by Ernesto Lee
“Get somebody onto checking out Murray’s story for his whereabouts on the night of the Wilton murder. Then grab a couple of coffees from the canteen and meet me in my office in thirty minutes. I’m going to see if I can catch the boss before he heads out for lunch.”
Chapter Ten
Chief Superintendent Anderson’s PA looks up from her keyboard and acknowledges Erin’s arrival with a polite smile. “Good morning, Chief Inspector. Is Mr. Anderson expecting you?”
“No, but it is rather important, Karen.” Erin frowns. “Is it okay if I go straight through?”
“Why don’t you take a seat for a moment? I’ll check if he’s free.”
Declining the offer and slightly annoyed with what she sees as an unnecessary delay, Erin nervously paces back and forth while Karen puts a call through to Anderson’s office.
Frustratingly, the line is busy. Karen replaces the handset and shakes her head. “I’m sorry, Chief Inspector. I’ll try again in a few minutes. Why don’t you take a seat? I’m sure he won’t be long.”
Ignoring the suggestion and unwilling to wait any longer, Erin strides past the reception desk towards Anderson’s office. She is almost at the door when Karen catches up and blocks her path. “Chief Inspector Blake, I’m sorry, but you can’t just go barging in unannounced. Now, please take a seat. I’m sure Mr. Anderson will see you as soon as he finishes his call.”
Shaking her head, Erin impatiently grabs for the door handle and pushes it down. “I’m sorry but this can’t wait. The clock is ticking, and I need to speak urgently to the bo—”
Before either woman can do or say anything else, the door flies open. Both caught off-balance, they almost tumble into the arms of Chief Superintendent Anderson, who, on hearing the commotion, has opened the door from the other side.
Embarrassed, they straighten themselves up, and Karen hastily offers an apology for the unorthodox entry. “I’m sorry, sir, but Chief Inspector Blake has something urgent that she would like to discuss with you.”
“I’m sure it must be urgent,” Anderson replies with no small hint of sarcasm. “Why else would she feel the need to force entry to my office?”
Blushing, Erin offers her own hurried apology before adding, “But it’s about the Wilton and Singh murders, sir. We’ve just finished interviewing John Murray.”
Stepping aside, Anderson gestures for Erin to take a seat before turning back toward his PA. “Thank you, Karen. Shut the door on your way out, please. Oh, and let the deputy mayor know that I might be a little late for our lunch meeting.”
As he settles into his seat again, Anderson smiles and asks, “Well, then, is Murray our man?”
“Yes, sir.” Erin nods enthusiastically. “I believe he is, and I’d like your support in speaking to the CPS for permission to formally charge him for the murders of Shreya Singh and Shelley Wilton.”
“And what about the Pope boy?”
“No, sir. We don’t have enough yet to conclusively tie him to the murder of Darren Pope. I’m confident, though, with a few more days of investigation, we can—”
“Forget about Pope for now,” Anderson interrupts. “Tell me what you have on Singh and Wilton. If I’m going to convince the CPS to allow us to charge Murray for either of these murders, you’ll need to convince me first.”
“Yes. Yes, of course, sir,” Erin blusters. “I’ll start with what we have on the Singh murder.”
For the next twenty minutes, Anderson listens in silence and makes notes as Erin tells him everything she knows about each of the three murder cases and any possible link to John Murray. When she finishes, he pushes his notebook to one side and slowly sits back in his chair to reflect on what he’s just heard.
Uncomfortable with the prolonged silence, Erin starts to ask what he thinks their chances are, when Anderson looks up and says, “Quinlan is right. Everything you have to connect Murray to the Wilton murder thus far is entirely circumstantial. That would be a hard sell to the CPS.”
“I agree that it’s not as water-tight as the evidence for the Singh murder, sir,” Erin admits, hiding her disappointment. “But the combination of the hammer forensics and the markings on the bodies of all three victims must surely count for something?”
