‘Where were the other killings?’ Pemberton asked.
‘The first was in County Durham, then one in Northumberland, one in the Lake District, two in Lincolnshire in successive years, hence my role, one in Derbyshire, one in North Wales, one in Gloucestershire, one in Oxfordshire and one in Leicestershire. All in remote wooded areas. And now North Yorkshire in another wood. Details of the scenes are in my files. Next year, who knows?’
‘So ours could be the last, or could it? It looks like someone with a roving job, eh? Salesman? Freelance worker of some kind? Lorry or bus driver? Someone with great freedom of movement — and available transport.’
‘He’s covered a lot of ground, he’s certainly very mobile,’ Kirkdale agreed.
‘Is there a pattern to the killings? I know they all occurred during the summer, June in fact,’ Pemberton commented.
‘On or around Midsummer’s Day,’ said Kirkdale. ‘It happens when the girls are in their summer clothes, wearing sandals. It’s always been a girl who’s worn sandals; there’s been witnesses in every case to confirm they were wearing sandals before they died. It’s the business about sandals that is so odd. Not shoes or trainers, always sandals. In all cases, their sandals have been removed and taken away. Why, for God’s sake? Has the killer kept them? If so, why? And where? That’s what puzzles me, puzzles us all in fact.’
‘You’ve had an offender profile drawn up, have you?’
‘We have. The belief, based on the type of person who would commit murder of this kind, is that our killer is male, young — thirtyish perhaps — a loner, a vehicle driver or owner, very tidy and careful, and unimpressive in appearance because no one seems to have noticed him. He’s in employment where he is efficient and dedicated, where his private life is kept totally separate from his work routine. We think he’s someone who dislikes, hates, or is even terrified of prostitutes, someone who has this odd sandal fetish, someone who uses post-intercourse violence against his victims — and someone who has used the same type of white nylon rope on every occasion. We think each length has been cut from the same piece of rope — the style is now old, but nylon ropes of the kind he uses were on sale ten or eleven years ago. In the past, motorists bought these ropes for towing, for example, and mountaineers and rock-climbers used them, they’re used by sailmakers and can be found on yachts. Farmers bought reels of them, some were used to secure tarpaulins by having weights hung from them…but we have not traced the manufacturer of this particular rope. We can’t ignore the possibility that he bought it overseas. He leaves that length behind, by the way, around the neck of the victim, and the knot is always the same — a round turn and two half hitches which he draws tight, and we know he places one foot on her chest as he does so. One victim had cracked ribs…’
‘He might have learned his knots from the Boy Scouts,’ Pemberton smiled.
‘Or on a War Duties course, outward bound exercises…any course to do with the outdoors would teach knots. And, of course, you could — and still can — buy similar ropes from mountaineering shops, marinas, and other outdoor suppliers.’
‘In your circulars, you’ve stressed that you’ve never told the press about the sandal fetish. In fact, I can’t say that I have seen any press report which would suggest there is a serial killer at large.’
‘No. To date, the press hasn’t linked the killings. This series has enjoyed a very low profile, probably because the crimes are widely separated both by area and time. We’ve never said a serial killer is responsible or even suspected. Locally reported, they have all the appearance of very localised crimes. One murder a year is hardly a crime wave to a national paper so, other than ourselves — and the killer — no one knows we’ve a serial killer at large.’
‘I’m a believer in the power the press can exert to help us detect murders,’ Pemberton stated. ‘The sandals he’s taken from his victims must be somewhere — and their underwear. Maybe wide publicity would help us trace them?’
‘Or it could persuade the killer to dispose of them, sir! That question has often been raised but it’s felt we should not let the killer know we’re aware of his fetish. Our offender profiling expert thinks the sandals will have been kept somewhere, in a loft perhaps, in a special place, even in a suitcase or cupboard. If that is the case, they’ll provide irrefutable evidence of his guilt when we find him. It’s my view we should not let him know that we are aware of his souvenir taking.’
‘Right, I won’t try to change things. So,’ Pemberton glanced at his watch, ‘it’s getting on for eleven o’clock, and my teams will be anxious to get on with their first conference. Shall we talk to them now?’
Forty detectives, working in teams of two, had been assigned to the investigation and were assembled in the conference room of Rainesbury police station. They had been supplied with the basic facts by Detective Inspector Larkin and now awaited more detailed information and guidance from Pemberton. Through his introduction, he made reference to Browning, asking that the red-haired man with the open-top sports car be considered a suspect. Their enquiries should produce others. Pemberton next asked Larkin to assign an experienced team to trace Browning’s movements in close liaison with Detective Inspector Holroyd’s officers at Harlow Spa. This was an important part of the investigation; it must be done not only in an attempt to place Browning at the scene of the present murder, but also to establish whether he had been at or near the scenes of any of the previous crimes about which they were soon to be informed. Pemberton stressed that this aspect of the investigation — the possibility that Browning was a serial killer — was top secret at this stage. It was vital that the press — and certainly Mr Browning senior who was in town and even in the police station at this moment — must not be told.
