Killing by Colours

by Wonny Lea

  ‘I most sincerely hope so, dying will be too good for him,’ Martin replied. ‘I want the opportunity of making him face up to what he has done. Alex, can you believe that I worked with the guy for the best part of two years – was I deaf and blind back there? I certainly didn’t anticipate he would turn into a serial killer.’

  ‘Hey, mate, don’t beat yourself up on his account. I dismissed a lot of what I heard about him as being some sort of urban myth, but on reflection it was probably all true.’ Alex left Martin and went to give his team some instructions.

  Helen was sitting with Connie Jackson and rose to her feet as Martin approached.

  ‘Stay where you are,’ he said. ‘Wait until the paramedics are ready to move Connie and then I want you to go with her.’

  He turned to Connie, who was now much more composed, and asked if there was anyone he could contact on her behalf. She managed a smile as she gave him Roberto’s telephone number. ‘Just tell him I’ve had an accident playing golf, but don’t be surprised if he tells you that I’m not playing golf because he thinks I’m shopping. It’s a long story, Inspector, and one that I may have to lie my way out of later.’

  ‘I’ll need to talk to you, but there’s no urgency now. Let the doctors sort you out first and we’ll take it from there,’ said Martin.

  He watched the second ambulance drive off – no flashing lights this time. He thought for a moment that it could have been Alex’s team transporting Connie’s body if there had been a different outcome.

  Martin walked back to the reception area with Sgt Evans, and for the first time he took in the beauty of the surroundings. The course had been developed making the most of the natural rises and falls of the ground. At one moment there was a clear view for miles around and the next one could see only trees as the course sloped downwards. There was no sign of twenty-first century life, no traffic noise, and Martin could suddenly see the attraction of spending hours in such a setting.

  Sgt Evans had picked up the same vibes. ‘Peaceful, isn’t it? It could have been so different.’

  When the two men reached the reception area it was to see a very relieved group of police officers being served coffee by the receptionist and the cleaner. They had all heard the news that the situation was now under control, and offered drinks to Martin and Sgt Evans.

  After five minutes of general debriefing Sgt Evans dispatched some of the officers back to base and posted two at the entrance to the golf club. There would be no golf played today, but the place would be inundated with ghoulish sightseers and hordes of media people as soon as the news broke.

  Martin knew he had a duty to inform Superintendent Bryant of the outcome, as he had been the one who authorised the use of the armed response team and would be waiting for a report. However, his first phone call was to Roberto who, as Connie had anticipated, was more than a bit confused, as he had been expecting his fiancée to return soon and with designer bags full of shopping. Martin did as Connie had suggested and spoke of an accident on the golf course.

  Roberto didn’t question why a DCI would be involved in such an event, and a phone call didn’t seem to be the appropriate way to tell him that Connie could have been murdered – he would find out about that when he saw she was alive and relatively well.

  Martin phoned Superintendent Bryant who told him that he had already heard that the armed response team had been stood down, as some people seemed to understand their chain of command and act accordingly. Not a word of ‘well done’ or ‘good result’ or even ‘it’s a relief to get that over with no fatalities’.

  Sadly Martin realised that he had not expected those words anyway, and listened resignedly as the superintendent announced that there would be a press conference at 2 p.m., and that he would attend.

  Martin had promised Sgt Evans that when this was all over he would ensure that the case of the murdered prostitutes would be reopened. From what Evans had told him, the superintendent had been in a position to at least ask questions at the time and Martin was determined to hear him answer some now.

  Putting that to one side for the moment, Martin spoke to the receptionist and the cleaner.

  The cleaner recalled. ‘I recognised Mr Austin as soon as I saw him this morning. He used to be a member here, but he was always such a miserable sod that I was prepared to ignore him. I was really surprised when he started talking to me, first about it being a lovely day and then saying how hard I must work to get everything so spick and span. It was nice to be appreciated, but I had work to do so I just got on with it. He did keep talking – something about checking a tee-off time, and I know he looked at the book on the reception desk but I didn’t speak to him again. Is he really the killer that’s been on the news? I was here on my own with him, I could have been killed!’

