Deity (28 page)

‘DI Brook is an experienced and talented detective and part of a highly capable
team
and I’m in no doubt that, with the help of our friends in the media, these young people will be found and returned to their families.’ Charlton motioned Brook to stand, which he did. Alice Kennedy followed suit.

‘Just a minute . . .’ began Burton.

‘No,’ said Charlton firmly. ‘We have work to do, and if there are no
relevant
questions about the current inquiry, it would be better for all concerned if we got on with our jobs.’

The camcorder was trained on the television screen. The uniformed Chief Superintendent was spouting his spiel but the lens rested on his face for just a moment before moving to film the Detective Inspector in charge of the search. His face
was impassive and controlled. The camcorder zoomed in further when a local reporter asked a question about the hunt for a serial killer some years before. The Inspector’s eyes betrayed barely a flicker of emotion. Still the camcorder stored his image, only being lowered when the press conference drew to a close.

The three police cars and Brook’s BMW made their way in convoy across the city and arrived on the Brisbane Estate.

In her habitual dressing-gown, the diminutive Roz Watson opened the front door to PC Crainey and DS Noble, who explained the reason for the visit. Under Brook’s instruction, the warrant was to be a last resort in case a voluntary search was refused.

‘I don’t understand,’ she said. Her husband joined her at the door as Brook arrived.

‘We can’t go into details but we think Adele may have hidden her laptop somewhere in the house and we’d like your permission to search for it,’ said Brook, locking eyes with Watson.

‘Do we have a choice?’ he asked. Noble readied the warrant.

‘Not if you want to help us find your daughter,’ replied Brook.

The Watsons stood aside to let Brook and his team search the premises.

Five minutes later, Jim Watson sat on the sofa next to his wife. He stared at the floor taking no interest in proceedings. PC Crainey, the Family Liaison Officer, sat on a chair opposite them both, staring at the same spot on the floor and avoiding Mrs Watson’s gaze as her eyes pierced him with her swelling anger. The rest of the team swarmed over the house.

‘Are
we suspects?’ spat Mrs Watson in PC Crainey’s direction.

‘It’s just routine.’ He looked away as he spoke which Roz Watson took as confirmation.

‘Bastards,’ she said to her husband’s frozen face. She shook her lank grey locks at him. ‘Are you just going to sit there? They think we did something to our daughter.’ He glanced briefly in her direction but said nothing.

For the next few minutes the three kept silent during the scuffs and bangs of beds, chairs and other objects being inspected, emptied, moved and put back again. Occasionally they could hear the exchange of information between the searching officers.

‘Bastards,’ the woman said again.

Finally Watson spoke without lifting his eyes. ‘Don’t let them get to you, Roz. That’s what they want.’

‘They’re just doing their jobs,’ said Crainey to Roz, as though he wasn’t a member of the same invading force currently rifling through the Watsons’ home.

Seconds later, the steps groaned under the dual footfall of Brook and Noble and the door to the living room opened.

‘Shed key?’ asked Noble.

‘On the hook by the back door,’ said Watson.

Brook studied Watson’s face to gauge stress-levels. He seemed relaxed and Brook began to worry that they were too late, or worse, that he’d misread the situation. A shout rang out from above and the stairs once again complained under the assault of descending officers.

DS Morton entered the room. ‘Bathroom – under loose floorboards.’ He held out two books in his latex-covered hands, both bound in shiny black. Brook took one gingerly in
his gloved hands and opened it. Noble took the other.

‘Adele’s notebook,’ said Brook, skimming through before stopping at a particular page. ‘ “The Night Walker”,’ he read.

Brook looked over at Watson, who was maintaining his vacant expression.

His wife also fixed him with a gimlet eye. ‘What are her poems doing under the floor, Jim?’

Watson grunted. ‘Maybe she put them there. For safekeeping.’

‘This is Adele’s diary,’ said Noble, flicking through the other tome.

‘Save us some time and tell us where the laptop is, Mr Watson,’ said Brook softly.

‘The laptop?’ shouted Mrs Watson. ‘What’s going on, Jim?’

Watson was about to plead ignorance when something shifted in his mood. He turned to his wife then looked over to Brook, seeking understanding. ‘Behind the boiler, wrapped in towels. There’s a false backboard.’ Morton hurried back upstairs.

