Dead Blonde Page 14

The Chief's reddened nose, a gift from indulging in one too many single malts over the years, the double chin that threatened now to creep in to a triple, and those loose hanging jowls, all combined to give him the appearance of a large hungry bloodhound. And at this moment, he certainly wasn’t a very friendly one.

  “Eight months ever since the first body was found,” he said, nodding at the Chief. Beeton thumped his fist on the desk indignantly.

  “This case is making us a laughing stock. People are panicking, there's a serial killer on the loose for fuck's sake and your department hasn't produced a single, intelligent bloody lead!”

  He waited, knowing it was probably best not to say anything else when Beeton was in full flow like this. , Sure enough the Super continued.

  “I expected more from you Gaine frankly, but the progress on this has been bloody abysmal. How am I supposed to explain this to the Chief Commissioner?” He looked down at the desktop feeling rather like a naughty schoolboy. Beeton always tended to make him feel like this. Realising the Chief seemed to be waiting for him to speak he cleared his throat.

  “Sir we've recently uncovered a lead that could prove to be a significant development. Doyle and I are working to follow up on it and we hope to-” he stopped, as Beeton held up a hand, fleshy palm extended as he shook his head violently, his enormous jowls quivering.

  “No! Bloody no I tell you, hope? “Could prove to be significant?” We don't bloody have time for could have beens man, there’s a killer out there and I want the bastard caught! I want you to put a bloody end to this do you hear me?” He tried to interject but Beeton was on a role now.

  “I'm bringing in someone to help you break this case. An outsider, some fresh eyes so to speak. Someone who’s spent their entire career studying how these sick fucks mind’s work. And I expect you and the rest of your team in the briefing room in 10 minutes to hear exactly what she has to say.”

  Ten minutes later Professor Sara Gateway, looked around the room her eyes scanning over the assorted collection of the Serious Crimes Squad’s finest. Clearing her throat, she addressed the assembled gathering, one hand smoothing down the side of her elegant grey bob.

  “Ok I’m sure you know why you’re all gathered here today,” she said, her tone cool and confident.

  “We have a killer out there, a clever and deceptive killer, who’s so far managed to evade the best efforts of law enforcement. So far.”

  She picked up a marker from the pot on the desk in front of her and uncapped turning to the whiteboard behind her. The board had been wiped clean by someone in preparation of her arrival, probably Barnes or another junior cop, someone green behind the ears and still desperate to impress.

  He’d been like that when he had first joined the force, all those years ago, he’d thought he could put the fucking world to rights. Well that hadn't worked out so well, he couldn't even handle his own private life anymore, let alone catch a killer. He sneaked a surreptitious glance at Doyle who stood there, her eyes fixed on the Professor. Gateway wrote a few sentences in a smooth flowing hand, before finishing with a flourish and spinning round again on her heel to face the room. Squinting up at the board, he read what she’d written.

  Rejection issues likely stemming from either early parental abandonment or disapproval. Continuing fear of abandonment leading to the need to control people as objects. He reveres women yet desires them, this the primary urge that drives him to kill.

  “Control.” She spoke the word, sharply, allowing it to punctuate the air. Lowering her thin metal framed glasses she peered over them at the room.

  “Our killer, whoever he is, will likely be someone who views women as dangerous somehow. Most probably at an emotional level, and possibly because of early rejection issues. He could have had a difficult relationship with his mother or experienced early rejection in a formative romantic relationship which was traumatising.”

  Doyle raised her hand. Gateway looked at her, smiling enquiringly.

  “Yes Detective?”

  “So we’re looking for someone with mother issues is that what you’re saying Professor?”

  “Could be. Or like I said a formative sexual relationship. But he needs to control in order to prevent the rejection happening all over again and the act of placing the necklaces around his victim’s necks post mortem is a direct act of ownership.” Doyle raised her hand again, Gateway nodded at her to continue.

  “What will stop the killing?” The Professor sighed, pushing her glasses back up her thin nose.

