Stolen

  She laughed, a deep, throaty laugh. ‘Go on then, and come and have a cup of tea with me afterwards in the canteen. I’m due a break.’

  ‘I was thinking more of a glass of wine in the evening,’ he said.

  ‘I’m sure you were,’ she said with a knowing look. ‘But a cup of tea comes first.’

  ‘That will be good, Sister Miranda Cole,’ he said, reading her badge.

  ‘Mind you don’t bully him, Detective Inspector Bryan.’

  ‘Tony to you,’ he said. ‘Is he in pain by the way?’

  ‘Some of the time. We had to amputate his right leg the day before yesterday, and he’s on strong medication. But the pain will get easier in time.’

  ‘Shame,’ Bryan said, and smiled as she waved a reproving finger at him.

  The man lying in the hospital bed with a cradle holding the blankets away from his injuries bore little resemblance to the suave, dinner-jacketed man in the photograph that Bryan had seen. It was to be expected that he’d be a bit haggard, but it was far worse than that. He looked as if he was only hours from death, for his thin face was as grey as his hair, his eyes were hollow and his neck scraggier than a turkey’s.

  Bryan introduced himself and explained this was an informal interview about the events of the evening of 5 May which led to him taking Lotte out to sea and pushing her in.

  To Bryan’s surprise the man seemed very eager to talk. ‘She killed Fern in cold blood,’ he said in a faint, croaky voice. ‘She was nothing but trouble from the moment we helped her in Ushuaia, and I was a fool to let her get her claws into me.’

  Bryan listened in absolute amazement as the man croaked his way through a complete fairy story. He began by saying he and Fern felt sorry for Lotte at the end of the cruise because her parents wouldn’t welcome her home. Fern was afraid she might take her own life if she was left on her own, so they asked if she’d like to come down to Itchenor. But he claimed she was never intended to be an employee, only a guest until she got back on her feet. However, she proceeded to come on sexually to Howard.

  ‘I ignored her at first, I thought she was just being affectionate. But then she got in my bed one night while Fern was away, and to my shame I gave in to her,’ he claimed.

  He said he tried to make her leave, but she refused and said she’d tell Fern if he forced her to go. But later she told him she was pregnant, showing him a testing kit with a positive result, so he felt he had to tell Fern.

  Bryan was staggered by how devious the man was. He told lies and distortions of truth so smoothly and with such conviction that it was hardly surprising he and his wife had got away with so much for so long.

  ‘And how did Fern take your infidelity?’ he asked.

  ‘She understood that Lotte was a little Jezebel, put on this earth to tempt men, but she felt it was her Christian duty to forgive, and to take the child when it was born and bring it up as our own. My Fern was a big-hearted woman, and mostly she had people’s full measure. But I knew in this case she was blind to the girl’s true nature, and we’d have more trouble with the little slut.’

  Bryan thought that anyone who had come as close to death as this man had, and who was as God-fearing as he claimed to be, would be afraid to tell such thundering lies. He insisted Lotte was never a prisoner and could have walked out of the house whenever she chose.

  ‘She set her sights on me,’ he said, as if that explained why she had her baby without any medical attention. ‘She thought that as soon as the baby was born I’d leave Fern. But when she saw that wasn’t how it was going to be, she turned real nasty. That’s why she smothered the baby.’

  ‘What!’ Bryan exclaimed. He really couldn’t believe the man had said that.

  ‘Surely you didn’t think the baby died of natural causes?’ Ramsden exclaimed, his eyes wide and incredulous. ‘The little bitch smothered her own baby! She went upstairs while we were having supper, and Fern followed a bit later to see if everything was OK, and the baby was dead in the little cradle. She’d smothered her with a pillow.’

  A little tremor of excitement ran down Bryan’s spine at that preposterous claim. At the autopsy on the baby it was proved that Lotte was the mother and Howard the father. The baby had been slightly underweight, but there was no evidence of anything else which could account for a natural death. Yet in cases of Sudden Infant Death Syndrome this was almost always the case too.

