Backlash (17 page)

‘Yes, he’s been charged with murder.’

‘His wife?’

‘No, not his wife. Thank you very much for your time, Timmy.’

‘No problem. I’ve got a lot of that right now, time.’

Anna headed towards the door, Timmy moving quickly to open it.

‘Have you ever married?’ she asked him.

‘Once. Didn’t work out so not tried it again.’

He opened the door as his mother appeared.

‘Are you going?’

‘Yes. Thank you for the tea and biscuits, Mrs Douglas.’

‘My pleasure.’

The old lady went to collect the tea tray as Timmy opened the front door. Anna noticed she had changed into a smart dress with a pearl necklace and earrings.

Timmy jerked his head towards his mother.

‘She’s gone and got all dressed up for you. God forbid she’d go out at all, got me running errands all day for her. Anyways, you know where I am if you need me
again.’

‘Yes I do. I hope things work out for you, Timmy.’

‘So do I. I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you are a very pretty woman.’

‘Thank you.’

Anna returned to her car and sat for a while. Starting up the engine, she wondered just how much of a liar Eileen had been. Timmy’s version of her life with Oates was
very different from the one she had described. The composite picture of Henry Oates’s background could almost make someone feel sorry for him. However, the brutal murder of Justine Marks left
little room for compassion. But she still had no new evidence that implicated him in the disappearance of Rebekka Jordan. The team was moving ahead with the Fidelis Julia Flynn case, whilst she
languished behind. She knew if she didn’t come up with something soon to connect Oates to Rebekka’s abduction and murder, the investigation would return to the cold case files.

Anna headed from Kingston towards Lambeth and the forensic lab, keeping to the south side of the river, and arrived just before twelve. As she headed down the corridor towards
Pete Jenkins’ office she couldn’t fail to notice a big display of pink balloons floating up to the ceiling, with messages of congratulations attached by pink ribbons. It made her wish
she’d stopped off and bought something for his baby, even though Mike had promised to organize flowers from them all.

Pete was surrounded by his team. They had a bottle of champagne open and there were even more balloons. He was still wearing his overcoat so Anna presumed he had arrived just
ahead of her.

‘Anna!’ he called out, opening his arms and giving her a bear hug.

‘How’s Matilda?’

‘Brilliant. She’s gorgeous. Let me show you.’

Pete went over to a computer that already featured a picture of his baby. She had a shock of thick black curls, but was so tiny and with so many tubes attached it was hard to really see her
little red face and her eyes were closed.

‘Good heavens, she is so small.’

‘This big.’ Pete gestured with his hand, cupping his palm.

‘And she’s all right?’

‘Yes. We had a scare last night when the alarms rang out, she’s got a bit of a cold and they breathe through their noses when they are this young, don’t know to open their
mouths. It’s hard when she coughs as it sets off the alarms because they are so sensitive. Anyway, she’s rallied round and you see her fists, she’s boxing smart
already.’

Pete actually looked worn-out and as he shrugged out of his coat he admitted he’d not slept for three nights; he would be back at the maternity hospital to sit with Matilda again
later.

‘I just have to be there watching her. In fact I can’t take my eyes off her, it’s the most amazing feeling. I keep on saying to myself, she’s my daughter, I’ve got
a little girl. Christ, if anything went wrong now I don’t know what I’d do. She’s already got such a strong personality.’

Anna managed to keep smiling but Pete carried on gushing, at one point growing so tearful that he had to wipe his eyes.

‘Listen, Pete, I don’t mean to interrupt the celebrations, but I’ve got an interview at four.’

‘Right, let’s crack on.’

They put on lab coats and latex gloves then went into a large ante-room where four rows of white laminated trestle tables were lined up covered in sterile brown paper. Each table bore different
items brought from Henry Oates’s basement flat. On one were the female garments: knickers, brassieres, slips, tights, a pair of boots and two filthy torn dresses.

‘Okay, we have done a wearer DNA test to compare with your victim Justine Marks; no match on any of these items. There’s no blood-staining, but there is semen and, on a couple,
vomit, again no match found to your victim. The semen has tested as a match to Henry Oates though. We’ve been sent a description of the clothes possibly worn by Fidelis Julia Flynn and
Rebekka Jordan and we have no match.’

