‘I have, David; it was with the MG. Now, listen, everybody, this is a murder suspect’s premises so don’t touch anything! Hands off! Look with your eyes only!’
Painted dark green, the door was the up-and-over type; Pemberton inserted the key and unlocked it, raising it with the minimum of effort. It revealed a large interior fitted with lots of shelves on all three walls. They bore a mass of items, all neatly stored. There was everything necessary for maintaining a car, from spare parts to chrome cleaner, and also some DIY materials including several tins of paint. On the right at the far end was a work bench with a light above it; fitted to the wall behind was a tool rack and an array of smaller shelves. Nearby were two electrical sockets and the work bench boasted a solid metal vice. Like Browning’s flat, the work bench was extremely tidy with no stray items cluttering its surface. As if to balance the work bench there was a desk at the other side of the garage, to the left of the rear wall. Old and somewhat battered but very serviceable, the desk was tidily adorned with a blotter, two letter trays and little else; it had a knee hole in the centre with drawers at each side, and there was an office chair before it. The space between the desk and the work bench was sufficient to accommodate the nose or tail of a small parked car. The wall space near the desk was fitted with several cork noticeboards and each was full of colourful posters, notices, letters and photographs. On the floor beside it was an electric fire whose lead connected with a nearby plug. Above the posters and notices there were further shelves and upon them Pemberton could see various trophies in the shape of shields and cups. A rosette was pinned to the front of the shelf and over it was a polished piece from a car engine, part of a valve he’d kept as a souvenir from a major repair.
With the other detectives, Pemberton moved to examine the display on the walls. It was almost a shrine to the MG — the only thing missing was the car itself.
‘So this is where he kept his memorabilia,’ Pemberton said to no one in particular before turning to Holroyd. ‘We need to give this place a thorough going-over, David. We might find dates and venues of his MG rallies, bits about the friends he met there and so on.’
‘There’s a picture of him getting an award.’ Lorraine pointed to a black and white photograph pinned to one of the noticeboards. Clipped from a local newspaper, it showed the MG with James Browning standing before it while being presented with a plaque by an official in a smart blazer and flannels.
The caption said, ‘James Browning of Harlow Spa receives his award for the best turned out Roadster at the Market Rasen rally. It is being presented by the Chairman, Charles Barlow.’
Pemberton turned to Holroyd. ‘David, before we start examining things, I think we’d better have the place checked over by Scenes of Crime, don’t you? For fingerprints, Browning’s and those of anyone else, and for anything that might be related to murder or rape. Lengths of rope especially, or blunt instruments. You know the score. Then we’ll come back and look through his papers.’
‘There’s quite a lot of photos on those noticeboards,’ Kirkdale pointed out. ‘If we can trace the people on them, we’ll be a long way to checking his movements and contacts.’ He was staring at a photograph on the noticeboard. It showed a man who was clearly James Browning with a friend, a tall, dark-haired young man about his own age. There were MG cars in the background but not the red Roadster. Written on a piece of card pinned beneath it were the words, ‘Me and Hugh, 1994, Kingsleadon.’
‘A tall, dark young man…’ Pemberton spoke very quietly, almost to himself, as he studied the colour photo. He was thinking of Larkin’s earlier comments that two people might have been involved in the Sandal Stranglings, and simultaneously thinking of the suspect seen with Debbie Hall. ‘David, this picture could be important. When your teams have done their stuff, can you have some copies made by the Photographic Department? In colour. I want a witness to have a look at this one.’
He told Holroyd, who did not work in the incident room, about this latest development and of the barman’s sighting. Although this man’s mode of dress — a pair of light slacks with a blazer and tie — was different from that of the man seen in Rainesbury last Sunday, his physical description was similar — but there again, such a description would fit hundreds of thousands of young men. However, the photo was a lead which could not be ignored, particularly as it portrayed two suspects.
