The Adjudicator

By Denis Leeman

Serial killers come in many shapes and sizes but one thing they all have in common is a shrewd, calculating mind; in the case of our killer ‘The Adjudicator’ more so.
When the beautiful detective Inspector Francis Grey was assigned the first case of murder involving this killer she had no idea what was to come. It was a brutal attack on a woman by her own husband, who hacked her to pieces with a garden sickle; nasty, yes, but this proved to be just the beginning. Several more followed and to titillate the mind of the young Inspector, with every killing the killer left a trademark, ‘The Adjudicator’, usually written in blood. Yes, this fiend certainly had a shrewd, calculating mind and was also a very elusive character, another attribute usually possessed by this type of killer. But what about the type that continue their spate of butchery even when caught, found guilty in court and imprisoned? Impossible, you say; apparently not.
The case continues with twists and turns, pointing one way and then the other, until finally Fran and her doting young sergeant Len begin to think it will surely be impossible to stop this maniac, especially when the general pattern of the case is disrupted by a seemingly unrelated outbreak of similar killings.
Priests, bent cops, perverts and prostitutes all come into the picture until finally, when the station commander DCI Lawson is on the point of admitting defeat and calling for the aid of Scotland Yard, the case is cracked, blown wide open by the most unexpected revelation imaginable for them all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Denis Leeman
• Release date: Jan 27, 2016
• ISBN: 9781310095085

Book preview

1

‘Jack, tell Inspector Grey I’d like her to report to my office as soon as she comes into the station,’ called out Superintendent Lawson passing the desk sergeant, ‘and tell her it’s urgent,’ he added.

‘Yes, sir,’ the man replied as his boss continued away to his office, ‘but she’s not due in until noon. She has an important appointment somewhere this morning, so I’ve been told.’

‘Huh, another bloody hair appointment, I expect. Get her on her mobile, Jack, and tell her I want her in my office within half an hour.’

The sergeant hastily reached for the phone.

* * *

‘Thanks, Tracy love, that looks great,’ said Inspector Francine Grey, smiling as she examined her new hairstyle in the big mirror. She got up from the hairdresser’s white leather chair, smoothing her navy blouse over her tummy and hips. Five-eight, athletically slim and thirty years old, she’d spent the last ten years of her life in the police service, but still managed to retain more than a little of her feminine side.

‘Glad you like it, Fran,’ Tracy replied. ‘I told you it would suit you, you’ll have all them hunky coppers chasing you around the station when you get back up there.’ She laughed.

‘Aye, don’t need a new hairdo for that, Tracy,’ said Fran, ‘they’re a horny lot them at the best of times.’ Reaching for her handbag and taking out her mobile phone she switched it on. ‘I bet they’ve been trying to get through to me for the last hour while I’ve been in your chair.’ Almost immediately it started playing ‘Twist and Shout’ by the Beatles.

‘Oh, hi, Jack, I had it switched off while I was driving,’ Fran said after listening to the receiver for a few seconds. ‘OK, tell him I’m on my way, be about fifteen minutes.’ She turned to Tracy and sighed. ‘Told you they’d be missing me, didn’t I?’

* * *

Staring at her over his thick-rimmed reading glasses as she walked into his office, Superintendent Lawson said, ‘I thought so, been to visit that mate of yours with the hairdressing business again, have we, Fran?’

Unable to deny it, she replied, ‘Yes, sir, I have. I thought I’d better smarten up a bit, seeing as I’ve got that interview with those councillors later this week regarding that incident in the town hall. I thought I told you last night about the appointment.’

‘You might have done, Fran,’ Lawson said, ‘but you’re off that town hall job now. You’re going to jail instead.’ He chuckled, watching her face wrinkle into a frown. ‘There’s been another killing; I just got notified this morning, a chap called John White, another Leeds man, and also just out of prison after serving a sentence for murder.’ Pausing thoughtfully he said, ‘It’s obvious this killer is some sort of madman, left the same trademark scrawled in blood near the body saying The Adjudicator with Judica, Domine written under it. I’m told that’s Latin for Judge, O Lord,’ he added. ‘Looks like the work of a maniac that thinks his actions are justified for some reason.’

