by Vanda Symon
‘Heavens, I don’t know if anyone could tackle that one with any certainty, but I’ll do my best. It was about time I emerged for oxygen, anyway. Let’s go downstairs for a drink.’ He pulled the door shut behind him and we padded down the stairs. ‘Look at that, it’s wine o’clock.’
I didn’t usually subscribe to wine as a fluid replacement after running, but after the day I’d had, I was willing to rehydrate by any means. I did give some thought to side effects though and drank a large glass of water while Uncle Phil organised the refreshments.
‘University politics is fraught with danger, what did you want to know?’ he asked as he set a couple of glasses of white on the table.
‘This relates to the murder case, so I can’t really go into specifics, but we were talking to some of Rose-Marie’s colleagues about acknowledgement of research on academic papers and that kind of thing. They were saying that in certain circumstances, a professor, or someone of high academic standing will put in a minimal contribution to the research, but be named as a main player, even if someone else has done the bulk of the work. Is that really what goes on?’
‘Hah,’ he said, with a smile. ‘A difficult area, and a very grey one. I’d love to be able to say no, that doesn’t go on and the people who do the work get the credit, but in reality, sometimes it happens.’
‘And the university doesn’t do anything about it? Surely it’s bad for their credibility?’
‘Yes and no. It’s not good for credibility among the university folk and, as you can well imagine, it can cause a lot of resentment and discontent. But when it comes to gaining international credibility and, ultimately, funding, sometimes you need a high-profile name up there to get it noticed in the first place, to get invited to the international symposia. It’s a competitive environment, and even in New Zealand, the universities compete for funding based on their research output. The government giveth, and the government taketh away, depending on your ranking each year. So it’s big bikkies really.’
‘Is it rife?’
‘No, but I have heard of several instances. Was it happening to Rosie?’
‘Yeah, looks like it. Interesting dynamics in her department. Seems she was being had in many ways. But you can be certain, we’ll get the person who did this to her, to all of them.’
‘So you think those other deaths are linked?’
Speculation had hit the newspapers, so I wasn’t breaking any confidences. ‘Looks that way.’
‘Wow, that’s serious. Do you think you’re getting close?’
‘Getting closer. The whole circus thing drew our attention in the wrong direction, I think. But we’re piecing it all together, and we’ll catch our man.’
‘Good. Someone like that needs to be put away for everyone’s safety. Does that information help?’
‘It helps me understand some of the intricacies of what was going on, so thanks. It’s almost as bad as police politics.’
‘I doubt it,’ he said, and I laughed in agreement. ‘Well, if there’s anything else I can help with, just ask. And I meant what I said earlier: if you want me to, I’ll track down the person who’s hassling you, have a word – sort it out for you.’
‘Thanks,’ I said, ‘you’re very kind, but it’s being taken care of. Hopefully that’s the last I’ll hear.’
62
‘Maggs, I need your professional opinion on something.’
It was evening. I had successfully danced the eggshell hop around my mother over dinner and something miraculous had happened. She’d managed to not say anything judgemental or guilt-inducing and I’d managed to not stick my foot in it. I’d call it a draw. She’d gone back down to the hospital to annoy Dad and the nursing staff, and I’d retired to the comfy chairs in the lounge with a mug of Milo, a packet of Toffee Pops, Fluffy the bird-slayer and Maggie. Aunty Jude was off at some committee meeting and Uncle Phil had retired to his man cave. My nod to the strange events of the day was to make sure the curtains were firmly drawn.
‘For a start,’ she said as she leaned over and swiped the biscuit packet off me, ‘my professional advice would be to ring Paul, go out on lots of dates and shag him silly, then marry him, make lots of babies and live happily ever after. I think you’re on to a good thing there, Sam. Don’t ruin it.’
The only reason I didn’t throw a cushion at her was because she had a hot drink in her hand. But I resorted to the next adult technique in my arsenal and poked out my tongue.
‘Yeah, yeah. If I wanted advice on my love life, I’d ask someone who had one.’
‘Touché. What was it you wanted to ask me again?’
