The Winter Foundlings (16 page)

Burns was back in his room when I arrived, his arms folded, triumph all over his face.

‘What’s happened?’ I asked.

‘We’ve arrested Roy Layton.’

‘I thought he wasn’t a suspect any more.’

‘He wasn’t, until the lab found Ella Williams’s hair on a blanket in his van. I’m interviewing him now, you can do the assessment.’

‘That’s Alan’s territory, Don. He wants to observe every major interview, remember?’

Burns shook his head. ‘He’s briefing the commissioner. I can’t wait for him.’

‘On your head be it,’ I muttered.

We stopped in the incident room so I could collect an assessment form from Nash’s table. It interested me that he’d set up his stall in the centre of the room, as if he was the lynchpin of the operation, but there was no time to admire his empire. Burns was already racing down the corridor.

We waited for Layton to be brought from the holding cells. The interview room seemed to be doubling as a store cupboard; a table in the corner was loaded with objects, hidden under a dustsheet. Burns’s tension was beginning to show, his wide shoulders growing more hunched by the minute.

‘At least no one’s reported another abduction,’ he said.

The clock on the wall showed that it was only five o’clock. If Kinsella was telling the truth, the killer had seven more hours to snatch his next victim. I kept my thoughts to myself, rather than adding to Burns’s stress.

When the door swung open, a young officer led Roy Layton into the room. The caretaker looked more unkempt than ever, and he ticked all the tabloids’ boxes for the textbook paedophile. Dark stains were splashed across his worn-out jacket, his ruff of hair projecting from his skull at right angles. Even his solicitor was keeping her distance. The well-dressed middle-aged woman had positioned her chair several feet away, as though poor grooming might be infectious. I watched Layton’s reaction when the interview started. His good eye stared ahead, while the other spun in chaotic circles. He went on the offensive before Burns could begin, pointing an accusatory finger at him.

‘You lot have made my life hell. I’ve had every kind of abuse since you took me in – hate mail and phone calls, dog shit through the letterbox.’ Layton’s hands twitched convulsively in his lap, and for the first time I could imagine his anger translating into violence.

Burns’s face was impassive. ‘Remind me how you spent the evening of the fourteenth of December please, Mr Layton.’

‘Watching TV, like I said. I never went out.’

‘Except your van was caught on film, heading down Sternfield Road.’

The caretaker blinked rapidly. ‘I probably went out for petrol.’

‘You said you stayed in, now I hear you went for a spin. Which one is it?’

‘What are you accusing me of?’ Layton’s mouth gagged open.

‘You were the last person to see Ella Williams, the day she was taken. What do you think I’m accusing you of?’

‘I never touched her.’

‘So why have I got forensic evidence that she was in the back of your van?’

Layton’s mouth flapped open. ‘I told you, the kids play there sometimes. They wanted to make a den, so I let them go in one playtime, a few weeks ago.’

The solicitor leant across to her client. ‘Don’t reply, Mr Layton. Say “no comment”, if you prefer. Remember, there’s no legally confirmed evidence against you.’

Burns ignored her pointedly. ‘You were close to Louis Kinsella when he ran St Augustine’s, weren’t you, Roy?’

‘He was my boss, that’s all.’

‘The kind of boss you have dinner with every week.’

‘I couldn’t exactly say no, could I? I still don’t get why I’m here.’

‘I’ll show you.’ Burns pulled back the dustsheet from the table, revealing a yellowing IBM computer. ‘You recognise this, don’t you? You let us remove it from your loft.’

The caretaker’s gaze dropped swiftly to the floor. ‘The school was chucking it out, I haven’t used it in years.’

‘I’m not surprised. It’s a 1995 model, a museum piece these days. But the school’s records match the serial number with Kinsella’s name. The boss gave you this, didn’t he?’

‘Like I said, it was being chucked out.’ The muscles in Layton’s face tightened, lips pressed to a thin line.

‘You did a lousy job of deleting the pictures, Roy. I bet he took them himself then scanned them onto the hard drive. Pretty inventive – he had his own gallery of violent child porn, way before the internet arrived. Kinsella showed you every picture, didn’t he? You’d better tell me about your friendship with him.’ Burns leant across the table like a drunk goading a bartender.

‘You’re threatening my client,’ the solicitor snapped.

‘That was a request, not a threat.’

