Read No Smoke Without Fire (A DCI Warren Jones Novel - Book 2) Online
Authors: Paul Gitsham
“There’s not a lot you can do, Constable. It’s not our place to intrude at the moment. Just keep an eye on her and maybe put her to bed if needs be. See if you can get her sister to help out.”
Walking back into the room, Warren could see that Lucy Allen was increasingly under the influence. After a couple more questions, it was plain that she was fading fast, her words slurred and her eyelids drooping. She’d probably fall asleep soon.
Getting up, he promised to keep her informed and once again passed on his condolences. As he headed towards the door Lucy Allen suddenly lurched to her feet, grabbing his hand.
“Please promise me that you’ll catch this animal. Please,” she slurred through the tears. “I wish we lived in America, where they have the death penalty. Prison’s too good for him, after what he’s done to my little girl and those other poor women.” She pulled Warren closer. “Please promise me that if you catch him, you won’t let him go. He has to pay for what he’s done.”
“I promise you, I won’t let him go. He’ll be locked up for a very long time.”
“It’s not enough,” she sobbed. “My little girl is dead and he gets to live. He shouldn’t get to live. Not after what he’s done. How is that right?”
Warren couldn’t answer that question.
* * *
Arriving back at the station, Warren was pleased to see that there was a message from the pathologist waiting for him on his voicemail, asking him to call.
Professor Jordan picked up immediately. “I have just finished the PM on Gemma Allen, the latest victim. Results of tests are still pending, of course, but I thought you’d want to know what I’ve got so far.”
“That’s great, Professor, and thanks for doing it so quick.”
“Like I said before, it’s getting personal now. I want this bastard put away as much as you do.
“First up, I’d say it’s almost certainly the same attacker, but his method has changed. I think this attack may have gone wrong. We found the same traces of latex and adhesive around the genital areas — he prepared himself for the rape in the same way. What I didn’t find was any evidence of sedation by chloroform. However, he wouldn’t have needed it. You saw the scrapes to her face? Traces of gravel embedded in the wound suggest that she fell face first onto the pavement — probably where that puddle of blood was found. The impact loosened some teeth and broke her nose, probably enough to make her woozy, maybe enough to briefly lose consciousness.
“However, he then turned her over and slammed the back of her head into the concrete, at least once. Reddening of the scalp and the loss of a small clump of hair suggests he grabbed a fistful of her fringe and used that to do it. The result was a fractured skull with serious bleeding on the brain. If it’s a comfort to the family she would have certainly been unconscious from then onwards.”
“What next?”
“It followed the usual pattern, minus the chloroform. He took her to the dumping spot and probably raped her there. He then strangled her, although this time she didn’t have a scarf so he used the belt of her coat. That was probably unnecessary; the amount of internal bleeding in her skull would have killed the poor woman pretty soon anyway.”
“So we basically have more of the same. Have you spoken to the crime scene manager recently?”
“Yes, they are still doing a fingertip search of her route. They’ve taken samples of the blood patch and are waiting for a positive match to the victim. Apparently, they’ve also found some glass fragments with a strong solvent smell about ninety metres from the patch of blood. We’ve sent it off for analysis. It could be the chemical that he uses to sedate his victims.”
“If he dropped the glass bottle or whatever he keeps his solvent in, that might explain why he had to bash her bloody brains out on the pavement.”
“Quite possibly. It’s also possible that she put up a bit of a fight. I’ve found traces of what looks like rubber under her fingernails — I’m sure you’ve read the original reports of those girls that were raped in the nineties. The attacker wore a rubber mask when he attacked them. I’ve sent the samples off for analysis.”
Warren felt his heart skip a beat. “It was the use of a distinctive rubber mask that led to Richard Cameron’s arrest back then. Could history be repeating itself here?”
“I wouldn’t necessarily get your hopes up based on that, Chief. They were lucky in the nineties that the mask was so unusual. You might not be so fortunate this time. However, that’s probably just the icing on the cake. If it was Richard Cameron up to his old tricks again, we’ll know soon enough.”
