Innocent Blood (17 page)

As he began to swim towards this thrashing shape in the water, a dark thought entered his mind. Wouldn’t it be a lot simpler for all concerned if he just drowned the bugger himself? Held his head under the water while reciting the names of the young victims whose lives he had taken, while his squirming body twisted and turned in the icy depths. Hold him down until the struggles grew less and the bloated body grew limp. That would be simpler and less costly to a society that would have to cough up the funds for the trial and the long prison sentence Hirst would eventually receive. His hurt to society would not be over with his capture.

As he grabbed Hirst by the shoulders, it was very tempting just to thrust him downwards until his head dipped beneath the water and keep it there. But it was a temptation that Snow could resist. He was not that kind of man. Although he didn’t believe in God, he was not about to assume the role himself. His job, his duty, was to bring this man in and see that he was charged for the crimes he had committed. That’s where his responsibility ended, morally and professionally. To do more would be wrong.

At first Hirst struggled to pull himself free as Snow began to tug him towards the shore, but very quickly he gave in to the inevitable. He was exhausted physically and mentally. The fight had gone out of him and he simply surrendered to events.

Eventually, with much effort, Snow was able to haul his weighty charge up on to the rocky shore. By now Hirst was only just conscious. He had swallowed great amounts of water and the dramatic events of the last ten minutes had gradually caused his brain to shut down.

Snow was also cold and exhausted but his steely nature prevented him from succumbing to the overwhelming sense of fatigue that he felt. He had a job to do. He slapped Hirst around the face to rouse him. He was damned if he was going to carry this bastard back up to the car park.

When the eyes flickered open and focused vaguely on him, the policeman announced in a hoarse voice that he was arresting him for murder. Like an automaton, he recited the standard rhetoric, before dragging Hirst to his feet and hauling him along the shoreline towards the pathway which led to the car park at the top.

Meanwhile, Bob Fellows had been ministering to the girl. He had retrieved a fruit drink from the glove compartment of his car and allowed her to sip from it gently. She was very groggy but apart from that she appeared to be unharmed. After a few sips, she relaxed again and slipped back into sleep. Then Fellows turned his attention to PC Hargreaves who still lay sprawled on the floor of the van. Bob quickly ascertained that he had not been shot and was just concussed. There was a nasty bump on the back of his head and a small cut on the scalp. The big lad would live.

Satisfied that both his patients were safe for the time being without his presence, Bob ventured to the edge of the car park, wondering what had happened to his boss and if he needed his help. Peering down towards the dam, he glimpsed Snow through the trees, dragging Frank Hirst up the pathway. They resembled two drowned rats. Fellows made his way down towards them.

‘Are you OK, sir?’

‘I will be when I can dry off. Get the cuffs on this fellow. I’ve read him his rights. How is the girl?’

‘She’s alive. She’s just been drugged. Chloroform, I think. But she’ll be OK.’

‘Thank heavens.’

‘I’ve rung for an ambulance,’ Fellows added as he clamped the handcuffs over Hirst’s wrists. He did not react in any way, his head lolling on his chest, eyes staring at the ground.

‘Let’s get him to headquarters. I’ll be a lot happier when he’s stowed away in a cell,’ said Snow.

‘Sure thing, sir. Well done. What a relief it’s all over, eh?’

Snow, very damp and exhausted, gave a brief nod. For some reason he did not feel any relief or sense of closure.

Two hours later, Snow was sitting in his office with his third cup of coffee, hunched up in his chair, still feeling the chill of the icy waters. He’d borrowed an old police sergeant’s uniform while his suit and shirt had been taken out to be dry cleaned.

Elizabeth Saunders’ parents had been informed of the situation and they were with their daughter at the hospital. Apparently, apart from some drowsiness still remaining as the after-effect of the chloroform, she was fine and would be well enough to go home within a few hours. She was a tough little girl and did not seem too alarmed by her ordeal. PC Hargreaves had also recovered consciousness but was still suffering from concussion and was being kept in overnight for observation.

‘I really think you should go home, sir. Have a hot toddy and get to bed. You’ve had a serious soaking. You don’t want to catch your death of cold, do you?’

Snow laughed at his sergeant. ‘I’ve never noticed these mother hen tendencies in you before, Bob,’ he said. ‘Perhaps you’d like to come home with me and tuck me up.’

