by Stan Mason
***
Hunter received a telephone call from Watson the following morning. He went to the police station wondering why he had been invited there. The senior police officer maintained his silence as he took him into an interview room where they sat opposite each other. Watson wasted no time in producing a large piece of wood, the size of a coffee-table, which bore the words in bold print: ‘TELL THE ARCHITECT TO LAY OFF OR I’LL KILL HIS WIFE!’
‘I thought it best to bring you here and show you this.’ The words of the senior police officer were extremely sympathetic. ‘It was brought in this morning by an early rising jogger who found it on the beach in the spot where the dead women was placed. They considered it important enough to report it to the police. I suggest that you ask your wife not to stop teaching at the school until we sort this out,’ he suggested trying to be helpful.
‘That’s all very well,’ exclaimed Hunter, ‘but my wife has a right to work. She’s a free-minded person who’s needed by the school. I can tell you without doubt that she won’t take any notice of this threat.’
‘If you stop her from teaching at the school, I’ll put a police guard on the door of your apartment, making sure that you’re both safe at night.’ He paused to reflect for a moment and then clenched his hands in front of him. ‘We’ve found the name of the man you knew as James. The one who was knifed in the back outside the Hippodrome.’
‘Good,’ responded Hunter eager to hear more. ‘Who was he?’
‘He was James Cameron. His picture was published in the national newspapers and a woman came forward to identify him. Apparently, he rented a room from her in the East End of London.’
‘Which bank did he work for?’ asked the architect, setting aside the safety of his wife for a moment.
‘We’re working on that. It appears he hadn’t worked for some months He was in receipt of unemployment benefit. It may well be that he embezzled money from his employer. That much isn’t known yet.’
It’s quite possible he worked with the killer,’ ventured Hunter urgently.
‘Maybe... maybe not,’ returned Watson thoughtfully.
‘But how did the killer know he was going to meet me at the Hippodrome at that time of night? How did he know the man was going to reveal his identity?’
‘I can’t answer that question,’ muttered the senior police officer sadly.
There was a long silence until the architect put forward a suggestion. ‘I’ve an idea,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘Why don’t we arrest someone for the crime... anyone!’
‘What are you talking about?’ demanded Watson puzzled by the other man’s reaction.
‘Arrest someone for the murders, keeping two policemen on guard watching that spot on Vernon Beach. This killer is very arrogant. He doesn’t believe he’s ever going to get caught. He won’t like to read that someone else has been credited with the murders. It’ll inflame him, forcing him to kill again to prove his existence.’
Watson thought about the idea and began to warm to it. ‘It’s a dangerous idea,’ he returned slowly, ‘and, if you’re right, it means the death of another woman.’
‘At least one other woman is going to die anyway,’ said Hunter solemnly, ‘probably more. ‘Why not try and draw him out into the open. It could save the lives of many others.’
The senior police officer pressed his fingers together in front of him weighing up the chances of success.
‘It’s all very well but who do I arrest?’ he asked shrugging his shoulders aimlessly.
‘If you’re stuck for someone,’ advanced Hunter willingly, ‘why not arrest me. You can let me out on bail. It might even take the strain off Ellen. I mean why would the killer want to attack her if I’m behind bars for the murders? I’ll be out of the picture entirely.’
‘Okay, Hunter,’ declared Watson boldly in agreement. ‘You’re under arrest for the murders of Amy Chester, Inge Carlson, Lauren Buckley, and the abduction of Sophie Taffler.’
‘You left out Elspeth Dainty.’
The policeman nodded slowly. ‘Yes... and her too. I also charge you for the murder of James Cameron outside the Hippodrome in Leicester Square. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say will be taken down and used in Court against you...’
‘Take the rest of it as read,’ commented the architect. ‘I feel well and truly arrested. Do you mind if I tell the story of my arrest to Meredith. He’ll really go to town on it.’
