Murder by Illusion

by Giles Ekins

  Additionally IT specialists would be brought in to set up the network to allow for senior officers to have access to H.O.L.M.E.S, the Home Office Large Major Enquiry System, which will monitor the flow of information, graphically index all documents, process the mass of incoming information so as to ensure that no vital clues are overlooked and eventually prepare the documentation for a court appearance.

  ‘Task Force Salford’ had been set up under the instructions of the Home Secretary following the public outcry after the discovery of the third headless body (there was an election coming up, but that probably had nothing to do with the decision).

  The Task Force was charged to take on primacy of the investigations and be headed by a senior officer from Murder Investigation Team (MIT), in turn part of the Homicide and Serious Crime Command of the Metropolitan Police Service in London. –better known under the metonym of Scotland Yard. The decision to appoint a senior officer from outside of the three forces investigating the murders was both a practical measure to avoid inter-force rivalries and a political PR decision.

  Scotland Yard, famed in film and television, is perceived in the mind of the public as the premier murder investigation organisation in the country. The other regional forces might disagree with that assessment but for the Home Secretary to announce that he has set up an Task Forces to investigate these murders under the auspices of ‘Scotland Yard’ demonstrates decisive positive action – and, looking at it with a cynical eye, is very good PR.

  The decision to establish the Task Force in Manchester was based on the presumption that the killing of Sheila Anne Dudley was the first of the headless killings (it wasn’t but we’ll get to that eventually) together with the fact that Manchester is the most central location of the three murder sites. Moving with commendable speed, within two days of announcing the decision, Task Force Salford was established in the HQ of the GMP, setting up the case related Major Incident Room (MIR) and expanding into adjacent offices as necessary.

  After a minute or two to allow the hub-bub to die down, DCS Kellick cleared his throat and began his prepared introduction. ‘Good morning, I am Detective Chief Superintendent Davidson Kellick from Scotland Yard, that is the Metropolitan Police Service in London, assigned to head the Task Force investigating these three horrendous murders, the killing and decapitation of these three innocent girls. Now let me say right from the onset, that if I hear of anyone attached to this task force referring to the investigation as a Headhunter operation or referring to themselves in that manner or even using the word head hunter or similar, I can assure you that I will have them back in uniform and on traffic point duty before they’ve got time to turn around. Is that clearly understood?’ turning his head from side to side, looking at all the assembled officers.

  A chorus of ‘yes sir’ and ‘sir’ swirls around the room. ‘Now, these poor girls,’ Kellick continued, spreading out his arm to encompass the photographs of the victims taped to white boards, ‘have been killed in the most brutal of manner and as Task Force Salford, we are charged with bringing this murderer to justice. I want him caught and I want him caught quickly and I expect that every one of you, as professional police officers will strive to achieve this one goal. One further word of admonition, not one word of this investigation is to be passed to the vultures of the press. I am the sole contact with the newspapers…’ He could almost envisage the headlines, Kellick of the Yard catches head hunting killer. Kellick of the Yard, he dearly liked the sound of that, ‘and if any word does get into the papers,’ he continued,, ‘ I shall personally break that officer. Is that also clearly understood? Kellick asked.

  ‘Another glory hunter, wants all the attention for himself,’ DC Bernie Hodgson from the Lincolnshire force whispered to DC Frank Merryman.

  ‘Aye, some shit hot DCS from the Yard showing us country plods how to do our jobs, get hisself another notch up the greasy pole of promotion, oi reckon.’ Merryman answers in an exaggerated country bumpkin voice.

  DCS Kellick himself was ambivalent about his appointment as head of Task Force Salford, it was undoubtedly a high profile case, the highest profile case at the present moment and a good quick result would look good on his record, another notch as he clawed his way up the ladder of promotion, the next step was the crossed tipstaves and bayleaf wreath shoulder badge of Commander and then on the dizzy heights of Deputy Assistant Commissioner, Assistant Commissioner, Deputy Commissioner and finally the pinnacle, Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police Service, a post which usually carried a knighthood, Sir Davidson Kellick had a very satisfactory sound to it and Lady Kellick would be well pleased as well, about bloody time, and Kellick was determined to do whatever it took to get there, however many necks he had to climb on, after all what are other peoples necks for if not to tread on your way up? Or to blame on the way down.

