Less than an hour later, Brian Horton having persuaded the police car pool to collect us from Sylvia’s in a passing patrol car for the journey back to Steelhouse Lane, I was again knocking at the DCI’s door, this time feeling a little less apprehensive than beforehand. He nodded at me, and then pointed to a chair as he replaced his telephone.
“So how was your little excursion?” he said curtly, “Seen the Second Coming yet, have you?”
He was his usual sarcastic self, but, undeterred, I cleared my throat and said: “Sir, I know you’re going to take the piss – but she was really convincing. Honest.”
“Yeah, to you maybe – no surprise there. You’re not s’posed to be taking these nutters seriously – you’re just meant to get ‘em off my back. Don’t tell me you reckon these ‘psychic visions’ are for real! Jesus wept, if you’re that fucking gullible you want a change of career girl. This is a police station, not a bleedin’ spiritualist church!”
I felt my face reddening at the barb. It was unkind and unnecessary, I thought. “I realise that, Chief Inspector… And – no – I wasn’t ‘taken in’ by either of them. I did what I’ve been trained to do - listen, objectively, without prejudging the issues, and then report the findings to my superiors. That is precisely what I’m trying to do – if you’ll give me a chance… Sir.”
“All right, go on then,” he said gruffly. “You’ve got my attention.”
By the time I got to the part about the map his face was suffused with anger. Obviously he’d had enough, and, in fact, he was on the point of exploding. I didn’t give him the chance. When I submitted the evidential information he frowned, trying to appear cynical, but without doubt he was suitably impressed.
“Hmm. All right – maybe that is interesting. I don’t suppose you’ve checked it out have you?”
“Yes, sir; I have. I asked DS Robbins to talk to Alice’s mother. And she’s confirmed that Alice has had her appendix removed, and she does have a half-moon mole on her stomach.”
“Jesus! What the hell are we dealing with here?”
“A genuine psychic, maybe?” I suggested.
“Not so quick, constable. She could’ve found out about that in any number of ways. For instance, this Connie might have a little chum who knows Alice… Knows her well enough to have seen her without her kit on passed on and passed on those little nuggets. On the other hand, it might be some mental game these nutters like playing. A fucking stupid one, yeah, but still a game – not fucking evidence.”
“There is one way to find out, sir.”
“Yeah. Do tell?” he replied witheringly
“We could organise a small search team and follow the directions on the map. It shouldn’t take that long, and at least we’d know one way or the other.”
He pondered this suggestion for quite a while, occasionally referring to the map, as if he was seeking inspiration. “You say this girl – Connie – won’t take us to this place on the map?”
“Yes, sir. She says it’s too ‘scary’ – her words, not mine. Her mother says these visions are very traumatic for the child, so she’ll do all she can to protect her.”
“I think that might be the answer,” he said thoughtfully. “If she is for real – and I’m not saying she is, mind you – you’ll have to talk her into leading the search. That’ll call her bluff.”
“Sir, I don’t that’ll work,” I protested. “Connie was adamant that nothing on earth would persuade her to visit that place. She says it frightens the life out of her – and I believe her.”
“Constable,” he said testily, “you are a policewoman, aren’t you – not a wet-nurse? So use your training. Make the silly cow join the search.”
I was really stuck now. If I asked him for suggestions he would think I was an idiot; if I didn’t I would still be an idiot because I had no idea how to go about persuading the girl. “Stuff it!” I thought. “All I’ve got to lose is my job! Oh yeah, and my career… And my self-respect and…”
“Sorry sir, but it’s not like I’ve got the experience you have. Can you give me any hints how I might persuade her, or her mother?”
He glowered at me for a moment, and then softened.
“You’ve just answered your own question, Angela.”
“Sir?”
“The mother. That’s how you get through to the daughter. You tell Mrs Rowden that if her daughter won’t cooperate you’ll have to arrest her – the mother, not the daughter – for wasting police time. That should focus her fucking mind a bit, don’t you think?”
“Are you serious?” I gasped. “You’d actually arrest her?”
“Too bloody right I would! Since that little girl disappeared we’ve had more than 500 calls from punters, most of them genuine, and all of them out of concern… None of them any fucking use, mind you. But this one – this one – has the gall to actually turn up here, waste my time listening to her crazy story, and then gets me to send you off to talk to the kid, only to be told that the most she’s prepared to do to prove her story is to draw us a pretty picture. If that ain’t wasting police time then I don’t know what is. You gonna tell me I’m wrong, eh? What about you, Constable Horton?”
