The Panther Strikes
Antonia Mueller
It had been a
wonderful evening for Antonia, who had been wined and dined by her boyfriend at
the finest restaurant in York, before been driven back to her country
cottage. They had sat in the car,
talking and sharing their love for each other, before he had done the
gentlemanly thing and opened the passenger door for her.
She stepped
out; her shawl wrapped tightly around her body, and gave him a good night kiss
before turning and opening the garden gate.
He stood there, watching as she walked up the garden path and turned to
walk in the side door, before climbing into his Jaguar and driving off.
If he had
stayed for another minute, he may have hard her muffled gasp and cry for help,
or even seen a few minutes later the small car drive down the side road by the
cottage and head in the other direction.
As it was, he didn’t - and so it was a while before he,
or anyone save one person, saw Antonia again.
How long it
was, she could not say, but eventually she felt the car stop, heard a door open
and felt herself been dragged out of the car.
The masked man had grabbed her as she had turned the corner, and hissed
into her ear that she should “Shut up or else” as he hand gagged her and held
her with his other arm. Antonia had
merely nodded as she briefly saw a flash of cloth before she was blindfolded,
and her hands pulled behind her back.
She had then felt the twine digging into her skin as her wrists were
tied together, before she had been pushed into the back of a car and driven
off.
As the
blindfold was pulled off her head, Antonia blinked, blinded momentarily by the
bright light, before she looked around herself.
She was in a large room, with much of the furniture covered with dust
sheets, save for a tall high back chair in the centre of the room. As she was roughly turned round, she got her
first good look at her kidnapper.
He was about
six foot tall, with short dark hair, but the stocking that as pulled over his
face made it difficult to see much else about him. He wore a black roll neck sweater and
trousers, with black leather gloves over his hands.
“Who are
you,” Antonia said quietly, “and why have you brought me here?”
“I’m called
The Panther by the press,” the man said with a smile. Antonia’s eyes shot open when she heard
this. The Panther was notorious - he
first struck two years previously, in 1971, kidnapping the teenage daughter of
a peer, and holding her for a week until the ransom was paid.
“Oh my god,”
Antonia said quietly, “So this is a kidnapping?”
“What do you
think? Just do as you’re told, and
you’ll be just fine.” He pulled the
black shawl off her shoulders, leaving Antonia standing in a high necked
Victorian style white blouse, black floor length satin skirt, and matching
heels. Taking her by the arm, he walked
her quickly over to the chair and made her sit in, her wrists pressed against
the chair back as he picked up a large coil of thick black rope.
“What are you
going to do with that," Antonia asked, wide eyed as he shook the rope
loose and walked behind the back of the chair she was sitting on.
“Make sure
you cannot get free,” he said a she passed the rope around her waist, pulling
it tightly so that she was forced back against the wooden back rest, and started
to wind it round her upper body, the black contrasting with her white blouse as
it was pulled against her by the loops.
As it pulled
her waist in, she looked down and saw her breasts hanging over the binding,
covering it as he laced it through the woodwork and under her arms to secure
her further. Eventually, satisfied she
was secure, he walked round and pulled he rankles against the front leg,
binding them together and securing them to the heavy chair when he had done so.
“You’ll be
staying with me for a little while,” he said as he looked directly into
Antonia’s eyes. “You will get toilet
breaks when I let you, so hold on until then.”
“Please,
don’t do this....”
“Open
wide.”
“N, dontmgfmdmfmdmgm,” Antonia said as he stuffed a folded
black cloth into her mouth, before using a long strip of white material to
force it further in. Knotting the ends
together at the base of her neck, he then pulled the long lengths around the
chair back, forcing Antonia’s head against the chair as he secured them on the
other side.
Antonia
looked behind her as the man double checked the knots. As he walked round, she saw he had a Polaroid
camera in his hand, which he used to take several pictures of her, before
placing a copy of the Times on her lap and taking a few more.
“Well, that
should convince your daddy I have you safely tucked away,” the Panther said as
he looked at Antonia. “I’m going to send
these off to him now - don’t you go anywhere.”
“Plsdnntllvmmm,” Antonia called out as the masked man walked
out of the room, turning the lights off and leaving her in darkness, the
windows shuttered and only the eerie glow of the residual light from the covers
to show her where she was.
How long she
was left like that, she couldn’t say, but after an eternity the light went back
on and she saw the Panther standing in front of her.
