The Safe Word

by Karen Long

  “Right! Who owns this dog?” said Samuelson quietly.

  “I do sir,” replied Laurence unhappily.

  “Why is Timms looking after it then?”

  Timms glared angrily at Laurence.

  “I forgot to collect him from the office. It’s my fault and Timms was doing right by the dog,” answered Laurence quietly.

  “Ok then. I’ve got bodies on slabs and two of them are cops. You don’t look for points of contention amongst yourselves understand?” Samuelson looked pointedly at Timms and Laurence. “You can’t manage him, take him down to k9,” said Samuelson stroking Monster’s head. “Now we work!”

  Everyone settled down round the table, Monster crept underneath, nuzzling his head against Laurence’s feet.

  “Ruby carry on please,” said Eleanor. “You were telling us how he lives?”

  “He believes himself to be an artist and as such he will occupy a studio of some description. Possibly an old warehouse, somewhere he won’t be disturbed by landlords or other people.”

  “So disused is likely?” asked Eleanor.

  “I’d say so. It’s unlikely that he steals his food and possible that he sells his art locally but informally, maybe in a local market place but I doubt he has any contact with the public. Most likely he will sell to a local dealer, very low key sales. He lives frugally and will produce his artwork in the studio,” said Ruby.

  “Is that where he murders the women?” asked Samuelson.

  “Yes, he won’t think of it as murder. He’s creating Art,” she replied.

  “How the fuck do you know all this then?” snorted Timms.

  Ruby carefully placed the crime scene photographs of Carin, Lydia and Cassandra next to each other and then arranged those of Paget and Ellis underneath. “You have already linked the murder victims’ appearance in death to that of his sister, Carin. We know that he was considered able artistically and has displayed his victims in a manner that not only reproduces the death scene of Carin but is enhanced and celebratory. His ability to utilise the two dead officers into his…”

  Timms let out a growl, his cheeks turning red. “Utilise?” he intoned dangerously.

  “I did not mean disrespect to the two fallen officers,” said Ruby, flustered. “I cannot let my emotions or partiality affect my analysis of the suspect’s way of thinking.”

  Timms set his jaw and leaned back in his seat.

  Ruby paused, cleared her throat and continued nervously. “I believe he would have been unhappy with the final appearance of Cassandra Willis due to her decapitation. I would also suggest that…” her voice dropped to slightly above a whisper, “…the two officers would have been unharmed and allowed to view Cassandra if her neck hadn’t broken.” She cast a quick glance in Timms’ direction and hurried on. “But by killing the officers and making them appear as if they were kneeling in a sort of spiritual wonderment, he told us how we are to perceive his art.”

  Eleanor nodded in agreement. “Do you think he’s been to an art college and if so where?”

  “He may have enrolled but would have found it difficult to take instructions on how to paint or sculpt. I doubt he would have lasted very long, probably a matter of months and as to where I really can’t say. He disappeared for twenty years, which makes it difficult to imagine how he’d manage that if he were still in the vicinity. Most likely he went to another city and lived on the periphery, possibly surviving by selling his work. He has a rich and satisfying fantasy existence and is unlikely to be inconvenienced by any physical deprivation.”

  “These are all ‘pie in the sky’ suppositions!” snapped Timms, “What fucking good is it? We need to work on facts. Detecting.”

  “That is your job. Mine is to study how minds work – lots of minds, from the normal to the deranged – and by doing that and comparing responses from thousands of subjects we can see patterns. Your killer is insane and every response you take for granted in a normal human being is absent from his thoughts. He feels no empathy, yet is awash with feelings of love. He believes he acts for the higher good but lives in what we’d consider to be a moral vacuum. He has not finished killing women yet and if there’s any way that a psychological profile can help capture him then it’s your duty to hear me out.” Ruby Delaware fell silent, her lips pursed with indignation.

  Timms leaned towards her and spoke slowly, “Well it depends on how much of this psychological profile has just been blasted out of your ass.”

