Approaching Zero (9 page)

“He’s the kind of offender that we normally can’t do much with. He touches up some poor young boy, gets sent down for a few years, and is out to do the same thing again. Few child porn convictions. He’s never worked on this scale before, though.”

“I don’t understand,” Kathy cut in. “You think he’s just responsible for the disappearance of Brixton O’Neal. But we’re looking for nine missing children. It would be too much of a coincidence for this to be an unconnected, isolated abduction. Wouldn’t it?”

“That’s what we need to find out, Kathy. I can call you Kathy, can’t I?”

“You usually do,” Kathy smiled a little impatiently. Their conversation was too important for her to care what Spinoza wanted to call her.

“We might be looking at some kind of ring working together. This might explain why Spooner’s found the courage to take things further this time. Or maybe he didn’t. Maybe it happened in his flat, but he didn’t actually do it. At the moment we just don’t know. Forensics are still working to paint the picture for us and in the meantime we need Spooner to start talking.”

“So you want me to see if I can coax him into talking?”

“No, absolutely not. I need you to remain quiet throughout the interview. Take notes by all means,” he added, pushing a pad and pencil in front of her. “We’ll debrief afterwards and you can give me your impressions.”

“But what’s the point in –?”

“Coffee?” Spinoza interrupted, moving toward the door.

“Tea,” Kathy confirmed, but wouldn’t be shaken from her point. “So what is the point in my being here?”

“I think we both know that, Kathy. Don’t you?” And Spinoza left to get the drinks.

Kathy’s mind was racing. What did they both know? That she had success in the field of sexual offenders and would be an asset? That she was acting as a vigilante in the case that he was trying to solve? That she was psychic and able to hear the thoughts of these monsters? She had to believe that it was the former of the three.

“Just relax,” she told herself and let out a deep breath that she had been holding for some time. “You’re not the one on trial,” she sighed, but her heart obviously wasn’t listening and went on beating a hole in her chest. Kathy then reached in her bag, realising that she would soon be in the room with Spooner, took out the tub of vapour rub that she had bought with her and forced a small lump into each nostril. Although she had wailed at Brady that it no longer worked, she wouldn’t be able to be in the same room as the man without it. The fact that she could still smell the evil was something that she just had to deal with. She threw the tub in her bag, all the time snatching glances at the door as if she were the one breaking the law with her illicit vapour rub action. She took a couple more deep breaths and hoped that this sudden agitation couldn’t be seen on her face as Spinoza reentered the room with two steaming paper cups in his hands.

“Thanks,” Kathy said, taking her drink from him.

“You’re welcome. Do you have any questions before I get him in?”

Kathy thought for a moment before shaking her head.

“Anything you want to tell me, about Spooner I mean?”

Kathy shook her head. “All I know is that he belongs here,” she said honestly and then regretted it. Spinoza looked questioningly at her, but then was in too much of a hurry to get the interview underway to follow up his concerns.

“Right… let’s get this show on the road then.”

Chapter 8

This one reeked. It was like a slurry of offal that had been left in the sun so long that the squirming maggots had become a black cloud of flies buzzing above it. It was decay. It was death. It was pure evil and for a moment Kathy thought she would be sick right there in the interview room, but she remembered her routine: deep breaths through the mouth allowing the menthol vapour to circulate around her senses. And all this before the man had even entered the room.

Kathy tried not to let her discomfort show, but she felt Spinoza’s eyes on her as she watched the door, waiting for the inevitable arrival that she now knew was just seconds away. What did he see? Her shoulders tense? The shiver and crawling of her flesh? The hair literally standing up on her arms? She had no way of knowing but desperately tried to contain whatever it was that was drawing attention to her.

And then the door opened and in walked Spooner, handcuffed, accompanied by a serious-looking young officer with a few stripes on his shoulder, whom Jeff probably hated.

