CHAPTER 11
We spent two weeks on the initial aspects of Meadowcroft, and while we were not precisely surprised at what came out from under a Bradford stone the team’s reaction was a revelation.

Reality had descended on us in a big way after the whirlwind of our original tasking, for the police drama depiction of dedicated sleuthing is utter rubbish. We don’t spend months on one case, patiently sifting evidence before moving to a conclusion, but rather take on a job, a case. Then another. And another.

Jobs are run in parallel, and in many ways it makes sense. There is a standard newsreader phrase, “Enquiries continue”, and that is true of most investigation work. The Scene of Crimes Officer might be as switched-on, enthusiastic, driven and (to be blunt) anal as the lads had been at that idiot’s wheely bin, but the lab work takes time. Contacting witnesses takes time, getting statements takes time, it all takes time. That time would obviously be wasted, so we run our jobs in parallel, shifting focus as the files come back or interview dates arrive.

There is, of course, another reason, and that is our non-Lords and masters. While all governments seem to see public services as whole hams, to be sliced bit by bit to the bone, the lot who were in just then were obsessed with it. They even coined a phrase for it: ‘More for less’. It was supposed to mean greater efficiency at negotiating such things as IT contracts, but the practice was simply cuts on top of cuts. We weren’t exactly ring-fenced, because while our new role as a national resource meant that South Wales could bill other forces for our work, the top bosses seemed to see us as an income stream first and foremost, and the caseload piled up.

Just then, of course, I was working on putting Cooper’s obscenities into a suitable case file for the CPS, while at the same time going through much the same process on Meadowcroft as I had done with Mersey View. That was what brought the revelation I mentioned.

It would have been so bloody easy to have become case-hardened by what came out, to see each new offence as ‘just another…’ rather than what it really was: the destruction of another human being’s childhood, and all too often their future as well. It didn’t happen to my colleagues, my friends; we never seemed to lose any of the distaste, finding places in our souls to put it away while we performed Police, Professional, but never, ever, losing our disgust.

It was corrosive. I know that now, I knew it then, but in its own way it could be described as addictive. Each new discovery showed me how well the team had been selected, for we all seemed to react in the same manner. For me, and probably all the others, one prime emotion was guilt.

The victims were people. The predators were people. We were people. One way or another, I felt complicit, and the only absolution open to me was the delivery of justice, and ensuring it was done openly and visibly.

By the end of that fortnight, I was almost ready to send Cooper swimming the way his own bosses had sent Hamilton, so I wrestled that thought down, and sent it to sleep somewhere in my own soul along with all the scars from yet more savaged children.

Bastard, and not the only one. Thank god for my family.

West Yorkshire were good to us, in the end, although I doubt that it was what they intended. Once we had established the basics they snatched the case back, no doubt with the intention of garnering their own kudos, but Bev Williams had sneakily managed to get a sneaky press conference in before the English were ready, and sneakily got it on national TV news, the sneaky sod. It produced the expected newspaper headlines and editorials, and I had to walk away from a couple of newsagents before I was seen to be less than Professional. The tabloids who were shouting the loudest about mismanagement and failings were always the same ones who had banged the drum loudest in favour of that slicing away of resources.

What did you bloody expect, you tossers?

To be honest, I was glad to get rid of that case to West Yorks. I wanted to see Cooper sent down for the rest of his natural, I wanted Deb, Ben, Stevie, their families, even Harry Bowles, to see it happen. What I really didn’t want was to be made to speak to Cooper ever again.

The CPS, for once, were apparently cooking by gas, and a week after I handed over the Meadowcroft file I was walking into Chester Crown Court with Jon and Deb. I had expected something more local to either Runcorn, as the area of the offences, or perhaps Carlisle for simplicity, but Sedgewick had clearly been steering things for his own agenda, and I had wondered whether it was another bit of glory-hogging along with that game from West Yorks.

My suspicions vanished when I saw his face. It spoke to my own crowded soul, and what it said was that he simply wanted to see Cooper go down hard. He still found a smile, though.

“Di! Good to see you again. We have a room available, our own office, actually. Rather too many guests for an interview room”

Jon was peering round the foyer.

“Anywhere I can grab a coffee before we go in, sir? Bit of a long drive”

“Not a problem, son. I’ve got some set up already. Rank has its privileges, sometimes. Down this way; make the introductions when we are all in. Ms Wells?”

