Jack had shaved and showered by 7.30 a.m. He had asked Maggie to show him how to use her makeup to cover his black eye and it now looked almost invisible, the swelling having gone down completely. He doused himself with cologne and chose a white shirt with a starched collar and cuffs, which Penny had ironed. He then picked out a tie, trying a few before he was satisfied, and put on a pair of his smartest trousers, with a good sharp crease, and lastly a pair of side-zip boots. He tried on a couple of jackets and eventually chose a good quality tweed he had purchased from a charity shop. He combed back his thick curly hair, using a little bit of gel. After checking in the wardrobe mirror, he reckoned he looked the business.
Collecting his briefcase from the office he found a note on it with a big red heart and a row of kisses, wishing him good luck. He was about to walk out when he remembered about booking a restaurant for dinner. He thought for a moment, then decided he’d try to get a table at the popular Firehouse as soon as it was open to take bookings.
He knew today he would need all his wits about him, and just driving in his new car made him feel more confident. The press were waiting outside the station, but Jack had called ahead for the gates to be open and ready for him to drive straight into the backyard. One of the morning’s newspapers had a new headline: Suspect in Hammersmith killings to be charged.
Waiting on his desk in the incident room was a fresh mug of coffee and the files he had requested, all neatly numbered with large, printed cards on the front of each. He double-checked the order and then stacked them in a cardboard box and placed them on his desk. He could feel the buzz in the incident room as everyone gathered, eagerly waiting for the prison wagon to arrive.
It was 9.40 a.m. when the call came in that the suspect was on his way in a closed prison wagon, with two bike outriders. Clarke suspected the press would have someone in a building opposite or in a place from where they could see the wagon enter the yard, so he had given instructions that the prisoner should have a blanket to cover his head and that they should move very quickly to get him out of the wagon and into the back entrance to the station.
Georgina Bamford was already at the station. She was dressed in an elegant two-piece suit with a white bow-necked shirt and black high-heels. Clarke thought her hair looked blonder than usual, and her makeup was a bit overdone, with glossy red lipstick to match her scarlet nail varnish. To complete the effect, she was wearing a chunky diamond ring, as well as a small diamond and gold chain on her slender wrist. Beneath her glossy exterior, however, she was not in a good mood, explaining to Clarke that since the Hammersmith Bridge had been closed, it took her twice as long to get anywhere from her house in Barnes.
Clarke waited until she’d finished. ‘I have one question before the interview,’ he said. ‘You received a telephone call from Amanda Dunn, even though you are not legally representing her, and – ’
She interrupted him, clearly taken aback that the police knew about it.
‘She simply called me at home. It was a very short conversation, and I obviously made it clear to her that I was not representing her and that she should contact Mr Bukhari.’
Clarke smiled. ‘It was actually quite a lengthy call, Ms Bamford. Around fifteen minutes. I would appreciate it if you could tell me what you talked about.’
‘She wanted to get in touch with my client, saying she had a message for him.’
‘What was it?’
She shrugged.
‘She just said to tell my client that “he knows!” I have no idea what she was referring to and I then ended the call.’
‘I see.’ Clarke was about to continue, when he got the call to say that Middleton’s arrival was imminent. He guided Ms Bamford through the incident room and into the elevator to take her down to the interview room, while the other officers stole glances at this glamorous figure who looked dressed for a cocktail party rather than an interview with a murder suspect.
Jack was already in the interview room, his box of files set down beside him, and his notes and documents lined up on the table, along with bottles of water and a box of tissues. The sound engineer had already tested the microphones, camera and recorder, and there was a small monitor to show the CCTV footage. Everything was functioning perfectly and ready to be switched on.
As DCI Clarke had insisted, there were only a handful of people in the viewing room: Glenda and two CSI detectives who had worked on the case. Glenda watched approvingly as Jack stood by his chair, rocking gently back and forth on the balls of his feet. She thought he looked like a boxer getting himself psyched up for a fight. And, like everyone else, she couldn’t wait to see his opponent.
‘They’re here,’ Hendricks said, looking out of the corridor window into the yard below. The outriders drove in, followed by the wagon, and the gates closed as the cameras flashed from outside the yard. Hendricks had to crane his neck to catch a glimpse of Middleton, as he was ushered out of the back doors of the wagon, in handcuffs and with a blanket covering his head.
