‘But you never actually saw him kill one of the girls, nor did you hear him admit to it?’ Pemberton sought some clarification here.
‘Good God, no!’ Dawlish cried. ‘It was the coincidences that alerted me, the coincidences which kept on occurring, year after year, every summer. Each time, James went off into the woods with a prostitute and later, I read that a prostitute had been murdered at that very place, and over the same weekend. After I dropped him off, with the woman, he always returned to our digs much later, when it was dark, so no one would see him coming out of the woods, in the gloom.’
‘Did you ever learn the names of his prostitutes?’ Pemberton asked.
‘No, he never told me. I’m not sure whether he ever knew who they were.’
‘His clothing would be bloodstained, would it not?’ Pemberton continued.
‘He always took several changes of clothing, Mr Pemberton; that’s not a difficult thing to arrange in the summer. He was very meticulous — he always had a bath afterwards and put the stained clothing in a bin-liner and then into a dust bin.’
‘You saw the bloodstained clothing then?’
Dawlish paused and frowned. ‘Not as such,’ he admitted. ‘James would say he’d got his trousers stained from lying down on the earth or leaves of the woods when he was with the girls; he’d tell me how he’d discarded them. They were always cheap ones, he’d tell me, not worth sending to the cleaners. On one occasion, I saw the stains he referred to — dark and quite extensive but I could not swear, in a court of law, that they were blood. But always, he got rid of any stained clothes.’
‘So those incidents, when you saw what you took to be bloodstains, would confirm your worst suspicions about James? That he was killing the girls?’
‘They were part of the overall picture, Mr Pemberton. Like a jigsaw puzzle. If only some of the pieces are in place, you can guess at the entire picture. That’s how it was with my assessment of James’s activities.’
‘The first girl was strangled, though, with a rope. That does not produce bloodstains,’ Pemberton put to him.
‘I’m sure some of his clothing was stained, Mr Pemberton, but as I said, it might have been nothing more than mud.’
‘Where did he get the rope he used?’
‘He had a length in the car boot, a tow rope. He cut pieces off.’
‘So how did he get them to the scene of the murders?’
‘In his haversack, along with his spare clothes and boots. Looking back, I realise he went out specifically to commit murder, Mr Pemberton.’
‘Did you ever talk to him about your suspicions, Mr Dawlish?’
‘Not directly. Sometimes, though, I would refer to the murders, commenting on the coincidence that they occurred at the times and places we had visited, but James never said anything by way of a response. He’d just smile and say something like “Thank God it’s nothing to do with us” or words to that effect. But it did become something of a trial for me, seeing him disappear into the woods with a young prostitute and then to learn later she had been murdered. But I must admit he kept very cool about it — he never let anything slip.’
‘And still you did not tell the police?’
‘I had no evidence, Mr Pemberton, not a scrap.’
‘So, other than the coincidence of time and place, the timely absences of James and the occasional piece of dirty or bloodstained clothing, you had no proof that James was murdering the girls?’ It was a carefully prepared question from Pemberton.
Dawlish took a long time making his reply; Pemberton wondered if he would refer to the rope or the blue sandals found in Browning’s garage.
‘No,’ he said at length. ‘That might explain why I never felt confident in going to the police. There was nothing to directly link James with the murders — I wasn’t sure the stains on his clothes were blood or just mud and earth, and other than the fact that he’d been with a prostitute at the time, there was no other indication he’d killed any of them. But I knew he had, Mr Pemberton. I was there; I saw his demeanour when he returned from his outings…he was a changed man, Mr Pemberton, ever since that first killing. And I do know he killed that woman near Penthorne.’
‘They were all prostitutes, Mr Dawlish. Now why would James Browning kill prostitutes?’
‘He was quite a prude in his own way, Mr Pemberton. He’d had a strict upbringing, church-going parents, Mass every Sunday, that sort of thing. Maybe he felt they were evil or dirty or something. But to be honest I don’t know. I’m just guessing. He kept his opinions of prostitutes to himself, he never told me what he really thought about them even though he used them.’
