Silent Terror

by Ted Tayler

  “I thought you girls updated your profiles, you know, ‘in a relationship’ or something similar,” said Luke.

  “Always a mistake, Luke,” said Lydia. “It turns sour within a month if you brag about it to your friends. And blokes you hoped might be interested in you disappear without a trace. It’s always best to hedge your bets.”

  “Caitlyn and her mystery man were together from a young age if we’ve got the right couple,” said Neil.

  “I’ve trawled through her eight hundred friends on Facebook,” said Lydia. “There’s nothing to suggest any of the boys in her photos is her boyfriend. With the history they have between them, they made sure their online posts were neutral. They gave nothing away.”

  “I’ll bet the boyfriend took the photos where she’s face-on to the camera,” said Luke.

  “That’s a creepy thought,” said Lydia. “I’ve just copied three images he might have taken. What if he took photos at the bungalow in Shaftesbury Road, guv?”

  “If he did, we’d find them when we catch him,” said Gus. “It’s not unusual for serial killers to keep trophies to relive the events.”

  Lunchtime came and went. Lydia and Neil completed the transcription of the members on the Mere Chat page. Luke had taken over from Lydia and was reducing Caitlyn’s eight hundred Facebook friends to find males of the right age.

  Gus walked over to sit beside Blessing. She was still on the phone. Was this progress at last? Blessing thanked Mrs Bendick and ended the call.

  “Right, guv. Did you know that Bendick is the Scottish variant of Benedict?”

  Gus shook his head.

  “James Bendick’s registered address was where he lived with his first wife for years. It’s in Rothesay, on the Isle of Bute. Caitlyn Bendick’s details went there during the relocation exercise at the 2011 Census. That was an oversight. As for the Admin role on the town’s gossip page, Catherine said Caitlyn urged her to get involved in local matters. Caitlyn wanted to keep in touch when she went up to University, and the old page wasn’t functioning any more. The last question threw her as you suspected, but after several minutes checking her diaries, she confirmed that the house was empty.”

  “Did Catherine offer any information on where Caitlyn studied after Bruton?” asked Gus.

  “Caitlyn studied Politics and International Studies at the University of Warwick,” said Blessing. “That was a three-year course which ended in the summer of 2017.”

  “That’s where your father worked,” said Gus, “do you think he knew her?”

  “Out of twenty thousand students, guv?” said Blessing. “unlikely, he’s a Computer Science Professor.”

  “No wonder you’re so good at this stuff,” said Gus.

  “I’ll dig deeper into Mere Chat, guv, to see whether Ursula contacted anyone direct as Arnold Friend. I’ll give you an update before we finish today.”

  “Excellent,” said Gus.

  He moved across to his left where Lydia was grafting away.

  “Can you pass me copies of the images we need to put before our Ringwood shopkeepers and the three ladies from Mere?”

  “Yes, guv. Who do you want to make that trip?”

  “Neil? Get your skates on. Mere, Ringwood and back with written confirmation that Caitlyn Bendick is our girl. Anything else you learn will be a bonus.”

  “Okay, guv. I’ll see you at around four o’clock.”

  Neil collected the images from Lydia, agreed that they were clear enough for anyone to identify their suspect aged fifteen, eighteen and twenty. On the last picture, Caitlyn wore a broad smile and a striped scarf in the University of Warwick colours over a winter coat.

  “Here’s a message, guv,” said Blessing. Gus stood behind her and looked over her shoulder.

  The hand of the diligent will rule. The slothful will be put to forced labour

  “Who received that message?”

  “A man in his thirties, a labourer, unmarried, and unemployed at regular intervals by the look of it. If you read his posts, he follows Chelsea football, likes a drink, and swears a lot. The message came from the Avenging Angel. Ursula set up the Arnold Friend account to allow her to start the Mere Chat page, and then she accepted members as the administrator. When she wanted to send the equivalent of an old poison pen letter, she created another persona using A Friend but with the username of the Avenging Angel. Ursula used the same image for both accounts.”

  “The Moving Finger,” said Gus, “Suzie talked me through the Agatha Christie story on Wednesday night.”

