What She Saw (38 page)

‘Now,' said Macy.

He smiled. ‘And I have said yes, Macy.'

Raising the gun towards his face, Paul Conner edged into the darkness.

Rosen placed Luke down and hurtled across the hall.

‘Paul, don't, don't pull that trigger!'

Rosen arrived at the back of the hall. Paul Conner knelt on a bed of glass, his body a diagonal line. With his neck on the jagged window frame and his face and head outside the broken window, he swallowed the barrel of the gun and tilted it towards his brain.

Moonlight. For a moment, his eyes connected with Rosen's.

He pulled the trigger. The gunshot echoed in the night air. Paul's body slumped into death and Rosen felt the weight of the whole world
pressing down on him.

Footsteps on the outside hurrying towards the school.

Macy?
Rosen turned and hurried back. She was rigid on the spot, her eyes still tightly shut. He picked her up, hands under her arms, a dead weight.

As he lay Macy down on the floor, she opened her eyes and looked at him.

To the right, the door to the skylight staircase opened.

‘Paul?' said Macy. A single tear rolled down her face. Rosen sat beside her.

Bellwood, Corrigan, Gold and Feldman came through the doorway. Rosen indicated Chester and Luke with a nod of the head. They moved towards the children.

‘I'm, I'm – I am . . . I am . . . in agony, Mr Rosen,' Macy spoke softly. ‘That is the thing I forgot to tell you when we first met. I am in agony because I was born in Hell.'

He lifted her shoulders from the floor and wrapped his arms around her. She pressed her face into his chest, her body heaving with sobs.

Bellwood carried Luke past Rosen, their eyes connecting.

‘David, there's been another incident on Bannerman Square.'

And with that she took the little boy away.

Paramedics arrived. Rosen watched. Chester, on a stretcher bed, was wheeled from the hall. A second team appeared in the doorway. Rosen held a hand up to stop them entering and shook his head. Too late. They moved back into the corridor.

‘Keep your eyes closed, Macy,' said Rosen.

In the unfolding of time, he released her from his embrace and moved her so that her back was turned to the shadows in which her brother's body lay.

‘Help me, Mr Rosen.'

‘I will help you, Macy. Ready to go?'

He stood up and lifted her by her hands. His left hand held on to
her right hand and they walked out of the hall and into the corridor.

Rosen gave DS Eleanor Willis, Scientific Support, the go-ahead to enter and pointed in the direction of Paul Conner's body.

As they walked up the corridor, Macy said, ‘Promise me, Mr Rosen, you're not taking me to Bannerman Square.'

‘I promise you, Macy, I'm not taking you to Bannerman Square.'

‘You're not taking me home?'

‘No, you're not going home.'

‘The police station?'

‘No, you're not going to the police station.'

‘Then where are you taking me?'

‘I'm taking you to a place where you'll be safe.'

97

10.32 P.M.

R
osen dipped under the scene-of-crime tape at the door of the flat where Macy Conner once lived, thinking, knowing,
She'll never come back here
. The thought comforted him.

He moved aside in the narrow hall to allow two mortuary technicians carrying a grey body-bag to pass. Bellwood was in the living room, looking out of the window where a crowd was gathered and police cars were parked.

Everything in the dismal living room was as it had been, except for one thing.

The walls were splattered with blood.

Bellwood turned. In her hand was a piece of paper in a clear evidence bag.

‘You've phoned Sarah?' she checked.

‘Soon as I handed Macy over to our child protection officer.' He indicated the bag in her hand. ‘Paul Conner's suicide note?' asked Rosen. She nodded. ‘What happened?'

‘It must've been just after you left. Paul turned up here with Trent's gun and shot his mother in the head. It was Paul, not Trent, who took out the CCTV on Bannerman Square. He used the same silencer when he shot his mother.'

‘Did he write much else?' asked Rosen.

