Backlash (36 page)

He was back to his brusque delivery. In the previous call he’d used a very soft cultured tone – not exactly arse-licking, but close. It reminded Anna of something she had thought of
when interviewing Oates during their last session.

‘You know Samuels suspected that Oates could have many different personality disorders with highs and lows, well did you notice how different he was when he was describing his abduction of
Rebekka? His voice was lighter and he changed the way he tapped along the edge of the table with his fingers.’

‘Don’t go there.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I said don’t go there. Right now I couldn’t give a toss if he was talking like Gloria Swanson – he’s talking, that’s all I care about, and we keep him in
whatever character he wants to play until we get what we want out of the little turd.’

The press were already picking up on the scent now that they had a serial killer under arrest. A few reporters and photographers had gathered outside Hackney Police Station and
Mike was under pressure to give a press conference to control the media furore. Wherever the leaks were coming from, it was obviously someone close to their investigation. The last thing they
needed was any press attention when they searched the quarry, so Mike intended to keep that under wraps when he agreed to hold a mid-morning press conference at Scotland Yard.

Barolli had been instructed to check on Oates and make sure that he had been given breakfast and then interview him about cases of women going missing over that last six years.
In readiness Barbara prepared photographs of the women in question and Barolli set up the interview room with the items from the jewellery box. He laid them out on white paper, including the gold
bracelet they now knew belonged to Angela Thornton. Her parents had returned from holiday and confirmed it had belonged to their daughter, as they had given it to her as a twenty-first birthday
present.

Oates had been given bacon and eggs and fried bread and two mugs of coffee. He was affable and very talkative and all those coming into contact with him were warned to keep him
sweet. It was ten-thirty when he was brought into the interview room, where Kumar was already waiting.

Barolli explained that they had some missing persons photographs for him to look at and see if he recognized any of the women as his victims.

Oates sat as the photographs were spread out in front of him. Again he appeared to be enjoying the attention. It was sickening the way he dismissed one after the other,
muttering derogatory remarks about the women, shoving the pictures aside as he went through them.

Anna slipped into the viewing room with a bacon roll and coffee. There were a couple of other members of the team there already, taking the opportunity to observe Oates, and it
was almost as if they were watching a film in a private cinema. With Mike at the press conference she had spent the morning coordinating the upcoming search of the quarry. Costs were no longer an
issue now they had clearance from the Deputy Commissioner to use whatever manpower was necessary. The forensic archaeologist, specialist POLSA and underwater search teams and the foot officers and
their sniffer dogs all had to be ready to go when they received the call, along with sufficient transport. Even caterers had to be organized. If they were to work in bad light or into the night
they would require arc lamps and high-powered torches. Protective suits and footwear would be needed, as the chalk quarry was likely to be bogged down after heavy rain. They would also have to
bring abseiling equipment and ropes to access some areas of the massive quarry as Oates claimed he had buried his victims deep down. By now Anna had been supplied with detailed Ordnance Survey maps
covering the area, and all they were waiting for was the green light for the convoys to go.

‘What have we got so far?’ Anna asked.

The way they were working the interview was that as soon as Oates identified a victim this was fed directly back to the incident room, then they could get the missing woman’s file brought
over from the station that did the original investigation.

‘We’ve got two so far,’ a young fresh-faced officer said, as he stood up to allow Anna to take his seat.

Oates had selected two photographs of missing girls: Kelly Mathews, aged twenty-two, who had disappeared four years ago, and a curly-haired redhead, twenty-one-year-old Mary Suffolk, missing for
three years. Anna watched as Oates continued dismissing one photograph after another before he started to laugh. His hand was covering a photograph of a dark-haired girl with buck teeth.

‘This one reminded me of my bitch of a wife – yeah I did this one.’

‘Has he identified the girl that owned the gold bracelet? Angela Thornton?’ Anna whispered.

Just as she mentioned the name, they saw Oates hold up the last photograph – it was Angela. He seemed irritated, saying he thought there had only been three, but this meant he’d
miscalculated. There must have been four victims.

