by Stan Mason
Her father had arranged for an office to be set up in London and she had arrived in Britain the day before to check that everything was in order. However, her father knew nothing about the real reason why his daughter wanted to come to London so urgently. She had been involved with a man in Tel Aviv and their relationship had developed faster than expected. Soon she found herself pregnant and, after splitting up with her lover, realised that it was necessary to have an abortion. After her father had made arrangements for the setting up the office, she had contacted an abortion clinic to make an appointment. She had undergone the operation at eight o’clock in the morning, rested for four hours, and then left to go to the office. It was completely quickly, clinically, and definitely. She felt extremely sore and a little weak but her strength was returning quicker than she thought it would. The operation did not have the devastating effect she thought she would suffer. The most important thing was that no one else should ever know about it.
At one thirty, she she walked down the street intending to go to a restaurant for lunch. There were few people in the street and she noted the cosmopolitan make-up of most of the passers by musing that it was almost like being in Tel Aviv. Suddenly, a man she had never seen before, wearing the yellow and green jacket of a paramedic, came directly towards her as though she was his target. Without warning, he injected a hypodermic needle directly into her shoulder. The glass stem of the needle snapped as a result of the thick leather jacket she was wearing but nonetheless its point penetrated her upper arm causing her to experience a sharp pain. Some of the fluid from the broken needle entered her flesh although most of it dribbled onto the blouse she wore under the jacket. She was so surprised at the attack that she failed to scream and, before she had time to react, the drug dulled her senses causing her to collapse helplessly onto the pavement. She was swiftly assisted by a man and a woman wearing paramedic jackets who lifted her up unceremoniously and bundled her quickly into a vehicle. The event was so rapid that the people passing by failed to notice anything strange about the incident. They had merely seen a woman collapsing in the street assuming that the paramedics would take her to a hospital.
The vehicle was driven off swiftly and Sophie was taken to a building before being carried to the third floor when she was laid down full length on a blanket. The woman who had helped carry her into the vehicle in Charing Cross smiled jubilantly at the man as a result of the ease at which the kidnap had taken place. He slapped Sophie in the face to check whether she was still under sedation, then he lifted up her skirt as high as her waist and started to pull down her panties. Without delay, he took off the paramedic’s jacket to reveal a smart grey suit, a white shirt and a tie, and, at that moment, as a result of the failure of the hypodermic needle to inject her fully with its contents, Sophie opened her eyes to see the man taking down his trousers in front of her. She sat up quickly, pulling up her panties, determined to defend her virtue, and her life, to the bitter end. Much to the man’s surprise, she lashed out at him with her arm as she sprang to her feet. With his trousers around his ankles, he threw a punch at her body which missed as Sophie swayed to one side. She had spent two years in the Israeli army and knew everything there was to know about self-defence. On the second attempted punch, she parried him easily and then all her experience came to the fore as she attacked the man angrily, striking him in the throat and pushing her fingers into his eyes. She turned to look at the woman who stepped back two paces in fear, then, without hesitation, she left the room and ran down the stairs, to escape from the clutches of her kidnappers. Her mind was in turmoil with regard to the event. On reaching the street, she looked both ways. The scene was most unfamiliar to her so she stood in the middle of the road as a car came along. She raised her hand to stop it and the driver slammed on his brakes to avoid hitting her. She swiftly pulled open the door on the passenger’s side and jumped inside the vehicle, urging the driver to take her directly to the police station. Her shoulder was very sore where the hypodermic needle had penetrated the flesh and, indeed, there was some glass trapped inside her leather jacket which rubbed against her shoulder. She dwelt on the fact that the garment had been made of camel-skin and was therefore very tough to penetrate. Its thickness had almost certainly saved her from being raped, tortured and perhaps murdered. Worst of all, she had no idea why she should have been targeted as the victim.
When she arrived at the police station, the desk sergeant was sceptical of Sophie’s story. He considered it to be so far-fetched as to be an element of fiction. Who would abduct a young woman they didn’t know in broad daylight and take her to a place intending to rape her in the presence of another woman? It was a ridiculous story!
‘I tell you I was injected with a hypodermic needle in the street and then abducted,’ she insisted angrily when it became clear that the policeman was less than impressed by her story. ‘They took me to this place and the man was about to rape me! He was taking down his trousers after lifting my skirt and pulling down my panties. You have to believe me! Look!’ She removed her leather jacket to reveal a small wound on her shoulder. When she pulled the sleeve of the jacket inside out, small pieces of glass from the broken hypodermic needle fell on to the desk.
‘Where did this happen?’ asked the desk sergeant cautiously, becoming more interested as the evidence began to unfold before him.
‘In the street... in Charing Cross,’ she told him.
‘No,’ he went on shaking his head, ‘I mean where did this attempted rape take place?’
‘I don’t know,’ she uttered sadly. ‘I was drugged, wasn’t I? When I escaped, I stopped a car in the street and ran out of the building. The driver came straight here.’
