Bleed Like Me (28 page)

‘Doesn’t have to be now,’ Gill said. ‘Let the dust settle, wait until the children are given the all clear. Right – we have a lot to get through. Forensics from the barge show Cottam’s fingerprints all over and on the pack of nappies and the Calpol from the filling station. Items we can link to him. Another few hours without fluids and the children would have died. CPS have read the triple murder case file and believe we have strong enough evidence to warrant charges, but we’ve not yet spoken to Mr Cottam about the murders so
we have agreed to do that and see how he plays it. A confession would be nice.’

‘He’s not given us anything yet,’ Pete said.

‘True,’ Gill agreed, ‘but now we’ve found the boys and prevented their deaths he may feel he’s nothing left to lose. Lee?’

‘Yes,’ Lee said, ‘though he might refuse to cooperate if our success makes him angry.’

‘Timeline, forensics and crime scene reports all hang together,’ Gill said. She talked them through the evidence on the electronic whiteboard. ‘CCTV from Journeys Inn. Eleven forty our last sighting of Pamela and Michael. Eleven fifty-two – Pamela texts Lynn. No activity on anyone’s phone or computer after that. Three ten a.m.’ Gill indicated the time in the frame. ‘Last sighting of Owen Cottam on CCTV with a whisky bottle. CCTV then switched off. Blood spatter analysis and analysis of blood samples on the victims and at the crime scenes confirms the order of attack. Pamela, then Penny, last Michael. Knife with fingerprint evidence from Owen Cottam and blood from Michael also carries blood traces from the previous two victims. Microscopic traces recovered from Owen Cottam’s jeans and top link to Michael and to Penny. At six thirty a.m., Cottam was spoken to by Tessa returning the dog. Six forty-five car seen leaving by neighbour Grainger. Subsequent movements we know from the investigation into the missing children, though we still have some gaps. Updates on inquiries so far. The marriage? Either of them shagging around?’

‘Nothing,’ Andy said. ‘Not a whisper. Her phone, the computer, friends and acquaintances. They were squeaky clean.’

‘No evidence of domestic violence, no rumours either,’ said Mitch.

‘And the children?’ Gill said.

‘No concerns,’ said Lee. ‘Penny was thriving at school,
health visitor never had any worries about the younger ones.’

‘Happy families,’ Gill said. ‘So our motive remains financial. Did Pamela know the situation?’

‘According to Lynn,’ Janet said, ‘she knew things were tight but that’s all.’

‘He kept spending,’ Pete pointed out. ‘He dealt with all their finances.’

‘Didn’t she have her own bank account?’ Rachel said, sounding horrified.

‘She did,’ Pete said, ‘but it was peanuts. Only thing going in was her child benefit and she used that to clear her credit card when she’d bought something. All the bills, the direct debits, are on his account. He’d several credit cards and taken out payday loans. He wasn’t profligate . . .’

Gill noticed Kevin blink, not familiar with the word.

‘. . . just living beyond his means.’

‘And he can hide the debts from her,’ Gill said, ‘until he gets word that the brewery are pulling the plug.’ She paused a moment. ‘How long before the murders was that?’

‘Nine days,’ Kevin said.

Nine days. Gill wondered at what point in that period his idea of a way out had come to Cottam. And how long till it had crystallized into a plan? Had he counted down to that Sunday night, choosing it for some reason known only to him, or had the decision been made on the day itself? Some comment of Pamela’s or a remark from one of the customers the spark that lit the fuse.

‘Okay,’ she said, ‘any loose ends, any callbacks you need to do, try and get them cleared. I’d like to hope we can press charges later today, and the more comprehensive our case file is the better.’

Gill concluded the briefing and asked Rachel to stay behind a moment. When they were alone she said, ‘I’ve persuaded
Ben Cragg that your actions at the retail park were as a result of over-enthusiasm and, given that both of his officers are expected to return to work without any problems, he’s willing to accept that.’

Rachel dipped her chin in acknowledgement.

‘But you came close, Rachel. No one wants to work with you if you’re a liability. This lot tolerate you, just about, but word gets out you’re impulsive, thoughtless, that you’re a potential booby trap, and it could derail your career. You understand?’

‘Yes, boss.’

‘I’d rather not have this conversation again. Got it?’

‘Yes, boss.’

Why am I not convinced, Gill thought as Rachel left. Why am I really not convinced?