‘Actually, it’s about this case. Chuck us another biscuit, please.’ One flew obligingly through the air.
‘And you think I can help you, how?’
‘I need a criminal profile.’
‘Oh, okay, no problem, hang on. I think I keep them here in my back pocket along with future lottery numbers and next week’s racing results.’
‘Sarcastic cow. I’m serious. I know you’ve only just started this psychology kick, and you’re not exactly qualified, but, without wanting it to go to your head or anything, I think you have an instinctual understanding of people, and you might see things in a different way from me.’
‘I am good, aren’t I?’ she said with a smug grin on her face.
‘You betcha baby.’
‘So why don’t you listen to me, then?’
‘That’s different.’
‘What’s it worth?’
‘You mean besides the satisfaction of helping out the police in putting a dangerous killer behind bars and avenging the deaths of so many unfortunate victims?’
‘Yeah, aside from that. Are we talking all-expenses-paid girls’ shopping trip to Melbourne, or are we talking ice cream at the corner dairy?’
‘Chocolate or hokey-pokey?’
‘I suspected as much. You better tell me all about it, then.’
So I did, starting with suspecting the boyfriend, then looking at university colleagues, then discovering the circus link and having the investigation lurch over there, the media, the protesters and the vigilantes. I couldn’t help but get teary-eyed when I talked about those who died from the circus, animal and human, and neither could she. I filled her in on the findings of those following up on the animal-rights activists, which were zip, and then Smithy’s and my visit back to the university and Rose-Marie’s colleagues again. I also told her about my theory on the ‘close-your-eyes-and-hold-out-your-hands’ thing, which made her reach for the tissues. All in all, I was so repulsed by the end of it we needed a fresh round of Milos and emptied the packet of Toffee Pops.
‘Well,’ I said. ‘What do you think?’
‘I think I wished you paid a professional instead of asking me.’
‘I’m sure the boss has been asking the professionals, but I don’t have access to that information at the moment, and I’d really appreciate your outside opinion. I feel too close to it all. You’re a step removed and can bring fresh eyes to it.’
‘Okay, then,’ Maggie said, reaching forward to deposit her mug on the coffee table before leaning back into the sofa and tapping her fingertips together like some Hollywood shrink. ‘No laughing, promise?’
‘Promise,’ I said and made the Boy Scouts sign.
‘Your killer is a very intelligent man, and I mean very, very intelligent. Look at what he’s achieved here. He’s got you guys chasing your tails and completely perplexed. At this exact moment in time he’s probably laughing. He is extremely arrogant, to go with his intelligence. He has carried out five killings and hasn’t been caught, and probably thinks he never will be. That’s a weakness to exploit, by the way.’
When I asked for her input, I was expecting a conversational opinion, not a rapid- fire, bullet-point appraisal and I was rather taken aback. Impressed, but taken aback all the same. I closed my gaping mouth and let her continue.
‘Part of what is particularly scary about this man, is
the strategy. From the outset, he planned this back catalogue of murders to cast suspicion on the circus, on the off chance someone made a connection. Now, you’d think it would have been more sensible to ensure there was absolutely no connection, so each case appeared unrelated. But he thought more globally than that, pulling the circus into his plan because of the misdirected attention it could arouse. And he succeeded with spectacular results. If Rose-Marie Bateman’s death hadn’t been linked to the circus in Dunedin, then I am certain there would have been another murder, even more violent, in the next circus town, to continue covering up the deception and, more importantly – or scarily, depending on how you see it – because he has a taste for it now. He has found a new skill; he’s discovered he’s really good at murder, and the police can’t catch him. Arrogance again. Of course, all this planning and the other murders took place while he continued to seduce his next victim. This man has no compassion, no empathy, no soul. But you would never know it if you met him because he would blend in perfectly well in the community. A high-functioning psychopath. A genius high-functioning psychopath. You need to look in the university or someone with high tertiary qualifications. You need to look for a Caucasian male, aged between thirty and fifty. Don’t look at me like that.’
‘Like what?’
