Authors: Max China
Kennedy had sat forward and placed his elbows on the desk; for a second Tanner thought he did it because he was interested. Then he put his forehead down on top of the blotter and folded his hands at the back of his head.
He paused and stared at him with disbelief. "Sir?"
Suddenly Kennedy's mobile vibrated and spun around, causing the surface of the teas to ripple. He snapped it up and opened it.
"I'm going to have to take that. Give me a minute will you, Tanner?"
"Sure," he said.
The moment Tanner closed the door behind him, he answered it.
Outside Kennedy's office, he debated whether to wait or not as he leaned on the wall next to the door. Something was definitely going on. The chief never usually booted him out while he was on the telephone. The call was on his personal phone again; he hoped his mother was okay.
He stood and watched Theresa over on the other side of the office, on the telephone, writing things down. "Yes, okay . . . got that," she said into the receiver and then looked up from her desk at him and feigned a yawn, flapping her hand in front of her mouth as she did so.
His eyebrows jerked up involuntarily at her; she mirrored him, and he looked away quickly, aware that if anyone noticed the little exchange, the jungle drums would rumble, and the gossip would begin.
He continued with the notes, reading them whilst outside, leaning against Kennedy's wall. He didn't know what was up with him, but there was no way he'd sit through and listen to the entire transcript. He decided to condense the story for the DCI's benefit.
At the hospital the day before, when the nurse showed them down to her room, Natasha Stone was sitting in a chair beside her bed. The bed was unmade. She'd clearly just risen from it. He introduced himself and the WPC with him. He asked if she felt able to answer a few questions. She was located in a side room all to herself. She looked weary and hollow eyed, she fiddled nervously with the belt of her dressing gown, winding it round her fingers tightly, as if to tie her hands, to stifle the story they might tell.
She began hesitantly at first.
"I'm supposed to be grieving for my grandmother and this happens . . ." She took a deep breath, then the words tumbled out of her in a torrent; she told Tanner the whole sordid story and he listened. He jotted down notes of everything she told him, in case he would need to refer back to them later.
"I was working with this guy, Adam Bletchley, at the school in the laboratory prep rooms. I wasn't too sure about him; he was just a little bit too nice, and it didn't seem natural. He had this plastic smile . . . if you know what I mean. He hounded me to go out with him, and I did a few times, but I wasn't sure it was working, or even right for me. He was a bit odd at times. My granny was sick, and I think I just let him in under the radar, because I needed someone, you know?" He'd asked if she could slow down.
She waited for him to catch up writing, before she continued, "Anyway; I bumped into this girl at the supermarket. Well, not exactly bumped into her . . . she spotted me and made a beeline saying, 'Hey, you're Natasha, am I right?'" Tanner noticed she put on another voice for the other girl. "I'm sorry, I said. Do I know you?" She watched as he scribbled his notes. When he stopped, she began again.
"She said to me, 'You're seeing Adam Bletchley aren't you?' I asked her again, 'Do I know you?', 'No, you don't, but my friend over there works at your school, and she just pointed you out to me.' She nods in the direction of her friend. I recognise her and give a little wave. I'm also feeling a bit relieved, because I don't know what this girl wants?" She finished the sentence making it sound like a question, her voice lilting upwards as she spoke the last word. Her eyes had brimmed with tears.
"Take your time, Natasha," the WPC said gently.
"Anyway, the first thing she tells me is to give Adam a wide berth.' I'm warning you as a friend.' At this point, I am thinking…
What!
Now her friend comes over to join us, she says 'Hi,' but looks a bit embarrassed. She's one of the chemistry teachers, and I always work in the prep room, between her lab and the other one next door. I always prep for her; Adam always preps for the other side. He told me she was a funny woman - that they didn't get on." She pointed to the jug on the bedside cabinet. "Excuse me a minute, would you pour me a water? Thank you."
She gulped a mouthful down. Tanner turned his page over.
"Well, then she starts to tell me about her and Adam. I mean it's crazy. I only went out with him a few times! Anyway, the other girl is now giving me her life story. 'I was with Adam for a year. Now that I look at it, it was the worst year of my life. It isn't even over now, but it is getting better. She stuck her hand out for me to shake. 'I'm Rainy by the way.'"
