She stood at the front of the room and waited for people to settle down.
Photographs of Knox were already pinned up on the walls alongside the basic facts they knew so far, but Claire decided to start from the beginning. She knew some of the detective constables in particular might not be overly familiar with the Dahlia Rapist investigation.
‘Okay, quick history lesson before we see where people are at so far,’ Claire said. ‘In February 2000, twenty-two-year-old Raymond Knox was convicted of the rape of three girls between the ages of sixteen and nineteen, using excessive violence. So excessive, he’d been dubbed the Dahlia Rapist by the media, due to the state he had left his victims’ faces in and its reference to an old and famous murder investigation.’
A few of the older team members remembered the Knox case vividly. At the time it had caused a renewed interest in the old case that had shocked 1940s America.
Elizabeth Short, who would later become known as the Black Dahlia, was brutally murdered in 1947. One of the most significant aspects of her mutilation was the cutting of the corners of the mouth towards each ear, creating the illusion of a wide, bloody grin – what would become known as a Glasgow Smile.
It had inspired a stream of books, films and art down the decades
It had inspired Raymond Knox.
Using a Stanley knife from his father’s tool box, Knox had cut into the cheeks of each girl after he’d raped them, but with one slight difference.
Elizabeth Short had died from a haemorrhage, caused by the facial lacerations and shock of trauma to her head.
Knox was no killer.
His appetite was satiated by sexual gratification. He hadn’t wanted to kill these women. He couldn’t risk cutting them too deep, and besides, where would have been the fun in that?
He wanted these girls to remember him, always – not just in their nightmares when they closed their eyes at night, but every time they looked in the mirror.
His cuts hadn’t been deep. They were superficial but were enough to leave unsightly scars in the hope no man would ever want them again.
At the time, much of the world’s media had tried to delve into Knox’s family life, pick away the fabric of his early childhood years and pinpoint the day a boy turned into a monster. What they found couldn’t have been any more different to the black-and-white tale of abuse and a savage background, a childhood devoid of love and devotion.
It tipped that stereotype on its head.
While Knox had never been close to his parents, despite the fact they’d provided him with a stable and privileged upbringing, both of his parents had been doctors and Knox had never wanted for anything. He’d performed well at school and had been accepted into an apprenticeship scheme, but something in Knox was rotten and had remained relatively hidden for most of his adolescent years.
Then came the day when his sexual deviancy had been triggered and forced to the surface, and Knox hadn’t been able to control himself any longer. Sure, he’d dabbled with danger, pushing the boundaries of what was acceptable with (un)willing girls, but this time he felt reborn into something else.
A few weeks after his twenty-second birthday, he saw a pirated copy of a snuff movie he bought from a dodgy man in his local pub. A fake (and banned) re-enactment of the murder of Elizabeth Short.
After a week of watching it several times behind the closed door of his bedroom, Knox went out in search of his first victim.
Raja Markovich, a seventeen-year-old Ukrainian-born model, hadn’t known what had hit her that night.
‘Knox attacked these girls seemingly at random over the course of a week,’ Claire said. ‘He dragged them off the streets, into his van and drove them to an isolated place. After he’d attacked them, he took a Stanley knife to their faces, just breaking the skin at the corners at either side of their mouth up to their ears. He then marked each victim with a number.’
Claire pointed to photographs of each victim taken at the time. ‘Into each face he sliced diagonally, with one, two or three cuts, in the order they were attacked. Later, Knox’s defence team would come to argue that’s how police knew there were only three victims. Effectively Knox left a significant calling card.’
A few murmurs surfaced as those in the room exchanged looks and banter at what they were faced with. Looking for the killer of an even bigger monster.
Eager not to linger on what Knox had done, Claire moved on. ‘Luckily these wounds were superficial. Enough to leave scars, but thankfully, Knox didn’t cut right through the face.