‘I think I’ll draw the line there.’

‘I’m fine. Still a bit damp behind the ears but I’ll feel a lot better once I’m back in my own my suit. I feel like a pantomime Mr Plod in this baggy outfit. However, I must admit I don’t feel up to filling in the paperwork just now.’

‘I’m not surprised. The interview with Hirst and his solicitor is in the morning, is that right?’

Snow nodded. ‘Yeah. He had no objection to waiting. In fact, he has been docile and virtually mute since I dragged him out of the water.’

‘Bastard.’

Snow twisted his features. ‘I reckon there’s more to it than that.’

‘If you don’t mind me saying so, sir, sometimes you look for deeper meanings when there aren’t any. This is a simple case of loony killer goes on the rampage and then gets caught.’

‘Simple case?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘Whatever,’ he said diplomatically. It was you, Bob, he thought, who often didn’t look deep enough into matters. Nothing is ever as simple as it appears on the surface. ‘However,’ he added, ‘I am ducking out of the formalities at this juncture. I’ve handed over proceedings to DI Osborne. He’ll be with you in the interview room tomorrow.’

‘What! You’re passing this over now.’

‘Yes. I’ve had my fill of it and I’m sure it will be straightforward anyway. The fellow’s confessed. There will be no conflict.’

Before Bob Fellows could respond, there was a brief knock at the door and Susan Morgan bustled in, holding a suit carrier so that it didn’t drag along the ground.

‘Hello, sir. Your suit, shirt and tie, dry, pressed and ready to wear.’

Snow beamed. ‘You are an angel,’ he said and then blushed slightly when he realised what he’d said.

‘I have friends at Easy Clean and when I said these were the clothes of the detective who had hauled in the child-killer, they did the business quick sticks and for nothing.’

‘You see, sir, there are some perks to being a copper.’ observed Bob Fellows.

‘So it seems. Thanks, Susan. Much appreciated.’ Snow took the suit carrier from her with a smile. ‘Now if you two don’t mind, I’d like the privacy to change out of this smelly old uniform back into my own clothes.’

‘What you need is a phone box to change from mild-mannered copper to Super Snow,’ grinned Bob, ushering Susan out of the office with a smile.

Ten minutes later, back in his own clothes and feeling very much his old self, DI Paul Snow emerged from his office and was greeted by a mild ripple of applause from the small group of officers there. He was, it seemed, the hero of the hour for bringing in Frank Hirst. No doubt Bob Fellows had overdramatised the event, as was his wont, but this reaction amused and pleased Snow. He accepted the approbation with a gentle smile and a wave of the hand as he moved swiftly through the room into the cool corridor beyond. His smile faded as he made his way down into the basement where the cells were located.

PC Braithwaite was gatekeeper and he seemed surprised to see Snow.

‘I’ve come to see Hirst,’ he said quietly. He knew this was not protocol. He should have another officer and Hirst’s solicitor with him for this to happen.

Braithwaite hesitated. He didn’t want to challenge a senior officer but he knew the rules.

‘I won’t be long. Nothing serious. It’ll just help the case. You understand,’ said Snow gently, placing a friendly hand on Braithwaite’s shoulders.

The constable, like most of the officers at the station, respected and even admired Snow for his diligence and professionalism and his considered treatment of the lower ranks. He was all right was old Snow, was the mantra in the canteen. It was because of this general feeling that Braithwaite acceded to Snow’s request.

‘Don’t be too long, sir,’ he added sotto voce as he led Snow down a narrow corridor to Hirst’s cell.

‘No, I won’t,’ came the murmured reply.

Frank Hirst sat hunched up on the small pallet bed in the cell, a blanket around his shoulders. His hands were clenched and he was staring at the far wall in front of him. He was now dressed in standard issue prison wear but his hair was still damp and flattened to his scalp. He looked like a bedraggled statue and did not move one inch as Snow entered the cell.

The policeman pulled up a chair and sat close to him and waited a few seconds to see if the man would react. He did not.

‘I just want to know, why?’ said Snow quietly. ‘Tell me why, Frank. Explain it to me.’

Hirst’s face remained immobile.

