by Jane Isaac
The Spider’s brakes squealed in protest as Nick stamped his foot down. The car in front of them rolled, once, twice, three times and landed, side down with a juddered crunch in a ditch. Nick was still braking as they skidded towards it. There wasn’t time to stop.
The crash tremored through Beth’s body. It took a while to focus. She looked across at Nick, checked for movement in her limbs. They both cranked open their doors, rushed to the Nissan, fearing the worst.
The bowed door squeaked as it was pushed back on its hinges.
‘Stay where you are,’ Beth said. Hail pummelled her cheeks. The headlights of the Spider illuminated the wet ground between them.
Yates ignored her, heaving himself up and out of the car. A string of expletives was forced through tight teeth. A line of blood trickled down his brow as he rolled aside.
Nick raced to the ground and fastened the cuffs on his wrists. Beth read him his rights. As she reached the end, she heard the sirens of the backup patrol cars.
Yates clambered to stand in the mud. Apart from surface cuts and bruises he didn’t appear to be hurt. He didn’t utter a word, wolfish eyes glaring at Beth. The sound that followed was hoarse, a deep roll from the pit of his stomach. He stared straight into Beth’s eyes and spat.
*
Beth lifted her head from her notes and looked into the face of a defiant Dale Yates. He’d refused a solicitor. He knew he was going back inside. For the past hour, she’d watched him calmly describe in brutal detail how he’d carefully traced his victims, diarised their lives and picked the most opportune moment and method to act. Each kill planned with military precision, he’d delivered the details with surprising veracity, neither remorseful nor abashed at actions he clearly considered justified. And he seemed triumphant.
She felt a twinge of pain in her back as she stretched it. Freeman had insisted they all be checked out by the Force Medical Examiner as soon as they arrived at the custody suite, in spite of the paramedics examining them at the scene. But apart from superficial injuries, bruising and scratches, they were all deemed fit. They’d been lucky. Given the nature of the collision and the weather conditions, it could have been much worse.
Freeman had also been reluctant to allow Beth and Nick to interview Yates. Photos of his team on the wall in the garage interspersed with murder victims, sat uncomfortably. But eventually he acquiesced. Freeman was a copper too, and he appreciated the innate need to see a case through to the end. Perhaps it was a blessing the acting DI was away from the office at yet ‘another meeting’ – Beth doubted Andrea would have shared his generosity.
‘You’ve admitted to the murders of Stuart Ingram, Richard Moss, Harry Underwood and the attempted murder of Sarah Carpenter,’ Nick said to Yates. ‘Are you going to tell me why?’
Yates smirked. ‘You mean you don’t already know? I had you down as smarter than that, detective.’ He shot a beady glance at the camera in the corner of the room, then glared at Beth. ‘You’re not as clever as I gave you credit for. None of you are.’
Beth levelled his gaze. She could still feel the sticky spittle across her cheeks, the smell of his grimy breath, even though she’d scrubbed her skin until it was sore.
‘For the recording, please.’
He snapped back to Nick. ‘They killed my girlfriend.’ He took time to enunciate every syllable.
‘Your girlfriend?’
‘Yes. Jess Adams. Beautiful, innocent Jess.’
‘Jess Adams committed suicide. There was a coroner’s inquiry, no evidence to suggest anyone else was present when she died.’
‘They manipulated her and raped her, and pushed her to take her own life. They were responsible.’
‘Tell me about that.’
For a moment Yates’s face slackened, the memory of better times softening his features, giving him the brief appearance of someone younger. Then it hardened again. ‘I met Jess at Whitefield Children’s Home in 1996, but I’m sure you already know that. You’ll also know that they moved me, pretty soon afterwards, tried to stop us seeing each other. Reckoned I was a bad influence on her.’ He snorted. ‘But it wasn’t me that screwed with her head. We met secretly a few times afterwards, underneath the railway arch, near Whitefield’s. Until Richard Moss caught us. Bastard looked so pleased with himself. We thought he was there to punish us, but he said he’d make us a deal. He had a friend who was a taxi driver – Harry Underwood. If he arranged for Harry to bring Jess to see me, a couple of times a week, we’d agree not to run away anymore.’
