The Mersey Ferry Murders

2. Tuesday

CHAPTER 2

TUESDAY

Adrian Hill had enjoyed a good day at work. As a repair engineer for Bolton and Son, a local firm in Birkenhead that supplied a full range of household appliances, washing machines, tumble driers, fridge-freezers and so on, he enjoyed getting out and about and dealing with customers needing repairs or service to their appliances. Adrian had held his current job for almost ten years and was popular with his workmates and customers alike. Polite and affable, it could probably be said that Adrian Hill didn’t have an enemy in the world.

He enjoyed the daily commute across the Mersey, using the ferry in preference to driving through the rush hour traffic. Adrian and Pam, his wife of fifteen years had saved for years to buy a place of their own and now lived in a two-bedroomed flat in the City Quay Apartments complex on Ellerman Road. Pam had a good job as the manager of a privately owned ladies’ clothes shop in the city, so together they had a good income and life was good to them. At fifty-two years of age, Adrian hoped to be able to retire early, perhaps in five years or so, when a couple of his private pension plans could be cashed in, and he and Pam could spend some time enjoying retirement while they were still young enough to do some of the things they’d promised themselves over the years.

Adrian loved walking, jogging, hiking and enjoyed walking to and from the Mersey Ferries Terminal in the morning and evening. As far as he was concerned, he was fit, healthy and happy. He had a wife who looked great for her age, with whom he enjoyed a great s*x life and who shared his love for outdoor pursuits. As he alighted from the ferry that evening, he couldn’t wait to get home. He’d waited all day to tell her his news. Trevor Bolton the ‘son’ in the company name, had informed him that he was to be promoted to Service Manager, as Mr Crandell, the current holder of the title had announced his intention to retire, and the job was Adrian’s if he wanted it. The job came with a pay rise of course, and the extra money would be sure to help the family finances. He’d picked up a bottle of wine, chardonnay, Pam’s favourite, plus a bunch of flowers on his way home and he felt as if nothing could spoil the evening ahead.

Approaching the entrance to the apartment complex, his attention was taken by what appeared to be someone lying on the ground under a car in the car park. He recognised the vehicle as being the Land Rover Discovery owned by his neighbour, Phil Knott. Thinking his friend might need help, and being mechanically minded, Adrian immediately walked across to offer his assistance.

“Hello mate, do you need some help?” he asked. All he could see was the person’s legs jutting out from under the car. When he received no reply he asked again, “Phil, is that you? Are you alright under there?”

Adrian grew suddenly suspicious and, bending down and placing the wine and flowers on the ground, he tapped the person’s leg, but something felt wrong. He pulled on the leg and the next thing he knew, what appeared to be the bottom half of a mannequin came out as he pulled on it.

“What the hell? Is this some kind of a prank?” he asked nobody in particular.

At that moment, a figure quietly emerged from the other side of the Land Rover, dressed from head to foot in black, topped off by a black hoodie. Quickly making sure there was nobody in the close vicinity, the hooded figure ran round to the other side, where Adrian was still on his knees and before the man on the ground could react, brought a baseball bat down on the back of his head, rendering him instantly unconscious. Another look around, making sure the coast was clear, then the killer quickly pulled the man’s trousers and underpants down, and committed a vicious s*x act on the victim, using the wooden handle of an old, well-used screwdriver, finally flipping Adrian Hill over onto his back, pulled a seven inch blade from the pouch of the hoodie, and without wasting a second, thrust the blade forcefully into Adrian Hill’s chest, directly into the man’s heart, before wiping the blade clean on Hill’s trouser leg. After checking there was nobody around, the killer rose, stood for a second ensuring the coast was clear, and then quite calmly walked towards the road, not running, as that might draw unwanted attention.

The blood from the stab wound quickly formed a pool on the ground, enveloping the flowers he’d bought for Pam, and staining the label of the bottle of chardonnay a deep shade of red. As the heart ceased its rhythmic beating, the blood flow ceased, as Adrian Hill departed the land of the living. Meanwhile, on the back seat of the Land Rover, the unconscious form of Phil Knott groaned and began to stir.

