The Trophy Taker

by Sarah Flint

There was more to this group than met the eye. Everything was indicating to Charlie that they were keeping a secret; and she was determined to find out what it was.

  Chapter 13

  ‘Hunter, Charlie, I think I’ve got a possible vehicle for the murderer.’ The excitement was palpable in Bet’s voice over the mobile phone speaker. ‘I’ve shown Paul and we’re backtracking now to see if we can get a full registration number. We’ve only got a partial index at the moment but hopefully we’ll have one soon. Are you nearly finished with your enquiries?’

  ‘Yep, we’re on our way. You guys have got twenty minutes to get me the suspect’s name before we arrive or I’m sending you back out on the beat,’ Hunter teased.

  ‘You’d better be quick then. Paul looks like he’s just spotted something.’

  Hunter ended the call and indicated for Charlie to put her foot down. If they had identified a vehicle, hopefully they would have a suspect, or at least a line of enquiry with previous owners that might lead to the current one. They needed to get the murderer banged up in a cell for life, before he took someone else’s. The only slight ray of optimism was that, if it was indeed personal, it was likely to be a one-off. Susan had been targeted for a reason. Hopefully the same set of circumstances that had driven her murderer to kill her wouldn’t fit anyone else. But they couldn’t take the chance.

  Charlie slapped the blue light on top of the car and started the sirens. She waited a few seconds for the motorists all around her to work out where the noise was coming from and then pressed her foot on the accelerator. The London evening rush-hour parted and she shot through the middle. After a few minutes, she passed West Norwood cemetery. The blue and white incident tape indicated that officers were still on the site, no doubt combing every last inch of the place for the missing ring finger and engagement ring. It would probably take a good few more days of intense searching until they were satisfied they hadn’t missed either. She was glad it wasn’t her. She’d never have the patience, although, just like watching hours of CCTV, it could be the key to solving the case.

  They passed through Tulse Hill now and headed towards Brixton. Her mind switched automatically to thoughts of Cornell Miller. Could he be holed up in one of the blocks? Could he be roaming the ‘front line’ in Brixton, searching for a dealer, or worse still searching for a fresh victim? She made a mental note to check in with Naz and Sabira for any further progress on that investigation. She’d get back to it as soon as she could.

  On into the town centre and then left towards Stockwell. A small shrine of flowers and handwritten notes outside Stockwell tube station reminded passers-by of the death of Jean Charles de Menezes, shot by police in the wake of the 7/7 London bombings. It was a shooting that had left a scar on the memory of the community; another victim of the terror that had pervaded the capital that July. And no doubt would again.

  They were passing through Vauxhall now, round the one-way system, under the railway arches where the clubs and saunas of Lambeth’s gay community were situated. It was quiet at this time; too early for the start of the evening activities, too late for the last of the midday clubbers. A few rainbow flags still hung from lamp posts, thin and tatty remnants of the London Pride festivities.

  The Thames came into view as she accelerated along the Albert Embankment, grey and murky in the October shadows. With just over an hour or so before sunset, it was hard to imagine how much darker and gloomier it could get. She shuddered involuntarily at the thought.

  And then they were there. She switched the sirens and blue lights off, leaving the flashing headlights on to indicate to the gatekeeper they needed a quick entry. True to form they didn’t get one. By the time they had warrant cards checked and the bar was lifted, Charlie could have run round and done it herself. Still, security had to be adhered to. There was no more vaulting barriers and expecting a mild caution. These days disciplinary action would be taken and with all the hassle that involved, even Charlie had to observe protocols, however much it irked her.

  Bet and Paul were bent over a bank of computer terminals when they got into the office. Naz and Sabira stood directly behind. The four of them were deep in conversation, pointing at the screen, before waiting for Paul to rewind the DVD, only to stare at the footage again. They didn’t even notice Hunter and Charlie’s arrival.

  ‘Can you zoom in on that registration plate?’ Bet said, propping her reading glasses further up the bridge of her nose. ‘It’s got to be that one; same make, model and partial index as before, same single male occupant, right direction and look it’s 01.37, so the time fits.’

