Shadow of the Beast

by Michael Fowler

  Hunter felt the hairs on his neck and back stand up. ‘Can I stop you a second there? I don’t know if you know this, but they found a load of occult symbols painted all over the walls in his cellar when they arrested him after the murder of Glynis Young. The retired bobby I’ve mentioned told us this. He said there were pentagrams and upside down crosses – things of that type. And he’d painted female heads on the walls of the cellar and daubed them with animal blood.’

  ‘Well that is interesting. I can’t remember seeing this in his file. I must have missed it. It would have given me a better insight into him, especially given that Aleister Crowley was dubbed The Wickedest Man in the World. He was one of the inspirations behind Charles Manson’s teachings to his followers. If Terry was on the same wavelength…’ His voice trailed off.

  For a good few seconds no one said anything.

  Inside his head Hunter was running everything through at supersonic speed. When he got to the end he said, ‘So if I’m getting this right, if he was such a fan of Charles Manson then there could be the possibility that he followed in his footsteps by, either coercing someone else into carry out the attacks, or manipulating someone else into helping him?’

  Kevin took on a look of deadly seriousness. ‘Terry Braithwaite has a powerful personality, and it’s not beyond the realms of possibility to think that he could have manipulated and transferred his offending behaviour to someone else. Just who that person is, you’ll have to find out yourself because he never told me.’

  * * *

  The hospital corridor to the wards was busy. Hunter weaved his way past streams of people visiting their loved ones, avoided the queues for the lifts, and made his way up the stairs to the ICU ward. He met Dawn Leggate inside the entrance leaning against the wall, sipping from a cardboard cup.

  She met his gaze and issued a weak smile.

  ‘Hello boss, is everything okay?’ He chinned in the direction of the ward where Michael Robshaw lay.

  She sprung her shoulders off the wall. ‘Yes, Mike’s fine. I’m just getting myself a coffee. His daughter, Rachel, has come up from Bristol. I’m giving her some time with him.’

  ‘Has he come round then?’

  ‘Not fully. They’ve taken him off the ventilator and he’s opened his eyes a couple of times, but he’s not registering anything. The nurse says that’s normal. He could be like this for a good couple of days. The main thing is he’s breathing on his own now and the swelling to his brain has started to go down.’

  Hunter caught what he thought was the sound of her suppressing a sob. He saw that her eyes had filmed over and, feeling a tinge of embarrassment mixed with sorrow, he diverted his look to a poster on the wall about infection control. At that moment a flashback jumped inside his head of his and Barry’s clandestine meeting with Shaggy. He had a sudden urge to tell her what he was doing to help catch her partner’s attacker, but at the same time he recalled that she’d already ordered him not to do anything that would prejudice the enquiry and he pulled himself up. Masking any emotion he said, ‘I only called in to see how he was. I’m glad to hear that he’s turned the corner. I’m not going to stop if his daughter’s here as well – three’s a crowd as they say.’ He started to turn.

  ‘Okay, no problem. If he comes round I’ll tell him you’ve been. I know he’d appreciate what you’re doing.’ After a brief pause she said, ‘I forgot to say at briefing, good job today Hunter. I was so much in a rush to wrap things up so I could get here that I forgot to mention it.’

  He looked over his shoulder and saw that her eyes now glistened; she’d blinked away the film of tears. He replied, ‘Oh thanks boss.’

  ‘No. Credit where credit’s due. You and Grace did a good interview today. You got some good information. I certainly think now that we need to be looking at Braithwaite in more depth. In fact, I want you and Grace to go and interview him.’

  Hunter threw a questioning glimpse. ‘Oh?’

  ‘There’s not enough to arrest him yet but following your meeting today I think we should be talking to him about where he was and what he was doing during his time on the run in nineteen-eighty-four. I certainly think we’ve got enough to invite him in for a chat so I want you to fix that up tomorrow.’