Barolli stopped the interview shortly after this when Oates had said he was hungry and asked for lunch. He came back up to the incident room, totally worn-out. That afternoon
they would proceed with the viewing of the jewellery and ask Oates to place each item he recognized next to the victim to whom it belonged.

‘My face feels stiff from giving the bastard encouragement. He’s enjoying himself, loves the attention; he’s stuffing his face down in the cells. I can’t face eating, he
sickens me.’

Barolli slumped into his chair at his desk. Meanwhile, Barbara and Joan had the task of arranging the photographs of the dead girls Oates had claimed he’d killed in a row across the
interview-room table. They all now had names: Kelly Mathews, Mary Suffolk, Alicia Jones and Angela Thornton. From the missing persons reports it appeared they didn’t live in the same area of
London, and had no connection to each other bar the fact that Oates, by his own admission, had abducted them. At this point there was no information on the vehicles Oates claimed to have stolen. He
could not remember the makes of the cars, just that he had taken them from various car parks and streets in and around London. He had always dumped them after returning from the quarry.

The afternoon was taken up with Oates going through all the items discovered in his basement. He seemed to like the way he was asked to put on the light latex gloves. He joked
that they were too small, that he had fighter’s hands, but eventually he seemed satisfied with a pair that fitted and then prodded and inspected one item after another.

‘Bit like a car boot sale, this, isn’t it?’

Barolli smiled, nodding.

‘So what you want me to do? Eh, you remember that old game show they used to have on the TV? They have this conveyor belt, right, and they’d pass along all these things, like a teddy
bear, a toaster, a cream jug, pair of gloves, and then the contestant had to remember what they were, and if he or she was able to remember, they got them all at the end of the show.’

Barolli forced himself to look interested.

‘Yeah, it was terrific, but my memory is rotten – I’d never get anything, but I bet you can though. Play the game, Henry, let’s see if you can match these items to the
girls you took them off.’

‘Are you gonna time me?’

‘I haven’t got a stopwatch – just see if you can do it.’

Anna was back in the viewing room observing Oates acting like a teenager, laughing and joking. He also kept up a light shuffle with his feet. Langton walked in and stood behind
her chair, watching.

‘We’ve got four, not three,’ she said quietly.

‘I know. I’d stop this fucking farce in there, but he likes it, and we don’t want him refusing to take us to the bodies in the quarry.’

‘Kumar’s been sitting in on it, started taking notes, but he looks as if he’s filled his notebook.’ They both glanced at Kumar to the side of the screen, sitting head
bowed, his notebook on his knee.

‘You think the press tip-off came from him?’

Anna looked at Langton, then back to Kumar.

‘I wouldn’t put it past him, this case is going to be frontpage news for days.’

He withdrew from his coat pocket a copy of the
Evening Standard
and passed it to her.

‘Trying to get photographs of the Jordans, the bastards, and they’ve dug up all the old pictures we used of Rebekka.’

Anna sighed as she read the front page and was about to turn over when Langton tapped her shoulder.

‘Look what he’s doing.’

Oates was performing his silly prancing shadow-boxing dance, choosing one piece of jewellery and placing it on the photograph of the victim’s face. He was very fast and his tongue pointed
out of his mouth like a child’s as he concentrated.

He didn’t speak, but surveyed his handiwork and then with one hand swept the rest of the bits and pieces aside.

‘They belonged to me wife, me kids, left them when they ran away from me; only these things belong to each of my girls.’

Anna stood up, believing he was telling the truth as laid on top of Angela Thornton’s photograph was her gold bracelet.

In small piles by each of the dead women were hair slides, rings, cheap broken necklaces, earrings and bracelets.

‘How do you check if I’m right?’ he asked Barolli.

Barolli told Oates that forensics had already taken what samples they could and now they would see what the reports on the missing girls gave them.

‘I get a prize, do I?’

Barolli could hardly break into a smile, but he gave a small nod and clapped his hands as if applauding Oates’s effort.

‘Okay, we are going to take you back now and I reckon it’ll be fresh doughnuts and a nice cuppa.’

Oates thanked Barolli, and then he glanced at Kumar.

‘You enjoy yourself, did you?’

