Backlash (8 page)

‘I think it’s only a matter of time, though, and it would be in his client’s best interests,’ Anna replied.

‘This is what I want the team to concentrate on. We need hard evidence that ties Oates into the two other murders he claimed to have committed.’

‘It’s hard without him giving us more details.’

Langton snapped and raised his voice. ‘If he killed them he’s dumped the bodies, so he will have left evidence. Find it, find them, it’ll surface. When you have the evidence
apply for a break in police custody from the prison, bring him in and scare the living daylights out of him.’

‘What about a BIA to help with the interview strategy?’

‘A BI what . . .?’

‘Behavioural Investigative Adviser – they provide support and advice that links the academic basis of behavioural science to the investigation of serious crime.’

‘You mean a profiler. No fucking way.’

‘They are now police-accredited psychologists and might help us to understand Oates’s way of thinking. We often recommend them on case reviews.’

‘If you need a shrink to tell you how to interview a suspect then I suggest you go back to your desk at Specialist Casework. If Oates wants to play at being crazy you find the evidence to
show he’s a devious bastard who knew exactly what he was doing. Remind him what happened to Peter Sutcliffe the Yorkshire Ripper – the judge rejected diminished responsibility and the
expert testimonies of four psychiatrists who all thought he was a paranoid schizo.’

‘That was thirty years ago, things have changed and—’

‘Yeah and thirty years later he’s still in Broadmoor, so if Oates or Kumar think they can pull one over on us then they’re both mistaken. You been to see the Jordans
yet?’

‘I’m still reading the case file. I need—’

‘Get it done and go and see them.’

He hung up and Anna was left infuriated with the phone in her hand. Langton’s pent-up anger was fuelled by alcohol or his medication, she thought. She had just replaced the handset when
Mike returned.

He cocked his head to one side. ‘You look as if you got a similar tirade. If you ask me he needs a psychological assessment.’

Anna didn’t mention that she too had concerns about Langton. Mike took off his jacket and started to roll up the cuffs of his shirtsleeves.

‘I suggested bringing in a BIA.’

‘I can guess what his reply was. He thinks they’re full of crap.’

‘I told him it might help us to understand Oates . . .’

‘Well that’s between you and Langton, but for now we should do what he suggests. See if there is any evidence we can track down, and in the meantime we let Oates stew. As we agreed,
you take Rebekka Jordan and I’ll concentrate on Fidelis Julia Flynn. We can compare what we uncover for any similarities or links in their disappearance as the investigation
progresses.’

‘Whatever you say, Mike.’

‘It’s not me, but Langton, and whatever I think about him right now, he’s still got more years of experience than either of us. You know what I really find unnerving . .
.?’

She shook her head, nonplussed.

‘He’s never met Oates, right? Yet he seems to have more of an angle on him than I have.’

Mike informed the team that he and Barolli would concentrate on Fidelis Julia Flynn with the assistance of half the team while Anna concentrated on the Jordan case with the
other half. Barbara and Joan were to receive all the incoming information from both teams, update the HOLMES computer, mark up the incident board and identify any similarities in the girls’
disappearance or connections to Oates which could then be raised and discussed in a full team meeting.

Adan Kumar had contacted Mike to say that Henry Oates would not, at the present time, be fit for further interview. Mike immediately thought the solicitor had asked for a
psychiatric assessment but it transpired that Oates was currently in the prison hospital recovering from an assault in the shower room which had left him with severe bruising and concussion. Oates,
naive about prison life, was unaware that even remand sex offenders are marked men and had made the mistake of boasting to other inmates that not only was he awaiting trial for murder and rape but
was also suspected of the abduction and murder of a teenage girl. Mike felt no sympathy for Oates’s predicament but was inwardly pleased that the incident would give him breathing space to
continue his investigation whilst keeping Kumar, who now wanted to vent his anger on the prison service, off his back.