Janet faced Owen Cottam and took a steady breath in and out. He looked blank, absent, his unfocused gaze directed at the far wall over Janet’s shoulder.

‘Mr Cottam,’ she said, ‘I have some news for you.’

His eyes wandered to her, though his eyelids were low, wary.

‘I’m pleased to say that we have found Theo and Harry and they are safe and responding well to medical treatment.’

‘You’re lying!’ he burst out.

‘No. I don’t tell lies. That wouldn’t get us anywhere. I only tell you the truth and I would like you to tell me the truth.’

‘Where, then?’ he said, his voice agitated. ‘Where were they?’

‘In a canal barge on the Leeds & Liverpool canal near the lock at Betty Lane bridge.’

A spasm flickered across the lower part of his face as the hard fact of the matter hit home.

You would have let them starve, Janet thought, die from thirst and hypothermia rather than give us the location. Die like trapped animals, helpless. She waited until the moment’s antagonism she felt subsided, then said, ‘In our earlier interviews, I’ve been asking you about the boys, trying to establish where they were, but now I want to move on to talk to you about the murders of your wife, Pamela, your daughter Penny and your brother-in-law Michael at Journeys Inn on Monday the tenth of October. Do you understand, Mr Cottam?’

‘Yes,’ he said.

‘Can you tell me what happened, Mr Cottam?’

He swung his head, closed his eyes.

‘When did you last see your wife Pamela?’ Janet said.

His eyes remained shut.

Janet said, ‘Please – open your eyes.’

He complied.

‘When police entered the premises, Pamela was found, fatally injured, dead in bed. What can you tell me about that?’

‘Nothing,’ he said, with little inflection.

‘Do you know how she died?’

He shook his head, touched the tips of his fingers to his moustache and pressed.

‘Can you answer out loud?’ Janet said. ‘We need it for the recording.’

He let his hands fall. ‘Don’t know,’ he said, a weak response but not an outright denial.

‘Penny was in her bedroom. She was dead, too. How did that happen?’

‘Don’t know,’ he said again, strain twisting his features.

‘A knife was recovered from a third bedroom, Michael’s bedroom. A knife consistent with the weapon used on the victims. This knife carried traces of blood from Michael and
both Penny and Pamela. And this knife had your fingerprints on it. Can you explain that to me?’

‘No,’ he said tightly. Janet could hear that his breathing had altered, the pattern faster and ragged. He’d begun to sweat, a sheen on his forehead, and a drop ran down the side of his face, past his ear and under his chin. The sharp smell of him was rancid in the room.

‘Mr Cottam, your clothes were taken for examination on your admission to hospital. We have found traces of blood from Penny and Michael on them. How did that blood get on to your clothing?’

‘I don’t know,’ he said.

‘That evidence suggests that you were present at the scene when the murders were committed or afterwards. How do you account for that?’

He was silent. He lifted his head to the ceiling, the pulse in his neck jumping again and again. Sweat, in rivulets now, snaked down his face. He made a noise in his throat, a hitching sound.

‘Pamela and Penny and Michael,’ Janet said. ‘Tell me what happened.’

He raised his hands and rubbed at his face, at his hair, like someone emerging from a pool or a shower. His breath was choppy, uneven.

‘Did Pamela know what you planned to do? You’d been together eighteen years, married, working together. Three children. Through thick and thin. What changed?’ Janet watched and waited. After a few moments she spoke again. ‘Penny had just started high school. She was doing well – she’d made friends, joined the netball team.’

Something moved in his cheek, a tic he couldn’t suppress.

‘What did you do, Mr Cottam? The early hours of Monday morning? We have film of you drinking whisky. We have very
persuasive evidence that tells us you were there, that you handled the weapon. Tell me your side of things.’

He sat there on the chair and touched his knuckles together, sniffed loudly a couple of times. He had resisted appeals to his better nature and seemed almost oblivious of the evidence presented. He really didn’t care, Janet understood. He still wanted to die and nothing else mattered any more. All along Janet had played the game, pandering to his world view, never challenging his actions. She had nothing to lose now.

