The Loophole

by Vera Morris

  Salter’s head drooped.

  She wasn’t sure who’d she rather use the scythe on, Hinney or Salter.

  Hinney took a deep breath. ‘“That afternoon, before she and the baby were murdered, I spoke to her. She was sitting in a field, and John was crawling in the grass. She was trying to stop him putting flowers into his mouth. I stayed with her for a few minutes and we talked about the war. I told her I didn’t like being part of it and I wasn’t sure if I’d ever have enough courage to kill someone, even if they were a German. She smiled at me and said, “I’m sure you’d protect me and John if you saw a German attacking us.” Suddenly I knew I could do it, she made me feel proud. She was sure I’d be brave enough.”‘

  Hinney turned on Salter. ‘How ironic is that? If he’d been there when you attacked her, he’d have had a go, even though you were bigger and stronger than he was.’ There was a weak moan from the pit. ‘Please help me.’ Salter straightened up. ‘Get on with it, Hinney, or whatever your name is. Get it over and let my son go.’

  ‘My name is Gareth Hovell, and if you don’t do as I tell you, I’ll go down into that pit, I’ll pick up my razor, and your son will be a few pounds lighter, and I don’t mean money,’ he sneered. ‘One more paragraph for you to hear.’ He refocussed on the letter. “‘ She put the baby in the pram, he was tired and fell asleep almost at once. He was a lovely child. I said goodbye to her and John and walked away. She was alive when I left her, but I never saw her again. I walked down to the Ore and then back along the shore to the barracks. I did see one person. After I left her and John, I stopped to watch some gulls -little terns -I followed their flight path back the way I’d come. I saw him, Sam Salter, he was walking towards where I’d left Mrs Coltman. Salter’s married but he’s well known for liking the ladies and some of the boys say he likes a bit on the side. Sorry, that’s the words they used. I believe he killed her and the baby and I think he put her blood-stained underwear in my locker. I told the police all this. They checked up on him, but he said he had two days furlough and he’d driven to London to see his wife. The police picked on me because they’d had an anonymous telephone tip off, saying I was sweet on Mrs Coltman and I’d pestered her. When they found the underwear in my locker, I’d had it. No matter what I said it made no difference. With the war on, they wanted a quick trial and someone punished for the horrible murder of a mother and child.

  Don’t let Gareth think I’m a murderer. Show him this letter. Tell him I love him and I promise I will look down from Heaven and watch over him. I know I’ll go to Heaven because God knows everything, and He knows I am innocent.

  My love to both of you and to Gareth

  Your son

  Adrian.”‘

  Laurel put her hand to her throat and pressed to stop cries of pain and anger spilling from her.

  Gareth-Hinney

  At last I have him, the murdering bastard, who took three lives and never paid the price. Adrian paid that for him. It is nearly over. I’m still undecided if I should leave Salter alive or dead. It would have been good to read in the newspapers of his humiliation and court case, but could I be sure he wouldn’t wriggle out of it? I’ll leave his son alive and hope he survives long enough to confirm his father’s confession. I want to kill Salter; I want to see him in pain, to plead for his life. He deserves to die rather than to spend the rest of his life in prison. Adrian didn’t have that luxury. Perhaps if he’d been given a life sentence he might have been reprieved. I would have done everything I could to prove his innocence.

  Have I time to give Salter a slow and painful death? Unfortunately, not. However, half an hour, or even a few minutes, can be an eternity if you are tied up, helpless and someone is cutting you to pieces with a razor.

  It will be the second quick and unsatisfactory death. It was a pity about’Belinda. She would have made a perfect victim.. I planned to kill her, I thought I could make her Salter’s final victim. It was a good plan: to murder young girls who resembled Audrey Coltman, and to lay the blame on him.. What I hadn’t anticipated was the pleasure the torture and humiliation of the first girl gave me. There had to be a second. Then stupid Bert Wiles. I was surprised how good a death that was. Seeing that dirty old man suffer wasjust as exciting and arousing as the two girls..

  When I’ve finished in the pagoda, I’m ready to leave It should go smoothly, everything is planned.. A new name I’ve had two already, achange of appearance, nothing drastic, perhaps I’ll grow a heard and dye my hair. Another job. I can turn my hand to a few trades. Then I’ll start again This time just for me. Not for Adrian. Each one will be carefully planned, victims wisely chosen, and a suitable killing area found I can live my life to the full.