“What do you mean?”
“It seems like he was a little careless. If I had to guess, I’d say the condom split. We found a semen sample. If you’re willing to sign off on a priority request, we can have a DNA profile by tomorrow morning.”
Wednesday 21
st
December
Warren had left clear instructions that he be told immediately when the DNA test results came in from the semen sample retrieved from Gemma Allen. This caused a slight conflict for the young administrative assistant who took the call, given that Detective Superintendent Grayson, with whom Warren was meeting that morning, had stipulated that he
wasn’t
to be disturbed. In the end common sense won out and he knocked tentatively on the senior officer’s door. It was the right decision, with Grayson ordering the call be rerouted directly to his office phone, which he placed on speaker.
The technician on the end of the phone had no idea what the results were that he was reporting on — it was simply a rush job that he had been asked to process asap, with the results passed on immediately. Slightly fazed by the fact that he had been placed on speaker phone to at least two senior officers and goodness knew how many other, unannounced listeners, the poor lad stammered a bit at first, before rallying and reading directly from the printout in his hand.
“A complete copy of these results are available on the server and a direct link has been emailed to you, DCI Jones, but, in summary, sample no 2011/12/NH116-A12 — sample of semen retrieved from victim Gemma Allen — positively matches an historic DNA sample on the DNA database 1998/01/NH002-C34 — a mouth swab taken from a suspect, Richard Cameron.”
“Gotcha”, said Warren quietly.
* * *
The briefing room was a babble of competing voices as pretty much the entire CID team gave their opinion on the shock results.
Warren and Tony Sutton had been making numerous, hasty calls for the last fifteen minutes; Superintendent Grayson was locked in his office, starting the ball rolling on the next part of the operation. Finally, Warren had time to address the team.
“OK, everyone, quieten down. As I’m sure you have all heard, a positive match has been found between the semen left at the scene of Gemma Allen’s murder and the previously convicted serial rapist Richard Cameron.
“As we speak, Superintendent Grayson is organising an arrest and search warrant, which we will be executing as soon as possible. The last thing we want is for him to slip through the net and go on the run.”
DS Hutchinson raised his hand. “What about Sally Evans and Carolyn Patterson? What happens to those investigations?”
“They proceed as before — the DNA profile only links Cameron to Gemma Allen so far. We need far stronger evidence than we have to link him to those other two killings. It’d be nice if he put his hand up to those as well, but, as you all know, even a confession can be overturned these days with a smart enough lawyer.”
DS Richardson this time. “What about other avenues aside from Cameron? Should we continue pursuing those?”
Warren nodded. “Yes. We can’t be certain that Cameron was working alone or even that he committed all three murders. We need to keep on tugging at those other leads, see what happens.”
It had been almost three weeks since this nightmare started. Warren exchanged a tight smile, with a similarly tense Tony Sutton. Time to bring this to an end.
* * *
The atmosphere in Jones and Sutton’s unmarked patrol car was tense. Tony Sutton was driving, whilst Warren rode shotgun, juggling his radio and his mobile phone. By now, it was pitch black, clouds obscuring the stars and moon on the shortest day of the year.
A preliminary scout team had reported that lights were on in the Cameron farmhouse with movement spotted behind the curtains. Michael Stockley’s Jaguar was parked in the driveway. The elderly Land Rover with its canvas roof was nowhere to be seen; however the large barn, easily big enough for both vehicles, was closed for the night.
The relative isolation of the farmhouse made securing the area a lot easier than a residential street; nevertheless, the arrest team had an eight-member armed-response unit as well as a forced entry team, complete with battering ram and a large team of uniformed officers. Approximately five miles away, a surveillance helicopter from Chiltern Air Support was hovering, awaiting a call if Cameron escaped.
Everyone wore ballistic protection gear; not only was Richard Cameron a suspected serial killer, but an exhaustive computer check had turned up an expired shotgun certificate in the name of his son. It was entirely possible that Michael Stockley had disposed of his shotgun some years ago, hence him not applying for a renewal of his licence — but nobody was taking any chances. Richard Cameron plus shotgun was a potentially lethal situation. His oft-repeated vow that he would never set foot in a prison again made him a danger to himself, if nobody else.
