Scores of reporters, standing alongside a number of television cameras, were milling outside the station when we arrived; someone, obviously, had leaked news of the discovery to the media. Jim was absolutely furious. Somehow he managed to hold a tight expression on his face as we made our way through the mob, ignoring the barrage of questions about the child’s clothing, until we reached the steps of the station. Then he turned to address them.
“At this stage,” he began, “you people know just about as much as we do. Aside from confirming that some clothes belonging to a child have been found, I have nothing to add. And I advise you not to speculate – any of you. We don’t yet know who the clothes belong to, and until we’re certain we will be making no further comment.”
Ignoring the responses this statement triggered we headed towards the incident room, Jim still seething with anger. He stormed into his office whilst I discreetly went over to my desk. There were two messages on my pad, one from the Marsdens, the other – coincidentally – from Dr Simmons. I was curious in both cases, except with the Marsdens I suspected that one of the more insensitive members of the press had contacted them about the discovery of the clothes. Just then, Peter Corkhill came over to talk to me, an obvious expression of curiosity on his face.
“What have we got?” he asked, pulling up a chair..
Sighing heavily, I put him in the picture about this morning’s developments, describing the child’s clothing we had found and the way they had been so carefully laid out on the ground.
“’Sounds like they’re from our missing youngster – Josephine.”
“Yeah. But we’ll have to wait for forensics to confirm that, Peter. And someone’s already leaked it to the media – have you had a look outside the building?”
“We all have,” he said, gesturing around the room full of officers. “It seems to me, Angie, it could well be the killer who leaked the information. That would fit with your idea - that the bastard’s playing games with us. No doubt he’s getting a lot of fun outta this.”
I nodded my head.
“I agree. But we’ll still have to wait for forensics. If he’s left us a message it shouldn’t be too difficult to find… What?” I said, as I saw him hesitate.
“Do you fancy joining me one evening … you know … for a drink?”
I didn’t know what to say. It was the last thing I expected him to ask me. It wasn’t that he was unattractive, I actually quite liked Peter, with his boyish good looks and wicked grin. It was just that… Well, it’s all about chemistry I suppose. “Do you mean socially, Peter, or to talk about the case?” was all I said in the end.
“Well … socially, I thought. I’d like to get to you know you better … you know … working together on the case …”
I smiled. “You don’t know then … about the DCI and me?”
“Oh. I see.” His face now had disappointment written all over it. “No … sorry, Angie … I didn’t realise. Hope you didn’t mind my asking?”
“It was very sweet of you, Peter. And any other time…”
I stopped him from moving away by picking up the note from the Marsdens.
“Have you seen this?” I enquired, changing the subject to save him.
“The Marsdens – yes. Jeannie Crane took the call from Mr Marsden. She said he sounded upset.”
“Yeah. I can guess why. It suggests to me that someone’s already told the parents what we’ve found out – maybe it was him… Or the killer...”
And if I was right and I rang them, I thought, I wouldn’t have a clue what to say. Denial was out of the question. I shook my head when Peter asked me if I’d like him to stay. I picked up the phone and dialled the number: there was only one way to deal with this, and that was by telling the truth.
“Mr Marsden?” I said when a voice answered. “Good morning; Sergeant Crossley, West Midlands Crime Squad. I got a message saying you wanted to talk to me. How can I help?”
“Here goes!” I thought.
“Sergeant? Yes, thank you for ringing. It’s just that my wife had a very distressing call this morning. One of those anonymous callers.”
“Really? You mean as in heavy breathers?”
“No. Anonymous as in he didn’t give his name.”
“What did he say that distressed your wife so much, Mr Marsden?” I heard him stifle a choke.
“He said he’d left Josephine’s clothes in a field for you to find. He then said for you – the police, that is – not to bother searching for her body because you’d never find it. What do you think, Sergeant? Is he some kind of nutter? Or should we take it seriously?”
I hesitated, remembering Jim’s words about being out of our depth.
“Mr Marsden, could you try dialling 1471 for me? I’ll put the phone down and ring you back in a few moments.”
“I’ve already done that. I got one of those ‘the caller did not leave a number’ replies.”
“What about his accent? Could you identify it?”
“Yes. Definitely a Midlands accent. Quite pronounced, actually.”
“What time was the call?”
“A couple of hours ago – he got my wife and me out of bed. I rang you straight away. It’s serious, isn’t it? Have you found her clothes? Is that it?”
“Please Mr Marsden,” I said, as levelly as I could. “Let me check this out. I’ll get back to you quickly, I promise.”
“You haven’t answered my question, Sergeant. Is there something you’re not telling me?”
“No, sir. there’s not. The truth is, yes, we have found a child’s clothing. And, yes, we did find them in a field not far from here. But so far we’ve no idea who they belong to. It could well be that your caller’s just a sick hoaxer who gets his kicks out of upsetting people. So, I can only ask you to try not to worry. And please, Mr Marsden, can I urge you not to tell your wife about this? There’s no point in upsetting her more unless we have to. Now, I have to check out where this call came from and, as I said, I’ll get back to you as soon as I have anything.”
