Bleed Like Me

by Staincliffe, Cath

  Gorge rose in her throat and her knees went weak. There. A scrap of black cord. A shoelace.

  The world shrank around her. The canal, the farms beyond, the lock and the road bridge faded as she focused on the boat, the door.

  The boat rocked alarmingly when Rachel clambered on board. Water pooled on the deck underfoot. With trembling fingers she worked at the knot, her nails slipping and the scars on her fingertips starting to bleed. Finally it came loose and she pulled the shoelace free and opened the narrow double doors, which made a squealing sound.

  The interior was pitch dark, only the small flight of steps leading down into the cabin illuminated by the daylight. She could barely see a thing,

  But she could smell. The brackish odour of the canal and the mushroom scent of decay, mixed with the high acrid stink of shit. Her chest tightened. There was a thudding in her temples as she switched on her torch and climbed down the steps, one hand braced on the edge of the door. When she stepped into the cabin the boat rolled in the water, the timbers creaking and moaning. Rachel played the cone of light over the space, picked out bench seats with their torn and faded foam cushions furred with white mould, tattered curtains spotted with mildew, and then, on the floor, a tartan blanket and next to it two small forms, pale-faced and utterly still.

  Oh, fuck. Something dark and cold crawled up her spine. The torch juddered in her hand. Her eyes hurt. The stench caught at the back of her throat and she retched but fought the reflex. She stepped closer and the boat lurched. Rachel almost fell, flinging her arms out for balance. She knelt down. The floor was wet, soaking through her trousers.

  Struggling to breathe, she bent over the boys. Theo in his tiger pyjamas, the garments grubby, smeared with marks, was curled towards his brother. Harry lay flat on his back, one arm above his head, his legs splayed outwards. Shit had soaked through his all-in-one, staining the legs toffee brown. Tear tracks had dried leaving salty trails on his cheeks. The only movement came from the boat rocking on the cold water.

  Rachel reached out a hand and touched Theo’s neck to see whether rigor mortis had set in. Knew that if it had the child’s body would feel dense, leaden, every muscle rigid as wood. And cool. She placed her fingers across his neck, below his ear. Felt the faintest residue of warmth there. So close! If they’d only searched here yesterday instead of the lake.

  She felt her throat clench and tears burn behind her eyes. ‘Fuck it!’ she said aloud. Theo’s eyes fluttered open. ‘Daddy?’ he said huskily. Beside him Harry startled, his arms jolting as though something had bitten him, and began to wail, a thin, reedy, faltering sound that drilled into Rachel’s head.

  She jerked back, gasping for air, frantically hitting keys on her phone, summoning help. The child’s cry filling her head and Theo’s plea scalding her heart. Daddy? Daddy? Daddy?

  22

  Janet was about to go in to interview Owen Cottam when Gill appeared, her eyes shining, fizzing with energy. ‘We’ve got the boys. Alive!’

  ‘Oh, God!’ Janet stared at her. ‘Where?’

  ‘A barge on the canal. Rachel found them.’

  ‘Alive?’ Janet checked. After all this time.

  ‘Dehydrated, hypothermic, dosed up with paracetamol but they should be fine. Taken to Manchester Children’s Hospital.’

  Janet swallowed. ‘So now what? You don’t want me to interview yet?’

  ‘No. Give me an hour. I’m going to see the CPS to run through what we’ve already got. Wait till I’m back and we’ll discuss it then. Might let us go straight to charges.’

  ‘Be better to see if we can get a confession to the murders first,’ Janet said. Then she thought that if they did move on to questioning Cottam about the murders it might be hard for her to get away later. So she said, ‘Is it okay if I nip to the hospital now?’

  ‘No problem,’ Gill said.

  Dorothy was sitting up in bed and looking almost normal.

  ‘The scan they did, well, apparently they found a growth on my uterus,’ she said.

  Janet’s stomach contracted. ‘Oh, Mum.’

  ‘No, listen. They’re pretty sure it’s just a cyst but the womb’s enlarged so they think, at my age, it’s best to take the whole lot out.’

  ‘Hysterectomy?’

  ‘Yes. It’s a big op. Take me a few months to get back to normal.’

  ‘You’ll stay with us,’ Janet said.