  “I haven’t read that one,” said Blessing.

  “Keep searching,” said Gus. “There’s nothing aimed at Caitlyn or another well-educated male student yet.”

  “Maybe Ursula didn’t send them a message, guv,” said Blessing. “If these two were evil from birth, they didn’t need a trigger.”

  Luke clicked his fingers. He’d realised something.

  “Why wasn’t Caitlyn in Bruton that night? It was midweek, and they’d returned to school by around the fifth or sixth. Now I know why you told Blessing to ask who slept in the Mere house.”

  “Caitlyn faked an illness or a family emergency,” said Gus, “this was well-planned from the outset. Her partner probably drove to Bruton to collect her. That’s another angle we can pursue—young men who passed their driving test soon after their seventeenth birthday. If the lad was from a rich family, then the car could be distinctive. Start hunting.”

  “Surely, we need to find where Caitlyn Bendick is now, guv,” said Lydia. “and get her taken into custody?”

  “Caitlyn and her partner in crime were joined at the hip at least since they were fourteen,” said Gus. “Wherever they are now, my guess is they’ll be together or in close contact. The last thing I want is to risk spooking her accomplice. He’ll disappear. No, speed is of the essence, Lydia. We’re getting closer every hour; I can feel it. We need to press on with the analysis of the material we have.”

  At a quarter past two, Gus heard an excited squeal.

  “Here we are,” said Blessing.

  “Read it out,” said Gus, “what did it say and who received it?”

  I do not fear your threats. I am not frightened.

  “That’s a revision of a quote from St Peter, guv,” said Blessing. “Our Avenging Angel sent it to Caitlyn Bendick on Sunday the sixteenth of December 2012.”

  “We need to check with Becky Burden,” said Gus, “but that could be twenty-four hours after the incident outside the café. Please tell me there were two recipients, Blessing.”

  “It will appear on the same day so it won’t take long for me to trace it,” she replied.

  “I’ve got a list of new driving licences issued for 2012, guv,” said Luke. “I’m selecting the youngest names. I’ll have a shortlist for you in the next few minutes.”

  “Dominic Hurley,” said Blessing five minutes later.

  “Dominic Hurley’s on my list too, guv,” said Luke, “passed his test in March 2012, five days after his seventeenth birthday.”

  “Hurley?” said Gus, “that can’t be a coincidence. What was the name of the financier Ursula crossed swords with over the footpath issue?”

  “Gervase Hurley, guv,” said Luke, “he owns a large estate near Gillingham.”

  “I’ve found Dominic’s Facebook account, guv,” said Lydia. “He drives an Audi R8 Spyder. He looks very pleased with himself, leaning on the driver’s door.”

  “Is that a distinctive enough car for you? I assume his online profile is as bland as Caitlyn’s?” said Gus.

  “Hundreds of apparent friends, plenty of photos,” said Lydia, “The images are similar to Caitlyn’s. Here I am at so-and-so, but no sign of the anonymous person behind the camera. In his ‘About’ data, Dominic lists The Sherborne School and the University of Warwick under Education.”

  “No big surprise there. What did Dominic study?” asked Gus.

  “He received a first-class degree in Economics in the summer of 2017,
” said Lydia.

  “Hold on,” said Blessing, “that’s a three-year course. If Dominic was seventeen in 2012, then surely he finished his A-levels at Sherborne in the summer of 2013? Six months after the murder.”

  “Is there any evidence that Dominic and Caitlyn took a gap year?” asked Gus.

  “I’ll need to scroll a long way through these photos, guv,” said Lydia. “If they were away for a year, I’d expect loads of photos, but only a handful appear on Dominic’s account. I’ll check Caitlyn’s and get back to you.”

  “Arnold Friend sent another message to Dominic Hurley, guv, on New Year’s Day,” said Blessing.

  “Just to Dominic? OK, read it out.”

  Your eye is evil. Your entire body is full of darkness.

