Sam raised the mug to her lips, as Ed sat down.
‘Not too difficult, is it? All he needs to do is to check the voters lists. Check crime reports, messages, anything. He’d easily establish a list of lone females.’
‘Not too difficult, I agree,’ Sam said. ‘Let’s not rush anything, though. See how we get on with Crowther. It could be Jason, but let’s deal with one thing at a time. If he hadn’t gone into the coffee shop, we would still be where we were earlier.’
Ed nodded slowly. ‘I know, but he did go in.’
‘Nothing’s ever simple,’ Sam said. ‘Listen, I need to call Amber now.’
‘You do that, and I’ll get the surveillance commander to come and see us.’
Staring at the telephone, Sam had the receiver in her right hand, the fingers of her left hovering above the buttons. She knew she had to make the call, but she wasn’t relishing it. She had asked too much of Amber and for what? Had he given himself away, it might have been different; the end might have justified the means, but all she had succeeded in doing was expose Amber to more anguish, pile more pressure on her.
She was expecting an emotional outburst, and who could blame Amber if she lost it? Banging the palm of her left hand hard on to the desk, she cursed her decision to go with the surveillance. Too busy trying to nail the rapist, she had taken her eye off the welfare of the victim.
She took a deep breath, and tapped in the numbers on the telephone. Waiting to hear the voice on the other end of the line, her mouth felt like a rag had been stuffed into it. There was never a cold drink on your desk when you needed one, and the tea would still be too hot.
What she didn’t expect to hear was Amber talking non-stop, in an excited voice.
No longer was she going to be a victim, she told Sam, leading a life dictated by this a catastrophic experience. She was considering counselling and even talking about helping others who’d gone through a similar nightmare. She wanted to discuss giving up her right to anonymity so she could go public with her own ordeal.
Sam reasoned that it was all, in reality, a long way off, but she was delighted Amber appeared to have had such an epiphany. The resilience of victims never ceased to amaze her, how after such horror they could consider helping others.
As she put the handset back on to its cradle she silently vowed to bring to justice the man who had affected the lives of so many young women. If she needed any further motivation to work tirelessly to catch him, Amber had just been the provider. It had been a long few days, but that conversation had spurred her on to work even longer and harder. Picking up her pen, she started doodling on the desktop blotter while her memory replayed Amber’s words.
When her door opened, she jerked her head up. Her jottings featured the word ‘puppeteer’ countless times. But she promised that she would now be pulling the strings. He would be the puppet.
Dave Johnson and Ed sat down.
‘Amber’s fine. Really fine,’ Sam told them. ‘She’s talking about being a counsellor herself. She was really upbeat. Not what I expected at all.’
‘That’s great,’ Ed said. ‘Just a pity the bastard didn’t turn up.’
‘We move on,’ said Sam, before continuing. ‘Dave, I want two detectives outside Romeo’s pizza from 4pm. I don’t want Crowther getting to work early, and be out on deliveries before we get there. As soon as we have him, I want a search team at his house. You know what we’re looking for… tracksuits, trainers, unusual knives, but most importantly, a mobile phone, a SIM card, and the driving licences. Also any female clothing, especially knickers. He might still have those from the swimming baths, or Danielle’s.’
Dave was writing furiously as he recorded Sam’s instructions.
‘I want all diaries, notebooks etcetera recovering. It’s not unheard of for a ‘Power Reassurance’ rapist to write down what he’s done, and to keep any press cuttings relating to the attacks. So search for newspaper clippings as well. He may have kept them.’
Dave nodded. Ed admired Sam’s decisiveness.
‘I want him arrested for the theft of two pairs of knickers, and the rapes of Danielle and Amber. He delivers a pizza to Danielle the night she is raped; he’s stop-checked in the area of Amber’s house the night she’s raped; he’s at the swimming baths when a pair of knickers are stolen, and Danielle thinks her knickers were stolen the night he delivered a pizza. There’s enough reasonable suspicion there on all counts.’
‘Will do. Are we telling everyone about Amber now?’ Dave asked.