"Not even over now . . . Natasha, what did she mean by that?" The WPC asked her.
"Well, Rainy tells me, 'There was nothing so noticeable at first, just the little things. He would niggle about the clothes I was wearing. You know; that don't suit you; the colours are all wrong, it makes you look big, are you putting on weight? You don't exercise enough, rah, rah, rah!'"
For Tanner, a picture had begun to emerge from her account of things. He wasn't sure how much of it was relevant, but she needed to talk, and he let her. Bletchley had isolated the other girl from her friends; setting up confrontations, based on fictitious accounts of something he'd had a disagreement with them about.
He skipped further into the notes he'd made. There were plenty of allegations concerning Bletchley's manipulative ways. There was one occasion, she said, when she challenged him, and it resulted in his saying to her, "You're not really going to take their word over mine are you? Not after all I've done for you," telling her. "You think she's your best friend don't you? Well, I never would have spoiled that for you, if you hadn't have made me do it, but I'm not sure she really is your best friend, you know."
When she'd asked him why, he'd explained, "Oh, it's just that she tried to arrange to meet with me at some hotel, while you were at your uncle's funeral that time, and I wasn't invited, remember? I never went with her of course, but I thought; poor Rainy thinks that's her best friend and all the time she just wants to screw her boyfriend the minute her back's turned."
Once Bletchley had alienated all her friends, he began working on isolating her from her family too. Little by little, he crushed her, making her dependant on him, solely dependant. There was no one else left to turn to.
Tanner did not need a crystal ball to predict the outcome. That was when the abuse really began. Nothing Rainy ever did was good enough. She didn't appreciate him. He began to punish her. He wouldn't allow her out. He made her a prisoner in her own home. He didn't like her talking to other people on the phone. He suspected her of seeing other men. The last thing she had - that he still wanted - was her home. She became convinced it was what he really wanted, all along, to take her home from her. He tried to make her change her will in his favour. "You don't want your relatives, those leeches, inheriting it do you? Not after the way they've treated you!"
For Rainy, it had been the last straw. Finally, she was able to see him for what he really was. It took a lot of effort for her to escape him, because he was so assertive and confident, he succeeded in undermining her at every turn. No matter how hard she tried to break free, he just kept clawing her back. In the end, with a friend's help, she'd had to take out an injunction on him, to keep him away. That was what she meant by it's not over yet."
The other girl had told Natasha enough to convince her to take a backward step. She told Tanner she believed what Rainy told her. Her natural defences were over-ridden by worry over her grandmother's illness. If it hadn't been for that, he would never have got near her. She told Tanner, that she particularly remembered how his eyes lit up when she told him, her grandmother would leave her everything. She rang and told him she didn't want to see him again. After that, he just kept turning up, out of the blue. He seemed to know when she was alone, or where she would be going with her friends. She began to suspect he was stalking her, even intercepting her emails. Sniffing them, as she put it. Last of all she told Tanner. "The funny thing is as well, isn't it marvellous how you always find these things out afterwards. Apparently, he had a nickname among the men at work. They used to give him a wide berth. They called him 'Bletch the Letch.'"
Tanner shook his head, incredulous that he'd got away with it for so long.
He asked her a question. "Natasha, I want you to think carefully. I know he had a mask on and he very quickly drugged you, but was there anything about him, that made you think it was Bletchley; his smell or anything like that?"
"Oh, my God!" Natasha covered her cheeks with both hands. "Oh, my God . . . When I smelled the chloroform, I was so sure it was him!" She stared right into Tanner's eyes. "Now I'm not so sure, because I now remember thinking I could smell cigarettes, and he doesn't smoke . . ."
"He could have come in from a pub or club though, with the smell on his clothes." Tanner said.
"No, no. It was much stronger than that, whoever it was, was a smoker."
He closed his notebook; it was all clear in his head now.
A moment later, Kennedy opened his door and seeing Tanner still standing there said, "There you are. I've been buzzing your office for ages."
