‘You don’t think it was him, do you?’
Anna deflected the question. ‘Was there anyone else in the various hospitals you saw on a regular basis?’
‘Lots of people. Different departments. Specialist nurses or consultants mainly. I gave the whole list to the officers.’
Anna had seen it. The investigating team had been thorough and eliminated each one.
‘It wasn’t right, what they put Dr Hawley through. The newspapers, I mean. He was only doing his job.’
Anna finished her tea while Janice’s tremor got slowly worse. ‘Do you think you’ll ever find who did this?’ she asked, finally.
‘We’re going to try, Janice.’
‘Exactly what they said last time. I want to know. I need to know.’
Anna thought about protesting. She read acceptance in Janice’s face and knew, too, that it would be completely wrong to inject a drop of hope into the situation when there was nothing at all to base it on. But those left behind needed closure. Yet Janice looked ill-equipped for ‘knowing’. In terms of child abductions where killing was involved, the statistics were harsh, stark and horrific.
Janice said, abruptly, ‘He boiled her bones, you know that?’
Anna nodded.
‘Cut her up and boiled her bones. I don’t…’ Janice’s voice caught on a sob. ‘When I think about what else he did…’ Her hand flew to her mouth, her eyes squeezing shut.
For a moment, Anna tried to understand what being told something like that would be like. To have that tiny flame of hope extinguished. To what dark and desperate places your imagination might fly. It wasn’t a thing Anna could easily relate to. No one who had not experienced it could. Hearing of her own father’s death had been harrowing enough, but no one had then cut him up into little pieces and taken the flesh from his bones. Who could desecrate the flesh of another like that, and, more to the point, why?
‘I just wanted to say goodbye to her. That’s all,’ Janice whispered.
There were no tears left. Janice was at the last stage of her grief. Knowing that Rosie was never coming home but needing that understanding of why, regardless of what horror it might bring. But Anna sensed there was something else even before Janice voiced her thoughts.
‘Find him.’
‘Mrs Dawson—’
‘Janice, please.’
‘Janice—’
‘That’s all I ask.’
* * *
Anna took her leave, troubled by the still raw emotions she’d encountered, but relived that Janice Dawson had no doubts over Hawley. She was now convinced more than ever that she needed to do what her instincts told her to, and that Hawley’s role in all this was not that of an exposed, manipulative monster, but of a victim who needed closure almost as much as Janice Dawson did.
Twenty-Five
In the car, she dialled Holder’s number.
‘Justin. I want you and Ryia to go and see Terry Dawson today. It’s something we need to do. Lives in Knowle, I think. Trisha will have the address.’
‘Anything you want us to ask him especially?’
‘No. It sounds like he, of all the family, is the one who’s moved on. I also know the original team did a thorough job and he was completely clean. Ask him what he thinks happened that day, his impressions, and then double check with ICAT and the paedophile unit to make sure he hasn’t appeared on their radar subsequently. You know the score.’
‘Ma’am.’
Another box to tick. But they were all negatives. All leading her nowhere and leaving her flat and empty. It occurred to Anna, as she drove back to Bristol, that disengaging from the team after meeting with Woakes might have appeared, on the surface, a weakness. Might have implied some sort of emotional upset.
God, they told me you were a frosty…
They’d be wrong on two counts. She wasn’t unemotional, it was simply easier not to let the damned things in. They took far too much time to analyse. If it meant Woakes perceiving her as frosty, that was his problem, not hers. Perhaps it wasn’t one of her strengths, but she had not allowed it to become one of her weaknesses either. She’d long ago given up explaining herself, and the world, according to Anna, fell into those who accepted her and those who didn’t. Best to ignore the latter.
No, Woakes had not upset her. Indeed, Anna’s disengagement had less to do with the sergeant’s maverick approach and odd personality and everything to do with her own methodology. Sometimes she simply needed silence. A little cognitive trick that worked for her but needed far less distraction than the office provided. A chance to let the grey cells put everything in order, apply logic to the abstract. She’d been close to catching Charles Willis before he caught her. But it had been her first case as an inspector and she’d been forced to play it by the book instead of following her own lead. Had she done the latter, she might still have her own spleen and Willis might not have killed two more people.
And as with her runs through Badock’s Wood, driving with the radio off allowed ideas to run in the background of her consciousness at a level she was barely aware of. Allowed the pros and cons to lobby and dissect. At some point she’d come to a decision and act on it, right or wrong. Not that she dismissed discussion as a deductive tool, indeed for most of her colleagues it was the blunt instrument of choice, but Anna preferred, at some point in every case, the sharpened spear of being alone.
She allowed herself a small, ironic smile. The silences, the long runs, they were all part of her analytical, introverted character. Yet, as someone who by and large avoided social interaction, she seemed to be running into killers wherever she turned.
She’d talked through the horror of the Woodsman’s attack with a counsellor provided by the force. Rainsford, savvy as always, insisted on it. But she’d got a lot more out of talking it through with her old boss Shipwright, who’d been around the block so many times he’d worn a groove in the pavement. He’d recovered well from the heart attack that had triggered his early retirement and was, she knew, more than happy to talk to her about almost anything. His opinions were always worth a listen and inevitably pragmatic. His advice as she lay in the hospital bed, recovering from the stab wounds the Woodsman had inflicted, was to get a dog. A big bugger with teeth.
It was still on her list. But thinking of Shipwright now stimulated a new train of thought.
She dialled his number.
‘Anna,’ Shipwright said when he picked up. ‘Good to hear from you.’
‘Busy?’
‘Rushed off my feet. Paddling pool emergency. Unless I patch the leak, there are likely to be tears and tantrums in the Shipwright household.’
Ted Shipwright had passed the sixty mark but was on his second marriage with a young family. He’d only decided to call it a day because of his health. Anna missed him a lot.
‘What are you up to?’ Shipwright asked.
‘Oh, you know. Fighting the good fight.’
‘You sound a little down, Anna. Rainsford cracking the whip?’
‘No. I need a favour, Ted.’
‘What can I do?’
‘I have a new sergeant. Dave Woakes. Came with gold stars. But he’s turning out to be a liability. At East Mids before he came to us. I was wondering if you knew anyone up there?’
Shipwright didn’t hesitate. ‘Colin Sandwell. He’s a DCI in their Special Ops Unit. Can’t shut up about Leicester Rugby club, but otherwise he’s a good guy. Want me to give him a ring?’
‘Would you?’
‘No problem, Anna. Woakes, you said?’
‘Dave Woakes,’ she paused and then added, ‘I feel a bit uncomfortable going behind his back like this. Is it the right thing to do?’
‘How long has he been on the team?’
‘Couple of weeks.’
‘Has he upset Justin?’
‘Yes. And Ryia.’
‘Then you’re being a good boss. It’s what I would have done. You know them and trust them, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Anna said.
‘So why compromise the team’s ability to function?’
Shipwright was, as always, on the money.
‘Give me ten minutes, I’ll ring you back.’ Shipwright rang off.
Twenty-Six