The Winter Killings, page 19
‘What’s that?’
‘The contract agreeing that twelve-month rental.’
John shrugged.
‘The company that drew up the paperwork was Long, Oakes and Thwaites Ltd. In fact’ – Barnett pointed at a signature – ‘it’s the partner, Robert Thwaites, who has signed the contract. So, if he brokered it, I guess you and him were in fact doing business together.’ Barnett sat up straight and regarded John. ‘Is this jogging your memory at all, Mr Atkinson?’
John leaned back against the mantelpiece, paler than ever. His legs were dangerously close to the fire. It was fortunate the grate was in place.
‘A long time ago,’ John said. The strong conviction in his voice that had been so stark was ebbing away. ‘Look… I don’t think we met on that. He drew up the contract, and I agreed it. No… I don’t think we met. What does all this matter?’
‘Just that you told us you barely knew him, and yet, he must have known all about you and your property. He brokered a rental contract for you… for… well, I’ll be frank now, Mr Atkinson, a mysterious project.’
‘Chemicals, lad,’ John said, looking angry. ‘I told you.’
‘But why would an animal farmer allow chemical experimentation on his farmyard?’
‘It wasn’t like that. The structure they built was well out of the way of the animals… and no harm ever came from it.’
‘Apart from it being an eyesore?’ O’Brien added.
‘Yes…’ He glared at O’Brien. ‘Apart from that.’
‘So,’ Barnett said, reaching over and touching the contract again. ‘We’ve a clear link between you and Robert. It’s not even the link to Robert that has us reeling. It’s the link to KYLO which concerns us most of all…’
‘Like I said, I barely know who KYLO is. Familiar, yes… but it’s not like I’ve anything to do with them now, or really did then, to be honest.’
‘Still, the victim James Sykes had something to do with them, didn’t he? They sacked him when they took control of Helping Hands homeless shelter and converted it to Bright Day.’
John held his hands up. ‘Things I know nothing about.’
‘But all these connections, John? These can’t all be coincidences! Now, it’s clear we’re close, and it’s becoming obvious that you’ve been deceiving us. Rather than obstruct justice, take the opportunity, Mr Atkinson, to complete this picture. Buy some good grace. Help us.’
John’s eyes moved to O’Brien. She pitched in. ‘You were scared, worried about your wife’s fragile state, and you’ve omitted important details. If you’re completely transparent, there are many people who’ll have your back. We’ll have your back.’
John was shaking his head. He turned and picked up the photograph of his daughter now.
‘Mr Atkinson,’ Barnett said, standing up. ‘Think of Clara. Think how this will reflect on her when everything is out. Transparency. Owning the truth… it’s the key to a better—’
‘I am thinking of her,’ he hissed. ‘I’m always bloody thinking of her! That’s the issue!’
O’Brien stood now. ‘Mr Atkinson—’
‘I can’t talk to you any more. Don’t you understand? It’ll do more harm than bloody good. Please leave.’
Barnett sighed. ‘If we leave now, this is what’ll happen. With all this deceit, suspicion, coupled with the fact that the body was found on this property, we’ll inundate your entire estate with search teams before the day is out. Is that what you want? Think of the excessive trauma that will bring into your family. The media scrutiny! The truth is coming with or without your support. Make it with…’
John lowered his head, rubbed his temples and then looked at his daughter’s photograph. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Listen, before I say anything, this is all on me.’ He began to turn. ‘It had nothing at all to do with Jen—’
A sharp, loud explosion rattled the air.
John was pitched to the side.
As the intense boom continued to reverberate around the lounge, Barnett watched, wide-eyed, as John thumped down to his knees and then went to the floor face first.
Barnett looked right.
Jen Atkinson, wearing a nightgown, was coming through an open door, holding a shotgun. Her face was expressionless, and she moved, ghostlike, across the room, barely making a sound.
He searched for rational thought, but found only overwhelming panic…
Lucy!
He flicked his head left, sighted her ashen face. She had her hand to her mouth.
‘Get down!’ he shouted.
