by M. L Rose
Shaken, Arla walked quickly to the drinks machine in the rear corridor, and grabbed a glass of water. As she downed it, she saw Harry and Lisa approaching. From their faces she knew they had heard about the Burroughses coming to the station.
“You OK, guv?” Harry asked, keeping a respectful distance.
Arla gripped her ice-cold fingers and shoved them in her trouser pockets. “I need a fag.”
Lisa said, “I got one.”
They went outside and puffed in silence. Arla inhaled the nicotine gratefully. Right now, she didn’t care if she was sliding back into a smoking habit.
Both Harry and Lisa maintained a diplomatic silence. Arla studiously avoided Harry’s eyes, resisting the urge to melt into his arms.
She asked Lisa, “Have we been through Charles Atkins?”
Lisa nodded. “Laptop, phone and bank details are all out. I put together a CV, and the whole thing’s on your desk.”
Arla needed to work just to get her mind off things. Johnson would be back soon, and she knew that Deakin was upstairs, waiting. She stubbed the cigarette under her heel.
“Let’s find out more about Charles Atkins.”
Arla leaned back in her chair and put her feet up on the desk, crossing them. She was looking through Atkins’ CV, trying to find something.
“He graduated from Nottingham Queens University, then did some odd jobs before becoming a teacher. One of his first teaching jobs was to children in social care.” Arla looked at the address, with the dates when Atkins had worked.
“That was a good ten years before he came down south,” Harry noted. He had a copy of the papers in his hands as well.
Arla leaned her head back, a mental itch at the back of her mind. She wished she could reach inside and scratch her brain. It suddenly came to her in a flash. She sat up in her chair.
“Nottingham.”
Harry and Lisa looked at her, bemused. Arla stared at them with shining eyes. “Nottingham,” she repeated.
“What about it?” Lisa asked.
“Remember the necklace that was found on Maddy’s body? The one which was a replica of my mother’s?”
“Yes,” Lisa replied slowly.
“Well, Rob had tracked the maker down to a firm called RD Designs in Nottingham. Where is Rob?”
“Not at his desk, guv, I have to check.”
Arla was chewing her lower lip. “I want to speak to the social care home where Atkins used to teach.” She looked up the name. “Beaverbrook Children’s Home.”
She Googled the name, and it came up in the top hit. Arla dialled the number from the screen, using her table-top phone. When she introduced herself, after holding for a while, she was put through to the administration office.
“This is Sharon Stevens, Matron in charge of Beaverbrook.”
“Hi, I need some information about a teacher you might have had ten years ago. His name was Charles Atkins.”
There was silence on the other end. Sharon, who had a heavy Irish accent, only breathed. After a few seconds, Arla ventured again.
“Hello?”
“Just a minute, Miss Inspector, I am having a look like, you know.”
Arla heard the click of buttons. Sharon said, “I must say the name strikes a distant bell, but it was a long time ago. I have been here for almost fifteen years.”
Arla raised her eyebrows at Lisa and Harry, who waited patiently opposite her. Finally Sharon returned on the line.
“Yes, I found him. I do remember him now. Thin guy, well dressed. I got the impression he was destined for better things in life.”
“Sounds like him,” Arla said.
“He was here for one year, and then he left. Is he in trouble?”
“Afraid I cannot disclose anything at this moment, Miss Stevens. Do you have any staff members from that time who will remember him? I need background information on what he was like. Did he get into any trouble? Did he ever have any issues with the children?”
“What do you mean issues?” Sharon’s Irish twang was suddenly sharper.
“Abuse of any kind,” Arla said frankly. “Did any of the girls or staff ever complain?”
There was silence again and Arla heard buttons clicking. Sharon said, “There’s nothing in his records. And to be honest, something like that would stick in the mind, like, you know.”
“Yes.”
Arla could hear Sharon breathing down the line. She said, “Sharon, why don’t you ask around about him, and I’ll call you back tomorrow? I need to know, you see. It’s important.”
