by Graham Ison
There was a lone detective sergeant in the CID office, doubtless that night’s sole crime-fighting force for the large area covered by that particular operational command unit.
‘I’m DCI Brock, HMCC,’ I said. ‘What’s the SP, skip?’ I didn’t have to explain what I was talking about. The fact that I’d mentioned HMCC was good enough.
‘It was between nine thirty and ten o’clock this evening, sir. An instant response unit was patrolling Richmond Road when they saw this young woman, er …’ The sergeant glanced at a note on his desk. ‘Miss Heather Douglas, guv, in an apparently distressed state. At first they thought she was drunk; there are several nightclubs in the vicinity and it’s not uncommon to find drunken females staggering about, even on a Wednesday. But when the crew of the police vehicle started to talk to her they found that wasn’t the case. She told them that a man had attempted to kidnap her.’
‘All right, skip, that’ll do. I’ll get the rest from Miss Douglas, when DI Ebdon arrives.’
‘I’m here, guv.’ As if on cue, Kate appeared in the doorway of the office. As we made our way to the interview room I told Kate the story so far.
The woman we’d come to interview was about five foot ten in height, quite slender and with long brown hair. She had told the Kingston DS that she was twenty-five years of age.
‘I’m Detective Chief Inspector Brock and this is Detective Inspector Ebdon, Miss Douglas. Or would you rather we called you Heather?’
‘Yes, please. Miss Douglas sounds so terribly old fashioned. Like someone out of a Jane Austen novel.’
‘How are you feeling now?’
‘A bit shaky now that it’s all over, but I’ll recover.’ Heather Douglas was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, but there was a large tear in the jeans that revealed a badly grazed knee. I know some young people wear what are called ‘distressed’ jeans, which means they’ve been ripped to pieces simply so that they look the same as every other young person wearing jeans, but this damage appeared to have been the result of an accident.
‘Have you had that knee looked at?’ I presumed the injury was connected with the incident she was describing.
Heather glanced down. ‘No, it’ll be all right.’
‘I can call the police surgeon to dress it for you, if you wish.’
‘No, really, it’s only a graze. Anyway, my flatmate’s a nurse. She’ll do whatever needs to be done.’
I saw that Kate Ebdon was making a note, probably to the effect that the services of the police surgeon had been offered and declined. The police have to be very careful about such things these days. I knew also that she’d ask the same question of the detective sergeant whom Heather had met on her arrival. I hoped, for his sake, that he had made an offer of medical assistance. Kate can get very shirty when it comes to neglect of duty.
‘I know you’ve already told other officers what happened to you, Heather,’ I began, ‘but perhaps you’d tell us, right from the beginning.’
‘I’d been to my health club for a workout and a swim. I usually go about twice a week, or more often if I can. When I was in the pool I got talking to this guy and he asked me what I was doing for the rest of the evening.’
‘Where is this health club?’ asked Kate.
‘All the details are on there.’ Heather Douglas produced her membership card and showed it to Kate.
‘What time was this?’ asked Kate, once she’d made a note of the health club address and returned the card.
‘It must’ve been about half past eight, I suppose.’
‘Have you ever seen this man there before?’
‘No.’
‘Yes, go on, Heather.’
‘I told him I was going to the Talavera. It’s a wine bar in Richmond.’
‘Yes, I know of it,’ I said. So far, it was connected with all the murders I was investigating. ‘D’you live in Richmond?’
‘Yes, I do.’
Kate handed Heather her pocketbook. ‘Just jot down your address in there.’
‘Is that where you work? In Richmond, I mean,’ I continued.
‘No, I work at a London hospital. I’m a microbiologist. I take the train up to town every day, worse luck.’
‘What did this man say when you told him where you were going?’
‘He offered me a lift, because he said he was going to the Talavera too.’ Heather saw my frown. ‘Yes, I know. Girls should never accept lifts from guys they don’t know, but it was that or get the bus. And he seemed quite a decent sort of chap. Actually, he was quite dishy.’ She glanced at Kate, as if seeking understanding.
