Clean Cut (5 page)

Sheldon turned to face her. ‘Very good observation.’

‘Well, it’s all rather obvious. I also think he will have a record of violence and mental instability; he may not have killed before but he will, I am sure, have done this before.’

‘Done what exactly?’

‘Attacked. The sex we know took place after the victim was dead, or in the throes of dying. Nothing looked premeditated, apart from the entry to the victim’s flat, so there is a possibility that she knew him or had met him before. I don’t mean she knew him well, but she
may have seen him before, which again makes me think he lives close by. He could have been watching her, seen her arrive home and then moved to force her into allowing him to enter. As we know, the timeframe is short between Irene leaving work and her daughter discovering the body, so it must have all happened in less than an hour.’

‘What about the sandwich he made for himself?’

Anna shrugged. ‘He was hungry.’

At the briefing, Sheldon repeated almost word for word what Anna had said. She listened, taken aback; the way Sheldon talked, it was as if he had come up with the possible scenario. By now, they also had the forensic report: the killer had left fibres, two hairs and fingerprints in the kitchen, hall and the study where he had killed Irene Phelps.

By four-fifteen, they had a suspect who had a police record for assaults on women. Arthur George Murphy was forty-seven years old and had served fewer than thirteen years of a life sentence for a violent sex attack. In other words, he was on parole! Murphy also had a record of attacks on strangers dating back more than thirty years. This convicted sex attacker, whilst on parole and supposedly under supervision, had been free to kill Irene Phelps.

As the search went out for Murphy, more details of his past came in. The reports were astonishing. Despite his appalling history, Murphy had been considered a low risk, when he was clearly a serious danger to the public. Even a brief check of his file would have been enough to convince anyone that Murphy should not have been walking the streets. His criminal record stretched back to
1975, when he was first convicted for terrorizing women. In 1990, he had been handed a nine-year term for rape. He served six years, the Old Bailey heard how Murphy turned into a snarling animal when he spied his victims. This was when he was sentenced to life; his crime had been a knifepoint rape.

Within hours, the team had been given an address for Murphy, two streets away from Irene Phelps. There was a huge amount of press and TV coverage, warning the public that they should not approach Murphy but contact the police if he was seen. In the hostel that he had been allocated by the probation services, they found Murphy’s possessions: bloodstained clothes, a pair of trainers that had blood on the soles and over the laces, stacks of pornography and a few items of no significant value that had belonged to Irene Phelps. There were also all his social services records and probation contacts, and twenty-two pounds in cash stuffed into an envelope. But there was no sign of Murphy himself; no one at the hostel had seen him for two days.

Sheldon was in a fury as the details came in. He was standing behind his desk, shaking his head. The fact that nobody from the probation service or the community management of offenders had reported the disappearance of Murphy to the police was disgusting. His face had gone puce with anger.

‘It’s fucking unbelievable; this bastard is released halfway through a life sentence for rape and manages to just walk out of his hostel to kill another woman without anyone knowing what was going on! The probation services just bleated on about lack of funds and serious staff shortages, especially here in London; well, that doesn’t help us, that doesn’t help us one fucking iota,
because that son of a bitch is out there and we know he’s going to do it again!’

Anna let Sheldon wind down, not that she disagreed with a word he was saying; the entire system was a farce. It was obvious there were serious deficiencies in the way Murphy had been managed.

‘I was just wondering, sir, if we have any details on Murphy’s parents, or any relatives? We know he left the hostel in a hurry, and with money left behind, so he has to be on the run somewhere. Maybe someone is hiding or protecting him.’

‘What kind of person hides this animal? And don’t give me mother love; if she is hiding him, then she’s as bad as he is.’

‘So do we have anything on his parents?’

‘Some bitch spawned him, yeah.’ He checked through a file. ‘Father dead eight years ago. Mother is named as Beryl Dunn–God only knows where she is. Brother also dead, but younger sister, Gail Dunn, living at an undisclosed address. We can check her out, but I want you to get onto his probation department and get them to give us as many details as they can.’