She didn’t move.
‘Now!’
He looked right again in time to see Jen discharge the shotgun a second time.
43
Gardner’s head rattled as she exited KYLO’s glass fortress.
Revelations such as these would do that to a person.
Her winter wear did little to fend off the ice-cold wind that they’d to battle with to get into their car. The weather was turning for the worse again. She could feel the icy sting of snowflakes on her face. It wouldn’t be long before the world around her was forced into another standstill.
Not the best time, to be honest. This was the first time she’d felt anywhere near the truth since the skull had emerged from Robert Thwaites’ treasure chest, and she wanted nothing coming in the way of this final sprint to the end.
In the car, shivering, she filled in Rice on the rest of Col Brooker’s story, while cranking up the heat.
He shook his head with a stunned expression. ‘Is he telling the truth?’
‘Yes. I think he is.’
‘So… potentially we’ve six… six… lost babies.’
‘Stolen.’
‘I wish he was lying,’ Rice said.
‘I do, too, but he’s just admitted to turning a blind eye to one of the most atrocious things I’ve ever heard. He’s not about to tell a lie that paints himself in that way.’
‘I guess so.’
Gardner heard her phone buzzing from the door compartment. Realising that she must have left it in her vehicle while she was in Bright Day, she reached for it.
‘Stolen babies. Not that they’re babies any more. They’d be in their thirties,’ Rice continued. ‘Where the hell are they?’
Two missed calls from Barnett.
And no calls from Cecile.
Shit.
She had to be in serious trouble. There was no question any more. Contacting Sandra Mills in Wiltshire last night had been a good move.
‘We’ll find them,’ Gardner said to Rice as she dialled up her voicemail.
‘And can we burn KYLO to the ground?’
‘We’ll try,’ Gardner said, knowing full well how difficult that would be.
With widening eyes, Gardner listened to Barnett’s messages. Barnett’s breathtaking messages.
Rice lost patience quickly, especially when he heard Gardner mutter and curse under her breath and rub at her temples. Every time he hissed, ‘What is it?’ she silenced him with a raised finger.
Afterwards, she dropped the phone to her lap, shaking her head, and explained Barnett’s discoveries regarding Robert and John. And as Rice took his turn to mutter and curse under his breath, something occurred to Gardner.
Something from her visit to the homes of John and Robert.
Ruby May Thwaites.
Clara Atkinson.
The daughters of the two key players with a story to tell were both thirty-three.
It wasn’t a difficult calculation.
They’d have both been born in 1991.
Immediately, she became convinced that Ruby and Clara were two of the missing babies.
She voiced this to Rice. His eyes widened.
Then, she attempted to contact Barnett back. Voicemail.
‘Shit!’ she thought out loud. ‘Okay… so he’s quizzing Atkinson. We’ll pick up with Thwaites first.’ She reversed her car. ‘Meanwhile, Phil, contact the local registry office. I want the birth certificates for Clara and Ruby May.’
44
Barnett looked to his left on the sofa they sat on.
Blood speckled O’Brien’s face.
But she set her jaw and widened her eyes. Admirable, Barnett thought. She wasn’t folding. Yet, at any rate.
He gave her a nod, attempting to reassure her. She returned it.
Not that reassurance meant much when someone clearly suffering from mental illness was pointing a shotgun in your direction, after proving that they were prepared to kill.
Barnett moved his eyes over John Atkinson. Shot twice in the back. Once while he was turning from the mantelpiece, and the second while he’d been face down on the floor. Had he been dead before the second shot?
One thing was for certain: he was dead now.
John’s eyes were wide and unseeing, and the surrounding blood was growing over the parquet floor at an alarming rate. In one hand, he still clutched the framed photograph of his daughter Clara.
Barnett then looked at Jen Atkinson, who stood off to his right, pointing her shotgun at them.
Her complexion showed a noticeable pallor. The portrayals of insanity in those old books he’d been forced to read at school came to his mind. Lady Macbeth, or Bertha Rochester in Jane Eyre. Jen’s eyes looked as they’d done when she’d shot and killed her husband. Vacant.
