Sugar & Spice (30 page)

143

There were gasps of horror from the social workers.
“Of course, when we realised the truth we faced the agonising decision of
whether to breach client confidentiality.”
Kidger sat forward. “Oh Ruth, we all feel for you. What a dilemma to have to
face.”
“Why didn’t you come to the police right away?” Pitman demanded.
Reynolds smiled condescendingly. “Randall has two daughters, Natalie and
Tamara. Now that his calculated manipulation of the Foundation’s services has
become apparent, it is equally obvious this man has been abusing these girls for
untold years, probably since they were born.”
“Those poor children,” Kidger fawned. “They’ll be permanently damaged.
But we’ll do everything we can for them, of course.”
The other social workers were nodding in unison, anxious to stress their
willingness to do everything they could.
“Of course, with hindsight the clues were so very obvious,” Reynolds said.
“For example, Randall has a nickname for the children. He calls them The
Dynamite Twins.” She ran her eyes around the room.
“The subtle sexual connotation is really self-explanatory. The imagery of a
stick of dynamite as a penis is clear. The explosion of the dynamite represents
ejaculation, of course. When Randall refers to the girls as The Dynamite Twin he
is, quite simply, fantasising about raping his own daughters. That’s assuming
he hasn’t done so already.”
The social workers gasped loudly on cue. Pitman looked back and forth between
them and Reynolds, wondering how much longer he could keep a straight face. The
Do-Gooders were simply lapping up Reynolds’ psychotherapy claptrap.
Kidger said, “Needless to say the utmost care must be exercised in tackling
this extremely delicate situation, to avoid further psychological harm being
inflicted on the children. I cannot stress strongly enough, Sergeant, the
negative impact on these innocent young minds if your officers were just allowed
to blunder in and arrest the father without adequate arrangements being put in
place to support the children.”
The Do-Gooders were nodding vigorously. Pitman held his tongue over yet another
demotion. It was pointless trying to explain. Maybe he should have styled
himself Senior Police Officer instead.
Kidger was talking again. “A Place of Safety Order for the children must be
our first priority, of course, to minimise the inevitable trauma and stress to
the children.” She looked at her watch. “Well, time is getting on, so I
suggest we make emergency preparations after lunch, and rescue the children
first thing tomorrow morning. Is everyone agreed?”
Pitman was stunned. “Why not go in now, if these children are in such grave
danger as Miss Reynolds here implies?”
“But the children!” Kidger was aghast. “I’m sorry, Sergeant, that’s
quite out of the question.”
Pitman took a deep breath before answering. “If this information is correct we
are talking about one of the most dangerous men in the country. Dr Reynolds, if
you could just give me an address for this man…”
Kidger was almost on her feet. “She will do no such thing. These children
could be scarred for life if some bumbling policeman just blunders in and arrest
their father.”
“This man is a violent criminal. Your namby-pamby Do-Gooder procedures can
take a running jump, Miss Kidger. I’m bringing this man in, right now.”
The donkeys gasped. This was a Senior Social Worker he was talking to!
Kidger glared at him. “I’m sure Chief Superintendant Walker will see my
point of view, Sergeant. Cedric and I go back a long way.”
It was too much for Pitman. He pocketed his notebook and made for the door. “I
don’t care how far you go back, Miss Kidger. I have a duty to protect the
public. Don’t worry about the address, Miss Reynolds. I’ll find him without
you. Though I should point out it is a criminal offence to obstruct an officer
in the course of an investigation.”

