Backlash (40 page)

‘Try it, because one, you have no witnesses, and two, if I find out that you have been tipping off the press I will screw your career and have you up for perverting the course of justice.
Now fuck off out of my sight.’

Langton got in beside Mike, who was waiting to drive him over to the woods.

‘They picked him up?’ he asked, calming himself down.

‘Not yet.’

They headed out and Mike felt comforted as Langton rested his arm along the back of his seat.

‘Not your fault, son, not your fault. These things happen.’

T
he lightning storm passed, and the search team used hand-held battery-powered work lamps and torches to continue combing through the woods late
into the night. The archaeologist was brought in to help identify sites where any bodies might be buried. Observing any areas of change in the plant growth and disturbances by foxes or badgers, the
dog handlers carefully made probe holes in the ground using large metal rods, allowing the cadaver dogs to get a better scent of what lay beneath the surface. Wherever the dogs gave a strong
positive reaction the area was cut and cleared away by the search team, allowing the surface soil to be removed and any remains exposed.

Four victims’ bodies were uncovered buried in a semicircle around some thick-trunked pine trees, close to where Oates had thrown Rebekka Jordan’s riding hat to act
as a marker. It was too difficult a task to remove the tragic discoveries using torches. The remains were carefully covered with plastic sheets so that the archaeologist and forensic teams could
complete the exhumations in daylight. The forensic pathologist, odontologist and scientists would then have the job of identifying not only who each body was but a cause of death. There were five
in all, just as Oates had claimed, but only Rebekka Jordan’s body had been buried in the quarry itself. Now her remains were already at the mortuary and had been formally identified by her
dental records.

The bad news was that there had been no sighting of Oates. The fact that he was using an unmarked police car with a radio on board, allowing him to listen to the police
response, did not help matters. The police helicopter was eventually back in the air and roadblocks had been set up in an attempt to stop the vehicle, but there were so many back lanes and other
routes Oates could have used that it was impossible to cover them all. It appeared, according to witness accounts, that he had even had the audacity to use the blue roof light to clear the traffic
ahead of him. Most worrying of all was that he was still in possession of a loaded firearm. The Area Commander was not happy about the whole incident and decided to give an urgent press and
television appeal asking for public assistance in tracing the stolen vehicle and Oates. She warned that Oates was armed and should not under any circumstances be approached.

Eventually, in the early hours of the morning, the stolen police car was found abandoned close to the Hammersmith flyover, but Oates was nowhere to be seen. Evidently he must
have dumped it recently as the engine was still very warm. It was some consolation that found left on the passenger seat was the firearm, with five rounds still in the magazine. Although tragic
that Barolli had been shot, and was now having emergency surgery, it was a miracle that more officers had not been hit or killed.

Oates’s basement had been one of the first places the team had checked, but there was no sign of him. Despite all they had accomplished, the escape of Oates was
front-page news in all the morning tabloids, with his photograph and blazing headlines that he was ‘on the run with a gun’. The Commander had ordered Langton to give a further press
conference on breakfast news, impressing on the public that the firearm had been recovered and that if they saw Oates to contact police on either 999 or direct lines they had now set up in the
incident room. Langton again warned that Henry Oates was a very dangerous, volatile individual who should not be approached.

Anna had only managed a couple of hours’ sleep before she was back at the station. It was already midday and everyone was eager to find out about Barolli’s
well-being. All they did know was that he was in a life-threatening condition. He had a shoulder wound that was not serious, but the wound to his abdomen was of great concern and he was still
undergoing surgery to remove the bullet that had lodged in his spine, having perforated his stomach wall. Until he was out of surgery no one would know if he would survive and even then there was
the risk of paralysis from the spinal injury. He had also lost a lot of blood.

Exhausted from having no sleep for over forty hours, Mike Lewis called it quits for the day. Under terrible pressure from the media outrage, Mike was not only very tired, but
the fact of Oates’s escape and the shooting of Barolli weighed heavily on him. He strongly believed that the whole incident could have been avoided if Langton had stopped the search when he
first suggested it.

