The Door is Still Ajar Read online

  The body had been sighted by an elderly lady who had seen it when she had opened her kitchen window that looked out into the alley. The murder was more than likely planned and premeditated. So near and yet so far. Blumer had not taken much notice of the tall, thin young man as he passed by with his hands plunged deep inside of the pockets of his over-sized donkey jacket. But the the second time that he would see him; not only would he take notice, he would think that possibly the police may have their first suspect. The only thing now was for Blumer to establish his identity and find out where he lived, without him being aware that he was on Blumer’s radar.

  The scene of the second murder had been only four streets away and as with the first scene the body had been found in an alley by a tramp who had been rummaging around in the dustbins. The tramp had seen the body further back in the alley, at the foot of the dustbin that had the hand print on the lid of it. There was no doubt that it was the same handprint as the handprint that had throttled the boys, because those hands had literally crushed the boy’s gullets and the fingers had caused severe bruising to the backs of their necks. The second boy had been into a nearby sweetshop by himself and the owner had stipulated that he had not seen anybody else about. The only indicator that the police had to go on was that the boys had entered the shops at about the same time; seventeen thirty.

  It had been drizzling as Blumer had parked his car, just along the road from the second murder scene. Luckily the rain had stopped and the windscreen wipers had cast off the remaining rain from windscreen. He had just picked up his polaroid camera from the passenger seat and was about to climb out of the car when he saw a figure walking towards him. Blumer had become perplexed as the figure stopped right in front of the alley and looked along it. He then produced a packet of cigarettes and a lighter from the pockets of his donkey jacket. Blumer immediately took stock of the man’s hands. Big, chunky hands of a man who probably did hard labour. He had thin bandy legs and a narrow thin face, with high cheek bones. The DA haircut that he had, must have been groomed with a great deal of care and attention. It was definitely the same man who had passed him the previous day, close to the first murder scene.

  Blumer picked up his camera Snap, Snap, Snap in slow succession. Three photos of a cold, callous killer. The man then walked on and turned into another street without even noticing Blumer sitting in his car. Blumer had simply patted his camera and said to himself, ‘I think we may be on to something’. The next evening Blumer had parked his car further back along the road at about the same time; seventeen twenty. And sure enough the same man came walking along the street. He only had glanced along the alley this time, before turning into the side street. Blumer quickly got out of the car and started to follow the man. Fortunately he was only strolling along and Blumer could follow him from a safe distance, without being noticed by him. He then turned into another street and about eight doors along turned into a terraced house. Blumer had waited for a couple of minutes and then walked by the house and deftly noted the address, 8 King George Road. At a glance he had noticed that all of the curtains were drawn across all of the windows. Blumer decided that he must use a crafty ploy and use it quickly.

  When he went home that evening he had already worked out his ploy and would use it the next morning. And the ploy would work far better than he could have expected. He took a large envolope and wrote on it Mrs E Murdoch, 6 King George Road on it, and then applied a stamp to it. The next morning he had knocked on the door of 6 King George Road at just after ten o’clock, holding the envolope. An elderly lady had answered the door and Blumer had said, ‘Sorry to disturb you Madam. I only live a couple streets away and this was delivered yesterday. Rather than give it back to the post office I thought I may as well drop it off to you as I’m passing. Mr E Murdoch I pressume?’

  The woman looked puzzled and then said, ‘No that’s not me, my name is Mrs Agnes Osbourne. Thanks anyway she said. Blumer then said casually, ‘No problem I’ll give back to the post office. Could it be for next door?’

  The woman replied, ‘No, that’s Stewert and Sue and their name is Briggs. There’s nobody there anyway. He works at Sheers and Gould building supplies and she works in Woolworths.’

  Blumer could barely believe his luck. Sheers and Gould was only in Mile End and was within walking distance from where he was and he could get there there within fifteen minutes. ‘Thank you Madam, sorry to to disturb you.’

  His next ploy would be to go to Sheers and Gould and ask about buying guttering. But he did not even have to enter the gates to go to the office, because he immediately saw Stewart Briggs driving a fork-lift truck in the yard. His DA haircut must be his pride and joy, because it had been vey well groomed. He pulled up the truck in front of a pallet of bricks and pulled levers and clutches with big, strong, chunky hands.

  An hour later he informed Dick Taylor that a man by the name of Stewart Briggs of 8 King George Road may be a person of interest. Taylor had known John Blumer for many years and he knew that man never made statements, unless he really thought that he was onto something.

  Briggs had been picked up by the police as he was about to enter his front door. He was immediatly taken to the station and finger printed. The prints had matched the prints on the dustbin lid and the dead boy’s throats. He was read his rights and was charged under suspicion of first degree murder. His young wife Sue did not have a clue about Brigg’s murderous altar ego and had to be counselled by a police woman, because she had a complete breakdown when Briggs was arrested.

