The Door is Still Ajar Read online

  Evonne March sat down opposite him. She was a very attractive woman with auburn hair and green soulful eyes. This was their sixth meeting and he had noticed that her appearance each time indicated to him that the torment and pressure that she was under was taking its toll. Her lipstick had not been so carefully applied and her light green eye shadow was smeared, as if she did her make-up routine as a chore and in a rush. Blumer had rehearsed what he was about to tell her, because he knew that this was going to be very painful for her. He did not like to see another person in pain. He was a conflicted man. He could track down a murderer, pulling out all stops and using any unorthodox means to jusfify to the end. Even disobeying orders to nail a suspect. But dealing with a broken woman was very uncomfortable for him.

  “Your suspicions about your husbands cheating and lying to you are correct. Does the name Sarah Montigue mean anything to you.?”

  “Yes, she is, or was, a friend of mine. Why?”

  He then pulled some paper-work and some photographs from the envolope and handed them to her. Watching her lower lip drop open and noticing her eyes well up with tears as she studied the eight potos and read the report and he went on.

  “He has been visiting Miss Montigue at her address every Tuesday and Thursday for five weeks. The times he enters her house and leaves her house is written on the back of each photo. The story that he was going to his club in the Ciity was a blatent lie. I followed his every move, from when he left his office until he returned home to your address. I also think I can account for some of the money missing from your joint savings account. Did he give you a necklace as a present recently?”

  “No. He has never bought me jewellery. And he is very strict about spending money, unless it’s something that we really need to buy.”

  “On the fifteenth of January he entered Mappin And Webb jellewers in the City at sixteen forty and purchased a necklace that he paid for in cash for two hundred and thirty pounds.”

  Evonne lent back in the chair and then looked into Blumers face.

  “The bitch, the evil ungrateful bitch. I took her in when she filed for divorce from her husband and had to get away from him, because of his endless affairs and the aggression from him when she confroned him about it. I took the bitch in. Michael protested, because he did not want her living in our house. But I, but I pressurised him day in day out until he finally capitulated. What a bloody fool I was. I cannot believe that he would do this to me. I know where she lives. I’m gonna go round and kill the bitch. How could she do this to me, after all I did for her?”

  Blumer waited for her to finish, then went into his into his pragmatic policeman’s mode.

  “Mrs March. I would strongly advise you not confront, or even approach Miss Montigue in any way. Hand the report and photos to your solicitor and tell him what you want him to do. For your own good you must, must excercise restraint. If Miss Montigue is as cunning and devious as she appears to be she could hit back at you, if you attack her, or trespass on her property. My business card is attached to the paperwork if you solicitor requires any more information that may be of help Mrs March.”

  Evonne delved into her handbag and pulled out her purse and Blumer pulled out a Polaroid camera from his desk draw and placed it on the desk.

  “How much was it Mr Blumer? You said you may need possibly two months to build a case. It only took you six weeks and I must pay you for the photos as well.”

  “The photos are for you Mrs March. I have copies. Eighty five pounds was my fee. If you need copies of the photos I’ll have more done from the negatives.”

  He then patted the camera then looked into her face with his piercing grey eyes and said.

  “The camera never lies Mrs March. This baby has served me very well on several occasions. In particular over the past couple of years, but even when I was still in the Met.”

  Evonne, although visibly wounded, handed over the money and tried to vent her feelings. And Blumer listened to her plight with guarded interest.

  “Can you believe it Mr Blumer? Michael was so indignant that she should not live with us that we started to row about it. He only gave in when she came round with a black eye, a real shiner that Gerald her husband had given her. I assured Michael that it was only for six months until her parents house, which she had inherited from her parents had been renovated and refurbished. I felt pity for her, even though the other women at work disliked her. When she left for another job, I was the only one who was sorry to see her go. They were bloody well right about her. My womans intuition must be practically non existent. What a bloody fool I was.”

