Fever of the Bone

CHAPTER 30

The digital recorder on the kitchen table was the first thing Tony noticed when he came down for breakfast. ‘Not yet,’ he said aloud as he filled the coffee machine. He needed time to work out the implications of what Carol had told him the day before. He had to figure out the meaning of Vanessa’s story before he could listen to Arthur and weigh his version against hers. If indeed there was any significant difference between the two.

But Carol, who generally had good instincts about these things, had reminded him that Vanessa was not to be trusted. A woman who tried to cheat her only child out of an inheritance would have few scruples when it came to rewriting history.

All the same . . .

To keep himself from temptation, he fetched his laptop and logged on to the website of the Bradfield Evening Sentinel Telegraph. It wasn’t the Guardian, but the BEST was one of the better provincial newspapers around. And of course it would have the most detailed coverage of Carol’s murders.

It was the main story on the paper’s home page. Tony clicked on the link and read their account. There was a fair amount of padding, but the heart of the story was pretty scant. Two fourteen-year-old boys who had no connection to each other had gone missing without explanation. They seemed to have vanished into thin air. Their murdered and mutilated bodies had been found in remote locations outside the city. Police believed they might have been lured to meet their killer via internet social-networking sites.

He couldn’t help thinking of Jennifer Maidment. A hundred miles and a different gender. But a lot of similarities. He shook his head vigorously. ‘You’re reaching,’ he said. ‘You want to find a connection so you can get your foot in the door with Carol’s cases. Get a grip, man.’

He clicked on the thumbnail pictures of the two boys. First Daniel, then Seth. He cut back and forth between them, wondering if he was imagining things. He picked up the laptop and went through to his study. He plugged it into the printer and printed out both photographs, in black and white to make comparison easier. As an afterthought, and in spite of the critical voice gibbering in his ear, he also printed out a photograph of Jennifer.

Tony took the three shots back to the kitchen and laid them across the table. He poured himself a coffee and stared at them, frowning. He wasn’t making this up. There was a distinct resemblance between the three teenagers. A disturbing thought was worming its way to the front of his mind, refusing to be ignored. It was a given that serial killers often had a physical type. If gender wasn’t relevant to this killer but physical type was, then maybe Tony wasn’t so crazy to link Jennifer to the two boys.

He needed more information. And Carol certainly wasn’t going to give it to him. Not after her lecture about refusing to exploit him.

But there was someone who might. Tony reached for his phone and dialled. At the third ring, a wary voice said, ‘Tony? Is that you?’

‘It is, Paula.’ Then, remembering how it went between people who liked each other, he said, ‘How are you doing?’

‘We’ve got two murders on the go, Tony. How do you think I’m doing?’

‘I take your point. Listen, Paula. I’ve got something to ask you.’

‘If it’s to do with the case, the answer’s no. Last time you asked for my help, the chief tore me a new one for going behind her back.’

‘But we were right,’ he said. ‘Who knows how many other people might have died if you hadn’t done what I asked you to? And I only asked you because I couldn’t do it myself.’ And you still owe me because I saved you from your despair.

‘Yeah, well, you’re better now. Your leg’s not in a splint any more. You can do your own running around.’

‘You are one tough woman, Paula,’ he said, the admiration genuine.

‘I need to be, around the likes of you.’

‘Listen, I’m not asking you to do anything for me, not as such. I just need you to answer one question, that’s all. One simple question. Surely you can do that for me? After all we’ve been through together?’

A snort of something that might have been laughter or disgust. ‘Christ, Tony, you don’t give up, do you?’

‘No, I don’t. And neither do you. So you should sympathise.’

A long pause. A sigh. ‘Tell me the question. No promises, mind.’

‘Your two victims. It says in the paper their bodies were mutilated. Were they both completely castrated? Penis and testes?’

Another sigh. ‘I know you won’t tell anyone, right?’

‘Right.’

‘Yes. Completely. I’m going now, Tony. We never had this conversation.’

But he wasn’t listening. His mind was already racing, wondering how he was going to explain to Carol that her two bodies were not the first victims of this killer.

Kevin looked across his desk at Paula. ‘Tony? Would that be our Tony?’ He spoke quietly, for which she was grateful.

‘The one and only,’ she said. ‘The chief’s obviously keeping him right out of the loop.’

‘And he doesn’t like it, am I right?’

Paula flashed a glance at Carol, who was in her office, intent on a phone call. ‘You could say that. Don’t let on I’ve been speaking to him, OK?’

Kevin chuckled. ‘My name’s not Sam. Your secret’s safe with me.’ Before either of them could say more, his phone rang. ‘MIT, DS Matthews,’ he said.

