Backlash (24 page)

‘It was a long time ago, not long after he moved in, and I know it was just before he helped with the gates, as they were delivered at the end of March 2007.’

Anna waited as Mrs Murphy still tapped the table with her finger.

‘I’ve always had trouble sleeping, I often get up to make a cup of tea, and I was standing with the cup in my hand just looking out into the street. It’s such a shame those
houses standing empty, I mean it’s not right, and it had to be two-ish or even later in the night, and I saw him.’

‘With someone?’

‘No, no, I’ve said I never saw him with anyone, but it was just strange. Maybe it was the streetlights, but it was like seeing a ghost.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘He had like white, powdery white stuff over him. He was just walking down the road, then he went inside the house. It probably was just the way the lights made him look, I don’t
know, but, like I said, it made him look sort of ghostly. It was even in his hair, on his face.’

‘Did you speak to him about it, ask what the white stuff was?’

‘No. I never had anything to do with him until – I’ve told you, about him giving my husband a hand putting up the gates in late March 2007. They weighed a ton, we didn’t
think they’d be that heavy, and he was strong. It was hard lifting them up onto the hinges, and then he’d also helped mix up the cement for the posts, they had to dig down quite a way
so the posts could hold the gates up.’

‘So the work went on for some time?’

‘Yes, they had to let the cement dry, it all took a few days.’

‘So during this time you must have got to know him quite well.’

‘I wouldn’t say that, he didn’t ever come inside the house and we never crossed the road to go into his basement. I did give him some sandwiches and cups of tea, bottles of
water. He was stripped to his waist, digging, and he was paid in cash!’

Anna turned as a small white-haired man appeared at the kitchen door.

‘I thought I heard voices. I was having a nap upstairs.’

‘This is my husband. Ronald, this is Detective . . .’

Anna introduced herself, and he shook her hand.

‘She’s asking about Henry from over the road.’

‘Can either of you recall when he helped you with the gates or any time you saw him if he was wearing any neck jewellery?’

‘Don’t think so, do you, dear?’ Ronald said as he looked to his wife, who shook her head.

‘My eyesight’s much better than his, and my memory, for that matter.’

‘Would you both look at this photograph, please, and tell me if you ever saw Mr Oates wearing this.’

They both looked at the photograph of the crucifix, and neither could remember ever seeing Oates with anything like it.

‘There’s a lot of action going on over the road,’ Ronald remarked as he drew up a chair and sat between them.

‘I’ve been asking your wife about the time Mr Oates worked with you putting up the gates.’

‘Strong as an ox. I couldn’t have done it on my own, we paid for the paving stones to be laid by a company. I just reckoned I’d be able to put the gates up by myself. I’d
sized it all up, made the order and they delivered them. Left them propped up by the wall, said it wasn’t their job to hang them.’

‘What did you make of Mr Oates?’

Mr Murphy shrugged, and said that apart from needing a bath, he was very helpful. He nodded at his wife.

‘She wouldn’t let him inside here, he was very scruffy, but then I’d also seen him all scrubbed up. He used to go swimming in the local baths. I often saw him with a rolled-up
towel under his arm.’

‘Did you ever see him with a vehicle?’

‘No. You know, the other copper that came here asked a lot of questions about him, said it was connected to a murder enquiry, but we’ve not had any details, not seen it in the
papers.’

‘Mr Oates has been charged with the murder of a woman called Justine Marks, and we are also making enquiries into two other cases that we believe he could be involved in.’

‘Bloody hell! Are they looking for bodies in the house opposite, like in the Fred West case?’ he exclaimed, looking at his wife in shock.

‘They are looking for evidence, yes; did you ever see him with anyone entering his basement or anyone visiting him?’

‘No, he was a real loner, though he’d always be friendly, wave over to me if I saw him. This is very worrying. I said having those houses empty was bound to create
trouble.’

‘But they weren’t all empty when you used him to help you with the gates?’

‘No, the two either side got boarded up quite a while after, they had a bunch of squatters in the middle house that were causing problems and they were moved on, then the sitting tenants
were moved out from the houses either side.’

