Callum was watching me as he sipped his coffee.
‘Human beings are habitual,’ I said. ‘Some more than others, but for a serial killer, it’s a trait they use to their advantage. If their prey is predictable, then it makes the hunt even easier. Like a predator staking out a watering hole.’
I ran a hand across my tired eyes, feeling suddenly unaccountably depressed by the premeditated cruelty.
‘He probably watched several women over a period of time. To see whether any matched his victimology or lived, worked or frequented the shops near number twenty-nine. Anne just made it easy by having a routine that took her to his killing ground every day.’ I looked up into those blue eyes, studying me in silence. ‘How did he get her into the backyard?’
He shrugged, slowly shaking his head. ‘The team are checking the CCTV. In addition to the mobile units, there are cameras in the street and around some of the shops. So we’ll go through all of those to see how the hell he got down there without being seen.’
He started to shrug on his jacket.
‘I’ve got to get back down there. I’ll arrange a car to get you back home. I’ll let you know what we come up with. What are your plans?’
‘Jen’s coming up to the farm later. I’ve got a presentation to give up in Newcastle tomorrow. I’ll be doing final prep for that.’
He walked me out into the corridor.
‘Well, keep out of trouble. Let me know if anything occurs to you that might help.’ He turned, almost as an afterthought. ‘Oh and you might as well know, the media are all over it now. Hoyle’s appointed a dedicated press officer to handle all the incoming information requests, so you might get calls.’
I groaned inwardly. Great, that’s all I needed.
9 September
Kingsberry Farm
I’d switched off my phones. After what Callum said, I wasn’t taking any chances on press intrusion today.
On her way up to the farm, Jen had called to say that reporters were staking out the Fordley practice. She’d been on her way there to pick up my presentation for the conference, but carried on driving when she’d seen the press pack camped outside.
‘By the way,’ she said, shuffling paperwork. ‘The bill’s come in from Fosters in Manchester, for James’s time at Fordley Police Station.’
‘Dare I ask what the damage is?’
‘Don’t worry – you’ve got enough in the business to pay for it. Besides,’ she said, as she looked at me over the top of her glasses, ‘it was money well spent if you ask me. That man is worth his weight in gold. I’m so glad he was on call that day and we got him instead of some junior fee earner. Sent a well-deserved warning shot over Taylor-Caine’s scrawny bows.’
I couldn’t argue with that one.
She dropped my notes onto the kitchen table.
‘Everything you need is there, but I couldn’t chance calling at the office, so hope you’ve got copies of your presentation?’
I sipped my tea, watching her over the rim of my mug as she organised my notes.
‘When you called, I accessed the server in Fordley and pulled down a copy. I’d only made a couple of changes, so it’ll be more or less right.’
She eyed me impatiently as she clipped my papers together. ‘You should back up everything you do here with the office server. That way everything’s current.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Give me a break, Jen. A few years ago, until Marissa’s techie gave me a crash course, I didn’t even known what remote access was!’
I took a hurried gulp of tea, realising the time as I stuffed the notes into my briefcase with my laptop presentation.
‘Hmm, if your publisher had been local, we’d never have dragged you into the twenty-first century! Should thank her techie someday.’
She was right, I had to admit it. Marissa had been the one to make me embrace remote technology, albeit reluctantly.
‘Which reminds me,’ she carried on as she handed me my jacket as I headed for the door, ‘Marissa needs confirmation of the date for the new book signing. Can you call her today?’
‘Yep.’ I leaned in to give her a peck on the cheek. ‘Sure you’ll be okay here with Harvey till I get back?’
She pushed Harvey behind her with her foot as she ushered me out the door. ‘We’ll be fine. Babysitting Harvey is a breeze after my grandchildren. He’s better house-trained for a start!’
She waved me off in the rear-view mirror as I crunched down the gravel driveway, already dialling Marissa before I lost the signal across the moors.
‘So you’re okay for the date in December, then?’ she was saying, as I navigated my way around a flock of sheep.
‘No problem. Oh by the way, Jen said to thank your techie guy for dragging me into the technological age.’
She laughed. ‘Don’t have Paul any more. He’s left me to set up on his own.’
‘Shame.’ I meant it – he’d had the patience of a saint.
‘Anyway, good luck in Newcastle. Not that you’ll need it. I’ve given access to the Newcastle Herald, by the way. They’re sending a reporter to cover the event.’
I groaned. ‘The press have hardly been friendly lately!’
‘I know, I know, but this one’s tame, I promise. The journalist’s a friend of mine and they’ve promised not to mention the towpath fiasco. This’ll kick over the traces. Give us a springboard into good publicity for the book launch. Trust me!’
Why did my heart sink every time anyone said, ‘Trust me’?
The speaking engagement at St James’s Park stadium in Newcastle had been booked for over a year and it was an annual event I looked forward to. The audience comprised mainly of criminology graduates and students, with a smattering of interested parties from police forces around the country.