‘Be my guest,’ stated Watson, moving the telephone from a side shelf to Hunter.
The architect rang the reporter who reeled at the event.
‘Either you’re playing a joke on me or the whisky’s taking it’s toll,’ he hollered in disbelief.
‘It’s not the whisky,’ claimed the architect, ‘and it’s no joke either. I’m a serial killer who’s been arrested for the murder of those women. That’s your scoop.’
‘You’re not telling me this so you can sue the newspaper, are you?’ asked Meredith with suspicion growing in his mind for he knew that Hunter could never have carried out the murders.
‘No, it’s fact,’ came the reply. ‘Print it as the main story and you can sell it to the nationals.’
The telephone went dead and the architect could almost hear Meredith’s fingers tapping on the keys of his computer writing out the story for the whole world to read.
Hunter looked at Watson bleakly. ‘Well it’s out in the open. I’m a serial killer. What do we do now?’
‘We wait... patiently,’ related the senior police officer. ‘I’l post two plain-clothes men on Vernon Beach at the spot where he leaves the bodies both day and night. We now wait for him to bite. If he does, we’ll catch him in the net.’
‘Can I go home now?’ The architect was hesitant now that he had been indicted as the serial killer. He wasn’t certain whether the police would let him go free.
‘Of course,’ Watson told him. ‘Just keep your head down for a week or so. I don’t want him to see you or know that we released you. If that were the case we’d all be wasting our time. And do try and keep your wife with you. It’s in her own interest to stay away from the school.’
Hunter nodded and left the police station driving directly home. He would have to telephone her to advise her of the new turn of events. He wondered how both she and her parents would take the news. There were few people in the world who would want a serial killer for their son-in-law... and the Masters were no different. However, he would explain the plan to them asking them not to mention it to anyone else.
Watson was as good as his word. He arranged for a hot-dog stall to be pitched on the beach near to the spot where the bodies were found. It was manned by two plain-clothes detectives who watched the beach all day long and were then replaced at night time by two policemen who both looked and acted like beachcombers. When the newspapers published the story that Hunter had been arrested for the murders, the trap was set.
In the meantime, the architect spent the next few days at home with Ellen who was allowed to take compassionate leave in view of the threats made to her. They stayed in their apartment allowing a neighbour to buy the groceries they required with Hunter never being seen by anyone except for his wife. It was extremely tiresome for him but he hoped it would all be over in a short time.
On the fourth day, the architect received a telephone call from Watson which caused him to agonise in great despair.
‘You were right when you said that the killer would want to abduct and murder another woman while he believed you were in jail for it,’ admitted the senior police officer.
‘I knew he was so arrogant he wouldn’t resist it. Tell me that you caught him in the act.’
‘Unfortunately I can’t,’ related Watson solemnly. ‘He raped and killed another woman but we never got him.’
Hunter was aghast at t
he news. ‘But you had two men on the beach day and night,’ exclaimed the architect with dismay.
‘You don’t have to tell me,’ bleated Watson miserably. ‘They spotted the body at nine forty-five last night without ever seeing the killer. He seemed to be invisible.’
‘But they knew the spot,’ argued Hunter angrily. ‘What about the vehicle in which they brought the body?’
‘They didn’t see that either,’ came the sad reply.
‘Are they blind,’ Hunter criticised brutally. Then he thought of the words of the killer when he had telephoned him. ‘I’m the invisible man,’ he had told him. ‘I think you need to re-examine the calibre of your team,’ he suggested strongly with fury building up inside him. He had put his reputation on the line to set a trap for the killer and the police, through their incompetence, had let the man escape their clutches, never having seen him drive up in a vehicle or plant the body of a dead woman on the beach right in front of their eyes.
‘You’re all bloody incompetent!’ he exploded as the import of the news made its impact on his mind. ‘Where does that leave Ellen. She’s entirely vulnerable now.’
