by Jay Nadal
Janet Pembleton looked at him through swollen red eyes for a few moments, almost as if deciding whether she was strong enough to cooperate or not.
Those few moments seemed to go on longer than Scott would have liked, but he also knew the importance of giving the witness space and reassurance. The information that she had was absolutely vital to Scott, and could give him the breakthrough that he needed. As far as he was concerned he would waited until she was ready.
He’d often found that dealing with witnesses required a compassionate and yet firm stance. Officers were hardened to seeing the aftermath of violent crime; however the average citizen was invariably left shocked, deeply traumatised and unable to process what their eyes had witnessed. Even though time was precious in the first few critical hours after a crime, it was often the allowance of time and space that helped to get results.
She finally gave the smallest of nods before looking away and down at the floor.
“I completely understand how you might be feeling after what you’ve just witnessed. I’m sure it would be shocking to every law-abiding citizen if they were in your shoes. Whatever you can tell me could go a long way to helping us catch the perpetrator of this sickening crime.”
Scott paused for effect to let sink in the importance he placed on the information she could provide.
“It would be really helpful if you could just start from the beginning,” he suggested tipping his head to one side.
“I know you’ve told some of my colleagues your account of what happened, and we really appreciate that. However, I’m the senior investigating officer in this case, so I’d like to build a complete picture of what happened here this morning.” Scott nodded gently to give her the reassurance to let her know that she was safe and could open up to him.
There was a further silence in the ambulance as Scott waited. Janet Pembleton’s eyes were shifting rapidly from left to right, which told Scott that she was recalling the events in her mind and trying to make sense of them before attempting to explain it to Scott.
“Well… normally I take Benji out for about two hours, but this morning we cut short our walk because I’ve got a coffee morning that I needed to attend involving my art class. The… the other… chap that I see occasionally was parked to the left of my car so it meant that as I returned from my walk I had to go around his car to mine.”
Janet paused for a moment her eyes darting rapidly as she was trying to organise the sequence of events in her mind.
“I walked around the back of his vehicle, and to begin with I was actually looking out towards the sea, but then I something caught my attention in the corner to my left,” she used her left hand to emphasize her point. “I… I looked down and saw a man kneeling down over another chap who was face down. The man lying down was just covered in blood…it was everywhere.” Her voice was beginning to tremble; Scott noticed her hands were starting to shake a little.
“You’re doing really well, Mrs Pembleton, take your time,” Scott reassured her gently.
“I just froze on the spot, I couldn’t move. This man kneeling down looked round at me. The look in his eyes. I’ll never forget that look. One second they were full of anger, his face was twisted and snarling, and the next his eyes were wide open and looked terrified. Like the look of schoolboy who’d been caught doing wrong…” she trailed off.
Her eyes were just staring into space as she became lost in the thoughts.
“He stood up and just looked at me, and I could see this huge knife in his hand. It wasn’t a normal type of knife. I remember seeing something similar in the Rambo films that I used to watch with my brothers. I just started to scream. He took a few steps towards me and…I… I thought he was going to kill me,” the recollection causing her to cry, her shoulders shaking as she pulled the blanket in tighter around her body.
“Can you describe him to me? Was he tall, short, well-built? Anything would be helpful,” Scott reassured her.
She thought hard, her eyes narrowing, her lips pursed. “He was taller than me, and I’m five foot six, but I’d say he’s shorter than you. I don’t know, maybe about five foot nine or ten. He had a brown goatee beard. He had dark eyes, he had black jeans on and a black hoodie and black shoes or trainers, I can’t remember to be honest.”
“And what happened next?”
“I… I just closed my eyes, thinking to myself, This is it.” She closed her eyes as if re-experiencing it again. “Then I just felt this wind breeze past me and the sound of footsteps, that’s when I realised he’d run past me. I just froze. I don’t think I opened my eyes for ages because of feeling scared, and partly because I didn’t want to see that man lying on the ground.”
“Mrs Pembleton, you’ve been incredibly brave and so helpful. I can’t thank you enough. I’ll arrange for a uniformed officer to take you home and sit with you for as long as you need. I’ll send one of my colleagues from CID to take a full written statement and get an artist impression from you in the next hour or so. Thank you once again,” Scott gave her an appreciative nod.
Chapter 19
Cara had already come and gone by the time Scott had finished with the witness. Despite the grimness of the situation, he’d looked forward to seeing her radiant smile that he’d enjoyed over their drink.
Matt was on site ensuring his team were gathering and recording the evidence thoroughly. On seeing Scott exit the ambulance he beckoned him over waving a clear evidence bag.
Scott wandered over, looking around at the discarded bottles, used condoms and general litter that he could see toward the edges of this small car park. It was obviously somewhere that those looking for a quiet discreet place for a quick shag snuck off to…Hardly a Premier Inn, he thought.
“I’ve got an ID for your victim. Here’s his wallet.” Matt held up the clear evidence bag. “The victim is Peter Tomlins; his driving license photo ID matches the person on the floor. He’s certainly a big fella, I feel sorry for those boys,” Matt said nodding in the direction of the mortuary team that was unloading a gurney from the back of their black ambulance.
