Fox Evil (36 page)

"He was treated with generosity when he first arrived, particularly by the owner's wife, who was concerned for the woman and toddlers in his care. Her kindness may have given him a false sense of belonging, but those feelings would have turned to anger very quickly when he discovered she was interested only in helping his partner break away from his influence. It is probable that this unknown woman and her children were his first victims. If so, his subsequent killings would have been strongly linked in his mind with the Lockyer-Fox family.

"The evidence suggests that Wells's pattern of behavior moved from highly organized in 1997 to highly disorganized by 26 December 2001. Whatever his motives for acquiring 'families,' they seemed to serve a purpose until boredom and/or lust for killing led him to attack them. Within weeks of slaughtering two members of his traveling fantasy family in a hammer attack, he was using the same hammer on the gardener and granddaughter of his extended fantasy family.

"His disintegration may have been due in part to the growing tumor in his brain, but it's not unusual for serial murderers to spiral out of control. It's conceivable that he knew what was happening to him. He allowed a witness of the November attack to live, and he committed his final, frenzied killing spree against people who would recognize him. The inevitable conclusion is that he wanted to be caught and stopped."

Bella Preston disagrees. "Fox Evil was well named. He used women and children until he lost interest in them, then he killed them. He was the worst kind of predator. He killed for pleasure."

Anne Cattrell

HOCKLEY & SPICER, SOLICITORS

OLD COMPTON HOUSE, BRIDPORT ROAD, DORCHESTER

Julian Bartlett, Esq.

Flat3

32 Hardy Avenue

Dorchester

Dorset

18 September 2002

Dear Julian:

Following your telephone call of this morning, I can confirm that the death of Brian Wells will have no bearing on your case. As you know, the only statement he made to police was the one concerning his alleged dealings with you. While we can and will challenge that statement, I should remind you that most of what he claimed has been substantiated by police searches, witness statements, and forensic evidence.

I realize how frustrated you are, particularly in respect of your bail conditions, but, unfortunately, the prosecution has always believed that the charges against you can be successfully proved without further testimony from Wells. Of course, you are entitled to change your solicitor at any time. However, solicitors can only work with the facts they've been given. As a friend, I would urge you to consider the following before you look for someone "who believes you."

As I have explained previously, it was not in your interests to push for early trial. The more damning the case against Brian Wells, the easier the jury would have accepted your proposed defense that you were a victim of violent intimidation. However, I feel obliged to point out, as I have done several times before, that you undermined that defense in advance when, during police questioning, you accused your wife of bearing sole responsibility.

If we take the saliva evidence from the voice distorter alone, it is clear that you were the only person who used it. Nor was Eleanor a signatory to the bank accounts you opened. In addition, Ms. Gemma Squires's evidence relating to your sudden interest in Leo and Elizabeth Lockyer-Fox in July, and in any secrets Vera Dawson would have known about the family, suggests you were complicit long before Eleanor became involved toward the end of October.

I would not be doing my duty if I did not remind you that Courts impose stiffer penalties when a plea of "not guilty" is found to be unsustainable. The charges you face have been considerably reduced since police and prosecution accepted your assurance that you had no knowledge of the guns in Wells's bus or of his murderous intent. However, again, I must point out that your ignorance of these facts undermines your proposed defense of intimidation.

If you had no idea that Wells was the sort of man who went armed and was prepared to attack anyone who thwarted him, then your defense looks unconvincing. If you knew he was armed, then you may be in danger of having charges reinstated, namely those relating to Wells's possession of illegal weaponry. I do urge you to give a thorough consideration to these conflicting positions in the next few days, particularly as you have no satisfactory explanation for how amounts to the value of £75,000 came to be in your bank account.

Your stockbroker has no knowledge of the shares you claim to have sold, nor have you been able to supply documentary proof that you ever owned them. The situation is further complicated by allegations from your former employer that you were offered early retirement after an "expenses" fraud pertaining to a 10-year period was uncovered in your department. While you denied, and continue to deny, involvement in this fraud, it is nevertheless naive to close your eyes to the implications of a police investigation into your activities there. A true accounting of funds is necessary if you are not to face additional charges.