  “Ursula understood what evil Dominic was capable of, didn’t she? That message prompted the plan to kill her. We can only guess. But maybe Ursula overheard Dominic and Caitlyn talking at the library about acting out their fantasies. That’s what they were at that stage, the fantasies of two young teenagers whose families had showered them with money, but never with affection. Ursula was the first murder they committed together. Now we need to find the other victims and make sure no more women get killed.”

  “I’ve found a blank period in the dates on Caitlyn’s photos, guv. There were no posts between March and August in 2014. I’ll double-check Dominic’s details.”

  “What does that suggest, Luke?” asked Gus.

  “Over the years, travel firms have developed a series of backpacking tours that let students visit popular spots in South East Asia, guv. My guess is they spent a month each in Thailand, Laos, Cambodia, and Vietnam, then came back via the States or had a beach holiday en route to the UK.”

  “The Maldives,” said Lydia, “I’ve found a photo posted on Dominic’s page on August the third 2014.”

  “Why so few photos?” asked Gus.

  “They may have thought it was cheaper to use a digital camera rather than their mobile phone for hundreds of shots,” said Lydia. “Then, when they got home, the hassle of loading them onto their computer proved too much. Especially as they were getting ready to go to university in September.”

  “We need to pass this link to Geoff Mercer,” said Gus. “I bet that not posting holiday snaps was more about not leaving a trail that pinned them in a location at a specific point in time. That backpacking trip could have seen their next kill or kills.”

  “So, in September 2014, they started at the University of Warwick,” said Luke. “Where have they been since they left in the summer of 2017? Where are they now?”

  “I’m keen to hear what Alex discovers,” said Gus. “he’s due here in ninety minutes.”

  “I can see why Hurley chose Warwick,” said Blessing. “Oxford and Cambridge have top-ranking, but my father says that Warwick is in what they term the magic circle of universities for investment banking and other highly competitive employment centres.”

  “Dominic planned to follow in his father’s footsteps,” said Lydia.

  “Caitlyn’s second-class degree might allow her to find a position at Westminster,” said Luke. “It would allow them to live and work together in the capital.”

  Lydia, Luke, and Blessing continued to gather evidence. Gus updated his copy of the Freeman Files. They were getting close to the end. Or was it the end of the beginning?

  At a quarter to four, Gus heard the lift descend to the ground floor.

  It was Neil Davis.

  “I hope you stayed within the speed limit, Neil,” said Gus.

  “Most of the time, guv. When someone was watching, at least.”

  “You’ve brought us good news, I hope?”

  “The best, guv. Each of our five witnesses identified Caitlyn Bendick as the girl in question. Better yet, Becky Burden told me that the young man outside the café window was a familiar sight in town. He drove an Audi R8 Spyder, even though he was only a kid, and she thought his father was a big-wig who lived in Gillingham, five miles up the road.”

  “Dominic Hurley,” said Gus, “the son of the wealthy financier, Gervase Hurley.”

  “Oh, you knew already. That bloke who bought the land behind Ursula’s bungalow,” said Neil, “and wanted the footpath removed.”

  “The very same, Neil. It fits, doesn’t it? Hurley started it off when he bought the land. Bendick came on the scene five years later. Ursula Wakeley irritated both men by objecting to their plans at every opportunity. When she saw Caitlyn and Dominic at the library, she couldn’t resist picking on them. The incident Mrs Atkins saw might not have been the first. The eerie part is that Ursula recognised the evil within Dominic purely by being in his presence. Maybe she saw something in Caitlyn too. We don’t understand the true dynamic between the pair yet.”

  “Mrs Atkins said Caitlyn laughed in Ursula’s face,” said Neil. “Dominic was a tall lad, even at fifteen. He towered over Ursula. When I showed Mrs Atkins the photo this afternoon, she remembered the young man’s face as he glared at Ursula. It surprised her Ursula didn’t turn to stone. Dominic gave her such a wicked look.”

  “I’ve been updating my digital files,” said Gus. “The others will soon do the same. They’re just completing the evidence-gathering from social media accounts.”

  “I’ll get my files updated, guv,” said Neil. “I’ll grab a coffee first if that’s okay?”

  “Since you offered, Neil,” said Lydia. “None of has had time this afternoon. The usual for us and when Alex arrives it’s…”

  “White, one sugar,” said Neil, “I remember.”