Scott felt the hairs on the back of neck stand up. The name had only come up a few times; however, it was the very same name linked to the death of Stephen Wentworth.
***
Scott leaned forwards in his chair to soak up the information in front of him. As he read through the files, he started to build a better picture of the case from three years ago. Peter Tomlins was the doorman on the Urban nightclub on the night that Stephen Wentworth died. Looking further down his charge sheet, Scott could see that he had several previous convictions for assault on members of the public.
A bit heavy handed then are you, Scott thought.
He was known in circles as “Tommy,” an enforcer for Dave Fraser’s dirty work who trained out of the gym that Fraser owned.
What concerned Scott was that the case against Peter Tomlins had been dropped due to insufficient evidence and witness intimidation. The notes confirmed that CCTV footage from the club on the night in question was missing.
Scott flicked through the coroner’s report that was attached to this case; he narrowed in on the concluding section. Scott read the last few sentences slowly. “Post mortem results concluded that Stephen had traces of cocaine and LSD in his blood stream at the time of death. Stephen was knocked unconscious with one punch outside the Urban nightclub, that led to a bleed on the brain and his subsequent death.”
Thumping the desk with his fist, Scott was certain that Stephen’s death was now linked in some way to the three stiffs in the morgue. Why was his next task.
Scott stared at his notepad with the various directional lines, hypotheses, and names in front of him. “Why were they murdered and how is Stephen connected in what was now a triple murder case?” he muttered as he rubbed his temples in the hope of getting some clarity.
There were too many loose ends for Scott’s liking. The cover up, the twenty pound notes, Stephen’s death, and the supply chain for t
he drugs. It was whilst he was scanning all the case file notes on his desk that he spotted something that caught his attention.
He read the case notes on Dave Fraser a few times to try and make some sense of it…it clearly stated that Dave Smith, the business partner of Lee Stubbins, was murdered two years ago. Joe Stickle, an associate of Dave Fraser and Peter Tomlins, was convicted of that murder. Scott read out aloud, “…and is in Belmarsh prison serving seventeen years.”
Scott pondered for a minute as he added Joe Stickle to his map and drew a few extra lines to those already on it. “This has to be a tit-for-tat thing going on,” concluded Scott. He was pretty sure now that Lee Stubbins was wrapped up in this as he had the most to gain from seeing Fraser and Tomlins out of the way. Why he would take out Stone was a different matter, and a question that Scott didn’t have the answer for.
***
Scott pulled into the visitors bay at the mortuary just before 4 p.m. Cara had emailed him early to say that she’d be performing the PM at 3p.m. As he got out of his car, he hoped that he’d missed most if not all of it.
Cara was already stitching up Peter Tomlins when Scott knocked on the glass partition overlooking the inspection room. She greeted him with her familiar come on in and join the party wave.
Scott had never known someone to enjoy their job so much. After getting prepped up, he joined her and was instantly greeted by the sounds of Radio One belting out a track he wasn’t familiar with coming from a radio sitting on a work bench close by. The presence of music seemed to soften the atmosphere from the cold clinical feel the room had on his last visit.
“Hope you’re not going to ask me to dance,” he joked.
“Two left feet Mr Baker?” she enquired, raising one eyebrow.
“You wish, I just don’t want to show you up.”
“Hope that’s not a challenge?”
“Moi?...never.”
“Moving onto business again, your victim certainly pissed off his killer. He was stabbed five times in close proximity,” she pointed out, lifting Tomlin’s left shoulder and side up. As you can see, he’s also got bruising to the middle of his back.”
Scott crouched to take a closer look before Cara laid him back down, his weight becoming too much for her to hold.
“Cause?”
“The bruising?”
He nodded once.
“I’d said that he was stomped on a few times. I’m sure they happened in quick succession.”
“Why though?” Scott enquired.
“You’re the detective, allegedly; I just give you the evidence. Having said that, this was a far more violent and sustained attack than the previous ones, but they were more than likely carried out by the same instrument…your survival knife. It’s just on this occasion, he really meted out some punishment…frenzied almost,” she concluded.
Scott remained silent, his arms crossed with one hand supporting his chin whilst he stared at the body.
“As you can see, he’s a big chap, with a very powerful upper half, so it could be that it required more effort to disable him?”
“That’s quite possible, Cara.”
“I’ve got hair fibres over there,” she said, pointing to the work station by her examination table. “I’ll get them off now by courier to LGC in Oxford and rush them through, we should have preliminary results by the morning, but it will cost you more for them to work on it through the night.”
“Their forensics work twenty-four hours?”
“Yep.”
“Do it and I’ll square it up with DCI when I leave here; I need the results for my briefing tomorrow.” Scott paused for a few seconds, “I owe you one, big time, Cara. Drinks on me next time.”
“Make it dinner,” she replied whilst she held his gaze.
“I’ll text you,” was the only reply she got.
Chapter 20
His work was done now; the killer felt neither remorse, nor satisfaction. This isn’t the way I wanted to feel, he seethed.
