Authors: Paul Britton
In another incident, a man had tried to force his way into the home of a young woman who, thankfully, had a security chain on the door that managed to keep him out. Although discordant with the outdoor attacks, it suggested that the rapist might be moving back indoors.
Most rapists are perceived as preferring one or the other - an indoor or outdoor setting. This has a lot to do with their fantasy system and how they get started. Indoor rapes are often associated with a person who starts out as a burglar or a peeping Tom, whereas outdoor rapes may be traced back to early flashing offences and public masturbation. If the offender was moving back indoors, it meant that first rape became even more important in the search for clues.
In the meantime, I’d drawn up a profile of the rapist and delivered it to a gathering of detectives and uniformed police officers at Eltham Police Station. As Pearse introduced me I felt a sense of curiosity rather than automatic acceptance. Some of these officers were relatively junior and had never worked with a psychologist.
I began, ‘There is only a low probability that he is over the age of twenty-eight years and a strong probability he is in the age range of twenty to twenty-five.’
This offender needed a certain amount of experience in the world to have gained the confidence to do what he did, but he wasn’t old enough to do things in a more controlled way. The unsuccessful attempts at rape confirmed this sexual inexperience and immaturity. I also knew that places changed over time and that people normally alter their patterns of living as they grow older; they don’t walk about as much and use motor cars. This man was still very much in touch with what was going on, he knew the local parks, the footpaths and bus routes.
‘He will be within the average to low average range of intelligence,’ I said. ‘He will not have performed well academically and may have received special or additional tuition in some subjects at school.’ This went back to his methodology and his ability to elude the police. I saw nothing to suggest he was mentally ill in the methodology of the attacks.
‘If he is employed, the work will be undemanding intellectually and may well be manual. There is no cause to expect him to have solitary work or to be shunned by colleagues.’
Again, this related to what I knew of his intelligence. From the descriptions given by witnesses, he clearly didn’t have the patient sophistication which would be a minimum requirement if he were to succeed in some sort of managerial or upwardly mobile task. Manual work was more likely.
I mentioned his relationships with work colleagues because I often meet with the expectation, ‘Oh, he must be one of these weird loners.’ Stereotypes and assumptions can be dangerous things and I wanted the police to keep their minds open. They were looking for a man who intellectually and emotionally might appear to be a poor fit in our world, but he wasn’t going necessarily to stick out like a square peg in a round hole, and although there was no immediate evidence of mental illness, it wouldn’t necessarily show even if it were present.
For this reason, if they came across a man who seemed quite comfortable around other people at work or in a social setting, it didn’t mean he couldn’t be the serial rapist. Similarly, I said the offender might see women during the course of his work, although I didn’t expect him to have deep working relationships with them.
‘He may enjoy the company of younger girls because they are less threatening and more easily impressed in superficial relationships,’ I said, explaining how young men in their late teens and early twenties who have no obvious difficulties with women can sometimes fail to establish relationships. They need to feel important and admired and they find that younger girls can give them this admiration because they’re often impressed by older men. This is why girls of thirteen to seventeen can often be found in the beds of men in their mid-twenties.
‘There is clear evidence of sexual dysfunction, for example, erectile difficulties and premature ejaculation,’ I said. ‘I’d also expect an inability to sustain adequate heterosexual relationships on the grounds of poor communication and possibly alcohol abuse.
‘He’s a reckless risk-taker who seems relatively unconcerned about being apprehended or identified,’ I said, but I knew this would probably change over time. Young offenders tend to be more reckless, unaware of the consequences of getting caught, but as they mature they grow wiser and more careful. Even though the day-time attack on Cathy had involved enormous risk, I felt this man would probably grow more cautious as time passed.
‘Although he derives gratification from the effects that fear produces in his victims, he doesn’t really meet the criteria for sadism,’ I said. I knew this from the literature and my clinical work. This man revelled in making women do what he wanted, but he could have inflicted far greater pain and gained more extreme control if that had been his desire. Instead his violence stopped short of sadism.