The call to the Specialist Murder Investigation Team was received at eight pm that evening. That’s to say, the call reached Andy Ross at home, as the squad room wasn’t manned twenty-four hours a day. They’d tried that a couple of years previously, and so rare were the referrals to the squad during the night, the idea was abandoned, as they reverted to having an ‘on call’ officer on duty each night, with the authority to summon more team members if a call of an urgent nature was received.

Ross and his wife, Maria, a local GP, had just sat down to a later than usual evening meal, at their home in Prescot on the outskirts of the city, due to Maria being delayed after evening surgery, when the phone rang. The couple looked at each other, until Ross broke the silence.

“I’ll get it. It’s probably for me, anyway.”

Sure enough, it was the duty officer in the central control room.

“Sorry to disturb you, sir. It’s Sergeant Howarth here. Seems CID have been called to a murder scene on Ellerman Road.”

“So, why me, Dave?” Ross asked the sergeant, who he’d known for a good few years.

“You’re on call for your squad, I believe, sir?”

“That’s right. Like I said, Dave, why me?”

“Detective Chief Inspector Lewis from CID asked for your team, I’m afraid. They’ve had two virtually identical murders in twenty-four hours. No witnesses, no apparent motive, and neither victim has any prior record. Mr Lewis also mentioned that both victims are in their fifties, one male, one female, but signs of s****l assault in both cases.”

Ross had heard enough. s****l assault on both male and female victims was rare and was reason enough for DCI Lewis to have requested the attendance of the Specialist Murder Investigation Team.

“Contact DS Drake and have her meet me there, Dave,” Ross instructed, feeling as always a little guilty at pulling Izzie away from home and hearth at night.

“Will do, sir,” the Control Room Sergeant acknowledged.

As Ross hung up the phone, Maria was already behind him, holding his camel overcoat ready, one she’d bought him two Christmases ago. Ross quickly shrugged the coat on, placing his mobile phone in the right-hand pocket, and picking up his car keys from the key tray beside the phone.

“Sorry about this, darling,” he apologised but Maria just kissed him and smiled.

“If I’m not used to this sort of thing after all these years, I never will be. Now go, and stay safe.”

“I’ll call you when I’m on the way home.”

“Not if it’s after midnight, you won’t. Just creep in quietly, and do not try to warm your b****y cold feet on my legs, Andrew Ross, or I’ll kill you.”

Ross laughed. He always made Maria jump when he climbed into bed on a cold night, his icy feet instantly waking her.

“Okay, okay,” he promised.

With that, he was out the door and in his car in seconds and on his way to the new murder scene. His next case was about to get under way.

Upon his arrival at the crime scene, and after parking his Vauxhall Insignia well away from the bustling activity that identified the exact location of the murder, Ross couldn’t fail to notice the gleaming new Dacia Duster SUV belonging to Izzie Drake, complete with baby seat on the rear passenger seat. Izzie clearly hadn’t wasted any time getting there.

The scene was well lit with lights erected by the crime scene team, headed as usual by Senior Scenes of Crime Officer, Miles Booker, who Ross could see was engaged in conversation with Drake and another officer, who he assumed to be DCI Lewis. Also present was the senior pathologist and Medical Examiner William Nugent and his assistant, Francis Lees, busily flashing away with his camera.

Walking quickly across the car park to join them, Ross nodded to Drake and the others and approached the unknown plain-clothes officer.

“DCI Lewis, I presume?” he said, holding his hand out, which the other man took, and they shook as he confirmed his identity.

“That’s right, and you must be DI Ross?”

“Correct, sir. Good to meet you. Sad circumstances of course.”

“Indeed it is, Ross. I’ve met your sergeant here and given her a quick run-down of what we have so far.”

Having said that, to his credit, Lewis then gave Ross the details of what he’d found out so far, after which he called his sergeant to him and officially handed the case over to Ross’s squad.

“I presume you’d like to keep the uniforms on site until you’re done here?” he asked, and Ross acknowledged his help in leaving the six constables who were in attendance, to ensure security of the crime scene and carry out any other tasks Ross deemed necessary.

“I’ve already had two of them doing a door to door, around the apartments. As always, nobody admits to seeing or hearing anything.”

