Bleed Like Me (8 page)

‘We have significant results back from forensics,’ she said. ‘Fingerprints recovered from the knife left at the third scene match those found on a bottle of whisky in the bathroom and items around the property belonging to Owen Cottam – bedside lamp and alarm clock. He’d not bothered to wipe the knife. Why?’

‘If this is what we think it is,’ Lee said, ‘he wasn’t trying to hide the crime. He wasn’t expecting to be around to answer
any questions or go to trial. He’d be dead along with everyone else.’

‘Okay,’ Gill said, ‘we’ll start with the live investigation,’ Gill said. ‘Owen Cottam at large, registered keeper of a Ford Mondeo, vehicle captured by ANPR at eleven fifty on the M6 near Penrith. We now have a second result from ANPR timed at three twenty-nine close to Ribbleton.’ The screen on the wall showed the map, initially on a small scale so people could understand the context, see the major towns and road networks, then Gill zoomed in so people could see in greater detail. ‘So he’s heading back down the M6, retracing his route. Why? Calls from the public now being actioned. Last verified sighting of Cottam . . .’ Gill looked to Rachel, who appeared to have just woken up.

‘Six thirty this morning, neighbour returning the dog spoke to him briefly. She also saw the two youngsters. At six forty-five Mr Grainger who has the farm on the far side saw the car but got no visual on the driver.’

‘No other activity logged,’ Gill said, checking with Andy that that was still the case.

He agreed. ‘His phone has not been switched on. He hasn’t made or received any calls, he hasn’t accessed his emails or used an ATM.’

‘He’s gone off the radar,’ Gill summarized.

‘Why’s he still using the car?’ Mitch said. ‘He must know we can ping him.’ Ian Mitchell had a young family himself, second marriage. Gill suspected he’d be feeling this case particularly keenly, though it would never affect his judgement or his consummate professionalism.

She held out a hand, inviting contributions from the floor.

‘Not found an alternative,’ said Janet. ‘If the kids are still with him, he can’t just dump it and start walking.’

Gill nodded. ‘They’re a liability, limiting his options,’ she said.

‘Why did he take them?’ Rachel said. ‘Why didn’t he wait for Tessa to go then finish what he started?’ The way she put it was almost brutal but Gill could hear the puzzlement in her voice. Rachel wanted to make sense of the man’s actions. Because then she could better second guess what he might do next and how they might catch him.

‘Lost his nerve,’ Mitch said.

‘If I can?’ The criminal psychologist, Leonard Petty, a small, round-faced man with a liking for hair oil and kipper ties, spoke up.

‘Please,’ Gill invited him to say his piece.

‘A sense of control, of being in charge, is central to the personality here. The likelihood is that the murders were planned. Cottam executed the first three killings effectively and while the victims were asleep. No fight, no words exchanged, nothing to interfere with the scenario he’d envisaged. I think it’s probable that he intended to do the same to the two youngest children. When the dog was returned and they woke, his plans went out of the window. He hadn’t anticipated having to attack anyone who was awake, anyone communicating with him. Rather than lose control, which is his default position, he will delay and construct a new plan to regain his sense of being in command of what happens.’

‘Why didn’t he kill the dog in the first place? Why let it out?’ said Pete. An astute question. Pete might be a sloppy dresser – Gill looked at his shapeless fleece and tracksuit bottoms and thought that he’d reached an age where he was letting himself go to seed – but his work remained methodical, good on detail.

‘It wasn’t his dog,’ the psychologist said. ‘The family were
looking after the pet for a neighbour. He only wants to kill those he sees as close family. To take them with him. Not to abandon them. Think of it as suicide by proxy. His ultimate goal is to end his life, but first he must make sure he includes his nearest and dearest.’

Janet sighed and shook her head.

‘He couldn’t risk it, either,’ Rachel said suddenly, eyes flashing bright. ‘He could maybe have gone back in and thought up a way to kill the kids, then hanged himself or whatever, but Tessa told him that if the dog had been worrying sheep Grainger would have the police round. For all Cottam knew they were already on their way. He hadn’t time.’

‘Another interruption.’ Gill saw the sense of it. ‘Running buys him time. Good. Yes?’ Gill glanced at Leonard Petty: this was his territory. She’d plenty of experience with low-lifes and losers, but whilst there was some overlap this was not their usual run-of-the-mill inquiry.

‘That’s right. He’s regrouping.’ Petty smoothed his tie. ‘He needs to take control again so he can play things out to his satisfaction.’

Another three lives, Gill thought. Which would be a disaster, a nightmare of huge magnitude. Performed with the whole country watching.