Murphy’s probation officer, one of a team allocated to him and numerous others, was surprisingly young. She was slim and neat with large rimless glasses, and very much on the defensive.

‘You know we have two hundred thousand offenders under supervision at any one time.’

‘But not in the specific area.’ Anna tried not to sound angry.

‘No, of course not, but we do have over a hundred. What I was going to say was that, out of that two hundred thousand, we know that only about a hundred
will commit a further serious offence. That is a fraction of one per cent.’

Anna gritted her teeth. ‘I am here about one specific offender, Arthur George Murphy.’

‘Yes, yes, I know that, but I am trying to explain to you: we get so much pressure–blame, in reality–when we do not have the resources to monitor offenders, even those that we have been told are high or very high risk.’

Anna took a deep breath. ‘That is irrelevant. The fact is Arthur Murphy was able to walk out of his hostel and kill a poor defenceless woman. I am not here to listen to the problems within the probation services; it sounds very sobering and appalling and for you, obviously, deeply distressing. I need from you any possible friend, relative, any previous known contact of his that he might have been able to get to, anyone who could be protecting him.’

‘I am not allowed to divulge personal details.’

That was it. Anna jumped up and banged on the woman’s desk with the flat of her hand. ‘Irene Phelps was raped and sodomized, her throat cut, her body slashed, and she was found by her twelve-year-old daughter. Now, that child will live for the rest of her life with that nightmarish image of her mother. We need to bring this man in and charge him; we need to put him away and this time, for life, so if you have anything, and I mean
anything
, that might help us trace him, then would you please assist me to the best of your ability and not make excuses for the total failure of your department!’

Anna slammed the door of her Mini so hard the car rocked. She could not believe the amount of time it had taken to get three possible contacts that their killer might
or might not have approached. His sister, Gail Dunn, had requested anonymity after her brother’s last rape and prison sentence: she had moved away from London in the hope of losing all contact with him. The other two names were recently released prisoners who had spent time with Murphy. Both these men were installed in different hostels in London, one tagged, so they should not be too difficult to track down.

Anna reported back to the incident room. Blunt took the job of tracking down the two ex-prisoners; she and Brandon were to visit Murphy’s sister. To be cooped up with Brandon and his cologne for a long drive to the New Forest was not a prospect Anna relished. She would have preferred to do it alone.

When she had suggested this, Sheldon had one of his nasty turns, pointing his finger at her. ‘This man is dangerous. No way would I allow you to visit his sister alone; neither of you can take the risk if he’s hiding out there, and it’s a possibility. So, I’ve already contacted local police for back-up; you touch base with them as soon as you arrive and they’ll be standing by. You are not working with risk-taker Langton now, Detective Inspector Travis–I look out for my team. Now get on out there!’

Anna made no reply. He’d made her feel two inches tall, and she was beginning to loathe him, but at the same time she knew he was right. Murphy could be anywhere, and he was dangerous.

Gail Dunn, Arthur Murphy’s sister, had been traced to the New Forest. She had been using the surname Summers when she first moved, but now called herself Sickert. Gail was living in a rented bungalow with numerous outhouses used as a small market garden
business and piggery. Judging by the state of the entire premises, it was none too successful. The gate hung off its hinges and there were deep puddles and potholes in the drive leading to the bungalow. Numerous wrecked cars littered the land, rusting and tyreless. Kids’ bicycles and toys were left in profusion on a balding patch of lawn.

Brandon sniffed and pulled a face. ‘Jesus Christ, what is that stench?’

‘Pigs. There’s some pens out the back.’

Brandon looked around uneasily. ‘You know, the Gov was right. I don’t like the look of this place. I’ll call in for the back-up. If Murphy’s hiding out in any of those outbuildings, he can just do a runner.’

‘Maybe we should have just tipped them off to search and not waste time.’ Anna followed his gaze. The place looked awash with mud. ‘Or don’t you want to get your shoes muddy?’

Brandon glared at her; he was not amused, but walked away from the front door to make a call. He gestured for her to go ahead and ring the doorbell. Anna pressed the bell, but it made no sound; she pressed again.