Upon completion of his address, Pemberton introduced Detective Inspector Kirkdale and invited him to speak to the assembly. Kirkdale summarised the earlier killings, highlighting aspects of all the murders so they could be borne in mind during the current investigation. Pemberton’s officers quickly appreciated they were hunting a vicious and puzzling killer who would enter the annals of British criminal history. It might be Browning — but it might not. The latter possibility was stressed. After a series of questions, the detectives, having each been allocated specific tasks known as actions, were despatched to their duties. As they left the room, there was an air of excitement and anticipation, for each officer wanted to make the all-important arrest or find the clue that led to the identification of the killer.
Pemberton, with Kirkdale at his side, returned to his office.
‘Our victim will be undergoing her post-mortem about now,’ Pemberton reminded Kirkdale. ‘We’ll be told the result before lunch. Will you be staying the whole day, Gregory? You’re more than welcome.’
‘Yes, I’d like to. I could go through your files and make comparisons with my own.’
‘Fine. Don’t be frightened to ask for anything you want. I’ll find you a desk, or even an office to work in! Now, can I see your early files? The Penthorne murder for starters?’
And so Pemberton’s search for the truth about James Bowman Browning began in earnest. He was particularly interested in the man who had been noticed at the Penthorne murder scene even if the sighting had been two days after discovery of the body. That man must be a suspect and greater efforts should have been made to trace him. Pemberton knew his own officers would trace the movements of Browning and in the meantime, he could complete a solid session of fact-finding before facing Mr Browning senior.
He closed his office door and studied the old file. Much of it had been compiled a year before the inception of HOLMES, the computer used specifically for complex murder enquiries. Nonetheless, the data was recorded in considerable detail. Pemberton learned that, on 27th June 1987, Durham police had received a telephone call to say there was the body of a woman in woods near Penthorne. Police had investigated and found the remains of Josephine Crawley, a prostitute aged twenty-four. A native of Sunderland, sh
e was known as Josie and had died from strangulation after being violently raped. A white nylon rope, tied with a round turn and two half hitches, was around her neck and she was bare-footed. Her mother, who had identified the body, said she had worn sandals, a new pair of plastic white ones she’d bought only two days earlier, and they were missing. Pemberton studied the official photographs and could see the likeness to the circumstances of the Crayton death.
She was lying in a natural hollow beneath the shelter of a beech tree, some thirty yards from a narrow footpath, and at first glance, it seemed she was asleep. Her light summer dress covered her legs. According to the file, long and detailed enquiries had been made, but no suspect had been traced or interviewed. No one had seen Josie enter the wood with anyone. Her friends knew of her work as a prostitute, although her mother thought she worked as a waitress in a night-club, but on the eve of her disappearance, none of her friends had seen her with a client. She had last been seen alive at 9.00pm on 26th June. The post-mortem had revealed the rape and the subsequent assault upon her private parts; she had not been pregnant at the time of her death and had been in good health.
There was a thick file of statements, the results of investigations and searches in the area, house-to-house enquiries, expert witnesses, forensic specialists, Scenes of Crime officers, official photographers, and others, and there was a list of all names that appeared in the file. The list of names featured in the statements was highlighted with notations saying that none was a suspect, although one name had been listed as a possible suspect. It was a man called Bowman. James Bowman.
The reference was statement No. W.107. Bowman? Was this the man who Kirkdale had said had been observed near the scene of the murder? Heart thumping, Pemberton turned up the paper. It was a statement from a police officer, PC John Mitford.
It said that PC Mitford had been patrolling past the scene of the crime two days after the body had been discovered, when he had encountered a young red-headed man on the path that ran through the wood. Although examination of the scene had been completed by that time, PC Mitford had stopped the man to ask his name. He said he was called James Bowman and gave an address in Newcastle-on-Tyne. Upon being asked the reason for his presence in the wood, Bowman had said he was bird-watching. He had been told that a golden oriole had been seen in this wood and had come to look for it, explaining that the bird was a rare summer visitor to this country. The constable had accepted the story but had later realised the youth was not carrying binoculars or a camera; somewhat suspicious, Mitford had instigated a check at the address in Newcastle. No one there knew a man called Bowman; it was, in fact, a bookshop.
An annotation on the file showed that a description of ‘Bowman’ had been circulated to all north-east police forces, but he had never been traced. He was described as about twenty years of age, five feet ten inches tall, thick very red hair, worn long, a fresh complexion, and round features. He was clean shaven and had not been wearing spectacles.
He had been dressed casually in blue jeans and a T-shirt of a lighter blue shade. He’d worn trainers on his feet. There was nothing to suggest he was responsible for the killing, although had he been traced, he would have been questioned if only for elimination purposes. Pemberton picked up his telephone and dialled the number of the office in which Kirkdale was working.
‘Gregory, pop in, will you?’
After pointing out the reference to Bowman, Pemberton asked, ‘Does this name crop up in any of the subsequent crimes?’
‘No, I double-checked, sir, on all the names that appear, especially that one. I am aware of the old belief that a murderer always returns to the scene of his crime, but he was never traced. The file does show that great efforts were made to trace that youth at the time, but everything failed. But a youth who gives a false address to a policeman in a wood isn’t necessarily a murderer.’
