The Door is Still Ajar Read online

  It was then that he had noticed the pool of blood seeping from beneath the rubbish skips. He only saw the badly battered body when he had looked behind the skips. He had been given plenty of time to get a very good look at the killer and had given the police a detailed description of him. After an initial investagation the police had a pretty good idea who they were looking for. Leon Boyd; a former circus strongman who had been released from Durham Prison, just over a year before.

  The history of Leon Boyd could only be described as a bizarre and macabra pantomime with horrific results. A miner’s son from Wales, Leon; even from a young age had showed signs of violence. Discipline and punishment had made him even worse and he had resented anybody including teachers who had tried to coax him into behaving normally. Much to the dismay of his parents; as he grew, so did his unsavoury character. By the time he had turned fifteen he was already six feet six in stature and his frame had begun to literally morph into a muscle bound block of unbelievable power. He had left home at fifteen and had simply drifted from town to town. He had spent some time in Dublin and Limerick. But he had always been on the move and had rarely stayed in one place for more than a couple of months. By the age of twenty one he had finally found a potential vocation as a circus strongman. He had travelled around the country for a year and although most of the other circus team had feared him he had virtually behaved himself. Not one for social interactions, he had kept himself to himself. Nobody could have been aware of the montsrous fiend that lurked somewhere inside of the heart and soul of him until one night he showed his true colours, but it had very nearly been the death of him. Just after midnight when everybody had turned in for the night and the most of the circus team were trying to get some sleep in their caravans, pandamoniam had suddenly errupted.

  Firstly, an hysterical woman’s scream followed by a deafening roar of lions, coming from the lions’ enclosure. The ringmaster and lion tamer had bolted over to the scene and could not believe what had unfolded. When they had realised what had happened they had moved very quickly. A pretty trapeze artist was sprawled on the floor, missing her underwear that had been ripped off. Boyd had been laying semi-conscious just in front of the lions’ cage, with a mighty lion trying to get at him with his paw through the bars. Blood had been pouring from the back of Boyd’s head, where the lion had caught him with its paw. Boyd had jumped the girl and had dragged her into the lions’ enclosure area. But he had backed himself up against the lions’ cage and a gigantic lion had managed to rip the back of his head open through the bars. The ring master had managed to stop the loss of blood from the wound with a pillow, while the lion tamer had chained Boyd’s arms and legs to an empty cage. The ambulance team had managed to save Boyd’s life when they arrived and had rushed him to the nearest hospital under a police escort. He had been given an emergency blood tranfusion and had to spend two weeks in hospital. The police officers who had interviewed Boyd when he had been recovering were not buying the cock & bull story that he had concocted. He had told the police that he had been trying to rescue the girl, who had been looking through the bars of the lions cage and had got too close. And it had been the lion that had ripped her clothing off. The girl had told the police that Boyd had jumped her from from behind as she was returnng to her caravan and had dragged her into the lions’ enclosure. This had been the first warning that Boyd was a very dangerous man.

  The judge jury had had no qualms about Boyd’s guilt. And the judge had sentenced him to eighteen months in Durham Prison; of which he had only served a year for good behaviour. On his release a complete comedy of errors unfolded that gave Boyd carte-blanche to simply disappear off of the police and public’s radar. Firstly his probation officer, who had been carefully monitering everything Boyd did, got killed in a car accident. Boyd had managed to get a job in a components factory in Leeds and his probation officers had been pleased with the progress that he had been making. Boyd had been attending a course in Wakefied that the owners of the firm had sent him on when a former disgruntled employee had burned the components factory to the ground. Boyd took this as an opportunity to go incomunicado, and that is exactly what he did. His new identities would be either Charles Cleverly, or William Wiseman. He took labouring jobs on building sites, mainly around, or on the outskirts of big cities; Birmingman, Manchester, Bradford, Sunderland and Stoke. He had no problem doing hard work and fellow workers on various sites had watched in awe as he had shovelled and mixed cement in big industial sized cement mixers all day long. Boyd had been hiding his true persona very well.

  But it would be only a question of time before the fiend that lurked within him would emerge. The Bradford incident had been a close call and he had been extremely lucky to escape justice. His first stop after Bradford had been Birmingham, where he took a job on a new housing estate that was being built. When the estate had been nearly completed he had moved on to Manchester, where another vast building project was underway. He had lived frugally and had used cheap boarding houses for lodgings. He had fed himself by gorging himself on cheese, bread, pints of milk and food from take-aways and fish & chip shops. After the Manchester project was nearly completed he had decided to embark on a new career in London. A career that would make his name a name of infamy and horror.

  CHAPTER 5

  Manchester July 1974.

  (The Predator Is Close. The Predator Is Stalking Its Prey.)

  The Visitor.

