‘A ten-year-old kid can hardly be a criminal, can he?’ asked Redfearn.
‘You’re wondering if the young Hadley pushed him in, are you?’ asked Larkin.
‘It’s a possibility we can’t ignore. I’d better warn the Chief,’ said Redfearn.
‘Yes, sir, I’m sure that would be wise. But Mr Moore does know that Langbarugh police have been keeping Hadley under surveillance.’
‘It’s got that far, has it? You’re not suggesting that Hadley should be suspended from duty, are you, Paul? As a prime murder suspect?’
‘No, sir, not yet. That’s the last thing we want. At the moment, there is no real evidence to link him with the murders, it’s all circumstantial. Mr Pemberton will want something more substantial before we take that kind of action.’
‘He’s under supervision, is he? Hadley, I mean? In case he goes out to kill someone else?’
‘Langbarugh have called off their watches, sir, but Mr Pemberton is considering similar action. It won’t be easy, Hadley knows he’s under suspicion. Perhaps a word from you, sir, might help? Mr Pemberton would welcome ideas, or further background about Hadley.’
‘Right, I’ll ring Mark Pemberton before you get back,’ promised Redfearn ‘I can assure him money will be found for that! Ah, here’s Juliet with your photocopies.’
The visit to Personnel had been most successful and from there, Larkin went to the offices of the Gazette where, after showing his warrant card to the librarian, he was shown into the cuttings library of the newspaper. Many of the papers were now on microfiche and, having determined the year in question, he settled down before the viewer to make his search. The death of a young boy in a tragic drowning incident was a major story for such a paper and had been featured on the front page; Larkin had no difficulty tracing it.
‘Drowning tragedy at Plockwood’ was the headline, and it was accompanied by a photograph of a stretch of the River Keal. The report went on, ‘Ten-year-old Stephen Bainley of Plockwood was drowned in the River Keal yesterday while bird-nesting. He had been playing with his eleven-year-old friend, Victor Hadley, and had ventured on to the top of Plockwood Dam, intending to inspect the nest of a moorhen among some shrubs on the dam, when he lost his footing. He was swept down the fast-flowing sluice of the ten-foot-high dam, helpless against the powerful current, and was drowned in a deep pool below. His friend, Victor, said, “I tried to reach him with a branch, but the water was too deep for me to paddle over. He couldn’t get hold of the branch.”’
A week later, the same paper reported the inquest. Victor Hadley, being the only witness, had to tell his story before the public and as the coroner had gently questioned the lad, he had appeared to stumble in his account of the accident. The discrepancy arose when the coroner had asked whether Victor had also been on the dam at the time his friend slipped into the water. It seemed that there was a clump of shrubs part way across the dam. On the edge of the sluice, they were growing from cracks in the concrete and as the water flowed past, branches of those shrubs caught drifting straw, twigs and grass. A moorhen, otherwise known as a water hen, had nested there, and Stephen had gone across to look at the nest. It was possible to walk along the top of the small dam, the flat area being about eight inches wide, but it was a mere inch or so above the surface of the water and always wet and slippery due to wavelets lapping across it. The constant dampness had encouraged a growth of moss which added to the danger.
As the coroner quizzed Victor, Victor first said he had not been with Stephen when he’d been looking into the nest, but later indicated that he had walked along the surface of the dam, otherwise he would not have known that the nest had contained eight brownish speckled eggs.
The unanswered question was whether Victor had been close to Stephen when he had slipped — had the two lads bumped into each other on the narrow strip of concrete? Had Stephen in fact been pushed into the sluice, accidentally or otherwise? When the coroner raised the latter question, Victor had burst into tears, saying no one believed him, and that he had been told by his parents never to tell a lie. He said he had not been there to steal the birds’ eggs, but Stephen was going to take some of the eggs and blow them. Victor was not that sort of child. His parents had always told him never to harm the eggs or any bird and never to destroy a nest. Victor went on to say that Stephen had slipped over the edge of the dam without being pushed or shoved in any way, and that he, Victor, had run back to the river bank to pick up a branch with which to reach his friend as he had struggled in the pool below the dam.