  So, although he now headed the highest profile murder case in the land and if he could wrap it up successfully in short order, all well and good and promotion was assured but if it dragged on for years, as say the Yorkshire Ripper case had done, any hope of promotion would drag on as well and meanwhile he was stuck in the north ‘out of sight and out of mind’ whilst his ‘colleagues’ i.e. rivals in the Met would be moving onwards and upwards. Kellick hated the North, so far as he was concerned Hadrian should have built his wall at Watford and so keep all the barbarians out but here he was stuck in Manchester for the foreseeable future. Of course, he would drive home to London every weekend, a luxury he did not however intend to give to his subordinates on the team. He had also brought a small team with him from Scotland Yard, trusted minions whose principle function was to cover Kellick’s back and advise him what the other senior officers in the Task Force were up to, to be able to forestall any bid from within which might weaken his position.

  Kellick was a tall man, with a hard football sized pot-belly, a sharp pointed nose, thin lips, and had been virtually bald apart from a thin horse-shoe shaped ring of mouse-brown hair around the back of his head since his early twenties, as had his father and grandfather before him. Perversely his eyebrows were thick and heavy and his body hair profuse to an almost simian degree and he sported a thick bushy moustache which only seemed to accentuate the paucity of hair on his head. The back of his hands were also very hairy, thick black hair. ‘Ugh, gross,’ thought DC Wendy Iveson, who had an aversion, for reasons she could not rationalise, to hairy men.

  None of this was of apparent concern to Kellick (although privately he had consulted several hair loss clinics and considered a transplant), he was seen as a dedicated police officer, a safe pair of (hairy) hands, ambitious of course but there no harm in that, but he was not popular in the Met (his ambition a bit too naked) and so of course he was expendable should he fail. There was far more at stake than simply solving three murders here, other careers could be affected by his success or failure (and of course there was that upcoming pesky election, to retain his Cabinet seat the Home Secretary needed to be seen as an authoritative figure, strong in his mind and able to take prompt resolute decisions and if a police officer or two have to fall on their swords, so be it)

  Kellick continued his peroration, pressing the team with clichéd exhortations, no stone left unturned, no avenue unexplored, every lead tracked to conclusion, no tolerance for slackness, no mistakes whilst on my watch, you will not fail, I shall not allow you to fail, and so on. And so forth.

  ‘What’s he like then, your man?’ DS Stan Pullings of the Manchester force asked a Met DS. ‘Sounds like a hard bastard?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah, Kellick is that all right, a hard bastard’ the Met DS responded cautiously.

  ‘Aye, but is he fair?’ Most policemen could tolerate a hard bustard provided he was fair and even handed.

  ‘Fair? No…fair is not a word I would particularly use to describe DCS Kellick.’

  ‘Right, nuff said.’ Stan Pullings said, he already had a good idea of the sort of officer DCS Kellick was going to be, He’s got that tight-arsed look, as th
ough he could use a good laxative…’ Kellick would probably be arrogant, sarcastic, bullying and condescending towards his subordinates but creepily obsequious and fawning to his superiors. He would take all the credit and pass on all the blame, Stan Pullings had come across a good few officers like that in his 28 years on the force (when it been a police force and not a police service) and could readily recognise the type.

  DCS Kellick completed his introductory address and now asked the Senior Investigation Officer, the SIO from each murder team to summarise their investigations to date. Detective Chief Inspector Arthur Harris (inevitably known behind his back as ’Bomber’ after the similarly named WWII leader of the RAF Bomber Command) spoke first. He concisely outlined the known facts about Sheila Anne Dudley’s murder, using a laser pointer to indicate on a large scale map the site where her body was found at St. Francis Basin in Merchant’s Quay, Salford. He also pointed to photographs of the site and the body as it was discovered.

