What She Saw (29 page)

He closed the cover and stood with his back against the wall as the custody sergeant unlocked the door with a skeleton key.

Leung and Bellwood stood in the open doorway, just outside the cell, with Trent's solicitor beside them.

‘Up you get, Jay,' Bellwood prompted him. But he didn't move a muscle. A closer inspection of his closed eyes revealed a sheen of tears on his long eyelashes.

Bellwood turned to his solicitor.

‘Would you please go and take the paper and pen from your client.'

Mrs Cairns walked into the cell and, stooping, took the paper and pen from Trent's unresisting hands. Leaving the cell, she handed them to Bellwood.

‘Anything to say, Jay?'

Nothing. The custody sergeant closed the cell door. Catching Rosen's eye, Bellwood handed him the folded paper.

Rosen opened the paper, expecting to see a page of rapidly composed paragraphs, but was instead faced with two words.

He turned to the custody sergeant and the solicitor.

‘I want him back in Interview Suite 1 later.'

‘What does it say?' asked Bellwood. Rosen turned the page for her to see, showing her the two written words:

Macy Conner
.

70

7.10 A.M.

T
he office at Isaac Street was teeming with life and felt more like the concourse of an inter-city railway station than a murder incident room.

The brief sleep Bellwood had snatched earlier that day had been troubled by something she'd seen when she'd visited Macy Conner's school to pick her up. And in spite of the relentless pace of the day, the insistent itch just beneath her scalp caused her to open up her HOLMES 2 laptop and log on to the national police database of all recorded details of all reported crimes.

The silhouette of Sherlock Holmes's head, deerstalker, caped shoulders and pipe came on screen. The corniness of the introductory image on such a sophisticated criminal database never failed to amaze Bellwood.

She wanted to try out a trio of names; names that had played on her mind as she'd dressed after Rosen's phone call had woken her in the dead of night; names loosely related to events of recent days by death, childhood and geographical location.

She thought back to the gates of Bream Street Primary School, and recalled the names of three sisters: Denise Rainer, six. Jane Rainer, four. Gail Rainer, two.

She typed the three names into the laptop, the relevant dates and ‘Lewisham'. Then she speculated. Murder. Home.

Behind her back, she sensed someone approaching her.

‘Carol, what's happening?' It was Rosen.

‘I'm putting a line on the lottery, a lucky dip. . .'

‘Hey?' He crouched behind her to see the screen.

‘I'm trying out a long shot, a very long shot. The three sisters on the plaque on the wall of Bream Street Primary.'

‘What's your hunch?' asked Rosen.

‘I don't know. It's bugging me, though. If I get to go to bed tonight, it's going to keep me awake if I don't check it.' She clicked for a match.

A text box appeared with the girls' names.

Denise Rainer 6 years

Jane Rainer 4 years

Gail Rainer 2 years

Class description: VICTIMS

Force ID: 97

Station ID: IS

‘It was our nick,' observed Bellwood. Memory erupted inside Rosen's skull like the arrival of summer thunder.

Class ID: VICT

The first Associated Documents box – witness statement 1: Father – Donald Rainer.

‘It was a house fire,' said Rosen, speaking the memory aloud as it came to him.

Bellwood opened the father's witness statement and read out: ‘“I was in the front room watching TV. It was afternoon and I must've fallen asleep or something. The girls were upstairs playing. The last time I
saw them alive was when I went to the toilet. I was asleep downstairs but woke myself up by my own coughing and there was, like, smoke in the living room and when I jumped up, there were flames all over the stairs and the girls were not downstairs. I could not get through the flames myself. I thought they may have gone into the garden because they were not screaming. So I went to look for them. When they were not in the garden, I called for help and then I ran away. I don't know why I did this. I was in shock.”'

Rosen scrolled through the contacts on his phone until he came to Mrs Price, the head teacher of Bream Street Primary. He pressed ‘call'.

‘Did he get life?' asked Bellwood.

‘He didn't go to jail in the end,' said Rosen. ‘I want to check. Keep looking through the associated documents, Carol.'

After three rings, a tentative, ‘Yes?'

‘Mrs Price, it's DCI Rosen.'

