Hope to Die

DNA-17 Familial Match Report

The DNA-17 profile obtained from the deceased (Sample 1) was searched on the DNA Database with a negative result. An amendment to the search parameters generated a close familial match with a different sample held on the DNA Database (Sample 2).

Interpretation

Combined Index: 3,187,200,590

Having applied an established statistical methodology to the above STR loci, the Probability of Maternity is calculated to be 99.99999999%.

I certify that these results are an accurate and true interpretation of the raw data obtained from the samples stated above. The results contained in this report have been obtained in accordance with the Forensic Science Regulator’s Codes of Practice following an approved and validated scientific method as documented in our ISO/IEC 17025:2017 Schedule of Accreditation.

* * *

Adam Fawley

23 October

15.56

‘What am I looking at?’

I glance up at Challow. He’s frowning, tapping his pen against the desk. I’ve known him a long time, and his standard operating procedure is email. He doesn’t call, and he certainly doesn’t invite you round – in fact, I’m not even sure I can remember the last time I was in here. Or the last time he didn’t greet me with a snippy remark.

‘I mean, I know it’s the DNA report, I just don’t know what it’s telling me.’

‘It’s telling you there’s a match in the system. A textbook parental match.’

‘Well, that’s a result, isn’t it? Means we know who he is.’

Challow’s frown deepens. ‘It’s not as simple as that. Not by a long way.’

I point to the reference number in the second column. ‘So this is the father? SampleA1667GHD?’

He takes a breath. ‘Keep reading. It’s not the father. It’s the mother. Your mystery victim is Camilla Rowan’s son.’

* * *

Channel:

Netflix

Programme:

Infamous, season 4

Number of episodes:

4

First shown:

09/03/2016

[THEME SONG – ’KARMA CHAMELEON’ [CULTURE CLUB]]

TITLE OVER:

INFAMOUS

FADE IN

THE CHAMELEON GIRL

MONTAGE: shots of Camilla Rowan at the Old Bailey trial, interspersed with newspaper headlines – ’Milly Liar: “I did not kill my baby”’, ‘What really happened to baby Rowan?’, ‘Child-killer to serve life’.

VOICEOVER – JOHN PENROSE

In the last episode, we looked at Camilla Rowan’s childhood. At her privileged upbringing, her attentive parents, her expensive school. We spoke to her friends, her teachers, people who knew her, all in a quest for clues as to how this golden girl with a fabulous life ahead of her ended up in the dock of the Old Bailey, her only future the four walls of a prison cell.

But there was nothing – nothing in her surroundings, her relationships or her experiences – that could possibly explain the mystery of the chameleon girl. But perhaps we were simply looking in the wrong place. Perhaps the answer lies much closer to home. In Camilla Rowan herself.

TITLE APPEARS OVER, TYPEWRITER STYLE:

Part two

“If I listened to your lies”

Shot of Birmingham and Solihull General Hospital, entrance to the maternity suite. Nurses going in and out, mothers carrying babies, etc.

VOICEOVER

As we discovered in the previous episode, this is where Camilla Rowan gave birth to a full-term baby boy on 23rd December 1997. A baby no one knew she was carrying, who would leave in her arms later that same day, never to be seen again.

RECONSTRUCTION of young woman with baby in hospital bed. Baby’s face not visible.

But this wasn’t the first time Camilla had visited a maternity unit. She’d already given birth in another Birmingham hospital not much more than a year before. She’d already had another child.

VOICEOVER – JOHN PENROSE

The Senior Investigating Officer on the Camilla Rowan case was DI Howard Lucas, who died in 2013. His second-in-command was Detective Sergeant Lawrence Kearney, now a DCI, who gave some of the most powerful testimony in the Old Bailey trial.

Cut to: close-up of LK sitting at desk with large sign behind saying ‘South Mercia Police: Protecting People Through Professional Policing’.

TITLE OVER: DCI Lawrence Kearney, investigator on the Camilla Rowan case, 2002-2003

LAWRENCE KEARNEY

On Saturday 9th November 1996 Camilla Rowan presented herself at the front desk of West Bromwich Women’s Hospital. She gave her address as 13 Warnock Road, Cambridge, and said she had unexpectedly gone into labour two weeks before her due date, while visiting friends in Dudley. However, nurses noted that she had none of those friends with her. A few hours later she gave birth to a healthy baby boy.

VOICEOVER

Adrian Morrison was overseeing the unit that night, and subsequently testified at Rowan’s trial.

Cut to: doctor’s office, desk, window behind.

TITLE OVER: Adrian Morrison, Senior Obstetric Registrar, West Bromwich Women’s Hospital, Birmingham NHS Foundation Trust, 1992–2015

ADRIAN MORRISON

It was in every respect a normal, straightforward delivery. The mother was obviously very young, but clearly fit and well and the baby was likewise completely healthy. We weren’t able to access other Trusts’ computer records at that time, and it being a weekend I wouldn’t have been able to contact her GP very easily either. But in any case there was no immediate need. The baby was doing well, and she said she was returning to her partner in Cambridge and would pick up with her GP and midwife as soon as she got home. I had no reason to doubt the truth of what she said, so I was quite happy to discharge them both on the Monday morning.

JOHN’S VOICE (off)

Did you hear from her again?

ADRIAN MORRISON

No.

JOHN’S VOICE (off)

What about the GP she listed on her admissions form?

ADRIAN MORRISON

I only discovered some months later that that practice did not exist.

JOHN’S VOICE (off)

Was there anything else about the baby that, in the light of subsequent events, you now consider could be significant?

ADRIAN MORRISON

(hesitates)

Possibly. The child was clearly mixed race.

Cut to: RECONSTRUCTION of young woman in hospital bed. Baby’s face now visible and clearly of mixed-race parentage.

VOICEOVER – JOHN PENROSE

So much has changed since the turn of the century that it’s hard to remember that having a baby outside wedlock was social suicide in some circles, or that a mixed-race child could be something to be ashamed of. Times have changed, and decidedly for the better. But back in the nineties, attitudes weren’t always so enlightened, and especially not in wealthy middle-class rural communities like Shiphampton, which were almost exclusively white.

Cut to: sitting room

TITLE OVER: Marion Teesdale, Housemistress, Burghley Abbey School, 1986–2014

MARION TEESDALE

I don’t remember any girls leaving the school because they were pregnant. Some left at sixteen, of course, so I can’t vouch for what happened to them thereafter, but we ensured every pupil received comprehensive sex education lessons in the fourth form, so all our girls were fully informed about both pregnancy and birth control.

Cut to: kitchen

TITLE OVER: Leonora Staniforth, Camilla’s school friend

LEONORA STANIFORTH

I don’t know about ‘comprehensive’ – it was all a bit sketchy from what I remember. It didn’t help that the teacher doing the class was Miss Thorpe, who was about a hundred and five and didn’t look like she’d ever actually done the deed. We were all just excruciatingly embarrassed throughout the entire thing – more for her, probably, than for ourselves. I definitely remember her showing us how to use a condom by sticking it on a test tube. Someone at the back fainted. Actually fainted. I mean, imagine that happening now.

Cut to: City office

TITLE OVER: Melissa Rutherford, Camilla’s school friend

MELISSA RUTHERFORD

I learned more from other girls than I did from school – I imagine most kids do. But if you’re asking about attitudes to teenage pregnancy in a place like Shiphampton back then, then yes, there was a definite social stigma attached to anything like that. Girls who ‘slept around’ were looked down on as ‘cheap’ and ‘common’. As for getting pregnant, that was the ultimate no-no – I think my parents would have literally thrown me out of the house. I can only imagine what Camilla’s mother would have done if she’d known.

JOHN’S VOICE (off)

And if the baby turned out to be mixed race?

MELISSA RUTHERFORD

Oh my God, it doesn’t bear thinking about. The sky would have fallen in.

Cut to: panoramic drone shot over Shiphampton.