Had you chosen to remain silent during questioning instead of allowing yourself to be provoked, then a change of solicitor might indeed bring "an unbiased eye" to your case. However, I am bound to tell you that I do not think silence would have helped you. The evidence against you is forensic as well as circumstantial and any solicitor would advise you to reconsider your defense in light of it.

The prosecution can produce witness evidence that you met Brian Wells in a pub on 23 July, although they will have difficulty proving design rather than accident. Vera Dawson's evidence is inadmissible because of her senile dementia; therefore Wells's claim that you met several times subsequently at Manor Lodge is unproven. However, Ms. Squires's assertion that she accompanied you there on 26 July and saw Brian Wells through the window is damaging, as is your 24 October email to her describing your wife as "an idiot. She'll believe anything of L-F because she hates him so much." Inferences will certainly be drawn, as Eleanor's meeting with Brian Wells and "Vixen" took place on 23 October.

On 27 December 2001 you denied being shown any Monet sketches by Colonel or Mrs. Lockyer-Fox, a fact attested to by the Colonel. Yet fingerprint evidence shows that both you and Wells handled one of the Monet sketches, stored in the Colonel's strong room for the last two years, which substantiates Wells's claim that he delivered it to you and you told him to replace it because it was too "well authenticated" to sell. Further, you have been unable to explain why your fingerprints were found on several items of silverware in Brian Wells's bus. There is witness evidence to prove you sold items of jewelry in Bournemouth that have since been identifled as belonging to Ailsa Lockyer-Fox. Most damagingly, the envelope containing the letter to your wife and purporting to come from Leo Lockyer-Fox carries your DNA in the saliva residue on the stamp.

With respect, you have offered no plausible rebuttal to this evidence except to say that Ms. Squires is "a desperate bitch who'll say anything because she fancies DS Monroe" and "the fingerprint evidence is a plant." This will not wash with a judge and jury, and I ask you to recognize that my efforts to have your charges reduced will result in a moderate sentence if Colonel Lockyer-Fox and his family are spared any more pain and distress. By the same token, the Court will give you little sympathy if you force the Colonel's granddaughter to listen to accusations of incest which are evidentially untrue.

In conclusion, I should like to remind you that solicitors, too, have a right of dismissal. While I understand your numerous frustrations, particularly in relation to divorce proceedings, loss of friends, and inability to move away, I am not obliged to put up with the sort of language you used this morning. Should it happen again, I will certainly insist that you consult another partnership.

Yours sincerely,

Gareth Hockley

Gareth Hockley

EARLY NOVEMBER 2002

Nancy parked by the Lodge and walked up through the vegetable garden. It was very different from the last time she'd been there, nearly a year ago, when Bovington had released her to recuperate at home in Herefordshire. She had expected to return in the summer, but it hadn't happened. Instead she had been posted back to Kosovo.

The beds had been dug and a polytunnel was sheltering winter greens from frost and wind. She opened the gate into Ailsa's Italian courtyard. The tubs had been planted with chrysanthemums, Michaelmas daisies, and everlasting pansies, and someone had swept the cobbled ground and painted the scullery door and windows. Children's bicycles leaned against the wall and she could hear music coming from the kitchen.

She opened the door into the impeccable scullery and tiptoed through to where Bella was setting out trays of glasses and canape's. She looked no different from the last time Nancy had seen her, still swathed in purple, still as wide as a house, still with cropped peroxided hair. "Hello, Bella," she said from the doorway.

The woman gave a whoop of pleasure and ran forward to clasp her arms around Nancy's waist in a massive bear hug. "I knew you'd come. Mark thought you'd duck it at the last minute but I said, no chance."

Nancy laughed. "I might have done if you hadn't clogged my phone with messages." She allowed herself to be drawn into the kitchen. "Wow!" she said, staring about the newly decorated walls. "It looks great, Bella… smells good, too."

