by Conrad Jones
*********************
“James Goodwin, aged ten,” Annie explained. “He went missing from a care home in Childwall the same day that Simon Barton disappeared.”
“Simon Barton is ancient history for heaven’s sake. Why are you asking me about this?” DI Haig said yawning. He took a swig of coffee and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hands. “It’s seven thirty in the morning. I’m still at home.”
“I’m sorry,” Annie said sarcastically. “If you can tell me what time detectives clock on for work at Halewood, I’ll call back when you’re officially working.”
“Ouch!” Haig said embarrassed. “No need for that kind of attitude.” He said defensively. “I’m sorry if I seem a little groggy but it’s early, I’ve had a very long week and you’re asking me about a case from years ago.”
“Apologies if I’m intruding while you’re at home,” Annie sighed. “I’m asking you about a missing child on your patch. Do you remember him or do I need to go to my DS for permission to access your records?” There was an awkward silence. “Obviously it would be easier for us if you can tell me what you can remember. If you can’t I’ll have to apply for access. You know what a pain in the arse that can be.”
“Wait a minute,” Haig flapped. There was no wriggling away from the MIT detective. She had a reputation as a ball breaker. He really did not need a historic case scrutinised by the brass. “What was the kid’s name again?”
“James Goodwin, aged ten,” Annie sighed. “He went missing from a care home in Childwall on the same day as Simon Barton.”
“I remember now,” Haig said taking another slurp of coffee. “He was a gypsy wasn’t he?”
“He was from a family of travellers,” Annie corrected him. “There’s nothing to say they were gypsies.”
“It amounts to the same thing,” Haig said flippantly. “They flit about from one place to the next leaving a trail of bin bags behind them. We had a nightmare tracking down his family and when we did, no one would talk to us. They don’t want to help themselves never mind the police.”
“Whatever you think of travellers shouldn’t matter when one of their children goes missing should it?” Annie asked. “He was ten years old and he was reported missing the same day as Simon Barton.” She paused. “Surely that was seen as significant to the investigation?”
“Not at the time,” Haig argued. “When he actually went missing is subjective.”
“What do you mean?”
“Social Services don’t always report missing kids at the exact moment they realise that they can’t account for one,” she heard him slurping. He yawned loudly again. “They tend to report them when they are absolutely certain that they can’t be found. In this case, we felt that they were unsure when the boy had gone missing. He could have been missing days before they actually made his disappearance official.”
“But the date of the report is the same as Simon Barton’s.”
“I am aware of that,” Haig said irritably. “But that doesn’t necessarily mean that that was when he actually went missing.” He stressed his point. “In reality, they could have been days apart. I wouldn’t let Social Services look after my cat.”
“Are you saying that there was an issue with the details in their report?”
“There’s always an issue with them,” Haig sounded frustrated. “Look, he was a runaway. Social Services had a file on him as long as my arm. He would frequently runaway and each time he did, they found him back with the travellers. They would remove him back into care and he would run away again. The kid was like a ping pong ball bouncing all over the place.”
“Why did they keep taking him into care?”
“The father was in jail and the mother was an alcoholic. She beat him and her other six kids black and blue. The siblings were in care all over the country.”
“Did his name crop up in connection with the Barton investigation?” Annie pressed him.
“No, there was no reason to connect them. We dismissed it as soon as we had his file.”
“Was there any connection between them at all no matter how tenuous?” Annie felt that he was holding something back.
“Tenuous!” he scoffed. “I don’t know why you’re fishing for something that isn’t there.” He sighed. “If I remember rightly, I think that they played in the same leisure centre football club but Goodwin was just there to keep him off the streets. He never made any of the teams and he only turned up for practice sessions for a few weeks.”
“And that didn’t strike you as a possible connection?”
“No,” Haig insisted. “That centre has hundreds of members from five year olds up to the senior teams.” She could hear anger creeping into his tone. “It is a big sports social club with tennis, badminton, a swimming pool, basketball, you name it and they play it there.” He sounded exasperated. “Football is just one of the sports they teach and there is a team for each year group. The seniors had a spell in the Conference League for a while. It’s a coincidence that they were in the same club. They may never have met.”
“But on the flip side, they could have,” Annie countered. “Please answer me honestly now,” she said flatly. “Did you investigate any link into their disappearances at the time?”
“I know how to conduct an investigation, Inspector,” Haig snapped. “And can I remind you that we’re the same rank.” He took a deep breath. “Look, I don’t want to fall out with you here but they lived in different worlds. We explored every possibility to find Simon Barton and there was no tangible connection to the Godwin boy.”
“Goodwin,” Annie corrected him annoyed.
“What?”
“His surname was Goodwin.”
“Whatever.” He sighed. “I really need to get to the station so are we done here?”
“No we’re bloody well not done here, Inspector!” Annie said sternly. “Listen to me and listen hard,” she paused. “If anyone looked at this as a cold case, they would discover that they played in the same football club, went missing on the same day and neither of them ever turned up, coincidence?” Annie said calmly. “I would say that that is slightly more than a coincidence and your investigation looks flawed.”
