Kate Swift looked about ready to explode.
It was enough.
That comment alone was enough to get her the twelve-hour extension she wanted and would give Woody the opportunity to begin the process for charging with the CPS.
Harte was still looking shell-shocked, and Swift’s expression was grim.
Kim pushed back her chair, ensuring that the relief she was feeling did not show on her face.
She stood and reached for the folder. ‘Well, after that little admission I would think maybe you two need to have a chat.’
Bryant formally ended the interview as she hurried out of the room.
Seventy-Four
Kim stepped back into the squad room with Bryant following closely behind.
‘Okay, guys, we need to— What the hell is that?’
‘We got her, boss,’ Penn said, handing her the phone.
Any thought of what had just occurred went straight out of her mind as her eyes rested on a small figure sitting on the edge of a bed, her legs together and her head bowed.
It was Grace Lennard, and she was alive.
‘Is this live?’
Penn nodded.
Kim felt a rush of mixed emotions gather in her throat.
There she was: the little girl abducted almost four days ago, looking so small and vulnerable. Kim wanted to reach in there and grab her, pull her out of the screen and tell her everything was going to be okay.
She looked to the detective sergeant responsible for giving them this link.
‘He sure does like his tea.’
‘Bloody good work, Penn,’ she said, still holding on to the phone. She raised an eyebrow at Stacey. ‘And who knew you could be that annoying?’
‘My mum.’
‘You primed him well, Stace. Well done.’
‘We saw, kind of,’ Penn said.
Kim understood. Their focus had been on Grace and looking for clues.
‘Anything?’ she asked, taking another look at the screen.
She took a good look around the room. Although she’d never seen it before, it appeared familiar to her. She knew she’d visited somewhere that looked similar. The daisy bedspread and matching curtains, the desk, the lamp, the positioning of the television on the wall. Only the desk she’d seen hadn’t been filled with crisps and biscuits, fruit and bottles of water.
She stared harder. ‘Bryant?’
‘Suzie Keene’s bedroom – or rather her daughter’s room.’
‘Of course,’ Kim said. They’d spoken to Harte’s first victim as she’d folded washing. The only difference was the size of the bed.
‘Why would Suzie Keene have decorated her own home so similarly?’ she asked Alison.
‘Safety. Suzie has recreated for her daughter her own illusion of safety, and it’s a memory prompt for herself. When she goes in there it’s a happy, contented feeling.’
‘That’s not right. It’s weird, and I dare him to tell me again that the experience had no long-lasting effects on Suzie and Libby.’
‘But it’s no different to the rest of us,’ Alison argued. ‘We all surround ourselves with things that comfort us and make us feel safe. The colours we choose, the furniture, layout, pictures, ornaments – everything is for comfort and pleasure. Yes, she’s recreated a scene from her past that should have been a traumatic experience, but for her it wasn’t.’
‘You don’t think there’s anything wrong with that?’ Kim asked, unable to see Alison’s view.
‘Would you find it more palatable if she’d been so traumatised that she’d retreated into herself out of stress; maybe started self-harming or later turned to drink or drugs? Would that have been normal enough? I know how you feel about him, but we’ve got two grown women who don’t agree with you at all.’
‘And I’ve potentially got four dead girls that do.’
Alison nodded, conceding her point.
‘Get her in here,’ Kim instructed Stacey. ‘I want Suzie Keene brought to the station to identify this room. I want to know if it’s exactly the same room where she was held. It might jog her memory and help with the location.’
‘On it, boss,’ she said, reaching for the phone.
‘I’ve been looking into something else,’ Alison continued. ‘I’ve not come across it before but I know it exists. Mr Harte may be a candidate for Lima syndrome.’
‘What syndrome?’ Kim asked, taking a last glance at Grace before handing the phone back to Penn. He placed it gently on his desk, as though not wanting to hurt the little girl, before returning to his view of Google Earth on the screen.
‘Lima. You have Stockholm syndrome, where the captive becomes emotionally attached to the captor, but it can also work the other way around, where the captor can become attached to his subject. There’s not much known about it but it was a term developed after 1997 when members of the Túpac Amaru Revolutionary Movement took high-level diplomats and government officials hostage, to demand the release of MTRA members from prison.
‘The captors were interviewed afterwards, and the characteristics of Lima syndrome suit Harte down to a tee.’
‘Go on,’ Kim said.
‘The captor feels empathy for a captive’s situation; he becomes more attentive to their needs and wants, and develops feelings of attachment, fondness or affection. When talking of Lexi, he’s just cried out that he loved her and that may well be true.’
Kim knew the doubt was clear on her face.
‘I know that look,’ Alison said with an eye-roll. ‘Okay, let me give you an example. Have you seen Beauty and the Beast?’
‘Alison, are you taking the piss or…?’
‘Beast imprisons Belle in exchange for her father. Over time he feels empathy for her plight of being imprisoned, as he himself is imprisoned. Empathy turns to affection which turns to love. It happens.’
‘It’s a fairy tale.’
‘It’s an example,’ Alison persisted.
‘So why is Lexi dead?’ Kim asked. There was no escaping that fact.
Alison shrugged. ‘I really wish I could answer that.’
‘You and me both,’ Kim said, turning back to the room. ‘Okay, guys, I’d best go and brief Woody while Harte confers with his solicitor. The only focus right now is finding out where Grace is. Don’t take your eyes off her for one minute,’ she said as Bryant picked up the phone.
His expression was puzzled as he turned the screen to landscape.
‘You okay?’
‘Yeah, it’s just that bed.’
‘What about it?’
‘It’s smaller than the one at Suzie’s house. Suzie mentioned a nice big bed all to herself.’
‘Libby said the same,’ Penn said, leaning over to take another look.
‘That’s a small bed,’ Bryant insisted.
‘I really don’t think it’s—’
‘I mean it’s smaller than a normal single bed.’
‘And?’
‘This is more the size of a bunk bed.’
Damn. Now she understood what he was saying.
Bunk beds came as a pair.
Seventy-Five