Deb looked up. “Aye?”

“Thank you for the VIS. Do you feel up to reading it out yourself? Ben Nicol-Clements has delegated it to his husband, so I will understand”

Deb shook her head emphatically.

“No. Not this time. This time I do the abusing”

Sedgewick’s smile was still there, but softer.

“No, my dear. Not do. This time, some of us get closure, and for him that will mean a cell door, permanently if the judge is switched on, and trust me, we have a live one today. In here, please”

It was a decent-sized office, but there was indeed quite a crowd. All members of the extended Elliott family were there, with multiple extras including an older man who was immediately collared by Jon as Sedgewick did the teas and coffees he had promised. Deb was chuckling, so I gave her a raised eyebrow.

“Di, it was Gemma, aye? So bloody typical of her. ‘Take a few pastries away with you’, she says, and I tell her there’ll be more than just me, so she says ‘Take a few more then’ and that’s why I have the big bag. Caused me some fun at Security, I can tell you”

I had noticed the holdall, but Jon and I went through the fast track as we were on duty and therefore tooled up under our jackets with asp and spray. Deb unzipped the bag and started to bring out the familiar cardboard boxes. I took a peek to my right, and even Jon had switched his gaze from a football coach to something that promised to be far sweeter.

Small talk, pastries, cakes, appreciative remarks, laughter, not all of it nervous. And then Liam Weir at the door.

“Thank you all for coming. Our boy is ready for the dock, but the Court Service has asked if any of you wish screens? We are sitting victims in the body of the Court, along with a support if required, but we can arrange things so that Cooper can’t see you”

Ben looked at Peter, squeezed his hand with a smile, then turned back to us.

“Thank you, Officer, but no. I am going to let Peter read my Victim Impact Statement for me, as he actually wrote it, and I do not believe I would have the strength, but today I want that pig to see me smile as he receives what he is due”

Weir nodded, and Sedgewick looked over to Stevie.

“Mr Elliott, we are also proposing to sit you with the Mersey View victims, as you sort of qualify”

He paused, then grinned.

“It would also put the shits up him, which would be welcome indeed. Are you happy with that?”

Stevie smiled, in a nasty way.

“I’ll have Dad with me to hold my hand”

Dennahy threw a wadded serviette at him.

“That was for legal reasons only, you sod!”

Elliott simply grinned again.

“No it bloody wasn’t, and you know it! Anyway, are we ready? Are YOU up to doing this, Brian?”

Shit. Something else was going on, and I wasn’t in the loop. This was Sedgewick and Cheshire’s prosecution, not ours, and I was a little out of the loop. Sedgewick led us to the assigned Court and I ticked off the number of bodies the Elliotts swamped the Public Gallery with. Beside the ones we had already met, there were two couples who seemed to be the Dennahys’ children plus spouses, a hard-faced and very fit man with a blonde wife, and another, bonier, blonde with a huge husband. If Cooper wasn’t intimidated by the people on the floor of the Court, those in the Gallery would do the job.

Our barrister gave us the necessary and unnecessary instructions as we lined up in the back row: Ben, Peter, Jon, me, Deb, Stevie and Brian Dennehy. At least Jon had lost enough of his hero-worship to take a seat next to Deb. The door at the back of the dock opened, and Cooper was brought in, eyes everywhere until they clocked Stevie, who smiled at him.

Immediately Cooper switched his gaze to the Gallery, and for the first time since I had met him he looked truly frightened. Job done, so far.

“All rise!”

Judge in, backsides back on seats, and the Clerk back up for the charges.

“…at Mersey View in Runcorn, in the County of Cheshire… that you did indecently assault on multiple occasions…”

“…that you did inflict grievous bodily harm on…”

The list went on, including rape, ABH, false imprisonment on Ben, Harry Bowles (that one brought a gasp from the Gallery), Deborah Wells formerly known as William.

Cooper jerked at that one, and his eyes locked on our group, settling on Deb, who simply stared ahead without returning his stare. The charges rolled on.

“…in Castle Keep in Carlisle, at that time in the County of Cumberland…”

More of the same crimes, and then, bang.

“… the person of Brian Dennahy, then being a child under twelve years of age”

Jon jerked at that, and I looked across at Brian, but Stevie already had his hand.