Anna, like Mike, felt no sympathy for Oates. She looked again at the information about his ex-wife who had left London eight years ago. She was trying to determine whether or
not it would be worth it to travel to Glasgow for an interview. She decided that she’d first have the meeting with Rebekka Jordan’s family, as she wanted to find out if, by any chance,
Henry Oates had worked for them, perhaps done odd jobs around their home, anything that could be a direct link to him. She knew that she would have to tell the Jordans about Oates’s arrest
and the possibility he might be involved in their daughter’s disappearance. She was not looking forward to the visit as she knew that she would be reawakening the most terrible memories for
the Jordans and the last thing she wanted to do was give them false hope that Rebekka’s body might at last be found. Anna decided that she would not divulge the details of what happened to
Justine Marks, but just say that Oates was awaiting trial for her murder.

T
he Jordan family were still in the same house in Hammersmith. Anna’s call had, as she knew it would, made a deep impact on Emily Jordan.
Before she’d even rung the bell, the door was open wide.

‘I am Detective Chief Inspector Anna Travis. Thank you for agreeing to see me.’

‘Please come in. Stephen will be right down, he’s working upstairs.’

Anna was led through the narrow hallway into a long, eye-catching and modern galley-style kitchen with a black-and-white tiled floor and black granite worktops. The Aga, along with all the
wooden cabinets and cupboards, was white with every large kitchen appliance integrated into the design. A sizeable T-shaped dining and relaxation area had clearly been added as an extension to the
original kitchen. It had a glass-domed roof which filled the room with natural light and French doors that opened out onto a small but well-maintained garden. There was a white two-seater sofa and
small television in one corner and the walls were adorned with large blow-up photographs of two handsome blond boys and many of Rebekka, one of which had a string of paper daisies threaded around
the frame.

Emily had coffee brewing and Anna accepted a cup of lovely fresh Brazilian. As Emily offered her a plate of home-baked biscuits, her hand shook. Stephen Jordan then walked in and directly
introduced himself. He was a very handsome man, wearing a pale blue cashmere jumper and old brown cord trousers, with dark blue suede loafers and no socks. Stephen had dark hair with flecks of grey
at the sides and soft brown expressive eyes. In contrast his wife had pale blue eyes with silky thick blonde hair down to her shoulders. She was wearing jeans and a chequered shirt, and was taller
than Anna, at least five feet eight or nine, and very slender. They made a very elegant couple and she saw him catch his wife’s hand gently as he sat on the arm of the sofa. Emily remained
standing.

‘I want to be totally open with you both and explain why I am here,’ Anna began. ‘I wish I had more information for you, as what I do have isn’t much to give you any
comfort and for that I am deeply sorry.’

They looked at each other, and their pain, the pain that Langton had described, was plainly still extremely raw. She could feel it.

Anna knew that she had to be careful not to mention the name of Henry Oates or his legal team could dismiss any identification the Jordans might make. So she explained to them that they might
have seen in the papers or on TV that police had arrested and charged a man with the abduction and murder of Justine Marks, and that during interview this man had said that he had killed two other
women: a girl he referred to as Julia and their daughter Rebekka. Anna told them that she was taking the admissions very seriously and would be making a full and thorough investigation. Neither of
the Jordans spoke, but Stephen’s hand gripped his wife’s more tightly.

‘However, he now claims that both admissions were a lie and the only reason he made them was for a laugh as he had read all the media coverage about Rebekka at the time she went
missing.’

Still they remained silent.

‘He has been re-interviewed but given us no further details and now still denies any involvement in your daughter’s disappearance. I have a photograph that I would like you to look
at to see if you recognize him or can give his face a name.’

Anna opened her briefcase as Stephen stood up, releasing his wife’s hand. He delved into his pocket and took out a pair of glasses as Anna handed him the photograph of Henry Oates. They
stood very close together, both looking at the picture, and then Stephen turned to Anna.

‘No, I don’t recall ever seeing anyone like this.’

He passed the photograph back to Anna.

‘I’m afraid I don’t either. It’s the sort of face I think one would remember,’ Emily said.

As she replaced the photograph into her file Anna asked them if the name Henry Oates was familiar to them but they both said no. She sipped her coffee and looked over to the extension.
‘How long ago was your extension built?’

Stephen hesitated, and it was Emily who said that it was six years ago and completed just before Rebekka went missing.

‘I designed it and brought in the builders,’ she added.

‘Can you recall who dealt with the planning permission at your local council?’