  Blumer had seen a lot and had learned a lot over the years. But the peculiar and sometimes bizarre ways that human beings behaved still fascinated his old dogmatic detective’s mind. He then tried to console her a little and probe her thoughts and feelings.

  “Some people can be devious and know how to manipulate people. In particular people that feel sympathy for them. And believe me, Mrs March, I’ve seen evil, real evil. Being betrayed and let down by people you trust is a real blow. Did you suspect anything was going on between Miss Montigue and your husband when she was living with you, over the six months? People that are doing bad things sometimes slip up and leave clues. Was there any time, or situation that could have warned you that something was amiss?”

  “No, nothing. Michael would let us carry on with our womens talk and things that men are not really interested in. He preferred to watch the telly and do cross-words. Hah! Hah! Ha! I always thought that he was a bit of a prude and did not like vulgarity and smutty innuendos.”

  “Well, I hope that your solicitor can plan your case with what I have provided for you Mrs March. But I would advise you to let him do his work and he will probably advise you as I have done.”

  “Thank you Mr Blumer. I hope you don’t get too many cases like mine. You have been very kind and I am sorry for making a fool of myself.”

  With that she stood up to leave and they shook hands. When the door closed behind her he sat back down and held his polaroid camera. He then slipped into deep thought and began to reflect. Reflect and ponder the infamy, pain, evidence and incredible drama and horror that this very camera had provided. But the only reward for Blumer was that it had nailed brutal murderers with more deadly precision than a high powered snipers rifle. It was his private deadly weapon against criminals, diabolicol criminals.

  The Sweet Shop Murders and the Stripper murders had made Blumer famous. By any measure he had strayed out of any Police protocols and procedures to catch firstly The Sweet Shop Killer and then The Stripper Killer. Chief Inspector Dick Taylor, Blumer’s Boss had taken serious risks regarding his own job to protect him and even covered up Blumer’s penchant for going it alone when he had a hunch about a lead. Blumer became like a man possessed, like a pit-bull smelling blood, when he sensed that of all of the suspects under investigation, he would sight a piece of a puzzle, or a slight anomaly that would catch his attention. Blumer liked Dick Taylor, who was very old school and a stickler for rules and regulations. But the nature of these two crimes had been so sensational, so dramatic that the public were demanding action. And Blumer had single handedly had taken action. The Leon Boyd case however had been his downfall. The Police had been virtually working around the clock to catch Boyd, and so many officers were literally so exhausted and working through sleep deprivation that tempers were becoming strained; including Dick Taylor’s. Boyd who had sometimes used the name Charles Cleverly, or William Wiseman when he was moving around the country, working on building sites, after being released from prison had an IQ of a 180. But he also had the heart and soul of a devious and cunning predator. There had been a series of rapes in a red light district in Bradford. The first woman; a pathetic alcoholic prostitute had been too afraid to go to the police. But the second two who had been so badly battered and bruised by the attacks and had been hospitalised had given statements
to the police. All the police had was that the suspect was a hulking giant that pounced on his victims without warning. Boyd managed to give the police the slip. But he would strike again three times two months later in London. But this time he had added murder to his CV. And he had gone back to using his real name Leon Boyd. The police could not establish when Boyd had arrived in London, but he had given two red flags that he was in town and that he was on the prowl by two seperate incidents. The first one was when a girl heading home from work in the City. The time had been seventeen thirty and she had been walking briskly to catch the seveteen forty five train from Liverpool Street to Chadwell Heath. Then quite suddenly she had become aware of somebody walking in lock-step behind her. She had tried to walk faster, but a looming shadow of a gigantic man warned her that this man was indeed following her. Luckily as she entered Liverpool Street Station she sighted a Bobby on the his beat, jotting down a report in his notebook. She bolted towards him and had difficulty articulating her words as she reported in a terrified voice that she was being followed The Bobby had immediately looked around to check out her complaint, but Boyd had simply vanished. He had then tried to ask commuters who had been hurrrying by, if anybody had noticed anything. But nobody had and some had even been irritated about being accosted by a policeman, because they had trains to catch. The policeman had filed his report when he arrived back at the station. But because no actual crime, or assault had taken place the report had been logged and filed away. Two days later a a young secretary had been making her way to Paddington station after finishing work, when she became aware of a gigantic man walking parallel to her on the other side of the street. She only became alarmed when he bolted across the Street and fell in lock-step behind her. She had kept her wits about her and had bolted into a dry cleaner’s, which was busy with several customers present. She had alerted the staff and two of them had gone out into the street to check out her claim, but Boyd had simply vanished again. They had then flagged down a couple of bobbies who were coming along the street from the opposite direction. The police had moved quickly and had ran along the street to try and intercept a possible would be assailant. Even if Boyd had only trying out dummy-runs for his atttack, then he had been extremely confidant of his own cunning and prowess to carry them out in public. His sheer size was enough to draw attention to passers-by; let alone his audacity and antics.