  Time to deal with Salter. First the written-confession, then a brief period of seeing and hearing him suffer before killing him.

  Chapter 23

  Frank glanced at Laurel. She was breathing rapidly, staring at Hinney, her body tense, leaning forward, ready to charge him. He dug his fingers into her arm and when she looked at him, he mouthed, ‘Knife, too close.’ They couldn’t act while Hinney’s knife was at Salter’s throat. If Hinney wanted Salter to write a confession he’d have to release his hands. That would be the time to attack.

  Hinney lowered the knife. ‘I’m going to take off the handcuffs. Don’t try anything. If you do I’ll kill you.’ He took a key from a trouser pocket. ‘Then I’ll kick your body into the pit, so he can get one last look at his murdering father before he bleeds to death. Will he cry for you? Or is he so disgusted by what you’ve done he’ll be glad you’re dead?’

  Salter slumped from the chair onto his knees, his arms above his bowed head and said, ‘I’ll do what you want. Please hurry.’ He raised his head. ‘Stephen. Stephen,’ he shouted, his voice desperate. ‘Can you hear me? Are you all right?’

  Hinney laughed. ‘What a fucking stupid question. Of course, he’s not all right. His chest’s slashed and he’s losing blood. Probably unconscious by now.’

  Salter groaned. ‘Stephen, Stephen,’ he shouted hysterically.

  A feeble moan came from the pit.

  ‘Still alive then.’ He inserted a key into the padlock imprisoning Salter’s right hand. Salter slumped, groaning, as the handcuff swung loose, the chain clanking against the rail. Hinney opened the left handcuff and Salter completely collapsed into a ball, crying out in pain. He rubbed his wrists, continuing to moan.

  ‘Get up, you piece of shit.’ Hinney put the knife to Salter’s throat and heaved him up towards the table. He pushed him onto the chair.

  Salter continued to moan and rub his wrists. ‘I can’t feel anything.’

  ‘Pick up the biro.’

  ‘I can’t. Give me time. My fingers won’t work.’ He started flexing them, his face screwing up with pain.

  Hinney dug the knife deeper into Salter’s neck.

  Salter screamed, blood trickling from the wound. Hinney pulled the knife away a few inches and looped his left arm under Salter’s armpit. He shook him, as though he was a naughty child who wouldn’t obey his father. ‘Pick it up. Write what I say. Try any funny business and I’ll knife you, then I’ll go down into the pit and cut up your boy until the floor is awash with his blood.’

  Slater groaned. ‘Please don’t harm him again. He’s not part of this. I’ll do as you ask.’

  ‘Write. Write what I tell you,’ Hinney said, holding the knife against Salter’s throat.

  Frank put his mouth over Laurel’s ear. ‘I’ll knock the knife out of his hand. You get down the ladder and protect Stephen.’

  She nodded, her face white, eyes narrowed, muscles contracted ready to leap forward. Ready to face another killer.

  Salter picked up the biro, his hand shaking, probably from a mixture of fear and cramp.

  ‘Write down what I tell you,’ Hinney said, pressing the knife against Salter’s neck. ‘Put down the date. July 3rd, 1971.’ He leant over Salter whose shaking hand scrawled words over the paper.

  �
�I am Samuel Salter, and this is my confession,’ Hinney intoned.

  Salter’s hand moved over the paper.

  ‘I raped and strangled.’

  ‘Go!’ whispered Frank. He raced across to Hinney, the crowbar held high.

  The sound of their feet on the concrete floor made Hinney swing round, scraping the blade over Salter’s neck. Salter shot to his feet screaming, his hand grasping his neck, blood seeping from between the fingers.

  Frank smashed the crowbar across Hinney’s wrist and the knife shot from his hand, cartwheeling through the air, clattering and bouncing off the floor, spinning out of Hinney’s reach. Hinney screamed with pain, his face a rictus of shock and fear. Frank raised the bar again, but before he could deal a knock-out blow, Salter lunged at Hinney and Frank pulled his arm back, in case he hit Salter.

