Wrong Place: A gripping serial killer crime thriller.

by M A Comley

  “What now?” Jack asked, looking as pissed off as she felt.

  “Lunch, I guess, and plenty of it. I’ll treat us to fish and chips. How’s that sound to you?”

  “Like you want me to fall asleep at my desk this afternoon.”

  “Maybe a little excessive then, given the time of day. Okay, we’ll settle for a pasty from the baker’s. How’s that?”

  “Better.”

  They stopped off at the baker’s closest to the station, where Sally, feeling in one of her more generous moods, bought all the team lunches consisting of a pasty and a can of pop.

  Once they’d eaten, Sally called the team around the whiteboard, and they spent the next hour recapping what little information they’d dug up, adding into the mix Alexina’s former choice of career. “We need to check to see if the other two girls ever went down that route, too, discreetly, of course.”

  “How do you suggest we do that? We don’t have many family members available to question.” Jack frowned.

  Sally knew he had a point—all the victims had few family members. “Let’s use our research capabilities on that one, Jack, okay? See if either woman has been arrested in the past for prostitution or, for that matter, reported anyone stalking them.”

  He shrugged. “I’ll get onto it now.”

  Sally smiled tautly at her partner. “Anyone else have any suggestions as to what we should be delving into next?”

  The team all looked at her blankly. She’d never worked such a frustrating case in all her years on the force. Having vital evidence to hand but being unable to access or use it had never really fallen into her lap before. That underlying fact was torturing her the most. She left the team to go over everything they had dealt with during the last week and walked into her office to tackle paperwork relating to the cases she’d successfully brought to a conclusion in the past month. Lost in her work late into the afternoon, Sally jumped when the phone on her desk rang.

  “DI Parker.”

  “Inspector, this is the technician at the lab. I have the results ready for you.”

  Sally’s heart began to gallop. “That’s excellent news. Can you fax it through to me?”

  “Of course. Do you have the number? I’m sorry for the delay. Too many cases piled in at the same time.”

  She gave him the fax number then said, “Not to worry. We have it now. I’m looking forward to seeing the results.”

  “Sending it through now. Goodbye, Inspector.”

  Sally pushed back her chair and rushed over to the fax machine. A lifetime passed before the sheet of paper appeared from the slot in the machine. She snatched it up and read the name aloud. “Les Dorling.”

  She rushed into the incident room, waving the sheet of paper in her hand. “We’ve got it. I want everyone on this ASAP. Get me anything and everything you can find on a Les Dorling. According to this, the reason we were able to match a name to the DNA found on the victims is because he’s a convicted rapist. I want to know when he came out of prison, where he lives, what car he drives. If he’s got a job, I want to know where he works. And I want all that by the end of our shift.”

  “Are we going to pick him up tonight?” Jack asked.

  Sally nodded. “That’s the plan, partner. Do you have a problem with that?”

  “No. Just asking. I thought it would be better to grab him tonight rather than risk him going out on the prowl again, on the lookout for his next victim.”

  “That’s what I thought, too. Get me his address first, and we’ll shoot off and pick him up, Jack, while the rest of the team try to find any other info that links him to our case.”

  Twenty minutes later, Sally and Jack arrived at the suspect’s address. He was staying at a small bed and breakfast in a less-salubrious part of Norwich. Sally asked the rough-looking woman behind the reception desk if Dorling was in.

  “He is. Who wants to know?” she responded tartly.

  Sally flashed her warrant card. “DI Sally Parker and DS Jack Blackman. What room is he in?”

  “You can’t just barge in here and pester my guests.”

  “We’re hardly barging in, and unless your guests have something to hide, we’re entitled to talk to anyone we care to speak to. Now, what room is he in?”

  “Number ten,” the woman responded with a scowl.

  “Thanks. Don’t bother trying to warn him we’re on our way, either. We have this place surrounded.” Sally had gone up against dubious guesthouse owners in the past. The woman looked beyond Sally at the street through the glazed door, no doubt trying to see if more officers were outside the B&B.

