X murderer a norfolk tri.., p.1
X MURDERER (A Norfolk Trilogy Book 2), page 1
X Murderer 2
by
Marcus Crowe
Copyright © 2021 Marcus Crowe
All rights reserved in all media. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in retrieval system, copied in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise transmitted without written permission from the author and/or publisher. You must not circulate this book in any format. Any person who does any unauthorised act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Produced in United Kingdom.
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Contents
About the Author
Also by Author
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
About the Author
Who is Marcus Crowe? An ordinary man living along the Norfolk-Suffolk border. Marcus has lived here all his life, playing in the hedgerows and fields as a child, then a working life in many jobs. Variety has always been the spice of life for Marcus, never happier than when taking on a new challenge. Be it at work, in play, or now writing. Old enough to have experience but still young enough to care about appearance and what he says, just.
Drawing on that experience, local knowledge and a vivid imagination, Marcus Crowe the author has emerged.
His X Murderer trilogy is deeply embedded in this rural area.
The idea came from his partner trying to tell him a story but couldn’t remember the person involved: ‘You must know him, he’s an ex-murderer,’ she said.
He quickly responded that you can’t be an ex-murderer. It was at that moment he had the idea to write a book. The story is now a trilogy, and he’s completed the second book.
Book 3, the final instalment, is all mapped out. The finale is worth the wait.
Also by Author
X Murderer (A Norfolk Trilogy Vol 1)
Norfolk 2017, an old man is found injured, the victim of a brutal assault. He recovers but with total amnesia. Whilst in a care home, he is given a diary by a mysterious old woman.
It is the diary of serial killer Ralph Johnson – a man tormented by childhood events, the death of his best friend and questions over his long-term partner, Linda. It is 1992 and Ralph’s murder spree begins.
The old man is confined to a wheelchair and sits in his care home in turmoil, convinced that he is Ralph. Further diary entries appear to confirm his fears.
Local police officer PC Ashley Woods is on the case, and when new evidence comes to light, she calls in DI Tom Collins. Together, they try to solve the murders committed by Ralph; but although the diary details each killing, finding sufficient evidence to find the murderer is proving impossible.
The old woman taunts Tom as the investigation lurches from one dead-end to another. Could a final witness hold the key?
To ‘my Kim’ for her love and support.
Thank you for continued guidance from Peter, and Alex (Book Editing Services)
‘and when you find yourself lost in the darkness and despair, remember it’s only in the black of the night you see the stars.’
Jenny Markas
Chapter 1
Ashley was at the station, sitting behind her desk, contemplating her future. It was October 2017, a full three months since cold case detectives DI Tom Collins and DC Daniel Holmes had gone back to London.
The investigation into Ralph Johnson, suspected serial killer, now resident in the local Tall Trees care home, had dried up. A diary detailing the murders was in police possession. However, any attempt to prove the crimes or, indeed, make an arrest had evaded them.
It seemed so quiet. The excitement of being involved in a murder investigation now a distant memory. Ashley considered it proper police work, rather than driving around Diss dealing with petty crimes. On the beat and being visible to members of the public, although an important part of policing, no longer fitted with Ashley’s perceived career path.
Having seen the other side, she was now desperate to be a detective. Ashley had been working towards that goal, as Tom suggested, so who knew where she would end up.
She spent any spare time trawling through old records from the nineties, looking for anything possibly related to Ralph. Ashley was moaning to herself that bloody ‘Sherlock’ should have found this. She recalled that Tom had asked him to check for any missing persons or unexplained deaths. DC Holmes – she remembered Tom saying that he wasn’t the brightest. She considered Tom cruel for continually calling him Sherlock; however, now she was beginning to understand the comments.
Ashley had found some reports in the last few days that caught her eye: A Mrs Wendy Palmer reported missing on October 17th 1992. Barry Carter found tied to a tree with knife wounds. An interesting, if disturbing, account of his death on February 20th 1993. And the one Ashley didn’t want to find – Rosemary Parker found dead at the family home in Fressingfield, June 1993. The gist of it was, after a heated argument, Leonard Parker punched her so hard that she fell back onto the tiled floor, cracked her head, and the blood loss killed her. No suspicious circumstances apparently. The police were alerted and found her body before Leonard returned from driving off to cool down. He was imprisoned for murder after a short trial.
‘Well, well, well,’ Ashley said out loud.
‘Talking to yourself?’ asked Sergeant Jones.
‘I guess so. I’ve been trawling through some old files. In the last week or so, I’ve found some suspicious events, which possibly might involve Ralph.’
‘Sounds interesting,’ said the sarge. ‘I trust that’s all been done in your spare time?’