‘So you went with him,’ said Kate.
‘Yes, but I’ll not make a mistake like that again, even if it means waiting hours for a bus.’
‘Don’t you have a car?’
‘Yes, but as I was going for a drink afterwards I thought it wiser to use the bus, and I live within walking distance of the wine bar.’
I found that to be a curious statement. ‘If you live within walking distance of the Talavera, why didn’t you use your car to go to the health club, return home and then walk to the Talavera?’ I asked.
‘Oh gosh! I never thought of that.’
I assumed, unfairly perhaps, that maybe microbiologists have tunnel vision.
‘Had you ever seen this man in the Talavera before?’ I asked.
‘No, I hadn’t, but to be honest, I don’t often go there. I’m not a great drinker. As a matter of fact, I was only going there this evening because my flatmate had suggested we went for a drink.’
‘And your flatmate’s name?’ asked Kate.
‘Sarah Newman. She’s the nurse I mentioned earlier.’ Heather smiled. ‘She’s a bit of a bossyboots. She’ll really go for me when she finds out what happened.’
‘When did you realize that this man wasn’t just obligingly giving you a lift, Heather?’ I asked.
‘When it dawned on me that he was driving towards Kingston, away from Richmond. It was just about then that he asked me a creepy question, one that really scared me in the circumstances.’
‘Which was?’ asked Kate.
‘He asked me if I was wearing a bra. Just like that. No preamble or anything.’
‘What did you say to that?’
‘It suddenly hit me what this guy had got in mind. I thought I ought to humour him if I could, so I told him I was wearing one. But that wasn’t true – most of the time I don’t – and I wasn’t wearing one then … now,’ she added, correcting herself.
‘What was his reaction to that?’ It was interesting that she should have told us of the question that her assailant had asked. The theft of bras, a factor in all the murders, was information that we’d deliberately not released to the media. Consequently, Heather Douglas couldn’t have made up the statement just to plant the idea that she’d almost fallen victim to the notorious murderer we were hunting.
‘It took me by surprise, but he reached across, grabbed hold of my breast, and of course he could feel I wasn’t wearing one.’
‘Did he comment on your lie, Heather?’ asked Kate.
‘He accused me of lying, so I said that it was in my sports bag and I hadn’t bothered to put it on when I’d finished my swim. It wasn’t true, but my sports bag was in the boot of his car.’
‘Was that it?’ asked Kate, teasing out every vestige of Heather’s distressing encounter.
‘He just smiled and said I should put it on once we arrived.’
‘Did he tell you where you and he were going?’
‘Not immediately, but after he’d made a grab for my boob I was petrified and thought to myself, Heather my girl, if you don’t get the hell out of this car pretty damned quick you’ll finish up getting raped or even murdered. Although I’m pretty fit, I’m sure he was more powerful than me. It was then that I asked him where we were going, because it was obvious we weren’t going to Richmond.’
‘What was his reply to that, Heather?’ I asked.
‘He said he knew of
a nightclub in Kingston that he was certain I’d like. It was then that I decided it was now or never.’
‘How did you manage to escape?’ asked Kate.
‘When we were at the Kingston end of Richmond Road, approaching the railway bridge near Kingston railway station, he was forced to slow right down because of traffic pulling up. I think there are traffic lights there somewhere. I opened the door and rolled out on to the pavement. I tore my jeans, bruised my knee quite badly and grazed it.’ Heather made it sound as though the torn jeans were of greater concern to her than her injured knee. ‘And I ran, but I had to slow to a walk because my knee was hurting like hell.’
‘Didn’t he come after you, Heather?’ I asked.
‘No. The traffic had cleared and cars were piling up behind him, and they all started hooting.’
‘What happened next?’
‘I was limping along the road when a police car turned up. I think they thought I was drunk, but I told them what had happened. Even so, one of the policemen suggested that I was letting my imagination run away with me.’
‘Did he, indeed?’ I turned to Kate. ‘Make a note that I’ll want to see that PC in due course.’
‘Didn’t you think to phone for help?’ Kate asked. ‘I presume you’ve got a mobile.’
