‘Eric Lucas and Candice Matthews. The girl’s upstairs.’ He pointed at Lucas. ‘He strangled her.’
‘Have they been cautioned?’
The sergeant shook his head.
Lucas slumped forward and Wilkinson saw that the back of his head was bloody. ‘How did that happen?’ he asked the sergeant.
‘They were like that when we got here.’
Wilkinson looked over at Fisher. ‘Inspector Hopkins hit him with a spade,’ said the detective.
‘And he hit me, too!’ shouted the woman. ‘Bloody animal, he is.’
‘Where is Inspector Hopkins?’
‘The stairs,’ said Fisher.
‘I want to go to the hospital,’ said the woman.
‘That’s not going to happen,’ said the superintendent. ‘We’ll get you a doctor at the station.’
‘I’m bleeding to death here,’ said the woman. ‘Have you seen my leg? I know my rights. I want to see a doctor.’
The superintendent nodded at Sergeant Tyler. ‘Get her out of here, Denis.’ He looked at Sergeant McKillop. ‘Put her in the car.’
‘He hit my Eric, too. Smashed his head in with a spade.’
The two sergeants reached down and helped her to her feet. ‘Police brutality, that’s what it is,’ she said. ‘Anyway, I can’t walk.’ She let herself go limp and the sergeants had to let her fall back onto the sofa. ‘If you make me walk, I’ll sue. I’ve got my human rights, I have.’
‘There’s an ambulance just arrived, get the paramedics to look at her,’ Wilkinson said to Tyler. ‘But no hospital. She can be treated at the station.’
‘What about Eric?’ said the woman. ‘He might have concussion. He needs a brain scan, that’s what he needs.’
The superintendent gritted his teeth. ‘Get them to look at him, then both of them to the station,’ he said.
As he walked back into the hallway, two paramedics appeared at the front door. One of them was holding a portable trolley. ‘Do me a favour, guys, and check out the two suspects in there,’ he said. ‘Do whatever first aid you need but I want them in the station ASAP.’
‘They said the girl’s dead,’ said the elder of the two paramedics.
‘Yeah. She’s upstairs.’
‘To be honest, we’d rather take care of her first. If that’s okay with you.’
The superintendent was about to argue, but then he saw the haunted looks on the men’s faces. Like everybody else they’d been following the case and hoping that the girl would be found and returned to her parents. He understood exactly how they felt. And if he had been in their place he wouldn’t have rushed to treat her killers either. He nodded. ‘Sure.’
He headed for the stairs and the two paramedics followed him. Inspector Hopkins was sitting on the stairs, his cheeks wet with tears. He looked up at the superintendent with unseeing eyes. There was an unlit cigarette in one hand.
‘Are you okay?’ asked the superintendent.
Hopkins shrugged. ‘Not really.’ The hand holding the cigarette was trembling.
Wilkinson gestured at the two paramedics. ‘They need to get upstairs to deal with Bella,’ he said. He put his hand on the inspector’s shoulder. ‘You need to move. Come on, let’s sit down in the kitchen. And put that cigarette away.’
Hopkins stood up and followed the superintendent down the hallway to the kitchen. The paramedics tramped upstairs with the trolley.
The superintendent pulled a chair away from the kitchen table and motioned for the inspector to sit down. Hopkins slumped down and put his head in his hands.
‘What happened to them?’ asked the superintendent. ‘Lucas and the woman?’
‘I hit them with a spade,’ said Hopkins.
‘You did what?’
‘There wasn’t time to be nice about it,’ said Hopkins. ‘She was in my way and he was drowning the girl.’
‘But a bloody spade, Dave.’
‘Call it a shovel if that makes it easier,’ said Hopkins. He ran a hand through his hair. ‘He was drowning her.’
‘So you hit him over the head with a spade?’
Hopkins shrugged.
‘You’ve got to pull yourself together, Dave,’ said the superintendent. ‘If they allege police brutality, Professional Standards will be all over you.’