‘So why did he use prostitutes?’
‘I don’t know. Perhaps he found difficulty striking up a sexual relationship with his girlfriends.’
‘The experience at college, at the end of course party, was that his first time with a prostitute?’
‘I think it was. He’d had girlfriends prior to that, fellow students usually, but I don’t think he had sexual relations with them. And I’d never known him go with a prostitute.’
‘So until that time, he appears not to have had problems finding girlfriends?’
‘Finding them was easy — he was a good-looking man, powerful and red-headed. Very attractive to a woman, so some of the students told me. But it was the sexual side of things — he was very shy and I’m not sure how the experience with the first prostitute affected him. But it did seem to turn him into a killer — or something did.’
‘She was raped,’ Pemberton told Dawlish. ‘We know that the first prostitute was savagely raped. As were the others.’
‘You can tell that?’ Dawlish asked. ‘You can distinguish it from normal sexual intercourse?’
‘Yes, we can, in most cases, through bruising, for example. A post-mortem conducted by a forensic pathologist will reveal a wealth of information. That is just one of the facts that have emerged — every one of those girls was raped, brutally. That is another of the coincidences that we have taken into account.’
‘I never considered him a rapist.’
‘It could explain the bloodstains,’ Pemberton went on. ‘On his clothing. The rapes were particularly brutal and savage.’
‘He was always so gentle.’ Dawlish spoke very quietly now. ‘I can’t imagine him doing anything like that.’
‘The thought of exercising power over a woman can drive a man to rape,’ Pemberton said. ‘From our experience, a man will go with a woman for sex, and if she resists, he can turn violent or even kill, then revert to being Mr Nice Guy…So, you are unable to provide us with any further evidence about James’s activities?’
‘Well, no, not really. I think I’ve covered everything I can remember.’
‘All right. You go back to your hotel, Mr Dawlish. I’m sorry I have kept you. You might be in time for a late dinner. I will delve into our files to see if they contain anything that you might be able to confirm for us and then, if I may, and if there is any further help you are able to provide, I will ring you tomorrow and arrange a further meeting. Does that suit your programme?’
‘Yes, yes, of course. Anything to help. I just want to get this cleared up and, to be honest with you, I think James would have liked the matter to be brought to a satisfactory conclusion. I think it was weighing on his mind.’
‘A lot of serial killers earnestly want to be caught and hope to have their crimes stopped,’ said Pemberton. ‘And yet, by the very nature of their crimes, they evade detection. It’s an odd sort of world they live in.’
And so the interview terminated inconclusively. Detective Sergeant Grant drove Dawlish back to the Royal Hotel and dropped him at the front door as Control alerted the observation teams. Dawlish did not contact his former dinner date; instead, he took a table in the hotel restaurant and had a long, leisurely meal helped down with a bottle of claret. Two detectives occupied a nearby table.
When Sergeant Grant returned quarter of an hour later, Pemberton said, ‘Sarg
e, the incident room is closed, and the others have all gone home. Allow me to treat you to a meal. I’m taking Lorraine to a cosy place I know — I rang them while you were out and a table for three is available. Or does this conflict with your domestic arrangements? I’d like us to have a chat, and to do so over a meal seems a good idea.’
‘I’d love to sir, thanks. And it doesn’t conflict with my domestic arrangements — my wife’s gone to her sister’s this evening.’
Half an hour later, having discarded his recording machine, Pemberton was ordering pre-dinner drinks in the Fisherman’s Net, a dark bistro in the cellar of a former store.
It had been decorated with oars, fishing nets, floats, stuffed sea fish, lobster shells, and sea urchins, and although it specialised in fish dishes, other meals were available. They sipped their aperitifs, placed their order, and prepared to enjoy it. In the background, music associated with the sea was playing while the clientele talked and laughed loudly; there was sufficient noise for Pemberton’s voice not to be overheard.