Kirkdale spoke next. ‘Bearing in mind we’ve never had a description of a suspect for the Sandal Stranglings, I’d appreciate copies of that picture, Mr Pemberton. I can circulate it to all the forces who’ve experienced one of the Sandal Stranglings. I’ll get them to show it to the organisers of local motor shows or rallies. Someone might recall that pair of young men, especially if they were together.’
‘We need to identify everyone in all these photos. If Browning’s captioned them all, as I’m sure such a neat-minded person would do, then we’re half-way there. But before we do anything else, David, it’s down to your Scenes of Crime officers to give this place a thorough going-over.’
As the men had been talking, Lorraine had been exploring the garage to look at other objects. Walking with her hands tucked behind her back, the tall detective had mentally noted most things, including the remarkably tidy state of the place, and then she’d noticed a high shelf. It was above the work bench, much higher than the others and clearly there to accommodate all those things not immediately required. It was not easy to see what was on that shelf, partially due to its height from the floor, and partially due to the shadows which engulfed it.
Lorraine stood back to peer at it, finding that if she stood on tiptoe in the centre of the floor, she had a better view. Then she hurried to Pemberton.
‘Sir.’ She tugged at his sleeve, a sign of her request for immediate attention. ‘Up there, on that shelf.’
‘What is it, Lorraine?’
‘A pair of women’s sandals, I’m sure of it!’
‘Oh, my God!’ he muttered. ‘Show me.’ The others had heard her urgent entreaty and everyone stopped to look in the direction she was pointing.
‘I’ve a torch in the car,’ said Pemberton, hurrying out to find it. ‘Is there anything we can stand on for a closer look?’
While Pemberton went for a torch, the others realised there was nothing that could be used as a stool or ladder, and so they adopted the simple tactic of lifting the lightest man so that he could examine the shelf without touching anything. Mitford was deemed the smallest of the trio and so, when Pemberton returned with his torch, Holroyd and Kirkdale moved to a position best suited to examine the contents of the shelf. Mitford stood between them with his arms rigid by his sides; each of the others placed one of Mitford’s fists in their cupped hands and at the command ‘Lift’, hoisted him off the ground. This schoolboy technique gave him about three feet of extra height as Pemberton shone the torch on to the heels of the sandals.
‘Hold it …’ called Mitford. ‘Yes, a pair of women’s sandals. Blue plastic by the look of them. There’s only the one pair. The other stuff up here is old bits of car engine, by the look of it.’
‘Just the one pair?’ Pemberton called. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes, sir, just the one.’
Mitford was lowered to the ground with some hilarity as Pemberton asked Kirkdale, ‘Blue sandals? Does the colour mean anything? Are they from one of our victims?’
‘Yes, one of them had blue sandals, cheap ones. Offhand, I can’t remember which, but I can check with the files. It was one of those girls killed about five or six years ago, so far as I recall.’
‘If these belonged to one of the victims, is there any way of proving it?’
‘We’ve probably got a photo of the victim with her sandals on, sir, we could look at that, or show them to whoever took the photo. Their name would be on file.’
‘It would appear we have found the den of a serial killer — or one of his dens,’ Pemberton said to his colleagues. ‘Right, David. Seal this place, tell Scenes of Crime wha
t’s required then we’ll let our Forensic friends give it a thorough examination. After that we can get down to reading his documents. And now, I’d better take repossession of all the belongings from his car, and from his flat. We can’t restore them to his father after all. All we have to do is put Browning at the scene of one murder — and those sandals might just do that!’
‘Unless they belong to someone else, sir,’ said Lorraine. ‘There’s no proof they have come from any of the victims.’
‘They’re another piece of circumstantial evidence against Browning, Lorraine, but let’s wait and see what our scientific friends can tell us about them.’
Kirkdale spoke. ‘Sir, we’re looking for eleven pairs of sandals…not just one.’
