The Executioners

By Danny King

Following a referendum, Britain reinstates Capital Punishment for the crime of murder. Third to hang is notorious serial killer, Jammal Grey, alias the Dulwich Ripper. Acting Detective Chief Inspector Robert Bowman, the man who led the investigation, becomes an overnight hero following Grey's capture.

 

But three weeks after the execution, the nation is stunned when Bowman's own daughter is brutally murdered in a copycat killing. Who could have done this? How could this have happened? Bowman knows who. And he knows how.

 

Evidence crucial to Grey's conviction was tainted; fabricated by the DCI to ensure a conviction when it looked like Grey might walk. Only Bowman and the loyal Sergeant Hooper knew of it. Only Bowman, Hooper and of course the real killer.

 

For the Dulwich Ripper is still out there. And now he has a hold over the very men who were supposed to have brought him to justice.

 

Bowman and Hooper are left with no alternative but to hunt down the Ripper again, although this time they're on their own. Using only their initiative, their experience and their underworld connections, they must find the killer before more young women start to die.

 

And before the truth comes out.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Danny King
• Release date: Nov 16, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393616009

Danny King

Danny King is an award-winning British author who has written for the page, the stage and the big and small screens. He lives and works in the city of Chichester and can be found on Facebook at 'DannyKingbooks'.

Book preview

Prologue

i

ADISTANT splintering of glass resonated through Leslie Bowman’s dreams and drew her back to reality. She dug her elbows into the warm mattress and opened her eyes, though her mind still swam woozy with sleep. She concentrated for a moment, forcing her senses to focus but heard nothing. She held her breath for a couple of seconds and listened some more. Silence.

The red digital alarm clock next to the bed read 3:10 and her body and mind begged to be returned to sleep. All too willingly she sank back into the warm bed and dream from which she’d been disturbed.

Another crack, this time louder, jolted Leslie once more. Bolt upright she now sat alarmed and alert. Her heart thumped and her breathing rasped in the blackness. She turned her head towards the bedroom door and the direction of the sound though she resisted the urge to call out, Who’s there?

The large four-bedroom detached house was set away from the road, at the end of a huge front garden. Leslie had moved in as the lodger a few weeks earlier in preparation for university life. She’d come to Bristol two months before the term had officially started to work through the summer and get to know the city. She’d heard too many stories about Halls of Residence from Jenny to want to stay there. She’d painted graphic pictures of late-night parties, drug abuse and casual sex. And while Jenny herself had very much enjoyed her time in Halls, it had all sounded far too intimidating to her younger cousin.

Leslie had found her digs through a friend of her uncle’s and had been thrilled at the prospect of staying in a marvellous family house in Clifton, with its gardens of fruit trees and secluded serenity. And the couple she was staying with were as comfortable as a well-worn jumper. Wealthy and retired, they had three empty bedrooms to match three grown-up sons. Golfing, fishing and barbecues went only so far to plug the gap so each autumn they filled their house with first year students and played happy families during term time. They had no objections to Leslie coming to stay early. In fact, it saved them having to board their cat while they were away visiting their eldest in Canada but they were not due back for another three days.

Leslie was all alone.

It was probably just Mr Jinx up on the counter in the kitchen again, Leslie reassured herself as her eyes strained against the darkness.

Another sound, this time very faint, almost inaudible. A continuous sound like... like... dragging... or scraping... or... or...

...or like something was entering the house downstairs.

Leslie listened hard, mesmerised with fear. Her body began to shake as she gulped for every breath. Unable to move and unwilling to do so for fear of revealing her presence she trembled in the darkness until the sound abruptly stopped.

Whatever was trying to get in... was now in.

Footsteps on the tiles downstairs finally impelled Leslie to move, to escape, to hide. As silently as she could she got up, replaced the duvet to conceal her presence and pulled the large spare linen drawer out of the side of the divan. It was cramped and dusty and full of sharp wooden supports, but footsteps on the stairs screamed at her to get out of sight and fast, so as quietly as she could she climbed into the tiny gap and pulled the drawer back in behind herself. The space was cramped and incredibly uncomfortable but at least she felt hidden.

Leslie listened for several minutes as door after door was opened by the methodical footsteps before they inevitably reached her room. She tried to be silent but her body screamed with terror. Every sinew in every limb shuddered uncontrollably and her breathing sounded as though it were amplified a hundred times. She bit her lip and tensed her muscles in an effort to restrain her quaking body.

Who was this intruder? What did he want? And more importantly, what would he do if he found her?

Salty tears streamed down Leslie’s cheeks as the footsteps moved around the room, just inches away from where she lay.

A bright streak of light flashed past the fabric wall of her hiding place as the danger outside raked the midnight shadows. The intruder tore through cupboards and wardrobes and yanked back curtains and bedclothes but Leslie remained hidden, mouthing silent prayers to whoever listened at times like these.