‘I can only suggest that the two of you remain in your apartment for a few days longer,’ uttered the policeman although he had no real solution to assist the architect. ‘Don’t let anyone know that you’re there.’
Hunter ended the conversation with an expression of disgust on his face. No wonder the killer was arrogant about not being caught by the police. It was doubtful if they would find him even if they were in possession of his name and address! Unfortunately, the burden was now shifted on to the architect and his new wife. They were both in mortal danger. The situation had not been good before... now it was dire!
***
Ellen and Hunter remained in isolation for a whole week ruing the feeble efforts of the police who failed to catch the killer. The architect’s idea had been excellent and the man should have been caught if the police had done their duty properly. Quite clearly, the division in London in charge of homicide was not up to it. Subsequently the architect and his wife had been forced to go into hiding. They watched television, read books, flitted through magazines, and talked to each other but neither of them put one foot outside the apartment.
On one of the days, Meredith contacted him by telephone to find out the current position. He sympathised strong with their dilemma muttering his distrust of the police and their inadequacies. However, he offered them advice to try to raise their spirits.
‘I wouldn’t be held hostage by a maniac like that,’ he told him. ‘Anyway, he wouldn’t attack you if you and Ellen were together. Keep with her all the time and you’ll both be all right. Remember, the man’s a coward at heart. He abducts women and kills them after he’s raped and beaten them up. That’s not normal, boyo. So you stay with Ellen at all times. Take my advice.’
‘The sad thing,’ admitted the architect, ‘is that we’re no further along the line in catching the man. He told me tht his sister killed James Cameron, the man I had to meet outside the Hippodrome. I don’t know whether that’s true. If so, she’s a murderer too.’
‘Don’t worry about her,’ rattled the reporter. ‘If they catch her she’s in for life. I mean she supported her brother in all the murders.’ There was silence for a moment as his mind worked like a computer. ‘I reckon, as all the women had abortions, that she works in one of those clinics. That’s how knows who’s had them... and she passes the information to her brother. Then they stalk their victims and abduct them. If only we could find out where she works.’
‘Huh,’ laughed Hunter, ‘if we had that information we’d have both of them under lock and key.’
‘I’ll put out a few feelers,’ said Meredith casually. ‘Some people owe me a favour. I think I’ll call in the markers.’
After the call had ended, Hunter suggested a new idea to Ellen. ‘I think it best if you went to stay with your parents,’ he said quietly. ‘It’ll be far safer.’
She stared at him bleakly. ‘Not unless you come with me,’ she told him bluntly.
He lapsed into silence and then screwed up his face in anger. ‘No, that’s no good. He knows where your parents live. He saw us at the wedding.’
‘I’m with Meredith,’ she told him. ‘I’m not going to let that killer dictate my life. We could be holed up here for years living in fear. We’ve got to spend our lives the way we want to.’
‘That’s my girl,’ he said jubilantly. ‘We’ll fight him together... to the end.’
‘Well I wouldn’t go that far,’ she retorted, bursting into laughter as she thought about the sad state of affairs.
Hunter stared at her before taking her in his arms, and kissing her gently on the lips. It was a known fact that people often laughed at funerals and considered by the medical profession to be a natural reaction that no one could genuinely explain. And now, it had taken hold of his wife!
***
Ellen and Hunter continued their daily affairs under the cloud of the killer’s threat although they tried not to let it hang over them too closely. She returned to school to continue teaching while he went back to his house to stare at the pages on the wall of his study. He was surprised, later in the day, to receive a telephone call from a person directly connected to the killer.
‘My name’s Lizabeth McBeth,’ claimed the caller. ‘I’m the half-sister of Peter and Sally. I’m phoning you because Peter rang me to say that he was the serial killer. I just thought you ought to know.’
Hunter’s hair stood on end as the words sank into his mind. At last he might be able to make a major breakthrough in the case provided the caller was genuine.