VOICEOVER – JOHN PENROSE

With this in mind, it’s not hard to see why Camilla chose to conceal her first pregnancy, even – or perhaps especially – from her own mother. But she was intelligent and well-informed, she had means and more independence than most young people her age. So why didn’t she take steps to prevent the pregnancy in the first place? Or arrange for a termination as soon as she realised what had happened, if not with her own GP, then at one of the many clinics offering confidential abortion services? Camilla Rowan has been asked those questions many times, both before and after her conviction, but no one – as far as I know – has got an answer. None that make sense, anyway.

Cut to: shot of West Bromwich Women’s Hospital, entrance to the maternity suite.

VOICEOVER – JOHN PENROSE

All we do know for sure is that Camilla Rowan did none of those things. Instead she carried that first baby to term and, as we’ve heard, gave birth here in early November 1996. But contrary to what she told Dr Morrison, she did not return to Cambridge with her son. She didn’t even live in Cambridge, and there is no such address as 13 Warnock Road in that town. No, what she actually did was go straight to an adoption agency only a few hundred yards from the hospital.

Cut to: reception area, water cooler, sofas, posters of children, etc.

TITLE OVER: Yasmin Njoku, CEO, Central Midlands Adoption and Fostering, 1995-2002

YASMIN NJOKU

It’s fair to say that’s not the usual way we received children.

JOHN’S VOICE (off)

She just turned up with the baby?

YASMIN NJOKU

We had to arrange emergency fostering that day. It was clear she was in no position to look after the child.

JOHN’S VOICE (off)

Do you mean practically, or some other way?

YASMIN NJOKU

Primarily emotionally. When my member of staff tried to say that it would be very difficult to receive the baby there and then she became almost hysterical.

JOHN’S VOICE (off)

So if you hadn’t taken the baby – or if there hadn’t been an agency like you so close to hand – do you think the child might have been at risk of harm?

YASMIN NJOKU

(pause)

Let’s just say it wasn’t a chance we were prepared to take.

VOICEOVER – JOHN PENROSE

Perhaps Camilla herself feared what she might do to the child. Perhaps that’s why she decided that adoption was the only way. Because, whatever her motives, on this occasion Camilla Rowan ‘did the right thing’. Even if the way she went about it was bizarre in the extreme.

MONTAGE: sequence of images of Camilla Rowan’s adoption paperwork; as John mentions specific elements these are underlined on screen and annotated one at a time with ‘False’, ‘Lie’, ‘Does not exist’.

Because as the prosecution case later made abundantly clear, the paperwork Rowan filled out for the adoption agency – both that day and later – was a litany of lies. She gave her real name, but pretty much everything else was a fabrication. She said again that she lived at the Warnock Road address, which we already know was a lie: in fact ‘Warnock’ – as a sharp-eyed police officer later spotted – is just an anagram of ‘C. K. Rowan’. She gave the same GP details she’d given the hospital – another lie. The email address she supplied didn’t exist. There were almost a dozen lies in all. And a mobile number that always went straight to voicemail. Hardly surprising, then, that the adoption service struggled to contact her in the weeks that followed.

Cut to: reception area interior

YASMIN NJOKU

We tried again and again by phone and in writing, but only ever managed to contact her once. That was when the baby was six weeks old and she had to come in to sign the final papers.

JOHN’S VOICE (off)

Did you see her that day?

YASMIN NJOKU

No, I wasn’t in the office, but the colleague who did said she was in and out in five minutes. Apparently she said she ‘just wanted to get it over with’.

JOHN’S VOICE (off)

Did he ask her about the false information she’d given?

YASMIN NJOKU

I think he tried but she kept saying she had somewhere else she needed to be. And it was during lunch-hour and quite busy, and there weren’t many staff available. It’s possible she came in then deliberately – to reduce the likelihood of being asked too many questions.

JOHN’S VOICE (off)

And what happened to the baby?

YASMIN NJOKU

He was successfully placed in a loving family.

JOHN’S VOICE (off)

His identity was protected during the court case, but are you aware whether he knows who his biological mother is?

YASMIN NJOKU

Like all adopted children he would have had the right to see his records when he reached the age of eighteen. I don’t know if he has done so, and I wouldn’t be able to disclose that information even if I did.

Cut to: montage of shots of Camilla – playing hockey, with Leonora and Melissa, at a fireworks party.

VOICEOVER – JOHN PENROSE

When these pictures were taken, Camilla Rowan was pregnant with that baby boy. Four months, seven months, eight and a half months. And yet no one apparently noticed a thing.

TITLE OVER: Leonora Staniforth

LEONORA STANIFORTH

(looking at the pictures)

Well that last one is in the winter, right? So we’d all have been in jumpers and coats and it wouldn’t have been so obvious. But yes, I know what you’re getting at. I think we were all a bit naïve at that age, but I can’t believe her mother or the teachers didn’t notice anything.

JOHN’S VOICE (off)

Did you know she had a boyfriend?

LEONORA STANIFORTH

No. And I think she’d have told us. Mel, anyway, even if not me. Those two were always really really tight, especially around then.

JOHN’S VOICE (off)

So you have no idea who the father was?

LEONORA STANIFORTH

(shakes her head)

None at all. I don’t think there was a single black family in Shiphampton back then. I guess she could have met him in Birmingham or something, but I’ve been racking my brains and I just can’t remember her ever going there without either me or Mel. It’s just a complete mystery.

Cut to: montage of shots of Camilla Rowan during the trial – leaving the court, head down, with her mother, with her legal team.

VOICEOVER – JOHN PENROSE

And it’s just one of the many mysteries that still haunt this case. One thing we do know is that – for whatever reason – the father of that baby has never come forward. His identity remains shrouded in secrecy, just like that of the man who fathered Rowan’s second child, scarcely a year later. But that second baby was not taken in by a loving family. He was last seen alive at only a few hours old, in his mother’s arms, in a hospital car park.

Another mystery, more deceit, more chameleon camouflage. Because as we all now know, when it came to telling lies, Camilla Rowan had barely even got started …

- freeze frame -

* * *

Adam Fawley

23 October

17.27

‘Holy fuck.’

Classic Quinn. But he has a point.

Gis is still looking at me blankly. ‘Camilla’s kid? What the –’

Quinn turns to me. ‘How old does Challow reckon the vic was?’

Good question.

‘Probably no more than twenty-one. And certainly no younger than fifteen. Something to do with the pubic bone.’

Quinn’s obviously doing the calculations. ‘So whoever the fuck he is, he had to have been born between 1997 and 2003?’

Gis glances across at him. ‘Well, Rowan was either under investigation, on trial or in the slammer from the summer of 2002 onwards, so that narrows it down a bit.’

Quinn looks at me. ‘Wasn’t there another kid – aside from the mixed-race one? Isn’t that how the police got involved in the first place?’

I nod. ‘I’m having the full case file sent over, but yes, there was another baby, but that was a girl. Born in 2002.’

Quinn grabs a bit of paper and starts doing the math. ‘So that leaves us about three and a half years between her killing that kid in 1997 and getting pregnant with the daughter in 2001.’ He looks up. ‘Could she really have had yet another brat in that time – yet another pregnancy no one noticed, and the original investigation never found?’

There’s a silence.

‘There is another possibility,’ says Gis quietly. He knows it, Quinn knows it, I know it.

Quinn lets out a low whistle and starts shaking his head. ‘Jesus.’

Gis nods. ‘Looks like that kid didn’t die in 1997, after all. He died last weekend, at Wytham. When his grandaddy shot him.’

* * *

Adam Fawley

24 October

08.27

‘Jesus, Adam, you’re only just back from paternity leave. You’re supposed to be taking it easy. Not having another run-up at the crime of the century. And another force’s crime, at that.’

I think he’s trying to be funny. ‘Trying’ being the word – in every sense.

‘I know, sir, but there’s not much I can do about that. We hardly went looking for it.’

Superintendent Harrison sits back and steeples his fingers. ‘How confident are you that this really is the child she was convicted of killing? I don’t want us digging all this up again on a hunch.’

‘I’m not one hundred per cent sure, sir, but it’s a very strong possibility. Mainly because I doubt there could have been another child of the right age that the original investigation didn’t find.’