Kumar stood up as Oates waited for the interview-room door to open.

‘Mr Oates, you also agreed to further assist the police by directing them to where you buried the victims.’

Oates frowned, then pursed his lips.

‘I never agreed to do that. Isn’t it enough what I’ve been doing here all bloody day?’ He was back to his snarling unpleasant self.

Barolli could have slapped Kumar. This was not the time to discuss the search and he knew that Oates, like himself, had been working all day. He glanced at the two uniformed officers waiting by
the open door, then pulled himself together to save the situation.

‘Well I don’t know if that would be on the cards.’

Barolli wasn’t sure if he was saying the right thing. He had been instructed to keep Oates sweet, but now the prisoner looked surly and angry.

‘What do you mean not on the fucking cards?’ Oates snapped.

‘Well we’ve got everything agreed – helicopters and search team, cameras . . . it’ll be a massive expense and has to be done.’ Barolli was sweating, knowing full
well he was on his own as the tape and monitor screens had been turned off.

‘Helicopters?’ Oates asked suspiciously.

‘Right, this is a big operation, Mr Oates, you are big news, and the coverage, let alone the security, will be massive. But if you are against it then they can maybe do it without
you.’

Oates interrupted him, raising his hands, and Barolli stepped back, fearing the former boxer was about to lash out at him.

‘I never said I wouldn’t do it, I’m well and truly up for it, and besides, no one else knows but me where the bodies are buried. You tell them they can’t go without
me.’ He gestured to Kumar. ‘I want to be on that search. I got a right to be on it, so you make sure it goes ahead, you hearing me?’ He smiled at Barolli. ‘I was only joking
just now. Honest, I’m looking forward to the day out.’

‘Good. Well you’ll be informed as soon as we get the green light.’

As Oates was led out of the room Barolli gave a sigh of relief. Kumar clicked opened his briefcase.

‘I will want to be present, officer, so I sincerely hope that I will be privy to when this search is set to happen.’

‘I am sure you will be contacted, Mr Kumar.’

Kumar picked up his cashmere coat and folded it over his arm.

‘You must be creaming yourself.’ Barolli couldn’t stop himself.

‘I beg your pardon!’

‘Well, let’s face it, this is a whopper of a case for you, media’s already all over it like a rash.’

Kumar gave a tight-lipped nod, and asked to be taken to reception. Barolli said he would escort him personally.

‘The monitor and tapes were off and I got to tell you, I was sweating, but I played up how much it was gonna cost, helicopters and all the security we’d
need.’ Barolli was lapping up the team’s praise as he repeated the altercation between Oates, Kumar and himself.

‘All right, all right,’ Mike said brusquely, and then with everyone present apart from Langton, he gave them the details. The fact that Anna had coordinated everything was not
mentioned. Mike turned to a large new board marked out with maps and aerial photographs of the quarry and all the equipment the search would need.

‘This is a huge operation and we can’t afford any mistakes or screw-ups. We set up the search areas, Oates will be transported in a blacked-out armoured police wagon with armed
guards following behind, and to ensure we get as much daylight as possible we leave here at five in the morning. Oates will leave in the wagon at six with motorcycle outriders to stop the traffic
so he should be at the quarry by seven.

‘We’ve got to keep this under wraps. We absolutely do not want any media interference so we’re calling this “Operation Pits”- okay, I know that’s not terribly
inventive. Now most of you have been working flat out for almost twenty-four hours, so off you go and we’ll see you first thing in the morning.’

As everyone prepared to pack up and leave for the night, Barolli grabbed Mike for a whispered conversation in which he hinted that the leak could have come from Kumar and
suggested they leave it until the last moment to inform him when the search was happening.

Anna was one of the last to leave the incident room. Pinned up on the board were the photographs of the victims: Rebekka Jordan, Kelly Mathews, Mary Suffolk, Alicia Jones and
Angela Thornton, and as always the faces of the dead seemed to radiate a chilling energy. Beside them the photographs of Justine Marks and Fidelis Julia Flynn were somehow no longer as haunting,
maybe because the discovery of their bodies had in some ways brought them a tragic peace.