  Martin gave his usual reassurance about the killer’s selective nature, and then listened as the receptionist told the story of the molehills. She was able to give the name and a contact number for the man who had been contacted by the killer, and Martin thanked the two women for their help.

  ‘We will need formal statements from both of you later,’ said Martin. ‘There will be a police presence here for the foreseeable future, but here’s my card and you can ring me directly if you need to.’

  Martin walked back out onto the patio and asked Sgt Evans if he was in a position to drive him to the hospital and then back to Goleudy. John nodded.

  Back in the car, and driving away from the Greenway Valley Golf Club, both men were silent. Both were locked into their own thoughts and when Sgt Evans finally spoke it was nothing to do with the current murders.

  ‘Don’t let my old grumbles ruin things for you. I may have got things wrong back then when Vincent Bowen was arrested. I don’t want you opening up a can of worms and annoying the hierarchy.’ He grinned. ‘We’ve all got you named as the next superintendent and I don’t want to be the one that stops that happening.’

  ‘Thanks for the vote of confidence,’ said Martin. ‘But that job’s not for me – at least not yet, John. What you told me about the Vincent Bowen investigation only served to make me remember that there were always issues that bothered me. On reflection, I think I was deliberately sidelined, but I shouldn’t have allowed that to happen and I owe it to that boy to take a fresh look. It will open a can of worms, but so be it. If we find discrepancies with the evidence in that case it will lead to other cases that Austin headed up being scrutinised. You’re right, John, it certainly won’t make me popular with the powers that be – but so what?’

  They reached the University Hospital of Wales and parked outside A&E. From there they were offered the choice of two locations for both their enquiries. Norman Austin was either in the Surgical ICU or actually in the operating theatre. According to the receptionist surgery was certainly planned. Connie Jackson was either on the orthopaedic ward or still in the X-ray department.

  By mutual consent they headed for the Surgical ICU, and found Matt talking to a short, thin woman dressed in blue scrubs.

  Matt made the introductions. Mrs Harrison, a Senior Registrar in vascular surgery, had just started to tell Matt what was happening.’

  ‘Good timing, Chief Inspector,’ she said. ‘Now you can all hear things at the same time and save me repeating myself. We were told there could have been two bullets, but you will know more about that than I do.

  ‘Certainly a bullet shot clean through the brachial artery, and you would have seen a lot of bright red blood spurting out. Bright red because the blood in that artery is oxygen-rich. The speed at which it was forced out would depend on the person’s heart rate.’

  ‘I suspect that this man was really pumped up when he was hit, and so he would have lost a great deal of blood very quickly. As the blood flows from the artery in synchronisation with the heartbeat, it would have looked as if less was flowing out as he got weaker and his heart rate slowed down. But it won’t stop completely until either he dies or until the artery is repaired – and that’s w
hat’s happening now: he’s undergoing arterial surgery.

  ‘We have supplied him with replacement blood and prevented further blood loss from the artery but he is in a very weak condition and we have been expecting him to arrest. He’s a big man, but not particularly fit, and there may be other factors that are preventing the response we would have hoped for by now. One factor could be that possible second bullet that so far has eluded our detection.’

  ‘Anyway, Chief Inspector, it will be a long time before he is able to talk to you, so why don’t you leave him to us and we’ll give you a call when we have any news. Oh by the way, do you know if there any relatives that we should notify?’

  Martin shook his head and looked for help from Sgt Evans. ‘We could have a look in his old file ­– there might be something there.’

  The surgeon acknowledged his words and at the same time her pager bleeped and she raised her eyebrows. ‘My consultant is obviously useless without me, so I need to go.’ Turning on her heels she quickly disappeared into the operating theatre.