‘Your mouth’s open. Anyway, I got that white-male-age thing straight off the television. But seriously, I think your guy’s at the university, and in a position of power – a tutor, lecturer or professor. He had this girl deceiving everyone to hide the relationship. It was probably inappropriate – on many levels, if he was married, and also the whole teacher–student thing is taboo. He’s probably very charming and pleasant, but underneath he’s a ruthless, cold-blooded killer who thinks that the police are useless and couldn’t catch anything right under their nose. Oh, and he must be able to travel easily without being missed or raising the suspicion of his significant other. So perhaps his work or teaching involve going away a bit.’
‘Shit, Maggie,’ I said, thinking I’d met someone recently who fit that description. ‘That was a little more detailed than I was expecting. Have you thought about making a career out of this?’
‘Although I have quite enjoyed the papers on what makes the nutters tick, to be honest, I’d find it too distressing and depressing. I like my little rose-tinted view of the world where people are kind to each other and want to be your friend. I think exposing myself to all that would be toxic. Too much for this borderline-hippy chick.’
‘You’re not wrong. Sometimes it scares me how blasé I’ve become about murder and death, and I’m far more emotional about it than my colleagues, which means some of them are hardened beyond belief. I don’t know how healthy it is.’
‘Unfortunately, there are always going to be criminals and there’s always going to be a need for police. I think you do a damned good job, Sam, and the world needs people like you. So don’t let the turkeys get you down. And for the sake of all the Rose-Marie Bateman’s and Gaby Knoweses out there, keep at it.’
‘Thanks, Maggs, you’re like my one-person cheerleading squad.’
‘Actually, there are two of us on that squad, but you won’t go out on a date with the other one.’
63
My morning had got off to a slightly better start than the previous day. The shower was hot, for starters, although Mum counteracted that with a touch of the frosty nostril at breakfast and the need to ping me. Apparently, I wasn’t visiting Dad enough, but that was a little difficult considering I seemed to be working every waking hour and I’d had a few major distractions in my life. Her presence in the room like Big Chief Thundercloud wasn’t any incentive to visit, either. But on the occasions I did, Dad and I had enjoyed the Olympic sport of eyeball rolling and eyebrow lifting behind her back. He knew how it was. They were supposed to be heading home this afternoon, so I’d pop in later.
To avoid any possibility of encountering unwanted windscreen decorations, I’d walked down to work, and hadn’t even glanced in the general direction of my car.
The morning briefing was more manic than most, even though depleted in numbers. DI Johns had marched into our office and made the announcement, ‘We’ve got another body’ only minutes after I’d arrived. Dunedin was certainly having a bad run. It wasn’t doing our image as a safe and sleepy city any favours. A team of SOCOs and detectives had immediately been formed to go to the crime scene, and I, naturally, wasn’t a part of it.
Early indications were the deceased was the victim of an assault and robbery. His body had been found this morning down Kaikorai Valley in some trees by the bowling alley car park, his wallet nearby, minus cash and credit cards. He was, according to the wallet, Cameron Ellison – although yet to be formally identified – a young man, early twenties, and although he was another student, at the polytechnic rather than university, his death didn’t seem to bear any relation to the Bateman case. A huge relief to all concerned. The last thing we needed in that investigation was another body and the associated government and media attention and demands as to what we were doing. As it was, with yet another student dying, I was sure there would be a number of parents out there having second thoughts about sending their beloved children down this way for their continued education.
The new case did leave the department rather stretched. One murder in Dunedin was rare, let alone two at the same time, let alone the whole circus fiasco, hence the reduced head count at the morning briefing.
For those of us in attendance, verbal reports confirmed what we suspected. The activist angle was a dead end. Rabid though one or two of them were, the overwhelming claim was that human life was sacrosanct, and they were devastated that animals had died as a result of the vigilante actions. In fact, they were more upset by the animal deaths, particularly Cassie’s, than the people’s. Cassie’s upset me more too, but my perspective was a little different. What I did find hard to stomach was the activists’ assertions that Cassie need not have been destroyed and the police – i.e. me – had overreacted. What the bloody hell would they know?