“Good news,”
he said as he smiled under the stocking, “Your father has agreed to pay. Apparently they really d love you - your
niece Veronika is beside herself with worry.”
“Veronika,” Antonia gasped as he pulled the scarf down and
took the now sodden cloth out of her mouth, “How does she know?”
“Most
resourceful child - apparently she heard your father talking to me on the
phone.” As he held a bottle of water to
her lips, Antonia took a sip.
“So, what
happens now?”
“Now - I take
you to collect my money and let you go.”
“That
simple?”
“Yes - I’m
going to untie you, and let you stand up.
I’m sure you need to - relieve yourself as well, and then I’ll get you
ready to go.”
It was some
time later, as Antonia came out of the bathroom, that she saw the Panther
standing there with a length of rope in his hands.
“Must you?”
“I must, now
turn round.” She allowed him to bind her
hands before he led her out to the garage.
As she stepped through the door, she was stunned to see another woman
standing there.
She was
standing against a wall, ropes wound her body and her wrist bound behind her
back, as she stared at Antonia over the thick white scarf filling her
mouth. She was wearing a red minidress, the front of which had been ripped open to
reveal her white bra, as she twisted in the ropes around her legs and ankles,
her black hair falling over her shoulders.
Antonia
stared, before quietly saying “Doreen?
Doreen Clark?” The
other woman nodded as the Panther put his hand on Antonia’s shoulder.
“I almost
forgot,” he said as she turned to look at him, “I need you to take a message to
Doreen’s parents as well. Now, open wide
- I need to keep you quiet for the journey.”
Antonia Mueller was found twelve hours
later, bound and gagged, in a clearing in a forest near Northallerton. It was a further week before Doreen Clark was
released, after the payment of a second substantial ransom.
Neither girl could tell the police
much - they had been blindfolded when taken and returned. All they could say was they recognised each
other, and it was the man called The Panther.
The first time police heard of this
man had been a year or so earlier, when the daughter of Sir Dennis Fowler, the
chairman of UCC, was kidnapped from her school...
Amy Fowler
Amy slowly opened
her eyes, the ringing sound in her ears sounding like her bedside alarm going
off. She had no recollection of getting
home, however, nothing really since she had left her gym class the day before.
As she
allowed her eyes to focus, Amy suddenly realised she was not in her bedroom,
nor was she lying down. She was in an
old wooden seat, and her arms seemed to be pulled behind the back of the
chair. She tried moving them, but
realised that not only could she not move them round, something was holding her
arms firmly to her side as well.
“Whtsbngn,” she said.
What she wanted to say was “What’s Going On,” but her lips refused to
move - something was pulling at them, and holding them together at the same
time.
There was a
wardrobe that she could see to her side, with a large mirror at the door. Twisting herself, she managed to move the
seat round so that she could see herself in the mirror - which led to her
screaming “NNNHLPMMMM” as she
saw her reflection.
She was still
in her white blouse and short dark skirt, with her feet in the white socks and
deck shoes she had worn yesterday. What
was new was the rope around her ankles and knees, as well as her arms and
chest. As she probed with her fingers
she felt the rope around her wrists, running down to the back of the chair.
Over her
mouth was a length of white tape, sealing her lips together as she tried to
talk.
“WHTTLSGNN,”
she called out as the door opened and a man walked in. He was wearing a t-shirt and shorts, with a
black ski mask over his head, only his mouth and his blue eyes showing.
“Well, I see
you’re awake,” he said with a smile. “I
was afraid you were going to miss all the fun.
“Fnnnn?”
“Yeah -
listen.” He switched on the radio, as
Amy heard the newsreader say “Police are still looking for Amy Fowler, the
missing daughter if Sir Dennis Fowler, who disappeared on her way home from
school yesterday. Amy was last seen
wearing...”
“Well, you
know what you’re wearing,” the man said as he turned the radio off,” and by now
your parents will have got the ransom note with your photo.”
“Rnsm?”
“Yeah
- not much, just ten thousand pounds.”
Amy’s eyes
widened - that was a small fortune. “Thylnvp,” she mumbled.
“Oh I think
they will - let’s wait and see shall we?
For now, sit back, and relax, I’ll leave the radio no for you.” S HE SWITCHED IT BACK ON, THE SOUND OF Tony
Blackburn coming through the air, Amy started to try and free herself - but with
little progress. The ropes had been tied
too tightly.
The ransom was paid, and Amy released
some time later, but this was only the first time the Panther struck. Over the next few years, he became bolder and
more sophisticated in the approach he took, and in the demands he made.