  The team continued working as the clock ticked on.

  Alex Hardy arrived at four twenty-five.

  “You look busy,” he said, “I thought you would wind down for the weekend.”

  “We’ve had a breakthrough, Alex,” said Gus, “unfortunately, it may only be a reprieve. What did you find?”

  “You were right, as usual, guv,” said Alex. He took the empty chair next to Gus and opened a file.

  “An eighty-one-year-old widow, Katherine McKenna died in 2015. The victim received fourteen stab wounds from two separate blades. A seven-inch plain-edged blade was the murder weapon, and a four-inch serrated blade did most of the damage post mortem.”

  “Where did the victim live?” asked Gus.

  “Measham, a large village beyond Nuneaton,” said Alex.

  “That places it around thirty miles north-west of Coventry and the University of Warwick,” said Blessing.

  “Tiny town, a large village,” said Gus, “It fits with their hunting ground. Any other similarities to our victim.”

  “Katherine McKenna suffered from glaucoma, guv. They had registered her blind since 2013.”

  “East Midlands police cover that area,” said Gus, “did you learn how they handled the case there?”

  “Her son, who lived in Leicester, reported the theft of several items. He estimated the value at around ten thousand pounds. The detectives brought in likely suspects making no progress. They never found the stolen gear, nor the weapons used.”

  “What did the detective in charge think had happened?” asked Gus.

  “She thought it was robbery with violence at first, guv. Then when they couldn’t link any of the likely lads to the investigation, she assumed a random pair of druggies butchered Mrs McKenna.”

  “Of course they did. Then left the police with zero forensics. The killers were professionals, while the detectives were amateurs. Why didn’t they link this case to Ursula Wakeley?”

  “Probably for the same reason that they didn’t link it to Maisie Fletcher, guv,”

  “Who?” said Gus. “When was that?”

  “The following year, around eighteen months after Mrs McKenna. Maisie was seventy-seven, another widow, but this time she lived in the West Midlands. A place called Cheswick Green. That’s near Solihull and less than twenty miles from Coventry.”

  “Same modus operandi, Alex?” asked Neil.

  “A furt
her escalation in violence,” said Alex. Gus sat back in his chair. This was what he feared.

  “Maisie Fletcher had been profoundly deaf from birth,” said Alex. “She still lived a full life, got married and had three children. She worked as a catering assistant until she retired aged seventy-three in 2012. Her husband, Stan, died in 2015. The house was in a rural setting, and police believe the property was under observation for some time. Maisie had lots of visitors, both family and friends. It was unusual for her to be alone for any length of time. The break-in took place during the night, perhaps as late as midnight. When her daughter arrived the following afternoon, she walked into a scene that she could only describe as a nightmare. There was blood in every room of the house. The killers appear to have moved Maisie from room to room, cutting her, then applying a tourniquet using strips they cut from her nightdress. The police surgeon estimated time of death at between seven and nine in the morning. They tormented Maisie for hours.”

  “Was there any deviation in the weapon?” asked Gus.

  “From the description of the wounds, both assailants used different weapons from the McKenna murder. However, as the cases never got linked, then nobody compared the wounds. Nobody has examined the crime scene evidence to see whether the same pair were responsible.”

  “How did West Midlands classify it?” asked Gus.

  “There was nothing taken, guv, no forensics, no sexual assault, and nobody suspicious hanging around. Maisie Fletcher didn’t have an enemy in the world. What do we do in such cases?”

  “Clutch at straws,” said Gus.

  “They clutched for around five weeks and then gave up the ghost.”

  “Do we have everything recorded in the Freeman Files?” he asked the team.

  “Yes, guv,” came the united response.

  “Right, that’s as far as we can take things for today. I suggest you get off home for the weekend. Do something different from searching for clues to bloody murders.”

  “I get it, guv,” said Luke, “it’s someone else’s job now to find Bendick and Hurley and arrest them. We’ve established their connection to Ursula Wakeley. We understand that her religious zeal contributed to her demise. What made these two the way they are will be for others to decide.”