Killing by Colours

by Wonny Lea

  Helen was quiet for most of the journey back to Goleudy and Martin asked her if she was all right.

  ‘I keep thinking about the fact that this man who has terrorised Cardiff for the past three or four weeks was once a senior police officer. Was he mad or just bad? The rumours flying around the station at the moment are sickening. Some officers are even saying that he persuaded people to testify to things they could not possibly have witnessed and that evidence was planted in order to secure convictions. There are a few people who seem to think that he was just of the old school, that he got the job done, and they still see nothing wrong with that. Most people are worried that we’ll get a load of very negative publicity and our relationship with the public will be damaged. What do you think?’

  Chapter Nineteen

  New broom

  ‘We can’t do that,’ said Superintendent Bryant. ‘What you are suggesting is preposterous, we all agreed at the time on the package that was given to the Crown Prosecution Services. It’s water under the bridge and in nobody’s best interest to go raking up things that you, and only you, seem to think resulted in a miscarriage of justice.’

  Martin responded sharply. ‘I can think of at least one person whose interest will be served if a new enquiry deems his conviction to be unsafe. Vincent Bowen was only twenty-three years of age when he was given a life sentence for the murder of those sex workers. His mother has campaigned for years for a new enquiry. Psychiatric reports said that although he had some mental health problems he was capable of knowing right from wrong and he was sent to an adult prison. God knows what that has done to him, particularly if the poor sod knows he was never guilty in the first place.’

  ‘But he was,’ said the Superintendent. ‘All the evidence pointed to him. The knife, covered with the last victim’s blood, was found under the sink in his room – it was an open and shut case. People were rejoicing in the city when that killer was arrested and the streets were safe again.’

  Turning to Martin, he said accusingly. ‘You weren’t even around – apparently you were unwilling to give up some planned leave in order to help with such a high-profile case. It looks as if there is no doubt that Norman Austin committed these latest murders, but I think our best course of action will be to say that he was suffering from some sort of severe mental breakdown and that while he was a police officer he did some amazing work that we can all still be proud of. Now is not the time to be suggesting things could have been wrong even when he was a DCI – the press and the public will crucify us.’

  Martin listened in disbelief ‘There is no way we can say that! It would take the press no time at all to discover it wasn’t true, and then we’d all be blown away by the storm that would follow.

  ‘And regarding the Bowen case – I offered to defer my leave but was told it had to be taken. Do you really think that if the then DCI Austin had wanted me around he would have allowed me to swan off on annual leave? He once stopped one of his sergeants taking a holiday that was to be his honeymoon! He obviously wanted me out of the way.

  ‘If your intention is to tell the press, this afternoon, that Austin committed these crimes while the balance of his mind was disturbed then I have to tell you that I will not be a party to what I believe to be a total lie. In my view he knew exactly what he was doing and had been planning the whole sick programme for a long time.

  ‘The really sad thing is that during the time I worked with him I saw him figure out some of the most difficult cases, and if he had chosen to take a different path he could have ended his career at the very top.

  ‘I would like to make a suggestion.’ Martin didn’t wait for the superintendent’s approval and just continued. ‘We use the press conference to state publically the horror we all feel that someone who was once a police officer has been the person behind these cruel murders. We make no excuses for him. You could then go on to say that since his capture there have been issues brought to your attention regarding one of the cases that Austin headed up while he was a DCI. Take the moral high ground and say that you will leave no stone unturned to discover the truth and that you will personally authorise a full internal investigation into that case.’

  The superintendent suddenly looked as if he was ready for retirement, and not even the buttons on his immaculately presented uniform shone as brightly as they usually did, but even so he defiantly stood up and pointed a finger at Martin. ‘Don’t you know the expression “let sleeping dogs lie”? Why can’t you do just that? The press conference is in twenty minutes. You will be there and you will take your lead from me. I will not be washing our dirty linen in public and if you make any attempt to do so I will take appropriate action.’

  Martin shook his head and turned towards the door.

  ‘I’m not finished,’ said Superintendent Bryant.

  ‘No, but I am,’ said Martin, slamming the door behind him.

  As before, the heated exchange with his senior officer had caused Martin to feel hungry and he made his way to the staff café. He was not the only one who had suddenly needed to satisfy a basic need for food and the place was packed out. With only about fifteen minutes available to him he chose the ubiquitous sandwich, not even bothering to check what the filling was, and joined a table where Matt and others were finishing off their meals.

  ‘I came looking for you,’ said Matt. ‘I figured you would be hungry as Iris’s breakfast trolley is a dim and distant memory and we’ve done a lot of running around. Where have you been?’

  Martin ignored the question and took a mouthful of what turned out to be a tuna mayo sandwich. His mind was on other things. ‘What’s the news from the hospital?’ he asked.

  ‘Connie Jackson has been discharged. No broken bones, but she may well have a few nightmares or flashbacks to deal with in the future. I’ve sent one of the Victim Support staff to speak to her and suggested that we leave the taking of her formal statement until tomorrow. Is that OK?’

  ‘Yes, that’s more than OK – thank you Matt. What about Norman Austin?’

