Detective Chief Superintendent Thompson and I established an immediate understanding – we took an instant dislike to each other! He wasn’t a man you could easily like. The chief wasn’t merely big; he was huge and grossly overweight. He must have been around six four or five, and weighed in the region of 18 stone, dwarfing everyone else in the room. I put him at no more than mid- forties – young for a DCS. His hair was thick, as were his eyebrows, framing dark, intense eyes that appeared to be constantly glaring at you. Everything about him was overpowering: his heavily jowled face, his bull-like neck, perched on immense shoulders. I imagined his appearance was something he had learnt to take full advantage of. It came as no surprise, either, to discover that he was completely chauvinistic, making little attempt to disguise his contempt of women officers. I drew an immediate comparison between him and our old DCI, except he was much senior in rank.
I was reminded of a passage in a book my mother once passed on to me to read, called The Moon’s a Balloon (the autobiography of David Niven), where he said: “Have you ever had the feeling things are so bad, they can’t possibly go any worse? And then they do!” I could only think David Niven must have crossed paths at some time with the chief! I was also curious to discover how Jim and he would interact. I didn’t have to wait long to find out.
There were eight of us around the table, including the DCS and Dr Simmons. The superintendent was present, along with Frank Kewell, Peter Corkhill and Peter Durning; Jim and I completed the assembly.
After the perfunctory introductions the DCS said, in a voice as gruff as his demeanour, “I want you to understand that I am here solely as an observer; it’s not my intention to replace the officer-in-charge on this case. However, as you all know, the Police Authority per se is coming in for an awful lot of flack, not just from the various media but also the many institutions that have a vested interest in child abuse cases. As a result, questions are being raised at ministerial level in London, and I’ve been assigned the task of providing answers. I trust you people here today will be able to answer those questions to my satisfaction.”
“And if we can’t?” Jim asked, a distinct chill in his tone.
“You’re not going to make this difficult for me, Chief Inspector, are you?”
“No, sir. Not at all. I just don’t appreciate having my intelligence insulted by having patronising bullshit dumped on me.”
“Jim!” Superintendent Connors interjected. “Can we calm down here? We have a common objective in solving this case; getting unnecessarily defensive is not the right way to go about that – don’t you agree?”
Jim shrugged and waved a hand towards everyone around the table. “All of us here have worked our balls off, day and night, to achieve that, Phil. I don’t think it’s being defensive to react when a senior officer from Scotland Yard is suddenly brought in over our heads unannounced, and patronises us. Don’t you agree?” he added sarcastically.
The superintendent’s face coloured at the obvious slight, whilst DCS Thompson’s facial expression remained belligerently unchanged. He was well prepared for a fight; I was glad it wasn’t me who was taking him on.
“Let’s cut the infighting, shall we?” he barked. “I’m not here to criticise the West Midlands force, nor to step on anybody’s toes deliberately, but – whether you like it or not – London intends to raise the profile of this case nationally, and I’ve been sent here as part of that exercise. Now, it’ll make my job a lot easier if I do have your co-operation, but, with or without it, I fully intend to complete my job, and if anyone doesn’t like that, or finds it in any way unacceptable, then I suggest you make your position known here and now.
“Chief inspector, I’m sorry we got off to a bad start, and I hope we can correct that. Your excellent endeavours in this case are, believe me, well documented, and I trust you’ll accept my word that I’ve no intention of undermining you. Why don’t we agree that I’m here purely to supplement both yourself and the superintendent? So, are you willing to put your reservations to one side and see if we can work together?”
Jim nodded his agreement. “Since you put it like that, chief – yes, I can accept that. Where do you want to start?”
The sigh of relief from each of us was distinctly audible around the table, and I felt the tension easing. It was clear, however, that Jim still regarded the presence of the DCS as interference, and I wondered just how long this temporary truce would last.
“I’ve been going through the various reports on the case,” the chief began, “and I have to say they’re very thorough and professional. However, there are one or two matters that are puzzling London regarding to the source of some of your information. Now, in the normal course of events, no one would dream of questioning this; but, since (as I’ve already said) this is a case of national – if not international – import, these questions need to be answered.”
“We’ll do our best, sir,” Jim conceded. Personally I wasn’t so sure. Why did I have the distinct impression he was fishing in the murky waters of psychic phenomena?
