by Sally Rigby
‘Do you remember when your family moved from Bedford to Poole?’
‘Not really, I was only six. It wasn’t a happy time, though.’
‘In what way?’ Whitney asked.
‘It’s a bit vague, but I remember Gillian had gone to stay with my grandparents and wasn’t at home for a while. My mum was crying a lot, and when I asked her what was wrong she said it was nothing and that people sometimes get sad.’
‘And when you moved, did it change?’
‘Yes. Gillian came back, and Mum seemed a bit better. I remember being happier once we were living in Poole.’
‘Did you know why Gillian went to stay with your grandparents?’
‘Mum and Dad told me it was to keep them company. Looking back on it now, that can’t be the truth. Did something happen?’
‘Yes. Gillian was raped at fifteen and found herself pregnant. The baby was given up for adoption just before the family move.’
‘Oh my goodness,’ Penny exclaimed, her eyes wide. ‘Why didn’t she ever tell me?’
‘She might have suppressed the memory, to make it easier for her to deal with,’ George said.
‘Is it linked to the murders?’
‘We don’t know, but it’s important to investigate all aspect of their lives. Do you think David would have known?’ Whitney asked.
‘I honestly couldn’t tell you.’
‘How was Gillian the last time you spoke?’
‘She seemed her usual self. We talked about our children and what they were doing. It was just a normal conversation. I can’t believe what Gillian went through, and then to carry it around with her.’ She gave a loud sigh. ‘Are there any more questions? I’d like to go back to my room.’
‘No, that’s all. We appreciate you talking to us at a time like this. It can’t have been easy. If you do remember anything you think might be relevant, please let me know.’
‘I will. Thank you.’
They left Penny Burn waiting for the lift and returned to the car.
‘That poor woman, having to learn about the rape and pregnancy on top of everything else,’ Whitney said as they were driving to the pub.
‘It was certainly a shock.’
‘Interesting that she didn’t enquire about the child Gillian had.’
‘She might, once she’s processed what you’ve told her. Will you give her details of the child, if she asks?’
‘That’s not something we would be involved in. She’d have to go through the adoption agency. The pub is up here on the right.’
The Tavern was built in the 1960s, and in the middle of a dodgy housing estate. At the end of the street was a gang of teenagers staring at them.
‘I’m not sure about leaving my car here unattended,’ George said.
‘Yeah. I agree. You stay here and I’ll go into the pub. I won’t be long.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘It’s the middle of the day and hardly going to be full of drunks. I doubt there’ll be many in there.’
‘Okay. If you’re not out in ten minutes, I’ll come in.’
Whitney walked into a large bar area, with green plastic seating against the walls and some square tables dotted around in the middle. She’d been correct. There were only a few customers.
She headed over to the bar and held out her warrant card for the woman behind it to see. ‘I’m DCI Walker from Lenchester CID. Is the manager around?’
‘That’s me. I’m Dee Marsh. I own the pub.’
‘Were you working last Saturday night?’
‘Yes, love, I work here seven days a week. I haven’t had a day off in months.’
‘Do you remember this woman?’ Whitney held out her phone and showed her the photo of Natalie McKay.
The woman stared at it for several seconds. ‘I’m not sure. Saturday is our busiest night of the week. What time was she here?’
‘Around nine-thirty, give or take a few minutes. She ordered a glass of wine.’
The woman nodded. ‘Oh, yes. Now, I remember. I always associate people with their drinks. She had a house red and I was the one to serve her. Sorry, I didn’t remember straight away.’
‘No need to apologise. What can you tell me about her?’
‘She came up to the bar and ordered her drink, and was pleasant. She did stand out as being different from the usual riff-raff I get in here.’
‘In what way different?’
‘A bit posher, I suppose. She said she was meeting someone.’
‘Did she say who?’
‘No, she didn’t. She was dressed up nice, so I thought she must be on a date. But I didn’t see her with anyone.’