‘This is DS Jed Turner at Southern CID.’ A strong Scottish accent, an unfamiliar name.

‘How can I help you, Jed?’

‘Is it you guys that are dealing with the dead teenagers? Morrison and Viner?’ His tone was offhand, uncaring. Kevin didn’t care for it.

‘That’s us,’ he said.

‘And they started off on the missing list, right?’

‘That’s right. Have you got something for us?’

‘I tell you, I’d be happy enough for you to take it off my plate.’ A bark of almost-laughter.

‘That wasn’t quite what I meant.’

‘I appreciate that, pal. I’m under no illusions about that. What it is, we’ve got what looks like it might be another one for your merry band.’

‘You’ve got a body?’

‘Not yet. We’ve got a missing fourteen-year-old. Niall Quantick. His mammy’s been giving us grief since early doors. It took the numpties on the front desk a wee while to process that he might fit in with the MO youse are looking at. They only passed it on to us this past half-hour. So, are you interested, or what?’

Kevin sat up in his chair and reached for a pen. ‘What’s the score?’

‘Kid’s a schemie. Lives with his mother in the Brucehill flats. She says he went into town yesterday afternoon. No word about where he was going or who he was meeting. He never came home. She tried ringing his mobile but it was turned off. Typical scummy mummy, doesn’t know who he hangs about with or what he gets up to when he’s out the door. So here we are, middle of Sunday morning and no trace of the kid. You want it?’

Probably even more than you want to offload it. ‘Let’s see what you’ve got. It sounds like it might be one for us. But I need to look it over then run it past my guv’nor. You know how it is.’

‘Sure do, pal. OK, it’s on its way to you as we speak. Missing-person report and a photo. Let me know what you decide, eh?’

Kevin replaced the phone, looking glum. Paula caught his eye and raised her eyebrows. Kevin gave her a thumbs-down. ‘Looks like we’ve got another missing kid,’ he said, heart heavy, thinking of his own boy and wanting to drive home and lock the kid in his room till all this was over.

‘Oh no,’ Paula groaned. ‘His poor parents.’

Kevin tried not to think about that. ‘I need to go and talk to the boss.’

The sense of déjà vu was never a pleasant one on a murder squad. It rammed Carol’s failure home to her. They hadn’t caught the killer, her brilliant team with their top-drawer skills. He was still out there, another victim taken and who knew how many more to come? Under strength, under pressure and understanding what was at stake, the MIT had never faced a tougher challenge.

Carol looked round her team, knowing in her heart they were already too late for Niall Quantick. If Grisha was right about the times of death - and there was no reason to doubt him - this killer didn’t keep his victims alive for long. He didn’t take the risk of holding them prisoner while he satisfied his appetites. Which was unusual in itself, she thought. Usually they wanted maximum gratification from the experience. That was the sort of thing Tim Parker should have picked up on. He’d just delivered his second attempt at a profile and it was no better than before, in the sense that there was no significant insight and nothing that moved the inquiry forward. She’d not had the chance to talk to him about it yet, and he was hovering at the back of the room, like a small child anticipating parental praise. He wasn’t going to get it from her, that was for sure.

‘Right,’ she said, trying not to let the weariness show. ‘As I’m sure you all know by now, we have another report of a missing teenage boy. It’s possible that it’s an over-reaction from the mother. Apparently we had three or four similar reports last night that turned out to be false alarms. But this looks like a stronger contender for being taken seriously, so for the time being we treat it as if it’s the third in a series.’ There was a general mutter of agreement.

‘Southern Division are conducting the witness interviews and the search. Kevin, I want you to liaise with them. Paula, you go with Kevin. Any positive leads, I want you right in there reinterviewing the witnesses. I don’t want anything missed because the officer who talks to somebody crucial doesn’t have your skills. Sam, we’re going to have to put Nigel Barnes on the back burner for the moment. You’re with the mother. Anything you can find out from her, feed it back to us, but make sure Southern get copied in too. And Stacey - I’m sorry about this, I know you’ve got data up to the eyeballs, but you’re going to have to go along with Sam and see what you can get from Niall Quantick’s computer.’

‘It’s no problem,’ Stacey said. ‘Most of what I’ve got running is on autopilot. Anything that comes up will sit patiently in a queue till I get back to it.’

‘Shame you can’t program women to be like that,’ Sam said.

‘Not funny,’ Paula said.

‘Who said he was joking?’ Kevin said. ‘OK, I’m on it.’ He shrugged into his jacket and grabbed his keys.