“Typical,” Ross replied. “Okay sir, just one thing. I was told this was the second similar killing in the last twenty-four hours, with s****l connotations to both crimes?”

“Yes, and that’s the strange thing about these murders,” Lewis replied with a look of consternation on his face. “Yesterday evening, fifty-five-year-old Wanda Burnside, an attractive divorcee, was murdered in Wavertree. Seems to be the same MO with what Doctor Nugent has already confirmed to be s****l penetration of both victims. That’s why I called your team in. r**e and associated murder aren’t uncommon as we know, but such killers usually stick to one gender of victim. This bozo’s made a real mess of this poor chap’s rear end as I’m sure Doctor Nugent will point out to you and Sergeant Drake.”

“Right,” said Ross, grimacing at the mental image Lewis’s words conjured up. “And the murder weapon?”

“Seems to be the same in both cases. The victim was apparently rendered unconscious first by some form of blunt force trauma to the head, then they were sexually assaulted, and dispatched with a stab wound to the heart. They both bled to death, quickly.”

Ross pulled a face at the thought of two such brutal murders. Despite his job, he always felt a sense of revulsion at the innate cruelty of some killers, who could display such depravity in their methods of disposing of their victims.

“I’ll have a copy of the report on Mrs Burnside’s murder on your desk by the morning, plus what we’ve already discovered here, which isn’t much as I called you in as soon as I recognised the similarity in the cases.”

Ross pointed out a male figure sitting on the steps of the waiting ambulance, being attended to by a paramedic.

“Who’s the patient?”

“The owner of the Range Rover, name’s Phillip Knott. He’s a bit groggy but far as I can make out, he was decoyed out to his car by a phone call to tell him there were a couple of scallys trying to break into his car. He never thought to ask who was calling, just ran down to the car park and as soon as he reached his car, someone whacked him over the head, bundled him into the car, and he was just coming round on the back seat when we arrived.”

“That’s interesting,” Ross mused, “It shows our killer had this all planned and well thought through. How, for example, did he know who the neighbour was? How did he get his phone number? How did he know the man was known to the victim and that Mr Hill would immediately play the Good Samaritan? That business with the mannequin was damned clever,” as Lewis explained the significance of the half mannequin which still lay where Hill had begun to pull it out from beneath the vehicle. “I think we’re up against a very clever killer.”

“Let’s just say I’m glad it’s your problem now, not mine,” said Lewis, his voice tinged with relief.

Lewis and his DS, Sergeant Wallace, took their leave of the scene and Ross and Drake made their way to the crime scene. As they approached the activity taking place, they spoke briefly.

“Sorry to call you out at night,” Ross apologised.

“Don’t be daft,” Izzie replied. “It’s the job, isn’t it?”

“You and Peter weren’t doing anything special, then?”

“Sort of, yeah, but I didn’t mind having an excuse to leave him bathing Alice and putting her to bed,” she said with a wide grin.

“Right, ok, I think I get it,” Ross smiled in return. “Had enough of the joys of motherhood already, have you?”

“Not at all, but babies can sometimes be more demanding than Detective Inspectors, especially at bath time, and it’s good to have an excuse to leave Pete to see to her while I get my teeth into a nice, juicy new case. Anyway, he loves it.”

“Hello there, Inspector, Sergeant,” the dulcet Scottish tones of Doctor William Nugent interrupted their brief conversation as they neared the death scene.

“Evening, Doc,” Ross called to him, as Drake nodded her greeting to him.

Ross and Drake approached the body and Francis Lees stopped exercising his shutter finger and stepped back a couple of paces to allow them a better view of the dead man.

“Aye, well, there’s nae a lot good about it for this poor soul,” Nugent’s native Glasgow accent always came to the fore when the doctor felt angry or stressed. He may have lived and worked in Liverpool for over twenty years, but that Glaswegian lilt was never far from the surface.

“Tell me,” Ross said.

“Same as the poor lassie I autopsied earlier today. As I hear it’s your case now, I’ll send you the report first thing tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Doc, but what can you tell me so far. Start with this victim, okay?”