‘What time did she leave?’
‘I don’t know the exact time. She sat at a table and I remember looking over a couple of times and thinking, oh, her date’s late. Then we had a bit of a rush on, and the next time I looked, she’d gone. I’d say she wasn’t here at ten-fifteen, but that’s as close as I can go. That was the time I collected her glass from the table.’
‘How can you be so sure of the time?’
‘I looked at the clock before going out to collect the glasses, thinking that it had been over two hours since I’d last done it and that we were running out. That’s the trouble with a Saturday night, it can get so busy.’
‘Well, it turned out you remembered a lot after all.’
‘At my age, I sometimes need help, even when remembering someone tall, slim, and pretty. My whole life I’ve dreamed of being like that, but it wasn’t to be as I’m only five feet and a quarter of an inch.’ She sighed.
‘I can relate to wanting some extra height,’ Whitney agreed with a smile. ‘Thanks for your time.’
She left the pub and headed back to the car.
‘It looks like she’s got a genuine alibi,’ she told George. ‘I’ll call the station and instruct someone to take her back home, and we’ll head for Bedford. There might be some nice houses for you to see. There are some lovely villages out that way. We could take a look while we’re there.’
‘I need to go with Ross,’ George said.
‘I get that, but if we pass any For Sale signs, we can have a nosey, and then you can check online and take him out there.’
‘Surely we don’t have time. You’ll be needed back at the station as soon as we’ve made this visit.’
‘True. Come on. Let’s see what we can find out about Gillian Barker’s son.’
Chapter 31
The Roberts lived in a detached bungalow in a quiet cul-de-sac in a leafy suburb of Bedford.
‘Two cars in the drive, which looks promising. Let’s hope they’re in,’ Whitney said, as they got out of the car and marched down the drive to the front door.
She rang the bell and an older man answered.
‘Hello?’ he said.
‘I’m DCI Walker and this is Dr Cavendish from Lenchester CID. Are you Mr Roberts?’ She held out her ID, and he leant forward, taking a good look at it, and then at her.
‘Yes, that’s me.’
‘I wonder if we might have a word with you. It’s nothing serious,’ she added, wanting to put him at ease straight away because of the look of horror on his face when she’d announced where she was from.
‘What’s this about?’ he asked, not moving.
‘We’d rather talk inside, if we may,’ she said, returning her warrant card to her pocket. ‘Is Mrs Roberts here with you?’
‘Yes, she is. We were getting ready to go do the weekly shop.’
‘We’d like to talk to you both. We won’t take too much of your time.’
‘Okay, come on in.’
He stepped to the side and ushered them into the long hallway.
‘Thank you.’
‘We’ll sit in the living room. I’ll show you the way and then fetch my wife, she’s in the bedroom.’
‘Thank you,’ Whitney said.
He led them in to an airy, oblong room with French doors overlooking the garden. There were two la
rge traditional sofas, situated at a ninety-degree angle from each, which matched the floral curtains. Whitney and George stood in the centre, waiting. After a couple of minutes, Mr and Mrs Roberts appeared.
‘This is Iris, my wife. Please, sit.’ He gestured for them to sit on one of the sofas, which they did, and they sat on the other.
‘We’d like to talk to you about your son, Mark.’
Mrs Roberts’ hand flew up to her mouth. ‘What’s happened? Is he okay? I thought this wasn’t serious.’
‘As far as we know, he’s fine. We have some questions about him. Please could you confirm that he’s adopted?’
‘Yes, that’s right. Is he in trouble? We haven’t seen or heard from him for months,’ Mr Roberts said.
‘Is there a reason for him not keeping in contact with you?’
The elderly couple exchanged glances. ‘He’s drifted away from us.’
‘Why? Did something happen?’ Whitney asked.
‘Mark was a lovely boy until he got to about fourteen, and then he became obsessed with trying to find out about his birth parents,’ Iris Roberts said.
Whitney’s senses went on full alert.
