A Cold Case

by Peter Turnbull

  ‘That didn’t happen.’ Mundy continued to find both the man and his house irritating. ‘The injuries would be different and if a motorist had run him over he would have driven off in a panic, not picked Oliver’s body up and dropped it somewhere else. But Oliver would have been hidden from view on the road by his clothing … I find that quite interesting. It might be significant.’ Mundy paused. ‘So he left here at eight thirty p.m. that night?’

  ‘Yes, that was approximately the time he left … I am positive,’ Kells replied. ‘I told the police that was the time that he left our house. His parents wanted him home by nine p.m. and you have to allow a good thirty minutes to walk from here to his house. So, yes, he left here at around eight thirty p.m. It had quite an impact on the folk round here, I can tell you. Really quite an impact.’

  ‘I can imagine,’ Ingram replied. ‘I can well imagine.’

  ‘Yes, like I said, people still talk about it.’ Kells swept his hand over the top of his head. ‘Nothing ever happens round here … nothing … no crime at all, nothing, and then we get two murders in the same night.’

  ‘Two murders?’ Mundy repeated. Beside him he sensed Ingram sit up in interest. ‘Two murders, did you say? Two?’

  ‘Yes.’ Kells looked at Mundy. ‘There was the murder you gentlemen are interested in and the murder of the street girl from Chelmsford. Her body was dumped near here that same night. I can’t remember her name but I recall that they found her body more or less at the same time they found Ollie’s body. The woman was found out towards Chelmsford … nearer Chelmsford than here. I believe it was the case that the police linked her murder to other murders of women and so that was taking all of the police’s time … looking for their murderer. Not heard much about that business for a long while,’ Kells added after a moment’s thoughtful pause. ‘Not for a long while.’

  ‘Did you know about the other murders?’ Mundy turned to Ingram.

  ‘We did not.’ Ingram sat back as if deflated. ‘That’s news to me … that really is news to me. I wonder why we were not told of it?’

  ‘It’s because the murders of the women are not a cold case. It’s as simple as that,’ DCI David Cole of Essex Police replied with an air of calm indignation. ‘In fact, it is still a very warm case, very, very warm. We were and are satisfied that the murder of Oliver Walwyn and the woman who was murdered on the same night have no connection; they have no forensic link at all. So we handed the murder of Oliver Walwyn to you blokes … Scotland Yard’s Cold Case Review Team, but we are keeping the murders of the street girls open as a hot case …’

  ‘Murders?’ Ingram leaned forwards in the seat in which he sat in front of DCI Cole’s desk in Chelmsford Police Station. ‘How many murders are you talking about, if you don’t mind me asking?’

  ‘Six,’ Cole replied calmly.

  ‘A serial killer? There has been little publicity about it,’ Mundy commented.

  ‘Or killers, but we can’t definitely link them. So we don’t know … we just don’t know. You see, street working is a very dangerous game. As you gentlemen will know … one sex worker a week is murdered in the UK and those, of course, are the ones we know about. Others just vanish – again, as you gentlemen will know. I mean, a working girl gets into a stranger’s car … well, then, she puts her life at risk. Most get out again, job done, money earned. Others don’t get out. Their bodies are thrown out; most times they are found but sometimes, sometimes, they are never found.’ Cole was a large man; he wore a light blue shirt and a dark blue tie which showed the police logo of a candle burning at both ends. His office window looked out on to New Street towards the railway bridge.

  ‘But six,’ Ingram protested. ‘That’s a serial killer.’

  ‘Is it?’ Cole smiled knowingly and stood up. He walked casually to his filing cabinet and took out a slender file. ‘The actual file is a lot bigger than this,’ he explained. ‘This is just an overview file I made for my own use.’ He resumed his seat and opened the folder. ‘You see, in the midst of the attacks on street girls, which happen on a regular basis, we have isolated six who might … and I emphasize might, be linked. All are from the East Anglia region, not localized round Essex, so we are liaising with other, neighbouring police forces.’

  ‘Understood.’ Mundy nodded.

  ‘So … it goes back twenty years,’ Cole advised.

  ‘Twenty!’ Ingram gasped.

  ‘Yes … and that is part of the puzzle. Reading from this, I can tell you that the first girl was Pamela Deary. She was twenty years old, from King’s Lynn.’