‘Yes. Nothing to lose now. We’ve tried the meeting. We can’t put her through that again. Brief everyone about that rape, please. If anyone asks why the delay in informing them, just tell them to ask me. Nobody will. Let them make up their own rumours.’
‘Okay,’ Dave said. ‘We’ve already started putting together a briefing sheet for the search team.’
‘Great.’
Dave Johnson nodded at Sam and was out of his chair as Gary Ross arrived.
Keep those plates spinning Sam.
‘Hi Gary, come in,’ Sam said, indicating for him to sit down. ‘I’ve spoken to Amber and she’s fine. Can you thank all of your people on my behalf?’
Gary nodded.
Sam went on: ‘The fact that he didn’t disclose himself to Amber doesn’t mean he wasn’t there. He may have gone inside. He may have watched from outside. I want stills of everyone in that shop between 12.30pm and 2.30pm, and of everyone outside within those same time parameters. I also want a list from the surveillance log of all registration numbers that were parked in and around the shops.’
It was Gary’s turn to write down Sam’s requests.
‘Okay,’ he answered when his pen had stopped moving. ‘I’ll try and have them to you by tomorrow afternoon.’
‘Sooner, if you can, Gary,’ Sam said, her tone hinting at a command as opposed to a request.
‘I’ll try,’ Gary said as he stood up. He stopped at the door and turned around to look at Sam and Ed. ‘What about Jason Stroud?’
‘Probably wrong place, wrong time. I’ll keep you posted, but have your team keep that under their hats,’ Sam said.
‘No problem,’ Gary agreed as he walked away.
In fairness, Gary Ross thought, it wouldn’t be the first time a police officer had unwittingly walked ‘on plot’. He concentrated instead on how he was going to deliver all the stills for Sam.
She was the type who was used to getting what she wanted.
Darkness had fallen like a blanket over the shopping centre, but the neon lighting from the street lamps and the three take-away shops provided all the visibility the two detectives needed.
Terry Crowther got out of his black Ford Focus and started to walk the few short steps across the car park to Romeo’s pizza shop, where a couple of early customers were already inside.
Slamming the doors of the pale blue Ford Mondeo, they strode behind him, each step narrowing the gap. He knew exactly who they were the moment he turned around. He hadn’t met them before, didn’t know their names, but he knew instinctively, from the blue suits, the shiny black shoes, that they were detectives.
The one with the height and shoulders of a heavyweight boxer spoke in a voice that would have sounded threatening in a pulpit.
‘Terry Crowther?’
It was obvious that they both knew who he was. How? Nodding, he mumbled: ‘Yeah.’
Told that he was being arrested on suspicion of two rapes and the theft of two pair of knickers, he was cautioned, taken by the arm and led to their car. He wasn’t handcuffed, but the grip applied to his bicep told him making a run for it wasn’t an option.
Chapter Thirty-Three
He was shoved on to the back seat, falling sideways, before straightening himself up. Had they sent the two biggest detectives available?
Following the barked instructions, he scrambled behind the passenger seat, resisting the urge to wipe away the sweat at the back of his neck. Convinced the driver had angled the
rear view mirror so he could watch him and not the traffic behind, he tried to control the trembling coursing through his body.
The mobile looked like a small box of matches in the hands of the pugilist, who phoned somebody called Dave.
‘Job done, no probs.’
What did that mean? What had they got on him?
The car moved off, and neither of the detectives uttered a word.
What was happening now? Ask me a question?
The detectives didn’t even look at each other as the car moved through the streets, both staring out of the windscreen. He turned his head to look out of the side window, shuffling closer to it, making it more difficult for the driver to watch him.
Was the silent treatment a technique they employed?
Were they waiting for him to start talking?
His bursting bladder, increasing heart rate, pulsating temple, and the light-headed dizziness you can feel after a long-distance run were all triggering the involuntary movements of his body. His hands, arm, and legs were shaking, and sweat rashes were everywhere.
