Bleed Like Me (22 page)

‘We would appreciate your client’s cooperation,’ Gill said.

‘Of course,’ the solicitor said. ‘No brainer.’

The hostage negotiator, Stephen Lambton, was a slight, balding man with a big grin and a thick Geordie accent. He met Janet and Lee in one of the small interview rooms.

‘Given his need for control it’s going to be a delicate balancing act. He’ll be aware that he’s lost control, that we’ve taken his liberty, and with it his ability to act. And now we’re going to be asking him to give us information and he’s not going to want to share it with us. It’s the last vestige of control he’s got, so we need to undermine that view. The conversation needs to take him to a point where he accepts that concealing the
children’s location no longer gives him any advantage. We need to persuade him that it’s game over.’

An unfortunate turn of phrase, thought Janet.

‘Our disadvantage is not knowing whether the children are still alive, but I think we can use that. What is crucial,’ Stephen emphasized, ‘is that we do not challenge the central tenet of his world view: that he acted in the interest of his family. If there is any hint of condemnation, anything that paints him as a villain, he’ll probably switch off completely. There’s an element of narcissism in this personality; the only perspective he accepts is his own. Everyone else is wrong. There is likely to be a great deal of anger and frustration that he’s not achieved his objective as it is. If he sees an opportunity to vent that, then we’re likely to lose him.’

Janet knew that in most situations there was a clear pattern to the interviews. Three stages. At first, encouraging the person to tell their story, at their pace, and with their choice of emphasis. Making them feel comfortable. Janet’s role to listen and absorb, apparently accepting everything that was said. The second stage, moving on to develop the account, building greater details, filling in gaps. And finally, if there was a mismatch between the account and other evidence acquired (from witnesses, CCTV, forensics and so on), going through each element, laying out for the suspect each flaw, every lie, any inconsistencies, and asking them to explain. All of which depended on the person being prepared to comment in the first place.

Stephen said, ‘The drive will be for him to remain master of his own narrative, to not have anyone misinterpret his actions, and that could work in our favour. Key to this is to remember he loves his family.’

Janet was surprised that her first thought on meeting Owen
Cottam was that he looked a bit like Ade. If Ade were taller, fitter, fifteen years younger and had grown a moustache. He’d a similar pleasant but unremarkable face, a thickset build. Nothing extreme, no disturbing features. No mad eyes or twisted mouth to betray the killer inside him. The right side of his face was bruised and she could see little red burns about his hands and face, like the ones Rachel had.

His eyes were slightly unfocused when she said hello and he glanced at her, remote, as though he wasn’t really present. She wondered where he was in his head, and what he was thinking of. The long night at the inn, the flight with his sons, the crash?

She began the formalities. ‘My name is DC Janet Scott. Also present are DC Lee Broadhurst and duty solicitor Hazel Pullman. Please give me your full name and date of birth for the tape.’

‘Owen Cottam,’ he said quietly, ‘fifth of August, 1966.’

‘There are some points I need to make clear to you. You are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Pamela Cottam, Penny Cottam and Michael Milne. And on suspicion of the attempted murder of Theo Cottam and Harry Cottam. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you fail to mention, when questioned, something which you may later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ he said. His voice sounded dry, rusty.

‘This is your opportunity to tell us what happened, Mr Cottam. Before I ask you any questions, is there anything you want to say?’

‘No,’ he said. The fact that he had spoken at all gave Janet some hope.

‘There are several matters we will eventually wish to talk to you about, Mr Cottam. For now, I want to concentrate on
where your children, Theo and Harry, are. And that is all I will be asking you about this morning. Do you understand?’

‘Yes,’ he said again.

There was no desk between Janet and Cottam, no furniture to his right or left. The layout of the space was deliberate, designed to make the suspect feel exposed and vulnerable. There was nothing to hide behind, no table edge to fiddle with, no table legs to kick a foot against. No barrier, no support, no prop. Nothing to focus on for displacement activity. The interviewee was spatially isolated, so that the only interaction was with the interviewer opposite.