At the same time, his anger or rage was considerable and the approach to the woman staff-member outside Eltham, if confirmed, indicated he might be taunting and challenging the police to catch him.
‘He is likely to be known to the police covering the overall area bounded by the crimes, possibly for property offences which may include entering houses,’ I said. This went back to the first rape, which I sensed the inquiry team was treating almost as an outlier, a rogue event that shouldn’t be given the same weight or importance as the other attacks. I didn’t see it this way. The offender had entered a strange house, cut a phone line and raped a woman while her children played downstairs. His movements and methodology suggested someone who had broken into strange houses before.
The local knowledge he showed wasn’t shallow or shortlived. It strongly suggested clear connections with the areas by residence, education or employment. Although these were probably current, I said he may have moved away in the period between the first and second offences. As with Rachel Nickell’s killer, I expected that the rapist had enacted the attacks in fantasy well before he took them into the real world. This came back to my clinical work with offenders, drawing from them the histories of how they gained sexual gratification from just watching women through windows getting undressed or making love; and how this escalated into stalking women, stealing their underwear and then entering their houses.
‘This man may well have a background of less serious sexual offending including indecent exposure and especially voyeurism,’ I said. ‘In this regard you may wish to pay attention to reports from couples in open wooded areas and especially to reports of voyeurism involving women in houses by day and night in the two to four months preceding the first offence. Thefts of underwear from clothes lines might also be indicative.’
So far, I’d delivered the profile without any feedback from the officers in the room. Normally, I reported back to the SIO and perhaps a few senior detectives. Now, having a much larger audience made it more difficult to judge whether the message was getting across. This became particularly acute when I started talking about how this man would be caught.
‘In my view he will come to your attention finally in one of three ways,’ I said and then listed them.
‘One. By information provided by the public or area police officers. This is because he’s going to stand out as a worry or a reckless minor nuisance who makes local people feel uncomfortable with his activities which will have either aggressive or sexual overtones.
‘Two. By being caught during an offence.
‘Three. By an elimination process based upon examination of the records. One way or another he’s in your system. If you look at your files and, in particular, go and talk to the area police officers, he’s there. You already know him.’
I ended by reminding them that they were hunting a very dangerous young man, who would continue to attack women. ‘He will escalate his violence, depending upon the victim’s behaviour, and this could lead to someone dying.
‘I hope this has been helpful but I want to emphasize the probability factors that are involved rather than mislead you with the notion that I can somehow give you a photograph of this man.’
When I asked if there were any questions I looked at a sea of stony faces. Not all of my conclusions had been well-received, I decided, and no-one appeared interested in discussing the profile further. I went home and had my handwritten notes typed up and a copy posted to John Pearse. When I didn’t hear from him again, it didn’t surprise me. Having worked on dozens of cases - many of them still active - I was accustomed to not hearing the outcome. Unless the police wanted help in designing an interview strategy or further advice, there was no reason to call me. In the case of Operation Ecclestone, I’d done as asked and simply assumed that before too long the police would catch and charge the Green Chain rapist.
From a distance Marsh Lane Police Station in Liverpool looked like a fortress in a wilderness of blighted factories, blocks of flats and row after row of neat, grey houses. The squat concrete and glass building, typical of sixties’ architecture, was under assault on two sides by a mass of TV cameras, arc lights and vans with satellite dishes. Pizza cartons and plastic coffee cups filled the gutters - debris from the siege that was now in its fourth day.
It had taken three hours to drive the 150 miles from Leicester across country and up the M6 motorway on a grey, bleak morning devoid of warmth. Parking on a footpath near the station, I surveyed the scrum of journalists and cameramen and considered my options. The direct approach, I decided, and pushed through with my head down, hoping not to be recognized.
At the front counter a middle-aged sergeant with a frustrated face eyed me up and down as, nearby, journalists began to stir.