  The length of time her body had been in the sea clouded the picture still further, but a couple of tiny feathers, like those from a pillow, had been found lodged in her trachea. The pathologist said there was no absolute proof that the baby had been suffocated with a pillow, but he thought it likely as these feathers were probably inhaled as the smothering began.

  If Lotte had done this, she would have anticipated that someone might discover later that was how the baby died, so in preparation for this would have been likely to say that was how she thought Fern or Howard killed her. Yet she hadn’t; she’d said she thought the baby died from neglect.

  Even if Lotte had smothered her, Howard couldn’t have known just by looking at the baby that was how she died. He knew only because it was he who killed her.

  Bryan didn’t pull Howard up with this, but let him go on to say that Fern was going to call the police, and that was when Lotte stabbed her.

  ‘You wouldn’t credit a little thing like her could be so strong or savage,’ he said. ‘She did it afore I could stop her.’

  ‘And this was on the evening of the fifth of May?’

  ‘Yes, I already told you that,’ Ramsden said, as if irritated at being pulled up on a detail again.

  Bryan smiled to himself for this time he had some real proof the man was lying. The pathologist had put the baby’s death three or four days earlier than 5 May which was when Lotte said she overheard the couple talking about the baby’s death.

  ‘Lotte was too strong for you to restrain then?’ Bryan asked sarcastically. ‘And what reason did you have for not calling the police?’

  ‘I wanted to, but Lotte said she would tell them I’d raped her and kept her prisoner,’ Howard said. ‘Anyways, I was so upset at Fern and the baby being dead, I just went along with her plan to take them out to sea. I hardly knew what I was doing.’

  Bryan tried to imagine how a man distraught at having his wife and child murdered would then go along with the instructions of a slip of a girl and cart their bodies off to his boat.

  That defied belief.

  ‘Flinging herself in the water with the baby after we’d weighted Fern and dropped her in was her way of making sure I got blamed,’ he said. ‘She sure must’ve been some actress to fool you all into believing she’d lost her memory.’

  Bryan had heard enough. He got up from his chair and putting his hands on the bed, he leaned forward towards Howard. ‘Even if I was to buy all that crap,’ he hissed at him, ‘how do you explain away why you had Lotte abducted from Brighton and her friend too? What was the purpose of keeping them prisoner?’

  ‘Just to teach her a lesson,’ he said.

  ‘And the fire at the shed? More lessons to learn?’

  That was the only time Howard looked unsure of himself. ‘I was going to let them go. But she killed my wife and baby,’ he said, his lips trembling and tears coming into his eyes. ‘She’d pushed me too far with her evilness, I just snapped.’

  ‘Just snapping is when you push someone into the path of a bus or hit them with a broken bottle. Someone who goes to buy a chain and padlock, plus a couple of gallons of petrol, two days before he uses them is making preparations. And tying the girls up and driving them to a place you must have found days earlier is definitely the action of a cold-blooded killer. The truth is, it was the only option left to you. You knew there were police all around the harbour and the net was closing in. You thought burning their bodies would get rid of any forensic evidence to prove it was you. You planned to jump on a plane the next day and go back to the States.’

  Howard seemed to shrin
k back into his pillow.

  Bryan bent over, pushing his face up to within inches of the other man’s. ‘You are going to die, you know that, don’t you?’ he whispered. ‘Everyone here knows it. Though they’ll never admit it to you. They are running a book on how much longer you can survive. I put a tenner on you lasting a week. Aren’t you scared about your Judgment Day up there at the Pearly Gates?’

  Howard’s eyes grew wider and his lips trembled more.

  ‘I know mostly you only use your religion to con people,’ Bryan went on. ‘But you used to be a preacher, as was your father too, and I think you’re still a believer deep down. You’ve preached about the Fires of Hell and Everlasting Damnation, you know that’s what’s to come for sinners like you.’

  Howard’s pale, haggard face seemed to grow even paler.

  ‘Just think on that, an eternity of pain worse than you’ve got now. If you decide it might be more expedient to tell the truth before you die, for you will be forgiven if you tell the truth, then just get Sister to call me.’

  Bryan walked down to the canteen with Miranda.