  “He's a collector for some reason, a man trapped in a cycle of violence and nhe's not going to stop until his finished this cycle. He's also intelligent enough to prevent himself from getting caught so far, which makes him extremely dangerous.”

  She cleared her throat again, reaching for the carafe of water that had been placed on the desk, probably by the same flunky who prepped the whiteboard. He watched her pour some of the liquid in to the empty tumbler that stood next to the jug.

  Picking up the glass she took a sip then replaced the tumbler on the table, her thin fingers, elegant, her nails plain and unadorned, and filed into neat ovals. Tapping a nail on the desk, she passed her tongue briefly over her thin lips as if to moisten them. She had the look of a Professor about her, when you looked into her eyes you could see the focus and intensity in them.

  “This early formative incident, possibly a fledgling romantic relationship that went sour, left a particular mark on his psyche.

  Now obviously everyone suffers rejection but remember we are clearly dealing with a troubled mind here, likely the product of childhood abuse.” She turned back to the white board, tapping it with the pen she still clutched in her right hand.

  Barnes coughed, attempting to catch her attention and she turned around again.

  “Yes?”

  “What about how they were found, what do you think that says about the killer Professor?” The younger man raised his eyebrow quizzically at her.

  She nodded, smiling, “Good point Constable, yes it's very interesting that most of victims were found displayed in public or semi-public places where they could be discovered easily.”

  “Maybe he’s showing off?” Barnes offered, raising his eyebrow and shrugging at her.

  “Perhaps. But that sort of display behaviour is usually most typically seen in sexually motivated killings and as we know, our killer doesn't appear to interfere with his victims sexually.” She looked around at the gathered faces, most of them listening intently, her expression earnest.

  Barnes continued, the young rookie certainly was enthusiastic he had to give him that.

  “So the killings aren’t sexually motivated? He’s doing this for another reason?”

  Gateway paused, considering the question.

  “I believe that while sexual excitement is not the primary reason he kills it doesn’t mean our man doesn't desire his victims.” He raised his own hand and she looked at him, acknowledging him for the first time.

  “Inspector?”

  “What is the primary reason our man kills Professor?”

  “Repression.” She left the word hanging as his brain tried to digest what it might mean.

  “Why repression?”

  “The way he places his mark of ownership, the necklace, around their necks after they are dead, then arranges their hair after the killings? All this is not only ritualistic but is highly suggestive of a repressed individual. Yes, we're looking for someone here who reveres women on one level yet on another level he fears them, hates them deeply for some reason.”

  “But how do you know it’s repression?” He was sceptical as he regarded her.

  “Inspector, this is behaviour common in someone who has experienced repression or rejection which can be connected to early sexual experiences. I saw this sort of revere hatred pattern in the killing of several gay men a few years back while I was working as a Criminal Profiler in New York.” He crossed his arms in front of him, shifting position as Barnes cou
ghed and shuffled his feet. Out of the corner of his eye he could see that Doyle was listening intently.

  “The man I was profiling used to search for hook ups on Craigslist, and, when he met up with the men at their apartments, he would choke them to death, then lay them out and pose them naked while he photographed their corpses.

  When the police eventually found him and raided his home, they found the pictures on the hard drive of his computer. It later emerged he had repressed his sexuality for years because his father was a prominent church minister and had instilled in him from a very young age that to be homosexual was a sin.” She looked around the room at the gathered faces listening keenly.

  “Note, he never sexually interfered with his victims, merely posed them naked, not because he didn't desire them because he certainly did. In fact desire is the reason why he killed them-“

  Doyle interrupted her, “Professor I don’t mean to be rude but how does all this help us find the killer?” Gateway smiled, nodding.

  “I understand your scepticism Detective but the thing to note here is you are looking for someone who has a reason to hate his desire of women. Find out the reason for this and it could lead you straight to your killer.” Raising his own hand again, he caught her attention and she nodded at him, raising an eyebrow.