  ‘Yeah sure. It’d be interesting to see what he says, or if in fact he says anything at all. He hasn’t been very cooperative in the past.’

  ‘Oh, I know you Hunter. I’m sure you can be very persuasive.’ She flashed a mischievous grin.

  Dismissing his previous thoughts he responded, ‘I’ll look forward to that. There’s nothing I like more than getting under someone’s skin. Especially someone like Braithwaite. I’ll get in early tomorrow to fix that up.’

  With that he said his goodbye and made his way back to the exit, his head awash with thoughts. Jumping to the fore was how he was going to approach the interview with Terrence Braithwaite and he knew for certain he was going to have difficulty getting to sleep tonight thinking about it.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  DAY NINE

  The incident room was silent. DC Tony Bullars was just taking his seat after telling the squad about his previous day’s visit to the charity shop where Ann Marie Banks and Lesley Jane Warren once had their flat. He told them that a forensic team had moved in and were slowly clearing the room prior to carrying out an examination; they were especially looking for signs of blood following DC Mike Sampson’s revelation.

  Earlier, Mike had introduced the threads of yesterday’s conversation with Harry Wainwright, the previous owner of the shop. Mike had opened up by telling the squad that in spite of his eighty-four years, Harry was in remarkably good health and spirit, and could remember and relate a considerable amount about the two women during their time as tenants there. Not surprisingly, Harry had mentioned several times how difficult the girls had been, in particular with regard to regular default in the paying of their rent. With a little embarrassment, he promised Mike that he hadn’t known about them being prostitutes when he had agreed to their tenancy, and that it had only been pointed out to him by a number of his customers once the women had moved in. He had initially wanted to get rid of them, but he said that Ann Marie was a very persuasive girl who he had some sympathy for, and also that he was a bit of a soft touch and so he had let them stay. Although Harry had got to know the pair, regarding them as bright and bubbly, he had never been privy to their personal lives, telling Mike that the only time he became aware of either girl’s families was after they had gone missing. Mike had spoken at some length about the events before and after their disappearance and Harry had been consistent in his response. He had only become aware that they had gone following a phone call and visit from Ann Marie’s elder sister. He told Mike that he genuinely thought that the pair had just done a moonlight because they owed him two months’ rent and so he had changed the lock on the back door so that the only way they get in to their flat was to come into the shop. Within days he had emptied their wardrobes and cupboards of clothes. He told Mike that he could remember thinking at the time that he had been surprised that they hadn’t taken any of their personal clothing, and they had also left a few nick-knacks – photos, bits of make-up and toiletries on the sides. But on the other hand he’d said that none of it was expensive, so he’d guessed that they were probably going to try and sneak in on a later date or come and beg him for their tenancy back once they’d got enough money together and paid him what they owed. Mike had asked him what state the flat had been in following his discovery that the girls had left and Harry reluctantly confessed that what he had told the two detectives who had visited him following the girl’s disappearance wasn’t the truth. He said that when he was first questioned by them he had told them that the flat was okay. That nothing had been out of place. He’d said that not to hide anything, but because he didn’t want any hassle over two prostitutes who had done a runner. He had then gone on to tell Mike that he’d only gone up to the flat following Ann Marie’s sister’s phone cal
l to see if anything had happened to either of them. When he let himself in he found a chair upturned by the table, a smashed cup on the floor, and a small photograph frame smashed by the fireplace, but when he’d had a look around the flat, and found neither of the girls there, he’d assumed that the girls had either had a party or a bit of a fall out between themselves and nothing more. It was only after several more visits from the detectives that he realised something more serious may have happened to them but he dare not tell the police that he had lied for fear that they’d consider him a suspect. He’d finished off by telling Mike that there had been no more tenants following Anne Marie and Lesley Jane’s disappearance, because he didn’t want any similar problems, and that the flat hadn’t undergone any decoration or change while he had owned it.

