Shadow of the Beast

by Michael Fowler

  Her response was a long stifled howl.

  He let out a laugh, straightened, switched off his torch so that she was faced with the dark again, and made his way back up to the kitchen.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  DAY TWENTY

  The arrest and search team travelled up to the outer reaches and the bleakest section of the policing district in darkness; daybreak was a good hour away – they wanted the element of surprise.

  The convoy swung off the A628 Woodhead road to Manchester onto a thin tarmac stretch that was not only signposted Dunford Bridge but also the Trans Pennine Trail. It also informed them that their target destination lay only two miles away.

  Sitting with the Task Force in the back of their van, Hunter felt an unbelievable electric buzz running through his body. The surge had started yesterday, as soon as Mike Sampson had revealed where Saville Chambers’ remote smallholding was located. Since then everything he had done to pull the operation together had been as if he was under the influence of a speed enhancing drug; it was a remarkable sensation that he loved. Even when he got home last night he hadn’t managed to come down and had hardly slept a wink. Yet he felt surprisingly fresh.

  That morning Hunter had got into work a good hour before briefing; which had started at six a.m. with each officer on the team being given a copy of the operation order. Quickly drawing breath he rattled through each section meticulously and set out the objective – the arrest of Terrence Arthur Braithwaite – with clipped precision. Then, in two transit vans, the team, consisting of himself, Grace, Tony Bullars, Mike Sampson, Carol Ragen and Barry Newstead, plus a dozen Task Force personnel, had hit the road at quarter to seven.

  They were in their final run-up.

  Hunter tapped the driver on the shoulder. ‘Slow down here, we’re almost there,’ he instructed..

  Slowing for the bend ahead, the driver gently swept it around the curve and started to edge towards the grass verge. Another hundred yards along, mounting the nearside set of wheels up onto the grass, he stopped.

  The van behind did likewise.

  As quietly as possible everyone got out. While Hunter and his squad checked they had their forensic gloves and torches, the Task Force officers put on their final pieces of kit – their protective vests, gloves and helmets – and then Hunter drew then together into a circle.

  Except for the sound of the wind, which was freezing, the area was quiet. Hunter wasn’t surprised given the isolated location. From the fly-past photographs taken by the Force helicopter he knew that, except for a small cluster of distant cottages and a couple of farms, the area around here was predominantly farmland. Saville Chambers’ place was about three hundred yards away, protected by a perimeter of centuries-old, waist high stone walls and a metal gate.

  For a second time that morning Hunter confirmed that everyone understood the plan and, on receiving a round of nods, said, ‘Let’s go.’

  With quick-steps the team marched until they came to the metal gate. Although the gate was old and rusted the padlock and chain on it was new. The bolt croppers they were carrying put paid to it on their first bite and two officers eased the gate open. The path to the long stone cottage and set of outbuildings was springy soft and partly overgrown; it was quite apparent it hadn’t been used much to travel down.

  Task Force took the lead, fanning out, treading slowly towards the building. It lay in darkness – there was no sign of life inside.

  Hanging back with his colleagues, Hunter could feel his heart banging against his chest as his eyes picked out the silhouettes of the dark-clad officers taking up their positions. Four officers – two either side of the building – disappeared to the rear of the cottage, the remaining eight lined up either side of the front door. Against the stonework, he could just make out the outlines of the officers and he watched as one to the left of the door raised his right arm. He held it there momentary, his helmet turning in the direction of the one holding the battering ram. Then, with a swift downwards swipe of his padded-gloved hand he yelled ‘Police!’ and a split-second later the battering ram smashed the ancient wooden door at lock-level, crashing it inwards with ease. Almost choreographed, the officers piled in one after the other and Hunter caught flashes of intense white beams dancing around the interior of the cottage. Less than ten seconds later a figure appeared in the doorway.

  ‘Here’s here,’ shouted a voice.

  Hunter recognised it as the Sergeant’s and began moving in.