Yates cracked his knuckles. ‘Underwood started to bring Jess over to Northampton to meet me. We always met at the same place: the bandstand at Abington Park. Those meetings were the best hours of my life. Until I realised what they were doing to her.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘Using her. Making her pay for her fare with sex, the dirty bastards.’
‘Did she tell you this?’
Yates’s eyes flared. ‘The last time she met me there was blood on her skirt. She said she’d hurt herself, fallen over, but I knew there was something else. She was too quiet. In the end, she told me everything.’ He paused, his face contorting. ‘She knew it was wrong. Switched off, became numb. Same as she did when her bitch of a mother sold her when she was a little kid.’
‘Did Jess tell anyone else about this?’
He shook his head. ‘She was scared. I wanted to go over there and sort them out. But she made me promise not to. I wanted to run away with her, but there was stuff at the home, photos her mum had given her.’ His lip curled. ‘We made a pact. We were both sixteen the next week, within days of each other. We’d leave then. We’d already finished school. I didn’t like her going back there, but Jess insisted. Moss was on holiday for the next week so she’d be safe. We walked and hitched lifts back to Whitefield’s so she could avoid getting in the taxi with Underwood that night.’
‘That might explain your motivation for killing Richard Moss and Harry Underwood, but what about the others. Sarah Carpenter, and Stuart Ingram?’
‘You can’t tell me the Carpenters weren’t aware of what was happening. Jess was always in her room. How come they never questioned why she wasn’t there when she came to see me?’ He gritted his teeth. ‘They should have kept her safe.’
‘And Stuart Ingram?’
‘He was always visiting the Carpenters or having coffee with Moss. Jess said Ingram went into her room a few times, asked her to help them with some fundraising events. He creeped her out.’
‘But she never actually said Ingram abused her?’ Beth interjected.
Yates said nothing, but his eyes bore holes into her.
‘How do you know you didn’t kill an innocent man?’ Beth said undeterred.
‘Innocent?’ A shower of spittle flew out of Yates’s mouth. ‘Last year he was found with images of underage girls, kids, on his computer. He’s guilty as hell.’
Yates leaned back in his chair. He looked victorious. Beth considered Kevin Tunstall, his neighbour at St Peter’s House. He’d called Yates a nice lad, one who helped out and brought him shopping. He had no idea the ‘nice lad’ was a serial killer, using Tunstall’s car to stalk his victims and his garage to plan out his murders.
41
The incident room was full of excited chatter as colleagues logged out of computers, snapped laptops shut and gathered their coats and bags in readiness for their traditional jaunt to the pub. Yates had been charged with three counts of murder and one of attempted murder and was secured in a police cell. The police officer responsible for guarding Sarah Carpenter had been found tied up in a broom cupboard at the nursing home but was unscathed. There was still evidence to collate, files to build for the CPS, but that could wait. It was time to soothe their weary limbs with copious amounts of alcohol and celebrate.
Beth was slipping her arms into her coat when her mobile rang. She fished it out of her pocket, surprised to see Paul Osborne flash up. ‘I’ll see you there,’ she said to Pete and
moved across to the window, away from the throng.
Osborne didn’t bother with preamble. ‘Have you got a minute?’
She watched her colleagues traipse out longingly. Nick dashed past, oblivious to a pile of papers he knocked off a desk in his haste to catch up with the others.
‘What is it?’
‘Ian Waite. The guy you passed us the intelligence on. We searched his house earlier, found three grams of cocaine and pulled him in. He said some stuff in the interview which I think will be of interest to you. It relates to your Operation Redwing.’
‘We’ve just charged Yates with murder.’