  ‘Wide area, as you say,’ Mundy commented. ‘King’s Lynn, indeed, that’s quite a long way north.’

  ‘Yes. Then seventeen years ago, Sonya Machin, twenty-four, from here in Chelmsford, was murdered … the third was Denise May, eighteen, from Norwich. She was murdered fourteen years ago. Then Janet Laws, twenty-one, another Chelmsford girl, in fact. She was murdered ten years ago …’

  ‘On the same night that Oliver Walwyn was murdered?’ Ingram asked. ‘That was the girl?’

  Cole nodded. ‘Yes. Then Davinia Dredge, nineteen, another Norwich girl. She was murdered six years ago, and the last girl … well, hardly a girl, was Gillian Packer, forty-one years old, and she was also from Chelmsford. I knew her, in fact …’ Cole added after a pause, ‘I knew her quite well.’

  ‘You did?’ Ingram asked.

  ‘Professionally speaking, I mean.’ Cole smiled. ‘And that is my profession, not hers …’

  ‘Of course.’ Mundy grinned. ‘We realized that.’

  ‘And we put a question mark against her name … twice the age of the five previous victims, which means that she does not fully fit the victim profile. The others were aged between nineteen and twenty-four. She was forty-one … So …’ Cole laid the file down, ‘… are they linked or are we seeing something that is not really there? These murders are well spaced out in both time and geography … one murder every three or four years and, unusually, not increasing in frequency. As you gentlemen know, we would expect a serial killer to strike with increasing frequency and take his victims months, not years, apart.’

  ‘Yes.’ Mundy nodded. ‘I see what you mean. So what is it that does link them? What are the similarities?’

  ‘All were sex workers,’ Cole explained. ‘All were abducted, all were left naked outside the town in which they worked and all were strangled. So it’s the same MO which links them … possibly. But only possibly.’

  ‘Did any clothing or other personal items ever turn up?’ Mundy asked.

  ‘No.’ Cole shook his head. ‘We never found anything. Not a trace of any of their clothing or possessions.’

  ‘Was there anything similar about the way they were left … I mean, were they in a pose or anything like that?’ Ingram enquired.

  ‘No,’ Cole leaned forward, ‘not that we have been able to determine anyway. All were left by the side of a minor road and they were left as if dumped … so not in a pose or anything of that manner, and a side road is not unusual. I mean, no murder victim is ever dumped on the side of a main road … all those cars going past.’

  ‘Any CCTV footage?’ Mundy asked.

  ‘Good point.’ Cole pointed his index finger at Mundy. ‘CCTV only arrived in Chelmsford in time to record the goings-on when Gillian Packer was murdered but we have not identified any vehicle or pedestrian of interest. So either they are the victims of the same person or persons, or it is the case that on an average of once every three or four years one person or persons acting alone will abduct a sex worker off the street, strangle her and dump her body in a remote location a few miles out of town, be it Chelmsford, King’s Lynn or Norwich or wherever … All that amid the plethora of crimes of violence which take place annually in our little corner of England which is known as East Anglia.’

  ‘I see your difficulty,’ Mundy murmured. ‘You’ve either got a serial killer or you haven’t.’

  ‘That about sums it up.’ Cole smiled and nodded. �
�We have or we have not. As you say, no hallmark, nothing to let us know that all the victims were murdered by the same person … no taunting of the police … and, like I said, there is no increase in the frequency of the murders. The murders are not localized but East Anglia is flat and if the murderer had a car they would travel, so that may not be a significant argument in favour of different perpetrators, but the victims were all strangled whereas Oliver Walwyn was battered over the head. The women were dumped where they would be easily seen while Oliver’s body seems to have been deliberately hidden from view … so, we are quite certain that the murders of Oliver Walwyn and Janet Laws are unconnected. It is just coincidence that they both occurred on the same night and in the same approximate location.’ Cole paused. ‘Oliver Walwyn is a cold case, so over to you gentlemen with that one. Janet Laws is hot. It stays with us. It’s part of Operation Moonlight. We are seeing if we can find a definite link between the murders of the six women.’

  ‘Would you mind if we looked at the file?’ Mundy asked.