‘Of course, Sarge.’
Ashley checked her watch just as PC Robert Attwood appeared.
‘You’ve not forgotten our bike ride tomorrow, have you?’ asked Rob.
‘No of course not. You still okay for eight thirty in the morning?’
‘Yeah great. I’ll see you outside the swimming pool, then.’
‘I’m not going to let you win this time. Last one to Stowmarket buys the drinks,’ she said, smiling.
Ashley had been getting on quite well with Rob over the last few months and enjoyed their weekend bike rides. He was considerably more enthusiastic than Deano, her last colleague, ever was. Rob made a good partner on the job, but that was as far as it went. No chance of romance at all – he wasn’t her type anyway. Ashley was far too focused on her career to settle down. The odd fling while out in Norwich with her mates happened occasionally. Trouble with guys is that as soon as being a PC is mentioned, all the old jokes come out. ‘You can take my particulars down anytime!’ and of course ‘Do you want to see my truncheon?’
‘Ashley.’
‘Yes, Sarge.’
‘Something interesting has just been reported. Some trainee divers have found a car containing skeletal remains.’
‘What, human skeletal remains?’
‘That’s right.’
‘Really, where?’
‘The gravel pits over at Weybread, the big one called the “Ocean Pit”. Leave Harleston on the Weybread Road, then take the Halesworth turn. It’s about half a mile on the left, at the sailing club.’
‘I know it, Sarge. Do you want me to check it out?’
‘Yes, I think so. It could be your man Ralph,’ the sarge said unwittingly.
Ashley sped out of the station car park and switched on the tunes, causing the traffic in Diss to disperse, before speeding along the A143 to Harleston with the lights flashing. She enjoyed driving fast.
By the time Ashley had arrived, other officers from nearby Harleston were on the scene as well as officers from Halesworth, Technically Weybread is in Suffolk, just. From here, you can easily see the River Waveney, the boundary between Norfolk and Suffolk. Being so close to the county line can cause issues. So today, the Halesworth lot were in charge.
Ashley made herself known to DI Trevor Pratt, he was the senior officer present, and explained her interest to him. Recovery was well underway; a large tow truck was parked a good distance from the water’s edge. A thick steel cable disappeared into the wa
Several warning shouts were given to keep well away: ‘Do not go anywhere near the cable in case it detaches itself.’ Ashley couldn’t see who was shouting. You could see why it was called the Ocean Pit, though, as it was huge. A leftover remnant from gravel extraction to feed the quarry just over the road, this was the largest of five lakes.
It wasn’t that windy, but the light breeze still caused a few waves. Luckily, it was quite a warm day as this area was exposed.
The truck’s engine note now sounded laboured; the car was probably digging into the gravelly bank of the lake. The steel cable was singing under the tension as the truck operator stood over to the side. He was holding the remote control and reiterated the warnings to keep well clear, which were echoed by DI Pratt, who was now holding a loudhailer.
A couple of forensic officers had arrived, now watching with interest as the back of a blue car slowly started to emerge from the water. Bit by bit, more of the car appeared until it was hauled clear of the water and positioned by the lakeside. The tow truck prepared to leave, being replaced by a flatbed car transporter.
Everyone gathered around the car, making guesses as to how long it may have been submerged. It looked remarkably clean, as did the skeleton sitting in the driver’s seat.
The guesses seemed to range from five to twenty years. All the men had a plausible theory.
One of the forensic guys opened the driver’s door, slowly letting out the water. Gradually, it was fully opened to reveal the full skeleton in the driver’s seat. Ashley noticed that both arms looked as though they had been tied to the headrest.
With the water drained and the door shut again, the car was loaded onto the truck. It was going for a full forensic check, and it would be at least a week, maybe two, before she heard anything. Ashley looked closely at the number plate and recorded the reg number E826 APY, thinking to herself that it was a 1987 registration mark. Before leaving, she had another chat with DI Pratt.
‘I have been involved with a cold case inquiry regarding a Ralph Johnson, who we suspect was an active serial killer in this area during the early nineties.’
‘I see. Do you think this is connected?’
‘I wouldn’t rule it out, sir.’
‘I’ll let you know when the forensic report is in.’
‘Appreciate it, thanks.’
Ashley made her way back to the station. A quick check on the registration number did show that the registered keeper was indeed Mrs Wendy Palmer. Last seen October 17th 1992.
According to the file, she never returned from a trip to the supermarket. Her husband moved away from the area and remarried in 2001. He was still alive and living near Derby with his second wife. Ashley contacted the local station to arrange for a family liaison officer to call in and break the news.