The first few times his approach was
conventional, but then there was the occasion when he kidnapped, in broad
daylight, a well known pop singer called...
Jenny Barton
“I’ll go and
get some more drinks - you lot just stay there.”
Jenny walked
out of the crowded front room and made her way to the large country style
kitchen in her mansion near Coventry.
She had just returned from a successful tour, and this was the party she
had promised everyone.
She was
wearing for the occasion a blue puffseleeved mini
dress, which had a floral pattern on the front running from her shoulders to
the gathered waist, white stockings and a pair of brown wedge sandals. Her blonde hair had been cut to fall over her
face and accentuate her beautiful blue eyes.
As she walked
into the kitchen, Jenny put her glass on the table and walked to the large
fridge, opening it and reaching for a bottle of champagne. Before she could pick it up, however, she was
grabbed from behind, a gloved hand clamped over her mouth as she heard a man
say “Stay nice and calm, Jenny - I want to take you for a little trip.”
“Whru,” she mumbled as she tried not to gag at the leather
smell penetrating her nostrils.
“Your
kidnapper,” the voice said as she was dragged backwards, one hand over her
mouth and the other around her waist as she was turned and made to lean over
the large oak table. “Keep your head
down, and put your hands behind your back.”
“Please,” Amy
said as the hand was finally removed, “You can’t expect to take me hostage, not
with all my friends in the front of the house.
They’ll hear you.”
“Only if you
shout - and if you shout, I will be forced to keep you quiet.” Whoever had grabbed her let those words hang
in the air as he grabbed her hands and held them behind her back, her wrists
crossed as she felt some sort of twine been pulled tightly around them to hold
them together.
“Please I’ll
give you money, just leave me alooowwwww,” Amy said
as she felt the fibres digging into her skin.
“I know
you’ll give me money - or at least, your manager will,” the man said as Amy
felt one more tug on the wrist and then her head was lifted up. “Now, pout your lips together.”
“What do you mmmmm,” Amy said as a strip of white plaster was stuck over
her mouth, forming to the shape of her jaw as it sealed her lips together.
“Let’s go,”
her captor said as he grabbed Amy by the arm and frog marched her to the
kitchen door, opening it as they walked out into the large garden. The tow walked down the pathway, the sound of
the party receding into the distance as they approached the fence at the
bottom.
As the
intruder opened the gate and ushered Amy out, one of her friends walked into
the kitchen. “Amy?” she said as she
looked round, but there was no sign of the girl. “Must have gone upstairs,” she said with a
shrug as she collected the bottle from the open fridge door and walked out,
tottering on her heels as she did so.
“Thbldehrts!”
Amy looked
over her shoulder as the kidnapper pulled again at the ropes that were
criss-crossing her chest, holding her fast to the back of the old wooden chair
she was sat in. She had been bundled
into the boot of a car, driven for at least an hour, and then brought out of a
garage into this room, where she had been sat down as he grabbed more rope.
It went
around her arms, holding them into her side as it had been wound both the chair
back and her bust, as well as over her shoulders. More rope went around her ankles, holding
them tightly together side by side as she swung her legs to and fro under the
chair seat.
“There now,”
the man finally said as he walked round, and Amy
finally got her first real look at him.
She stared at him, before saying “sht - thepnfr.”
“Guilty as
charged,” he said as he reached down and pulled her skirt up, revealing the
tops of her white stockings. Her eyes
widened as he did this, saying “plsntt” through her
gag.
“Oh I’m not
going to do that,” he said with a smile under his stocking mask, “I just need
the ransom photographs to look good.
Smile for the camera now...”
The photographs had the desired
effect, and when Amy was released she made a fair amount telling her story to
some of the more salacious of the British press. Some years later, when she attempted a
comeback, she actually used one of the photos as the cover of the album, called
“Please Release Me”.
It sold well, and her autobiography
had a slightly embellished version of what happened during the week she was
held. In truth, it was boring, with her
bound and gagged most of the time, but when in doubt, print the legend.
This, however, was not the most
notorious or celebrated snatch by the Panther.
That happened six months later, at the home of the television presenter
Suzanna Prior...
Suzanna
Prior
It
was the pressure over her mouth that first made Suzanna stir. She opened her eyes to see a blurred face
looking down at her, a gloved finger to the lips that she could just about make
out.
Her
eyes opened side, as she looked to her husband sleeping next to her. “Not a word,” the face in front of her said,
“we don’t want to waken your darling daughters up, do we? If we did, they may have to come with us as
well.”
