Suspect

by Nicholas Rhea

  ‘As I mentioned earlier, in spite of early and speedy publicity through inter-force links, the motor cyclist has not been traced. The Baxtons cannot give us a description of the machine, except that it looked dark-coloured and sounded like a recent model, not a scrambles or track machine, but a conventional road motor cycle of modern design. It had low-slung handlebars and seemed to be in newish condition. Henry Baxton did think there were lighter coloured flashings upon the fairings — they reflected in his headlights. Baxton could not provide us with a registration number. A description of the rider is equally vague — he was clad in dark leathers with a dark helmet, the visor was down and there is no further description. It was impossible even to estimate his age. Judging from the nature of the wound, the murder weapon was a shotgun. This view is supported by the pathologist; the wounds are not consistent with bullet wounds, thus ruling out a revolver, pistol or rifle. The murder weapon has not been found. A fingertip search is being conducted in and around the campsite in the hope of retrieving the cartridge or cartridges used and all roadside verges on both sides of the farm exit will be searched. The backs of all hedges, walls and ditches will be examined in great detail by the task force — if the cartridge was kept and thrown away during the escape run, it will be found. The beck is very shallow, and the waters are clear — divers are not needed but the beck will be searched as well.

  ‘The best evidence from the scene comes in the tyre marks. There are front and rear wheel markings of the tyres in the soft earth. Plaster casts have been made and photographs taken. I’m assured by SOCO that if we can find the tyre in question, we can make a comparison with our casts and so obtain evidence which should be good enough for court purposes. We are also endeavouring to find the manufacturer of such tyres to determine which motor cycles are fitted with them, and therefore which dealers sell those bikes. I have two teams visiting all local motor cycle dealers, tyre specialists and garages.

  ‘Now, there is another very important angle. There was a recent murder in Langbarugh when a businessman was shot dead by a gunman who used a sawn-off shotgun. The killer arrived and made his escape on a motor cycle so there are interesting similarities between the two murders. One difference is that although our victim is a retired businessman, the victim in Langbarugh was younger and was known to have been a crook, even though he has never been prosecuted. We have no such knowledge of Scott.

  ‘I have not yet spoken to the Langbarugh incident room about these similarities, but that is my first task when the conference is over. Obviously, I will let you know the outcome. I refer to it now because I want you to bear the Langbarugh murder in mind when you are conducting your enquiries. I do not know of any other murders in this region which have borne these similarities.’

  When Pemberton had finished his speech, he asked if any of the teams had anything further to offer. The team which had initially questioned the Baxtons added that when the Baxtons had given Scott permission to camp on their land, they had not known his name. They sought no fee from such campers. Scott had been alone, on foot, when he had arrived at the farm. That was around 4.00pm yesterday afternoon, and the old fellow had been carrying a backpack bearing a tent with a rolled-up sleeping bag and warm clothing. His appearance and demeanour were those of an experienced camper and hiker, and he had expressed a desire to stay for two nights. He’d not said whether anyone would be joining him but had commented that he was studying the wildlife which depended upon the oak tree, or which lived in woodlands comprising mainly oak trees.

  There being no further comments at this point, Pemberton told his detectives to get themselves a coffee and then set about their task of finding Frank Scott’s killer. Half an hour later, they had all gone about their urgent task, leaving the office staff to their work. Among the incoming calls was one from Inspector Les Dodd, the force press officer.

  ‘Anything further, sir?’ he asked. ‘I’m getting calls from the local radio stations, they want to be up to date for their bulletins.’

  ‘We haven’t had the positive identification yet, Les,’ said Pemberton. ‘So we can’t release any name. Just say he is an elderly gentleman camper and that robbery does not appear to be the motive. Ask for witnesses who might have seen him in or near Kesterdale yesterday before 4.00pm. A man aged sixty-five to seventy, medium height, balding with light grey hair, clean-shaven, wearing bottle green corduroys, hiking boots and an orange cagoule. We’d like to know if anyone noticed him and whether he was alone at the time. If he was with someone, we need a description of that person.’

