by M. L Rose
“You are asking me a lot, Inspector. There are a lot of faces from that time.”
“Anyone special?” Arla asked.
Atkins’ eyes widened, then narrowed. “Is this about Maddy?” A light appeared on his face. “Oh God. You think I’m a paedophile. Is that what this is about?”
“No,” Arla said. “We are keeping an open mind. Can you please answer the question?”
Atkins appeared uncomfortable, but then gave in. His head sank back on his chest. Arla gave him some time. When he looked up at them, his eyes glinted with a light.
“Yes. There was a boy and girl from my year in Nottingham. I got to know the girl first. She was fourteen, and had a horrible life. Her mother had died at birth, and her life had been a succession of foster homes. She had been abused several times, in horrific ways. She was the most damaged child in Beaverbrook while I was there.”
“What was her name?”
“It was a long time ago, but I think her name was Sally, or Cindy, something like that. She had a boyfriend while she was in Beaverbrook. I got to know him, too. He had a similar life to the girl, but not as bad.”
“What was the boy called?”
Atkins shook his head. “I cannot recall at all, sorry.”
“Any other children that stuck in your mind?”
“Various academically gifted ones. But that couple from Beaverbrook were my first taste of how challenging behaviour can be in relation to getting educated.”
Despite herself, Arla was intrigued. “How do you mean?”
“The girl, and the boy’s, level of psychological disturbance was so deep it touched their personalities. They suffered with depression and anxiety. They had to take medication for it. But, despite that, they were clever.”
Arla pursed her lips, something bothering her. An image flashed on the back of her mental retina. The necklace found on Maddy’s dead body had been made in Nottingham. There couldn’t possibly be a connection. Could there?
She asked, “What happened to the boy and girl?”
“I don’t know. I left Beaverbrook after one year. They were still there at the time.”
“OK.” Arla changed tactic. “An undisclosed number called your PAYG phone occasionally. We will get the voice data soon. But can you tell us who it might have been?”
Atkins stiffened. There was a knock on the door and Hindmarsh walked in. The veteran lawyer was red in the face. He pointed a finger at Arla.
“How dare you question my client in my absence?”
CHAPTER 63
Hindmarsh was seething as he sat down. He picked up the pink handkerchief from his immaculate black suit’s breast pocket and wiped his forehead.
“I hope you realise, Miss Baker, whatever my client has said so far cannot be treated as evidence.”
“He’s not said much, I assure you.”
Arla said, “Tell us about the ID withheld number that called you, Mr Atkins. Was it always the same person?”
Hindmarsh stopped Atkins from speaking and leaned close to him. He smiled eventually and moved away. Arla didn’t like the smirk on the lawyer’s face.
Atkins looked troubled. “I was going to mention this to you sooner. But I wasn’t sure if it was the right thing.”
“What is?”
“That same number called me several times.”
“It did?”
“Yes. Somehow, the person who spoke to me knew about Maddy and me. He or she was trying to blackmail me.”
Arla sat bolt upright, sensing Harry do the same. “Was it a man or a woman?”
“I don’t know. The voice was disguised by a machine. At first I thought it was a prank call, but then they left threatening messages about telling the papers about me and her. Apparently, they had photos of us together. They sent me one. I deleted everything.”
Arla shook her head in disbelief. “And you didn’t tell us this?”
Atkins wasn’t finished. “The person also told me when you guys were coming. I was told to deny everything.”
Harry asked, “What did they want from you? Money?”
“That was the funny thing,” Atkins said. “They said I would know when the time was nearer. I was kept waiting. Then Maddy vanished.” He looked down at his lap, a stricken look on his face.
“After she went missing,” Harry asked, “did the calls stop?”
“No. They came about once every other day. If anything, I was more nervous after Maddy disappeared. If someone found out about us, they would think I had taken her.”
Maybe that’s exactly what they wanted us to think, Arla thought to herself.
