What She Saw (32 page)

His phone rang.

SARAHMOBILE

His heart flipped. How they loved to use their victims' phones. The breath inside him stilled as he connected.

‘Yes?' he snapped.

‘David, are you all right?' asked Sarah.

‘I'm. . . I'm so pleased to hear you.'

‘You don't sound yourself.'

‘Are they taking good care of you?'

Her voice dropped. ‘There's a cop at the door with a gun. I'm in the middle of suburban nowhere. I'm fine. Stop worrying.'

Time was flying. ‘Listen, I'll call you later. Love you.'

He closed the call down. As he caught up with Bellwood and Henshaw, he wished he was with Sarah, and the rack inside him turned another notch.

80

2.05 P.M.

O
n the journey from Isaac Street to Bannerman Square, Rosen noticed the almost complete absence of children on the streets. The regular Saturday afternoon buzz was flattened, and Rosen read the same story over and over again on the faces of adults being stopped and questioned by uniformed officers. . .

They hadn't seen a thing.

Bellwood pulled up close to Claude House and opened the door for Henshaw, who had spent the journey writing notes in his notebook on the back seat.

As he got out of the car, Rosen looked up at the building.

‘Macy's mother is in. She just pulled away from the window when she saw me stepping out.'

*

‘M
S
C
ONNER, OPEN
up!' Rosen hammered on the door with the flat of his hand.

‘What do you want?' she asked, sourly.

He stopped banging.

‘To talk.'

‘She's not here.'

The bolt slid back and the chain rattled.

She opened the door and, turning away from them, walked back inside the flat. With her back against the window overlooking Bannerman Square, Macy's mother said, ‘Yeah?'

Henshaw stepped closer to her. ‘I heard you describe Macy as a lying little bitch this morning.'

‘I was upset, but she is a liar, you know that now – all that stuff about a grandmother was bullshit. She's a very good liar.'

‘You mentioned her putting on little plays behind her bedroom door, putting on funny little voices?'

‘What about it?'

‘Do you ever listen to what the voices say?'

‘No, it's boring, I'm not interested.'

‘Have you
ever
listened?'

‘I've heard stuff.'

‘When?'

‘When Macy shouts in those stupid voices.'

‘What do they shout?'

‘I. . . don't. . . know.' Her temper was fraying fast. Henshaw stepped back, made a gesture to indicate there would be no more questions, but then asked, ‘Did you say the voices were women?'

‘I didn't say they were women. They're men's voices.'

She turned and looked out of the window. ‘It's all Macy, Macy, Macy. No one gives a shit about me. I'm a person. I matter.'

‘I agree with you, Ms Conner. You are a person and you do matter,' said Rosen. He stood next to her at the window and for a short while said nothing, just followed her gaze onto Bannerman Square, the mobile incident room, the scorched tarmac, the eye on the wall, the absence of a CCTV camera.

The light from the sky cast a silver sheen on Macy's mother's eyes.

‘It must've been hard growing up without your parents,' said Rosen.

‘I didn't know any different. Nobody loved me, ever,
ever
. You hear me?'

‘I hear.'

‘The kids' fathers both fucked off while I was expecting and I thought, the kids, they'll love me, but they didn't, they don't love me. But guess what? I just didn't love them either. That way no one's getting fooled. You see it all the time looking out of this window. Mothers picking up their kids and swinging them and hugging them. I just don't get it, and I don't see the point in pretending.'

‘Paul and Macy aware of this?'

‘I told them early on: I don't love you. You don't love me. You just want stuff from me. Food. A bed. Clothes. Gimme, gimme, gimme. That's not love.'

‘You've always levelled with them?' asked Rosen.

‘Yes.' Rain streaked the glass.

‘Even about heavy stuff.'

‘Such as?'

‘Well, when Macy was in reception class, there was a house fire—'

‘Oh, God, not that again, please.'

‘
Please
tell me.'

She took a pack of cigarettes from the pocket of her Dolce & Gabbana jeans and, lighting a cigarette, took in a huge lungful of smoke, which she blew directly against the glass.

