Never Forget (23 page)

E
n route to Mrs Makepeace, Ray Hopkinson called to give us the latest from our county’s serial killer enquiry.

‘One in custody for the murders of Amanda Bell, Jason Holland and Daphne Headingly,’ said Ray as I answered the call on the car’s hands-free.

‘Laura had a fiver on the first one being Tony Birdsall.’

‘You’d better get to the cashpoint, then, Foster. Birdsall’s waiting to be interviewed by John Wing and young Danny.’

‘What did he say when he got nicked?’ asked Laura.

‘Not a word,’ came the reply. ‘You’d think being lifted for the murder of three people would make him say something, even if it was just “bollocks”.’

‘Is Wingsy there with you?’ I asked.

‘No, he’s off preparing for interview with Danny. Try his mobile,’ offered Ray.

The sounds of someone trying to get Ray’s attention, plus a phone ringing and the tannoy, gave an indication of how busy it was there. I knew to keep it short.

‘Ray, one other thing. We’re on our way back to see Mrs Makepeace. Can we mention Birdsall to her? So far we haven’t given her specific names but as he’s now been nicked…’

‘I’ll check with Eric and let you know.’ He ended the call.

By this stage, we were in Mrs Makepeace’s depressing road again. One or two of the house owners had tried to cheer the place up with windowboxes of flowers or hanging
baskets. The still grey sky was doing little to enhance the overall impression of the place. It didn’t seem to be a bad area; it just felt as if the whole street was sulking.

‘I want to call Wingsy before we go in,’ I told Laura as I scrolled through my contact list for his number.

‘Hi, hon,’ he said when he picked up. ‘Been behaving in Birmingham?’

‘Course, mate. Listen, I hear that you’ve been a jammy so-and-so and got the job of interviewing with Danny.’

‘Think Nottingham must be mellowing towards me; he didn’t want me anywhere near David Connor. Shame you weren’t here – could have done this together, duchess.’

‘Yeah, I’m gutted – but listen. Something’s been on my mind since that day we spoke to him at Belinda’s house. Remember she was hanging curtains?’

‘I know what you’re getting at, Detective Foster, and I’m all over it like a rash. When he was nicked, search team did their thing and took the curtains and all the paraphernalia. Got that senior CSI to look at the lot. She’s going to see if the curtain wire from Belinda Cook’s house matches the curtain wire from the room we found Jason Holland’s body in. Listen, gotta go, solicitor’s just got here. Bye, doll.’ And he was gone.

‘Curtains?’ said Laura.

‘Yes, I’ll tell you in a bit, but, talking of curtains, just saw someone at the window at the Makepeaces’ house. Let’s speak to her first.’

We crossed the road to the terraced house with its dirty, mud-splashed front door and knocked. We both heard the shuffling Mrs Makepeace long before the door opened. When it did, she looked just the same as on our last visit: crushed. There was no recognition or movement in her eyes. As I was about to reintroduce us both, she muttered, ‘Come in, officers,’ turned and shuffled back to the dining room.

We followed her along the passageway. Back in Mrs Makepeace’s own Incident Room for her son’s disappearance,
the paperwork and keepsakes of her child’s life were neatly stacked in piles on the tabletop. A sudden flash of sunlight did its best to light up the room, but had a fair amount of grime to penetrate through the narrow window.

‘We wanted to see you before we left Birmingham,’ said Laura. ‘In case there was anything else that you’ve thought of since we were here the other day.’

My work mobile bleeped as a text message arrived. I read the message as Laura was talking. It was the go-ahead to ask her about Tony Birdsall.

My friend waited for Mrs Makepeace to answer. She remained silent, poking at one of the neat piles of photographs of her son.

‘Mrs Makepeace, we need to talk to you about Leithgate children’s home. It’s important,’ I said. ‘I think we should sit down.’ I made to move towards the dining table. I watched her pull out a chair with slow, agonising movements. I waited until she was seated, sat next to her and waited for Laura to go to the farthest side of the table to take her seat. It felt important not to flank her on either side and also not to both sit facing her as if this were a job interview or another equally nerve-racking situation. It no doubt did nothing to put her at her ease. This woman was truly on the edge, if not freefalling over it.

‘Do you remember a little boy dying at the children’s home around about the time that Benjamin was there?’ I asked.

Her eyes turned towards me at a speed I hadn’t been expecting. They had probably been very pretty green eyes once; soft lines around them gave an indication of thousands of smiles over the years – all, I expected, as a result of some miracle Benjamin had achieved, such as learning his two times table. ‘He was hanged. Terrible, it was. Place was in uproar. We were due to collect Benjamin anyway so we went and got him. Upset, he was, even though he didn’t really know the boy.’ She started to drift away, not really aware of us. Laura and I exchanged glances across the table. I gave it another try.

‘Do you remember anyone at the home called Anthony or Tony Birdsall?’