‘It's Saturday morning.'

‘I'm sorry to trouble you, but I need a little background information. How long have you been head teacher at Bream Street?'

‘Twelve years.'

‘So you remember the Rainer sisters?'

‘Denise was in the reception class when she died, Jane was in morning nursery and Gail used to come into the yard with her father to deliver and collect her sisters.'

‘And you can remember the details of how they died?'

‘Oh, yes, it was awful. A house fire, started by the father, who tried to be clever and make it look like he was escaping from the inferno. But it didn't wash.'

‘Why did he kill his children?'

‘If you look into your records, I'm sure you'll be able to put two and two together.'

‘Help me with the sum, Mrs Price.'

‘It transpired after the fire that the father was a convicted rapist.'

‘Was his victim a child?'

‘An adult female. The girls didn't manifest any of the signs of sexual abuse. The whole thing came out of the blue.'

‘What's your view, Mrs Price? Completely between you and me.'

‘It's no mystery. Their mother – she had learning difficulties, as did her husband but, unlike him, she was consistent in her story – she went into court and said she'd just discovered he'd been abusing Denise. She'd threatened to expose him and so, when she was out at the shops, he set up the so-called accidental fire. He collapsed two streets away, suffering the effects of smoke inhalation. He was trying to kill his victim, his daughter; the witness to his horrible actions. It was almost the perfect crime.'

‘Anything else to add?' asked Rosen.

‘That's all, Mr Rosen.'

He thanked her, closed the call down and turned to Bellwood.

‘I've just flicked through the lead fire-fighter's statement and I'm on the forensic report. The girls were shut in a bedroom, the bedding was doused in lighter fuel and the fire was started with a Dunhill lighter belonging to the father. He poured fuel on the stairs,' said Bellwood.

‘Was anyone else around and about? Go to the mother's witness statement,' said Rosen, his heartbeat rising, his instincts sharp.

Bellwood opened the statement and Rosen skimmed the text.

‘“There had been other children there in the house that morning, coming and going. I can't remember their names but they had gone home when I went to the shops. One was called Lucy-Faye Peters. Lucy-Faye Peters lives across the street.”'

The unusual combination of first names brought Rosen directly to one child who he'd encountered in recent days.

‘Lucy-Faye Peters. Bream Street Primary,' observed Bellwood. ‘Macy Conner's friend.'

‘Open the witness statement from Lucy-Faye's mother.'

Bellwood scrolled through until she found it: Mrs Marlene Peters.
Click
.

‘“Carly Rainer, the girls' mother, dropped Lucy-Faye back at my house just before lunchtime on her way to the shops. Macy Conner was with her. Carly Rainer walked away with Macy and said she'd drop her at Bannerman Square on her way to the high street—”'

Corrigan raced into the incident room.

‘David! David!'

Rosen looked across. Corrigan was in a lather.

‘David. Listen, boss, bad to worse, I'm afraid. Come down to reception.'

71

7.18 A.M.

A
s Rosen raced down the stairs leading to the door into reception, he heard a woman crying hysterically. The nearer he got, the louder she became, not because he was closing the distance but because she was increasing in panic and volume.

He threw open the door. It was Chelsea Booth. She almost looked through him, as if he was an apparition.

‘Luke?' asked Rosen.

She nodded. ‘He's gone, he's gone, he's gone—'

‘Did Macy Conner take him in the night?'

She shook her head. ‘He was. . . in bed. She left. . . after five—'

‘Did you see him in the early hours? Chelsea, come on. . .'

Thoughtfulness invaded the mania in her eyes. ‘Looked like. . . shape. . .'

‘Did you see him directly, touch him, when you got home?'

Her face collapsed. She shook her head. ‘No.'

‘Listen to me, Chelsea. I'm going to send Corrigan with you back to your home. I need the most recent photograph you have of Luke, a description of the pyjamas he was wearing or the clothes that are missing from his wardrobe. Photograph. Clothing. I'm sorry, Chelsea.' He held her hands briefly. ‘Go and get those things. Quickly.'

As Corrigan walked Chelsea out of the building, Bellwood stepped into reception and followed Rosen outside, into the fresh air.