‘So where does that leave us with the Swanns? Do you think they knew who he was?’

‘Well, he must have known who they were – what was he doing there otherwise? We don’t know how he found them – and clearly we don’t know where he’s been all these years either – but I find it hard to believe he didn’t tell them who he was when he arrived. Surely it’d be the first thing you’d say?’

Harrison is nodding slowly. ‘And yet he ends up dead.’

‘I know. I’m struggling to join the dots on that one too. All we do know is that for some reason the Swanns never called 999, and by the time we got there the body had been stripped of anything that could identify him.’

He eyes me for a moment. ‘Do you think he turned up unannounced? Or did they know he was coming?’

He’s asking me if this could have been premeditated.

And the answer is, ‘It has to be possible, sir.’

He looks sceptical. ‘You really think a couple of pensioners could have planned something like that? Because it strikes me as a spectacularly reckless way to kill someone and expect to get away with it.’

‘But take away the witness, sir, and it’s a whole different story. That was pure chance – if that photographer hadn’t been up at that precise place that night no one would even have known. The Swanns could have got rid of the body, cleaned up the house, carried on as if nothing had happened. But as soon as they got that message saying the police were on their way they only had one option – to do everything they possibly could to make it look like a burglary. Including the rather amateurish attempt to make the door look as if it had been forced.’

He gives me a heavy look. ‘But all that assumes they knew your man hadn’t told anyone where he was going that night.’

‘I agree. But we won’t know the truth about that until we find out who he was. One of the few things in our favour is that we now have a DNA sample, which may allow us to identify the father – that was never an option in the original investigation.’

‘You’re on that?’

‘Yes, sir. DC Baxter’s picking that up.’

‘Nothing useful on the Twitter appeal?’

I shake my head. ‘Not yet, sir.’

‘A bit odd, isn’t it? Don’t we usually get a pretty good response to something like that?’

‘Yes, but we’re usually trying to ID criminals who live locally, and we’re pretty sure this man came up from London. Most of our Twitter followers are in the Oxford area.’

‘Should we try the press, then? The nationals?’

‘I doubt we’d get much up-take. Not as it stands – not without letting on who we think he is.’

Harrison is nodding. ‘And that’s the last thing we want to do at this point.’

‘Exactly.’

Harrison sits back, thoughtful now. ‘What I’m still struggling with is why the Swanns would want to kill him at all, when he’s living proof their daughter isn’t a murderer. Don’t they want her exonerated?’

‘I know, sir. On the face of it, that makes it much more likely the shooting was some sort of accident.’

‘What, Swann blew his grandson’s head off and only found out afterwards what he’d done? Sounds like something out of Thomas Hardy.’

I didn’t have Harrison down as much of a reader. Just shows you.

I shrug. ‘It’s no more far-fetched than any of the other scenarios. Rather less so, in fact.’

He leans back, making the chair creak. ‘But whichever way you play it, it’s going to be a bloody minefield. If he really is Camilla Rowan’s missing baby, she’s been locked up all these years for a crime that never even happened.’

I smile grimly. ‘Hornets’ nest, can of worms, dog’s breakfast. Take your pick. And that’s before the press find out.’

He frowns. ‘Who else knows?’

‘As at now, just my own team. And Alan Challow.’

‘Well, let’s keep it at that. At least until we’re sure. In the meantime, I’ll give the Chief Constable the heads-up. And keep me in the loop on an ongoing basis.’

Three bullshit bingo hits in one sentence – that’s good going, even for him.

I cover my smile by getting to my feet. ‘Thank you, sir. I’ll certainly do that.’

* * *

‘So you want me to see if we can ID the father through familial DNA?’ Nina Mukerjee frowns. ‘You know that won’t be cheap, right? Is Fawley OK with that?’

Baxter nods. ‘Yeah, don’t worry, he’s signed off.’

‘OK, then I’ll get started this afternoon. I’ll put the dead man’s profile into the National DNA Database and see what potential family members come up. Though just so you’re prepared, there’ll be a huge number of possible matches, all of them very distantly related and most of them dead ends, so don’t hold your breath. And the computer stuff is just the start – there’ll be a hell of a lot of legwork after that.’

Baxter frowns. ‘Can’t you use things like Ancestry.com as well, like they did with that bloke in America?’

‘The Golden State Killer? That was done through GEDmatch – that’s a whole different ball game. Anyone can put their data on there and it’s publicly available information, so you can search literally millions of entries. I’m afraid there’s nothing like that over here, only the police version. You’ll just have to hope your dead man has some dodgy relatives.’

Baxter gives a grim laugh. ‘Wouldn’t be the first time.’

She starts to gather her things. ‘You put his picture up on Twitter, though, didn’t you? I’m surprised that didn’t come up with anything.’

‘Well, it was just the TVP feed, and we’re pretty sure he didn’t live round here, so I guess it was always a long shot.’

‘Fair enough.’

‘Though everything will change, of course, the minute the news about Rowan gets out.’

She gives him a wry look. ‘God, yes. I’m glad I’m not in Fawley’s shoes.’

* * *

Adam Fawley

24 October

10.10

As far as most of the team were concerned it was just another case meeting, but they twig pretty quickly that things have gone up a gear, because Harrison’s let me have a couple of extra DCs. With the budget cuts we’ve had that’s like hoisting a neon sign saying ‘Something’s Up and it’s Big’. And when the man himself strides in there’s a flurry of adjustment: Harrison at a morning meeting is as rare as hen’s teeth. People quickly stand up a little straighter, discreetly rid themselves of gum.

‘Right,’ he says, taking up his place next to me. ‘A little quiet, please.’ He clears his throat. ‘As you’ve no doubt guessed, this is about the shooting incident at Wytham last Sunday. Thanks to some good solid policework by DC Hansen –’

Hansen looks up and goes bright red; Ev grins and gives him a pat on the back.

‘– we now know that the couple we’ve been calling Richard and Margaret Swann have only been using that name since 2004, when they changed it by deed poll, shortly before moving here. Before that, they lived in Gloucestershire, and their surname was Rowan. Which, for those in kindergarten at the time, is Rowan as in Camilla Rowan. Otherwise known as “Milly Liar”.’

The tension in the room has suddenly jump-started.

‘DS Gislingham will be emailing you a link to the case files. There’s also a documentary series on Netflix –’

Eye-rolls now, a couple of sneers. Like I’ve said before, coppers aren’t great watchers of TV crime, and especially not of the idiot-plods-fucked-it-up-again kind.

‘I know, I know,’ he continues, ‘and normally I’d be equally sceptical. But it is relevant, in this case, because the producers claimed to have unearthed new evidence suggesting South Mercia Police failed to pursue all potential lines of enquiry. Which, as you may remember, provoked the usual storm of press chest-beating about this terrible “miscarriage of justice”.’

Someone raises a hand. Bradley Carter. A couple of people near him exchange weary glances.

‘Wasn’t there a CCRC review, sir?’

Harrison looks over at him. ‘Yes, Carter, there was. Which, after assessing all this so-called “new evidence”, concluded that there was nothing to justify referring the case to the Court of Appeal. So as at now, Camilla Rowan remains in HMP Heathside, with no prospect of parole until 2020.’

He takes a breath. ‘However, DNA tests done on blood found at the crime scene have thrown the entire case into question. There is now a very real possibility that Camilla Rowan did not, in fact, kill her baby. For the simple reason that he could very well be the man we currently have in the morgue.’

Silence.

Harrison clears his throat again. I can’t be the only one who finds this irritating.

‘Given the vast can of worms we will now be reopening, the Chief Constable wished to consult the CPS, the MoJ and his opposite number at South Mercia before any of this was put into the public domain.’

Someone raises a hand. Bradley Carter. Again.

‘What about Camilla Rowan, sir – will she be released?’