‘No, no,’ her soft reply came. ‘He hasn’t been to see me.’

Spoke volumes, that answer. I changed tack. ‘Who has been to see you, Mrs Makepeace?’

‘The other boy. Well, not a boy now, is he?’ She gave a small hollow laugh. ‘Friend of Benjamin’s, he said.’ All three of us sat still. The only sound came from the traffic driving past the house. ‘What was his name?’ she muttered, bowing her head, chin touching her chest. Another mutter, barely audible.

‘Sorry, Mrs Makepeace. What did you just say?’

Lifting her head high, she said, ‘Adam… Adam something. Something to do with a shop. Was it Woolworth’s? No, they’ve shut down, but something like that. Morrison’s? No, no.’ She shook her head.

Say Spencer, I willed.

‘Spencer. That was it,’ she said.

‘When was he here?’ I asked. Laura was making notes.

‘Let me see. A week ago, perhaps two. Wanted to speak to Benjamin.’ Her liver-spotted hand went up to her mouth, fluttered there and returned to the table top. ‘Can’t remember much else about him, but he knew my Benjamin, he said, from the home, and wanted to look him up. He said it was urgent and he had to speak to him about Peter.’

‘Did he leave a contact number or address?’ I asked.

‘Yes. I have it here somewhere.’ She pushed herself up from the table and began opening drawers in the dresser behind where I sat. She found it in a surprisingly short time: a scrap of paper with the word ‘Adam’ and a phone number. I took it from her and placed it into the evidence bag Laura had already pulled from her file in readiness.

‘What else did he say to you, Mrs Makepeace?’ Laura asked.

‘Nothing I can remember. He was only here a minute. Didn’t know that Benjamin had been missing. He seemed
surprised, even a bit – what’s the word? – well, annoyed.’ She went back to the dresser and began straightening ornaments, photo frames, embroidered placemats.

With her back to us, Laura wrote on a piece of paper
‘Not happy to leave her here’
and held it up to me. I nodded, thinking of our conversation about who might be the next victim. I made the universal sign for telephone call with my hand. She nodded in agreement and got up to make the call out of Mrs Makepeace’s earshot.

While she was gone, I continued to ask Mrs Makepeace about Adam: what he looked like, clothing, how he’d got to her house, why after all these years he had turned up on her doorstep, but she remained evasive. It was as if I was talking to her in another room, sealed off from everyone else. This went on for several minutes until Laura returned.

‘Local neighbourhood officers are on their way,’ said Laura. I understood this to mean that no one wanted to risk Mrs Makepeace being found dead with dozens of stab wounds. ‘Have you got somewhere else you can stay tonight?’ asked Laura.

‘I can’t leave here,’ she said, turning to stare at us both, mouth hanging open, holding a framed photograph of Benjamin as a toddler on a tricycle, huge flared trousers grabbing all the attention at the bottom of the picture. ‘What if he comes back and I’m not at home? Where will he go? He’ll be frightened. He’ll want his dinner.’

‘We are worried about Benjamin,’ I said stepping towards her, ‘but at the moment we’re more worried about you.’ I pointed towards the photo she was now clutching to her. ‘How old was he in that photo?’

‘Five,’ she said, crinkles around the green eyes reappearing. ‘That was before he went to Leithgate.’

A knock at the door drew my attention from Mrs Makepeace. Laura went to open it to the two uniform officers. They introduced themselves to me and Laura, but spoke to Mrs Makepeace as if they knew her. She didn’t seem
to have a clue who they were. After some persuasion, she agreed to stay in a hotel. I was tempted to suggest Tartan Towers but thought that, as she was a harmless, if slightly deranged old lady, I shouldn’t be so cruel. There was no way we could force her to leave her own home, but if Adam Spencer returned and he was our man, or in league with the others, I didn’t fancy her chances one little bit. Leaving her here to meet an unpleasant fate wasn’t an option.

‘How long will I have to leave for?’ she asked, blinking a number of times before her eyes came to rest on PC Sam Gordon, one of the West Midlands officers.

‘Pack for a couple of nights for now,’ he said guiding her by the arm to the stairs. ‘And we’ll be talking to these lasses here when they have any news.’

She started her ascent. We all watched her, no doubt each of us thinking that this might take some time.

‘Panic alarm’s being fitted here this afternoon,’ Sam told me and Laura.

The other PC, Alan Parker, answered his mobile phone and, following a swift conversation, added, ‘She’s booked in for two nights at a nearby hotel. Can you girls take her? Be more subtle. We’ll stick out like a sore thumb.’ As if guessing my next question, he added, ‘Someone from our Serious Crime Directorate will be on their way to the hotel soon to stay overnight in the next room to her. Understand that you girls are needed back down south. Your DCI’s been on the phone.’

That was settled, then: Laura and I had been won back in the staffing war by our own force. We were needed in our own Incident Room and that suited me just fine. It was time to return to our force and help establish how the three victims were linked together, and discover the motive for their deaths.