  It was just after ten thirty in the evening and it was already dark as Gavin walked briskly along the bank of the canal. He was sweating profusely and his stomach had become like a knot of nervous, tangled muscle. Claire should be already waiting for him, hiding behind a small wooden hut, situated just back from the path. Thankfully there was nobody about. He had thought that his daliance with Claire would only be a fling; a harmless affair that he could break off easily, if his wife had become suspicious. But the best laid plans could go astray, as he was finding out. Although Claire was only eighteen and he was thirty two he had been at first flattered and then besotted by her open attraction to him. Indeed his wife was becoming suspicious. Darts on Tuesday, pool on Thursday; two games that he had never shown much interest in, before their son was born, were now keeping him away from their home for over four hours consecutively. He knew that he had to break it off, but twice he had tried to and had lost his nerve. In short he had fallen for her ‘hook line and sinker’. Just as he was about turn off of the path and head for the rear of the hut, thinking Claire would be already waiting for him, he was punched in the face so hard that his entire frame shuddered. He had staggered backwards when the next punch to his stomach lifted him clean off of his feet. The next punch to his temple had concussed him and he had started to lose consciousness. A former champion amateur boxer in his youth; he had never been hit as hard as this, ever. The next thing he knew he had fallen into the murkey water of the canal. He had become completeley powerless as his attacker brutally drove him to the bottom of the canal with a boat-hook. His attacker had then held him under the water until until his body went limp. The attaker then threw the boat-hook like a javelin over a fence behind the hut, and then hid behind the back of the hut.

  Claire had been a little late this evening and she had already made up her mind that she must finnish with Gavin. What on earth was she playing at; getting involved with a married man. Her friend Karen had warned in a candid and frank way. ‘Don’t get involved with a married man, because it’s a recipe for disaster’. Karen had been right and now the excitement of this forbidden love affair was wearing off, she had been deeply regretting ever letting it happen in the first place. No sign of Gavin. He must be waiting behind the hut for her. Just as she had turned off of the path and went round the back of the hut expecting to find Gavin waiting for her she had suddenly felt alarmed. Gavin was not waiting for. Instead the visitor had been waiting patiently for her. Perfect timing.

  Two big powerful men were trundling across the building site with
their empty wheelbarrows. They were in high spirits, because it looked as though they were going to get their bonuses after all. All thanks to a new labourer that had started working with them from a month ago.

  “Come on Malloy. Yah fat old doddering Koot. You’ll never get yah bonus at this rate!”

  “Shut up Cambell! I can run rings around you, just like I used to do in the ring.”

  Both men, former prize-fighters, had a repertoire between them which was so amusing that their fellows labourers and also the bricklayers had named them Tweedle Dee & Tweedle Dum.

  The giant that was standing next to the big industrial cement mixer had been already waiting for them to arrive, with a full mix of cement ready for them in the mixer. They had glanced at each other as if to say ‘he’s done it again’. Before it had taken two men to shovel the sand and cement into the mixer. But they had needed a break consistanly during the day, because of the sheer workload. The man they only knew as William Wiseman did not have that problem. He could shovel sand and cement all day long, with only a break for lunch. William Wiseman was not a friendly man and he had an aura about him that was stifling and intimidating. He was a man of few words and any attempt to befriend him was met with cold indifference. The building project was nearly complete and the team of builders, labourers, plumbers and tilers would move on to a new project. But William Wiseman would not join them. He would move on to another town and would use the name Charles Cleverly.

  Eccles Manchester

  October 1974

  The woman was angry with herself. She had left her keys in the ignition of her Ford Escort and had locked herself out of the car, by pressing the nob down as she had vacated the drivers seat. Only last week her husband had done the same thing and she had to bring the spare key to him from their house. Luckily she had only bought cereals and canned food which she had locked in the boot. She had parked in Tesco’s car park and would only have to go over to the payphone just over the road. It had only taken her five minutes to make the call and her husband had told her that he would be there in about fifteen minutes. When she had returned to where she had parked the car, it was gone. She had looked around and had asked a woman who was piling her shopping into the boot of her own car if she had seen anybody breaking into a yellow Ford Escort, which had been parked close to her own car; the woman had told her that their was no yellow Ford Escort there when she had arrived. Four days later she had received a phone call from the police to inform her that her car had been found on housing estate on the outskirts of Portsmouth. The car had been locked and the key had been left in the ignition. The car had not been damaged in anyway and even the shopping that had been locked in the boot had not been touched. The theif had even been generous enough to leave her a full tank of petrol. The distraught woman had worried that her car may have been stolen to carry out a robbery, or simply used as a get-away vehicle from a robbery, or to ferry stolen goods. But thankfully the police had doubted that any of these reasons were the case and had speculated that the car had either simply been stolen by a joy rider, or the thief had only stolen her car to get down to Portsmouth. But who would steal a car that only had less than a quarter tank of petrol and leave the tank full to the brim.

  Gavin and Claire had kept there meeting place by the canal so secret that nobody, including Karen had not known about it. Gavin’s body had been found floating in the canal by a dog walker the next day. Claire had simply disappeared without a trace. When the autopsy had established that Gavin had received three very powerful blows, two to his head and one to the stomach that had ruptured his spleen, they had begun to look for a motive and a murderer. He had been held under the wáter until he had drowned. The boat-hook had literally pierced his chest. All the police could establish was that Gavin’s killer was somebody of immense power.

