Shadow of the Beast: A DS Hunter Kerr Novel

by Michael Fowler

  ‘No.’

  ‘Mr Chambers how old were you in nineteen-seventy?’

  He momentarily glanced up to the ceiling, then returning his eyes answered, ‘Thirteen.’

  ‘So it would be fair to say that at thirteen you would know if anything untoward was going on in your home? You’re a bright enough man yes? So I’m guessing you would have been a bright young teenager?’

  ‘It’s a long time ago now, but yes.’

  ‘And you definitely can’t remember anything bad happening to any woman at your old home?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Now you see I find that strange. I think when I was thirteen that if I’d seen and heard a lot of activity going on in my cellar I’d have been suspicious. Especially as you said earlier Terry used to keep it padlocked. Weren’t you just a bit curious as to why that was?’

  ‘No. I never gave it a second thought. As far as I was concerned there was nothing down there. The place was damp. You can believe me or not. That’s your problem. I’m telling you I never saw anything happen to any woman at my old house and I never heard anything going on in the cellar. I don’t know how she ended up being buried in the cellar. I can’t help you.’

  ‘Okay Mr Chambers, that’s fine. But as you mentioned a couple of questions ago I said we’d found two bodies. Both of them in your cellar. And I’ve already said we managed to identify one of them as Wendy Lomas. We were able to do that because of the clothing on the body. It married up to her police Missing from Home report. But the second one we’ve had difficulty with because that body was buried naked. Had no clothing on it whatsoever.’ Hunter took a few seconds out, focussing intently on Saville’s eyes. Chambers shied away his gaze as Hunter continued, ‘And then we found the clothing in your wardrobe. The three items of clothing I have just shown you.’

  Saville Chambers’ features swiftly took on a waxen appearance – a soft sheen of perspiration started to cover his skin.

  Watching him for a few seconds Hunter said, ‘Mr Chambers, you’ve gone white. Is something the matter? Has this line of questioning got to you?’

  Saville tried to respond but for a moment the words wouldn’t come out. Abruptly he blurted, ‘No comment.’

  Hunter raised his voice, ‘On May the first, nineteen-seventy-two, twenty-three-year-old Barbara Mullins disappeared. She was last seen drinking in the Navigation Inn pub, not a stone’s throw from your old house. Just over a week ago we found her body buried in the cellar of sixteen Chapel Street, and the clothing she was last wearing was found in your wardrobe this morning. Can you explain that?’

  Shaking his head, he replied loudly, ‘No comment.’

  Hunter slowly pushed himself back in his seat. He rested his hands, palm flat on the table and with a steady voice said, ‘Shall I tell you what I think Mr Chambers. I already know from the enquiries we have made that Terry has psychopathic tendencies. You’ll have probably seen on the news that we’re also now hunting him for the vicious murder of his disabled neighbour, which shows how dangerous he is. I think that he gradually manipulated and coerced you into doing his bidding. At first, probably just little things, like following women around in his van. It’s my bet, from the women’s clothing we’ve found, that he got you to dress as a girl when you were younger, and just for fun pulled a few of those women over and chatted to them while you sat there. A game between the pair of you. You not realising what was going on. But then there was Glynis Young, the girl he tried to rape and then killed at the lakes. That was when he took the game further.’

  Saville Chambers started shaking his head.

  Hunter continued, ‘A witness has now come forward and told us that, on the night Glynis was killed, he saw what he thought was a young girl with long blonde hair sitting in the front passenger seat. My guess is that it was you in that van. Glynis was lulled into getting into the van because she thought she was getting into it with another girl. That she was safe. That’s how Terry operated.’

  ‘No!’

  ‘And it’s also my guess that when he escaped that day at your mother’s funeral, which I think you helped him, by the way, that the pair of you did the same thing again with two prostitutes from Chapeltown. You dressing up, this time as a woman because you were older, and again they were lulled into getting into a van with the pair of you and brought back to Barnwell where they were killed and buried.’

  Chambers shook his head more vigorously. ‘No!’