“I disagree.”
Annie took a moment to allow her anger to settle. “Did you ever follow up with Social Services to see if he ever found his way back to the travellers?”
“I don’t see that as our remit.” Haig yawned. “We’re detectives not social workers.”
“So we don’t know if this kid is alive or not.”
“We handed his file back to Social Services. His and a lot of others,” Haig said impatiently. “You’re chasing a ghost. How the hell can we keep tabs on every runaway?”
“Because that’s our job,” Annie sighed. “A couple of phone calls could have sufficed.”
“I had other priorities. Our investigation was thorough and conclusive.”
“Other priorities, really?” Annie sighed.
“Look, Inspector,” he snapped. “The Barton case was dissected by the review team, both before and after the appeal.”
“Maybe it was but did you make it clear that James Goodwin disappeared on the same day?”
“No, as I explained, I didn’t know for certain that he did!”
“In that case, I’ll make it my priority to find out,” she paused, “I’ll need everything that you have on the Simon Barton case and I want it at MIT before noon today.”
“You have no authority to insist on such a thing,” Haig replied sourly.
“I am the lead detective on the Major Investigation Team, which pretty much means that I can ask for whatever I want if it is connected to one of my cases,” Annie said calmly. “If you really want me to go over your head for this I’m quite prepared to do that.”
“Are you kidding me?” Haig said aghast. He was annoyed but he knew that she was right. The brass would back her to the hilt. They may have been the same rank but she was his senior when push came t
o shove. She was earmarked for the upper echelon of the force while he worked in the outback. There was only one winner. He bit his tongue and sighed. “Do you have any idea how much information that is? That could take me days.”
“Lunchtime today, DI Haig or Detective Superintendent Ramsay will be crawling up your arse with a big torch. He is overseeing this case with a microscope and we’ll see if he thinks your investigation was thorough and conclusive shall we?”
“I am happy with the way we handled the investigation.” Haig sounded anything but happy.
“Good. Then you won’t have any problem sending the files over, will you?”
“No.”
“You can start by sending everything related to James Goodwin first,” Annie said. “Any problem with that?”
“None at all. It will be there this morning.” Haig hung up.
**********************
“We’ll find you, kiddo, one way or the other,” Annie looked at the picture of James Goodwin and then closed the file. She dialled Alec.
“Annie,” Alec answered. “Any joy on tracing this Rob Derry?”
“Nothing, Guv. We’re using names that can be shortened to Rob. There are over sixty people on the electoral roll with that name,” Annie sighed. “It’s a work in progress but so far we can’t find anyone that fits the bill. I think it’s an alias, Guv.”
“He’s hardly likely to use his real name is he?”
“Tod Harris does.”
“Fair enough,” Alec smiled, “although he isn’t the sharpest tool in the box is he?”
“No,” Annie had to agree, “I’ve just spoken to the DI at Halewood.”
“What did you find out?”
“That DI ‘vague’ lives up to his title,” Annie said sarcastically. “The boys were members of the same leisure centre football club although Haig insisted that Goodwin only attended practice sessions for a few weeks and there was no connection found between their disappearances.”
“And you disagree with him?”
“I can’t look past the obvious, Guv.” Annie shrugged and thought about her words. “I don’t think the idea that they could have been connected was explored properly.” She explained. “There was a solid connection between Peter Barton and our victims,” she began. “We have established that as a fact. Now our main suspect is found in possession of a photograph and underwear belonging to a young boy that went missing on the same day as Simon Barton did. The boy that Peter Barton was convicted of abducting. Can that be a coincidence?” Annie paused. She waited for Alec to comment but he didn’t. She knew that he wanted to hear what she thought before he would give his opinion. “If Tod Harris took those boys, then he has a motive to remove Barton’s alibi. Barton took the fall for it. Okay, he was released on appeal but the case remains closed, which says it all to me. He’s still guilty in the eyes of the law and in everybody else’s opinion too, he’s a child killer that got away.”
“Hence he shot himself?”
“Imagine yourself in his shoes, innocent of child murder but no one believes you.”
“Difficult.”
“Difficult is an understatement,” Annie said thoughtfully. “Wrongly accused and then your alibis are murdered. It may have sent him over the edge.”
“What about the money, Annie?” Alec played devil’s advocate.
“That I’m not sure about. Maybe it was a gift.”
“A hundred thousand pound thank you for the alibi?”
“Maybe.”
“Where are we on proving this one way or the other?”
“DI vague is sending over the case files for the Barton and Goodwin investigations. I really need the DNA on the second pair of underpants to come back as a match to Simon Barton then we’re in business.”
“That would help matters considerably.”
“Kathy said we’d have results later today.”
“Good,” Alec said. “Let me know when you have them.”
“Will do.” Annie hung up. A knock on her door made her look up. “Come in.” Google poked his head around the door. “Morning,” Annie smiled. “Please give me some good news.”
“I have news,” Google waved a handful of papers, “I’ll let you decide if it’s good or not. Have you got ten minutes?”
