Transport Police indicates that they have not yet done so.
‘Wherever they are, we would urge them, if they are listening to these broadcasts or reading the papers, to contact a family member or the police as soon as possible. They may be unaware that their departure has created such interest and may worry about the consequences of their disappearance. Let me say now that no action will be taken against you. The only action that interests the police here in Derby is that four young people are returned to their families so that we can all get back to normality.
‘Whatever problems may have prompted their decision to leave, we want them to bear in mind that there are many, many people here in Derby who cherish them and want to help them. Thank you.’
The Q amp;A began. Chief Superintendent Charlton fielded the first question from a Radio Derby journalist but Brook could feel Brian Burton preparing his question and knew it would be aimed in his direction.
‘Inspector Brook,’ began Burton a moment later. ‘Given your failure to identify a single suspect in the killings of two Derby families, how confident are you that you can now find
Brook stared ahead without expression while Charlton glared at Burton. ‘I’ll answer that, Brian. First of all, those killings are not recent — the Wallis family were attacked five years ago — and that line of questioning is unproductive and an insult to Mrs Kennedy and the other parents who are worried about their children right now. Furthermore, in my service, we do not apportion blame to individual officers, working within a team, for the failure of an inquiry. Some criminals are more resourceful than others and bringing them to justice is not straightforward. That said, do not think The Reaper can rest easy. Two families were brutally murdered in our city and until The Reaper is brought to justice, those cases remain open.
‘DI Brook is an experienced and talented detective and part of a highly capable
‘Just a minute. .’ began Burton.
‘No,’ said Charlton firmly. ‘We have work to do, and if there are no
The camcorder was trained on the television screen. The uniformed Chief Superintendent was spouting his spiel but the lens rested on his face for just a moment before moving to film the Detective Inspector in charge of the search. His face was impassive and controlled. The camcorder zoomed in further when a local reporter asked a question about the hunt for a serial killer some years before. The Inspector’s eyes betrayed barely a flicker of emotion. Still the camcorder stored his image, only being lowered when the press conference drew to a close.
The three police cars and Brook’s BMW made their way in convoy across the city and arrived on the Brisbane Estate.
In her habitual dressing-gown, the diminutive Roz Watson opened the front door to PC Crainey and DS Noble, who explained the reason for the visit. Under Brook’s instruction, the warrant was to be a last resort in case a voluntary search was refused.
‘I don’t understand,’ she said. Her husband joined her at the door as Brook arrived.
‘We can’t go into details but we think Adele may have hidden her laptop somewhere in the house and we’d like your permission to search for it,’ said Brook, locking eyes with Watson.
‘Do we have a choice?’ he asked. Noble readied the warrant.
‘Not if you want to help us find your daughter,’ replied Brook.
The Watsons stood aside to let Brook and his team search the premises.
Five minutes later, Jim Watson sat on the sofa next to his wife. He stared at the floor taking no interest in proceedings. PC Crainey, the Family Liaison Officer, sat on a chair opposite them both, staring at the same spot on the floor and avoiding Mrs Watson’s gaze as her eyes pierced him with her swelling anger. The rest of the team swarmed over the house.
‘Are we suspects?’ spat Mrs Watson in PC Crainey’s direction.
‘It’s just routine.’ He looked away as he spoke which Roz Watson took as confirmation.
‘Bastards,’ she said to her husband’s frozen face. She shook her lank grey locks at him. ‘Are you just going to sit there? They think we did something to our daughter.’ He glanced briefly in her direction but said nothing.
For the next few minutes the three kept silent during the scuffs and bangs of beds, chairs and other objects being inspected, emptied, moved and put back again. Occasionally they could hear the exchange of information between the searching officers.
‘Bastards,’ the woman said again.
Finally Watson spoke without lifting his eyes. ‘Don’t let them get to you, Roz. That’s what they want.’
‘They’re just doing their jobs,’ said Crainey to Roz, as though he wasn’t a member of the same invading force currently rifling through the Watsons’ home.
Seconds later, the steps groaned under the dual footfall of Brook and Noble and the door to the living room opened.
‘Shed key?’ asked Noble.
‘On the hook by the back door,’ said Watson.
Brook studied Watson’s face to gauge stress-levels. He seemed relaxed and Brook began to worry that they were too late, or worse, that he’d misread the situation. A shout rang out from above and the stairs once again complained under the assault of descending officers.
DS Morton entered the room. ‘Bathroom — under loose floorboards.’ He held out two books in his latex- covered hands, both bound in shiny black. Brook took one gingerly in his gloved hands and opened it. Noble took the other.
‘Adele’s notebook,’ said Brook, skimming through before stopping at a particular page. ‘ “The Night Walker”,’ he read.
Brook looked over at Watson, who was maintaining his vacant expression.
His wife also fixed him with a gimlet eye. ‘What are her poems doing under the floor, Jim?’
Watson grunted. ‘Maybe she put them there. For safekeeping.’
‘This is Adele’s diary,’ said Noble, flicking through the other tome.
‘Save us some time and tell us where the laptop is, Mr Watson,’ said Brook softly.
‘The laptop?’ shouted Mrs Watson. ‘What’s going on, Jim?’
Watson was about to plead ignorance when something shifted in his mood. He turned to his wife then looked over to Brook, seeking understanding. ‘Behind the boiler, wrapped in towels. There’s a false backboard.’ Morton hurried back upstairs.
Brook nodded. ‘Thank you.’
‘I don’t understand, Jim.’
He looked back at his wife without expression. It was over. He could be himself. ‘My life is over. Time to make it official.’
‘What do you mean? What have you done?’
Watson stared flatly back at her. ‘I could’ve had my pick.’
Brook and Noble dropped the two books into evidence bags and turned to go.
‘You’re not leaving me here,’ pleaded Watson suddenly. ‘With
‘Jim?’ She stood now, her head darting around searching for answers.
