A Killing Mind, page 13
part #5 of DI Sean Corrigan Series
‘And now?’
‘He’s back,’ Sally told her, failing to hide the concern in her voice. ‘Full throttle again. Keep up or get left behind. Once he gets that scent back, you know what he can be like.’
‘Quite obsessive, I seem to remember,’ Anna replied.
‘Quite obsessive!’ Sally exclaimed. ‘There’s an understatement. It’s like he needs to be chasing after these types of killers, the real sickos.’
‘And that worries you?’ Anna asked.
‘Not so much that,’ Sally answered.
‘Then what does worry you?’ Anna probed, her eyes meeting Sally’s.
Sally took a deep breath. ‘I’m worried he wants to put himself alongside this killer. One-on-one. Just the two of them. I can’t help thinking that’s what he wants. That’s’ what he’s working towards.’
‘Why?’ Anna asked bluntly.
‘Because he’s done it before,’ Sally answered, her face as serious as Anna had seen it. ‘First with Gibran, which he was lucky to survive. Really lucky. Then the same thing with Thomas Keller and again with Jeremy Goldboro – only that time he took Donnelly along for the ride. Sean needs to be protected from himself sometimes. Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed.’
‘I’ve noticed,’ Anna admitted.
‘And do you know why?’ Sally asked. ‘Do you know why he has this need to face the killers alone?’
‘I think,’ Anna explained, ‘he feels he can learn more from being alone with them. Can learn more about them. He wants to see them in their own environment, before police stations and solicitors are involved. He needs the contact to be personal.’
‘Why?’ Sally demanded. ‘Once they’re caught, they’re caught. Why isn’t that enough for him?’
‘Because it’s not about the one he’s facing,’ Anna answered. ‘It’s about the next one he has to find.’
‘I don’t understand,’ Sally admitted.
‘He’s learning,’ Anna told her. ‘Learning from the one in front of him so he can better understand and therefore catch the next killer. Building up a portfolio of profiles in his mind. It gives him the tools – or so he believes – to catch them and catch them quickly.’
Sally took a few seconds to let it sink in.
‘Then he is a danger to himself.’
‘Sean will always be right on the edge,’ Anna told her. ‘It’s the way he is.’
‘You should tell someone,’ Sally said. ‘You’re a psychiatrist. You should warn Addis that there’s a significant risk to Sean while he’s on the SIU.’
‘I already have.’
‘What?’ Sally asked, disbelief choking her voice.
‘I warned Addis during the Jackdaw investigation.’
‘And?’ Sally demanded.
‘I was told Sean was an asset. Property of the Metropolitan Police, to be used in any way necessary to get results.’
‘Does Sean know?’
‘Yes,’ Anna assured her. ‘I told him.’
‘What did he say?’
‘He said he didn’t care – so long as he was left alone and still in charge of the SIU, he didn’t care.’
‘Great,’ Sally replied sarcastically.
‘Doing what he does makes him who he is,’ Anna explained. ‘Having that taken away from him scares him more than facing any killer. Can you imagine him, not living on the edge any more – living a normal life. Do you really want to do that to him?’
‘At least he’d be alive,’ Sally argued.
‘Physically,’ Anna agreed, ‘but what about the rest of him? I don’t want to see him become a shell of himself. Do you?’
Sally knew Anna was right. If she protected Sean in one way she could be killing him in another. ‘No,’ she answered. ‘No, I don’t want that.’
‘Then work with him,’ Anna told her, ‘and with me. Together we might just be able to keep him safe.’
Sean arrived home late. His two young daughters were asleep in bed, and he could hear soft noises from the TV in the lounge, which meant Kate was still up. He shut the door behind him, careful to lock it before emptying the contents of his pockets on to the small table in the hallway and wrestling out of his coat and jacket which he threw over one of the hooks of the cluttered hat stand. Relieved of his burdens, he headed to the kitchen and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Truthfully he would have preferred to be alone – to sit in the quiet semi-darkness of the kitchen and think the day through – just let everything settle in his mind until he was ready to attempt sleep and give his subconscious a chance to think of things his waking mind could not. But he knew that wasn’t an option. Kate would have heard him come in and she’d be waiting for him to go in and join her, so she could talk to him about everyday things and he could pretend he was interested.