  He stated that it was the opinion of the Home Office pathologist, Dr. Desmond O’Brien that Sheila had been strangled by a ligature before she was decapitated and forensic evidence suggested that she had been killed elsewhere and her body transported to the site where her head had been cut off. The head had still not been recovered despite intensive searches of the area and repeated dives by police divers into the basin. A re-enactment of Sheila’s last known movements had been carried out shortly after the murder, a police-woman similar in size to Sheila and identically dressed had followed her known routes and this had produced considerable public response but little of tangible use in finding the killer or killers. Appeals to the public for information are regularly broadcast and the Investigations continue. After taking a few routine questions DCI Harris resumed his seat to allow the next SIO to take over.

  DCI Jackson Maitland, the SIO from the Lincolnshire force spoke next. DCI Maitland was a black officer, prominent locally in the National Black Police Association and highly regarded by all his colleagues, young to have achieved his rank and seen as a high flyer and likely to rise further, to be the first black Chief Constable was not beyond his reach. His summary was precise and professional; he gave the known facts clearly and precisely and was obviously well briefed. His delivery followed the same lines as Bomber Harris’s, the location of the body indicated on a large scale map, victim and site photographs, the pathological evidence that, as in the case of Sheila Dudley, Sandra Worthington had been strangled by ligature, and forensic evidence indicated her body had been transported to the site where she had been beheaded. At the time of discovery of her body, the pathologist suggested she had been dead for between 6 to 8 hours. No trace of her head had, as yet, been found. Appeals to the public for sightings of Sandra in the locality of Grand Parade at the supposed time of her disappearance and details of Sandra’s last movements were being collated. No indication had been discovered as to who the killer or killers were.

  DCI Owen Plowden of the North Wales police was nearing retirement and had risen as far up the ranks as his abilities were going to take him. He had only been assigned to the murder of Miriam Adebayo because the other senior detectives were either on other cases, on holiday or sick. His approach was pedantic and painstakingly by the book, in his earlier career he had been known as PC Plodman, even so, his summary was thorough and echoed those of the two previous. Miriam had been strangled by ligature and her body taken elsewhere, in this case to the Great Orme, for decapitation. No head had so far been found, extensive searches, appeals to the public for information etc. etc.

  After DCI Plowden had finished DCS Kellick rose to his feet and signaled for silence. Only after the whisperings and mutterings had died down did he speak.

  He did not thank any of the SIOs for their summaries. ‘It would seem that my arrival to take over this investigation has come not a moment too soon. I would remind you gentlemen,’ he said, ignoring the fact that least a quarter of the assembled police were female officers, ‘that this is one investigation not three. What I’ve have heard are three disparate, unconnected and uncoordinated reports. Unsatisfactory. Unprofessional and unsatisfactory.’ This was manifestly unfair and unwarranted, all three forces had been in contact, the three SIOs had held at least four conference calls to discuss their cases and a buzz of resentment throbbed around the room. ‘Yeah. Just as I thought,’ Stan Pullings mused, ‘He’ll take the credit and pass on the blame and no shit will ever stick to him.

  Kellick bore it no mind; in fact he had expected it. He has set out his position i.e. that until he took over the investigation was going nowhere. He was not there in Manchester to win popularity contests, he was there to win his promotion to Commander and he did not care whose sensibilities got trampled on in the process.

  After a few more derogatory remarks about the lack of progress and the paucity of coordinated information investigation, pointed in the main at DCI Plowden to whom Kellick had taken an instant dislike the DCS threw the meeting open for suggestions and discussion.

  Among many comments, Ted Lawson, a Lincoln DC suggested that the killer or killers, (there was a strong feeling around the room that the killings were by more than one person i.e. a killer and an accomplice)could be a traveller, pointing towards a map of England on the wall which had the three murder sites indicated by large headed coloured pins but before he could finish he was interrupted by Kellick. ‘A traveller, you mean a gypsy? However did you come up with that idea, travels around in a horse drawn gypsy caravan does he?’ he asked sarcastically raising a titter from a few sycophants.

