Geoffrey Prime

The Imperfect Spy

David Cole

• Publisher: Robert Hale Non Fiction
• Year: 2017
• ISBN:
  9780719826160
• Topic: Politics & International Relations
• Subtopic: Intelligence & Espionage
• Index: Politics & International Relations

Geoffrey Prime was a Soviet spy throughout the most intense years of the Cold War. The linguist served his paymasters for almost fourteen years and became the most important Russian mole in British signals intelligence since German Enigma decryptions were leaked from Bletchley Park during World War Two. Recruited while serving in Berlin with the Royal Air Force, he became uniquely placed to betray his country's innermost secrets when he later obtained employment at the nerve-centre of government communications, GCHQ. By various clandestine methods of transcription and meetings overseas with his controllers, Prime divulged information on a massive scale until shortly before his arrest. His eventual downfall lay in an inability to control his lust for pre-pubescent girls and the conscience of a wife unable to live with the knowledge that her husband was not only a child molester but also an espionage agent. This is an involved story of debased morality and dishonour, siezed upon by an unscrupulous regime to its own advantage, and unearthed by unsuspecting provincial detectives in a tale of a police investigation on an unprecedented scale.

1 Irresistible Urges

If you co-operate with me you won’t get hurt

Child molester

The long, slender, heavily nicotine-stained fingers picked through index cards in a cardboard box with a clerk’s precise mannerisms. A cigarette drooped from the man’s lips and smoke curled upwards round twitching nostrils towards his eyes, causing a squint of discomfort. He was at the end of his tether and about to do something he had long fought against. Now he had been forced into it. As always, he found someone to blame other than himself when things went wrong. Four years earlier he tried to escape the clutches of those who controlled his destiny, but they pursued him relentlessly, to the point of his present despair.

The diverse life of Geoffrey Prime – wages boy, regular serviceman, government linguist, taxi-driver, wine salesman and sexual misfit – was about to enter a final phase, one that would inexorably lead to a climactic conclusion.

The narrowed eyes lit upon a particular card; the detail looked promising and the address was quite close to home. Stuffing it quickly into his pocket Prime left the house, propelled by mounting sexual energy and determined to do something he had fantasized about for years.

Minutes later the telephone rang in a little girl’s home.

‘Is that Wendy?’

The innocent eleven-year-old’s affirmative reply was not everything the caller wanted to know.

‘Can I speak to your mummy or daddy?’

‘They’re not here.’

That was more like it!

‘Oh! Are you on your own?’

She was.

‘That’s a pity. It’s Mr Brookes speaking – you know, the plumber. Your dad has asked me to see to a pipe in the loft. I’m in the area, so will it be all right if I just call in to see what I’ll need to do for the job?’

In early April 1980 the frenetic pace of modern life bypassed the quiet Gloucestershire village of Dursley and rushed along the motorway connecting the Midlands and south-west England. The threat of serious crime belonged in other places and parents still confidently allowed children to play in fields or walk the lanes. There was certainly no reason to fear for their safety when, at a reasonable age, they were left in the security of their own homes.

The little girl readily agreed to the request; she made no sinister connection between it and the conversation she had a few days earlier with a caller who wanted to know all about the prize she won at a local dog show with her pet. Wendy told her mum about it and she thought it was probably a reporter doing a follow-up to the photograph which appeared in the local paper. The child had no way of knowing that ‘Mr Brookes’ was nothing to do with plumbing as he stood in the telephone kiosk holding the little index card in front of him.

Wendy – 11 years – Rook House, Churchend –

0453 8574 – Glos Echo 15/2 – 1st prize dog

show – junior handler.

17/3 1740 hrs Dad answered 21/3 1600 spoke W

re prize & school. M works 2 hrs w/day

mornings. School hols? Used Brookes.

‘Mr Brookes’ was a great one for writing cryptic little notes. He was a creature of habit and one day it would lead to his downfall.

