have thrown items from a getaway vehicle. Frustratingly for the investigators, none of the searches, in water or on dry land, produced anything of significance.
That afternoon, Dr Green performed the post mortem. He measured the hole in Donald Skepper’s chest at two and a half inches in diameter and recovered 120 shotgun pellets. He did not have to make any wild guesses at the cause or the time of death.
Dr Ian Barclay, director of the Home Office Forensic Science laboratory at Harrogate, calculated that the point-blank shot had been fired from only two to three feet away and from slightly above the victim.
Bill Dolby rubbed his balding pate. Never in all his career had a criminal performed such a complete and comprehensive disappearing act. And, if it wasn’t for the hard evidence of the victims (not least the corpse) it was as if no-one else had been at the scene. No fingerprints, no other forensic evidence to speak of. No sightings, no getaway vehicle. Having drawn a blank with police dogs, officers searching and civilian volunteers, after a couple of days, Bill enlisted the army. Four hundred sappers and young soldiers took up the challenge. With metal detectors and keen eyes, they searched hundreds and hundreds of acres around the scene.
Nothing.
Dolby and his team migrated to plan B. Exactly a week after the shooting, they mounted an early morning operation, an ‘owl’s eye view’ of Harrogate they called it, with New Park as the focal point, from 03:00 hours to 05:30 in an attempt to locate anyone who might have been in the area at the time of the murder. Together with two other officers, Bill also visited fashion shows, tourist promotions, bingo sessions, theatres and cinemas, appealing for information, no matter how small or trivial.
Joanna Skepper emerged from deep sedation in time to join the Mayor and Mayoress of Harrogate and about eight hundred other mourners attending her husband’s funeral. The congregation included a large number of sub-postmasters given special dispensation to close for the afternoon.
Bill Dolby arranged to have police, both uniformed and in plain clothes, attend the funeral. Joanna Skepper appreciated the respect, but Bill possessed another agenda. Every officer was briefed to be vigilant. What did the killer look like? Richard Skepper had only been able to furnish them with sketchy information. A male, no more than 5’8” tall. Athletic in build and movement, speaking in a stilted, probably purposely disguised manner. Dressed all in black, with a black balaclava.
Another blank.
Having failed to find a discarded murder weapon, the squad attempted to trace the gun by other means. All shotguns have to be licensed, so they started with the dealers. One hundred and forty firearms dealers across the area and then the five thousand licence holders. Did they match the description? Any weapons stolen, or otherwise gone missing recently?
The enquiry ground slowly and painstakingly on. The inquest into Mr Skepper’s death was, as usual in murder cases, held only for evidence of identification to be heard, then adjourned for the police investigation to take place.
Bill Dolby said that he wanted to trace four vehicles. A car and a blue Ford van parked near the post office shortly after 04:00; a red car, possibly an Austin or Morris 1100 parked on Skipton Road at about 03:50, and a vehicle turning into Ripon Road around 04:00.
They were doing the best they possibly could.
They literally did not have a clue.
FOUR
“You remember Annette?”
“Annette who?” Groat became instantly testy. A career detective, he laboured under a severe impediment where names were concerned. Never forgot a face, but…
“Annette Taylor. You know – used to work with me at the Labour Exchange in Leytonstone.”
“Oh yeah, right.” It wasn’t that he was uninterested, or chose not to remember. Gloria pursued vastly different agendas to his own. They were married, they lived the same
That afternoon, Dr Green performed the post mortem. He measured the hole in Donald Skepper’s chest at two and a half inches in diameter and recovered 120 shotgun pellets. He did not have to make any wild guesses at the cause or the time of death.
Dr Ian Barclay, director of the Home Office Forensic Science laboratory at Harrogate, calculated that the point-blank shot had been fired from only two to three feet away and from slightly above the victim.
Bill Dolby rubbed his balding pate. Never in all his career had a criminal performed such a complete and comprehensive disappearing act. And, if it wasn’t for the hard evidence of the victims (not least the corpse) it was as if no-one else had been at the scene. No fingerprints, no other forensic evidence to speak of. No sightings, no getaway vehicle. Having drawn a blank with police dogs, officers searching and civilian volunteers, after a couple of days, Bill enlisted the army. Four hundred sappers and young soldiers took up the challenge. With metal detectors and keen eyes, they searched hundreds and hundreds of acres around the scene.
Nothing.
Dolby and his team migrated to plan B. Exactly a week after the shooting, they mounted an early morning operation, an ‘owl’s eye view’ of Harrogate they called it, with New Park as the focal point, from 03:00 hours to 05:30 in an attempt to locate anyone who might have been in the area at the time of the murder. Together with two other officers, Bill also visited fashion shows, tourist promotions, bingo sessions, theatres and cinemas, appealing for information, no matter how small or trivial.
Joanna Skepper emerged from deep sedation in time to join the Mayor and Mayoress of Harrogate and about eight hundred other mourners attending her husband’s funeral. The congregation included a large number of sub-postmasters given special dispensation to close for the afternoon.
Bill Dolby arranged to have police, both uniformed and in plain clothes, attend the funeral. Joanna Skepper appreciated the respect, but Bill possessed another agenda. Every officer was briefed to be vigilant. What did the killer look like? Richard Skepper had only been able to furnish them with sketchy information. A male, no more than 5’8” tall. Athletic in build and movement, speaking in a stilted, probably purposely disguised manner. Dressed all in black, with a black balaclava.
Another blank.
Having failed to find a discarded murder weapon, the squad attempted to trace the gun by other means. All shotguns have to be licensed, so they started with the dealers. One hundred and forty firearms dealers across the area and then the five thousand licence holders. Did they match the description? Any weapons stolen, or otherwise gone missing recently?
The enquiry ground slowly and painstakingly on. The inquest into Mr Skepper’s death was, as usual in murder cases, held only for evidence of identification to be heard, then adjourned for the police investigation to take place.
Bill Dolby said that he wanted to trace four vehicles. A car and a blue Ford van parked near the post office shortly after 04:00; a red car, possibly an Austin or Morris 1100 parked on Skipton Road at about 03:50, and a vehicle turning into Ripon Road around 04:00.
They were doing the best they possibly could.
They literally did not have a clue.
FOUR
“You remember Annette?”
“Annette who?” Groat became instantly testy. A career detective, he laboured under a severe impediment where names were concerned. Never forgot a face, but…
“Annette Taylor. You know – used to work with me at the Labour Exchange in Leytonstone.”
“Oh yeah, right.” It wasn’t that he was uninterested, or chose not to remember. Gloria pursued vastly different agendas to his own. They were married, they lived the same
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