SCRIBBLING YELLOW LINES ACROSS THE STICK MAN
Paul Birchall was interviewed by Balderstone and Edgely whilst in an adjacent room, Denise played happily with some crayons, watched over with a motherly eye by WPC Janet Lodge. She is drawing a stick lady with a triangular body and a stick baby in her stomach. Next to it, she draws what might be a pram but could equally be a coal scuttle or a car or a railway carriage. But most likely, it was a pram. She carefully colours it blue. There is no sign of a male figure in the picture.
‘Tell us again, sir, what you were doing in the playground with your niece without her mother’s permission?’ Edgely asks Birchall politely.
‘I’ve told you three or four times already, how many more times?’
‘Until we get it straight,’ answered Balderstone, equally politely, and you can see that this quiet politeness is getting on Birchall’s nerves. He bunches his fists as if ready to lash out and then breathes deeply to calm himself.
‘I … told … you … a thousand times … my sister Mary … is in the … Garside General Hospital … having a baby. She had … complications with Denise, giving birth to Denise, I should say … and the doctor … decided she would … be safer in hospital, … just in case. I told you that.’
‘That doesn’t explain why you took her to Millside Park, to the playground. What were you going to do after the swings, take her up into the woods? Were you going to rape her?’ Edgely said, still politely.
‘No. No, of course not, she’s my niece, my sister’s daughter. For God’s sake, how could you think I could do a thing like that?’
‘You have children of your own? A daughter maybe?’
‘No, no, I’m not married. Never have been.’
‘Why, why is that, sir?’ Balderstone asked.
‘Just never met the right woman, I suppose, not that it’s any of your bloody business.’
‘The father, where’s the father of Mary’s child? Why is he not here to look after Denise? Why you?’
‘Her husband, Sam, he’s in the Navy, he’s a lieutenant on a frigate somewhere in the east. Hong Kong, thereabouts.’
‘What ship?’
‘Does it matter what bloody ship?’ he responded angrily, his voice rising again.
‘Just answer the question please, sir, what ship?’ Edgely asks.
‘HMS Antelope. He was last home on leave, well you can work it out for yourself seeing as how his wife is about to give birth.’
‘You still haven’t answered the question, why you. Why are you looking after Denise?’
‘Obviously because I’m family. She, Mary, we, we have a sister, Kathleen, but she lives in Aberdeen, got two small kids of her own and obviously could not come down all the way from Scotland, besides, they don’t get on too well.’
‘What about your mother, Denise’s grandmother, that would have been more appropriate, wouldn’t it?’
‘Mum? Hardly, she can barely take care of herself. She’s senile, loopy, thinks it’s 1938 and she talks to my Dad all the time as if he’s sitting in his chair, but he’s been dead since, what, 25 years, he died in 1931, Mary was just a nipper then. He was coming down the stairs and had a heart attack and fell down the stairs and broke his neck. Don’t know which one actually killed him, the heart attack or the fall. Both did for him, I suppose, if one didn’t get him the other did. I don’t remember it; I was just a baby at the time. Sorry, I’m rambling a bit, but anyhow, that’s why my Mum couldn’t take care of Denise and before you ask, Sam’s parents live in Devonport, down south somewhere and don’t approve of Sam’s marriage to Mary, think he married beneath himself and have nowt to do with him. Or Mary. She would no more ask them to look after Denise than she’d ask Adolf Hitler.’
‘And so, Mary asked you to look after a four-year-old girl, is that appropriate, you reckon? I mean, you’re not married, you say, what do you know about looking after a little girl?’
‘Who else is there? Sam’s in Hong Kong or wherever and you can hardly ask the neighbours to take on somebody else’s kiddie, can you?’ Birchall responded tartly, getting heated and exasperated again.
‘So, you took time off work, is that it?’
‘I’m an assistant librarian in Batley. I was owed some holiday and so I took a few days to look after Denise. There is nothing, nothing at all untoward in that.’