So caught up in her prayers was she that she almost yelped with surprise when the linen drawer was yanked open. Her heart thumped inside her chest and her lungs begged to scream, yet still she lay, silent and undetected. The intruder pulled out linen and strewed it across the room, before leaving to ransack another part of the house.

Leslie continued to lay in the back of her divan, numb with shock and petrified to move so much as a muscle for four more hours.

ii

LESLIE COULD ONLY GUESS at the time. The dawn chorus was now in full voice and her room was flooded with the bright light of another summer’s morning. She yearned to climb out from her hiding place but the thought filled her with dread. She hadn’t heard anything for almost two hours now but was still reluctant to climb out of her sanctuary.

The clattering of the front door had been the intruder’s final goodbye and now all was quiet. Slowly but surely Leslie regained her composure.

Leslie stretched and wriggled in her confines as her discomfort increased with the size of her bladder. Too frightened to move until now, soon she would have little choice.

Leslie waited another ten minutes.

No sound.

Five more after that.

Still nothing.

She knew she couldn’t put it off forever though this thought only served to tighten her nerves and bladder.

Five minutes more she waited.

And then another five after that.

All too soon, Leslie was at the point of bursting and could no longer hold it in. She knew she would have to run the risk and make a dash for the loo otherwise she'd wet herself and effectively give away her hiding place anyway.

Slowly and stealthily she pushed out the drawer and climbed towards the light. After every movement she would pause and listen before continuing. Arching her back and crawling out on all fours she clambered from the drawer hole.

The bedroom was a mess. Her belongings were strewn everywhere and her space well and truly violated, though she took only a moment to glance over the place, careful not to distract herself from listening for danger.

Her door was ajar.

She crept towards it on tiptoes, pausing momentarily to hold an ear to the gap before easing it open. Nothing. No sounds. She took several deep breaths to calm her nerves before stepping out onto the first-floor landing.

From what she could see the whole house had been ransacked. Her mind wandered a second or two as she pondered the facts. She was certain now that it had been a burglary; some desperate smack-head who’d been unaware that a house-sitter had been appointed to look after the place while the owners were on holiday.

Leslie was reassured. As long as he’d found something to hock, he’d be in the land of the fairies by now and unlikely to return. Still, she kept her guard up and made as fewer sound as possible. One last deep breath and seven quick steps later and Leslie was quietly closing the bathroom lock behind her.

Ron and Sue’s bathroom was situated in the centre of the house, between two large L-shaped bedrooms, Leslie’s being one of them. The shape of the two rooms and the positioning of the bathroom meant that this particular room was totally windowless. Extractor fans and vents prevented condensation and a neon strip light above the mirror and a forty-watt bulb in the ceiling provided the light. The only entrance to the bathroom was through the solid oak door that opened up to face the staircase.

Leslie replaced the toilet seat, pulled down her nightdress and was about to flush when she thought better of it. There would be plenty of time for that when she was safe. For now, her main aim was to get to a phone. There were two main lines into the house, one in the living room and one in the master bedroom, not to mention her mobile downstairs.

She decided to use the phone in the bedroom to call the police – and then her father. One call from Acting DCI Bowman of the Metropolitan Police would ensure a swift response from his colleagues in the Avon and Somerset Constabulary.

As gently as she could, she slid back the bolt, turned the handle and pulled open the bathroom door. Her eyes darted back and forth along the corridor but still there was nothing. Everything seemed safe. Another deep breath and another twelve paces and she reached the main bedroom. This room had been turned upside down too, causing her to search for several seconds before she found the phone – or at least what was left of it. It had been smashed into a hundred pieces.

Shit! muttered Leslie under her breath.

She’d have to use the one downstairs after all. She had hoped she wouldn't have to go down there until the police arrived but now she had no choice.

The leg of the dressing table had been snapped off during the ransacking so Leslie picked it up. The solid lump of mahogany felt reassuring in her hands and it gave in her the confidence to venture further still. A moment’s pause satisfied her that no one was creaking about on the landing and off she set, through the bedroom door and towards the stairs.

The vision that greeted her when she got to the stairs however stopped her dead in her tracks and sent her courage racing for the hills.

Halfway up the stairs, the figure had paused only briefly to look up when he heard her scream. To Leslie he looked like a demon. Dressed in black from head to toe, his only visible features were the piercing green eyes that stared out at her from behind his woollen ski mask.

For two whole seconds neither the intruder nor Leslie moved, the moment was so powerful it simply froze them to the spot. But when light beams began to flicker and dance around the stairwell, Leslie tore her eyes from the intruder’s piercing gaze and saw what he was holding.

A hunting blade; six-inches long and glistening in the early light of dawn.

Leslie finally snapped out of it and hurled the table leg at the demonic figure, smashing him on the shoulder as he made a sudden charge for her and knocking him to his knees.

This bought her several seconds and she used them well, charging back into the bathroom and slamming the lock behind her. A furious barrage broke out against the other side of the door but Leslie shored it up with a chair and a towel so that it held against all that was thrown at it. The angry assault rained for several more minutes before the intruder eventually gave up, leaving Leslie Bowman’s desperate cries as the only sounds to be heard.

