Stephen Leather - Nightshade

‘Bella is on her way to hospital and she’ll be examined there,’ said the superintendent.

‘The people in custody, what can you tell us about them?’

‘At the moment nothing, other than that we are not looking for anyone else in connection with this incident and that I am happy that Bella is safe. I’d like to take this opportunity to thank the public and the media for all their help. It was their assistance that helped us bring this investigation to a positive conclusion.’

‘Where are they now?’ asked the reporter, but the superintendent shook his head.

‘That’s all for now,’ he said. ‘There will be a fuller statement later today.’

The cameraman lowered his camera and the reporter flashed Wilkinson her most winning smile. ‘What about off the record, Rory? What’s happening?’

‘Off the record, the guy’s name is Eric Lucas and that’s his house. We’ll be bringing him out in a bit. He was in the process of drowning Bella when two of our officers gained access to the house. Lucas seems to have been helped by his girlfriend, a woman called Candice Matthews. Nothing known on either of them. If you want to hang around we’ll open up the garage door fully. The van they used is inside.’

‘We can film them when you bring them out?’

‘Yeah, but we’ll be covering their faces, you know that.’

‘Don’t suppose I could persuade you not to,’ she said, and laughed.

‘I’ve got to go,’ said Wilkinson. ‘I’m sure the DCC will have a full press conference at the Training HQ at Netley later today.’ The Netley HQ building was where Hampshire police’s media team was based and it had a large auditorium that was tailor-made for major press conferences.

A second ambulance had arrived and two more paramedics were attending to Lucas and his girlfriend in the house. Wilkinson was still waiting for confirmation that they were fit to be taken straight to the station.

He ducked under the police tape and took out his mobile phone as he walked around to the rear of the house. He called the deputy chief constable’s number and his secretary put him straight through. ‘Bella Harper’s alive, sir,’ he said.

‘She’s what?’

‘The call we got that she was dead turns out to have been a false alarm,’ said Wilkinson. ‘She’s in an ambulance on her way to hospital as we speak. But she’s fine. She’s talking to the paramedics, all her vital signs are okay, they say she’s in shock but other than that …’

‘We were told she was dead. The press office is just about to put out a statement offering our condolences.’

‘Well, there’s definitely no need for that, sir. Like I said, she’s fine.’

‘How did that happen? How could they get it so wrong?’

‘The men who went into the house found Bella being drowned in the bath. They got her out and did CPR but thought that she’d stopped breathing. When the paramedics arrived, they checked and she was okay.’

‘That makes no sense to me, but I’m not about to start looking gift horses in the mouth,’ said the DCC. ‘What about the media?’

‘Sky TV are here. That’s it so far.’

‘And the suspects?’

‘They’re both a bit banged up but they should be okay to take straight to the station.’

‘And they’re bang to rights?’

‘Inspector Hopkins found Lucas with his hands around Bella’s throat,’ he said.

‘But no warrant, that’s correct?’

‘They heard her scream, sir. The lack of a warrant won’t be an issue.’

‘You’ll be handling the interrogation?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Then I don’t need to tell you to do it by the book, superintendent. No slip-ups.’

‘Understood, sir,’ said Wilkinson. He ended the call. He would be handling the interrogation but he was sure that the DCC would be leading the press conference, all smiles now that Bella was alive.

Nightingale pushed open the office door and held up the two cups of Costa coffee. ‘For my favourite assistant,’ he said.

Jenny was standing in front of the television. She looked over at him and grinned. ‘My cup runneth over,’ she said. ‘Though I have to point out that I’m your only assistant.’

Nightingale hung up his coat and went over to stand by her. The television was tuned to Sky News and a reporter was talking to camera in front of a suburban house. ‘What’s happening?’

‘They found that little girl. Bella Harper.’

‘Alive?’

‘Yes, thank God.’

‘How many days was it? Four? That’s really unusual. If they’re not found within forty-eight hours …’

‘Well, in this case it worked out for the best. I’m so happy for the parents. They must be so relieved.’ She went back to her desk and muted the sound. ‘So how did it go with the little old lady?’

‘According to Mrs Steadman, that Satanic altar is just window dressing. Either McBride did it with next to no knowledge of what Satanism is about, or someone tried to frame him.’ He sat down opposite her.

‘There’s no doubt that he killed those children,’ said Jenny. ‘None at all.’

‘I meant frame him for the devil-worship thing. How are you getting on with the kids?’

‘All good,’ she said. She stood up and took her coffee over to the whiteboard. ‘And you were right. All the children who were killed were from single-parent families.’

Nightingale joined her. ‘That can’t be a coincidence, can it?’

‘More than half of all marriages end in divorce, but couples with children tend to stay together more than those who don’t. So you’d expect half of the eight to be in single-parent families.’

Nightingale frowned and rubbed his chin. ‘But why would he deliberately set out to kill kids with just one parent?’

‘I don’t know. But I don’t see that it can be a coincidence. Having said that, it still doesn’t explain why he only shot two girls in the first classroom. I haven’t been able to check them all, but I did cross-check some of the pupils with the electoral roll and there must have been half a dozen or more kids from one-parent families in that first room that he didn’t shoot.’

‘Okay, so all the children that he shot were from one-parent families, but there were children from one-parent families that he didn’t shoot?’

‘Exactly. But I’m not sure that helps us come up with a motive.’ She waved at the photographs. ‘Do you notice something else?’

Nightingale studied the photographs. ‘Five girls, three boys. Blonde hair, dark hair, one redhead. Eye colour?’

‘Some have blue eyes, some have brown.’

‘Short hair, long hair. Straight hair, curly.’

‘It’s more what you don’t see,’ said Jenny.

Nightingale shook his head. ‘I don’t get it.’ He stared at the photographs, then threw up his hands. ‘Got it. They’re all Caucasian.’ He turned to look at Jenny. ‘He was targeting white kids? Is that what you think?’

‘I though that might be significant until I checked the school roll. There are very few Asians or Afro-Caribbeans at the school. In fact Berwick is the most ethnically homogeneous district in the country. In the last census, 99.6 per cent of the population recorded themselves as white.’

‘So if it’s not racial, what is it? What am I missing?’

‘At the risk of being judgemental, how about the fact that they’re all good-looking kids?’

‘What?’

‘The girls are pretty, the boys are good-looking, there isn’t a fat, spotty or funny-looking one in the bunch.’

‘You’re joking.’

Jenny shook her head. ‘No, I’m deadly serious. You take any group of kids these days and probably a third are overweight. Another quarter are, shall we say, challenged in the looks department. I know that’s cruel, but it’s a fact of life. Some kids are good-looking, some aren’t. I know that all parents think their kids are perfect, but when you take a step back you know that isn’t true.’ She waved at the whiteboard. ‘These kids are all the sort you see in TV commercials.’