‘Okay,’ he returned slowly, his mind grinding like an ancient computer. He needed to check beyond any doubt whatsoever whether the woman was telling the truth. ‘Tell me a little about your family.’
‘We had the same father but I’ve always lived with my mother,’ she related openly. ‘Peter and Sally lived with their mother as well as my other half-brother, Timony who died drowning when he walked out into the sea. But I kept in touch with them. Peter was always strange and when his mother died he went completely off the rails.’
‘Can you give me Peter’s address and telephone number?’ cut in the architect, waiting patiently for her reply which seem to be delayed by a hundred years.
‘I’m afraid not,’ replied the caller. ‘You see, with you so close on his tail, he keeps moving his address and changing his telephone number. I’m now dependent on him calling me rather than the other way around.’
Disappointment raged through Hunter’s mind. ‘Then why are you calling me?’ he asked curtly. ‘What have you got to tell me that’s important?’
‘He wants to meet you face-to-face,’ she told him. ‘He feels that you’re his equal and he says he wants to meet you.’
‘When and where?’ retorted the architect with hope rising in his heart again.
‘He’ll contact me again this evening with the details,’ she said glibly. ‘I’ll ring you then.’
‘Why haven’t you rung the police?’ he demanded, recognising that he was walking into a trap.
‘Our family never contacts the police. Never!’ she told him point-blank. ‘For reasons I won’t go into now, we have a distinct aversion to them and the way they operate. Victims turn out to be suspects. Their system is completely topsy-turvy. Needless to say, Peter advises you not to contact them about the meeting. I’ll call you later.’
Hunter returned the mobile telephone to his pocket with a dozen thoughts flowing through his mind. Should he contact Watson and advise him of the meeting? If he didn’t and he walked into a trap he would only have himself to blame. After all, he now had Ellen and his unborn child to consider. With that thought in mind, he removed the mobile telephone from his pocket to telephone the senior police officer,
advising him of the call.
Watson was extremely sceptical of the situation. ‘ ‘You’re walking into a lion’s den,’ he stated bluntly. ‘You can’t go it alone. I tell you what we do. We’ll send a police officer in your place. Someone who looks like you with your build.’
‘But the man knows what I look like,’ bleated the architect.
‘True,’ continued the senior police officer, ‘but by the time he realises it we’ll have got him. I’m sending six men in a SWAT team armed to the teeth. He won’t get away this time. Keep me informed.’
Hunter spent most of the day reviewing the case. If Watson was correct, the police would have the killer behind bars by the end of the day. However, the architect was less than convinced that the man would allow himself to be caught so easily. He waited patiently for Lizabeth McBeth to call and it was four hours later when his telephone rang again.
‘He’ll meet you in The Swan in Lambeth at nine o’clock tonight,’ she informed him. ‘Remember... no police.’
Hunter agreed and the scene was set. However the mind of a psychopath was far sharper than he expected. At the time, the police had staked out the inn, settling into their positions, and the policeman acting as the architect was entering The Swan, Hunter’s telephone rang.
‘Mr. Hunter,’ began the killer warily, with a distinctly disappointing tone in his voice. ‘I have a feeling that you’ve reneged on your agreement and you’re still at home.’
‘No... I’m outside The Swan ready to see you,’ lied the architect, screwing up his face as he did so. He hated telling lies but disliked it even worse when he was found out.
‘I don’t think so,’ related the killer, ‘A man has just entered the inn who looks very much like you except that he has size eleven shoes. That tells me he’s a policeman. And I’m sure he has a whole posse of men sitting in or around the inn waiting to pounce on me.’ There was a long pause as the architect realised that the game was up. ‘I’m really disappointed in you, Mr. Hunter,’ continued the man. ‘I thought you wanted to meet me face-to-face. Surely you didn’t think this was a trap, did you? You’re far too precious to me to be murdered. Why I’ve even come to like you in a strange fashion. Now do you want to meet me or not?’