They weren’t asking questions. Total silence. This was torture.
Would they search his house? Whatever they had now, they would have more if they went to his house. They might not go to his house. What did they have? Why get him going to work? Why not at home? They knew who he was, where he worked. They’d done their homework. They must know where he lives. What else did they know?
Should he just admit it?
No, say nothing until the brief gets there. He knew that he would be putty in their hands. He needed to hold out until he got a solicitor.
Jason Stroud was a man in a hurry as he came into Sam’s office. Ed, following, looked on as Jason blurted out that he thought he might have unknowingly stumbled across a surveillance operation. He explained he had gone for a hot chocolate but the second he realised he might be about to ‘blow out’ a job, he left.
‘Did you recognise anyone in the coffee shop?’ Sam asked.
‘I think there were two people from the surveillance team. Sat at different tables.’
‘Anyone else?’ asked Sam
‘Don’t think so.’
‘Okay, it’s probably nothing. If there’s a problem, I’ve no doubt the surveillance team will be in touch.’
‘Cheers,’ Jason said, and he walked out of the office.
Sam was happy to leave it at that. If he were to become a suspect, there would be plenty of time to ask questions in a formal interview about ‘meeting’ Amber. For now, some things were best left unsaid. Jason had been concerned enough to approach her. That alleviated the need for her to ask him why he was there, while still satisfying her need to have him know that she knew he was there.
Patience was always a virtue in any major investigation. Time would tell whether Jason was trying to pull her strings.
‘What did he say before you came into the office?’ Sam asked.
‘He was busting a gut to tell you that he thought he may have stumbled on a job.’
‘What did you say?’
‘The usual, there’s jobs going on all the time. Sometimes we inadvertently walk into them.’
Sam briefly closed her eyes, suddenly weary.
‘He might be fishing. If it’s him, he knew Amber was going to be there. If he thought a surveillance team was watching her, he’d know that we’d have arranged it. Contact Gary and tell him to brief all his staff not to confirm that surveillance with anyone. We’ve told him to keep Jason’s sighting under wraps, but I don’t want anyone even confirming there was surveillance. Let’s keep a close eye on Jason Stroud.’
‘What about getting another interview adviser?’
‘Not at the minute. Monitor his work. We don’t want to unnerve him. Let him carry on. Let’s not forget he may have nothing to do with this, so just let him carry on doing his job. I don’t want to give him any cause for concern. He’ll know we’re on to him when we want him to.’
‘No bother.’
Dave Johnson popped in to tell them that a house near Amber’s had CCTV fitted, and on the evening of her attack, the figure of a male was seen nearby at the relevant time. While the images weren’t good enough to identify the individual, they clearly showed the male was wearing a tracksuit with the Adidas three stripes on the arm.
Phone calls to the two police officers who stopped Crowther revealed they were 100% certain he wasn’t wearing an Adidas top, although they couldn’t recall the make of his tracksuit.
Crowther emptied his pockets at the Custody Sergeant’s request, and placed his house key, car keys, loose change and wallet on the counter. He watched as his change and wallet were placed in a clear plastic bag, whilst both sets of keys were handed to the boxer, who raised his eyebrows, and allowed his thin lips to part slightly, his gleaming teeth not hiding the menace behind the smile.
Placing the keys in his trouser pocket, the detective said loudly and clearly: ‘We’ll search his house and car under section 18 of the Police and Criminal Evidence Act, Sarge.’
His eyes never moved away from Crowther, leaving the detainee under no illusions what the police were about to do next.
At the house, the search team co-ordinator drew a rough plan of the ground and upper floors and allocated specific rooms to specific pairs of officers. All six of the search officers had been briefed about what exactly they were looking for, the bonus being that Crowther lived alone.
The integral garage was surprisingly tidy, with very little in it, so that particular search was conducted thoroughly in a relatively short time. Garages full of junk were a search officer’s nightmare.
Nothing evidential was found in any of the sparsely furnished downstairs rooms, and the upstairs bedrooms were all empty, with one exception.