“Sit there,” he said without emotion and stood to attention until Spinoza indicated that he was happy and the young sergeant should leave. What he left behind was an unassuming old man who was clearly in some discomfort. Paedophiles come in all shapes and sizes and there were elements of Spooner that were typical—clichés even; he was of the supposed right sort of age, although Kathy’s list contained more men in their twenties than she had thought possible, he had the look of a loner—cardigan, poor hygiene, hair a mix of off-white and dirty grey with off-shoots emerging from his ears and nose; he looked like the uncle you would be terrified to visit if you were under ten and the errant family member that any sane parent would do anything to stop their children visiting. What was less typical was the look of terror and sorrow in the man’s eyes. He kept his gaze on his hands and snuffled pitifully at intervals, sucking back tears that were either for himself or his victim. Either way, they were of interest to no one else in the room. A woman in her twenties, who was to be his legal representative, accompanied him. She had clearly been appointed to him and was obviously an extremely junior brief. She sat beside him in a sharp, claret suit and designer glasses, which were such a contrast to his appearance that it was almost comical. Her body language confirmed that she had absolutely no association with this man at all. Nobody wanted to represent a child killer, if this was what this man was. She readied herself for the interview by shifting a file of notes in front of her then took one confused look at Kathy’s battered face before dismissing her as invisible. It was clear that her only concern was getting this over as quickly as possible.

DCI Spinoza reached over and pressed a red button on the recording equipment. He then introduced himself and his intention to interview Michael James Spooner, accompanied by his solicitor, Laurie Chan. There was no mention of Kathy.

“Okay, so we’ll start by clarifying a few facts, Mr. Spooner. Your date of birth, please?”

Spooner looked up for the first time, displaying battered red eyes that hadn’t seen sleep in some time. He then looked to Chan, who encouraged him with a slight nod, and said, “No comment.”

“And your address, please.”

“No comment.”

“Am I right in assuming that your client is electing to give a ‘no comment’ interview, Miss Chan?”

The question seemed to startle the young solicitor, as if she had successfully managed to imagine herself away and the sound of her name dragged her back into the room far too quickly. “That’s correct. Mr. Spooner has made a written statement and has been advised not to answer further questions. Essentially this is a waste of time,” she added, but there was no real conviction in her voice. She was trying what she had been trained to try in the event of a ‘no comment’ interview—to encourage the interviewing officer to cut things short. Spinoza took absolutely no notice of it and she made no further protest.

“Mr. Spooner, I would like to ask you about your whereabouts on the first of July at”—he checked the document in front of him—“seven o’clock in the evening.”

“No comment.” Spooner’s voice was small and full of anguish, his lips constantly rolling together as if he could really do with a drink.

“As you know, Mr. Spooner, this was the time that Brixton O’Neal was abducted from outside his home on London Road. If you can tell us where you were it will help us to eliminate you from our enquiries.”

Again, he looked briefly to Chan before saying, “No comment.”

As the interview got underway, Kathy was partly in the room and partly in Spooner’s head, wading in the murky sludge there for answers. As a consequence, her body was still, her posture taut and her eyes fixed forward at the suspect, almost eerily. Chan looked to her occasionally and couldn’t hide her impatience with the presence but still did her best to ignore it in the interest of keeping the interview moving forward. If Spooner noticed, he showed no sign of it, immersed as he was in his own grief and suffering.

“Could you explain then, Mr. Spooner, how there came to be traces of blood in your flat matching that of the missing boy?”

“No comment.”

“It’s fairly indisputable. But then again maybe he fell down outside your flat one day, hurt himself and you patched him up. That would explain the blood in your flat, wouldn’t it?”

Spooner now had his eyes tightly shut, Spinoza’s words seemingly causing him real pain, but he managed to say one more “No comment.”

“No?” asked Spinoza, warming up, showing his skill as an interrogator. “Maybe his blood was there because you snatched him from the street, took him to your flat, brutalised then killed him? How about that version of events?”

“No comment.”

“So where is he now, this four-year-old baby of a boy?”

“No comment.”

“Did you kill him?”

“No comment.”

“Where’s the body?”

“No comment.”

“Where’s the body, Spooner?”