  ‘If you’ll have me,’ her mum said.

  ‘Course we’ll have you. You got any better offers?’ Again that wash of relief, that she was sitting here joking with her mum instead of grieving.

  ‘Not yet, but I’ll let you know if I do,’ Dorothy said, a gleam of merriment in her eye.

  When Janet got back to the station, she saw Rachel in her smoking spot, clutching a large coffee. Janet went over. ‘Hey, well done you. Amazing.’

  Rachel looked peaky, her face drained of colour, her lips pale.

  ‘You’re a hero,’ Janet said. ‘Wait till word gets out.’

  ‘I don’t want to be a hero.’

  ‘Why not? Looks good on the old CV.’

  Rachel looked away and released a trail of smoke. ‘I thought they were dead,’ she said flatly. She bit her lip, blinked.

  Janet wasn’t sure what to say, what Rachel needed from her. ‘A shock?’ she ventured. It wasn’t like Rachel to get bound up in a case, to let it get to her like this. True for all of them, really. To do the work well you needed resilience, a way of detaching yourself so that you could concentrate on the facts of the investigation and not get damaged emotionally. Of course some cases were harder, poignant or downright sad, especially those involving kids, but Janet had never seen Rachel respond like this. If anything she demonstrated a lack of empathy verging on the autistic.

  Janet felt a wave of concern for her friend. Something felt wrong. Had done for days. It would be simple to turn a blind eye, gloss it over, pretend all was well, but Janet wouldn’t let herself take the easy option.

  ‘What’s really going on?’ she said directly.

  ‘What d’you mean?’ Rachel scowled at her.

  ‘We’re supposed to be mates,’ Janet said. ‘Talk to me.’

  ‘What about?’ Rachel said scornfully. ‘There’s nothing to say.’ She dropped her cigarette, crushed it underfoot. Irritation flickered through Janet, and she was tempted to tell her to pick the tab end up and bin it. Have some consideration for once. But she resisted getting sidetracked.

  ‘Look, it’s not just this case or those little boys. I don’t know if it’s to do with Nick Savage or—’

  ‘Not that again,’ Rachel said.

  ‘You tell me,’ Janet said. ‘What’s the point of being mates if it’s a one-way street? If I’m the only one putting the effort in.’

  ‘You tell me,’ Rachel echoed. Her face set, mutinous.

  Janet wanted to clout her, or hug her. Instead she said, ‘You shut me out. I know there’s something up and you won’t talk to me about it. Don’t you trust me? Do you think I’ll go running to Gill, telling tales?’

  Rachel put her hand up to her head, clutched her ponytail, closed her eyes. ‘I’m fine,’ she said.

  ‘You’re not fine,’ Janet said crossly. ‘You’re a long way from fine. And I don’t know how to help because you won’t let me in.’ She felt close to tears. Bloody hormones. ‘Have you done something stupid, is that it?’

  ‘Oh, thanks!’

  ‘Well, I don’t know, do I? Unless you tell me, I’m imagining all sorts. It’s like dealing with a bloody teenager.’

  ‘Yeah, you’re imagining all sorts, and that’s all it is – your imagination. I’m not telling you anything because there’s nothing to tell.’

  Whatever was going on, and Janet was even more convinced there was something going on, she could see that Rachel was not going to tell her. The friendship had boundaries, limits, set by Rachel, and Janet either put up with that or walked away. Rachel was proud and stubborn and Janet knew she would not bend. F
or all her flaws and fuck-ups, Rachel was too big a part of Janet’s life to lose. Janet resigned herself. Let the frustration leak away. Drew her coat tighter and closed her collar.

  ‘Have it your own way, then,’ she said.

  Rachel raised her drink. Janet saw that her hand was shaking. ‘When did you last eat?’ she said.

  Rachel didn’t answer, just shook her head with impatience. ‘Right,’ Janet said decisively. ‘When we’re done tonight, we’ll go out. Italian, yeah? Break from all this.’

  ‘I don’t need—’

  ‘Maybe I do,’ Janet said. ‘Not exactly been a cakewalk for me, this last couple of days, my mum and all.’ Pulling a bit of a guilt trip.