"It's a labour of love, darlin'. Poor old Manor. It never did no one no harm, but it's sure seen some trials and tribulations. I've got most of the downstairs rooms up and running… new decor…
bloody
tasteful. The Colonel reckons it's an improvement… wouldn't let me use purple, though." She cupped Nancy's face in her hands. "What's with coming to the back? You're the guest of honor. I oiled the front door specially so it wouldn't squeak."

Nancy smiled. "I thought it'd be easier to sneak down the corridor and mingle a bit before anyone noticed me."

"Fat chance! Mark's been mooching around like a bear with a sore head, and the Colonel's been watching the clock since yesterday afternoon." Bella turned away to fill a glass with champagne. "Here, have a little Dutch courage. You look great, darlin'. Didn't know you had legs."

Nancy smoothed her skirt self-consciously. "How's James?"

"Good. Has the odd down day, but he perks up again when your letters arrive. He worries about you. Keeps scouring the newspapers to make sure there's been no enemy action in your sector. He's always on the blower to your mum 'n' dad, wanting news. Did they tell you they came down for a visit?"

She nodded. "I gather my mother gave Zadie and Gray a crash course in pruning."

"
And
persuaded the Colonel to sign 'em on for a day a week at an agricultural college down the road. They're picking it up pretty quick, as a matter of fact. We had our own veggies in the summer." She squeezed Nancy's hand. "Did she tell you Wolfie was here? The social lets him come on a visit once a month. He's doing great… got a grand home… coming on a treat at school… grown about six inches. He's always asking about you, wants to be in the army when he grows up."

Nancy took a sip of the champagne. "Is he here today?"

"Sure is… along with his foster mum 'n' dad."

"Does he talk about what happened?"

"Sometimes. He wasn't fazed about Fox dying. Told me it was a good thing if it meant none of us would have to go to court. I guess it's what we all feel one way or another."

"Yes," agreed Nancy.

Bella went back to arranging her canapes. "Did Mark tell you Julian Bartlett got sent down a couple of weeks ago?"

Another nod. "Said he changed his plea out of the blue and claimed personal problems in mitigation."

"Yeah, like trying to run a wife and a mistress at the same time." Bella chuckled. "He's been doing it for years, apparently… got cold feet when the cops unearthed a couple of ex-bimbos in London and some swindle he'd been operating against his old company."

Nancy was amused. "Did Eleanor know?"

"Probably not. She lied about how much he earned, but Martin reckons she was just trying to keep her end up. Your granddad has no sympathy for her. He says the more she lied about how much Julian was worth, the more attractive she made him to encroaching females."

Nancy laughed. "I expect she's regretting it now."

"Must be. Stuck in the great big house on her own. She don't come out much, that's for sure… far too embarrassed. The biter bit, that's what I say. Serves her right."

"What about the Weldons? Are they still together?"

"Just about. Dick's a nice bloke. He came and apologized after you'd gone, said he didn't expect the Colonel to forgive Prue but hoped he could accept she was completely ignorant about what was going on. There's no doubt she was shocked rigid when it all came out. Hardly opens her mouth these days for fear of saying the wrong thing."

Nancy shook her head. "I still don't understand how Julian thought he'd get away with it."

"Martin says he tried to put a stop to it by phoning Vera when he found out Mark was here. There was a record of the call on his mobile, but either Vera didn't pass the message on or Fox wasn't playing."

"Why didn't he phone Fox?"

"Never did, apparently. Knew enough about mobiles to keep Fox's number well out of it." She opened the oven and took out some warmed sausage rolls. "He's a stupid bugger. He did okay out of Ailsa's jewelry and the bits and pieces Vera nicked from the rooms the Colonel never went into… then he got greedy. You know what Martin reckons? He says it's because Julian wasn't punished for the swindle… instead his firm paid him off to keep it quiet.
Bad
lesson. He gets the idea nicking's easy… skedaddles down here, meets up with the likes of Bob Dawson, and Dick Weldon, and reckons Dorset folk have sawdust between their ears. He keeps his nose clean till his money starts running out… then he bumps into Fox in the woods one day and thinks: 'Bingo! I recognize this bad penny.' "

"Surely he must have guessed Fox had something to do with Ailsa's death?"

