I got out of Ben’s bed and looked out of the window, and I saw Nicky below in my garden with the dog, petting him, encouraging him to pee. They stood on the soggy, tatty lawn by the abandoned relic of Ben’s football goal, the net broken from the frame in places, the grass in front of it worn from where he’d played. I backed away from the window, not so that the press wouldn’t see me, but so that my sister wouldn’t.
And as dusk fell again, wrapping itself around the edges of the day, I ran back through events, until I thought about how I had started the day: the photographer in my garden, Nicky’s anger with him, her outburst on the street, her loyalty.
And then I thought about the previous day, and how it had started with an internet search, and with a laptop that belonged to Nicky, that needed a password, and how that password was the name of my son.
And each intake of breath felt sharp in my lungs and my mind roved further and I thought of Nicky’s discontent with her daughters, and what Clemo said about her wanting a son. And then I thought of her words: ‘It was as if he was Charlie, reborn.’
I began to cry hot, silent tears, and they had sharp edges just like my breath did, and they ran down my cheeks and soaked into Ben’s nunny which I held tightly to my face.
When I heard Nicky’s footsteps on the stairs I got into Ben’s bed, covered myself up, turned away from the door and tried to breathe slowly so she would think I was asleep.
When she put her head around the door of the room and asked if I wanted any food I didn’t answer her.
When she reappeared some minutes later with a tray of supper I still couldn’t look at her, couldn’t speak to her.
‘I just wanted to protect you,’ she said.
She shut the door quietly behind her, respecting my privacy, and all I could feel was a throbbing. It was the pulse of the time since Ben had been missing. And it felt as if it had begun to beat faster.
JIM
From: Christopher Fellowes ‹cjfellowes@gmail.com›
To: James Clemo ‹clemoj@aspol.uk›
25 October 2012 at 21:37
Re: Nicola Forbes
Jim
Good to speak. Fascinating development!
I’ll send you a full report tomorrow but, as agreed, here is a précis:
Psychological markers for predisposition to sociopathic behaviour in Nicola Forbes might include any of the following: tendency to control; affective instability (which could include jealousy and identity diffusion); unnatural interest in Ben – you’ve already mentioned this as a possible, if father is to be believed. Other generalised signs might include obsessive-compulsive spectrum behaviour (OCSD) and/or delusional beliefs (though these can be well hidden).
She’s certainly been quick to be on the scene, which could indicate that she enjoys the attention that the case is bringing the family (just speculation, but maybe an unresolved desire from her earlier experience which was handled so discreetly by the aunt?).
There’s more – I’ll follow up asap with a full report. It’ll be with you end of tomorrow, latest.
Best, Chris
Dr Christopher J Fellowes
Senior Lecturer in Psychology
University of Cambridge
Fellow of Jesus College
From: Corinne Fraser ‹fraserc@aspol.uk›
To: Alan Hayward ‹alan.hayward@haywardmorganlaw.co.uk›
Cc: James Clemo ‹clemoj@aspol.uk›; Giles Martyn ‹martyng@aspol.uk›; Bryan Doughty ‹doughtyb@aspol.uk›
25 October 2012 at 23:06
Blog Warfare
Alan
We’re in need of your services, as the weird and wonderful worldwide web is once again involving itself in our police work. Could you cast your keen legal eye over this blog please: www.whereisbenedictfinch.wordpress.com
You’ll see that it relates to the Benedict Finch case (Operation Huckleberry).
I’ve got two primary concerns.
Firstly, there could be Contempt of Court issues, should we ever get to trial.
Secondly, there’s stuff appearing on there that’s making me nervous because it shouldn’t be in the public domain. We’re concerned that somebody within the investigation (either family or within our organisation) could be authoring the blog or leaking information to it.
What I want to know is can we find out who the author of the blog is, the self-styled ‘LazyDonkey’, and what do we need to do to get it shut down? Is that even possible?
I’m copying this to DS Martyn and Inspector Bryan Doughty from Internal Affairs.
Quick response appreciated, obviously.
Cheers, Corinne
DAY 6
Cases involving child victims are not only burdensome from an investigative standpoint, but are also emotionally exhausting. Law enforcement agencies are commonly tasked with the simultaneous pursuit of multiple, time-sensitive avenues of investigation, often with inadequate resources (i.e., financial, logistical, manpower).
Boudreaux M C, Lord W D, Dutra R L, ‘Child Abduction: Aged-based Analyses of Offender, Victim, and Offense Characteristics in 550 Cases of Alleged Child Disappearance’. J Forensic Sci, 44(3), 1999
WEB PAGE – www.whereisbenedictfinch.wordpress.com
WHERE IS BENEDICT FINCH? For the curious…
NOTHING TO WATCH?
Posted at 05.03 by LazyDonkey, on Friday, 26 October 2012
This blog wants to recommend a television programme to you:
Go to: http://www.itv.com/jeremykyle
You could try:
Episode 198
I can’t trust you with our son! You spend all your time texting instead of watching him
Or you might enjoy this:
Episode 237
Admit you’re a bad mom and you can’t look after your children
Just a thought. Up to you.
Oh, and one more thing:
Did you know Benedict Finch fractured his arm last year, and his mother didn’t get it treated? He must have been in a lot of pain. Guess she wasn’t bothered. Or perhaps she was just busy doing something else.
RACHEL
First thing in the morning, facing each other across my kitchen table in our dressing gowns, our eye contact patchy, the air between us oscillating with tension, Nicky told me that she was going to leave.
‘I think we probably both need some time,’ she said. It was a quiet statement, and a very controlled one, but it was also damp with the undercurrent of what we’d been through the day before.
‘Just for a day or two, then I’ll come back. Will you be OK do you think?’
I had to clear my throat before replying in order to moderate my own tone and maintain the perfect neutrality of our exchange. The alternative was shouting, or weeping, or accusation, hastily spat out. After spending the night imagining darkly, now the sheer reality and familiarity of my sister’s presence and her own attempt at composure kept me in check.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘That’s fine.’
‘It’s the girls,’ she said, turning away, slotting bread into the toaster.
‘Of course you should go.’ And I did feel a twinge of guilt then, because Nicky’s girls needed her too.
Steam billowed up from the kettle and settled in a moist coating on the front of one of my kitchen cabinets. Skittle dragged his cast laboriously across the floor and flopped heavily onto my feet. Nicky burned her toast and I watched her back as she took it to the sink and used a knife to scrape the black crumbs from it with sharp motions. They fell in a layer of coarse powder.