‘No comment.’
Middleton was beginning to enjoy himself, rocking back and forth in his chair.
‘I would like you to look at some CCTV footage which shows you carrying the bins to the pavement outside your basement flat,’ Jack continued. ‘Pay attention, if you would, to the way one item drops from the bin and you quickly put it back.’
The CCTV footage was shown. Middleton yawned.
‘That is you, isn’t it, Mr Middleton?’
‘No comment.’
If Jack was becoming impatient, he didn’t show it. He remained affable, smiling at Middleton as if he was enjoying himself too, as he recounted the two occasions on which Middleton had assaulted a shop owner.
‘I am — or at least I was — confused by your actions. You seemed intent on being arrested, especially on the last occasion when you were arrested only a short time after assaulting the corner shop owner.’
Middleton glanced towards Ms Bamford as if he expected her to challenge Jack’s account, but she gave a small shake of her head.
‘Sorry, let me put things more simply to make it easier for you to understand. Both assaults were deliberately planned so that you would be taken into police custody, isn’t that right?’
‘No comment.’
‘That would mean that you were absent from the premises for a lengthy period if any human remains were found. You were very clever to think of doing that,’ Jack added, deliberately changing tack from his previous belittling of Middleton.
The narcissistic side of Middleton glimmered for a moment and he couldn’t resist answering.
‘I was in prison, like you said. Which makes me innocent, right?’
‘Not really,’ Jack said. ‘How would you know when they were killed unless you killed them? And you almost blew it the last time, because the bins weren’t collected due to a strike. This meant that the rotting body parts were left in the bin and could very easily have been discovered when they began to stink. Again, you tried to evade being caught by getting arrested, but something went wrong, didn’t it?’
‘No comment.’
‘You told Amanda to get rid of your victims’ clothing, so she made numerous trips to a charity collection point. Please look at the CCTV footage.’
They watched Glenda’s edited footage showing Amanda putting clothes in the charity collection bin.
‘Now, let me just freeze that section; you see the jumper? We now know that belonged to Trudie, and Amanda also kept a pair of pink socks belonging to her. Plus, she did not — as she had been told to do — get rid of your jeans.’
Rodney shrugged and gave a twisted smile. ‘No comment.’
‘We have your blood-stained jeans, Mr Middleton, just as we have the pink socks, also blood-stained; the DNA samples found on both these items were from two of your victims.’
The group in the viewing room were becoming restless. It was obvious that Jack was getting nowhere. Glenda asked if she should order in something for lunch, but Anik quickly said they should just call up to the canteen for them to bring it down.
‘Are they going to break for lunch?’ Laura asked.
‘At this rate we could be here until his thirty-six hours are up,’ Glenda said. ‘He doesn’t look the slightest bit concerned. On the contrary, he’s loving it, rocking back and forth in his chair with a big grin on his face... makes me want to slap him. And I find that woman really annoying, too. We should stop wasting time and just charge him with the murders. Get the bastard on trial; we’ve got enough evidence.’
‘There were more victims, girls we haven’t been able to identify. I think Jack’s trying to get information about them,’ Laura suggested.
‘Hang on...’ Anik said. He could see Jack was now leaning closer to Middleton, his hands flat on the table in front of him.
‘Mr Middleton, you have claimed to be suffering from mental health issues in order to avoid being placed in custody in the past. You have been described as suffering from paranoia, but you are also someone with narcissistic and psychopathic tendencies. Perhaps it would be useful to explore this area further.’
Miss Bamford rapped her pen on the table. ‘If you are inferring that my client is not mentally fit, then this meeting should be concluded.’
Jack shook his head. ‘I am not suggesting that at all, far from it. I think Mr Middleton is completely competent. But I’d like to try and understand why he slaughtered the three innocent young women we know of. I wondered why he hadn’t done the same to Amanda Dunn, also a very young runaway when he first met her. Instead, he kept her alive. Was it simply because she was a useful accomplice in drawing more innocent runaways to his flat? Or is there another deeper bond between them? What would you say to that, Mr Middleton?’
‘No comment.’
‘Isn’t it because she had also killed, before she ever met you?’
‘No comment.’
Middleton was once again rocking back and forth in his chair, smiling and shaking his head as if Jack was talking rubbish.
But Ms Bamford looked shocked, and so did DCI Clarke, neither of them knowing where this idea had suddenly come from.
‘I am now going to show some photographs from Mr Middleton’s childhood. He has no need to identify the people in the photographs; we know who they are.’
Jack laid out family photographs taken from Joyce Miller’s home. They showed Middleton as a young toddler, with numerous shots of him sitting on his aunt’s knee. There were some of him with his father, and finally one when Middleton was aged about seven.
‘Happy families... an ordinary happy little boy with his daddy, his aunt and, last but not least, here is a photograph of your mother.’
For the first time Middleton showed some reaction. He stopped rocking and sat up in his seat, his eyes flicking nervously from side to side.
Jack picked up the black and white photograph. ‘This is Abena Mensah in her Ghanaian school uniform, so pretty and so young. It’s the only picture I have of your mother. There is something written on the back.’
He held it up towards Middleton, but he pressed back in his chair. Jack turned it over.
‘The name is very faint, written in pencil. But there is something else written next to it in very childish handwriting. At first I found it very moving. “You should have taken me with you.”’
Ms Bamford pursed her lips. ‘What’s the relevance of this?’ Jack ignored her, staring at Middleton, who for the first time would not face Jack but looked away.
‘Look at me, Mr Middleton, look at me.’
Middleton slowly turned his head, his dark eyes glaring at Jack. His body was rigid, his hands clasped tightly together, resting on the table.
‘“You should have taken me with you.” This is your writing, isn’t it?’
‘No comment.’
Jack shook his head and gave a soft laugh.
‘I thought it was very sad because I was told she had abandoned you, leaving you with your father, who was already living with another woman, someone he wanted to marry. You were only seven years old. But this isn’t really sad, is it? Not if you read it in another way.’
Jack and Middleton stared at each other.
‘It’s a threat, a child’s threat. Written in anger, after she left you. After I read that note, I came to believe something happened in that happy family home, something horrendous, something brutal.’ Jack knew he would not have much time before Ms Bamford stepped in. The existence of the photograph had not been disclosed so she had no idea of what was coming. But it was having the desired effect on Middleton, as he jerked his head from side to side, his mouth drawn in a thin tight line, his whole body almost rigid.
Jack removed two more photographs from the file and placed them face down. Jack quietly asked Middleton to look at him.
‘Look at me, Rodney. Look at me. Your aunt rejected you, too. She weighs about thirty-five stone now; she’s deliberately eating herself to death because of what she knows, because of the secrets she has had to hide, secrets involving you and your father.’