‘Right, lads,’ she said crisply, ‘what do we know about Owen Cottam?’

Andy began rattling off the facts collated from the spider’s web of intelligence gathering. ‘Born 1966 in Preston, one brother, Barry. Father Dennis a garage mechanic, mother a bookkeeper, left to remarry and emigrated. Owen and Barry chose to remain in the UK. Owen was unremarkable at school, member of the rugby team. Finished school at sixteen, worked with his father for the next four years, then moved up to the Lakes and worked there. First as a handyman then bar
and cellar man at the Greyhounds Hotel. Met Pamela Milne and married in 1993. Moved to Birkenhead in 1999 and ran the Colliers Arms for the next six years. Took over tenancy of Journeys Inn in 2005. Penny born in 2000, Theo in 2009 and Harry in 2010.’

‘Relations between the couple said to be generally amicable,’ Gill said.

‘So far,’ Rachel said sceptically.

‘Yes,’ Andy agreed, ‘there must be something there. She’s playing away . . .’

Janet shook her head, gave a little snort.

‘. . . or she’s threatened to leave, taking the kids.’

‘So now it’s her fault?’ Janet sounded ruffled.

‘Considering motive, not fault,’ Gill reminded her. Don’t blame the victim, a holy grail. ‘Leonard?’

‘Infidelity, the end of a relationship, it’s often a factor,’ he said, ‘but not always,’ sounding a note of caution.

‘We have the eyewitness, Tessa, and Margaret Milne’s statements. Anything else from house-to-house?’ Gill said.

Rachel found the page in her report. ‘Well known in the area, liked by some people, described as a good bloke, that sort of thing. Others pegged him as a bit moody, left the socializing to Pamela. But no bad blood. Also described as a bit quiet as in keeps to himself.’

‘Not quite mine host,’ Gill remarked. ‘Local bobbies?’

‘As we know, never any problems with his licence,’ said Pete. ‘Sorted out troublemakers when he needed to. Couple of parking fines, the odd speeding ticket. No known criminal activity or associates.’

‘Family.’ Gill moved them on to another element. ‘Brother and father expressed shock when told of events. Not in a million years and so on. I’ve spoken in person to the father and advised him we may want to make an appeal.’
One father
to another, father to son.
‘Radio and television broadcasts.’

‘Cottam’s hardly going to turn himself in,’ Rachel sneered.

‘Very unlikely, but we have to be seen to be exploring every avenue,’ Gill said. Procedures that had to be followed, laid out in the rule book. ‘The chances of Cottam’s responding to the appeal might seem remote, but it gains us human interest, sympathy, adds to likely public efforts to assist.’ Two sides to policing – protect and serve, fighting crime and maintaining the trust of the population. The great British public needed to believe that an appeal was in their interest. A high profile case like this would be scrutinized and found wanting if people weren’t reassured as to how it was being handled. Gill could already see down the line to the case reviews to come. She needed to know that the team were doing everything humanly possible and then some.

‘Finances?’ She looked to Pete.

‘Living beyond their means.’

Hardly the high life, Gill thought. The pub had a shoddy, tired appearance which the family flat above shared. Furniture was mismatched and mostly cheap, the soft furnishings too. The kitchen/living area looked as though it had been fitted twenty years ago or more, the sandy brown worktop fraying along the edge with water damage. The room had smelled of dog and a faint whiff of gas. Tiling behind the counter top in cream and flecks of burnt orange, every so often a feature tile, a picture of a tree. The rustic feel circa 1980s.

Other things were newer, the flat-screen televisions and the computer. And the clothing that Gill had seen all looked in good condition.

‘The pub wasn’t doing much of a turnover,’ Pete said.

Smoking ban, people drinking at home.

‘Should have tried a sports bar,’ Kevin said. ‘Massive screen. Course, you’ve got the outlay—’

‘Kevin.’ Gill yanked his lead, stopped him wittering on. Kevin was Gill’s crown of thorns. Struggling to make the grade and Gill had sworn she’d knock him into shape. It was just taking way longer than she’d anticipated.

‘There were rumours on house-to-house it was losing money,’ Rachel pointed out. ‘There’s no work on the Larks; his clientele’s mainly benefit drinkers.’

Pete said, ‘I spoke to the brewery. They were talking about pulling the plug after New Year. Tenancy is up for renewal then. Informed Cottam by registered letter, which he received on the thirtieth of September.’

‘Something like that could be a trigger?’ Gill said.

Leonard nodded. ‘Definitely.’