  Hinney, on his knees, scrambled towards the door holding his right arm.

  Frank started after him.

  ‘Let him go!’ Laurel shouted. ‘Let the police get him!’

  Frank juddered to a halt. She was right. He couldn’t get away.

  Salter, red-faced, froth forming round his mouth, blood running down his neck started after Hinney. ‘The bastard. He’s ruined my fucking life. He’s killed my boy.’

  Frank tried to grab his arm, but Salter escaped his grasp, picked up the knife and ran out of the pagoda shouting, ‘I’ll fucking kill him!’

  Frank started to follow.

  ‘Don’t go, Frank. The mines. You’ll be blown up.’

  ‘So will they.’

  ‘They both deserve it.’

  It was true. What was the point of risking his own life for a pair of murderers? They couldn’t escape. Revie and the rest of the police would be close. But Hinney might get to his boat. He’d have to try and stop him escaping. He wanted to see him in court. He wanted justice for the missing girls. He needed to see Salter in court as well, for the sake of Thomas Coltman, for him to finally know what had happened to his wife and son and to see the man who killed them sentenced and imprisoned. Perhaps then he would find some peace.

  ‘See to Stephen. I’ll be careful.’ Still holding the crowbar, he took the torch from his belt and raced after them.

  Chapter 24

  Laurel wanted to run after Frank, grab hold of him and stop him following Salter and Hinney. They could all be blown up. She didn’t care if the two murderers were killed, but the thought of Frank being torn to pieces was terrible. Damn the man.

  Stephen. She must get to him. She raced to the edge of the pit and grasping the top of the aluminium ladder she clattered down into the semi-darkness. The drop was deep, about fourteen feet. The smell she’d detected as they came into the pagoda intensified as she reached the bottom of the ladder. A musty, rank, putrid smell, mixing with the coppery reek of fresh blood. The foul smell came from a pile of old clothing heaped in a corner to her right. She flinched as a rat jumped from the pile and scampered to the far end of the pit. Her throat constricted -there was a jumble of white things mixed with the shreds of fabric: bones.

  She forced her gaze towards Stephen and gasped as she saw him stretched out against the far wall. A flickering oil lamp on the floor to his right played a yellow light over his naked body. She pushed away the images of the bones and rags, and what they meant, and ran to him. He was tied to the wall, his body forming a T, arms outstretched, each wrist roped to a steel bolt concreted into the wall, his feet tied together and tethered to another bolt, his head hanging, a Christ-like figure. Rivulets of blood ran down from wounds on his chest, forming patterns on his abdomen and legs, and making pools around his feet.

  She stood still for a few seconds assessing the situation. The wounds looked shallow, and although he appeared to have lost a great deal of blood, she knew this could be deceptive. The blood seemed to be congealing. The greatest concern was shock, from not only the terrible wounds and frightening situation, but the harrowing realization his father was a rapist and murderer.

  Laurel cupped his face in her hands. He was cold, his face so white it was almost blue.

  ‘Stephen. Stephen. You’re safe. Hinney’s gone. I’m Laurel Bowman. The detective. You’re safe, Stephen. A doctor and the police and will be here soon. Stephen, can you hear me?’

  She raised his head slightly. His eyes were closed, his bloodless lips hanging loose. She placed an ear close to his mouth and sighed with relief as she felt a whisper of breath against her cheek. ‘Stephen. Open your eyes. Look at me. I’m Laurel. You know me. You’re safe, but you must try and do as I say.’ She gently patted his cheek. No response. She had to make him wake up, to make him realise he was safe. She needed to get him down from this crucified position, then she could use her own clothes to try and warm him.

  ‘Stephen. Wake up please.’ Where was Revie? He should have been here by now. Or had he been diverted by the escaping murderers? Stephen needed urgent medical attention. She knew shock could kill. If only she had a blanket. Her stomach was churning and the mixture of awful smells, topped with the greasy stench of the oil lamp, was sickening.

  She needed a knife to cut him loose. There was the scythe. Then she remembered the metallic noise as Hinney threw something down before he emerged from the pit, knife in hand. Stephen had cried he had a knife and a razor. The razor must be down here. She gently removed her hands from Stephen’s face and scanned the floor of the pit. What had happened to her torch? It must be with the scythe. No time to climb the ladder and search for them. She picked up the oil-lamp by its handle and raising it high searched the area to Stephen’s left. Nothing. She bit her lip and turned to the right, moving towards the heap of cloth and bones.

