A Perfect Likeness

by Roger Gumbrell

  ‘Right, Sergeant, let’s take him away.’

  ‘What about a charge. I demand to be charged, Inspector. After all I have confessed to both murders so why not charge me now?’

  ‘We’ll decide when and what to charge you with, Mr Becketts,’ said Fraser. ‘Now be a good chap and give me your wrists so I can complete your elegant dress with a couple of nice silver bracelets.’

  ‘Sergeant, this is not a joking matter,’ said Becketts. ‘You are not taking this seriously enough. I am admitting to two murders you know, not a parking ticket.’

  ‘Yes, Sir, I do understand, but why don’t we leave these people to get on with their work and we can have our cosy chat at the station.’

  Becketts was handed over to the custody sergeant and instructed to empty all his pockets.

  ‘Can I keep my cigarettes, I’m lost without them?’

  ‘No, Sir, you can’t. No more smoking for quite a while I’m afraid. It’ll do you good, and much better for us as well.’ Becketts was led away to the cells.

  ‘Do we know anything about Becketts, Colin?’ asked Deckman.

  ‘Nothing as yet, Guv, except he’s local and married. Bob is on his way back with Mrs Becketts as we speak.’

  ‘Good, we’ll see what she has to say before we have a go at Mr Becketts. I very much doubt that there is anything, but best do a check to see whether he has committed a murder or two before.’

  Deckman was surprised when Mrs Becketts was brought into his office, she looked older, a lot older, than her husband. He shook her hand and invited her to sit down.

  ‘Good afternoon, Mrs Becketts, I’m Detective Inspector Deckman and this is Detective Sergeant Fraser. We have your husband in custody because he has confessed, in an interview with the editor of The Argus , to the murder of two women. We have yet to interview him ourselves because we felt it better to talk with you first; to get some background on your husband. I appreciate this must have been a terrible shock for you, but please give us as much information as you can. Something that might help us understand why he should make such a confession.’

  ‘He’s always been such a good man, Sir, but for the past two and a half years he’s been under such pressure and internal torment. He worked as a senior architect for a large building group in London that was swallowed up in a merger. Kenneth was made redundant and, since then, he has changed so much. He has applied for so many jobs, but is always too old or over qualified. He has taken it so badly and drinks far too much. He goes out at night and does not come home until the early hours of the morning. I really can’t take any more. And now this. I can’t believe it of him. Surely he couldn’t have done it, Inspector?’

  It was too much for Mrs Becketts. She had tried hard to remain calm, but could hold out no longer. She sobbed and covered her face with a handkerchief. Deckman nodded to the WPC sitting by the door who went over to Mrs Becketts and placed a caring arm around her shoulders. Mrs Becketts was a small woman, no more than five feet tall guessed Deckman. She wore a thin, flowery, summer dress despite the winter temperature and a knitted coat that had lost its shape and hung loosely over her skinny form. Her face ashen, almost bloodless, and her hair tousled.

  ‘Colin, get Bob to make Mrs Becketts a cup of tea, in a clean cup. Mrs Becketts, I’d like to continue if you don’t mind. In your husband’s confession he makes reference to prostitutes being the scum of the earth, and if the police don’t resolve the problem he would. Why would he make such a comment?’

  ‘Kenneth was… is a deeply religious man and has, for some reason, picked up this crusade against prostitutes. It’s all so embarrassing. He would point them out in the street and shout obscenities at them. I made excuses not to go out with him after a while. I am surprised he hasn’t been reported to the police.’

  She sipped her tea. ‘Thank you, Inspector, I feel better now.’ She sniffed and wiped the tip of her nose with the tissue given her by the WPC. ‘I’m sorry, Inspector,’ continued Mrs Becketts, ‘it’s been very difficult for me as well, and of course, for the children. He’s broken the heart of the family. My daughter wants me to leave him. To move in with her, but what would happen to Kenneth if I did?’

  ‘Well, Mrs Becketts, if he has committed these murders, he’s not going to bother anyone for a good many years.’

