Killing Time, page 25
David Parker would block it. Simple as that. Approaching a retired judge for information, to a traditional and conservative chief constable and a man of his generation, would be a flat no. Laura Mathers was younger and less risk-averse, smart and ambitious but with a glint in her eye and a willingness to roll the dice. Even if it didn’t go to plan, asking questions of anybody whose memories could contribute to the case seemed worthwhile. Bypassing the chief constable was a risk for both of them, but Rob had sensed cracks in a relationship and sensed that change was on the horizon, one way or another.
“Where is he, Rob?”
“He’s in North Devon. Living out his retirement in a barn conversion. The sort of thing that appeared on Grand Designs in the nineties, according to Google maps.”
“I’ll make some calls to pave the way. Do it, Rob, but keep me posted every step of the way.”
*
It was lunchtime before Nicky and Jen had made the short trip back up the A6, the regular routine of searches and signatories had been completed, and they were making themselves comfy in the small room they’d sat in several weeks earlier, on the day Joe Davies had been murdered.
Gary Hunt and Ben Miller shuffled in promptly, the formalities following before the four sat down. The room was cold. Nicky and Jen kept their coats on.
Jen opened. “Do you guys recall any conversations about a third robbery? The gang are alleged to have committed another robbery on top of the two they were convicted for.”
Gary Hunt sat blank, folded his arms and looked at Ben. Ben looked at Jen.
“Yes, I think I do. The prison talk was rife in those days. The boasting, the bragging. It was all part of the chest puffing, the hierarchy and the status of the men here. There was no social media and limited TV, so the stories became the reputation.” Ben looked across at Nicky. His simple demeanour was unflattering. “I remember talk of it. The bragging was mostly that they’d got away with it.”
“As in hadn’t been prosecuted for it? Who was this, Ben?”
“Joe and Charlie, mainly. It was all part of their bravado. They wanted to be known as criminals. Wanted the reputation. I don’t recall Paul Harris or William Reynolds shouting off about it; it wasn’t their way. They were quiet men.”
“How about Daniel Mortimer?”
“Not sure. He may have done but if he did, it would have been in the right circles, to either inflate his self-importance or elevate his status amongst the right crowd. Daniel was smart like that. Not flash. He could judge his environment or micro-environment and adapt to it, so if he did brag it wouldn’t have been within my earshot.”
“Why do you think you recall it, Ben? What makes you remember this, given the number of people who would have been bragging about all manner of things? Some true, mostly not, I imagine.”
“With Charlie and Joe, it was always the violence. Plus they wanted to think they’d got one over on the police. I recall them being pleased with their sentence for the two robberies, and I think the talk was of the level of violence they’d used in the third robbery. They were happy with themselves; it was good for their image in here and if they had been convicted, it would have meant significantly longer sentences for them. They were lucky.”
“So getting away with one gave them status. Do you remember anything else, Ben?”
“Yes. I think it may just have been the two of them. The details were always patchy, which I think was part of the issue for you guys, but whatever they did to the guy was savage. I’m not sure he made it. It made the other robberies look like a light touch.”
Nicky and Jen absorbed a testimony that was corroborating the recollections of both Elizabeth Harris and Alan Reynolds.
“They brutalised that jeweller, if the talk was to be believed. They were proud of themselves for it, too. They really were bastards, detectives, and I’m glad they’re both dead.”
Nicky and Jen could sense real progress.
Chapter 52
Becky Ryan’s last forty-eight hours had been interesting. A family occasion and a day off had turned into a rush hour drive to Liverpool, a speeding ticket, and the post-mortem in the Royal Liverpool Hospital of the man the team had been so eager to question. To arrest.
Her initial work in Liverpool had now concluded, and she’d been able to enjoy a more sedate journey back down the M6 to Leicester, cutting out Catthorpe via the M69 and a near certain half-hour delay in the process.
Back in familiar surroundings, she’d scheduled a session with Nicky and Jen, but was half expecting Jack and Rob as well, given the evolving pace of the investigation. Critical new elements had continued to crawl from the woodwork, and with only Rob aware of every last detail collected by the team, it needed to be shared.
Nicky and Jen arrived in a timely fashion, and after a brief catch-up with Becky they wanted to get down to business. The investigation was unfolding and the girls felt that a few final pieces could blow the case wide open.
“Cause of death?” asked Nicky.
“Easier one, this. Blunt force trauma. This one looks to be simpler, although to be fair it would have been hard to match the previous crimes.”
Becky was alluding to the fact that the police had been outside at the time of the murder, an elephant in the room that wasn’t about to go away. Not even the most audacious of murderers would spend hours torturing a man while the police sat idly outside. This had been a smash and grab; a successful one.
“It’s the same perp, I’m almost certain of that. The base elements are there. The beating, mainly. There is blood but nowhere near what we’ve seen on previous occasions. There wasn’t a ‘chair’ factor to this crime either, it’s the first murder without one, but the injury pattern, the nature of the beating and the weapons used are all consistent with the other three murders.”
Daniel Mortimer had been found face down, unceremoniously dumped in his own home. Beaten to death, but with the minor consolation that he’d endured much less torture than his former colleagues had been subjected to.