I
t took some time to get Mrs Makepeace and her suitcase down the stairs, then another age to get her in the car. Once we were all inside her room at the hotel, two West Midlands DCs arrived to look after her. We told them as much as we knew and that we had already set the wheels in motion to get them a recent passport photo of Adam Spencer in case he came calling. As it had taken so long to get Mrs Makepeace to the hotel, the two local DCs already had the picture, handing us a spare copy. They also handed us mobile recording equipment, complete with DVDs.

Laura and I had discussed at length what we should do with this very important piece of evidence from Mrs Makepeace. She wasn’t exactly firing on all cylinders following her son’s disappearance. Getting her to sign a statement didn’t seem right, and taking her to a police station witness room and recording her evidence, in light of what she’d told us, was impractical. Record her here for all to see, make sure we hadn’t told her what to say and let a court see her reaction, that was our decision. We ran it by the boss too. He agreed, but we left him little option – he wasn’t here, we were. Our call, and he seemed to trust our judgement.

We sent the local DCs off to unpack while we talked to Mrs Makepeace in as much detail as we could about her visit from Adam Spencer. She could add little but, for what it was worth, we committed what she said to DVD. We got her to look at the passport photo for the first time. ‘Yes,’ she said, nodding, ‘that’s the boy who came round to see me. Said his
name was Adam, Adam something, and that he was in the home at Leithgate with my Benjamin.’

‘Earlier today at your house, you gave me a piece of paper with a telephone number on it. Is this it here?’ I held out the paper in the evidence bag.

‘Yes, I do remember giving you that. Adam gave it to me. He was a nice young man. Wanted to see my Benjamin but I told him he’d gone missing.’

‘How did he react to that?’

‘Looked surprised, bit annoyed. Said it was very urgent that I call him if Benjamin did return. It was all a matter of life and death.’ She giggled. My blood ran cold.

‘Did he use those words: “a matter of life and death”?’

‘Oh, no, but that was how he seemed to me. Kept looking over his shoulder, he did. Said the bit about speaking to Benjamin about Peter. No idea what he was on about. I thought he might have been crazy.’ She giggled again, putting her hand over her mouth.

‘Do you remember him from Leithgate?’ I asked.

‘No, love, no. Don’t remember any of them kids.’

‘Any of the staff, do you remember them?’

‘No, love.’ She went to stand up.

‘Mrs Makepeace, could you stay sitting down, please? Laura is videoing you with the camera there. Remember? We explained this at the beginning. If you move around, she can’t follow you.’ I gave it another try. ‘Did Benjamin ever mention that he wanted a passport?’

‘No, no, he didn’t. Why would he want to go abroad? He had no need for one,’ she snapped back.

I had been thinking long and hard about how to question her about this. She wasn’t likely to be too pleased to find out that he’d planned to leave the country and therefore his mother too. At any moment I expected Nottingham, if he hadn’t already done so, to declare Makepeace a suspect. All we needed was proof that it was actually he who had used his passport and that he was very much alive, and I could
anticipate him becoming suspect five. ‘Mrs Makepeace, I went to see Benjamin’s GP today, Dr Phillips.’

‘Oh, lovely man. Been our doctor for years.’

‘He signed a passport application for Benjamin a few months ago.’

Her face went scarlet. ‘He had no right to do that. What on earth has he done that for?’ she shrieked.

‘Please sit down.’ I tried once again. ‘Have you any idea where he was planning to go?’

I was now getting no reply. She sat back down again and rubbed one hand with the other time and time again, biting on her bottom lip. I was just about to ask her if she was alright when she said, ‘I won’t talk to you any more. You’re a liar.’

Shortly after that, we ended the interview. I was loath to call it giving up. It wasn’t my finest work, but we had got what we came for – continuity of our evidence to locate Adam Spencer via his phone number and a record of our conversation with Mrs Makepeace.

It was hardly an emotional goodbye: Mrs Makepeace was ransacking the tea tray, eating the bourbons, and barely glanced up as we left. We told her we would be in touch. Neither of us was sure if she registered our departure.

I shut the hotel room door behind me. Laura looked at her watch. ‘Much later than we should be now, but I can’t see what we’d have to gain by staying another night.’

‘Couldn’t agree more,’ I said. ‘Only thing that would change my mind would be if the old girl – ’ I indicated towards the hotel room ‘ – had something else to tell us about Spencer’s location and it was in or around Birmingham. Plus a hotel room with radically different décor from the last one we stayed in.’

‘Let’s get back, then. I’ll drive, you make calls,’ said Laura, yawning.

‘Thought for a minute we might get back at a reasonable time, but it’s already half-four and once again I’m hungry.’

‘Yeah,’ she said. ‘I just about kept a straight face when your stomach growled in the interview. Be funny if that gets played in court.’