Two uniformed officers were waiting as Middleton was brought into the corridor. The blanket was removed but his handcuffs were to remain until he was inside the interrogation area. He followed the two officers in front while two followed behind, and was led down three flights of stairs.
Glenda watched the lights come on in the main viewing room. She knew that any moment Middleton would be led in. Jack remained standing beside DCI Clarke, while Ms Bamford sat opposite them, nonchalantly inspecting her bracelet. She had a leather-bound notebook in front of her with an elegant gold pen beside it. No mobile phones were allowed.
Anik arrived in the viewing room and took a seat, shortly joined by Laura. Glenda insisted that no more people should be allowed in.
‘She looks as if she’s waiting for someone to bring her a glass of wine,’ Laura said, nodding at Georgina Bamford.
‘Don’t let her appearance fool you, Laura; she is one sharp cookie,’ Glenda cautioned. ‘She’s got quite a fearsome reputation, and believe me, her claws will be sharpened.’
There was a knock at the door as the officers accompanying Middleton arrived outside the interrogation room. They led him in and were given the nod to remove his handcuffs. He was wearing a worn black t-shirt, black trousers and black trainers.
‘He’s taller than I thought,’ Glenda said quietly. She leaned forwards.
‘He reminds me of OJ Simpson, a younger version obviously.’
‘I think he’s a cross between him and that Night Stalker, the one in LA,’ Laura said. ‘His hair is longer, but his eyes are similar. It looks to me as if he’s been working out in prison, too. Look at those muscles,’ she added, before someone told her to shush.
The intercom was turned on so they could hear each person in the interview room introduce themselves. Rodney Middleton said his name with his head bowed. Then Clarke read him his rights, speaking clearly and slowly. Middleton did not react.
Jack took out a file, laying it down on the table and opening it. He smiled across at Middleton.
‘Before I begin to question you, Mr Middleton, I think it is important that I give you some information regarding the DNA evidence we have gathered. I want you to clearly understand what exactly DNA is, because I am aware that you have had no formal education, and have no GCSEs or A Levels. You have also not been able to gain any employment and have lived the majority of your adult life on benefits – although I am sure it has required some degree of intelligence to work the system.’
‘I find all this unnecessary and insulting,’ Ms Bamford said sharply.
Jack shrugged. ‘I am simply attempting to inform your client regarding the complex subject of DNA.’
Jack had already caught the look in Middleton’s eyes and noticed the way he tightened his lips. He knew that by focusing on his lack of formal education and his inability to earn a living, he was chipping away at his narcissistic self-image. Middleton clearly didn’t like appearing inferior.
Jack produced a stack of documents and photographs.
‘Now, even this tiny amount of blood’ – he picked up his pencil and on a blank sheet of paper made a small dot – ‘can provide vital DNA evidence, as the forensic scientists can tell us whose blood it is more precisely than a fingerprint. Now, to someone without formal education, this may be hard to grasp, but when our forensic scientists are evaluating DNA samples, they can also establish genetic relationships.’
Again Jack noted how Middleton stiffened at the mention of his lack of education. Jack now began to place photographs of the tools removed from the coal hole in front of him. He pointed to the arrows on each photograph, indicating where traces of DNA had been detected. Ms Bamford impatiently leaned back in her chair as Middleton looked at each photograph. He paid close attention to the wire brush as Jack explained that they had discovered DNA caught between the wires and had concluded that it was not skin or tissue from the outer body, but scrapings from a human heart. With that discovery, they knew the victim could not have been alive.
In the viewing room, Anik shook his head. He could not understand what Jack was doing, going into such detail about DNA.
‘You think he’s trying to bore him into talking?’ he suggested.
Glenda frowned, nodding towards the viewing room.
‘Look what he’s showing him now.’
Jack had been explaining how they had collected the samples from the bins in the basement, and about the extent of blood pooling in the coal hole. Then he leaned back in his chair. ‘So, Mr Middleton, you now understand about the evidence collected from the basement yard and the coal hole. Let me show you the next section.’
‘How long is this going to go on for?’ Ms Bamford snapped.
Jack ignored her as he began to lay out the crime scene photographs from inside the basement flat. There was an enlarged picture of the hairs taken from the drain.
