What She Saw (31 page)

‘No comment.'

‘Where did you pick Thomas Glass up from?'

‘No comment.'

Bellwood took out the main CCTV picture, placed it in front of McNulty. McNulty looked from the picture to Trent and back. Trent stared ahead.

‘Mr Trent, I suggest you look at the picture.'

Trent leaned into his solicitor, stage-whispered, ‘It's a doctored image. They're setting me up. I admit nothing.'

‘OK,' said Bellwood, spreading out the close-ups. ‘As you can observe, Mr Trent has a dimple in his chin.' She pointed at Trent's chin and the same dimpled chin in a close-up of the lower half of Trent's face. ‘You'll also notice if you look at the picture, Mr Trent, that the purple heart-shaped birthmark on your neck is featured in the same image of your chin.'

Silence.

‘You admitted you're scared of Macy Conner.' Rosen picked up the baton.

‘No comment.'

‘This is the situation—'

‘No comment.'

‘Trent, I'm not talking to you; I'm talking to Mr McNulty. I need to know from where he picked up Thomas Glass. It could well be the three missing children are there. That's all I want. A location.'

‘Mr Trent.' McNulty picked up the photograph. ‘Mr Trent, we need to talk frankly about this.'

‘Indeed you do, Mr McNulty,' agreed Rosen. ‘And I'd like to offer one theme for your discussion. Given the nature of his involvement in a violent crime against a child, we're looking at two probable outcomes for your client. One, he's looking at a life sentence, but it won't be served
with other high-security prisoners. No, he's looking at a life sentence on a sex offenders' wing.'

Lightning – brief but undeniable – flashed through Trent's eyes.

‘Let me know when you're ready to talk, but in the meantime, Jay Trent.' When he had eye contact, Rosen stood up. ‘I'm looking to charge you with conspiracy to murder—'

There was an urgent knocking on the door.

‘Come in,' said Rosen.

Gold came into the room, walked directly up to Rosen and whispered, ‘The footage has come in. A and E, Lewisham Hospital, the night Thomas Glass was admitted. David, you've got to see it.'

‘I'll be there in two minutes.'

Trent was slumped forwards, his face downcast. Rosen looked at the top of his head.

‘Where did you pick up Thomas Glass?'

‘No comment.'

Rosen stood up. The hands of the clock were moving faster and Trent wasn't going to budge.

‘Maybe. . .' – Rosen sat – ‘you know you're cornered. Sex offenders' unit. Maybe that's what you
want
, Jay. You'd be in your element with those guys. . .'

In reply Trent banged and banged the table. ‘Shut your fucking mouth, you fucking mother-fucker!'

‘Where'd you pick the kid up from?'

‘No comment.'

For the second time, Rosen stood. ‘Sex offenders' unit it is then.' He walked to the door. ‘Your call, Jay. If you don't believe me, ask your solicitor.'

77

12.23 P.M.

O
n the screen of Gold's laptop, Rosen orientated the hospital's A & E reception. The door leading in, the seats filled with patients waiting to be seen, the reception desk with the receptionist speaking to a patient, the door leading into the treatment area and resuscitation room.

‘Ready?' asked Gold.

‘Press play,' said Rosen.

A nurse came through the door of the treatment and resuscitation unit. A woman stood up from the seats and hobbled after her through the door.

A young man came in through the main entrance: Paul Conner was followed in by his younger sister, Macy. Rosen glanced at the time on-screen – 21.45.

It didn't add up to the time given by A & E administrators. It was earlier than the arrival time of Thomas Glass.

Paul Conner headed straight for the reception desk. Macy stopped, not far from the door. He carried on. She turned around and walked out. He approached the desk, and spoke to the receptionist. Macy was gone. The receptionist pointed to the space behind Paul. He turned. And headed back towards the main door.

Gold paused the footage with, ‘Here's what happened outside.'

Exterior to A & E. Macy Conner walked calmly towards the ambulance entrance to A & E treatment and resuscitation. An ambulance arrived, the driver jumped out. A doctor and a nurse appeared at the doorway leading in. The driver opened the back door and, with his partner, took a boy on a stretcher from the rear of the ambulance.