Chapter 2
It was almost three weeks before Ashley had a call from DI Pratt. He said a copy of the forensic report had been sent.
Ashley was checking the station email just as the DI said, ‘I think you will find the report very interesting.’
‘Okay, thanks,’ she replied while scanning her eyes over the file and opening the attachment.
‘Let me know if I can help with anything.’
‘Yes of course, thank you. Bye.’
Ashley was hardly concentrating on the conversation, being far too preoccupied with the attachment and scanning down the lines until she found what she was hoping for.
Then she read: Female skeleton tied to the driver’s seat with plastic tie wraps. One on each wrist secured to the headrest. One around each leg secured to the seat frame. The car was in first gear, and the damage to the engine was caused by hydraulic lock, meaning the engine was running when it entered the water. An ‘X’ had been scratched into the car roof. The car was remarkably clean given it had spent over twenty years in the water. This was attributed to it being a gravel pit.
Ashley was sure it was another of Ralph’s victims. She wondered what her crime was.
Sergeant Jones was passing.
‘Sarge!’ Ashley shouted.
‘Yes, Ashley.’
‘The report is back on the car found in Weybread Pits.’
‘That was quick. What’s it say?’ he asked.
‘The woman was tied to the seat with tie wraps and the car was driven into the water.’
‘How the hell do they work that out?’ asked the sarge.
‘Apparently the tie wraps were like new. The engine damage could only have been sustained if the engine was running.’
‘Marvellous,’ he said, scratching his head, ‘modern science.’
‘Also, an “X” was scratched into the roof.’
‘Sounds like your man, then.’
‘Almost certainly, and I think we can rule out suicide, Sarge.’
They both shared a smirk.
Ashley contacted her colleagues in Derby again to ask the ex-husband if he had any idea who would want to harm her. She then called Tom.
‘DI Tom Collins.’
‘Tom, hi it’s Ashley.’
‘Hi, Ashley, how’s it going?’ asked Tom.
‘Found another one.’
‘What, Ralph again?’
‘Yes, I think so.’
Ashley filled Tom in on all the details.
‘Do you know why?’ he asked.
‘No not yet. I have the Derby lot asking her ex-husband, but I don’t expect much back.’
‘Okay then. Keep digging.’
‘Will do.’
‘How’s the revision and your portfolio going?’
‘Very well – any spare minute I’m on it.’
‘Pleased to hear it. Goodbye, then.’
When Ashley heard back from Derby, as expected the ex-husband couldn’t add anything, only saying that she was a bit cantankerous and could sometimes rub people up the wrong way. Him included, but quickly added that he was not involved.
Something was bothering Ashley. She was unable to put her finger on exactly what it was – just something chewing away at the back of her mind.
Rob was back from his patrol around Diss keeping up the appearance, letting the local youths know they were about, as well as the older people as they do like to see a presence. He was moaning about some old women who had cornered him in the park to complain about dog shit. Not really a police matter, he had told them, and suggested they complain to the local council. That earned him a five-minute earbashing.
‘Fancy biking tomorrow?’ Rob asked.
‘Not this weekend. I’m Christmas shopping tomorrow.’
‘Already?’
‘It’s almost December, Rob. I don’t like leaving it to the last minute; you never know what might crop up.’
Ashley and her friend Lucy were on the train, heading to Norwich for a day’s shopping. Lucy was a hairdresser in one of the many Diss salons. She recently had a complete change of hairstyle. Ashley complimented her on the amazing haircut before asking if she could fit her in before Christmas.
Both were excited about the prospect of shopping, trying on some new outfits and picking up presents for friends and family. They agreed to go their own way first to buy for family, then meet in Pizza Hut for lunch at one thirty. After that, clothes shopping and maybe some new shoes.
Ashley was in Jarrolds buying a diary for her dad; he liked a Montblanc diary. She was just at the till buying it when suddenly it dawned on her.
‘Bloody hell!’ she exclaimed, before reassuring the shop assistant that it wasn’t aimed at her. She left the counter sniggering. That’s what was bothering her. It was Ralph’s diary – the ‘bloody-minded woman’ at the supermarket. Could it be her? she thought. Didn’t Ralph mention the car? As hard as she tried, she couldn’t remember what was mentioned. This was going to bug her all weekend.
First thing on Monday morning, Ashley was thumbing through the diary trying to find the entry. It took a while, but there it was: bloody-minded woman, blue Vauxhall Astra, E plate. Ralph must have caught up with her on another occasion. Ashley logged her findings, feeling pleased with herself. Now she planned to dig a bit deeper into Barry Carter’s demise.