  Two weeks later a young Bobby on his beat was casually looking at random tax discs in car windows, parked along a street of terraced houses in Whitechapel. One more hour and he would be off duty. As he passed by a Bedford van with the logo Weiss & Glover Office Supplies and Stationary, he noticed a young woman walking briskly towards him. She then did a quick left turn and entered an Indian grocer’s shop. He was tired, dog tired. His eigth month old daughter had been keeping him and his young wife awake, crying and fretting. He had tried to do his wack by attending to their baby and give his wife a break during the night, but the police shift system had wrought havoc with his sleep. He glanced across the Street to an old bombed out terraced house that was becoming hidden by overgrown weeds and bushes in the front garden, and wondered who had lived there many years ago. He looked through the back window of the Bedford van and noticed that it was completely empty. He then checked his watch and decided that it was time to make his way back to the station. A quiet and uneventful shift.

  Marian realised that she had forgotton to buy bread and chastised herself for not writing it down on her shopping list. No problem, she would only have shoot out to the Indian shop just around the corner and she would be back within five minutes. As always the aging Indian man was always pleased to see her, because she was a regular customer. She noticed the young Copper checking tax discs in car windows, but felt reassured to see a bobby patrolling the área. It was just after nine and growing dark. The first of the street lights were beginning to flicker on, as she left the shop. Suddenly and without any warning a huge shadow loomed up behind her. Before she could even scream a hand the size of plate covered her mouth. She tried to kick her assailant, but her legs were lashing about in the air. And with sheer horror she realised that there was nobody else was on the street. She then tried to bite the palm of the massive hand, but could not open her mouth, because of the pressure being applied with great force. Just as she was about to pass out, she thought she saw a figure appear out of nowhere. But the giant who had grabbed her simply spun around and carried her away at great speed. No, no this could not be happening to her. If only she had not forgotten to add a loaf of bread on her shopping list.

  CHAPTER 4

  The derelict house had been completely cordoned off and a police forensic team were moving about with a dogged and determined work ethic around the terrible murder scene. By the time Blumer had arrived it was already apparant that this had been the most brutal rape and murder that any officer had ever witnessed. Even the most seasoned and hardened officers could not comprehend how anybody could commit a crime like this to another human being. The head of the overall team Inpector Bill Mulliner, who Blumer knew and respected, had filled him on the crime seen before Blumer entered the house. It indeed had been a ghastly sight. But the first thing Blumer had flagged up as completely odd and incomprehensible; as did the other members of the team was that the killer after carrying out the dastardly deed had moved the body from a room at the back of the house to the front room, where he could have been seen through the broken window from the Street. The womans name was Marian Warren; a housewife of twenty eight years old. Her husband who worked for the Gas Works had reported her missing at eleven o’clock after checking with her family if she had gone to visit one of them. He had finished work at ten o’clock and had became worried, because she had usually left a note to let him know what she was doing. The only two people who had seen her before she had been abducted was a very distaught Indian shop owner, who had served her minutes before. And a Young PC who had sighted her as she entered the shop. The only lead that the Police had was that the PC had been in the process of checking a Bedford van with the logo Weiss & Glover Office Supplies and Stationary when he had seen the woman. That very same afternoon a Mr Arnold Weiss had reported that one of his vans had been stolen from outside of his depot. The van had been found the next morning parked on a street in Vauxhall. The van had not been damaged and there was no sign of a break in. Whoever had stolen the van had used a key. The police had done a full inspection of the van, checking for finger-prints and any clues, but the van had been carefully cleaned and wiped. Whoever had committed the crime was obviously cold, calculating and extremely violent.