They’d only flickered into life, briefly, when she’d chambered another two shotgun bullets.
Barnett had already tried to speak to her, and each time, she’d simply hushed him, raising the shotgun slightly, to signal that she was ready to discharge it.
She was yet to look Barnett directly in the eyes. Mostly she stared off into space and had maybe glanced at her dead husband twice. Still, she didn’t need to look at them to keep the shotgun in their direction and, if she fired, the buckshot would make a mess of them both.
‘Mrs Atkinson—’
She gave another shush and waved the shotgun.
What could they do? They had to communicate… surely… they couldn’t just wait here until she plucked up enough resolve to vanquish the room of any witnesses?
She’d obviously killed her husband over what he was about to reveal. Why would she let them walk away now so they could make that discovery elsewhere?
‘Mrs Atkinson, let us help you,’ O’Brien said.
Jen shushed again, her eyes still unmoving.
Barnett’s stomach was in knots, and he could feel his heart thrashing in his chest.
This was all his fault! He wasn’t even allowed to be here, and he’d only bloody well gone and dragged O’Brien into danger.
What a dickhead…
‘We can stop this situation getting out of hand,’ Barnett said.
‘I said be quiet.’ Jen’s first words. Delivered with venom. Barnett, expecting blackness to descend at any second, felt his insides collapsing.
‘Whatever your husband has done,’ O’Brien pressed on. ‘We can put it right. He said you weren’t involved, and we believe him—’
‘Shut up!’ Jen came closer, waving the shotgun. ‘I said shut up!’
Barnett held up his palms. ‘Okay… okay… Mrs Atkinson. You’ve made your point.’
Stunned he was still alive, Barnett glanced at O’Brien again, and told her with a brief shake of his head that enough was enough. The woman was desperate. One more outburst would be all that was needed.
Barnett lowered his head to show that he was submissive, while glancing at Jen out of the corner of his eye.
She still had her eyes on them and looked more thoughtful than moments before.
They were going to have to wait for calm and make some kind of move.
‘It’s over…’ Jen said. ‘Clara can’t know. She must never know.’
Instinctively, Barnett wanted to question what this was, but kept his head down. Fortunately, so did O’Brien.
‘Oh God, she’s coming tomorrow. She’s here tomorrow.’ Jen shook her head and looked distraught. Despite the shotgun still being pointed in their direction, she suddenly seemed less focused on it. Whether that was a good thing or a bad thing, Barnett didn’t know. An accidental discharge or an intentional one – the outcome would most certainly be the same.
‘John would’ve told her, eventually, anyway.’ She looked back down at her dead husband. ‘He was always threatening to. The guilt, you see. It consumed him. Even so, I never thought he would. That he could. But he buckled just now. Because you threatened to search the farmyard.’ She shook her head.
What’s in the farmyard?
Jen continued, ‘I’d vowed to die before Clara knew the truth, and the vow applied to him, too. He knew that.’
There it was. They’d received confirmation of their doom. Everyone dies before the truth comes out.
Think, Ray, bloody well think!
‘Jen,’ O’Brien said. ‘We can help you, and we promise to keep Clara safe—’
‘Hush… damn it.’ She suddenly looked more animated. Barnett wasn’t sure that was a good thing.
‘I need to think!’ she hissed, pacing back and forth.
The weapon was momentarily off them.
Was this their chance? Barnett took a long, deep breath through his nose. He put some tension in his legs, preparing to spring. Right now, the distance was too great, but if she came closer, he could get to her before she spun and got a shot off…
Here she comes…
Barnett prepared to launch—
But then she lifted the gun and turned it on them again.
Shit!
‘No… no… it must end. Tonight. Now. Clara can’t ever know.’
Frustrated, Barnett hissed, ‘At least tell us why you’re doing this!’
Jen creased her brow. Her internal conflict was clear. She was clearly taking aim, but something was keeping her from pulling the trigger.