  ‘The last thing I heard was that he was still in theatre and that was just before I came here. I spoke to one of the charge nurses on the Surgical ICU and he told me that Austin had arrested twice but that things were now under control and the arterial grafts were going ahead. We have a dedicated number to ring for information because apparently the hospital has been bombarded by the press and even the public who have just been randomly asking for news of the killer. Some people have sad lives.’

  Martin pushed his plate away with only two thirds of his sandwich eaten and Matt looked quizzically at him. ‘You OK?’ he asked. ‘Are you worried about the press conference? They’ll have a field day regarding rotten coppers but hell, that’s not your fault.’

  ‘No, but there are some things about Norman Austin that I need to tell you, and I’m not sure how Superintendent Bryant is going to play this one – it could end up going badly wrong.’

  As Martin spoke the puzzled look on Matt’s face intensified, but then he jumped up. ‘Well, if that’s the case let’s get it over with and let’s not be late.’

  Both men made their way down the back stairs to the large conference room on the ground floor. They were followed by several members of the investigation team, including Sgt Evans, who had no wish to miss this particular press conference.

  The usual paraphernalia that accompanied these sessions was apparent as soon as Matt opened the door. A room full of noise and excitement and an atmosphere of anticipation and speculation hit the two men like a physical force. There was the usual mass of equipment and the usual jockeying for positions as microphones were held higher, with some being manoeuvred by the use of robotic arms.

  Everything was exactly as Martin had expected and the table and the three front seats set out as usual for the two detectives and their senior officer. That person was already there, but it was not the one they were expecting. Superintendent Bryant was not sitting in the middle seat this time – it was Chief Superintenden
t Colin Atkinson.

  Matt whispered. ‘What’s all this about?’ Getting no reply from Martin he simply nodded in the direction of the chief super and took his seat.

  As Martin also sat down the Chief Superintendent spoke quietly to him. ‘I’ll fill you in on why I’m here later, but for now leave this session to me – I think you’ll be content with what I have to say.’

  Martin didn’t really know Colin Atkinson other than by reputation. He was new to South Wales, having recently been promoted and transferred from the Greater Manchester force, and was known for his fair but no- nonsense approach. Matt didn’t have to do his usual banging on the speakers to get order because as soon as the Chief Superintendent got to his feet he was greeted by complete silence. He was an unknown factor as far as the media in Cardiff were concerned, and what they saw was a plump man with prematurely white hair and thick-lensed glasses, standing no more than five feet nine inches tall. His appearance was not one that called for immediate respect, and belied his ability to exude authority, but when he spoke his blunt northern accent quickly cut straight through any suggestion that he was a soft touch.

  ‘For those of you who don’t know me, I am Chief Superintendent Colin Atkinson. I have been waiting for a suitable moment to meet the press since my transfer from Manchester, and what better way than to be able to tell you all about the successful capture of a serial killer.

  ‘I take no credit for the hard work and the brilliant leadership that has brought this killer to justice – and some of you that have given DCI Phelps such a hard time of late may want to rethink your positions.’

  Martin noticed Matt grinning. This was something that would never have happened if Superintendent Bryant had been fronting this press conference, and they both waited expectantly for what would come next.

  Colin Atkinson continued. ‘I will come straight to the point regarding the killer. He is a man called Norman Austin, and some of you will remember that for many years he was a police officer in Cardiff, reaching the rank of detective chief inspector in this very criminal investigation department. He is currently being operated on at the University Hospital of Wales, because a bullet from one of our armed response officers severed his brachial artery. His condition is critical.

  ‘I have been briefed on the circumstances surrounding the time he left the force, and I want to take this opportunity to tell you that there are issues that give me cause for great concern. This will not be the first time in my career that I have looked back at cases when the conduct of a police officer has been questioned.’

  A ripple of excitement broke out in the audience and a few questions were fired. The chief superintendent ignored them and continued. ‘A respected member of the force has already brought to my attention that there may have been some unanswered questions relating to the arrest and subsequent conviction of a young man by the name of Vincent Bowen.’

  The ripple of excitement turned into a storm of emotions as reporters shouted out questions and demanded answers.

  Colin Atkinson was not fazed, and just stood completely still and in silence until the commotion had died down.

  ‘There is no point in you asking questions about what I have just told you, because at present I have no answers but I am using this opportunity to tell you that the case will be re-opened, as will any others where Norman Austin was involved and there are question marks over procedure, evidence, or witnesses.

  ‘The vast majority of our officers work extremely hard and are honest and dedicated individuals, but as in all organisations there are and have been some bad apples – and I will make you a promise, here and now, that if I ever get to hear of one, he or she will be booted out, and I will happily do the booting.

  ‘Now the main reason we’re here is to tell you about the events that led to the capture of Norman Austin this morning, and on that note I will hand over to Detective Chief Inspector Martin Phelps.’

  Martin couldn’t remember when he had last felt such a degree of respect for a senior officer and he looked forward to having this guy around. He hoped he would get to know what had happened prior to the press conference, but picking up on a few comments he guessed that Sgt Evans had stuck his head above the parapet.