That bedroom contained a bed with a black duvet in a heap on top of it and a white sheet, patches of which were as tight and rigid as stone, the dried yellow stains suggesting it hadn’t been washed since the day it was bought. The stench of stale sweat swept into the nostrils of the two officers.
‘God, I feel like I’m sniffing the insides of a tramp’s socks,’ the female officer said.
‘Make a habit of that, do you?’ her male colleague teased deadpan.
‘You know what I mean.’
On the bedside table, a lamp, surrounded by a deep veneer of dust, stood next to a semen-filled condom. Discarded socks and stained white underpants were strewn across the floor, surrounding four empty cans of lager and an empty take-away tin foil container.
‘Dirty bastard,’ said the male officer.
Wearing thin transparent gloves, the officers removed the duvet, and having searched inside the cover, the woman picked up the only pillow, finding a pair of lacy white knickers underneath. She dropped them into a clear bag which was sealed and had an exhibit label attached, on which was written a description of the item, together with where, when, and by whom the knickers were found.
‘Fuckin’ perv,’ said the female officer.
The search yielded nothing else of evidential value: no driving licences, no additional mobiles, no SIM cards, and no diaries or notes; a pair of black trainers and a black Puma tracksuit were recovered, though.
Thirty minutes after the white knickers had been ‘bagged and tagged’, Jamie Hampton had identified them as being similar to those that were stolen from her at the swimming baths.
Mass-produced with no singular unique feature, the knickers couldn’t be identified as Jamie's to the legal satisfaction of a court, but ‘similar’ was a good starting point in a police interview.
At the office, Sam and Ed called it a day. Crowther was in custody and would be interviewed tomorrow. Disappointed at the outcome of the searches of his house and car, they hoped for better in the interviews tomorrow.
Stepping out into the dark, cold night, frost already forming on the remaining cars, they shuddered in unison.
‘Will you be okay tonight, Sam?’
‘I’ll be fine,’
Sam lied. ‘Don’t worry. Get home to Sue.’
Turning on the ignition, the bright interior light dimmed, leaving the car in darkness except for the dashboard lights and their cosy glow.
She answered her mobile.
‘Sam. It’s Trevor Stewart. Just ringing for an update. I understand you’ve had a busy day.’
‘We’ve got someone in custody. Early days yet. I’ll come and speak with you tomorrow, give you a full briefing.’
‘Thanks, I’d appreciate that. Any plans tonight?’
‘Early night.’
‘Get your PJ’s on. Hard frost forecast. Not the weather for anything skimpy.’
‘Thanks, but I’m a big girl.’
‘It would be remiss of me to comment. See you tomorrow. Goodnight.’
Creep.
Driving home, the 9.30pm news bulletin temporarily diverted her thoughts from the investigation and Slimy Stewart.
Desperate to eat, then sleep, she walked through her front door, locked it, and put the key on the hall table, simultaneously kicking off her shoes. She took a deep breath and pressed her spine against the door.
Maybe she should have told Ed the truth; she was frightened. He would have volunteered to stay again even though she knew it would cause him grief at home. Standing rigid against the door, tears started to drip down her cheeks. Truth is, I didn’t want you in the house again, Ed. I need to keep things professional. I don’t want any complications and certainly not with a married man.
She took another deep breath, marched across the hall and flung open every door, hitting the light switches as soon as she could get her wrist through the gap. With every downstairs light on, she checked every window. Nothing. She checked them all again. Same result.
Thankful for the timer on the boiler, the wall of heat meant the double bed won what was a no-contest over food.
She dragged herself upstairs, and flung open the bedroom doors. She turned on every light, checked every window. Twice.
She forced herself to go back downstairs and turn all the lights off. Back in her bedroom she stripped, and dropped her underwear into the basket in the en-suite bathroom. Naked, she tied her hair into a ponytail, put on the extra large, powder blue cotton T-shirt she had pulled from under her pillow, and collapsed on to the bed, tugging the duvet under her chin.
Dark Tides Thrillers Box Set Page 20