‘Fuck them,’ said Hopkins. ‘They killed her.’
‘I hear you, but you need to get your story straight now. Professional Standards can be arseholes but they hate child-killers as much as you do. You have to give them the right story for them to give you a pass. And you have to have your story straight from the start. Okay?’
‘Okay.’
‘Why were you holding the spade?’
‘I used it to break open the window in the kitchen. I’d heard the girl scream.’
‘Fisher will back you up on that?’
Hopkins sat back in his chair and nodded. ‘We both heard it.’
‘And why did you hit the woman? Think carefully, Dave.’
The inspector took a deep breath. ‘I came out of the kitchen and she was in the hallway. I identified myself as a police officer and asked her where Bella was. She came towards me in an aggressive manner and I used the spade to deflect her attack. I was then joined by PC Fisher who constrained her while I went upstairs.’
‘Excellent,’ said the superintendent, patting him on the shoulder. ‘What happened then!’
‘She’s breathing!’ The voice came from upstairs. ‘She’s okay!’ The two detectives both jumped as if they’d been stung. They looked at each other in astonishment.
Hopkins shot up out of his chair and beat the superintendent to the kitchen door. They hurtled down the hallway, shoving a white-overalled SOCO out of the way.
The younger of the paramedics was standing at the stop of the stairs, beaming from ear to ear. He flashed the detectives two thumbs up. ‘She’s okay!’ he shouted. ‘She’s bloody well okay!’
37
A Sky TV crew had arrived outside the house just as the paramedics were pushing Bella out on the trolley. They wanted to film her being taken to the ambulance, but by the time they had the camera out she was already inside. As the ambulance sped off, the reporter hurried over to Wilkinson with her crew in tow. Wilkinson knew her, she’d been covering the Bella Harper abduction from Day One. Her name was Carol Khan and she was one of the more professional reporters he’d dealt with, so he decided to give her a statement.
‘Superintendent Wilkinson, can you tell us what’s happened?’ she asked, holding the microphone under his chin. The lanky cameraman had the lens aimed at Wilkinson’s face and he automatically raised his chin, knowing from experience that with his head down he had several rolls of fat around his neck.
‘I can tell you that Bella Harper is alive and well and will shortly be reunited with her parents,’ he said. ‘Two people are in custody and that’s all I can say at the moment.’
‘Can you tell us if she has been sexually assaulted?’ asked the reporter.
‘Bella is on her way to hospital and she’ll be examined there,’ said the superintendent.
‘The people in custody, what can you tell us about them?’
‘At the moment nothing, other than that we are not looking for anyone else in connection with this incident and that I am happy that Bella is safe. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank the public and the media for all their help. It was their assistance that helped us bring this investigation to a positive conclusion.’
‘Where are they now?’ asked the reporter, but the superintendent shook his head.
‘That’s all for now,’ he said. ‘There will be a fuller statement later today.’
The cameraman lowered his camera and the reporter flashed Wilkinson her most winning smile. ‘What about off the record, Rory? What’s happening?’
‘Off the record, the guy’s name is Eric Lucas and that’s his house. We’ll be bringing him out in a bit. He was in the process of drowning Bella when two of our offi
cers gained access to the house. Lucas seems to have been helped by his girlfriend, a woman called Candice Matthews. Nothing known on either of them. If you want to hang around we’ll open up the garage door fully. The van they used is inside.’
‘We can film them when you bring them out?’
‘Yeah, but we’ll be covering their faces, you know that.’
‘Don’t suppose I could persuade you not to,’ she said, and laughed.
‘I’ve got to go,’ said Wilkinson. ‘I’m sure the DCC will have a full press conference at the Training HQ at Netley later today.’ The Netley HQ building was where Hampshire police’s media team was based and it had a large auditorium that was tailor-made for major press conferences.
A second ambulance had arrived and two more paramedics were attending to Lucas and his girlfriend in the house. Wilkinson was still waiting for confirmation that they were fit to be taken straight to the station.
He ducked under the police tape and took out his mobile phone as he walked around to the rear of the house. He called the deputy chief constable’s number and his secretary put him straight through. ‘Bella Harper’s alive, sir,’ he said.
‘She’s what?’
‘The call we got that she was dead turns out to have been a false alarm,’ said Wilkinson. ‘She’s in an ambulance on her way to hospital as we speak. But she’s fine. She’s talking to the paramedics, all her vital signs are okay, they say she’s in shock but other than that …’
‘We were told she was dead. The press office is just about to put out a statement offering our condolences.’
‘Well, there’s definitely no need for that, sir. Like I said, she’s fine.’
‘How did that happen? How could they get it so wrong?’
‘The men who went into the house found Bella being drowned in the bath. They got her out and did CPR but thought that she’d stopped breathing. When the paramedics arrived, they checked and she was okay.’
‘That makes no sense to me, but I’m not about to start looking gift horses in the mouth,’ said the DCC. ‘What about the media?’
‘Sky TV are here. That’s it so far.’
‘And the suspects?’
‘They’re both a bit banged up but they should be okay to take straight to the station.’
‘And they’re bang to rights?’
‘Inspector Hopkins found Lucas with his hands around Bella’s throat,’ he said.
‘But no warrant, that’s correct?’
‘They heard her scream, sir. The lack of a warrant won’t be an issue.’
‘You’ll be handling the interrogation?’
‘Yes, sir.’
‘Then I don’t need to tell you to do it by the book, superintendent. No slip-ups.’
‘Understood, sir,’ said Wilkinson. He ended the call. He would be handling the interrogation but he was sure that the DCC would be leading the press conference, all smiles now that Bella was alive.
38
Nightingale pushed open the office door and held up the two cups of Costa coffee. ‘For my favourite assistant,’ he said.
Jenny was standing in front of the television. She looked over at him and grinned. ‘My cup runneth over,’ she said. ‘Though I have to point out that I’m your only assistant.’
Nightingale hung up his coat and went over to stand by her. The television was tuned to Sky News and a reporter was talking to camera in front of a suburban house. ‘What’s happening?’
‘They found that little girl. Bella Harper.’
‘Alive?’
‘Yes, thank God.’
‘How many days was it? Four? That’s really unusual. If they’re not found within forty-eight hours …’
‘Well, in this case it worked out for the best. I’m so happy for the parents. They must be so relieved.’ She went back to her desk and muted the sound. ‘So how did it go with the little old lady?’
‘According to Mrs Steadman, that Satanic altar is just window dressing. Either McBride did it with next to no knowledge of what Satanism is about, or someone tried to frame him.’ He sat down opposite her.
‘There’s no doubt that he killed those children,’ said Jenny. ‘None at all.’
‘I meant frame him for the devil-worship thing. How are you getting on with the kids?’
‘All good,’ she said. She stood up and took her coffee over to the whiteboard. ‘And you were right. All the children who were killed were from single-parent families.’
Nightingale joined her. ‘That can’t be a coincidence, can it?’
‘More than half of all marriages end in divorce, but couples with children tend to stay together more than those who don’t. So you’d expect half of the eight to be in single-parent families.’
Nightingale frowned and rubbed his chin. ‘But why would he deliberately set out to kill kids with just one parent?’
‘I don’t know. But I don’t see that it can be a coincidence. Having said that, it still doesn’t explain why he only shot two girls in the first classroom. I haven’t been able to check them all, but I did cross-check some of the pupils with the electoral roll and there must have been half a dozen or more kids from one-parent families in that first room that he didn’t shoot.’
‘Okay, so all the children that he shot were from one-parent families, but there were children from one-parent families that he didn’t shoot?’
‘Exactly. But I’m not sure that helps us come up with a motive.’ She waved at the photographs. ‘Do you notice something else?’
Nightingale studied the photographs. ‘Five girls, three boys. Blonde hair, dark hair, one redhead. Eye colour?’