  ‘I’m right aren’t I?’

  Without warning Saville Chambers banged his hands on the table making Hunter and Grace jump. Eyes almost leaping from their sockets he shouted, ‘You’ve no fucking idea what it was like living with Terry! He’s fucking evil!’

  * * *

  Most of the team were sat at their desks, on their phones or working at their computers, when Hunter and Grace entered the office. All eyes rounded on them, faces etched with expectation.

  Hunter held up his hands, ‘Sorry guys we rattled him but not enough to get him to cough.’

  A couple of them gave disappointed looks, not in an unkind way, but the majority exchanged glances of support.

  DI Scaife stepped forward, ‘Did you get anything?’

  ‘Not really. Certainly nothing incriminating. He “no commented” about the women’s clothing and then totally clammed up when we told him that we’d identified Barbara Mullins from the three items in his wardrobe.’

  ‘You get any indication he might be involved?’

  ‘Some reaction to our questions, especially when I asked him about the wigs and what we thought he and Terry had done, but not enough for court. I certainly gave him enough opportunity to put the blame squarely on Terry’s shoulders but he didn’t go for it.’

  ‘Do you think he was a willing partner?’

  ‘Again I relayed my thoughts and gave him the opportunity to respond with a satisfactory answer but he didn’t. You could argue that maybe as a teenager he wasn’t so much a willing participant – you know when Glynis Young was murdered, but then we have to also think about the girls that were buried in the cellar, which he completely denied knowledge of. And then there’s Leslie Warren and Ann Marie Banks. When they were abducted and killed, Saville would have been in his mid-twenties. You can’t really say Terry would have been able to manipulate him at that age.’

  ‘What about last night’s job – Becki Turner?’

  ‘I didn’t get round to that because of how he reacted. I’m going to ask him about her next. I’m going to give him an hour to calm down and then go in again.’

  ‘Well they’ve searched his car but they haven’t found anything belonging to her in it, so we don’t know if it was his car involved last night or not.’

  ‘What’s happened to it?’

  ‘They’ve recovered it on a low-loader and taken it to forensics. They’re going to make a start on it this afternoon. If she was in that car we’ll find out.’

  ‘Good.’

  ‘Going back to his interview, did you manage to talk to him about his uncle and aunt’s place out at Dunford Bridge?’

  ‘I had several goes at trying to get it out of him but as I say he clammed up. Refused to answer any more questions. Not even a ‘no comment’ out of him.’ Hunter checked the DI’s face. ‘Have you got anything from the house?’

  DI Scaife shook his head, ‘We’re still going through every item of women’s clothing to see if there are any matches to the Missing from Home reports of our victims. We’ve found a woman’s watch and a bracelet in a bedside drawer, which might be something, but other than that nothing. The house is clean. No sign that anyone was killed there. And no sign of Becki unfortunately. We’ve got his mobile though. Mike Sampson’s gone through to Headquarters to see if the technicians can pull off any data, especially see where he’s been with it. If he had it with him last night, or when he visited the smallholding belonging to his uncle and aunt, then we’ve got him and we should also get a location at Dunford Bridge.’

  Hunter automa
tically crossed his fingers. ‘Good stuff.’ Then, looking around the room he asked, ‘Where’s the gaffer?’

  ‘She’s in her office with ACC Winterburn from Headquarters.’

  ‘What, she’s taking all the glory?’ he said light heartedly with a smile.

  ‘No, something’s going on. The ACC turned up with two guys from Professional Standards. Not scheduled. They’re talking behind closed doors. I went down five minutes ago and the door’s still locked. They’ve been in there over half an hour.’

  Hunter unexpectedly felt his chest tighten. The image of Shaggy being shot burst inside his head. Dawn Leggate told him that he was just going to get a bollocking. Was something else going on? The last thing he needed was to be suspended again. Swallowing hard he half turned, ‘I’ll go and see if she’s free and bring her up to speed.’

