Catalyst (43 page)

Five minutes later, they were speaking again.

“They're not at the Point,” said Jo, “and no-one's seen them here this morning. Where was that place she said they went walking?”

There was a pause while David checked the transcript of the interview on his screen.

“She said ‘the island'. Does that help?” he said.

“There are a few islands here – some are sort of pseudo-islands, but they still call them islands. Didn't she say something about managing to get passes?”

There was a few moments' silence, as David checked again.

“Yes, that's it, must be Skoalness! The island's owned by QuanTechnick, government research agency. They'd have to have passes to get on there. Listen, I'll get the chopper boys out to search the area for their car. I suggest you head out there anyway. I've got a feeling that's where they'll be.”

Jo set off again, finding the single lane onto Skoalness Island. They showed their IDs at the visitors' lodge where the attendant confirmed the blue Clio had been through the check point, and set off along the six mile track towards its furthest-most point. The island was predominantly farmland and mostly below the level of the highest tides. As a consequence it was protected by a sea wall, and was a popular area for birdwatchers who mainly strayed beyond the wall onto the sandbanks and mudflats which built up against it.

They had only been going about five minutes when a helicopter raced past them towards Skoal Head, the north-east tip of the island.

“Christ that was quick,” said Jo. “Very impressive.”

Geoff and Judy craned their necks to watch it go by.

“That's S-and-R,” he said, “not one of ours.”

“Oh, please God, no,” said Jo, speaking for all three of them.

By the time they got there, all three bodies had been set down just inside the wall. Shocked birdwatchers and walkers, observing the scene from a distance, were speaking in hushed, distressed tones as the plastic body bags were unrolled ready to receive their tragic cargo.

An elderly couple were talking to the coxswain of the inshore lifeboat. Jo slumped forward in the driver's seat, hands on wheel, head on hands, and sobbed uncontrollably. Geoff got out from the car and went across to the couple and the lifeboat man. Judy leant over from the back seat and placed a comforting arm around Jo's convulsing shoulders.

Geoff showed his ID.

“I think I know who these people are,” he said. “We came here looking for them. Can you tell me what happened?”

The coxswain turned to the couple who were clearly very shaken and distressed.

“Would you like to tell the detective what you just told me?”

The man nodded.

“And you are?” asked Geoff.

“Peter Grantham and this is my wife, Elizabeth. We're birdwatchers. We were just panning round over there, watching some Whimbrel flying across that spit of sand” – he pointed – “and we noticed these three people. They were up to their waists already – the child nearly to his shoulders. It's a lovely spot but really dangerous if you don't know it. The tide pours in behind it making it into an island, then… ”

He choked momentarily at the recent memory.

“That's what we thought must have happened today at first,” he went on. “We shouted to them but they just didn't respond. Just stood there with their arms around each other.” His wife had started to cry quietly. “We called 999 and within a few minutes the lifeboat and the helicopter arrived. But too late. They'd disappeared into the water by then. They did a fantastic job – the helicopter winch-man got all three out in no time, but… ”

“The really strange thing,” said Elizabeth Grantham, “was that it looked like they wanted it to happen; like they wanted to drown.”

Tom was in Jackie's office, just after midday, when Jenny phoned him on his mobile.

“Mr Brown, I have Detective Superintendent Allan Pickford from Parkside on the office line. Would it be convenient to speak to him right now?”

“Do you know what it's about, Jenny?”

“Yes, it's to do with the missing child who was involved in the Meadow Village shootings.”

Tom looked across at Jackie, pointing to his phone. Jackie nodded.

“Yes, Jenny. Ask him to phone my mobile, please.”

In less than a minute his phone sounded again.

“Mr Brown?”

“Speaking, Allan – and I think it was ‘Tom' last time we met.”

“You're right, Tom, it was. I'm afraid we've had a rather tragic development in the search for Joaquin Enderby. You know we found the parents… ”

“Yes, Monday, wasn't it?”

“That's right, in a caravan at Southend. Well Joaquin turned up last night. Just walked into the house, apparently, as if he'd never been away. Anyway, it was a bit late to speak to him then – he was just about asleep by the time we got a couple of officers round there. Cut a long story short, by the time we got round this morning, they'd gone – back to the caravan, it turned out. And this morning – well, all three drowned off Skoal Head; apparently cut off by the tide.”

“Christ, that's awful… ”

“But that's not even the worst of it, Tom. It seems it was deliberate. Eyewitnesses said they just stood there together and let the sea take them.”

“God, those poor people. What could have been going through their minds?”

“I thought you should know because of… well they're your constituents, of course, and it's part of this whole sickening Meadow Village thing. Right now the official line is ‘tragic accident', but I don't know how long we can keep it to that. It seems the people who saw it happen don't really believe that and we can't stop them talking to the press. They'll almost certainly be asked about it.”

“Okay, thanks, Allan. Appreciate the call.”

Jackie had been listening wide-eyed to Tom's half of the conversation.

“And then there were eight,” he said, half to himself, as he ended the call.