‘Some have blue eyes, some have brown.’
‘Short hair, long hair. Straight hair, curly.’
‘It’s more what you don’t see,’ said Jenny.
Nightingale shook his head. ‘I don’t get it.’ He stared at the photographs, then threw up his hands. ‘Got it. They’re all Caucasian.’ He turned to look at Jenny. ‘He was targeting white kids? Is that what you think?’
‘I though that might be significant until I checked the school roll. There are very few Asians or Afro-Caribbeans at the school. In fact Berwick is the most ethnically homogeneous district in the country. In the last census, 99.6 per cent of the population recorded themselves as white.’
‘So if it’s not racial, what is it? What am I missing?’
‘At the risk of being judgemental, how about the fact that they’re all good-looking kids?’
‘What?’
‘The girls are pretty, the boys are good-looking, there isn’t a fat, spotty or funny-looking one in the bunch.’
‘You’re joking.’
Jenny shook her head. ‘No, I’m deadly serious. You take any group of kids these days and probably a third are overweight. Another quarter are, shall we say, challenged in the looks department. I know that’s cruel, but it’s a fact of life. Some kids are good-looking, some aren’t. I know that all parents think their kids are perfect, but when you take a step back you know that isn’t true.’ She waved at the whiteboard. ‘These kids are all the sort you see in TV commercials.’
Nightingale ran his hand through his hair. ‘So he was targeting good-looking kids from single-parent families?’
Jenny nodded. ‘You can see where I’m heading with this, right?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘Children from single-parent families are more likely to be abused. They’re more vulnerable.’
‘So you think that McBride had been abusing these kids and decided to kill them?’
‘I think that needs looking at, yes.’
‘His brother said he was great with kids.’
‘Yeah, well, just because he didn’t abuse his own nephews doesn’t mean he wasn’t a child molester.’
Nightingale sighed. ‘The brother isn’t going to be happy about this. We prove that his brother wasn’t a devil-worshipper by showing that he was a paedophile.’
‘He wants the truth
,’ said Jenny.
‘I’m not sure that he does. He might think he does but how’s he going to react if we tell him that his brother was a paedophile?’ He sipped his coffee as he looked at the photographs on the whiteboard. Jenny was right. They were all good-looking kids. He stared at the photograph of Grace Campbell. Long, curly chestnut hair. A snub nose. Smiling for the camera. Was it possible that she had been abused? She looked happy, as if she hadn’t a care in the world. ‘We don’t know for sure that these children were abused,’ said Nightingale. ‘We’re going to have to be very careful here.’
‘What about the post-mortems?’ asked Jenny. ‘They were all sudden deaths, so by law there has to be a post mortem, right?’
Nightingale nodded. ‘That’s right.’
‘So talk to the coroner. If the kids were being abused, he’d know.’
‘It’ll mean going back to Berwick. I doubt he’s going to say anything over the phone.’
Jenny smiled brightly. ‘I’ll book you a ticket. And there’s something else you might want to do while you’re up there.’
‘I’m all ears.’
‘The lab still have the crucible and the knife. Why don’t I get them to check them for fingerprints and DNA?’
‘DNA’s expensive,’ said Nightingale. ‘Don’t forget that when the two grand has gone we’re not going to be getting to be getting any refreshers.’
‘Just fingerprints, then. We can compare them to McBride’s prints and we’ll know if he set up the altar or not.’
‘You think he’d go to the trouble of setting up a fake black magic altar?’
‘I don’t know. But if it wasn’t him, at least we’d have the prints of whoever did, and that might be a start.’
Nightingale nodded thoughtfully. She was right.
‘You touched them with your bare hands, right?’
‘I wasn’t thinking about prints, I was more concerned about the blood.’
‘Sure, but we’ll need your prints to rule you out. And while you’re up in Berwick you could get something with McBride’s prints. Something that only he could have touched.’
‘Two birds with one stone?’
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