“Nnn,” the dark haired beauty mumbled under the leather that
was over her mouth. “Very good, when I
take my hand away, I want you to get up and come with me, nice and quietly.”
The
man removed his hand and pulled the covers back, allowing Suzanna to stand up
as she saw the glint of metal in the dim light.
She was wearing a black negligee that went down to just above her knees,
a lace border at the top over her beast and chest, and her hair was held back
in a ponytail by a cloth band.
Taking
her by the arm, the man led her out of the bedroom, along the corridor and down
the staircase, stopping at the foot as he said “turn round and put your hands
behind your back.”
“What
is this,” Suzanna whispered as she did what he had commanded, looking over her
shoulder as he took white rope and quickly passed it around and between her
wrists, pulling them tightly together as she grimaced slightly.
“What
do you think it is, Suzanna,” he said as he tied off
the final knot and produced a longer length of rope, wrapping it around her
waist to pin her wrists against the small of her back and then between her arms
and her back to tighten it further.
“A robbery? If so, I’ll give you the combination to the
safe, and you can take whatever you want.”
As she was talking, the man was wrapping yet more rope around her upper
arms and body, pulling them into her side before cinching the ropes at both
sides under her arms.
“It’s
not a robbery,” he said as he turned her round and sat her on the stairs,
placing her ankles together as yet more rope was used to tie them
together. Suzanna wasn’t sure how he was
producing it out of thin air, until she finally saw the canvas holdall on the
floor next to them, the white coils more visible in the dawning light coming through
the open front door.
“But
if it’s - oh Christ, no, you’re...”
“Yes,
I am - but not the Black one,” the Panther said as he bound her legs together,
two bands of rope above and below her knees, the higher one going over the
skirt of her negligee. “So long as you
do as you’re told, you’ll be just fine.”
“But
my babies, please don’t...”
“Lady,
I don’t take kids as a rule, but if you wake them up then they are coming as
well. My advice to you is to shut up and
relax - I’m not going to hurt you. You’re
much too valuable to do that to.”
Suzanna
wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or angry, but a she pushed a sponge into
her mouth and tied a black silk scarf rolled into a band between her lips, she
settled for just scared.
“Whrwgn,” she mumbled as the Panther collected his ropes and
put them into the bag, hoisting it over one shoulder as he did so.
“Trade
secret,” he said as he picked her up in her arms and carried her towards the
open door, “I suggest you relax and enjoy the experience.”
Suzanna
looked out of the door at the grey van, then back to
the stocking covered face of the man carrying her, as the tears started to roll
down her eyes. “Don’t worry,” he said a
she looked down at her while climbing into the back of the van, “You’ll be home
soon with your loved ones, I’m sure of it.”
Suzanna was
indeed returned to the bosom of her home soon, and the Panther continued to
strike, the police seemingly unable to catch him, until one day in the early
1980’s, when they finally had a lucky break.
The victim
this time was one Anne Windsor, who hosted a well known lunchtime chat
show. She had been missing for two days
when the
ransom photo finally arrived, demanding the delivery of £100,000 pound for
her safe release.
She had last
been seen at a Jungle Rock party, and the photo showed her seated on an old
style steamer trunk, staring at the camera she leaned forward. Her outfit was a black v-necked sweater, with
a pink silk scarf tied round her neck, white britches with a gun belt, and knee
length brown patent leather boots.
It was
obvious from the photo that her arms were pinioned behind her back, with bands
of white rope encircling her chest at her waist and above her bust. Her legs were bound side by side, and a white
scarf was pulled tightly over her mouth.
What was
different this time was a very observant police scientist, who recognised the
style of trunk as a particularly vintage one - a collectable, in fact.
As he was
searching antique shops for ones in the area Anne was taken from, word came in
of another television personality kidnapped - Hazel Irvine, otherwise known as
the Crimson Campaigner, due to her habit of wearing red on her program, Snoop
Hound! She had been taken from a gym as
she left, with witnesses describing the man who grabbed her as tall, well built
and dressed in black, with something over his head.
As this news
came in, the details for the delivery of the ransom for Anne arrived - as did
the news that a trunk similar to the one in her photo had been sold recently to
a man called Daniel Way. As the ransom
delivery was made for Anne, the police were waiting nearby, poised to strike...