‘Yes, the killings seem to be the work of a nutcase of some sort,’ Fran agreed. ‘But what about the method used to kill?’ she asked. ‘Perpetrators like this usually follow a similar sort of a pattern. The last victim, Pat West, was killed while holidaying in Scotland and had his throat cut. What about this one?’

‘No, the killing itself was completely different, but there is a pattern emerging, a fairly distinct and worrying pattern. In fact,’ Lawson said, ‘if I’m right it would prove to me that the killer of these men is the same person; apart from the trademark.’

‘Why do you say worrying, sir?’ Fran replied.

‘Well, you see, this killer seems to be following the original killing method his victim used when committing his own crime; and he’s a perfectionist,’ he stressed. ‘This makes me think he’s working with a definite motive in mind and targeting the victim; probably got other victims in his sights for future attention, Fran, that’s the worry. Mind you,’ he went on, ‘I also think it may be the work of a very law-abiding, even devoted family man, who really believes he’s doing a service for the community. Mad as a hatter of course,’ he added, hunching his huge shoulders.

‘You’re beginning to loose me a bit, sir,’ Fran said sitting back with an exaggerated sigh. ‘You mean to say both the victims, who were killers themselves, were killed in exactly the same way as they had murdered their own victims?’

‘Well yes, Fran,’ Lawson replied, ‘as near as possible anyway. But I didn’t realise something else until about an hour or so back. I was in the canteen reading the report I’d just received, and then it just clicked.’ He smiled.

‘You mean the John White report?’ she interrupted. ‘So, how was he killed then, sir?’ she asked.

‘Horrible bloody case, Fran, wait until you read the full report. Apparently, he’d been manually raped with a pickaxe handle then partially garrotted and thrown in the river still alive with the pickaxe handle still stuck up his rectum.’

‘Good God,’ she gasped. ‘Poor bugger, what a way to go.’

‘Well, Fran, some people might say he deserved all he got, considering that’s what he did to a little eight-year-old girl six years back. Only difference was he didn’t use a pickaxe handle, if you see what I mean.’

‘Yes, and I agree with them, sir,’ she said adamantly, ‘but unfortunately we’ve got to follow the law whatever the bastards have done.’

‘Yes, yes, Fran, but just listen to what I was going to tell you,’ he went on urgently. ‘First thing I did when I’d finished my breakfast, was to send my secretary down to the computer room to check on the police records regarding the other murder; and what do you think?’ He chuckled staring at her, waiting for a response.

‘What, sir?’ she asked as his pause of triumph lengthened. ‘What did she find?’

He looked at her over his glasses. ‘Not only were both killed in ways that mimicked their original crimes, but both had served minimal sentences, disproportionate to the heinous nature of their offence. White killed that child in the way I’ve just told you, and West, the first one, cut his wife’s throat with a garden sickle while on holiday in Scotland. Mind you, they both suffered for it eventually; White was literally shafted,’ he chuckled, ‘and Pat West had his head hacked off with a large-tooth garden saw.’

‘There’s some weird buggers about, sir,’ Fran said shaking her head. ‘Yes, it definitely looks like the work of the same man or woman.’ She sighed. ‘So, where do we go from here?’

‘It’s all yours now.’ He nodded down at the report on the desktop. ‘All the basic information we have on the cases is in there, Fran. However, I think you should take a trip up to Durham jail, White’s last government address, and have a chat with the governor. I also suggest a chat with a few of his cellmates, too, seeing he was killed within a week of being released; could be some sort of connection with one of them and the some bugger on the outside.’

‘My very thoughts,’ she agreed. ‘Right, sir, I’ll get working on it straight away and I’ll drive up north this afternoon with Len James if that’s okay?’

‘Aye, he’s a good copper is young Len,’ Lawson said. ‘Big, good-looking bugger too, isn’t he?’ He laughed, giving the young inspector a wink.

2

‘Christ, Fran, do you expect me to ride curled up in that contraption for over a hundred miles?’ Sergeant James joked as they strode towards where her Mini Cooper stood on the station car park. He was a big, well-made guy, towering over her five eight.

‘Well, it’s ether that or you can bloody well walk there, Sergeant,’ she said as she pointed the card key at it. ‘Go on, get in, you big sod.’ She laughed as the door locks clicked.