‘I hate talking shop on such occasions,’ he began as the starters arrived. ‘But I need to ask what you thought of Dawlish. John?’
Sergeant Grant shrugged his shoulders and began. ‘He wasn’t a great lot of help — he couldn’t really say that Browning had killed the prostitutes. He really confirms all that we knew, not a lot more. Except the stained clothing. I could imagine a killer doing that, getting rid of the clothing as soon as he could.’
‘Lorraine?’ Pemberton turned to her.
‘Apart from his description of the first murder, I found his contribution to our knowledge rather disappointing,’ she said. ‘As John says, he hasn’t really added a great deal to what we already know about the Sandal Strangler. He says Browning was responsible, but there’s an absence of real proof. You think he’s guilty, don’t you, Mark? Dawlish, I mean, you think he’s the Strangler?’ and she addressed him as Mark, knowing that Grant was well aware of the relationship.
‘Yes, I do.’ He was now firm in that belief. ‘I think Dawlish killed all those women and I also think he’s trying to place the blame entirely upon James Browning. Just think about what he’s told us. He told us a good deal about the first murder — and that is understandable because he admits seeing the body — even though it was two in the morning and dark, and he never referred to having a torch. He said she’d been strangled — anyone visiting the scene would know that — and the business about getting rid of the bloodstained clothing rang true, except that, in my opinion, it was Dawlish who was getting rid of it, not Browning. I think Dawlish is telling his story with the roles reversed…I think he got Browning to run him to the scenes and I think he did so so that Browning’s car would be seen. I think he’s set up Browning for these crimes; I think he’s been framing Browning right from the outset, and now that he’s dead, he can put the blame on his friend. I think the murders have come to an end now.’
‘But what about the first murder, Mark?’ Lorraine asked. ‘According to Dawlish, he found Browning lying beside the strangled prostitute and took him away…’
‘And what do you think Browning would have said about that, if he’d been alive to ask? I think he would have said he had no memory of what happened that night and, if he told the truth, he would have said he was roused by his friend, Dawlish, to find himself lying next to a murdered woman. They’d been on the booze all night, Browning was stoned out of his mind…and dead drunk or doped or something. How could he have committed murder and rape if he was drunk and incapable?’
‘But he confessed to a murder, Mark. It would be that one, surely?’
‘Yes, I think that’s the one he confessed to. But I don’t think he did it. I’m growing more certain that he never committed it. I think Dawlish killed and raped the Penthorne prostitute and let Browning think he’d done so…as he has done ever since. I think Browning was innocent of that killing and innocent of all the others. It could explain why he did not strike up a relationship with a woman afterwards — he daren’t, in case he killed again without realising he was doing so…and it could explain his wish to do good works as a form of penance…’
‘The poor man…’ began Lorraine. ‘To go through life thinking you were a murderer when you were not…how dreadful…’
‘If it’s true, it says a lot about the character of Dawlish, letting a friend — or, to be more accurate, a stooge — carry the blame like that,’ Pemberton reminded them. ‘And can you imagine what a relief it would be if he could convince us that Browning had committed all the murders? It would get him off the hook completely — he’d have to stop his killings of course, but he might do that or begin a new series. He’s lying too, but how can we prove that? Or prove any of my theories?’
‘We haven’t had the results of the DNA tests yet,’ Grant reminded him. ‘That should help a lot.’
‘They could take a week or even two. We need corroborative evidence if we’re to get this series of murders laid at the door of our Mr Dawlish,’ Pemberton said.
‘You have never mentioned the blue sandals,’ said Lorraine.
‘I think he planted those upon Browning, quite deliberately — he left them in the car he sold so that, if Browning was ever questioned, he’d have one hell of a job explaining where they had come from. And Dawlish could deny ever seeing them. And he left a piece of rope in the car he sold to his friend…’
‘Sir,’ Grant frowned, ‘you’re saying Dawlish has been slipping clues into Browning’s possession throughout all these killings?’