‘That’s up to the Secretary of State. And certainly not before we’ve conclusively identified the man in the morgue, and established exactly where he’s been for the last twenty years. DI Fawley has already arranged to interview her at Heathside later this afternoon – it’s clearly vital we speak to her before she hears the news from another source. And to anticipate what I imagine may be the next question, her parents will also be interviewed again as a matter of urgency, with the aim of establishing whether they were aware of the dead man’s identity, and if so, when – i.e. before or after he ended up dead. Any other questions at this stage?’

No one moves. Teacher’s pet isn’t a good look. Not that Carter seems to care.

My turn. ‘As the Super said, we’ll be talking to both Camilla Rowan and her parents. I’ll also be seeing the DS on the original South Mercia investigation as soon as we can get that arranged. Once that’s done we’ll start re-interviewing the key witnesses. Some we can do by phone, but the more crucial ones need to be done in person – DS Gislingham will be sending round an initial list, so if you’re down to conduct an interview, make sure you prioritize reviewing the material on that witness.’

Harrison nods to me. ‘I’ll leave you to it, Adam. And could you pop by my office when you’ve finished.’

* * *

27 January 2017

Criminal Cases Review Commission Non-Referral of Conviction of Camilla Rowan

The Criminal Cases Review Commission (CCRC) has concluded it cannot refer for appeal the murder conviction of Camilla Rowan. Rowan was tried at the Central Criminal Court of England and Wales (the Old Bailey), on the charge of murdering her newborn baby in 1997. On 6 November 2003, she was convicted by a unanimous verdict and sentenced to life imprisonment, with a recommendation that she serve at least seventeen years.

Ms Rowan has tried to appeal against sentence and conviction but was unsuccessful. After the broadcast of the television series Infamous in March 2016, South Mercia Police decided to reopen the case, with particular reference to specific allegations made in that programme. The most significant of these concerned a possible suspect who, it was alleged, had not been properly investigated at the time of the original investigation. South Mercia Police conducted a full inquiry into the claims made in the programme, the results of which were submitted to the Commission. Following a detailed review of this material, the CCRC does not consider that this so-called new suspect took any part in the crime, nor that there is any other new evidence or legal argument capable of raising a real possibility that the Court of Appeal might quash the original conviction. For that reason, the conviction cannot be referred for appeal.

The Commission’s analysis of the case and its reasons for the decision are set out in detail in a 64-page document called a Statement of Reasons, which has been sent to Ms Rowan’s representatives. Statutory restrictions on disclosure mean that the Commission cannot make its Statement of Reasons public. There are no such restrictions on Ms Rowan or her representatives. Indeed, the CCRC invites them to consider publishing the document, or making it available on request, in order that anyone following the case can understand the CCRC’s review and the reasons for the decision not to refer this conviction for appeal. A number of issues relating to the case have already been discussed in public and in the media.

The Commission’s role in relation to alleged miscarriages of justice involves applying the ‘real possibility test’ set out in Section 13 of the Criminal Appeal Act 1995. It says the Commission can only refer a case to the relevant appeal court if the Commission considers that there is a real possibility that the conviction, verdict or sentence would not be upheld were the reference to be made.

– ends –

* * *

As the room starts to clear, Hansen takes the opportunity to catch Gislingham.

‘I know things have moved on a bit, Sarge, but for the record that contact of mine at the Express didn’t have anything useful. Doesn’t sound like there’s been anyone poking about in the Rowan case, which I guess bolsters our theory that the vic wasn’t a journo after all.’

Gis gives him a quick smile and a light tap on the shoulder. ‘But useful to know all the same. Good work.’

Gis turns to Baxter, who’s pinning stills from the Oxford station footage to the whiteboard. ‘Where are we with CCTV on the train?’

Baxter shakes his head. ‘Nothing useful. We eventually ID’d him on the train but all he did the whole way was look at his phone. BTP also managed to track him down at Marylebone buying a ticket, but he paid cash, unfortunately. Other than that, all we know for sure right now is that he didn’t come from the Tube. Which is a pain as it would’ve been by far the easiest to track. So now we’re stuck with needle-in-a-haystack stuff with buses and taxis. But Hansen’s on it, aren’t you, Hansen?’

Hansen nods. ‘I’m liaising with the Met. But it’s going to be slow-going.’

‘There was something else too,’ says Baxter. ‘Apparently there was a problem with the train the vic was on and it was over an hour late. So he’d clearly intended to get here a lot earlier.’

Gis considers. ‘Not sure how significant that is – apart from the fact that it meant it was much darker by the time he turned up at Wytham.’

‘And the Swanns would have been a lot more spooked,’ says Ev, looking up from her desk, ‘assuming, of course, that they weren’t expecting him.’

‘You said he didn’t come from the Tube,’ says Bradley Carter, ‘but what about adjacent streets – couldn’t he have arrived on foot?’

Gis glances across at him. ‘It’s a pretty pricey area round there. He didn’t look that well-heeled to me.’

‘He might not have lived there,’ says Carter, ‘there are loads of hotels around the station. And some of those are pretty basic.’

Gis nods. ‘OK. Good point. Why don’t you pick up on that?’

Carter looks like all his Christmases have come at once; Gis, on the other hand, may be secretly rather relieved to pack him off to London for a while.

‘What about the backpack and the other stuff?’ he says now, looking round the rest of the team. ‘I’m finding it hard to believe we can’t find any of it.’

‘Me too,’ says Ev. ‘But Barnetson’s a good copper. If he says they did a thorough search, then they did a thorough search.’

Baxter makes a grim face. ‘Maybe the Swanns have a nuclear bunker in their garden.’ People start laughing and he glances round. ‘Hey, it’s not that outlandish – stranger things have happened.’

‘Talking of the Swanns,’ says Ev, holding up her phone and nodding to Gis, ‘Mrs S has arrived downstairs.’

* * *

Adam Fawley

24 October

10.35

Harrison is on the phone when I get there. But he isn’t alone. Ruth Gallagher is with him. My first reaction is suspicion, which my brain tells me is a) ridiculous, but b) natural, given that the last time I was in a room with her it was Interview One and I was on the wrong side of the table. But she didn’t have any choice, faced with the evidence against me, and when Gis came up with something that threw all that in doubt she put her heart into proving him right. You can’t ask for more than that.

She smiles when she sees me, a little more broadly than strictly necessary; evidently we’re both going to bend over backwards to Act Like Nothing Happened. She looks well – a crisp biscuit-coloured suit and a recent haircut. She also has a slight tan, as if she’s just got back from somewhere a lot sunnier than here.

‘Nice to see you, Ruth.’

‘Likewise.’

‘Right,’ says Harrison, putting down his phone, ‘I asked you to drop by, Adam, because you may not be aware that Ruth used to work at South Mercia.’

I turn to her. ‘No, I didn’t know that. Were you on the Rowan case?’

She shakes her head. ‘No, it was before my time. I mean, it was in the ether, of course – everyone knew about it. It was the biggest case South Mercia’d ever had.’

‘I thought it might be helpful,’ interjects Harrison, ‘for you to touch base with Ruth, Adam. Get a heads-up on the lie of the land.’

She glances down at her hands, a tiny smile escaping from the corners of her mouth. I’m obviously not the only bullshit bingo player round here.

‘You knew them? The investigating team?’

She nods. ‘Larry Kearney was my DS for a while. I didn’t know Howard Lucas very well, but he had a good reputation. I’d be surprised if there were any serious problems with the way it was handled.’

‘And Kearney?’

She hesitates, only for a moment, but long enough. ‘He was one of the hardest-working people I’ve ever worked with. Always the first in the office and the last to leave.’

If I was going to damn a fellow officer with faint praise, that’s how I’d do it too. She’ll be saying he had nice handwriting next.

I turn to Harrison. ‘You must have a lot more important things to do, sir – why don’t Ruth and I take this one offline?’

Sorry – I just couldn’t resist. Though I do make sure not to catch Ruth’s eye.

Harrison nods. ‘Absolutely. I’ll leave you both to it.’

‘So what did you really think about Lawrence Kearney?’ I press the button for Americano and turn to face Ruth. ‘I’m seeing him tomorrow so it actually would be quite useful.’

