Bleed For Me

Technologically confident.

A practised manipulator and predator who uses a high degree of planning and has the ability to execute those plans.

His motivation isn’t particularly sexual. His satisfaction comes from the hunt rather than the conquest. Bending a young girl to his will. Having her fall in love with him. Offering herself to him unconditionally.

Cray is opening the hinged lid of her lighter and shutting it with a flick of her wrist.

‘You can call Ellis a nonce or a pervert or a paedophile, but that doesn’t explain him. Unless you can grasp the intense pleasure he gets from taking an underage girl and using her as the culmination of his fantasies, you’ll never understand him. Sienna was the punctuation mark for a perfect statement.’

I pause and wait. The detective is still listening.

‘You have to explore his account of events in fine detail. Don’t let him waffle or prevaricate. Ask direct questions; seek times, dates and places. Woven together in the right way, he might slip up.’

‘But you don’t believe he will?’

‘No.’

‘Tell me when the good news is coming,’ she mutters.

‘Sienna is his weak link - the one element he can’t control. Right now, Ellis thinks nobody will believe Sienna because she’s a murder suspect and she’s only fourteen, but he’s worried. That’s why he tried to silence her.

‘Remember the caravan? When his wife disappeared the police couldn’t find it. Ellis told them he’d lost it in a poker game, but that’s not true. He hid it from them or he’s managed to get another one.’

‘Why does he need a ’van?’

‘He needs somewhere isolated, somewhere he can be alone with his victims so he can savour the experience and make it last. Sienna went with him willingly, yet he still drugged her because he didn’t want her knowing the location. He also wanted to do things to her against her will.’

A vein in Cray’s temple is pulsing with her heartbeat. ‘You think he took souvenirs?’

‘Photographs. Maybe videos. He blacked out the windows of the van, which suggests he could have a darkroom.’

The DCI splays open her hand and wipes dirt off the heel of her palm with the tips of her fingers.

‘How do we find it?’

‘We don’t.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘We have to convince Gordon that we’re getting close. Make him believe we’re unlocking his secret. He can’t afford to have us find the caravan. He’ll have to act.’

For the next fifteen minutes I outline a plan - just the bare bones. Most of the decisions can’t be made until I see how Ellis reacts. The more pressure he’s put under, the more likely he is to make a mistake.

‘I want you to tip off the media,’ I tell Cray. ‘Turn his arrest into a public event. A schoolteacher arrested over sex abuse allegations - the tabloids will be baying for his blood.’

‘He’ll accuse us of victimising him.’

‘Let him complain. Bring him through the front doors in the full glare of the TV lights. Make him run the gauntlet. Show him how society reacts to child molesters.’

‘Then what?’

‘Take him through Sienna’s statement. Every time, date and place. The one thing you don’t mention is the caravan. Leave it out completely. He’s going to wonder how you can have so much detail - but not that one.’

‘And then what?’

‘Leave the rest to me.’

***

The arrest warrant is served at 6 a.m. by a dozen detectives who push past Natasha Ellis and move quickly through the house. Gordon is made to wait in his underwear, shivering in a hallway. An hour later he’s handcuffed and led outside to a police car in front of his neighbours.

The siren sounds all the way to Trinity Road where a crowd of photographers, reporters and TV crews record his arrival. Blinking into the bright lights and flashguns, Gordon looks stunned by the speed of his changing circumstances.

They say a cruel story runs on wheels and this one has every hand oiling them as they turn. The arrest makes all the morning news bulletins on TV and radio, destined to be the defining story of the day, triggering talkback phone-ins and coffee-room discussions.

Gordon Ellis is told to stand in front of a height chart holding a whiteboard with his name and date of birth.

‘Look up.’

He raises his eyes and the flashgun fires.

‘Turn to the right.’

Pulling his shoulders back, he lifts one hand and smooths down his hair. The camera flashes again. His stitches are barely visible beneath his hairline, but one of his eyes is bruised and yellow.

Ellis was given time to dress before he left the house. The school teacher chose carefully - aware of what impression he wanted to make: spectacles instead of contacts, a business shirt, blue blazer and jeans. Smart casual. Studious. Relaxed.

The formal interviews begin just before nine. Ronnie Cray and Safari Roy enter the room with a dozen ring- bound folders. Ellis had wanted a lawyer from Scotland but was told to find someone closer. He settled on a short, stocky solicitor with the sort of nonchalant smile and cocky demeanour that irritates detectives.

Throughout the early exchanges, Ellis seems to be enjoying the attention. This is a game and he’s playing it like a professional who’s been forced to compete in the lower leagues.

‘Sienna Hegarty says you slept with her,’ says Cray.

‘She’s lying.’

‘Why would she lie?’

Ellis sighs wearily and shakes his head. ‘She’s trying to punish me. Can’t you see that? She thinks I shunned her. She mistook my kindness for something more and now she wants to destroy me.’

‘We’re going to find her DNA in your home and your car.’

‘She babysat my boy. I drove her home.’

‘You had sex with her.’

‘She tried to kiss me and I pushed her away. Hurt her feelings.’

Cray consults her notes. ‘Is that why you told Professor O’Loughlin that you “fucked her every which way”?’

Ellis laughs acidly. ‘And you believe him! The man who did this to me.’ He pulls back his fringe, showing the bloody criss-cross pattern of stitches on his scalp.

‘He calls himself a psychologist but his mind is in the sewer. Let me tell you what he does - he looks in his own head and his own heart and he sees perversion and sickness. Then he claims other people think like he does.’

The tone has suddenly changed. Instead of belligerence and sarcasm, Ellis adopts a whining tone, demanding that his interrogators see things his way. It’s like watching an illegal arrival trying to talk his way through Immigration without the language to explain himself. He groans. He grimaces. He puffs out his cheeks.

Partly this is feigned, but some of his persecution complex is genuine. Like many men who abuse their power over women, Ellis seems to carry some ancient sense that he’s the real victim. He’s been misunderstood. Led astray. Others are to blame.

‘Why did you kill Ray Hegarty?’

‘You must be joking.’

‘He saw you and Sienna together.’

‘He was sexually abusing his daughter. I was trying to help her.’

‘How exactly were you doing that?’

‘I took her to see a therapist. She didn’t want her parents knowing.’