  * * *

  Hunter caught the backs of the AAC and his Professional Standards entourage as they descended the back stairs. Feeling queasy and anxious he tramped along the corridor to Dawn Leggate’s office. Her door was ajar and, snatching a mouthful of air, he rapped on it lightly and pushed it inwards. The Detective Superintendent was sitting behind her desk, her face full of concern.

  Hunter could feel his mouth drying up and, forcing saliva up from his throat said, ‘I’ve just seen the ACC with Professional Standards on the stairs. The DI says they came to see you. It’s not about me is it?’

  Dawn ushered him in with her hand and pointed out a seat in front of her desk.

  Hunter lowered himself slowly never taking his eyes off her.

  With a firm mouth she answered, ‘No, it’s not about you Hunter. It’s to do with me.’

  Hunter studied her face and waited. He could see from her expression that she hadn’t finished.

  Bringing up her hands and clasping them under her chin she said, ‘It’s going to be out soon enough so you might as well be the first to know, Mike’s accident was deliberate!’

  Hunter frowned questioningly, ‘Well we always thought that. Has someone been arrested?’

  ‘Not yet they haven’t, but they are going to be circulated as wanted within the next ten minutes.’ She paused, took a deep breath and added, ‘It was Jack!’

  ‘Jack... Your ex?’

  She nodded. ‘They’ve found video footage of him pulling into a garage half an hour after the accident, examining the front of his Volvo. And they’ve tracked down a mobile technician who replaced his windscreen.’

  ‘Bloody hell!’

  ‘I can think of stronger words than that.’

  ‘He tried to kill Mike?’

  ‘It looks like it.’

  ‘Good God! Has he always been like that – you know – having a violent streak?’

  She shook her head, ‘This isn’t the Jack I know. I was married to him for eight years and, sure we had a few spats between us, and I’ve shared a few choice words with him since we split, but I never saw this coming. I mean trying to kill Mike. He’s totally gone over the edge.’

  ‘It’s a heck of a way to try and get back at you.’

  ‘Tell me about it.’

  ‘I can understand the ACC coming to speak to you but why Professional Standards. You’ve not done anything wrong.’

  ‘The IPCC will need to get involved. They’re just trying to soften the blow for the Force. Work out a strategy.’ In the air she finger-drew the word ‘strategy’ and issued a sarcastic half laugh. ‘So what’s next?’

  ‘They’re bringing in another SIO to support me, probably take over the enquiry, which pisses me off. And they’ve asked me not to go back home until Jack’s arrested.’ She paused, and said, ‘Keep this to yourself for the next hour or so. I’ve got a few things to sort out and then I’ll tell everyone at briefing.’

  Hunter nodded and pushed himself up from his seat. He felt sorry for his boss yet, at the same time, selfishly relieved that it wasn’t him back under the spotlight.

  * * *

  Hunter sat cradling his mug, half full of lukewarm tea. He had just set aside his journal; writing up that morning’s interview with Saville Chambers, making notes along the way as he thought of different questions for the next one. He didn’t think he had any involvement in the murder of Eric Wheelhouse but he was certain he was involved in the kidnapping of Becki Turner and so the challenge during the next round of questioning was to introduce Becki Turner’s abduction and dupe Chambers into giving up the address at Dunford Bridge. He gazed across at Grace. She was on the phone, heavily in discussion, and it sounded as if it was still with the lawyer from CPS; he’d caught snippets while he’d been beavering away on his journal. He glanced over her head to where the wall clock was and saw that she had been on the phone for over twenty minutes. By the scowl on her face he could tell it wasn’t going well.

  Deciding he’d had enough of his tepid drink and would make a fresh brew, he pushed himself out of his chair, and was about step from behind his desk, when he caught her derisively mouth her thanks, slam down the phone, and mockingly add ‘tosser’, as she threw back her head, clenched her fists in the air and let out a growl.

  ‘I gather from that it’s not good news?’