  ‘No, Inspector, I’m sure he did not do it. Despite his confession, I am sure he did not. But why, Inspector, why did he confess?’

  ‘I will talk to you again after speaking to your husband, Mrs Becketts. You have been most helpful and I don’t wish to pressure you any further. You will not be able to see your husband for a while so may I suggest we take you home and we’ll call you when you can see him. Is there anyone who can stay with you?’

  ‘You are very kind, Sir. Thank you. My daughter will stay with me, I’m sure.’

  *

  ‘Mr Becketts, you have been arrested following your confession that you murdered two women …’

  ‘Women, no. Prostitutes, yes. Scum of the earth,’ interrupted Becketts.

  ‘We are going to examine your confession,’ continued Deckman, ‘to see if we can find out the real truth.’

  ‘Don’t waste your time, Inspector, I’ve given you the truth. Just charge me and get it over with.’

  ‘Where were you on the night of the 21 st September, Mr Becketts?’

  ‘That was the day I murdered the first prostitute. I went out about 11. 30pm with a view to ridding my town of at least one whore. I found one by the railway station, saw no one was about and stopped the car. I confirmed she was scum, got out of the car and stabbed her in the heart. I did not check her because I just knew she was dead. I got back in the car and drove off. It was as simple as that.’

  ‘What did you do with her handbag and jewellery?’

  ‘Er… I dumped the bag in a wheelie bin and she was not wearing any jewellery.’

  ‘And the murder weapon, Mr Becketts, describe it and tell me what you did with it?’

  ‘It was an ordinary kitchen knife with a plastic handle. I bought it the day before in a local hardware shop. It had a long thin blade and I used so much force it went in right up to the handle.’

  ‘Where is the knife, Mr Becketts?’

  ‘I threw it away two days later. I wrapped it in a plastic shopping bag and put it in a dustbin that had been placed out for emptying. Can’t remember where exactly but somewhere along Marine Parade.’

  ‘And the second murder, Mr Becketts?’

  ‘Very similar. Found her near the industrial park, walked with her to a suitable location and stabbed her. She believed I wanted her services. How could she think such a thing. Disgusting creature. She had no jewellery, just a watch that I removed and threw down a drain. As before, I put her handbag into a refuse bin.’

  ‘Mr Becketts, do you really expect us to believe you. Anyone who read the newspaper reports could have said what you have just said. And, probably with more conviction.’

  ‘That’s how it was, Inspector, and I threw away the knife with the watch.’

  ‘I’ve heard enough, Sergeant. Take him back to his cell. We’ll charge him in the morning for …’

  ‘About time, Inspector, you’ve seen sense at last.’

  ‘I was about to say, Mr Becketts, we’ll charge you in the morning with obstructing the police by falsely claiming to have committed two murders.’

  ‘What are you talking about, man? For Gods sake, I’ve admitted it. What more do you want?’

  ‘The truth, Mr Becketts. What we don’t need is someone like you coming along and wasting our valuable time. I will tell you one simple fact. We know the same knife was used in both murders. You have said you used…’

  ‘I could have made a mistake with that. I was in shock, hyped up at having to do the work of the police.’

  ‘Take him away, Sergeant, before I become more angry than I already am. And, Mr Becketts, you need to do some hard thinking during the nigh
t about what you are going to tell me in the morning. You have caused enough problems for your wife and children over the last two years. You are not the only person to have lost a responsible job at a difficult age. Get yourself together, man, before you lose everything that was dear to you.’

  Kenneth Becketts opened his mouth to speak but thought better of it. All of a sudden the brashness of Becketts disappeared. He closed his eyes tightly, hoping to suppress the wetness forming in the corners. He kept them closed as he was escorted out of the room and back to the cells.

  ‘Shoe laces, belt and tie please, Sergeant, and get custody to keep an eye on him.’

  ‘Right, Sir, will do.’