‘Do you want me to tell you that your actions are right… that you’re justified?’ Barnett said. ‘Are you waiting for some kind of approval?’
‘I don’t know… shut up… just shut up.’
‘Tell us what is in the farmyard. You owe us that much at least. If you must do this, give us your justification.’
Her top lip trembled as she creased her face further.
Shit, Barnett thought. She’s building up the courage. To do to us what she did to her husband—
She straightened up and uncreased her face. ‘You’re right. It’s fair for you to know… to understand. Come with me and I’ll show you.’
45
On the journey to Robert Thwaites’ home, Rice confirmed the registered births of both Clara Atkinson and Ruby May Thwaites. Both had been home births in 1991, several months apart. Interesting, both had been born at the back end of the council’s ownership of Helping Hands, after Robert’s successful stint on behalf of Penstone, but just before Penstone was dissolved, and KYLO submitted their bid. Stood to reason that they could be the last of the stolen babies if Gardner’s suspicions over James Sykes were right.
Gardner parked, and Rice pointed at Robert’s house. ‘Time for the great storyteller to tell his true story.’
‘James Sykes’ killer’s intention all along,’ Gardner said. ‘Out the truth. It was crystal clear in the notes.’
Rice was shaking his head. ‘How the hell did Robert Thwaites end up with one of the stolen babies?’
‘Think about it,’ Gardner said. ‘James Sykes had stolen and, by the time Robert was on the scene, had sold four babies. Although nothing has been flagged financially on Sykes yet, there are plenty of other ways to hide money and income – we’ll find the truth about that. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if the money was taken back from him by KYLO once they’d found out. Anyway, following the accusations of systemic failure levelled against Helping Hands by the families of those poor girls who took their lives, and the media fervour, enter Penstone and Robert Thwaites, on behalf of KYLO and the council, to investigate. He’s one remit. This big, sickening mess needs to go away. Save the government from embarrassment and pave the way for KYLO’s takeover. So, Robert acts quickly with the four sold children. He uses the money of powerful people to pay for the documentation to be put in place, in case anyone came looking in the future.’
Rice nodded. ‘I see. The stillbirths had never been registered. So, fake birth certificates could be registered.’
‘Precisely. Okay…’ Gardner said, ‘now this may be a leap, but I’m betting he’ll confirm this for us before the day ends… while Robert was cleaning up Sykes’ mess, stopping that controversy becoming a full-blown scandal of stolen babies and the like, he saw an opportunity. A golden one. Maybe, all the babies had yet to be sold…’
‘Bastard.’
‘Yes.’ She gritted her teeth and took a deep breath through her nose – she simply couldn’t wait to hear this from Robert’s mouth if it was true. Lying bastard.
‘A baby of their very own,’ Rice said. ‘What a fairy tale. Maybe they couldn’t have them?’
‘Good point. Easy to confirm when we’ve their medical records.’
Rice looked at the house with narrowed eyes. ‘Two birds with one stone for Robert. The fifth baby off the radar, and…’
‘He builds his own family,’ Gardner said.
‘It’s a win-win for a scumbag. John Atkinson takes the final baby?’
‘Possibly. John Atkinson is a school friend of Robert Thwaites. He’s a little down on his luck, financially. Robert throws some work his way in terms of KYLO needing somewhere for their smaller firm, Froisters Chemicals, to carry out some experiments. Illegal, most likely. We can pick them off on that later. Let’s stick with the babies. What if… another similar opportunity presents itself? Maybe, John, too, is struggling for a family? Maybe, this is part of the payment for housing illegal chemical work? Maybe, he just went all out and blackmailed them for one. Or, maybe, Robert just entrusted his friend with one, too? Let’s hope Ray and Lucy have got to the bottom of it with Atkinson.’ She didn’t voice her annoyance that Barnett was going against her orders to visit Atkinson. The last thing she needed to do was provide Rice with ammunition to use on Barnett during future altercations – they weren’t the best of friends as it was. She’d deal with that later, discreetly. Another thought occurred to her. ‘Who’s on the birth certificate for delivering the baby?’