Arla sat back in her chair, her brows furrowed. Hindmarsh was looking even more smug. He said, “Surely you can now see that my client was being blackmailed.”
“It’s too early to reach conclusions,” Arla snapped. But she couldn’t deny that the dynamics of the case had changed. Atkins being blackmailed reminded her of the dilemma she was in. She wondered if it could be the same person who was responsible.
She nodded to Harry, who concluded the investigation.
When Atkins was taken back to his holding cell, Arla and Harry rushed down the corridor to the office.
“I think it’s all linked,” Arla said.
“How do you reckon?” Harry asked.
“The killer is manipulating us. I think he knew it was only a matter of time before we caught Atkins out. If we didn’t, the killer would have exposed Atkins eventually.”
Harry pondered in silence. Thoughts were swirling around in Arla’s head like clothes in a tumble dryer.
“My stalker is intelligent and resourceful. Do you think he’d make a schoolboy error like leaving the name of the designer engraved on the necklace he planted on Maddy’s body?”
“I guess not. He knows we can trace it.”
“He wants us to trace it, Harry. He’s trying to tell me something.”
They had arrived back in the office. Arla’s eyes fell on Rob. “Did you get in touch with the manager of the factory at RD Designs?”
Rob’s face brightened. “Yes, guv, it’s in my report but I’ll tell you now. The bloke said they make lots of designs like that, but this necklace was a one-off, and they only made one thousand of them. To put that into perspective, they make millions of their other 80s design jewellery – mainly necklaces, earring and rings.”
“Have you got this guy’s name and number?”
“Yes.”
Arla thought hard, biting her lower lip. She thought of Sharon Stevens at the care home in Nottingham. An idea struck her. She had to make two phone calls. One to Sharon, another to Prof Hodgson. She took her phone out, and her eyebrows creased. Her father had tried to call her twice. Her phone had been on silent while she was in the interview room.
She called him back, but it went to answerphone.
“Harry is the new boss, so take orders from him now. I have to go and see my father.” Amid resigned calls of frustration, she closed the door. She made sure the door was locked, then picked up the receiver of the phone on her desk, and used the secure line to call Prof Hodgson at CAHID.
“Hi, Arla how are you?” Sandra Hodgson sounded pleased to hear her voice. Arla remembered the time she had spent with her, and became sombre. CAHID had been a deeply impressive place, but Arla’s moments there had been laced with pain. Yes, she had gained closure on Nicole, but that didn’t mean the regrets ever stopped.
“Good, and thank you for your help with the case. You wanted to speak to me?”
“Yes, I did.” Arla detected a deepening of her tone, and a pause.
“What is it?” If the matter was related to the case, Arla didn’t understand Sandra’s hesitation.
Sandra said, “I went back to Nicole’s skeleton as my work wasn’t finished.”
Arla clutched the receiver tighter. She listened to the static for a while. “Why not?”
“I felt the lower half of the skeleton needed more examining. So I did some MRI scans and looked at
them in detail. Turns out I was right.”
Arla swallowed. “About what?”
“I had missed something. It was in the base of the spine, at the bottom near the coccyx. There was a shallow indentation made in the lower vertebrae.”
“What does that mean, doc? In English, please.”
“The smooth depression in these have been made by a weight pressing against the vertebrae for a period of months. Large tumours at the base of the spine can do that. At the age of sixteen or seventeen, it is virtually impossible Nicole had such a big mass inside her, and she didn’t suffer with ill health.”
“Then what could it be?”
As soon as she asked the question Arla had a fearful premonition. She closed her eyes. No. Please, no.
Sandra said, “A gravid uterus. She was carrying a baby.”
Breath left Arla’s chest in a painful gasp. She felt hollow inside, eviscerated. Sandra continued.
“The bones of the pelvis have a widened brim as well. Which shows they had been stretched.”
Arla couldn’t speak. Eventually she licked her lips and asked, “What does that mean?”
“It means the baby was delivered. I would say at full term, or nearby. Nicole gave birth before she died, Arla.”
