frowned. “But you are the adult here. It won’t be the first time a
teenager has a crush on a teacher.”

  “Yes, I know.” For a while Atkins looked downbeat.

  Arla was warming up slowly. It would be time to move in for the kill soon. “You enjoyed your career, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “And your wife was proud of what you achieved?”

  “I guess she was, yes.” Atkins’ eyes narrowed slightly at the mention of his wife.

  “If news about your relationship became public it would have ended your career. Isn’t that right?”

  Atkins looked around him, then his lawyer touched him on the sleeve. They had a quick chat.

  “What do you mean?” Atkins asked.

  “I am the one asking the questions here, Mr Atkins, and you know perfectly well what I mean.”

  Malcolm Hindmarsh cleared his throat. “We are not in a court of law, Miss Baker, and I would remind you my client is not bound to answer your questions.”

  Arla ignored him and stared at Atkins. He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down.

  “If anyone knew, your life and career would be destroyed. She could have told her boyfriend, Paul Ofori or any of her close friends. So you abducted her, didn’t you?”

  Atkins stood up from his chair. His face was flushed red and a vein was throbbing in his temple.

  “No! No! I didn’t take her, and I didn’t kill her!”

  “Sit down, Mr Atkins,” Arla said, not raising her voice. He sat down, breathing ragged and heavy. He looked at Arla, his face earnest.

  “I didn’t kill her. I didn’t.”

  CHAPTER 57

  The incident room at Clapham Common Station was packed to the gills. The four air-conditioners were working full blast, but many of the detectives and uniforms packed in the room were pulling at their collars and rolling up their sleeves. Arla was at the whiteboard. A photo of Charles Atkins had been stuck to the top, and below it, a smaller one of his wife. Arla updated the team about the day’s events. It was 15.00 already, and she was beginning to get a headache. Wayne Johnson was in attendance, and all calls to the desks had been barred by the switchboard.