  Naz pushed her head forward, in between Bet and Paul as he adjusted the screen. ‘Bingo! Look there it is. LV07JCF. It’s got to be the right one. Bloody hell, Bet, Paul, well spotted. That’s wicked. The boss’ll be made-up.’

  ‘Good evening, team. Glad to see you’re all working so well together. What’ll I be made-up about then?’ Hunter stepped forward, pretending not to know and was immediately propelled towards the group by Naz who had run across to them and taken both he and Charlie by the arms. They leant in as Bet pointed excitedly at the screen.

  ‘I’ve spent all day scanning what footage we’ve been sent so far. Lambeth Council have cameras positioned at intervals all along Norwood Road and Norwood High Street and back towards Tulse Hill, Herne Hill and Brixton. It’s a bit sketchy further south. ‘Anyway, I concentrated on the cemetery initially. You can see vehicles turn in and come out through the broken gates, though the cameras are at the wrong angle to see registration numbers and with the winds that night they’re vibrating about a bit so a lot of the footage is blurry. I started from 7 p.m. because we know that Emma phoned Susan on the home landline then. ‘There were actually quite a few vehicles that came and went throughout the evening; though God knows why anyone would want to be going in there on a windy, dark Sunday night. Anyway, I noted down what I could of the vehicle makes and models and the times they entered and left. Most stayed between fifteen minutes to an hour or so. As it got later fewer cars came and went.’

  Bet checked a piece of notepaper in front of her on the desk.

  ‘But then at 23.19 a dark-coloured Vauxhall Estate enters. I checked back several times, but it looks to only have one occupant, the driver. Anyway, it stays until 01.34. It’s in there for over two hours! Why on Earth would a single person be in a cemetery for two hours at that time of night?’

  ‘Unless he’s not alone? Maybe there is another person with him that we can’t see,’ Charlie voiced her thoughts.

  ‘Exactly what I was thinking too. So I started checking it out more carefully. When the car comes out at 01.34, it turns left onto the one-way system because it has to, but then goes all the way round and heads off north in the direction of Tulse Hill. Paul has helped me track back over its movements after it left. We’ve looked at all the cameras in Norwood Road but only managed to get a partial index; the film was too grainy and blurred because of the weather conditions. I thought it was still a good lead and that’s when I phoned you. I know they can do wonders with partial index numbers these days, especially if we know the make and model of the vehicle. ‘But… while we were waiting for you to come back, Naz and Sabira came in and we’ve all been viewing the CCTV from around the Tulse Hill one-way system. It’s much better lit and the car comes to a stop at the lights for ten seconds at least. Look at what we’ve just found.’

  ‘I think we heard. You were so engrossed you didn’t see us come in, but let’s have a look.’ Hunter moved closer.

  Paul rewound a minute or so of recording and they moved aside to let Hunter and Charlie see better. She watched as a large, dark-coloured estate car came into view, driving slowly around the one-way system, its brake lights illuminated as it eased down the hill and stopped at the red light on the South Circular. The wind had made the footage vibrate with tree boughs swinging in and out of the camera sights, obscuring the view intermittently but they could still see the stationary vehicle. Paul paused the footage
and zoomed in and they could clearly see the registration number LV07JCF, just as Naz had shouted out.

  ‘That’s great work, all of you, but especially you, Bet and Paul. Maybe I won’t send you back out on the beat after all. There’s only one thing that I’m thinking though. Can we say that the car at the cemetery is definitely this one? If we weren’t able to see the registration plate as it entered and left, and then only got a partial index between the graveyard and here, could the defence say that it’s not the same car?’

  Bet turned to Hunter, a triumphant look on her face. ‘Boss, watch this. Press play, Paul.’

  He did as he was told and they watched as the traffic lights turned to green and the car pulled slowly away.

