AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But she had. And so had Romilly.
He walks away still, striding fast down the road. His chest so tight he almost can’t breathe. Not permitting himself to cry.
Usenet Archives alt.true-crime.current-trials
02/24/1997 11:27:027 UTC
Not so innocent! Why didn’t she know??
I call bullshit! So Romilly Cole knew nothing about her father’s crimes, as determined today at Winchester court. Twelve-year-old Romilly testified this morning at the trial, outlining her father’s movements for those last four months. How he said he was going down to the garden shed to do some “carpentry.” How he always kept the door locked, said it was to keep her away from his dangerous tools? And she didn’t suspect anything? What a crock of shit!
Yeah, okay, so the room was soundproofed. But that well? Really? She never went down the garden to see what her father was up to? Never heard the screams and the cries for help? Didn’t notice as her father dragged his victims down the garden, locking them away to their doom? What was she doing all this time? Painting her nails? Listening to her Walkman?
And that’s not even mentioning the strange circumstances around her calling the police. She blustered on the stand when she was asked by the defense, got confused, and then broke down in tears, resulting in the prosecution demanding a break for the poor girl.
The prosecution claim she is traumatized, that she isn’t the one on trial. Traumatized, my arse! She was part of it. She knew what her father was doing.
I know what you’ll say—I should be more sympathetic. Chances are she was a victim herself, although she says she wasn’t. She was probably raped by him. Fucked up the arse in the same way those poor women were—he was a kiddie fiddler as well as a murderer. But that maniac tortured and killed those women right under her nose. In the grounds of the same house.
And they say she was an innocent bystander?
Bullshit!
CHAPTER
38
BACK AT THE station, the sergeants and constables that Adam has trained so well are still running at full tilt. They haven’t hesitated: Pippa was loved by one of their own, and they are doing everything they can to find who did this to her. But Adam notices they haven’t changed her photo on the board. The number nine has been written up, but the photo under “MISSING” hasn’t moved.
The detectives see him arrive back and hush. He pauses, sitting on the edge of one of the desks next to the board, gathering his thoughts. He’s calmer now, composed. He has to be.
One of the detectives speaks. “How’s Jamie?”
The others murmur in agreement.
“Destroyed,” Adam replies. “In pieces. Listen.” He points up to the board. “We’ve all been going at this investigation for five days straight. I’m sure you’re all exhausted. Frustrated. I know I am. And we have a long way to go yet. But Marsh has been clear, sod the budget. There are more of us now. I want you all to be taking breaks, getting some rest. I can’t risk any mistakes. When we catch this guy, we want to make sure there is nothing that will get him off.”
He stands up and runs his finger down the list of names. When he gets to Pippa, he slowly moves the smiling photo under the number nine. The room is silent.
“Everyone,” Adam continues. “Get a coffee, use the bathroom, have a fag. Because in fifteen minutes I want us all back here. Let’s review what we have. And we’ll all work out where to go next.”
* * *
Adam uses the time to go up to the roof for a cigarette. It’s not allowed, but he knows many detectives have used it in the past, a characteristic of old nicks like this one. He can’t be down in the smoking area with the others, laughing and joking. He needs the quiet.
He wedges the fire door open, then walks to the border of the roof. The world is muted up here. He flickers his lighter into flame and takes a long drag on his cigarette. The night is clear, a pepper of stars across the black canvas, and he stares up at them for a moment. The roof is edged with a low brick wall, no more than a few foot high; it comes up to his thigh. Four floors up; he leans over and peers down to the road below. The concrete pavement, the almost certain death if he plunged over the edge. He watches people walk on the street, the cars, the bustle of everyday activity. He feels a wobble of vertigo and steps two paces back.
“Going to give it a miss tonight?” a voice behind him says. He turns, and Marsh is standing there.
“Sorry, guv. I know this area is out of bounds,” Adam begins but Marsh waves his words away, lighting his own cigarette and coming to stand next to him.
“Just don’t tell the troops. I do the same. Only peaceful space in the nick.” Marsh turns and sits on the low wall, his back to the drop. “You okay, Adam?”
“Gathering my thoughts.”
“You couldn’t have saved her.”