  “Timms!” bellowed Samuelson.

  “Just sayin’ is all,” shrugged Timms sinking back into his seat.

  “I do not ‘blast profiles out of my ass’ detective,” she said gathering her possessions together and shoving them into her handbag. “I leave that to others!” Ruby stared pointedly at Timms and left the room.

  Samuelson looked as if he was about to tear a strip off Timms but a call from the DA postponed it.

  “Well handled Timms; diplomacy in action,” said Eleanor with irritation. She fell silent for a moment, staring at the photographs arranged on the table. “Saturate the city with his name, details and Lucy’s sketch. Someone will have seen something. He needs to know we’re closing in on him. Put him on the back foot.” She looked around the table and noted the nods of agreement. “If Ruby’s right and he’s selling art then let’s get out there and find dealers. Johnson?” she asked.

  “No problem,” he responded.

  “Timms, I want the warehouse district covering. If he’s got a studio of some description then we need to find it. Catch up with Smith and get him onto it as well. Get onto Susan Cheung and find out if there’s any forensic evidence that can narrow down where the women were killed.”

  Timms nodded, “Wadesky’s gone to pick up Mo. She should be about fifteen.”

  Eleanor smiled “Good. They can co-ordinate the press coverage on Hughes. Johnson we got any lead on the car that he used to pick up Cassandra Willis?”

  “Nothing. Without the plates we’re still trawling types. No company or individual has reported a car as missing. I’ve got guys running it now and will keep you posted. Ballistics are still processing.”

  “How is he this good? I mean, how can a guy murder this many people in such a short amount of time and not leave a trail?” asked Laurence.

  “He leaves a trail. We’ve just not hit the right spot yet.” said Eleanor quietly.

  “Well how the hell are we going to hit it then?” he said more aggressively than he’d meant to.

  Eleanor paused. “He’s a lone predator, we’re not. We work the case methodically, unemotionally and hunt him as a pack. He’s left his marks out there; we have to find them and follow them. He will be caught.”

  Laurence looked at her hard. Her lips were tightly drawn and a flush of colour on her high cheekbones was the only indication of her anger. For a brief moment he considered her beautiful. “So where do we start?”

  “With the only person who can link us with Lee Hughes,” she answered briskly, rising to her feet.

  “Cindy?” Laurence said following her out of the room.

  “Carin,” Eleanor replied.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Sergeant Andy Harrison was not happy, he’d ignored the demands of his wife, doctor and therapist and returned to work the day after finding Ellis and Paget, despite alarmingly raised blood pressure and the sort of heartburn he generally only experienced at Christmas and when his daughter returned home from college. He’d taken the phone call from the outraged Mr Chen half an hour earlier and still couldn’t work out whether a crime had been committed or not and if it had, whether he gave a shit or not. The gist of the conversation, as far as Harrison could ascertain, was that Mr Chen had returned from a three-week business trip early only to discover that his brand new black Mercedes had been stolen and then brought back in a less than clean state, sometime before his return last night. Mr Chen wanted an immediate investigation into this outrage and would expect detectives and crime scene officers imminently. Harr
ison felt like binning the sheet he’d written the details on but something was troubling him. Who the fuck, other than one of Mr Chen’s children, would have taken a car and then taken the trouble to return it? Mr Chen had assured him that both of his teenage children were in Beijing visiting relatives. He could do with moving his bones around so he took the stairs up to Homicide if for no better reason than the coffee was better up there.

  “Hey buddy, pour me a cup!” yelled Timms seeing Andy at the coffee machine and meandering over. “And what do we owe this honour to?” he said thrusting out his mug.

  “I get this call from some pissy guy saying his car’s been stolen and then brought back and parked in his spot. Guy’s pretty riled but there’s nothing missing just half a tank of diesel.”

  Timms wrinkled his forehead and frowned. “Perps borrowing rather than stealing don’t sound kosher to me. His kids?”

  “No. It’s a black Mercedes saloon. Brand new.”