Three hours later they were going through security at the jail and three hours after that they were back at their own station with no information gained other than that White was picked up on release by a tall, classy-looking blonde in a black Jaguar convertible.

‘Big flashy blonde?’ echoed Superintendent Lawson frowning, as they told him what they’d found out from the gate staff at the jail. ‘I can’t imagine a woman having the strength to inflict the punishment he went through.’

‘Well, you never know, sir,’ said Sergeant James seriously. ‘Best keep an open mind.’

‘Aye, well, yes,’ the older man muttered giving James a sceptical glance. ‘She could be a killer but a woman would most likely poison him or stab him in his sleep, or something, but the out and out brutality inflicted on White seems a step too far. I’m sure you’ve read the coroner’s report, Len?’ he asked with raised eyebrows.

‘Yes, nasty job all right, enough to make you vomit, and probably not the work of a woman.’ He grimaced.

‘I’ll say, I’ll say.’ His boss nodded repeatedly. ‘Made my eyes water just thinking what he must have gone through before he died.’ Turning to Fran, he said, ‘You’re not saying much, Inspector. What do you think?’

‘I think this woman could be an accomplice or just some hired help to snare the guy, sir,’ she replied calmly.

‘You did say the governor verified he’d had no visitors in the last six months, except that priest who came to tell him his mother had died; that right, Fran?’

‘Yes, that’s right, sir, and that was two months back. White didn’t seem to give a shit and told the old priest to fuck off and not come back.’

‘Not a very nice way to bid farewell to a man of the cloth.’ Lawson smiled. ‘Who was this priest anyway?’ he asked. ‘Was he local, Fran?’

‘Apparently he came from an RC church, St Paul’s, in Gateshead, where White’s mother used to live. But he was in his sixties, so I can’t see him being anything other than genuine,’ she added.

‘Aye, most likely you’re right, but ease up on the over-the-hill-at-sixty implications,’ he said, grinning. ‘I’m heading that way myself. Still, it wouldn’t do any harm to have a little chat with the gentleman on the phone, Fran. You never know, he might be able to give us a clue as to where White had been hanging about since he left jail.’

‘By the way, sir,’ interrupted Sergeant James, ‘don’t you think it would be a good idea to keep an eye on any other released killers for a spell if there’s a chance this bloke could be targeting them for his own virtuous feelings?’

‘Already done, Len lad’ he said casually, rummaging in his desk drawer grumbling about a lost key. ‘Aye, I thought about that and apparently there was a chap released from the same jail as White two days after him.’

‘What, a murderer?’ Fran asked sharply.

‘Yes, a vicious bugger according to his records, a black guy just finished twenty years inside; a mainline drug runner no less. Had an augment with one of his customers and carved him up with a Stanley knife, cut both his eyes out and gelded the poor sod. For what it’s worth, I’ve put a tail on him, so we might be lucky and catch our man red-handed.’

3

‘Inspector Grey,’ Jack the desk sergeant called out as Fran walked through the door early the following Monday morning. ‘Good morning, ma’am. We’ve had a lot of excitement here on the night shift,’ he said. ‘Another killing, same trademark; sadistic, brutal, they say. All your team are down in the briefing room with the Super,’ he added.

‘Hell, another? And so soon. He’s upping his pace, becoming more frenzied maybe,’ she said, moving off to join her colleagues.

The atmosphere was buzzing when she went into the packed little briefing room. Len James her partner stood just inside talking to another young sergeant, both bearing serious expressions. Seeing her, he broke off his conversation and strode briskly towards her. ‘Suppose you’ve heard, Fran,’ he greeted her. She nodded. ‘Real dirty job this one; the two uniformed lads that found the victim were so shocked at the sight that the Super had to send ’em home as soon as they reported in.’

‘God, as bad as that?’ she replied wide-eyed. ‘So it was local then?’

‘Well, not that far: a block of flats on the outskirts of Bradford, not a bad area apparently.’ He shrugged. ‘But as before, the victim was a newly released killer himself.’

Just then the door burst noisily open and the tall meaty figure of Superintendent Lawson came striding in, a thick manila folio under his arm. ‘OK, you lot, let’s have your attention,’ he called to his rowdy group of subordinates. ‘You can sit down if there are enough chairs,’ he grunted, making for a green government-issue metal desk in the corner of the room and taking a seat behind it. ‘Inspector Grey,’ he called out, staring across the room in her direction, ‘as this is your case I’d be oblige if you’d come over here and look at this hastily assembled report on the latest killing.’

