“I spoke to the victim in the hospital,” Allen well ton “As in the case of all the previous victims, she could tell me absolutely nothing about her attacker. I’m hoping to question her further today when the surgeons have patched her up, but the current position is that six women have been attacked and we do not have even the vaguest description of the rapist. All we know from semen samples is that his blood group is type O, a group shared by more than forty-four percent of the male population.”
The briefing room door was flung back on its hinges and a late comer lurched in, managing to kick over an empty lager tin which rolled down the aisle and bounced up on to the dais, only halting when it touched Allen’s shoe. Delicately, the inspector pushed it to one side with his toe. He didn’t look up. He didn’t have to. There was no doubt this time who the newcomer was. “Good morning, Mr. Frost. I’m afraid we had to start without you.”
“That’s all right,” said Frost grandly. “I completely forgot about this bloody meeting. It won’t take long, will it? I’ve got a post-mortem at ten.” He shivered. “It’s a bit nippy in here.” He slammed shut the open window, flopped into a chair in the back row, and lit up a cigarette.
Allen’s eyes glinted. A chance to cut Frost down to size in front of the Superintendent. “I don’t like people smoking during my briefing sessions, Mr. Frost.”
“That’s all right,” beamed Frost, the cigarette waggling in his mouth. “I don’t like people jabbering away while I’m smoking, but I put up with it.” The burst of laughter that followed was withered to silence by the ice of Allen’s expression. Grinning broadly, Frost puffed away at his cigarette, making as much smoke as possible. He turned to share the joke with the person sitting next to him, and to his horror it was Mullett, all immaculate uniform, gleaming buttons, and wintry disapproval. “A word with you afterward, Inspector,” he hissed.
“Yes, Super, of course,” muttered Frost, wriggling uneasily in his chair and wishing he’d chosen somewhere else to sit.
Allen’s smirk tightened. Now to rub salt into Frost’s raw wound. “By the time I arrived on the scene the ambulance was taking the victim to hospital. Mr. Frost, who’d seen her, told me she was fifteen years old. During her short ambulance ride she must have aged twenty-three years, because when I saw her in hospital she was thirty-eight. I’m not sure how anyone could have made such a mistake, but perhaps the inspector would care to explain.” He moved back, extending an open hand, inviting Frost to take the stage.
Frost’s fixed smile clearly said, “You bastard!” but he kept his face impassive as he ambled up and leaned against the table, his eyes half closed against the smoke of his cigarette.
“As Mr. Allen has told you, I made a real right burke of myself last night not for the first time, and certainly not the last. We’d just come from a house where a fifteen-year-old kid called Karen Dawson was missing. She hadn’t been seen since she left school yesterday lunch time. The woman in the woods was stark naked. Her face was smashed in and smothered with blood from where the bastard had booted her. Scattered around her were articles of school uniform, so I jumped to the wrong conclusion. I shouldn’t have made such a stupid bloody mistake, but I did.”
He paused, took the butt end from his mouth and used it to light another cigarette. “The scene when we got there? As I’ve said, the poor cow was naked, except for stockings. She was lying on her back, her clothes scattered on the grass around her where they’d been torn off. There was also a carrier bag which contained her non-working clothes and a purse. That’s really all I can tell you.”
“Thank you, Inspector,” said Allen, moving back to the stage. Frost spotted an empty chair in the front row and sat down. It was the farthest from Mullett he could get.
“Any questions?” asked Allen.
A plainclothes man in the centre row raised his hand. “Any idea why this one wasn’t raped, sir?”
Allen nodded. “I formed a theory about that.” He pointed to the five photographs pinned on the blackboard.
“These are the first five rape victims. Number one, Peggy Leyton, nineteen, a student nurse, raped on April 4th while taking a shortcut across the golf links. Number two, Sarah Finch, eighteen, an office worker, raped on April 5th, also on the golf links. Next we have victims three and four, Genette Scott, unemployed, aged twenty, but looks a lot younger, and Kate Brown, a student, also twenty. Both were attacked and raped in Meads Park, April 20th and 21st. Last, we have Linda Alwood, a shop assistant, aged nineteen, raped May 2nd on a piece of waste ground near the Denton Factory Estate. All these attacks took place some eight miles from Denton Woods, but they each have one thing in common. The victims were all very young and in some cases looked a lot younger than their age. My theory, ladies and gentlemen, is that the Demon “Hooded Terror” likes fresh, young meat. He can only make it with young birds. When he saw Paula Grey prancing through the trees in her schoolgirl clothes, he must have thought he’d hit the jackpot with a nice, tender young virgin, but when he found he’d got an old boiling fowl he did his nut. Old women are a turnoff to him.”
Webster, in his corner seat, nodded. Allen’s theory made a lot of sense. You might hate him as a man, but he was a damn good police officer. He sneaked a look at Frost, lolling in his front row chair, looking as if he’d spent the night in the gutter. There was no comparison between the two men. One was a policeman, the other was rubbish.
Allen bent down and picked up a bundle of clothes which he dumped on the table. “These are the clothes the girl was wearing prior to the attack.” He bent again and added a white plastic carrier bag to the pile. “This is the bag she was carrying. We’ve had photographs taken of a model of similar appearance to Paula Grey, dressed in this clothing and carrying this bag. You’ll each be given a copy. I want every house in the vicinity of Forest View and on the way to the woods to be called on. I want every single resident to be shown the photograph. Did they see a girl wearing these clothes last night? I’m sure a well-developed, thirty-eight-year-old woman wearing school clothes must have caught someone’s eye. Did they see her? Did they see anyone following her or taking an interest in her? Did they see any strangers loitering? Has anyone going through the woods during the past week or so seen a man lurking, acting strangely? Has any woman been assaulted and not told us? A thorough investigation, ladies and gentlemen. I’m sure I don’t need to spell out the questions you should ask. All witnesses, even those wha only think they might have seen something, are to be brought to the station so I can question them personally. Understood?”
A few grunts of confirmation.
“I’m splitting you up into teams. Sergeant Ingram will give you details as you leave. Team A will be knocking at doors, asking questions, Team B will be doing an inch-by-inch search of the area of last night’s attack, and Team C will be locating, and bringing in for questioning, all known sexual offenders in the area even those who were completely eliminated from our previous inquiries. Any questions?”
He looked around expectantly, but no-one had anything to ask. “Right.
Off you go.”
They were shuffling through the door, passing Ingram, who handed them their duty allocation briefing sheets, when Allen suddenly barked, “Hold it, everyone.” They all stopped and turned, except for Frost, who ha red it off to his own office. Allen had completely forgotten Mr. Mullett, seated in solitary state in the back row. “Did you want to address the teams, sir?”
Mullett stood and showed his whiter-than-white teeth. “Only to say “Good luck everyone”,” he boomed, just like a vicar starting off the whist drive.