  “I don’t want no trouble. What’s he done?”

  “Nothing yet. We just want a friendly chat with him. Is it this way?” Sally pointed up the flight of stairs in front of them.

  “Yep, the only stairs we have. Go to the top and turn right. It’s the door at the end you want.”

  “Thanks.” Sally walked casually up the stairs with Jack behind her. Once they got to the top, they walked briskly past the rest of the rooms. She knocked lightly on the door to Dorling’s room.

  The door swung open, and the man eyed the detectives cautiously. “Yeah?”

  “Les Dorling?”

  “That’s right.”

  Sally stepped aside and let Jack barge into the room. He knocked the man to the floor, pulled his hands behind his back, and slapped on the cuffs. Jack read the man his rights. “We’re arresting you for the murder of Brenda Fisher. You do not have to say anything. But it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”

  “What the fuck are you talking about?” the man asked, jostling against Jack.

  “Let’s go.” Rather than argue, Sally walked out of the room, leaving Jack to force the man to his feet. She could hear Dorling still trying to resist arrest, but she turned a blind eye to Jack’s manhandling him through the building and out to the car. “Give it a rest, Dorling.”

  Jack opened the back door, urged the suspect into his seat, then squashed in beside him.

  “I ain’t done nothin’ wrong. I’m telling you—you’ve made a mistake.”

  “We’ll see about that. Now sit still and shut up,” Sally warned, pulling away from the guesthouse.

  At the station, Jack and Sally left the suspect with the duty sergeant and a couple of constables.

  “Let me know when you’ve booked him in, Sergeant. I’ll be upstairs,” Sally said.

  Sally and Jack ran upstairs to the incident room.

  “We’ve got him,” she announced as soon as she burst through the door to the office. “What have you found out about him?”

  Joanna was the first to speak. “He’s been out of prison since February this year, boss. Served four years for raping an eighteen-year-old girl. He swore he was innocent, but the DNA proved he was lying.”

  “Why am I not surprised about that? He’s just denied he didn’t know Brenda Fisher in the car. I haven’t tackled him about Maddie Webster yet, as we’re still awaiting clarification on the results on that, although the pathologist’s initial findings have already linked the two crimes. It doesn’t really matter, because we have enough against him already. What about his car? Does he have one?”

  “Yep. An old Ford Escort registered to him at a different address.”

  “Naughty boy. Something else we can fling at him. Okay, at least we can try and place him at the scenes for further evidence. Let’s see what else we can throw at him.”

  “Yes, boss,” the team replied in unison.

  “Coffee, Jack? We’ll stay up here for half an hour or so, give him a chance to get worked up about what’s going on.”

  “Why not? I’ll get these, boss, as you forked out for lunch.”

  “I was hoping you’d say that. I’ll be in the office, preparing my questions for the suspect. Hey, is everyone up for a celebratory drink after work?”

  Every member of t
he team either nodded or gave her the thumbs-up in reply.

  At five thirty, Sally and Jack made their way back downstairs. “Has the brief turned up, Sergeant?”

  “Yes, she’s waiting in Interview Room Two, Inspector.”

  “Thanks. Leave it five minutes and then bring the prisoner in, will you?”

  “Yes, boss. When you went upstairs, he put up a bit of a struggle, and one of the constables ended up elbowing him in the eye by mistake. So don’t be surprised if he’s sporting a shiner when you see him.”

  Sally shook her head but smiled at the sergeant. “Shit happens!”

  Jack sniggered. “I almost did the same thing myself back at the B&B, Sergeant.”

  Sally walked along the corridor to where the appointed solicitor was waiting for them. She introduced herself and Jack to the woman then sat down opposite.

  “Hello, Inspector. Is my client about to join us?”

  “He is, Miss Cornwell. He should be with us any time soon. You’re aware of the charge brought against him, I believe.”