  ‘She’s right,’ said Matt. ‘The nurses tell me that this type of surgery can take hours and hours and that’s when things go according to plan. After surgery he’ll be on a ventilator in the Intensive Care Unit so there’s no fear he will get away, other than escaping justice by not recovering.’

  The three men left the surgical unit and headed for the orthopaedic wards. ‘This looks a bit mob-handed,’ Martin said to the other two. ‘Why don’t you both go to the concourse and get some coffee and I’ll follow you shortly.’

  Connie Jackson was lying on a bed with her legs elevated. She looked somewhat frail, and was being comforted by Roberto, who stood up as her visitor approached.

  ‘I think it’s all starting to sink in,’ she said. ‘I only got away with what I did because he wasn’t expecting me to do anything. I don’t think if I had realised the possible consequences back there I would have been able to kick both my legs backwards with enough force to make contact with his knees and cause the bastard to fall directly onto his injured shoulder.’

  Roberto tutted at his fiancée’s language, and it caused both Martin and Connie to laugh.

  ‘That’s mild compared to what we’ve been calling him since the start of this investigation, and it’s all completely justified,’ said Martin.

  Roberto nodded. ‘If he had killed Connie I would have killed him.’

  Martin ignored the suggestion and asked Connie what was happening with her.

  ‘I have my legs up in the air in an attempt to reduce the swelling,’ she said. ‘At first they were sure I had broken bones in my ankle but now there’s a chance that it’s just bruising caused by the impact, they are taking a close look at the X-rays – pray for the latter, Chief Inspector, because then I’ll be able to get home. There are things there that will help me get over this.’

  Assuming she was talking about her home comforts and not a line of white powder, Martin agreed to pray and updated Connie on what was happening with Austin. This seemed to unnerve Roberto. ‘You mean to say that man is here, in this hospital? What if he finds out where Connie is?’

  Connie gripped Roberto’s hand and Martin explained that Austin was in theatre and surgeons were fighting for his life. ‘I hope this is one fight they lose,’ snapped Roberto.

  After explaining that he would visit her at home if she was discharged or else come back to the hospital later, Martin went in search of his colleagues and half an hour later all three were back in Goleudy.

  As always when a case was solved the incident room looked as if a bomb had been dropped. The poems now made complete sense and lots of little pieces of evidence added up. There were still things that would need to be followed up but they could be dealt with at a reasonable pace.

  The team was normally on a high at this point, but today that euphoria was severely tempered by the fact that the captured killer had at some time in the past actually been a DCI. Although there had been a healthy degree of staff turnover since he was in office there were still some people who remembered DCI Norman Austin. Everyone had a pretty good idea of what the press would make of the killer being an ex-police officer – it would certainly be their focus.

  Martin knew he had to speak to Superintendent Bryant and decided it would be best to do so before the press conference, but there was one particular thing he had to deal with first. He couldn’t believe that it was only a few minutes past twelve o’clock. Since that unwelcome very early morning call from Matt it felt as if he had lived through two whole days at least.

  Mrs Taylor had reported her husband missing several hours ago and had not yet been told of his murder. Martin knew that he should be the one to tell her, and used his Alfa Romeo to drive Helen to the address given to them by Barry police station. Matt was left in charge of clearing up a number of loose ends and keeping in contact with the hospital.

  The journey was only eleven miles and so took just twenty-five minutes. The Taylors had certainly wanted to be left alone, as their temporary home was a static caravan parked in the grounds of a small farm near the coast. As they approached they could see one of the small police cars parked outside and a young female officer came out to meet them.

  They all introduced themselves, and PC Ana Mason told them that Mrs Taylor was expecting the worst possible news and was as prepared as anyone could be.

  ‘I’ve been here for the past three and a half hours,’ said PC Mason. ‘She’s talked non-stop and I know more about her family history than I know about my own. Her husband was terminally ill and I think Carol is expecting to hear that he simply went somewhere to die and that it’s all over. Apparently they talked a lot about it, and he never wanted her to actually see him die but rather to remember him living. They seem devoted to one another, but no matter how prepared she thinks she is it will still be a shock when she hears of his death.’