  When Hunter got inside, the first thing he saw was Task Force circling Terrence Braithwaite, who was sat on a sofa in T-shirt and underpants, in front of an ember glowing fire. One of the officers was playing his thousand-candle Dragonlight on his face and Braithwaite was trying to shield his eyes from the blinding light. In the halo created, Hunter saw that his hair was bedraggled, and he gathered by the clump of loose bedding lying around him that he had been asleep on the sofa prior to the bust. He smiled to himself. Everything had come together.

  Hunter stepped from behind the sofa to face his prisoner. The officer lowered the beam of his powerful torch and Hunter said, ‘Good morning Mr Braithwaite. We meet again.’ Although Terrence Braithwaite was looking directly at him he could see from his expression that he was struggling to see him. He said, ‘It’s Detective Sergeant Kerr, Mr Braithwaite. We met at Bridlington and you and I have some business to finish.’

  Braithwaite dropped his chin and muttered, ‘Fuck off.’

  ‘So glad to hear you’re pleased to see me. Now it just gives me the pleasure of saying, I am arresting you on suspicion of murder.’ Cautioning him, Hunter bent forward and clamped his hand around the wizened flesh and muscle of Braithwaite’s upper arm. He tried to shake free and Hunter tightened the hold, ‘Now I’m sure you’re not going to be that foolish are you,’ he said and hauled him forward.

  Braithwaite tumbled off the settee onto his knees letting out a moan.

  With his free hand Hunter slipped the handcuffs out of his waistband and clicked then around Braithwaite’s wrists. ‘There now, that was painless wasn’t it? Now I want you stay here while we search this place and then we’re going back to the station for a nice little chat.’ Hunter pressed him backwards onto the sofa. Turning, he said to Barry, ‘Keep an eye on him while we turn the place over will you?’

  Barry signalled a salute and replied sardonically, ‘Aye, aye Sergeant.’

  Shaking his head, Hunter glowered at Barry, then beckoning to the others, he instructed them to begin their search.

  Although Hunter knew that the building was old, as curtains were whipped open to give them better light to work in, he saw on closer inspection, just how aged it was; the whitewashed walls were flaking in most places, as were the ceilings, and in a couple of corners there was evidence of damp. This place needed some work.

  After giving each room the once over, he broke up the team and allocated them a room apiece. Hunter went upstairs with Grace and Tony Bullars. It only had two bedrooms, each of which had one small window which let in minimal light in the early dawn and torches were required, especially for the corners. As Hunter looked around the first bedroom and noted the amount of cobwebs covering the painted stone walls he could see that it hadn’t been used for years, probably even decades. In this one there was a Victorian brass bed which had a mattress, but it was so stained and covered in dust that no one in their right mind would have slept on it, he told himself. As he pulled on his latex gloves and ran his eyes over the room one more time he wasn’t relishing the prospect of this search.

  Ten minutes later, job done, but nothing found, he left Grace and Tony to the second bedroom and nipped downstairs to see how the other teams were getting on and check on his prisoner. Braithwaite was still sat on the sofa. They had released his cuffs to enable him to pull on a jumper and a pair of jeans and one of the blankets he had used as bedding was draped around his shoulders. He raised his eyes as Hunter entered and offered up a smug grin. Hunter met his gaze and held a locked st
are, expecting him to shy away but he never flinched. Hunter gathered by that reaction that Braithwaite was pretty confident they weren’t going to find anything incriminating here. For a moment he wanted to physically wipe the grin off his face but then he checked himself and broke away his gaze, fixing it on one of the Task Force who was rummaging through a cupboard set in the wall. The man turned his head.

  ‘Anything?’ Hunter asked.

  Tight-lipped the man shook his head and went back to his search. Hunter decided to go through to the back where the kitchen was and had just set off when a call came from there.

  ‘Got something!’

  Hunter rushed through the doorway. Two officers were standing next to a large oak dresser that they had heaved away from the wall.

  ‘Here,’ one of the officers said, casting his head into the space between the dresser and the wall.