Spittle dripped from his mouth, he sat on the end of his bed, his hands nervously wringing in his lap. His body bent forward, swaying gently back and forth as he clutched the black hoodie close to his chest. The cold and emptiness of the room matched in equal measure how he felt inside. His eyes were fixed wide on the pictures that lay scattered around him on the floor.
The room was filled with the overpowering odour of stale urine that emanated from the bundle of black clothes that lay in a messy heap in the corner of the room.
The curtains were drawn letting in just a few shards of light. He was being careful; he didn’t want anyone peering in even though he was on the first floor. He didn’t want anyone to see the maps of Brighton blue tacked to the walls. Nor the photos he’d taken of his victims as he stalked them or the drawings he etched of each murder, drawn heavy handed in thick black pencils.
To anyone else they’d think a ten year old child had etched them. Each one had a two stick men, one lying on the floor, the other standing triumphantly over the dead man like a hunter standing over his latest kill in the African bush. The dimensions of the knife exaggerated in each picture to look as big as each of the characters, big red drops of red drawn on the floor to confirm the kill.
Despite the savagery in the pictures, he’d still had time to draw flowers, cars and houses the way children would draw them in pre-school. If only life was that simple.
The chill that gripped him was still as strong, it had worked its way into every sinew of his being. A parasite feeding off its host, getting stronger by the day as the host grew weaker, draining him of all energy and immunity to ward off this invading alien.
The sadness he felt was buried deep within the pit of his stomach. Its tentacles had firmly secured themselves to him, like grappling hooks that had found firm crevices on a cliff face. Each spike penetrated, holding firm.
It wasn’t supposed to end like this. He wanted to feel euphoric, that justice had prevailed, an eye for an eye and all that. But it wasn’t. It didn’t replace what he’d lost.
As he stared into the emptiness, he questioned, Where can I, should I go? He was still vengeful, there were others that still need to be held accountable, but getting access to them would be harder. He had tried and failed; they were surrounded by people in uniforms who drove cars with flashing blue lights.
His attention was drawn to the knife that lay on the floor, sparkling clean, its history lost forever down the sink. Using that would mean me getting close, he concluded scrunching up his face, tugging aggressively at the small patches of eyebrow that he still had left.
The killer played out various scenarios in his head. Maybe I should just wait here for them, they’ll come and find me and then I’ll finish the job. He liked that idea a lot. The excitement raced through his veins once again.
He fell back onto the bed, and closed his eyes; he wanted to imagine exactly how he’d kill them when they found him…
Chapter 21
After holding back from texting Cara all day, he’d finally sent her a message last night suggesting a bite to eat after work today to which she willingly accepted.
The team were back in the briefing room at 7 a.m. watching Scott make a poor attempt at drawing a spider diagram from his notebook onto the whiteboard.
It was met with sarcastic comments like “Is it a plane? Is it a movie?” And “How many syllables?” from those gathered, but in particular from Raj. Abby just bit the lip of her coffee cup to stop herself from laughing, but her shaking shoulders gave her away.
Scott shrugged and turned to face Raj and replied, “Fancy a stint back in uniform?” which promptly wiped the pathetic grin of Raj’s face and was met with even more laughter from Abby, Sian and Mike.
“Mike and Abby what are your updates from yesterday?”
“I drew a blank at Roedean, I spoke to the principal and caretaker, they were of course concerned about the pupils seeing us there, but this was limited due its distance from the scene.”
&
nbsp; “I didn’t get much further, Guv” added Abby. “I spoke to the residents, most were in, and I left messages for those not answering. There was one resident who has her artist studio set up in a front room to take advantage of the sea views. She saw the 4x4 there about 6.30 a.m. when she got up, but wasn’t back at the window till about 7.45 a.m. By then she saw the police presence.” Abby concluded by dropping her pen back on the table.
Scott blew out a deep sigh. ”This is a fucking nightmare.” As if mysteriously sensing the bind Scott was in, the door opened and the DCI walked in.
“Thought I’d see what updates we have after yesterday, Scott.”
Could this day start any worse, Scott thought.
To add to the pressure, rather than taking a seat, the DCI stood by the door and leant back on the wall, her arms crossed.
“Yes, Ma’am. Thanks for authorising the hair fibre analysis rush job. The results came through about an hour ago. The fibre matches those found on the other two victims, so we’re looking for the same person. This person has systematically hunted down and killed three men who all knew each other very well. So that’s one connection. I’m sure Lee Stubbins has something to do with it because he wanted the second victim Dave Fraser out of the way and needed the distribution channels, so he could have ordered these hits for those reasons and for the death of his business partner who was killed by an associate known to these men.”
The DCI nodded in approval.
“We also need to look more closely at the Stephen Wentworth link, as Pete Tomlins was charged as a result of his death. I started on Stephen yesterday, Sian did Stubbins.”
“Makes sense Guv, you reckon it’s a revenge thing?” asked Raj.
“Possibly, it’s worth keeping that one on the table. I did some research quickly last night, and it appears Stephen’s parents split up long ago. I’ve not found out where his mum is, can you look into that Mike.