  Dick Taylor could barely hide his delight about Briggs being charged, because just like Blumer he knew all to well that Briggs would have more than likely struck again. They both could never know a particular criminal mind. But they both knew criminal profiling and certain patterns of modus operandi that a killer might use and leave behind, like a trail. And they both knew that serial killers would usually carry out their darstardly deeds until they were either caught, or killed. At the time of their meeting, Harry Parkes had told Blumer that if he ever needed help in any way, about anything, to look him up. Blumer had not taken much stock of this offer. After all, what could a well seasoned murder investigator and a top gangland boss ever have in common? Blumer could never have known that he would need Harry Parkes later on. Because Blumer would have to go underground as a private investigator, if he stood even a dog’s chance of catching a killer that defied profiling, defied any motive and worst of all defied description. He would have to rely on Harry Parkes in the near future. But he did not know it.

  Blumer had tried to take a low profile after the sweetshop killer was caught and charged before he could strike again. But the press wanted to know the details of the case and how Briggs had been bagged so quickly. Blumer’s name was mentioned as the prime mover and the officer who had finally nailed Briggs. This did not sit well with him, because the press had no idea of the sheer groundwork that had to be done by the police to catch a cunning and devious killer. They only wanted sensational and spectacular headlines to grab their readers’ interest. But worse still for Blumer was yet to come, regarding the press.

  The stripper killer had struck twice and the killer had had a very pronounced modus-operandi. The naked bodies of two strippers had been found within ten days of each other. One on Clapham Common and one Hampstead Heath. They had both been visciously tortured and finally garroted. Domestic murders and robberies that had gone horribly wrong, ending in murder, could never grab the publics attention like these two seperate terrible murders. John Blumer was about to become famous and he did not know it. The press had got his name and would literally run with it. His name would be on the front pages of all major tabloids. The two women had come from completeley different backgrounds; Katherine Colby hd been a proffessional stripper for years. She had worked for a lot of strip clubs; two were partly owned by Harry Parkes. Lisa Calhoun had only worked as a stripper to pay her rent and clear her debts and she worked as a stripper
under sufference. The police had interviewed the staff at the clubs where they had worked and terrified strippers that had worked at the clubs. The police had quickly established that they had not known each other, because Lisa Calhoun had only worked for one club that catered for a clientele that were more affluent.

  Katherine Colby had worked a circuit of six clubs; two of which were in Soho.The police had also established that both of them had been targeted and thier murders had been planned beforehand. The perpertrator may of even known them, or befriended them. The only thing that they had in common was that they both had lived alone and they had been basically private in their general routines. The perpertrator may well of known this.

  The chances that their abductions, torture and finally their murders were unlikely to have been random were put to one side. Dick Taylor had quickly put together a team. Plain clothes officers had been detailed off to frequent strip clubs and try to establish if they could notice anything, or anybody acting strangely when any of the shows were in full swing. Another team were had been detailed off to interview known sex offenders and their whereabouts at the time of the murders.

  A man named Hammond name had cropped up, because he had a reputation beating women up. And also any of his girlfriends. He also had had a habit of frequenting strip clubs. But he had been dismissed as a suspect, becuase he was just coming to the end of a sentence in Wormwood Scrubs for beating up his last girlfriend; a prostitute. Blumer had gone to both of the woman’s flats with a team of forensics try to find any fingerprints, or try to find anything that may lead them to the perpertrator. There had been a marked difference as to how the girls had lived. Katherine Colby’s flat had been cramped, untidy. Unwashed pots, pans and dishes had been left in the kitchen sink. Stinking rubbish and rotten fruit had been left in a rubbish bin. Dirty washing had been left strewn on the bathroom floor. The bedroom and living room had not been cleaned, or tidied for possibly weeks. It looked as though Katherine Colby rarely had visitors. The team had spent four hours examining the flat, but could not find anything that could draw their attention to anything that could be deemed as suspect. Blumer and the team had found Lisa Calhoun’s flat the complete opposite and it became apparant that Lisa Calhoun had been quite sophisticated. An expensive stereo unit, a collection of classical records, a comfortable sofa with two matching arm chairs, a polished glass coffee table. She had kept her flat in an immaculate condition. The bathroom, kitchen and bedrooms were spotless and there had not been a speck of dust anywhere. She also had kept a bureau of classical books. And she must have loved Shakespeare because she had his complete works on display.

  It was when Blumer had been looking at her book display that he had noticed a book that had been laying in front of the other books. Anton Chejov. He had opened the book and immediateley noticed that it was a library book. And the name and address of the library had been stamped on the inside cover. Lisa Calhoun may have been a solitary woman, but she did visit at least one library. Blumer had got his first lead.

  It had been a chilly November morning when Blumer had walked through the doors of the library. The woman who had approached him had been pleasant and charming when asking him if she could help him. He had asked her where classical books could be found and she had told him on the first floor. There were only a few people milling about, as Blumer climbed the stairs to the first floor. He had bagun meandering around, looking at the books when he saw him. In the corner of the room a small, birdlike man was sitting at a desk and writing on a pad. As Blumer walked over he noticed that the mans face was full of terrible acne and his glasses were so big that they could barely perch on his nose and ears. He had only noticed Blumer when he had stopped in front of his desk.