Tanner shrugged. "You said you'd only be a minute, sir, so I waited here." He followed Kennedy back inside his office.
"We're going to have to wrap this up quickly. Something else has come up."
Having just reviewed the whole conversation with the victim, he summed it up in just a few words. "She went out with Bletchley twice, she found out he was an arrogant, narcissistic, controlling son-of-a-bitch, out to get her money. She also suspected he may have been sniffing her mailbox—"
"Where the hell did you pick up a disgusting term like that?"
"Her words, sir, not mine."
"The sooner we get him in, the better. We'll reconvene on the rest of the report. Get it typed up for me. Let me know what forensics comes up with…" He checked his watch. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go."
Tanner stood, shut his notebook and slid it into the baggy left hand side pocket of his jacket.
He left the room, doubt nagging at him.
Chapter 66
While Tanner waited for further developments, he ran a few checks on Martin Shaw.
With no more information, there was little chance of tracking him down through the system. The obvious search string was prizefighter, followed by his name, but the search revealed nothing.
Without a full name, address or date of birth, he wouldn't even get off the ground with the official channels.
A Google search of newspaper archives came up with a single line reference in the Times.
Crowned Third Time, King of the Gipsies William Martin Shaw refuses post-fight interview
, this was followed by an account of the fight. He noted the reporter's name.
Painstakingly picking articles apart, searching for similarities, dates, anything that would confirm it was the same man. Only ten percent of the articles could be relevant to what he was looking for. Convinced Martin was his middle name; he was then able to verify that, under that identity, he hadn't paid any tax, or national insurance, or registered as a professional fighter. He was completely outside the system, an outlaw.
What a waste.
He shook his head, all that work building a reputation, becoming a champion three times, that's no mean achievement and given he did it with a ten year break in between . . .
Originally, he had him pictured as an ignorant brute, now he began to suspect that the opposite might be true. His public image let his fists do the talking, while behind the scenes, he was highly intelligent and resourceful. He would have to be, because if he wasn't, they'd have caught him years ago.
Where did you go, yet stay sharp enough to come back and reclaim your crown after ten years? Prison records! That's it; he'd been in prison.
The new hunch failed to produce anything.
If he'd gone abroad, he would have to have a passport
. He checked that too. Nothing. Suddenly he had it; he'd changed his name.
When Tanner had finished checking out his latest lead and drawn yet another blank, it left him with a number of problems. If he only he had a clue where to look for him… according to Brooks, no one knew, and if he did find him, he'd have to either bring him in, or find a way to get some DNA to run through the national database.
How?
He felt it in his waters; the guy was in there somewhere, for something, he had to be. His stomach groaned audibly, telling him it was lunchtime. After checking his watch, he reached into his top drawer and pulled out a sandwich. Taking a bite, he stared into the middle of the office wall.
He had to admit, he was stumped.
Chapter 67
Just after lunchtime, Tanner's phone rang.
Kennedy!.
"I thought we were clear about this, no details, everything to be kept under wraps. The last thing we want is for a copycat nutter to latch onto it! Don't you think I've got enough to do, without having to worry about whether or not we have a mole in this office?" The thought of another 'Kennedy Inquisition' made his heart sink.
Finally, he'd gotten around to the headline.
By now of course, he was half prepared for it.
"I know sir, but it didn't come from us. I assumed you wanted to talk to me about Bletchley, sir."
"What about him?"
"He's been arrested; they're bringing him back to the station now."
"Why did I have to phone
you
to find that out, Tanner?"
He made a face down the phone. "I thought you might have wanted it kept off the airwaves for now, what with the Gasman headline leak—"
"I just want him in here, Tanner. How long before he gets here?"
"A few minutes yet."
Kennedy threw the newspaper back in to his out-tray, irritated by the nickname the press had given this character. He knew for sure; there'd probably be a string of copycats. That was why they always kept something back, to help weed them out. At least the press hadn't reported about the chloroform and the boiler suit yet.