CHAPTER 64
Cindy leaned over the body strapped to the bed. The old man’s fearful eyes were open. He was strapped to the bed the same way the girl had been before him. Thick belts enclosed his torso and upper legs. His hands were shackled to the sides, and his feet were tied together. Duct tape covered his mouth.
Cindy said, “I will remove the duct tape from your mouth. If you shout, no one will hear you. We are in a remote area. But shouting, or fighting, will only mean I dose you with this.” Cindy lifted up a hypodermic needle with syringe attached. She watched with satisfaction as the old man’s eyes widened.
“Do you understand?”
Timothy Baker nodded twice. Cindy reached over and pulled the duct tape off. Timothy shouted in pain as a few hairs of his stubble came off. He glared at Cindy, who stared back at him with interest.
“Do you know,” Cindy said softly, “how long I have waited to see you?”
Timothy’s eyes narrowed, then became worried. “Who are you?”
“You will soon find out.”
“Why were you following me?”
Cindy gave a short laugh. “What is this, Twenty Questions? I ask the questions here, not you.” Her expression became serious. “I’m going to untie your legs, and one hand. The other stays in the handcuff.” She pointed to the floor, and Timothy craned his neck. He could see a plate of food – bread and soup. He felt nauseous and had no appetite whatsoever. Next to the plate, there was a dirty bucket with a handle.
“You wee in the bucket, and then eat. I will close my eyes while you wee, and stand behind you with the needle against your neck. Try anything funny, and the needle’s going straight in your neck. Agreed?”
Timothy nodded quickly. A wee is what he definitely needed. He fought the rising bile in his mouth. How long had he been here? The man in the car had wrestled him to the seat, then he had felt a sharp pain. Then he remembered nothing. He imagined the same needle as the one the woman held now had been used to subdue him. Timothy thought about his chances. Once one hand was free, he could grab the hand holding the needle. Or he could try to elbow her with his back turned. Then he could use one leg to kick her. But if she had the needle pressed on his neck, how far would he get?
Cindy seemed to read his mind. “Thinking about an escape, are you?” She jumped forward suddenly, surprisingly quick for a woman of her short, stocky frame. She grabbed Timothy’s shirt collar and pressed him against the bed, choking him. His windpipe was crushed, and veins stood out on his forehead. He made a choking sound, unable to breathe.
“Listen, Mr Baker,” Cindy said, getting her face very close to Timothy’s. “I have waited a long, long time for this moment. I promise you, anything you try will only prolong your pain. So I’m telling you one last time. Don’t try it.”
She let go of his neck and stood up, chest heaving with the effort. A tangle of brown hair had fallen over her face, and she tucked it behind her ear. Timothy spluttered and coughed. He cleared his throat, making a rasping sound. Cindy watched him warily. She didn’t want the old man to die. Her job was only half-done. There was a long way to go still, and he would only get his full reward when all the chips were aligned.
Timothy coughed a few times more, then gasped. Saliva drooled down the sides of his mouth. His throat and neck felt raw, bruised. He felt the woman touch his legs, then remove the cords that tied one foot to another. He wiggled his toes gratefully, trying to get some sensation back in them. He blinked, and was surprised to find water escape the corners of his eyes. He needed to clear his head. The woman was impulsive and dangerous. But there would be a crack in her armour. Somehow he had to locate it.
“Which hand?” Cindy asked. “Remember you have to eat with that hand as well.”
“Right,” Timothy croaked.
He folded his legs and sat up in bed, surprised when the woman helped him. She brought the bucket around, then stepped behind him. Timothy was taller than her, so she stood up on the bed, and he felt the sharp needle prodding him in the neck as she reached over. He was leaning to one side, left hand shackled to the bed. It was bloody uncomfortable, but it was a relief to be able to urinate. Once he had finished, the woman jumped down and grabbed the bucket handle. She stepped backwards, watching him.
“Sit down on the floor and eat. I will put the bucket behind the door and return. I can still see you.”