The four adults, focusing completely on the boy on the stretcher, didn't notice the little girl drifting towards them. They pushed the wheeled stretcher into the treatment and resuscitation area.

Rosen recalled being told how on the corridor to resus, Thomas had suddenly become emotional and agitated.

Bellwood said, ‘The nurse doesn't remember seeing Macy but she did see the door closing, the door leading back into A and E reception.'

‘Want me to show you Macy Conner going back into the reception through that door?' asked Gold.

‘I'll take your word for it,' said Rosen.

78

1.13 P.M.

B
ellwood finished off a cup of coffee that had become cold as she went through the tangle of telephone connections to reach Social Services. As she did so, she watched Rosen across the space of the incident room at Isaac Street. He looked miles away. On and off, since mid-morning, he'd been staring down at his desk, moving small objects around like a soothsayer divining significance in a set of stones.

She noticed the Toyland bag on the floor beside his desk and a rectangular green box alongside it. Scrabble.

‘David?' she called.

‘The graffiti on Stevie Jensen's body. . .' he replied, without looking up.

He took out a pen and scribbled furiously on a piece of paper, crossed out what he was writing, scrunching the paper angrily and added it to the growing pile in his bin.

‘What's your thought?' asked Bellwood.

He shrugged and returned to the objects on his desk. His face had the cast of a blind man staring at a twenty-foot-high canvas: so close to seeing, but so deeply in the dark.

Just as Bellwood was about to go over and see what Rosen was up to, her phone rang. She picked up the receiver.

‘DS Bellwood speaking.'

‘Hi, it's Sally Emerson, South London Social Services. We spoke earlier.'

‘Thanks for getting back to me, Sally. Anything to report on Macy Conner?'

‘Yes. She came to our attention about six years ago when she entered the reception class at Bream Street. Her teacher at the time reported she was sometimes a bright child but on several occasions appeared withdrawn and suffering from physical neglect: she spent a week, Monday to Friday, in the same white school shirt. We approached Mum, offered her support. I think the visit from us was enough of a wake-up call – Macy started coming to school clean and tidy, and made excellent academic and social progress throughout that year.'

‘So it was a blip with her mum?'

‘That's what the notes conclude.'

‘And there's absolutely nothing else on her?'

‘There is, but it's indirect, as it's related to the case of another family. The Rainer family.'

‘The three sisters who died in the house fire.'

‘Yes.' Sally Emerson sounded surprised.

‘What's the link?' asked Bellwood.

‘After the girls died and it became apparent that one of the girls had been abused by the father, there was a logical possibility that the other two girls had been his victims also. And any other children he'd had access to. Macy Conner was in Denise Rainer's circle of friends in reception. There was a police investigation. Macy and some other children who'd been in the house at some point were brought in to speak with a child psychologist. Halfway through the trial, Rainer hung himself.'

‘What about Macy?' asked Bellwood.

‘Macy was fine – there was no indication whatsoever that Rainer had abused her. She was barely aware of the man's existence. Which was
ironic, because Rainer stuck to his story about the cause of the house fire throughout. Tell me, are you aware of the case?'

‘Limited. He was asleep downstairs. When he woke up, the stairs and bedroom were blazing. He ran out of the house.'

‘Then he elaborated the story,' said the social worker. ‘He stated that he'd been drinking in the morning and that had confused him initially but after much thought and soul searching, he remembered. When he woke up, smoke everywhere, he looked out of the window and saw Macy Conner running away from the house. Macy, aged five. That's where the story of Macy, Social Services and the police ends. Absolutely malicious nonsense, but malicious nonsense that he stuck to until the day he died. Don't know why he picked on her, but pick on her he did.'

‘Was she aware of this allegation?'

‘I don't know, Carol. The best person to ask would be her mother.'

‘She has a brother, Paul?' prompted Bellwood now.

‘I went digging for you. Paul was placed under the care of the community psychiatric nurse, but he refused all offers of help after he was released from hospital. This is going back three years or so.'

‘Why did he need the psychiatric nurse?'

‘He tried to kill himself when he was about fourteen or fifteen. He tried twice: once with painkillers, once by slashing his wrists.'