Sharon agreed. Arla gave her the personal number, then hung up.
*****
After half an hour, Arla was sitting in Johnson’s office on the fourth floor, with a panoramic view of South London’s skyline. Johnson was stone-faced behind his desk, and Deakin was sitting to his left, without his uniform for once. Martin Johnson, the short, corpulent press officer from the MPA, was clutching a folder, and Harry was sitting in one corner.
Johnson said, “Who leaked the story to the media?”
Arla shook her head. “Don’t know, sir. In the paper, the photo is of me and Harry coming back with the suspect. It was taken in the rear car park with a telephoto lens, which means they were waiting for us.”
Johnson slapped the desk with his hand and swore. “This is beyond tiresome now.” He looked around and composed himself when he realised Nick Deakin was observing him closely.
“Any new leads?” he asked Arla in a quieter voice.
“We are looking carefully into Atkins’ background, sir.”
Deakin spoke up. “His lawyer, Malcolm Hindmarsh, has been in touch already. We need to let Atkins go tomorrow morning if we don’t charge him with murder. For the other charges, he will plead guilty and get a non-custodial sentence.”
Both senior officers stared at Arla. She spread her hands. “We are looking. His bank account shows usual activity. He has admitted to having the pay-as-you-go phone that Maddy called the night before she vanished. She was calling him to arrange a meeting, but he refused. She kept calling back as she was angry.”
“You believe that?”
“I don’t think he killed her, sir.”
Deakin said quietly. “He had every opportunity to do so, Arla. And he had the motive. What makes you so certain he’s innocent?”
Arla composed herself before replying. “The killer is stalking me as well, sir. Atkins knows nothing about me. I have never seen the guy before. He certainly doesn’t have my personal number. If Atkins is the killer, then who sent me the photo of Maddy lying in the park?”
There was silence for a while.
Johnson said, “If we don’t charge him, do you know what the US Consulate and our Home Office will do?”
Arla couldn’t help herself. “Seems like you care more about what they think than the truth.”
“Shut up, Arla,” Johnson growled. “Do you know how long I spent calming the Burroughses down? The husband was threatening to call the CIA, for Heaven’s sake.”
Deakin said, “I got a call from MI5 yesterday. It’s actually MI6 who maintain close contact with the CIA, but for this case, MI5 have been approached by the CIA, as it’s a domestic matter. I can only refuse them for so long. The questions they ask are pertinent, I think.”
Arla frowned. “What questions?”
Deakin shrugged, but Arla noted that he wouldn’t meet her eyes and looked evasive. “Just questions about the case?”
“Sir, have they been forwarded case files already?”
“This is a bureaucratic as well as criminal matter…”
“Sir!” Arla raised her voice, something she had never done before in Deakin’s presence.
“Arla,” Johnson warned.
She softened her tone. “Can I please have a straight answer? Have the case files been sent to MI5 already?”
Deakin cleared his throat. “Yes.”
Air seemed sucked out of the room. A moment intensified, thoughts and gasps collid
ing in a silent choke, like that moment in an action movie when a bullet smashes into a sheet of glass in slow motion.
The news was like a blow to Arla, almost bending her double. She felt fractured, cracked fingers spreading through her like a web.
“What?” She wasn’t aware that she was standing up.
“Sit down, Arla!” Johnson said. Arla couldn’t hear through the roar in her ears. She shook her head, the sunlight outside suddenly blinding. She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them.
“My personal history is tied in with this case. Has it now been revealed to MI5?” Arla managed to stutter out.
Both of her senior officers looked at the floor. Deakin grasped his palms together, and met her eyes. “Arla, sit down. Please.”
She didn’t. Something else was bothering her. She turned towards Johnson. “Sir, you said there would never be a file on me. Not with Nicole in it, or my family.”
Johnson moved his neck up and down, doing everything but meeting Arla’s eyes.
