Gilly MacMillan - What She Knew

I took the interview back to practicalities. I asked him what he and his wife were doing on Sunday afternoon between 13.00 and 17.30 hours. He said that they were at home together. He was working and she was reading and then she started to prepare their evening meal. He got a call from WPC Banks at 17.30 to inform him that Ben was missing and he’d driven directly to the woods.

‘Did you make any calls, or send any emails during that time?’ I asked.

He shook his head. ‘I was catching up on paperwork.’

‘I’ve asked Ms Jenner whether she’d be willing for us to look through her phone records, and she’s agreed. Would you be willing for us to do the same?’

‘Yes,’ he said. ‘Whatever it takes.’

‘One more thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘Have you had any incidents at work where patients or their families have been unhappy with you? Could somebody be bearing a grudge against you?’

He didn’t reply to my question immediately, it took him a moment or two to consider it.

‘There are always unhappy outcomes, inevitably, and some families don’t take it well. I have been the subject of legal action once or twice, but that’s normal in my line of work. The hospital will be able to supply you with details.’

‘You can’t remember them?’

‘I remember the names of the children, but not their parents. I try not to get too involved. You learn not to dwell on the failures, Inspector. The death of a child is a terrible thing to bear, even if the responsibility isn’t ultimately yours, because you did everything you could.’

Even through his fatigue, the look he gave me was sharp, and I felt as though there might be a warning in his words somewhere.

I drove out to the woods after the interview. I wanted to see the scene for myself. I took a pool car. The drive gave me a chance to get out of the city for a bit, and think about the interviews, get my thoughts straight. My impressions were that the parents were both private people, though John Finch was possibly more complicated than Rachel, and certainly more proud. They were both intelligent, and articulate, a classic middle-class profile. It didn’t mean that they were whiter than white though. We had to remember that.

In forensic terms the scenes at the woods were carnage. The combination of shocking weather, multiple people, animals and vehicles had churned up the paths and especially the parking area. I took a walk to the rope swing where Ben was alleged to have gone missing and regretted forgetting to bring wellington boots. It was a damp site, with trees crowded round it. It gave me a creepy, sinister feeling like you get in fairy tales, and in some way that was more unsettling than some of the rankest urban crime scenes I’ve visited.

I talked to the scenes of crime officers. They were nice guys, cheerfully pessimistic about their chances of finding anything that might be useful to the investigation.

‘If I’m honest it’s not looking good,’ one of them said, stepping over the crime scene tape. It was bright yellow and hung limply across the pathway that led to the rope swing. He pulled a plastic glove from his hand so that he could shake mine. ‘The conditions are atrocious. But if there’s anything to be found we’ll find it.’

I gave him my card. ‘Will you-’

He interrupted me. ‘Call you if we find anything? Of course.’

We had our first full team briefing with Fraser at 16.00 back at Kenneth Steele House. We gathered around the table, everybody ready to work, tense and serious, trying not to think about where this case could go. A missing kid is the kind of case you do your job for. Nobody wants a kid to be harmed. You could see it on every face there.

‘First things first,’ said DCI Fraser. ‘Codename for this case is Operation Huckleberry. We’re hunting for two people: Ben Finch, eight years old, and whoever has abducted him. They may or may not be together. The abductor may be a member of his family, or he or she may be an acquaintance or indeed a complete stranger. They may be holed up with Ben or they may be living normally on the surface and returning to Ben occasionally. They may already have harmed or murdered Ben. We need to keep open minds.’

She cast her eye around the table. She had everybody’s attention.

‘Expertise is on our side,’ she continued. ‘I’m confident that this team of people represents excellence and I expect it of you. Time is not on our side. It’s been twenty-four hours since Ben Finch went missing. Priority is to confirm Mum’s story, and speak to all the people she says she saw in the woods that day.’

She paused, making sure we were taking it all in.

‘I personally feel that the members of the fantasy re-enactment group who were in the woods during the afternoon are of particular interest, because I suspect that amongst them there’ll be one or two mummy’s boys who are wielding swords at the weekend to make up for being sad pimply little bastards who can’t get a life during the week.

‘Which brings me on to another matter. I think we’re going to need all the help we can get on this one. The number of actions we’ve identified already is daunting, and it’s certain to get worse before it gets better. I’ve asked for more bodies, and I’ve twisted the Super’s arm so that he’s agreed to fund the services of a forensic psychologist for the short term at least, to help us define our primary suspects. His name is Dr Christopher Fellowes. He has teaching commitments, and he’s based at Cambridge University, so he’s not going to be with us in person unless we have a very good reason to bring him over here, but he’ll be available to advise remotely.’

I knew him. We’d worked with him when I was with Devon and Cornwall. He was good at his job, when he was sober.

‘I was going to get Mum and Dad in front of the cameras tonight, but I think we’ll wait until first thing tomorrow morning. I’ve televised a short appeal for information which will do for now, and we’ll put that out with Ben’s photograph. I’ve had preliminary reports from most of you, but if there’s anything new you want to add, speak now.’

One of the DCs put up her hand.

‘We’re not in school. You can keep your hand down.’

‘Sorry. It’s just that I’ve got a possible. We’ve tracked down all but one of the men on the sex offenders list.’

‘Who’s missing?’

‘Name of David Callow. Thirty-one years old. Did time for abusing his stepsisters and posting photographs of himself doing it. His parole officer hasn’t heard from him for a fortnight.’

‘Make him a priority. I want to know who he last saw, and when. Talk to his family, his neighbours, his friends, if he has any. Find out what he’s been doing. Anything else?’

Nobody spoke.

‘Right. There’s a lot to get on with, so let’s get on with it. Any leads, any worries, anything gets on top of you, speak to me. I want to know everything, as it happens. No exceptions.’

WEB PAGE– BREAKING NEWS POLICE – www.aspol.uk/whatsnew

22 October 2012, 13.03

AVON AND SOMERSET CONSTABULARY has activated CHILD RESCUE ALERT to assist in tracing eight-year-old Benedict Finch in Bristol.

A dedicated telephone number has been established for anyone who has seen Benedict or has information about his whereabouts.

This number is 0300 300 3331

Calls to this number will be answered by dedicated members of staff who will take details of any information provided to assist with the inquiry.

By launching Child Rescue Alert, which is supported by all UK Police Forces, it is hoped that the public and media can assist Avon and Somerset Constabulary in safely tracing Benedict.

Police are seeking information specifically from anyone who has seen Benedict or anyone matching his description in the last twenty-four hours.