‘I’d left it at home,’ admitted Heather ruefully. ‘I hardly ever use it, and I’m always afraid of losing it. But the one time I needed it, I hadn’t got it,’ she added. ‘Anyway, the police were there, so I wouldn’t have needed it.’
‘Now, are you able to give us descriptions of the man and the car, Heather?’ Kate turned over a page in the A4 book in which she’d been making notes.
‘The man was—’ Heather broke off. ‘There’s something I should mention. When I decided I was going to bail out I surreptitiously pulled out a few strands of my hair and stuffed them down the back of the front passenger seat as far as I could. I reckoned that if you ever find this guy that might come in useful, because they’ll have my DNA on them.’
‘Oh, bloody ripper!’ exclaimed Kate, lapsing into pure Australian in her enthusiasm. ‘What made you think to do that?’
‘I’m a scientist, and I know about DNA.’
‘Very resourceful of you, Heather,’ I murmured, ‘but can you describe this man?’
‘I’m not very good at describing people, but I’ll have a go.’ Heather was silent for a moment or two. ‘I’d say he was somewhere between thirty and forty, and very well built. I could tell that because I saw him in swimming trunks, remember.’ She smiled at the recollection. ‘He had dark hair, perhaps dark brown, not black.’
‘Did he have a beard or a moustache?’ asked Kate, busily writing.
‘No, no beard. He might’ve had a moustache, though. I didn’t really notice.’
‘How tall was he?’
‘A little bit taller than me, and I’m five foot ten.’
‘What about the car?’ I asked. ‘Saloon, sports car, foreign, a Mini?’
‘Gosh, I don’t really know. It was dark in colour. Maybe black or navy blue or even grey. I didn’t pay much attention, and I certainly don’t know what make it was. Cars all look the same to me, I’m afraid. I’ve got a Suzuki, and it wasn’t one of those. If only I’d taken the number, but by the time I’d bailed out and started running, he’d driven off. Sorry! I’m not being very helpful, am I?’
‘Don’t apologize,’ I said. ‘You’ve been very helpful. I hope there were some roots on the hair you put down the back of the passenger seat; otherwise it won’t be much good for analysis.’
‘I do know that,’ said Heather rather tartly. ‘I made sure the follicles were there. There’s one thing that really annoys me, though.’
‘What’s that?’
‘I had to leave my sports bag in the car, along with an expensive Speedo swimsuit that I’d only just bought. But worse than that, there was also a pair of Ted Baker trainers in the bag, and they cost me a hundred pounds. And I put them on my credit card, and now I’ll have to pay for something I don’t have any longer when the account comes in.’
‘Your kit might turn up,’ said Kate. ‘I doubt he’d hang on to any of it, not if he’s got any sense.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ said Heather, but she didn’t sound convinced.
‘One last question, Heather,’ I said. ‘What was this man’s name?’
‘I don’t know if it was his real name, but he said to call him Guy.’
‘Surname?’
‘He didn’t mention one.’
‘Did you tell him your name?’
‘Yes. I told him I was Heather, but I didn’t give him my surname.’
‘Does he know where you live?’
‘No, of course not.’ But Heather suddenly turned pale. ‘Oh my God! My name and address are in my sports bag. It was in case I ever lost it.’
‘That’s good,’ said Kate.
‘What’s good about it?’ asked Heather nervously.
‘It means he might come after you at home. And if he does, we’ll be waiting to grab him. Incidentally, did you tell him where you worked?’
‘No, I didn’t.’
‘Well, that’s something.’
‘Excuse us for a moment, Heather,’ I said. ‘Inspector Ebdon and I have to make the necessary arrangements for your personal protection.’
Kate and I adjourned to the CID office. ‘What d’you think, Kate?’
‘It’s possible, I suppose, that this guy just wanted to take her to a nightclub rather than a wine bar.’