‘He’s dead already, isn’t he?’ Paula said, turning back to her desk to do the same.

From the doorway, a new voice joined the conversation. ‘Almost certainly,’ Tony said. ‘But you still have to conduct yourselves as if you’re looking for a live boy.’

Carol rolled her eyes. ‘Dr Hill,’ she groaned. ‘Perfect timing, as usual.’

He advanced into the room. She couldn’t remember ever seeing him so well groomed and smartly dressed. It was as if he was trying to impress, something which never normally penetrated his consciousness. ‘As it happens, you’re absolutely right,’ he said. He passed Tim Parker and nodded. ‘Tim. It’s a bit different when you’re doing it for real, isn’t it?’

Kevin clapped him on the shoulder as he passed. The rest of them followed his example, touching Tony as if he were a talisman. Even Stacey brushed her fingers against his sleeve. ‘Welcome back, Dr Hill,’ she said, formal as ever.

‘Don’t get ahead of yourself, Stacey,’ Tony said. He carried on into Carol’s office, leaving her the choice of following or abandoning her office to him. And she knew only too well that he would have no respect for her professional privacy. The case would be at his mercy if she left him to it. So she went after him, slamming the door shut behind her.

‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, back to the door so Tim Parker couldn’t see her face, arms folded across her chest.

‘I’ve come to help,’ Tony said. ‘And before you repeat everything you said yesterday, please hear me out.’

Carol ran a hand through her hair and stepped away from the door. She pulled the blinds then crossed to her desk. ‘This better be good, Tony. I don’t know how much you overheard, but there’s another missing boy out there and I should be focusing on helping my team bring him home.’

Tony sighed. ‘That’s very laudable, Carol. But we both know there’s no rush here. This lad’s already dead.’

Carol felt the fight go out of her. Sometimes it was infuriating to be around Tony. He had the ability to articulate what you already knew in such a way that you felt let off the hook. And right now, she didn’t want to be let off the hook. She wanted to be cross with him for not listening to what she’d said yesterday. ‘Why are you here?’

‘Well, in an indirect kind of way, I sort of have jurisdiction. By virtue of the fact that I’m already working for the force that appears to have the first victim of this particular killer.’

‘What?’ Carol struggled to divine his meaning.

‘Daniel Morrison isn’t the first victim.’

Every SIO carried a fear in their heart. Because there was no joined-up reporting between the different police forces in the UK, every non-domestic murder threw up the possibility that it wasn’t the killer’s first outing. Some years before, a couple of dozen forces had put their heads together over their unsolved murders going back a decade or so. Working with Tony and other profilers, they’d examined them to see if they could draw common threads. The conclusion they’d come to was that there were at least three serial killers operating in the UK. Three previously unsuspected serial killers. It was a result that had chilled everyone working in homicide. As Tony had said to her at the time, ‘The first killing is potentially the most informative, because he’s trying out what works for him. By the next time, he’ll have refined his method. He’ll be better at it.’

And now he was telling her that she didn’t even have that advantage. She wanted to challenge him. And she might still. But for now, Carol needed some answers. ‘Who’s the first? Where is he? When did you work on it?’

‘I’m working on it now, Carol. It’s Jennifer Maidment.’

She stared at him in stunned silence for a long moment. ‘I don’t believe you,’ she said at last. ‘Do you really need this so badly? Is this about Tim Parker? I never had you pegged as a man who needed constant professional validation.’

Tony covered his face with his hands and rubbed his eyes. ‘I was afraid you were going to be like this,’ he said. He thrust his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket, drawing out a folded sheaf of paper. ‘This is not about me. If you still don’t want me involved, fine. I can live with that, believe me. But it’s important that you hear me out. Please?’

Carol felt torn between her respect and affection for him and her irritation at the way he was muscling in on her investigation. Whatever he said, she was sure it all came down to Tim Parker’s presence. God, how she wanted a drink. ‘Fine,’ she said, her voice clipped. ‘I’m listening.’

He unfolded his papers and laid out the three photographs he’d printed out earlier. ‘Let’s forget about gender for now. Because actually it’s completely irrelevant to this case. I don’t know why yet, but it is. Just look at the three of them. There’s a definite resemblance. He has a type. Would you agree?’

She couldn’t argue with the evidence of her eyes. ‘OK, they look a bit like each other. Coincidence covers Jennifer on that one.’

‘Fair enough. Though you do have to bear in mind that serial killers often have a very specific physical type. Remember Jacko Vance?’

Carol shuddered. As if she was likely to forget. ‘He went for girls who looked like his ex.’