‘Knox was picked up because he was sloppy. He left a lot of evidence of himself behind and was quickly captured. The jury was unanimous and found him guilty.’ She paused, eyeing everyone in the room. ‘Knox was sent down for life in 2001 at Belmarsh prison.’
‘This is a case where life should’ve been whole life, not fifteen years,’ said Elias, as he stared at the photographs of each victim.
‘There’re many who would agree with you, Crest, but someone deemed him fit for release when his minimum term came up. As you all know, his release was “fast-tracked”, for want of a better word, because of his mother’s ailing health… We all know what happened next.’
Despite the fact that Crest had joined her team a little over two years ago, he was still considered the newbie by some. Not always on the same page as everyone else, DS Crest was like a double-edged sword. He often clashed with Claire, and despite seeing him grow after he’d been transferred to Haverbridge from Merseyside, Claire wasn’t always sure whose side he was on.
Stefan often liked to point out Crest was on no one’s side but his own in the grand scheme of things.
Claire looked at Elias as if she could see inside his soul. She saw potential in him. There was loyalty there to a point, once you cut through the bravado.
Feeling Crest eye her back with curiosity, Claire looked at Matthews. ‘You’ll be office manager for this investigation.’
‘Yes, Guv,’ he said. ‘Have we got anything to go on from the scene?’
‘We should have the CSI report sometime this afternoon. Knox’s PM will now take place at 5 pm.’
‘So soon?’ Stefan said.
‘Danika came through for us,’ Claire said. ‘If anyone has been paying attention to social media, you’ll have seen that Knox’s death isn’t something we can sit on.’
She looked at DC Gabriel Harper. ‘Harper, where are we with the house-to-house?’
Harper stood, eyes narrowed as he read a few notes off his own notepad. ‘The neighbours next to the hostel both saw Knox leave and head towards the wood at approximately 5 pm. Other than that, we’ve got nothing.’ Harper frowned. ‘They’re old, Guv. Eyesight bad, so even the description they gave of Knox was vague.’
There was an audible hum that rose in the room. Unfortunately, everyone knew all too well the elderly sometimes made unreliable witnesses.
‘Okay,’ Claire said, ‘I want you and DC Cleaver to go back to the street. Hopefully you can get more from the residents.’
‘Yes, Guv.’
‘Matthews,’ Claire said. ‘I want you and Crest to look at CCTV footage. The manager at Knox’s hostel is providing it today?’
He nodded.
‘DCs and myself spoke to the hostel manager, John Beckett, and Knox’s offender manager, Janet Casey, last night,’ Claire said, addressing the team as a whole. ‘He’s providing all the information of the residents’ signing times, so we can whittle down time frames, something he’s responsible for. They have an electronic system and good, old-fashioned, pen-and-paper logs.
‘Beckett assured us there was no possibility that anyone else could log another resident’s times. Someone is always on reception, and there to oversee manual signing times. The signing-in data and CCTV should confirm everybody’s whereabouts.’
‘What about the residents themselves?’ Elias said.
‘All on lockdown, as they’re calling it. I need you, Matthew
s, to make sure everything is logged and details checked, but so far everyone’s whereabouts are accounted for yesterday, except Knox.’
Claire glanced down at the information she had on sheets of paper in her hand and then said, ‘There were no anomalies in the last few days and weeks with a resident failing to sign in or out and Knox’s arrival hadn’t brought out any animosity in anyone. Initial talks with the other residents have agreed with Beckett’s statement. They all mostly kept their distance from Knox. Everyone carried on as normal. Every resident there has one goal in mind.’
‘They all want out,’ Stefan said. ‘They want their relative freedom and, when they’re all so close, why would they want to jeopardise that, especially for the likes of Raymond Knox?’
The room fell silent then.
‘Janet Casey has been working alongside Knox to help him integrate, settle in,’ Claire said. ‘He was only there two days but in that time Casey said he was a model resident… much like the last fifteen years inside Belmarsh, but…’ she trailed off, shaking her head.