I’d been booked to lecture on victim selection – the non-verbal signals people inadvertently sent to a predator that marked them out as vulnerable. I enjoyed mixing with like-minded people, so it was shaping up to be a good day. Not least because it took me temporarily away from Fordley and the suffocating immersion in Jack’s monstrous mind. I just hoped Marissa had done enough to ensure the press didn’t use it as an arena to bait me in.
‘Jo, good to see you again!’
Darrell, the event’s organiser, shook my hand enthusiastically. His slender fingers flashed purple nail polish. His genuine grin was, as always, as wide as a mile. I grinned back. His energy was always infectious and reminded me why this job was one of the highlights of my calendar.
‘Everything you need is in the room back here.’ He ushered me down the corridor, linking his arm with mine. Like a couple of girly friends reunited after too long. ‘Refreshments served in the corporate box just on the right when you’re ready.’
His tone was almost sing-song. He took my briefcase and set it on the table in the private room he’d set aside for me. ‘You’re on from ten till twelve, sweetie. Then thirty minutes’ Q&A before we break for lunch.’ That beaming smile again. ‘Marissa’s had your books delivered, so I’ll get those set up in the main reception and you’re down to do book signings this afternoon. Is that all okay, my darling?’ His gestures were big and dramatic – a legacy of the drag act he’d made legendary in the LGBT nightclubs when he wasn’t working the day job.
‘That’s great, thanks.’ I hesitated before asking, ‘What about the press?’
His smile melted away. ‘Oh yes, sweet pea, they’ve really been a bunch of bastards to you lately, haven’t they? Don’t you worry, they won’t maul you here, not on my watch. Besides, the guy from the Herald is okay. He’s done stuff for me before.’ He guided me into the corridor and along to the corporate boxes that overlooked the pitch. ‘I’ve arranged for him to meet with you for a quick interview, just before the book signing. I’ve reserved seats on the front row for his photographer. He’ll get some pictures of your presentation to use on the website. Now then, lovely, let’s get your mandatory cup of tea. You must be parched.’
I gla
nced down at the illuminated clock face nestled between the footlights. It read 12pm precisely. Perfect timing. I ended my talk and clicked onto the Q&A slide.
‘Any questions?’
The pause that followed gave me just enough time to take a sip of water and cast an eye over the audience.
Just before the lights went down, I’d watched the hall fill steadily until only the seat reserved for the photographer remained empty. But halfway through, the door at the back opened and a figure had crept through the darkness and taken up the space, so I knew I had a full house.
A hand was raised towards the back. ‘Is there a cure for psychopathy?’
‘Psychopathic personality may be hardwired from birth or influenced by the environment. Each individual is different and it depends on how much of the psychopathic personality is nature and how much is nurture. But once an individual reaches adulthood with these traits, I don’t personally believe there is a cure.’
I took another sip of water. ‘But you are all aware that not all psychopaths satisfy their need for narcissistic control by committing murder? Thankfully, that’s just a small percentage. I’ve encountered far more psychopaths in business than in prison. They’ve obviously worked out the financial package is far better there!’
A ripple of laughter went round the room before I took the next question from a young female student.
‘What’s the best piece of advice you could give to someone who finds themselves confronted by a violent offender?’
‘You mean apart from “run like hell”?’ I said, half-jokingly. There was laughter in the room. ‘Well, if you’re like me and not built for running, I would say never let yourself be moved from crime scene A to crime scene B. Crime scene A is usually opportune. It’s where the offender has to intercept his victim and it’s usually not the perfect location. They have to run that risk. But crime scene B will have been prepared. It will most likely be secluded and away from any source of help for the victim. Definitely not a good place to find yourself.’
‘But offenders often threaten their victim,’ another girl in the audience said. ‘So if they jump into your car and threaten to stab you if you don’t drive to another location, what you would do then?’
‘If it was me, I’d tell them to get on with it!’
‘Seriously?’
I nodded.
‘Absolutely! Because whatever they threaten you with at crime scene A, will be one hundred times worse when they get you to crime scene B. So you might as well get it over with. Chances are they won’t take the risk in an imperfect location like the abduction site. There are too many variables they’re not in control of. Remember, like any predator, the two things they fear most are getting caught or getting hurt. In this initial contact, the risks of both are highest. So in many cases where the victim has challenged the offender, they’ve fled. It’s a tactic worth trying because compliance at this stage is only going to put you in a worse position.’
‘And if they call your bluff?’ the girl persisted.
‘Then you’re no worse off than you would have been if you’d allowed them to control you and move you. Probably the best of a bad situation.’
The clock read 12.10pm.
I noticed the dark silhouette of the photographer get up from his seat and go out of the door at the back just as the lights were slowly being brought up.
Darrell moved forward to thank me and the audience broke into enthusiastic applause.
‘Jo, this is David from the Herald.’ Darrell made the introductions as I waited for the book signing. I shook the journalist’s hand.
He took a seat. ‘I’ll start with a few interview questions, if you don’t mind?’
Darrell was hovering just over his shoulder, looking agitated.
