No skidding on the floor had meant that Ben wasn’t allowed to play, and that wasn’t the end of it. Every time Ben had come here I’d festered at home, and questioned him afterward, mining him for information that I could use to paint their marriage, and especially Katrina, in a negative light. I’d never allowed for the fact that Ben might have been happy here, that John and Katrina might have made an effort to make things nice for him, that she had, in fact, welcomed him with open arms.
Everything my son had told me, I’d taken and made into something unpleasant or sad, until he’d simply stopped telling me things. He was a sensitive child. He knew what upset me.
“I’m so sorry,” I said to John, and he said, “I am too.’
I heard in his voice the self-blame that was my companion too.
“I keep thinking about how scared he must be, without us,” I said.
“He misses you even when he’s here, so God knows how he’s feeling.”
“Do you think he knows we’re looking for him?”
“I’m sure he does.”
They were words of reassurance, but John’s eyes told a different story. I read in them a quality and depth of despair that matched my own, and that frightened me even more.
When we got home, Nicky and I decided to park the car a few streets away and see if we could approach the house via the alleyway that ran along the back, avoiding the press pack. It was a narrow passage, not wide enough for a car, and occupied mostly by rubbish bins and foxes. It separated the ends of our gardens from the allotments behind. From it, you could directly access my garden studio, where I did my photography. Once in the studio, it was only a few meters across the garden into the house. Our garden wasn’t big. There was just enough room for a small soccer net and a Swingball set.
Our gamble paid off because the journalists hadn’t bothered to camp out there. As we squelched along, avoiding puddles, we saw it at the same time. On the fence panel facing my studio door somebody had been busy with a can of spray paint. In scorching orange letters, neon bright against the dull gray slats of wood, dripping in places because it was so fresh, two words had been sprayed: “BAD MOTHER.”
When I sank onto the sodden, stony ground in front of the panel of defaced fencing, grit digging into my hands and my knees, Nicky knelt down beside me and coaxed me up. She took me indoors and phoned Zhang.
“Who would do such a thing?” I asked Nicky, but she just shook her head, and lifted her hands in a gesture of, Who knows?
It boiled over: the fear, and the anger, the frustration, and the terrible impotence I felt too. I was being persecuted. It was personal, and that was terrifying. And it wasn’t just in cyberspace; it had come to visit me at home.
Some of my anger was directed at myself, because of Katrina, because I’d got it so wrong about her and John, because I’d been so bitter and so stupid that I’d forced Ben to lie to me. At eight years old, he’d felt he had to protect me from the fact that they had a nice life together, that they cared for him.
But my anger was mostly directed at whoever painted those words, because they made me feel very, very afraid.
In my kitchen, in front of Nicky, I threw a plate across the room and it shattered into pieces against the wall. Another followed it, and then a mug, some cutlery. I threw everything as hard as I could, and then I looked for more things to throw.
“Don’t!” shouted Nicky. “Don’t do this. Please!”
She manhandled me. She took hold of me, gripping my upper arms. She sat me down on one of the kitchen chairs and she knelt on the floor in front of me.
“Where is he?” I asked her. “What’s happening to him?”
“Don’t,” said Nicky again, her voice quieter this time, and her face close to mine. “Please don’t.”
I stopped resisting her, and I sobbed until my throat was sore and my eyes were swollen almost shut.
JIM
Fraser and I had a pre-meet before the whole team got together for the evening briefing. She was looking at her computer screen as I took a seat.
“Woodley’s bringing in our friend Edward Fount of fantasy world fame in the morning,” she said. “And Christopher Fellowes, the forensic chappie, has sent me a profile that we can use when we’re considering the nonfamily abduction option. You’ll not be surprised to hear that it’s an almost perfect description of Mr. Fount.”
“I still think he’s not our man.”
She took off her reading glasses to study me. “I know that, I take your point, but I can’t dismiss him on a hunch. This isn’t an episode of Columbo.”
In spite of everything, that made me smile. Columbo had been a favorite childhood show.
Fraser went on. “Can we run through who else we’re looking at? Rachel Jenner?”
“Chris emailed me his thoughts on her.”
“He’s been a busy boy today, which is good, because he’s expensive enough. He should have copied me in on that. Can I see it?”
I got the email up on my laptop, winced a little in anticipation of her reading the first paragraph.
Email
From: Christopher Fellowes
To: James Clemo
October 24, 2012 at 15:13
Re: Rachel Jenner
Jim
Thanks for your mail—good to hear from you. I’ve had a chance to watch the footage from the press conference. Would it be terribly wrong of me to say WHAT A COLOSSAL BALLS-UP? I hope it’s not your neck that’s on the line for that one, but somebody’s ought to be. We’d worked up a good script for her. What a waste.