“Of course, come in,” Annie gestured to the chair. “What have you got?”
Google put two photographs onto Annie’s desk. One was Jackie Webb’s body from the front, the second her back. The carvings in her skin had turned black and scabbed. Annie looked at them and shuddered. She thought about a tattoo that she’d had done a few years before. A blue rose on her shoulder blade. The outline had hurt her to the point of tears. She could only imagine how much Jackie must have suffered as the killer carved the text into her skin. “We’re done translating, Guv,” he said taking a seat. “I have to be honest, some of this still has me baffled and I struggled with this bit for a while,” he said smiling. He waved his finger at the photos, “especially the numbers and sequences. But once we translated all the text, we matched it up with the numbers and suddenly some of it makes sense.”
“Okay, what does it mean?” Annie asked frowning.
“Our killer is quite the criminal historian, Guv,” Google said excitedly. “See here, 71-73-3.”
“Yes.”
“On its own it meant nothing to me but then we translated the text below and it reads, Rochester, New York and below that, the Alphabet Killer.”
“Go on,” Annie prompted him.
“The Alphabet Killer murders happened between 1971 and 1973 and there were three victims, 71-73-3. No one was ever convicted of the murders.”
“Why carve that into Jackie Webb?”
“That’s just the start,” Google held up his hand. “See here, 76-77-4, the Oakland Child Killer, Michigan.” He looked at Annie to see if she was following him. “Four children were murdered between 1976 and 1977, again unsolved. He carves the date of their activity and the number of victims.”
“Okay,” Annie nodded thoughtfully. “But what is the point?”
“I can have a guess,” Google said removing his glasses. “See here, five victims in Nevada were officially accredited to the Zodiac Killer between 1960 and the early 70’s but our killer carved 60-72-37, next to his name. He replaced 5 with 37,” he replaced his glasses and pointed to the photo. “I looked into this and although police records show five victims, some experts put his body count much higher, some as high as thirty seven,” he pointed to the number. “The dates and the number of victims, again all unsolved.”
“Okay,” Annie looked intrigued. She could see the pattern but not the message. “I’m keeping up so far but I don’t know where we’re going with this.”
“Bear with me, 88-89-9, the New Bedford Highway killer, Massachusetts. The dates and the number of victims again,” he shrugged, “86-91-10, the Hwaseong serial murders in South Korea,” he carried on, “85-87-13, The Stoneman murders, Calcutta, India.” He looked at her and pushed his glasses to the bridge of his nose. “Each time the killer has carved the dates and number of victims of unsolved serial murders from all across the world. The key point is that they were all unsolved.”
“Am I missing the point here?”
“The odd one out is this one,” Google raised his finger again. “It is much different to the others, 05-OG-22 td.”
“That is different.” Annie commented on the letters where the date should have been. “Twenty-two victims?”
“Twenty-two, td,” Google emphasised.
“Where does he say that these murders were?”
“This was written below ‘the Butcher of Crosby Beach’,” he sat back and shook his head. “He was building up to this. I think the letters O and G mean, ongoing,” he explained.
“And td?”
“To date.”
“Twenty-two victims?” Annie stood up and walked to the window. “That’s many more than we thought although we guessed that there would be more. Brendon
Ryder had been at it for years.” Peter Barton’s home was full of newspaper reports from all over the world and they found several books about serial killers. He had also followed the Crosby Beach murders closely. The analysis of Tod Harris’s laptop searches had showed that he frequently searched online for images of murder victims, autopsies and worse. “This is very good work, Google,” Annie said looking out across the river. The sun was rising but it radiated little warmth. “Tod Harris is a dangerous schizophrenic, I’m convinced that he is completely unhinged from reality,” Annie said thoughtfully. “What do you think he’s trying to say?”
“I think that he’s taunting us with unsolved serial killers and telling us that he thinks the Butcher is still at large and that there are far more victims than we thought.” He frowned and checked his sheet. “Twenty-two ‘to date’ in fact, which implies that there will be more to come.” He shrugged. “I think he’s trying to claim that he is either responsible for the Butcher’s victims or that he knows who is and that he intends to keep on killing.” He coughed into his fist. “Again, that’s just my opinion of course.”
“That would explain some of it,” Annie nodded and frowned. “Why imply that he is the Butcher when there can be no credibility applied to it?” Annie turned and leaned against the glass. “It isn’t like we didn’t catch the killer,” she shrugged. “Brendon Ryder is dust.”
“In my opinion,” Google rubbed his chin and lowered his voice. “He’s a raving lunatic. We shouldn’t try to find sense and logic in a damaged mind.”
“Maybe,” Annie smiled.
“For some serial killers that I’ve read about, it’s all about becoming notorious,” Google sat back. “But the most dangerous killers in my opinion, have no desire to be caught. They are totally focused on remaining at liberty to continue their lives as normally as possible so that they can kill when the urge takes them. I don’t think that we know half of what the most intelligent killers have done purely and simply because they are clever,” he paused. “If they change their victim’s profiles, their hunting zones and their MO, we would never connect their victims especially in places like the US, Russia and Asia.”