‘There must be so much you want to get off your chest. Now’s your chance. Now’s your chance before you are hounded by police officers, lawyers and others. Those that will twist your words and motive.’

Still not a flicker on the prisoner’s face.

‘This is unofficial. Nothing is being recorded. I just want to know why … why you killed those girls.’

Slowly Hirst raised his head and turned his watery eyes towards Snow. His lips trembled momentarily before he spoke. ‘Daddy.’ The word emerged as a tortured whisper. ‘She said, “Daddy”.’

‘Who said that?’

‘The girl. Elizabeth. She said “Daddy”. She thought … she thought that I …’

Tears trickled down Hirst’s face and it froze in an agonised stare.

Snow wasn’t quite sure what Hirst was talking about but he knew instinctively that he should remain silent and wait. He had begun talking now and the policeman felt fairly certain that the dam would break soon and the information he was seeking would cascade out.

Hirst wiped the tears away with his sleeve. ‘Have you got kids?’ he asked.

Snow shook his head.

‘You can’t understand then.’

‘Try me. As a police officer I’ve seen a lot and understand a lot. You get to dig deep into feelings. Outsiders often see more.’

Hirst thought about this for a moment and then said: ‘I had a daughter. Debbie. Little Debbie. She was the light of my life. Little … She meant the world to me. No doubt, people thought I doted on her too much. Worshipped her. We both did, me and my wife.’

Snow nodded judiciously.

‘Don’t get me wrong: I loved my wife, too, and she loved me, but we channelled our …’ He struggled to find the right word. ‘We channelled our passion into her. Our lives were dull, mundane, humdrum but hers … was like a rainbow. Full of colours and excitement.’ For a fleeting moment his face twisted into a crooked smile which even reached his eyes.

‘And then,’ he continued, his voice growing stronger now and his body posture more relaxed, ‘she was taken away from us. Cruelly. Without warning. Killed. Without reason. One minute she was kissing me goodbye and hugging me tight and the next she was torn and bloodied on a slab like a piece of meat in the butchers.’

‘That must have been terrible.’ Snow meant it. He had the imagination and sensitivity to empathise completely.

‘Terrible doesn’t touch the half of it. Why her? Why was my beautiful daughter crushed in that coach? Why was she one of those who died? It’s a question I asked a thousand times. It bore like a drill in my head. Why couldn’t she have lived?’

There was no answer to that one and Snow was not about to attempt to provide one.

‘It was so unfair. I mean … if she deserved to die, the others did as well. That’s only fair.’

‘But she wasn’t the only one to be killed in the crash. There were others who died,’ Snow suggested gently.

Hirst shook his head in agreement. ‘I know, I know. But what bit into my soul, kept me awake at nights, was the thought of those who by a whim of chance had got away with it. They’d missed out on death.’

‘You saw it as their fault that they had survived?’

‘Yes. They were the smug ones walking away from the twisted wreck unharmed, able to carry on living while Debbie was placed in a coffin. What did they care as they returned home to their lovely, little happy lives? They were all right. They could laugh again. Laugh without a thought for my poor darling, their dead friend. They forgot her. It didn’t matter to them because they were all right. It wasn’t fair. Don’t you understand? It wasn’t bloody fair! That’s what haunted me. That’s what ate away at my brain. That’s what drove me on.’

Hirst gulped for air and clutched his hands together in a wringing motion as his emotions overtook him again.

Snow waited.

‘And then my Pam went,’ he resumed after a moment. ‘She felt the same pain as me but in a different way. While mine smouldered like a bonfire, growing hotter and angrier, she gave in to despair. The door on her future had been slammed in her face when our Debbie died. I was no use to her. Debbie had been our link and now that had gone. There was nothing to hold us together. Living … just living became too much for her. Making a cup of tea, having a sandwich, reading a book – which she used to love – meant nothing to her any more. So … she took her life. Jumped off a bridge on to the bloody motorway. Splat!’ He gave an agonised cry halfway between a wail and a laugh, both horrified and amused at his expression. ‘I had no idea that she’d do it. To be honest I didn’t think she had it in her. I mean it takes some guts to jump off a bridge … but I can say that if I’d known what she intended to do, I wouldn’t have stopped her. It was the only way that she could have prevented her suffering. Living was now just pain and only death was the escape.’