  Hunter walked past them and stepped into the gap. He immediately saw what the officer was indicating – a smaller than normal door set into the plaster. His heart lurched. Carefully lifting the latch and pulling it open, he found himself looking at a sloping ceiling and a set of worn stone steps that descended below ground level. He couldn’t see anything beyond the fifth step, but he knew there were more. Taking out his powerful mini torch he switched it on. The intense beam lit up the staircase giving him a view all the way to the bottom – a distance of just over two metres – where he was faced by a white-washed stone wall. Taking a breath and holding it, trying to contain his excitement, he listened for a few seconds and, hearing nothing, began a slow descent. As he approached the wall he had to duck his head to avoid hitting the ceiling, and stooping, he could see that a flagstone path branched away right. He took it. The atmosphere was noticeably colder and smelled damp and he shuddered, the torch shaking in his hand, causing bright dancing light to play on the walls and ceiling, creating a spooky effect. He steadied, re-focussed, and followed the line of the wall. He had only gone a couple of metres when the path shifted left and, turning the corner, he found himself in a cavern of a room. At first, the cone of light hit the far wall picking out nothing but white space but, feeling a buzz of nervous electricity surge through him, he started to arc the torch around. He had only moved the torch a metre when he came across a number of painted symbols – an upside down cross, a five-star pentacle and the mark of the beast, which he recognised as antichrist daubs – and he remembered what Gordon Jennings had told them about the symbols he had seen in Braithwaite’s cellar in Chapel Street. He continued sweeping the torch. A few seconds later it brushed past a huddled image that made him jump. He instantly swung it back and stopped his beam on the shape. Head resting on chest, dark hair covering her face, he recognised Becki Turner from the clothes she was wearing. Her arms and legs were bound to a metal chair she was hunched on and looked bloodied. Hunter’s heart missed a beat and he let out a loud gasp. As he did so, Becki flinched, lifting her head. Duct tape covered her eyes and mouth. Hunter’s blood coursed so swiftly through his body that he could hear it rushing between his ears. He’d found Becki Turner – and she was alive.

  From above a distant call came, ‘Have you found anything?’

  Hunter couldn’t hold back, ‘You bet I have! I need an ambulance here straight away.’

  A pair of metal snips took care of the barbed wire restraints and DC Carol Ragen bathed and bound Becki Turner’s wounds using the task force first aid kit. To say the ordeal she had gone through, Becki was in surprisingly good spirits and, with tears of joy, she was able to tell them everything that had happened to her. Grace took notes knowing it would be many more hours before Becki would be fit and able enough to give a formal statement. She wasn’t worried about getting a full account from her right now – the priority was getting her proper medical treatment and getting her examined by a Force Medical Examiner. Everything else could wait.

  * * *

  In the detention suite at Barnwell Police Station, Hunter gently closed the interview room door as he stepped out into the corridor. Holding onto the handle a second he exchanged glances with Grace and broke into a smile. Neither of them said anything as they climbed the stairs, taking the back route up to the MIT office. The eyes of the entire team were on them as they entered the office. Both of them wore a deadpan look as they set their eyes on the expectant faces of their colleagues.

  ‘Well?’ probed Detective Superintendent Dawn Leggate stepping forward, ‘How did it go with Saville Chambers?’

  Hunter glanced quickly at Grace then, returning his eyes to his team, he couldn’t hold out any longer and burst into a jubilant grin, ‘He’s coughed.’

  The cheer that went up deafened him.

  It was a good few minutes before the room quietened. Dawn Leggate made three loud calls for ‘order’ before the team started returning to their seats. Finally, scouring the room ensuring everyone had settled to listen she demanded of Hunter, ‘Come on then tell us what he said?’