  ‘No sir, sorry, I did not make myself clear’ Lawson said, prick! ‘I mean he travels in the course of his business, a lorry driver for instance.’ This was not a new idea of course, it had already been kicked around by the various forces, Lawson was only bringing it into the discussion as a line of investigation to be considered. ’Like Peter Sutcliffe, the Yorkshire Ripper, he was a lorry driver.’

  Kellick did not want to be reminded of the Ripper case; it had dragged on for more than five years before Sutcliffe was arrested by chance but only after he had murdered 13 girls and women. This notorious case with a catalogue of errors and missed opportunities to identify Sutcliff had destroyed the careers and health of several officers and Kellick did not intend for this case to go the same way. ‘I suppose so,’ he admitted grudgingly, it was certainly a line of investigation that could not be ignored. ‘But there are many other possibilities to explain the disparity in murder sites.’

  The briefing continued for another 2 hours.

  Meanwhile, after a short 3 day break after the Folkstone show, which had gone down well with an enthusiastic audience, the Billy Boy Boston tour was headed up the M1 towards the Derbyshire spa town of Buxton, and then two days later would cross the Pennines to Blackburn in Lancashire.

  By the time the show reached Buxton, Charlie was unraveling in a big way, drinking heavily and barely sleeping. He sat alone at the rear of the tour coach, often as not cradling a bottle of JD.

  ‘Look at him,’ said one of the road crew, pointing at a comatose Charlie huddled up on the back seat of the coach, ‘he drinks to forget.’

  ‘Forget what? asks another roadie naively.

  ‘Dunno, he’s forgotten!’

  Charlie looked a wreck., he had lost weight and looked haggard and drawn, crumbling from within, his hair was falling out and his dreams, oh his dreams, his nightmares more frightening and horrific night by night, incubi, visions of hell, faceless heads and blood. Blood. Always blood.

  THIRTY-THREE

  Buxton, Derbyshire

  Sharpening his now gaunt features and sunken skeletal cheeks, the dark pitted sleepless eyes and the angle of the red light shining on his ears produced sharp pointed shadows and making it look as though he had horns, suddenly he was the Devil incarnate.

  THE TOWN OF BUXTON IS OVERLOOKED by two highly visible landmarks. To the south is Grinlow Hill upon which is built Grinlow Tower a 2 storey circular, crenellated tower known locall
y as Solomon‘s Tower after Solomon Mycock who in 1836 caused the tower to be built to provide work for the unemployed of the town.

  In the other direction, to the northwest, stands Corbar Hill, atop of which stands the Corbar Cross, a tall simple wooden cross given to the Catholic Church by the Duke of Devonshire.

  It was from this cross that the headless body of Fiona Helen Reid was suspended, discovered by a couple walking their dog on Corbar Hill in the early morning.

  Fiona Helen Reid, known as Helen, was a 58 year old widow. Along with her best friend, a 56 year old divorcee called Brenda Patterson, she had been to see the Billy Boy Boston show at the Buxton Opera house. She did not particularly like Billy Boy Boston and did not like magic shows but Brenda badly wanted to see the show but did not want to go on her own and so Helen, somewhat reluctantly, agreed to go along to keep her company. Helen had not enjoyed the show, she did not like conjurors at the best of times and thought Charlie and the ‘Devil’s Guillotine ‘ illusion to be offensive, almost obscene and Billy Boy Boston just a silly old man trying to pretend that he was still young and virile with his stupid dyed hair, ponytail and pelvic gyrations… Brenda however did enjoy Billy Boy, especially the pelvic gyrations but felt no compunction to throw her knickers at him. After the show they exited onto Water Street and went for a drink at ‘The Old Clubhouse,’ the pub just across the road, Helen had a gin and tonic, Brenda a large schooner of dry sherry. Afterwards they said goodnight, take care, embraced and air kissed each other on the cheeks and went their respective ways, both ladies lived within walking distance of the town centre but in opposite directions. ‘I’ll give you a call tomorrow, love’; Helen said and the last Brenda saw of Helen was of her walking down Water Street and turning to wave. Brenda then walked the other way up Water Street.