Becky added an opinion. “Maybe he was perceived as being less culpable than the others. Or maybe it was just a time thing.”
The Liverpool team were still investigating the specifics of the break-in; when, and how the house had been accessed both from the rear of the property and in more literal terms of getting inside, without any visual damage or evidence of a break in, and clearly without the knowledge of the victim. Or had he just opened the door? It seemed unlikely.
“It was real skilful work just gaining access to the victim.” Becky acknowledged, and admired the work of their man; not for the first time in the investigation. “There’s a significant trauma to the back of the head, which looks to have started the assault. It’s a larger single trauma than we’ve seen before, and there was no use of any drugs to subdue the victim.”
“So he just broke in silently, crept up on Mortimer and battered him round the back of the head?” The simplicity of Jen’s words poured out beautifully.
“In a word, yes. Without the charm offensive, the skilled break-in or any drugs to incapacitate, this murder started with a blow to the head. It may have knocked him out, but at the very least it would have rendered him close to unconscious. He’d have been unable to defend himself.”
“So it was all over before it started?”
“Largely, yes. The assault that followed was relatively short compared to the duration of the other attacks. There are some slash type wounds that match with the blade used previously, but they look to be minimal, or even a token, in this case. There was an implement used that would have struck the first blow; I’m guessing a bat or a club. Something short and round. Like a rounders bat or an old style police baton.”
Jen looked at Becky, but didn’t need to speak.
Becky immediately realised the literalness of her suggestion. It was just an example, but she would now have Daniel Mortimer’s injuries tested against old police weapons. Just to be on the safe side. Just to be sure. Given the suspicions around the killer’s knowledge of this case, the thought that he could be taunting Rob’s team further by using a police issue weapon was a frightening one.
“How long do you think the assault would have taken, Becky?”
“Ten minutes, fifteen at most. He was beaten heavily. I think where he was found was also the source of the attack. He was attacked and beaten to death on the same spot. There’s no blood spatter or forensics to suggest he was moved, under his own steam or by the assailant. It’s likely he fell from the first blow where you found him and was then beaten heavily about the body, head and face, and assaulted until he died.”
“And the other bits, Becky? They were similar too?” Nicky was referring to what had become the signature of the crimes. She’d seem them first hand, but there had been a difference.
“It’s definitely the same signature, and yes it’s almost certainly the same person who did it, just with a slight variance. His ear was only partially severed, it was still attached by several tendons. And after the progressive nature of the finger removals of the other victims, you’d be forgiven for thinking this guy shouldn’t have a hand left.”
There had been blood pooled around the left hand of Daniel Mortimer, but Nicky and Jen had noted from the scene that only two of Daniel Mortimer’s fingers had been removed, and left clumsily on the floor just a foot or so away from his body. Not as neat as the other scenes. Not as well presented.
“Was it rushed?” Nicky asked. “And if the ear was still there but attached could the attack have been disturbed? Did somebody pass the house and spook him? Even if it was a passer-by with a Chinese?”
“It’s possible.” Becky replied. “The killer must have been on heightened alert. Must have been hypersensitive to what was going on outside. It was a huge risk to go in, but the killer must have weighed that up. We should be able to check who did walk past the house from the records of the Merseyside team who sat outside.”
The killer was smarter than that. Better informed too, and certainly hadn’t been anywhere near the front door, let alone walk through it. Jen looked perplexed as she shared her thoughts:
“Given that only the killer knew that Daniel wasn’t our man, why not leave him in play? That’s what happened with Charles Worth. We lifted him, searched his house and established that he wasn’t our man, so we cut him loose and the killer was waiting for him. Patiently. Killed him after we’d been. Why not let us take Mortimer, and get to him in a few days?”
“Could he be, though?” asked Nicky, challenging the view. Just to be sure. “Could Mortimer have been our man? But now somebody has taken him out to tie up the loose ends. How convinced are you that this is the same person, Becky? And not just a copycat hatchet job of the other three killings, with Mortimer responsible for the first three?”
“It’s not impossible that it’s a different protagonist, but the nature of the injuries and the removal of the finger and attempt to remove the ear are just so similar, it looks highly improbable that it’s a different killer. We’re still analysing forensics, but from the injuries, I’d state comfortably that it’s the same person. The gash wounds are the ‘tell’ in their depth, angle and number. They’re consistent with each of the other attacks. They’re like handwriting or a signature, and the evidence indicates that they were imparted by the same hand.”
Nicky nodded. Considering the implications. Considering what would cause a change of MO. “So working on the basis that it is the same killer, why the variances? Why the sloppiness against the other three kills?”
Becky responded with another opinion. The investigation was in live time with facts and forensics still being established; “It could just be down to time. It might be a burning desire to execute Mortimer, but if that’s the case, it could suggest Mortimer may have told us something, or may have known something that the killer didn’t want us to find out. It seems irrational to have murdered in those circumstances, so maybe it was forced upon the killer. Maybe he had to kill Mortimer.”
“Do you think he knew something, Jen?” Nicky asked. “Could he have known who was doing this, but buried his head? Hoping his cover was good enough or that his door would be left alone?”