  ‘Was it a fruitful interview?’ she asked.

  ‘No, he lied through his teeth,’ Bryan said with a grin. ‘But I’ve got a feeling he might have a few nasty nightmares in the coming days. He might tell you he needs to speak to me. Ring me straight away, won’t you?’

  ‘What did you tell him?’ Her voice was suspicious but her eyes were smiling.

  ‘Just that he hadn’t got much longer, and it might be a good idea to tell the truth before he pops off.’

  ‘But there’s no real reason why he would die, not now,’ Miranda frowned. ‘He’s over the danger period.’

  ‘He doesn’t have to know that, does he? I actually want him to live so he can stand trial, whether that’s here or in the States if they decide to repatriate him. Personally I’d rather he was sent home, the prisons are grimmer there and it will save our tax payers the expense of keeping him. But I’ll tell him he will live after he’s told the truth.’

  She looked at Bryan reflectively. ‘I wouldn’t want to get on the wrong side of you!’

  ‘The right side is excellent though,’ he grinned. ‘To prove it I’ll treat you to whatever delights the canteen stocks.’

  It was with a very heavy heart that DI Bryan got out of the squad car with WPC Rington in Meeting House Lane at eight-thirty in the morning. Lotte had been back living with her two friends for almost a week now, and when he’d seen her on Saturday, two days earlier, she had looked so much better, with colour in her cheeks and her eyes brighter and less fearful.

  But that improvement was going to disappear in a matter of minutes for he’d come to arrest her for the murder of Fern Ramsden. She would have to spend the rest of the day giving her statement at the police station, with her solicitor present, spend the night in the cells, then tomorrow she would appear in court for a preliminary hearing.

  Last night, in desperation, he’d gone to see her parents to ask if they would stand bail for her, and have her home if the court stipulated that was to be a bail condition. As they hadn’t visited her in hospital, he half expected they would refuse, and they did. Her mother said it was ‘all too shameful’ and Lotte would have to fend for herself.

  He knew that Simon and Adam would willingly stand bail, but as they owned no property or other valuable assets they wouldn’t be considered. So unless a miracle occurred, by tomorrow night Lotte would be in prison, on remand. And he had a sinking feeling it would break her.

  Simon answered the door, and his initial bright smile vanished as he saw the uniformed constable accompanying Bryan.

  ‘This isn’t just a chat, is it?’ he said.

  ‘No, I’m sorry,’ Bryan replied. ‘We’ve come to arrest her.’

  As they walked into the flat, Lotte called out to ask who it was at the door. When Simon didn’t reply she came out into the hall from the kitchen to see. She was wearing pale pink jeans and a tee-shirt of the same colour, her hair loose on her shoulders, and she looked very pretty.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, putting her hand over her mouth as she sensed this was not a social call. ‘This is it then?’

  ‘I’m afraid so, Lotte,’ Bryan said, wishing he was anywhere but here, about to take her into custody. ‘I am arresting you, Lotte Wainwright, for the murder of Fern Ramsden on the fifth of May 2003.’

  Her eyes above the hand over her mouth seemed to grow larger and more fearful with each word of the caution. As he finished, she sagged against the wall, the colour draining from her cheeks.

  ‘Are you OK, Lotte?’ Simon asked. ‘Can I get you a drink of water? You look like you’re going to pass out.’

  She straightened up. ‘I’m fine, Simon, you go off to work. Don’t worry.’

  ‘Shall I phone Mr Harding for you?’ he asked, his voice trembling.

  Bryan had given her the solicitor’s number when she first came out of hospital. Harding was one of the best solicitors in Brighton, and if anyone could pull a rabbit out of the hat, it would be him.

  ‘Yes, please,’ she said. ‘But I don’t suppose he’ll be there till nine. Could you ring David too for me?’

  Most of the time Bryan loved his job. But as the constable drove out of Meeting House Lane, with Lotte slumped in the back, he wished he was a truck driver, a plumber or a shop assistant, any job where he didn’t have to see a young woman who had already gone through so much suffering get another whole lot piled on to her.