‘Plenty. He abducted Thomas Glass as a reprisal against John Glass. Glass had ripped him off – he didn't go into the details. Macy tailed him to the lock-up he'd rented where he had Thomas holed up. When Macy found out what Paul had done, she had him over a barrel. She threatened him with the police unless she could have a copy of the key and access to Thomas Glass. Paul was desperately trying to buy time, trying to think of a way out of the hole he'd dug himself into and he agreed to her demands. He was overwhelmed with fear about the consequences of what he'd done, but then guilt kicked in and he couldn't bear to go near Thomas or the lock-up. Macy told her brother she could sort the problem out, she could make Thomas believe anything she wanted him to believe.'

‘Where did Trent fit in to this?' asked Rosen.

‘Trent knew nothing of any of this at that point. She had regular access to Trent's house because of her
friendship
with Chester. And the front door key that Chester provided for her. She made a secret pornographic film of her brother and Trent. . .'

‘I've seen it,' said Rosen, recalling a dismal memory.

‘Paul confessed to Trent, who was all for tearing Macy into tiny pieces. At which point Macy sent a copy of the film to Trent's phone using Thomas's BlackBerry, showing him sodomizing her brother. She threatened to post it on the internet, and so had Trent eating out of her hand.'

‘He wanted a ransom from John Glass?'

‘That was a part of the original idea. Bitter resentment and desperation. He was out of his depth from the word go.'

Rosen looked around at the grim walls of the flat, Paul Conner's reality.

‘So, he started one thing,' said Rosen, ‘and it turned into something else. Teenage boy. Stupid. Out-manoeuvred by his smarter kid sister. Who messed her face up?'

‘Paul. But that was only because she told him to. Where is she?' asked Bellwood.

‘She's sedated in hospital. She's going into a secure unit, looks like she's being moved out of London. She'll have care twenty-four-seven.'

Bellwood digested the information and asked, ‘Want to know what the last line of his letter said?' Rosen nodded. ‘“I'd rather kill myself than go to jail but before I do that, I want the satisfaction of taking the bitch out with me and then maybe Macy will stand a chance.”'

‘You heard back yet from Julian Parker, Glass's PA?' asked Rosen

‘No.'

‘Call him. Tell him to report to Isaac Street now for an interview.' Rosen glanced at his watch. On the road to eleven o'clock. ‘I don't care if he's in bed. I'm not going home until I get to the bottom of this.'

‘David, one other thing.' She produced a small transparent evidence bag inside which was a photograph of Rosen. He recognized it immediately as the image that appeared in the central photos from the book,
Herod: Portrait of a Serial Killer
.

He recalled the loans lists he'd seen that morning in Lewisham Library.

‘She must've cut it out from a library book,' said Rosen. ‘Where did you find it?'

Bellwood looked in the direction of Macy's bedroom. ‘On her bed. Under what passed for a pillow.'

Rosen looked and, for a moment, felt himself drowning in sadness.

‘OK, Carol.' He pulled himself together. ‘Let's hear what Julian Parker has to say.'

98

11.05 P.M.

J
ulian Parker faced Rosen and Bellwood from the chair occupied earlier by Jay Trent.

‘“Not now,”' said Bellwood. ‘Those were the words you used when we were with Emily Glass, when I pointed out the contact detail for Fingertips. Can you fill me in on that?'

‘It's an escort agency. John Glass has a controlling sixty per cent share in it. Emily knows nothing about it, or knew nothing about it.' He paused. ‘How can I put this. . .?'

‘Try plainly,' said Rosen.

‘John Glass sleeps with prostitutes on a regular basis. So he was mixing business with pleasure, that way he didn't have to pay for the goods in his own company. But that's not the end of it. He took an interest in the charity Outlook because he saw it primarily as a source of cheap labour, all these unemployed kids from south London. He started finding work for them, the girls and some of the boys. As escorts. When the genuine people at Outlook found out, they referred their organization immediately to the Charity Commission.'

‘Paul Conner was an escort?' asked Bellwood.

‘No, but what happened to him is pretty much typical of the way the escorts were treated by Glass. Paul was a talented artist. When
Thomas wanted his room painted with a mural, Emily got quotes from professional artists. They all ranged in the low four figures. John vetoed it on the grounds of cost and then had the bright idea of using Paul. They agreed a figure. Five hundred pounds. Paul did the work. John said the quality wasn't good enough. He instructed me to issue cash in an envelope because Conner didn't have a bank account.'