  ‘Fine, sir, that’ll keep them happy for now,’ and so Pemberton’s request for witnesses would now hit the evening news bulletins and tomorrow’s editions of the daily papers, evening papers and local TV. Sunday was never the best day for securing widespread media coverage.

  Pemberton’s next job was a discussion with Barry Brennon in Langbarugh and so, using the private telephone network, he rang his opposite number. Mark’s purpose at this early stage was simply to alert Brennon to the similarities between the killings; if further similarities emerged, then the question of closer liaison between the forces would have to be considered. As the two senior detectives chattered, it seemed doubtful if there was any positive link between the murders. The second might be a copycat of the first done by a totally different individual, but each felt it wise to maintain contact.

  It was the team whose action was to delve into the life and background of Frank Scott who established a possible link between the two murders. Before the arrival of Scott’s son from Keswick, Detective Sergeant Ernie Boothman and Detective Constable Gordon Warren took a door key found among the deceased’s clothing and went to examine his house. It was a pretty cottage built of limestone and it had a smart red pantile roof, a green painted wooden conservatory at the front, and a tiny stream trickling through the garden. The stream emerged from a spring high in the hills and ran down the sloping garden where it had been harnessed, through Scott’s knowledge of water and its behaviour, to drive a small watermill and to supply a pond containing goldfish. After passing through his garden, the water vanished into a drain which led beneath the shop and disappeared somewhere under the village.

  The purpose of this visit was to establish that Scott did live at the house. This was evident when the key fitted the front door, which swung open to reveal a neat and tidy cottage with old-fashioned furnishings, clip rugs on the floor and an array of family photographs upon the mantelpiece and bookshelves. Some pictures showed the man whose body now lay on a slab in Rainesbury mortuary — the detectives were fairly clear that the identity was genuine, and the son’s visit would confirm that.

  There were no flowers in the house, an indication of no female presence. But their next task was to try and establish a motive. Threatening letters perhaps, a diary — anything which would provide a clue as to why someone would shoot an old man in a tent in the middle of the night. Had he gone camping to get away from some kind of threat, perhaps?

  A preliminary search of the downstairs bathroom, the living-room and its cupboards and the conservatory proved fruitless — nothing of any evidential value was retrieved. Upstairs there were two bedrooms, a small guest room and the old man’s main room, with the bed neatly made and the room tidy and free from dust. Photographs of his wedding day and his family stood on the dressing-table; the drawers contained personal belongings, clothing and souvenirs from his business along with some copies of old advertisements and press coverage. He was clearly proud of his business achievements. And then they found a locked cupboard. It was built into the wall of the room to the left of the fireplace, an old wooden cupboard of the kind found in most cottages which had been built in the last century.

  ‘The key’ll be in the chest of drawers,’ said Boothman, knowing that most people used similar places in which to hide their secret things, a fact known to burglars and police officers alike. They found a key and it fitted the cupboard. Every shelf was stuffed full of brown envelopes and booklets an
d when Warren removed one and opened it, he was horrified.

  He opened more and realised he had discovered a treasure trove of child pornography.

  Chapter Eight

  The discovery of the paedophilic literature, followed by the outcome of some speedy and productive enquiries in Cressford village, led Lorraine to express an opinion that the Green Tent murder had been committed by the same person who had executed Pearle. She sought Pemberton to explain her views.

  ‘Tell me why you think that.’ Pemberton was standing next to the computer as Hadley was entering data from statements already filed. She approached him with a smile.

  ‘Scott was a paedophile, sir.’ She made sure she referred to Pemberton in the formal manner. ‘He specialised in little girls — eight-to ten-year-olds. We know that from the stuff he kept at his house and from enquiries in the village. After Boothman and Warren found that literature, they asked around and discovered the locals all called him Sexy Scotty, Dirty Old Frank, Mucky Ducky and other filthier names. He’s been at it ever since he settled in Cressford, inviting little girls into the house and interfering with them, or getting them to interfere with him. The locals always warned their little lasses never to go into his house but inevitably some ignored these warnings. He had quite an unsavoury reputation in the village.’