As he entered the lounge, Kate looked up from her laptop as if he’d only popped out a minute ago. Her eyes quickly returned to the computer screen. ‘You’re late,’ she greeted him.
‘Not that late,’ he argued and sat heavily on the sofa. He took a long swig from his beer. ‘Gonna get a lot later.’
‘The new case?’
‘Uh huh.’
‘I heard about it, on the radio. In the papers. It doesn’t sound good.’
‘It’s not.’
‘I’m afraid I didn’t have time to make anything for dinner,’ she apologized. ‘Four teenagers ploughed their car into a skip lorry. We worked on them for hours, but two didn’t make it.’
‘It’s OK,’ he assured her. ‘I’m not hungry.’
‘We make a right pair, you and me,’ she smiled. ‘You with your murder victim and me with my fatal accident. We don’t exactly do normal jobs, do we?’
‘Who wants a normal job?’ He took another swig of beer.
‘Want to talk about your new case?’ she suggested. ‘It might help.’
‘Help what?’ he shrugged.
‘Help you unwind. You seem very tense.’
‘Nothing to talk about,’ he insisted. ‘Just another violent lunatic with a point to prove.’
‘Sounds like the sort of case that got you into trouble last time,’ she reminded him, ‘and the time before that and the time—’
‘There were … circumstances,’ he cut in. ‘I got ahead of the investigation and ended up having to make the arrests myself. It’s usually much more controlled than that.’
‘The last one wasn’t arrested though. He was shot, killed. And the one before that almost killed you.’
‘It won’t happen again,’ he promised, though he knew he couldn’t guarantee anything – not once he knew the killer was close. Not once he had a chance to be alone with him and look into his eyes with nobody else around – to bring it down to a personal duel between hunter and hunted. ‘I’ll make sure the arrest is planned and organized – use the TSG or something, but it won’t be me. Don’t worry,’ he tried to reassure her. ‘I’ll keep my distance.’
‘You?’ she said accusingly. ‘Keep your distance? I’m not sure you know how to.’
‘I’ve told you,’ he replied calmly, ‘there were extraordinary circumstances. I had to be there at the end. This time it’ll be different. I’ll be more careful.’
‘Careful? Sean, we both know that’s not in your nature, is it?’ He could only offer a shrug in reply. ‘It’s just … cases like this are the ones that drag you back into dark places, Sean.’
‘Cases like this are my job,’ he argued.
‘But you’ve been so much better this last year, when your job hasn’t involved chasing around after madmen. Can’t you move to another MIT?’
‘And go back to investigating domestic murders and kids stabbing each other over whose turf is whose?’ he asked. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘Then move to the Anti-Terrorist Branch or Flying Squad,’ she suggested. ‘Anything to get you away from these madmen.’
‘I don’t want to move to SO13 or the Flying Squad. I like what I do. Being the DI on the SIU is the best job in the Met. I’m not going to leave it.’
‘But it’s not good for you,’ she insisted. ‘It changes you. I can see the difference. You’re becoming distant again, pulling away from me and the kids. Because your mind is no longer with us, is it? It’s with him – this bloody lunatic you’re after. You didn’t see the kids at all yesterday and you didn’t remember to call to say goodnight. It’s the first time you’ve forgotten to do that in ages. Before, even when you were late, you at least called. There’s something about this type of case that obsesses you.’
‘So what if it obsesses me? It’s only for a few weeks. I catch the killer and I come back to you. And nobody else dies.’
‘I know you, Sean.’ She sounded exasperated now. ‘I know your childhood. I don’t think these investigations are good for you.’
‘It’s got nothing to do with my childhood,’ he lied.