‘Exactly what is your business?’ he asked. ‘Detective Superintendent Albert Kirby is expecting me. If you just tell him that Mr Britton has arrived.’
‘Yes, but what is it about?’
‘There are certain matters we have to discuss,’ I offered.
‘Listen, sir, you notice that lot,’ he motioned to the reporters. ‘Every one of them wants to discuss certain matters with the superintendent.’
I knew the sergeant was just doing his job - filtering visitors and assessing information - but I wasn’t about to announce myself publicly. ‘Look. Really. Just call him. He’s expecting me.’
Only half-convinced, the officer disappeared to make a telephone call. A young woman appeared at my shoulder, with deep circles under her eyes and holding an almost empty plastic coffee cup.
‘Are you anything to do with it?’ she asked. I could see a large tape recorder slung over her shoulder.
‘Excuse me?’
‘Are you anything to do with Baby James?’
‘Ah. No. I’m here about the catering.’
Until the phone call from Albert Kirby the previous evening, 16 February, 1993, I was only vaguely aware that a little boy had been murdered in Liverpool four days earlier. I rarely read newspapers and sometimes go days without being able to hear the radio or TV news. It’s not a deliberate decision, I simply don’t have the time.
The superintendent had chosen his words carefully. ‘This little boy, Jamie Bulger, has been murdered. He was taken off by two boys - possibly teenagers. They might be completely innocent, of course, but neither of them has come forward. Whatever happened, Paul, I can’t afford to jump to conclusions.’
‘How can I help?’
‘I need advice. We have to find whoever did this and do it quickly.’ He paused. ‘This is very sensitive. Jamie was injured in ways that are difficult to accept or understand. It’s caused a lot of anger and bitterness in the local community and we’ve already had public order problems.’
I understood the shorthand.
‘I can be there tomorrow.’
‘Fine,’ he said, sounding relieved.
We’d met once before, a year earlier at a Home Office seminar on psychological crime analysis that I had hosted in Leicester. Various senior policemen had been invited to put forward different cases for discussion. Kirby had impressed me. Tall and athletic, it was hard to imagine him being anything other than a policeman. He had a young face, wrinkled about the eyes, and a slow steady walk like a cricket umpire striding out to inspect the pitch.
The desk sergeant had returned - now all smiles.
‘Sorry for the delay, sir. Someone is coming to collect you.’
The corridors were crowded and as we walked Kirby looked quickly at progress summaries that were handed to him. The tension of the previous few days was carefully controlled on his face. He had to lead the team and if he couldn’t absorb the pressure, others couldn’t do their jobs.
‘We had a difficult night,’ he muttered.
‘What happened?’
‘We picked up a youngster for questioning and a lynch mob wanted to burn his bloody house down. I had to take a dozen officers off house-to-house inquiries to guard the street. It’s probably set us back twenty-four hours.’
I could see what was happening. The fate of Jamie Bulger had shocked the entire country but in Liverpool, arguably Britain’s most emotional city, dismay had turned to anger and ugliness - the down-side to community spirit. Initially the hostility had been undirected, but I knew from experience that it would eventually focus on the police as people demanded to know, ‘Why haven’t you caught these killers? What are you doing to protect us?’
Liverpool was once one of the most important trading ports in the world. However, its great moment as a commercial and industrial centre has long since passed and left behind ravaged acres of empty warehouses, abandoned factories and disused railway lines. The area of Walton where Jamie was found, had been swallowed as Liverpool sprawled outwards at the end of last century and the area is still typified by flat-fronted terraces and narrow, once cobbled streets. Unemployment is high and work often casual but there’s a fierce sense of local pride and togetherness which manifests itself on the terraces at football matches and in the local pubs and bars.
Settling into an overheated office not far from the incident room, Kirby motioned me to the largest chair and introduced two of his colleagues. One of them probably belonged in the office which was decorated with photographs and citations tracking a career from training college through to the senior ranks.