Nev brought me up to speed on his latest hypothesis. We agreed that the security at the hotel would be his to manage but that I would get someone else to devise a plan for the police station. He had enough on his plate.
By now Pam and David were back in Sussex and the whole family were safely together, protected and miles from Brighton. All terrified, all hopelessly disorientated, all slowly realizing that life would never be the same again, they were effectively imprisoned for their own survival.
Nev had already dispatched a team of detectives armed with photos of Dhalla to the Royal Sussex County Hospital and its sister building, the Princess Royal at nearby Haywards Heath, where Alison was due to start her work placement on the obstetric and gynaecology ward.
Following dozens of the usual blank looks cops are used to receiving when showing a suspect’s photos, a sharp-eyed nurse at the Princess Royal did a double take.
‘I know that man,’ she declared.
‘What?’ said the startled officer.
‘He was here on the ward an hour ago. He said he was a new doctor. He was asking about rotas. He didn’t stay long but I thought it was odd. He wouldn’t make eye contact when we spoke to him and most doctors these days don’t wear white coats.’
This was the breakthrough Nev needed. Finally a sighting, a clue — nowhere near conclusive but a snippet to latch on to.
Immediately the order went out to search the hospital and the grounds and to scour the CCTV. Bryce used CCTV to his advantage by trying to feign a trip to the continent. For Dhalla it would be his undoing. There on screen walking through the hospital car parks, just before dawn, about three hours after the fire in Aston Abbotts, was the menacing stalker. He had drawn suspicion at the time and there was clear footage of security guards challenging him. Not knowing his past, his intentions or that he was now wanted by police, they accepted his story of being unable to sleep and sent him on his way.
Dhalla clearly had a plan and, thinking he had struck a blow at Pam and David, he had made straight for Alison.
‘Graham, we think he is hacking into her emails,’ Nev declared.
‘Why do you think that?’
‘Well, there is no other way he would know so much about her movements.’
Playing the part of his coach, I asked, ‘So what are you going to do about it?’
‘He thinks he is so smart so I’m going to set him a trap.’ He took me through his cunning plan.
It was simple yet brilliant. He phoned it through to Emily. She sat down with Alison and carefully briefed her. It would work only if it came from her, in her words. He would smell a rat otherwise. So she typed an emaiclass="underline"
Hi Mum,
I hope you are well. I’ve finished with the police now. I’m back on duty at the Princess Royal tomorrow at 8 a.m.
Speak on your return.
The bait was set, all Nev could do was wait. Sensing that Dhalla would remain holed up nearby, Nev instructed that every hotel and guest house in the towns and villages close to the hospital be visited to try to smoke him out. This drew a blank; we would later discover he had driven to London as soon as the hospital security officers had confronted him.
Just as the other forces had decided before, we realized catching Dhalla was a job for the firearms boys. Steve Whitton and Jim Bartlett devised a plan of their own. Guns and hospitals are not a good mix, as we’ve seen, but these guys were the best in their field. If they couldn’t plan a safe but sure operation to nail him, no-one could.
The following morning, the briefing of the elite Tactical Firearms Unit had only just started when the call came through to Jim.
‘Boss, we’ve had the hospital security on the phone. Your man is on the plot already. Just turned up in a white coat, wearing a stethoscope and carrying a clipboard.’
‘Christ,’ Jim shouted to the assembled throng, ‘get up there now, he can’t get onto a ward.’
The fleet of plain and marked BMWs hurtled towards the hospital, lights and sirens blaring. As if on cue, all the tell-tale sights and sounds of their approach were snuffed out on the outskirts of Haywards Heath in case they spooked the prey. As they glided up to the hospital entrance a pacing security guard met them.
‘He’s in the toilets just through here,’ he whispered, awestruck that he had a bit part in this unfolding thriller.
Three plain-clothes cops leapt from a grey BMW and followed the guard through. As he indicated where to go, they donned their fluorescent chequered ‘Police’ baseball caps and burst through the door. It did not take long to confirm they had their man.
‘Armed police! Put your hands on your head,’ snapped the team leader as all three drew their handguns, pointing them straight at Dhalla’s midriff. Amazingly, even in the face of such firepower, he did not take the hint. Rather than a peaceful surrender he launched himself at the officers.
Confronted with an obviously unarmed man, they quickly holstered their weapons and resorted to hand-to-hand combat. After several minutes of ferocious fighting in the confined space, Dhalla was eventually overpowered and his hands and legs swiftly bound. A search revealed he was carrying razor blades in his pockets; he would not say why. Finally they had him. Finally Alison, David and Pam could breathe easy — for now.
Nev knew Dhalla would have a car nearby. Where was it? What would it reveal? Soon they found the vehicle Nev had previously identified parked not far from the hospital. This was Dhalla’s operations centre. The search revealed a loaded crossbow, a large knife, fuel cans, more razor blades and a fuel-soaked envelope addressed to Pam. The satnav had saved on it the addresses of Pam and David’s house, Alison’s flat, the hotel on Lundy Island, both hospitals and a remote nearby wood.
Dhalla’s silence in interview was anticipated. He was arrogance personified. Then again, how exactly do you explain such a wicked and relentless targeting of those you purport to love? No doubt he knew he was going to be caught for what he had done but who could guess what more he was intending to do with the armoury in the van? He was charged and remanded to Lewes Prison to await his trial.
This would span a month and further extended the ordeal for Alison. Having to relive all of her terrors brought everything back. Alison and Pam had the comfort of being screened from Dhalla while they gave their evidence but that could not protect them from days of having every truth doubted, every horrific act minimized and their integrity questioned at every turn. The defence, at one stage, made the mistake of questioning Pam’s qualifications to label Dhalla a ‘narcissistic psychopath’. She was able to gently remind the court she was a trained social worker and probation officer and had worked in both prisons and psychiatric hospitals.
Dhalla spent five days in the witness box being grilled by Richard Barton, an excellent prosecution barrister, with whom I had worked many years earlier on a murder trial. Despite being on the ropes, Dhalla couldn’t resist repeating his farcical accusations of Alison, her family and their friends being guilty of murder and drug dealing. He thought he was so clever with an answer for everything. Barton’s skill, however, in presenting to the jury the catalogue of terror he had inflicted left them in no doubt of what they thought of Dhalla. Seven guilty verdicts, including for arson and harassment, brought huge relief to everyone except the man in the dock.
His pleas of remorse staged for the jury were hollow. His sentencing, however, was delayed while police investigated an allegation that he and other inmates had conspired to pay for a hit man. He was never charged with that so the hearing resumed.
Sentencing him to an indeterminate prison sentence Judge Charles Kemp (no relation to Nev) explained that he might never be released, certainly not until he was deemed to no longer present a threat. Even then he would face deportation back to Canada.