Brook nodded. ‘Thank you.’

‘I don’t
understand, Jim.’

He looked back at his wife without expression. It was over. He could be himself. ‘My life is over. Time to make it official.’

‘What do you mean? What have you done?’

Watson stared flatly back at her. ‘I could’ve had my pick.’

Brook and Noble dropped the two books into evidence bags and turned to go.

‘You’re not leaving me here,’ pleaded Watson suddenly. ‘With
her
.’

‘Jim?’ She stood now, her head darting around searching for answers.

Brook studied him. ‘Of course not. We’d like you to come to the station and assist with our enquiries.’

‘Gladly – just get me out of here,’ said Watson.

Brook looked over at Crainey who took out his handcuffs and bade Watson to stand. The man turned to allow Crainey to snap the cuffs into place.

‘What are you doing? Jim?’ said his wife, moving towards him. Brook held her away but the barrier merely increased the wiry little woman’s urgency and she reached past Brook to grab at her husband.

Watson ignored her and pulled against the impassive steel without success. He smiled. ‘Free at last.’

Mrs Watson seemed about to tip over into hysteria so Brook signalled Noble to move her husband outside quickly.

‘PC Crainey will give you a receipt for the exhibits and talk you through what’s going to happen,’ said Brook, moving away.

‘You’re taking him? You’re taking my husband?’

‘Speak to PC Crainey.’

‘But why have you handcuffed him? What will the neighbours say?’

‘It’s
just a precaution. For his own safety,’ said Crainey as Noble and Brook guided Watson towards the front door.

PC Crainey stood between Mrs Watson and her departing husband. ‘How about a nice cup of tea?’

‘Jim?’ she shouted.

Outside, Watson heaved a sigh of relief as he reached the squad car. But as Noble eased Watson’s head safely into the vehicle, a camera flashed and Brook found himself face to face with Brian Burton.

‘Hello, Inspector. Would you care to inform our readers why you’ve arrested Adele Watson’s father? Have you found a body? Has Jim Watson killed her?’ At that moment, Morton emerged with the laptop. Burton spotted it. ‘Ho ho, it doesn’t take a genius to work out what Mr Watson’s been up to.’

‘Just as well they sent you then, Brian,’ said Brook over his shoulder.

‘Been browsing the kiddie sites, have you?’ shouted Burton, stooping to harangue Watson, inside the squad car. ‘Your daughter catch you at it and you topped her? That it?’

Brook turned back to the squad car and banged on the roof. The car sped away and Burton swung round to get in Brook’s face.

‘Well, Inspector.’

‘It’s just routine, Brian. Mr Watson is not under arrest, he’s helping us with our enquiries.’ Brook made for his car.

‘If he’s not under arrest, why is he wearing handcuffs?’

‘It’s just procedure.’

‘Well, here’s my procedure, Inspector. I’ve got a picture of a missing girl’s father being taken away in handcuffs and that’s what tomorrow’s front page will show,’ said Burton to his retreating back.

Brook
turned round and marched up to Burton. ‘I’d ask you not to print that picture, Brian, but I know that would guarantee it. Instead, I’ll say this. If you indulge in wild speculation or say what you just saw as an arrest, your readers will switch off from the story thinking it’s done and dusted, and the search for four young people, who may be in danger, will become that much harder.’

‘What sort of danger?’ asked Burton, shoving his Dictaphone in Brook’s face.

Brook’s face darkened and he tried to slow his breathing. ‘I’m afraid I can’t comment further.’

‘What we see and what we seem Is but a dream, a dream within a dream.’

Brook switched off the tape.

‘That’s Adele,’ said Watson. ‘What is that?’

Brook pushed the cup of tea nearer Watson and looked across at Noble in the other chair. ‘It’s a message from Adele.’

‘What message? Where is she?’

‘We were hoping you could tell us,’ said Noble.

Watson put his hands flat on the table and his head on top of them. ‘I don’t know,’ he mumbled. ‘Really I don’t. I wish I did.’

‘But you don’t deny hiding the laptop and Adele’s books.’

Watson sat up again. ‘No. I did that. But that’s all I did.’

‘Why did you do that?’

Watson couldn’t find the words to acknowledge his innermost thoughts. ‘I can’t tell you,’ he finally said.

Brook wore latex gloves to open one of the books and began to read ‘The Night Walker’ again.

