September 1998?
A. Yes I was.
Q. You were already working on the Roadside Rapist case?
MRS. JENKINS: My Lord –
MR. BARNES: I will anticipate an objection from the defence, my Lord. DS Fawley, were you already working to apprehend the sexual predator whom the media had by then nicknamed the ‘Roadside Rapist’?
A. Yes. The attack on Ms. Sheldon was the third such crime.
Q. But you were in no doubt that this attack was the work of the same man?
A. No doubt at all. The MO was the same – the plastic bag, the cable ties. It was all of a piece.
Q. But no DNA was discovered, I believe?
A. No. We believe the perpetrator was very careful not to leave biological trace.
Q. And how would he do that?
A. By wearing gloves, for example, and using a condom. We also believe he put down plastic sheeting when he abducted two of the victims in his brother’s van, to avoid the transfer of DNA from his victims on to the vehicle.
Q. Because no DNA from either of the women was ever identified in the said van?
A. No. Only that of Mr. Parrie himself, his brother, and two colleagues who had worked with the latter on previous work projects. All three were categorically ruled out as potential suspects.
Q. To return to Ms. Sheldon – was she able to identify Mr. Parrie?
A. Not visually, no. She never saw her assailant’s face.
Q. What about the van?
A. Again, she didn’t see it. He placed the plastic bag over her face from behind.
Q. But she was able to identify him in another way, was she not? The identification which eventually led to his arrest?
A. Yes. She was.
* * *
Adam Fawley
4 April 2018
18.27
Fiona Blake handles the TV appeal remarkably well. I’ve done more of these things than any police officer should ever have to, but I can’t remember anyone dealing with it so steadily. Somer had warned me, as we drove over to Windermere Avenue, that there was a danger even asking her to do it might push Fiona over the edge, and I knew what she was getting at: for some people, in this situation, that’s the moment the truth hits home. That their wife or child or friend or parent isn’t just lost or confused or out of touch; they’re gone, and they may never be coming back. But it wasn’t like that with Fiona Blake. To say she took it calmly doesn’t do her justice; she took it for what it is: a chance to ask the world for her daughter back. And for an hour this afternoon we sat there, she and I, going through what she should say, what I was going to say, and how to cope with the press, and she listened and asked questions, dry-eyed, but grey.
And she’s still the same now, at the Kidlington media centre, in front of the lights and the cameras and the crush of bodies. She’s spoken clearly, and looked people in the eye. No evasive gestures, no glancing away, none of the involuntary signs our bodies betray us with. I remember the last time I sat here appealing for a missing child, and the instinctive unease I felt with every move the Mason family made. But not now. And when I spot Bryan Gow halfway down the room, all he does is nod: This woman is telling the truth. As if I didn’t know that already.
And now it’s my turn.
‘If anyone has any information at all about Sasha or where she might be, please contact us as a matter of urgency. Either at St Aldate’s police station, on the phone number we gave earlier, or through the Thames Valley Police social media feeds. You can also contact us anonymously through Crimestoppers.’ I pause and turn to the photo of Sasha on the screen behind me. The one her mother chose. The two of them, laughing in the sun.
‘And to repeat, Sasha is only fifteen. She’s very much loved and her mother is desperate to have her home.’
I look one more time round the room and sit back in my chair.
A man halfway down raises his hand. ‘Paddy Neville, Reading Chronicle. Is there anything to suggest this was an abduction?’
‘We aren’t in a position to rule out anything at this stage, but at present we have no actual evidence to suggest that.’
‘Have there been other recent incidents of this type, Inspector?’ Another journalist. Bearded, glasses, one of those knitted ties. I don’t recognize him. And he doesn’t give