‘I’m not so sure,’ Kate disagreed. ‘I sometimes think you treat each of these madmen as if they were your father. It’s your way of striking back at him.’
‘My father wasn’t a killer,’ he reminded her.
‘No, but he was almost as bad.’
‘What happened to me as a child helps me find them,’ he told her calmly. ‘It’s a tool I use, that’s all. And if it helps me catch them quicker than other people can, I’m fine with that.’
‘We don’t know what lasting effect the traumatic events of your childhood have had on you, Sean,’ she warned him. ‘Using your mind to catch these evil bastards is only going to increase the chances of you having to relive those events, and that won’t be good for you. It won’t be good for any of us.’
‘I rarely think about my childhood, and I don’t think about him. I went through all the doctors and shrinks when I was younger. I’m fine now.’
‘You never finished a single treatment – you told me that yourself.’ He avoided her gaze. ‘You joined a boxing gym instead, and then the police.’
‘Yeah, well,’ he replied, staring into his beer. ‘It worked.’
‘Things like that don’t just go away,’ she told him. ‘They hide inside us, waiting to drag us down.’
‘Not me,’ he snapped, annoyed at having to talk about the darkness of his past. ‘I’m in control.’
‘But these people you go after, Sean – a lot of them will have endured a childhood like yours. Their psychology is closer to your own than perhaps you want to admit. I see the way it affects you and I think it’s dangerous. Doesn’t matter how many of them you lock up – your childhood won’t change.’
Her words made him feel suddenly dizzy and disorientated. Was that what he was doing – hunting his own father over and over again? Did he think that if he kept saving innocent people then eventually he’d save himself – save the scared little boy he used to be? No one had ever put it to him like that, and it had never occurred to him until now that that might be the case.
‘You all right?’ Kate asked, leaning towards him and resting a soft hand on his shoulder – her dark eyes full of fear and concern.
‘Yeah,’ he managed to say, knowing that if he didn’t respond, her worries would only intensify. ‘I’m just tired,’ he lied, ‘but I hear what you’re saying.’
‘Good.’
‘Let me get this one finished, and then I’ll think about it.’
‘OK,’ she smiled, her straight white teeth shining from her caramel skin. ‘Come to bed. Let’s get some sleep. I’ve an early shift tomorrow.’
‘You go,’ he answered, lifting his beer – hoping she couldn’t detect the pounding in his chest. ‘I’m gonna finish this and chill out for a bit. Let my mind settle.’
‘Don’t be long.’ She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. He could smell her skin cream and feel her unruly ringlets brush against his face.
‘I won’t,’ he promised and watched her spring to her feet and glide from the lounge. Once he was alone he let out a long breath before finishing his beer in one go, resting his head back on the sofa and staring at the ceiling. He needed to push the night’s thoughts away – bury them where they’d lain for years – deep in the dark pit of his soul where not even he could find them, where the memories of his father rotted in his private hell. Keep the instincts, he told himself, forget the fear. Keep the instincts – forget the fear. Over and over he repeated the mantra silently in his head until he was sure the demons were back in the cages of his consciousness. He shook the stiffness from his neck and headed for the stairs and restless, haunted sleep.
6
The following morning Sean was once again the first one into the office. He sat himself down at his desk, the crime scene photographs of Tanya Richards’ murder spread out in front of him in no particular order. A few hours’ sleep, a shower and clean clothes had revived him somewhat, but he knew by midday the tiredness would come sweeping back and with it the aches and pains as well as bouts of dizziness and nausea. He’d have to remember to eat something or things would get worse, but for now he made do with an occasional sip from a Styrofoam cup of black coffee. His mind was too occupied to think of anything other than the images of the lifeless young woman laid out in front of him.
The more he stared at the pictures, the more he was convinced the attack hadn’t been sexually motivated – despite the fact her killer had raped her.
