Catching a Serial Killer by Stephen Fulcher

Author:Stephen Fulcher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Ebury Publishing

39

I felt butterflies in my stomach at his words. I hoped he had made the decision to roll over, but it wasn’t crystal clear. ‘Have you got a car? We’ll go’ could also be a reiteration of his desire to go to the police station.

Whatever he meant, it was a decision that we acted upon. Side by side, we walked back to the patrol car and I ducked his head into the vehicle as he took his position in the rear behind the passenger seat. I swung in next to him and directed Debs to take the seat in front. I fastened Halliwell’s belt across him.

‘Are you sure it’s not too tight, Chris?’

I was solicitous, trying to keep the bond between us on an even keel. It still felt like a knife-edge moment. What had Halliwell meant? I deliberately didn’t ask him to clarify – didn’t say, ‘Are you going to take us to Sian, then?’ I didn’t want to break the moment, to focus his mind on the choice he’d made – if indeed he’d made that choice.

‘Danny, just follow Chris’s instructions,’ I told the copper at the wheel.

At 12.20, the patrol car moved off and swung towards the winding road leading out of the car park. It was only at this point that I realised we had a massive audience. Halliwell, of course, was still under surveillance: there were at least 13 cars parked up a short distance away, and every man and his uncle was watching; there must have been the thick end of 30 officers. The sensitivity of the situation was such that I couldn’t say a word: I simply crooked my finger as we passed and directed them to follow.

As we drove through the silver gates at the entrance to the car park, Halliwell suddenly seemed to take in his surroundings.

‘Why did you bring me here?’ he asked.

Later, that question would make me chuckle. I’d brought him to Barbury Castle because I thought Sian was here – evidently, that hunch I’d had that made it favourite was completely and utterly wrong. So much for the clever detective. I managed to deflect the question in the moment, not giving away my hand, only hoping that he’d think the search teams in the area were just there at this time because we were, too.

We drove on, heading sharply downhill as banks rose on either side of us before giving way to flat fields. And as Halliwell gave directions to Danny, I grew increasingly concerned.

We were on our way back to the nick.

I wondered if Halliwell knew it. Had this been his intention all along?

‘Chris,’ I said, having to interrupt, ‘if we keep going down this route, you’ve got Sky TV vans and BBC sat vans …’

Halliwell nodded. And then: ‘We can divert round here,’ he said. He directed Danny to take the three sides of a square to avoid the nick and then we headed out of Swindon on the A420. It was only at that point that I thought, with disbelief, Bloody hell, it’s worked.

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