  Timms thought for a moment and then bellowed across the room, “Johnson, we got any leads on the car that picked up Cassandra Willis?”

  “Nothing yet,” he replied.

  “Well we have now.” Timms turned back to Andy. “Fancy accompanying me on a little trip to visit the sorely abused Mr Chen?”

  “Why the hell not?” replied Andy downing his coffee.

  Mr Chen, despite his diminutive size, was making a great deal of noise. Timms left him with Harrison while he used his torch to peer into the car. The car had been parked, a little haphazardly, in an allocated spot in a three-level underground private car park.

  “Ask him where he left his keys,” said Timms slipping on a pair of latex gloves.

  “In the ignition,” sighed Andy.

  “Tell Mr Chen that invalidates his insurance and not having valid insurance is a crime in this state.”

  Andy smiled and conveyed this news to Mr Chen who stopped talking and let his mouth drop open in astonishment.

  “Ok, Mr Chen we are taking this matter very seriously and crime scene officers are on their way. I’d be real grateful if you’d head up to your apartment now and wait to be contacted by one of my colleagues,” said Timms.

  Still reeling from the news regarding his insurance Mr Chen bowed slightly and departed hurriedly.

  “So, leaving your keys in the ignition, that’s a Chinese thing?” Timms asked Susan Cheung half an hour later as she began to process the car.

  “Yeah, that’s right. Every single Chinese guy this side of the yellow river leaves his keys in the car,” she replied.

  “You yanking my bell?”

  Susan Cheung sighed. “Yeah Timms. How the fuck would I know what every Chinese guy does with his keys?”

  “I dunno but you guys believe in all this year of the dragon type shit. Maybe you can tell…”

  “How the hell did you become a detective?” she asked despairingly as she carefully opened the trunk to reveal a length of rope and a new set of bolt cutters.

  “Charm and dedication, that’s how. Shall we get this puppy down to the lab?” he asked looking over her shoulder.

  “You read my mind Detective Timms.”

  “Ok, this is the bottom line,” sighed Marty Samuelson after ending the call. Eleanor stood three feet away from him her face reflecting the sigh.

  “The bottom line?” she said grimly.

  “Heidlmann won’t even bother putting a request for an exhumation order in front of the judge. He says it’s a waste of time.”

  “Does he? A waste of whose time? His?” she snapped.

  “He’s got a point. He says we haven’t got sufficient evidence and in five years only two exhumations have been authorised out of thirteen requests. More relevant is the fact that it could take anything up to three weeks to get a response from a judge. After all, the dead can wait,” said Samuelson. “You need to set another trap.” With that he waved a hand and disappeared into his office closing the door firmly.

  “Shit,” said Laurence.

  “All is not lost. Is Claddis McAvoy still in custody?” asked Eleanor.

  “As far as I know,” replied Laurence.

  Claddis McAvoy had spent most of his relatively short period of incarceration pacing and sulking. So when Eleanor and Laurence arrived with a steaming coffee and box of donuts, Claddis eschewed his natural suspicions and looked ready to agree to anything.

  “Listen guys, I know how pissed you are with this whole thing but I have never been critical of this department; never. How was I to know that you were going to take things so far? I mean…”

  “I’ve heard the DA is looking to go for a custodial sentence Claddis. That’s a bit far in my opinion but he’s mad as hell at this stunt,” said Eleanor shaking her head in disbelief.

  “Whaaat?” stammered Claddis the colour draining from his face. “You can’t be serious!”

  “He’s looking for an example to be made, Claddis, and your antic kinda did for him,” said Laurence.

  “Maybe your bosses will get you a good defence lawyer?” said Eleanor with appropriate sympathy.

  Claddis looked miserable, “Yeah… maybe.”

  “You didn’t run this stunt past them did you? And now they’re pissed with you for stepping outside their remit,” pointed out Eleanor.

  “And for besmirching their good name,” piped in Laurence.

  “Besmirching?” sniggered Claddis. “I gotta use that word! Look, I fucked up ’cos I got caught with grubby fingers. No-one gives a shit about that provided you don’t get caught.”