‘Bearing in mind that our four murder victims have all had their bras taken, Kate, his question about whether she was wearing one could be quite significant,’ I suggested. ‘And there’s another thing. In appearance, Heather looks similar to our four murder victims in terms of age, hair and build. I don’t want to get our hopes up, but it’s just possible that this man who calls himself Guy is our killer. So far, he’s always gone after women who are similar in appearance.’
‘That’s what I was thinking, Harry, but there’s only one thing that doesn’t ring true. If she lives within walking distance of the wine bar she intended going to, why not drive to the sports club, leave her car at home when she got back and then walk to the wine bar?’
‘You heard what she said when I posed the question to her, Kate. Not everyone thinks that far in advance. She might be a brilliant scientist, but that doesn’t necessarily make her think ahead when it comes to her everyday life. If she had thought of the possible consequences she wouldn’t have got into a car with a complete stranger just because he looked dishy.’
‘Possibly,’ said Kate, reluctant to give up on her theory, ‘but there’s another thing. Harvey and I interviewed a guy in the Talavera wine bar last Thursday. His name was Jason Skinner, and he’d had a fling with Rachel Steele. He was on one of the videos on her phone; it showed her standing with Skinner’s arm around her waist.’
‘What’s the relevance of that? There were a few others too.’
‘He belongs to the same health club that Heather was talking about. He’s fortyish and has a moustache.’
‘I think we’ll talk to him.’
‘I’ve still got the video on my mobile,’ said Kate. ‘We could show it to Heather.’
‘Not a good idea, Kate. If we nick this guy, I don’t want defence counsel suggesting that she picked him out of a line-up because we’d shown her a video in advance of the ID parade.’
‘Yeah, good point,’ said Kate. ‘But right now, Harry, who are you going to pick to babysit?’
I glanced at my watch. It was now midnight. ‘We’ll need two officers to be inside her house or flat or whatever it is.’
‘Couldn’t we get the Uniform Branch at Richmond to do it, Harry?’
‘No, it’s our job. And I want this guy bang to rights. If he’s our four-times murderer, everything’s got to be done correctly, right from the start.’
I telephoned the incident room and told Gavin Creasey to get h
old of two officers who were to draw firearms and to meet me at Heather Douglas’s address as soon as possible.
‘That’s going to please a couple of our blokes,’ said Kate.
‘Shouldn’t have joined if they can’t take a joke,’ I said, and with some apprehension I rang the DAC and explained what had happened so far. That could have waited until later this morning, but I needed his authority for firearms to be drawn. Disturbing the commander at midnight was a non-starter; the prospect of being interrogated by Mrs Commander before I was permitted to talk to the great man was definitely not on. Anyway, he’d declared himself uninterested in anything I was doing in connection with the murders.
‘Yeah, sure, Harry,’ said the DAC. ‘Get the forms sent over to my office in the morning and I’ll sign them.’ I knew he could be trusted not to renege on me, even if the job went disastrously wrong, and sometimes the wrong guy does finish up getting shot by police.
‘Thank you, sir.’ I knew that the DAC would be all right about it, but I wouldn’t have expected otherwise from a real detective.
One of the girls with whom Heather lived was still up when we arrived at the Victorian house they shared in Richmond. Heather introduced her as Sarah Newman, the nurse whom she was supposed to have met at the Talavera.
‘Where the hell did you get to, Heather? I waited in the Talavera for over an hour.’ Suddenly her flatmate’s bedraggled appearance registered. ‘My God! What’s happened to you? And who are your friends?’
‘We’re police officers, Miss Newman,’ I said, and explained who we were and why we were there.
‘Do call me Sarah, please.’ She turned back to her companion. ‘I’d better have a look at that knee, Heather. I don’t want you getting it infected.’
‘What’s all the noise about? I was sound asleep. Some of us have to work, you know.’ A scantily clad girl, her hair a mess, appeared in the doorway of the sitting room, clearly having just got out of bed. ‘Oh, gosh!’ she exclaimed as she saw us. ‘Is it a party? Shall I go and put some clothes on?’
‘No such luck,’ said Heather, and told us her other flatmate was Olivia Dee and that she worked as a cabin crew attendant for an airline.