‘I guess you will need DNA samples from the Jordan and Flynn families for comparison?’

‘Just the Flynns’, thanks. We already have the Jordans’ on file from the original enquiry.’

They moved on to a table littered with men’s worn clothes: sweaters, trousers and coats. The smell from the garments was hideous, a mixture of beer, body odour and mothballs.

‘I think these are your suspect’s. We’ve found no bloodstains on anything. Part of the stench is urine, looks like he pissed in his pants.’

On another table were the knives, hammers and screwdrivers – all the tools taken from Oates’s flat. Everything was tagged. Pete picked up a brutal-looking knife with a roped handle
and a very sharpened blade about ten inches long.

‘Unpleasant. No bloodstains. Further along we have the large pump spanner found in the back of the van Oates was driving. You probably already know from DCI Lewis that we found
Justine’s hair and blood on it along with a palm print matching Oates. There was also vaginal discharge, suggesting he used it—’

‘It’s okay, Mike told me,’ Anna said, deliberately interrupting Pete.

She quickly moved on to the fourth table. This was filled with an array of children’s clothes and shoes, all of them well worn and stained. There were a number of broken plastic toys that
were grouped together with a moth-eaten teddy bear and a broken china doll’s face.

‘A lot of children’s stuff here,’ Pete observed.

‘He has two girls so a lot of it may be theirs, or – and I dread to think it other victims’.’

‘Well there’s no blood or semen stains on anything you see here. I can test it for wearer DNA but it will take time, and they are so soiled it may not be possible to get a profile
due to degradation. You may want to check your budget as to do all this stuff is going to cost big-time.’

‘Hold off until I speak with Mike Lewis then.’

‘Fine. Anyway, back to this lot. I don’t think there is a toy intact and they were all thrown together in a cupboard along with broken cutlery and old saucepans and frying pans with
no handles. We also have a couple of old-fashioned leather boxing gloves and a more modern right-hand glove, no left hand. There’s also some boxing boots.’

Pete had moved to the next section of the table but Anna leaned forwards.

‘Wait, just wait one second.’

Amongst the broken toys was a small wooden head, no bigger than a small marble.

‘What’s that?’

Pete looked and picked up the list of items on the table.

‘Listed as miniature doll’s head, hand-painted, and I think we had a leg . . . hang on a moment . . .’

Pete swiftly searched around in the group of children’s toys.

‘Yes, here it is, not sure if it belonged to the head, but it’s painted. Let me see if it’s a match.’

He carefully picked up the doll’s head and then held the leg beside it.

‘Yeah, I’d say it might have been part of the same doll. It’s very small, whole thing must have been only two to three inches, if that.’

Anna could feel her body shaking. Was it possible that these two items came originally from Rebekka Jordan’s doll’s house?

‘I need to take these two things with me, Pete.’

‘Sure, but I need to swab them for DNA and take some paint scrapings first.’

He looked at her and then rested his hand on her shoulder.

‘What is it?’

‘I can’t be certain, but I think Stephen Jordan may have carved the doll for Rebekka. If so, then it will be the first direct evidence that connects Henry Oates to her
disappearance.’

Anna had to sit down. She was so wound up her heart was racing. She explained to Pete about the doll’s house and how she had brought it in to the incident room that morning.

‘Well you know what they say about coincidences.’

‘That there aren’t any, just evidence,’ she said quietly.

F
ired up by this latest discovery, Anna raced back to the station. She was eager to sort through the items in the little plastic bags that she had
brought in that morning from Langton’s. So far she’d only taken a fleeting look over them but now she wanted to check to see if any of the small figures matched the tiny head and leg
from the lab.

The incident room was quiet, as half the team was in the canteen having their lunch. The doll’s house was still on the desk. Quickly she took off her coat and opened her
briefcase as Barolli walked in eating a hamburger.

‘We’re going to get the experts in to investigate that car park,’ he announced. ‘I’ve got a forensic archaeologist on standby. They have these ground penetrating
radar machines that can detect if there’s anything buried in the concrete.’

Anna wafted her hand in acknowledgement that she had heard him.