  Rachel opened her mouth. Janet expected her to refuse, but then something softened in her eyes and she gave a nod. ‘Sorry. Okay, you’re on.’

  When Rachel walked into the briefing room, everyone applauded, Gill included. Rachel looked taken aback at first, as if it was a practical joke that couldn’t be trusted rather than a genuine and spontaneous response to her success. Then she relaxed and sketched a half-bow but held her hand up too, asking them to stop.

  It struck Gill that Rachel’s success had been a solo number yet again. Through circumstance perhaps, rather than Rachel’s heading out alone with a mission in mind, but it was a familiar pattern. On the one hand, Gill valued her DC’s flair, her passion and tenacity, the drive that led her to be out on that canal before dawn. But on the other, she worried that results like this undermined her efforts to get Rachel to improve her teamwork skills.

  ‘Well done, Rachel,’ she said, as the clapping died down. ‘The press office want to see you after this.’

  ‘Poster girl!’ Kevin said.

  ‘No way,’ Rachel said quickly, then visibly flinched as she heard herself refusing to do something. Disrespecting Gill.

  ‘I think you’ll find that’s yes ma’am, three bags full, ma’am. Clear?’ Gill said crisply.

  ‘Yes, ma’am,’ Rachel was quick to answer, some colour in her face now.

  ‘Oh, and both Margaret Milne and Dennis Cottam want to thank you in person.’

  Rachel closed her eyes. It didn’t look as though that idea appealed either.

  ‘Doesn’t have to be now,’ Gill said. ‘Let the dust settle, wait until the children are given the all clear. Right – we have a lot to get through. Forensics from the barge show Cottam’s fingerprints all over and on the pack of nappies and the Calpol from the filling station. Items we can link to him. Another few hours without fluids and the children would have died. CPS have read the triple murder case file and believe we have strong enough evidence to warrant charges, but we’ve not yet spoken to Mr Cottam about the murders so we have agreed to do that and see how he plays it. A confession would be nice.’

  ‘He’s not given us anything yet,’ Pete said.

  ‘True,’ Gill agreed, ‘but now we’ve found the boys and prevented their deaths he may feel he’s nothing left to lose. Lee?’

  ‘Yes,’ Lee said, ‘though he might refuse to cooperate if our success makes him angry.’

  ‘Timeline, forensics and crime scene reports all hang together,’ Gill said. She talked them through the evidence on the electronic whiteboard. ‘CCTV from Journeys Inn. Eleven forty our last sighting of Pamela and Michael. Eleven fifty-two – Pamela texts Lynn. No activity on anyone’s phone or computer after that. Three ten a.m.’ Gill indicated the time in the frame. ‘Last sighting of Owen Cottam on CCTV with a whisky bottle. CCTV then switched off. Blood spatter analysis and analysis of blood samples on the victims and at the crime scenes confirms the order of attack. Pamela, then Penny, last Michael. Knife with fingerprint evidence from Owen Cottam and blood from Michael also carries blood traces from the previous two victims. Microscopic traces recovered from Owen Cottam’s jeans and top link to Michael and to Penny. At six thirty a.m., Cottam was spoken to by Tessa returning the dog. Six forty-five car seen leaving by neighbour Grainger. Subsequent movements we know from the investigation into the missing children, though we still have some gaps. Updates on inquiries so far. The marriage? Either of them shagging around?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Andy said. ‘Not a whisper. Her phone, the computer, friends and acquaintances. They were squeaky clean.’

  ‘No evidence of domestic violence, no rumours either,’ said Mitch.

  ‘And the children?’ Gill said.

  ‘No concerns,’ said Lee. ‘Penny was thriving at school, health visitor never had any worries about the younger ones.’

  ‘Happy families,’ Gill said. ‘So our motive remains financial. Did Pamela know the situation?’

  ‘According to Lynn,’ Janet said, ‘she knew things were tight but that’s all.’

  ‘He kept spending,’ Pete pointed out. ‘He dealt with all their finances.’

  ‘Didn’t she have her own bank account?’ Rachel said, sounding horrified.

  ‘She did,’ Pete said, ‘but it was peanuts. Only thing going in was her child benefit and she used that to clear her credit card when she’d bought something. All the bills, the direct debits, are on his account. He’d several credit cards and taken out payday loans. He wasn’t profligate . . .’