144

Pitman was still fuming when he got to Fort Hill, barging into Weisman’s
office. The Super was on the phone. He gestured for Pitman to take a seat.
Pitman stood.
“He’s just this second walked in, Vera. Yes, I’ll explain everything. Just
make sure all the paper-work is ready. The Chief Super has given me four
officers to be with you first thing. I’ll speak to you again tomorrow, once
he’s in custody.”
He put the phone down. Pitman collapsed into the chair, visibly deflated.
“Supposing he kills another child tonight? While your Do-Gooder friends are
catching up on their paper-work.”
“David, you’re over-reacting. Think it through. We can’t risk bodging
this. The Chief Super is backing me all the way.”
“Do you seriously think it will be Cedric taking the blame if another child
gets hurt?”
“I’ll have full surveillance, within the hour. Randall won’t be able to
fart without our men knowing it.”
“What about his own kids? He’s got two daughters.”
“Vera seemed comfortable with that. Apparently the psychotherapist who
provided the lead has given her assurance the children will be fine tonight.”
“And she would know that how, exactly?”
“David, I don’t profess to understand how they come to their conclusions, so
let’s just leave it at that, shall we? I’ve agreed to furnish Vera with four
officers first thing tomorrow morning. I thought perhaps you’d like to go
along?”
“And spend anothe minute in the company of social workers? I’d rather cut
off my own… No, thank you, Sir. I’ll wait until he’s in custody. What time
are we looking at?”
“0700.”
“The classic dawn raid? Dragging the kids screaming from their beds? I thought
those kind of Gestapo tactics went out with the Cleveland inquiry.”
Weisman shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “As I say, David, the Chief Super
has agreed to all this. I suggest we use our time productively.”
“Sir?”
“Preparing for Randall. We can hold him for twenty-four hours on suspicion of
abusing his own kids. Vera has agreed to have them examined immediately they are
in care. But we have nothing as yet to link him with the Meadows child. We then
need to broach the Woolwich case. The Met will be demanding his transfer the
minute they hear we’ve got him. Obviously they don’t need to know anything
until we question him on Woolwich, but then the clock is ticking.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“I want kid gloves on this one, David. Kid gloves. I want a full ME report as
soon as Randall is brought in, and another when he leaves for the Met. We
don’t want a repeat of the Bristow affair.”

145

He turned down the gas beneath the bacon, pulled the dressing-gown cord tight
around his waist and scanned the room, wishing he’d put the ironing board
away. As he glanced at the clock he consoled himself with the certain knowledge
that only the postman would be knocking so early.
As he opened the door two male uniformed officers were to the fore, three
civilians behind. Two female officers brought up the rear. He knew instinctively
why they were there.
“Gregory Alan Randall?
He tried to reply but no words came.
“Gregory Aland Randall, we have a warrant for your arrest on suspicion of
indecency with children.” As he recited the caution, the officer took
Randall’s arm and in a slick movement cuffed his left wrist. Before he had
time to react the second officer moved forward and secured his other arm.
It was the moment he had silently feared for months now, the recurring nightmare
brought to life just as he had imagined it. “But I’m being treated,” was
the only response he could manage, his voice dispirited. Beaten. “This can’t
be right. Everything was in hand.”
Bethan’s voice drifted down from upstairs. “Greg, who is it?”
“It’s okay love. It’s nothing.” He looked at the officers, eyes pleading
them not to announce their presence to Bethan.
“Where are the children?”
Randall’s face whitened. “They’re asleep. Don’t bring them into this,
for God’s sake. I’ve never touched them. I had it all under control.
Please…”
“They’re all yours.” The officer pushed Randall through into the living
room. The three civilians barged past unannounced, heading upstairs, the female
officers running to keep up.
“No! Not the Twins. Please! Oh God, no…” He tried to step forward but the
officer pushed him unceremoniously onto the sofa, almost knocking over the
Christmas Tree. A cascade of pine needles showered the presents piled around the
base. He heard shouts as Bethan emerged from the shower, confronting the
intruders on the landing.
“Who the hell are you? Greg? What’s going on?”
The intruder waived a document in her face. “Michael O’Shea, Senior Social
Worker, Kent Social Services. I have a Place of Safety Order for Tamara and
Natalie Randall authorising us ,”
“Over my dead body. Greg? Where’s my husband?” Bethan stood herself firm
across the landing.
O’Shea motioned for his two colleagues to stand aside and the two female
officers stepped forward to confront Bethan.
“Mrs Randall, we’re here to enforce the care order. Where are the
children?”
“Care order? The Twins? This is crazy. You lay one finger on my girls and
you’ll be carried out of here.” Standing across the landing, hair dripping
wet, eyes blazing, the officers hesitated, uncertain how to proceed.
“Where’s my husband? Where’s Greg?”
“He’s downstairs. Under arrest.”
“Arrest?” Bethan clutched the door handle for support. “My God, what’s
going on? For God’s sake, what’s happening?”
“Mrs Randall, this must be difficult for you. The Place of Safety order is a
temporary measure, to protect the children, Natalie and Tamara.”
Bethan’s voice raised to a scream. “I don’t know what’s going on but
I’m warning you. Stay away from my daughters. Do you hear me? Stay away!”
Tamara’s frightened face appeared in the doorway. “Mummy? What’s
happening?”
Instinctively Bethan turned to her daughter. As she did so the two officers
moved on her, pinning her against the wall while the social workers moved with
lightning speed into the bedroom. Bethan lunged, but the officers restrained
her. In the room behind her Tamara screamed as a social worker grabbed her arm
and dragged her towards the door. The second social worker grabbed Natalie as
she stirred in her bed, lifting her unceremoniously, carrying her to the doorway
screaming.
She saw her mother struggling against the policewomen and cried out to her, tiny
arms stretching out futilely. Randall was shouting downstairs, his words
inaudible above the screams of the terrified children. Along the street lights
came in, curtains opened.