‘Some pervert accused Macy of starting the house fire that killed his three kids. One of them was Macy's classmate. He killed himself in custody, swearing blind that Macy was an arsonist and a murderer.'

‘You told her this?'

‘Every kid on the playground told her.'

‘What did you tell her?'

‘What I've just told you.'

‘That must've been very upsetting for you and Macy?'

‘I wasn't bothered. She didn't display any emotion.'

‘Do you remember the day of the fire?'

‘Yeah, yeah, I do.'

‘What happened?'

‘She went to play in that house with other kids. Some mother dropped her off here. End of.'

‘So she stayed home for the rest of the day?'

‘I don't know. She might have gone out again. I was watching telly in my room.'

‘With the door closed?'

She nodded.

‘When she was five, did she ever go out by herself?'

‘Yes, quite a bit.'

The room was profoundly silent. Rosen took in Bellwood and Henshaw and was glad of their company, because he knew he was in the midst of moments he would never forget and would always be sorry he had had to experience.

‘We'll leave you now, Ms Conner. If Macy turns up or contacts you, will you let us know immediately?'

‘All right.' As she walked back to her room, Macy's mother said, ‘Shut the door on your way out.'

‘Ms Conner,' said Henshaw. ‘How many male voices does Macy use?'

She turned to close her bedroom door and thought briefly. ‘Two.'

‘Two, definitely two?' asked Henshaw.

‘One and one makes two. Are you thick or something?'

She slammed the door of her room shut.

Henshaw looked grim, his face set.

‘What is it, James?'

‘I want to talk it through with a colleague, Professor Reese.' Henshaw rubbed his eyes as he walked out of the flat, his shoulders slumped as if carrying an immense yet invisible weight. ‘I need to look at Macy's medical records. Can you fix that for me, David?'

Rosen took out his phone. ‘I'll do it now.'

81

3.39 P.M.

I
t was as if the three children had not only vanished from the face of the earth but had never existed. The world seemed to be in a state of suspended animation, waiting for darkness to fall and the night to unleash the worst it could muster.

Returning to the incident room at Isaac Street, Rosen asked, ‘Carol, did the Charity Commission get back to you on Outlook?'

‘No, and it's Saturday so they're shut.' She considered that strand and recalled Julian Parker's words, ‘
Not now
.'

‘What was that, Carol?'

‘I'm ringing Parker, John Glass's former PA.' She keyed in his number and put her landline on speakerphone. The ringing tone sounded four times but then his voicemail kicked in. ‘Will nothing go right for us today?' she said across the recorded message. The recording tone sounded.

‘Mr Parker, DS Carol Bellwood. Ring me on this number as soon as you pick up this message. Thank you.' She reeled off the digits and slammed the phone down.

Rosen watched her unblinking.

‘What is it, David?'

He decided against saying anything but, in the next moment, changed his mind.

‘I haven't told anyone on the team. Sarah knows. No one else. I picked up a call from Stevie Jensen's phone. A death threat. I was told that I was next.'

Bellwood snatched up her bag and car keys. ‘Get off the case now. Come on. I'm taking you to Orpington.'

He didn't move. ‘They have direct access to me through my phone. They want me here. If I walk away now, there's going to be carnage. If I'm here, we have a chance of salvaging something from this insanity. They're waiting for the dark. They're waiting for me, Carol. I can't walk away from this. The pattern's clear. If they can't get what they want – me – they'll go for the next best thing. It could be Sarah and Joe, but it will be someone connected to me. And they'll succeed. I'm convinced of it. I know you won't. . .'

‘I won't breathe a word.' She considered. ‘When they thought they hadn't finished Thomas off, that's when they went for Stevie. I think you've got a point.'

She fell into a deep silence and Rosen asked, ‘What's on your mind?'

‘The same things that are on your mind. Who are
they
? Macy Conner? I we is Macy Conner?'

The second hand on the wall clock seemed to be gliding at twice its given speed.

‘Macy Conner. Come on, Carol. Let's get back on the street. We've got to find her.'