She leans against the machine. ‘Well, let’s just say I don’t see Harrison calling him a blue-sky-thinking game changer any time soon.’

We exchange a smile.

‘On the other hand, one thing he definitely is, is goals-driven. It was always about getting a result.’ Her turn at the machine. ‘But don’t get me wrong, he wouldn’t cut corners to get there. Or ignore evidence. He’s basically one of the good guys. A bit dunderheaded on occasion, but if he’s got to DCI it’ll have been by putting in all the hours God sends. Talking of which, he always was a stickler for rank, so a bit of brown-nosing wouldn’t come amiss. Three-bags-full, sir. You know the drill.’

I laugh. ‘Thanks for the warning – especially as I’m taking Quinn. The only person he deigns to call “sir” is the bloody Chief Constable.’

She makes a face. ‘Gawd, yes. Good idea.’ She picks up her cup. ‘Well you know where I am if you need anything else. And do tell Larry I said hello. Like I said, under all that bluster, he really is one of the good guys.’

* * *

Interview with Richard Swann, conducted at St Aldate’s Police Station, Oxford

24 October 2018, 12.25 p.m.

In attendance, DS C. Gislingham, DC V. Everett, Mr T. Unwin (solicitor)

VE: Just to remind you, Mr Swann, this interview is being recorded, and you are still under caution for murder. Has your solicitor explained what this means?

TU: I have. Several times.

VE: [passes across sheet of paper]

For the tape, I am passing Mr Swann a copy of his statement dated 21st October. Having had time to reflect, is there anything you would like to add or amend?

RS: No.

CG: Now would be the time.

RS: No, I’m quite happy with it as it is.

CG: So you continue to maintain that the shooting at your house three days ago was undertaken in self-defence, and the victim was completely unknown to you?

RS: I do indeed. I’d never seen him before in my life.

CG: Yes, I remember you used exactly that form of words when you were interviewed before. The same phrase also appears in your statement.

RS: And your point is?

CG: My point is that never having seen him before is not necessarily the same as not knowing who he was. I think you’re very well aware of that, and chose your words very carefully.

TU: I’m not sure what you’re getting at, Sergeant.

CG: I suspect your client does. Mr Swann? Or would you prefer I called you Mr Rowan?

RS: [silence]

TU: Richard? What’s he talking about?

RS: I see precious little point in you asking me questions to which you already know the answer.

CG: You said nothing about this in your first interview.

RS: My change of name has nothing to do with it. Nor, frankly, is it any of your business.

CG: I’m sorry but I’m afraid I disagree. I think it has everything to do with it. I think you know very well who the man in your kitchen was. My question is when exactly you found that out.

RS: I didn’t know then, and I don’t know now.

CG: Even though you disposed of anything that might have identified him?

RS: I did no such thing. And I resent your implication.

VE: There was a witness. Someone saw you do it.

RS: Don’t be ridiculous. How could anyone possibly have seen anything? There was no one else for miles, and in any case, it was completely dark.

CG: True. It would have been far too dark to see anything with the naked eye. But fortunately for us, our witness was carrying night-vision equipment.

RS: Please don’t insult my intelligence – no one carts that sort of thing about with them on the off-chance.

CG: It wasn’t ‘on the off-chance’. He was up on the hill above your house. Photographing the stars.

RS: [silence]

So what did he say, this ‘witness’ of yours?

CG: He heard gunfire. A single shot, just as you said.

RS: [silence]

CG: He was concerned, of course, so he immediately called 999 and then waited a while, keeping an eye on the house.

RS: [silence]

CG: And then he saw something – something that led him to believe the shot must have hit nothing more significant than a rodent.

RS: [silence]

CG: You went out to the garden, Mr Swann. You were carrying something in a refuse bag –

TU: I need to confer with my client –

CG: What was in that bag, Mr Swann?

TU: My client will be answering ‘No comment’ to all further questions.

CG: It was the man’s wallet and backpack, wasn’t it?

RS: No comment.

CG: You knew you had to conceal his identity because if we’d realized who he was we’d never have believed it was just a burglary gone wrong.

RS: I have no idea what you’re talking about.

TU: Richard –

CG: Did you really think we wouldn’t find out?

RS: Find out what?

CG: Are you asking me to believe that you don’t know?

TU: [restraining Swann]

My client has no comment to make.

VE: Did he tell you how he found you – where he’s been? Anything at all?

RS: How many more times, I have absolutely no idea what you’re talking about –

CG: You must have known we’d run DNA –

RS: DNA? What the devil is that going to prove?

CG: [quietly]

What DNA always proves, Mr Swann. You and that young man – you were related.

RS: [gapes]

What on earth –

CG: He was your grandson, Mr Swann. He was Camilla’s child.

RS: [silence]

TU: [intervening]

I absolutely insist on conferring with my client.

VE: Interview terminated at 12.48.

* * *

‘I don’t think he knew,’ says Ev. She and Gis are in an adjacent room now, watching Unwin and Swann on one of the video feeds.

‘No,’ says Gis. ‘I don’t think he did either.’

On the screen, they can see Timothy Unwin speaking urgently. There’s no sound and Swann has his back to them, but he’s holding up his hands, as if in bewilderment. In the other interview room, Margaret Swann is being shown to a chair by a female PC. She’s in a heavy tweed coat and clutching a large handbag. She looks cold.

‘What are you going to do about the old boy?’ says Ev. ‘Quite aside from the fact that he looks bloody awful, the clock’s ticking – we’ll have to decide sometime today.’

Gis sighs. ‘I’ll check with the boss, but I don’t think we have much choice. We’ll have to release him under investigation and hope to God we find something.’

Ev nods, then turns to the screen again. ‘You ready?’

Gis takes a deep breath. ‘As I’ll ever be.’

* * *

Margaret Swann has her own lawyer now, a slightly flustered young woman who introduces herself as Julia Merrick and says she’s one of Timothy Unwin’s colleagues. Swann is looking at her with the sort of contempt she evidently reserves for members of her own sex in positions of supposed authority. Everett is getting her fair share of it too, though if Gis were a gambling man, his money’d be on Ev in a straight head-to-head. Swann still has her coat on, and the message is loud and clear. But they’re the ones who’ll be deciding when she leaves. Not her.

‘Mrs Swann,’ he says, taking his seat, ‘as you know, I’m DS Chris Gislingham, and you already know DC Everett. You should be aware that this is a formal police interview and is being recorded. I also need to advise you that new evidence has come to light which means we now have no choice but to arrest you on suspicion of conspiracy to murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. There may also be further charges at a later date, depending on what comes to light in the course of our investigation. Do you understand?’

Merrick is staring at Gis like a rabbit in headlights: she’s obviously never handled anything remotely like this before.

‘And precisely what,’ says Swann, ‘am I supposed to have done?’

‘Well, we can start with the fact that you washed your husband’s nightclothes, even though you knew they would be important items of evidence –’

‘Oh, for heaven’s sake –’

‘But it’s not just that. We now believe that you and your husband colluded in concealing or destroying certain other items, in an attempt to suppress the identity of the man your husband shot.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she snaps.

Gislingham smiles. ‘That’s funny. Your husband used exactly the same phrase.’

She gives him a withering look. ‘That’s because it is ridiculous. Why on earth would we do such a thing?’

She doesn’t, Ev notes, ask what they’re supposed to have got rid of.

Merrick, though, is just about to. ‘Can I ask which “items” you mean?’

‘A wallet,’ says Everett, ‘a mobile phone and a backpack.’

Margaret Swann raises an eyebrow. ‘And how, pray, do you know he even had such things?’

‘It’s a reasonable assumption, Mrs Swann, as I’m sure –’

‘That’s not proof,’ says the lawyer quickly. She clearly thinks this is a big win.

‘True,’ says Ev. ‘But, luckily for us, there is also a witness.’

‘Witness?’ says Margaret Swann. ‘What witness?’

‘A taxi driver,’ says Gislingham. ‘The taxi driver who dropped the man off at your house and saw him walk up the drive to the door. Hardly the behaviour of a random housebreaker, wouldn’t you agree?’