“It’s not enough, and it could potentially muddy the waters for an approval to charge him for the Singh murder,” Anderson suggests. “I think it would be better just to—”
“But Murray admitted to lying about knowing or having seen Shelley Wilton before,” Erin implores.
“Still not enough, Erin. And I seem to recall you telling me that one of your own officers with previous dealings with Murray was herself in The Bamford Arms on the night of Wilton’s murder. Did she recall seeing him in the pub or anywhere else in the vicinity that night?”
Dejected, Erin shakes her head. “No, sir. She didn’t.”
“Exactly,” Anderson says. “I’m sorry. But without conclusive forensics or a witness that can categorically place Murray in the vicinity of The Bamford Arms on the night of the murder, everything else we currently have is flimsily circumstantial.”
Pensive for a moment, Anderson frowns before adding, “Oh, and it’s probably for the best that we don’t reveal to the CPS that DI Marchetti was in The Bamford Arms on that evening. Unless, of course, it becomes absolutely necessary. That particular nugget of information would most definitely muddy the waters.”
Giving Erin a moment to digest his advice, he then says, “You’ve also just told me that Murray’s alibi for the Pope murder raises the possibility again of a second suspect still out there somewhere. Trust me, Erin. If we push too hard for approval to charge Murray with the Wilton murder without witnesses or credible forensics, it’s going to smell of desperation.”
“So I keep getting told,” Erin mutters under her breath.
Missing the snipe but noting the obvious look of disappointment on her face, Anderson leans forward to offer a small ray of hope. “Listen, Erin, if it’s any consolation, I’m not saying I won’t discuss the Wilton case with the CPS. I just think our main focus should be on securing an approval to charge him for the murder of Shreya Singh.
“In my opinion, the forensics in this particular case and his admission of traveling to Liverpool on the night of her murder are more than enough for an approval to lay formal charges.
“This would allow you to hold him on remand pending further enquiries for all three murders. Which, I presume, is what you want?”
Nodding, Erin confirms that it is. “Yes, sir. It is. With more time, I’m confident we can—”
The cell phone ringing on the desk interrupts her flow and Erin looks to Anderson for approval. “I’m sorry. It’s DS Bolton, sir. It could be important.”
“Yes, of course. Please take the call,” Anderson urges.
Dispensing with any niceties, Erin gets straight to the point. “Tell me. What have you got?”
“The fucking jackpot!” Tony replies loudly enough for all to hear. Blushing, Erin apologizes under her breath to Anderson, who quietly laughs it off and tells her not to worry.
“Okay,” Erin says. “I’m here with the chief superintendent. Have you turned up something new or significant in the Singh case?”
Picking up on the hint and lowering his voice, Tony says, “Yes, ma’am, I checked out Murray’s movements and the rest of the stuff you asked for, but I wasn’t referring to the Singh case when I said I’ve hit the jackpot.”
“Okay, so what did you mean?”
Almost out of breath with excitement, Tony struggles to find the words. “I just spoke wi— I mean, I called the Manchester boys to ask about the search of Murray’s flat. The bastard had two jam jars in a shoebox under his bed. They both contained traces of—”
“Hydrochloric acid?” Erin asks hopefully.
“Yes, ma’am. The same stuff used to burn Shelley Wilton’s face off.”
“Yes!” Erin exclaims, slamming her clenched fist onto the desk. “Good work, Tony. Get your
self back to the office and bring DI Marchetti up to speed. I’ll join you both shortly.”
She ends the call and turns to Anderson. “I guess you heard most of that, sir?”
“I did,” he confirms. “And it certainly adds a new dimension to my discussion with the CPS. Don’t get your hopes up, though. It’s still only circumstantial at this stage.”
Shaking her head with frustration, Erin frowns and respectfully suggests, “Sir, nobody in their right mind keeps hydrochloric acid in a jam jar under their bed. There is no credible or innocent explanation for why he would need to take that home.”
“I agree. And you’ll have all the time in the world to ask Murray to explain himself once we’ve secured permission to charge him for at least one of the murders.”