  Thanking the two detectives for their input, Dawn Leggate rose from the chair she had commandeered before briefing and made her way to the incident board. More had been added to each of the victim’s timelines, and a photograph of Terrence Arthur Braithwaite from his 1971 arrest file, had been stuck up, with spidery lines linking addresses, photographs and newspaper articles: The board was beginning to tell a story. She pointed a finger at a post-it note placed over the large map of the Chapel estate, identifying the house where Braithwaite once lived and said, ‘I want to know everything about sixteen Chapel Street. See if there are any photographs around of how it looked when he was living there. We’ll make a press appeal. And given that our latest body was found close to the rear garden of Braithwaite’s house, and what Gordon Jennings has told us about what he saw painted and drawn over the walls of his cellar, I want that place excavating. The cellar wasn’t examined at the time so I want it doing now.’ She tapped a manicured nail over the shaded houses on Chapel Street. ‘I want a thorough job on that place – dig up the cellar if necessary. And lastly for today, get back on to Probation and Rampton hospital; see if there is anything in his files about associates or friendships he struck up while in prison. Also see if they have a list of his regular visitors.’ She pulled back her hand, ‘I’m told that we should have the DNA result from Lesley Warren’s brother by this afternoon. We’ll know soon if our second victim is Lesley or not.’

  * * *

  It had been a long time since Hunter had been to Bridlington. As a child, his parents brought him here for day trips and he seemed to recall a more vibrant town. Today, mid-week, it was quiet, and nowhere near as warm as on his previous visits – though it was the start of autumn, he reminded himself.

  He and Grace sat on a bench overlooking the old harbour, eating fish and chips, shying away from a bracing wind coming off the North Sea.

  ‘It’s a long time since I’ve done this,’ said Hunter, breaking off a piece of battered fish, while eyeing a couple of large seagulls who were monitoring them predatorily only a few yards away.

  ‘Brings back memories does it?’ asked Grace. Then, before he had time to respond she said, ‘How do you want to play this with Braithwaite?’

  Hunter gave her a sideways look. Grace was staring out to sea, her tight black locks tumbling across her face in the wind. He noticed that her summer freckles were starting to fade. ‘He’s turning up with his solicitor so we can’t go in too hard. I thought about you leading it. He’s only ever been interviewed by men in the past and wasn’t very forthcoming as you know. It’d be interesting to see if you have a different effect on him.’

  She glimpsed sideways, ‘I hope that’s not a sexist comment, Sergeant.’

  He grinned and gave her a gentle shove. ‘You know what I mean.’ Although he considered himself a good interviewer, he thought that Grace was better in some situations; whereas he generally steamed in with direct questions, her pitch was softer; she was more patient in her approach; her build up was slower – she had this knack of soothing the interviewee with empathy until she got what she wanted. Then she went for the jugular. Given that Terrence Braithwaite wasn’t being arrested, and could therefore leave the station at any time, this interview called for that tactic. ‘If you can get him to open up, one of the main things I’d like you to focus on is where he got his head down while he was on the run for five days in nineteen-eighty-four. It’d also be good if you could get him to talk about his escape. The report in his prison file states that, after the graveyard service, he asked to go to the toilet and his guards let him use the one in the church vestry after checking that the door to the outside was locked. After they discovered he’d escaped they found that the outside door had been opened with its key, but how he’d managed to get hold of it they had no idea. The detectives investigating the escape interviewed the vicar, and he’d told them that he’d noticed that the key had gone missing from the hook where it was normally kept several days beforehand, and that he’d mentioned it to the churchwardens and the cleaner. They were also interviewed and confirmed this and they hadn’t been able to help as to its disappearance. The conclusion was that they believed Braithwaite had just got lucky – that it had fallen from its hook and gone underneath a piece of furniture or something and he’d just found it by chance. But knowing what we know now what is more likely is that it was taken by his accomplice and then hidden for when he carried out his plan. It would be good if you could sway the interview to how he got hold of the key as well.’

