‘Must have been hard to take.’
Hawley’s smile was thin and bitter. ‘It was and still is. And yes, I did not get the training contract I’d hoped for from the trust I was working for at the time, and yes, it ruined my life. Someone leaked it to the press. Of course, they also published the fact that I was released without charge, but on page eight in one paragraph. The first story was front page news in the local rag, three columns. That sort of dirt sticks. I don’t trust the police because, despite everything and for whatever reason, I’m clearly still on your lists as a suspect. I had to take some time off to recover. And now, when I see a kid, I’m paranoid about the same bloody thing happening all over again.’ He held up the index finger and thumb of his right hand separated by half an inch. ‘My solicitor told me I was this far from ending up on a sex offender list, for Christ’s sake. Anything else you want to know, sergeant?’
Woakes didn’t bat an eyelid. ‘Did you own any other properties at the time?’
‘No.’
Anna knew this had gone far enough. ‘Dr Hawley, thanks for coming—’
Woakes interrupted her. ‘And now? Do you own anything now?’
Hawley blew out air. ‘Yes. I inherited a cottage from an aunt.’
‘Where’s that?’
‘Across the channel, a place called Sully in Wales.’ He paused and then asked, ‘Why would you want to know?’
Yes, thought Anna. Why?
‘Just curious, Doctor. Or can I call you Ben?’
‘I don’t want you to call me full stop. Is there anything else?’
‘Yeah, you own a computer, right?’
‘Of course. Doesn’t everyone?’
‘Spend much time trawling the internet? Got any favourite sites?’
Hawley blinked, his mouth open. Rightly offended.
Anna took control, ‘OK, Dr Hawley. That’s all. Thanks for your cooperation. Sure we can’t tempt you to coffee?’
Hawley stood, still looking at Woakes with disbelief as he picked up his messenger bag.
Woakes returned the gaze with a smile. ‘Yeah, have a coffee. I’m sure we can think of something else to ask you.’
Anna gave him one of her glaring death stares before turning back to Hawley. She stood and offered her hand. ‘We appreciate your cooperation,’ she said.
Hawley looked at her. Belligerence fought with regret on his face. He nodded, shook briefly, turned away and left.
Woakes waited until he’d gone and said. ‘Well?’
‘Well what?’
‘What do you reckon?’
‘I don’t reckon anything. He had an alibi. Rosie was an extrovert. Down’s patients are often disinhibited. They found nothing to link—’
‘His alibi is shit. He knows something,’ said Woakes, walking to the door and looking out at Hawley’s departing back.
‘What?’
‘He’s hiding something. I’m going to follow him to this cottage.’
‘Dave, this is insane. On what are you basing the assumption he’s hiding anything?’
Woakes moved his head from side to side, weighing up his thoughts before answering. ‘He’s reticent and shifty. It’s a gut feeling.’
Anna wanted to laugh out loud but then the conversation she’d had with Rainsford on Friday was still fresh in her memory. Unorthodox was the term they’d bandied about. Woakes was living up to his reputation.
‘He has every right to be both. I read the file. His name was leaked and the press got hold of it.’
‘So?’
‘Hardly surprising he doesn’t want to talk to us, then, is it?’
‘I think there’s more.’
Anna sighed. ‘You have nothing to go on.’
‘I’m suggesting a recce. See what sort of cottage this is. You’ll be OK, right? We can do the Charterhouse visit another time.’
Anna blinked. ‘Of course, I mean, let’s not let real police work get in the way of your gut instinct.’
‘If I’m wrong, we’ll go to Charterhouse tomorrow.’
Anna shook her head. ‘Is this the sort of bloody bish-bosh policing you did in the Midlands? Intimidate someone and see if they jump?’ She wanted to say more, to point out that Hawley didn’t look big or strong enough to march out of a park carrying an army backpack full of trussed-up little girl. He’d looked shell-shocked and anxious. But Woakes was already halfway out of the door.
‘If I don’t go now, I’ll lose him.’
So far, she didn’t think much of his methods, but Rainsford had said he’d come with a reputation for results and she had another meeting to get to. One she couldn’t miss.
Anna sighed. ‘Don’t do anything stupid.’
‘Moi?’ Woakes grinned as he trotted out of the hotel in hot pursuit.
Twelve
Alone in the hotel lobby, Anna poured out what was left of the coffee. She took a mouthful and spat it out. Stone-cold. Like Rosie Dawson’s case.
She could have stopped Woakes; of course she could have. But frankly, he was beginning to irritate her. So, for now, a little bit of distance between them would do no harm and there were other things to consider. Charterhouse, as Woakes had said, could wait. But Anna now had no car and she needed to get to Worcester by 2 p.m. She rang Holder.
‘Justin, I’m catching a train to Worcester. Can you meet me at the station there?’
A small but perceptible silence followed before Holder said, ‘Does that mean what I think it means?’
She didn’t answer him directly. She didn’t have to. ‘I’ll let you know what time my train gets in after I board. But you ought to leave now.’
Bath Spa station sat on the river at the southern end of the city. She walked out of the hotel past Waitrose, and then turned south. Bath was a handsome city, there was no doubt about it. The mandatory sandstone helped lend it a consistency sadly lacking in most cities she’d visited. It also helped that you could walk everywhere because it was much smaller than Bristol, so long as you didn’t mind tourists blocking the pavements every ten yards by gaping at the architecture.
She stopped in a Pret for something with minimal carbs, bought a paper, caught the 11 a.m. train, found a seat, and let the paper sit unopened on the table while her brain pondered the wisdom of her actions. If you looked at it coldly, there was nothing at all wise about visiting a convicted serial killer in a maximum-security prison. Shaw was complex. The conventional psychiatric assessment of him was that he’d lost control of an already unstable borderline personality type. The trigger: when his daughter committed suicide by throwing herself under a train.
As a GCHQ computer networks expert, Shaw had found out that his daughter had been groomed by an underground group trawling suicide chat rooms, coerced into participating in a sick online game known as the Black Squid in which serial tasks, if completed, ended in a suicide note and death.
It sounded ludicrous, but it targeted vulnerable individuals and was known to be responsible for the deaths of several teenagers, Abbie Shaw’s amongst them. Shaw’s victims all involved administrators and proponents of this ‘game’. He’d also killed his alcoholic wife, whom he blamed indirectly for Abbie’s murder. As a result, he was now serving a life sentence with no chance of parole.