What She Saw (25 page)

‘Look at the difference in the language, David. It's like she's aged five years in the space of four weeks.'

‘And the supply teacher didn't pick up on this?'

‘Miss Harvey told me they had supply teacher after supply teacher – the class was full of disruptive children and people were walking after half a day. No continuity, September through to December. Now get this entry, January the fourth, Miss Harvey's first day. Guess which kid stood out straight away?'

I did not give or receive Christmas presents as I do not believe in the concept of a Christian Messiah, born to die for the sins of mankind. On this matter, my grandmother and I are of the same mind. This is a myth circulated in the Middle East two thousand years ago and popularized by Rome for its own political ends. This can be verified by the books I have borrowed on behalf of Grandmother from Lewisham Library
.

‘What do you think, David?'

‘Odd,' said Rosen. ‘I saw her laying flowers in Bannerman Square for Thomas Glass yesterday. She struck a standard hands-together, eyes-closed, Christian-at-prayer pose.'

‘She could've just been mimicking the kind of shallow piety she's seen on TV, but it's an interesting contradiction. Or. . .?'

‘Go on,' urged Rosen.

‘Where were you positioned in relation to each other?'

Rosen considered.

‘I was sitting in the mobile incident room, the door was open, she was fully in my sights and I was in hers.'

Henshaw performed a swift mental calculation.

‘She was putting on an act for you, David. Drawing you out of your lair. Did you go out to her?'

‘Yes.'

‘Did she take you into her confidence?'

‘She told me she hadn't been entirely truthful at lunchtime. She hadn't mentioned her grandmother, her grandmother who was dying.'

Rosen skimmed both pieces of writing.

‘I think she spends an awful lot of time with her grandmother and she's parroting the old woman's hobby-horse. She's a stickler for facts and truth. She despises fiction. What's your take on it?' asked Rosen.

‘I think she's protesting too loudly about this truth business. She doesn't add up to me. I don't believe she's a reliable witness. It wouldn't even surprise me if the “two bad men who beat me up” story was exactly that. A story. I wouldn't lean too heavily on her evidence.'

Rosen handed the photocopied sheets back to Henshaw. ‘What do you suggest?' he asked.

‘I'd like to observe her in the children's suite with one of your trained children's officers and a child psychologist.'

‘We'll set that up. Her teacher thinks she's wonderful,' said Rosen.

‘Her teacher's inexperienced and not as intelligent as Macy. I bet she can play people like a concert pianist.'

Rosen slid the enhanced CCTV picture of Trent into a separate envelope.

‘I've been through the diary over and over and two things keep repeating. Every day Grandmother gets a little bit worse and every day they pray together that little bit harder for her recovery. She's a white kid from a UK family and she doesn't buy the myth of Jesus Christ. So what does she believe in? What has she been praying to?'

‘She's a child. She'll pray to whatever the adults closest to her pray
to, surely? Do you have the entry for the night she was attacked?' asked Rosen.

His desk phone rang. He picked it up.

‘Do you want me to take Trent back to his cell?' asked the custody sergeant.

‘I'll be down in two minutes. Keep him in number one.'

‘David,' said Henshaw. ‘This kind of rapid and sustained improvement in her writing – it's the reverse of the coin when a kid goes from A to U. This speaks to me of a massive underlying trauma. I think you need to dredge through every word she's said to you and pull them apart.'

As Rosen walked down the stairs to interview Trent, his footsteps echoed behind him. The sound unsettled him. He didn't know if Henshaw was on the money in everything he said, but of one thing Rosen was certain. For whatever reason, Macy had enticed him from the mobile incident room and he'd walked onto Bannerman Square like a two year old.

58

11.45 P.M.

R
osen and Leung faced Trent and his solicitor, Mrs Cairns, across the table of Interview Suite 1. Trent stared at the space between their heads, his arms folded tightly across his chest, just as his mother had done.
A genetic trait?
wondered Rosen.

He formally opened the interview. ‘OK, Jay, I'm going to show you the enhanced CCTV image of you at the wheel of a Renault Megane.'

‘No comment.'

As he slid the photo out of the envelope and passed it to Leung, Henshaw's words about Macy's diary danced around his mind:
I bet she can play people like a concert pianist
.

Leung showed Trent the picture, holding it in his eye line.

‘Look at the time, Jay. 8.58.13. In the corner.'

‘No comment.'

‘Look at the driver, Jay.'

‘No comment.'

‘A lime-green Adidas jacket?'

Rosen placed the CCTV picture of Trent in front of his solicitor and showed Trent the dry cleaning ticket. ‘Is this where you took that jacket? Because it isn't in your closet.'

‘No comment.'

‘CC4U are working on close-ups of your face, Jay.'

‘No comment.'

‘Why did you do this, Jay?' asked Rosen.

‘No comment.'

‘This isn't
you
, Jay. This is
weird shit
!' broke in Leung. ‘I mean, come on, little kids?'

Rosen gave Trent a long, hard stare and modulated his voice to let him know more bad news was flying his way. ‘Another issue's come to light, Jay.'

Rosen pushed the carrier bag with the envelope of pornography towards him.

‘We found this under the floorboards beneath your bed. Do you recognize it?'

‘No comment.'

Trent looked like he'd just been told he had five minutes left to live.

‘Open it, Jay.'

He didn't move. Rosen looked at Mrs Cairns and then back at Trent, who looked away. Anywhere except at Rosen.

Rosen took the envelope from the bag and showed the first photo, of the schoolboy fully clothed, to Trent.

‘It was a warm day, a good day to take pictures of a close, personal friend,' said Rosen.

‘No. . . comment. . .'

‘I understand, Jay. I understand perfectly.' He turned to Trent's solicitor. ‘Have you engaged a barrister yet?'