  ‘Now, this is how we’re going to do this,’ Frank Harding said to Lotte, looking intently at her across the small table in the interview room.

  The room was impregnated with stale cigarette smoke. Even the walls had turned the dirty brown of nicotine and the one small window, which overlooked another wall, was fixed so it opened less than an inch.

  ‘You have the right to refuse to answer their questions,’ Harding explained. ‘But most times it is counter-productive. And I know that you’ve already told DI Bryan the whole nine yards informally. So my advice is to tell it how you told him before, this time for the tape. The complete truth, nothing hidden or held back.’

  Lotte nodded. She felt comfortable with Harding; he had a nice face with a wide smile, there was sincerity in his pale blue eyes and the creases around them were laughter lines. He was a bit tubby, with thinning hair, and probably getting on for sixty, but there was something very youthful about him.

  ‘I’ll be with you all the time. If you want a break, just ask,’ he said.

  ‘OK,’ Lotte said.

  ‘Then I’ll tell them you are ready.’

  As the tape recorder was being switched on in the interview room, and one of the two police officers stated the time and date and the names of everyone present, about a mile out to sea near Bognor Regis a suspicious-looking bundle had surfaced.

  Brothers Reg and Norman Dooley were both firemen in Littlehampton. They were thirty-eight and forty respectively, married with five children between them. They were stocky men with good physiques from sport and weight training, both almost bald, with very similar round, jovial faces.

  Although they were on different watches, every so often their time off coincided and they would borrow a friend’s small motor boat and go fishing together. It was a beautiful day, calm, warm and sunny, and they’d both stripped off their shirts and were enjoying the sun and sea more than concerning themselves with catching fish. They’d already caught nine or ten good-sized mackerel, enough really to take home and clean and gut, but Reg suggested they baited one more line, and then call it a day.

  They were sitting on the floor of the boat, the engine turned off and the boat bobbing around in the waves. Reg asked Norman if he wanted a sandwich and got up to get them from their cool-box. While he was up he looked over the side to see if they’d caught anything, and he spotted the bundle floating a few yards away from the boat.

  ‘Take a look at this, Norm,’ he said. ‘What d’you reckon it is?’

  Norman go
t up and looked. The wrapping was a dark green plaid with several rubber bungees holding it together. ‘The bedding of someone sleeping rough?’ he suggested. ‘They always tie their stuff up with those bungees, don’t they?’

  Reg said he’d start up the boat and go a bit nearer and they could get it with the boat hook.

  Norman stood by with the hook as Reg steered the boat nearer. ‘Got it,’ Norman shouted above the engine noise. ‘Turn off!’

  Reg switched off the engine and went to help his brother. Once they’d pulled it to the side of the boat, Norman leaned over and ran his hands down the entire length of the bundle.

  ‘Holy shit!’ he exclaimed. ‘I think it might be a body!’

  Bryan was just going to get some lunch when a call came in from the Bognor Regis police that a body had been found in the sea. The fishermen who found it had towed it to the shore.

  When the bundle was unwrapped it was found to be a tall, red-headed woman aged about forty-five. There was no doubt it was Fern Ramsden. Air inside her body had brought her bobbing up to the surface like a cork.

  The body had been taken to the mortuary where it would be examined. Bryan decided to take a ride down to Bognor and see if the corpse had any secrets to give up.

  ‘Nurse, nurse!’

  Sister Miranda Cole sighed and got up from the desk where she was writing up her notes. Howard Ramsden was fast becoming one of her least favourite patients; he whinged about everything and everyone, always stating before he started, ‘I’m not including you in this because you’re a honey.’

  His pain was the worst in the world, the food was appalling, this nurse or that nurse was rude or off-hand, there was too much noise in the corridor, no one tried to make him comfortable. The complaints were endless.

  He had had nightmares for the past two nights. The nurses on duty said he was screaming at the top of his lungs and he had to be given a stronger sedative. Miranda smiled when she was told this, and hoped he was so badly frightened he would confess what he’d done. But she couldn’t hope for that just now, it was only two in the afternoon, no time for nightmares or confessions.