The Flyleaf Killer (33 page)

‘Find the fellow, put him at ease, but get his particulars—he might be needed as a witness, and ask him to confirm he actually
did
take Steven to the station, exactly where he dropped him off and at what time, as accurately as possible. Ask him whether he noticed anything out of the ordinary. Was Steven intercepted, for example? Did anything happen the slightest bit unusual at the time, or seemed even remotely peculiar in retrospect?

‘Time is of the essence, Sergeant. If “chummy”
is
behind this, then with barely two days head-start instead of weeks, or even months…’ Melton looked at his watch. ‘Ten fifty. If you get yourself back before lunch, I just might buy you a coffee.’

‘OK, Guv’nor, you’re on,’ O’Connor said, getting to his feet.

‘
Anything
for a cardboard sarnie!’

O’Connor was back in good time for his reward. ‘The chap’s name is George Watson, Guv’nor,’ the DS announced. ‘He didn’t take much finding. Mrs Pearce gave me his name. Apparently George is a close friend of Steven’s.

‘The manager had Watson paged and gave me the loan of his office. Mr Watson seemed shocked to learn of Steven’s disappearance. Said it was the first he’d heard about it.

‘But he was emphatic about having taken him to Surbiton on Friday. He says he pulled into the station forecourt at five-thirty on the dot and helped carry Steven’s cases into the booking hall where he was due to meet Janice. Significantly, he noted the time, said goodbye to Steven and drove home for tea.’

Leaving his assistant to organise coffee and sandwiches, Melton made a telephone call.

‘I’ve arranged a Press briefing for sixteen hundred hours,’ he informed O’Connor on his return. ‘I believe Steven and his lady friend are in danger. We can’t rely on luck, nor can we afford to shilly-shally. We need media assistance, and we need it quickly.

‘I’m going to brief the Chief Super. I’ll explain the position as we see it and get the OK to revive public interest in the Malandra Pennington and Francis Bridgwater murders by suggesting all three cases could be linked. Keep the pot on the boil, sonny. I’ll be back as soon as I can.’

Twenty minutes later he paused by O’Connor’s desk. ‘Permission granted, Ben. We’re to appeal. Anyone who saw Steven or Janice at, in or around Surbiton station on Friday, 18th March 2005 will be asked to come forward. Mr Jarvis also suggests a second appeal for information regarding any unusual incidents within a radius of ten miles of Esher at any time of the day or night between mid-November and early December 2004. Get your jumbo crayon out Ben. You can draft the appeals while I catch up with routine.’

1600: Briefing Room, Police HQ, Surbiton.

There were familiar faces among the double row of reporters facing Detective Inspector David Melton, most of whom he had greeted by name as they arrived. The significance of further missing persons from Esher was immediately grasped by the majority.

Melton suggested a possible link with the murders of Malandra Pennington and Francis Bridgwater, and a copy of the prepared release was handed to each reporter at the close of the meeting. It read:

SURREY CONSTABULARY—SURBITON DIVISION

PRESS RELEASE No. 7486

Monday, 21 March 2005

The following have been reported missing and relatives are anxious to trace their whereabouts:

STEVEN VINCENT PEARCE Born 29:4:84. Height: 5 ft. 6 ins. Weight: 10 st. 12 lbs. Hair: Brown. Eyes: Grey. Complexion: Fair.

No visible distinguishing marks. Last seen wearing a dark-blue ‘Bomber’ jacket, light-coloured shirt, grey trousers and black shoes.

JANICE ANN PEARSON Born 15:4:85. Height: 4 ft 1134 ins. Weight: 7 st. 3 lbs. Hair: Dark brown. Eyes: Brown. Complexion: Pale.

Last seen wearing a bottle-green blouse, grey skirt and brown shoes, Janice left her Lower Green home by taxi at 5.25 p.m. on Friday 18 March 2005 and allegedly arrived at Surbiton station about 5.40 where she was to meet Steven, her fiancé, prior to the couple leaving by coach for a weekend in London.

Anybody who saw either Janice or Steven between 5.30 and 6.00 p.m. on the above date is asked to telephone the special Incident Room number on 0208 112 8484 or contact any police station.

It is believed the disappearance of Steven and Janice may be connected with the murder in July 2002 of eighteen-year-old Malandra Pennington, whose dismembered remains were uncovered in a local garden, and also that of Francis Bridgwater, aged 19, on or around the end of November last year. Francis’ corpse remained undetected in a vault beneath St. George’s Church, Esher until last month.