It was Deakin who spoke. “There is a file on you, Arla. It is top secret, and marked for the eyes of Johnson, and the Commissioners, only. Don’t be alarmed. For most of the London Met, such files don’t exist. No one can access them without our knowledge.”
Arla said to Johnson, “You lied to me.”
Johnson had the courage to meet her eyes. “No I didn’t. Not when you asked me. Later on, it was an operational necessity. For a day like this, actually. Think about it. If someone was trying to blackmail you, what better way to do it?”
CHAPTER 61
Arla couldn’t believe her ears. “I don’t think you did this out of concern for me. It was to keep me in check. In case…”
“In case you get blackmailed or harassed, like you are now,” Johnson said. He seemed to have recovered his composure. “Despite the killer trying to involve you in this case, I kept you on as SIO. To give you a chance.”
Rage was boiling inside her, and it emerged scathingly in her voice. “You call this a chance? You have undermined all my efforts by feeding case details to MI5.”
Johnson sighed. “That’s not true.” He slid a sideways glance to Deakin that Arla didn’t miss. “MI5 only have reports, they are not yet actively involved in the case.”
Arla mouthed the words. “Not yet?”
Deakin said, “Given the importance this case could have to bilateral relations between the USA and us, I have to tell you that if we don’t have an arrest by tomorrow, then we have to hand over the case to MI5 officers.”
Arla felt like she had been slapped in the face. She tottered on her flat shoes, and sat down on the chair behind her. Harry was looking at her. His face was calm, but she could see the turbulence in his eyes. She turned to Deakin.
“An arrest by tomorrow? But that’s only a few hours away.”
“Yes, I know,” said Deakin pointedly, staring back at her.
Incredulity surfaced inside Arla, spewing out of her mouth in a wave. “You want me to arrest Atkins on a made-up charge of murder?” She looked from one officer to the other. “This has already been decided?”
Johnson spoke in a soothing voice. “Nothing has been decided. You need to consider the implications here, Arla. If we arrest Atkins, it shows we are making progress. No one is saying that Atkins will be convicted if he is not guilty. The investigation can continue. But at least we can show the Americans we are getting somewhere.”
Arla raised her hands and flapped them down. “We keep coming back to the same thing. Sir, this is nothing but showboating. Don’t you think the Americans will think we are incompetent when Atkins walks away free? Hindmarsh is one of the best lawyers in the CPS.”
“By that time we will have more evidence and other suspects.”
“You want me to arrest him on a fake charge to buy us time,” Arla said.
It was a statement, not a question. Colour blossomed in Arla’s cheeks, and fury gritted inside her teeth, hardening her jaws. How stupid were these men? Especially Deakin, the most powerful man in the room. Her eyes settled on him.
Deakin said slowly, “Our jobs are never simple, Arla. If you do this for us, it shows you as capable of making difficult decisions. Senior management will not forget that. Charles Atkins is not being sent to jail. As you said, we are just buying time…”
Arla said, “I am not doing it, sir.”
“Arla…”
“No! This is hogwash, sir, and you know it. We have no evidence!” She was shouting again but she didn’t care anymore.
Johnson held his head in both hands, and Deakin looked at him. Arla had the strange feeling that Deakin had just won, and Johnson lost. Johnson didn’t raise his head, or look at Arla. Deakin swivelled his gaze back to Arla.
“In that situation, DCI Baker, I have no choice but to remove you from the case. You are not being suspended, and you will maintain your rank. But as of today, you will cease to play any further part in the Madeleine Burroughs murder enquiry.”
Arla felt like she had been punched in the gut.
CHAPTER 62
She stared at the two officers in disbelief. Johnson stared down at his desk, and when he did look up, avoiding her eyes, she saw regret in his features. Deakin, on the other hand, was icy calm.
“In your absence, DS Johnson will be taking over the case, and he will be assisted by DI Harry Mehta and the rest of the team.” Deakin glanced at Harry, who stared stonily ahead, and gave a slight nod of his head to acknowledge the news.
