‘I knew something had gone on that night,’ Laurence said from the witness box, referring to the death of young Oxford woman Ellie Holmes. ‘The others all clammed up, but I knew it was something very serious. When we heard that a girl had died, I knew there was more to it than we were being told.’
The judge gave it as his opinion that, although Ellie Holmes had died whilst in the company of one of Wolfe’s friends, there was no reason to challenge the Coroner’s verdict of death by misadventure, and no reason to suppose that Wolfe had been involved in any way. As such, he said, it was not relevant to the current case.
‘Eighteen years ago, the Coroner went out of his way to praise the efforts of medical student Warwick Hespe,’ Mr Justice Peters said, ‘whose vigorous efforts at resuscitation, sadly, failed to have the desired result and save Miss Holmes’s life. There is no reason to think this was anything other than the unfortunate death of a young woman following her own reckless behaviour. Most significantly, though, the prosecution have presented no evidence to link Mr Wolfe to the incident.’
Nor, the judge went on to say, did he attach any credence to the rumours of a soft-porn mail order company which, according to the prosecution, the five men had set up to sell illicitly shot videos of young women having sex.
‘There is no evidence that this business ever existed,’ he remarked. ‘It seems highly unlikely that a group of students would have found the wherewithal to set up such a company. Even its supposed name, which I will not test the court’s patience by repeating again, strikes me as highly unlikely for a group of Oxford University students. The police have several times interviewed the five men in question, including Mr Wolfe, and each has claimed to have no knowledge of it. None of the footage supposedly shot still exists. We have the testimony of no women who were filmed against their will and made into unwitting porn stars. The prosecution have not thought fit to call any of the other men whom you claim were involved.
‘Your evidence, Mr Laurence,’ the judge concluded, ‘strikes me as nothing more than envious rumour-mongering and poorly remembered tittle-tattle. Given that nearly twenty years have passed between the alleged events that you describe, and the murders that we are now dealing with, I cannot suppose them relevant in any way. Furthermore, your testimony, hostile as it is to Mr Wolfe, could be seen as unfairly prejudicial. I therefore instruct the jury to disregard your entire testimony as evidence. You may stand down.’
None of the detectives on the case were prepared to comment. The case continues on Monday.
(Maggie Rose: case file 00326/8 Hamish Wolfe)
Chapter 74
DRAFT
THE BIG, BAD WOLFE?
By Maggie Rose
CHAPTER 5, IS HE BANGED UP? OR DID HE SMARTEN UP?
One cast-iron test of whether the right man has been imprisoned bang to rights in cases of serial murder is whether or not the killings cease after conviction. Anyone daring to suggest Hamish Wolfe was wrongly convicted is met with the rapid retort that no other plus-sized young woman has been found in a Somerset cave since Wolfe’s arrest.
Maybe not. But is it equally true to say that no other women have vanished? A quick search on the site of the UK Missing Persons Bureau throws up some serious concerns.
Lynsey Osbourne, twenty-two, last seen at her bedsit in the Filton area of Bristol on 12 February 2014.
Kelsey Benson, fifteen, vanished from local authority care in Honiton, Devon in May 2013.
(NB: Actually, Benson wasn’t that big, will probably need to find an alternative)
Janice Robinson, forty-six, of Stroud, left her council house on the night of 16 September 2014 and hasn’t been seen since.
These are only three. There are others.
Of course it would be fanciful to suggest that all these women fell victim to the same killer who ended the lives of Jessie Tout, Chloe Wood and Myrtle Reid, but even the most cursory glance at the list of our missing casts serious doubt on the assurance that the killer who targets large women is no longer at liberty.
He may just have got smarter.
(Will need updating just before going to press.)
Chapter 75
THE SMALL, BLACK-FRONTED establishment, just off the main road through Rawtenstall in Lancashire, is perhaps a little too cheerful in its demeanour to be a magic shop from a fairy story, but its draughts, elixirs and cordials give something of the same impression. There are tinctures, restoratives and stimulants in here that are not of the commonplace. Blackbeer and raisin? Blood beer? Sarsaparilla?
The rows of jars stacked high on wooden shelves have colourfully intriguing contents and mysterious-sounding labels. The packets on the counter rustle with dark promise. The oak floor is highly polished, but stained in places where substances, too powerful ever to be properly cleaned away, have spilled over the years. There are three small tables, each spread with an embroidered linen cloth. This is Fitzpatrick’s, the last remaining temperance bar in England, and Maggie is being asked to choose between a rhubarb and rosehip cordial and an iron brew tonic.