looked to the witness as though they'd been arguing, because the girl was in "a somber mood." The man was six feet tall, slim, and wore an "unfashionable coat," according to the caller. The girl, of course, was thought to be Lynda Mann.
Suddenly they had a new sighting of Lynda reported, this one in Leicester city center where she'd been reportedly seen with a punk who had three-inch spiky bleached hair. It was known that Lynda used to go into Leicester every Saturday, so the police treated this one seriously.
The various leads were driving the inquiry's man-hours into the thousands. It was perhaps with a note of desperation that after showing th e v ideo in a disco at Croft, the Mercury announced that murder squad spokesmen were saying, "We are closer." But they were not.
They took their show on the road; the video was seen at more local shopping areas and schools, more discos in the surrounding areas, and even by shoppers in Leicester city center.
In March, Supt. Coutts was telling journalists that the girl seen at the bus stop on the night of the murder was Lynda Mann. After examining thousands of leads, Coutts had to believe in something. Because the punk never came forward, he would remain the strongest lead. Ian Coutts had it fixed in his mind that he was one of the two people seen at the bus shelter, and the other had to have been Lynda.
"She wasn't the kind o' lass to go wi'out a struggle," the Scotsman repeated to the end. "He must o' been someone she knew."
During the Caroline Hogg murder inquiry Derek Pearce had learned for the first time how to look at pedophiles, discovering through that exhaustive and futile investigation that there were far more sexual deviates living in the villages than he'd ever thought possible. A sexual offense was reported every day, and since everyone knew that the number of reported sex crimes never reflects the true extent of the problem, he always wondered how many occurred. How many in Narborough, or Littlethorpe, or Enderby? How many had their man himself committed before he'd killed Lynda Mann?
Blood testing was done on many of the most promising suspects. The best they could get out of the forensics laboratory was "He could've done it" or "He might've done it." A subtlety that escaped Pearce.
Sometimes they'd be told he could not have done it, because they couldn't find the PGM 1 + factor. Yet even if police sent in a sample not from the PGM 1 + , A-secretor group, they were told that another 40 percent of the blood group couldn't be ruled out. Science was vague, ambiguous, mysterious. The police believed they'd never get an answer from scientists with all their "probably's" and "possibly's" and "maybe's." They blood-tested some of the huge number of workers brought in to build the new housing estate by The Black Pad, many of whom lived nomadic lives in tinker caravans. It required enormous investigative time to verify the alibis of these itinerant workers.
There were many theories and arguments about whether or not the chest bruises, one darker than the other, could have come from the killer's knees while Lynda Mann was being strangled, and many debates as t o w hether or not the bruise on her chin was caused by a blow of sufficient force to knock her out. Those in favor of the knockout theory had to deal with the biting of her tongue. That was covered by saying it had happened when she was coming around, the instant he applied the ligature. All of this was a subtle way of questioning the opinion of their commanders that Lynda must have known her killer.
One night in The Rosings they were brainstorming while Derek Pearce was in his frenetic bird-dog mode. "Come on, lads, what do you think? How do you fall? Let's come up with something!"
So someone did: a tall, rangy detective constable who parted his red hair in the middle and let it hang down lank on both sides. He looked like one of those earnest schoolmasters from the old prewar films they ran late nights on the
Suddenly they had a new sighting of Lynda reported, this one in Leicester city center where she'd been reportedly seen with a punk who had three-inch spiky bleached hair. It was known that Lynda used to go into Leicester every Saturday, so the police treated this one seriously.
The various leads were driving the inquiry's man-hours into the thousands. It was perhaps with a note of desperation that after showing th e v ideo in a disco at Croft, the Mercury announced that murder squad spokesmen were saying, "We are closer." But they were not.
They took their show on the road; the video was seen at more local shopping areas and schools, more discos in the surrounding areas, and even by shoppers in Leicester city center.
In March, Supt. Coutts was telling journalists that the girl seen at the bus stop on the night of the murder was Lynda Mann. After examining thousands of leads, Coutts had to believe in something. Because the punk never came forward, he would remain the strongest lead. Ian Coutts had it fixed in his mind that he was one of the two people seen at the bus shelter, and the other had to have been Lynda.
"She wasn't the kind o' lass to go wi'out a struggle," the Scotsman repeated to the end. "He must o' been someone she knew."
During the Caroline Hogg murder inquiry Derek Pearce had learned for the first time how to look at pedophiles, discovering through that exhaustive and futile investigation that there were far more sexual deviates living in the villages than he'd ever thought possible. A sexual offense was reported every day, and since everyone knew that the number of reported sex crimes never reflects the true extent of the problem, he always wondered how many occurred. How many in Narborough, or Littlethorpe, or Enderby? How many had their man himself committed before he'd killed Lynda Mann?
Blood testing was done on many of the most promising suspects. The best they could get out of the forensics laboratory was "He could've done it" or "He might've done it." A subtlety that escaped Pearce.
Sometimes they'd be told he could not have done it, because they couldn't find the PGM 1 + factor. Yet even if police sent in a sample not from the PGM 1 + , A-secretor group, they were told that another 40 percent of the blood group couldn't be ruled out. Science was vague, ambiguous, mysterious. The police believed they'd never get an answer from scientists with all their "probably's" and "possibly's" and "maybe's." They blood-tested some of the huge number of workers brought in to build the new housing estate by The Black Pad, many of whom lived nomadic lives in tinker caravans. It required enormous investigative time to verify the alibis of these itinerant workers.
There were many theories and arguments about whether or not the chest bruises, one darker than the other, could have come from the killer's knees while Lynda Mann was being strangled, and many debates as t o w hether or not the bruise on her chin was caused by a blow of sufficient force to knock her out. Those in favor of the knockout theory had to deal with the biting of her tongue. That was covered by saying it had happened when she was coming around, the instant he applied the ligature. All of this was a subtle way of questioning the opinion of their commanders that Lynda must have known her killer.
One night in The Rosings they were brainstorming while Derek Pearce was in his frenetic bird-dog mode. "Come on, lads, what do you think? How do you fall? Let's come up with something!"
So someone did: a tall, rangy detective constable who parted his red hair in the middle and let it hang down lank on both sides. He looked like one of those earnest schoolmasters from the old prewar films they ran late nights on the
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