You wanted me to pull together some thoughts about Rachel Jenner as a potential suspect. Seeing as we don’t yet know whether this is an abduction, or a murder, I think the way forward for now is to keep in mind that these are very different crimes which throw up differing motives and therefore profiles. I’ve detailed these for you:
Family abduction
In my view this is only a small possibility in this case, because in the vast majority of family abductions a mother taking a child would keep the child with her, and both would travel somewhere where they felt the father would not be able to reach them or harm them. However, it is worth looking into whether other family members might have helped her to conceal the child, in order to keep him away from his father. Family abduction by a parent almost always takes place after a divorce where custody arrangements are disputed.
NB I am not excluding the possibility that another family member (i.e., somebody who is not a parent) could have taken Benedict, for motives of his or her own that don’t relate to the ones I’ve outlined above. That would be a separate scenario entirely.
Filicide
Much more complicated, this. Generally there are a few different motives, not all of which are relevant to this case. The two most likely to be relevant to Benedict Finch’s disappearance, in my view, are as follows:
Accidental filicide/battering—usually an impulsive act characterized by a loss of temper; often occurs in context of psychosocial stress and lack of support. Did she lose her temper with him in the woods? Or perhaps before they left home and hid his body somewhere en route?
Mentally ill filicide—complex, this one. Filicide often seems like a rational act to these women; older children more likely to be victims. A large percentage of these women are already known to social services or mental health services and have preexisting diagnoses that could include melancholia, manic depression, schizophrenia, or assorted character disorders. Munchausen syndrome’s also worth considering here, in which case the family would certainly already be known to medical services, though probably unlikely if Dad is a medic.
Worth mentioning also two other categories:
Mercy killing—a murder committed out of love, usually to spare a child suffering, which could be caused by disease or perhaps the potential loss of a mother if the mother herself is contemplating suicide. It’s not unusual for a parent or parents to take their own lif
e simultaneously in this scenario.
Spouse revenge filicide—the killing of a child in “revenge” for something, often infidelity. The aim is to “get back” at the spouse.
Please bear in mind that these are first thoughts only but they should give you something to go on. I’d be on the lookout for custody disputes; previously existing psychological or psychiatric issues; previous involvement with social services; mother’s predisposition to suicide; revenge impulses pertaining to her husband (did he cheat on her?); and check out her support network. No doubt you’ve done many of those things already.
I would need to come and meet Rachel Jenner if you want to progress these any further in terms of getting a detailed psychological picture of her. On the basis of what I saw in the press conference, she certainly possesses the capacity for uncontrolled outbursts of anger and a potential impulse for revenge (i.e., her threats to Ben’s abductor).
Of course none of this rules out the possibility that the perpetrator of this crime (whether it be abduction or murder) is a nonfamily member—which DI Fraser and I have spoken about. I’m currently formally writing up my thoughts on that and will send directly to DI Fraser and cc you in on.
Please give me a call if you’d like to discuss.
Best, Chris
Dr. Christopher J. Fellowes
Senior Lecturer in Psychology
University of Cambridge
Fellow of Jesus College
“Forward it to me please, Jim,” she said once she’d read it. “There’s some good stuff in there. I’ll edit and pass on to the rest of the team. We should also take note of his point about the wider family.”
“The sister interests me, but that’s all the wider family there seems to be. There’s also a friend, Laura Saville, who Emma’s met at the house.”
“Has she been interviewed?”
“Not yet, but she’s a priority. And on top of that the school has sent over a very long list of people that Ben could have had contact with.”
“Anybody stand out?”
“I met with the head teacher and Ben’s class teacher. They were very obviously stressed out, but trying to be helpful. The head’s a little defensive, I’d say, it’s obviously a nightmare for him, especially because he’s only been in the job since the beginning of this school year. They raised one or two concerns about Rachel Jenner that you already know about.”
“You mean the broken limb that the child had?”
“Yes, but I can’t see any evidence of wrongdoing there. I do think she’s been depressed though, that’s pretty clear, and it might be the most significant thing from our point of view.”
“Teacher?”
“Late twenties, I’d say, eager to assist, perhaps not the sharpest tool in the box, but seems perfectly nice. They’re behaving like people struggling to cope in a difficult situation.”
“Understandably.”
“The only one who rang a few alarm bells was the teaching assistant.”
“He’s got an alibi, doesn’t he?”
“He does, the head does, and the teacher does, and they all check out.”
“So what rings bells for you?”
“He was just a bit shifty. Woodley thought so too.”
“Who interviewed him formally?”
“I can’t remember off the top of my head.”
“Did they raise concerns, do you know?”
“No.”
“Do you want to interview him yourself?”
“No. It’s only a feeling, and I don’t want to spook the school unless we’ve got a very good reason to. The headmaster sent over the full list of people Ben might have had contact with yesterday evening, and I think we should wait and see what that might throw up. There are at least twenty people on it, so it’ll take time to check them out and interview them, but let’s leave the teaching assistant alone until we see what comes of that.”
“Agreed. We don’t want another witch hunt on our hands. It’s bad enough already. By the way, have you seen the blog?”
“Blog?”
But she was looking at her watch. “We should go. People need briefing. I’ll talk about it in the meeting.”
We walked into a packed briefing room and took our seats. Prominent at the head of the table was DS Martyn.
“Don’t mind if I join you, do you, DCI Fraser?” he asked. He had an unusually low voice.