‘Exactly. Killers who are fixated like that, they’ll pass over victims of opportunity because they don’t conform. And they’ll take time and trouble to cultivate the ones they’re truly drawn to. Now, remember I know nothing more about your cases than anybody who has read the papers and listened to the radio. You accept that?’

‘Unless you’ve been going behind my back with my team like you did with Paula on the Robbie Bishop case,’ she said drily.

‘I have not been quizzing your detectives, Carol. But I’m going to tell you some things about your two murders which I know only because they were committed by the same person who killed Jennifer Maidment. I know the signature behaviour, Carol. I know what this guy does.’ He enumerated the points on his fingers. ‘One: they went missing in the late afternoon without an explanation. They didn’t confide in anybody - not friends, not family, not sweethearts. Two: they’d been interacting with someone on RigMarole, someone outside their circle of friends. Someone who seemed to offer something they couldn’t find anywhere else. Possibly someone using a pair of initials - BB, CC, DD, whatever. That last bit’s a guess, but if I’m right, it might have some significance I haven’t worked out yet. Three: the cause of death was asphyxiation by having a heavy-duty polythene bag taped over their heads. Four: there was no evidence of a struggle, indicating they were most likely drugged. Probably GHB, though that will have been harder to establish in your cases because of the time that elapsed before you found the bodies. They’d been dead for a while, hadn’t they? They weren’t fresh kills. Because, five: they were killed very soon after they were taken. How am I doing so far?’

Carol hoped her face wasn’t betraying her astonishment. How could he have known? ‘Go on,’ she said calmly.

‘Six: they were dumped out of town, in an area not covered by traffic cameras or CCTV or Street View. There was no serious attempt at hiding the bodies. Seven: their bodies were mutilated post mortem. Eight: they were castrated. Nine: no evidence of any sexual assault. Oh, and ten: nobody seems to have noticed them being grabbed off the street, so chances are they had a perfectly amicable, non-violent initial encounter with their killer. So, Carol - do I know what I’m talking about? This is way more than coincidence, isn’t it?’

He met her eyes with a level gaze. ‘How did you know this stuff?’ she said.

‘I know it because it matches what happened to Jennifer Maidment. Except in her case, it was her vagina that was excised. Her vagina, please note. Not her clitoris. And this is what I mean about gender being immaterial. Because this is not sexual homicide.’

Carol felt herself floundering. Everything she knew about serial murder pointed to these killings having a sexual basis. It was the very assumption he’d taught her. Even if she couldn’t fathom what the sexual kick was, it was there. ‘How can you say that? Genital mutilation - isn’t that always sexual in some respect?’

Tony scratched his head. ‘Ninety-nine times out of a hundred, you’d be right. But I think this is the weird one. The one that blows all the profiling out of the water because it doesn’t follow the probabilities.’ He jumped to his feet and started pacing. ‘There’s three reasons why I’m saying this, Carol. He doesn’t spend long enough with them—’

‘I noticed that,’ she said. ‘It didn’t make sense to me either. Why go to all the trouble to groom them, then kill them almost at once?’

‘Exactly!’ He pounced on the idea, turning on his heel and slamming the flat of his hand on her desk. ‘Where’s the pleasure in that? The second thing is that there’s no evidence of any sort of sexual assault. No sperm, no anal trauma. I take it that’s the same with Seth and Daniel?’

Carol nodded. ‘Nothing.’ It dawned on her that she had been seduced by his argument in spite of her best intentions. Because, in a horrible way, it made sense. ‘You said there were three reasons.’

‘He’s saying, it ends here. You’re not just dead. You’re the end of the line. Whoever it is they remind him of, he wants to wipe that person off the face of the planet.’

His words sent a shiver through her. ‘That is harsh,’ she said. ‘So cold.’

‘I know. But it makes sense in a way that nothing else does.’

In spite of everything, Carol felt a fizz of delight. These were the moments she lived for in this job. Those dazzling moments when the tumblers of the lock lined up and the door to understanding swung open. How could you not love that feeling, when the impenetrable suddenly yielded? She smiled at him, grateful for his insight and for the patient endurance he brought to their work. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I owe you an apology. I’ve never known you to be petty, I don’t know why I imagined Tim Parker could have provoked it in you.’

Tony smiled back at her. ‘Parker’s history. Whatever Blake says, this is my case now. Worcester has precedence.’ He took Stuart Patterson’s card from his jacket pocket. ‘This is the guy you need to speak to.’

Carol took the card. ‘There’s someone else I need to speak to first.’ Her smile took on a grim edge. ‘And believe me, I’m going to enjoy it.’