  ‘Even more so when she hears exactly how he died,’ said Martin. ‘Come on, let’s get this over with.’

  The inside of the caravan was much larger than Martin had expected it to be, and extremely light and airy. The early afternoon sun streamed in through a window that formed almost the whole of one of the end walls and bounced off the silver streaks in Mrs Taylor’s hair. She would normally be considered a good-looking woman, but today her mouth was downcast and her eyes were without light.

  As Martin approached to introduce himself she said, quite simply, ‘He’s dead, isn’t he? Arthur’s dead.’

  Martin nodded and moved to one side to allow PC Mason to pass him and take hold of Mrs Taylor’s hands.

  ‘It’s what we thought, isn’t it?’ Mrs Taylor was gripping on tight and looking towards Ana Mason, who had become her confidant and could give her some of the strength she needed. ‘Did he die alone? He wanted to be alone you know, it’s one of the few things we totally disagreed about.’

  For the next ten minutes Martin talked the grieving widow through the details of what had happened to her husband and watched as each piece of his account brought new and unexpected horror to the woman’s face.

  There was no point in him holding back some of the facts about Arthur’s actual murder, as there had already been a lot of media coverage from the Primrose Garden Centre.

  ‘So that was my Arthur,’ Carol said quietly. ‘I would have preferred to hear that the cancer had got him than for him to be murdered. It doesn’t seem fair …’

  She started to lose control, and PC Mason put one arm around her shoulder and wiped away her tears.

  If the conversation had been difficult up to that point Martin knew that what was to come would be horrendous. He had sat down and moved his chair closer to Mrs Taylor. ‘Carol,’ he said gently, ‘I have to tell you that we have caught your husband’s killer.’

  She raised her head for a moment and looked directly at Martin. ‘Oh, well, that’s good isn’t it? It’s good you’ve caught him. It wasn’t only my Arthur he killed, was it?’

  ‘No,’ said Martin. �
�We know of at least two other people he killed, and today he attempted a fourth murder which was when we caught him. He knew all the people he killed and believed he had good reason to kill them.’

  Carol sat upright and challenged Martin. ‘No, you’re wrong there, Arthur never gave anyone cause to kill him, he was a good man. He was useless as a second-hand car dealer because he went to the nth degree to sort out vehicles with problems and that often left him out of pocket.’ She suddenly stopped short.

  Martin had seen the flash of a possibility cross her mind and jumped in quickly to prevent her having to second guess her own thoughts. ‘I think you will know someone who has caused you both a lot of angst over the years, and who may well be the reason that you are currently living here.’

  ‘We’re here because we were getting some very spiteful phone calls from a man who was threatening to expose what he said were Arthur’s “illegal trading practises”. Most of what the caller said was untrue, but as we already knew that Arthur had very little time left to live we didn’t want to spend that time fighting anyone. We didn’t know who the caller was or why he hated Arthur so much. There’s one person who hated my husband, and now I see why the police in Barry were this morning asking me about my relationship with Norman Austin … was it him? Is he the man that killed Arthur? Is he the serial killer? He was a policeman, you know – a detective at the same rank as you. Is it him?’

  Martin nodded and was then almost shaken out of his seat by the howl that came from Carol Taylor. It was followed by another, and several more before she broke down in sobs and shudders that caused her whole body to shake.

  After a few minutes Martin started talking and filled her in with what had occurred at the golf course that morning. He explained what was happening to Norman Austin.

  He hadn’t expected any comments and didn’t get any. His words had been intended more for PC Mason than Mrs Taylor.

  The family liaison officer would stay with her and be able to reiterate what Martin had said at a time when she was more ready to accept the information. Martin got up and put his hand on Mrs Taylor’s arm as he placed his business card on the table. ‘You or PC Mason can contact me directly if you want to, and I know you will have her support for as long as you need it.’