  Hunter plonked himself on the edge of his desk and, setting aside his interview notes, responded, ‘He realised it was on top of him as soon as I told him we had Terry and found Becki alive. The first thing he asked me was, “has he said anything?” I told him he hadn’t, but he didn’t need to now that we’d got Becki back – that she’d been able to tell us everything. After that he just broke down.’ Pausing, Hunter’s mouth tightened, ‘When I say he broke down, it wasn’t quite as simple as that. It took him a bit of time to get over the embarrassment about the wearing of women’s clothing, but once we got over that the rest was easy. His confession was a bit sad really – not that I feel sorry for him – but the first thing told us was about was how Terry had caught him trying on his mum’s stuff when he was ten years’ old and threatened to tell her and all his mates unless he did something for him. He agreed to, not realising what he was getting himself into, and he said that one-day Terry came home with that long blonde wig and some girl’s clothes and told him to try them on. Apparently Terry had chosen clothes that made him look like a very young girl. Then he made him go out dressed like that and they cruised around the area in his van. According to him, Terry made him do that a few times, and he said no one gave them a second look, and then one-day Terry drove across to Leeds, where he told him that he knew someone from his first prison spell for burglary. They went to this pub – he can’t remember the name – Terry made him stay in the van while he went inside. He said that Terry was in there about an hour, and then came out alone and said he had some business to do, and he took him somewhere near the railway station. While they were driving down this street Terry told him that this was where prostitutes hung out and that he was going to have a bit of fun. He pulled up to one of the girls and started chatting to her while Saville sat in the front of the van. Saville says the woman never gave him a second glance and didn’t realise he was actually a young boy, and so when Terry asked her to get in, she did. Terry then drove to this industrial estate, just outside the city and told the woman to get in the back. He made him get out and stand outside. He said he watched Terry have sex with her, and then he strangled her as soon as he finished – killed her in the back of the van while he was watching. He couldn’t believe what he’d seen. He said he was terrified, and Terry told him that the police wouldn’t believe him if he said what had happened, because he would tell them he was involved and he would also go to prison. He said Terry drove back to Barnwell with the girl’s body covered up in the back of the van. They returned through the back-roads and they had to pull over because he was physically sick. He said Terry parked the van in an old garage on the estate until later that night, and when his mum went to bingo, Terry brought the body into the house wrapped up in an old blanket and told him to help him bury her in the cellar.’ Pausing again, Hunter glanced at the faces of the MIT squad. They were hanging onto every word. He continued, ‘That girl was Wendy Lomas. Terry apparently showed him a newspaper with her photograph in it and asked him how he felt about “doing someone?” A couple of months after t
hat Terry drove him to Leeds, again dressed up as a girl, and they picked up a second girl – Barbara Mullins. He said Terry had sex with her and strangled her exactly like he’d done Wendy. They did the same again with her body. He said Terry made him help him bury Barbara in the cellar when his mum went out again, but this time Terry stripped the body and told him to put the girl’s clothes on and stood there until he dressed in them.’ Hunter saw a few of the team shaking their heads in disbelief. He continued, ‘After that there was Glynis Young. Saville said that by this time Terry made him dress up as a girl nearly every time his mum went to bingo and they’d go for a drive around the area. He said that when they saw Glynis she was crying and Terry pulled over and asked her what was the matter, and she said she’d just fallen out with her boyfriend. Terry asked if she wanted a lift and at first she said no but then he pointed to Saville and said “look I’ve got my daughter in with me, I’m not going to bite you” and that’s when she got in.’ Hunter observed his colleagues for a moment, ‘We all know the rest. Apparently when the police came he told Saville that he wouldn’t tell on him, and of course he never did. He said that he and his mum used to go and visit Terry in prison, and that when his mum died he broke the news to him, and that’s when Terry asked him to help him escape when he came out for the funeral. Saville’s also admitted he was with Terry when they killed Ann Marie Banks and he watched him kill Lesley Jane Warren at the flat in Chapeltown, and helped him bring her body back and bury her. Again he was dressed in women’s clothing, which fits with what our neighbour witness said.’ Hunter took a deep breath, ‘He also said that Terry took stuff off the bodies – bits of jewellery and a couple of purses and a few other things. Terry told him to hide them. We’ve found those items in the cellar at Dunford Bridge, so it ties everything up quite nicely. And, as you also know, we found Eric Wheelhouses ears. The sick bastard had kept those as trophies as well. It’s certainly sealed Terry Braithwaite’s fate. This time he’ll not be coming out. He’ll die in prison.’