Clean Cut (6 page)

Anna carried the little girl into the children’s room, and sat her down on a small child’s armchair.

‘Do you know where your mummy is?’ she tried again.

No reply. Anna sighed; the child was totally mute, staring at her with wide, terrified eyes.

Brandon stood in the doorway. She looked at him.

‘Listen, should I change her, put her in dry clothes? She’s soaking wet and she stinks.’

‘I wouldn’t–it’s up to you.’

‘Can I get you some nice dry clothes?’

The child shrank back from her.

It was then they heard a jeep driving up, an old Shogun that sounded as if the exhaust had fallen off. By the time Brandon had reached the front door, a woman had jumped out of the Shogun and was running towards the bungalow, screaming.

‘What’s going on? What the hell is going on?’

She was tall and skinny, wearing jeans and Wellington boots, with a man’s jacket tied round her waist over a stained T-shirt.

Brandon blocked her at the front door. ‘Gail Sickert? I am Detective Inspector Brandon.’

‘What the fuck has happened?’ She tried to push past him, shouting out, ‘Tina! Tina!’

‘Just calm down, love. Is this your little girl?’

‘What’s happened? Let me in–get out the fucking way!’

Brandon blocked the door. ‘Your kid’s fine. Just stay calm. We need to talk to you.’

Anna carried out the little girl.

Gail was allowed to go to her. She held out her arms and hugged her tightly. ‘Fucking coppers, you broke me door. What’s this about?’

Brandon cleared the officers out and told them to wait in the patrol cars.

By now, Gail had changed Tina, and her other daughter, Sharon, had been brought out of the Shogun. Sharon was seven years old, a thin waif-like child with lank blonde hair and red-rimmed eyes.

‘I only went to get her from school and take my Keith round to his mate’s house to play. I weren’t gone for longer than twenty minutes, for God’s sake. You’re not
going to report this to the bloody social services, are you?’

Anna asked Brandon to give her some space as Gail was in such a state, rocking the still-silent Tina in her arms and keeping Sharon close to her.

‘Gail, I’m really sorry we’ve frightened you.’

‘You just bloody broke in here–you got no right to do that, she’s terrified. You got no right to break into the place.’

‘Gail, we do have every right. We’re looking for your brother.’

‘He’s not fucking here. I wouldn’t let him cross the bloody doorstep, he’s a lunatic. I’m gonna make an official complaint about this.’

‘Your brother is wanted in connection with a murder.’

‘That’s got nothing to do with me. You lot have had him in the nick more times than I’ve had hot fucking dinners and you just let him out; he’s sick, sick in his head. I’ve not seen him for years and if he did come here, my bloke’d take a shotgun to him.’

Gail started to sob. This upset the little girl, Tina, and she began to cry. This started Sharon off and she clung to her mother, crying too.

Anna put the kettle on. It was greasy to touch and the sink was full of filthy dishes. The kitchen was disgusting.

‘Where is your husband?’ she asked.

Gail sniffed and wiped her face with the back of her hand. ‘He left just after I moved in here; bastard just pissed off.’

‘That would be Mr Summers?’

‘Yeah. I changed me name to Sickert, as I’m livin’ with someone else now.’

‘And where is he?’

‘He had to collect some pig food, went off early this morning. I have never left my kid on her own before, but I had to pick this one up.’

Anna emptied a cold teapot full of tea bags into the overflowing trash.

Brandon and the other officers did a thorough search of the property, but there was no sign of Murphy. The patrol cars left and Brandon came to the back door, but got a warning look from Anna to stay out. By now, she had made a cup of tea for Gail and warmed a bottle to give Tina some milk.

‘She’s deaf,’ Gail said, rocking her.

Sharon was sitting eating biscuits, banging her heels against the side of a high stool. Anna sat opposite Gail, drinking from a nasty chipped mug.

‘We need to find your brother,’ she said softly.

‘Well, I dunno where he is, and I don’t want to know; if I did know I would tell you, and you have to believe me. I think they should have locked him away for life–meaning life–after what he done to those poor women, and now you say he’s done it again.’ Gail took a deep breath. ‘Molested me when I was at home with me mum–I think he’d have raped his own granny if he could. Few drinks and he was a brute. I hated him; my mum didn’t know how to handle him, now he’s killed some poor woman and it’s me you come to looking for him. I dunno what’s wrong with you lot. I’d like to kill him myself.’