Layton looked panicked. ‘Kinsella sent me on a training course; he reckoned I should become a teacher. That’s when it started.’

‘What did you talk about?’ Burns asked.

‘I just listened most of the time. He was the smartest person I’d met – it was like he was educating me.’

The solicitor opened her mouth to speak, but a fierce look from Burns silenced her.

‘You’re saying he brainwashed you?’

‘It wasn’t like that. You’re twisting my words.’

‘Tell me what Kinsella said.’

‘Normal stuff at first, about his childhood, how he started teaching and so on. Then it changed. I dreaded going there, but I couldn’t say no. He showed me these pictures of kids with black marks where their eyes should have been. He’d crossed them out with a pen. He said that young girls can wrap you round their little fingers. They’re more sexual than women. It’s in their eyes when they flirt with you. He thought they deserved to suffer.’ Layton came to a halt, like he’d suddenly run out of steam.

‘Did he ask you to carry on if he ever got caught?’

‘He mentioned something, but I refused, point-blank.’

‘Is that right?’

‘My brain doesn’t work like that. I always said no.’

‘Too much of a hero to get involved, were you?’

‘I stored his computer as a favour, that’s all. I’d never hurt anyone.’

Burns studied his notes. ‘But we already know you’ve got a bad memory. Last time you said you couldn’t remember what you were up to the nights Kylie Walsh and Emma Lawrence were abducted. Maybe your memory’s let you down again; you can’t remember putting Ella in the back of your van.’

‘You’re placing my client under unreasonable pressure,’ Layton’s solicitor snapped.

‘All right,’ Burns said, sighing loudly. ‘We’ll talk again later, Roy.’

The caretaker looked exhausted as he was led away, eyes wet with tears, which wasn’t surprising. No matter what he’d done, his boss’s secrets had been lodged in his head for twenty years.

‘Self-pitying toe-rag. He wants sympathy for being Kinsella’s little friend.’ Burns’s eyes darkened. ‘I can’t believe he’s acting the victim.’

A muscle was working overtime in his jaw and I knew better than to advise him to calm down. If Layton was involved, Kinsella was to blame. The caretaker was another of his victims, dragged along in the wake of a stronger personality. Without Kinsella’s influence, he would never have found the confidence to abduct a child.

‘What do you think of him?’ Burns asked.

‘He’s showing the typical signs a violent personality manifests when it’s cornered: evasiveness, accusation, strident denial. But it’s odd that he’s got no history of child abuse. Most violent paedophiles start grooming kids in their teens. If it’s him, he’s either concealed his abuse so far, or he’s a long way from the stereotype. Isolation would make him vulnerable to Kinsella’s brainwashing. If his boss was his only social contact, every message would carry extra value.’

‘He’s staying here till after Kinsella’s deadline. Hancock’s lot are going over his house again with a toothcomb. We’re checking everywhere he’s been for forensic evidence. There’s every chance he’s got Ella in a lock-up somewhere, with a freezer in the corner.’ Burns’s state of mind seemed to have improved. The thought of tearing Layton’s home apart brick by brick had restored his inner calm.

‘How are you getting on with checking the Northwood staff for connections with Kinsella?’ I asked.

‘No overlaps so far. We’re checking people from his church too.’

Tania strode into the room and asked for Burns’s help, and he followed her without a backward look. I managed to ignore the pang of jealousy that threatened to knock me sideways and stayed focused on the job in hand.

I went to Burns’s room to complete my assessment report after the interview. It took over an hour, because each sentence had to hold water in court if Layton was prosecuted. I had to decide whether or not he was capable of killing the girls, and it took me a long time to weigh the evidence. In psychological terms, his loneliness made him the ideal target for Kinsella’s recruitment campaign. His social confidence had crumbled as soon as he started to justify his past, and his body language had been inconsistent too. Plenty of indicators suggested that he was either in a state of heightened anxiety, or he’d lied when he protested his innocence. In my final statement I concluded that he was a credible suspect.

Snow was still falling outside Burns’s window. The cars parked on the street looked like they’d been sprayed with shaving foam, six inches of perfect whiteness balanced on every roof. When the door clicked open, I thought Burns had returned to collect my report, but Alan Nash stood there, glowering at me.

‘Lucky someone’s got time to daydream,’ he sneered.

‘I’ve been working for hours, Alan.’