Fran went up to the desk and bent forward, pulling the thick folio towards her. Flipping through several of sheets of A4, she muttered, ‘But this is a white guy, sir, it’s not the one we discussed the other day, is it, the one you put a tail on?’

‘No, it isn’t, Fran,’ he replied dejectedly, ‘no activity there whatsoever. I’m beginning to think the bugger that’s doing the killings is more of a specialist than we thought; that’s why you’re all here now,’ he added, glancing at the officers grouped around the room.

‘But what about this particular killing, sir?’ asked Sergeant James who was leaning against a wall on the left. ‘Just a brutal clubbing, so I hear.’

‘You heard right, lad, it is just a brutal clubbing as you said, but that’s part of the pattern. The victim was another convicted killer, released a few weeks back after having been given a lenient sentence of eight years, and with time off for good behaviour he served only four and a half. Don’t know if you remember the case,’ he went on, glancing around at his audience, ‘a nasty bugger called Jeffery Fry.’

Fran, still perusing the report, looked up. ‘I think this man is definitely some sort of a mad vigilante sir.’

‘Aye, and a scheming, intelligent one too,’ he replied, sitting back in his chair rubbing his chin. ‘The latest victim was released before White,’ he went on, ‘but he must have had him on his agenda all along for some reason, even though he killed White first. Mind you, even that could be part of some order within his plan.’

‘I think anything could happen with this guy, sir.’ Fran sighed closing the folio and slapping it down on the desk. ‘He’s a schemer and I think he’s preparing for a long run. The sooner he’s caught the better,’ she said firmly. ‘I get the feeling that he also has a business brain with fortuitous insight. He’ll be thinking what we’re thinking, and he’s thinking before he makes a move; he’ll take some stopping. What did you think about the background of this case, sir, the pedigree of the victim, I mean?’

‘Well, you’ve just seen in there what he was jailed for,’ he nodded at the report she’d been looking through, ‘but I’ll explain for the rest of you lot.’ He looked around the room at the expectant faces. ‘The victim was a ruthless killer, who lured a simple, elderly homosexual male, to an isolated location with the presumed intention of sexual activity, then beat his head to pulp with a claw hammer before robbing him. If ever anybody deserved the same, it was him.’ With a shake of his head he went on, ‘But then, when we get the sod he’ll probably only have to serve about four bloody years for it, I suppose.’

‘I see the injustice, sir,’ Fran said. ‘Sneak thieves have been known to get longer sentences for pinching a few quid, while minor tax evaders are lucky to avoid a firing squad; but as you said, we have to catch ’em even if they wind up being treated so leniently by the courts.’

‘Aye, that’s right, but it does make your blood boil sometimes seeing the work we have to put in catching the buggers. Anyway let’s get on with the meeting, and then we can get after this bloke again.’

* * *

The meeting over with little progress made, Inspector Grey and her partner Sergeant Leonard James were driving out of the station courtyard in despondent mood. ‘I’d have liked to have been on the crime scene first, Len,’ Fran said quietly, staring at the road ahead.

‘There’s only been the dusting lads there up to now, and we wouldn’t have been able to do much probing about until after they’d finished anyway.’

‘Agreed, but this guy appears to me to be special, so the most insignificant detail could prove productive. I think he’s the type to start playing games with us before long, to justify his atrocities to himself. He could even be feeling some sort of guilt within his disarranged mind.’

The flat where the crime had been committed turned out to be within a pleasant-looking, rustic brick-built block, one of ten middle-class tenancies, the situation being in a quiet suburban area. The shock came as Fran and her sergeant passed the two young uniformed officers keeping watch outside in the passage, and walked through the door of the victim’s flat.

The body had been removed to the mortuary, and apart from slight traces left by the fingerprint crew, the crime scene was pristine. The amount of blood on the polished wood floor and the nearest wall was unbelievable, and its bitter coppery smell overwhelming. ‘Christ,’ gasped Fran glancing around. ‘No wonder the two uniforms are staying out in the hallway, it looks like an abattoir in here.’