He had failed. The coroner decided that both Stephen and Victor had been on the top of the small dam — that must have been the case if Victor had known the contents of the nest and had to run to the bank to obtain a branch — but he also stated that Stephen’s death was due to a tragic accident. There was no evidence that he had been pushed into the water or that the actions of two boys upon a very small and slippery surface area had contributed to his death. He praised the eleven-year-old Victor for his efforts to rescue his friend and recorded a verdict of accidental death.
Larkin scanned the papers which followed in the ensuing weeks but found no further references to that accident.
He made photocopies of the reports and left for Rainesbury police station, thoughtful and somewhat unhappy. He began to see that Hadley could have pushed young Bainley into the river because he stole birds’ eggs; he could have allowed Darren Johnson to use defective equipment and so sent the lad plunging to his death, all because he was a persistent stealer of motor cars. And if he had contributed to those deaths, all those years ago, it was perfectly feasible that he might have taken a God-sent opportunity to dispose of Joss Newton at Millgate supermarket, not to mention Pearle, Scott and Hardisty.
Perhaps Brian Newton had just cause to continue his campaign against Hadley? Larkin hoped Pemberton and his team were capable of finding out the truth. But if Hadley was a murderer, then he would surely kill again? So who was next? They’d have to catch him in the act if they were to prove a case against him — and that would be far from easy.
Detective Inspector Larkin pressed his accelerator.
Chapter Eighteen
Even before receiving Larkin’s news, Detective Superintendent Pemberton knew that he had to immediately begin to monitor Hadley’s off-duty movements around the clock. It must be done until it could be proved whether or not he was the motor cycling serial killer. Pemberton was acutely aware that if another murder occurred without steps being taken to prevent it, his own job, plus the reputation of the police service as a whole, was at risk. And he had suddenly identified a point of major interest.
Pemberton realised that the murders had occurred in an identifiable sequence — the first had been on a Saturday, the second on a Sunday and the third on a Monday, all with a period of seven days between them. If that sequence was continued, the next death would be today — Tuesday.
At Pemberton’s urgent request, therefore, and with the full approval of the Chief Constable, Holderness police provided a unit of seven officers who were skilled in surveillance techniques, both with electronic listening and watching devices and by the simple device of human observation. The unit comprised one inspector, two sergeants and four constables who, between them, could operate throughout a twenty-four-hour spell, if only for a limited period of three days. The situation would be reviewed after that time and repeatedly reviewed thereafter, but the team did make use of local officers too, the latter seldom knowing the extent of their involvement. Quite often, local mobiles or foot patrols would be asked, by their Control Rooms, to undertake what appeared to be a routine task whereas in truth it was part of a much larger and more complex operation.
Having listened to the unit’s requirements and proposals, Pemberton said it was ideal for starters; it was agreed that the Holderness officers should attend immediately, with the officer in charge of the force Control Room being advised of their presence and the likelihood of some possible requests for assistance,
all of which must be given priority. Pemberton agreed to rendezvous with the group that evening at 6.00pm in a secret location, when he would provide them with photographs of Hadley and details of the task in hand. Meanwhile, a discreet watch would be maintained on Hadley’s home by his own officers. Thanks to some buildings conveniently situated nearby, that could be achieved without Hadley being aware of their presence. Following Hadley whenever he left his home would be infinitely more difficult — that would be the task of the Holderness officers.
It was after Pemberton had established this surveillance of Victor Hadley that Paul Larkin returned to the incident room armed with his new information. For Pemberton, the revelations were devastating. It took but a few seconds for him to discern a pattern, and to realise that his request for surveillance was most opportune and timely. He told Larkin about his own theory of the sequence of deaths, but it now seemed, from the accrued information, that Hadley was capable of executing anyone who infringed the good laws of society, whether by stealing birds’ eggs or by sexually assaulting children.