‘I know,’ Pemberton acknowledged. ‘I know very well indeed. But this entire thing is a puzzle, is it not? Like a jigsaw — and we are assembling it very very slowly, piece by piece. Those sandals might be one of the missing pieces, or they might not.’
Holroyd said, ‘Sir, do you want my men to start on the garage now? I’ve some officers working a late shift.’
‘The sooner the better!’
‘I’d like to stay and see how things go,’ Kirkdale suggested. ‘This is the biggest development I’ve had in years…any objections, anyone?’
‘Your day of champagne for all is getting much closer!’ Pemberton laughed. ‘But I have no objections — I want to get back to the incident room before my teams knock off for the day, to update them on this development. It’ll spur them on tomorrow. How about you, Inspector Mitford? Coming back with us? We’ll be having fish and chips or a bar snack or something before we go home.’
‘I’ll get someone to run DI Kirkdale back to Rainesbury,’ said Holroyd.
‘Okay, I’ll come with you, sir. I ought to be getting back to base really, but thanks for including me in this.’ Mitford was happy to have had such an interesting if temporary diversion from his current duties as a uniformed inspector. Pemberton and Lorraine, with Mitford as their passenger, would return to the incident room as quickly as they could, and in the meantime radioed ahead to alert them to this important development.
As Lorraine drove away from the garage, Pemberton said, ‘I’m dreading this. Now I’ll have to tell Mr Browning that his beloved son is our prime suspect.’
‘And don’t forget Mr Greenwood,’ she reminded him.
‘I might let David Holroyd deal with Greenwood,’ Pemberton chuckled. ‘That’s the art of delegation! But come on, Lorraine, foot down! We’ve a lot to do tonight.’
Thanks to Lorraine’s swift and expert driving, Pemberton returned to the incident room a few minutes before his teams officially went off duty. He was able to inform them about the latest development, and everyone agreed it was one more pointer towards Browning’s guilt. And in those final moments of Thursday’s work, Pemberton learned more positive news. Enquiries at Greenwood’s had shown that Browning was on holiday at the time of the last ten killings. He had not been employed by Greenwood’s when the first murder had taken place however — he’d been at Swangate College in Durham. Greenwood’s employees had all been interviewed; none of them claimed to be a close friend of James Browning and none had socialised with him.
These new facts consolidated Pemberton’s belief that Browning was a cool, distant, and rather remote character, always pleasant, always efficient, but never allowing a close friendship to develop. None of the staff had been to his flat, for example, although from time to time he had joined them for a celebration after work, perhaps after winning a good contract or succeeding in some joint high-profile PR success.
The staff confirmed he had always taken his holidays in the middle of June and had been away from the office on the dates of the ten most recent killings. On at least one occasion, according to Greenwood’s staff, he had been within a few miles of one of the murders, a fact which had not escaped the notice of the office staff. By chance, one of the girls had read the story in a paper she’d seen while visiting relations in that area — they’d all made fun of the coincidence, but now they were wondering whether their joking had been grossly misplaced.
Detailed checks with Kirkdale’s comprehensive files confirmed that vintage car rallies had taken place at around the times of nine of the murders — no such rally was recorded when the Penthorne death had occurred, and none was in the vicinity of the most recent one at Crayton. But, in the Crayton case, there had been an antiques show attended by lots of people, and, as one officer pointed out, in the case of the Penthorne death, there had been the presentation of diplomas and awards at the college on the weekend prior to the discovery of the body — and Browning had attended that with many others. So had Browning gone to the antiques fair at Rainesbury? No one could answer that but further enquiries would be made.
The team charged with tracing Browning’s movements over the last ten years had had some success too. From addresses discovered in his flat and through his credit card spending on petrol, food, and clothes, they had produced an itinerary for the past two years — and in June each time, he had been within ten miles of the relevant murder scene, in each case purchasing petrol with a credit card.