She sniffs and looks away.

Merrick is poised, pen at the ready. ‘Could you give me the details of this witness, please?’

Ev pushes a piece of paper across to her. ‘He works at the station cab rank and picked the man up at just after nine that night. He gave Gantry Manor as his destination, spent most of the journey looking at his mobile phone and paid with cash from a leather wallet. He also had a backpack with him.’

Merrick looks up. ‘You only have the driver’s word for that.’

Gis smiles. ‘Actually, no. We’ve been able to secure CCTV footage from the station, and that completely corroborates the driver’s story. The man can be seen quite clearly coming through the ticket barriers. He also had a return ticket.’

He lets the implications of that settle for a moment.

‘And would you believe,’ he continues, ‘we’re fortunate enough to have a second witness. Someone who saw Mr Swann outside the house that night, with a black plastic bag.’

Margaret Swann laughs. ‘And taking out the rubbish is a crime now, is it?’

Gis pauses. ‘No. But I do start to wonder when I’m told this occurred only a few minutes after the sound of gunfire. Gunfire which – as we now know – left a man lying dead in your kitchen with his brains blown out. I don’t know about you, Mrs Swann, but “taking out the rubbish” isn’t the first task that would come to my mind in circumstances like that.’

The lawyer flushes slightly; she’s getting out of her depth and she knows it. ‘All the same, you can’t prove that wasn’t what he was doing –’

‘He was walking in the opposite direction of the bins, so yes, Miss Merrick, I think it’s a fair assumption.’

Swann stares at Gislingham. ‘And have you actually found the things you allege we “destroyed”?’

‘Not as yet, no. But it’s only a matter of time. I hope you know that.’ Gis sits back in his chair. ‘Your husband says he’d never seen the man before. You’re aware of that?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do you know who he was?’

She frowns. ‘I told you, I never saw him.’

‘That’s not what I asked.’

‘No, of course I didn’t know who he was. He was a burglar. We don’t know those sort of people.’

‘He was nothing of the kind, Mrs Swann, as you well know.’

Swann gives him a poisonous look but says nothing.

‘So, for the record,’ says Everett, ‘you’re denying all and any prior knowledge of this man?’

Merrick may be a rookie, but even she knows this is heading in a dangerous direction. As for Swann, she’s gripping her handbag so hard her knuckles are white.

Ev fixes her with a cool stare. ‘I’m afraid I don’t believe you, Mrs Swann.’

Swann lifts her chin. ‘I’m not a liar, Constable, or whatever it is you are. And neither is my husband.’

Gislingham nods to Ev, who passes across a second piece of paper.

‘This,’ she says, ‘is a DNA report from our forensics lab on blood samples found at the scene, comparing them with a sample already stored in the National DNA Database.’

Swann pushes the paper away. ‘This is all just gobbledygook.’

‘It shows a match, Mrs Swann. A parental match between the dead man and a prisoner currently serving a life sentence for murder at HMP Heathside. The prisoner’s name is Camilla Rowan. The daughter you never told us you had.’

The silence is so long Gis has time to feel sorry for Merrick, who’s staring at them, open-mouthed. She had no idea what a hospital pass this would turn out to be. Swann, on the other hand, isn’t meeting anyone’s eye. She’s opened her handbag and is ferreting about for a tissue. But her hands are shaking.

‘You knew, didn’t you,’ says Ev softly. ‘You knew he was Camilla’s child –’

Her head snaps up. ‘I did not!’

‘– in fact, I think you knew exactly who he was long before he turned up at your door. What did he do? Call you? Send you a letter? You didn’t tell your husband, though, did you? You kept him in the dark, hoping it would all just go away –’

‘This is insane – you’re insane – the very idea is preposterous –’

‘Preposterous? Maybe. But not impossible.’

Their eyes lock and the moment tenses like elastic. But it’s Swann who blinks first. She turns to Merrick. ‘I utterly refute these deranged accusations. And beyond that I have nothing to add.’

Ev gives her a dry look. ‘OK, if that’s how you want to play it. Interview terminated at 13.18.’

* * *

Adam Fawley

24 October

14.15

I get Quinn to drive, mainly because he likes it so much and, broadly speaking, I don’t. I’ve never got the whole bloke thing about wheels, which is probably why I have a Mondeo and Quinn has an Audi A4. Red. As if you had to ask. It’s not a bad journey, on the whole. The weather is dreary but there isn’t too much traffic, at least until we hit the M25. Quinn asks if I want music and I’m surprised to find the last thing he was listening to was Radio 4.

‘Maisie,’ he says, glancing across. ‘She likes that sort of thing.’

I haven’t met her yet, but the word round the station is that it’s serious. And what little I’ve picked up sounds surprisingly encouraging – surprising because Quinn’s track record with women usually has me heaving a very loud sigh. But Ev says she’s exactly what he needs – she met them out shopping in Summertown a few weeks back (that alone is headline-worthy – OK, Quinn’s always been able to shop for Europe, but with a woman?). According to Ev, Maisie came over as bright, confident and extremely unlikely to take any of Quinn’s shit. She didn’t put it precisely that way, of course, but I got the message. I also happen to know Maisie’s parents are very well off, which no doubt adds to the attraction.

‘Going well, is it? With Maisie?’ I say, trying not to sound like his dad.

He looks a little flustered. ‘Yeah.’ A pause. ‘Actually, she’s moving in.’

I try not to look flabbergasted but I suspect I’m not managing it.

‘Sounds great. Congratulations.’

He gives a little sideways smile. Now he’s got the words out he looks not just relieved but happy. Genuinely happy. I wonder for a moment how many other people he’s told. Not many, I’m guessing. Maybe I’m a dry run.

Someone in a Porsche cuts in front of us and he swears under his breath and changes lanes.

‘I was talking to her last night, actually – we were watching that Netflix thing about Rowan. Maisie went to the same school as her. Years later, obviously. She said no one at the school ever talked about it.’

I bet they didn’t. Rowan may well be their most recognizable old girl, but that’s one picture you definitely won’t find in their fancy prospectus.

‘The woman they interviewed,’ he says, ‘Marion Teesdale. She was Maise’s housemistress too. She said she was all right. A bit of a battleaxe but basically OK. And she really liked Maise.’

So if we decide we want to speak to her, that might help. I get the message. My phone starts to ring: Gis.

‘Thought you’d like to know what we got from the old folks, boss, before you see Rowan.’

‘Go on.’

‘Well, if you ask me, I don’t think either of the Swanns knew the vic was coming that night.’

‘Interesting – what makes you so sure?’

‘The clothes, really. The old girl wouldn’t have been in her nightie if she was expecting visitors. Not that generation. Not if my gran was anything to go by.’

‘Of course – I should have thought of that myself.’

‘As for whether they worked out who he was,’ continues Gis, ‘either before or after the gun went off – now that’s more of a toughie. I don’t think Mr Swann did – I just don’t think he’s that good an actor. As for Mrs S, well, Ev’s convinced she knew exactly who he was but there’s no way she’s going to admit it.’

Quinn looks across and makes a face. ‘Talking of battleaxes …’

‘And you agree with Ev – you think the old lady knew who the victim was?’

‘Yup,’ says Gis. ‘I reckon she did.’

‘OK. Thanks for letting me know.’

‘No worries, boss, see you later.’

A sign is looming ahead of us now. Junction Nine, two miles. Quinn checks his mirror and moves over to the inside lane.

* * *

‘Watch yourself there, Mrs Swann,’ says the PC. ‘Don’t want you hurting yourself, now do we.’

He waits for her to settle in the back seat, then closes the car door carefully and walks round towards the front. Margaret pulls her coat around herself. It’s been a bad morning. The questioning, the form-filling, that irritating lawyer who clearly didn’t have a clue what she was doing. Margaret makes a mental note to insist she has a partner with her the next time. Because it looks like there will be a ‘next time’, much as she was hoping otherwise. She turns, a little stiffly, to check on her husband, but he’s staring resolutely out of the far window. Round the front of the car, the young PC who’s offered to drive them has now been waylaid by a colleague.