‘Whoever's got Macy and Chester,' said Rosen, ‘they've also got a two year old with them: Luke Booth. The child of another witness.'

‘Where are we going?'

‘Looking for three missing children.'

72

7.45 A.M.

A
kindly looking man approached the glass door of Lewisham Library saying, ‘I'm sorry, we're not open until nine.' Rosen showed his warrant card. ‘OK.'

Having seen the place that Macy called home, Rosen understood immediately why she spent so much time here. It was warm and comfortable; there were books galore and things to do. And if the man who had let them in was an example, the adults were polite and helpful, the readers bound by a collective love of books.

‘Where's the children's section?' asked Rosen.

‘I'll take you,' said the librarian, leading them up a set of stairs. Rosen clocked his badge. T
IM
. ‘First floor. Lending library, adults and children.'

‘We're looking for Macy Conner,' explained Rosen.

‘Oh, Macy, yeah, she's a really good kid, bright as a button.' It sounded like he genuinely liked her.

‘She's here most days.'

‘When was the last time she was in?'

‘Macy, yeah, let's see, the day before yesterday. It's not usual for her to miss a day. Comes in, sits on the comfy chairs, book after book after book.'

‘Does she ever bring anyone with her?'

‘No, she's a loner. But she does talk to the staff. She's one of those kids who's more in tune with adults than her peers. She's not in trouble, is she?' He was deeply concerned.

‘No. . . we're trying to help her. . . Does she ever mention other places where she likes to go?'

‘No, she just talks about books and computers and her grandmother, of course. She's dying. You can tell it's causing Macy a lot of pain. I've tried to get her to go to a young carer's support group but she says she's too busy. She gets books out from the adult section for her grandmother. With her being so ill, she sent a letter in with Macy asking for special permission—'

As soon as they arrived at the desk, Rosen said, ‘Tim, can you pull up two lists?' Rosen quickly eyed the clock on the wall. ‘Macy's reading record and her grandmother's.'

‘Which one do you want to see first?'

‘Macy's.'

Within seconds, Rosen was on the other side of the desk.

Celtic Myths and Legends, Tales of the Norsemen, The Celts: An Introduction, Ancient Lives, Prometheus and other Greek Myths, Coping with Bereavement, Issues: Domestic Violence, Countries of the North: Scotland, Lizzy Borden and other Ghastly Tales, Rodents and other Furry Friends: A Guide to Keeping Pets
and
The Druids
.

‘Have you got
The Druids
in stock?'

‘She brought it back the day before yesterday.'

Rosen recalled the pitiful sight of a bruised girl living below the poverty line with a burden of books on her back.

‘Can you get me it but, before you do, can you call up her grandmother's reading record?'

‘No problem.'

Rosen took a deep breath. The list appeared on screen, and Tim moved over to a small, wheeled cart of books to be reshelved and started flicking through the titles on it.

Catherine Cookson Omnibus, Flower Arranging Made Simple, The Golden Bough
– Rosen's eyes jarred, but then moved on – Katie Flynn's
Strawberry Fields, Helter Skelter
, Josephine Cox's
The Woman Who Left, World's Most Infamous Serial Killers
, Pliny
Natural Philosophy, Recipes for Perfect Picnics, The Gallic Wars
by Julius Caesar,
Her Benny
and
Herod: Portrait of a Serial Killer
.

What's going on, Macy?
thought Rosen. The contrast in titles made him deeply uneasy.

‘Here's that book you asked for,' said Tim, coming back and handing him
The Druids
.

Rosen opened the book, flicked through and was arrested by a double page of twenty symbols representing twenty English letters and phonic blends: the symbols scratched into the wall on Bannerman Square and written with UV pen on Stevie Jensen's limbs.

See we is many. See I are one
. Rosen felt the words as a physical pain in the core of his head.

‘When did she take the book out?'

Tim looked at the computer screen. ‘A year ago. She's had it out on continual loan since last April. Just kept renewing it. I nearly bought her a copy from AbeBooks last Christmas, but the manager blocked me. I was surprised when she brought it back. She brought everything back, all the books she'd borrowed for herself and her grandmother.'