It was not until early evening that the exhumation of the four remaining bodies was finally completed. The post mortems and identification processes were to start the next
morning. From Oates’s confessions, and his recognizing photos as well as the jewellery, they were sure the bodies were those of Angela Thornton, Kelly Mathews, Mary Suffolk and Alicia Jones.
However, this would have to be confirmed by dental records and DNA.

Langton had been a very visible presence all day, overseeing much of the search for Oates, and attempting to give the team stability. In a briefing he chose not to mention how
Oates had escaped, but congratulated the team on their successful recovery of the remains of five victims. He concluded by saying that wherever Oates was hiding out, it would only be a short time
before he was arrested again. He was unable to give any further news on Barolli, but he would be going to the hospital personally on the way home. Anna asked if she could accompany him and he
agreed.

It turned out that Barolli was out of surgery and was being monitored in intensive care. They had a long discussion with the surgeon, who said that the luck of the gods must
have been on Barolli’s side. The bullet to his shoulder had narrowly missed any arteries; if it had been a fraction closer to his neck it could have been fatal. The injuries to his abdomen
had not affected any vital organ, but the bullet, which had perforated his stomach wall, had lodged in tissue within a fraction of his spinal cord, amazingly without causing any lasting damage. He
would need to remain in hospital for at least two to three weeks, but he would most likely make a full recovery.

Barolli was still very groggy from the anaesthetic and had an oxygen mask to help his breathing. His face had a yellowish pallor unlike his usual ruddy hue. He didn’t
appear to be aware of any visitors; his eyes remained closed.

‘Have his family been contacted?’ Anna asked.

‘Yes, they were down in Wales and local CID brought them up overnight,’ Langton said. ‘I told the detective to book them in at a nearby hotel and we’d foot the bill.
Nurse said they sat with him for hours and left just before we got here.’

Langton leaned over the bed and gently touched Barolli’s hand.

‘Have you back with us in no time, son.’

Barolli gave no reaction. Langton straightened up, knowing of old just how long it could take; the trauma of being seriously wounded was not only physically but mentally very hard to get
over.

Langton announced he was eager to get home and sleep and would visit Barolli’s parents at the hotel in the morning.

‘How’s your knee holding up?’ Anna asked as she bleeped open her Mini in the hospital car park.

‘I’m fine, be a lot better when we pick that bastard up.’ She watched him in her rear-view mirror as he got into his Rover, noticing how he winced as he bent to get into the
driving seat. Both cars were covered in chalk dust and clay clung to their wheels and bumpers; mud had sprayed over the doors and even the windows. Anna drove out after Langton, and decided that
she’d go straight to a twenty-four-hour car wash and valet service in Waterloo.

Sitting in the garage’s small waiting area, Anna read newspapers left on a small table for the customers. She yawned and tossed aside one paper after another. It took
three quarters of an hour for her Mini to be returned polished and buffed, its interior hoovered and wiped down. By this time it was after nine and she picked up a takeaway Chinese, stopped at an
off-licence and bought a bottle of wine.

The Chinese noodles were soggy, so she ate little, but drank two large glasses of wine. After taking a shower and blow-drying her hair, she watched the TV news as it covered the escape and the
ongoing search for Henry Oates. Aerial shots of the quarry appeared, showing the massive search the Met had organized, and although the media were not yet privy to how many bodies had been
uncovered or their identities, it was stated that Henry Oates was a serial killer on the run. They repeated clips of the news conference, stressing that an officer remained on the critical list
after being shot by Henry Oates. Anna, feeling depressed, couldn’t be bothered to watch any more so she turned off the TV by remote, switched off her bedside light and snuggled down under her
duvet.

In the darkness she let her mind wander over the events of the case, recalling that Eileen Oates had said that her husband had attempted to join the Army, but had been kicked out. She wondered
if he’d had enough time to learn how to use a gun. He had certainly fired off enough rounds, but she doubted he had intended to shoot Barolli. But then again, maybe he had.