Janet knew she had to set aside the wider picture, the crime scene photos of Cottam’s victims, the acres of press coverage and speculation, the frantic hunt for the missing boys, her own troubles, and focus in on Owen Cottam. Ignore as much as possible the solicitor at his side, Lee behind her right shoulder taking notes, and the winking of the video camera. She must create a magic circle around herself and Owen Cottam. Undivided attention, endless patience, bottomless interest. Engineering it so that Cottam and what he could share was the only thing in her view, and similarly making Cottam feel that all there was in his world now was the woman opposite.

‘Can you tell me where they are, your boys?’

He didn’t respond and Janet let the silence play out.

‘Can you tell me why you took Theo and Harry from home on Monday morning?’

He gave a half-shrug.

‘We have a witness who saw you with the children later that day at ten past four when you stopped on the A570 to buy food and drink. The following morning, according to a second witness, the boys were with you when you stopped at a petrol station and were confronted. Where are they now?’

He didn’t meet her eye but looked up and past her.

‘Are they safe?’

‘It’s none of your business,’ he said. A gleam of something, perhaps hatred Janet thought, in his eyes.

‘It is my business,’ Janet said. ‘The preservation of life is my highest priority. Are Theo and Harry together?’ When he said nothing, she went on, ‘I think they are. I think they are together and they are waiting for you to come and get them.’

Cottam shuffled, but didn’t speak. ‘Your boys,’ she said, ‘you can’t be with them. No one’s with them. Will you help me find them?’

She saw slight movement, his hand tightening.

‘The reason why we are here,’ she said, ‘my duty as a police officer, is to protect people. Your sons need protection. You can’t protect them any more, you can’t go to them, and I think as their father you will want to see them safe.’

He closed his eyes momentarily.

‘You bought some rope yesterday,’ Janet said. ‘What was that for?’ No answer. ‘Shall I tell you what I think? I think you got the rope because you wanted to take your own life. I think you wanted to take the boys with you, too. So you’d all be together.’ Janet’s voice remained neutral. She could have been talking about a trip to a theme park or seats on an aeroplane rather than wholesale slaughter. But she could sense the tension mounting, see his knees pressed together, his facial muscles tighten as she described the failure of his scheme. ‘Now that can’t happen. You can’t be together, but they still need your protection. Theo and Harry need you to tell me where they are so I can get them to safety.’

‘It’s too late,’ he said.

Janet’s stomach fell. ‘Why is it too late?’ she asked, wanting him to spell it out.

No reply.

‘Please can you tell me what you mean by too late?’

‘It’s all too late,’ he said, ‘everything. They’ll be dead.’ Janet noticed the phrasing. They
will be
dead. Not they
are
dead. The syntax gave her a surge of hope.

‘What happened?’ she said. Having said they were dead, he should find it easier now to volunteer some details. But he was quiet for a long time.

‘Perhaps it’s not too late. If you help us get to Theo and Harry, we can bring them to safety.’

‘Not if they’re drowned you can’t,’ he said swiftly.

Janet looked up towards the video camera that was recording the whole interview. The word
drowned
should alert the team to avenues for the search. Lakes, canals, rivers, sewers. She remembered what Andy had said about mines and thought there might be shafts with underground water too.

‘How did they drown?’ she said.

He made fleeting eye contact with her, animosity plain in his expression.

‘Can you tell me how they drowned?’

Again nothing.

‘Can you tell me where they drowned?’

He took a slow breath in, didn’t answer.

‘I can’t verify what you told me unless you give me some more information,’ Janet said. ‘If it was true then help me prove it.’

His face was impassive, and he looked away and down. Absented himself as much as he was able.

‘Mr Cottam, I can’t take your word for it and I’d be failing in my responsibility as a police officer if I didn’t pursue this and bring your children back, even if it is too late.’

He continued to look at the floor.

‘You wanted everyone to be together, your family. Is that right?’

He didn’t respond but she saw his jaw twitch and his lips
thin as though he’d seal them up if he could. And she saw how his fingers sought his wedding ring, no longer there – it had been confiscated with the rest of his belongings, a white band marking where it had been.

