On the way back to the station I reflected on how we might use this information. We now had at least an outline of what the man looked like; I made a mental note to get Reg to correct the omission with the eyes. We also knew he was a meticulous planner, which indicated he was coldly calculating. I felt that what we needed now was one of those psychological profilers, who could give us an insight into the man’s personality, his behaviour patterns, possibly even the type of occupation he had. And, maybe, what had motivated him to this depraved self-indulgence in the first place. I had covered the subject at university, but I was well short of the experience to take something like this on. The nearest person I could think of who did have that kind of experience was Dr Simmons.
It was then I had another inspiration. What was it Connie had said that day of her vision? “He’s here; that horrible man is here!” What if I was right, and subconsciously, she had experienced a flashback, and this was the same man responsible for the murders of those children from the forest that had caused her breakdown? And, if it was, how could we ever tie them together without Connie fully recovering her memory? It was a fascinating postulation, and I decided to give it more thought. It was at that moment I felt something tugging at the back of my mind in this regard, but it was too elusive to pin it down. Perhaps it would come to me later.
When I got back to the station I quickly discovered I was in trouble.
“What the hell did you think you were doing, visiting the Marsdens without clearance?” Jim demanded.
“Oh. Hi,” I said nonchalantly. “I thought that’s where you were supposed to be?”
“Never mind me; that’s none of your concern. I want to know what you were doing there?”
I returned his scowl and sat down at the office table. “If you calm down, SIR, I’ll explain. And I didn’t realise I needed your permission to do my job!”
“Don’t come that one with me, Ange; it won’t wash. You knew I was due to visit the Marsdens and you also knew the state they’re in. What the hell were you hoping to achieve?”
I shrugged, philosophically. There was no point in trying to reason with him when he was in that kind of mood. “Is this case getting to you, Jim? Is that why you’re having a go at me? You’re beginning to sound like the super.”
He shook his head, more in frustration than anger. “Okay. Let’s start again, shall we? I didn’t go to the Marsdens because something came up here. So I sent Sergeant Kewell …” He was the third sergeant in our team. “He rang me on his mobile a few minutes before you came in to say you’d already been there - and asking me if there had been a duplication. Has there, Angie? Is that why you went? To persuade them to do a television appeal?”
“No! Of course not,” I protested. “I went on a completely different matter.” I pushed a finger forward, almost in his face. “Just listen for a moment, will you?” I snapped. “I interviewed a woman at the school this afternoon; when I showed her the photofit she remembered speaking with this creep a couple of days before the child was snatched. He wanted to know if she was Josephine’s mother.”
“So?”
“So he was trying to identify the child’s mother, so he could follow her, find out where she lived – everything about her.”
“And what would be the point of that? He didn’t take her from the house – he got her from the school.”
I sighed. God spare me from men!
“Because he was trying to give himself a clear run. I think someone immobilised the Marsdens’ car the night before the incident; that’s why Mrs Marsden was late. I’m pretty certain it was our man who engineered that. He knew she was going to be late for the school collection – he’d made sure of that. So he was able, somehow, to persuade the little girl her mummy had sent him to pick her up from school. Perhaps he was even wearing a chauffeur’s uniform – to make him appear more convincing. That’s why I went to the Marsdens’, to check out my theory about her being late for the school collection. It makes sense, don’t you think – Inspector?
He rubbed his chin, stubbly from two days’ growth, then – reluctantly, I thought – gave me one of his schoolboy grins.
“So, who’s a clever girl, then?”
“Piss off, Jim!” I said, laughing.
“And, for your information, young lady, this case is not getting to me! I just don’t like surprises. Anyway, your deduction’s very plausible. And, as you’ve no doubt guessed already, it tells us a lot more about him. He is not your typical paedophile; this one’s a planner. And you know what else bothers me?”
“He’s already planned the endgame.”
He took hold of my hand and gave it an affectionate squeeze, grinning all over his face.
“We’ll make a detective out of you yet, Sweetheart. Oh, and, as a matter of interest, the reason I didn’t go to the Marsdens’ was because the superintendent gave me another call. Evidently, DCI Templar’s decided to take early retirement – because of ill health, would you believe? So, you’re now talking to the new acting Detective Chief Inspector!”
“Jim!” I almost shouted. “That’s marvellous news. Congratulations! When will they make it permanent?”
He shrugged and spread his hands ceremoniously.
“Who knows. When and if we catch this bastard, I imagine. Still, I agree, it’s good news; it’s also flattering. And I’m sure we’re all pleased our old DCI has waved goodbye! Anyway,” he went on, “Frank Kewell’s talked the Marsdens into doing the TV interview. The crew will be here shortly, so we’d better be prepared.”
“Where’s it happening?”
“Here, in the conference room. And, since you’ve already met the folks, I’m making you the ‘babysitter’. Don’t have a problem with that, Ange, do you?”
I smiled; at the same time thinking that I’d better get out of there quickly. Just looking at him today for some reason made me feel incredibly horny; I was tempted to do something about it! Jim must have read my mind, because he suddenly appeared uncomfortable, as if I’d communicated the same feeling to him. I made a hasty exit.
* * * * * * * * * *
At the television interview I felt terribly sorry for the Marsdens, especially Mrs Marsden. It was almost impossible for her to maintain any sense of composure in front of the cameras. Most of the time she wept, saying very little; when she did speak, it came out fractured, like a woman breaking under the terrible strain. It was Mr Marsden who did most of the presentation, appealing for the public’s help more or less as we had scripted it. On the whole the superintendent thought it had gone extremely well, which, personally, I thought was a strange description. After all, we were dealing here with a potential tragedy; it wasn’t a variety show.
The film went out that night on all of the national news stations; all we could do now was wait to see if it provoked any response.