  ‘Of Operation Moonlight?’ Cole sounded surprised. ‘I’d have to get clearance, of course, but I can’t see why not. You are still police officers, technically speaking, but I don’t need to remind you gentlemen that you’re investigating the murder of Oliver Walwyn. Please don’t go plunging your little hooves into Operation Moonlight.’

  Walking away from the concrete slab-sided new build that was Chelmsford Police Station, Ingram asked Mundy why he had asked to look at the file on Operation Moonlight.

  ‘It’s not the whole file that I want to read,’ Mundy explained. ‘I really want to look at the file on the murder of Janet Laws. Same night, you see, and in very close proximity to Oliver Walwyn’s murder. It occurred to me that there might be some link, not seen at the time. Anyway, it’s been an unexpectedly long day. Let’s get back to London, shall we? We only came up here for you to show me a pond in a village green, remember?’

  ‘Suits me.’ Ingram took the car keys from his coat pocket. ‘That more than suits me.’

  TWO

  ‘Well, as you know, it’s still very early days, boss.’ Ingram cleared his throat. ‘By that I mean, of course, that it’s very early days for us.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’ Fred Pickering smiled his response. ‘So where next, do you think?’

  ‘I really don’t know.’ Ingram paused. ‘Speaking for myself, I have the distinct impression that it’s going to remain a cold case until a local person comes forward with a confession, possibly even a deathbed confession … but I think Maurice has a notion?’ Ingram turned to Mundy.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Mundy sat forward and clasped his meaty hands together. ‘I would like to investigate any possible connection with a murder which took place on the same night. Essex Police are assuming it to be coincidental – different victim profile, different method of murder, you see … but I’d like to turn the stone over. Essex Police have obtained clearance for us to look at the file.’

  ‘It’s an ongoing case?’ Pickering frowned. ‘I confess I don’t like the sound of that.’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ Mundy replied. ‘It’s ongoing … possibly linked to other similar murders.’

  Pickering glanced out of his office window at the buildings on the south bank of the Thames, at that moment dulled in focus by a relentless drizzle.

  Pickering was a short man for a police officer, and a man whom Mundy had found to be serious-minded. After a brief pause, Pickering turned to Ingram.

  ‘Tom, could you give me and Maurice a moment, please … if you don’t mind?’

  ‘Of course.’ Ingram stood up. ‘I’ll wait outside.’

  ‘Maurice,’ Fred Pickering folded his arms when Ingram had closed the door behind him, ‘I read your file. I had to when you joined the CCRT. But you know that.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Maurice Mundy nodded briefly.

  ‘Do be careful about getting involved in ongoing investigations,’ Pickering cautioned.

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Mundy glanced downwards at the worn carpet in Pickering’s office.

  ‘Don’t eat out of anyone else’s nosebag … don’t drink out of anyone else’s trough … keep inside your traces.’ Pickering spoke solemnly.

  ‘Yes, sir. Understood. Thank you for the advice.’ Mundy looked up at Pickering. ‘I hear what you say.’

  ‘You know the rules,’ Pickering continued. ‘If you do uncover any new evidence, you must hand it over to the boys and girls who are still working towards their pensions. Remember, we’re the old fogies who have been given some old cases to play with before we get dementia. We have no right to conduct formal interviews and no power of arrest.’

  ‘Understood, sir.’ Mundy held eye contact with Pickering. ‘Fully.’

  ‘Understand, remember … and,’ Pickering added sternly, ‘… observe the rules.’

  Mundy stood up. ‘Yes, sir. Will that be all?’

  Outside in the corridor, Mundy approached Ingram. ‘I’d like to nip down to Criminal Records if you don’t mind,’ he said in a calm, pleasant voice.

  ‘Of course.’ Ingram smiled.

  ‘I can meet you in the canteen?’ Mundy suggested.

  ‘If you like. How long will you be?’

  ‘Fifteen minutes, half an hour,’ Mundy replied. ‘It won’t take long … not long at all.’

  ‘That’ll give a little more time for the traffic to clear. Yes, all right.’ Ingram smiled again. ‘I’ll see you down in the canteen.’

  Mundy took the lift down to the basement of New Scotland Yard and walked along the narrow, quiet corridor to Criminal Records. At the enquiry desk of Criminal Records Stanley Kinross limped up to him wearing a wide and a ready grin.