‘This is very interesting regarding DNA. As you can see, four of the tangled hairs discovered in your bathroom, and in the drain of the bath, had the small bulb or root attached. This made it very easy for the forensic scientists to match them with the samples from the victims’ hairbrushes. We gained further identifiable DNA from toothbrushes provided by the parents of the three victims. Now, another interesting point is contamination. This is important because we have two locations. We have the basement flat, where you lived with Amanda Dunn, and then we have the coal hole. So, it was imperative that we were able to prove, via DNA, that certain samples could not have been brought into that flat from the coal hole. This tells us with a high degree of certainty that no one other than yourself could have been responsible for those samples being there.’
Jack could sense that Ms Bamford was about to interrupt, so quickly slapped down photographs of the bed-linen, pinpointing semen stains and both pubic and head hair.
‘Please can we forgo any more of your educational lectures, or I will be forced to end this interview,’ she snapped.
‘I am, Miss Bamford, simply making sure that your client, despite his lack of education, fully understands the nature of the forensic evidence.’
As if to show that he did not take the repeated jibe about his lack of education seriously, Middleton just shrugged. Jack now removed the second file from the box and pulled out the three photographs of the victims. First was Jamail. With one finger he pushed the photograph across the table closer to Middleton.
‘Do you recognise the girl in this photograph?’
‘No comment.’
Jack did the same with the photograph of Trudie.
‘No comment.’
When he showed him Nadine’s photograph, he got the same reply.
‘So, Mr Middleton, you do not recognise any of these three girls? Yet we know that each one of them lived with you in your flat.’
‘No comment.’
‘You, along with your girlfriend, Amanda Dunn, picked up these three girls on different occasions from Euston Station and you both took them back to your flat, didn’t you?’
‘No comment.’
‘After a certain period of time, when you were bored or when Amanda became upset by their continued presence, you got rid of them, didn’t you?’
‘No comment.’
‘I think you killed these girls in your bedroom or in the coal cellar, where you later dismembered them. You then wrapped their body parts in bin liners and put them in the bins, ready for collection, didn’t you?’
‘No comment.’
Middleton was beginning to enjoy himself, rocking back and forth in his chair.
‘I would like you to look at some CCTV footage which shows you carrying the bins to the pavement outside your basement flat,’ Jack continued. ‘Pay attention, if you would, to the way one item drops from the bin and you quickly put it back.’
The CCTV footage was shown. Middleton yawned.
‘That is you, isn’t it, Mr Middleton?’
‘No comment.’
If Jack was becoming impatient, he didn’t show it. He remained affable, smiling at Middleton as if he was enjoying himself too, as he recounted the two occasions on which Middleton had assaulted a shop owner.
‘I am – or at least I was – confused by your actions. You seemed intent on being arrested, especially on the last occasion when you were arrested only a short time after assaulting the corner shop owner.’
Middleton glanced towards Ms Bamford as if he expected her to challenge Jack’s account, but she gave a small shake of her head.
‘Sorry, let me put things more simply to make it easier for you to understand. Both assaults were deliberately planned so that you would be taken into police custody, isn’t that right?’
‘No comment.’
‘That would mean that you were absent from the premises for a lengthy period if any human remains were found. You were very clever to think of doing that,’ Jack added, deliberately changing tack from his previous belittling of Middleton.
The narcissistic side of Middleton glimmered for a moment and he couldn’t resist answering.
‘I was in prison, like you said. Which makes me innocent, right?’
‘Not really,’ Jack said. ‘How would you know when they were killed unless you killed them? And you almost blew it the last time, because the bins weren’t collected due to a strike. This meant that the rotting body parts were left in the bin and could very easily have been discovered when they began to stink. Again, you tried to evade being caught by getting arrested, but something went wrong, didn’t it?’
‘No comment.’
‘You told Amanda to get rid of your victims’ clothing, so she made numerous trips to a charity collection point. Please look at the CCTV footage.’
They watched Glenda’s edited footage showing Amanda putting clothes in the charity collection bin.
‘Now, let me just freeze that section; you see the jumper? We now know that belonged to Trudie, and Amanda also kept a pair of pink socks belonging to her. Plus, she did not – as she had been told to do – get rid of your jeans.’
Rodney shrugged and gave a twisted smile. ‘No comment.’