  Bet pointed excitedly at the screen. ‘Look, boss. As it pulls away, the driver takes his foot off the brakes so the brake lights go out. Without them dazzling the view of the light cluster, you can see that the rear nearside light is out. That’s the same as the vehicle going in and out of the cemetery and along Norwood Road. Every image we have shows the same defective light. The car leaves the murder scene at 01.34 and after three minutes arrives at Tulse Hill at 01.37, which is spot on too. With all the other details and the timeline as it is, the defence wouldn’t have a hope if they tried to argue that. It all fits together perfectly.’

  Hunter clapped his hands together enthusiastically. Charlie could see he was fired up. They all were.

  ‘Excellent work, Bet. It looks like we’ve got our murderer’s car bang to rights.’ He looked round at his jubilant team before raising his voice slightly. ‘Right team! Now we’ve got our car. We’ve just got to find who was driving it.’

  Chapter 14

  ‘LV07JCF comes back to a Dark Blue Vauxhall Vectra 1.8i five-door estate. It’s registered and insured to a single male by the name of Oscar Abrahams, date of birth 29/12/1968, who is shown living at 14, Burnet Grove, Camberwell, SE5.’

  Charlie scribbled the details down in her pad before entering the male’s details into the computer. ‘Woah, he’s very well known. Shown as an RSO with sixteen previous convictions. I’ll have a look at what they are.’ She started scrolling down through them.

  ‘Dirty bastard,’ Paul muttered. ‘I hate registered sex offenders. There’s no excuse these days. If you want sex, it’s easy to get, without forcing it on others. Just sign up to one of the hundreds of websites and say you’re not interested in a relationship, you’ll get plenty of offers.’

  ‘Is that how you do it, Paul?’

  ‘It’s how everyone’s doing it. Ask Naz and Sabira. They’ve signed up with a few recently.’

  ‘Not that it’s doing me any good.’ Naz raised her eyebrows. ‘All the ones I meet who say they want a relationship, clearly want relationships with fourteen others at the same time.’

  ‘And there’re not too many young Asian females out there either who are brave enough to have come out.’ Sabira added. ‘Most are too frightened of being sent back to India by their parents if they do.’

  ‘I thought things were changing in that respect, Sab,’ Bet queried.

  ‘I wish I could say they were, but attitudes are slow to change, especially in the older generation and my culture is based on respect for the elderly. Younger people are more enlightened; but just too scared. You can meet Asian girls online, but having any sort of relationship is nigh on impossible. Arranged marriages are still the norm and homosexuality still a taboo. Can’t you see that from my workload?’

  Bet nodded. The majority of Sabira’s work was dealing with domestic assaults and offences around ‘honour’ customs, as well as the increased Islamophobia heightened by the terror attacks in France and the rest of mainland Europe.

  ‘Yes, you are busy. It’s a real shame. Let’s hope things improve a bit quicker.’

  ‘It can’t come quick enough. What about you, Charlie?’

  She stopped reading the screen momentarily. ‘I haven’t time for all that, besides, Ben keeps me busy enough as it is. He’s doing well beating the booze and getting fitter. It’s not long to go before Tough Guy and, at the rate he’s going, he’ll be the one waiting for me, rather than the other way round.’

  ‘I thought he was always waiting for you?’ Paul said. ‘One day you’ll either make him the happiest man on Earth or break his heart.’

  ‘Don’t say that, Paul. He’s such a lovely bloke. Anyway, back to business,’ she changed the subject. She didn’t want to dwell on what might or might not happen with Ben in the future. ‘This Oscar Abrahams guy is a real sicko. Most of his convictions are for sexual assaults on young boys, some as young as five and six, plus two for buggery with victims aged eleven and twelve years. He’s been to prison on several occasions; which has probably widened his social circle and made him even worse. He’s also got previous for possessing obscene material, some random theft type offences and drugs.’

  ‘So why would he be targeting middle-aged women?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ Paul had a point. She tried to think of anything remotely credible. ‘Maybe it’s not all middle-aged women. Maybe it was Susan Barton specifically. She was a teacher and his address is not that far away from the Academy where she worked. Maybe he was conducting some sort of liaison with one of the kids at the school and she’d found out and gone to the head teacher.’

  She thought back to the secret that she suspected the three teachers were keeping. ‘Maybe there was some sort of connection between him and the Academy that they were trying to hide? There was something going on there.’