‘So I hear. Can you spare a few minutes to pop down?’
Beth straightened her back. She couldn’t imagine how Waite could be connected to their present operation but Osborne clearly didn’t want to discuss it over the phone. She looked out of the window, across the sports field at the imposing red-brick building of Wootton Hall Headquarters, where the organised crime unit was based. It would only take her a few minutes to trudge down the driveway, listen to what he had to say, and then she could catch up with the others at the pub.
*
Osborne’s office was even smaller than Freeman’s, a pokey box with a single desk. The aroma of coffee hung in the air.
‘We only found three grams of cocaine at Waite’s, but it was enough to arrest him and search the property,’ Osborne said. ‘We also found a roll of notes in the freezer, a couple of grand.’
Beth shifted in her seat. Surely, he hadn’t brought her down here to talk about a drugs charge? ‘Anything on Kyle?’
‘Nothing yet. What was interesting was what the techies found on Waite’s computer while we were booking him in.’ Osborne’s face was grim. ‘Child abuse images, and evidence of where he’d downloaded them from.’
‘What?’
‘He’d wiped them off, deleted them, but the imprint was still there on his hard drive.’
Beth’s jaw dropped. Kyle had talked about Waite being a computer whizz, hacking into company websites, but he hadn’t mentioned a predilection for child abuse. ‘Did you find any evidence of hacking?’
‘The techies are still looking. There’s evidence he’s visited lots of different business sites. We need to track back, contact the businesses and see whether the visits coincide with any hacking incidents.’
‘It’s extraordinary that someone with his IT knowledge would leave any traces on his laptop.’
‘He’s an amateur, self-taught.’
‘Have you questioned him about the child abuse images?’
‘We have, that’s why I asked you to come down here.’ He pressed a button on his laptop and an image of Ian Waite came up on the screen. He’d cut his hair since his altercation with Kyle Thompson the other day, but his face still showed the bruises of their scuffle. He sat at a bare table with his head down, the plain wall of the police interview room behind him.
Osborne adjusted the angle of the laptop so they could both watch and clicked play. The clock at the bottom of the screen indicated they were almost thirty-five minutes into the interview. Two detectives in plain suits sat opposite Waite, one of them scratching down notes on a pad.
‘You’re facing a long sentence here, Ian,’ the detective directly opposite him said.
Ian glanced at the solicitor beside him but said nothing.
‘Up until now they’ve been questioning him on the drugs details, and touched on the hacking, which he vehemently denied,’ Osborne said. ‘I suspect he realises we’ve got no hard evidence. This is where it gets more interesting.’
The interviewing detective let out a long sigh and clasped his hands together on the table. ‘Who else has access to your laptop?’ he said to Waite.
‘No one. I live on my own.’
‘So, you are absolutely sure nobody has accessed it?’
‘I just said, didn’t I? And you won’t find anything about drugs on there.’
‘What can you tell us about the child abuse images on your computer?’
He didn’t flinch. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Are you sure? The hard drive clearly shows the dates they were downloaded.’
‘You’re making this up.’
‘Our technical people are very insistent. The images have since been deleted, but the pathways are still present.’
Waite’s face paled. ‘I’m not a nonce.’
‘Then why do you have child abuse images on your computer?’
‘No comment.’
‘This is serious, Ian. It’s one thing being arrested on a drugs charge. Quite another for possessing indecent images of children.’ The detective leaned in closer. ‘Do you know what they do to sex offenders in prison?’
‘It wasn’t me.’
Waite’s solicitor sat forward. ‘Be careful, officer.’
The detective ignored him. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said to Waite. ‘You’ve already said no one else had access to your laptop.’
‘It was part of a job. I had to get them for someone else.’ He turned away and gulped.
‘We’ve enough here to charge you with possessing the images. Once the label’s fixed, it’s difficult to shift.’
‘I told you, it was part of a job.’