She hears Richard stir beside her, clear his throat. ‘They told me who he was. That – young man.’ A long pause. ‘I assume they told you the same.’

She hesitates; nods.

‘They made it pretty clear they thought I already knew.’

She flaps her hand. ‘That doesn’t mean anything. They were just trying to trap you.’

Her husband is eyeing her. ‘Trap me into what, exactly? I was telling the truth. I had no idea.’

She shrugs and looks away, but Richard isn’t giving up. ‘Did you know who he was?’

There’s a silence. ‘Peggy?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Why on earth would you think that?’

He frowns. ‘You did, didn’t you – if not before, then after. That’s why you –’

She raises her hand: the PC is on his way back round to the driver’s side.

‘Not here, Dick,’ she says in a low voice as the car door swings open. ‘We’ll talk about this when we get home.’

* * *

Interview with Camilla Rowan, conducted at Calcot Row Police Station, Gloucester

2 August 2002, 11.55 a.m.

In attendance, DI H. Lucas, DS L. Kearney, Mrs J. McCrae (Appropriate Adult)

LK: We’ve asked you here, Miss Rowan, because we want to try to clear up what happened to the baby you gave birth to at Birmingham and Solihull General Hospital in the early hours of 23rd December 1997.

CR: Good, I want to clear that up too.

LK: As you know, officers from the Child Protection team at Gloucester County Council have been attempting to ascertain the whereabouts of the baby, after the case was referred to them by Mr Steve McIlvanney, of the county adoption and fostering service.

CR: I don’t know why they had to drag you in. I’ve already told them what happened.

LK: You said you handed the baby to its father, is that right?

CR: Exactly.

LK: A Mr Timothy Baker.

CR: Yes.

LK: And this was after you left the hospital at 3 p.m. on December 23rd.

CR: Right.

LK: So where did this exchange take place?

CR: At a lay-by on the A417.

LK: [passes across a map]

Can you indicate which one?

CR: I have no idea – it was years ago and it was getting dark. Somewhere the other side of Gloucester.

LK: Mr Baker must have given you more precise directions than that – you’d never have found each other.

CR: I’m not saying he didn’t, I’m saying I don’t remember.

LK: That’s quite a rural stretch of road.

CR: Yeah, so?

LK: No street lighting, nothing like that. And not that many buildings, so it’s pretty unlikely any of the lay-bys would have security cameras nearby.

CR: I have no idea. I doubt it.

LK: So there’d be no proof the exchange had taken place. Or not.

CR: I don’t know what you’re getting at.

LK: Were there any other cars at the lay-by at the time?

CR: I don’t remember any.

LK: No one on foot? Walking their dog?

CR: How should I know?

LK: So no one saw you?

CR: Like I said, I don’t remember anyone, but I wasn’t really looking.

LK: And this man’s name is Timothy Baker.

CR: Right. I told you that.

LK: Was he alone?

CR: Yup.

LK: He didn’t bring his mother or a sister? A female friend? To look after the baby?

CR: I don’t even know if he had a sister. Like I told those other people, we only saw each other a couple of times.

LK: Was he married? In a relationship?

CR: Not that he told me.

HL: It didn’t strike you as odd that a young man like that would want to take on the responsibility of bringing up a baby on his own?

CR: He was its father. I told him I couldn’t care for it so he said he would.

LK: And when did that conversation take place?

CR: A few weeks before. I don’t know exactly.

LK: And how did you arrange the meeting on the A417?

CR: I rang him from the hospital that morning.

LK: From a hospital payphone?

CR: Right.

LK: You didn’t have a mobile?

CR: Not then, no. Most people didn’t.

HL: What type of car was Mr Baker driving?

CR: A white one.

LK: Make? Registration number?

CR: Don’t ask me, I’m useless about cars.

LK: And where did you first meet Mr Baker?

CR: At a pub. The King’s Head in Stroud.

LK: And did intimacy take place that night?

CR: Yeah, we had sex.

LK: Did you use protection?

CR: No, I was on the pill.

LK: And yet you still fell pregnant.

CR: Yeah, well, it happens.

HL: And where did the intercourse take place?

CR: At his flat.

LK: And that was where?

CR: A block about ten minutes away. Council, I think.

LK: [passes over a photograph]

This block, correct? Adelaide Court?

CR: If you say so. It was dark, and he didn’t tell me the name.

LK: What number was the flat?

CR: I’ve already told you all this. I don’t know the number, just that it was on the top floor.

LK: Did you go there again?

CR: No. The only other time we did it was in the park.

LK: I should tell you that we have obtained occupancy records for Adelaide Court for the period in question and there was no one called Baker living there. Either on the top floor or anywhere else.

CR: So? Loads of people sub-let.

LK: Officers have also questioned tenants who were living there at the time and no one remembers seeing you.

CR: I’m not bloody surprised. I went there once at, like, midnight.

JM: [intervening]

Camilla, if this man forced you – if there was any sort of assault –

CR: He didn’t rape me, if that’s what you’re getting at.

JM: I can arrange for you to see a trained counsellor –

CR: Jesus, it was just sex, OK? I liked him, he liked me. It didn’t mean anything.

LK: Not until you got pregnant, anyway.

CR: Yeah, well, that wasn’t the plan, was it.

LK: And you say that this Mr Baker was going to register the child’s birth?

CR: Right.

LK: Do you know if he did that?

CR: I assume he did. I haven’t spoken to him about it.

LK: Have you spoken to him at all?

CR: No.

LK: Not at all? You gave a virtual stranger your baby and just left it at that?

CR: Look, I just wanted to move on, OK? The kid was with its father, he was safe, I just wanted to forget about the whole thing.

LK: We’ve accessed UK Records Office data for all baby boys registered under the surname ‘Baker’ on the day your child was born, and for the six-week period after that date. None of them is your child.

CR: [silence]

LK: We’ve also reviewed all baby boys listed as born at Birmingham and Solihull General Hospital for the same period under any surname. Again, none is your child.

CR: Look, if Tim’s fucked up, then you should be talking to him, not me.

HL: We’d very much like to. He’s proving rather difficult to find.

CR: I don’t see what you expect me to do about that.

LK: If something happened to the baby, if there was some sort of accident, now’s the time to tell us.

CR: [silence]

*Duration of silence confirmed as 51 seconds*

LK: Is there something you want to tell us?

CR: No.

LK: Did you do something to the baby?

CR: No!

LK: Did you kill the baby?

CR: Of course I didn’t! I would never ever harm my baby.

HL: We can’t find the child, we can’t find the father –

CR: Look, can we turn off the tape?

LK: No, I’m afraid that’s not possible.

CR: [becoming distressed]

You’re going to tell my parents, aren’t you?

HL: We have to conduct a thorough investigation –

CR: [wailing]

And it’s all going to come out and everyone will know – you’re going to destroy my life -

JM: I think we should take a break now, Inspector.

LK: Interview suspended at 12.17.

* * *

They’d barely got through the door before he started; Margaret hasn’t even had a chance to take off her coat. She fumbles wearily for a chair. The kitchen is cold; there’s condensation on the windows.

‘They said he was Camilla’s baby – our grandson.’ She’s not looking at him and he takes a step closer. ‘Did you know? Did you know?’

She says nothing.

‘Peggy – I want an answer.’

She starts to pull off her gloves. ‘Of course I didn’t know. How could I know?’

He starts to pace the kitchen. ‘I went along with what you said – I’ve stuck to the story –’

‘It isn’t a story – it’s the truth – he broke in and threatened you – threatened us –’

He turns to her, exasperated. ‘For heaven’s sake, you know that’s not what happened – he was angry, yes, but he wasn’t trying to rob us, he wasn’t asking for money. I’ve been thinking about it – I think he was trying to tell me something –’

‘He was shouting – I heard him –’

He stops, looks at her, his face suddenly white. ‘He called me Grandad. I thought it was just an insult, but –’

‘You’re talking nonsense and you know it.’