‘We didn’t need planning permission because of its size. I applied for a certificate of lawful development and the building inspector visited a few times and that was it.’

‘Were you still living here while it was completed?’

‘Yes. In fact we redesigned the kitchen at the same time and it was all done at once. We sort of camped out in the other rooms.’

‘Do you remember the name of the building company?’

Emily turned to her husband, who said he would have the details in his office upstairs. Left alone with Emily, Anna asked about the photographs.

‘I did them,’ said Emily. She went over and stood by her daughter’s picture. ‘The boys made these daisies.’

‘They are at boarding school, aren’t they?’

‘They are both at university now. When Rebekka went missing I became very protective and wanted to change their school so they would be at home, but Stephen felt it was better they were
away – you know, kept to a routine as it was such a terrible time. They have both been traumatized by what happened to Rebekka, she was such an adorable child and they worshipped her. She
went to a school that specialized in learning difficulties, as she was dyslexic, but not badly. She was such a physical child, sports and athletics and . . .’ her voice dropped ‘. . .
horse riding.’

Stephen returned with a folder and placed it on one of the worktops.

‘The building company brought in a team of men to dig out the garden as there was a stone patio and some trees directly outside the old kitchen. I’m not sure who they hired, but I
have the builders’ names. I gave the detectives copies of these when Rebekka disappeared.’

Anna smiled, thanking him as he passed her a neatly written note with all the contact numbers and addresses.

‘Do you think this Henry Oates might have worked for them?’ he asked.

‘It’s possible he used a false name but we’ll be making new enquiries.’

Anna closed her briefcase and stood up, about to leave, just as the phone rang. Stephen answered. He spoke briefly to someone and then turned to his wife.

‘Show DCI Travis her room, darling. I’m going to have to take this call upstairs. Will you put it through for me?’

‘Yes of course.’

‘It won’t take long. Then maybe you’d like to come up and see my office, top floor, I keep all the press cuttings up there and . . .’

‘Thank you,’ Anna said, not really wanting to prolong her meeting, but having no real reason not to.

‘How is Detective Langton?’ Emily asked.

‘He’s well, thank you. Well, not that well actually, he’s had some knee surgery which is why he is not here personally.’

‘He was so good. I don’t know how we would have coped without him. He was such a support and his kindness meant so much to us. We also appreciate that he has kept in touch
since.’

Emily seemed to find it hard to refer to her daughter’s disappearance and her slender hands constantly toyed with a delicate gold chain bracelet on her wrist.

‘I know he did everything possible, I know that. Please pass on our regards to him and I hope he makes a full recovery.’

‘I’ll most certainly do that.’

Emily gestured for Anna to go ahead of her into the hall.

‘You have a lovely home,’ Anna said.

‘I was a designer, and may even return to work soon. Stephen is very encouraging about me starting again, so maybe one day.’

They headed up a winding staircase with polished pine floors and white walls that had colourful paintings on them, all of the seaside.

‘These are very old. We have a cottage in Cornwall – well we used to, we sold it two years ago. We’d go there every summer.’ Midway up the stairs Emily stopped and looked
back at Anna. ‘I wait, I just wait in case there is a call, you know that if we were away I’d miss it. Now I can’t seem to get out of the habit, if you can call it that. The
waiting is never over.’

They reached the landing, which was also of polished wood, with tapestry rugs, and there was a huge glass chandelier with coloured glass flowers.

Emily opened a bedroom door and stood back.

‘I’ve kept it exactly as it was. This is Rebekka’s room.’

It was bright with pale blue draped curtains tied with big floppy bows. There was a single bed with oversized dolls laid out on the pillows and a white wardrobe with one door open to show racks
of dresses and shoes. Against one wall was a large mirror, ballet shoes left beside it, and a pink net tutu hung over one of the carved arms. Like the rest of the house the floor had bare wood
boards, but these were painted a pale blue colour. Next to the wardrobe there were rows of worn riding boots and crops in a heap beside a long trestle table. The table was covered in bits of
material and a small red sewing machine stood alongside boxes of fabric that were neatly labelled as lace, velvet and wool. One large box was open to reveal a stack of tiny naked dolls, some
without limbs or heads. There were also pots of glue and a paint box with a jar beside it filled with brushes and crayons.