  ‘He was never prosecuted?’ Pemberton asked.

  ‘No. It’s the old, old story, sir.’ She winced. ‘His word against that of a little girl who doesn’t know the nastiness of what she’s being asked to do. Because a man who says he loves her and who is kind in other ways asks her to do terrible things, she thinks it’s all right, she doesn’t know it’s naughty. She keeps it from mum and dad because he says it’s their special secret. When these sadist characters are with a little victim, they always say it’s nice, they say it’s their special secret and that she must tell nobody. We came across some cases where Scott had struck little girls to ensure their co-operation — they’re adults now and are prepared to talk. According to the postman, a couple did try and prosecute him eight or nine years ago — he’d been performing fellatio with their eight-year-old — but the police just couldn’t get the evidence. The CID prepared a file, but the case never got to court — and Scott kept on persuading little girls to go to his cottage.’

  ‘Is there anything in our intelligence files on him?’

  ‘No, the older files of inactive suspects are destroyed every ten years, sir, so according to us, he’s clean. I wish the parents of pedophiles’ victims would make official complaints then we could compile a dossier — in fact, I’m sure some don’t think the activities are against the law. They just think it’s mucky behaviour by sad and lonely old codgers, but this man was a cunning bastard, sir, pardon the French! And he had no criminal record either. And that’s why I believe there’s a link with the murder — I think both were shot because they were criminals who were never caught. Never brought before a court, never presented to the public as the rogues they were. Now, they’ll offend no more. It’s a form of rough justice.’

  ‘If that’s true,’ butted in Hadley, ‘whoever killed that mucky old sod deserves a medal!’

  ‘A serial vigilante? Is that what you’re suggesting, Lorraine?’ Mark smiled.

  ‘It might well be, sir, there’s two deaths so far. More to come? It wouldn’t surprise me.’

  ‘It sounds to me as if he’s doing society a favour,’ grunted Hadley.

  ‘All right,’ said Pemberton. ‘Let’s suppose the same killer did both jobs. Who would know all about Pearle’s activities and also about Scott’s? The two victims are so different and lived a long way from each other. I accept that neither had been to court and they were of totally different backgrounds. That one person should know about both men’s activities seems rather unlikely.’

  ‘That’s what we have to find out.’ She smiled at him. ‘That’s our job — but if it is the same person, then he—’

  ‘Or she,’ beamed Pemberton.

  ‘All right, he or she must have some inside knowledge, sir. Some knowledge of police intelligence files, or those of some other agency.’

  ‘If there is a mole, sir, he’s putting his knowledge to good use.’ Hadley came in again. ‘I’m all for getting rid of scum like that, preying on innocent kids.’

  ‘We’re not concerned with the ethics of these crimes, Vic,’ snapped Pemberton. ‘Most decent people would say good riddance to bad rubbish, but as policemen, as law enforcement officers, we can’t think like that. We have a job to do and that is to enforce the law. It’s illegal to murder people, no matter what they’ve done and how evil they are, and these people, for all their faults, have been murdered. That is wrong, Vic, it’s against our laws, and so it’s our duty to track the killers down and present them to the courts.’

  ‘I know all that, sir,’ retorted Hadley. ‘I’m very aware of my official role and duties, but I still think those killers have done a good job, a service to the public. They’ve done something that neither the police nor the courts can do, they’ve eliminated some pretty rotten people, sir, and I reckon that society will thank them for it. If I was a parent of a little girl in that village, I’d be as chuffed as hell that the old sod’s been got rid of. Full marks to the killer, I say.’

  ‘If Lorraine’s hypothesis is correct, it does look like the work of a lone vigilante,’ Pemberton said. ‘Someone who’s seeking vengeance, someone who has a detailed knowledge of the victims, knowledge that might have been obtained from confidential sources. A former police officer? A police employee of some kind? One whose work crosses force boundaries? A social worker? All right, Lorraine, I’ll have further words with my oppo in Langbarugh. We might find more links now.’