His presence at the meeting was a sign of how high profile the case was. He wore full uniform. His hair was curly but thinning so it looked like spun sugar. He had slab cheeks and a drinker’s nose. He reminded me of some of my dad’s friends. He was on his way to a function at the Marriott hotel, he told us, so he couldn’t stay long.
His presence was a downer; it gave the meeting a formal edge, took away the conspiratorial atmosphere that Fraser usually managed to foster. She kicked things off. First bit of news was that there’d continued to be a high rate of calls to the tip line, so she was pleased about that.
Fraser talked people through progress and shared our thoughts with the room, told them about the stuff Chris Fellowes had sent over. She divvied out the workload and allocated actions. Priority was given to trawling through the list that the school had provided.
“Speak to as many people as you can,” she said. “We need to form as clear a picture as possible of the networks around this child.”
Fraser asked for updates and a sharp-faced DC called Kelly Dixon started us off. She told us that she’d located the pedophile. He’d been at a comic convention in Glasgow on Sunday afternoon, manning a stall. He hadn’t been anywhere near Benedict Finch. He had, however, crossed paths with an incalculable number of under-sixteens during the course of the afternoon, a clear breach of the terms of his release, and as a result he was cooling his heels back in the cells.
“Jesus,” said Fraser. “That’s a result of sorts anyway.”
The next item was the blog. If things had been bad for Rachel Jenner up to now, then it turned out that they were about to get worse.
“It won’t have escaped anybody’s attention,” said Fraser, “that our victim’s mother behaved in an unconventional manner at the press conference yesterday.”
“Understatement,” boomed DS Martyn.
Fraser tried to contain her irritation. “That behavior seems to have triggered somebody to write a very vindictive blog, which aggressively targets Rachel Jenner, implying that she is responsible for Ben’s abduction, or worse. Woodley, would you like to explain?”
Woodley cleared his throat. His mouth was dry when he spoke. Nerves. “Normally we wouldn’t expect a blog like this to attract very much attention,” he said, “but the author has placed several links to it on Facebook, which has inevitably led to it being shared and mentioned on Twitter and retweeted over and over again. It’s had thousands of hits.”
He looked at Fraser, who said, “In English, please, for the older generation.”
“It’s gone viral,” he said.
“Still none the wiser,” she said. I saw Emma smile discreetly. We all knew Fraser was more IT-savvy than she let on, but there were others in the room who might need this spelled out.
“Everybody’s looking at it. Thousands of people already, with the potential for it to spread to tens of thousands.”
Fraser continued. “Right. Which means it’s a possible problem for us because it could stoke people up, and the last thing we want is trial by Internet. We must remember: in spite of her performance in front of the press we have no evidence to suspect that Rachel Jenner’s done anything at this stage, although if she’s charged in the future, this is a potential contempt of court issue.”
“Can we find out who the author is?” asked DS Martyn.
“Not easily,” said Woodley. “It’s somebody calling themselves LazyDonkey, but we’ve got no way of knowing who they are.”
“We’re monitoring closely for now, hoping things will calm down,” said Fraser. “I’ll get legal eyes on it if it’s still a p
roblem in twenty-four hours. Right! Anyone got anything to add?” She looked around the room.
“Excuse me, boss,” Emma said. Her phone was vibrating. “It’s Rachel Jenner’s home number.”
“Speak of the devil,” said DS Martyn. His fingers were working at a red lump on his neck.
“Can I take it?” Emma asked Fraser.
Fraser gave her the nod.
RACHEL
Nicky phoned the police and then she and Laura scrubbed the fence. They wouldn’t let me help them in case there were photographers, and I was in no state to anyway.
While I sat on the sofa, cocooned in a blanket to try to stop my body shaking, they worked together in the cold to erase the evidence that somebody out there wanted everybody to think that I’d hurt my son.
It was pointless though, a Sisyphean task, because while they scrubbed, fingers frozen and arms aching, we all knew that other people were at work elsewhere, spreading the message far more effectively, and without getting their hands dirty.
It has a very destructive effect, being publicly vilified, or being aggressively targeted by others, however much you rationalize it and tell yourself that only the worst kinds of people do that sort of thing.
I felt hemmed in by hatred, and I felt physically afraid. If somebody was brazen and motivated enough to graffiti that close to my property, what would stop them going further? Would they break in? Would they hurt me?
Fear for Ben had inhabited every cell in my body since Sunday, and governed my every thought and every action, but now it was to be joined by something else: fear for myself.
JIM
While Emma stepped out to take the call from Rachel Jenner, the rest of the team murmured quietly. The biscuit tin had been emptied. Energy drinks were scattered around the table and people were rubbing gritty eyes. Bennett tried to cover up a monstrously large yawn with his case papers. We were all battling our ebbing energy levels and trying not to be disheartened by lack of progress.
Fraser summarized: “There’s two trains of thought here, a twin-track approach: family or nonfamily. Bear that in mind, please, everybody, as we go forward. The MOs are significantly different for each.”
What She Knew Page 15