Checks against the records of the two garages concerned had confirmed his presence, because they had recorded his registration number. So both car and owner had been in the vicinity of those two murders — but still that did not place him at the exact scene, nor was it proof of his culpability. Further evidence — yes. Positive proof — no!
Enquiries at the addresses given in Browning’s contact book had shown most were those of former college colleagues who received nothing more than an annual Christmas card from him. There had been talk of a reunion after ten years, but no one had bothered to arrange it and consequently it had never happened. Not all his former colleagues had been contacted — several houses were empty, probably through people being at work or away on holiday. They would be revisited. Some of the listed names were family members, they discovered — cousins, aunts, and uncles — and it had been decided not to interview them until Pemberton had given the all-clear. This meant informing Mr Browning senior of the mounting evidence against his son.
Pemberton was fully aware, however, that nothing had yet placed Browning at the actual scene of any of the killings, and it was crucial that this be achieved. Still, the day’s enquiries had ended on an upbeat note. To celebrate, Pemberton took Lorraine out for a meal and a drink before they went home, but it was clear he was not completely happy with the developments.
In the car, he said to Lorraine, ‘I shouldn’t have any reservations about telling Mr Browning of our suspicions, should I? Really, I can’t delay it any longer!’
‘You still feel Browning might not be our man?’
‘It’s a gut feeling, Lorraine. As I said earlier, I do have some doubts although I can’t ignore the damning evidence that’s gathering by the day. The point is that if Mr Browning senior is to know of our suspicions — and I emphasise that last word — he must learn from us. From me, that is. And soon.’
‘I can understand you not wishing to tell him yet,’ she sympathised.
‘I hope he never has to know our darkest suspicions. I’m increasingly uneasy about James being a serial killer, but I’m still puzzled about the murder to which he confessed. I know the circumstantial evidence points to him — it’s enough to justify an arrest on suspicion of the Sandal Stranglings had he been alive. But I can’t ignore the fact that he admitted just one murder. I do appreciate that he could have confessed to each killing as he’d done them, perhaps to different priests over a number of years, but that does seem unlikely. A man would hardly confess to murder, receive absolution, and then go out and kill again, would he?’
‘He might. There was a year between each and remember, we can’t fathom the mind of someone who might have been mentally sick.’
‘It’s a valid observation,’ he admitted. ‘But in spite of everything, we’ve nothing to place Browning at any of the scen
es, not even our latest one at Crayton. He’s been very close to all of them, but being nearby doesn’t make him guilty.’
‘So if he didn’t kill those girls, who did?’
‘How about the tall, thin man in the photo? The man I believe is called Hugh Dawlish?’
Chapter Eleven
With a glass of The Macallan ten-year-old malt whisky in his hand, Pemberton relaxed in his armchair with Lorraine at his feet. She was sitting on the floor with her back against his legs, sipping from a small glass of brandy. For a few moments, neither spoke. It was nice to do nothing, for it had been a long, busy day and they were tired but content. However, Lorraine knew that Pemberton was still pondering the life of James Browning and fretting about the significance of his whispered confession. In spite of their pledge not to talk about work when they were at home, she would not insist on this occasion; clearly, he needed someone sympathetic with whom to discuss it.
‘Browning is a murderer.’ She sipped from her glass and played the Devil’s advocate. ‘We can’t ignore that — we know he killed someone. But who?’
‘Our efforts have been concentrated upon proving he is a serial killer when in fact he might not be,’ he mused. ‘However closely we examine our files, we can’t escape the fact that he confessed to one murder, and one only, not a series. We can’t even pin him down to our murder at Crayton.’
‘Are you sure you heard him correctly?’ she was compelled to ask for the umpteenth time. ‘What did he say, exactly?’
‘He said he knew he was going to die, and then he said, “Father I committed murder…I haven’t been to confession since then…God forgive me, she didn’t deserve that…” and I couldn’t hear the rest because he was whispering and there was a good deal of background noise.’
Confession (The Mark Pemberton Cases Book 3) Page 11