Anna didn’t give a moment’s notice to how lacking in emotion she was. Of course she felt bad for Barolli; everyone did. There was also the depression they all felt
at the escape, which would, she knew, have repercussions within the team. It was normal procedure for the Met’s Department of Professional Standards to investigate the type of incident that
had occurred, and she had no doubt the Independent Police Complaints Commission would be all over it as well. Every single moment of the entire operation would eventually come under scrutiny and be
investigated. She was satisfied that nothing she had done could be held against her as unprofessional. On the contrary, if her part in the enquiry was to be reviewed she was satisfied she had
handled herself with integrity at all times. She thought that Mike would probably be the scapegoat – someone had to take the blame, and not only within the Met. The public would want to know
how a serial killer like Oates could have managed to not only get away but also with a police officer’s gun. One by one she went through the incidents that had culminated in Oates’s
escape.

The relentless storm followed by the crashing down of the arc lamps, the mayhem and confusion that had ensued, Kumar blowing his car horn, the howling of the sniffer dogs and the sudden
discovery that there were bodies in the woods. All of it combined together, followed by a brief few seconds of such chaos that Oates had used the opportunity to make a run for it. Barolli, although
attempting to stop Oates, had left the patrol car with the keys in the ignition, and it was parked literally within yards of the top of the quarry, ready to head for the woods.

Anna yawned again and curled up on her side, confident that no blame could be cast in her direction. The selfish clinical appraisal made her realize how different she had
become. The protective shield was in place: her only concern was for her own career position. The Anna who had been unable to hide her distress at a victim’s injuries earlier in her career
was buried deep. Her feelings were now totally under control, her vulnerability would be difficult to detect. She had been consumed by the loss of her beloved fiancé Ken Hudson, she had
suffered such lacerating pain that she was determined to never allow the possibility of it ever happening again.

The press were surrounding the station waiting for news, so Anna muttered ‘No comment’ as she hurried inside, to where Mike was waiting for everyone to gather. He
looked terrible; his eyes were red-rimmed as if he hadn’t slept. Anna, coffee in hand, looked refreshed by contrast and was wearing one of her smarter black suits with a ruffled white shirt
beneath it. As she had washed her hair the previous night she wore it loose and had even put on some make-up.

Mike told everyone that Barolli was on the road to recovery and was very fortunate that the two bullets had missed vital organs.

‘Not hit his head then?’ someone joked.

Mike smiled and suggested they have a whip-round to send him some flowers and then it was on to business.

They were waiting for the post mortem report on Rebekka Jordan and the four other bodies that had been recovered. The pathologist was finishing off the examination of Rebekka’s body and
would start on the other victims later that morning but to complete all the post mortems would take at least two days and he would need another week to write up his report.

Top priority was the hunt for Oates. Officers had been put on surveillance outside Oates’s squat in case he turned up. Mike went through the possible areas Oates might
run to, commenting that it was possible he’d try and contact his wife in Scotland.

‘What we know is he has no money so he’s got to steal, burgle some place, and with his face plastered over every newspaper we’ll maybe get lucky and someone will recognize him.
To date we have had twenty sightings, believe it or not, but none have proved valid, so it is basically a case of following every lead we get.’

Joan signalled to Mike that there was a call for him.

‘Who is it?’

‘Area Commander.’

‘I’ll take it in my office. Anna, you want to take over for a minute?’

Mike hurried into his office as Anna stood up.

‘He’s very used to living off the streets, but I think the locations we should check are those of the two known associates, Ira Zacks and his other boxing pal, Timmy Bradford. They
appear to be the only two friends he has had any contact with in the last five to six years. I doubt he would get much help from his ex-wife – he would also have to travel some distance to
get to her with no money for train or coach. He could thumb a lift, but again, as Mike says, his photograph is plastered everywhere and there’s been a lot of TV coverage. He’s also
desperate, so as we have surveillance on his basement, double-check with the neighbours as he could be holding them hostage.’