CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
0837hrs
If I hurried I could make it to the shops in time for last minute present buying and get back home in time to have some of the day left to enjoy. There were only a few days remaining and I had put it off as long as I could. I did not have that many presents to sort but the problem was that I had also left it to the last minute to buy Christmas cards as well. For most of my friends, and there were a lot of them still living overseas, I resorted to electronic cards and best wishes. But there were still some in London and one or two in the counties who I had to send cards to. So I decided to kill two birds with the one stone.
The Westfield London shopping centre in Hammersmith, or rather in the borough of Hammersmith and Fulham, was opened to much fanfare a little over three years ago. A number of times over that period I had promised myself that I would see what all the fuss was about. Years before I had made the mistake of visiting the Bluewater shopping and leisure facility close to the M25. The biggest mistake was making the trip on the weekend it was officially opened and the crowds were so huge that I vowed never to fall into the same trap again.
Now three years had passed since the Westfield complex near Hammersmith had opened and I considered it was time I risked a visit. What better time than when I had to complete my last minute festive buying.
Westfield is situated in White City and is actually part of the White City district, where there are several other large scale development projects. The development is on a large brown field site part of which was once the location of the 1908 Franco-British Exhibition. The centre is noted for its size with a retail floor area of around a hundred and fifty thousand square meters which is roughly the size of thirty football pitches. When it was opened it was reported to be the third largest shopping centre in the country.
To get to my destination I would take the District Line from Victoria as far as Hammersmith and then hop on the Circle Line heading north to Shepherd’s Bush Market which was the nearest stop o the centre. All going well, largely down to whether the Circle Line would be operating satisfactorily, something that could not always be relied on, I could be there by half nine, complete my shopping by half ten and be back in the flat by lunchtime.
I was standing on the platform waiting for the correct train to come alone, in eleven minutes according to the information screen suspended from the ceiling. As I looked down the siding at the growing mass of people I started. Standing about thirty paces away was the man the police all over the city and probably the country were hunting on the assumption that he was the serial killer responsible for the most appalling murder of five women. Alec Bartholemew stood staring straight ahead.
I did not know what to do. My immediate thought was to raise the alarm. To shout a warning to the other commuters. But just as quickly I realised there would be no point. My second thought was that I had a bit over ten minutes to decide to do something and to do it. Should I confront him myself? That would be foolish. The last time I did that Bartholemew beat me to a pulp, and suspecting the lack of gung ho in the average British citizen when risk was involved, I reckoned I would get little outside support. There was only one thing I could think of doing.
I dialed Detective Maguire’s mobile. There was no answer so I whispered a desperate voicemail message telling him where I was, that Bartholemew was on the same platform, that the next train was due in around ten minutes, and that he should do everything he could to get down to Victoria as quickly as he could. Then I stood and glanced at the wanted man while trying to stay hidden myself behind other innocent people.
*
Maguire listened to the message on his mobile and then called Detective Martin Walden on his. He explained what he wanted and also that he was at the time in a police car in heavy traffic around Parliament Square.
Walden rushed out of the Met building and ran across the road to St James’s Park underground. If he was very fortunate he might, just might be lucky enough to catch the exact train that Bartholemew was waiting for. St James’s Park station is one stop away from Victoria and there was the chance that as the train pulled into Victoria and Bartholemew prepared to get aboard Walden would be waiting for him. At the same time Maguire would be doing everything he could to get to Victoria as well.
*
I watched as the District Line train slowly emerged from the tunnel and hissed its way alongside the platform. From that point on things happened in quick succession. It was serendipity repeating itself. The carriage that Walden was in was the same carriage that Bartholemew faced.
The doors clanked open and passengers began stepping out of the carriage onto the platform.
Bartholemew moved slightly to one side to allow some to pass.
Walden saw him and pushed his way passed two other commuters and reached for Bartholemew.
At the same time Bartholemew saw Walden and turned to run.
Walden stumbled as the passenger in front of him suddenly stopped.
Bartholemew crashed into a women behind him who was waiting to get into the carriage.
Both men half fell to the concrete platform.
They were just a meter or two apart.
Bartholemew was first to his feet and started to run but Walden dived after him and grabbed one ankle which brought him down.
The commuters in front of me had largely managed to get into their carriages and I could now see the two men grappling on the platform as other commuters stepped around them but with nobody trying to intervene.
I ran forward and when I reached the wrestling men I tried to grab hold of Bartholemew to pull him away from Walden.
As I leant down a flailing arm from Bartholemew caught be on the side of the head and I was knocked sideways.
At the same time Bartholemew brought his knee into the groin of Walden who grunted and loosened his grip.
I got to my knees and on all fours looked at Bartholemew.
He sprang to his feet and kicked Walden hard in the head.
In saw his boot strike the detective’s temple and I heard a deep sigh as Walden rolled sideways and ended up with his face pressed against the side of the train.
Bartholemew then turned and was about to aim a kick at me when from behind he was struck hard on the back of his head.
He lunged forward and crashed to the platform.
Maguire instantly bent down and snapped handcuffs on Bartholemew’s hands behind his back.
He then went to Walden who had not moved.
The train suddenly juddered forward no more than a meter and again came to a stop.
Maguire rolled Walden onto his back and then bent down and put his ear to his chest.
*
1000hrs
Maguire sat facing Alec Bartholemew across the table.
He stared intently at the man.
Bartholemew kept his gaze down but briefly raised his eyes and looked at the detective.
“Just tell me why,” said Maguire.
Bartholemew studied the table again.
“Why kidnap those women and then mutilate them before murdering them?” Maguire asked again.
Still Bartholemew remained silent.
“Didn’t you feel anything? Nothing at all?”
Silence.
Maguire kept staring at the killer.
“I can’t understand. It defies all logic and the inhumanity of what you did to those women defies belief.”
Still Bartholemew said nothing.
“What is just unbelievable is not that you slashed the women haphazardly. You carefully cut them. Hacked them at times with a saw. But then you seem to have shown some remorse and tried to tend the wounds. It’s just……why on earth….?”
Maguire shook his head. “It’s inhuman,” he said.
There was a silence between the two men and then finally Maguire said: “You will spend the rest of your life in jail. You’ll never get out. If I had my way you’d be strapped to a chair and a million volts drilled into your worthless body.”
He paused: “With any luck while you’re inside your fellow inmates will inflict equal pain on you. Over a long time.”
He got up from the table and walked to the door of the room.
As he was about to leave he turned and faced Bartholemew a last time.
“One more thing,” he said. “We recovered all the bodies but not all the parts you removed. What did you do with them?”
Bartholemew raised his head and looked at Detective David Maguire.
“I’m hungry,” he said softly and a smile briefly crossed his lips. “Would it be possible to get something to eat? A steak would be nice.”