‘You’re not so sure he had changed?’ Stefan said.
Claire looked at him, then the team. ‘The residents there have no loyalty to anyone in that place. They’re biding their time, keeping their heads down, because they want to get out of there, try and salvage what’s left of their lives… but Knox? I don’t know… he’s different. Always has been.’
‘Can a vicious violent rapist like Knox really go cold turkey so quickly after what he’s done?’ Elias said.
‘Well, someone obviously thought so,’ said DC Harper.
An uneasy silence hung in the air.
Claire cleared her throat. ‘Let’s move on… SOCOs did find two prints in the mud right next to Knox’s body,’ Claire said, and circulated copies of the photographs around the team. ‘Partial shoe print of left foot, and one full of the right.’
‘Any idea of brand?’ Stefan said.
Claire shook her head. ‘No clear markings. Could be a generic men’s walking shoe, or similar.’ She pinned a copy of the prints alongside a photograph of a different shoe on the board. ‘This is the type of shoe we’re looking at, and available from just about everywhere, high-street and online retailers,’ she said.
‘Look a bit like trainers,’ Harper said.
‘Yes, but there are differences,’ Claire said. ‘The outsole is more rugged, but we can at least gauge the size and therefore the approximate height of the man who owns these shoes. Size twelves, so height…’ She broke off, thinking. ‘Anywhere between five-eight and six-foot. It’s not an exact science. Shorter men can have big feet and vice versa.’
Matthews grinned. ‘You know what they say about men with big feet?’
Claire raised an eyebrow. ‘Big socks?’ she said, shutting him down with a wry smile.
Laughter stirred among the team. ‘Come on, settle down, this is serious,’ Claire said. ‘I’m eager to see the hostel’s CCTV footage, so make that a priority. Why was Knox in the wood in the first place? DC Harper and DC Cleaver will be doing another round of house-to-house. There are a lot of people living in very close proximity to the hostel. Any sign of anyone looking or acting suspicious would be noted immediately.’
‘I know it would if I lived nearby,’ said DC Jane Cleaver. A few people nodded a resounding yes.
Claire’s voice broke over the din. ‘Matthews, has a family liaison officer been assigned to Knox’s father Rupert Knox?’
Matthews nodded. ‘Sarah Pacey.’
‘Great. She knows her stuff.’
‘What about Knox’s victims?’ Stefan said, unfolding his arms. ‘Revenge is a potential motivating factor here.’
Claire nodded. ‘They’re our first persons of interest. DSI Donahue has authorised more manpower. Later today there will be more officers drafted in. Stefan, you’ll be managing them.’
Claire circulated several handouts to the team. When everyone had their copies, studying the faces of the three women, Matthews took over.
‘The first victim was Ra… Rrr…’ He broke off in frustration, turning to face Claire.
A few knowing laughs broke out among the team.
‘Raja,’ Claire said. ‘Pronounced Ri-ya.’ Matthews frowned. ‘You need help with the surname?’
‘Raja Mark-o-vich,’ Matthews said, casting her a smug glance, ‘was seventeen at the time. She’s Ukrainian, came to the UK when she was sixteen with her parents so she could be available for jobs. Raja was a clothing-catalogue model, just starting her career.’
DC Morgan Roberts let out a low whistle. ‘Knox ended that dream,’ she said, studying the before and after shot of Raja.
Claire stared at the photograph of the wide-eyed teenager with the bright-blue irises that rivalled her own in intensity. The sleek, black hair made Raja’s face appear as white as porcelain. Her tall, willowy frame was typical of a runway model, rather than catalogue, Claire thought.
‘Raja’s since married Sean Clarkson, age forty-five. He’s an architect, works in Dubai a lot, when not commuting to and from London. He has an eighteen-year-old daughter, Laura, from his first marriage. She’s currently at uni but officially lives with them, not the mother,’ Matthews continued. ‘Raja’s parents went back to the Ukraine shortly after Raja married, and they don’t appear to have visited since.’