Mr Brookes, in striped business shirt, blazer and slacks, looked nothing like a plumber, although, of course, this failed to register with the innocent who answered the door. She happily led the stranger towards the loft, but her demeanour quickly changed as she turned at the top of the stairs and pointed towards the ceiling hatch. A mask now covered the man’s face! All she could remember afterwards were the frightening, bulging eyes filling the narrow slit and a hand shooting out to grasp her mouth, stifling the involuntary scream. Bundled to the floor, rigid with fear, the child was powerless to do anything but obey the harsh command.

‘Lie down and do as you’re told. I want to look up your skirt – lift it up.’

At that moment the gods looked kindly upon Wendy. There was a loud knock upon the front door. This time it was the tormentor’s turn to freeze.

‘Quiet! Don’t you dare make a sound!’

But he lacked the courage to remain motionless himself until the caller went away. Instead, in panic, he removed his mask and moved towards the stairs.

‘Stay where you are – understand?’

There was no possibility that the petrified girl would do otherwise.

He opened the door with some apprehension and an identification card was thrust in front of his face.

‘The name’s Davis. I’m researching—’

‘Oh! I don’t live here. Just done some plumbing – just leaving. There’s nobody in.’

The researcher, like Wendy, failed to register as the plumber scurried away down the road that he had no toolbag and was unsuitably dressed for manual work.

At the top of the stairs Wendy took time to emerge from a state of fear-induced inertia. Minutes elapsed before she could be sure the beast had left and she regained sufficient confidence to tiptoe gingerly down the stairs and look through the lounge window. A minute later she was sobbing in the arms of a kindly neighbour and things began to happen so rapidly that her immature mind could not cope. She became completely traumatized and for some time alternated between confusion, physical collapse, mental disbelief and debilitating distress. The experience would always remain with her. She alone would have to bear the future effect upon her social confidence and ability to establish meaningful relationships with the opposite sex.

The assailant cared nothing about that. He just breathed a sigh of relief on reaching the car that he had tucked away on the outskirts of the village. Reversing from the secluded gateway he headed for the motorway and the anonymity of his home town. Once inside the vehicle fear deserted him and he began to feel elated by a buzz of adrenalin coursing through his veins.

When his wife asked him how his day had been, as she always did, he truthfully replied that it had gone well. He may not have taken much money in taxi fares, but it had certainly been a good day. Not only did he almost succeed in satisfying his lust for a sight of prepubescent female genitalia, he also enjoyed the accompanying whiff of fear stimulated by the power he had exerted over the terrified victim. He was by no means disappointed with the result of his first brush with the dangers of physical contact crime; indecent telephone calls were tame in comparison.

Over the next few days the euphoria gradually weakened as he walked the tightrope between the twin pillars of fear and panic whenever he answered the door. Every time he saw police officers while out in his taxi he thought they looked directly at him. The attack had featured in the evening paper and on local news bulletins but the description of the man they were after did not sound much like him, and he consoled himself with the knowledge that a chance encounter with either witness was a very remote possibility.

But then again, he asked himself, had anyone spotted the car? Had he been careful enough in planning his approach to the village and finding a hiding place for it? His mind raced over the endless possibilities for error and in some macabre way it added to the excitement. A combination of fear and the image of the girl’s terrified face would fuel his fantasies and stir the groin to satisfaction for many weeks.

Of course a pervert’s selfish quest for fulfilment never permits any consideration of the devastation he leaves in his wake. The victim’s plight was echoed by the distress of her parents, who blamed themselves for being absent in their daughter’s moment of need. Anger and hatred ate into their consciences like cancer, and the unsuccessful efforts of the police triggered bouts of explosive frustration.

It was as if the tall, angular figure had reached the end of their road and vaporized into space. No one had seen anything, apart from Mr Davis, the researcher, and try as he might, he could not be very helpful.

As for Wendy? The woman detective who took the child under her wing soon realized how far she could press for details without risking complete mental breakdown; and in Wendy’s case that was not very far.

A year later, almost to the day, terror struck at another house, this time one that nestled peacefully beneath the picturesque Malvern Hills, some forty miles north of Wendy’s home.

‘Is that Donna?’