  “I am. I hope you haven’t picked him up just because he has a past record for a similar offence, Inspector?”

  “No. That would be totally unprofessional. We picked him up through the DNA we recovered at the first scene.”

  “I see.”

  The door opened, interrupting their conversation, and in walked Les Dorling, sporting a discoloured right eye, which Sally feared was only going to intensify in colour during their questioning.

  “Take a seat, Mr. Dorling.” Sally noted the shocked expression on the solicitor’s face and asked, “Has the doctor seen you?”

  “Not yet. He’s busy, so they tell me. I’m going to sue you for this. Mark my words, I will.” He turned to his solicitor and pointed at his eye. “They did this to me when I came in. I want compo, right?”

  “I’m sorry about that, Mr. Dorling. I’ll see what I can do for you. Did you resist arrest or come to the station willingly?” Miss Cornwell asked her client.

  “I might have had a little tussle out there, but there was no call for them to give me this.” Dorling pointed to his eye again.

  “Okay, let’s begin.” Sally said the necessary blurb into the tape to begin the interview then asked the suspect, “Mr. Dorling, where were you on Sunday night of last week? That would be the eighth of March.”

  Dorling shrugged. “How the fuck should I know?”

  “That’s not helpful to your case. Try harder,” Sally suggested.

  Dorling scratched his head and seemed pensive for a moment or two. “At home, if you can call that shithole a home.”

  “So, you were at the B&B all night? Can anyone confirm that?”

  Dorling shrugged again. “I have no idea.”

  “Can you remember talking to anyone that night?” Sally asked.

  “Lady, I’ve got no idea. Once I’m in my room, that’s it.”

  “Okay, and when you’re not in your room? What are you doing then?”

  “I’ve got a part-time job valeting cars.” He looked up at Sally and sneered. “It’s the only job I can get since your lot banged me up.”

  “So, the fact that you were convicted of rape had nothing to do with your imprisonment, then?”

  Dorling fidgeted in his seat. “Like I told the judge, me and that bitch had consensual sex. Juries always come down heavy on the guys. They always believe the bitches when they lie about spreading their legs.”

  “Mr. Dorling, we’re not here to go over your previous convictions. That has already been successfully dealt with, as far as I’m concerned.”

  “Has it, though? Aren’t you here accusing me of doing something to this woman only because of what’s gone on in my past?” He sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

  “Not exactly, no. And as I told you back at the B&B, this woman, Brenda Fisher, was murdered.”

  “And I told you that I have no idea who she is. It didn’t stop you dragging me in here and beating me up. I ain’t no murderer, lady.” Defiance blazed in his large, brown eyes.

  “You see, this is where experience tells us that people who commit heinous crimes like rape often come out of prison feeling as though they’ve been misjudged and go on a mission to punish yet more women. Even killing them in some cases.”

  He lunged forward in his chair. “Not me. For a start, I never effing raped the girl I was convicted of anyway.”

  “You can protest all you like; the evidence clearly convicted you on that case.”

  “Of course your lot have never arrested and convicted the wrong person, ever, have you? Jeez, why can’t you fuckers leave me alone? I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Less of the language, buster,” Jack warned. “Play nice with us, and we’ll play fairly with you.”

  Dorling bared his teeth and pointed at his black eye. “Effing looks that way, don’t it?”

  “Okay, this isn’t getting us anywhere. So, you’re insisting that you were alone in your room on Sunday the eighth. My next question is where were you the following night?”

  “What? How the fuck should I know?” Dorling turned to his solicitor and frowned. “Do you know what’s going on here? Can they keep asking me questions without having proof that I was at the scene?”

  Miss Cornwell smiled briefly at her client. “Just answer their questions.”

  “Some effing help you are.” He grunted in complaint.

  The brief ignored his angry comment and stared at her notebook, pen poised to make notes again.

  “Here’s the thing—we do have proof that you were at the scene.” Sally smiled at the suspect, but she knew it never reached her eyes.