“Good. Well, let me start at the very beginning, may I? With the disappearance of the child called Alice, Alice Newton, back in ’99. That was when your force made the startling discovery of a burial ground in the woods, when, in your search for the missing child, you uncovered a total of seven bodies – including, I might add, that of the child, Alice. Am I right so far?”
We all, other than Peter Durning, nodded.
“So, that would be my first question. Who gave you the tip-off where to look for the body? You see, it’s puzzling, because the only person who’d possibly know of the bodies’ existence would be the killer – and he’d be unlikely to tell you, wouldn’t he?”
Before Jim, or the superintendent, could respond, the DCS picked up the thread again. “Then we had a long period of ‘apparent’ inactivity on the part of the paedophile, didn’t we? Just over four years, in fact. Then, another child goes missing. Let me see...” (he examined his notes in the file) “...Yes – here we are: a Josephine Marsden, abducted from outside her school in Solihull. That would be – what? – Three months ago, or thereabouts?”
“Is this absolutely necessary?” Jim asked.
The chief glowered at him, as if it were Jim who was now insulting his intelligence.
“Indulge me, Chief Inspector, will you? All will be revealed presently. Now, where was I? Oh yes; Josephine Marsden. Now, it is fully explained how you found the child’s clothes in that particular field as you did. And I can also understand how the Marsdens came to know their child was dead before you did. Nothing particularly esoteric about either of those incidents…”
“Oh, Christ!” I thought. I was right. This is where he was leading us.
“But this was followed by the abduction of the child, Lucy, from the children’s playground a couple of weeks ago. The question – again – that is puzzling us, and – again – it is not covered in any of the reports, is how could you possibly know what make of vehicle the assailant was driving? There were no direct eyewitnesses, other than those already mentioned in the file.”
Once again Jim tried to interrupt and was stopped by the raised hand of the DCS.
“Bear with me a little longer. Next we come to the events of the last few days. The discovery of the bodies in the old coalmine shaft. Now, once again, according to your file records, we have evidence of yet another amazing piece of detection work. Someone, unnamed, happens to give the force a tip-off, that in the wilds of Derbyshire, a mile below the surface, you’ll find the bodies of another 11 children, including the missing Josephine Marsden – murdered, no doubt, by the same perpetrator as the other children.”
He leant back in his chair, looking every inch like a predatory gorilla, and bunched his huge hands together, almost as if he was trying to make them disappear. For a moment I had a vision of him, naked, climbing on top of me, not so much for sex but to crush me to death. Momentarily, I felt myself unintentionally giggling.
“You find something funny in all this, Sergeant?”
“No, sir,” I choked. “I’m sorry; I was distracted.”
He glared at me, making me feel very small.
“So,” he continued, “we now come to the question of the girl – Connie Rowden, isn’t it?”
“I was beginning to wonder what I was doing here,” Paul said. “Is that what this is all about? ...My patient?”
“If you like, yes. But there’s a lot more to it than that, doctor, isn’t there?”
“Perhaps it would be more helpful, Chief Superintendent, if you were to get to the point, instead of indulging in sophistry,” the superintendent said caustically.
“The point is, my dear fellow, that on the one hand we have a whole range of seemingly unexplained phenomena going on - no file notes, in fact no record of any description where they came from, and on the other hand we’ve a young lady being afforded the highest possible security for her personal protection, again with neither formal justification nor explanation. Now, if we add this catalogue of events together, what do we have?”
“Is that a rhetorical question, sir?” Jim asked, an expression of pure innocence on his face.
“Don’t fuck with me, Chief Inspector! You know exactly what I’m getting at. Let me make it crystal clear for you. This station’s under siege from the world’s media; but so’s London, and we’re determined to make sure the British Police Authority doesn’t end up the laughing stock of the Western world.
“And in case any of you might think we’re completely stupid, let me point out that one or two questions were raised at Scotland Yard when you found the first burial site. The only reason the matter was never followed up was because you managed to contain the publicity at an acceptable level. That’s no longer the case; as I’ve said, we now have to treat this as an international issue, and we don’t deal with cases of this magnitude by delegating them to the local force. That would be irresponsible of us. So, we need answers to those questions, namely: where did your information come from regarding the events I have outlined? Just who is this Connie Rowden? And are our two concerns interrelated?