  “Well you did get caught and we are here to offer you a way to get out and have first interview with the lead detective when the case is closed,” offered Eleanor.

  Claddis narrowed his eyes. “Oh yeah? And what do I have to do for this?”

  “A little bit more of what you’re good at,” said Eleanor quietly, leaning towards him. “We want you to create a little scenario with us that will draw our murderer out of the woodwork. We’ll even give you his name.”

  Claddis stopped chewing, his eyes glittering with excitement. “Go on.”

  “We’re going to set up an exhumation and you’re going to run it as kosher,” said Eleanor.

  Claddis swallowed and flicked his eyes from one detective to the other. “It’s not a real exhumation but you want me to write an article saying that it is? Is that right?”

  “That’s it.”

  “You’ve got no authority to do this? And you want me to publish an article making out that it is real?” He shook his head in disbelief.

  “That’s the measure of it. We’ll set up the dig and furnish you with a couple of photo opportunities.”

  “I’ll lose my job for that,” Claddis said flatly. “I’ll take this DA shit and smooth it over with my editor. Thanks though!” He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms.

  “Ok, your call,” said Eleanor as she and Laurence got to their feet. “But remember, you’d be directly helping in the capture of the city’s most dangerous serial killer and undoing the harm to the department you caused.”

  Eleanor opened the door and was just walking into the corridor when she heard Claddis call out.

  “I get out now. All charges dropped and an exclusive interview when the case is closed.”

  She smiled at Laurence. “It’s a deal,” she called as she walked swiftly down the corridor and headed for the stairs.

  “Great idea but how the hell are you going to organise a mock exhumation? You can publish photos but surely if it’s going to flush him out we’re going to need to convince Hughes it’s for real. A tent and police tape aren’t going to cut it,” he speculated, trotting after her.

  “You’re right. We’re going to need at least the loan of a coroner’s van. We can stick Timms and Smith in a couple of white suits and then place spotters and hire a digger. But without the van we’re not fooling anyone.” Eleanor stopped on the stairs and stared at Laurence. “You’re going to call in a favour from your buddy Matt and get a van loan f
rom the med examiner’s office.”

  “You’re kidding…right?”

  “Come on!” groaned Wadesky.

  “Done!” said Johnson calmly as he finished the calculation. “If, as we believe from Mr Chen, the tank had been filled to the brim when he left it then it should have been carrying approximately thirteen gallons of diesel. The remainder is hitting slightly under the quarter point on the dial, which gives us an approximate usage of eleven gallons. We know that the distance from Mr Chen’s apartment to the park is nine miles, that’s urban cycle so it should be averaging thirty-seven point two mpg.”

  “Jee-sus Johnson! Just give me the figures I don’t give a shit about how you got ’em,” snapped Wadesky, a pencil hovering over a foldout map of the city.

  Johnson sighed, “There are so many suppositions…” He caught sight of Wadesky’s glare. “At combined usage he could have covered about five hundred and fifty miles, which means that our radius starts from Mr Chen’s apartment –” Johnson guided her pencil stroke from the East side and measured an arc out to several miles beyond the boundary line of the city “– and stretches out towards the river. We know he had to cover this route.” He pointed out the park in relation to Mr Chen’s apartment and reduced the radius. “That takes us shy of the city boundaries and river. If, and this is the main if, he didn’t refuel.”

  Wadesky scratched her head and picked up her phone after the second ring. “Hey buddy…” She listened in silence, a wide smile beginning to spread across her face. “Fantastic! Yup, will get Johnson onto it right away.”

  “They’ve got Cassandra Willis’ fingerprints from the door handles and leather seats and…” she looked triumphantly at Mo and Johnson, “they’ve found blonde hairs from Lydia Greystein in the boot and the back seat.”

  “We can triangulate. That’s going to narrow it down considerably!” Johnson poured over the map and began to work out the area most likely to have been used by Hughes.