The Widow(49)

“Hair from a gray Burmese cross, like the Elliott family cat? We will bring expert testimony to say that is statistically extremely unlikely. And the likelihood of a coincidence drops still further when that cat hair evidence is found on a Skittles packet. Both a Burmese cross cat and a Skittle were present at the scene when Bella Elliott was abducted.”

Sparkes saw that the jurors were writing notes and Sanderson moved swiftly on.

Sparkes took a gulp of water from the glass at his elbow. He knew his adversary was building up to his big moment: the Goldilocks conversations.

Sparkes had prepared with the lawyers to make sure he was ready. He knew every nuance of the Regulation of Investigatory Powers Act 2000, every step of the authorization procedure, the careful preparation of the CHIS and the preservation and chain of evidence.

The team had spent a significant amount of time prepping him to emphasize Taylor’s use of chat rooms and his porn habit.

“The jury won’t be interested in subclause 101 or who gave permission for what—we need to tell them about the risk of Taylor feeding his appetite for baby girls,” the CPS team leader had urged, and Sparkes knew he was right.

He felt ready when the barrister marched into the minefield of pornography addiction, challenging the police action every step of the way. Sanderson’s goal was to force him to concede that Taylor could have inadvertently downloaded some of the “more extreme” images found on his computer.

“The images of children being sexually abused?” Sparkes had answered. “We believe he deliberately downloaded them—that he couldn’t have done it accidentally—and experts will testify on that matter.”

“We also have experts who will say that it could have been accidental, Inspector.”

Sparkes knew the defense was helped by the fact that Taylor looked nothing like the perverts who normally appeared in court. The prosecution team told him that Sanderson had shown a photo of his client to the juniors and solicitors in his chambers and the words most often used to describe him in his impromptu focus groups were “clean cut.”

With the images filed away, Sanderson challenged the detective head-on about Bella Elliott’s disappearance.

“Detective Inspector Sparkes, isn’t it right that Bella Elliott has never been found?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

“And that your team has failed to find any leads to her whereabouts?”

“No, that isn’t right. Our investigation led us to the accused.”

“Your case is based on suspicions, supposition, and circumstantial evidence, not facts, Inspector, isn’t it?”

“We’ve clear evidence to link the accused to the disappearance of Bella Elliott.”

“Ah, the evidence. Forensic guesswork and unreliable witnesses. All a bit flimsy because, I suggest, you were always after the wrong man. You were so desperate, you resorted to leading my client into a fictitious and mendacious relationship.”

The jurors didn’t look like they knew what a fictitious and mendacious relationship was, but they looked interested in the spectacle. Four stars and “compelling performances” was how the Telegraph might review it the next day, Sparkes thought as he finally stepped down from the witness box at lunchtime and returned to his seat in the audience.

But the star turn came that afternoon. Dulled by an institutional lunch, the jurors filed back in and slumped in their seats. They did not stay there long.

The mother entered the witness box, dressed in simple black with a red “Find Bella” badge blooming on her breast.

Sparkes smiled encouragingly at her, but he was unhappy she’d chosen to wear the badge and concerned about the questions it would raise.

The prosecutor, a reed of a woman alongside the bulk of her opponent, led Dawn Elliott through her evidence in chief, letting the young woman tell her story simply and effectively.

When Dawn broke down as she described the moment when she realized her child had gone, the jurors were transfixed and some seemed close to tears themselves. The judge asked her if she’d like a glass of water, and the usher obliged as the barristers rustled their papers, ready to resume.

It was Sanderson’s turn. “Miss Elliott. Did Bella often go outside to play? Out at the front, where you couldn’t see her?”

“Sometimes, but only for a few minutes.”

“Minutes pass very quickly, don’t you find? So many things to do as a mum?”

The mother smiled at this bit of sympathy. “It can get busy, but I know she was only out of my sight for minutes.”

“How do you know?”

“I was just cooking some pasta, like I said before. That doesn’t take long.”

“Anything else?”

“Well, I did the washing up as I went along. And I folded some of Bella’s clothes from the tumble dryer so I wouldn’t have to iron them.”

“Sounds like a busy afternoon for you. And there were a couple of calls to your mobile as well. Easy to forget that Bella was outside.”

Dawn began sobbing again, but Sanderson did not falter. “I know this is hard for you, Miss Elliott, but I just want to establish the time frame when Bella disappeared. You understand how important this is, don’t you?”

She nodded and blew her nose.

“And we’re relying on you to pinpoint this because the last time anyone else saw Bella was at the newspaper shop at eleven thirty-five. Wasn’t it, Miss Elliott?”