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“I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
The picture was grainy, but they could still see.
The road and the pavement outside the block of shops on Cross Bank Road was deserted. Barry Morrison’s black Ford Focus suddenly pulled up outside the butcher’s, literally, because it stopped on the pavement.
Morrison’s prone body was forced out of the passenger door. He didn’t land how he was found, but Gardener knew he was dead from the way he hit the ground, and the fact
that no movement followed.
The driver’s door opened. A figure exited and casually walked around the vehicle, took his time positioning the body. He then reached into the car and pulled out the items of clothing, dumping them on the doorstep as well.
“This bloke’s not stupid, is he?”
The mysterious figure then walked back round the car, jumped in, and drove off.
“No wonder there’s no trace of the man,” said Reilly.
The whole team sat staring at the footage, shocked from the realization they’d had their first sighting of the killer, and it wouldn’t make a blind bit of difference.
Their suspect had been wearing a police scene suit, protective boots, and a hood.
Chapter Twenty-seven
It was close to midnight. Vincent had scoured his flat for every true crime book he had, which was no mean feat. If the killer thought he was going to outwit him, he could think again.
Publications were strewn as far as the eye could see: A History Of British Serial Killing; Crime Scene – The Ultimate Guide To Forensic Science; Settings For Slaughter; Heroes, Victims & Villains of Leeds, to name but a few. He’d gone through them thoroughly but he hadn’t found anything to support the clues.
The killer was taunting him, so he had to be known to Vincent. He’d pointed out that crossing the Man in Black carried consequences. Vincent had obviously done so – as had the people in Batley and Birstall. Now they were dead. Which meant he would be on the list at some point.
It was up to him to discover the identity of the Man in Black, and what his clues meant. Seemed like the killer figured he could.
But why would the killer want him to know who he was? He’d dropped two names into the puzzle that were bound to attract his attention.
Vincent leaned back in his chair, glancing over the aged newspaper article from 1982.
The Yorkshire Post
A Wakefield man has admitted handling a stolen 18th-century jug, taken from the tack room of a Yorkshire riding stables. A 22-year-old local man, also helping the police with their investigation, was released without further action.
The bronze jug, decorated with coats-of-arms and inscribed with the words “My Darling Wife, Elizabeth”, is believed to be one of only three similar jugs in the UK. Its estimated worth is about £500,000. It was stolen from an old barn that was being cleaned and renovated for the world-renowned Rushworths of Rothwell, belonging to Mickey Rushworth.
West Yorkshire Police recovered the jug on 16 May at Leyburn Auction Rooms, shortly after it had been sold to a mystery telephone buyer. Experts believe it had been commissioned for Elizabeth Lascelles, wife of the first Baron of Harewood, Edwin Lascelles, who died in 1795.
Steven Cooper, 39, from Stanley in Wakefield, formerly of Thirsk in North Yorkshire, pleaded guilty to handling stolen goods at Leeds Crown Court. He will be sentenced on 15 July.
The recovered jug has now been returned to Harewood House but has not yet gone back on display.
Vincent recalled the events of 1982.
Despite his interest in writing, the love of Vincent’s life was horses.
His thirst for turning detective, however, came when he solved his first case at Rushworth’s – his place of employment. It became known, and written about by Vincent himself, as “The Mystery of the Missing Jug”. He sold the story to The Yorkshire Post for a tidy profit, before turning it into a short story under the pseudonym Victor Briggs and selling that as well.
Steven Cooper had unearthed the jug in an old barn due to be renovated and turned into a tack room. Cooper claimed it was worthless. It went missing. On a whim, Vincent scoured the antique dealers until he found one in Harrogate, auctioning the jug.
The auction went ahead but Cooper ended up in prison as a result of Vincent’s interference.
He shuddered at the thought, rising from his chair. Entering the kitchen, he took the final beer from the fridge. The cryptic clues were beginning to make his head itch. The possibility that he had crossed someone could have happened at any time. For the life of him, though, he failed to see how he could have any connection to the two people killed in Batley, whose names were Morrison and Stapleton. He’d never met either. Especially the woman.