Brian Horton had been sitting there like a deaf mute, saying nothing. “You’ve got a point, sir.”
“And how did she handle herself?” he was asked.
“Well, she handled herself quite well, sir. But as you said, I was only an observer.”
I butted in. “Since you put it like that – yes, sir, I do agree with you. Shall I go back on my own or take Constable Horton with me?”
“No. You don’t take Horton with you, Angela; you take DS Robbins. I want them to realise we mean business. I’ll set it up for you – but you make sure this Connie’s going to be at home. She’s the one we’re putting the pressure on. Okay?”
“Thank you, sir. I’ll sort it.”
* * * * * * * * * *
It took the team the better part of two hours to find the road into Longwood, the site Connie had pinpointed on her map; it was some four or five miles from the city centre. In reality it was nothing more than a dirt track, barely visible from the side road leading in to it. Frankly, if Connie had not been with us, I doubt if we would have found it at all. As it was, we were able to proceed only so far with the vehicles before the undergrowth closed in on us, and we were forced to continue on foot. Even though there were eight of us in all, I still found myself sharing the teenager’s description that this was a very scary place. I couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to visit this place with anything other than evil intent. The foliage seemed to wrap itself around us the more deeply we penetrated the forest. Once or twice I stumbled, catching my trousers, making me glad I wasn’t wearing a skirt, and having to be helped back to my feet by a very disgruntled Detective Sergeant Robbins, who regarded the whole excursion as a bizarre pantomime. From time to time he swore aloud at the continuing discomfort, particularly when the heavens opened and the rain dripped onto us incessantly from the overhanging branches. Also, it was becoming increasingly difficult to see as the rain blurred the light from our torches. And I was becoming incredibly weary – my shift had finished hours ago and I wasn’t even sure I now qualified for overtime.
From time to time we stopped while Connie rechecked her bearings. The whole time, since leaving her house, she had not spoken, even though I tried my best to apologise to her for the threats to her mother, which had forced her to accompany us. I had tried to be as gentle as circumstances would allow, but it made little impact on the girl. Unfortunately, our dear Sergeant Robbins, on the other hand, was about as tough as they come. He had positively intimidated poor Sylvia to the point where I thought she was going to pass out. He was still relatively young for a detective sergeant; much more to the point, he was extremely good-looking. He was a little over six foot, with a mop of sandy hair and the sharpest blue eyes I had ever seen. It would be an understatement if I were to admit to fancying him, even in these ludicrous surroundings.
In the event, his tactics certainly did the trick. When Connie saw the state her mother was in she readily agreed to join the search.
Eventually I gave up the attempt at conversation; it was fairly obvious the girl blamed me for her distressing situation, making it clear by her silence that she was here only under extreme duress. I had to admit, secretly, that I had a great deal of sympathy for her, and in a way I was half hoping that the whole episode would turn out to be, as the DCI suspected, some kind of irrational game.
* * * * * * * * * *
We must have been travelling for almost an hour, fighting our way through the foliage, before we came across the glade Connie had earlier referred to. Very little light was visible, but what there was was sufficient for us identify the woodman’s cottage she had also mentioned. I felt a shiver run up my spine when I spotted it. Either Connie’s visions were indeed real, or else she had visited this place a number of times in the past. She couldn’t possibly have known about it otherwise.
At the sight of the single-storey building Connie began to shiver, just slightly at first, them almost uncontrollably. When I put my arm around her shoulder she didn’t resist, convincing me she was genuinely frightened. She refused to enter the derelict cottage, so I stayed outside with her while Sergeant Robbins and two of the others went in. It seemed to be an age before they came out, the sergeant looking particularly grim.
“What?” I asked. “Found something?”
He nodded but didn’t explain. Instead he dialled a number on his mobile, and I heard him asking for a police helicopter and forensic assistance. He gave instructions as to our location, and then instructed us to form a ring with our flashlights pointing upwards.
Standing in the open we were all soaked by the time the helicopter touched down. The DCI and a couple of civilians emerged with various equipment and went into the hut. I was later informed they were SOCO – Scene of Crime Officers.
