by James Arklie
She fell silent and frowned at the images of the women on the table, then was definite. ‘I think he enjoys the killing. But you have to look beyond that to find him. He’s not killing for the sake of killing, he’s doing it for a reason. That reason is to do with these women. There’s something else about them.’
Kline said, ‘We’re back to purpose.’
She leant forward and scraped the pictures together. ‘This is a complex one, Joe. He’s hiding something, but his ego wants to give the police a chance to find out what.’
‘Why? Why risk that?’
‘Because he thinks it, he, is being really clever. He’s pleased with himself.’
Kline listened for the ‘but’.
Cassie delivered it with a warning. ‘But there’s something more. He will give you time to find it, but if he has a purpose, there will be an agenda and he will simply carry on regardless.’
Kline voiced the question that he kept coming back to. ‘I still don’t understand. Why here? Why now? Why not one of the other countries?’
‘Because for some reason, Joe, he seems to want you as his playmate.’
*
They were in The Admiral and the talk was going in circles. Angie was perplexed.
‘But he didn’t choose you, boss. You were handed back the Evelyn Arnold case randomly. Barker just plucked it out of thin air.’
Kline sipped at a gin and tonic. He wasn’t so sure. ‘Let’s think that through. Our killer murders Audrey Waters. Same MO as Evie. He knows that as soon as I see it, I will want to get involved.’
Angie sounded suprised. ‘It was deliberate? To get to you?’
Kline searched for the word. ‘It was a trap.’
Angie frowned. ‘A trap?’ Her tone let Kline know she thought that was a little dramatic. ‘You think, he thought, you’d get handed the case. Only you’re persona non grata, so….’
‘Exactly, so I didn’t. But the back-up is the Evelyn Arnold case itself. Never solved and close and personal to me.’
Angie still wasn’t convinced. ‘But the Chief could have retired you on the spot. End of. Given both to Pete Simpson.’
‘Think about it, though. Why would Barker do that? He could come in for serious criticism, both internally and externally. A killer has just reappeared and on the same day he’s just sacked the experienced detective who investigated the previous murder.’
The light came on and Angie nodded. ‘Self-protection? The killer knew we’d have to reopen the Evelyn Arnold case and he knew you would have to be involved.’
Kline let out a short, bitter laugh. ‘And I thought Barker was being generous to an old colleague.’
‘Guess that’s the reason he’s in that seat and you’re out here, boss.’
Kline nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. The killer had given them an insight into just how clever he was and how manipulative he could be.
Angie slid her wine glass to Artie for a refill. ‘Without us knowing or realising, we’ve already been played, boss. Used, set up.’
Kline had a better, more chilling word.
For some reason, he’d been chosen.
*
Kline left them with a second bottle of Sauvignon and headed for Jenny.
He installed the spy camera; it was peeking between the legs of a bronze statue of two spinning ballerinas. Evie had given it to Jenny on her twenty-first birthday and it had lived with her and them ever since.
Kline explained the camera to Jenny. ‘Just so I can keep an eye on you, love. In case you’re cheating on me.’
He sat with her in companionable silence for a while. He couldn’t relax though because his mind kept flitting to the word, ‘de-humanise’.
In the end, he sighed. ‘Is that what I have to do, Jen, to you, to kill you? Persuade my brain you are a non-person? De-humanise the love of my life? Turn you into an object?’
Then he told her about his day. He left out the visit from the consultant as he lay being dialysed. The consultant telling him his kidney really was packing up and would give up the ghost in the next six months.
Looking at Jen, it didn’t seem that important in the scheme of things.
*
Diary entry for DI Joseph Kline
Tell me, Joe, what’s the difference between love given by a sociopath and love given by a normal man?
No, don’t answer, I have a better question. What’s the difference between sociopathic love and normal love that is twisted by circumstances?
You see where I’m coming from? That’s me and you.
Think about your day today, Joe, because twice you have exhibited sociopathic tendencies. Two young men, Joe, and your initial reaction to both was to place them into preconstructed pigeon-holes in your mind. You didn’t see them for the human beings they are.
It’s true, Joe. It’s the same as saying women are not as good as men in the workplace so we will pay them less and keep then off the board. Or anyone with a gene that gives them dark skin must also have a gene that makes them less intelligent. Supremacist comments, one male and the other white.
If someone suggested that you were guilty of those you would be on your feet and in their face in seconds. What I’m saying, Joe, is that we are all bigots in our own way and the problem is that it’s becoming a societal malaise. The white supremacist male often doesn’t even realise what they are doing or saying.
That’s the problem, we are allowing more and more of those supposedly innocuous comments to creep into everyday language and become accepted.
You think being a sociopath or a psychopath only applies to people like me because we kill. But that’s rubbish, you don’t have to take a life; you just have to ruin a life.
