Backlash (34 page)

Oates was so fast. He pushed his chair back so hard it hit the ground and his legs came up as he somersaulted backwards, then sprang up, raising his fists like a boxer.

‘Come on, come on then, hit me, hit me.’

Mike hit the panic button and stood up quickly as Oates pranced in front of the table and began shadow-boxing. Kumar ducked down and crouched against the wall, plainly afraid he was going to be
punched. The door opened and Langton came in with two uniformed officers as Oates became crazed, hunching his shoulders and punching wildly. As they grabbed both his arms, he struggled and started
kicking. They twisted his arms behind his back and he howled in pain. Only after they had managed to push him forwards so that he was bent almost double did he suddenly deflate and sink to his
knees.

They could still hear him as he was led down the corridor to the cells. It was a screeching howl, so high it sounded like a wounded animal. Langton suggested they put
everything on hold until Oates calmed down. Kumar was shaken and said that he doubted if they would be able to continue. Langton snapped at him that it was all a big act, no doubt encouraged by
Kumar, and he would get the police doctor out to examine him. He would decide if Oates was fit to be interviewed again.

Half an hour later and Oates had stopped screaming but was sitting on the cell bed rocking backwards and forwards, moaning at the top of his voice without making any sense. The
police doctor had still not arrived to examine him as he was busy at another station some miles away. Barolli went to the cells to check up on the prisoner as Mike and Anna went over the interview.
Anna didn’t say it, but what had occurred was the very thing Samuels had warned them about: Oates had flipped. Barolli returned to say that the screeching had stopped, but the prayers were
now in full flow. Oates was on his knees, claiming God was talking to him, the voices were calling to him, and he wanted a Bible.

Anna had joined Mike in his office when Langton came in to inform them that the police doctor had still not arrived and there was nothing further they could do until he had
assessed Oates. He checked his watch.

‘Maybe gives me enough time, but if I’m in the cells and the doctor arrives, stall him. Take your time explaining why we called him.’

Mike looked at Anna in surprise and then turned to Langton.

‘There are cameras all over the custody suite.’

‘Not in the cells.’

‘Where is Kumar?’

‘Oates’s antics scared him so he’s gone for a walk to calm his nerves.’

Langton hurried out and Anna sighed.

‘What do you think he’s going to do?’

‘Well he’s not going to say a few prayers with him, is he?’

‘He could jeopardize the whole investigation. All our hard work gone because he has a personal agenda with Oates.’

‘I think between you and me we just keep our noses out of it,’ Mike replied as he flicked up his blinds. Langton appeared to be deep in conversation with Joan.

‘I
printed off some pictures and as much coverage as I could get up, but he was in such a hurry,’ protested Joan as Mike looked over
her shoulder at her computer screen.

‘Thanks, Joan.’

Mike crossed to Anna’s desk and perched on the edge.

‘Langton’s gone down to the cells. He told Joan he was taking Oates a Bible.’

‘To hit him with, most likely. Oates has lost it, Mike – it was pretty obvious, which is why I trod so carefully with him, and now Kumar will ask the courts for a pre-trial
psychiatric assessment. You know they nearly always fall on the side of the defendant.’

‘That’s if we ever get him to trial, shadow-boxing with the judge! Wouldn’t go down well. On the other hand, he was being a smart alec throughout until you showed him the
doll’s arm found in the Jeep. That threw him – you saw the way he reacted: he knew when he said about the toy being burnt that he’d trapped himself. So he could be faking
it.’

‘Well if he is, he’s going to have to keep it up. In the meantime, let’s get onto these other cases.’

‘Already checking them, but it’s getting late and I don’t know about you, but I am drained.’

‘Yeah, well let’s see what happens.’

Langton was having a quiet conversation with the young officer outside Oates’s cell. He told him he had a Bible for Oates and he’d keep an eye on him while the
officer had a well-earned coffee break as a reward for putting up with the shouting and moaning for so long. Langton looked at his watch.

‘Fifteen minutes, okay?’

The officer nodded and moved off as Langton unlocked the cell. The young man turned back, unsure, watching for a moment, but then did as he was told. It was against regulations, but Langton had
never been one to stick by those.