Additionally, anyone who has information regarding any unusual or suspicious incident within a ten-mile radius of Esher at any time of the day or night between mid-November and early December should also come forward.

All information will be treated as strictly confidential and informants will not be required to identify themselves if they prefer not to do so.

The couple’s disappearance was reported in the late final edition of the
Evening News
, and Thames Television broadcast the appeals during the six o’clock and ten o’clock news.

At 10.40, a Claygate viewer sneered, switched off the television and retired to bed.

Public response was encouraging. Incident Room telephones started to ring shortly after the six o’clock news, and continued sporadically overnight and throughout Tuesday. Despite a plethora of patently spurious sightings and claims, a credible number survived initial screening to merit further investigation. All such reports were channelled to DI Melton, who took personal responsibility for ensuring no scrap of potential evidence was disregarded.

It was tedious, discouraging work and fruitless hours were spent chasing prospective leads until, finally, Melton and O’Connor went home, tired, late—and extremely disappointed…

And at the end of a particularly heavy day, Strudwick bathed, dined and went to bed early. Exhausted, confounding habit, he simply couldn’t be bothered to confer with the Book.

He slept badly and woke late, tired and ill-tempered. To compound his discomfort, a raging headache came on as soon as he set foot on the floor. Miserably, he sat on the side of the bed supporting his head in his hands. The last thing on his mind was the couple in the cellar.
Mind’st thou Pentophiles, thy mentor and friend, who yet awaiteth, hunger unquenched!

‘Leave me alone,’ he shouted. ‘I’ll do what you want when I’m fucking-well good and ready!’ Appalled by his own stupidity, he was immediately, abjectly contrite.

‘S-sorry,’ he stuttered. ‘I’m so very, very sorry. Of course I’ll do as you ask whenever you like.’

But the apology either failed to register or was ignored; the voice in his head was gone. Desperately, he tried to persuade the entity to re-communicate, but to no avail.

‘Sod you, then,’ he snarled, angrily. ‘If you can’t be civil, why should I bother? Get bloody stuffed!’

Without stopping for breakfast, he banged out of the house still seething. Even now, it didn’t occur to Strudwick that he might be courting disaster, nor was he in the least concerned that he had retired the previous evening without having first consulted the Book. Curiously, however, and in response to a persistent sense of foreboding, he resolved to pack his bags immediately, and keep them packed, in readiness to skip town at short notice should it become necessary.

‘Here’s an interesting one, Guv’nor,’ O’Connor declared, holding up a single-sheet report form.

DI Melton looked up from a mountain of routine paperwork. ‘Give it a rest, Sergeant,’ he snapped, ‘I’ve read those bloody reports twice already.’

‘Not this one you haven’t,’ O’Connor retorted. ‘It came in while you were taking a leak.’

‘How come it’s not on my desk? Oh, what the hell! What is it, then?’

‘A witness may have seen Steven Pearce at Surbiton on Friday evening—a Mr Frank Baverstock. He came off the four fifty-five from Waterloo around five twenty and stood inside out of the wind but with a view of the forecourt, waiting for his wife to pick him up. She didn’t turn up till a couple of minutes before six that day, on account of heavy traffic.

‘He says he saw no sign of a girl resembling Janice, but a young man answering Steven’s description got out of a car at around five-thirty and stood close to the clock. He pretty soon began pacing up and down, obviously expecting someone.

‘When a black taxi pulled into the forecourt, he grabbed his cases and practically ran outside. After some heated words with the driver, he scrambled into the cab and was driven away. It ties in, sir. But I wonder what provoked Steven—if it was Steven—to go haring off in a taxi?’

David Melton shot to his feet. ‘I don’t know—but I know a man who might! Henry Dyson, from ‘Ace Cars’. Gibson’s pseudo-cockney. Haul him in, Sergeant. Now!’

No sooner had DS O’Connor departed than a snippet of information phoned in by an anonymous long-distance lorry driver was relayed to Melton. He listened to the tape:

‘Last November seventeenth—I checked me log, I ran out of hours and parked up for the night in the service area behind the main shopping parade on Esher High Street. It was around midnight. I was about to settle down, when a light-coloured motor—a Jag XJS, I think—pulled in without lights and parked about twenty metres away. It was too dark to see much, but I’m pretty sure the driver heaved something bulky out of the boot and humped it through a gate towards some old building—a church maybe? I was just nodding off when I heard an engine and I sat up in time to see the same posh motor shoot off towards the High Street, still without lights, the stupid sod! I thought it funny at the time, but forgot all about it till I seen the appeal tonight on me portable telly. I’m in the area, see, but I’m not saying where. OK?’ Then the caller had rung off.