Once again the reference card was at hand:

Donna – 13 years – Newcombe, Park Place. Malvern

Tel [phone] – Malvern Gazette 21/2 – Brownie

uniform for sale 29/3 1830 Dad! 30/3 1700

Donna – nice con M & D out all day in hols.

Older s part/t job hols 15/4 1630 Donna – check

no sus. Use Williams.

‘Can I speak to your mum or dad?’

‘Well, if they’re not in, how about your sister?’

‘If she’s not there either you can probably help me. Your Dad has asked me to give him an estimate to do some painting at your house, and as I’m in the area is it all right if I come round and have a look? OK, I’ll be there in five minutes.’

‘A very nasty indecent assault on a young girl came in yesterday afternoon, boss. Can you spare me while I give Derek a hand to get it off the ground?’

Slightly irritated by an unwelcome diversion, Detective Chief Superintendent David Cole agreed to release his assistant from the job they had in hand. They were trying to trace the identity of a murdered female whose corpse had been unceremoniously dumped naked into the River Teme. The fact that the cadaver had taken three weeks to emerge from a weighted sack was not assisting their cause, and after a two-month-long investigation they were no nearer a solution. However, the senior detective’s initial reluctance to sacrifice Peter Parry’s services was quickly reversed when he became aware of another child’s ordeal.…

‘I rang a few minutes ago. I take it you’re Donna. How you’ve grown! I used to babysit for your parents when your sister was younger and you were a baby. Mind if I look round the outside first?’

There was nothing untoward about him to arouse suspicion. He had a pleasant, gentle manner, and a friendly smile. The clipboard, pen and funny little camera added authenticity. Thus another child was reassured.

‘Now, can I come in? I say, could I take a photo of you? I can’t believe how you’ve grown.’

‘OK, never mind if you don’t want me to. Can I go up and have a look at the bedroom dad wants decorating?’

A few moments later he called for her to go upstairs to join him and without a second thought she obeyed. Yet again his luck almost ran out before he achieved his aim. As she reached the landing, through a chink in the bedroom door, Donna saw this supposed family friend tying a mask across his face. Unfortunately she was not quick enough to make the stairs before he was upon her and, secured by an arm-lock around the neck, she was dragged backwards into the room.

It was an easy matter to subdue and dominate the frightened child. Naturally she had never experienced, or for that matter contemplated, a confrontation with a sexually motivated and aroused pervert. Nothing prepared her for the frenzy that now replaced the previous placid manner. She was only too willing to do as she was bidden in the face of violent threats.

Donna was wearing trousers and that would not do. She must change into a skirt while he watched. Now she was frogmarched to her own bedroom, arm twisted towards her shoulder blades. Suddenly, urgently, and not surprisingly, she needed to use the lavatory, but she adamantly refused his request to watch her urinate.

Then the little girl showed remarkable presence of mind, but it was too much to expect that she would succeed in opening the bathroom window to call for assistance. He was on to her in a flash; throwing her into the bath he seized her neck with crazed hands and smothered her mouth.

All manner of things raced through her brain. Would she be killed? What could she do to stop him? She knew what rape meant and the prospect horrified her, although she was fairly certain that events were leading in that direction. She remembered conversations between her mother and elder sister about how they would react to attack; they could never agree whether it was best to resist or submit. Donna had already tried to escape and it had not worked and she could not overcome someone of this man’s size. Her only option was to co-operate and humour him. The girl reasoned that if it happened it could not be as bad as being killed.

Reluctantly she agreed to remove her jeans and pants, and to sit cross-legged upon the floor. She also obeyed the instruction to lift her bra above her underdeveloped breasts.

The girl was quite unprepared for the disgusting spectacle enacted in front of her eyes; an ordeal that froze her mind and body into petrified immobility. But she had not been touched, although at times the man’s disgusting face had been within inches of her private parts.

‘Stay there. Don’t move for ten minutes or I’ll be back and you’ll know all about it!’

‘Had a good day, dear?’

Oh yes! He’d had a good day. Not much money in the bag, but he had scared the wit...