‘How much did he pay him?'

‘Two hundred pounds. I know. Despicable, isn't it? I'm happy to say I no longer work for him.'

‘So what was the upshot of all this?' asked Rosen. ‘What was Paul Conner's immediate reaction?'

‘He phoned me and asked to speak to John. I told him he was unavailable and would he like to leave a message. He said he would.'

‘What did he say?'

‘He said, “Tell your boss I've got nothing to live for and nothing to lose but what I am going to do is fuck him up for the rest of his life.”'

‘Did you get a ransom demand?'

‘No, not that I know of.' Julian rubbed his fingertips against his thumbs. ‘Ultimately, his meanness cost him his son's life. If he hadn't shafted Paul Conner, none of this would have happened. None of it.'

‘Thank you for attending. You're free to go now.'

99

11.32 P.M.

I
n the empty incident room, with nothing more to be done, Bellwood dug her car keys out of her bag but looked up as the main door opened.

‘Hi, Carol, have you seen David?' James Henshaw walked into the room.

‘He's just gone home, James.'

‘It'll wait until morning. Goodnight, Carol.'

As he got to the door, he stopped at Carol's voice.

‘Fancy a drink, James?'

He turned and, after a few moments, said, ‘No, thank you. I want to go home. I want to see my son, I want to see him sleeping safely in his bed.'

‘Understandable,' said Carol, disguising the sting of disappointment and telling herself James was being a good father.

He looked torn: to speak or not to speak? ‘He's been through an awful lot for such a young boy,' said James. ‘He lost his mother two years ago, when he was five.'

‘I'm aware of that and I'm deeply sorry.' It had been in a road traffic accident in the South of France. When she'd attended his lectures, Bellwood had googled him to check out his academic credentials and had learned a whole lot more.

‘You know, this whole business. . . it's rattled me. Goodnight, Carol, and thanks for the offer. I appreciate it.'

The door closed and he was gone. With no one to pretend in front of, Carol let out a deep sigh of frustration and felt her tired spirit curl up inside her.

She took a deep breath and waited, not wanting to see James in the car park, not wanting to see anyone at that moment in time.

The door opened and Henshaw stepped back inside.

‘I've been meaning to say to you. . .'

‘Yes, James,' she chirped, with false lightness.

‘September, I'm running a profiling course for Met officers, limited places, there's probably going to be a lot of applications.'

‘I'll put my name down and hope for the best.'

‘Oh, no,' said James, surprised. ‘No, I've been meaning to say to you, if you want to come on the course, just say the word and your place is guaranteed.'

‘Thanks, James. Yeah, put me on that list.'

‘And would you like to go for lunch on Monday? I can fill you in on the details.'

‘Monday?' It was clear as a bell what she was going to say next, but she gave the impression of thinking about it. ‘Yes,' she said. ‘I think I can do Monday.'

‘Great,' said James. ‘Call me and let me know where you'd like to go.' He grinned at her and left.

She sat down at her desk and felt a smile break out on her face.

Inside her, two bright sparks connected and the flame of hope erupted into life.

100

11.50 P.M.

S
arah opened the front door. Her face was red, her eyes raw, and her irises seemed drained of their colour. For a series of moments, Rosen was tongue-tied as he read the anguish in her face. Guilt coursed through him as he stepped over the threshold of his home.

‘How long have you been back from Orpington?' asked David.

‘Not long.'

She closed the door and neither of them moved. Then, she kissed him on the cheek, her fingers brushing lightly on his throat.

In the familiarity of home, he suddenly became aware that he'd dragged the outside world in with him. The stench of petrol, which had dried into his skin and clothes, overpowered the hall.

‘Go into the kitchen,' she said. ‘I've poured you a Jameson's. It's on the sink. Strip your clothes off. I'll run the bath and bring you your robe down.'

‘Thank you.'

She looked directly at him.

‘You didn't have to go in there, David.'

He watched as she turned and walked upstairs, and wished she'd slapped him hard on his face rather than kissing him and welcoming him home.