I could judge his anger from the depth of his frown. ‘Burns tells me you witnessed an interview.’

‘He instructed me, I had no choice.’

‘Why didn’t you ask my permission first? I told you I would assess the suspects. You’re jeopardising this investigation.’

‘I followed procedure to the letter.’ I thrust the report at him. ‘If you’re not happy, ask any question you like.’

Nash’s small eyes were glazed with fury. Maybe I was the first person to face him down. ‘This is gross unprofessionalism, Alice. What’s wrong? Can’t you cope with playing second fiddle?’

‘Burns is the investigating officer. I take my instructions from him.’

‘We’ll see about that.’

The door closed with a resounding slam, and I knew that Nash would report my insubordination to his seniors immediately. His anger must concern his book deal – he could no longer claim sole knowledge of the investigation. If Layton did turn out to be the killer, he’d missed his big opportunity. It occurred to me that it might be safer to defer to his seniority, but I’ve always hated servitude. Hopefully he wouldn’t get me removed from the case, because I was fully committed. I knew that Ella Williams might be past saving, but that didn’t stop her appearing in front of me whenever I closed my eyes.

21

Ella’s asleep when he comes back, her mouth parched with thirst. She’s jolted out of her dream by the man’s arms scooping her from the mattress. His face is so close she can see his eyes glistening.

‘We’re going for a ride,’ the man hisses. ‘Now keep your mouth shut.’

He sounds angrier than before, so she stays silent as he stumbles through the snow, the night air chilling her to the bone. He wrenches the back door of the van open and pushes her inside.

‘I’m warning you, don’t try anything stupid,’ he snaps.

The man’s different tonight. Words spill from his mouth like water gushing, and the door swings shut before Ella can reply. Then the van bumps across the rutted ground. She peers out of the window at rows of offices, every tree and postbox blanched by snow. Her jaw aches as she yawns, almost too tired to keep her eyes open, but it’s important to stay awake. Maybe he’s taking her home. She can picture Suzanne’s face when the door flies open, and the thought makes her heart squirm inside her chest.

The van’s travelling too fast, wheels skidding on every corner. It passes a parade of shops and an old man limping towards a bus shelter. His eyes stay glued to the pavement even though she waves frantically; he’s too busy trying not to fall. The van is making its way along back streets, past ranks of unlit windows. Ella’s hands press hard against the glass. Surely someone will see her? But people are in bed, comfortable and warm, only a few metres away.

The van pulls up behind the same row of houses where the man parked before. Ella watches him pick his way down a narrow alley. He climbs the steps to the back door of one of the houses, then levers a window open and slips inside. The buildings are so near and yet so far. If she could open the door, it would take moments to hide in one of the gardens. Frustration makes her cover her face with the palms of her hands, trying hard not to cry.

When her eyes open again, the man’s returning, carrying something in his arms, and when the door opens she takes her chance. Ella darts past him, screaming at the top of her voice. A light flicks on in the nearest house, but her foot catches on a tree root, sending her sprawling on the frozen ground. The man hovers over her, fist raised. The look on his face is so angry that her scream hardens into silence. He shoves her back into the van. But this time he doesn’t care about the damage, releasing a punch that makes her ribs burn.

‘Ungrateful little bitch.’ His voice is hoarse with anger.

He throws the sack onto the metal floor, then the door slams again. Every breath hurts so much, Ella doesn’t care what’s inside, until the hessian starts to twitch. She can hear an odd mewing sound, and when she pulls back the fabric, a child stares at her, too terrified to scream. Her face is dark-skinned and delicate. She looks about five or six years old, and for a few seconds the pain in Ella’s chest disappears.

‘It’s okay,’ she whispers. ‘I’ll look after you.’

22

Lola’s clock told me that it was two a.m. when my phone rang. I forced myself awake. Burns’s Anglo-Scottish voice was mumbling too quietly for me to hear.

‘Another one’s been taken, hasn’t she?’ I asked.

‘I’m going there now. I can pick you up.’

I gave him Lola’s address and rushed to get dressed. The streets outside looked so clean and blameless, it was hard to believe that something evil had happened just a few miles away. Burns’s car skidded as he pulled up, and he was too busy dealing with the road conditions to make conversation, but I gathered details from the radio blaring on his dashboard. The girl had been abducted from Kentish Town and dozens of officers were searching for an unmarked van.