‘So you say, sir.’
WPC Janet Lodge has two young children of her own and is enjoying being with Denise but is troubled by the child’s quiet demeanour. Denise had seemingly enjoyed the ride in the police car, especially when Alan Edgely let her ring the bells on the roof of the car, but now she seems to be brooding over something.
Denise has now drawn a house, a square box with four windows and a door. She has also drawn a stick little girl with a man beside her.
‘Is that your Daddy?’ Janet asked, pointing at the stick man.
Denise shakes her head.
‘Is it… Uncle Paul?’
She nods, yes.
‘Do you like Uncle Paul?’
She nods … yes, but slowly, as if not quite sure.
Janet ponders for a minute or two, initially her instructions had been to simply look after the little girl, keep her occupied whilst Balderstone and Edgely questioned her uncle. Balderstone told her they did not think that there was any real harm in Birchall taking Denise to the park, provided he had been asked by the mother to look after the child. But of course, they had to check and satisfy themselves that all was above board. As soon as they had questioned him and visited the mother in hospital, he was sure the matter would be resolved, in the meantime just keep her occupied and happy. But something was not right with the child.
‘Does Uncle Paul ever touch you?’ she asked in trepidation, feeling as though she were walking blindfolded towards a precipice.
Denise nodded, scribbling yellow lines across the stick man as she said it as though to obliterate his image, an action which disturbed Janet. There is definitely something going on here, she thought. Something amiss.
‘Does Uncle Paul touch you …here?’ touching her own head.
Denise nods.
‘Does Uncle Paul touch you …here?’ touching her own shoulder. Another nod, yes.
‘Does he touch you …here?’ placing her hand on her own chest. A shake of the head, no.
‘Does he touch your tummy? ‘A hesitant pause, as though thinking and then a shake of the head, no.
‘How about here,’ tapping her fingers on her knee.
A slow nod, yes.’
‘And here?’ touching her groin. ‘Does he touch you here on your…’ wondering what word a four-year old would understand, obviously vagina or vulva or any of the vulgar terms, fanny or pussy or the c word would not do.
‘On my pee-pee?’ Denise asks, still scribbling furiously over the stick man.
‘Yes, darling, does your Uncle Paul touch you on your pee-pee?’ desperately hoping for a shake of the head but she slowly nods. Yes.
A cold wave floods over Janet, her insides seem to freeze, and she finds it hard to breathe.
‘Are you sure, sweetheart, Uncle Paul touches you on your …pee-pee?’
A nod, yes.
‘Can you answer me, by saying the word for me, either yes or no, can you do that for me, darling, just so’s I know for sure. We don’t want any mistakes or misunderstandings, do we?’
A shake of the head, no.
Janet took a deep breath, about to ask the most important question she had ever had to ask in her entire police career.
‘Does Uncle Paul touch you on your pee-pee. Please darling, say yes or no. Does he ever touch you there?’ she asked, enunciating each and every word slowly and clearly.
‘Yes’
‘He touches you on your pee-pee, here?’ putting her hand between her own legs, pressing her skirt deep into her groin so that there could be no mistake.
‘Yes’
And when does he do this, sweetheart, did he do it today in the park?’
‘No, in the bath.’ The stick man is completely obliterated, and the paper is beginning to tear from the force of her scribbles.
‘In the bath?’
‘Yes’
‘Does…does he hurt you? Does he put his fingers inside your …pee-pee?’ No, a shake of the head.
Janet had been squatting down in front of Denise; she now stands up, uncertain how to proceed. This has now gone beyond her limitations. A senior officer will now have to be involved. Another thought strikes with the impact of a punch, could Uncle Paul also be the man who killed little Emily Dennison?
She crossed over to the door, opened it and shout down the corroder. ‘Sarge, can you ask Mr. Yarrow or DS Harding to come down. We’ve got a situation here.’