‘And it smells like one,’ her partner replied, grimacing as he made for the open adjoining bedroom door. ‘Nearly as bad in here,’ he called out. Looks as if this was where the first blow was struck, hitting him as he lay on the bed, then he jumped up and ran out there.’

‘But he wouldn’t have had his shoes on, would he?’ she replied, coming in to have a look.

‘What makes you ask that?’ he said, turning to face her. ‘I shouldn’t think it likely, seeing as he’d undressed and got into bed.’ He nodded at a pile of men’s clothing scattered on a nearby chair. Then looking under the big queen-size bed he said, ‘Ah, there they are, Fran, trainers; but why do you ask?’

‘Because there’s the outline of a shoe on the wooden floor out there; looks as though it could have been made after the killing, but not necessarily. It’s very faint,’ she said, ‘so if it was made by the killer he must have missed it. I expect the fingerprints photographer got a shot of it though.’

‘What makes you so sure it’s the killer’s print?’ he asked. ‘It could be one of our boys that left it and didn’t notice, if it’s as faint as you say.’

‘Remotely possible, I suppose, but highly improbable,’ she said shaking her head. ‘The print is near the head, and my guess is that it was left there when he was checking up after the kill.’

‘You sound sure the killer is a man,’ he replied. ‘We must keep an open mind, you know.’

‘Well, if that footprint was made by this poor bugger’s murderer, it has to be a man, Len, or a woman with very big feet. Come on,’ she said walking away, ‘have a look for yourself. It’s a big wide print.’

Bending, looking down at the hardly visible, rather smudged image, Len mumbled, ‘Well, if it is our killer’s print, at least we can be pretty sure we’re looking for a man, and probably a big man. The foot that made that print looks about the same as mine, size twelve.’

4

Leaving the flats half an hour later, they were surprised to be met outside by a noisy crowd of onlookers; a small white van bearing the name of the local paper was parked a little way off. As they struggled through the doorway a tall fleshy man of about forty-five got out of the van and shoved his way up to Fran holding before him a small recorder; a younger man following in his wake carried a camera. On reaching the two detectives he called out, breathless with his efforts, ‘Inspector Grey, could you give me a few words on the killings for my readers?’

Giving Len a sideways glance, she shook her head at the man. ‘Sorry, Freddy, it’s too soon, we’ve only been on the job for an hour, give us a bloody chance.’

‘I appreciate that, Inspector,’ he persevered, ‘but can you verify for my readers whether this is a serial killer on the loose? There’s a rumour going around that it is,’ he added, pushing the hand-held recorder in front of her.

‘I’ve told you, Freddy, we haven’t been working this case long enough to know much yet,’ she responded impatiently. ‘You should know that, you’ve been a crime reporter longer than I’ve been a police officer. I will say though, we consider it a possibility.’ Fran pushed her way through the thronging crowd with the aid of her more bulky colleague, managing to get to the car without further ado.

‘He’s a fucking pest that Freddy Collins, Len,’ she complained as they got in the car. ‘Where he gets his information from Christ knows, but I bet he knew about this crime before us.’

‘He’s been in the game a long time, Fran, and he’s only doing his job, don’t forget,’ he said.

‘Yes, I suppose you’re right,’ she said, firing up the engine. ‘Best keep the right side of the media too, but he can be a bloody pest,’ she grumbled, putting her foot down hard.

‘It just struck me, Fran, do you think he could have had a tip-off about the case?’ Len said after a lull in the conversation as they drove along. ‘I can’t see any other way he could have suspected a connection with the other cases, can you?’

‘Now there’s a point, Len. I think you might have something there,’ she said after a thoughtful pause. ‘He wouldn’t tell us of course if we asked him. He’d say we couldn’t force him to divulge his source, we’d be denying the freedom of the press, or some other stupid excuse.’

‘But we could force him to cooperate, Fran, in a serious murder case like this one.’

‘Oh, I know that but it would cause a lot of hassle; mind you, if we fed him a bit of exclusive ahead of the next press conference, he’d talk his head off for that and it would also keep the peace between us. Yes, I’ll give Freddie a ring first thing in the morning.’