  ‘HOLMES will do the work, sir,’ said Hadley. ‘Just establish a database between us and Langbarugh and it’ll identify all the similarities.’

  ‘Give the computer a go, Vic, but remember there’s no substitute for officers on the ground, police officers with local knowledge,’ Pemberton said. ‘Pearle was shot in the early afternoon of a Saturday in broad daylight in a town environment with people around him; Scott was alone in the middle of nowhere at the dead of night or, to be precise, in the early hours of a Sunday morning. The scenes are forty miles apart in separate police areas and the victims have nothing in common. For those reasons, the murders are quite different.’

  ‘Think of the similarities, sir,’ Lorraine insisted. ‘A shotgun was used, perhaps the same one for both deaths; in both cases, a motor cycle was used to arrive and escape on, perhaps the same one for both deaths…and both victims were unconvicted criminals, although of widely differing styles. One dirty old man, one crooked dealer.’

  ‘Unless Pearle was also interfering with children?’ The thought occurred to Pemberton. ‘I wonder if that’s a possibility?’ Neither of the others had considered that likelihood and it was Hadley who said, ‘It’s worth a word with your mate in Langbarugh, sir.’

  ‘My very next job,’ said Mark Pemberton.

  The enquiries by the murder teams that morning did produce a little more information. There was one witness who had heard a motor cycle travelling along Kesterdale after midnight. She was an elderly lady who had been unable to sleep due to indigestion and as she had pottered down to the kitchen of her roadside cottage for a Rennie, she had heard the distinctive sound of a motor cycle heading up the dale. But she had not looked out and could provide no farther details, except that it did not seem to be moving very rapidly. She was not sure of the time either but was convinced the motor cycle was heading up the dale, towards Kester Heights Farm entrance. Although there was a frustrating lack of detail in that piece of information, it could be reasonably assumed that it was the same rider who had later been seen by the Baxtons. Traffic of any kind was rare in that dale, especially in the early hours of the morning.

  No other cars or motor vehicles had driven along the remote road, and the old lady had not heard that motor bike, or any other, make a return jour
ney. It was not known by which route the killer had made his escape because the road followed a circular route around the dale head and emerged at a point some two miles from its place of entry. Enquiries at farms and cottages along that circuitous route had failed to elicit any supportive information. No one else had heard the motor bike, and no one had noticed the lone hiker earlier making his way towards Kester Heights Farm.

  The fingertip search of the area around the tent did locate a single cartridge shell; its appearance was clean, suggesting it had not lain there for very long, and it was of the kind normally used in a shotgun. Manufactured by Burrard and comprising a red plastic barrel with a brass ignition cap, it bore the imprint of the firing pin in the centre of its cap. If the murder weapon was ever found, comparisons could be made and the marks of the firing pin, almost as individual as a human’s fingerprints, might prove that the killer’s shotgun had discharged this cartridge. Similarly, the mark left by the ejector bar might also determine from which weapon the cartridge had been ejected. If the cartridge fired in the Langbarugh killing had been recovered, then ballistics examination of the marks might determine whether or not the same weapon had been used for both murders. Thus the finding of this piece of evidence, the only cartridge shell on this patch of ground, was considered to be of prime importance.

  It would be some hours before the examination of the scene of the crime could be considered final — although it had been examined once in great detail, the detectives could have overlooked something. The murderer might have left other evidence of his or her presence — footprints somewhere among the vegetation maybe, deposits of other kinds, fibres from clothing or human hairs left on the tent doorway while entering or leaving…and had the motor cyclist’s helmet been removed during the crime, for example? If so, where had it been deposited? Hairs inside it might have been transferred to its resting place — and human hairs, however small, could be matched to their owner. It was a long, tedious but very necessary examination of the scene. Looking for a single human hair in a wooded area was like trying to find the tiniest of needles in the largest of haystacks.