Pemberton began to see that Hadley’s work in the police force had provided the perfect cover for such activities and had also offered the opportunity to discover the secret lives of such citizens. If a killer wanted to instigate a war on villains, what better place was there to hide and what finer base from which to operate? It was increasingly possible that Hadley’s despatch of the hapless Newton had been a calculated killing… Who else knew Newton would be involved and who else could have undertaken such an execution in the presence of his colleagues? So how many other victims were there?
Mark felt an awful hollowness in the pit of his stomach as Larkin revealed his news. He was aware that one aspect of serial killers was that they did increase the frequency of their killings — one killing a year could become one killing a month, and then one killing a week, and then at even closer intervals as the killer became addicted to the crime. And these local crimes were being committed at the rate of one every eight days…
In spite of everything, there was insufficient evidence to justify an arrest — even now, it was all suspicion and supposition. Hadley had to be caught in the act, it was the only positive means of proving his guilt. Even now, there were unanswered questions, such as how Hadley had known the whereabouts and movements of the victims. Those questions, and more, would have to be answered. To justify the arrest of Hadley, and to warrant a prosecution, there was a lot more work for Pemberton’s team to do.
‘The only way to stop him, Paul, is to catch him in the act…’ and Pemberton went on to outline the surveillance operation he was about to establish. ‘My gut instinct is that today is crucial. Hadley will be watched for every minute of the day when he leaves our premises. When those watchers get into position, they will maintain contact with me, through radio, which means my office will have to be staffed continuously. I shall be in my office for most of the time, but you will be needed to relieve me if the exercise goes on for very long. Clearly, if Hadley is at home or in bed, we can relax a little, although the surveillance team will always be there, and we’ll always be on call. But if he’s out on that confounded motor bike of his, or ostensibly fishing on the river bank, then we shall have to be here, in my office, at the end of a radio link. He will be monitored at every inch of his journey, wherever he goes and whatever he does…and he must never know we’re tailing him. I’ve warned the Holderness team that he will be alert to any surveillance attempts, but they’re good, very good. And, Paul, this is top secret. Catching him in action is going to be a most difficult task, but no one else must be part of this activity. It has to be executed with the utmost secrecy, but we will require a team of officers, some armed, to be on standby and to move urgently when commanded. There is no need for them to know what they are waiting for, just have them immediately available from six o’clock this evening, until we decide to stand them down. And if we have to shoot Victor Hadley, so be it. We’ll call it Operation Moth.’
And so Operation Moth was put into operation.
That Tuesday, the subject of Operation Moth, Inspector Victor Hadley, had finished his day’s work in the incident room at 1.00pm and, after some lunch, had gone fishing in his favourite spot on the banks of the River Keal.
At that stage, he had not been under any supervision by detectives. Larkin’s revelations and Pemberton’s theory had injected a new urgency into the matter, and it was now realised that Hadley had to be supervised day and night — beginning at the first possible moment. As it happened, he had returned to his home at 5.30pm for a meal. By six thirty, the surveillance team was in position, Hadley’s home was being electronically monitored and contact had been made with Pemberton’s office at the incident room, Larkin taking the first spell of command.
Pemberton had gone home for his own meal but knew he would be unable to refrain from returning to the office. Things were beginning to happen; the work of the past weeks was gelling, and he had a gut feeling about this case. With the instinct of many years of detective work, he knew the climax was very close and he wanted to be on duty when the killer of Scott, Pearle and Hardisty was caught. But who was the next intended victim? If the identity of a future victim was known, plans could be made to intercept the killer, but in this case, no such steps were possible. The identity of the next victim was totally unknown.
A very difficult job lay ahead. When Pemberton returned to his house, Lorraine was out. She had been to Middlesbrough earlier that day as part of her liaison duties with Langbarugh police, but this afternoon, according to Barbara Meadows, she had driven down to the ballistics lab in Nottingham. She’d gone with some samples and had left a message asking that Pemberton be notified. He was out when she had made her decision, but she had not revealed any more of her purpose to anyone.