82

6.30 P.M.

S
unset was fixed at twenty-four minutes past eight.

Rosen sat at his desk, watching officers arriving for the 6.45 P.M. team meeting: men and women downcast, frustrated after a day of fruitless searching. Any verbal exchanges were hushed and brief and when the phone rang out on Rosen's desk, it drew the attention of most people present.

‘DCI Rosen speaking.'

‘It's Murphy, custody sergeant.'

Rosen sat up.

‘It's Trent. His solicitor says he's got something important to tell you.' Phone down and on his feet, Rosen called, ‘Tracey, Carol, Trent's ready to speak.' He headed for the door, followed by Bellwood and Leung. ‘Hold fire, everyone else, and wait for further instruction.'

As they left the room, Henshaw arrived, looking like he'd been turned inside out.

On the stairs leading down, Rosen called, ‘You got something, James?'

‘Yes. Yes, I have, David. She had a brain scan when she was four years old and it's thrown up some disturbing information. I've spent four hours with Tony Reese reviewing her case. She's very sick.'

‘James, I've got to go.'

‘I understand.'

‘Stay put.'

‘I'm sorry. It's really bad news.'

‘I'll see you soon.'

83

6.35 P.M.

I
n Interview Suite 1, Trent sat with his forearms on the table. He looked as if he'd aged six years in as many hours. And in that time, it seemed to Rosen, the gravity of his situation had fully dawned on him.

Rosen formally opened the interview and went directly in.

‘So, Jay, you have something you want to tell me?' He sounded matter-of-fact but his heart was racing.

‘Yes.' Trent looked across the table at Rosen, straight into his eyes. There was something in his voice, bordering on respect.

Rosen held his gaze. Trent wanted his help.

‘I'm going to ask you a question, Jay. Ready?'

‘Yes,' he said again, as if speaking was a source of great physical and mental anguish.

Rosen felt the weight of his watch on his wrist.

‘Have you been thinking about your future?'

‘Yes.'

‘Are you anxious about your future?'

Trent gave the slightest nod.

Rosen nodded. ‘That's understandable. Thomas Glass.'

‘Yes.'

‘Macy Conner is ten years old and can't drive a car. You're nineteen and can.'

‘Correct.'

‘Who told you to drive Thomas Glass to Bannerman Square?'

‘Macy Conner.'

‘Why did you obey her?'

Trent said something, but it was muffled and low. A bead of sweat formed on his lip and he started swallowing fast, the colour draining from his face.

‘Do you want a drink of water?' asked Bellwood.

Trent shook his head. His hands shifted and he gripped the edge of the table. Rosen could see the blanched-out colour of the knuckles beneath his skin.

‘Why did you do it?'

‘Blackmail. She's blackmailed me.' He shut his eyes and his face creased as if he'd swallowed mercury. ‘She's blackmailing me!' Trent suddenly leaned forward and to the side and threw up on the floor, wave after wave of bitter-smelling vomit.

Bellwood took out her phone, called the front desk. ‘Medicated sawdust, please. Interview Suite 1.'

‘What did she ask you to do?'

‘Drive the kid to Bannerman Square and leave him there.' He wiped his mouth on the back of his sleeve, tears streaming down his face. ‘Oh, fuck, fuck, man. You look at her and you think, so what, just another ten-year-old kid, but she's an evil bitch and it's like she's ancient in the head and. . .'

‘Did she ask you to set fire to Thomas?' asked Rosen, his stomach knotting.

Trent shook his head.

‘She said something, like she'd get the kid to finish the job off himself. I didn't know what she was on about.'

Bellwood and Rosen exchanged a glance.

‘I want to know one thing. The truth. Where did you pick up Thomas?'

‘From the lock-up garage at George Grove.'

Bellwood was on her feet. Rosen followed. ‘What's it look like?'

‘Six units in one block. Silver doors.'

‘Which one was he in?' Bellwood was at the door.

Rosen called to her: ‘Tracey, Corrigan, Feldman, Gold and you, car park, now! Clue them in on the way down.'

‘He was in the second from the left.'

The door of Interview Suite 1 was open.