Connie, holding my hand, said: “They’ve found the kids’ clothes.” She started to weep softly. “The bodies are in the pit at the back of the building.”
I took her with me inside, and was met with the traditional glower from the DCI. “What you doing in here?” he demanded.
“Connie says the children’s bodies are in a pit at the back of this hut.”
He rubbed his face wearily with his hand, glancing round at the neatly arranged piles of clothing in a corner of the room, many of the individual items clearly showing bloodstains. “Can you show us, young lady?”
Connie didn’t speak; she simply turned, led me by the hand, and took me round to the back of the hut.
“Where?” the DCI said gruffly. “What fucking pit? I can’t see anything.” He pointed to the area around us; there didn’t appear to be anything there.
Connie ignored his abuse, walked a few yards towards a bush, pulled back the foliage and revealed a rusty metallic ring attached to what looked like an iron trapdoor.
It took two of the constables to open the cover. An overpowering, foul stench hit us immediately, causing one of the officers to vomit. Covering his face with a handkerchief Jim Robbins approached the cavity and shone his torch into the black hole. It was obviously an old septic tank that hadn’t been emptied for years.
“Oh, sweet Jesus! No!” He stepped away from the pit and visibly buckled at the knees, at the same time pressing the handkerchief hard against his mouth. Beyond him I could make out, from the reflection of his torch, the decaying hand from a child’s body, encircled, almost like a halo, with hair, her decomposed face protruding above the surface of the revolting sewage tank. A little further away I was sure I could see the skeletal features of a small girl. I felt my own knees give way at this ghoulish sight. But it was Connie who actually pulled me down with the tightness of her grip as she fell to the ground in a faint. Her whole body was convulsing with an epileptic type of seizure. She was frothing at the mouth and her eyes were open but glazed, as if she had escaped into a different world. Frightened for her I leant down beside her, unsure what to do, but wiping her mouth and covering her with my jacket. Then she began to moan, softly at first, and then louder and louder, like a dog grieving at the feet of its master; more feral than human.
“No!” she then screamed. “Don’t hurt me! Please don’t hurt me again!”
All I could do was hold her to me tightly, tears coursing down my own cheeks. “Poor girl,” I kept thinking, over and over. “What have we done to you?”
“Get that kid out of here!” DCI Templar shouted angrily. “This is a crime scene, not a fucking nursery. Robbins, tape off the area and get another helicopter here; we need more equipment. You – Crossley!” he snapped at me. “Take that child back on the ‘copter. Get a doctor to meet you at the hospital. And for Christ’s sake shut her up, can’t you?”
Fuming, I half carried, half dragged Connie away from the scene and towards the helicopter. I remember distinctly hearing Sergeant Robbins telling the DCI to piss off as he dropped what he was doing and came over to help me. “Ignore him, Ange,” he seethed. “The guy’s an insensitive arsehole.”
Together we lifted poor Connie, still sobbing hysterically, onto the helicopter, and Sergeant Robbins gave the pilot instructions.
“Take her to St Thomas’s, Andrew, will you? If you radio ahead they’ll let you land on the roof. Ange, why don’t you go with her? I’d go myself, but I’m going to be tied up here for quite a while - obviously.”
I felt sick and dizzy myself at the horrors I had witnessed, and, frankly, I was relieved to be leaving the nightmarish scene. During the journey I hugged Connie, trying my best to soothe her, but without success. Fifteen minutes later we landed at the hospital and I transferred the weeping and trembling young girl into the care of a doctor and a nurse. All I could think was: “Dear God, what have I done to you?” as I half-collapsed against a wall of the hospital roof.
Hindsight was a wonderful thing; if only we’d believed her story at the beginning all this could have been avoided. I felt terrible: consumed with guilt, and for the first time regretting ever joining the police force. I stayed on the roof for a while, ignoring the heavy rain, unconcerned that I had lost my jacket and torn my trousers, not even worrying whether I should go back to the scene or just go home. In the end I decided to wait at the hospital to see what the diagnosis was on Connie. She was my responsibility and there was no way I could abandon her, although I did drift off to sleep in the waiting room. An hour or so later a nursing sister awakened me to tell me that Connie was heavily sedated. She also said her mother was on the way, so it seemed sensible for me to return to the station for an update.