Anna listened and kept her voice calm and steady. ‘We’ll get both your doors repaired today, Gail.’

‘So you bleedin’ should. My man’s gonna go apeshit when he comes back. You’d best make yourself scarce.

‘Is there anywhere you think your brother would go to, to stay with someone who would be prepared to protect him?’

‘I wouldn’t know. I’ve not seen him for Christ knows how long.’

‘No one you can think of?’

‘No. Like I said, I’ve not been in contact with him since…’ She frowned, then put her mug of tea down and went over to an untidy sideboard. She opened one drawer after another, then took out a small photograph.

‘The last time he was released, Arthur come by and he was with this horrible bloke, stank of booze; they wanted money and my husband kicked them out. He warned Arthur that if he ever came back, he’d beat the hell out of him. For all his bravado and macho thing with women, he’s a wimp, but he had this guy with him and my kid Keith had this little throwaway camera…I don’t remember the other one’s name even, just that they’d met in prison; he and Arthur were bragging about stuff, and I made Sharon go up an’ stay in her room.’ She passed the photograph to Anna. ‘I remember him gloating about how he’d been living free of police supervision because of some legal loophole; he said something about the register. He and Arthur had had a fair amount to drink. That was when my husband had listened to enough and threw them out.’

Anna looked at the photograph. ‘And this was how many years ago?’

‘Two–no, longer. I dunno. I didn’t even have Tina then, so it’s a while back.’

‘So it wouldn’t have been here at the bungalow?’

‘No, me other place.’

‘Has he been here?’

Gail turned away and wiped her nose with her sleeve. ‘No, thank God.’

‘And this man with your brother, you don’t recall his name?’

‘No. Had a Newcastle accent though.’

Anna spent a while longer with Gail before she felt she was able to leave.

Brandon, sitting in the car, was impatient. He glared at her as she sat beside him. ‘I hope you bloody got something. I know I did–fleas! What a shithole. She should be reported to the social services for leaving that little kid on her own.’

Anna said nothing as he started up the engine and they drove out; just as they turned into the road, an open lorry piled high with pig food turned into the drive.

Back at the station they used computer imagery to identify the man in the photograph as Vernon Kramer. 1976: he had convictions for dishonesty and served twelve months. 1980: convicted of bodily harm and theft; received a six-month sentence. 1984: acquitted of three rapes. 1986: sentenced to six years for the rape and indecent assault of two fourteen-year-old girls. He was released early in 1990, after serving just three years. Eight months later, Kramer was sentenced to five years for the false imprisonment of a thirteen-year-old girl he abducted at knifepoint. This sentence coincided with Murphy’s conviction; the two men then served time in the same prison.

Anna sighed and turned to Brandon. ‘He was released yet again in January 1997. This is maybe what Gail meant–he gloated about being out too early to be listed on the sex offenders’ register.’

‘Yeah, him and thousands of others, because their crimes took place before the register was created. It was, believe it or not, feared they would claim their inclusion was a breach of bloody human rights! Makes me want to throw up.’

Anna nodded in agreement, then she turned over a page and looked to Brandon.

‘Last known address…you are not going to believe this, but it’s in Brixton–and not far from where our victim was living.’

Brandon approached and leaned over the back of her chair; he’d refreshed his cologne and she had to take a deep breath.

‘Let’s check it out,’ he said. ‘If he’s harbouring Murphy, we need to get in there–and fast.’

Not wanting to tip off Kramer, they used the old ‘voting register’ scam. Anna had agreed to act as a decoy; she would simply knock on the door of the hostel to ask whoever answered if they had the correct names listed for the voting register. The hostel was in a very rundown area of Brixton, and contained eight bedsits. The man who opened the front door was black, very muscular, and naked, down to a pair of boxer shorts; he also seemed stoned out of his head. He had a wide, gap-toothed smile, with two gold teeth beside the gap. He looked her up and down, then slammed the door shut, having told her to fuck off! Anna gasped–he had towered above her and smelt heavily of body odour. She reported back to the team. As the house was already staked out, they decided Anna could return to base and they would wait.