‘I think he has. I think he’s been quietly framing his unsuspecting friend. Maybe we should take another look at Browning’s belongings, but, thank God, he was so meticulous in his record and diary-keeping. I think he suspected Dawlish of setting him up for the first murder — and I think it was Browning who anonymously rang the police to report that body. But think, both of you. Would Browning have known about the other killings? He lived in Harlow Spa, and he always returned there on the Sunday evening following the motor rallies. We know the murders did not gain national coverage in the press, so if the bodies were not discovered until after Sunday, it’s probable that Browning never knew that any other murders had been committed. So when the blue sandals were left in his possession, their significance would not have been apparent to him.’
‘The people at Browning’s office teased him about being near the scene of one of the murders,’ Lorraine reminded him. ‘A girl had seen a paper from the locality while visiting relatives.’
‘So if Browning linked it to his own visit, would he think he’d committed that murder too?’ Pemberton put to them. ‘Would he believe he was committing murders without realising it? Or might it plant a tiny seed of suspicion in his mind about Dawlish? Or would it mean nothing, I wonder?’
‘I don’t think he would mention it to Dawlish,’ said Lorraine.
‘Or to a priest?’ questioned Pemberton.
‘Sir,’ said Grant, ‘if Browning was unaware of the continuing murders because they’d never been reported in the papers where he lived, the same would apply to Dawlish, surely? If Browning had committed them, Dawlish would not know. And yet he has described them to us — even down to the dates and places. He knew the murders had happened, he knew when, how, and where. How could he know about them if they’d not been publicised nationally? In all cases, he and Browning were back home before the bodies were discovered. The only way he would know about the murders would be if he’d committed them.’
‘Exactly!’ smiled Pemberton. ‘By pretending he knows so little, he’s shown he knows far too much!’
‘Shall we bring him in?’
‘No, let him stew until tomorrow. He’s bound to be worried about just what and how much we know, and he is being carefully watched. If he makes any attempt to leave the hotel, I’ve asked that he be brought in for questioning — after all, he was the last person to see Debbie Hall alive, and we haven’t tackled him about that. I want to sleep on this one. He’ll never
admit the murders, I’m sure, unless we can trap him or disorientate him. He thinks he’s fooling us — he wants us to believe Browning is guilty and to record the murders against him; I want him to continue thinking that for the time being. Anyway, those are my thoughts. Our duty is to nail him, to secure enough evidence to have him convicted, not merely enough to confirm our suspicions.’
‘I am looking forward to tomorrow!’ smiled Grant. ‘And I hope you sleep well on it!’
‘I think I shall,’ said Pemberton, raising his hand to order another bottle of wine.
Chapter Twenty-One
Shortly after he arrived at the incident room on that warm and bright Sunday morning, Pemberton rang the Royal Hotel and asked for Hugh Dawlish. The receptionist connected him with the room and Dawlish answered.
‘Pemberton here, Mr Dawlish,’ he began. ‘I’d like another chat today if that’s convenient.’
‘Yes, of course. Shall I come to the police station?’
‘If you would be so kind.’ Having considered the facts overnight and devised a strategy for the introduction to this interview, Pemberton now felt in a position to go ahead.
‘What’s a convenient time?’ asked Dawlish.
‘Eleven o’clock?’ Pemberton suggested.
‘Yes, that would be fine.’
Pemberton next warned Lorraine and Sergeant Grant that he would like them to be present. On this occasion, the meeting would be in the interview room and it would be recorded on tape, but it would continue along the lines of the previous one: Dawlish would be told it was part of the elimination process and not the interview of a suspect.
‘How are you going to tackle this one?’ Lorraine asked him. ‘We’ve no real evidence against him. Whatever we say, he’s going to place the blame on Browning, isn’t he? He’s had more time to consider ways of doing that and Browning can’t answer back. The crimes could still be attributed to Browning.’
Confession (The Mark Pemberton Cases Book 3) Page 22