Page 129 of Stolen Ones
‘I strangled her. It wasn’t hard, and she didn’t suffer.’
Of course it wasn’t hard. He was a grown man and she’d been six years old. She begged to differ on the suffering. Having your body scream out for breath wouldn’t have been a pleasant experience.
‘And the disposal of her body?’
‘I was already distantly involved in the project at Hawne Park. I’d donated a small amount. I brought in Butler as I knew he’d think nothing of me turning up last thing to inspect the work. His guys left, and I put her body into the hole and covered it over.’
‘And how did that feel, Mr Harte?’
‘Fucking awful, Inspector, but I didn’t have a lot of choice, did I?’
Every fibre of her being wanted to scream at him about choice. Of course he’d had a choice. He could have chosen not to steal little girls from their families in the first place. He could have chosen to let Lexi go and take his chances. He could have chosen to come clean and admit what he’d done so that no other little girl got hurt. He could have chosen to get help for his compulsion and saved the lives of Lexi and the rest of the girls. He wasn’t the one who’d had no choice.
‘And what happened with Paula Stiles?’ she asked calmly.
‘Same. She saw me, and I had to let her go.’
‘And you killed her the same way?’
‘Yes, I strangled her and buried her beneath the fountain.’
Kim noted that she was getting less and less detail. She figured he wasn’t enjoying reliving these memories. Shame. She was pretty sure the girls hadn’t particularly enjoyed their experience either.
‘Would you like to elaborate, Mr Harte?’
‘What more do you need, Inspector? I’m telling you who they were and admitting to their murders. The CPS will need no more information to bring further charges against me. I refuse to relive every single detail.’
‘And Helen Blunt?’
‘She managed to get out. I found her, brought her back and then I had to let her go.’
‘And after that?’
He shook his head. ‘There were no more.’
She waited.
‘I swear. Helen was the last. I couldn’t face the thought of any more girls getting hurt because of me. All I ever wanted to do was look at them, enjoy their beauty. I couldn’t do it again.’
She had enough to charge him with the murder of three young girls. She’d got him. He’d confessed, and he would spend the rest of his life in prison.
She had everything she needed to put him away and yet, somehow, she’d expected something more.
Seventy-Eight
‘I’ve bloody got him,’ Penn cried out, beckoning Stacey over. The detail of dates and times formulated by Claire Lennard had enabled him to request specific snatches of CCTV from both the butterfly farm and the Botanical Gardens. Given that the butterfly farm had only two cameras, theirs had come through first.
Stacey rolled her chair out from behind her desk, navigated the aisle between the four desks and landed beside him.
‘I’m just going to play the section, and you tell me when you see him.’
He took the recording back to 11.27a.m., exactly one week earlier.
The camera view opened up in the entrance foyer and gift shop of the Stratford Butterfly Farm. Third from the front of the queue were Claire and Grace Lennard, waiting to pay for entry.
Grace pointed at a poster on the wall.
‘Jesus, he’s right there,’ Stacey exclaimed.