  Under different circumstances, Deckman could have felt sorry for Becketts; losing his highly paid job at fifty was never going to be easy. However, an architect should be able to start his own practice rather than lose his head altogether. He felt the man had lost an opportunity, albeit enforced.

  *

  Deckman arrived home in time to get the boys off to bed, which they enjoyed. Especially the pillow fight, which Jenny didn’t enjoy. Nevertheless she always smiled at the shrieks of laughter as it meant her husband was home. And the boys were happy.

  ‘Okay, you two, that’s enough for tonight otherwise your mother will be after us all. See you in the morning.’

  Deckman relaxed in his favourite chair, in front of the imitation log fire. The central heating was on minimum but he enjoyed the flickering of the flames. Jenny had placed his drink on the side table.

  ‘Thanks, Jens,’ he shouted to his wife who was busying herself in the kitchen, ‘just what I need and I seem to be needing it more frequently at the moment.’ Purrington jumped on to his lap and curled up, purring continuously until he went off to sleep with Deckman’s hand cupped under his head.

  Jenny expected her husband to be more tense after the lunchtime news. ‘You appear surprisingly at peace with the world, darling, dare I ask how things went this afternoon?’

  ‘Just fine, Jens. Kenneth Becketts did not murder those women, we’ll let him go in the morning with a dressing down. Unfortunately it is the likes of him who cause as much a problem as the real criminal.’

  They talked about everything and nothing. Deckman had moved to the sofa, much to the disapproval of Purrington. Jenny lay her head on her husband’s shoulder and they held hands. They hadn’t relaxed like this for a long time.

  Jenny glanced at the clock above the fireplace. ‘Do you know what the time is, darling?’

  ‘It’s 10. 45.’

  ‘Oh, I see, you’re clock watching are you. I must be boring you.’

  ‘Don’t be silly, I’ve not felt so good for a long time.’

  ‘I’d like to make you feel even better, how would you like an early night?’

  ‘I would like that very much, Jens, very much indeed.’

  Chapter 18

  Deckman did not normally buy the mid-week editions of The Argus , but today he was keen to view the headlines:

  POLICE HOLD MAN FOR DRAYCLIFFE MURDERS

  Yesterday, a local man walked into the offices of this paper and confessed to the killing of two women in Draycliffe…

  He placed the paper on the passenger seat after satisfying himself his warning had been heeded. No photographs or names, but with just the slightest hint the police were less than a little convinced the confession was genuine. Deckman had held monthly meetings with the editor of The Argus for close on three years to discuss police matters relating to Draycliffe, and had gained a great respect from staff and readers alike. He trusted the paper and the paper trusted him.

  *

  Deckman needed Becketts out of his hair and had him taken to an interview room as soon as he reached the station. ‘Good morning, Mr Becketts,’ said Deckman. ‘I said all I needed to say yesterday, now it is your turn to speak to me.’ He sat back in his chair, folded his arms and waited.

  Becketts said nothing. ‘Come on, Sir, the floor is all yours,’ added Deckman. ‘And please remember, I know the truth, but I need to hear it from you.’

  A few more seconds passed before Becketts raised his head. He was crying; his eyes were red and puffy. Unshaven, his suit creased and without tie, belt and laces. He was not the confident man of the day before.

  ‘Inspector, I don’t know what to say. I have not slept at all thinking about it. I know I have been a first class idiot, in every way and to everybody, including my family. Especially my family. What on earth did I hope to achieve by it all? When can I see my wife, Sir? That’s if she will ever agree to see me after this. I couldn’t blame her if she decided she’d had enough.’

  ‘When we have finished with you, Mr Becketts, you can see your wife. Please continue. Would a cigarette help you?’

  ‘No, sir, I don’t smoke. That was yesterday, all bravado. I was Mr Big. Today, well, I guess I feel as low as you can get. For two years I have been struggling with losing my job and I finally flipped. I saw an opportunity to become a household name and I went for it. It was all make believe.’

  ‘Mr Becketts, did you kill one, or both, of the women you claim to have murdered?’