For half an hour she lay on the bathroom floor bawling into a towel to try to muffle her cries before she eventually regained control. Snivelling and pathetic she hauled her aching body across the floor and placed an ear to the door.

Nothing.

She wiped her face with the towel and listened again.

Silence.

Her cheeks were red raw from the rivers of tears that had ran down her face. A cold wet flannel helped soothe her skin and focus her thoughts, but still she couldn’t think clearly. It was safe in here – safe and sound. But she couldn’t stay in here forever. She had to get help.

Another half an hour passed before she decided to try something. She’d fallen for the intruder’s trick once so she wasn’t about to make the same mistake.

But what could she do?

He could be halfway to Cardiff by now or he could be just outside the door. She had no way of telling. She had to take the initiative. Slowly and silently she inched back the bolt until it would slide no more. She took a moment to listen and one deep breath, then slammed the bolt home and twisted the handle as if she were opening the door. These actions prompted a furious response from outside as the intruder hammered against it anew.

Once again the door held, but Leslie’s cries of terror just seemed to encourage his assault as he tried as he might to enter.

No, no no! she wailed in vain, but still the blows struck.

Leslie bit her lip and swallowed her screams, until finally she was rewarded with silence once more.

For several hours she listened as the intruder clattered about the house. Further and further he would wander, stamping loudly or knocking over furniture. It seemed as if he were deliberately baiting her – daring her to make a dash for the front door. Again and again he would slope off to the furthest room in the house and make some noise. It was almost as if he were sending her a signal to say; Go on, why don’t you chance it? I couldn’t possibly catch you with this much of a head start.

It was agony. So many times Leslie had wanted to pull back the bolt and make a dash for the front door, but inwardly she knew it was just another ploy, just another attempt to get her out of the bathroom, though this made her inactivity no easier to stomach.

He continued to torment her for another two hours before finally accepting the fact that it wasn’t working. The house fell into silence once more and the waiting game resumed.

iii

LESLIE DIDN’T KNOW what time it was but it had to be late. She hadn’t heard a sound for a while though she knew the intruder wasn’t far. Her stomach ached with hunger. She hadn’t eaten anything in almost twenty-four hours and she now felt every minute of it. She’d once gone a whole day without food, though that time she had been with friends in the Peak District and the distraction of a camping holiday had occupied her thoughts. This was different. This was harder. There were no distractions here to take her mind off her empty belly. No fresh air, no scenery or companionship. Not even daylight. Just fear – all-consuming, energy-sapping fear.

She wondered how long she would be stuck in this bathroom. How long the hooded figure would sit outside and wait. Assuming that he was still outside of course.

Leslie was sure he was...

The ringing of the front doorbell jolted Leslie from her slumber. She’d succumbed to her fatigue and had drifted off but now she was wide awake.

Someone was at the front door.

Someone was ringing the bell!

She scrambled to her feet and thumped her fists against the door yelling and screaming for all she was worth.

Help, help! I’m trapped in the bathroom! There’s a man in the house trying to hurt me. Call the police. Help! Can you hear me? Help!

There was a brief respite then the doorbell rang again. Leslie redoubled her efforts and shouted at the top of her voice.

Help me, help me! Get the police. There’s a man in the house. Help! Help! Help! she repeatedly shouted until her throat was sore with the strain.

The sound of breaking glass echoed from downstairs and was followed by an enquiring call.

Hello, is anybody in here?

Yes, I’m trapped in the bathroom. There’s a man in the house. Get out and call the police, she bellowed from behind the door. The heavy thump of footsteps travelled up the stairs and stopped just outside the bathroom.

This is the police. PC Harmen from Southmead Police Station. Where exactly is this man? A tide of relief washed over Leslie and she sank to the floor and began to blub. Are you all right, Miss? enquired PC Harmen, in his reassuring West Country accent.

Yes, sobbed Leslie as she tried to compose herself. Yes I’m fine now. Wait there, I’m coming out.

Exhausted and weary she pulled herself to her feet and set about removing the barricades. She had just removed the chair and towel and was about to slide back the bolt when a voice deep within her subconscious screamed at her to stop.

As quietly as she could, she replaced the chair and stuffed the towel back underneath the door and took a moment to think this through. PC Harmen knocked and spoke again.

Miss, Miss, is everything all right? Do you want to open this door now?

How do I know you’re a policeman? You might be him, Leslie croaked.

Who? asked the PC Harmen.

The intruder; the man who’s spent the last twelve hours trying to get me to open this door.

Now then Miss Bowman, let’s try and get a grip of ourselves now shall we? Just open the door and I’ll take you down to the station and talk all about this, shall we.

How do you know my name? demanded Leslie.

Your father phoned and asked us to call around to see if you were all right. He’s worried about you.

Why would he do that?

"I don’t know do I, I’m just following orders.