She didn’t turn her back on him. Timothy crouched gingerly on the hard stone floor. For the first time, he had a look around himself. The flagstone floor extended to the corners of a timber structure, with a window on each side. Rafters crossed the ceiling. The room was big, twenty by ten feet at least, he thought. There was no straw or farm utensils, but he wondered if it could have been a barnyard for a farm in its original state. There was a dry, musty smell in the place, as if the windows had not been opened for a while. The odour mingled with another, a fetid mix of sweat, urine and vomit.
He ignored all of it and focused on the woman. She had kept her eyes on him, and her stocky body was approaching him fast. A shaft of sunlight fell on her, and he caught the glint of something on her belt. It was a long kitchen knife blade, and the sight of it made him catch his breath. He got a good look at her as well. Her cheeks were podgy, and a scar was visible on her neck. The small, dark eyes were focused on him, as was the frown on her face.
“Why aren’t you eating?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I want you to eat.” She removed the knife from her belt. It caught the sunbeam again and winked. Timothy swallowed.
Cindy stepped forward. “Now.”
Timothy looked down at the plate. Two rolls of bread and a bowl of green soup, bits of vegetables floating in it. Despite the nausea, his stomach rumbled as he inhaled the still steaming soup. He could eat, after all, and maybe he needed to keep his strength up.
Once he had finished, the woman guided him back on the bed. He lay in silence as she strapped his legs together after shackling his hands.
“Are you the same person who’s stalking my daughter?” he asked.
He felt the woman stop, then carry on tying the rope.
“You are, aren’t you?” Timothy repeated. The podgy face appeared in front of him, staring down. The evil eyes glittered at him. Her brown hair fell over her face, but she made no attempt to brush it back. Beads of sweat had gathered on her forehead.
“So what if I am?” she asked.
Anger flared inside Timothy’s chest. Arla didn’t speak to him much, but he could see how stressed she had been the last time they met. He tried to raise his head, neck muscles quivering.
“You leave her alone, you hear me!?” he shouted, mustering as much strength as he could.
Cindy smiled taunti
ngly. “And if I don’t, what will you do? Helpless old git.”
“Take my shackles off and I’ll show you what I can do,” Timothy gritted through his teeth.
“I can kill you anytime I want, old man. Just remember that. And your daughter’s not going to be far behind.”
“No,” Timothy gasped, seeing the fanatical smile on Cindy’s face.
“Oh yes.”
“If you touch her, I’ll kill you.”
“Not if I kill you first.”
Timothy narrowed his eyes. This woman was disturbed, warped. Maybe he should try something different. “Then I will haunt you. I’ll return as an evil spirit and inhabit your body, occupy your dreams. You will never sleep again, you stupid bitch!”
“Shut up!” Cindy shouted, but her eyes were scared all of a sudden. She stared at Timothy.
“My face will burn in your eyes. Your life will be a hell.” Timothy was overdoing the drama act, but weirdly, it seemed to have the desired effect.
Cindy panted through an open mouth. “Don’t say that.”
“I will. My curse will ruin your life.”
“NO!” Cindy screamed, putting her hands over her ears. Then she bared her teeth, and hit Timothy on the jaw. His head snapped back, and she hit him again and again, drawing blood.
CHAPTER 65
Arla felt a weightlessness inside her, like she was made of wool. Her body seemed to float, Sandra Hodgson’s words hitting her like bullets, passing through her without contact. There was a pain between her eyes, and she rubbed it hard, trying to regain focus.
“Arla, are you there?” Sandra’s voice was concerned. “I’m sorry. I know this is disturbing for you. I wanted to see you in person, actually, but we’re so far away. Hence I’ve been trying to call.”
Arla tried to tether herself back to reality, but it wasn’t happening. As if her sister’s untimely death wasn’t enough. Now this. Somehow, she wanted to go to sleep, close her eyes and drift away. Maybe dreams would be better than this reality, even though her dreams were dead, driftwood in an ocean of despondence.