Oates was kneeling by his bunk, eyes closed, when Langton walked in, threw the Bible on the bed and then inched the door closed with his foot.

‘You can stop the act now, it doesn’t work with me.’

Oates opened his eyes and started crying.

‘May the good Lord forgive me for doing the work of the devil. I can’t help it. When he speaks to me he controls me and I am helpless.’

‘I just wanted to have a quiet word as after that performance I very much doubt you’ll be declared fit for trial. I know I won’t contest it, no way, and we’ve got a
doctor on standby who will sign you out of our hands.’

‘The Lord giveth his blessings and taketh away, and I am deservedly waiting for him to give me peace,’ Oates informed him.

‘I bet you are, but before you get the Lord to comfort you, I just want to give you a bit of a lowdown on where he will be having to comfort you.’

Oates bowed his head and clasped his hands in prayer.

‘You’ll be on your way to Broadmoor,’ Langton continued, ‘and I guarantee you won’t be getting out. You’ll want to, believe you me you will want to, as they
don’t have wings there, you know, no one’s segregated, part of their rules.’

Langton passed him a picture.

‘Take a look. You know who that is? No? That’s Sutcliffe. Good-looking fella, isn’t he? Neat black beard, nice hair, looks quite the man, doesn’t he?’

Oates glanced at the picture and then looked away.

Langton held up a second picture, shoving it in front of Oates’s face.

‘Take a look at him now: skin like a patchwork quilt. He’s been bottled so many times, he’s bloated like a stuck pig; he’s lost his teeth, he’s deaf from a blow to
the head and he’s been kicked in the testicles so often by the inmates he walks as if he’s got a trolley between his knees.’

Langton shoved the most recent pictures of Sutcliffe directly under Oates’s nose, but he turned away, waving his hand. Then he leaned closer, whispering.

‘I do the devil’s work, I need to pray.’

‘I will make sure you get there, Henry, and this is what you have got to look forward to for the rest of your dirty disgusting life. You’ll be able to trade prayers with him, he
might even come on to you, they can’t keep their hands off fresh meat, even with all the surveillance and officers trying to protect the poor demented souls. You will get knifed, razored,
bottled and raped, they’ll give you medication to dull your whimpering crying and you will never get released – that’s what they do to inmates that can’t take the mental
strain: crush it, crush you.’

Langton turned to the cell door, folding the pictures and stuffing them into his jacket pocket.

‘You say your prayers, Henry, you are going to need them. They’ll be taking you away tonight, unless . . .’

Oates’s wide frightened eyes blinked rapidly.

‘You can assist us. Tell the police doctor you’re fine and it was all an act. Then if you help close our cases you could end up in a nice secure prison with your own private cell,
TV, computer games, we can sort that, make sure of it if you help us; we notify the authorities, tell them this guy is not all bad, he’s intelligent, he’s not a crazy, no way is he
mentally unfit, he’s too sharp, too clever, and he deserves some respect because without his help we’d never have nailed him.’

Oates sucked in his breath. Langton glanced at his watch.

‘You’ve got five minutes before I call the wagon to get you carted back to prison, then it’s on to Broadmoor when that solicitor of yours insists you are incapable of standing
trial. You are going down for the murder of Justine Marks, for the murder of Fidelis Julia Flynn, you know that, no way out of that, but get the others off your chest, Henry, come clean with us and
stop fucking around.’

Langton had his hand on the cell door, ready to leave, when Henry Oates whispered, ‘I want to make a statement.’

Mike was furious as there had been a press leak. This meant he’d had to get hold of the press office, who wanted a statement they could release regarding the arrest of
Henry Oates. Mike kept it very brief: they had a suspect in custody following the disappearance of Fidelis Julia Flynn, but as yet no charges had been brought. The press officer asked if this was
also connected to Rebekka Jordan, as there had been enquiries from Fleet Street. Mike admitted that their suspect was also being questioned about her disappearance, but gave no more details.

Anna had listened and could see how riled-up Mike was, but leaks happened, it could even have come from inside the prison. She felt he had handled it well, but hoped the press wouldn’t
speculate further. It could create a lot of media attention, and they really didn’t want that at this stage.