  “Yes go on?” she said.

  “What sort of job would our killer be likely to have? I mean, do his methods or his choice of victim tell you anything at all about a potential occupation somewhere we might concentrate our search for a possible suspect?” She adjusted her glasses again, pausing to consider his question.

  “Oh yes Detective…” she faltered, reaching for a name. He interjected helpfully.

  “Chief Inspector Gaine,” he said, filling the silence and she nodded gratefully at him.

  “Inspector Gaine. Our killer is most likely someone attracted to a job which gives him control over other people in some way. Possibly he works in business or finance, he's meticulous and ordered, forensic almost in his process. He could even have had prior experience in a field such as law enforcement. This kind of profile is extremely common among the type of killers who have something to prove. And our man does have something to prove. Something to prove and something to hide.”

  He thought for a moment, digesting the information. Jackson certainly fit the finance bit, and he had definitely seemed like he had something to prove. Though that didn’t mean he was guilty of murder did it? He addressed her again.

  “Professor Gateway, you said earlier this man is a collector but a collector of what exactly?” His eyes searched hers as she stared at him.

  “Detective the man you are looking for is a collector of women. A certain physical type of woman, blonde, each born to a different month of the year.”

  Hungry to press her for more information, he continued;

  “If he’s motivated to kill in order to collect, what would motivate him to stop? Or will the murders keep continuing until we catch him?”

  She looked at him intently, her gaze so direct that for a moment he felt a little uncomfortable.

  “Inspector I can tell you this much. He's a highly dangerous and determined killer who has no intention of stopping until he has completed his collection. That means one dead body for every month of the year. He's killed eight young women already. Your job is to find him before he kills again.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY ONE - BIRTHSTONE

  He watched from behind the wire fence as she bounced and weaved the basketball, feigning a pass, then ducking past a member of the opposing team. The pass was successful and she bounced the ball once, twice, on to the hard gravel of the court. Grasping it with both hands she jumped, gracefully arching it in to the net.

  The other members of her team crowded round to congratulate her, slapping her on the back. Red cheeked and slightly flustered from all the exertion, she pushed an escaped strand of hair out of her eyes, bending over, hands on the tops of her thighs, as she tried to collect her breath.

  Desire stirred inside him as he watched her like that, the long legs, her graceful yet angular form, and that hair, so glorious and wild. She reminded him so much of Sally. He studied her through the fence, hands thrust in the pockets of his coat, it was quite peculiar, almost as if Sally hadn't gone away at all.

  Perhaps she hadn't, perhaps he had imagined it all just like a bad dream. Maybe she really was Sally and he hadn’t killed her after all, just imagined that he had. Perhaps she had simply been hiding all these years under another name, another identity. She was probably sorry for rejecting him, for not returning his love, but he was prepared to forgive her her youthful folly. Now he had found her they both had a second chance, and everything could be alright again. .

  "Sally," he murmured silently as he stood there. As if she had heard him, she lifted her head looking in his direction, their eyes meeting as she fixed him with her blue-eyed gaze. As their eyes locked she grinned, and he took a sharp intake of breath. He could tell she was surprised to see him here. Smiling back at her he waved as if he'd suddenly recognised her;

  "Bravo," he called out, bringing his palms together in mock applause, as he grinned at her through the fence. Straightening up, she came towards him, the light blue silky shorts she wore clinging to the contours of her thighs, the white, loose fitting sleeveless vest top giving him just a hint of the swell of her breasts.

  "What the bloody hell are you doing here?" she said light heartedly, tilting her head to one side quizzically and placing her hands on her hips as she regarded him through the wire of the fence.

  "Yeah I know bit weird right? Actually I'm thinking of buying a flat here and I thought I'd check the area out a bit.”

  “Yeah what in Vauxhall?”

  “Yeah, I was actually just on my way back from viewing a place by when I thought I recognized you in your PE kit," he said, grinning as his eyes moving over her appreciatively. Blushing, she brushed the sides of her shorts down shaking her head, her lips curving into a smile.

