Treachery in Torquay

by Lawler, W. P. ;

  The terrified man tried to think of some sort of escape plan, when the muffled menacing voice started up again, whispering hideously through the chilly night air.

  “I say, Mr. Henry Dinsmore,” the voice continued, “do you think it wise to be out this late alone?”

  Henry shakily raised his lantern, its light now showing the features of the scowling inquisitor who was staring directly into his eyes.

  “Oh, it’s you, is it,” Dinsmore nervously replied, with some relief evident in his voice.

  Now, feeling somewhat at ease, Henry offered, “You know, friend, I might ask you the same thing. What in the world are you doing out here all alone?”

  After a brief pause, came the reply, “Ah,” returned the other wearing a sinister smirk, “but I am not alone, councilman.”

  The words were hardly out of his mouth, when, without warning, Dinsmore was seized from behind and violently forced to the ground. Try as he might, he was unable to wrest himself from the clutches of his assailants. Before he could react, one of the attackers forced a dirty rag in his mouth, muffling his calls for help.

  It was all over in seconds as two villainous ruffians quickly stood him upright to await his fate. They quickly turned him around to face his destiny. The man Henry had recognized began to slowly move toward him, carrying something in his right hand, swinging the object back-and-forth.

  “Good bye, Mr. Dinsmore,” the leader voiced in slow, measured ominous tones. “You’ll trouble us no longer!”

  The last thing Dinsmore would see on this earth was a strange hammer-like object being directed toward him. Unable to move, he felt a sharp, searing pain as the weapon pierced his cranial cavity and then, there was only darkness...

  Henry Dinsmore had left his place of work only a short time before, on that fateful October night. As was his usual custom, it being Wednesday, he had been working late. His wife knew his work schedule, which seldom varied. Wednesday was the day Henry chose to catch up on his work. Everyone who knew the man, knew where to find him on Wednesday evenings. He was much admired by the town folk who had happily chosen him to be a member of the council. He was a decent man, God-fearing, sensible, hard-working and a most reliable friend to all.

  Dinsmore was the kind of person often referred to as “the salt of the earth.” Always eager to help his fellow man, he never could have imagined that it would be his last night alive.

  Likewise, the town he loved so much could never have anticipated that this murder would be the beginning of a tragic period in the little town’s history.

  Dark Days for Torquay

  December, 1905

  Christmastime is said to bring out the best in people all over the world. In the Christian religion it celebrates the birth of the Savior, Jesus, the Christ. To a lesser extent, this time of year also evokes the arrival of Father Christmas, bearer of special gifts for the children of many European countries. Of course, other groups find this time of the year meaningful, as well. For example, many follow and celebrate the seasonal equinoxes. Some of these folk conduct elaborate rituals heralding the earth’s annual journey around the sun.

  In this respect, the residents of Torquay were certainly no different. Preparations for this happy season would normally begin very early in December with Torquayians flitting about, decorating their homes and shops. It had always been a joyous time of the year for the inhabitants of this seaside village, one of Britain’s many attractive communities along the South Devon coast.

  This part of the country had long been a premier holiday vacation locale for residents of the many smoke-infested urban areas of London, Birmingham, and Manchester. Indeed, it had become a favorite respite for those wishing to escape the harsh conditions of those industrialized cities. This charming little town was also a popular spot for many on holiday from other nations as well. Travelers from other European and Scandinavian countries had been coming to Torquay for decades, seeking to enjoy the peaceful beauty and serenity of this lovely region of England.

  Though primarily known as a summer resort, it could also prove most attractive during the Yuletide with its colorful displays, beautiful parades, lovely craft shops and winter festivals. Hoteliers and local merchants were the fortunate beneficiaries of this happiest time of the year. Everywhere throughout the small city could be heard the laughter and songs of children, joyfully anticipating the approach of Christmas, and more importantly, at least for most, the annual celebration of the birth of the Savior.

  Sadly, this Christmas would be different, much different for residents and visitors alike. Recent events had placed a pall over the entire region. Oh, there would still be the carols, present-giving, religious ceremonies and all of the other winter holiday activities that served to brighten this time of year. Yes, there would be traditional Christmas celebrations for Torquay, but this year, other, more serious concerns were on the minds of its populace.

  Much of the joy of this holiday season had been taken away from these residents. For you see, the people of Torquay were living in fear! This terrible change all stemmed from a string of unsolved murders. Yes, several of the town’s more illustrious citizenry had met with tragic ends. Initially, it was believed that the first fatality, Henry Dinsmore, community bank officer and one of the town’s councilmen, had tragically died from head injuries received from a fall along his daily walk home. Sad though that was, members of the town knew that such an unfortunate event could happen from time-to-time to anyone, anywhere. Their feelings on the matter, however, changed radically after detective work by the local constabulary had determined that the poor man had been murdered!

  For the last several months the local newspaper had been churning out more and more details as they became available. Opinions differed as to how, why, and where the crime had been perpetrated.