  ‘No, Sir, I did not. I did not murder anyone. I could not do such a thing. I’ve just wasted everyone’s time and I must accept my punishment for being so stupid. And those poor people from The Argus , did they print my confession?’

  ‘Yes they did, but you can count yourself lucky they did not print names or photographs.’

  ‘That was also down to you, Sir. I heard you tell the editor to be careful. You’ve known all along, haven’t you?’

  ‘Yes, we have. Sergeant, get Bob to fetch Mrs Becketts please. I wish to speak with her before she sees her husband. Mr Becketts, you can return to your cell for a while longer.’

  ‘Inspector, I am so sorry and ashamed for what I have done, but I suppose there is nothing I can say that will help my situation?’

  ‘No, Mr Becketts,’ said Deckman shaking his head, ‘nothing at all. Take him away, Sergeant.’

  The telephone gave it’s usual pre-ring click but Deckman made no rush to answer it. He was enjoying the knowledge that he was back on track with Michael Campbell’s release. The caller was determined and Deckman gave in, but immediately wished he hadn’t. It was Sergeant Rexton.

  ‘I thought you must be in, Sir, but I wanted to check first before I came over as I’m rather busy at the moment. There has been a communication from the Spanish police for you, Sir, may I bring it up to your office now?’

  ‘Yes, Sergeant Rexton, please do, but make it now as I am expecting visitors within the next few minutes.’ Deckman replaced the receiver without waiting for a reply.

  Two minutes later the office door was being opened without a knock. Rexton hesitated and closed the door before knocking.

  ‘Come in, Sergeant Rexton, glad you are learning.’

  ‘I have taken the liberty of acknowledging the communication on your behalf, I hope that was alright with you, Sir. I have also got my wife to translate it for you, Sir. She is Spanish you know. Er… you don’t speak Spanish, do you, Sir?’

  Deckman shook his head and clenched his fist under the table, understanding just how his sergeant felt about this man.

  ‘I didn’t think you could.’

  ‘There is no reason for you to think I could or I couldn’t, Sergeant Rexton. Next time please bring it directly to me so I can decide who translates because it may not be for non-police eyes.’

  ‘It didn’t have a restriction on it, but I understand, Sir. I was just trying to be helpful.’

  ‘You have been, Sergeant, and where is the original?’

  Rexton took it from the file and handed it to Deckman.

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant, that will be all.’

  ‘Fine, Sir, but should you require any help in solving this one you know where I am.’

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind, Sergeant, but I do appreciate you are a very busy man. On the wa
y out will you tell Sergeant Fraser to come in and I’ll pass on your offer of help.’

  Fraser showed his usual contempt for Rexton. ‘Over my dead body, Guv. He couldn’t solve a five year olds crossword puzzle. Mind you, don’t reckon I could either. What surprise has he brought up this time?’

  ‘Surprise is the perfect word. The Guardia Civil in Galicia, that’s in north west Spain if you didn’t know…’

  ‘Of course I didn’t know, Guv, I’m not one of these scholarly coppers you know.’

  ‘They have disbanded one of the many gangs operating along that coastline and came across some information they thought might be of interest to us. It seems a Victoria Campbell had a meeting with the gang leader to discuss an alternative or additional drug route and whilst there she purchased six South American women to use as prostitutes in England. It gives a lot of incidental information, but goes on to say the women were picked up from the sea port of Ribadeo on the north coast. The Spanish police have confirmed there was only one British registered boat there on the date given and that was out of Draycliffe Marina. And, if you haven’t already guessed, it was Red Star. All the port paperwork was completed by our friend, Edward Page.’

  ‘Call me stupid if you like, Guv, but I reckon this goes a long way to putting a few more years on their sentence.’

  ‘Take it away and read it through, and just check that the dates of Red Star’s visit agree with the movement log received from Trish Lister and the date of Victoria Campbell’s trip to Spain agrees with the ticket information. I want Mrs Becketts in here as soon as she arrives. I need to get her husband out of here right now.’