The social worker got to her feet and crossed to the closest filing cabinet.
Cath continued staring at the Latin words.
From a seven-year-old?
‘Look at these’ said Maria, laying out five more pieces of paper before the journalist.
Each one bore the sketches, some rough, some more detailed, that had invaded Maria’s dreams.
The horned figure.
‘That’s the person the children say hurt them’ she told Cath.
Cath traced the outline of the horns with her finger.
‘The children have been kept apart ever since they were brought in’ Maria told the journalist. ‘They couldn’t have copied this figure from each other. They would have to have seen it.’
‘But each drawing is almost identical.’
‘In other abuse cases children have reported being touched or hurt by people dressed as clowns, even Father Christmas, but this is the first time I’ve seen any draw …’ She was unable to finish.
Cath gazed blankly at the drawings.
‘The Devil,’ she whispered.
Sixty-four
For a long time the two women stared at the pictures of the horned figure, then Cath pointed to something else on the sheet nearest to her.
It was in the top left-hand corner.
About half-way down the page on another sheet.
At the bottom on another.
‘What are these meant to be?’ she asked, indicating the shapes.
They were all rectangular, box-like constructions, all of them shaded in black or grey.
In one or two, windows had been drawn.
‘The children say that’s where they were taken,’ Maria explained. ‘We don’t think they’re houses. Children usually draw very simplistic houses - a square with a slanted roof, four windows and a front door.’
‘Coffins?’ Cath offered.
Maria shook her head. ‘Whatever they are, they’re on nearly every drawing.
There’s a uniformity about what they’re telling us that makes it difficult to think they’re lying.’
‘Why should they lie?’
‘It has been known. Kids with a grudge against their parents have screamed abuse. The parents have been pilloried by the press.’ She looked at Cath and raised her eyebrows.
‘But you don’t think these children are lying?’
‘The stories have too many common threads, too many similarities, and they’re too detailed. In some statements, children talked about smells and tastes.
Sensations they could only know by having experienced them. They didn’t see them on TV or read about them. They went through them’
‘And the Latin? The backward writing? The figure?’
‘They would have had to have seen them.’
‘Here?’ Cath said, pointing at the grey rectangular shapes on the paper before her.
‘Possibly’ Maria muttered, taking a sip of her coffee. ‘If only we could find out what that is.’
There was a knock on the office door and Nikki Parsons stuck her head inside.
She smiled at Cath, then at Maria. ‘There are two policemen here to see you.’
‘I am popular this morning, aren’t I?’ Maria said, wearily.
Before she could say anything else the office door was pushed open. Talbot strode in, Rafferty close behind him.
He shot a withering glance at Cath.
‘What are you doing here?’ he snapped.
‘My job, the same as you’ she told him.
They locked stares for a moment.
‘You two know each other?’ Maria asked.
Talbot ignored her question, pulling his ID from the inside pocket of his jacket. Rafferty did likewise.
‘It’s getting a little crowded in here’ Maria commented, an amused smile on her lips.
‘Yeah, it is. Why don’t you piss off, Reed? This is none of your business anyway’ Talbot hissed.
‘Hackney’s not your usual beat is it, Talbot?’ she said, scornfully. ‘What’s wrong, don’t you trust the local coppers to do the job as well as you?
Frightened there might be some suspect you’ll miss? One you could slap around a bit?’
‘Why don’t you fuck off, you’re in the way.’
‘I had an appointment with Mrs Goldman, I haven’t finished yet.’
‘You have now. On your bike.’ He hooked a thumb in the direction of the door.
‘I’m sorry to interrupt’ said Maria. ‘But this is my office, and if you two are going to have a running battle, I’d rather you didn’t do it here.’ She smiled efficiently at Talbot. ‘Miss Reed and I had almost finished, if you could wait just a couple of minutes.’
‘Fine,’ said Talbot, nodding. ‘We’ll wait here.’
He picked up his chair and moved it to one side of the desk.
Rafferty stood beside him.
There was a moment of awkward silence, broken by the DI. ‘Well, go on, don’t let us stop you’ he said. ‘We wouldn’t want to get in the way of a great journalist doing her job.’
‘Why don’t you make yourself useful?’ Cath hissed at him. ‘What do you make of that?’ She handed him one of the drawings of the horned figure.
‘If this is evidence you shouldn’t even be looking at it’ he barked, snatching it from her.
‘What does it look like, Talbot?’ the journalist persisted.
‘A kid’s drawing’ he said, dismissively.
‘What of?’
‘The Devil’ said Rafferty, looking over his colleague’s shoulder.
‘How the hell do you know?’ Talbot demanded.
‘That’s what a kid would draw. I should know, my Kelly’s five’ the DS told him.
‘And the child who drew that was a year older’ Cath informed him.
‘So, that’s our suspect, is it? The Devil’ Talbot sneered. ‘Well, we should be able to pull him in pretty quick, we’ll just put out identikits of a bloke with a goat’s head, a cloak, a pitchfork and cloven hooves. Should have him banged up by the end of the week. Well done, Reed, you’ve cracked the case.’
She glared at him.
‘What’s your explanation, then?’ she demanded. ‘How come five different children have, independently, all drawn almost identical pictures of the person they say hurt them? They’ve seen this, Talbot. Whatever it is. They haven’t imagined it.’
‘I’m sure they have seen it’ the DI snapped. ‘As you probably know, amongst the stuff seized from some of the houses were horror videos including The Devil Rides Out, To the Devil a Daughter, The Exorcist, Devil Within Her.
Shall I go on?’
‘That’s bullshit’ Cath said.
‘You want to find out where those kids saw this Devil, then watch those films.’
‘But what about the things they couldn’t have seen on film, Detective Inspector?’ Maria interjected. ‘I’ve already told Miss Reed that some of the things they described they could only have experienced first hand.’
‘Such as?’ the DI demanded.
‘The smell of blood, the taste of it,’ Maria said.
‘They read it in a book,’ Talbot told her.
‘Some of the sexual acts described,’ the social worker persisted.
‘There was pornographic literature and videos seized,’ Talbot said. ‘The kids could have seen it.’ He laughed. ‘They might even have walked in on their parents some time.’
‘Jesus Christ, Talbot,’ Cath said, exasperatedly.
‘I know you, Reed. You journalists are all the fucking same. I read that shit you wrote in the paper about satanism going on at Croydon Cemetery.’
‘I didn’t say it was satanism.’
‘You wanted it to be. It made a better story. Just like this.’ He jabbed the piece of paper in front of him. ‘The Devil. Pentagrams. Cats and dogs cut up.
You couldn’t have found a better story if you’d invented it yourself.’