Tanner knocked on the door and entering Kennedy's office, said, "Sir, we've just got him booked in downstairs. I imagine you'll want him to sweat a bit before we interview him?" Then he pointed to the headline. "It's weird, calling him the Gasman; it makes him sound like someone who's coming to take your meter reading."
The DCI gave him a withering glare. "I assume Bletchley didn't say anything?"
"He's been cautioned, but he said straight away; he didn't do anything. He hasn't stopped talking, sir. We're just waiting for the search warrant -
then
we'll see what he has to say."
"Assuming we find something. What have we got from Scenes of Crime so far?"
"Forensically, we have nothing, sir," he said, swallowing the gum he was chewing.
"Well do we have
anything
?" Kennedy remarked sarcastically.
Tanner looked confused.
"It doesn't matter. Is there a new book out, called
How to Commit the Perfect Crime
or something?" he said with a weary sigh.
"They didn't find a single thing, not even a pubic hair. He used a condom, and he either flushed it down the toilet, or took it with him. He was dressed in a World War 2 gas mask—"
"World War Two!" Kennedy exclaimed. "The victim recognized that?"
"She identified it from this picture . . . it might be significant," he said as he shoved it over the desk.
The DCI was still shaking his head in disbelief. "Is there anything new from the victim?"
"No, sir, WPC Palmer visited her at home this morning. Miss Stone was unable to describe her assailant in any more detail than yesterday. She did say she thought he was dressed in a white, all-in-one boiler suit. He had the hood up over his head. She described the material, as like one of those reinforced white envelopes they use to deliver important papers. As I said before, he had a gasmask on, so she never saw his face. She remembered struggling to breathe, he gassed her with an unknown substance, which we think was probably chloroform, and she certainly thinks it was. The next thing she knows, she can't move, but she's sort of aware of what is happening. He never removed any of his clothing; he kept the full kit on. She was only wearing a nightie."
"Nice, was it a pink one?" Kennedy's sarcasm caught him unawares
as he summarised. "So we have a gas masked, boiler-suited fetishist in custody right now, or do we? Make my day; tell me he was arrested with the mask, the suit and a bottle of chloroform."
Tanner hated it when Kennedy was in one of these moods. "Unfortunately, sir, he wasn't. We did find an empty Kilner Dual Purpose jar with a cotton pad inside it discarded in her house though. We're reasonably sure from the faint odour that he used it in the attack. She said it didn't belong to her. I can't think of a reason he should have left it behind, unless he didn't want to run the risk of being stopped with it…" He inhaled deeply. "Before I go on, I spoke to the hospital and they put me in touch with a retired anaesthetist. When I spoke to him, he told me it's not used in human anaesthesia in the
UK any longer. He also said it would have been hit and miss even for someone like him to administer back in his day, so we might be looking for a lab technician with experience of its use in animal experiments, or someone else like our suspect, who has some clear knowledge of what it is and how to use it. Either way, it's apparently very volatile and takes a lot of experience to get exactly the right dose."
Kennedy narrowed his eyes "And Belchley
[sic]
, you said he didn't stop talking I assume someone took notes, what did he say?" Tanner coughed a little ahem in to his fist. He'd have to correct him, but he did not relish it. If he didn't, then later it would come back on him. He sometimes wondered if Kennedy did it on purpose to test his mettle. "It's Bletch
ley,
sir."
"Thank you for picking me up on that tiny detail, Tanner." He glared hotly at him. "I ask you again. What did he say?"
Tanner returned his gaze.
Kennedy stared at him coolly. For a second, he saw his subordinate's face darken, anger flashing ominously in the younger man's eyes.
Tanner struggled to keep his temper. "He's admitted he knows Miss Stone, but he reckons he has an alibi for the night in question. He was fishing on the lakes in Hadleigh, twenty-five miles away. Two or three other fishermen saw him he reckons; he's given us two names, Bob and Dave." The stony expression on Kennedy's face made him want to smile.
It was like working with a teenage child who has had a humour by-pass.
"We're getting that checked out at the moment. He also readily admits to making chloroform on the school's premises. He's been suspended for it, so it's a bit difficult to deny, but he says he used to make it for an old guy, who used it to gas insect specimens."