He glanced at me, then back to David. ‘Where’s your photographer?’
David frowned up at him. ‘Photographer? I don’t have a photographer.’
Darrell looked at me bemused, then a wave of nausea swept through me as realisation dawned.
9 September
A1 southbound
‘It’s not a crime to blag a seat at an event by posing as a photographer,’ Callum said, down the phone. ‘But I take your point.’
My point had been that someone had gone to the trouble of ringing Darrell, posing as a photographer. Someone who knew the journalist would be there, unaccompanied. He’d arrived after the lights had gone down and left before they came back up again, making sure no one got a look at him. Why would anyone do that?
‘Did Darrell get a look at him?’ Callum asked, as I negotiated traffic along the A1 South.
‘No, they only spoke over the phone. I talked to the receptionist but she was on her break once the session started, so there was no one in the foyer when he came in.’
‘I’ll get Northumbria police to check the CCTV and see if we can get a look at him.’ I could feel his hesitation as the pause lengthened. ‘It’s really shaken you, hasn’t it?’
My turn to hesitate as I checked in with myself. Had it shaken me?
‘Unnerved me maybe.’
‘Why?’ His tone was curious. ‘It could be someone just wanting a free seat in a seminar.’
‘You’re right,’ I sighed, wearily, even though I knew I didn’t believe that. ‘But I can’t shake the feeling it was him.’
There. I’d said it out loud. Somehow hearing it made me feel worse, not better.
‘So let’s say you’re right,’ he said. ‘Why would he risk it? He didn’t confront you, there were no threats–’
‘I know,’ I interrupted, feeling foolish but unconvinced. ‘It’s just a feeling. But if I’m right, there’s a chance he’s been caught on camera.’
‘Okay. I’ll look into it.’
He paused and I could feel a shift away from the subject of my shadowy audience member.
‘Just to let you know, Hoyle’s briefing the assistant chief constable every day and the team’s working round the clock.’
‘Any developments?’
‘I took your advice about him staking out Hanbury Street on the run up to the murder. He’d have to watch the comings and goings to select his next victim. So I’ve had a team checking CCTV to see if we can spot him in the area. Nothing. But we got a break with CCTV from one of the rented houses overlooking the back of the shop on the night. When we piece it together, our man appears to come from the direction of the university. It shows Anne going down the passageway after leaving the shop, and he pulls her backwards into the yard from the alley.’
‘So you’ve got him on camera?’ I could hear the hope in my voice.
‘Of sorts,’ he said. ‘It’s not the best quality. Plus he’s wearing a hoodie and his face is covered, so not great. The techies are trying to enhance it.’
‘Well, if he’s on camera at the stadium today,’ I said, ‘that plus your footage might be enough.’
‘If it was him today.’
‘If it was,’ I conceded, certain now that it had been.
The A1 was quiet and my mind was drifting as I did eighty on the empty dual carriageway. To my left, the lights from Catterick Garrison lit up a pale crimson sky in an otherwise dark landscape. I’d be back home in the small hours.
Suddenly a call coming through on my mobile cut off the radio, making me jump.
‘McCready,’ I answered, automatically.
‘Doctor.’
The familiar robotic voice made my stomach lurch and sent prickles across my scalp.
‘Jack.’ The pseudonym was out before I could check myself. ‘Or is it John?’ I added, quickly.
The robotic chuckle was eerie in the dark, isolated interior of my car.
‘Telling you that would take the fun out of the game now, wouldn’t it?’
I had to keep him talking. I was still doing eighty along a mercifully empty road. I made myself slow down, scanning the roadside for a pull-in point as I tried to think.
‘Are you enjoying my work?’
; ‘“Enjoy” wouldn’t be the word I’d use.’
I finally pulled into a dark lay-by.
‘But you’re an interesting study,’ I said, deciding to use the strategy I’d planned if he called again.
‘You’ll have a lot more material to study as we play our game. I’m so glad I have you to share it with this time,’ he whispered, intimately.
‘It was you at the stadium today, wasn’t it?’ I chanced. ‘You should have introduced yourself instead of skulking about in the shadows.’
‘I hope you liked the picture of Annie?’ He pointedly ignored my question.
‘About that,’ I decided to go along, ‘why did you choose her?’
He laughed. A metallic, harsh sound that grated.
‘She chose me.’ He sounded triumphant. ‘Like they all do… they’re born to be prey. Cattle for slaughter.’
‘Is that how you see them, John?’ I chose the name deliberately.
‘Jack!’ He almost spat the word, raising his voice. Irritated as I’d hoped he would be.
‘I’m sorry,’ I said, insincerely. ‘I’m forgetting. There are two of you, aren’t there?’
There was a long pause. I let it ride to see what happened. He didn’t speak so I pressed the advantage I felt I had. ‘That’s why you have to disguise your voice, isn’t it? You’re not Martha’s fractured alter ego, are you, John?’
His laugh was unamused. There was an unmistakeable undercurrent of anger. As I’d intended.
The Murder Mile Page 17