‘When you say obsessed, could you give me some more detail?’ she asked, scribbling down some notes.
‘It was all he ever talked about, even though we explained that he’d have to wait until he was eighteen before he could apply to find out more. He asked us all the time what we knew about them, but we stuck to the same story.’
‘The story being?’
‘That we didn’t know anything about his background. We couldn’t bring ourselves to tell him the truth about what happened to his mother. Mark has always been a sensitive child. Well, he’s not a child now, obviously. But he is to us. We didn’t believe he could cope with knowing about the rape. We refused to let him see his birth certificate until he was eighteen. We kept it hidden. The day he was eighteen, armed with his birth certificate he started looking for her. Gillian Findlay. There was a blank where the father’s name should’ve been.’
‘Did you tell him then about the circumstances of his birth?’
Iris Roberts bowed her head. ‘No, because we didn’t think he’d find her.’
‘But he did?’
‘Yes. She refused to see him and said she didn’t want anything to do with him. She wouldn’t tell him why. We then explained about the rape and told him that was why she most likely didn’t want to know him. He wouldn’t accept it.’
‘Do you know how many times he contacted her?’
‘No, he wouldn’t tell us. He said it was our fault for not telling him sooner. He believed that she’d have seen him when he was a small child. I don’t think she would have. Mark was convinced of it and wouldn’t listen to me.’
‘Why do you want to know all this?’ Mr Roberts asked.
‘We’re investigating the murder of the Barker family, in Lenchester.’
‘Oh, yes, we’ve heard about that. It’s been all over the news.’
‘Gillian Barker was Mark’s birth mother.’
‘And you think he had something to do with it?’ Mr Roberts asked, his face ashen.
‘No. Not Mark. He wouldn’t kill anyone. He isn’t that sort of person.’ Mrs Roberts took hold of her husband’s hand and squeezed it so tight it went white.
‘Our lines of enquiry are covering all aspects of the Barker family’s life, and this is only one avenue. We’re not accusing Mark of anything,’ Whitney said, hoping to reassure them.
‘Because we’d stake our lives on him having nothing to do with it, wouldn’t we, John?’ Mrs Roberts said.
‘Yes. He definitely wouldn’t have been involved.’
‘You mentioned that you hadn’t seen Mark for months, which wasn’t unusual. How often do you see him?’
‘Maybe twice a year, if that. Ever since he left for university, thirteen years ago, it’s like we’re not important to him,’ Mrs Roberts said. ‘Occasionally he’ll call in. He’ll be polite but act like we’re acquaintances—’
‘I don’t think the officer needs to know all this,’ John Roberts said, interrupting his wife.
‘Do you have a recent photo of Mark we could look at?’
‘The latest is from his graduation ten years ago, which he said we could attend. I’ll fetch it for you.’
Mrs Roberts hurried over to the lightwood sideboard and took a photo in a frame from the top. She brought it over and showed it to them.
Whitney stared at it. He was smiling, but it didn’t reach his eyes. More than that. She’d seen his face before, but she couldn’t think where. ‘Do you mind if I take a photo of this with my phone? For our records?’
‘Of course not,’ Mrs Roberts said.
Whitney took out her phone and as she clicked, her breath caught in her throat. She’d remembered who he was.
‘What job does Mark do?’ she asked, forcing her voice to sound normal and not betray the pounding of her heart.
‘He’s a teacher.’
‘Do you know where?’
‘The last we knew he was teaching in Nottingham. That’s where he went to university. We don’t know if he’s still there, do we, John?’ Mrs Roberts said.
‘No.’ He glanced at his watch.
‘What did Mark study?’ George asked.
‘English and theology.’
‘Did he have a religious upbringing?’
‘We go to church every week, and Mark would come with us when he was younger. But he stopped when he was a teenager.’
‘Was it around the time when he first became obsessed with finding his birth mother?’ George asked.
‘Yes. It was about that time. Do you think it was connected?’
