Authors: Paul Britton
Lynda, he said, had tried to talk him out of raping her. She partly undressed herself, too terrified to scream or fight. Pitchfork claimed to have fully penetrated her and became angry at suggestions that he’d ejaculated prematurely. He also said that he began strangling her while still inside - something not supported by the facts but probably a crucial part of his fantasy.
Pitchfork had seen Dawn Ashworth while out riding his motorcycle on an errand to pick up ingredients for a cake. She had just walked across King Edward Avenue and entered Ten Pound Lane. He parked his bike and followed.
‘Nobody ever saw me. They saw lots of other people, I guess, but not me. There I was in broad daylight, wearing jeans and a jumper and a bottle-green nylon parka jacket.’
He followed her along the path, jogging to catch up. Turning, he forced Dawn towards the farm gate, putting his hand over her mouth and pushing her into the field. The gate was off its catch.
Pitchfork ignored her pleas not to rape her. Afterwards she had sat up and said, ‘Have you finished? Can I go now?
I won’t tell anybody. Please. Honest. Just go and leave me alone. Please.’
Then he strangled her from behind with his forearm across her throat.
Throughout the interviews, no matter how the questions were framed, Pitchfork denied having sodomized Dawn. He explained the attacks in vivid detail but insisted that he didn’t touch her after death and had made little effort to conceal her body. Both of these answers didn’t tally with how Dawn had been found and the injuries she sustained. Baker remained puzzled by the inconsistencies and question marks still remain, but he happily raised a glass to celebrate having caught the man he’d referred to as ‘Chummy’ throughout the investigation.
If I had wanted an apprenticeship or an overview into how police investigations were carried out, Baker had given me one and done it brilliantly. I don’t think anyone could have made it more transparent and explained it so lucidly. He did, however, have an apology to make.
‘It was some advice you gave us that I didn’t appreciate enough,’ he said. ‘You told me that the killer would have minor sexual offences in his past. I didn’t listen to that. You were right.’
In August 1988 a typewritten letter arrived at the head office of Pedigree Pet Foods Ltd in Melton Mowbray, Leicestershire, addressed to Mr John Simmens, the managing director. It was attached to a tin of dog food which outwardly looked no different to the millions of others sold every year or, indeed, to those stacked in my own pantry.
This is a demand to Pedigree Pet Foods to pay Ł100,000 per year in order to prevent their products being contaminated with toxic substances.
The accompanying tin of Pedigree Chum has had its contents mixed with toxic chemicals. These chemicals were selected because they are colourless, odourless and highly toxic. They are virtually undetectable to a pet owner before feeding.
If payment is not forthcoming from Pedigree Pet Foods of Mars Limited, a large number of similarly contaminated tins will appear on retailers shelves throughout Great Britain.
Initially, only Pedigree Chum dog food will be poisoned. When sales of that product have slumped another will be sabotaged if payment has not been received. The process will be repeated until payment is finally made or your company dissolves. Its fate will then be an example to other pet food manufacturers…
Although I didn’t know it then, almost every major manufacturer and retailer is subject to occasional angry letters or crude attempts to extort money. Sacked employees, irate customers, vanquished suppliers, jealous rivals - the motives are numerous but rarely are the threats serious.
This time, however, the accompanying product had been cut open, spiked with poison and resealed with the label concealing the incision. It was so skillfully done and well camouflaged that no-one could have suspected.
The blackmail letter warned that five contaminations would be made daily at supermarkets throughout the country, with the media informed by coded telephone calls. In total Ł500,000 was to be paid in installments of Ł100,000 into various building society accounts to be nominated.
‘When your company agrees to pay, it will place an announcement in the personal columns of the Daily Telegraph which will read: “Sandra, happy birthday darling. Love John,’” the letter said.
‘Sandra and John’ were to be codenames for Pedigree while the blackmailer used ‘Romeo and Juliet’ in all letters and telephone calls. He gave a deadline of 1 December, 1988.