‘Could be a bit like looking for a needle in a haystack and take weeks, but Mike says it’s got to be done.’

Barolli sat at his desk and swivelled in his chair as Anna tipped out the contents of one bag; small pieces of furniture tumbled out – a tiny fridge, even plates with food on them.

‘If it’s not a rude question, why are you playing with dollies over there?’

Anna turned, shook her head, and swiftly brought him up to speed on the findings at the lab. Paul got up to stand beside her as she sifted through all the items; there were no small figures to
be seen. She moved on to the second bag.

‘I’m right, I’m right, I know I’m right. I keep on thinking I saw one of the small figures.’

She and Barolli carefully checked all the little pieces of beds and wardrobes and there was even a tiny lampshade. But there was no figure. Anna sighed in frustration.

‘You can always ask her parents.’

‘I know, I know. I just want to be sure . . . wait a minute . . .’

Anna opened up the doll’s house and she and Barolli leaned in, their heads close as she checked the contents room by room.

‘Damn it. I was so certain. Wait, WAIT . . . just give me a bit of space.’

Anna peered into the kitchen.

‘Yes, yes!’ She brought out a small carved wooden figure of a woman, perfect down to the hand-stitched dress and glued-on hair, though some of the paint on her face was peeling and
she had lost one arm. Thin pins attached the arm and legs to the body, the head was secured with a small Phillips screw.

Anna, afraid it would shatter, carried the figure as carefully as if it was made of crystal and laid it down on a sheet of paper on her desk, and then opened her briefcase. Her hands were
shaking as she removed an evidence bag containing two small Perspex boxes in which Pete had placed the doll’s head and leg, to protect them from further damage. Side by side, the similarity
between the figure from the doll’s house and the pieces from the lab was obvious.

‘It’s a match. These aren’t shop bought, are they?’ Anna asked, looking for assurance.

Paul shook his head and said that he was no expert, but to him they looked as if the same person had carved them.

‘You know what this means? Henry Oates could have got them from Rebekka Jordan’s home, maybe she even had one with her when she went missing, but it is the first bit of tangible
evidence we have that links him to her.’

This was a major step forwards for Anna. She told Barolli to photograph the woman figure then find an evidence box and get it over to Pete Jenkins so he could take some paint scrapings to
compare with samples from Oates’s squat. Anna realized she would need Stephen Jordan to confirm that he’d carved the tiny head and leg. It was certainly going to be hard for Oates to
explain how he came by them. At last the jigsaw was starting to take shape, but there was still a long way to go before it could be proved Oates was involved in Rebekka Jordan’s
disappearance.

Buoyed by her discovery, Anna was feeling very confident, but didn’t have time to share the development with Mike Lewis. She had to meet Ira Zacks, so Barolli was left to
feed the details to the team. The hunt was on, the entire murder team was beginning to feel positive. They had made a lot of headway on the Fidelis Flynn case and now they had a breakthrough with
Rebekka Jordan.

Ira Zacks lived in a surprisingly smart apartment building overlooking the river a short distance from Hammersmith Bridge. It was also not that far from the Jordans’
house. A caretaker buzzed Anna into the spacious reception, and instructed her to go to the second floor. The lift was immaculate and thickly carpeted, with one wall consisting completely of
mirror. She checked her reflection before the lift opened onto the same dark red carpet in a wide corridor hung with paintings and a gilt-framed mirror.

After a moment a door was swung wide open and Ira Zacks’ massive frame virtually filled the entire doorway. He was mixed race and at least six feet four, with wide sloping shoulders and
his hair in dreadlocks down to below his shoulders, tied back with a black band. He was wearing a T-shirt that showed off his muscular arms, tracksuit bottoms, and had bare feet.

Anna introduced herself and showed her ID, but he hardly glanced at it, ushering her inside into his hallway, which was filled with posters from his boxing past. He towered above her as he
gestured for her to continue to the drawing room. Yet again she was surprised by how luxurious the flat was, with stylish ultra-modern furniture and a view from a wraparound window overlooking the
river. Outside, she could see a balcony with tables and chairs and a furled parasol tastefully accompanied by plants and trailing ivy.