DI Melton remained motionless for minutes, thoughtful but uneasy. He glanced at the clock: 9.55. Abruptly, he got to his feet, left the office and rapped on Detective Chief Superintendent Jarvis’ door.

DCS Jarvis listened whilst Melton brought him up to date, confessing a long-standing unease about estate agent Robert Strudwick, and proposing a possible connection between the Pennington/Bridgwater murders and the disappearance of Steven Pearce and Janice Pearson.

‘All right, but let me get this straight, David,’ the Chief Super said, eventually. ‘An uncorroborated sighting of a car similar to Strudwick’s near the Old Church on November seventeenth clearly aroused your suspicions, yet you dismiss it as mere coincidence and feel certain that, if questioned again, Strudwick will not only turn out to be blameless, but is likely to sue for harassment into the bargain—right?’

‘Yes, sir, that just about sums it up. I might add that I don’t like him. He has a powerful personality and is difficult to question, but that doesn’t make him a criminal. Quite frankly, sir, the further we steer clear the better. But I couldn’t let it go without seeking your guidance.’

Melton seemed both embarrassed and perplexed by his own hesitancy. Plainly, he needed help. Dithering formed no part of police work and it was difficult to understand why a normally reliable officer was now suddenly so indecisive. DCS Jarvis was no psychiatrist. He merely sighed.

‘You want my opinion? Very well. I agree that one unconfirmed sighting doesn’t amount to much but, despite your reservations, I think it extremely suspicious and deserving of further investigation. I also accept the possibility of a connection between the young couple’s disappearance and the two murders, even though the evidence is somewhat flimsy. But we can’t afford to take chances.’

DCS Jarvis thought carefully for a moment.

‘Take this as a direct order, David. Have Strudwick in for questioning, and it might help avert claims of harassment if you isolate O’Connor and yourself from any form of direct involvement. We won’t be able to hold him for long, and I want him under full twenty-four hour surveillance from the moment he leaves the station—
today
.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Melton replied, getting to his feet. ‘Er—what about the taxi driver? He knows more than he’s prepared to admit.’

Jarvis gave Melton an exasperated look. What on earth was the matter with his right-hand man? ‘If you suspect he’s hiding something, oughtn’t you to have him investigated? And if he
is
involved, we need to know to what extent. Pull him in for further questioning. Maybe you should give him a good going-over yourself—if you feel up to it, that is.’

DI Melton seemed relieved. He either failed to notice the thinly disguised barb or chose to ignore it. ‘Right, sir, I’ll get surveillance teams organised and a background check put in hand right away.’

Melton took his leave and hastened to implement DCS Jarvis’ instructions. Thereafter, the focus of the investigation altered and rapid, unexpected developments caused DI Melton to delay re-interviewing Henry Dyson for considerably longer than he intended.

Still angry, Robert Strudwick was backing the XJS out of the garage when a police car shot into the driveway and slithered to a halt, effectively barring his progress. Cursing, he jumped out and made a dash for the front door but was easily overtaken by two uniformed officers.

‘Good morning, sir. Are you Robert William Strudwick?’ the taller of the pair inquired. He displayed his warrant card. ‘I’m PC Frobisher from Esher and this is PC Fletcher.’

‘What if I am? What the hell’s it got to do with you? Get that damn car off my property right now, I’m late for work as it is.’

‘Please answer the question, sir. Are you Robert William Strudwick?’

‘Yes, I am,’ he admitted adopting a more conciliatory tone. ‘But what’s this all about? I really am late for the office, you know.’

‘That may well be the case, sir, but we are investigating a serious matter and have reason to believe you may be able to assist in our inquiries. I must therefore ask you to accompany us to the station.’

‘And if I refuse?’

‘Not a good idea, sir,’ Frobisher bluffed, ponderously. ‘We’d be obliged to place you under arrest.’

‘If I agree, how long will I be? I’ve got a great deal to do today.’

‘No idea, sir. It all depends. Might be an hour or two—might be a couple of days.’