Cath Staincliffe - Bleed Like Me

Rachel sank the last of her coffee and grabbed her bag. If she was quick she’d have time for a fag before sitting down with the witness from the Larks.

Rachel had gone through Tessa’s account with her once and was now reworking it, seeing if there was any more useful detail to be gained. Taking the bare bones and adding flesh to them. Some witnesses felt frustrated by the process, sure they’d told you everything, and were then surprised that a carefully phrased question suddenly illuminated fresh information.

‘You said it was still dark when you saw the dog,’ Rachel said. ‘Were there any lights on at the pub?’

Tessa considered the question. ‘I don’t remember seeing any, but the light in the hall came on just before Owen answered the door.’

So it sounded as if Owen Cottam had been upstairs when Tessa called and he’d put the light on to answer the door.

Rachel had seen the plans of the property. The separate entrance to the family’s first-floor accommodation led into a short hallway with a flight of stairs. A second doorway off the hall gave access into the pub itself. That had been locked when police arrived.

‘The dog went past Owen and up the stairs,’ Rachel said. ‘How long would you estimate you were at the door for?’

‘Not long, maybe ten seconds.’

‘How long had you waited for him to answer the door?’

‘A couple of minutes. I’d knocked twice. No one answered at first so I tried again. I thought they might be asleep.’ Tessa blanched.

‘How did he appear, Owen?’

Tessa swallowed. ‘A bit breathless,’ she said. ‘I thought it was the stairs.’

‘Anything else? Try and picture him.’

‘Not drowsy but tense,’ she said, then pulled a face, ‘but maybe I’m saying that because I know now-’

Rachel interrupted, not wanting her playing mind games with herself. ‘See him at the door. What’s he wearing?’

‘Erm, sweatshirt… green… yes, bottle green, and, er… jeans, I think.’

‘Shoes?’

‘Yes.’ She sounded surprised.

‘Fully dressed?’

Because he hadn’t been to bed, Rachel wondered? Or had he got dressed ready to leave the house? The first seemed most likely, especially if his original intention had been to wipe out the whole family including himself.

‘How does he seem tense?’ Rachel said, deliberately using the present tense to help Tessa recapture the memory.

Tessa tilted her head back in concentration. ‘His eyes,’ she said, straightening up. ‘They were sort of darting around. That, and the way he was breathing, and I felt like he was itching to get shot of me. But then-’

‘Yes?’

‘Well, we weren’t that pally. He was a bit like that anyway.’

‘Like what?’ Rachel said.

‘Impatient, practical,’ she said, ‘I don’t quite know how else to describe it.’

‘That’s fine,’ Rachel said. ‘Could you hear any other noises from the house?’

‘No, not till the children-’ She choked on the word, coughed and recovered. ‘Till they came and called out.’

‘Before that,’ Rachel drew her back a step, ‘tell me anything else you can remember about Owen. Any marks on his hands or his clothes?’

‘No.’

Two minutes would give him time to wash his hands, Rachel thought.

‘Any smell?’ Blood say, or sweat? Sweaty work, murder. He might have avoided any major blood spatter but there would almost certainly be microscopic traces on his clothes.

‘I think… there was a smell of alcohol but I couldn’t say if that was from him or just with it being the pub.’ You’d want a drink, wouldn’t you, Rachel thought. Or several. Before embarking on the grisly task. Dutch courage.

‘Okay, the children…?’

‘The little one, Harry, he called out “Daddy” before I saw him at the top of the stairs. Owen, he… I don’t know how to describe it, like he, like he flinched, like he was really irritated.’

‘Show me,’ Rachel said.

‘Sort of…’ Tessa drew back her lips exposing her teeth, a snarling movement, blinking her eyes. More of a grimace than a flinch. She coughed and laughed and then blushed deeply. ‘I feel ridiculous.’

‘Don’t, this is really helpful,’ Rachel said. ‘What was Harry wearing?’

‘A sleep suit. Blue and white, some pattern.’

Details which would be fed through to the team. A check would be made to establish if the item was still at the scene, and meanwhile someone would scour children’s clothes designs to find a match. If the garment was missing then an image of that item would be used in the search and could assist when investigating alleged sightings.

‘Then Theo came after him,’ Tessa said. ‘He was sort of whining a bit.’

‘But you’d not heard that before you saw him?’

‘No. He was rubbing his eyes, just tired, cranky. You know how they get?’

Not really, Rachel thought. Whinging kids she’d rather avoid like the plague. Even if she had decided to go ahead and keep Nick’s baby when he wanted her to get rid of it. Lost it anyway. All for the best. Sure was now. Yes, babe, Daddy tried to get Mummy killed. That’s why we never see him.

‘He had pyjamas on, Theo. Tiger stripes. It’s his nickname.’ Her voice shook now, almost breaking. ‘Tiger, they call him.’

‘You all right to carry on?’ Rachel said, not wanting particularly to give her the option. Learning from Janet and Andy that recognizing distress was important to acknowledge but needn’t be an exit sign. ‘Have some water if you like?’

‘I’m fine. The kids got halfway downstairs before I left. Owen said, “Thanks, I best…” and nodded his head to the kids.’

‘So most of the conversation took place before the children came down?’

‘Yes.’

‘You went straight home from there?’

‘That’s right,’ Tessa said.

‘Is there anything else you can think of?’

‘No.’

Rachel thought about the fact that she knew the little kid’s nickname. ‘How well did you know the family?’

‘To say hello to and through Billy, really. He drinks in the pub and takes the dog with him. That’s why I suggested asking if they’d have Pepper while he went into the Royal. Pamela and Owen and me, I wouldn’t say we were friends or anything. I used to go along when they had quiz nights, a few years back now, if I wasn’t on shift. But that’s dropped off.’

‘How did you find them, Owen and Pamela?’

She shook her head, shrugged. ‘Normal, ordinary. Pamela was the chatty one. I’d say I knew her best. Just normal,’ she said again. ‘Busy with running the place and the kids.’

‘And Penny?’

‘Nice girl. They all were.’

‘What about Michael?’

‘He was very shy, blushed if you spoke to him-’ Then her face was crumpling again. ‘Sorry,’ she said.

‘You’re fine,’ Rachel answered. ‘Take your time.’ Normal, Rachel thought, normal family man. Neighbour on the doorstep and upstairs three corpses still warm. How the fuck did he hold it together? Dog barrelling past him, kids mithering. The plot unravelling. Yet he appeared normal enough to send her on her way with no clue as to what had happened in the rooms above.

The soft interview room was designed to be comfortable and homely: sofas and low coffee tables, boxes of toys for times when youngsters accompanied a parent or carer. Proper lamps instead of fluorescents.

Not that any of this would register with Margaret Milne, mother of Pamela Cottam and Michael Milne. Janet knew she would be knocked sideways with shock, with bursts of grief, still trying to absorb the nightmare her world had become.

Janet brought in tea, biscuits, tissues, water. She had her notebook and pen.