  She took a deep breath and muttered ‘Count to ten Grace’ and replied, ‘It’s not I’m afraid. Our solicitor says that the fact that he sat in on an interview and deceitfully supported Braithwaite under the guise of acting as his brief does not contribute towards a charge of assisting an offender. He also says that the fact that he refuses to disclose the address of the smallholding does not contribute towards the charge because we don’t actually know for certain Braithwaite is holed up there.’

  ‘What about him being an accessory to the murders?’

  ‘That’s even more frustrating! The fact that he has a wardrobe full of women’s clothing, and two wigs, and we have the two statements that a young girl was seen in the van when Glynis Young was attacked, and that neighbour at Chapeltown saw a woman involved in putting a large bundle into the back of a van when Leslie Warren went missing, is merely circumstantial. As is the seventies clothing, despite them being exactly the same clothes the victim Barbara Mullins was last seen wearing, unless we can get a physical forensic link between victim and Saville, we’ve got to let him go.’

  ‘So in other words, unless he admits his involvement he walks.’

  ‘He walks!’

  ‘Fuck!’

  ‘My sentiments exactly.’

  Hunter let out a frustrating sigh. ‘We’d better get our thinking caps on and see how we’re going to get Saville to cough.’ He reached across and picked up Grace’s mug, ‘I’ll make us a drink and then we’ll sit down and plan the next interview.’

  Hunter had just turned away from his desk when the office doors burst open and Mike Sampson walked in wearing a beaming smile. ‘Got it!’ he announced.

  Everyone focussed on him.

  He held up a clear plastic evidence bag. In it was a mobile phone. ‘Saville Chambers phone is one of those with in-built GPS coordinates. The techies have tracked everywhere he’s been with it since he took out the contract two years ago and guess where one of those places is?’

  Hunter responded first. ‘Becki Turner’s abduction?’

  Mike nodded, ‘Places him on Doncaster Road at twelve-twenty last night and follows the route he took afterwards in the early hours.’

  ‘The smallholding at Dunford Bridge?’

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘He took Becki Turner up to Dunford Bridge?’

  ‘It certainly looks like it.’

  Hunter punched the air, ‘Yes.’

  ‘Fucking big fat yes.’

  ‘Now where’s that district map? – we’ve got a girl to find and a serial killer to bring in. Saville Chambers can wait.’

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Terrence Arthur Braithwaite silently lifted the latch and gently eased open the door that led down to the cellar, cautious not to make any noise. For a moment he stood in the doorway, listening. The l
ight behind him picked out the first few stone steps, after that everything was in shadow, but that didn’t trouble him because, even in the dark, he was familiar with the way ahead.

  And it would be more frightening this way, he thought.

  Being extra careful not to drag his limping leg, he made his way down, little by little, taking in shallow breaths and exhaling gradually. At the bottom he stopped again and listened. Not a murmur. Cracking a smile, he set off again, feeling his way along the cold lime-washed wall to where it ended and opened out into the main cellar. Here it was pitch black so he couldn’t see her, but he could hear her because of her laboured breathing; the tape he had sealed across her mouth was forcing her to breathe through her nose. And he could smell her – she’d pissed herself.

  Raising his torch, aiming it in her direction, he flicked it on. The bright light made a direct hit upon her face, making her jump, almost toppling the chair she was tied to over. The terror in her eyes was a sight to behold. It was just the effect he wanted.

  He had time with this one, he told himself. No need for a quick kill. This time he could saviour every moment.

  Lowering the beam from her eyes, but leaving it so that he could still see the fear in her face, he stepped towards her.

  She tried to scream but the gag muzzled her cries.

  Standing before her he noticed the blood – most of it dry – around her wrists and ankles where the barbed wire restraints had dug into her skin when she’d struggled. He reached out to touch her hair. She tried to pull her head away so he grabbed a handful of locks and yanked her forward.

  She let out a muffled yell.

  Closing in on her, she flinched, closing her eyes. He could feel her trembling as he pressed his face nearer. He began licking her cheek. Her tremble became a shake and she started to cry.

  ‘There’ he said quietly, releasing his grip on her hair and stroking it. ‘You and I are going to have so much fun, aren’t we?’