Anne Windsor
“You’ll
soon be safe in the bosom of your friends again Anne,” the man said over his
shoulder to the bound, gagged and blindfolded woman laid in the back seat of
his Daimler.
Anne
Windsor grunted, the squeak of her leather boots as
she twisted her legs round the only other sound that could be heard above the
traffic on the road beside them. She had
been held by this man for a week now, never seeing his face, not even now as a
black scarf had been tied tightly over her eyes. Instead, she tried to twist herself free,
with no luck as the ropes held firm.
Eventually
she heard the car stop and the door opening, as the man said "You just
stay there - I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
He
walked away from the car and across the field, stopping by a large tree as he
looked at the telephone box that stood in the road. The light from the sun rising over the
horizon cast a red glow over the countryside, with nobody else round at that
time to watch.
A
silver Daimler made its way down the country road, the headlights blazing as it
came to a stop by the telephone box. A man got out, carrying a case which he left inside the door to the
box, climbing back into the car and driving off. He smiled to himself as he watched this -
another successful payday for him.
Waiting
until the car had driven over the hill, he walked quickly own the field, hopped
over the gate and made his way to the box.
Opening the door, he picked up the bag and placed it on the shelf,
slowly opening the zip and looking inside.
He
stared at the piles of neatly cut paper inside, on folded over sitting at the
top. Taking the loose note out, he
opened and read the one word message inside.
“Gotcha”
The
door to the telephone box was pulled open and he was pulled out, forced to the
ground by the two burly policemen as his hands were cuffed behind him. “Daniel Way,” a voice said behind him,
“you’re nicked. Get him out of here.”
Anne
turned her head as she heard the door to the car opening, and a pair of hands
pulling gently at her legs. “whtnw,” she mumbled as she felt herself been sat up, but as
the blindfold was removed from her eyes she saw not the stocking covered face
of her kidnapper, but the face of a policeman as he said “It’s all right, Anne
- we’ve got him.”
Hazel Irvine
Hazel
stared straight ahead, unsure of what she could do. She was sat on a stool, dressed still in her crimson
leotard and tights that she had been wearing when the man had snatched her, and
she was aching in every bone of her body.
Her
arms were stretched behind her back, her wrists held tightly together with rope
that had been wound up her arms to her elbows, then down to one of the
crossbeams at the bottom of the stool. A
wide leather belt had been fastened around her arms and waist, holding them
firmly against her back as the rope creaked and affording her very little
movement.
She
had been like this for three days now, with only a little movement each
day. The last thing he had done was to
tie a length of rope around her elbows, pass the ends over her shoulders and
then fix them to the belt buckle in front of her, leaving her able to do little
more than rock very, very slightly to and fro.
Her
ankles were tightly tied together, the rope clear over the red suede boots she
was wearing, and then secured to the crosspiece at the front of the stool,
while her legs were tied together above her knees. Finally her mouth had been filled with a bath
sponge, pressing her tongue to the floor of her mouth and absorbing whatever
saliva she could produce, while a red scarf had been tied tightly over her
mouth, trapping her long black hair against her head.
He
had been gone for hours now - longer than he had ever done so, and Hazel was
beginning to wonder if and when he was coming back. As she stared ahead, she heard the sound of a
door opening, and would have called out if her mouth did not feel so dry.
As
the door opened behind her, she mumbled “whtshopngnw,”
but instead of hearing her captor she felt the scarf been untied from around
her face, falling around her neck as she slowly turned her head round.
“It’s
all right, Hazel,” the man standing there said as he motioned to somebody
behind her, “We’ve got him.” As two
ambulance men came in, he gently eased the sponge out of her mouth as she
sobbed “Thank god - thank god,” the tears starting to flow from her eyes.
The trial was
one of the most sensational of the time, but eventually Daniel Way, otherwise
known as The Panther, was sentenced to life imprisonment. As he was taken from the courtroom, eh turned
and looked at those of his victims who had attended, smiling as he said “thank
you for your help.”
As Veronika closed the magazine, she thought about that time
when her aunt had been kidnapped. She
had some inkling of what that was like, given recent events, and felt she
needed to talk with her again - a sharing of experiences, if you like.
As she stood
up and walked towards her kitchen, she didn’t hear the soft footstep behind
her. The first she knew of the intruder
was when the gloved hand came over her mouth, and the voice said “Hello little Veronika - I always wondered what you looked like when I
told your aunt about your message.”
“U? Tpnfr?”
“I got
released - I just wanted to pay one more visit - now, you’re not going to
struggle, are you?”
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