‘But at the moment your boys are on their own, not with you or their mum or their big sister.’

A tremor passed over his face and she watched his Adam’s apple move. She sensed he was uncomfortable and knew she had to be very careful not to alienate him. ‘It might be difficult to talk about these things, Mr Cottam, but everything I have heard about you tells me you were a family man, a good father. I think a good father would want to see his family reunited. Where are they? Tell me where they are and we can get someone to go and fetch them.’

His mouth worked and she thought he was about to speak then, but instead he cleared his throat and shifted position.

‘This – everything that’s happened over the last three days,’ Janet said, ‘I don’t think you wanted anyone to suffer. Am I right about that?’ Silence. ‘But what if the boys are suffering now? You can help us put an end to that. Will you do that? Will you help them?’

‘It’s too late,’ he said brusquely. Then he glared at her, pent-up energy leaking out. ‘Too late.’

‘If that is the case,’ Janet said, ‘let me fetch them back. They should be with the rest of the family. This isn’t what you want for them, is it?’

He didn’t answer. Janet waited for a moment, then decided to deal in some hard facts. If Cottam would not speak, she would have to keep going.

‘The day before yesterday you bought nappies for Theo and Harry, you bought food and drink and Calpol. What was the Calpol for? Was one of them poorly? Margaret says Theo gets earaches, is that right?’

He squirmed, that was the only word for it, and colour flushed his neck and cheeks. He did not like the new tack she was taking. Janet carried on, alert to the risk that she’d take a step too far and he’d shut down on her completely. ‘That was just after eight o’clock in the morning. Theo and Harry were alive then and you were looking after them, making sure they were fed and clean. What happened after that?’

He remained silent.

‘I know you left your car at Gallows Wood and I know you stole a vehicle close to there, a red Hyundai which you drove to B&Q yesterday to buy the rope and some bin bags. What were the bin bags for?’

He swallowed but didn’t speak.

‘You can still be a good father. A decent man. You can do this for your own father, for Pamela’s mother. For your boys.’

He closed his eyes. A refusal. Janet felt a flood of impatience, felt too hot, itchy in her skin. All of which she had to conceal. ‘Talk to me,’ she said simply. ‘Tell me about yesterday. Where did you leave Theo and Harry?’

The silence went on and on. Janet sat, her body as relaxed as she could make it, her eyes on him.

Silence isn’t golden. Not in an interview room. It’s oppressive. The silence seems to gain in weight as the seconds tick by. Janet sat it out, aware of the rhythm of her breathing, the smell of Cottam’s pungent male sweat reaching her. Darker and stronger than the talcum powder scent the lawyer gave off.

Janet watched Cottam and was disconcerted to see his tension gradually ease off, his hands relax. He scratched at his throat and closed his eyes. She was losing him. It was going to be a very long day.

Every item of interest from every path of the investigation was fed into the HOLMES database. At the click of a mouse, Gill could call up forensic details, witness statements, crime scene photographs, biographical information on any of the victims. The pool of information grew by the hour. As SIO she was the one person expected to have a complete overview. And to develop new lines of investigation as a result of studying the disparate elements.

Cottam’s assertion that his children would have drowned prompted Gill to plan a new strategy for the hunt. Lundfell and the Porlow retail park were taken as two fixed points to delineate a search area of some fifty miles diameter. Until one looked at an aerial view it was hard to imagine how many stretches of open water littered the landscape. In that zone alone there was a reservoir, a river with tributaries, a canal and two lakes as well as numerous smaller meres and streams. Gill did not have unlimited resources, even given what was at stake, and could not dispatch underwater search teams to all those locations.

In consultation with the POLSA, Mark Tovey, a police search adviser, she set out to establish an order of priority. Which sites were easiest to access from a vehicle? As they had no link for
Cottam to the immediate area and he had not used his phone at all, they had to assume that he had found a site by chance, spotting something as he drove, or from a road atlas (a copy had been recovered from the Mondeo and there was one listed by Mr Wesley in the contents of the Hyundai – now so much ash).