‘I know, but the man who died in our motor crash, and who confessed to a priest that he was a murderer, was called James Bowman Browning. He would have been around twenty-one at the time of that first killing and he had red hair. I know, as well as you, that a simple way of creating a false name is to drop one’s surname. James Bowman. If this is the same man, I’d say that it was a remarkable bloody coincidence to say the least! And I’d be interested to know why he gave a false address. Now, I wonder if PC Mitford is still in the force?’
‘I’m sure we can trace him, sir, even if he has retired.’
‘A job for you?’
‘If you like, Mr Pemberton.’
‘You’ll need a photograph of James Bowman Browning — there’s one of him in our Scenes of Crime office, in colour and showing his red hair. Dead, but recognisable. Can you trace PC Mitford and ask if that’s the man he saw in the wood after the Penthorne killing?’
There was a knock on Pemberton’s office door and he called, ‘Come.’ Lorraine opened it.
‘Lunch time, sir,’ she said. ‘I thought you’d better eat before meeting your Mr Browning.’
‘Thanks, Lorraine. Yes, I’ll do that. How about you, Gregory? Care to join me?’
‘No, thanks, sir, not when I’ve got a gem like this to work on,’ and he hurried from the office with a huge smile on his face. ‘I’m off to find PC Mitford.’
‘He looks cheerful!’ smiled Lorraine.
‘I’ve just provided him with a suspect for the first of the Sandal Strangler killings,’ smiled Pemberton. ‘A red-headed youth who gave the name James Bowman and a false address.’
‘Mark! Brilliant! Tell me about it!’
He told her of his discovery and added, ‘Now, I’d like to go through all those Strangler files, just to see if Bowman’s name crops up in any more. Or Browning’s of course.’
‘I’ll check the other files on our terminals this afternoon, that’s the only one that isn’t computerised.’
‘Right, now come on. I could do with a long cool drink and a nice prawn salad.’
An hour later, suitably refreshed and with Lorraine at his side, Pemberton walked over to the duty inspector’s office in Road Traffic Division for his chat with Mr Frederick Browning.
Chapter Six
When Pemberton and Lorraine arrived at the Traffic Division offices, PC Broadbent was waiting at the entrance.
‘Mr Browning’s waiting for you, sir,’ he announced.
‘How much does he know about the accident?’ asked Pemberton.
‘Not a lot at this stage, sir. We’ve said we suspect brake failure, but have advised him the final assessment won’t be known until just before the full inquest. He hasn’t been told about his son’s confession, by the way.’
‘Okay, thanks. Do you want to be present during this chat? It might help if you’re there to answer questions.’
‘Yes, sir, I’ll join you. I can answer any of his questions about the forthcoming procedure so far as the accident is concerned. He’s a nice man, by the way — an architect, he tells me — and he’s most co-operative.’
As they entered the small office, Mr Browning stood to greet them. He was a stocky man in his mid-fifties with a bald head, half-moon glasses and a ready smile. Soberly dressed in a dark suit, black tie and a dark grey waistcoat, he extended his hand to Pemberton. ‘Detective Superintendent Pemberton, I believe?’
‘I’m pleased to meet you, Mr Browning,’ Mark proffered his hand. ‘I’m only sorry it’s under these circumstances. Please accept our condolences for the loss of your son. This is my personal assistant, Detective Constable Lorraine Cashmore, and I believe you’ve met PC Broadbent of our Traffic Division?’
‘Thank you, yes. I must say I have experienced nothing but courtesy and co-operation from your officers. I believe you want to talk to me about James?’ It was a forthright approach which considerably eased Pemberton’s task.
‘Mr Browning, this is not easy,’ he began. ‘First, you should know that Lorraine and I witnessed the accident in which your son died. We did our best for him at the scene — as did the ambulancemen a
nd everyone else — but his injuries were very severe. I am sure he died peacefully…’
‘There was a priest there too, I am told.’
‘Yes, Lorraine and I had been to a lecture given by the priest, Father Flynn from Rainesbury. We were giving him a lift home. I know your son spoke to him seconds before he died. He died very peacefully, at ease with himself, and without pain, I am sure of that.’
‘He was brought up a good Catholic, Mr Pemberton, but had lapsed in his teenage years. I don’t think he actively followed his faith or went to Mass, but I am glad the priest was there. You know what they say — once a Catholic! I like to think he made a good confession before he died, that’s something all Catholics want before they leave this world. I have to see the priest later today, about the funeral arrangements. I want to have James buried at home in Staffordshire, among his ancestors, but I think it would be appropriate to have the Requiem Mass here, said by the priest who was with him when he died. Now, PC Broadbent tells me you suspect brake failure. You don’t think the brakes of his car were deliberately sabotaged, do you, Mr Pemberton? I thought it rather odd that a detective superintendent would want to talk to me about my son. James hadn’t got himself involved in anything illegal, had he?’
Confession (The Mark Pemberton Cases Book 3) Page 6