‘Did you get the registration number of the vehicle that brought you?’ asked the desk sergeant.
‘Of course not!’ savaged Sophie angrily. ‘I’d just escaped from two lunatics who were going to harm me. I was not in the mood to look for clues. I just wanted to get away. Do you have any idea how I felt?’ There was a momentary pause. ‘No I don’t suppose you do!’
‘You see, miss,’ continued the desk sergeant slowly, ‘I only have your version of events. Except for a few pieces of broken glass and a mark on your shoulder there’s no real evidence to back it up.’
‘How can I prove to you that I was kidnapped?’ she reproached with tears in her eyes. ‘I only got off the plane from Israel yesterday...’
‘Ah,’ interrupted the policeman, his mind moving on a different tack. ‘Are you an immigrant in this country?’
‘I have a British passport... I was born here!’ she snapped irately, much to his dismay. ‘Look... all I remember is that there was a large Maltese Cross on the wall in the room where they took me. It was upstairs in this big building.’
The desk sergeant suddenly took a deeper interest in the case. ‘A Maltese Cross, you say. Hold on a moment, miss.’ He picked up the telephone receiver and dialled a single digit number. ‘I think we have another development on the serial killer, sir,’ he uttered before listening to the response and returning the receiver into its cradle. ‘If you’ll just take a seat over there, miss, someone will see you shortly.’
Sophie sat down on the seat for a few moments reflecting the event. It had come stunningly out of the blue... a horrendous situation which she was lucky to escape from her training in the Israeli army. But why did they pick on her? She didn’t have any enemies... unless one of her father’s competitors didn’t want him to open a branch in London. No, surely it couldn’t be that! Business was competitive but not that competitive! The affair remained a complete enigma to her. However, one thing was certain, she would never reveal that she had had an abortion that very morning before the attack.
Within a few minutes, Roger Watson entered and sat down beside her.
‘You say there was a Maltese Cross on the wall of the room where they took you,’ he began, looking at Sophie closely.
&
nbsp; ‘Yes,’ she replied. ‘They laid me down on the floor, then the man lifted up my skirt and pulled down my panties. He then started to take down his trousers. Quite obviously he was intent on raping me.’
‘What happened then?’
‘They tried to drug me in the street at Charing Cross but my leather jacket is so thick that the hypodermic needle broke and only a small amount of the fluid was injected into my body. Not surprisingly, I came to my senses much quicker than they expected. I got to my feet and punched him in the throat, pushing my fingers into his eyes. I know how to defend myself. I spent two years in the Israeli army. I got out of the room and ran down the stairs into the street. I stood in the road to stop a car and asked the driver to bring me here.’
‘But she doesn’t know the registration number of the vehicle,’ intervened the desk sergeant.
‘Come with me,’ ordered the senior police officer gently, standing up to leave.
Sophie rose and followed him into the heart of the police station. She had come to report a crime which had taken place but the reluctance of the police to take her seriously was offensive to her. What did a victim have to do to get the authorities to move in order to catch the perpetrators and stop them doing the same thing to someone else?
Hunter got wind of the new development when Meredith contacted him.
‘Hey!’ related the reporter openly. ‘There’s a woman at the police station who was abducted by our serial killer but she managed to get away.’
The architect was all ears. ‘See you at the police station in ten minutes,’ he responded urgently, slamming the receiver down in his hurry to find his car keys.
He entered the police station at the same time as the reporter and they stood in a room which had a large one-way window so that they could see Sophie and Watson who were sitting opposite each other at a table. Hunter rued the fact that the interview had been going on for some minutes which meant that he had missed many of the questions and answers.
‘We can see them,’ explained Meredith, whose breath smelled as though he had been sitting at the bar of an inn when he received the call, ‘but they can’t see us.’
They looked on as Watson continued the investigation with his hands clenched in front of him.
‘What time did the abduction occur?’ asked the senior police officer.
‘That’s the second time you asked me that!’ she chided. ‘It was about one o’clock.’
‘Were there many people around who saw the incident?’
‘I don’t know,’ she replied honestly. ‘The drug they injected was pretty potent. I was out in an instant. Fortunately, my jacket has such thick leather that it saved me because the hypodermic needle broke.’
‘What was the man and woman wearing?’
‘They both had paramedic jackets. When he took his off in that room, I could see a smart grey suit. He was also wearing a white shirt and a tie... yes, he was wearing a tie.’
‘What would you consider to be their ages?’
‘They were both in their early twenties,’ returned Sophie confidently.
‘Now think very carefully on this question,’ continued Watson seriously. ‘How long did the journey take in the car that brought you from that place to the police station?’
Sophie thought for a few moments before replying. ‘Hm... about fifteen to twenty minutes, I suppose.’
‘Did you recognise anything else in the room other than the Maltese Cross?’ asked the senior police officer.
‘No... it was an empty room. No furniture at all,’ replied Sophie. Her resolve was extremely good as any other woman would have still been trembling from the shock.