  It had only taken Boyd another five days to strike again. This time he had began to show signs of what could be deemed as a modus operandi. The victim had been a young nurse. A man leaving a synagogue along Cranbroook Road, Ilford had sighted her entering the main entrance of Valentine’s Park opposite to the synagogue. A bread van that had been slowly passing had stopped about twenty yards along the road, just as the girl had entered the main entrance. The man had not seen anybody exit the van and had simply turned right to make his way home; this had been at roughly ten past nine in the evening. The next morning the badly battered body of the girl was found by a park gardener, among a copse trees in a corner of the park. The police had quickly established that the body had been dumped there after Boyd had carried out the attack in a more isolated copse of trees, further back. That meant that he had had to move the body a full twenty five yards in the open and risk being seen by passers by. The girl had regularly crossed the park to make her way home after finishing her shifts at Barts Hospital. Whether Boyd had been stalking her and had been monitering her routine, or the attack was opportune was being investigated by the police. The same morning that the body had been found an owner of a small bakery in Forrest Gate had reported that one of his bread vans had been stolen the day before from around the corner of his baker’s shop. The van had been found parked outside Gidea Park Train Station that same afternoon. Again, th
ere had been no sign of a break in and the thief must of used a key, or a skeleton key to steal the van. Again, the forensic team had gone over the van with a fine toothed comb. No fingerprints and no clues had been left at all.

  Just as with the Weiss & Glover, van Boyd had gone to extreme lengths to cover his tracks. However a profile had began to emerge about the killer. Despite the audacity and fiendishness of the attacks the police believed that over confidence and vanity could cause the killer to slip up. He had struck twice in the most brazen and daring way, but the next time he would not be so lucky, because a witness would give the police a detailed description of him. A cockney market stall holder would describe him as a giant, with a head the size of ‘pumpkin’ and a body like a gorrilla. But this had been too late to save the third victim.

  Boyd’s third victim had been attending a leaving party for a collegue from her place of work. It had been held at the Woodin Shades Pub, near Petticoat Lane. Unfortunately she had got drunk and had started to become quite abusive to some of her other collegues. The girl who did not usually touch alcohol had shocked everbody present with her antics. When a male collegue had advised her to ‘tone it down a bit’ she had tried to slap him. Finally, the other members of the party decided that she should be put into a taxi and sent home. But a taxi driver outside of the pub had refused to take her in case she was sick in his cab. By this time the girl had become very abrasive and would not let anybody near her. They eventually managed to take back inside the pub and had tried to sober her up a little.

  After a while she had calmed down and had gone to the toilet. A female collegue had followed her shorly afterwards to check on her, but she had not been inside the toilet. The rest of the party assumed that she had gone outside and went to check where she was, but there was no sign of her. It had been just after nine o’clock and a market stall owner had gone to collect some clothing from his lock-up along Middlesex Steet. Just as he had locked the door of the lock-up he had heard a disturbance from inside a rubbish skip compound. He assumed that it was either cats, or rats at play until a gigantic figure loomed up from behind a rubbish skip. The man had become frozen to the spot and had just stood there gawping as Boyd had slipped between two rubbish skips and had ran off at great speed.