‘We have your blood-stained jeans, Mr Middleton, just as we have the pink socks, also blood-stained; the DNA samples found on both these items were from two of your victims.’
The group in the viewing room were becoming restless. It was obvious that Jack was getting nowhere. Glenda asked if she should order in something for lunch, but Anik quickly said they should just call up to the canteen for them to bring it down.
‘Are they going to break for lunch?’ Laura asked.
‘At this rate we could be here until his thirty-six hours are up,’ Glenda said. ‘He doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned. On the contrary, he’s loving it, rocking back and forth in his chair with a big grin on his face . . . makes me want to slap him. And I find that woman really annoying, too. We should stop wasting time and just charge him with the murders. Get the bastard on trial; we’ve got enough evidence.’
‘There were more victims, girls we haven’t been able to identify. I think Jack’s trying to get information about them,’ Laura suggested.
‘Hang on . . .’ Anik said. He could see Jack was now leaning closer to Middleton, his hands flat on the table in front of him.
‘Mr Middleton, you have claimed to be suffering from mental health issues in order to avoid being placed in custody in the past. You have been described as suffering from paranoia, but you are also someone with narcissistic and psychopathic tendencies. Perhaps it would be useful to explore this area further.’
Miss Bamford rapped her pen on the table. ‘If you are inferring that my client is not mentally fit, then this meeting should be concluded.’
Jack shook his head. ‘I am not suggesting that at all, far from it. I think Mr Middleton is completely competent. But I’d like to try and understand why he slaughtered the three innocent young women we know of. I wondered why he hadn’t done the same to Amanda Dunn, also a very young runaway when he first met her. Instead, he kept her alive. Was it simply because she was a useful accomplice in drawing more innocent runaways to his flat? Or is there another deeper bond between them? What would you say to that, Mr Middleton?’
‘No comment.’
‘Isn’t it because she had also killed, before she ever met you?’
‘No comment.’
Middleton was once again rocking back and forth in his chair, smiling and shaking his head as if Jack was talking rubbish.
But Ms Bamford looked shocked, and so did DCI Clarke, neither of them knowing where this idea had suddenly come from.
‘I am now going to show some photographs from Mr Middleton’s childhood. He has no need to identify the people in the photographs; we know who they are.’
Jack laid out family photographs taken from Joyce Miller’s home. They showed Middleton as a young toddler, with numerous shots of him sitting on his aunt’s knee. There were some of him with his father, and finally one when Middleton was aged about seven.
‘Happy families . . . an ordinary happy little boy with his daddy, his aunt and, last but not least, here is a photograph of your mother.’
For the first time Middleton showed some reaction. He stopped rocking and sat up in his seat, his eyes flicking nervously from side to side.
Jack picked up the black and white photograph. ‘This is Abena Mensah in her Ghanaian school uniform, so pretty and so young. It’s the only picture I have of your mother. There is something written on the back.’
He held it up towards Middleton, but he pressed back in his chair. Jack turned it over.
‘The name is very faint, written in pencil. But there is something else written next to it in very childish handwriting. At first I found it very moving. “You should have taken me with you.”’
Ms Bamford pursed her lips. ‘What’s the relevance of this?’ Jack ignored her, staring at Middleton, who for the first time would not face Jack but looked away.
‘Look at me, Mr Middleton, look at me.’
Middleton slowly turned his head, his dark eyes glaring at Jack. His body was rigid, his hands clasped tightly together, resting on the table.
‘“You should have taken me with you.” This is your writing, isn’t it?’
‘No comment.’
Jack shook his head and gave a soft laugh.
‘I thought it was very sad because I was told she had abandoned you, leaving you with your father, who was already living with another woman, someone he wanted to marry. You were only seven years old. But this isn’t really sad, is it? Not if you read it in another way.’
Jack and Middleton stared at each other.
‘It’s a threat, a child’s threat. Written in anger, after she left you. After I read that note, I came to believe something happened in that happy family home, something horrendous, something brutal.’ Jack knew he would not have much time before Ms Bamford stepped in. The existence of the photograph had not been disclosed so she had no idea of what was coming. But it was having the desired effect on Middleton, as he jerked his head from side to side, his mouth drawn in a thin tight line, his whole body almost rigid.