David Baker phoned while I was mowing the lawn. My heart sank. I liked Baker a great deal but the very mention of his name immediately conjured up images of some brutal crime. As much as I wanted to help, I couldn’t claim to enjoy even the smallest part of it except the ending when I could then try to forget.
Perhaps Baker sensed my disquiet for he quickly mentioned that no-one had died or been raped. Even so, the urgency in his voice was obvious and I met him the next morning in his office.
‘Three questions, Paul,’ he said, shuffling paper in front of him until he found a copy of the blackmail letter. ‘Firstly, is it serious? Secondly, what can you tell us about the person who did this? And thirdly, what options have we got?’
Malcolm Cairns, the Assistant Chief Constable (Crime), sat across the table alongside Baker, Ian Leacy and Detective Inspector Tim Garner. It fascinated me to watch the interaction between the officers. The police hierarchy is very authoritarian, although flexible, and you can immediately recognize the most senior officer in a room because everyone else defers to him as ‘Sir’, ‘Boss’ or ‘Guv’.
In this case, Malcolm Cairns as an ACC (Assistant Chief Constable) was Baker’s superior yet he was a policy-maker and administrator rather than a greatly experienced criminal investigator. He didn’t have Baker’s insight or know-how but still had to be given the appearance of running the meeting. It was a delicate interaction.
Having Cairns present automatically flagged the case as being different. It struck me as odd because no-one was dead and there wasn’t a killer running loose. Then I realized that with a murder there is a perception that the worst has already happened - the crime has been committed and now must be solved - whereas an extortion attempt has an immediacy because it is still being committed.
Baker slid the blackmail letter across the table. I studied the language and construction of the sentences. There are formulae with which you can estimate the reading and writing ability of a writer; and by looking at the layout and structure it’s possible to see if someone comes from a particular background because they replicate a certain style. It’s similar to when I write a string of psychological reports for the courts and then find my private letters begin to read like legal documents.
‘Is it a crank or a nutter?’ asked Cairns. ‘Should we take it seriously?’
Looking at the intellectual integrity of the letter, I couldn’t see anything ‘mad’ about the author. There was no indication of psychological looseness; no obsessional political or corporate punishment themes, no clang associations - where the previous word is the stimulus for the next word rather than the meaning of the sentence as a whole. When people with psychotic illnesses write things, depending upon the illness, and its severity, they often start off making a particular point and as the sentence proceeds it becomes lost and the next word or clause is determined by the clause before.
‘It’s a feasible amount of money given the size of the company,’ I said, looking at the Ł500,000 demand. ‘Neither ridiculously high nor so small that the investment in planning and the risk involved doesn’t make sense. What can you tell me about the paper?’
Baker said, ‘It’s widely available. The letter was photocopied so I don’t think we’re going to find prints. We’ll have a make on the typewriter in a few days.’
All of this suggested that the blackmailer had an awareness of the investigative process. He’d also done his research, addressing the letter directly to John Simmens rather than simply writing, ‘a senior executive’ or ‘the managing director’.
The contaminated tin was still at the police laboratory but it seemed unlikely that the poison had been introduced during the manufacturing process. The product had been purchased and then adulterated by someone who knew how to use a soldering iron and to soak or steam off a label. It said loudly and clearly, ‘This isn’t a game, I’m serious, you’ve been warned.’
I took away a copy of the letter along with my notes and promised to come back with my thoughts. There wasn’t much to go on but every chance that I’d learn more if the blackmailer kept his promises.
Secrecy, of course, was vital and I didn’t mention the threat to anyone, not even Marilyn, although it became awkward when she caught me removing cans of Pedigree Chum from the shelves in the cupboard.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Nothing really.’
‘Well what’s happening?’
‘We’re just having a change of brands for a while, OK? There’s no problem.’
Two days later, back at Leicestershire Police Headquarters, I listed the psychological characteristics of the blackmailer. Intellectually he was average or above average, educated at ordinary secondary level but probably not university level. This was clear from the structure and language used in the letter.
