Blincoe's Casefile:- 1) The Cross Murders

By Pueros

Chapter 1 – Opening

(May 1999, Surrey, England)

Pretty 14 years old blonde-haired blue-eyed Michael was making his early Sunday paper round. The bright morning promised to turn into a very pleasant spring day and Michael was looking forward to his later game of soccer. The boy’s round consisted of deliveries to several sleepy rural hamlets connected by quiet tree-lined country lanes. Sunday mornings were always the most tranquil of the week as majority of the local households, where the breadwinners were mainly London commuters, enjoyed the benefits of staying longer in their beds. The few farm workers toiling on a Sunday were already at their labours in distant fields.

Michael was cycling along a particularly secluded and narrow lane when he saw a large white van parked ahead, pointing in the opposite direction to his own. A man was leaning with his back against the van, towards the rear where there was an open door. The man appeared to have a map in his hands.

(June 1999, London, England)

Detective Chief Superintendent (DCS) Blincoe, considered to be the country’s leading expert in child murder cases, was reading some files in his office in New Scotland Yard one afternoon when his intercom buzzed. “Yes” he asked and his assistant, Detective Inspector (DI) Burrows replied “We’re needed in Surrey.” “Call for our car” the DCS ordered. The usual heavy London traffic meant that the car took well over an hour to reach its destination despite the siren.

(Later same afternoon, Surrey, England)

Both Blincoe and Burrows were amazed that their driver had managed to find the place without losing his way for the journey concluded through narrow country lanes and then farm tracks before halting alongside a large armada of vehicles. There were a number of different types of cars and van, most with police logos, an ambulance and even a fire engine. Blincoe and Burrows stepped out of their own car and a man who had obviously been watching out for them stepped forward. “DCS Blincoe?” he asked Burrows, who quickly pointed at his boss. The embarrassed red-faced man then introduced himself as Detective Sergeant Maxwell and shook the real DCS’s hand. Blincoe acquainted him with Burrows.

“I’d wear wellington boots if I were you, sir,” suggested Maxwell, “it’s been raining here heavily, albeit intermittently, for the last few days.” The two Scotland Yard detectives selected, from a police van full of them, pairs that were several sizes too big so that they could wear the footwear over their shoes. The three policemen then started wading across the waterlogged field as Maxwell explained “Found at lunchtime, sir, by the farmer. Lucky really for apparently he rarely comes here. Field’s fallow and he’s paid a subsidy by the European Commission to keep it that way. Money would be better spent on more police, if you ask me. It looks like a carefully chosen site. Despite its large size, the whole field is not discernible from nearby roads, apart from the farm track, and the crime scene’s in a wide hollow which makes it invisible even from there. There are also no buildings around.”

After about 300 yards of slow progress across the mud, avoiding the standing pools of water, Blincoe and Burrows both shivered when they saw the top of the thing come into view. They were white-faced once they were standing at the brow of the gentle incline, leading into the hollow, for in front of them, at the bottom of the slope, was a wooden cross with a naked boy attached to it.

A woman was walking up towards them and Maxwell introduced her to his guests. The pathologist informed them “I can’t do much more until the fire brigade manage to get the poor mite down, and that’ll be a while. The lad’s been nailed to the thing. The large spike through both ankles will have broken many bones. I’m afraid that I think that he was fully alive and conscious when it was done. Whoever the devils were, they clearly abused the boy over many weeks. Brands and piercings have been applied to various parts of his body. There are also old and new marks of heavy beatings all over and, judging by some semen stains on his inside legs, I don’t think the abuse stopped there. These stains were probably made in-situ just before the lad was attached to the cross. As a final touch, the bastards attached an elasticator to the boy’s scrotum. The lad’s final hours must have been excruciating. It’s no wonder they gagged him. I won’t know until I get the body to the morgue whether the poor boy’s testicles predeceased him or not. Time of death, about 6 yesterday evening.”

A man then approached and introduced himself “DCI Jones, sir, glad you’re here. Not our scene at all!” Blincoe replied that he didn’t think that it was his either. Jones continued “Killers don’t seem to have been over-cautious. They must be confident that they will not be suspects for, as well as the semen, from which we should obtain good DNA profiles, they’ve left behind footprints and tyre tracks. The latter suggests that they were in a large van. The former shows that there were four murderers wearing boots plus the bare-footed boy. I’m afraid to say, judging from the boy’s footprints and a long rut running from the farm track down into the hollow, that it looks as if the poor lad, although he would need some help, was made to drag the cross to the place of his own crucifixion!”

(2 days later, Fife, Scotland)

Pretty 14 years old blonde-haired blue-eyed Robert was cycling alone along the peaceful narrow country road that joined his village to the nearby town where his school was located. It was close to the end of the academic year in Scotland and the boy was looking forward to the long summer holidays. The lad saw a large white van parked ahead.

A month later in a remote Scottish glen, Robert’s body was found in a similar state to Michael’s but nailed to a St. Andrew’s rather than a St. George’s cross.

Another month later, Interpol telephoned Blincoe. The body of a 14 years old blonde-haired blue-eyed boy had been discovered in a remote Swiss forest. He too had been crucified.

(August 1999, Cotswolds, England)

The Reverend Quigly was standing at the door of his attractive and very old country church saying thank you to the congregation as it left after Sunday morning service. He then thanked the church officers and the choirboys, the latter all angelic but none angels, and told them that he would see them later for the two evening services. The vicar then walked the short distance to the quaint village hall where invariably most of his congregation had re-gathered for tea and biscuits and idle chat. Quigly’s parishioners were always happy to speak to the gregarious vicar, who seemed to enjoy talking to them about the goings-on within their families.

The Reverend would later go to the vicarage where he resided alone, although a part-time live-out housekeeper helped him with most of the chores. Like many Church of England vicars, Quigly had his eccentricities. Unlike most, though, his were expensive and he could afford them. The Reverend was independently wealthy and drew no stipend. He had also spent a lot of his own money on the maintenance of the church buildings, particularly the repair of the church steeple and the complete refurbishment of the previously ramshackle vicarage. The long-overdue steeple repair especially endeared him to the local community as well as the bishop. However, his pride and joy were his two brand new, very fast, sports cars, one red and one green, and his Harley Davidson motor cycle. It was therefore curious that, in these circumstances, his fourth vehicle was a large white van.

(3 days later, Norfolk, England)

Pretty 14 years old blonde-haired blue-eyed Per was investigating the rock pools on the remote and secluded beach near to the holiday cottage. His English mother and Danish father had let him and his sister spend a couple of weeks here with their English grandparents before returning to Copenhagen. It was typical English summer weather, cold and raining. This had driven the boy’s older sister back indoors but Per was happy to stay on the beach exploring, for he loved the outdoors in all conditions, and he was warmly and dryly dresses in a good quality acrylic anorak and matching trousers. There was no-one else about, although he did see a large white van parked alone in the small car-park, the lonely locale’s only concession to holidaymaker provision. Eventually, though, the lad grew hungry and realised that it was time for lunch. As he approached the car park, through which he had to pass to reach the short path that led to the cottage, he noticed that a man was leaning with his back against the van, towards the rear where there was an open door. The man appeared to have a map in his hands. Per wondered what might be inside the van.

(To be continued in Chapter 2 – ‘Per’)