Following the interview with Janice Crampton, DS Macey and DC Scarr dropped Hunter and Grace off at their hotel and arranged to meet up with them later for a social drink. DS Macey told them that she would bring along a couple of her team and they could make a night of it.
They met in The Red Cow, on Sheen Road. Hunter and Grace found it easily from the directions they had been given.
A plaque outside the two-storey, red-brick building, described it as the oldest pub in Richmond, and as Hunter stepped inside he noticed that it had retained most of its original character. Its most striking feature being the fine carved wood and gilded-glass central bar. Giving the place the quick once-over, he spotted DS Macey and DC Scarr against the far wall, seated at two tables. There were three other men with them. He caught Scarlett Macey’s attention, and with a quick hand signal enquired if she wanted a drink.
She shook her head and pointed at the tables, which were laden with drink.
At the bar, Hunter saw that they had hand-pulled beer on draught. He bought himself a pint of beer, and a glass of white wine for Grace, and then they made their way across the crowded room to join DS Macey and her team.
Taking a seat, he took a generous swallow of his beer. It tasted good.
DS Macey said, ‘What do you think about today then? The interview with Mrs Crampton?’
‘The mask she describes the bloke wearing certainly fits with the description of what we’ve got. And the locket thing only makes me think we’re probably looking at the same guy for both sets of jobs.’
Scarlett nodded and flashed a sideways look at her colleagues. ‘I’ve briefed the guys about it. And I’ve also had another chat with the retired detective I told you about. He says he was part of a squad who worked on half-a-dozen similar jobs that happened in Richmond between ninety-one and ninety-seven. They didn’t realise there was a link between them all until the incident involving Mr and Mrs Crampton. They worked on the investigation for over two-and-a-half years, but shelved the operation just before two thousand, after there were no further attacks.’
‘Any forensics?’ asked Hunter.
‘None under the old tests. I’ve made a request for the samples and exhibits to be recovered from our archives to get them submitted for DNA testing. I’ve also requested the case file and reports. My gaffer has given the go ahead for us to carry out a fresh investigation. We’re going to re-interview all the witnesses from the original enquiry, and now that we have the names Dale and Scott, we’re going to see if they crop up anywhere. The paperwork should be on my desk tomorrow morning, so you and Grace can go through it with us and take back copies of what you need.’
‘That’d be appreciated.’
Scarlett picked up her pint of lager and in a celebratory gesture said, ‘Here’s to success in our joint operation.’
They chinked glasses and drank.
- ooOoo –
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Day Fifteen: 1st April.
Hunter woke up with a thumping head. He had a sickening hangover. One of the worst in years, he thought, as he tried to shock himself into some form of recovery under the cold shower. He found some Paracetamol in his toiletries bag and downed a couple with a cup of strong tea in his room. At breakfast, he could only stomach toast. He watched Grace devour a cooked full-English.
As she finished, she clattered down her knife and fork and exaggerated the licking of her lips.
‘You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?’ Hunter said, finishing another cup of tea.
‘Now why would you think that, Sergeant?’
He speared a finger. ‘Because I can see you are.’
‘Some of us can take our drink and some of us can’t.’ She dabbed her mouth with her napkin and pushed back her chair. ‘Shall we walk to the station just in case someone wants to be sick?’
He quickly glanced around the dining room, and happy no one was looking their way, gave her ‘the finger’.
Richmond Police Station stood on a corner, beside a busy thoroughfare. The front of the building was two-storey, red bricked and of Victorian design. The rear, where the car park was, had a modern extension.
DC Scarr met Hunter and Grace at reception and took them up to the first floor.
They entered a CID office buzzing with activity.
Hunter saw that every desk had an occupant. Detectives were either on phones or tapping away on keyboards. He reflected how it mirrored his own department back in Barnwell when a job was running.
DS Macey greeted them. Hunter couldn’t help but notice, that, like his partner, she was made-up and fresh looking. He hoped he didn’t look as bad as he felt.
