Lynda La Plante
Crucified
To my dearest, talented and beloved friends, Amy Zerner and Monte Farber. Their ENCHANTED WORLD spills over to everyone fortunate to know them.
Prologue
Week after week, eventually turning into months, Detective Sergeant Jack Warr had been recalled to the stand and subjected to the Defence’s onslaught. They queried everything, questioning him until he was exhausted, but their main focus was the fact that the bodies of the four murder victims had not been found, despite the wealth of forensic evidence linking them to the basement. Jack was forced to describe the discovery of the horrific scene time and time again.
‘You have stated that you pursued Rodney Middleton even after he was arrested for a lesser crime, which he freely admitted to. He had handed over the weapon he used in the assault on the owner of a shop he frequented. Is that correct?’
‘Yes,’ Jack replied.
‘So, even though he pleaded guilty to the assault charge and handed over the weapon, you still requested a search warrant for his premises. On what basis?’
‘My evidence has been submitted, it’s in front of you, and the judge agreed that I had reasonable grounds. My intuition told me...’
‘So, on the basis of your intuition,’ the Defence interrupted in a disparaging tone, ‘you obtained a search warrant. But it would have been days later when the search was carried out. So, all this time his basement apartment would have been vacant?’
‘His girlfriend was still living there and she gave us entry.’
‘The reality is, there could have been other people present or moving in and out of the basement property, couldn’t there?’
Jack was getting sick of being treated like an inexperienced rookie.
‘I can see where you’re going with this, but what I discovered inside that basement couldn’t have been recently deposited. Four young girls were butchered and decapitated over a lengthy period of time, leaving extensive forensic evidence: blood, hair, clothes, skin, nails...’
At this point the Defence attempted to interrupt but Jack refused to be silenced. Gripping the wooden edge of the dock, his voice strained and hoarse, he didn’t pause for breath.
‘He had cut them into pieces in the coal bunker. When luminol was used to detect if blood was present, the whole area, floor to ceiling, lit up. It was literally a blood bath.’
Jack was eventually released from the witness box, walking past the glass partition surrounding the dock where Rodney Middleton was smiling and raising his handcuffed wrists as if applauding. The hideous gloating expression never left his face as the judge called for a short adjournment.
Thirty minutes later, with the court back in session, the bereaved families were finally allowed to read out their impact statements. Middleton laughed, jeered and pulled clown faces, mocking their endless pain, until the judge was forced to intervene.
‘Your antics will not save you from hearing their words, Mr Middleton. The families want you to understand how your actions have impacted them. Whether you care or not.’
Jack found the time immediately after each court session just as emotionally draining. Other families constantly approached him outside the courthouse, weeping and pressing photographs of their dead daughters to his chest, begging him to find out if they were also victims of Rodney Middleton’s heinous crimes. Jack’s team had found further blood stains, not linked to the four young girls they knew had died in that basement. There were definitely more victims, but so far the police had no idea who they were.
When the guilty verdict was delivered and Rodney Middleton given a life sentence, for Jack it felt almost meaningless. Against legal advice, and despite being refused the first time of asking, Jack persisted in his request for a ten-minute face-to-face meeting with Middleton in his cell before he was taken to prison. Jack argued that this was his best chance to gain more information about the as yet unidentified victims.
He was given five minutes. Jack was taken down to the holding cells, accompanied by an officer who agreed to remain outside the closed but unlocked cell door. As Jack waited for Middleton to turn and face him, his right hand slipped into his pocket and felt for the tough leather shoelace — he knew he’d have to act fast.
Middleton looked surprised to see him. Before he could speak, Jack said, ‘I know you can give us the identity of more victims, Rodney. Let me give some peace to their families.’
Middleton smiled. ‘You have no idea how much pleasure I get from being the only one who knows where they are and how they died. So you, Jack, can go fuck yourself.’
Jack didn’t react. It was nothing more than he’d expected. Then he stepped quickly up to the bench where Middleton was sitting. In the blink of an eye, Jack had the leather shoelace round Middle-ton’s neck, pulling it tighter with all his strength. Middleton tried to scream but no air could escape Jack’s garrotte. He clawed at the shoelace as Jack dragged him across to the stainless steel toilet in the corner of the cell, forcing his head down into the bowl.
Middleton’s bulbous red, oxygen-deprived eyes were now full of fear. It was Jack’s turn to smile. ‘I will find those girls; I don’t need you.’ This was the moment Jack should have let go. But he was enjoying the fear in Middleton’s eyes too much and he knew that another twenty seconds would be enough to kill him. Middleton squeezed his fingers under the garrotte, took in a lungful of air and screamed. Jack whipped the shoelace from round Middleton’s neck and deftly slipped it back into his pocket before yanking the cell door open.
As two officers rushed into the cell, he said, ‘Mad bastard tried to scratch his own throat out.’
‘He tried to kill me!’ Middleton screamed.
Jack shrugged. ‘If I had... you’d be dead.’ He exchanged a wordless look with the two officers, trusting that whatever they suspected had really happened would not be reported.
As he walked out into the corridor, Jack knew that if he ever got another chance he wouldn’t be able to hold back. He would kill Rodney Middleton.
Chapter 1
Having been told Doctor Kenneth Hargreaves was running late for their appointment, Jack sat patiently in the Harley Street waiting room not knowing what to expect. It was his first visit to the clinic.
It was nearly 9.30 a.m. when the door opened and the receptionist informed him that Doctor Hargreaves had arrived. Hargreaves had actually arrived ten minutes earlier and had quickly scan-read the initial consultation report. Normally he would have studied a patient’s file thoroughly, made notes and carefully considered his approach before meeting them, but today he just hadn’t had time.
Jack entered Hargreaves’ office and the doctor stood up, offering his hand.
‘I apologise for keeping you waiting, Mr Warr. My train was cancelled. Please take a seat.’ He pointed to a comfortable-looking chair in front of his desk.
Jack glanced around the bland, almost featureless room. Hargreaves flipped open his leather notebook and removed a slim silver biro from the grip, which he placed to one side. Jack settled into the chair as requested.
‘It was my wife’s idea to have a private consultation. She spoke very highly of you.’
Hargreaves hesitated while trying to recall the phone call with Doctor Warr. ‘Ah yes, I have an NHS practice at the hospital where she works two mornings a week. She’s on maternity leave now, I believe.’ Hargreaves knew that Jack had walked out on two previous sessions with NHS therapists. ‘But I believe you were not enthusiastic about coming to see me.’
‘Correct.’
‘Are you happy to talk to me today?’