Mrs Murphy was clearly becoming quite agitated and Anna asked if she could just confirm that Henry Oates was living in the basement in March 2007, and that it was before the other properties
were boarded up. Both agreed. Next she asked again if they had ever seen Oates driving a car, or possibly a Jeep. They both were certain they had never seen him with any kind of vehicle.

Next Anna had them confirm that Oates had helped mix cement for the gate posts and Mr Murphy said that he was glad that he had helped him as he was very professional, knew exactly how much sand
was required. Oates had explained to Mr Murphy the importance of getting the right consistency.

‘So do you think he was working on a building site then?’ Anna asked.

‘Might have been, and I’ll tell you why. I mentioned to him, when he was helping me with the gates, that he’d given my wife a bit of turn, that she’d seen him coming home
looking like a ghost. He said to me that that was chalk dust, he said something about a bag dropping on him!’

‘Chalk dust?’

‘That’s right, then he went on complaining about trying to get work, said the Poles were taking all the available jobs and accepting lower wages. I never said nothing to him; I mean,
he was obviously capable of getting a job but I reckon he couldn’t be bothered if the giro cheques kept coming.’

‘Did he get post delivered to the house?’

‘No, he’d collect from our local post office, often saw him in there,’ Mr Murphy said.

Lastly Anna showed them the photographs of the victims. They went very quiet, but could not recall ever seeing them. Mrs Murphy was shocked when she looked at the photograph of Rebekka
Jordan.

‘She’s just a young girl.’

Anna was now eager to leave, and knew that if she stayed any longer they would start asking more questions about the murder enquiry. Mr Murphy walked her to the gate, opening it for her and
pointing out the cement-filled area around the posts.

‘You won’t have to dig all this up, will you?’

Anna smiled as she told him there was no need for him to worry about his gates or driveway.

She was still standing there when she noticed Barolli parked up opposite in an unmarked police car, and the Crime Scene Manager handing him something through the driver’s window. Anna
crossed the road and opened the passenger door.

‘You heard?’ Barolli asked her, as he took from the CSM a large square plastic box in an evidence bag. ‘This was found stashed up the fireplace; I’m taking it straight
over to forensics to check for fingerprints and DNA.’

‘What’s inside it?’

‘Load of jewellery trinkets, could belong to a victim or just junk stuff, but as the place had a load of squatters at one time or another we need to see if Oates’s dabs are on the
box.’

Barolli nodded over to Mr Murphy, who was watching them intently.

‘Get anything else from them, did you?’

‘Not really. I’ll be interested to see what’s inside that box, though.’

‘Likewise, but I’m not touching it until it’s been dusted.’

Anna was about to do a web search for ‘chalk + building’ when Mike arrived back at the incident room.

‘You hear about the box found in Oates’s basement?’ he asked. ‘Hidden in the fireplace. Paul said it was full of jewellery. He’s having it individually photographed
then the lab can get to work on it.’

‘Yeah, hoping to get prints off the box.’

Mike ruffled his hair.

‘You know what it could mean?’

She nodded as her desk phone rang, and coincidentally it was Pete Jenkins. They had been able to get some good prints from the plastic surface of the box, and as they had already taken prints
from Oates when he had been arrested it wouldn’t take long to do a comparison.

‘You know what my gut feeling is about this stuff?’ Pete said. ‘I’ve examined tokens like this in other murder cases. You want to come in and see for yourself?’

‘Be right there. I had the same feeling. Give me half an hour or so.’

Anna set off at once, but as she drove to Lambeth, she couldn’t shift the dread that the prints would not match with Oates’s.

But they did. It was a perfect match: three left fingers, a right palm and left thumbprint all belonged to Oates, and no other prints had been found.

Pete was standing in the section of the laboratory that had been given over to the Oates murder enquiry. Many items had been discarded, but that still left a vast amount of clothing and bed
linen. There was even a filthy rolled-up towel and swimming trunks. Everything was being carefully checked over, tagged and bagged.

Anna asked if any items of clothing had chalk dust over them and explained her conversation with the Murphys. Pete said that as far as he knew there was nothing and, given that Mrs Murphy had
said that it had been in March 2007, a minimal trace would be worthless as evidence and not even worth looking for.