  DCI Phelps got on his feet and if anything upstaged even the chief superintendent’s performance. He took his audience back to the first murder and for the first time they were given the full details of the colours and their connections, and the actual wording of the poems. He explained how the team had gone about identifying possible sites for the murders and as he spoke he noticed a visible shift in the opinion of the media.

  A few days ago he was considered to be an incompetent plod, promoted beyond his capability and incapable of solving even a simple crossword puzzle. Today they were lapping up his words, and with the subsequent questions came comments about ‘a job well done’ and about how ‘Cardiff was lucky to have such a good team’ – and so on, ad nauseam. It was a good feeling to have them back onside but it would be a long time before there was any trust – from his side at least.

  The questions petered out and people were starting to leave when Diane Cummings, the local television crime reporter, made a comment and then asked what was to be the final question.

  ‘DCI Phelps, we all offer you our congratulations on a job well done, but you know how fickle our audiences are. Now that the killer has been stopped this story will soon be yesterday’s news. However, the possibility of Vincent Bowen’s conviction being unsafe will cause a furore – you will know that one of the local rags has been supporting his mother’s campaign for a re-trial. When will we know what’s happening with that?’

  Chief Superintendent Colin Atkinson stood up alongside Martin and answered the question.

  ‘You will know as soon as we do,’ he said. ‘Good afternoon, ladies and gentlemen.’

  Matt walked back up the stairs ahead of the other two men, as he thought they would want to speak privately and was surprised when Martin caught him up even before he had reached his office.

  ‘The chief superintendent has got some urgent business to attend to, but will be back in his office by five o’clock and I plan to see him then.’

  ‘What’s going on?’ said Matt. ‘What’s all this about an unsafe conviction? – I didn’t have a clue what he was going on about but he was good, wasn’t he? He’s a bit of a contrast to Bryant – and where was he?’

  ‘Matt,’ said Martin. ‘I do need to bring you up to date with what I’ve learned since driving with Sgt Evans to the Greenway Valley Golf Club, but you must remember that before the press conference I couldn’t even finish a tuna sandwich. Now I’m absolutely starving and I am going to look for my guardian angel, Iris. One of her famous cheese omelettes is the only thing that will sort me out! Join me if you will.’

  ‘I will,’ said Matt. ‘There are things I need to let you know, but I did eat earlier so a coffee will do me.’

  To begin with it was Matt who did the talking, because Martin was savouring the delights of his king-size cheese omelette and the buttery mini new potatoes that accompanied it.

  ‘We had no trouble finding the address of Norman Austin and Alex has taken a team there. The BMW is in the garage, and according to Alex there’s still a cardboard coffee cup in the driver’s cup holder stuffed with blood-stained latex gloves. I can’t believe Austin would have forgotten to remove those, but he did seem to go to pieces after the garden centre murder. He made too many mistakes and it unnerved him.’

  ‘That’s brilliant,’ said Martin. ‘What else have they found?’

  ‘Enough to prove that Helen was on the button with her rainbow colours theory because there are apparently blue, indigo, and violet lengths of cords and envelopes.’

  Matt drained the last of the coffee from his mug and added. ‘They have not opened the envelopes and are waiting for you to do that.’

  Martin dipped his last new potato into the buttery sauce and popped it into his mouth as he rose to his feet.


  ‘Come on then, what are we waiting for? I can just as easily update you on the way there. We’ll take my car.’

  On the way to the killer’s home, which turned out to be just two streets away from where Matt lived, Martin updated his sergeant regarding the dark side of Norman Austin’s character and career.

  ‘I confronted Superintendent Bryant with my concerns just before the press conference and I suspect that at the same time John Evans jumped over a few ranks in his part of the organisation and decided to speak to the new man, Colin Atkinson.’

  Austin’s home was what an estate agent would describe as a ‘townhouse with an integral garage’, in which sat the grey BMW. The garage door was wide open and the area surrounding the house was sealed off with blue and white ‘scene of crime’ tape. A few onlookers had gathered at the corner of the road and as Martin pulled up a reporter stepped forward.

  ‘Absolutely nothing more today,’ said Martin curtly. ‘You’re wasting your time here.’

  He acknowledged Alex who left the garage and joined his colleagues in the lounge/diner. Although Alex and his team were kitted out in their usual ‘space suits’, he indicated to Martin that there was no need for him and Matt to put suits on. However he did hand over a pair of latex gloves, and Martin set about opening the letters.

  They were all addressed to him, as before, and he had already anticipated that the blue envelope could contain his death notice.

  He was right, and this poem really did make him feel physically sick. The reference to his head being used as a football and the whole issue of the colour blue led him to believe that Austin could have been planning to murder him at the Cardiff City Stadium, home of Cardiff City Football Club.

  The mention of Shelley in the blue poem angered Martin more than anything else had done, and he couldn’t bear the thought of the killer even writing down her name. There was nothing to suggest that she was going to be one of his targets, just that the killer plotted to rubbish Martin in her eyes. None of this was of any real significance now and Martin handed over the blue sheet of paper for Matt and Alex to read. The air was as blue as the paper as they both described in detail what they would like to do to Norman Austin.