‘You planned for the killing,’ he spoke softly to himself, ‘but there’s nothing to indicate you planned for the rape. You brought something to knock her unconscious with and something to cut her with, but you didn’t bring anything to make the rape easier or safer for yourself. No condom. No lubricant. She was a prostitute and yet you had unprotected sex with her. If you’d planned to rape her, I think you would have protected yourself – so what happened?’ He leaned back in his chair in silent thought for a while before once again hunching over the photographs of the semi-naked victim lying in a great red pool of her own blood. ‘There was a lot of blood,’ he continued. ‘It must have been all over your clothes and hands, same as with Dalton, so you must have been prepared for that. You wouldn’t have risked walking out of the alley with blood all over you – someone might have seen you. So you must have brought something to wash away the blood or cover your hands and clothes, all of which would have taken planning and preparation.’ He drummed his fingers on the desktop. ‘Was that it?’ he asked, lifting one of the photographs and leaning back in his chair as he studied it closely. ‘Her blood on your hands, warm and thick like oil paint. Did you taste it – put your bloodied fingers to your lips and taste it? Did the smell of it remind you of warm copper? Was it all too much – did it set your body on fire?’ His eyes darted among the photographs lying on his desk. ‘You’d have had a bag to carry the things you needed. Something everyday that wouldn’t be noticed. A backpack?’ He swapped the photograph he was holding for a pen and scribbled a reminder to himself on his notepad to look for someone carrying a bag when checking CCTV. It wasn’t much, but any filter would help when it came to searching through hours and hours of footage.
Again he returned to the crime scene pictures, his head in his hands to help shut out the rest of the world and intensify his concentration. ‘How are you selecting them?’ he asked the killer as if he was interviewing him in person. ‘What draws you to them? They were both young. Vulnerable. Perhaps you thought they wouldn’t be missed?’ He thought silently for a few seconds then broke off, shaking his head with frustration. His questions weren’t getting him anywhere. ‘No,’ he corrected himself. ‘These were all matters of convenience, nothing more. Something else must have drawn you to them in particular – what was it?’ Again he pondered in silence. ‘Richards was female and still reasonably attractive, whereas Dalton was male and showing the effects of crack addiction. They have no obvious similarities, so …’ He squinted his eyes and allowed the answer to come. ‘You weren’t drawn to them,’ he concluded. ‘There was nothing about them that drew you, other than the fact that they were convenient. That’s all you were looking for, wasn’t it? For them to be vulnerable and convenient. That’s all you needed. But when will you want more? When will you feel confident enough to move on to bigger and better things?’
After allowing himself a few minutes for his thoughts to settle, he tried. ‘So you were looking for convenience, but how did you find them? How did you find Tanya Richards and William Dalton? Did you know them?’ He considered it briefly but dismissed the idea. ‘No, I don’t think so. How then? Did you see them while you were going about your normal life and decide they would be the ones? Did you then watch them – follow them – learn everything about them and then kill them?’ Again he considered his own question. ‘No. Why invest the time in watching and following them? Why increase the risk of being noticed? No,’ he told himself. ‘You knew where to look for people like Tanya and William so you just cruised the streets until you found them, didn’t you? Then all you had to do was follow them until a chance came your way. You trailed Tanya until you saw the alley and took the opportunity to drag her in there. Dalton was even better. He led you to his makeshift home, all hidden away and quiet and dark. I bet you couldn’t believe your luck, could you? Finally you could be properly alone with someone and live out all your dreams without having to constantly look over your shoulder. You think you’re so clever, don’t you? Striking like lightning – keeping your knife and whatever else you need with you, so there’s no need for preparation – waiting, hoping for the chance to kill. There’s no connection between you and the victims or their lives – only their deaths. Well,’ he warned the man he hunted, ‘I’m going to find you anyway.’
A loud knock on his doorframe made him look up to see Sally standing at the entrance.
‘What is it?’
‘I’ve got an update for you, on Dalton’s lifestyle.’
‘Can it wait?’ Sean replied, loading his pockets. ‘I need to be somewhere.’
‘I suppose,’ Sally shrugged. ‘Where is it you need to be in such a hurry?’