Anyway, Joe, I’m ranting and I digress, let’s get back to love. Think about it. Think about you and your beautiful Jenny. Because that was the third time today that you were a sociopath. Every time you look at her, every time you touch her or stroke her hair, you are denying her, you are being controlling and you are being a sociopath.
Think about your version of love, Joe, because it is a bit weird. And when you have, answer me this.
Is there really any difference between me and you?
Chapter Six
The Jehovah’s Witness was in the hallway again the following morning. This time Kline spotted him in the dim light at the back of the hallway. He was sitting on some steps which led down to the underground parking. He seemed to be reading a book, which Kline assumed was the Bible.
It was just past seven a.m. and Kline wanted to get into the office, but this morning his presence was disturbing. Kline paused, turned sharply and approached him. ‘You know you shouldn’t be in here? These are private residences.’
Kline watched him jump to his feet and snap the book shut. Kline glimpsed the title, not the bible, more like a cheap thriller. Kline squinted into the dim light and could see he was immaculately turned out; white shirt, collar and tie, jacket and slacks. Kline wondered how he could read in such dim light.
Kline continued to stare at him, using silence to make him feel uncomfortable. Kline flicked his stare to the mailboxes and back, not wanting to take his eyes off the uninvited stranger. If he hadn’t been so well dressed, Kline would have suspected him of sleeping there.
Kline indicated the mailboxes with his head. They were stuffed to full. ‘Don’t tell me there’s a new issue out already?’
That got him a half-smile and an apology. ‘I was just taking a break.’ The voice was deep, strong and didn’t seem to go with the teenager’s appearance.
Kline gave him a surprised look. ‘It’s only seven am. Must have been a long night.’
Kline reached for the nearest wad of pamphlets to check they were copies of The Watchtower. It was the same issue as yesterday.
Then it dawned on him. ‘You’re skiving.’ He laughed. ‘You’ve found a handy place to dump your day’s work and sit and read a book.’
Kline shook his head at the shocked look that had appe
ared on the young man’s face. He stood a little taller. ‘I am a true believer in Jehovah, the Ruler of the Universe, who one day will...’
Kline held up a hand. ‘I’m sure you are and I’m not here to judge you. Just to throw you out. There’s a nice coffee shop round the corner. Hide in a booth at the back with a cappuccino.’
He just looked at Kline who jerked a thumb at the entrance door and stood to one side. Kline made a mental to note to make sure that was locked at night. Time for a neighbourly note through all the doors from their policeman in residence.
As the young man passed Kline, he stopped and jerked out a hand. ‘Luke. As in the disciple.’
Kline ignored it. ‘Luke. Out.’
Kline followed him, dropping the catch with a snap and slamming the door. He watched from his car until Luke had turned the corner and then headed for the office.
Angie wasn’t in but Arthur, Artie, was waiting. There was an edge in his voice and wariness in his eyes. Kline could see that someone had also given him a good thump again. His right eye was swollen, puffy and bloodshot.
Kline knew he had to address it. He stared at the purple, half-closed eye, if Artie had a problem in his life, it either had to be sorted or they would get someone else. Kline knew that he and Angie carried enough baggage for the entire building, he didn’t want any more weighing down the team.
‘Who did that?’
‘It’s nothing.’
‘It’s everything. I’m the boss, tell me or you’re out.’ Kline could hear the aggression in his voice.
Angie appeared in the doorway over Arties shoulder. He tried not to look at her.
‘You’re either having sex with the wrong people, or you’re getting beaten because you are gay…’ Kline could see Angie was firing faces at him like one of those missile launchers. The manual probably said he wasn’t allowed to discuss, mention, insinuate anything to do with another officer’s personal life. Kline knew he may be jumping to conclusions but sod the manual.
Kline added an escape clause. ‘Or it’s something else.’
Artie stared at him with the good eye, his chin raised defiantly. Kline stared back, not caring if he was being confrontational. Angie knew when to be quiet.
Finally, Artie sniffed back something that was leaking from his nose and dabbed at it with the back of a bony hand. Kline knew that needed straightening.
‘I joined the police force to make myself a stronger person. It’s a male dominated environment. I’m a weak person. I’ve been made a weak person by a lifetime of bullying. But I am what I am, end of. I need to make myself strong. Be proud of myself, not only in my sexuality, but in…..’ He went searching for the word, then shrugged.
‘In me.’
He took a tissue from his pocket and dabbed at a nostril. ‘I thought if I stand up to it here, I can do it anywhere.’
Kline frowned at him. This kid had deliberately thrown himself into a challenging environment to prove himself to himself and to others. Kline took a step closer. Artie took half a step back, uncertainty swept across his face.