To my relief, the focus swiftly moved on from me to the more interesting presence of a flash, out-of-town profiler. His views made for fascinating listening, and a thumbs-up to Maggie because he said pretty much what she had, only with a little more detail as to how Mr Psychopath became Mr Psychopath: that he had a complete distain and disrespect for authority figures, most likely stemming from his relationship with his father, who probably beat, raped or psychologically abused him. Surprise, they always did.
I was quite happy sitting in the back row when a certain voice boomed out, ‘Detective Constable Shephard, what have you got to add to Dr Kitchin’s assessment?’
All the heads in the room swung around to face me and I was momentarily flummoxed. I was sure the DI wasn’t asking because he valued my opinion.
‘We need to take a closer look at Professor Simpson at the university,’ I said. He fits into a number of those categories and is the age and stature the witness from the Botanic Garden described, although his dress sense is not up to date, but it would be easy enough for someone to dress different for the occasion. He’s very intelligent and charming, but he was quite belittling to Detective Smith and I when we talked yesterday.’
‘Was there anyone else there who jumped to mind?’
I thought DI Johns slotted nicely into a number of those categories too, except the charming one, but I wasn’t going to go there. ‘Not specifically, but I’m sure there are a number of men at the university who fit that description. We should cast our net a little wider than her immediate colleagues in pharmacy and biochemistry.’
I thought of another thing Maggie had mentioned which I had been ruminating on and which no one had discussed. Well, not in front of me, anyway. ‘One thing. This man has travelled frequently to kill, so either he’s single or a loner, but this doesn’t fit the furtiveness or secrecy of Rose-Marie’s behaviour, acting like she was having an affair with someone, perhaps a marri
ed man. Unless he was able to fabricate a reason for frequent travel, so it wouldn’t seem amiss to his family. Whether that be for work, research or a hobby; or perhaps even his partner was away a lot, so these activities would have gone unnoticed.’ If the DI had thought he’d do some point scoring to my detriment, he’d failed, and I thanked Maggie under my breath.
‘Thank you, DC Shephard, that’s a good point.’ Was I imagining it or did he seem almost disappointed. I could tell from the morning’s attitude I was back on his top-ten most-hated list. I wondered what had pissed him off this time. Perhaps the wife didn’t iron his shirt right, or he hadn’t had enough coffee. Whatever it was, it was in my best interests to give him a wide berth.
‘Detective Smith, you and I are going to go and pay a visit to Professor Simpson and invite him back here for an interview. The rest of you know what you need to be doing. Get going, people.’
Smithy turned and gave me a grimace that said he knew too well what was happening, and I, with a sigh, realised my time in the loop was over and I was back to being shark bait.
64
The office was devoid of life. In fact, the whole floor seemed unusually empty. I wondered how Smithy and the DI were getting on convincing the professor he needed to come in for a little chat. Somehow, I could see a warrant in their immediate future.
Seeing as I was effectively grounded, my morning had been spent going over dates of the killings. What Maggie said had got me thinking. All the murders had occurred near enough to a weekend. Friday, Saturday, Sunday and one discovered on Monday, but could have happened earlier. All of which supported the idea that the perpetrator had a day job and his weekends were free. There must have been a bit of flexibility in his job, so he could travel legitimately, or unnoticed. As far as I was aware, most university staff had relatively flexible hours, unless they had a high teaching load.
I checked my watch. It was 10.45 a.m. There was no one here to notice if I popped down to the hospital to see Dad before they discharged him. I thought I’d text Mum and see what she was up to, so reached for my cellphone before realising it was a bit difficult to text someone when they didn’t have a mobile. Someone needed to introduce that woman to the twenty-first century. My screen indicated I’d missed a call and there was a message. Must have come through when I was in the meeting this morning. I scrolled down and saw it came from Paul. My belly gave a pleasant little lurch at the sight of the name, but my head overrode it. He was probably trying to arrange lunch or something. I was tempted not to listen to the message and plead ignorance but decided that was a bit too lily-livered. Grown-up girls were supposed to be able to deal with a problem, even if they couldn’t figure out why it was such a problem.