‘When you left the building, did you notice anything about the facade? Something that might help us find it.’
The woman from Israel thought hard for a moment. ‘I don’t think so. I was so angry and upset my main aim was to get away from the place.’ She pondered a little more deeply. ‘Just a moment, I do recall one thing,’ she went on. ‘There was a permanent canopy in front of the building. It was resting on two thick columns. Not a big one but it was there over the front door.’
‘Well that narrows it down somewhat,’ declared Hunter to the reporter. ‘There can’t be many places like that.’
‘I think the net’s tightening,’ muttered Meredith. ‘I told you the killer would eventually start making mistakes. Well this was one of them. You do realise the important clue she gave him.’
‘What was that?’ asked the architect naively.
‘She said that the car journey was fifteen to twenty minutes from the building when the driver brought her to the police station. If a car goes at thirty miles an hour, it means that the journey was between seven and ten miles radius from the police station. If you draw a circle around it for ten miles, that’s where the building can be found.’
Hunter nodded his head as he realised the proximity of the place where the killers carried out their actions.
Watson continued the interview for a while longer without any further information being revealed and then called for a specialised artist to undertake a face-fit. Sophie had seen both of her abductors close-up so there was no doubt that she could record their features. The artist arrived ten minutes later and the man and Sophie worked on a computer to create the faces of the two kidnappers. When they were completed, copies were run off but Hunter and Meredith were not allowed to have them. Instead they were invited into the room to look at the images on the computer. At last the architect came face-to-face with the killers, albeit it was only with a face-fit image of both of them. Sophie was then allowed to leave the police station and Hunter and Meredith stopped her outside not wanting to miss the opportunity of asking her for additional information, especially to determine her reason for coming to London. She answered their questions readily, realising that a newspaper article on her abduction would be sold onwards to the national press. She knew how much the story would assist her in marketing her company, bringing it to the notice of the people of Britain at no cost to the company whatsoever.
As far as Hunter was concerned, Meredith was right. The net was closing in on the killers because they had begun to start making mistakes. It was a development that encouraged him to pursue the quest more urgently. However, he was concerned that the perpetrators were willing to swoop on a young maiden in broad daylight... someone who had been in the country for only a few hours... someone they couldn’t have known at all. What was the qualifying factor which made such women a target? If only he could determine the reason... if only!
***
It wasn’t very long before another development occurred in the case, although its impact hardly caused a ripple. A group of people had been so inflamed at the rape and murder of Amy Chester that they appealed to the public to start a fund in the hope of preventing similar incidents occurring to young women in the future. Many members of the public considered the fund to be a scam and, in truth, it may have been started to furnish the pockets of a few individuals intent on making a profit from the young woman’s demise. However, it soon came to the attention of the authorities who demanded that it be run in an organised fashion through accountants and auditors with the funds meted out for setting up units throughout the country and for people who were employed full-time by the cause. However, it was soon to be invaded by a marauder having another effect which ended in wrath, anger and resentment on all sides.
When details of the fund became published by the Press, it attracted Amy’s father who had left his wife when Amy was very young. He read about the sum which had been collected in the newspaper, and his eyes turned into dollar signs especially as he read that over a quarter of a million pounds had been donated. Naturally, as the dead girl’s father, he considered it to be his right to come forward to claim a share of the fund. Without hesitation, and believing that he had a bone fide case,
he telephoned the organisation to make an appointment.
It was quite clear that the man was a charlatan so, after the time and date was set, the Chairman of the fund rang the police to warn them of a possible disturbance when Amy’s father claim was refused. However, the police were not interested in the man’s application, believing that it would pass off without any reaction, and they refused to become involved. Subsequently, the Chairman contacted Meredith at the local newspaper in the hope that the public would be influenced to turn up on the day in a peaceful protest. The reporter wasted no time in telephoning Hunter and together they went to the building where the meeting with Mr. Chester was to take place. In the meantime, Hunter took it upon himself to call on Mrs. Chester to advise her of the return of her husband. He was not surprise to note the woman’s anger about the man’s claim. She was determined not miss the opportunity of seeing her long lost husband again and possibly attack him physically for his neglect of her and her baby and she joined the crowd outside the offices, booing with the rest of them when he arrived. There was no doubt in anyone’s mind that the man was a low-down scoundrel seeking to obtain money which he did not deserve and they had come to see that justice was done.
Chester was a thick-set man with a full shock of black hair and long sideburns. His large build and body language gave the impression that he either was or had been a prize-fighter. Indeed, his nose had been broken and one of his ears appeared to be disfigured although it could not be claimed to be a cauliflower ear. The poor state of his clothes indicated that he was infected with poverty and he wore a tatty cloth cap which had seen far better days. He sat on the edge of a chair in front of a committee of four people, holding his cloth cap tightly in his hands, ready to make his formal claim.
‘You do know the reason for this fund, Mr. Chester,’ began the Chairman staring at the man with utmost suspicion. ‘The funds have been gathered for a clear purpose not to furnish the needs of private individuals.