  Gill noticed Kevin blink, not familiar with the word.

  ‘. . . just living beyond his means.’

  ‘And he can hide the debts from her,’ Gill said, ‘until he gets word that the brewery are pulling the plug.’ She paused a moment. ‘How long before the murders was that?’

  ‘Nine days,’ Kevin said.

  Nine days. Gill wondered at what point in that period his idea of a way out had come to Cottam. And how long till it had crystallized into a plan? Had he counted down to that Sunday night, choosing it for some reason known only to him, or had the decision been made on the day itself? Some comment of Pamela’s or a remark from one of the customers the spark that lit the fuse.

  ‘Okay,’ she said, ‘any loose ends, any callbacks you need to do, try and get them cleared. I’d like to hope we can press charges later today, and the more comprehensive our case file is the better.’

  Gill concluded the briefing and asked Rachel to stay behind a moment. When they were alone she said, ‘I’ve persuaded Ben Cragg that your actions at the retail park were as a result of over-enthusiasm and, given that both of his officers are expected to return to work without any problems, he’s willing to accept that.’

  Rachel dipped her chin in acknowledgement.

  ‘But you came close, Rachel. No one wants to work with you if you’re a liability. This lot tolerate you, just about, but word gets out you’re impulsive, thoughtless, that you’re a potential booby trap, and it could derail your career. You understand?’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘I’d rather not have this conversation again. Got it?’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  Why am I not convinced, Gill thought as Rachel left. Why am I really not convinced?

  Janet faced Owen Cottam and took a steady breath in and out. He looked blank, absent, his unfocused gaze directed at the far wall over Janet’s shoulder.

  ‘Mr Cottam,’ she said, ‘I have some news for you.’

  His eyes wandered to her, though his eyelids were low, wary.

  ‘I’m pleased to say that we have found Theo and Harry and they are safe and responding well to medical treatment.’

  ‘You’re lying!’ he burst out.

  ‘No. I don’t tell lies. That wouldn’t get us anywhere. I only tell you the truth and I would like you to tell me the truth.’

  ‘Where, then?’ he said, his voice agitated. ‘Where were they?’

  ‘In a canal barge on the Leeds & Liverpool canal near the lock at Betty Lane bridge.’

  A spasm flickered across the lower part of his face as the hard fact of the matter hit home.

  You would have let them starve, Janet thought, die from thirst and hypothermia rather than give us the location. Die like trapped animals, helpless. She waited until the moment’s antagonism she
felt subsided, then said, ‘In our earlier interviews, I’ve been asking you about the boys, trying to establish where they were, but now I want to move on to talk to you about the murders of your wife, Pamela, your daughter Penny and your brother-in-law Michael at Journeys Inn on Monday the tenth of October. Do you understand, Mr Cottam?’

  ‘Yes,’ he said.

  ‘Can you tell me what happened, Mr Cottam?’

  He swung his head, closed his eyes.

  ‘When did you last see your wife Pamela?’ Janet said.

  His eyes remained shut.

  Janet said, ‘Please – open your eyes.’

  He complied.

  ‘When police entered the premises, Pamela was found, fatally injured, dead in bed. What can you tell me about that?’

  ‘Nothing,’ he said, with little inflection.

  ‘Do you know how she died?’

  He shook his head, touched the tips of his fingers to his moustache and pressed.

  ‘Can you answer out loud?’ Janet said. ‘We need it for the recording.’

  He let his hands fall. ‘Don’t know,’ he said, a weak response but not an outright denial.

  ‘Penny was in her bedroom. She was dead, too. How did that happen?’

  ‘Don’t know,’ he said again, strain twisting his features.

  ‘A knife was recovered from a third bedroom, Michael’s bedroom. A knife consistent with the weapon used on the victims. This knife carried traces of blood from Michael and both Penny and Pamela. And this knife had your fingerprints on it. Can you explain that to me?’

  ‘No,’ he said tightly. Janet could hear that his breathing had altered, the pattern faster and ragged. He’d begun to sweat, a sheen on his forehead, and a drop ran down the side of his face, past his ear and under his chin. The sharp smell of him was rancid in the room.