‘He’d debts too,’ Pete said. ‘Credit cards – only paying off the interest. Payday loans.’

‘Owen was owing.’ Kevin grinned, looked round the room for a response. Got a scoff and rolling eyes from Rachel, a slow blink from Janet and a shake of the head from Lee. ‘Rhymes, doesn’t it?’ Kevin, crap at reading the signs, dug his hole even deeper.

‘Kevin,’ Andy said wearily.

‘What was he spending it on?’ Gill asked Pete.

‘Clothes, food, essentials, nothing flash. Utility bills. His car’s six years old, pick one up for six grand.’

‘Still – it’s a Mondeo,’ Mitch said. ‘Lot of car for the price.’

‘Tells us what?’ Gill said, not wanting them to get into a
Top Gear
riff. Mitch was mad about cars.

‘Not flash,’ Andy said, ‘but he’s looking at reasonable quality.’

‘Anything flash round the Larks and it’d soon disappear,’ Rachel said.

‘The family had a holiday to Minorca in May, not paid that off yet,’ Pete added.

‘He was already in debt by then?’ Janet asked.

‘Oh, yes,’ Pete said.

‘Keeping up appearances,’ said Lee. ‘He had to be seen to be providing for his family. He’ll keep the illusion going as long as possible.’

That would tally with the clothes, Gill thought. People would see the kids well dressed and assume the household were managing well.

Janet raised her pen and addressed Leonard Petty. ‘What’s he feeling then, about things going down the drain?’

‘Shame and anger. This is his responsibility. Any failure in that regard would be excruciating for him. He won’t admit to anyone it’s happening. He feels outraged, betrayed that his livelihood is on the line. It’s common enough: the recession, businesses folding, layoffs, but as far as this man is concerned it’s his problem and his alone. He’s been singled out, his status about to be destroyed, his self-esteem undermined.’

‘Even for us,’ Gill said. Numbers in the police force were going to be cut in an effort to make savings. At what cost, she thought? As people became poorer, more desperate, as unemployment increased, crime would rise, with fewer officers to deal with it all. Crime stats had been falling. It was something she was proud to be associated with, but the future was far more uncertain.

‘Did we find a will?’

‘Yes,’ Andy said. ‘They both had one. Standard stuff – spouse inherits and then the children.’

‘Okay. Moving on to our crime scenes,’ Gill said, ‘we’re awaiting further forensics but already we can agree a likely sequence of events. Last customers left the pub at eleven twenty-three.’

Rachel picked up the thread. ‘A group celebrating a thirtieth birthday with whisky chasers and rounds of pool.’

‘CCTV from the pub tells us all was well then,’ Gill said. ‘Pamela, Owen and Michael clearing up.’

She played the film. There was little communication between the three adults as they went about the routine. But it was unnerving witnessing the footage, so mundane and unremarkable, knowing what was to come. ‘No reports of anything out of the ordinary,’ Gill went on. ‘Pamela Milne texted her friend Lynn after going upstairs.’ She gave Janet the nod.

‘The women were due to be going shopping in Manchester,’ Janet said. ‘Pamela suggested Tuesday in her text. Nothing untoward in the exchange.’

‘No CCTV in the flat itself,’ Gill said. ‘The cameras are inside downstairs and outside covering the entrance and the car park. We see nothing until three in the morning.’ The film showed Owen Cottam entering the pub from the internal door and going behind the bar. He opened a bottle of whisky and then went into the small room behind the bar. The screen went black.

‘He switched the system off then. Note he is fully dressed and wearing clothes the same as or similar to the ones described by Tessa when he spoke to her at six thirty in the morning. Until forensics give us more hard data all we can be sure of is that between eleven thirty last night and eight, when the wagon driver from the brewery arrived, Cottam used a knife recovered from the property to kill his wife and his daughter and his brother-in-law. The sighting of the car by Grainger, the neighbouring farmer, before seven makes me think we can probably shave an hour off that. Analysis of drops of blood on the landing between the three bedrooms should help us confirm which direction Cottam was walking in and therefore the order in which the attacks took place. We believe he was interrupted during or soon after the attack on
Michael, leading him to abandon the weapon in Michael’s room. The bottle of whisky, three-quarters empty, with a smear of blood visible on the label, was recovered from the bathroom. Owen Cottam’s fingerprints are on the bottle, which is the same brand as the one he had on the film from the bar. Evidence suggests he washed his hands in the bathroom after the attacks: blood traces in the sink and on a towel. Cottam shut the dog in the kitchen and fled the property between six thirty and eight with the two younger children. Mitch, friends and associates?’