  Southsea

  November 1974

  All three of them were tipsy as they made their way up the stairs of Jo Anna’s disco; three young women on a night out. They had decided to try Jo Anna’s, because Martha’s disco in Portsmouth town centre was becoming notorious for fights among drunken sailors. If they had known what was going to happen inside of Jo Anna’s in a couple of hours time they would have avoided Jo Anna’s as well. This had become a regular Friday night event for them and they had all been friends since their school days. They would firstly do a round of their favourite pubs; the Apsley, the Auckland Arms, the Palmerston and the Osbourne. All of them were very keen on dancing and having a good time, but there were not many discos around Portsmouth and drunken sailors seemed to be everywhere, frequenting every pub and offending anybody else who was not a sailor with their lewd antics. Christina, Sue and Nadine were all on the look out for blokes; half decent, good looking blokes. But very few drunken sailors could draw their attention, due to the inebriated state they were usually in. There been a crew of about six, or seven sailors inside of Jo Anna’s and although there had been larking about and bawdy banter between them; they were not being a nuisance, or encroaching on anybody else’s space. They were off of HMS Achilles and had been at sea for a couple of weeks. The disco was still relatively empty and the staff had been quite relaxed and had been only keeping a casual eye on the sailors.

  All three girls had been dancing close to a big model tree that was situated in the middle of the dance floor, when a crew of submariners entered and they were all drunk. At first they had headed straight for the bar and had ordered pints. The other crew from the Achilles who were standing at the other end of the bar had noticed them, but there had been no animosity towards them. This would change as the night drew on. The first incident that would be the trigger for the coming fray was when one of the crew from the Achilles had shouted out ‘Sun Dodger’s. Get out your stinking the place out!’ To which came an angry reply, ‘Fuck off Skimmers. Whats it like being skint all the time?” This had been always been a sore point for general service sailors, because submariners had always been on a higher rate of pay than them.

  The punch up that had suddenly erupted was like something out of a cowboy film. Chairs flew, glasses flew and the two big bouncers who had let them in were now desperately trying to seperate them. Two barmen had grabbed baseball bats from behind the bar and had started to swing them at the sailors’ knees to try and disable them. The next thing that happened was the police and naval patrol had entered and were dragging all of the combatants apart. Nadine had been so shocked and terrified by the fray that she had panicked and had made a beeline for the exit stairs. Sue and Christina had been unfortunate enough to be bundled and pushed into a corner by brawling men, but at least they had not been hurt.

  When finally the fray was under control, Sue and Christina had followed Nadine’s route and had headed for the exit stairs. They had assumed that she would be waiting for them outside, but she wasn’t. After looking around for her and asking passers by if they had seen a terrified girl leave the entrance of Jo Anna’s, to which the answers had been no, they had then thought that she may of caught a taxi home. But Nadine had not caught a taxi home. Nadine had simply vanished without a trace. Just like young Claire Gleason had, up country in Manchester, back in July. Was this the beginning of a pattern. If the girls had been abducted, then by whom and for what reason? And were their diappearances connected. As yet no bodies had been found and the effrontery of the abducter was something to be taken into account. A dour and reserved Detective Inspector had been pondering these very questions. Both incidents had been broadcast on national TV and had written about in all of the main tabloids and had caught the interest of John Blumer.

  Saddleworth Moor

  May 1975

  A Volkswagen van drew up by the side of the narrow road and a burly middle aged man jumped out of the driver’s seat and then opened the rear door of the van. A magnificent German Shepherd dog jumped out of the back and charged about excitedly. The man then pulled out two heavy duty plastic buckets from the back of the van and called to
the dog.

  “Come on Monty. I don’t wanna get caught, cause’ this might not be legal.”

  On a previous outing with his dog he had discovered by chance a small bog of black peat, just over a hill and between an outcrop of rocks. An avid gardener he knew that black peat was very fertile and he had come to take a couple of buckets for his greenhouse. What he did not know was that black peat was also a remarkable preserver of organic matter. As he made his way over the hill and descended down between the rocks Monty suddenly had began to howl and and sniff the air. The man knew something was wrong when Monty’s ears suddenly became erect and his howling became very frantic. He had then noticed a woman’s shoe; a new shoe near the edge of the bog. Monty had stalked along the edge of the bog and had began to vigorously dig with his paws into the peat and the man had realised that his trusty dog had found something. He approached slowly to where the dog had been digging, with his nerves on tenterhooks.

  “What’s the matter boy...! What have you found Monty?”

  It was then with horror he saw her face. It was the face of a young girl. The body of Claire Gleason had finally been found. After the initial shock of the macabre find he called the dog.

  “Come on Monty...! We gotta’ call the police. There’s a phone box in the village!”

  Hayling Island

  June 1975

  The tides had been abnormally high for the the past couple of months and flotsam had been dumped high up on the beaches and small inlets around the island. The current of the Solent had also become abnormally very volatile also and swimming had been advised against by the local council. A young couple had been walking along the beach and had wandered up toward the edge of the Golf course.