He rifled through the next few pages until he came to victim number two. ‘Ffion Smith,’ he said.
A few people mumbled and shook their heads when they saw Ffion’s after-shot. She had two nasty slash marks across her face, symbolising, in Knox’s warped mind, that she was number two.
In her before photograph, Ffion had been striking. Her strawberry-blonde hair was long, trailing over her shoulders and down towards her slender waist. Her blue eyes were bright and her face was speckled with light-brown freckles.
‘Ffion was nineteen. She married Stuart Headley – yes, that Stuart Headley,’ Matthews said, looking up at the team.
Stuart Headley was a very successful cosmetic surgeon and founder of Headley Clinical, based in London, whose clientele included the rich and famous. Some speculated about the real reason for Ffion’s marrying one of the best plastic surgeons in the country.
‘The Headleys have two young children – twin boys, aged four,’ Matthews said. He looked at Claire, silently indicating for her to take over.
‘Victim number three,’ she said, looking up from her notes. ‘Sophie Robertson was sixteen at the time, and she still lives with her parents.’ Claire paused. ‘Sophie was probably the worst affected by Knox and her parents didn’t exactly shy away from the press when Knox was eligible for parole.’
The team stared at Sophie’s photographs. She was petite, with sad eyes looking out into a world she would never feel part of again.
‘What’s our status with the press?’ Elias asked.
Claire held his gaze.
‘We don’t confirm or deny a thing until the press conference, which will likely be tomorrow.’ She looked at everyone around her. ‘Is that clear?’
A few heads nodded.
‘It’s very important how we behave on this case. The public’s emotions are already running high and there’s a very real risk that people are going to take Knox’s murder as a sign that it’s okay to take the law into their own hands. It leads to mistaken identity and innocent people getting hurt.’
Claire felt Elias’s eyes on her, silently questioning her reasoning. When she spoke again, she did so while meeting his stare, unwavering.
‘We’re supposed to be a civilised society last time I checked, and I don’t need some vigilante inciting riots and flash mobs.’
The room was silent.
After several seconds had passed, Stefan pointed to a photograph of Knox’s face, all cut up and bloody. ‘What about the files from the original investigation? It was our guys who charged him.’
Matthews avoided looking at Claire’s face. He knew she would ha
ve thought of this already but would be equally reluctant to go there, as much as she knew it could hold a clue.
‘We’ve requested the files already,’ she said at length.
Stefan held her gaze, knowing something was off. ‘This was before my time here. Who was the SIO on the Dahlia Rapist?’
Claire held his gaze, barely moving as she spoke. ‘DCI Forrester.’
Stefan paused, knowing just how that must affect Claire. ‘You mean Simon?’
Claire nodded. ‘He was based here before moving to Welwyn HQ. It was long before I knew him… He put Knox away. If anyone can help us with his murder, it’s Forrester. He knew Knox inside and out.’
The team was silent.
Claire felt her cheeks begin to burn.
Simon Forrester – the last person she wanted to see. It’d been a while but the wounds were still raw just below the surface. Worse still, Claire knew her team were more than aware of how she must be feeling right now.
They’d seen the fallout that happened in the aftermath.
Elias started to speak and all eyes fell on him. ‘Isn’t this going to be awkward for you?’
‘No, why would it be?’ Claire said.
‘Well, given your… history.’
‘We’re all professionals here, Crest.’
Elias just nodded.
Claire had a job to do. She’d be damned if she’d let personal feelings get in the way of this.
There was an awkward silence.
DCI Simon Forrester was fifteen years Claire’s senior. He was a respected officer with years of experience in dealing with violent criminals. The Dahlia Rapist investigation had been his first as a newly promoted DCI at the age of thirty-eight and he’d successfully caught and charged Knox within two weeks of him starting his violent raping spree.
This last year had seen Simon take early retirement. He’d left the force on a high, with a string of solved cases under his belt.
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