Brandon joined her. ‘We got two cars on their way; not answering the door, huh?’

‘Bell’s not working.’ Anna rapped with her knuckles on the door.

Brandon walked to a window and cupped his hands to peer inside, then rejoined Anna at the front door.

‘I don’t like this; let’s wait for back-up to get here.’

Anna nodded, then checked her watch. ‘Unless she’s gone to pick up her kids from school…Do we know if she’s living with anyone? Changes her name often enough.’

‘They didn’t have any details.’ Brandon walked over to look at the greenhouses and huts behind the bungalow then rejoined Anna. ‘Bloody good place to hide out though, isn’t it? Christ, this stench is disgusting. How can she live here with kids?’

She nodded; the place did have a desolate feel. Like Brandon, she now started to look through the windows.

‘Let’s go round the back,’ she suggested.

Brandon shook his head. ‘Nope, we wait.’

‘No dog.’

‘What?’

‘I said, there’s no dog. Usually in a place like this, they have some scraggy dog loose, or chained up. It’s the silence that’s freaky.’

‘Yeah,’ he sighed. ‘Okay–I’ll take a look round the back, you stay out front. They should be here any minute.’

Anna nodded, and couldn’t help but smile as she saw Brandon roll up the bottom of his trousers to head down the muddy pathway. He was only just out of sight when Anna heard a soft mewing sound; at first, she thought it could be a cat, but listening harder, she was sure it was a child.

At the same time, two patrol cars headed into the drive. Anna hurried across and gestured for one car to head round the back to join Brandon and the second to come with her to the front door.

‘There’s been no answer at the front door, but someone’s inside. I think you need to give a big loud bang on the door and make yourselves obvious. If still no one opens up, break it down.’

Brandon was relieved to be accompanied by one officer; the other began sloshing through the mud
towards the outhouses. Closer, the stench of the pigs made him feel sick. He heard the loud banging at the front door just as he reached the back one.

‘Police! Open the door! Police!’

Brandon tried the back door; it too was locked. He stepped back, put his shoulder against it and gave a strong push, then another, but it took both him and the officer with him to burst it open.

At the same time, Anna, with her two officers, had broken down the front door and entered the hallway.

‘Police! Come out and show yourself! Police!’

A terrified little girl wearing a pair of pyjamas toddled out of the back bedroom. Anna bent down and opened her arms.

‘It’s okay, little one. Come here–come on, come to me.’

The child seemed rooted to the spot, so Anna had to walk very slowly towards her. She turned to the officers and quietly told them to search the front room where she thought she had seen the curtain move.

Anna bent down to be on the child’s level. ‘Where’s your mummy?’

She began to cry.

‘What’s your name? I’m not going to hurt you. Why don’t you just come to me and tell me your name?’

The child started to scream as the officers came out from the front room. ‘No one in there.’

Meanwhile, Brandon was looking around the kitchen; piled with dirty dishes and used pans, it looked as if a meal had been prepared and left on the table. He walked into the hall.

‘Nobody’s in the kitchen, but someone left in a hurry.’

Anna had by now calmed the little girl, and was carrying her in her arms. ‘I don’t know if she can talk, but she’s soaking wet, and we’ve no one in the front room.’

Brandon nodded and then opened a bedroom door: dirty sheets and three unmade beds, plus a child’s cot. Toys strewn everywhere.

‘Empty; let’s try this one.’

This was the only room they had not yet looked into. He eased the door open very quietly and then hung back, before he slowly pushed it wide open.

This was the main bedroom: a double bed, again with unmade sheets and very untidy, but no occupant.

‘Where’s your mummy?’ Anna again asked the little girl who was now silent; she smelled strongly of urine and possibly more. ‘Is your mummy outside?’

It was at this point that the officer who had been looking around the outhouses and huts appeared at the back door.

‘Nobody out there, but we’d need more men to have a thorough search. Place is really run down; there’s some hens in a pen and pigs and a goat, but nothing else moving.’

Brandon shrugged. ‘What do you make of this?’