“I don’t think the murder was rushed due to lack of planning. It was rushed because it had to be.” Jen’s view agreed with Becky’s. “The killer knew time was tight, and seemed to know what was happening outside, but chose that night anyway.”
Nicky was playing devil’s advocate.“So if it was just time, why take the risk and not stay consistent with the MO? The other crimes were less risk-averse. The use of drugs neatralised Joe and Charlie quickly, meaning the assaults could be carried out more safely, and ultimately leading to the kill. So why not use drugs again and keep it easy? And why less injuries? Why was the number of blows lower than the other kills?”
Becky interjected pensively. “I have a new theory on this.”
Nicky and Jen listened intently.
“We’ve been working to the theory that the attacker is one of the convicted men from the original robberies, and even with the intent to inflict suffering, our belief was that the higher number of blows that we’ve seen throughout the murders is simply due to their age. That is the theory that Charles Worth hitting you as a seventy year old would do slightly less damage than him hitting you as a forty year old, and it would therefore take longer for the beating to cause death.”
She let it hang. Nicky’s head was in the moment as she spoke; “So because the evidence has been pointing to one of the other men throughout, we’ve worked on the basis that age alone made the need for a higher number of less forceful blows to cause the fatality. An old hand needing to strike more to inflict the same amount of damage. Either as straight revenge or to extract a location from the victim. Money, goods.”
“Right,” confirmed Becky.
“But they’re dead. Our pool of suspects are all dead.”
Jen was listening, absorbing the details before adding her view. “These are angry crimes. Revenge crimes. You don’t torture and execute somebody you don’t know or don’t have a pure ingrained hatred for. Evidentially, and on the assumption that the killer isn’t another pensioner who we’re yet to come across, which seems unlikely, I think we could be missing a relative of one of the victims.”
Nicky was in complete agreement. Mortimer’s death had shone a fresh light on who could be responsible for the murders, and why.
“A child.” Nicky added, “We’re missing a child.”
Chapter 53
Rob had travelled down the evening before the meeting, wanting to avoid the bulk of the traffic that he knew he’d hit at some point. The long drive down was one Rob knew would allow him to focus. To think.
Rare isolated time. Time that used to aggravate him. Sitting in traffic, going nowhere. He’d mellowed in recent years, and now actively enjoyed the time alone with no distractions, affording him time to process information. Quietly. Reflectively.
He’d made good time around Birmingham on the M42 before the long slog south down the M5 that allowed Rob to tune in to his own thoughts. The things that still didn’t sit pretty. The things that he wanted to ask Eric McCann in the morning.
He’d made good progress, and arrived at his hotel at a reasonable hour. It was dusky, but there was still time for a beer and some food. Rob had booked into a local guesthouse, preferring the charm of a North Devon B&B to the consistency of a Premier Inn or a Travelodge. A home-cooked breakfast in the morning had also helped to swing the decision.
Spending the night in a guest house seemingly in the middle of nowhere hadn’t looked ideal, but on paper the house was only a few miles from the rural home of Eric McCann, making an early start possible. It suited Rob, who was optimistic of a productive day and an equally fluent return journey.
The owner of the guesthouse seemed pleasant. She noticed that Rob had clearly had a long drive, and seemed to be carrying a weight over and above that levied by the journey. She offered him a couple of options for tea. Both sounded nice. She told Rob it’d be ready by the time he’d had a shower. He smiled and opted for shepherd’s pie as he headed upstairs to get changed, before taking advantage of the local hospitality.
*
Rob had enjoyed his evening meal and had slept well. Maybe not the perfect night Lenny Henry would have promised in a Premier Inn, but the bed was clean and comfy. The breakfast was everything he’d hoped for too. Fried eggs, crispy bacon, two huge hash browns and thickly sliced toast covered in local butter was a good start to the morning. Along with a large pot of tea. The biggest challenge was proving to be phone signal and WiFi. Or the lack of it. Rob had lost his signal at some point on the drive south of Exmoor, and had become unattached from the wider world. He’d got copies of some of the case files in his car boot, so had spent the back end of his evening studying; thumbing documents he’d thumbed countless times already, manipulating the details in his head to find a theory, or construct a new one.
He decided he’d come back. This place would be perfect for a weekend. For long walks where the world couldn’t get hold of him. Perfect. Just not ideal now when a call to Nicky was overdue, and he hadn’t spoken to Jack since yesterday morning.
Rob keyed the postcode for Eric McCann’s house into his sat nav, and headed up the gravel drive to the main road, making the short fifteen-minute journey to a secluded property at Bratton Fleming, to the south west side of Exmoor and with little else in the vicinity. Still no signal.
He arrived at 9am, the agreed time. Not early. Not late. He’d had a good conversation yesterday with Laura Mathers, so he knew roughly what to expect in terms of Eric’s character, but still wasn’t sure if David Parker knew where he was or what he was doing. He was leaving the ACC to broach that subject. He’d had clearance and was good to go. He needed information, and the number of people with primary memories of the times were literally being killed off. McCann was a rare commodity, and Rob needed his help. Needed his mind.