Tears were now streaming down Spooner’s face as he answered. “No comment.” Spinoza pushed a paper cup of coffee in front of him and Kathy wondered how he could be so compassionate. He was such an odd mix of stone and mist that Kathy couldn’t help finding him fascinating. Spooner reached out his handcuffed hands and took a sip of the coffee. Spinoza let it go down before resuming his questioning, elbows on the table, facing Spooner head on, clearly showing him that there was no escaping his interrogation.

“Why now, Spooner?” Spinoza consulted his notes again. “I’ve got fifty-plus incidences here for you. You’ve never killed before. You’re not an abductor. Why now?”

There was no answer, just a sorrowful silence until Chan urged her client to speak.

“No comment.”

“This is your opportunity,” Spinoza told him. “If someone else was involved or if you had nothing to do with it, or if you have anything to say that can make this any better you need to say it now.”

This time Spooner didn’t even take the time to think before saying a resigned, “No comment.”

“Just tell us where the boy is then.”

“No comment.”

Kathy was scribbling away beside Spinoza despite the lack of an answer. She didn’t even stir when Spinoza tried to sneak a peek at what she was writing. Her dictation was almost automatic as if words were being fed to her by an invisible source.

“All his parents know is that he’s out there somewhere, terrified, alone.” Spinoza continued. “Let me tell them where he is so that, if nothing else, they can lay him to rest. At least give them that, Spooner. I know you’re not a monster.”

“No comment.”

“And what about the other children?”

“I had nothing to do with—no comment.”

“You had nothing to do with the others, but you did Brixton?”

Spooner now had his head in his hands, at his mistake, at the pressure, at the magnitude of what he had done.

“Anything you can tell us will help you, Spooner. Anything.”

One last woeful ‘No comment’ followed and then silence. Spinoza and Kathy could do nothing but look at the top of the man’s head as he sobbed. Chan now looked fascinated by the whole situation. Although she didn’t want to be there, she couldn’t help getting caught up in the theatre of the interview and her client’s reaction. This was not how she had expected a paedophile to react. Just what exactly was he crying over? She still had a lot to learn.

Spinoza officially concluded the interview at 3:05 p.m. but couldn’t let Spooner go without a few final words.

“Off the record, just tell me where the body is, Spooner.”

“This is all highly irregular.”

Spinoza ignored the solicitor and said, “Just do one thing right in your life, Spooner. Give us something to go on here. There must be a heart in there somewhere or you wouldn’t be crying like that. Just give us something.”

“No comment.”

“The interview’s over now, you dumb fuck!”

“DCI Spinoza, I suggest that you–”

“What? What kind of scum represents a piece of shit like this?”

“I’m warning you.” Chan had suddenly come to life in the conflict and it was now clear that she would eventually excel in this profession. Her eyes lit up and she became far more articulate and demonstrative than she had been throughout the whole interview.

“Just what do you get out of it, you sick bastard? Scared to fuck someone your own size? Prefer to play with no grass on the pitch? God, you make me sick.”

“That’s it, Spinoza. One more word and I’ll have this thrown out for police intimidation.”

“Go fuck yourself!” Spinoza shouted back at her. This outburst had come from nowhere, and Kathy didn’t know whether to get involved or remain silent. Officially she wasn’t even there, so it didn’t matter either way, but she decided to remain silent.

“Get in here, Heath!” he then shouted and the young officer was in the room once again. “Take this human waste back to his cell, Heath, and show Miss Chan out of the building. I can’t look at either of them anymore.”

“You’ll be hearing from my supervisors, DCI Spinoza.”

“And you’ll be hearing from your conscience, Miss Chan.”

With no answer forthcoming, Chan and Spooner were led out of the room and Spinoza and Kathy were alone again. Spinoza dropped his heavy body into the chair formally occupied by the solicitor so that he and Kathy were face-to-face. Kathy was surprised to see that there was not a hint of anger left in him. He wasn’t red or breathing heavily; he looked as calm as he had been before the interview started.

“Sometimes it works,” he said when he saw the dawning awareness on Kathy’s face. “Get the tape off, few choice words. Sometimes they just crack and give a hint of something. It was worth a try.”