“Is that succinct enough for you, Superintendent? Or do you still believe it’s sophistry as you pretentiously put it?”
The superintendent cleared his throat nervously, and then shook his head in disagreement.
“You said you were going to make it clearer, Chief, but, I’m sorry, it still isn’t clear to me,” he commented. “You’re surely not expecting us to reveal the sources of our information, are you?”
“It isn’t clear to me, either,” Frank added. At the same time I noticed that Peter Corkhill was also shaking his head. Jim, on the other hand, remained silent – as I did, on the basis that I didn’t think the DCS was particularly seeking my response.
The chief superintendent sighed, as if he were disappointed. “Okay,” he replied. “Since you people obtusely refuse to understand the subtle approach, I’ll spell it out for you by removing the sagacity.”
“Bloody hell!” I thought. I wasn’t half hearing some fancy words since I started on this case!
“Someone, somehow, has been furnishing this force with information regarding these killings, including the whereabouts of burial sites, that could only have originated either from the killer himself – which we have already discounted – or from sources of, shall we say, an esoteric nature. Then a mystery figure appears in the name of Connie Rowden – let me see... Yes, here we are,” he said, after checking his notes once more. “She was hospitalised in Forest Hills psychiatric hospital in ’99 – coincidental year that, wasn’t it? – where she stayed till only a few months ago, when she transferred to Ashworth House, a psychiatric halfway house establishment. She’s resided there, with full police protection, up to today, when a murder occurred in the building; the murder, in fact, of the housekeeper – without, I might add, any apparent motive.
“Now, I appreciate you haven’t yet had the opportunity of filing a report on this matter, but – and please tell me if I am wrong – here we have yet another coincidence involving the ubiquitous Miss Rowden.
“I’ll finish my preamble with one final and decisive point. As of today, the West Midland force is no longer in a position to maintain its veil of confidentiality over this situation, because, gentlemen – and Sergeant,” he said, pointing towards me “– the cat is literally out of the bag. Unknown to you, your CID’s been under investigation for some time now, by a television documentary company intent on publicly disclosing your various methods of detection, including – I might add – some detailed aspects of the role of your Connie Rowden.”
Jim glanced across at me and a look of understanding passed between us. Evidently we were both thinking the same thing; it had to be the persistent interviewer at the burial site – the one who wanted to know where our tip-off had come from.
“We in London know this to be true,” the chief continued, “because the television company’s asked to interview the commander of the National Crime Unit, and we have already been given a brief on the format.
“There,” he said on a point of conclusion; “that should be clarification enough – even for you people. Now I demand some answers. Who’d like to begin? How about you, Doctor? This young lady is presumably still your patient; what can you tell me about her? And, more importantly, how exactly does she fit into the scheme of things?”
“Can I say something first?” I interjected.
He nodded assent. “If you must, and it’s relevant,” he said curtly.
“Well, I’d like to know, Sir, if Connie – Miss Rowden – is likely to have her name splashed over the front pages of the newspapers and on television in the very near future. Because, if she is, it’ll put her in an extremely dangerous position; it’s not just her safety, it’s her life that’ll be at risk.”
The chief leaned forward intently. “The very purpose of my presence here, sergeant, is to cut right through this obscure crap you insist on peddling and get at the truth. And if this young lady’s life is placed in jeopardy it will be entirely down to your secretive code of practice. So, I demand you tell me just what the hell you are talking about. And again, if you don’t mind, I prefer to begin at the beginning.” He pointed a finger at me – threateningly, I thought. “Tell me who this bloody girl is, will you?”
So I told him. From the very beginning, which is what he had ‘demanded’, and I watched his face remain totally impassive throughout my statement. From time to time he made a note of certain things I had said, which no doubt he would refer back to later, but other than that he didn’t interrupt.
I led off with my first meeting with Connie’s mother, and how that had moved on to her leading a search party into the woods and straight to where the septic tank was that contained the bodies of the seven children. At no time did I make any attempt to apologise for my involvement, nor for my subsequent friendship with Connie. I explained to the chief the nature of her visions, and the dramatic effect they had upon her, and how the discovery of the bodies in the woods had caused her breakdown. It was only on hearing this that he interrupted.
