Bleksley Peter - To catch a killer: my hunt for the truth behind the Doorstep murder

T owards the end of November 2005, the phone rang. It was a BBC radio journalist based in Scotland, who Id met on my travels earlier in the year. Id been in Glasgow researching a crime that remains unsolved to this day, the battering to death of Alexander Blue in 2002. This journalist and I had got on well. He knew my passion for trying to move unsolved cases forward and asked if I was aware of the murder of Alistair Wilson, which had taken place in Nairn in the Scottish Highlands in 2004. I knew the case quite well Id read almost every written word about the slaughter and there had been an enormous amount of publicity on the one-year anniversary, just a couple of days beforehand.

The way in which Alistair was gunned down on his front doorstep chimed loudly with me. While living in the witness protection programme I often feared being greeted by an assassins bullet on my doorstep, and although my undercover police career was now some years behind me, some demons take longer than others to shrug off. My two young sons were very similar in age to Alistairs boys, another uncomfortable coincidence. I didnt realise then that this crime would enter my life and dominate so much of it.

The journalist asked if I would be willing to travel to Nairn to research and comment on the crime for BBC Radio 5 Live. The intention was that wed start our research as soon as I landed in Scotland and that wed comment live on air, twice a day, for three days in a row. I could not say yes quickly enough.

While money has never been my main motivation, I was delighted that the BBC agreed to pay me 250 a day. In four days, I was to earn the equivalent to what Id pocketed for a years work on other unsolved murders. My wife had recently begun a two-year career break from the police force so she could enjoy a couple of pre-school years with our boys. Id been a full-time house husband since they were born, so losing Sarahs police salary for two years had been a massive financial hit. I had to start earning some cash and this work was going to be very welcome.

A few days later, I was on a plane heading to Inverness. The journalist met me at the airport. In the car to our hotel we discussed everything that we had gleaned from reports on the crime. He was keen to pick my former detective brain, asking me what I thought and if I had any firm theories. I was keeping an open mind although what I told him then remains true to this day: I strongly believe that the murder of Alistair Wilson is a crime that could, and should, be solved.

The hotel was somewhat luxurious, by far the best accommodation I was ever to stay in on any of my subsequent trips to Nairn and I very much doubt the BBC would foot the bill for that kind of hotel nowadays. We dumped our bags, grabbed a coffee and headed to the scene of the crime.

The reports that we filed from Nairn were enjoyable to do, albeit the subject material was very dark. We focused on different aspects of the crime every day the scene, the suspect, the victim, the gun and more. The BBC seemed happy with my contribution.

The more I researched the case, the more I found it mystifying that the police had not arrested anyone for this crime. After all, they had his widow Veronicas eyewitness account, theyd recovered the murder weapon, and even though Id heard that the murder scene had been contaminated by Uncle Tom Cobley and all traipsing through it, I was still very surprised that no one had had their collar felt.

I was a bit puzzled that a computer-generated image of the gunman had not been compiled and circulated, using Veronicas recollections of him. Perhaps her doorstep encounter was so brief, so fleeting, she could not provide enough detail. Maybe the events of that fateful evening were so traumatic that her recall was not what it otherwise would have been.

Call me old-fashioned, call me naive, but all I have ever sought to discover about this mystifying murder is the truth. If you find the truth, the evidence will take care of itself.

I thought the police might welcome my efforts after all, I have a bit of a profile which might encourage people to speak. As an investigative writer Im not so constrained as police officers might sometimes be, Im free to go wherever my inclinations might take me. Besides, dont we all want the same thing? But I could not have been more wrong. The police refuse to answer my questions, even when those questions are as straightforward and uncontroversial as, Is there any current reward on offer for information relating to Alistair Wilsons murder?

I thought the bank that Alistair worked for might cooperate with me. They would surely like to see someone brought to justice for shooting dead one of their employees. I called them and at their request, emailed a list of questions and, youve guessed it, they refused to answer any of them.

I thought Veronica might talk to me. Lets face it, the police have had fourteen long years in which to catch her husbands killer and they have manifestly failed, so I thought she might see the value in contributing to a book that would essentially be the longest Wanted poster ever written. When I wrote to her, she didnt reply. I made a request for an interview through the police. I gave them a copy of my previous book, On the Run, to forward to Veronica. That book was about a number of unsolved murders and detailed how Id dealt with bereaved families. Id even managed to confront a cold-blooded killer in a car park. What more persuading could she need? Plenty, it would appear.

Any sane writer who fails to secure the cooperation of the three main protagonists in any given story would surely give up and move on to something else. Well, not me. These refusals merely served as red rags to a rather determined bull. I wondered what grubby little secrets the police or the bank might be harbouring that they didnt want me to uncover. I still hope to this day that Veronica will one day change her mind and talk to me, for I am so firmly committed to finding the truth that I will not cease until whosoever is responsible for this murder is put where they belong, firmly behind bars.