  Blumer would remember their conversation word for Word. ‘Can I help you, Sir?’ ‘Yes, can you show me where the Tolstoy and Anton Chejov books are?’ ‘Yes right at the end, top shelf of the right hand bureau.’

  Blumer then pulled out the Anton Chejov book that he had taken from Lisa Calhoun’s flat and placed it on the table. ‘I’ve come to return this. The lady who booked it out is no longer with us.’ Bingo, a slight twitch crossed his lower lip.

  Blumer then produced his ID and Bingo, the man cringed slightly. ‘My name is Detective Inspector Blumer of the Met. I’m am trying to trace anybody who may have known a Miss Lisa Calhoun and establish anybody who may have known her and at the time of her abduction and murder, before her body was found on Hampstead Heath.’ The man had quickly composed himself and his reaction was just a little bit too staged, bordering on theatrical for Blumer.

  ‘Yes, I knew Lisa. She would come here every week, or so to take a book, or two.’

  ‘When was the last time she visited here?’

  ‘About two days before she drew that book’.

  Blumer looked at the date on the book and sure enough the dates matched. ‘Did you hear what had happened to her?’

  ‘I did, I did, such a terrible thing.’

  ‘Did you know that she worked as a stripper in the evenings?’ Bingo, the man had to think and digest what Blumer had said.

  ‘No, no. She told me that she worked as a hostess at a club. I did not know that she worked as a stripper.’

  ‘So you knew her quite well then?’

  ‘We both shared an interest in Anton Chejov and would sometimes discuss his work, that’s all really.’

  ‘Can I have your name and address sir, just for our records? You are probably one of the last people who had seen her alive. I doubt if we will require anymore information from you.’

  Then for Blumer a dead give-away happened. The man visibly relaxed and said, ‘Yes, my name is Hugh Porter. My address is 26 Lime Kilnes Road, Bethnal Green.’

  ‘Thank you for your help, Sir, hope you appreciate that we have to trace any last movements of a murder victim.’

  ‘Yes of course, of course glad to be of help.’ As Blumer had walked down the stairs and back out into the street he had already began contemplating a ploy. He would pay a visit to 26 Lime Kilnes Road while Hugh Porter was at work.

  Chief Inpector Dick Taylor may have been a stickler for rules and regulations, but he also had another side which Blumer had always liked and respected. He could lambast a young PC for not following procedures. He could shout at a team of investigators for not keeping him up to date with a serious case. But he also had a trait which Blumer secretly called his ‘mother duck complex’. Dick Taylor really cared about the welfare of his staff. If he could be deemed as a conflicted man, then he was a conflicted man in a good sense. But with the stripper murders Blumer had sailed dangerously close to the wind with him. Breaking and entry without a search warrent, was just asking for trouble. And people above Dick Taylor had begun to ask questions, and he did not buy Blumer’s cock-and-bull story that he had found Hugh Porter’s front door open and had gone in looking for him, for one moment.

  From the moment Blumer had spoken to Porter he could sense that he was onto something. The very next morning he had gone to Porter’s address to take note of what time he went to work; he also had his polaroid camera with him. He had been just in time. Five minutes after Blumer had parked his car opposite the house, Porter had come out of the front door and shut it behind him. Blumer picked up the camera from the front seat. Just as he turned around Blumer snapped him and it was a good shot. Porter had not seen him and appeared to have been in a hurry.

  After Porter had gone Blumer had got out of his car and walked up to the the front door of the house. Perfect, only a basic Yale lock. He should have no problem picking it, or using his other improvised tool. He then went around to the back alley that ran along the line of terraced houses and went through the back gate. Perfect, no nosy neighbours looking out of windows. All of the windows were shut and the back door was locked. As he climbed back into his car and drove off; he already had his plan ready for the next day. At twenty past nine Porter did the same routi
ne as he did the day before and Blumer had waited five minutes before he moved. He made his way to the front door and rang the doorbell. No dogs barked and nobody came to the door. He then pulled a plyable strip of plastic, with a slight lip on the end and slipped it through the bolt and the door jar. The lip hooked around the end of the bolt and he carefully pulled it. Bingo, the door opened.

  He had to move fast. First he checked all of the downstairs rooms; living room, kitchen and backroom. He then went upstairs and checked the bathroom and toilet and two bedrooms. It was then that he had noticed a door to a room that would have faced the back of the house and the door had a hasp and padlock on it. He pulled at the padlock and it had not been fully snapped shut. He pulled the padlock open and opened the door. When he entered the room he had to stop and try to gather his thoughts, because what he was seeing mortified him. He was looking at what could easily pass as a medieval torture chamber. There were chains on the walls and various implements and gadgets that could only be used for sadistic torture. There was even a stretching rack in the middle of the room, with a wheel rigged to it. On a table stood a large plastic bottle with a big packet of cotton wool beside it. He opened the bottle and sniffed it; morphine. With trembling hands he pulled his camera from his jacket pocket and sarted taking snaps. It had been difficult for Blumer to digest the sheer horror at what he was looking at, but when he did he muttered ‘Gotcha! you bastard. You sadistic murdering bastard’.