Begrudgingly deferring to Anderson’s experience and seniority, she thanks him for the advice and his support. “You’ll speak with the CPS now, sir?”
“As soon as we’re done here,” he replies. “There is still one element of these three cases that I’m uncomfortable with and would like to discuss with you further.”
Puzzled, Erin asks, “What element are you referring to, sir?”
“The markings on each of the victims’ chests,” Anderson replies. He shakes his head, then adds, “We both know that the details of the markings left on the bodies of Darren Pope and Shelley Wilton were only made public by Edgar Balmain during the press conference on Tuesday.
“Yet, here we are, with John Murray in custody and almost certainly on the hook for the murders of Shelley Wilton in Manchester and Shreya Singh in Liverpool. But with a seemingly cast-iron—”
“A seemingly cast-iron alibi for the strikingly similar murder and marking of Darren Pope in Liverpool,” Erin interrupts. “I agree, sir. This element of the case doesn’t make sense.”
“Damn right, it doesn’t make sense, Chief Inspector. If Murray is, in fact, only responsible for the later murders and is a copycat killer, how could he have known the details of the Pope murder?”
“I don’t know, sir. Edgar Balmain perhaps? We still don’t know where he got his information from.”
“No,” Anderson replies, shaking his head. “Balmain is all about the scoop, but even he wouldn’t deliberately leak that kind of information in the hope of inciting a new murder. And, besides, Murray has no prior record of this kind of violence.
“I can’t believe of all the more violent felons in the North West that he would be picked at random as a likely candidate for murder. No, we’re missing something, Erin.”
He pauses for a moment to think and then says, “Tell me what you told me before about premeditation and your thoughts now on what kind of a killer we’re looking for?”
“I’m sorry, sir,” Erin says, frowning. “I’m not sure I understand where you’re going with this. We have our man in custody. John Murray is responsible for the murders of—”
“Yes, of course. I know that,” Anderson interrupts. “Just humor me, and let’s suppose for a moment that Murray isn’t our man. What’s your Quantico training telling you, Chief Inspector? What kind of a man should we be looking for?”
Caught off guard and slightly unprepared for the question, Erin refers to her pocketbook before she begins, “Well, sir, this is only my opinion, but—”
Sensing her hesitation, Anderson smiles reassuringly. “In your own time, Erin.”
“Thank you, sir. Assuming that Murray isn’t our man, I believe we should be looking for a guy somewhere between his late twenties to mid-fifties. Five-ten to six feet tall. Heavy set or muscular and likely to be a manual worker. I think our subject is single or divorced. Either way, he will be living alone here in the North West and will almost certainly have homophobic tendencies or be confused or ashamed in some way by his own sexuality.”
Looking up from his notetaking, Anderson asks, “What about ethnicity?”
“Not sure.” Erin frowns. “I’m struggling with that aspect.”
“Okay, well, that’s an interesting take on things.” Anderson nods with a smirk and says, “And correct me if I’m wrong, but your description of our killer could almost fit Murray like a tailored glove?”
“Um, well, that wasn’t the intention,” Erin blusters. “That’s been my working assumption for a couple of days now.”
Chuckling to himself, Anderson smiles. “I’m teasing you. And I do, in fact, concur with your assessment. Do you think Murray is a homophobe?”
“I can’t say for sure at this stage,” Erin replies. “But he’s certainly confused about his relationship with women. That fact is blindingly obvious the moment you meet him.”
“Anything else, Chief Inspector?”
“Yes, sir. I think our man may either have some kind of facial disfigurement himself or, for lack of a better description, may not exactly be a looker.”
“A face only a mother could love,” Anderson offers. “You’re referring, I assume, to the markings left on the Singh girl’s chest?”
“I am.” Erin nods. “The reference to ‘Flawed Beauty’ isn’t just a random scrawl. It means something to the killer. As did the markings on the other victims.”
“So, we should be looking for a less than aesthetically pleasing homophobe?” Anderson asks.
“In a nutshell, sir. Yes.”
“What else?”