The officer in charge of the firearms unit was Sergeant Bill Crossing, and he was also an expert in forced entry. Despite being Senior Investigating Officer and the person ultimately in charge, Warren deferred to the older man’s experience.
“This will be the third time that Richard Cameron has been questioned by the police in connection with these ongoing murders. In the previous two cases, he has been compliant and non-violent. The aim here is for DCI Jones and DI Sutton to attempt to repeat this and for the arrest to be peaceful.
“Complications include: one, he is aware of the mistake that he made and is expecting to be arrested and charged. Worst-case scenario, he puts up a fight, possibly using an unlicensed shotgun. The armed response unit will follow their standard rules of engagement for these situations. Alternately, he may refuse us entry or try to escape through the rear of the property — in which case we have both forced entry teams plus officers ready to apprehend him. With force if necessary.
“He has given indications that he may try to take his own life. All teams will be standing by and ready to stop that as per training.
“A big unknown variable is the presence of his son, Michael Stockley. We don’t know what his response might be. He has demonstrated some verbal aggression during a previous encounter, but for the most part he has been reluctantly compliant. A possible, though unlikely scenario could be that Cameron uses his son as a human shield. In that case, we will switch to standard anti-hostage procedures and the hostage response team on standby in Welwyn will be called in.”
After a few operational questions, it was time for everyone to get into position. When everyone signalled they were ready, Sergeant Crossing nodded to Warren and Tony Sutton.
“Good luck, sirs.”
* * *
The unmarked police car crunched slowly over the gravel; with its headlamps on, but no flashing lights, the hope was that they wouldn’t spook Richard Cameron into doing something rash.
Pulling to a halt and dousing the car’s lights, the two officers looked at each other, before taking a deep breath and climbing out of the car. The night air was bitterly cold, but Warren was glad. It gave the two men an excuse to wear big, heavy winter coats, easily concealing the bulky bulletproof vests that they wore underneath. It was just a shame they couldn’t cover everywhere else as well, thought Warren. Bulletproof vests weren’t much use if you were shot in the head.
Walking steadily towards the front door, Warren kept his gaze forwards, studiously avoiding looking at the black-clad forced-entry team hidden either side of the door. He took comfort in knowing that similarly well concealed were several trained police snipers, their night-vision optics lighting up the scene as bright as daylight.
The sturdy wooden door had a trio of small windows arranged in an arch at head-height, through which light spilled from the hallway behind. Unfortunately, the glass was heavily frosted, making it impossible to see any detail. Through the door came the muffled sounds of a TV set.
After pausing for a few seconds, to make certain that everyone was ready, Warren depressed the doorbell. Deep inside the house a chime echoed. A few seconds later, an increase in the TV’s volume and a brightening of the light escaping through the door’s windows signalled that the living-room door had been opened. A scratching and scraping noise indicated the removal of the door chain and the two officers tensed themselves. Finally, the door creaked open.
Michael Stockley was red-eyed and dishevelled, his shirt collar unbuttoned, his tie loosened. A few days’ worth of stubble darkened his cheeks.
Recognising the two officers, he simply shook his head. “I’ve been expecting you. I haven’t seen Dad since Saturday.”
Michael Stockley had been sitting in the interview suite with his lawyer for the past hour. Outside the room, Warren and Tony Sutton were discussing what to do about the missing rapist’s son. Michael Stockley had clearly been resigned to his fate and had simply stepped to one side and let the armed response team search the house and grounds for his father. No trace was found, and the wanted man’s photograph as well as the licence number and details of the missing Land Rover were being circulated to national and international police forces. A press briefing was being prepared for first thing in the morning. When confronted, Stockley admitted that his father had taken his son’s shotgun and ammunition and so Cameron was described as armed and dangerous.
“Let’s see what he has to say for himself first, before we start threatening him with perverting the course of justice. His full co-operation in finding his old man is probably more valuable than us getting him some jail time.”