There was carefulness and preplanning, along with tenacity and persistence. Someone had spent time experimenting on cutting and resealing the tin until they got it right. This suggested a more mature man - someone who had the patience to plan and explore; someone who had an awareness of forensic clues.
Everything about the letter’s author indicated a non-committee; the words and structure had a singularity about them, as if written by one person rather than several making suggestions. Also, the more people involved in such an operation, the greater the risk.
‘The primary motivation is greed, that was clear. He may enjoy the game, but doesn’t embellish or over-complicate things.’
When I finished, Baker asked me if I’d join the management team of the inquiry to advise on strategy. This was a major new step. Five years earlier, when I first gave Baker a psychological analysis of Caroline Osborne’s killer, he was simply trying to understand what he was dealing with. Now there was an appreciation that a psychological analysis could do more than reveal who someone was - it could help predict what that person would do next.
Pedigree’s crisis management team was ushered into the room. The very urbane John Simmens sat in the centre, flanked by a public relations director who shook everyone’s hand, carefully working the room; and a corporate lawyer who potentially had more influence than all of them.
Right from the beginning I became aware that Pedigree had a different agenda to the police. For Baker and his team the first priority was to protect the public and catch the extortionist. The company also wanted to protect the public but had an additional responsibility to the board and its shareholders. The commercial implications were never far from the surface.
Pedigree was a subsidiary of the Mars Group, a major international corporation with its corporate headquarters in America. Even so, Pedigree had enough freedom of movement to make decisions and act quickly rather than getting bogged down in protracted discussions overseas. This made it easier to implement strategy and change course when necessary.
‘Is the threat serious?’ asked Simmens, going straight to the most important question.
‘Yes, it is serious.’
‘OK, what do we do now?’
‘Well, we can do a number of things. The first priority is to make sure no-one gets hurt.’
‘I agree,’ said Simmens, ‘and we also don’t want to panic our customers.’
Baker concluded, ‘Which is why we need a strategy.’
Simmens asked about the likelihood that the blackmailer would simply go away if his demands were ignored.
‘I don’t think so,’ I told him.
‘And from our point of view that isn’t good enough,’ said Baker. ‘We have someone out there who has committed a serious offence. If he goes away, where is he going to come back?’
The conversation turned to security and possible means of preventing a contaminated tin being put on a shelf. Pedigree and the police had already been in touch with the major food retailing associations to discuss security measures at major supermarkets. Unfortunately, there is a conflict between security and making stores attractive places to shop. You can’t put a brand below the counter and have people ask for it - they’re going to wonder why.
Simmens said, ‘Let’s say we pull every can of Pedigree Chum off the shelves. Maybe there’s nothing in them. What do we do then?’
The PR man shook his head. ‘We spend millions of pounds a year establishing our brand images. We’re in a highly competitive sector of the market where consumer confidence and loyalty is vital. At a stroke, something like this can set it back for years. The shelves are cleared, customers move on to another brand, they don’t forget.’
‘There’s no point in clearing the shelves,’ I said, ‘because if you do, he’ll just go on to the next product. You can’t win that way. All you do is complete his threat.’
They looked relieved.
Pedigree’s counsel mentioned the possible repercussions. ‘If he carries out his threats and one of our customers loses a pet, we’ll face a backlash for having maintained a silence.’
‘That’s why you have to weigh up the commercial risk against the actual risk of contamination and then devise a strategy that balances all of those things,’ I said. ‘We have to somehow stop this man from carrying out his threat and, at the same time, draw him into the open where the police can catch him. To do that, we have to make contact with him and negotiate.’
I could see they were uncomfortable with the idea.
‘Right now he’s calling the shots. You have to keep him in the field and very gradually turn him round. Make him believe that you’re cooperating but there are limitations - not restrictions that you choose, but things you have no control over. By only meeting his demands in a particular way at a particular level, you can reduce his expectations.’