Murder Mile

Chapter 25

Brennan scanned the blue files he had piled on his desk, tried to see if there was anything that he had missed. Nothing presented itself. He knew the information was coming in, but it was drip by drip when he needed a deluge. He had read about serial killer cases in the past, he knew that they followed a pattern. He was continually surprised by how similar their patterns were and by how closely they could be detailed after the event. The killers were slaves to routine, had habits and timetables that they followed. They were intricate planners, they had to be to avoid detection, evade the police. It was precisely because of this complexity that Brennan knew the cases could run on for months, years even. How long had the Yorkshire Ripper reigned? How many had he killed? Brennan knew the answers to those questions and they distilled fear in his heart. He had to stop this. But the longer the case went unsolved, the harder it would become to catch the killer.

Brennan sat at his desk in the glass-fronted office and watched for the arrival of DS Collins. He was anxious to get feedback from the night before’s visit to The Rondo in George Street. The chances of it turning up anything of use were slim, he knew that, but instinct and experience had taught him to keep trying, even when the odds were against you.

He caught sight of Collins, called him in. The DS was still carrying his coat and briefcase as he reached Brennan’s office.

‘So, how did it go last night?’ he said.

Collins stood with his hands full, swayed on the balls of his feet as he exhaled a slow breath. He seemed to be searching for just the right words. ‘Well, that depends what you were hoping to achieve, boss.’

Brennan bit, ‘Meaning?’

Collins pointed to the chair sitting in front of the desk, ‘Do you mind if I take the weight off?… Murder on the old plates those clubs, just standing around all night, y’know…’

Brennan nodded, ‘Go on, then.’

‘Well, if you wanted us to go out and try and fit in, we did that

…’ Collins ran a palm down his cheek, satisfied himself with the smoothness of his razor cut, said, ‘But, if you were looking for more of a background report on the victims, I’m afraid I’ve nothing really to add to what I told you yesterday.’

Brennan got up from his desk, leaned a shoulder on the wall and folded his arms. He kept an eye on Collins, watched for any signs of optimism, but found none. ‘OK, you and WPC Docherty slotted in, got to know the punters and staff, yeah?’

Collins rested his elbows on the chair’s arms, tapped his fingertips together. ‘Yeah, we did. I have to say, boss, it’s not a very teenage scene.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, it’s pretty well-heeled. Should have seen the motors outside on George Street, I lost count of the number of Porsches… Fucking fanny magnets they are.’

Brennan turned around, ‘So an older crowd?’

‘Yeah… Definitely.’

‘An older crowd, sniffing around young lassies?’

Collins seemed to be weighing the possibilities in his mind. ‘Well, not exclusively, but there was that element it has to be said. If I was going anywhere with this line of thought, sir, what I’d be saying is that Fiona Gow and Lindsey Sloan would have stuck out there, they would have been among the youngest.’

Brennan returned to his desk, removed his chair and sat down again. ‘Makes you wonder if the door stewards knew them?’

‘Checked their ID you mean?’

‘It’s more than possible… Likely even.’

Collins nodded, ‘I don’t know, these young lassies once they get a bit of makeup on and the high heels they look the part… I’d say they would have been more likely to have been known for being a couple of cracking looking girls.’

‘Cracking looking underage girls.’ Brennan leaned forward, tapped on the folders in front of him with his index finger. ‘Keep at it, Collins. Talk to the stewards, softly, softly mind… These places heat up on the weekend so we’ll give it a bit longer.’

Collins stood up, collected his coat and his bag. ‘I’m happy to keep going out to the pub on the force’s dime, boss, but I just don’t know what this is going to achieve… I mean, it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack trying to find anything that might tie in.’

Brennan eased himself back in his chair, eyed Collins. ‘Right now the fact that both those girls did the club scene is just about all we have.’

Collins returned his hand to his pocket, turned to face the door. ‘There’s the gymnastics stuff that Jim’s following up?’

‘That’s an even longer shot I would have thought.’

‘Well, how did he go?’

Brennan opened his office door, nodded to Collins. ‘We’ll ask him in the morning briefing… Meantime, keep on the pubs and clubs, let me know if anything stands out. If there’s any talk, I don’t know, a boyfriend we don’t know about, a bouncer introducing them to their first joint… anything at all. If it stands out, if we don’t know about it, I want it looked at. Someone knew those girls better than the friends we’ve spoken to, they could be the key that unlocks this whole case, they could know our killer and not know it themselves.’

‘Yes, sir.’