  “And I’m telling you, you can’t have. Jesus, how many times do I have to repeat myself?”

  “Going back to last week. Where were you on Monday night? That would be the ninth of March.”

  “And I’ll give you the same answer—back in my room at the B&B, not that you’re going to believe me. Why? What am I supposed to have done wrong on that day? Go on, effing surprise me?”

  “Well… we discovered another body of a woman in the near vicinity to Brenda Fisher’s body. Do you know anything about that victim?”

  Dorling ground his teeth, his eyes widening, before he found the words to deny any wrongdoing. “No. I know nothing. Is this some kind of effing wind-up? Should I be looking for a hidden camera somewhere?”

  “No, Mr. Dorling, this is no joke. I’m being serious. Yet another body was found the night after Brenda Fisher was murdered, and here’s the interesting thing, the second victim also had a present left on her body.”

  “Which was?”

  “We’ve yet to get this verified, but it would appear to be your DNA again.”

  “What? It can’t be!” Dorling objected irately.

  “I must interject there, Inspector. By the sounds of things, you’re assuming that to be the case. Without factual evidence you cannot put the blame on my client.”

  “You’re right, Miss Cornwell. I think it will only be a matter of hours before the lab confirms our suspicions, though. So I thought I’d pre-empt that and ask anyway, while we have the suspect here on another charge.”

  The solicitor gave Sally another warning glance then looked down at her notebook.

  Dorling picked up where his solicitor left off. “I refuse to answer, in that case.”

  “Like I say, it’s only a matter of time, Dorling. Now, do you want to change your story about Brenda Fisher? Did she turn you down at the pub? Is that it?”

  “Christ, don’t you listen, woman? I don’t know this wench. I never left my gaff that night, as far as I can remember. As for going down the boozer, I bloody wish! I can’t afford that kind of luxury living on minimum wage and forking out for B&B accommodation. Have you any idea how much that sets me back a week? One hundred and thirty quid—that’s what! On top of that, I’m expected to find money for food.”

  “If you can’t afford where you live, why did you go to a B&B inste
ad of staying at a hostel?”

  “Doh, ‘cause there was no room at the inn.”

  “I see. We’re veering off track here. I’m sorry about your circumstances, but that really has nothing to do with me trying to solve this case. At the moment, you are our prime suspect in at least one murder. We’re awaiting results on two other murders. They should be with us in the next day or two.”

  Dorling’s head jerked as he looked at the three people around the table, shock emanating from him in sonic waves. “What? No way! No way are you effing blaming me for three bloody murders. You can’t do that!” He turned to his solicitor and grabbed her arm. “Tell them. They can’t pin one bloody murder on me, let alone three. Tell them!”

  His brief stared down at his hand until Dorling finally released his grip. “The inspector has said they’re awaiting the results from the other cases. If you know anything about the first victim, you should tell the inspector.”

  “I don’t! I’m innocent. How many times do I have to say that?”

  Sally could tell that Dorling was becoming angrier with every passing second. She nudged her partner with her leg; it was a code they’d devised between them. Jack knew to be on his guard in case the suspect struck out at anyone. Jack nudged her in return and pushed his chair back a little so that he was ready to pounce on the suspect if the need arose.

  “Calm down, Dorling. We have the proof. All you need to tell us is what went on that evening.”

  He vehemently shook his head. “Nothing. Because I wasn’t effing there. Here’s a fact that you need to listen to, Inspector. I haven’t been near a woman since I got out of prison. Why the fuck would I? You lay one hand on the bitches nowadays, and they shout rape. What’s the frigging point when a wank is more preferable and less trouble?”

  Sally raised an eyebrow at the gross image he’d conjured up. But she saw a smattering of truth in what the man was saying. Something in her gut told her that he was telling the truth. But the evidence? Her inner voice objected. Thinking that they were getting nowhere fast, she asked the suspect her final question.

  “Last chance, Mr. Dorling. When did you meet Brenda Fisher, on the night of March the eighth?”