I ended the call and went straight into Jim’s office. “I need you to authorise a phone trace. Urgently.”
“What’s the panic?”
“Someone called the Marsdens’ home about two hours ago, claiming to be our man. I want to try and trace the call.”
“Okay. Give me the n umber. It’ll only take a sec.”
I waited anxiously for a result. Jim was already shaking his head as he replaced the phone. “No luck, I’m afraid. It was a public call box in Walsall. So, what did this character say exactly?”
I repeated the conversation, almost word for word, including the part where I was forced to admit we had found some clothing.
“You were right to tell Marsden. The press’ll be onto him before long - so at least you’ve managed to pre-empt them. Do you think it’s our man?”
“I’ve got a feeling it is, yeah. Mr Marsden said the caller had a strong Midlands accent, which ties in with the character that turned up at the school. And, if it is him, you’re right; we definitely need a profiler on the job. In fact, this telephone call might help him.”
“Yeah. I agree. Look, Ange, you ring him back and I’ll chase up forensics. I know it’s too early for results, but it won’t do any harm to push them. And then get on to your Dr Simmons, will you?”
I pacified Mr Marsden as best I could, but I was forced to lie when he asked me if we had found a pair of shoes. Red, patent leather, with a buckle-over strap. I told him I hadn’t actually seen the clothes, so I couldn’t comment. I don’t think I convinced him. Next, I returned Dr Simmons’ call. It seemed to take forever to connect with him.
“Angie. Thanks for calling back. It was Connie who wanted to speak with you, actually. She said she’d tried to contact you on your mobile, but apparently you had it switched off.”
“Oh, Christ. Yes, I haven’t turned it on yet this morning.” The truth was I hadn’t wanted anyone disturbing me last night at Jim’s. “How is she, Dr Simmons? There isn’t a problem, is there?”
“No. Only that she told me at breakfast this morning that she definitely wants to leave Forest Hills. I’ve just got off the phone from talking with Ashworth House – to see if they can accommodate her straight away.”
“Straight away?” I said, puzzled. “You mean she wants to go right now, this morning?”
“Yes. Curious, isn’t it?”
“What’s brought on this sudden urgency? Has something happened”
“Well, if it has, Angie, she’s not telling me. The only thing I’ve noticed about her today is that she is decidedly nervous. D’you want to talk to her? I can put you through to the lounge; I’m sure she’ll be – what? Relieved? – To hear from you.”
“Have you made the arrangements with Ashworth House?”
“Yes. Not a problem. I’m taking her there myself – about lunchtime.”
“Why don’t I meet you there, Doctor? If you let Connie know, I can have a chat with her then. There’s something I want to discuss with you anyway.”
“Hmm. Sounds mysterious.”
“Well, it’s police business, actually. But I don’t want to talk about it on the phone.”
“Even more mysterious. All right, Angie. You obviously know the place; I’ll tell Connie, and we’ll see you there about one-ish, if that’s okay?”
“Fine. It’ll give me time to sort one or two things out here first. See you later.”
I was curious about Connie’s sudden decision, although I did have an idea what it was all about. I knew that in some way it was connected with her last vision, and if that were true, and she was in any danger, then I for one would feel happier if she was literally just around the corner where I could keep a close watch on her.
Just then, Jim came out of his office with a fax sheet in his hand. “That bit of dirt you spotted on one of the shoes? It’s blood.” He stopped me from interrupting. “Before you ask, no, we don’t know yet whose it is. We might know that later in the day. It’ll take some time, though, for the DNA to come through. For now, we assume nothing. And we say nothing. Okay?”
“Right. You have to admit, it does look ominous.”
“I’m admitting nothing at this stage. I’ve told you before, Ange, we’re not in the business of speculation. Now, did you manage to get hold of your Dr Simmons?”
“I’m meeting up with him at lunchtime.”
“What? You’re going out to the hospital again? Can’t he come here?”
“I’m not going to the hospital, Jim, I’m meeting him at Ashworth House. He’s taking Connie there; she’s leaving Forest Hills.”
“Well, that’s got to be good news; she’s a spooky kid, and, no, I don’t mean that unkindly. Isn’t Ashworth House a halfway house?”
“Yes. Dr Simmons has arranged for her stay there and sort herself out a bit before she moves back into the community.”
“I hope it works out for her; she’s suffered a hell of a lot. I take it you’re going to keep a sisterly eye on her while she’s there?”
I nodded. “It’ll be easier for me, anyway. And I’ve told Connie she can spend the occasional weekend at my place.”
“Sounds like a good idea. That should cheer her up - looks like she’s going to need you for quite some time yet. Listen, when you speak to Simmons, try and get him to come back here with you, will you? That’s assuming he’s up for helping us. I’d like the Super to brief him. You know the kind of thing: terms of reference, how long he thinks it might take, how much it’s going to cost us, and – more to the point – can we afford it? But we do need to know now – today. One way or the other. Time’s against us.”
“I appreciate that. Let me talk to him. I’ll call you from the residence.”