Bellwood sighed heavily, taking the story in.

‘What about Chester Adler?'

‘We're aware of him because he tortured and killed a cat two years ago, aged eight, but the main therapeutic work with him was done by the RSPCA. Our investigation into his background showed a stable picture, working mother, nice home. He's got pretty big learning difficulties. His IQ came out at seventy-five, five points above the threshold for a statement of special educational needs. Therefore, he doesn't have a case worker.'

‘Do me a favour, Sally, and keep talking to any of your colleagues
who were around in 2009. If anyone remembers anything at all—'

‘That's it!' Rosen announced, his face lighting up with clarity and free-falling as significance bit him.

‘—about Macy or Chester, anything you haven't come up with, call me directly.' Bellwood thanked her and closed the call down.

‘What is it, David?'

‘Over here, Carol.'

Bellwood hurried over. On his desk there were Scrabble squares that spelt out:

SEE WE IS MANY

SEE I ARE ONE.

In Rosen's hands, there were several small pieces of paper.

Rosen isolated two words from the top line. SEE MANY.

Bellwood watched. He withdrew the N from MANY, leaving MA Y, and covered the word SEE with a single piece of paper on which he'd written a single letter C.

‘SEE and C sound the same. Replace the word SEE with the letter C.'

C MA Y

He moved the C into the space where he'd removed the N from MANY.

MACY

Bellwood felt something tighten inside her. She looked down at Rosen's desk.

‘Look at the second line, Carol.'

SEE I ARE ONE

Rosen covered the word SEE with C on a paper, then a letter R over ARE.

C I R ONE

He moved the remaining letters from the first line next to his construction of the second line, and the N from the original MANY.

C I R ONE WE IS N

He drew the C alongside MACY and quietly invited, ‘Go on, Carol.'

MACY C

In five moves she constructed MACY CONNER, leaving:

I WE IS

Rosen moved the remaining letters in front of the name staring up at them.

I WE IS MACY CONNER

‘“I we is Macy Conner”,' said Rosen. ‘In Ogham. On Stevie Jensen's leg in UV marker.'

His phone was out.

Bellwood's face creased. ‘She. . . didn't. . .?' They looked at each other. ‘She couldn't have,' said Bellwood.

He scrolled through speed dial.

‘Carol, you know and I know that there's no such thing as
couldn't have
.'

‘Who are you calling?'

‘Henshaw,' replied Rosen.

Bellwood examined the anagram, saw the way it played out to its logical conclusion.

‘James, it's Rosen. What are you up to?'

‘I'm about to go in to deliver a lecture. Additional Saturday class for sixty students sitting their finals next week.'

‘Do me a favour, James.'

‘Go on.'

‘Stand them up and meet me at Isaac Street.'

A moment passed. ‘I'll see you at Isaac Street,' said Henshaw.

The door of the incident room opened and Corrigan stormed in.

‘He's not at home, he's not at work, he's not answering his phone. It looks like John Glass has fucked off into hiding somewhere.'

79

1.43 P.M.

S
itting at Rosen's desk, Henshaw scrutinized the anagram Rosen had worked out, and listened to the allegation made against Macy when she was five years old.

‘
I we is Macy Conner
,' said Henshaw, thoughtfully.

‘What is it, James?' asked Rosen.

‘When we were in her flat, in the early hours this morning, I listened to your conversation with her mother.' Henshaw stood up, his face grim with mounting anxiety. ‘We have to go back there now. We've got to speak with her mother.'

Bellwood, Henshaw and Rosen walked through the almost deserted incident room. With the exception of one officer acting as anchor in case of incoming calls, everyone was on the streets, searching.

As the door closed behind Rosen, he turned cold and, digging his hands into his pockets, felt his fingers trembling and the blossoming sickness of fear.

He pictured Macy on their first encounter in the MIR, a small girl with a cut lip and blackened eyes, crying for the loss of innocence in the world in which she lived. The UV writing on Stevie's leg and the charred pit of his face. The words
Could it be possible?
haunted Rosen's imagination. It was as if she was sitting inside his head, whispering,
But, Mr Rosen, how could I possibly. . .?