146

“Natalie!” Bethan screamed out after her daughter.
“Leave her alone, you bastards!” The policewomen struggled to hold her.
“Natalie, don’t worry. Mummy’s here. Where are you taking them? We love
those children! For God’s sake, somebody tell me I’m dreaming!”
As she struggled, her towel fell to the floor.
O’Shea leered.
The first social worker tried to move past, dragging Tamara by the arm. The
child was sobbing, in shock. When she saw her mother being restrained by the
uniformed officers she screamed hysterically Natalie screamed even louder.
Bethan screamed back, struggling to reach them.
O’Shea motioned to the stairs and the first social worker dragged the
terrified six year old by one arm, no effort made to comfort the child as tiny
fingers clutched in futile desperation at the banister rails.
The second social worker held the screaming Natalie secured inside a blanket,
kicking her legs, her arms restrained.
As she descended the stairs the policewomen stepped back to guard the
stair-well, shaken and embarrassed.
For a few seconds Bethan stared after them, dazed, bewildered, before rushing to
the bedroom, screaming out of the window after her daughters. Through the
swirling early morning mist she could hear their cries, but barely see them.
Then the sound of car doors slamming and the screams stifled.
She stared out of the window in disbelief as the vehicle vanished into the fog,
sobbing uncontrollably.
Behind her one of the policewomen was holding out a dressing gown. “Mrs
Randall, you’d best put this on.”
Bethan reluctantly took the gown and slipped it around herself. In shock she sat
down on the end of the bed, her body shaking, unable to take in what had
happened. The second policewoman appeared in the doorway.
“We need some clothes for your husband.”
She didn’t wait for a reply but walked to the wardrobe and began rifling
through the hangers, selecting trousers and a shirt.
“Where’s Greg?”
“He’s downstairs. He’s to be taken to the Station, for further
questioning.”
“For what? He hasn’t done anything.”
“Where will I find your husband’s socks and underpants?”
Bethan gestured to a chest-of-drawers in the corner, shaking her head in
disbelief.
First her children, now her husband.
It was just too much to cmprehend.
“I need to talk to Greg.”
“I’m sorry, not at this stage.”
“But… I don’t understand.”
“Mrs Randall, your husband is under arrest. On suspicion of indecency with
children.”
“Indecency? Children? No way! Not Greg! There’s been a mistake. Greg would
never…” The enormity of the allegation slowly dawned.
“You don’t mean the Twins? No! No way! That’s ridiculous! He wouldn’t,
no. That’s…” Her protest gave way to distress.
The officer sat beside her, a comforting arm around her shoulder.
Her colleague rifled the drawers, shirt and trousers across her arm from the
wardrobe. She turned to Bethan, five pairs of knickers in her hand.
“Is it usual for your husband to keep your daughters’ undies in his drawer?
Their dirty underwear?”
Bethan looked up. “Their what?” She looked at the items on display, trying
to think why they might be there. The Twins had their own clothes drawers in
their room. “They must have got mixed up with his…” Her voice trailed.
She looked again, a second time.
Slowly, shaking her head in disbelief. “Oh God. Oh God, no.”
“Mrs Randall? What is it?”
“They don’t belong to the Twins. I’ve never seen them before.”
Her whole body shook, her voice rising, hysterical.
“You put them there! You planted them! You bastards! Why are you doing this?
Greg wouldn’t! He would never…”
Downstairs they could hear Randall protesting his innocence as he dressed.
The voice was flat, lifeless, convincing no-one.
As he was led to the front door he shouted up the stairs.
“Bethan, are you okay? I would never hurt the Twins, Bethan. Believe me. I
love them both! I love you! Please, you must believe me.”
She tried to respond, but the words would not come.
She wanted to believe him.
She desperately wanted to believe him.
But as she watched the WPC lay the soiled knickers on the bed, all she could do
was cry.