Laid out neatly on brown paper was the square empty plastic box and beside it, an array of jewellery: cheap brooches, bracelets, necklaces, pendants, single earrings, a couple of rings and a
string of fake pearls. Many pieces were broken, stones were missing out of clasps; nothing appeared to be of any great value.

Anna examined the hoard using plastic lab tweezers to look more closely at each item.

‘I’ve had individual photographs taken back and front where necessary,’ Pete told her. ‘I’d say the thing of any value is the bracelet, which is hallmarked gold.
This is the one item you can concentrate on first because . . .’

Pete, wearing gloves, picked up the gold bracelet. The clasp was broken and missing some stones, and a safety chain held the two bands together. He took a magnifying glass and Anna moved
closer.

‘It’s engraved,’ he said. ‘Angela 1999 from Mum and Dad.’

Anna sighed; she knew what she was looking at – days, weeks of backtracking through unsolved case files, missing persons, burglary and robbery and lost property reports in an effort to
identify all the items. She and Pete couldn’t help coming to the same conclusion: these items could be the sick tokens of a serial killer. That left Anna little choice but to return to the
station to speak to Mike.

Mike closed his eyes at the news.

‘Jesus Christ, if there are more murdered women out there our cases could spiral out of control.’

‘Well, we can’t be sure until we identify the jewellery, and that won’t be until the photographs and details are sent over in the morning. So I don’t know about you, but
I need to go home, get ready for the shit to start hitting the fan tomorrow.’

Anna had just started up her Mini when Mike tapped on the window to say that Dr Samuels had just rung the office to let them know that he had nearly finished going over the
Oates file and would come to the station in a day or so to advise them on the best way forward with the interviews. Just at that moment Anna’s mobile rang: ‘Does he know about Samuels
yet?’ demanded Mike. Anna shook her head as she answered the phone.

‘You avoiding me?’

‘No, it’s been quite an eventful day.’

‘I’ll be waiting to hear the details, so get over to me as soon as you can.’

‘I’m really tired.’

‘So am I, tired of not being kept up to speed, all right?’

‘Okay, I’ll come straight over.’

‘Good. Have you eaten?’

‘No.’

‘I’ll fix us something. Bye.’

At least he hadn’t asked her to schlep over groceries, and she was certain he’d order a pizza delivery. In some ways it was better for her to share that afternoon’s depressing
discovery with Langton, rather than go home alone, and more than likely order a takeaway Chinese.

L
angton had set the table in the living room, even if the cutlery did look as if he had half-heartedly thrown it onto the cloth. Napkins, wine
glasses and an open bottle of Merlot had been dumped alongside HP and tomato sauce.

The main front door had been buzzed open, and the flat door had stood ajar for her to walk in.

‘Get a glass of wine, won’t be a minute.’

She was surprised that his voice came from the kitchen.

‘Anything I can do?’

‘Nope, I’ll tell you when I need you.’

Anna poured two glasses and arranged the cutlery and napkins into place settings, turning as Langton appeared. He looked remarkably well, shaved and wearing a grey loose tracksuit; he smiled,
and lifted his walking cane.

‘Plaster’s off, but the worst part, and I’ve never felt such agony, was bending the leg. Bloody hell, Travis, it was excruciating, but hardly a twinge now.’

‘That’s marvellous.’

‘Stuff ’s on a tray if you could just carry it in.’

He walked a trifle unsteadily, but considering how he had been when she last saw him it was obvious he was well on the road to recovery.

‘Stairs are still hazardous but I’m doing exercise gradually.’

He eased into one of the hard-backed chairs at the table. Anna found the kitchen is some semblance of order, and a tray with a Pyrex dish of shepherd’s pie and a bowl of vegetables.

‘Don’t tell me you cooked this?’

‘I’d be lying if I did. I’ve got a freezer full of easy meals, but I have to watch it as I’ve put on weight.’

She put the tray on the table, and returned to the kitchen to collect plates and serving spoons. By the time she had filled first his plate and then her own he was already wading through his
portion, eating with his usual haste.