  ‘I see you made it.’ Kinross shook Mundy warmly by the hand. ‘Well done, you.’

  ‘Yes.’ Mundy smiled, shaking Kinross by the hand equally as warmly. ‘The pension’s mine, all mine to have and to hold … can’t be taken from me. Mine until I croak but it’s not an awful lot – it’s hardly a king’s ransom, which is one of the reasons why I applied for the CCRT. It provides a little stipend on top, makes for a living income, keeps my old hand in and it helps to fill the days. I am certain that I’d rot away otherwise. I feel that there’s still life in the old dog yet.’

  ‘Yes, I must say you’re looking fit,’ Kinross observed. ‘Me, I won’t have that option – another eighteen months and they’ll kick me out to grass. No extended service for little old me. I’ll be out of the door asap on a police constable’s pension … full service but still a police constable’s pension. Can’t say I am looking forward to it – money will be tight and no option to continue service in the CCRT for little me. I have no criminal investigation experience. I was never out of uniform.’

  ‘Yes, that was bad luck, Stan … a lot of bad luck.’ Mundy’s jaw was set firm.

  ‘Was it?’ Kinross raised his eyebrows. ‘I survived … patient killed, mental health officer left with permanent brain damage, but I survived. I have to look at it that way – unfortunate maybe but also with a big slice of luck thrown in. I look at it that way … I try to keep a positive outlook.’

  ‘But still, it was a bad show all round,’ Mundy insisted. ‘A very bad show.’

  Kinross pursed his lips. ‘Yes … yes … I was angry at the time, I don’t deny it – I don’t deny it at all. But now … well, I have stopped being angry. It does you no good. I have had a full life … two perfect children, both at university and a very good marriage which still has a lot of passion in it. I’ve a lot to be thankful for. It really could have been an awful lot worse.’

  ‘Well, yes, you beat me on that score.’ Mundy inclined his head. ‘I can’t compete there.’

  ‘You should have got married, Maurice,’ Kinross said matter-of-factly. ‘I can wholly recommend it.’

  ‘No one would have me, Stan … and I always think that it’s better to be happy and contentedly single than unhappy and malcontent in marriage.’ Mundy paused. ‘Well, we must have a beer one day, as we
keep promising we will, but right now I wonder if you can help me?’

  ‘If I can.’

  ‘I’d like to look at the file of Joshua Derbyshire, convicted of murder twenty-eight years ago,’ Mundy explained.

  ‘Twenty-eight years ago. That’s going back a long way.’

  ‘Yes, but he’s still inside,’ Mundy added. ‘He’s still doing bird.’

  ‘Still!’ Kinross whistled. ‘Is he a multiple murder … a serial arsonist?’

  ‘Nope, just one murder. He hacked an old lady to death. It was very, very messy … and then he went in front of a hanging judge who gave him life and set the minimum tariff at thirty years.’

  ‘A throw-the-key-away number.’ Kinross turned and reached for the requisition form. ‘You’ll have to complete this form, Maurice. Is it a CCRT case?’

  ‘No, it’s just something I want to check … something personal.’ Mundy took out a ballpoint pen and began to fill in the requisition form. ‘I won’t keep the file long.’

  ‘It can’t be removed from CR without authorisation,’ Kinross advised as Mundy completed the short form.

  ‘Yes, I know.’ Mundy handed the completed requisition form back to Stanley Kinross. ‘I just have to check a detail or two. Won’t be a jiffy.’

  Tom Ingram drove at a steady speed out of London on the Great Cambridge Road. The journey passed largely with a comfortable and relaxed silence existing between himself and Maurice Mundy. Only when the built-up area of north-west London was behind them and they drove out between ploughed fields near Cheshunt did Tom Ingram ask, ‘So what was down in CR that you wanted to look at? Was it something to do with this case?’

  ‘Who really, not a what,’ Mundy replied, ‘and no, it has nothing to do with our little job. I hope you didn’t mind waiting?’

  ‘No, not at all.’ Ingram fixed his eyes on the road ahead. ‘As you said yesterday, we have more time now and I rather enjoyed my cup of tea and bacon sandwich. I didn’t have much of a breakfast, you see, so it suited me. You have a friend down there … down in the void?’