‘You can refuse to cooperate,’ she said, ‘and we will question you for as long as the law allows and then we will, in all likelihood, charge you with murder and attempted murder. After that you will be asked to plead. If you continue to withhold information you will have to plead not guilty and that means there will be a public trial. Witnesses will be called to give evidence, not just experts but people close to you and Pamela and the children. You will be in the dock and your family will be the subject of intense debate and speculation. Your life, your actions, will be picked apart in full public view. You’re entitled to a trial. Is that what you want?’

He twisted his head to the side, as though the paper suit was too tight at the neck.

‘I don’t think you did discuss it with Pamela. She’d never have agreed in a million years. They didn’t stand a chance, did they? Fast asleep, defenceless. Are you ashamed of what you did?’

He shuddered. She felt she was getting to him, piercing that shell of pretend indifference.

‘You failed,’ she said. ‘We saved the boys. You’ve lost your whole family but you’re still here. Are you ashamed? Is that why you won’t talk to me?’

‘No,’ he said, eyes blazing, fists hitting his knees. ‘No! I did what I had to.’

‘What was that?’

‘I killed them,’ he said softly, and every hair on Janet’s skin stood up. Ice ran through her spine. He sat back in his chair and closed his eyes.

‘You killed them,’ she echoed, hoping to prompt more from him.

‘Yes,’ he said, and rubbed at his forehead.

‘Tell me, from closing up the bar, everything you can remember after that.’

His eyes met hers then and for the first time she saw vulnerability there, distress and fear. ‘I don’t want to,’ he said, his voice hollow.

‘It’s difficult,’ she agreed. ‘A step at a time. You cashed up, then what?’

‘Went upstairs. The others went to bed.’

‘The others?’

‘Pamela, Michael.’ He coughed.

‘And the children?’

‘They were already asleep.’

Janet nodded. ‘Go on.’

‘I went down, had a few drinks.’ His fingertips were tapping together, a tattoo, a dance of dread. ‘Then I got the knife.’ He screwed up his face, gave a sharp exhalation. He hadn’t mentioned the dog yet but Janet didn’t want to interrupt him. She could ask questions later.

‘You got the knife from where?’

‘The kitchen. The sharp knife, that’s what we always called it.’

Janet nodded. Every household had something like that, didn’t they? The only knife that cut bread properly or sliced through meat like butter. She and Ade had one, a wedding gift. The handle was burnt on one side but they never considered throwing it out. ‘Go on,’ she said.

‘I, erm . . . I had some more to drink and then I went into our room.’ He bowed forward, pressing his lips together. ‘I stabbed Pamela,’ he said quickly. ‘She barely made a sound.’ He looked at Janet intently. ‘Like she understood? Then Penny, with the knife. And Michael . . .’ He swallowed, fingers curled, clenched now, something in that memory appearing to distress him more. His mouth worked. ‘He . . . I stabbed Michael . . . the sound . . . he woke up . . .’ Cottam stuttered and gasped. She saw tears in his eyes. At last. Had he wept since? As he drove frantically up and down the motorway, those noises fresh in his ears? In the car park by the lake during the long, cold night with his sons, his plans in tatters? Or when he woke in hospital after crashing the Hyundai to find himself very much alive and remembered all that he had done? Or was he the sort of man who never cried?

‘What happened next?’ Janet said. All the cross-checking, all the elaboration –
how many times did you use the knife, where on the body, where did you stand
– still to come.

‘Someone was at the door. It was this woman, Tessa, with the dog. I’d let the dog out.’ He shook his head, Janet wasn’t sure whether at his own folly for letting the dog out or at the woman’s action in returning her. ‘And she said the farmer had called the police. So I got the boys and we went.’

Tessa’s comment had just been a warning, but in the midst of the murders Cottam interpreted it as a much more definite and imminent threat. If he hadn’t thought the police were about to arrive might he have gone on killing undeterred?

‘If she hadn’t come with the dog, what did you intend doing?’

‘Kill the boys, then myself.’ His voice was close to breaking.

‘How?’

‘The knife. Cut my throat.’

‘Why?’ Janet asked.

His shoulders rose, then fell. ‘For the best,’ he said. ‘It had all gone to shit. We were losing the pub, the bank was on my back, bleeding us dry. Better off out of it,’ he said, quietly emphatic. Not a scintilla of doubt there that Janet could discern, but complete belief that the path he had chosen was the right one. For some killers, along with the confession came guilt and grief and expressions of sorrow for what they had brought down upon the victims and their families. There was none of that with Owen Cottam. No remorse at all.