  According to the official police report, on Wednesday evening, October 18th, Mr. Henry Dinsmore had been clubbed to death while returning home from work. The instrument used in the crime had been some type of hammer-like device. The report continued with a description of how investigators believed the event had taken place. Officials surmised that Dinsmore’s attacker(s) had come up from behind him, delivering the fatal blows, sight unseen. They further speculated that the poor man had died almost immediately, so deeply had the skull been penetrated.

  They further determined that the crime had been committed in an isolated section along Meadfoot Road, an area known for its extremely dense vegetation. All who knew that particular parcel of land agreed that it would have been a perfect spot for foul play. It was further stated that police were continuing their search for the murder weapon and the perpetrators. Law officials assured residents that they would not stop until those responsible were arrested and duly brought to justice.

  Many citizens, it must be stated, were quick to criticize the report. Indeed, many supplied theories of their own. Rumors abounded. Some suggested it had been the work of a pagan blood cult that had recently moved into Devonshire. The newspaper followed up those comments with an investigation of its own, sending reporters to visit other parts of England where similar cults had lived and practiced their beliefs.

  Their findings indicated that a small band of Druids had recently moved into the outskirts of Torquay. Leaders of this local cult were called into a meeting with town council members. At that gathering, officials and townspeople raised concerns as to the activities and practices of the group. Many concerns were put forth by the locals, some of whom advanced the belief that this atrocity could be the result of this cult’s appearance on the periphery of Torquay.

  After much discussion, the chieftain of the group, a man called, Terra, was allowed to address the populace. Ignoring the derisive and threatening verbal abuse that arose from the angry audience, he offered the following remarks:

  “My dear people, we only wish to live in peace and harmony with all of you. We are m
erely following our religious convictions, that is all. Some of our practices might seem unusual to you, but let me assure you, they are of no danger to anyone. Please know that we are willing to cooperate with community leaders in all ways possible and hope to allay your fears.”

  “As proof of our good intentions,” Terra continued, “I invite any of Torquay’s council members or groups of citizens to come to our encampment to see how we live. You will certainly find that ours is a peaceful band that only seeks to worship nature. That is what we do and what we will always seek to do.”

  Councilmen were quick to take the clan leader up on his offer. Under the direction of Chief Inspector Miles Davis, council members Trent Hall and Eldridge Fenwick made plans to visit the encampment to observe how the Druids conducted their daily enterprises. They announced that they would “see for themselves and report back to the community” at the next town hall meeting. That plan seemed to settle the crowd, at least for the moment, but they would eagerly be awaiting the findings.

  When next the council met, those who had visited the Druid camp provided a detailed follow-up report. The main conclusion drawn, after much discussion, was that members of the sect, while different from the local citizenry, seemed to be an honest, hard-working lot. They followed and honored the changing seasons of Mother Earth. Their religion was based on harmony and friendship. Other descriptions of the cult’s daily duties and rituals that had been observed were also put forth during the meeting and further analysis of their lifestyle seemed to quell much of the early fears expressed by many of the local citizens.

  Indeed, after hearing those findings, many curious Torquay inhabitants visited the cult grounds to have a look for themselves. Town records indicated that several villagers were so attracted to what they had seen and discovered that they, in fact, had actually joined the sect!

  Still, once that discussion had concluded, the town folk continued to return to the Dinsmore murder. Again came more rumors as to how Dinsmore may have met his death. Some believed that he had been killed by his jealous wife, who, it had been speculated, had caught him in some illicit adulterous affair.

  Another outlandish accusation had Dinsmore victimized by hired assassins over gambling debts he had supposedly accrued. It seemed as though every member of the village had an idea as to why Dinsmore was singled-out, and each suggestion appeared zanier than the one before.

  Why some of the townspeople even resurrected the legend of the “Demon from Daddyhole”! While most in the area thought that the legend of the Daddyhole Demon was just that, there were those who truly believed! In fact, in the days that followed, the town newspaper began to interview locals who had claimed to have witnessed strange happenings on, or near, the Daddyhole. Many of those who had come forward to testify seemed strangely delusional. Officials who had interviewed these people suggested that perhaps they were looking for some attention to validate their own existence. Other accounts, however, were not so easily dismissed.

  It seemed that one of the town’s seamstresses vowed that she had seen the Demon speeding along the edge of Daddyhole Cliff atop his black charger. She was soon joined by others who likewise imagined they had heard his fearsome cries and eerie shrieks echoing along the shoreline below!

  Officials were, naturally, very concerned about these reports. They tried their best to dispel the fears that were now tearing their quiet little community apart, but it would not be an easy task. Town meetings were now being conducted each and every Monday, not once a month. Citizens were encouraged to attend these gatherings to voice their continued concerns and to help develop plans to put an end to these many spurious and often ridiculous speculations.

  Citizens were growing more and more frenzied. They began to exhibit complete frustration with those in authority. Police officials soon became the main targets of the collective town wrath. Most of those in attendance were sensible residents who understood that the law enforcement officers were doing their level best to solve the horrendous crime. But there were others in the audience with very different points of view.