* * *

The following afternoon the Superintendent called an emergency meeting, the combination of information gathered from the Print boys, the lab and information Inspector Grey had squeezed out of Freddy Collins had thrown new light on the case. Fran conducted the meeting and her superior sat at the back of the room listening to her unfold her plans for moving forward with the case.

She explained to the team about the footprint found alongside the spot where the body had been struck down, saying that the lab had stated it was definitely from a size twelve boot or shoe. Also it appeared to be a thick rubber-soled working type, usually worn by postmen, lorry drivers, or even policemen. ‘However,’ she pointed out firmly, ‘it was proved not to have been left by any of our lot.’

The fingerprint team had drawn a blank, she told them, as the perpetrator almost certainly wore gloves. But luckily they had found something just as valuable when one of them noticed a slimy mixture of spittle and blood on a glass-topped dressing table; it was nearly missed with the glass being black. They took a swab, thinking the victim had spat it out as he bled profusely, but it wasn’t a match, and so the assumption is that it came from the killer, who must have received a retaliatory blow in the face. ‘So, we now have a good idea it’s a man we’re looking for, one with large feet.’ She grinned. ‘He’s most likely a big guy and of course we now have his DNA.’ After taking a couple of swallows from a bottle of water, she continued, ‘Now then, more goodies. This very morning I’ve been informed by a reliable member of the media, whose identity for the moment I’m unable to disclose, that a man saying he was the killer made phone contact with him.

‘We know that this type of killer typically craves publicity, and so we shouldn’t be too surprised at his latest move. Apparently, the man said he was on a mission of mercy, and that we were fools serving corrupt politicians who made weak laws. He also said he was a god-fearing, law-abiding citizen who hated violence but someone had to be a fair-minded adjudicator.’

A buzz went around the room at these words, and Fran waited until it died down before she added, ‘Let’s hope he enjoyed his moment of glory because it might be his downfall.’

‘How come, Inspector?’ called out a young constable.

‘Well, my informant, being a professional crime reporter, had the line traced and it appears it came from the public library on Front Street, next to the Pig and Whistle Pub. The caller sounded as though he was trying to disguise his voice by talking through a cloth or something.’

5

‘So you don’t remember seeing any man in the phone booth on Tuesday afternoon between one and one thirty, Janet?’ Fran asked the young librarian.

‘No, officer, I’m sorry but its always busy around that time, folk come in here in their dinner hour, you know, and the phone booth, as you can see, is right over there in the corner. On top of that, I was extra busy giving Mr Boland my order for the weekend in between serving customers.’

‘Mr Boland?’ Fran repeated.

‘He’s the owner of the home bakery straight across the road out there.’ She nodded at the window. ‘I thought everybody around here knew him. He runs the business with his son, that’s when his son’s available.’ She chuckled. ‘Bake beautiful crusty bread loaves they do, we order ahead, so that’s what Mr Boland was doing here on Tuesday.’

Len gave an impatient sigh so, Fran said, ‘Well, thank you, I’ll have to try one of his loaves if they’re as good as that.’ She passed the girl her card. ‘If you remember anything else, anything at all, give me a ring, Janet, will you?’

When they left the library, Len turned in the direction of the car, but stopped when he saw Fran standing at the kerb waiting to cross. ‘Come on, Len, we haven’t finished yet,’ she called to him.

‘Where are you going now?’ he asked, making his way towards her.

Nodding across the road she replied, ‘Over to that bread shop. I want to buy one of their beautiful crusty loaves if they haven’t sold out.’

* * *

‘Sorry, all gone, love,’ she was told by a little fat chap of about fifty, with a ruddy face and a cheerful smile. ‘The rest have all been ordered,’ he added pointing at several shelves behind the counter loaded with bread.

Flashing her warrant card Fran said formally, ‘Mr Boland? I’m Inspector Grey, homicide; I think you may be able to help me with my inquiries.’

Looking back at her, startled, he said, ‘Homicide, Inspector? That’s your murder department, isn’t it?’

‘Well, I suppose you’re right, Mr Boland,’ she replied smiling down at him, ‘but we’re not here accusing you of anything like that. However, you may have seen something that could help us with our enquiries. I’ve just been talking to Janet Featherstone the librarian across the road, and she told me you were in there last Tuesday lunch time between one and one thirty, is that so?’

He though for a second, then said, ‘Aye, that’s right,