18 Great Torrington

18 Great Torrington

The Chopper struck again later that same evening, this time in the town of Great Torrington, his first foray beyond the borders

of Cornwall. The victim, a twenty-six-year-old employee of the Whiskers Pet Centre in South Street, was set upon sometime

after 10:00 p.m. while walking home from the Black Horse pub, where she had been drinking with friends. She was felled by

a single blow to the back of the head. Her assailant made no attempt to conceal the body.

Two of the friends with whom the victim had been drinking were male. Both had remained behind at the Black Horse after the

victim departed, but both fell within the contours of the altogether useless psychological profile developed by a consultant

to the Devon and Cornwall Police. Timothy Peel therefore questioned the two men at length before eliminating them as suspects.

Their only misdeed, he concluded, was allowing an inebriated young woman to walk home alone after dark.

Peel also interviewed the victim's female drinking companions, her distraught parents, and her younger sister. The information he developed compelled him to pay a late-night call at the residence of a physically abusive former boyfriend. The interview established that the thirty-two-year-old mechanic was not a hatchet owner and that he wore a size eleven shoe, a size and a half larger than the footprints discovered at the crime scene. They had been made by a pair of Hi-Tec Aysgarth III walking boots. Police Constable Elenore Tremayne discovered two sets of identical prints—one incoming, the other outgoing—traversing Bastard's Lane, a narrow road on the town's northeastern fringe. It suggested to Peel that the killer had hiked into Great Torrington across the surrounding farmland and, after finding his prey, had departed by the same route.

It was nearly 5:00 a.m. when Peel toppled into his bed in Exeter. He slept for an hour, then drove out to Newquay to reinterview

one of his favorite hatchet owners—a forty-eight-year-old schoolteacher, never married, slight of build and physically fit,

who lived alone in a semidetached cottage in Penhallow Road. He had purchased his hatchet, a Magnusson Composite, twenty-five

pounds plus VAT, at the B&Q in Falmouth. Peel caught him on his way out the door. They went inside for a cup of tea and a

quiet chat.

"Why do you need a hatchet?" asked Peel as he looked out upon the treeless rear garden.

"You asked me that question the last time you were here."

"Did I?"

"Home defense," said the schoolteacher.

"Where were you last night?"

"Here."

"Doing what?"

"Grading papers."

"That's all?"

"A film on television."

"What was it called?"

" The Remains of the Day ."

"Are you sure you didn't pop over to the Black Horse in Great Torrington for a pint?"

"I don't consume alcohol."

"Ever take long walks in the countryside?"

"Most weekends, actually."

"What sort of boots do you wear?"

"Wellingtons."

"Do you happen to own a pair of Hi-Tecs? Size nine and half?"

"I'm a ten."

"Mind if I have a look in your closet?"

"I'm late for work."

"I'll need to see that hatchet of yours as well."

"Do you have a warrant?"

"I don't," admitted Peel. "But I can get one in about five minutes flat."

***

Peel left Penhallow Road at half past eight with the hatchet sealed in an evidence bag. While driving back to headquarters,

he listened to the news on Radio 4. Not surprisingly, the Great Torrington slaying was the lead story. There was mounting

pressure on the Metropolitan Police, which held legal jurisdiction throughout England and Wales, to take control of the investigation.

Were that to happen, Peel would return to normal duty at the CID. His typical caseload consisted of narcotics investigations,

sexual and physical assaults, antisocial behavior, and burglaries. The Chopper case, for all its gore and long hours, had

been a welcome break in the monotony.

The headquarters of the Devon and Cornwall Police were located in Sidmouth Road in an industrial section of Exeter. Peel arrived a few minutes before ten and headed straight for DI Tony Fletcher's office. Fletcher was the lead detective on the Chopper investigation.

"How much time do we have left?" asked Peel.

"The announcement will be made at noon, but the lads from London are already on their way down here." Fletcher looked at the

evidence bag in Peel's hand. "Where did you get that?"

"Neil Perkins."

"The schoolteacher from Newquay?"

Peel nodded.

"Does he have an alibi?"

"A lousy one, but he's a size ten."

"Close enough for me."

"Me, too."

"Type up your notes," said Fletcher. "And be quick about it. As of noon, we're officially off the case."

Peel sat down at his desk and updated Perkins's existing file with a description of the morning's interview and search. By

12:00 p.m. the file was in the hands of a ten-person team of detectives and forensic analysts from the Metropolitan Police,

along with a Magnusson Composite hatchet and a copy of a sales receipt from the B&Q in Falmouth. So, too, was the blood-soaked

clothing worn by Professor Charlotte Blake on the night of her murder near Land's End. The professor's Vauxhall, having been

swept for evidence, was locked up in the Falmouth auto pound, but her mobile phone remained unaccounted for. Also missing

was a yellow legal pad discovered on the desk in Professor Blake's cottage in Gunwalloe. Peel told DI Tony Fletcher that he

must have mislaid it.

"Did it contain anything interesting?"

"Some notes about a painting." Peel shrugged his shoulders to indicate the matter was of no relevance to the investigation. "Looked like it might have been a Picasso."

"Never cared for him."

You wouldn't, thought Peel.

"For the life of me," Fletcher continued, "I don't understand why that woman was walking around Land's End after dark when

there was a serial killer on the loose."

"Neither do I," said Peel. "But I'm sure the mighty Metropolitan Police will have it figured out in no time."

Fletcher pushed a case file across his desk. "Your new assignment."

"Anything interesting?"

"A rash of burglaries in Plymouth." Fletcher smiled. "You're welcome."