Watson
scraped back his chair and stood. ‘Please stop.’ The uniformed officer on the back wall moved swiftly to reseat him. Watson sat down, defeated. ‘Please. I . . . I didn’t do anything.’

Brook turned to the middle of the diary and opened up the tome to show Watson. He ran a gloved finger down it. ‘There are two pages missing here. They’ve been razored out.’

‘Not by me, Inspector. I’ve not opened either book. I swear. I couldn’t face it.’

‘You don’t expect us to believe that, do you?’ said Noble.

‘You think I’d have left “The Night Walker” in there if I’d been cutting pages out of her books?’ demanded Watson.

‘So that poem does refer to you?’

He hung his head. ‘I’ve been worried about her. Maybe I . . .’

‘Maybe you’ve what?’

Watson looked up. ‘She’s grown up so fast. I was losing her.’ He sighed. ‘I’ve been possessive, I realise now. You can’t stop it – time. I wanted to spend time with her before it was too late, before she didn’t need me. That’s all.’

‘Then why hide the books?’ said Noble.

‘I was embarrassed because Adele thought . . .’ He came to a halt.

‘But why didn’t you destroy them? The computer too.’ Watson was silent.

Brook answered for him. ‘Because they’re the last link to the daughter you love.’ Watson nodded his head in confirmation. ‘Adele’s bed was a mess and the phone and leaflet moved. You?’ Watson nodded again.

‘Did you masturbate?’ asked Noble.

Watson stood, his eyes blazing, and fists clenched. Noble
and the uniformed Constable struggled to reseat him, Brook watching on, unmoved.

Eventually, when Watson was calm enough to hear the question again, he responded with a look of pure horror. ‘How can you think that? You’re sick, you are. Perverted. Worse than me. At least I’m her father – I have a right to be near her. You’re strangers. You shouldn’t think about other men’s daughters that way.’

‘We’d prefer not to,’ said Brook.

‘So tell us,’ said Noble.

‘No, I didn’t masturbate. I was on the bed because I just wanted to be near her, okay, to smell her. It was in my head. Only there. Please, I promise you. I didn’t do anything. Ask Ade.’ His head fell to the table again and he began to sob. ‘My God, what have I done? Please forgive me. I’m sorry, baby. I’m so, so sorry. I never meant to drive you away. I love you.’ He sat bolt upright. ‘You must believe me. I never – I wouldn’t—’

‘I advise you not to say another word until you’ve been counselled, Mr Watson.’ Brook announced the time and switched off the police recorder. Noble looked across at him. ‘I think you need to consult a solicitor. You’re obviously distraught and that’s not a good time to make a statement.’

‘A solicitor?’ Watson smiled crookedly and finally had a sip of his tea. ‘Only God can help me now. Only God can clean these thoughts from my head.’

‘Then pray to Him.’ Brook rose to leave.

‘There’s another book.’

Brook and Noble turned back to Watson.

‘Another book?’ said Noble. ‘Where?’

‘I don’t have it. It’s her presentation book, leather-bound. When
she finishes a poem, when she’s happy with it, she writes it in there.’

‘It’s not in the house?’ asked Brook.

‘I don’t think so. She must have taken it with her. I don’t have it. I swear.’

Brook nodded and opened the door to usher out Noble and the Constable.

‘Inspector.’ Brook turned at Watson’s voice. ‘Do you believe in God?’

Brook paused over the question. ‘I don’t have time.’

‘Not a good time to make a statement?’ said Noble, incredulous.

Brook dropped Adele Watson’s two handwritten books back into their evidence bags. ‘Get every page photocopied and on the boards after fingerprinting, then ask Don Crump to run the ESDA over the page beneath the razored pages. We might get a clue about what was on them.’

‘Watson was on the verge of cracking up,’ persisted Noble. ‘What better time to give a statement? That’s when we get the good stuff.’

‘You saw him, John. He hasn’t killed Adele and he hasn’t had sex with her.’

‘You don’t know that.’

‘I can’t prove it, no. But I’m a father. You’ll have to trust me on this.’

‘Trust? If he’d carried on, we would have known for sure.’

‘No, we wouldn’t. He’s on the edge. With the levels of guilt he’s carrying, he could say anything incriminating just to make himself feel better. He needs counsel to protect him from himself.’