“Okay. Name’s Adrian Hill, aged fifty-two, and before ye ask, the poor widow’s sat upstairs in their apartment, breaking her heart as we speak. One of the chief inspector’s lads, doing the house-to-house broke the news to her. His ID was in his wallet in his jacket pocket. He’s still with her as far as I know, waiting until you got here, I’ve nae doubt.”

“What exactly happened, Doctor, do we know?” Drake asked.

“See that?” the doctor pointed to the half mannequin still positioned half under the Range Rover where Hill had left it. “It’s ma guess yer killer used it as a kind of decoy to get the man’s attention and when he bent down to look he hit him over the head with a blunt object, knocked him out, carried out a particularly nasty s****l assault on him as he lay unconscious and then stabbed him in the heart, one very precise stab wound, as if he knew his way around the human body,.”

“How nasty was the s****l assault?” Ross asked.

Pulling aside a sheet that had been used to cover the body, Nugent pointed and simply said, “See for yourself.”

Despite his years of experience, Ross was shocked when he looked at the body of Adrian Hill. Drake put her hand over her mouth to counter a gag reflex.

“Fuckin’ hell,” Ross exclaimed. Drake was silent.

“What the hell did he do?”

“It’s ma guess he inserted a large object into the anus, causing massive tearing and haemorrhaging.

Both detectives stared in horror at the terrible wound that gaped from the man’s rear.

“Only terrible rage could have caused someone to carry out such a brutal attack,” Drake commented.

“This was definitely a very personal attack,” Ross said immediately. “Any similarities with the woman?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” Nugent nodded gravely. “Her v****a and anus were both torn in similar fashion, and before ye ask, both attacks were carried out premortem, probably while the victims were unconscious. If they’d been conscious, the pain of such brutality would have had them screaming the neighbourhood down. Someone would have been bound to hear them and either gone to investigate the screams or called the police.”

“Was the woman killed in the same way?” Drake asked the doctor.

“Aye she was. Looks like yer man followed her home, then hit her over the head as she opened her door, pushed her into the house and attacked her in the hallway. The crime scene photos do not make pleasant viewing.”

Miles Booker the head of the Scenes of Crime Team spoke up from behind Ross. His team were standing by, waiting for the doctor to finish his on-scene examination of the body before getting to work on the scene.

“She was posed in death, Andy. Skirt lifted up above her waist, underwear around one ankle and legs spread in a blatant s****l invitation, a classic r**e scene.”

“This is some sick bastard,” Ross said. He was angry, as he always was when lives were taken in such brutal and vicious ways. “Anybody questioned the owner of the Range Rover yet?”

“He wasn’t up to it, according to DCI Lewis,” Booker provided the answer to Ross’s question.

“Well, let’s us go and have a word with him, Izzie, while your people see what they can find, Miles.”

“Unless he’s been careless, and there was no sign of carelessness at last night’s scene, I doubt we’ll find much to help you, Andy,” Booker replied with a look of resignation on his face. Ross and Drake walked across to the ambulance as Doctor Nugent gave the okay for the body to be removed and transported to the morgue.

“What about the wife?” Drake asked.

“Just a word with this guy and then we’ll go up and see her. Hopefully, by then, the officer who’s with her will have managed to calm her down a bit.”

“Don’t bet on it,” Drake was doubtful, but dutifully followed Ross to the ambulance, where a two-minute conversation with Phil Knott proved fruitless.

He understandably hadn’t thought to ask who was calling when a voice told him a pair of young men were attempting to break into his car. He hadn’t recognised the voice, which he said sounded strange, he couldn’t say whether it was male or female, and on emerging from the apartment block, he hadn’t noticed anyone looking suspicious in the vicinity. He remembered opening the driver’s door of his car, after which everything went black and all he knew was waking up, and a policeman was shaking him, with a lump the size of an egg on the back of his head.

“Strange he couldn’t tell if the phone caller was a man or a woman,” Drake made a point of mentioning as they entered the apartment block.

“I agree,” Ross replied. “He might be just confused, concussed perhaps, or our killer might have been deliberately disguising their voice.”

Arriving outside the victim’s apartment, both Ross and Drake sighed, and each took a deep breath.

Next on the agenda was what was going to be a painful conversation with the newly widowed Pamela Hill.