“Looking up from her notes, Erin takes a deep breath, “Again, this is working solely on the assumption that we have the wrong man and that the real killer is responsible for all three of our murders. Well, sir… if this is the work of just one man, then I believe he’s evolving.”
Erin pauses to allow Anderson the chance to comment, but intrigued, he motions for her to continue before asking, “Evolving?”
“Yes, sir, evolving. I stand by my original assumption that the murder and disfigurement of Darren Pope wasn’t premeditated. It was, in my opinion, simply the result of a chance encounter and an ill-judged approach to a guy who, unfortunately for Darren, happened to be carrying a Stanley knife. And who, in all probability, had sunk a few drinks too many at the match.”
“Which, in both instances, is sadly par for the course at football matches these days,” Anderson comments.
“Yes, sir, it is. I don’t think whoever killed Darren left home that day with the intention of killing someone. I do believe, however, it’s what gave them the taste for blood.”
“You think, then, that after killing Darren Pope, our killer deliberately targeted Shelley Wilton and Shreya Singh?” Anderson asks. “But that would mean traveling between Merseyside and Manchester to carry out the killings. Why go to all that trouble?”
“I agree, sir. It sounds unlikely, but isn’t that exactly what we’re accusing John Murray of? Which means there has to be another link we haven’t found yet.”
“Agreed.” Anderson nods. “Please continue.”
Referring to her notebook again, Erin takes another deep breath before saying, “I think butchering Darren Pope was a defining moment for our killer. An awakening, if you like, of a long-suppressed and most likely irrational hatred of homosexuality or homosexual tendencies.
“Add to that the fact that our investigation was going nowhere. In his eyes, he’d gotten away with it. So why not do it again? Why not take the opportunity to remove another sexual deviant from the streets and make them suffer horribly at the same time?
“I’m telling you, sir, our killer felt empowered and untouchable. But not so untouchable that he would risk killing for a second time on his home patch. That’s why he traveled. I’m sure of it. Which means Shelley Wilton could simply have been picked at random based on her assumed sexuality.”
“An interesting theory, Erin. And what about the use of the hammer and the acid to disfigure Wilton? Another step in the killer’s evolution?”
“I think that’s exactly what it was, sir. Our killer saw what he could do with the blade of a cheap craft knife and somehow got off on it. The use of the hammer and acid as tools to disfigure and
punish Shelley for her sexual orientation is a huge step up from what he did to Darren. But even then, he was still just learning his craft.”
“Meaning what?” Anderson asks, intrigued by the last comment.
“Meaning he was still unsure of himself, sir. Not completely confident in his ability to intimidate and control his victims. That’s why he initially struck Shelley from behind with the hammer. She was already unconscious when he disfigured and killed her.”
“Unlike the Singh girl,” Anderson comments.
“Yes, sir. The killing of Shreya Singh was the next rung on the ladder. In her case, we know she was conscious throughout her ordeal and that, at some stage, he most likely straddled and pinned her to the ground.”
“Which means she would have seen him… and it’s possible even that he might have spoken to her?” Anderson asks.
“Yes, sir. For a serial killer, it’s all about power and control. You prolong the torment to increase your power and control. And to prolong the torment, you offer hope and reassurance. Hope perhaps that if you cooperate, you won’t be hurt.
“That poor girl would have desperately wanted to believe what she was hearing. She would have stopped struggling.
“And that’s the point when the killer reached the apex of his power. The only thing to top that feeling is the rush of the kill itself. And the manner in which he killed Shreya—”
Erin momentarily closes her eyes to picture the scene before she shudders and says, “Well, you know the details, sir.
Suffice to say, whether it’s Murray or someone else, our killer has evolved at an alarming rate and he needs to be stopped before he strikes again.”
Looking increasingly confused, Anderson shakes his head. “None of this make any sense whatsoever. Every scrap of evidence you have points to Murray as being the killer of Shreya Singh and Shelley Wilton, but the methodology and the bloody scrawls across the victims’ chests suggest that the same person killed all three of our victims.”