‘Samples?’ he asked Barbara. ‘What samples? There aren’t any more cartridges to go there, are there?’
‘She didn’t say—’
‘Maybe she’s discovered something on her trip to Langbarugh. I don’t think we asked for our earlier samples back for any reason, did we? She hasn’t gone to fetch those, surely?’
‘No,’ Barbara confirmed. ‘Ballistics always retain them in case they’ve got to give evidence at a trial. They need them as their exhibits. She said she was taking a sample for urgent analysis, and would I inform you. I’m just relaying what she said.’
‘Oh, well, she’ll know what she’s doing.’ He shrugged his shoulders. ‘Such are the wiles of women, eh, Barbara?’
‘I’d call it intuition not wiles,’ smiled Barbara. ‘Anyway, it’s a two and a half hour drive each way, plus her time there, so don’t expect her back before seven at the earliest.’
It meant that Pemberton would be engaged upon Operation Moth by the time she returned; it also meant he had to eat alone. He found a shepherd’s pie in the freezer, along with some frozen garden peas, and was able to knock up a quick meal in the microwave.
He showered, changed, enjoyed his meal with a glass of red wine and then left a note for Lorraine. ‘Gone back to the office, don’t bother to follow. Top secret task,’ he wrote on a writing pad which he left on the table. ‘Back sometime.’
And so he drove out to his office in the incident room to await developments. Larkin was there, in Pemberton’s office, with the unintrusive radio network installed.
‘All quiet so far, sir,’ the inspector smiled. ‘He’s still at home, we can monitor his conversation in the house.’
‘We could be in for a long wait, but I couldn’t sit at home all alone.’ Pemberton took a chair and sat down. ‘Not when all this is happening. Has anything else arisen, Paul?’
‘Not a sausage, sir. He’s having his tea. That’s all.’
‘Have you eaten?’
‘As a matter of fact, no, sir, I haven’t.’
‘Right, well, I can take over for a while. You sneak off if you want. I’ll cover until you return, we can’t operate on empty stomachs, Paul.’
‘Tha
nks, sir, I might make do with fish and chips. I’ll pop round the corner to get some. I don’t want to miss anything either. I’ve a gut feeling about tonight…’
‘Me too,’ said Pemberton. ‘So on your way. Fish and chips first, surveillance second.’
An hour later, at eight minutes past seven, Victor Hadley left home on his motor cycle, telling his wife that he was going fishing.
His words were picked up by the sensitive listening device deployed by the team, and they heard him say he was going down to the river and that he’d return about eleven o’clock. She said she’d wait up — there was something on television she wanted to watch. They heard him go to his shed for his fishing tackle, heard the motor bike engine strike up, and then he emerged to ride down to the river bank. At that point, the personal surveillance began but not with the obvious device of putting a car or a motor cycle on his tail. That would have been too simple, too readily noticed. His departure was noted, and at the next junction in the road, a police car in smart livery was waiting. Hadley, it was felt, would never suspect that a brightly coloured police car complete with blue light and fluorescent stripes was tailing him. If he was going to be tailed, he’d have expected something like a plumber’s battered van or an innocuous old banger of some kind clinging to his rear bumper, and so the operators of this system felt they had engineered a good beginning. And so, for the first leg of Hadley’s outing, he was observed by the simple means of using a marked police car.
‘Here we go,’ said Pemberton to Larkin, now back in the office and replete with a helping of delicious fish and chips. ‘Is he going fishing or not?’
They listened to the commentary of the police driver, but Hadley did not turn towards the river. He continued along the main road, heading for Lawneswick as the police car overtook him and settled into a steady speed ahead of the black motor cycle.
‘He’s not turned towards the river,’ said Larkin, now wearing an earpiece. ‘But we’ve a tail on him. There’s no mention of him being armed. According to the surveillance team, it seems he collected only fishing tackle before setting off. They managed to search his bike panniers too, while the bike was in the garage. They’d make good burglars, those lads, but there was no shotgun.’
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