Jack removed two more photographs from the file and placed them face down. Jack quietly asked Middleton to look at him.
‘Look at me, Rodney. Look at me. Your aunt rejected you, too. She weighs about thirty-five stone now; she’s deliberately eating herself to death because of what she knows, because of the secrets she has had to hide, secrets involving you and your father.’
‘OK, this has gone far enough,’ Ms Bamford said, raising her voice. ‘Either ask my client a further question connected to his arrest, or this interrogation ends now.’ She made as if to stand, pushing her chair back.
DCI Clarke at last spoke. ‘Please wait a moment.’ He turned to Jack with a pleading look, desperate for him to get to the point before the interview was terminated.
‘You had to wait a long time to take your revenge,’ Jack continued. He turned the photographs over. ‘Look at them. This is your youngest half-sister, little Susie. And this is Milly. Your aunt told me they are the last faces she sees every night and the first she sees every morning. You were the last face they saw, weren’t you, Rodney, before they burnt to death in the fire? Your father beat you up because he felt so guilty about what he did to your mother. They just wanted rid of you, didn’t they? They wanted you to leave the house, kicking you out. So you made sure they would feel the pain you had inside. Did you watch the fire eat up their tiny bodies trapped in the inferno?’
Middleton suddenly let loose with a howl like an animal. His face twisted into a terrifying mask of rage as he reached across the table to try to get hold of Jack. It was DCI Clarke who got round the table to drag him back into his seat, but the rage persisted as he screamed and cursed. Ms Bamford shot out of her seat in terror and Clarke then hit the emergency button, triggering two officers to rush in.
Middleton was foaming at the mouth as he raised both arms up in submission and was forced to sit back in his chair. ‘Handcuff him,’ DCI Clarke ordered.
‘I don’t need fucking handcuffs,’ Rodney snarled.
Ms Bamford asked for a break and Middleton turned towards her.
‘Just sit down, you cunt. I’m sick of you. Let me tell you, smartass Detective Warr, when I get out, I will kill you, understand me?’
Jack calmly returned to his second file and opened it again. He removed the photographs of Jamail, Trudie and Nadine and laid them out on the table one by one.
‘Did you kill Jamail Brown?’
Middleton glared at him, eyes blazing.
‘Yes!’
He gave the same snarling answer in relation to Trudie and Nadine, waving his hand over their photographs as if they meant nothing to him. The only images he could not look at were those of his little half-sisters. He laid his hand gently over their faces and started to cry.
The group in the viewing room were almost paralyzed with shock. They watched silently for the next two hours as Jack led Rodney Middleton through each of the murders. Middleton showed no remorse, and it was deeply disturbing when he laughed and admitted that there were more. He gave their names, seeming to enjoy the fact that there were so many. He also said that Amanda was like a slave to him, doing what he told her without question because she was in love with him, foolishly believing that he was the only person in her life who loved her. He claimed that she knew everything that happened to the girls they picked up. Finally Jack asked what Middleton knew about her past, but he wouldn’t repeat anything she had told him. It was the only decent thing he did.
By the time it was all over, Jack and DCI Clarke were exhausted. There was no exhilaration. They would have many more weeks of work ahead as they identified the other victims Middleton had named, and contacted their families, and they still needed to prove that Abena Mensah had been murdered by Rodney’s father. But they had the result they needed most. Rodney Middleton would plead guilty.
*
It was after 10 p.m. by the time Jack got home. All he wanted to do was to sit next to his wife with a glass of wine and order in a takeaway. Maggie was already waiting with a bottle open and two glasses.
‘Is it over?’ she asked.
‘Yes,’ he nodded. ‘He confessed.’
‘That’s fantastic! Did you all celebrate?’
‘No, it was a very tough and long day. I’m just glad it’s finished.’
‘Well, we can celebrate now.’ She poured two glasses of wine.
‘It’s not something I want to celebrate yet, Mags, because we still have the trial.’
She paused. ‘Well, there’s something we – you and me – can celebrate. You remember a few weeks back when we had that night of passion; not the recent one, but . . .’ She held up her glass. ‘I’m pregnant.’
For a second Jack thought he was about to faint. Instead, he took a deep breath and burst into tears.
Maggie wrapped her arms around him. ‘What are you crying for?’
‘Because it’s the best news ever.’