  ‘Well, it’s an interesting theory, whatever the truth.’ Paul pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his drawer and banged them on the table in front of him. ‘Hopefully he’ll have a chance to explain himself, very shortly.’

  ‘I’ll get a photo of him and check the address we’ve got. If that looks current, we could go and bring him in now.’

  Charlie ran the address through various search engines. The voter’s register and Police National Computer showed him living at the same address in Camberwell. There was no one else shown as living there and no other obvious risks, such as dangerous dogs.

  Hunter walked back through from his office and Charlie filled him in on what they’d established about Abrahams. She knew that he would feel the same as Paul. He’d often said how he hated ‘nonces’. There weren’t many police officers, or for that matter, members of the public anywhere who didn’t.

  ‘Right, give me a few minutes and I’ll get a few troops lined up. We’ll go and get the dirty bastard straightaway.’

  ‘OK boss. I’ll get a quick briefing prepared.’

  True to his word, within a matter of minutes the office was buzzing with extra officers. The briefing was short and to the point, with the group huddled round Charlie’s workstation listening intently.

  The house at 14 Burnet Grove, SE5 was a large Victorian property, split into three converted flats, each flat occupying a floor to itself. Abrahams lived in the first-floor flat. She pulled up an image of the house that she’d found on Google Earth and pointed to the front door to the premises. To its right were three doorbells, so it was probable that a security system was installed to prevent easy entry to the building. Access to the rear garden was open, with no fences or walls to bar their way.

  Sabira would go immediately to the rear of the house to watch for any signs of movement, or on entry, for anything discarded by Abrahams. Charlie didn’t want to give him the chance to dispose of evidence before they were in and muddy the waters should the case reach court.

  Paul would then try to establish definitively if Abrahams was there by pretending to be a pizza delivery man and persuading Abrahams to let him in to speak with him. He was a dab hand at this, having undertaken the same role on many occasions before. He was already in the process of organising himself a high visibility tabard, crash helmet and leaflets from a locker at the back of their office, as well as ordering an actual pizza in case Abrahams called his bluff.

  If there was no sign of t
heir suspect or they were unable to confirm his presence, they would wait and watch, while Naz got an out-of-hours warrant from a local Magistrate. She was typing one up in readiness. They couldn’t force entry if Abrahams wasn’t there without one.

  If, however Abrahams was there Paul would hold the communal door to allow the arrest team easier access. On Hunter’s order they would queue up behind the building line, before advancing in through the communal door, and heading upstairs to Abrahams’ flat. A member of the MIT team would smash through it with an enforcer, or ‘big red key’ as it was more fondly known and once breached they would enter, secure and arrest Oscar Abrahams and anyone else in the premises. If Paul wasn’t able to hold the communal door, it too would be forced.

  All officers were to wear their body armour and carry safety equipment and the two officers first through the door would be armed with tasers, to use if they assessed any threat of violence.

  That was it, the whole operation shouldn’t last more than a few minutes before they had their suspect arrested, in handcuffs and ready to be processed, hopefully through to charge. They just needed him to be there.

  ‘Any questions?’

  Charlie stood back and waited, but there were none.

  ‘Right, I’ll show you the latest custody image of Abrahams. He has warning signals of violent and drugs and is a registered sex offender with pre-cons for sex offences against children, predominantly boys. He is also a drug user, so be prepared for needles or any paraphernalia you might find in the flat. And, needless to say, we have to do this correctly if we’re not to give the bastard a get-out-of-jail-free card. So please, be professional; even though you might not want to be. You know the score.’

  There was a hum of disapproval at her words. They knew the sort of stuff they would be expecting to find. It was not a job that any of them relished.

  Quickly, she put Oscar Abrahams’ details into the custody imaging icon and watched as his name sprang up; last arrested for possession of indecent images at the end of 2015. Within a moment, Abrahams was staring out of the computer at them from the front and side profiles; thickset, thick-jowled, shaven-headed and with a tattoo of the male gender symbol on both sides of his neck.