As luck would have it, before she even left, the front door opened again and Kramer walked out. Anna
remained in the unmarked patrol car. He was tailed to an off-licence, where he bought twelve cans of beer and a bottle of vodka. He then walked to a fish and chip shop and was seen to buy two portions of fish and chips.

Totally unaware he was being tailed, Kramer walked casually back to the house. He stopped at one point to light a fresh cigarette from the stub in his mouth, tossing it aside. He then continued to the front door and fumbled with the keys. Just as he was letting himself in, Brandon and two back-up officers moved in. Kramer didn’t put up any kind of resistance. He admitted that Murphy was in his flat, and said he was scared to kick him out. He was searched, handcuffed and taken to Anna’s patrol car; he sat sullenly in the back, leaning his head against the window as they drove back to the station.

Kramer lived in bedsit 4B. Brandon, accompanied by the two uniformed officers, entered the house and knocked on the door. There was a pause, then it was unlocked.

‘Did you remember to get them to put vinegar on mine?’ said a voice.

Brandon shouldered his way in. There was a brief moment when Murphy thought of attempting to fight his way past, but he gave up fast.

Anna would have liked to have been in on the interrogation, but no way: this was Brandon and Sheldon’s territory. As Murphy was intoxicated when he was brought in, they delayed questioning him until first thing the following morning. No one had mentioned the fact that it was Anna who had patiently questioned his sister and come up with the photograph that led them to
capture him. She remained at the station until nine, writing up her report, before leaving for home. She was too tired to go and visit Langton, so called Glebe House to say she was working late. She spoke to the night nurse and was told that Langton had had a good day’s physio and was watching a movie. Anna asked for him not to be interrupted, but to pass on the message that she would see him the following evening.

She felt guilty about being so relieved to get an early night. Tomorrow would be the interrogation, then Murphy would be taken to the magistrates. There was, she knew, no possibility of bail. She calculated that a trial date would be set quite quickly, then it would be down to preparation for the trial. That would be the end of the case.

Anna was back at the station by eight-fifteen the next day; Murphy was to be brought up from the holding cell at nine for the interrogation. By nine-fifteen, she was sitting alone in the small observation room adjacent to the interview room. Murphy had still not been brought up, as they were waiting for his solicitor to finish talking to him. It was just after ten when they took up their seats and she saw Murphy for the first time.

Murphy, wearing a white paper suit, was sullen-faced. He had cropped hair, big flat ears and a large nose. His thin mouth was drawn downwards, almost clownishly, at the sides. His eyes were dark and blank, giving hardly any expression at all. He sat with his hands cupped in front of him, big gnarled hands with dirty fingernails. Anna felt disgusted by the look of him, by his insolence and by the lack of any kind of remorse when shown the photographs of his victim.

He leaned forwards and then rested back. ‘Yeah, that’s her.’

It was chilling to hear him explain how he had seen Irene Phelps on a number of occasions walking back towards her flat. He said, without any emotion, how on that particular day he had followed her to her door and simply pushed her inside. At one point, when Brandon was discussing the DNA results from his attack, he had shrugged.

‘You know, you people think rape is about sex. Of course, sex comes into it, but you know what it’s really about? Power.’ Murphy’s thin clown mouth drew down in a sickening smirk. ‘I had power over her. Sex is just an extension of that power. Afterwards, I was real hungry, so I made up a sandwich: tomatoes, lettuce, and there was some ham. It tasted good.’

Anna clenched her fists; it was so hard to believe what this man had done and, moreover, how he could sit there talking about making a ham sandwich with the blood of his victim still on his hideous hands.

‘I can’t help it.’ He gestured wide, then continued. ‘I got this determination, you see, deep down inside me, and it’s really deepset, you know what I mean? And my problem has always been that I have to satisfy that anger. What did you say her name was?’

Brandon’s face was taut. ‘Irene Phelps.’

‘Right, Irene; well, she was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. I suppose it was lucky her daughter wasn’t home, because I’d thought about doing her.’

Anna walked out of the room. She couldn’t stand to watch another second’s gloating from that sickening man, who’d murdered a decent young woman and probably traumatized her twelve-year-old daughter for the
rest of her life. Murphy’s psychiatric reports from the time he had been in prison evaluated him as being very dangerous; the fact that he was released made it chilling to even contemplate the total ineptness of the probation departments. It exposed the terrifying weaknesses at the heart of the criminal justice system.