Collins walked through the open door, returned to his desk. On the way he cast an eye in Jim Gallagher’s direction, nodded, and stopped to engage him in chat. At the far end of Incident Room One, Brennan noticed a face he hadn’t seen for some time step through the door. He looked disorientated, a little lost perhaps; Brennan walked towards the man, met him at the coat stand. ‘Joe…’ he extended a hand, ‘Good to have you on board, mate.’

Joe Lorrimer turned around, locked eyes on Brennan and clasped his hand on his shoulder. ‘Glad to be here.’ He rested a briefcase at his feet as he removed his outdoor coat and hung it up. Brennan was waiting as Lorrimer reached down for his briefcase; he rose and the pair walked towards the DI’s glassed-off office.

‘So, have you had a chance to check out the file?’ said Brennan.

‘Aye, the trip was fine, Rob… Thanks for asking,’ Lorrimer smiled as he looked at the DI.

Brennan returned the grin, ‘Sorry, we’re behind the eight ball here at the moment. You know how it gets on these cases…’

Lorrimer turned his head towards the carpet tiles, said, ‘Well, I did wonder when you asked for me… I don’t remember you being so keen to share the load with anyone in the past. But to answer your question, yes Rob, I have seen the files you sent over.’

Brennan was aware of the eyes in the office following them as he led the profiler through the room; he decided it might be best to keep their first meeting limited to invitations only. ‘On you go inside, Joe.’ He called out, ‘Stevie, Jim…’ he pointed to his room. ‘Any sign of Brian?’

McGuire was leaning back in his chair, it creaked noisily as he sat forward, rose. ‘He did a late one last night, sir.’

‘OK, when you’re ready, please, the rest of you in here.’

In Brennan’s office Lorrimer took the chair in front of the desk, Gallagher took the only other spare; McGuire pitched himself on the window ledge.

‘I’d like to introduce Joe Lorrimer,’ said Brennan. ‘Joe’s going to be helping us build a profile for the case, but before we go any further… Stevie, maybe you could fill Joe and Jim in on the morning’s latest developments.’

McGuire was slouching on the ledge, straightened himself. ‘Yes, of course… We had a serology report back from the lab, we have a positive rare blood group ID from both scenes.’

Gallagher slapped his thigh, ‘Confirmation then, that’s it!’

Brennan gauged his reply, thinned eyes. ‘Certainly seems that way, Jim.’

‘It’s bloody cast-iron, you mean. What’s the blood group?’

McGuire answered him: ‘It’s B.’

‘Jesus, rare as hobby horse shite that is.’

‘It’s a rare group,’ said Brennan. ‘And it does tie the two cases together but let’s not get carried away, it’s not a perp’ ID… we don’t have a smoking gun quite yet.’

Gallagher seemed to take the statement as a slap down, he crossed his legs and ran a finger along the crease of his trousers. He remained quiet though looked to be desperate to speak up.

Brennan said, ‘Right, Joe, sorry to throw you in at the deep end but do you have any initial findings you’d like to share with the group?’

Lorrimer picked up his briefcase, balanced it on his knees and opened up; he removed two blue folders. He placed the folders on the top of the briefcase as he closed it again and leafed through the files. ‘Right.’ He removed a pen from his shirt pocket and tapped at the page he had selected. ‘If we’re progressing on the assumption that this is the work of one killer, then that ties in with my initial recce of the files. The signatures — the ligatures, torture, taking souvenirs — all look to be identical to me.’

As Lorrimer paused, Gallagher spoke in a hushed voice. ‘And can you say anything about the person we’re looking for?’

Brennan turned to Gallagher, his words lit a fuse in him. ‘This is no person, Jim… It’s a fucking animal we’re hunting.’

Lorrimer raised his eyes from the notes, seemed to sense the animosity between the pair. He halted mid-stride for a moment, then adopted the role of mediator. ‘He’s a bit of both, I’d say, Rob.’ He patted the papers, ‘Look, there can be no doubt this is an extremely disturbed mind we’re dealing with here… The mutilation alone is worse than anything I’ve ever seen in my career, but the fact that it’s been carried out in your own backyard and there is next to nothing known about his MO five years down the track shows the level of intelligence we’re up against.’

Brennan squirmed in his seat, brushed beneath his chin with his forefingers, said, ‘I wasn’t a part of the Fiona Gow investigation.’

Gallagher’s eyes widened, burned into him.

‘Regardless,’ said Lorrimer, ‘what we have is a pattern killer who has evaded capture — twice. He’s obviously intelligent and resourceful and he’s going to be riding on a surge of confidence right now. That makes him more dangerous than ever.’ Lorrimer closed his file, tucked away the page he was looking at and returned the biro to his shirt pocket. ‘I don’t think we’ll have to wait another five years to see his next victim, Rob. We need to get this bastard… and soon.’