“Is that correct, doctor?” he asked Paul.
“Yes. She experienced a disassociative fugue as a direct result of the trauma.”
“Do you mind explaining exactly what that is – in layman’s terms, I mean.”
“In essence, it means that a part of the memory area of the brain shuts down completely, in order to block out any painful or intolerable experiences. It’s the mind’s way of coping with a traumatic stress situation. Sometimes that particular part of the memory never returns – and so far that’s the case with Connie.”
The DCS looked at Paul in bewilderment. “Surely, you’re not telling me you kept her in a psychiatric hospital for over four years because she was suffering from amnesia?”
It was Paul’s turn to glare at him, as if he couldn’t believe anyone could be so stupid. “Don’t be ridiculous,” he snapped. “The child was totally dysfunctional in the beginning, displaying all the symptoms of cataleptic collapse. It was more than a year before she could speak, and even today she has absolutely no knowledge of the events before her breakdown. And” (this time he was the one to point an accusing finger at the DCS) “she remains mentally fragile, and the type of publicity you just referred to could induce a further and intractable mental disintegration.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” he said acidly. “Continue with your statement, Sergeant.”
I took him through the various phases of my relationship with Connie, including the vision she had experienced of Josephine Marsden’s abduction, followed by her insight into the clothes left in the field, and then on to the subsequent vision of Josephine’s body being dumped down the mine shaft. I told him also of the vision she had had, in advance, of the incident in the park when Lisa was abducted, and how Connie was able to describe the vehicle involved, including the type, the colour and a partial registration number. And, more to the point, how she was subsequently proved correct in every detail.
I then took the DCS through the process of elimination we had adopted in identifying the abandoned coalmine used as the burial ground for the 11 murdered children. Finally, I recounted Connie’s abject terror of the killer, how she was convinced he knew who she was, and how he was intent on killing her, adding that this was the principal rationale in providing her with round-the-clock police protection.
When I had finished I sat back in my chair and let out a deep breath at the stress of reliving the experiences again.
There was silence around the table. I noticed the superintendent had lost all colour from his face, whilst Jim sat there silent and with a grim expression. Paul leant across from the other side of the table where he was sitting and gave my hand a reassuring grip. Frank was staring at the DCS, openly hostile, and even the two Peters gave me an encouraging glance.
“You seem to be the principal ‘agent provocateur’ in all this,” the chief said. “Would that be true?”
I nodded, feeling at the same time there was nothing left for me to say.
“And you, Superintendent? Were you aware that all this was taking place? In fact, perhaps it was you who sanctioned it – would that be correct?”
“No. He did not sanction it,” Jim said harshly. “In fact, to be fair, the super refused to be involved in any of what you describe as ‘esoteric nonsense’. I was the officer who took the responsibility, and I was the one who sanctioned it. So, if you want to blame someone for this, I’m your man.”
The DCS ignored him. “Please answer my question, Superintendent, will you?”
“If I sanctioned it, then it was by omission. And the reason there’s no reference in the official reports to Miss Rowden’s contribution is because those were my specific orders. What the DCI’s told you is essentially accurate; of course, I knew about the girl’s psychic input, but I chose, from a formal point of view, to disregard it. Does that fully answer your question, Chief Superintendent?”
“Yes. Quite. However, your disregard of the full facts is now likely to backfire, not only on you and the West Midlands force, but also on the police authorities. And we must find a way of dealing with that satisfactorily.”
“How do you suggest we achieve that?” Jim asked. “We can hardly falsify the records, can we?”
“I’m not advocating we go that far, no. But I don’t see the harm in updating the files retrospectively. Do any of you?”
“Wait a minute, Chief,” the superintendent said. “Am I understanding you correctly? You want us now to belatedly introduce this young lady into the case records, as a kind of addendum?”
The DCS thrust his face belligerently towards the superintendent, who visibly flinched at the perceived threat. “Did this young lady, Connie Rowden, play a somewhat vital role in the proceedings, or not?”
“Well, yes. We’ve already conceded that.”
“And you chose to overlook this because you believed it might be – shall we say – embarrassing, for the force, if it were ever revealed you’d involved a psychic in a serious criminal case?”