‘Good night last night, eh?’ she said.
At the periphery of his vision he caught Grace breaking into a grin. He aimed her a warning look, ‘I’m afraid I’m paying for it this morning.’
Scarlett gave a hearty laugh. ‘I don’t know, I thought you Yorkshiremen were made of hardy stuff.’
‘That one isn’t,’ muttered Grace.
He was about to reply when DS Macey said, ‘As you can see we’ve made a start.’ She pointed towards a large incident board fastened to the back wall. Over half of it had already been filled. The majority of it was taken up by times, dates, and a precis of each specific attack. Also displayed was a series of crime scene photographs – mainly bedroom settings. And they had the two e-fits of Dale and Scott pinned up. Beneath these, in red, were the words ‘Suspects.’ Emblazoned across the top of the incident board was the title ‘OPERATION SCARECROW 2.’
As if following Hunter’s eyes, DS Macey said, ‘The original enquiry was called operation Scarecrow. You can guess why. I didn’t know that, until I saw the paperwork this morning, so we’re running with the same title, but with the number addition.’ She chinned the room. ‘I’ve separated each job that was part of the original investigation and delegated a couple of detectives to each of them. They’re currently tracking down the victims and witnesses for re-interview.’ She half-turned. ‘And, I’ve organised a HOLMES team. They’re going to have to convert the original data, but that shouldn’t take long before they’re up and running.’ She flicked her head backwards. ‘Come on I’ve had a photocopy done of the original file for you to go through. We can use my desk.’
DS Macey showed them to her desk. A set of filing trays at one end bore her rank and surname. She wheeled up two chairs, offered them a seat, and cleared a space, pushing aside the filing trays and a number of personal items. She plonked a thick bound file before them. ‘I’ll get us a drink while you make a start.’
Hunter eyed the chunky dossier. The front sheet had the typed paragraph, ‘Operation Scarecrow’ – Attempted murder, Rape, and Aggravated burglaries, in the London and Richmond upon Thames areas, 1991 – 1997. He licked his forefinger, checked Grace was okay to progress and turned the page. He was faced with the summary of the incidents. He flicked his way through it and saw that it ran to eight sides. The rest of the file was made up of complainant statements and crime complaints. He returned to the first page and began reading slowly.
The first of the reported attacks occurred on Sunday 21st July 1991. The victim was thirty-six-year-old schoolteacher, Christina Hartley. She lived in her basement flat close to Waterloo Station. Hunter read that she had been out with friends, drinking in bars around Covent Garden, and had got back home at around 2.30 a.m. and gone straight to bed. Half an hour later she had been awakened by noises and found a masked man in her bedroom. He pounced on top of her, held a gloved hand over her mouth and started to fondle her breasts. She bit his hand and managed to scream, and he fled. When the police attended she discovered that the dress she had been wearing earlier that night had been taken. What stood out in her report was that she described the mask as being made of sackcloth with a sewn up mouth. What Hunter also registered was that Christina Hartley made three further reports to the police in the ensuing weeks after the attack. Two related to complaints of her being followed, or at least, she believ
ed she was being followed, which was frightening enough, but a third account, and one which was even more disturbing, was a sighting by her of a similar masked man in the street opposite her home.
Hunter finished reading the first event and exchanged glances with Grace. ‘Pretty scary, eh?’
‘An understatement. Absolutely terrifying. That would have scared me witless and I’m a cop,’ she replied.
They returned to the file.
The second reported attack happened, just over a year later, on Sunday the 16th August 1992. Jackie Slade, a thirty-one-year-old waitress returned home in the early hours to her rented flat in Richmond upon Thames, together with her new boyfriend. They had been out drinking in Westminster. When they entered the house it was in darkness and they found that the hallway light wouldn’t come on. As they stepped into the lounge the pair were immediately confronted by someone wearing dark clothing and sacking type mask. The boyfriend challenged him and he fled into the adjoining kitchen and escaped through an open ground floor window. The police were called and they discovered that the telephone wires had been cut and there was rope lying on the bed in the master bedroom. Hunter saw that the disturbing factor about this event was that whoever had been in the flat, had removed a home-made video from Jackie Slade’s collection, and had been watching it as she and her boyfriend had entered the house. He felt the hairs prickle at the back of his neck.
He read on.
The third attack was on Sunday the 19th June 1994. A two year gap. It was again in Richmond. Husband and wife, Russell and Kate Wheeler, awoke in the early hours to find a masked man at the bottom of their bed. He threatened them with a knife, ordered them out of their bed and tied them up. Then he went to their daughter’s bedroom, nineteen-year-old Emily. There he tied her up and began indecently assaulting her. She managed to scream, and her twenty-year-old boyfriend, who had been sleeping in the guest bedroom, next to hers, came to her aid. There was struggle and the boyfriend was stabbed several times. The boyfriend was seriously injured but survived. The attacker escaped.
Hunter placed a finger by the last sentence and paused his reading. A pattern of similarity was emerging, but with it the level of violence was escalating, he reflected.
He pulled away his finger and continued. The next disturbing incident happened the following year, in the early hours of Sunday 18th June – once more, in Richmond upon Thames. Married couple, Dawn and Jamie Agar, were awoken by a masked man in their bedroom. He held a knife to Jamie’s throat, and made his wife, Dawn, tie up her husband. Then, he asked where their twenty-year-old daughter was. They told their attacker that she wasn’t at home. She had gone away for the weekend to a friend’s house. He raped Dawn, while holding the knife at her husband’s neck. Before he left, he tied up Mrs Agar beside her husband, and cut away a square from the bedding, to ensure semen-stained material would not be left as evidence. He took away Dawn’s eternity ring from the bedside cabinet.
‘The guy’s also forensically aware,’ Hunter said out loud.
Grace looked up from the report and exchanged glances. ‘You can see he’s growing in confidence with each attack, can’t you?’
Hunter nodded and continued reading.
The next two reports happened in 1996 – Saturday the 11th May and Saturday 19th October. Single females occupied the properties which had been entered. One of the premises was a ground floor flat the other a second floor apartment. Both had been called in as burglaries, by neighbours. The police found that on both occasions many of the rooms’ light bulbs had been removed from their sockets and several items of the complainants’ underwear had been laid out on the bed.
Having read the previous account Hunter couldn’t help but think that the women had been very lucky, by their not being home.
The last recorded episode, featured the incident at Garry and Janice Crampton’s home.
And what did the police have to go on. Hunter saw that it was very little. Except for mention of the mask, all they had as a description for the attacker was male, around six foot tall and slim, yet athletic build. It matched any of thousands of men.
As Hunter finished the report he cast his gaze around the room. Each detective he focussed upon was engaged, either on the phone or on the computer, and he guessed that they all would be in the same mindset – determined to catch whoever perpetrated these terrible attacks.
As he mulled over what he had just read, he muttered beneath his breath. ‘Their serial attacker is now our serial killer.’
Barnwell.
Hunter and Grace got off the train at Barnwell railway station at 8.35 p.m. Their journey from Richmond, via King’s Cross, had taken a little over three-and-a-half hours. As they exited, a couple of taxis were parked up in the station rank. They decided to take one to save the time of arranging a lift.
Grace was dropped off first.
As the taxi drew up outside his home Hunter checked his watch. It was just coming up to 9.00 p.m.
After paying the fare he wearily tramped down the drive. Unlocking the front door, he kicked off his shoes and dropped his overnight bag down in the hallway. Then, he called out to Beth.
She appeared in the lounge doorway. She was in her dressing gown. ‘Had a good journey?’ she said. ‘I thought you were going to give me a call when you got to the station.’
‘There were some taxis so we grabbed one to save time.’
Hunter slipped off his coat and dropped it onto the stairs’ bottom post. He pulled Beth towards him and kissed her.
‘Missed you,’ he said. He added, ‘You smell good. Been in the bath?’
‘Just got out ten minutes ago.’ She turned towards the kitchen. ‘Do you want something to eat?’
‘I had a sandwich and a cuppa on the train.’
‘Do you want me to get you a drink, while you jump in the shower? I’ll pour myself a wine now I don’t have to pick you up.’
‘To be honest, I just fancy a cup of tea. I’ve had a hangover most of the day. We went out with Richmond CID last night. I was really bad this morning.’
Beth flashed him a grin. ‘You’re getting too old to be partying.’
‘Tell me about it.’ He gave a Beth a quick kiss, dragged his coat back off the banister, picked up his bag and climbed the stairs. He called back, ‘Are the boys tucked up?’
‘They’re at your mum and dad’s. They phoned up earlier and offered. And they said they’d take them to school in the morning.’
‘We’ve got the house to ourselves then. Heaven,’ he called back as started to undress.
Feeling refreshed, following his shower, Hunter returned downstairs. Beth was lounging on the sofa, sipping a glass of red wine. He spotted a mug of steaming tea on the coffee table. He also eyed the cardboard box he had retrieved from his parents’ garage. The lid was off and some of its contents were spread out.
Flopping into his armchair he said, ‘Who’s been sneaking a look at my personal stuff? As if I didn’t know.’
Beth grinned. ‘Well, if someone will leave their personal stuff lying around they’re asking for it to be looked at, aren’t they.’
‘I didn’t leave it lying around. I put it with my painting things.’
‘Well, the boys found it. I caught them this morning rummaging through the box.’ She picked up an envelope and gently waved it. ‘You were a sloppy sod in your younger days.’ Turning it over she said, ‘You never put “Sealed With A Loving Kiss” on the back of my letters.’
He took it off her and looked at it. ‘If you want to know, I didn’t send that letter. Polly sent that to me when she was on holiday.’ In a scolding fashion he tapped her hand with the envelope. ‘And come to think of it, young lady, you never send me letters like this.’
‘Oh, Hunter Kerr, I’m always telling you I love you.’
He gave a short laugh and began picking up the items spread out over the coffee table. He gave each of them a quick look-over as he placed them back in their box. They evoked several flashbacks. The
last things he picked up were four black and white photo booth photographs of Polly and himself in a lovers’ clinch. He remembered those being taken in Woolworth’s.
Beth sipped her wine. Then, angling her glass towards him said,‘What was she like?’
He dropped the photos into the box, picked up his mug of tea and settled back. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well I can see she was pretty. But what was she like, personality-wise?’
He thought on the question for a few seconds, then said, ‘She was nice, kind. It was such a long time ago though. We were teenagers. I thought I was in love.’
‘Yeah, but since you met me you know what love is, don’t you?’
With a cheeky grin he replied, ‘Do I?’
‘Ooh, Hunter Kerr. You wouldn’t be without me for the world.’
He rested back his head. ‘No I wouldn’t.’
She took another drink. ‘How did you feel when you found out about her being murdered?’
‘It was surreal. Like a dream going on in my head. It didn’t sink in at first. Not until the funeral. Then, it hit home. It affected me for ages. But, eventually you move on, don’t you? You know it’s why I joined the job all those years ago. Now it feels really weird, dealing with it, after all that time.’ He glanced up to the ceiling, then re-met Beth’s eyes. ‘I’ll tell you what was weird. And uncomfortable. Going to see Polly’s parents and giving them the news.’
With a smile she said, ‘I think you need something stronger than tea. You’re going all maudlin on me.’
‘Oh, go on then, you’ve twisted my arm. I’ll have a small nightcap.’
- ooOoo -
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Day Sixteen: 2nd April.
Barnwell.
The BMW reversed out of the drive and braked in the middle of the road. The driver gave a quick glance towards the house, waved, and then, with a squeal of tyres, set off towards the end of the street.
Coming, Ready or Not Page 19