Langton walked back into Mike’s office, leaned against the door and smiled. Anna turned, half expecting him to call it quits for the night at least.

‘Henry Oates wants to make a statement. He’s quiet now and the police doctor’s with him. Give him another fifteen minutes, cup of coffee, get him brought back up from his cell.
If he acts up again or refuses to answer any further questions, charge him with Fidelis Julia Flynn’s murder then call it a day and take him to the magistrates’ court in the
morning.’

Mike looked at his watch – it was already five-fifteen, and the thought of conducting another round of questions with Oates made him feel sick.

‘How about we do this in the morning?’

‘No bloody way, get some black coffee down you and get the energy up,’ Langton retorted.

Anna said nothing, but like Mike did she found the thought of going back into another session with Oates daunting. She stood up and said she would arrange the refreshments. She would also talk
to Kumar to let him know they were about to continue the interview of his client.

Kumar was astonished, and pointed out that it was almost six o’clock. He was also peeved that he had been left in the reception area waiting to know what was
happening.

‘Your client wants to make a statement,’ she said, almost enjoying his reaction.

It all took slightly longer than Langton had anticipated and it was six-thirty before they reconvened in the interview room to wait for Oates to be brought up from his cell. Kumar had complained
sulkily that he should have been told sooner that his client wanted to make a statement. Mike replied curtly that he was almost as surprised as Kumar was, especially after the performance they had
all witnessed.

‘Performance? My God, it was perfectly obvious that my client was breaking down and incapable of even talking coherently.’

Before Mike could answer the heavy footsteps sounded in the corridor outside and the interview-room door opened. Oates did not appear to be suffering any adverse effects from his
‘breakdown’ as he sauntered in and sat in the same seat without saying a word.

Kumar asked him if he would like to have a private consultation before the interview began. Oates shook his head and then looked at Mike and Anna.

‘You don’t have to show me nothing. I don’t need to see anything you got, I’m gonna tell you the truth and get it over with.’

He didn’t look as if he was unstable, or even close to it, but there was a strange look about him that made Anna and Mike apprehensive of what was to come. He folded his hands in front of
him on the table.

‘Shall I start now?’

Anna kept her voice low and controlled as she very quietly said that when he was ready he could begin, but if he wanted she could repeat what they had been discussing before he had halted the
last interview session.

‘Strange it didn’t burn when I set light to the Jeep. That doll’s arm was wood and you’d have thought it would burn. I never even saw it, didn’t know it was there,
it must have fallen out of her pocket.’

Oates closed his eyes.

‘The other things I found in her jacket; the head and the leg, I think it was. I got rid of everything else, but I kept those items – stupid really, but they reminded me of what
I’d done. Sounds odd, I suppose, that I ever needed to be reminded, because I never forgot anything, forgot nothing, but I always kept a little something. Sometimes I would play with them,
not like a kid, no, I’d just lay the stuff out and look at it. Gave me a sense of power, do you understand? It made all the shit in my life go away.’

Anna glanced at Mike. He seemed unsure as to whether or not he should interrupt, but Anna knew they had to get some direction in the rambling monologue.

‘Mr Oates, when you say you had a feeling of power, was this over your victims? Explain to us about the feelings you had about Rebekka Jordan.’

Oates nodded and took a deep breath. In the same monotone he described working for the Jordans in their garden, how he had seen Rebekka when they were taking down the wall and he said she looked
forward to the new pond for her frogs. He said she was such a pretty little girl and she had spoken to him in such a nice voice. After he had had the argument with Mrs Markham he was angry and
didn’t want to walk all the way back to London so he broke into a house nearby, found the keys and stole the Jeep. He said that he had intended to dump it but he liked it so he parked it some
distance away from his squat and got false plates for it the next day. He didn’t use it often, just if he was going out looking for work, and he never parked it near his flat. He admitted
that it was him who had driven off without paying for the petrol in Shepherd’s Bush, and that he had been going there on and off for a few days looking for work at Westfield, or on nearby
building sites, as sometimes they needed extra workers and would give you cash in hand.