The DCS took the ensuing silence as an acknowledgement he was correct. “So, enlighten me, Superintendent; which do you find the more embarrassing? A partial admission of the truth, however uncomfortable that might be, or a revelation by a national television company that you deliberately omitted key elements of the investigation from the police records?”
The superintendent swallowed, as if he were having difficulty breathing. “I don’t believe you expect me to answer that.” He looked over towards me. “As the chief points out, you’re the principal character in this charade, so I’ll leave it to you to correct the records accordingly.”
“When you do,” the DCS said, “keep your litany to the minimum; in other words, Sergeant, no embellishments. Understood?”
“Sir? Would you mind elaborating on that?”
I received another glare, this time in exasperation. When he spoke again it was slowly and deliberately, as if he was speaking to a retard. “What I require you to do, Sergeant, is to make reference in the official records that this police department used the services of a psychic in the hunt for the killer; not altogether uncommon these days in detection procedures, in my experience. That, I believe, will just about pass the test of credibility.
“However, what you must not do – insofar as the records are concerned – is formalise the information you purport to have received from this girl’s visions. I can accept an oblique reference to it – in other words, you were given some convoluted guidance as to the whereabouts of the burial sites – but you must say that it was police detection that was entirely responsible for identifying them and not some medium’s imagination. There, is that sufficient briefing for you, Sergeant? Or would you prefer I did the job for you?”
“It couldn’t be plainer, sir,” I conceded, trying not to let him intimidate me.
“And police protection for Connie?” Jim demanded.
“You withdraw it. Totally and immediately. Weren’t you listening, Chief Inspector? We have to divert the limelight from this girl by reducing not only her involvement but also the importance of her contribution. Have you got that, Chief Inspector?”
“Jesus!” I thought, as I felt my world spinning out of control. It’s an open invitation to murder. This guy was completely remorseless; he couldn’t give a shit about Connie’s safety. All he was concerned with was saving the face of the police establishment; he didn’t even appear to be that anxious about apprehending the killer. Not once had he mentioned that as being the primary objective in prosecuting this case. Well, fuck you, Mister Detective Chief Superintendent!
I was about to say as much when Jim, bless him, addressing the superintendent, said: “When Miss Crossley has finished updating the records, Superintendent, I’d like to formally insist that she goes on indefinite sick leave. It’s patently obvious to me that she still hasn’t recovered from her injury and she needs more time to convalesce.”
The chief superintendent frowned at this, as though it were some kind of imposition. “That’s a domestic matter, surely? You don’t need my approval for officers’ sick leave.”
“I’ll second that,” Paul said. He then pointed a finger admonishingly. “I warned you about overdoing things, Angie.”
“And if it’s alright with you, sir, I’m au fait with Miss Rowden’s involvement, and I’d be happy to correct the files,” Frank added for good measure. He then glanced at me and said, “So you can get off straightaway, Sergeant.”
“Is there something going on here I should know about?” the DCS growled.
“Sir.” It was Jim again. “If you care to check the files again you’ll discover that Sergeant Crossley was recently the victim of a pretty vicious attack; she sustained a severe blow to the head that put her in hospital. I think she needs a break.”
“Thank you, sir,” I said, before any further comments could be passed. I then got the hell out of there, with a surreptitious parting wink from Jim.
I collected one or two personal files from the incident room, ordered a squad car to take me to Jim’s apartment, and at the same time placed a request for my own police vehicle to be collected from Jim’s. I would use Jim’s spare car whilst I was at his apartment.
All the way back I kept thinking what an inhuman bastard the DCS was. He had shown not one ounce of compassion for the traumas Connie had endured, and not one expression of gratitude for all the assistance she had given the police. I was only grateful I didn’t have to report directly to him; it would be a very short-lived relationship. On the other hand, Jim had shared an identical feeling to mine when he created the situation where my friend was not abandoned to her own resources. It was simply out of the question that Connie’s police protection should be removed, regardless of what that SOB had declared, but, undeniably, it would have to be scaled down from its present level. In turn, that meant I would have to be with her night and day, but I resolved to equalise the contest with the paedophile by furnishing the two of us with an essentially improved protection system.