him, he was given a low priority classification.
There were thousands of names on the computer, each of them given a classification and listed under various categories depending on their age, address, criminal background, alibi and association with the area, for example visiting a relative or attending the hospital.
Computers were still relatively new in criminal investigations in Britain so it was very difficult to cross-reference names and salient facts to see if they turned up more than once in the inquiry. For this reason Pitchfork didn’t attract attention, even though he eventually appeared on three different indexes: the resident list, the prior sexual offences list and the outpatient list at Carlton Hayes where he’d been referred by magistrates after an indecent exposure conviction in 1980.
He’d worked at Hampshires Bakery in Leicester since he was sixteen years old and at the age of nineteen had met his future wife Carole while both were volunteers at the Dr Barnardos Children’s Home in Leicester. When their son was born in August 1983, Carole was keen to move out of the city and chose Littlethorpe because her father lived in Narborough.
A blooding request was sent to Pitchfork in January 1987 and a reminder two weeks later when he failed to report. Before this aroused any close scrutiny, a blood and saliva test was given on Tuesday evening, 27 January, at Danemill School. A passport was given as proof of identity along with a driving licence.
In due course, a letter arrived at the house in Haybarn Close saying that Colin Pitchfork’s test was negative, eliminating him from the murder inquiry.
By April, the murder squad had blooded nearly 4,000 men and teenagers, although the results were still running way behind. The response rate was 98 per cent, well above expectations, but the list of possible donors kept growing and the costs escalating.
Throughout the summer the operation continued, with mobile blood vans visiting housing estates and factories, but by then the murder squad was cut back and the media began asking questions about whether it had been an expensive waste of police resources and taxpayers’ money.
David Baker deserved a break and it came on 1 August when an ‘oven hand’ at Hampshires Bakery, Ian Kelly, aged twenty-four, was drinking at a Leicester pub with workmates and the conversation turned to Colin Pitchfork.
‘Colin had me do that blood test for him,’ said Kelly.
‘What test?’
‘The one for that murder inquiry.’
Kelly explained that Pitchfork had buttonholed him and spun a yarn about having already taken the test for someone else - a friend who’d been in trouble for flashing when he was younger. He explained that he hadn’t lived in the village when the first girl was murdered, so he thought the police wouldn’t bother testing him.
Six weeks later, a bakery manager who had listened to the conversation mentioned it to a local policeman. The information was relayed to the murder squad and a comparison was made between the signatures on the house-to-house file and the blood testing form - they didn’t match.
On Saturday 19 September, Kelly was arrested at his home and immediately broke down and admitted giving a blood sample for Pitchfork. He explained how Colin had cut and replaced his passport photograph with one taken of Kelly and then driven him to the school, waiting outside while the samples were taken.
As Kelly was charged for conspiracy to pervert the course of justice, detectives arrived at the house in Haybarn Close, Littlethorpe, taking Colin Pitchfork into custody at 5.45 p.m. After reading him his rights, a detective asked, ‘Why Dawn Ashworth?’
The baker shrugged. ‘Opportunity. She was there and I was there.’
Because I have no official link to the investigations that I assist in, it’s not uncommon for me to hear nothing about the outcome. In this case it wasn’t until months later that I discovered the details of Colin Pitchfork’s
There were thousands of names on the computer, each of them given a classification and listed under various categories depending on their age, address, criminal background, alibi and association with the area, for example visiting a relative or attending the hospital.
Computers were still relatively new in criminal investigations in Britain so it was very difficult to cross-reference names and salient facts to see if they turned up more than once in the inquiry. For this reason Pitchfork didn’t attract attention, even though he eventually appeared on three different indexes: the resident list, the prior sexual offences list and the outpatient list at Carlton Hayes where he’d been referred by magistrates after an indecent exposure conviction in 1980.
He’d worked at Hampshires Bakery in Leicester since he was sixteen years old and at the age of nineteen had met his future wife Carole while both were volunteers at the Dr Barnardos Children’s Home in Leicester. When their son was born in August 1983, Carole was keen to move out of the city and chose Littlethorpe because her father lived in Narborough.
A blooding request was sent to Pitchfork in January 1987 and a reminder two weeks later when he failed to report. Before this aroused any close scrutiny, a blood and saliva test was given on Tuesday evening, 27 January, at Danemill School. A passport was given as proof of identity along with a driving licence.
In due course, a letter arrived at the house in Haybarn Close saying that Colin Pitchfork’s test was negative, eliminating him from the murder inquiry.
By April, the murder squad had blooded nearly 4,000 men and teenagers, although the results were still running way behind. The response rate was 98 per cent, well above expectations, but the list of possible donors kept growing and the costs escalating.
Throughout the summer the operation continued, with mobile blood vans visiting housing estates and factories, but by then the murder squad was cut back and the media began asking questions about whether it had been an expensive waste of police resources and taxpayers’ money.
David Baker deserved a break and it came on 1 August when an ‘oven hand’ at Hampshires Bakery, Ian Kelly, aged twenty-four, was drinking at a Leicester pub with workmates and the conversation turned to Colin Pitchfork.
‘Colin had me do that blood test for him,’ said Kelly.
‘What test?’
‘The one for that murder inquiry.’
Kelly explained that Pitchfork had buttonholed him and spun a yarn about having already taken the test for someone else - a friend who’d been in trouble for flashing when he was younger. He explained that he hadn’t lived in the village when the first girl was murdered, so he thought the police wouldn’t bother testing him.
Six weeks later, a bakery manager who had listened to the conversation mentioned it to a local policeman. The information was relayed to the murder squad and a comparison was made between the signatures on the house-to-house file and the blood testing form - they didn’t match.
On Saturday 19 September, Kelly was arrested at his home and immediately broke down and admitted giving a blood sample for Pitchfork. He explained how Colin had cut and replaced his passport photograph with one taken of Kelly and then driven him to the school, waiting outside while the samples were taken.
As Kelly was charged for conspiracy to pervert the course of justice, detectives arrived at the house in Haybarn Close, Littlethorpe, taking Colin Pitchfork into custody at 5.45 p.m. After reading him his rights, a detective asked, ‘Why Dawn Ashworth?’
The baker shrugged. ‘Opportunity. She was there and I was there.’
Because I have no official link to the investigations that I assist in, it’s not uncommon for me to hear nothing about the outcome. In this case it wasn’t until months later that I discovered the details of Colin Pitchfork’s
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