“They're sure it's directly related?” asked Jackie, when he explained what had happened.

“I don't know what the psychologists will make of it, but I do know for certain in my own mind that if the incident hadn't happened last Saturday, eight more people would be alive today.”

“Should we tell Andrew?” Jackie asked.

“No, let him find out from someone else. I can't face the prospect of his spinning this off the cuff into something positive. I'm afraid I might hit him.”

“Oh, come on, then,” said Jackie. “Let's go tell him!”

Tom allowed himself a brief smile. Then he checked his watch.

“I'm heading over there for the surgery in a few minutes. Do you think I should go to the estate again?”

Jackie shook her head.

“To see who? There are no Enderbys there to sympathise with.”

Just after 1.00 pm, in Parkside MIT operations room, Geoff Drury brought the team up to date with the events of the morning. Missing from the meeting was DS Jo Cottrell. She had been inconsolable since their sighting of the bodies and David had sent her home accompanied by DC Baxter, who had since returned. Also present was Judy Standitch, whom Geoff had invited along with the DCI's permission.

David listened to the account of the events from their visit to the Enderbys the previous evening up to Geoff 's conversation with the couple who had reported the tragedy. His expression left no-one in doubt about his displeasure, but he was on his best behaviour in front of Judy.

“I believe it was the right decision not to interview the child last night,” she said. “He was almost asleep when… ”

“I'm not claiming to be a professor of hindsight, Judy,” interrupted David. “God knows there are enough of those around. But that's not the point at all.”

“I just think it was important not to appear to harass the family when they had just been reunited,” she went on. “In my opinion, Detective Sergeant Cottrell… ”

“And we
are
interested in your opinion, believe me. But putting a police car at the end of Dewsbury Close, out of sight of the house even, does not constitute harassment, but it would have been a good example of common sense. That was not your responsibility, Judy; that was most definitely ours. You have nothing to reproach yourself about.

“But what we had was an eight-year-old kid who was potentially very unstable – or whatever the PC term is for a child who's been homeless for two months and who has just shot someone dead. His parents, who were so far past the end of their tether that
they
actually ran away, had just been joyfully re-united with him. They were then told they'd better expect to lose him again. Now if that's not a recipe for a fucking calamity, then I don't know what is!”

Judy's face reddened.

“What will happen now, sir?” asked Omar.

“We get back to rounding up as many gang members as possible,” David replied. “What Detective Superintendent Pickford has decided to do, if anything, I am not party to as yet. I assume you did mean what happens next about the cock-up, Omar?”

“About anything, sir,” said Omar. “I was just worried about the sarge, that's all.”

“Well, you'd hardly expect me to discuss DS Cottrell with you, Omar, or with anyone else for that matter.”

He looked round the room, feeling the team's collective anxiety like a material presence.

“Look, hands up anyone here who, at some time or other, has made an error of judgement,” he said, raising his hand.

Everyone in the room followed David's example.

“There you are then,” said David. “That's what it was, Omar – an error of judgement. So don't worry about Jo, but I appreciate your concern. Thanks for the briefing, Geoff and Judy. And now,” he added, “let's get back to the mean streets.”

The team left the room and he went into his office. Before he had time to sit down behind his desk, Allan Pickford appeared in the doorway.

“Just caught the back end of the meeting, David,” he said. “What are you going to do about Jo?”

“Well, I'd be grateful for any thoughts you have, sir, of course, but if it was just down to me, then probably nothing.”

“I think something has to be said to her, I mean… ”

“What exactly, sir?” David interrupted. “There is nothing that we can say to her that she doesn't already know. The girl is devastated. I don't believe there was any indication whatsoever that something like this could happen. If there had been, Jo was more likely to pick up on it than anyone else in my team, including me – and, with respect, you as well, sir.”

“I don't doubt it, David, but it was pretty clumsy to say the least to leave with a parting shot that they were about to lose their child again. I'm sorry, but if you won't say something to her, then I feel I must. She's a good cop, David, and whatever else is said, then that fact should be clearly communicated. But I actually believe she'll get over this more quickly if she has that conversation with someone – and it would be much better for
her
if that someone was you.”

Allan turned to leave.

“Think about it,” he said.

“Okay,” said David, with a deep sigh. “I'll do it. But I'm not sure this is the right time, sir.”

“Do it now, David,” said Allan. “Straight away. I don't think there is a right time for this, so better to just get it over with. No need for paperwork; nothing to go on her file.”

He left the office, closing the door behind him.

David picked up his notepad and quickly wrote down a few words on it before placing it in his jacket pocket. He looked at the photographs standing on the desk in front of him – six in all. Five of these were facing him and were of his family; two each of his son and daughter – as babies and teenagers – and one of himself with his wife and both children before their divorce ten years ago. The sixth one faced outwards so it could be seen by anyone entering the office. He picked this one up and studied it, smiling at the memory. It had appeared on his desk a few days after an outdoor team-building day and showed him standing next to Jo and towering over her, both of them liberally spattered with mud after a mountain-biking session. The caption at the bottom read: