It hadn’t taken them long to find the place DC Highton had recommended – it was a large Victorian pub on a corner by the High Street.
As soon as they entered they spotted the copper red hair of DS Scarlett Macey, who along with her partner Tarn Scarr, were already at a table with drinks in front of them. Hunter acknowledged them with a raised hand and went to the bar while Grace made her way across the lounge to join them.
‘This is a surprise. I wasn’t expecting you two for another hour or so,’ said Hunter, returning from the bar and setting down his pint of local ale. He handed Grace a glass of chilled white wine and pulled up a chair.
Tapping her colleague’s shoulder Scarlett replied, ‘The roads weren’t that bad so Tarn was able to put his foot down. We got here half an hour ago. We’ve managed to get booked in at the same hotel as you. We thought you’d still be at the incident room so we dumped our bags and came straight down here. I’m famished – I could eat a horse. We’ve just ordered some food.’ She pointed out a menu at the end of the table. Picking up her pint of lager she continued, ‘How’s the investigation going?’
Hunter relayed the discussions from morning briefing. ‘I hope you don’t mind, but as you weren’t around I told them about the Richmond attacks.’
Scarlett shook her head, ‘Not at all.’ She took a long drink of her lager and then putting down her glass added, ‘I couldn’t believe it when your boss told me about this latest job. Talk about serial killers. Do we know if it’s one or both of them involved?’
Hunter shrugged his shoulders. ‘We don’t know if they’re working together, or independently, or what. There’s no doubt they were together when the thirteen-year-old mysteriously ended up dead in the freezer, and they were together when their parents were murdered, and as we know they’ve been in each other’s company when they’ve been talking with one of our witnesses in London. But, as to our murders, only one person has been seen.’ Hunter picked up his beer. ‘How’ve you got on with your enquiries?’
‘Really good. Some positive results,’ answered Scarlett. ‘You know we’ve been re-visiting victims and witnesses from the Richmond attacks?’
Hunter and Grace nodded.
‘Well, initially we had a bit of difficulty tracking down some of them, because they’ve moved, but we’ve so far traced the victims and witnesses from two of the jobs and we’ve had a result.’
Hunter’s eyes widened.
‘I don’t know if you can remember all our jobs – but one of them was where a couple woke up to find a masked man at the bottom of the bed. He tied them up, but then the boyfriend of the daughter, who had been staying there, disturbed the attacker. There was a fight between the boyfriend and the masked man and the boyfriend was stabbed.’ She engaged Hunter and Grace’s eyes and looked for acknowledgment.
Hunter nodded. He remembered.
‘That couple are called Russell and Kate Wheeler, and their daughter, who was nineteen at the time of the job, is Emily. Well we tracked them down to Brighton a few days ago. Emily’s now married to the boyfriend who was stabbed. When we dropped out Dale and Scott’s names, you ought to have seen Emily’s face. She almost freaked out. It would appear that nine months before the attack she’d met somebody called Scott in a pub in London, but after a couple of dates with him she’d called it a day. She said the guy was getting a bit intense with her – wanted to know what she was doing all the time. And he’d dropped it out that he’d spotted her a few times when she’d left her workplace to go for lunch. She got the impression he was following her around, so she told him to back off or she’d call the police.’
‘Wow,’ said Grace. ‘And that’s the first time she’s mentioned this?’
‘Until we mentioned Dale and Scott’s names she’d not given it a thought. It had been so long between her finishing with him and the attack.’
‘You’ve said you’d had a result with two jobs?’ said Hunter.
‘Yeah, the other one involved a couple called Jamie and Dawn Agar. Do you remember that one?’
Hunter screwed up his face. ‘To be honest, Scarlett, there’s that many jobs floating around in my head now, I’m losing track.’
‘No problem. Well, Dawn was raped in front of her husband by her masked attacker, and then he cut away a section of the bedding she’d been lain on and took it away with him.’
Hunter could recall it now. He acknowledged with a nod.
‘Well, I don’t know if you also remember, but before he raped her he asked the couple where their daughter was – she was away for the weekend. It appears that the detectives, who initially interviewed them, didn’t put any great significance upon this at the time, but we managed to trace that daughter – Claire – she was twenty at the time of the attack, and we asked her if the names Dale and Scott meant anything to her. And guess what?’
‘It did!’ Hunter responded.
‘Certainly did. They’d bumped into the brothers in a pub in Richmond when she’d been out celebrating her nineteenth birthday. She was out with a crowd of friends, but ended up chatting with them. She left them in one of the pubs because a party had been arranged back at her home. It would appear these two gatecrashed it in the early hours and she ended up arguing with them, because she wanted them to leave. There was a bit of a scuffle between them and some of her mates and she called the police, but they left before they arrived.’
Hunter took a mouthful of his ale. Over the rim of his glass he said, ‘There’s a theme re-occurring here, isn’t there? From what you’ve just told us, and from what we’ve found out during our enquires, it seems that everyone who’s been attacked, or murdered, have had some sort of run in with either one or both of these two, at some stage before the event. On the face of it, these murders appear to be have been carried out for no other reason than that someone had the audacity to say no to them. That is pure evil.’
Around the table everyone nodded.
Hundreds of phone calls poured in following the TV and radio appeal by DCI Stainthorpe. Many of the calls related to past sightings, or past knowledge of the pair and were of very little help. However, just before midnight, information from two different sources gave the Incident Team the breakthrough they had been praying for.
- ooOoo -
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
Day Twenty-one: 7th April.
The beaming smile on DCI Stainthorpe’s face was so firmly fixed that not even a wrecker’s ball could demolish it, as, with a spring in his step, he marched to the front of the incident room. He stood next to one of the wipe boards and faced the room. With an outstretched arm he banged a fist over Dale and Scott’s e-fits.
‘Bingo,’ he shouted. Still smiling he announced, ‘We’ve got a lead on the pair.’ He pulled away his arm from the board. ‘Last night we got a call from the man who runs the post office-cum-general store in a little village called Minions, which is on the eastern flank of Bodmin Moor – he’s known the pair since they were young, and he says they’ve both been in his shop in the last week buying bits of food. Rember we learned that they used to live with their parents in a cottage on the edge of that village.’ The DCI picked up a red felt pen and drew a circle around an isolated shaded area on the large scale ordnance survey map. He tapped the pen over the drawn area. ‘The cottage doesn’t show up on the map but I’m told it’s about quarter of a mile from Minions. Apparently after their parents were killed, and Dale and Scott were put in the children’s home, the council boarded the place up, and it’s remained empty ever since – or at least, we thought it’s been empty. Given the info from our post office owner it’s my guess that Dale and Scott have been using this place as their bolt-hole – most probably, ever since they ran away from the home. I’ve arranged for a couple of officers from the Intelligence Unit to do a recce around the place this morning. They’re going dressed as hikers so as not to spook them, and see if there are any signs of activity around the building. If the feedback is positive, I want an operational plan putting togethe
r and a warrant getting immediately.’ He rested the pen on the ledge of the wipe board and rubbed his hands together. ‘The good news doesn’t end there.’ He broke into a smile again. ‘Another of the calls we got, following the appeal, was from an army sergeant who is currently based at Winchester – training new recruits.’ He paused and scanned the room. ‘Dale and Scott were both in the navy – Royal Marines. Joined up in nineteen ninety-eight.’ Pursing his lips he continued, ‘Which explains why, until recently, we’ve not had any attacks since the last one in nineteen ninety-seven. Both of them were released from the navy in May last year. And this is where it is also interesting. After they were released from military prison – they were serving time there.’ He paused again and surveyed the faces of his team. ‘The sergeant, who gave us the information, was a corporal in their unit, and he says that while they were serving in Afghanistan the brothers were given the job of guarding captured Taliban. One of the prisoners was found hanged in his cell and it was found that he’d been tortured beforehand – and quite badly as well it would appear. The hanging was hushed up, but Dale and Scott were court-martialled over it and found guilty of assault, but not of murder. They were given a five-year jail term and then dishonourably discharged.’ He took in a deep breath. ‘Released onto the streets to begin their deadly attacks again.’ The DCI stared into the centre of the room. ‘Well hopefully, we can bring their reign of terror to an end this time. And soon.’
It was mid-afternoon when the call came in that the Incident Team had been hoping for.
The plain clothes detectives from the Intelligence Unit had found the cottage, but had not been able to hang around because they were so exposed out on the moors. They reported that the place was still boarded up, and had security fencing around it, but they had found recent tyre tracks leading to the rear, and they had found a vehicle. Attempts had been made to secrete a transit van beneath tarpaulin. They had been unable to get close enough to check it out, but confirmed it looked new enough to not be one that had been abandoned.
Upon receiving the news DCI Stainthorpe called every detective back to station and to a packed Incident Room he regaled the good news. As he brought the briefing to an end he said, ‘Right, I’ve got some phone calls to make to bring in some extra resources. I want someone to go down to the magistrates’ court pronto and swear out a warrant and I want an operational order knocked out.’ He clapped his hands, ‘It’s a sixty thirty start tomorrow morning everyone.’
- ooOoo –
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
Day Twenty-two: 8th April.
Despite the early start the atmosphere in the Incident Room was electrically charged. The office was bursting at the seams with uniformed and plain clothes officers. For some it was standing room only.
At the front a new ordnance survey map had appeared. It was a large scale one of Bodmin Moor and the surrounding area. Pinned to that were several A4 colour photographs.
DCI Stainthorpe took the briefing. ‘Operation Scarecrow three,’ he announced. ‘This morning’s focus is on the arrests of Dale and Scott Moore and the preservation of evidence in relation to the murders of their parents, James and Helen, in nineteen eighty-six, the murder of Polly Hayes, in nineteen eighty-eight, and most recently, the murders of Gemma Cooke and Elisabeth Bertolutti. Plus, we also believe they were responsible for a series of rapes and aggravated burglaries, in the Richmond upon Thames area during the nineteen nineties.’ He paused, then continued, ‘We believe the pair are currently living in a cottage, which is their old home.’ He slapped a hand over one of the photographs. It was an aerial shot of a small square cottage with a rear extension leading to a group of outbuildings. ‘The Force helicopter took this yesterday afternoon on a fly-past.’ He prodded at a section of the photo. His forefinger was targeted over a small grey oblong shape. ‘There is a possibility that they have access to a van, which is currently hidden beneath tarpaulin. When we raid the premises I want this securing and immobilising immediately.’ He scanned the room. ‘In a minute I am going to hand over to Inspector Forbes, from Task Force. He is Bronze Commander who will be orchestrating this operation on the ground. He will be issuing you with your instructions. But first I want to just point out these to you.’ He tapped three other colour photos pinned to the map. ‘Not far away from the cottage are these landmarks. They are Bronze Age burial chambers. These are all avenues of escape or hiding for the pair, so I want you to bear these in mind when you are securing the perimeter.’ He took a deep breath and tight-lipped added, ‘These two are ex-military. They are used to this terrain and as we know they are no strangers to violence. They have a lot to lose, so we must ensure we give them no quarter and certainly no room for escape.’
A twenty-strong team travelled to Minions. Ten heavily armoured Task Force Officers in their personnel carrier led the way, closely followed by a dog man. Hunter and Grace brought up the rear – they were sharing a car with DS Macey and DC Scarr. In between were local CID Officers. If there was a likelihood that Dale and Scott would resist, there were certainly enough of them.
As the convoy passed through Liskeard, and began its long climb up to the highest village in Cornwall, they found themselves confronted by a swirling mist and dropping temperatures. By the time they entered the village it had become a pea-souper, and all of them had been forced to drop their speed to a crawl while making their way along the main street.
Hunter was surprised by how small the place was. Within a couple of minutes they had passed two rows of whitewashed buildings and had reached the end of the village. Thirty seconds later they were passing an old mining engine house, which Hunter saw had been transformed into a heritage museum, and were turning onto a dirt track, which took them directly onto the moors. They were on the final stage of their journey.
After five minutes of bouncing along an undulating boggy lane Hunter spotted brake lights ahead. The fog gave a halo effect around them. He slowed the car and drew to a halt. Seconds later dark clad figures emerged from the Task Force Personnel Carrier. He put on the handbrake and turned off the engine.
Hardly a sound was made by anyone as uniformed officers kitted themselves out with body armour and detectives donned stab vests. Then they went into a huddle and listened to the Inspector issue his final instructions in a hushed voice. After confirming that everyone understood their role he led the way on foot.
Within a couple of minutes of tramping across the damp ground Hunter was at sorts with his bearings, especially faced with an impenetrable blanket of grey. The fog was dragging itself across the moor in clumps and layers and it reminded Hunter of a scene from the Sherlock Holmes movie, The Hound of the Baskervilles. Thankfully, he could still make out the inspector at pole position.
Within five minutes the pace of the yomp had slackened. A hundred yards further on Inspector Forbes came to a halt. He put on his reinforced crash helmet.
His team copied.
Then, ushering everyone together, in a low voice he checked in with, ‘Okay, does everyone know what they are doing?’ Wisps of cold air drifted from his mouth.
There was a round of nods.
‘Right this is it. Strike, Strike, Strike!’
Everyone set off at a jog.
Hunter watched the Task Force officers fan out. Some disappeared into the mist. Seconds later, the silhouette of the cottage came into view. He could make out the security fencing barring their way. It was the heavy mesh panel type set in concrete posts. Hanging from one of the panels was a large yellow sign, bearing the logo of a security firm, warning away trespassers. It was heavily weatherworn. In front of him two officers were bolt-cropping a chain. Two of their armed colleagues backed them up. It only took a matter of seconds, and then they were pulling apart the panels and dashing inside the compound. Hot on their heels was the dog man and the squad of detectives.
Hunter wasn’t far behind, and although he couldn’t see what was going on, because of the shroud of fog, from the sound of pounding feet and cries
and calls going on all around he knew that the team were surrounding the cottage like a school of sharks.
It took three blows before the front door splintered and crashed inwards.
Hunter followed three Task Force Officers in, backed up by detectives from Wadebridge, who starburst into the inner reaches of the building. He entered a long room with a stone-slab floor. He quickly took in his surroundings. A bare electric bulb burned from the ceiling – that told him that someone was living here. Wallpaper, the pattern of which was ancient, peeled in places from damp walls. In the middle of the room was a table covered in dirty crockery. Many of the plates had remnants of food – again, confirmation that recently someone had made this their home. Ahead, and to the right was a steep stairway. From the stomping sounds above him he knew that officers were already searching bedrooms.
Suddenly above, he heard a banging and crashing noise, quickly followed by the sound of scrambling feet. At the back of the house a call went up that made him realise someone was doing a runner. Hunter spun on his heels and made for the door. Training his ears he picked up the sound of someone scrabbling up and over the chain-link fencing. He bolted down the short path and hared out through the way they had come. Taking a sharp right and leaping across a narrow ditch he landed heavily onto the boggy moorland tufts. His ankles jarred and it made him wince. Recovering quickly, he set off towards where he had last heard the clambering. He couldn’t see a thing but he could hear. Someone was panting heavily not too far ahead. He picked up his pace, at the same time increasing his breathing, dragging in lungfuls of cold air. Within a few seconds he knew he was making ground when a wispy dark silhouette appeared before him. He was about to shout ahead when a call went up behind him – it was as if someone had read his mind.
Coming, Ready or Not Page 22