  Something glinted as she moved the lamp backwards and forwards. Gold and sparkling stones. Not the razor. Trying not to breathe in she went towards it. The flickering light showed remnants of soiled and stained fabric; she could make out two patterns, one blue with what had probably been white stripes and the other a pink material with a flowery pattern. Summer dresses. There were scraps of other cloth: underwear? And bones. Eaten clean. Ribs, long limb bones, delicate finger bones. She moved some of the cloth. There was a skull, hanks of dark hair still attached to its surface. Was it Lucy or Bobby? She’d found the lost girls, sure both their remains lay in this fetid heap as there were too many bones for one body. She shivered as she remembered finding the skeleton of Felicity in the suitcase on Minsmere beach. There was the razor close to the pile of cloth, and near it a gold cigarette case with the initials SS picked out in diamonds. Sam Salter’s, the one he had had to replace. Stolen by Hinney to incriminate him. Had Hinney killed the girls to lay the blame on Salter? Innocent women used for revenge? Rage ran through her. She was determined he wasn’t having another victim.

  She knelt down and started sawing at the ropes tying Stephen’s feet to the steel spike. The blade was sharp, but she sawed carefully, not wanting to blunt it. As his feet became free there was a sigh from above, then cries of pain as he stretched out his toes. She rubbed his calves, chafing them, ignoring the blood. This kind of pain was good. It was bringing him back to consciousness. She stood up and started on the ropes round his right wrist. He groaned. She moved the razor away. He was looking at her unfocussed, blinking.

  ‘Stephen. I’m cutting the ropes. Try to take your weight. Can you do that?’

  His pupils were enormous, his mouth was moving, but no words came, just a low moan.

  The last threads of the rope gave and she tried to support his body as it slumped to the right, his feet folding under the weight. She held him tight, jostling him upright as you might treat a child who is tired and wants to go to bed.

  ‘Stephen. Try to take some of your weight so I can free your other arm. Then you can lie down. Help will soon be here.’ Where were they? What had happened to Frank?

  He moved, trying to grip her with his freed hand.

  ‘Good. Hold tight, I’ll cut the rope.’ She supported his body with her shoulder and managed to reach out and start sawi
ng.

  ‘Where am I?’

  Thank God. He was making sense. ‘We’re on Orford Ness, in one of the buildings, a pagoda.’ She sawed more rapidly and as the rope parted she threw down the razor and wrapped her arms round his collapsing body, slowly lowering him to the floor. She propped him up against the wall and took off her jacket, laid it on the floor and heaved him on to it. Next, she pulled her jumper over her head and wrapped it over his abdomen. She looked around for something she could put his feet on so she could elevate his legs and get blood to return to his brain. There was nothing but the pile of rags and bones, and a metal bucket, on its side. She wasn’t using them. She lay beside him, pushed her legs under his and raised her knees. That would have to do. Then she took him into her arms, as a mother would, pressing herself close, hoping the warmth of her body would seep into his.

  He raised his head from her shoulder and looked at her. ‘Did you hear what my father said?’ he whispered.

  ‘Yes, I did.’

  ‘Is it true?’

  She hesitated. What was the use of lying? ‘Yes, I believe what he said is true.’

  A great shudder went through him, and he buried his head into her body, anguished sobs tearing at her heart.

  Chapter 25

  Frank burst into the night, holding the torch in his right hand and the crowbar in his left. The sweet, salt-laden air was welcome after the foul stinks of the pagoda. He stopped, took in several deep breaths as he looked around. Salter’s voice echoed back over the beach, cursing and shouting. Frank directed the torch’s beam towards it. Salter was chasing Hinney over the shingle ridges. It looked as though Hinney was heading for his boat, but was he on the right path? Was he following the white markings? He must make sure he did; he shone the beam on the ground in front of him, looking for a white-spotted stone. It wasn’t worth risking his life trying to stop them escaping. The light reflected back off a spot of paint. He moved as quickly as he could, making sure he followed the white dots.