‘I’m listening.’
‘I can’t talk about it.’
‘Then you’ll have to take the charge.’ The detective who’d been note-taking made a play of clicking the end of his pen, gathering his papers together. ‘And the consequences.’ The interviewer’s chair scraped across the floor as he stood.
‘Hey.’ Waite looked desperate. ‘I was approached by a guy. He wanted to put someone out of the picture. That’s what the images were used for. Nothing else.’ His face contorted. ‘It was awful having to get them. Made me sick.’
His solicitor touched his arm, but he shook him off.
‘Who were you approached by?’
‘I can’t say.’
‘You’ll have to give me more than that.’
Waite closed his eyes, pressed a hand to his forehead. Several seconds passed before he spoke. ‘The job was for a man named Jason Carter. He works at an estate agent in town. He wanted the images planted on his father-in-law’s computer.’
‘You mean Stuart Ingram?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Are you telling me you planted the child abuse images on Ingram’s computer?’
Waite nodded.
‘You’ll need to answer for the recording.’
He gave a brief cough. ‘Yes.’
‘Why?’
‘You’d have to ask Carter that. Sick bastard. I did what I was paid for. If I’d have known how big it was going to be, I’d have charged a whole lot more.’
‘How well do you know Jason Carter?’
‘Not at all. I was recommended to him by a mutual friend.’
‘Who?’
‘I’m not saying.’
Silence hung in the room. ‘How often did you meet with Jason Carter?’ the detective said eventually.
‘We met twice last year. In the Grosvenor shopping centre car park in Northampton, both times. Fourth floor. The first time he told me what he wanted and when, and I made it happen. The second time he handed over the payment in cash.’
‘How much were you paid?’
‘Six grand.’ He dropped his head.
‘Was Carter alone when you met him?’
‘The second time he was. The first time he had that woman with him, the one from the news.’
‘What woman?’
‘Vicki Ryan. They were as high as a kite.’
‘Are you saying you think they were on drugs?’
He gave a short laugh. ‘Just a bit. Cocaine. They’re known for it. I’m surprised they’ve got a nose left between the two of them.’
Osborne pressed pause. ‘We managed to pin him down with dates of the meetings and descriptions of Vicki Ryan and Jason Carter. The descriptions match up. Unfortunately, ther
e are no cameras in that car park; it’s probably why they chose that location.’
Beth’s mind scrambled. Waite hadn’t mentioned the argument with Carter in the cafe. Perhaps Waite suspected Carter of his father-in-law’s murder and demanded more money?
‘Stuart Ingram was charged with possession of child abuse images,’ she said, scratching the back of her neck. ‘Didn’t someone check to see if there was evidence of him downloading them?’
‘That’s exactly it. The offence Ingram was charged with was possession. I’ve looked up his case. The techies couldn’t find the trail of how the images got there – not unusual in these cases. He could have taken them from a memory stick, or downloaded them from the dark web which erases the route afterwards – but the lack of pathways was one of the main arguments of his defence team.’
‘Have you pulled Carter or Ryan in?’
‘No, I wanted to speak with you first. I gather they’re both linked to your first victim in Operation Redwing.’
Beth thought hard. She couldn’t deal with this alone. ‘I appreciate that. Give me ten minutes, will you?’
*
‘Play the interview again, in full this time,’ Freeman said.
Beth sat back in her chair as he chewed his thumbnail beside her. When she’d scooted back up to the incident room earlier it was empty, most of her colleagues already celebrating at the pub. Only Freeman was present, finishing up some last-minute paperwork. He’d immediately accompanied her back to Osborne’s office.
Freeman was still chewing on his thumbnail when the interview ended. Osborne snapped the laptop shut.
‘Interesting,’ Freeman said. He pushed his tongue against the side of his teeth, making his jaw appear at an angle. ‘Why would Carter hire Waite to plant images on his father-in-law’s computer?’