"I don't suppose we have a name there, either," Kennedy observed dryly.
"You're right, he said he used to make it up occasionally for a guy who collected butterflies and moths since the sixties, but it's frowned on to do it now- the collecting that is, and you can't buy the old substances like those hobbyists used to, not without the relevant safety certificates," he said as he twirled his pen between his fingers. "He said he never actually met him."
"So how did he pass the stuff over to him?"
"I covered that with him already." He opened his notebook. "I suggested he was lying. This is what he actually said: 'Why would I? Look he phoned me. He asked me if I could make him up a batch. He told me to put it in the boot of my car and meet him at the Anchor in Benfleet, 9 o'clock that night. £50 cash, no questions, asked. I agreed. I went in and waited half-hour; he never showed, so I left. The following morning, when I unlocked the boot to take the stuff out it was gone, and no money either; can you believe that? He nicked it off me!'"
"It almost sounds believable." Kennedy remarked dryly.
"That's what I thought. I asked him how he thought this guy had got his number; he said he thought he got it from the school."
"Had the car been broken into?"
"No, sir, I already asked him that - it hadn't." Kennedy's phone rang.
"Kennedy," He announced. He listened and then put the phone down.
"The warrant is ready. I don't know about you, Tanner, but I'm itching to get round there."
Chapter 68
Bletchley lived on the ground floor of a house divided into two flats. His landlady resided upstairs; they obtained a set of keys from Bletchley. Tanner rang her doorbell to let her know what was happening. She was a woman in her early sixties, with pink candyfloss hair, wearing eccentric over-sized glasses.
"Mrs Wilkinson? DI John Tanner, we have a warrant to search Adam Bletchley's flat."
"Okay, what's he done?" She screwed her eyes up at him. "All that sneaking about in the middle of the night… I knew he was up to no good."
"We're just making enquiries at this stage, Mrs Wilkinson. We might need a word with you afterwards, if that's all right?"
"Of course, it would be a pleasure," she said with a wink. "Call me Vi, it's easier."
She didn't go back upstairs; instead, she hung around by the front door to Bletchley's flat. Tanner couldn't help noticing she wore pink pom-pom slippers with her jeans.
"Jesus H. Christ…" Kennedy said, gawping. Tanner joined him at the entrance to Bletchley's bedroom.
Inside, one whole wall was a collage of photographs of young women. Hundreds of them, arranged in clusters, with each girl as a subject. All had the appearance of classic covertly taken stalker photos. When they were later analysed, they found twenty-six subjects and perhaps unsurprisingly, Natasha Stone was among them. He'd grouped her pictures together in the top left hand corner. There were images of her out jogging, sitting inside McDonalds by the window, out with friends, there was even a photograph taken of her and Bletchley. They also found a list of names and addresses. All they had to do was match the images to the names, to see what that shook out. In the kitchen, they found a large medical type jar. Kennedy put on a pair of latex gloves and opened it. The sweet, cloying smell arrested his intake of air at the nostrils. He knew instinctively it was chloroform. He screwed the lid back down. In a lower base unit at the back of the cupboard, there was a loose panel; behind it was stowed a black plastic bin bag. He reached in and withdrew it carefully. Inside was a roll of duct tape, white boiler suit, a box of latex gloves similar to those he had just put on, and a black hood and Stanley knife.
The whole place was crawling with Scenes of Crime officers within the hour.
Chapter 69
They spent the journey back to the police station mostly in silence. They left their crime scene colleagues to pick over every square inch of the flat. The landlady had tried to get some information out of them as they left. Kennedy told her politely, but firmly that if he needed to speak with her, he'd be in touch.
There was something eating Kennedy for sure. A couple of times Tanner had almost asked him directly, but Kennedy was in one of those thoughtful moods of his. He hadn't said more than a few words about Bletchley. Five minutes from the station, he couldn't hold back any longer. "Is everything all right, sir, you seem like something's on your mind?"
"Tanner, there's always something on my mind."
"I was reading about sexual deviants once, sir, it's amazing how often they start off like this and escalate, getting bolder…"