  At one of the gatherings, a group of residents produced a list of questions that they felt needed to be addressed. They were tired of the official responses that had been given in an effort to assuage their very real fears. One particularly interested individual, Vicar David Prentiss, headed a small, but passionate group that believed Torquay had been targeted by demonic spirits.

  Prentiss offered, “My dear council and citizens, do you not see the reason for this atrocity? It is us, all of us, who are being punished by the Almighty for our wicked ways. It is that simple! All that we need do is turn from our sinful ways and repent. Don’t you see, my good people?”

  The vicar’s words were met by a mixed chorus of “Amens” and “The Vicar’s a Looney” coming from the anxious crowd. Clearly, this cleric’s position was not unanimously held.

  Next to express their concerns was a group represented by Molly Stone, who spoke on the matter of the demon that she and several others believed they had seen at Daddyhole.

  “Before it is too late,” she pleaded to the law enforcement community, “you must gather the area constables and even our army, if needed, and investigate and close up the Daddyhole!”

  Her brief remarks were accompanied by some raucous behavior by some of her followers, along with repeated chants of “Destroy Daddyhole... Destroy Daddyhole...”

  The ensuing demonstration lasted several minutes before order could be restored. At that point, Mr. James Cary, council president, suggested that the entire community needed to “calm down and begin to work together.”

  “My fellow Torquayians,” he began, “I know that we are all committed to solving this crime, for that is what it is, first and foremost. While many of you seem to think that this murder is due to some sort of demonic activity or our town’s failure to observe God’s laws, and let me add, that at this point there might be some justification for those feelings, I believe that this atrocity was committed by the actions of ordinary, flesh-and-blood, evil-minded humans. These individuals will be caught and they will pay for their actions. You have my word on that.”

  “It’s easy for you to speak those words,” came the reply from one of the townsfolk, “but what if there are additional killings, and still there are no arrests?”

  Cary raised his hand and started to respond to the comment, when another resident loudly voiced, “Yes, Cary, words are cheap, aren’t they? We demand actions...”

  That last remark fomented renewed riotous chanting, pushing and shoving, and chairs heaved about, willy-nilly, necessitating the abrupt adjournment of that night’s town meeting. In fact, due to that outbreak, town leaders decided to postpone the next scheduled meeting until further notice, hoping that time might allow tempers to cool.

  For a while, things seemed to be getting better. Normality had returned and the day-to-day occurrences of life in a small town were once again observed, even though the community was still trying to deal with the Dinsmore murder.

  Suddenly, the relative peace that had returned was fractured when constables announced that another councilman’s body had been found, this time at Belgrave Road. On November 22nd, Trent Hall, another well-respected citizen, had been killed, and his death added even greater turmoil to an already terrified populace. Town leaders immediately scheduled an emergency meeting and spokesmen again demanded answers from police officials. Mothers and fathers prayed for an end to these terrible murders and demanded swift apprehension and prosecution of the guilty parties. Chief Inspector Davis could only restate that his men were doing their level best, and once more promised full prosecution once the murderers were finally apprehended.

  Clearly, that was not enough for the town folk. They suggested hiring additional peace officers to patrol the town until the criminals were captured. Again it was up to Councilman James Cary to try and sooth their concerns, offerin
g reward monies to any information that might lead to solving these heinous crimes. His offer, while well-meaning, had little effect on the frenzied residents.

  Several more weeks passed and things seemed to be better with the addition of some additional police personnel, newly hired in response to the angry townspeople. Business was picking up and residents appeared to be less apprehensive, though most anxious for the killer(s) to be found. Still, stark reminders would continue to haunt the villagers until the murders were solved.

  Yes, things had once again settled down for a time until December 15th. On that fateful day, a wagon pulled by two Clydesdales came rushing through the center of town, with a much-agitated driver screaming, “They’ve found another body on Babbacombe Road. It’s Tom Dennison.”

  At that, an angry crowd began to form and follow the wagon to police headquarters. Members of the group appeared ready to riot against the very people whose job it was to protect them! Women were sobbing as they hugged their children, and when Chief Inspector Miles Davis walked out to speak, he was pelted with rocks, sticks, and anything the crowd could find.

  Suddenly, and most fortunately, Vicar Prentiss climbed the front stairs of the headquarters and, raising his hands to quiet the demonstrators, spoke loudly, “My friends, what are we doing? I implore you, in the name of the Almighty, please stop what you are doing and think! Look at what you are becoming!”

  Seconds later, an angry shout came from one of the assembled townspeople, “Vicar, get out of the way. We don’t wish to hurt you. It’s them... They don’t do anything to protect us. Don’t you see, yet another member of our community has been murdered... .That’s three... three councilmen!”

  The crowd again appeared ready to riot, but Vicar Prentiss again raised his hands and offered, “My friends, I ask you to be reasonable. Do you really blame these horrendous murders on our fine constables? Do you wish to make things worse by punishing the very people who have been working day and night to try and solve these hellish events?”