‘Not as yet.'

‘Well, you need to,' said Rosen. ‘Who is this boy, Jay?'

Silence.

‘How old was he when you took the photographs of him taking off his school uniform?'

Silence.

‘OK, we'll try again in the morning. But before I close this interview,
Jay, I've got a piece of family news for you. Your little brother's been missing for hours.' He looked closely at Trent. ‘Given the people out there who are attacking young males, doesn't that give you cause for concern?'

‘No comment.'

‘You've got a name, names maybe. If you gave me a name, it could be the difference between life and death for Chester.'

‘No comment.'

His solicitor leaned into his ear, made a wall with her hand, whispered quickly, her eyes alert. She sat back.

Trent looked at her and said, ‘He's not my brother, really. We don't have the same father or the same surname. . .'

‘Jay,' said Rosen, indicating the CCTV photograph. ‘If we've got this all wrong, he's your alibi. Your mother's tearing her hair out. He left your house to go to his dad's and didn't show up.'

Trent laughed sourly. ‘He's a retard. She shouldn't've let him travel on public transport. Go lay a guilt trip on her, not me.'

‘Last chance, Jay?'

‘No. . . fucking. . . comment!'

*

W
HEN THE DUTY
sergeant had escorted Trent and his solicitor from the interview room, Rosen looked at Leung and said, ‘He couldn't look at me. I'm handing over interviewing Trent to you and Carol Bellwood for now.'

‘Why?' asked Leung.

‘Two big issues in his head. One, he's up to his neck in the abduction and murder of a child. Two, he's a closet homosexual. He'd rather be outed as a child murderer than a homosexual. His sexuality's causing him the most stress. As a man, I'm a stumbling block to cracking him. Nine o'clock in the morning, this room, you and Carol can fry Trent.'

59

11.55 P.M.

J
ust before midnight, as he sat at his desk reviewing in his mind the events of the day, Rosen's mobile went off. MORTUARY. He picked up the call.

‘DCI Rosen speaking.'

‘Hello, David.' It was Doctor Sweeney. ‘I've got Thomas Glass's body here. I'm just about to examine him, but thought I'd give you a ring with an initial finding.'

Rosen knew Sweeney was teasing him with a pause.

‘Go on.'

‘I explored his mouth and found something stuck to the lower gums.'

‘What was it?'

‘A human hair: a long, single strand. Want me to send you a picture?'

‘Send me a picture immediately.'

‘No problem.' Doctor Sweeney paused. ‘There's evidence of torture before the main incident.'

Rosen closed his eyes and felt a lightness overtake his being, the giddy stab of horror like a knife in the head.

‘Are you there, Rosen?'

‘Yes.'

‘There's a single burn mark to the left eyeball. Probably with a lighted cigarette. I retrieved a fragment of ash. . .'

Rosen picked up the CCTV image of the Renault Megane, Thomas holding his hand up to his eye.
The eye is the believer. The eye is the deceiver
.

‘Anything else?' asked Rosen.
See we is many. See I are one
.

‘No. I'll send you the shot of the hair.'

Rosen replaced the receiver and felt tears welling up in his eyes, tears of sorrow and rage for the horrors inflicted on Thomas.

Bellwood approached him, her face filled with concern.

‘You all right, David?'

He blinked, sat up straight and indicated the colour copy of Macy's school diary.

‘What do you make of Macy Conner, Carol?'

‘Nice kid. Poor as poor can be but
so
bright. When she was in the car. . .'

‘Go on.'

‘We got behind the black van taking Stevie's body away from the scene. She took all the digits from the number plate and scrambled them together. Quick 24. Clever, active mind. Nice kid.'

60

5.08 A.M.

T
he sound of a paramedic ambulance leaked through the edges of Macy's dream, the real world seeping into the moving images within her skull. In her dream, she sat in the A & E department of Lewisham Hospital, with DCI Rosen in the seat next to her. Grandma's bed was not in its usual place in her mum's flat, but in the space between the reception desk and the seats.

DCI Rosen examined the bruises and cuts on her face with great sadness in his eyes.

Grandma asked, ‘Can you hear that? There's an ambulance on its way.'

‘Who said that?' asked DCI Rosen.

‘My grandma,' said Macy. ‘I told you about her, Mr Rosen. Remember?'

‘I remember.'

She slid her hand inside Rosen's and stood up.
I wish you were my dad
, she thought, and even though she didn't say it, it was as if Rosen heard her mind and his mind responded,
I'd take good care of you, Macy
. He smiled at her and she led him to her grandma's bed.

‘This is my grandma,' she said.

Rosen looked at the pillow, the smile dissolving on his face as
Grandma said, ‘Good evening, DCI Rosen. It's a disgraceful world, where two grown men can get away with hurting a young girl such as this.'

Rosen said nothing. He just looked down at the pillow.

The ambulance siren came closer, louder.

Macy squeezed his hand and folded herself into his side. He held her in place with his free hand.

‘What's wrong, Daddy Rosen?' asked Macy.

‘I can hear Grandma's voice but it's strange, I can't see her.'

‘That's because you're a detective.' Grandma smiled up from the pillow. ‘You have to look harder than most.'

‘Well,' responded Rosen. ‘It's a pleasure to hear you and I'll do my best to see you. I'll keep looking – no stone unturned and all that.'

The ambulance siren reached a peak and stopped.

A noise of friction, two metal surfaces colliding.

The doors of A & E burst open and a doctor and a nurse came running in with a stretcher bed pushed by two paramedics, only the paramedics weren't real paramedics in green uniforms: they were the two hoodies who'd beaten her as they ran away from Bannerman Square. Their faces were hidden by the darkness within their hoods.