Arla looked at Johnson. She felt no pity for him. He wanted to get his senior rank, and would do anything that Deakin demanded of him. She realised now that Deakin had always wanted her off the case, and Johnson had fought to keep her in it.
There was nothing more to say. She had made her position clear. She looked at Harry once, then turned and left the room. He followed. She went down the steps quickly, not looking back up. She got to her office, slammed the door shut, and locked it.
Arla paced around a while, held in a cocoon of anger and revulsion. She took her phone out, and thumbed through messages. Nothing so far. No more photos of dead teenagers. She had a horrible feeling Maddy was not the last one, and it was frustrating that she had just lost the authority to lead the case.
Well, she didn’t care. Johnson had to come down here and take over. Till then, she would do what the hell she wanted. She opened the door and called Harry and Lisa in. James and Rob had arrived, and they followed.
Arla looked at the pensive faces. Harry looked the most disturbed, and she avoided looking at him.
“I have just been taken off the Burroughs case,” Arla said, her voice tight. She lifted up a hand when Lisa started to talk. “Don’t go there. Johnson is SIO now, and Harry is his sub.”
Everyone turned to look at Harry, who spread his arms and spoke to Arla. “Guv, you know I don’t care. Just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it.”
“Just the response I was hoping for,” Arla said without mirth. “Get Charles Atkins in the interview room. I want to question him before they slap the murder charge on him and he clams up completely.”
She turned to James and Rob. “Anything more from the laptops and social media accounts?”
Both of them shook their heads. James said, “He seems to be normal in every way. Paid his rent and taxes on time.”
“What about the pay-as-you-go phone?”
“He used that to contact Maddy. Apart from her number there aren’t any others. And he’s deleted all of the messages anyway.”
“Photos?”
“Deleted as well.” James crossed his arms and leaned against the wall.
Lisa said, “There was another number on the phone call list. It was caller ID withheld.”
“Did we trace it?”
“Yes,” Lisa said. “They were from phone booths over South-West London. Brixton, Streatham, Clapham, all mixed. The calls never lasted more than two minutes.”
“What about the voice data?”
“Waiting
for the phone company.”
Arla sighed. Phone companies moved to their own timetable, and slowing down urgent police investigations seemed to be their speciality.
“Boss,” Lisa reminded her, “don’t forget to call Prof Hodgson back. She called again while you were upstairs.”
Arla mentally slapped her forehead. “Thanks, Lisa, I will today.”
When they left, Arla took some time to compose herself. She called her father, but he didn’t answer. She left a message, hoping he would call back. She checked the time. She had to hurry. If Johnson came down and saw she was questioning Charles Atkins, that would be the end of it.
They met with Atkins in the interview room. Harry did the introductions, and they started. Harry said he was the SIO for the case, and Arla winked at him. He looked relieved. Hindmarsh was on his way, and Atkins seemed nervous without his lawyer.
Charles Atkins looked as if he was on the diet of his medical namesake from California. The Atkins Diet might have been proved to be a fad, but it was working on the defendant. The man had shrunk to a shell, his shoulders cowed in submission, head bent over his neck. Arla couldn’t help feeling sorry for him this time.
“Mr Atkins, I have to ask you some questions.”
“Go ahead,” he mumbled. Fight seemed to have drained out of him.
“I was looking at your CV, and it seems you worked for more than a year at Beaverbrook Care Home for children in Nottingham. Is that right?”
Atkins looked up, a frown on his face and he stared at Arla. “Yes, that is right. That takes me back years.”
“Did you enjoy that job?”
“It was challenging work, teaching teenage students from impoverished and neglected social backgrounds.”
Arla glanced at the paper on the desk. “Then you moved to a school called Radlington in Brent Cross, North London. That was a public school, and must have been very different.”
“Yes, it was.”
“You stayed there for more than three years, rising to deputy head for science. Do you remember any students from those years?”
Arla observed him closely. Atkins’ body language was key now. He maintained eye contact with Arla, his hands remained folded on the desk, still. His feet didn’t tap, his body didn’t move.