‘I can’t be certain, but it’s a possibility.’
‘If you were to describe Mark’s personality, what would it be?’ Whitney asked.
‘Meticulous. He likes everything to be in a certain way,’ Mr Roberts said.
‘Is he a perfectionist?’ George asked.
‘Yes, that’s exactly what he’s like,’ Mrs Roberts said, nodding.
They needed to leave and return to the station pronto.
‘We won’t keep you any longer as you want to go shopping. Thank you very much for your help.’
They left the house and walked down the drive towards the car.
‘You know him, don’t you? I could tell by the expression on your face when you looked at the photograph,’ George said.
‘Yes. He’s a teacher at the school the Barker children attended, only using the name Robinson instead of Roberts. I can’t remember his first name but I’m fairly certain it wasn’t Mark. I know this photo was taken ten years ago, but he’s still recognisable. He’s our killer. I know he is. We need to get back and plan to bring him in for questioning.’
‘I’m concerned about Mr and Mrs Roberts. They might feel duty-bound to contact him and tell him that we’ve been enquiring about him.’
‘Good point. Do me a favour. Go back inside and wait with them while I arrange for an officer to come over and stay with them until this is over.’
Chapter 32
Within the hour, Whitney and George had returned to the station after leaving an officer with Mr and Mrs Roberts.
‘Stop what you’re doing,’ Whitney shouted as they entered the incident room. ‘We have a suspect for the Barker murders. Mr Robinson, a teacher at the children’s school. He changed his surname from Roberts. Ellie, check for his first name. I’ve forgotten what it is.’
‘Yes, guv. It will be on the school website.’ Whitney waited for her to look, tapping her foot on the floor. ‘It’s Eric Robinson.’
‘Oh yes. Eric. Thanks, Ellie. He rarely contacts his adoptive parents, but there’s an officer at their house to prevent them from warning him that he’s on our radar. We need to plan his arrest. It’s best if we go to the school and take him by surprise. It won’t look odd for us to be visiting again, so he shouldn’t be alerted. Before we go, George, w
hat can you say about his psychological profile? What type of person are we dealing with?’
‘After listening to what his adoptive parents had said, and knowing how the crime scene was left, it’s my opinion he was obsessed with knowing his real family, and he took the rejection of his birth mother badly.’
‘Why did he murder the whole family and not just Gillian?’ Brian asked.
‘To make Gillian suffer. She was the last person to be killed and had to witness the deaths of everyone she loved. In his mind, he equated it to how much he had suffered. The fact he used duct tape to prevent her from talking was also important. He took away her voice. Again, he would have compared it with his own treatment. His adoptive parents didn’t tell him anything about his family until he reached the age of eighteen, when he could legally search for her. Until that time he had no voice.’
‘I get it,’ Brian said, nodding.
‘He has a complex psyche. Basically, if he wasn’t allowed to be a part of the Barker family, then no one would,’ George said.
‘I know you said the meal symbolised betrayal, but why the extra setting?’ Whitney asked.
‘So he could be part of the family. He may have cooked and set the table after they were all dead. We won’t know until he’s interviewed.’
‘That’s totally bonkers. He killed them, but still wanted to be part of the family, so he made them all a meal, himself included,’ Frank said. ‘Why didn’t he commit suicide after, so he could be dead like the rest of them?’
‘That’s a good question, Frank.’
‘Wonders will never cease,’ Doug said.
‘Shut it—’
‘I don’t have an answer, Frank. It’s something to ask during his questioning.’
‘Do you think he trained as a teacher with a view to getting a job at the children’s school?’ Whitney asked.
‘That really would have been playing the long game,’ Doug said.
‘It’s quite possible. We do know that he had a religious upbringing and that he studied theology as part of his degree. That would explain his use of religious symbolism when staging the scene.’
‘He must have been stalking Gillian Barker for a long time,’ Doug said.
‘Yes, he was,’ George said.