  ‘You’re not wanting a lot, are you?’

  ‘I have every faith in you getting a full and frank confession so that by tonight we can wrap this enquiry up.’ He put a couple of chips into his mouth and gave her another friendly nudge.

  * * *

  Bridlington police station lay in the older section of the town. It was a large Victorian stone building with high windows. From reception, they were shown to an interview room and left alone. It was a room almost identical to the ones back at Barnwell; its four walls covered by fabric soundproof cladding and its furnishings a table and four chairs. A recording machine rested on the table.

  Choosing the plastic chair nearest the door so that anyone wanting to leave had to get past him, Hunter slipped off his jacket, slung it over the back, and tucked his legs beneath the table. He was just checking that the recording equipment was working when there was a sharp knock on the door. It was the receptionist. She had brought Terrence Braithwaite and his solicitor. Hunter passed Grace a quick glance which, without saying anything, was his ‘are you ready’ look and she responded immediately with a brief nod.

  Grace greeted them, thanked them for agreeing to this interview, and pointed out the empty seats across the table.

  Without getting up Hunter offered up a faux smile while running his eyes over his adversaries. Terrence Arthur Braithwaite had changed considerably from the photograph that the prison authorities had given them with his file. In fact, had Hunter seen him in the street before today he would have passed him by without giving a him second glance; the thick dark hair, evident in his prison shot, was now battleship grey and longer, covering his ears and collar, and gone was his beard and moustache. Although there were some similarities to the photo clipped to his file; his wide nose hadn’t altered and those unusually dark brown eyes still sat deep in their sockets. What Hunter couldn’t miss was the slight droop to the left side of his mouth and the limp in his left leg, reminding him that Braithwaite had suffered a stroke five years ago while in Rampton: It was one of the reasons why he had been released on licence, and because it was felt he was no longer a danger to the public. As Hunter watched this seventy-three-year-old easing himself down, his broad upper body tensing, displaying strength rather than frailty, he wasn’t convinced.

  Sitting next to him, removing a legal pad from a briefcase, was his solicitor. The man introduced himself as Saville Chambers who worked for the firm of Sheffield solicitors that had represented Braithwaite during his trial in the seventies. Saville was smartly dressed in a well-tailored pinstripe suit and looked to be in his early fifties. He had close cropped light brown hair, and a clean-shaven, pinched face with protuberant ears. Testing his pen on the to
p yellow sheet, he looked up and said, ‘My client has informed me that you wish to speak with him regarding an investigation you are involved in but that you have not been specific about the nature of that. Can you expand on this?’

  Grace settled herself at the table, leaned forward and rested her arms, intertwining her fingers. She answered, ‘We are currently involved in an investigation following the discovery of two bodies close to where Mr Braithwaite used to live in Barnwell, and because of that he is one of a number of people whose name has cropped up during our enquiries and we would merely like to eliminate him.’

  ‘Eliminate him, so he’s not a suspect?’

  Straight-faced she replied, ‘Mr Braithwaite is not a suspect at this stage. All we want to do is talk to him about a particular period in his life which would help us with our investigation.’

  ‘And that period in his life is when may I ask?’

  ‘The nineteen-eighties. Nineteen-eighty-four to be precise.’

  ‘You are aware that my client was jailed in nineteen-seventy-three and didn’t get released until three years ago?’

  ‘All will be revealed with my questions Mr Chambers.’

  ‘Fine. And can I just clarify that should Mr Braithwaite wish to leave at any stage during your questioning he can do so without any hindrance?’

  She looked at Terrence Braithwaite, ‘Mr Braithwaite is not under arrest and he can leave this police station at any time, but we would appreciate it if he could answer some questions we have for him.’

  Terrence Braithwaite traded his gaze with Grace and responded, ‘I am at your mercy Detective Marshall, but before we start may I ask how your daughter is after her ordeal. Robyn, isn’t it? It must have been a terrible time for you.’