  “It is a bit like a PE kit isn’t it? Can’t really see the Globetrotters wearing this get up,” she grinned, gesturing down at herself.

  "Funny you should say that, I actually harboured a secret desire to play for the Globetrotters when I was a kid, though that was always going to be impossible on at least two counts,” he said laughing.

  “Oh yeah? Why’s that?” She raised an eyebrow at him.

  “Well I'm uh somewhat vertically challenged. At least I am for a professional basketball player." She laughed; "Hah, it's not all about the height you know, you’re about as tall as me, bout 5ft 8" I reckon?” She squinted at him, as if she were appraising the truth of her assumption.

  “Yeah, I’m around 5ft 8.”

  “Well I know I’m hardly a giant but I manage alright," she said, trying to reassure him.

  "Well I must say height or no, that was a rather impressive performance," he said, smiling, “you know it’s weird to meet you off duty here,” he added.

  “Yeah it is a bit,” she grinned, “small world eh?”

  “It is.”

  "So you thinking of joining up here then?” She looked at him curiously

  “Actually yeah, maybe. But I’m a little apprehensive. Never actually played before. Maybe you could show me the ropes?”

  "Eh it’s fairly easy once you know how. You do know the rules I take it?"

  “Hope so,” he said, his eyes drinking her in as she stood there before him. Clad in her sports kit, she looked somewhat like an awkward schoolgirl, with those knee length socks and white hi-top basketball shoes. For a moment he could almost imagine it was Sally standing there before him, in her gym kit, the way she had been when he'd stood and watched her by the netball courts, all those years ago.

  “You’ll pick it up. Could show you where you can change and keep your stuff if you like?” she offered.

  "Yeah, that’d be good,” he replied, nodding gratefully.

  “Oh and there’s a good little café over
the road there,” she pointed through the fence behind him, “you can get a nice pastry and a cup of coffee there, or tea, that might be more your thing.”

  “Yeah, actually I’m a bit partial to a nice cup of Earl Gray tea. I know it probably makes me seem a bit odd.”

  She laughed; “Earl Grey dunno if they do that in there, that’s a bit posh isn’t it?”

  “It is really I suppose. I’m not posh though, I promise, not at all.”

  “Well if you say so,” she pulled a funny face at him and he grinned at her.

  “Look I’m finishing up here now then I’m going to grab a cup myself. If you like you can come through and I’ll give you a quick look round? You can say hi to everyone then I can show you the café?” she said, shrugging.

  "Sure that sounds great.”

  “Alright just let me go and change quickly and I'll come out to meet you.”

  “What you gonna change into? A schoolgirl outfit to go with that PE kit?”

  "Shut it you,” she said but her tone was light hearted.

  “Alright, alright I’ll be quiet,” he said, holding his hand up in a gesture of mock surrender.

  “I’ll be a good boy and wait here for you to come out in your uniform," he added, winking at her in a deliberately sleazy manner. She shook her head at him, laughing as she walked away to collect her things, his gaze following her movements.

  CHAPTER TWENTY TWO - DEACON

  She really had gone. Deacon stood in the hallway of the home where for so long he had shared a life with Maria, looking around hopefully, in search of some sign of life. Perhaps she hadn't meant what she had said, perhaps it had been bitter words said in anger? Perhaps she would be waiting for him, even now, sitting reading at the table in the little kitchen, a glass of wine in her hand, or possibly she was in her studio painting, humming as she worked, the bright daubs of paint on her fingers and adorning her arms.

  Yet the house was quiet, wreathed in darkness, she was gone, really gone. Shutting the front door behind him he made his way to the stairs, his legs heavy as he climbed, a sinking feeling weighing down his stomach. Every step seemed an effort, such was his heavy mood. He wouldn't believe it, couldn't believe it, not until he knew for sure. It was unconceivable to imagine life without her, and he could not even begin to imagine what that might mean.