But he doesn’t seem to be listening. ‘You know what this means, don’t you? If he really was Camilla’s baby – that baby – it means she’s been telling the truth, this whole time. Just like she always claimed. She wasn’t lying –’

Margaret makes a contemptuous noise and turns away. ‘Perhaps not about that –’

He takes a step towards her. ‘But “that” was the most important thing, wasn’t it? All those other lies wouldn’t have mattered two hoots otherwise. No one would even have known –’

She glances up at him. ‘So where’s he been all these years, then? If she’s been “telling the truth” all this time, where was he?’

He looks exasperated. ‘I don’t know that, any more than you do. And as for all that nonsense about “Tim Baker”, I never believed a word of it and neither did you. But when she said she didn’t harm that child – we should have believed her. And when I think of the way we’ve treated her –’

Margaret turns away again, and he moves closer.

‘Peggy?’

No response. She’s fiddling with her gloves.

‘Are you absolutely sure,’ he says softly, ‘that you didn’t know?’

She flings him a furious look. ‘He turns up here out of the blue – in the middle of the night – how on earth could I have known who he was?’

‘And what about afterwards?’ He swallows. ‘After he – when I went up to change and you were down here on your own, what about then?’

She looks away again. ‘I don’t know what you mean.’

‘You know perfectly well what I mean – you found something, didn’t you, in that backpack thing? That’s why you suddenly decided we had to get rid of it – that’s why you were panicking – when I came back down –’

‘Now you really are being ridiculous.’

He stands his ground. ‘What was it, Peggy? A passport? Something that gave away who he was?’

She gets up, goes over to the sink and starts filling the kettle. ‘I didn’t know who he was, not till those horrible police people told me, and I didn’t know what was in the backpack because I never looked. Happy now? I just thought we were best getting rid, that’s all.’ She throws him a fierce look. ‘Why won’t you believe me?’

Her hands are shaking so much the water is going everywhere. She drops the kettle in the sink with a clang and leans heavily against the counter. Her breath is coming in raw shallow gasps and a moment later she feels her husband’s hands on her shoulders.

He turns her round and pulls her towards him. ‘I’m sorry, love, I didn’t mean to upset you. This whole thing, it’s got us both on edge.’ He sighs. ‘Who knows, perhaps that’s what they want – setting us at each other’s throats.’ He leads her back to the chair and sits her down, patting her gently on the shoulder. ‘You stay there while I make you some tea. We don’t want you getting unwell, do we? Not like last time.’

* * *

Adam Fawley

24 October

15.20

Heathside is exactly what its name suggests: right on the edge of Surrey Heath. Though as we emerge from the trees that separate it from the main road, the first thing that comes to mind is that quip about anyone who’s been to public school feeling right at home in prison. I can’t remember who said it. A con man, probably. Or a spy. Either way, despite the gates and the high wire fences and the concrete, there’s a distinct girls’-school feel to the solid brick block with its sloping roof and ranks of dormer windows. It’s not Burghley Abbey, that’s for sure, but Camilla Rowan may be better prepared to cope with it than most.

The gate personnel are expecting us, and after the usual sign-in and security faff we’re shown into the governor’s office by her eager – male – assistant. I can’t be the first person to wonder whether that particular recruitment choice was designed to make a point. The room is rather plusher than I would have expected, and the governor is rather younger, with a sleek blonde bob and a linen dress in an aggressive splashy floral. She’s obviously quite happy standing out in a crowd.

‘DI Fawley,’ she says, rising to her feet and extending a well-manicured hand. ‘Victoria Winfield. Pleased to meet you.’

She gestures us to sit and folds her fingers carefully together. ‘So you’re here to see Camilla.’

I’m assuming she knows why, though it’s the MoJ who’ve been liaising with her, so I can’t be sure.

‘Does she get a lot of visitors?’

Winfield smiles drily. ‘Well, certainly not from police officers.’

‘Her family?’

A shake of the head.

‘Lawyers?’

‘Not since the CCRC review.’

She leans forward and flips open a file, but given what she says next I can’t believe she actually needed to check.

‘In fact, the Duchess hasn’t had a single person on her visiting list for more than nine months.’

It takes me a second, Quinn a couple more, then I hear him suppress a snort.

Winfield raises an eyebrow. ‘It was rather inevitable. Camilla is hardly a common name among the prison population. And given the way she behaves –’ She doesn’t need to say any more. ‘To be honest, I live in dread of the “other” Camilla deciding she’d like to visit. It would be a riot. Or a rout.’ She sits back. ‘But I doubt very much that you’re here to talk about the royal appointments diary, so what exactly do you want?’

‘Has Rowan ever spoken about what happened to her baby?’

A shake of the head. ‘Not to me. From what I hear, she’s always maintained exactly the same story: she gave the child to its father.’ She sits back and looks squarely at me. ‘So is that what’s prompted your sudden interest? Some sort of development?’

‘There was an incident at her parents’ house on Sunday. A man was killed. Subsequent DNA testing has proved he was Camilla’s son. Almost certainly the son she’s supposed to have murdered. Unless there’s yet another child we know nothing about.’

She leans forward again and looks at her file, and this time she’s reading it for real.

‘But there were other adoptions, weren’t there? Or am I imagining that?’

‘Two. They’ve been ruled out.’

She finds the relevant place, then nods. ‘Ah yes, I see.’

There’s a silence.

‘So what now?’

‘We talk to her. See what she has to say, and go from there. What happens after that will be down to the CPS. And what we do – or don’t – find.’

‘So there’s a chance she’ll be released?’

Quinn shrugs. ‘We thought someone died. Looks like they didn’t.’

Winfield frowns. ‘There’s been nothing on the news –’

‘No,’ I say. ‘We wanted to speak to Rowan first. Assess her reaction. Based on your observations of her in the last few days, do you think there’s any chance she knew her child had been found?’

Winfield shakes her head slowly. ‘I’m not aware of anything. She’s had no contact with her parents for months, and there’s certainly been no change in her behaviour. And surely the first thing she’d have done is get in touch with her legal team?’

‘There’s no evidence she has?’

‘No, not to my knowledge. Letters like that have to be clearly marked, to ensure they’re not opened for monitoring. We would know.’

‘What about other correspondence?’

She raises an eyebrow. ‘Ah, well, she may not get any visitors, but she certainly gets mail. She has quite the little fan club. She gets half-a-dozen letters a week, I think – sometimes more.’

Quinn gapes at her. ‘Seriously?’

She makes a dismissive gesture. ‘You know what it’s like these days – some people find any sort of celebrity irresistible. When she first went to Holloway they were absolutely inundated – “baby-killer”, “Hope you burn in hell”, that sort of thing. But the vast majority we’ve had here have been from armchair campaigners and amateur Miss Marples, all buying the Netflix line and thinking they’re the ones who will crack the case. Along with the usual slew of sad loner misfits asking her to marry them.’

Quinn snorts. ‘Fuck me, they must be desperate.’

She raises an immaculate eyebrow. ‘Evidently.’

I sit forward. ‘What about more personal communications – from people she actually knows?’

‘I’m not aware of anything. These days we try to avoid reading much prisoner correspondence, unless there’s a very good reason. “Light touch” and all that. But given Rowan’s public profile we do open rather more of hers. Especially anything that looks like a possible candidate for abuse or death threats.’ She gives a dry smile. ‘After a while, you get a long nose for spotting that sort of thing. But as I said, letters like that have tailed off of late. And as far as “official” policy goes, all incoming or outgoing letters can be opened and read at any time, and prisoners are fully aware of that. We do always check mail that includes enclosures, but I don’t recall anything untoward in that respect in relation to Rowan. I would have been informed if there was.’

‘All the same, could we speak to the officer who handles the mail?’

‘Prison officers don’t handle incoming mail. Post-room staff have no contact with prisoners, and there’s no one individual who does it – it’s a team.’

‘Has she written to anyone herself?’

‘Not as far as I’m aware, though again, I’d be happy to check for you.’

‘If you could.’

She looks at me, then at Quinn. ‘So, are you ready for your audience?’

* * *