Bella sighed. "Martin says he wouldn't have cared once the coroner accepted natural causes. In any case, it gave him a lever. Vera rabbits on endlessly about how Mr. Bartlett said he'd go to the cops if her boy didn't steal for him. Poor old Colonel. He was a sitting duck… all on his own… didn't talk to his kids… no neighbors… senile cleaner… bolshy gardener… solicitor in London. Easy-bloody-peasy to clean him out behind his back. That's what they reckon the encampment was about. Fox was gonna strip the place, then do a runner and leave us in the firing line."

Nancy nodded. Mark had told her most of this. "I wonder which of them thought of it."

"Who knows? One thing's for sure: you and Mark weren't supposed to be here. They wanted the Colonel alone and thinking Leo was behind it. Martin reckons Fox was gonna kill the old boy, anyway, so there wouldn't have been a witness."

"What did Julian say?"

Bella grinned. "Nothing. Just shat himself when Monroe told him how many people they think Fox murdered. The reporters don't know the half of it, Nance. The tally's up to thirty so far… and rising. Fox was one sadistic bastard. The cops reckon every sodding brush in his bus represented a person as well as a fox. It makes you think, don't it?"

Nancy took another sip of Dutch courage. "Do you see Vera?"

"No, but everyone who visits the nursing home hears what she has to say." She reached over to take Nancy's hand again. "There's something else she's saying, darlin', and I'd rather you heard it from me than on the grapevine. I know Mark's told you about the photos the police found in the Lodge, the ones of Fox and Elizabeth when they were in their teens. Seems like he hooked up with the travelers that came to mend Mr. Squires's fences. It don't mean nothing as far as you're concerned… but Vera talks about you being Fox's daughter quite a lot."

Nancy swilled the champagne in her glass and watched the bubbles pop. Mark had told her in January. He, too, had said the photographs meant nothing but she'd spent hours on the Internet researching brown-blue alleles, blue-green alleles, dominant gene colors and color variations. She had expected confirmation that it was impossible for blue-eyed parents to have a brown-eyed child. Instead she had learned the opposite.

She guessed Mark had done the same research, because he had asked her once or twice if there was anything she wanted from Elizabeth. They both knew what he was talking about, but each time Nancy had said no. He never pushed it, and she was grateful for that. He understood that in this one instance uncertainty was more bearable than certainty.

Now it was too late. Elizabeth had died in April, having made her peace with her father but not with the child she gave away. Her only gift to Nancy, other than life, was a handwritten note saying: "I have so much to regret, but I don't regret giving you to John and Mary Smith. It was the best thing I ever did in my life. With love, Elizabeth."

"Well, let's hope Vera's wrong," she said lightly, "otherwise I've inherited a brain tumor on one side and cirrhosis on the other."

"Don't be an idiot," said Bella roundly. "Cirrhosis ain't inherited… it's self-inflicted… and you know Fox ain't your dad. Yours was a tall, handsome sod with brown eyes, a good brain, and a kind heart. Anything else'd be going against nature."

Nancy smiled. "So how are things with Martin?"

"Brilliant," said Bella, accepting the change of subject easily. "He's in there, as well." She nodded toward the drawing room. "Leo, too. They're all dying to see you, darlin'. Are you gonna let me take you in now?"

Nancy felt a terrible shyness creep over her. They were all expecting far too much. Apart from Mark, she hadn't seen any of them for nearly a year and she'd never met Leo. "Maybe I should go out again and come through the front door?"

She felt a coat being draped across her shoulders. "I have a better idea," said Mark, taking her hand and leading her into the corridor. "We'll go for a walk and blow the cobwebs away. In half an hour we'll take a discreet look through the drawing-room window and see how everyone's getting on. How does that sound?"

Nancy relaxed immediately. "As good as it did last time," she said simply.