Kline was feeling his anger rise. ‘Did that happen in this building?’
‘It doesn’t matter. It’s part of my process.’
Kline took another step. ‘Fuck your process, Artie. Of course, it matters. It’s not acceptable. Period.’
Kline knew he was glaring at him like it was his fault. He crashed on through the forest anyway, not really knowing his way.
‘The world has changed. Even I’ve noticed that. You’re not some outcast with a disease. The force is not male dominated and you are due all the rights and respect of others. You’re…..’ Kline was getting lost for words and was scared of making a big mistake.
‘You’re like me, for Chrissakes.’
Artie gave Kline a tilt of the head and a half smile. ‘Well, I’m a bit different.’
‘Yes, not bloody overweight with one kidney that has thoughts of heaven.’ Kline pointed at his face.
‘I want to know who did that.’
Artie shook his head. ‘I can do this.’
Not alone, he couldn’t, thought Kline ‘If you’re being targeted, bullied….’
‘I’m okay.’
Kline made a noise and looked at Angie to let her know she could join them. He turned away to the board where a new cluster of photographs and been pinned up.
‘Tell me what you’ve found and then piss off to the doctor and get your eye looked at and that nose fixed.’
Shit, thought Kline. Why am I so angry with him? It’s not his fault.
Artie wandered across to the whiteboard, gave his nose a last wipe with a piece of tissue that he tucked up the sleeve of his jumper. He pointed at the cluster of photographs.
‘These are the cleaned-up pictures taken from the bodies of the ALICE victims.’ His swollen face broke into the semblance of a grin.
‘It’s the same woman.’
Oh, you, beauty, thought Kline. He could have hugged the weak beanpole who had the inner strength of an oak but would probably have snapped him in two.
*
The photography lab had done a great job of cleaning up the old grainy pictures, sharpening the faces and the features. It was clear to Kline that they were looking at the same woman. Angie reckoned over a period of ten to fifteen years, from teenager to late twenties.
Kline had been using a good old-fashioned magnifying glass, given to him by Jenny when he made DI. It was heavy, a brass frame round thick glass. ‘Don’t all good detectives have one?’ she’d teased.
Angie had been employing more modern techniques on her desktop, but just as a pen and paper to a writer is as good as any laptop, they had both come to the same conclusion.
Angie said, ‘All taken abroad except that one.’ She pointed at the one in Klines hand.
‘Which was taken in Cowes High Street.’
Kline looked at the woman walking down the High Street. Pale blue dress, sunglasses on top of her head. Looking vaguely Italian. She wasn’t looking at the camera.
Kline said hopefully, ‘Gives us a chance that she’s a local woman. Southampton or Isle of Wight?’
Angie had rearranged the photographs on the whiteboard, two on top, three underneath. Artie returned. He had a plaster across the bridge of his nose, a tray of Costa’s and a bowl of fruit.
Angie said. ‘In these two she’s engaged with the photographer so we can assume she knows him. But the other three have been taken without her knowledge.’
Artie was crunching into an apple. His eye was now closed. ‘Jilted boyfriend turned stalker? Can’t let her go? Jealous and following her everywhere?’
‘Or taken by two different people and he stole one set of pictures,’ suggested Angie.
She sipped her latte and looked at Artie suspiciously.
He said, ‘Soya milk. Probably better for you.’ Then added, ‘Or they all belonged to her and were stolen from her?’
‘But we still have the question of what is she doing on all the bodies?’ Kline looked into his Americano, then at Artie. ‘Caffeine, yes?’ He could see bacon rolls were going to be a challenge.
Kline picked up the nearest photograph. ‘We do the basics first. Let’s find out who she is. Artie, speak to media and get her face on the regional news bulletins, social media and so on.’
Kline selected what he thought was the most recent and studied the carefree laughter on the woman’s face. ‘She strikes me as a happy, successful, confident woman. For now, we have to assume she is still out there, older but alive.’
Kline looked between Angie and Artie. Their faces told him they doubted it..
*
Kline cornered Pete Simpson in his office. He knew he had to do the right thing and keep Pete in the loop on the Evelyn Arnold case. In return, he hoped to get easy access to the state of the investigation into the murder of Audrey Waters. Kline needed that if he was to find a link.
Kline told him about the similarities to the other murders. Simpson pu
shed back in his chair gave Kline a shallow smile. ‘Come on, Joe. You’re trying to solve murders for the rest of the world now?’ He gave a disparaging half-laugh. ‘And what is it you’ve called them? The ALICE murders? Come on, Joe.’
Kline let the comment ride over him. ‘They’re linked. Clear as day. That photograph is the clincher. Same woman on all of the bodies. All the victims lived in the UK before leaving in 1995.’
Simpson sat forward. ‘I’ll give you all the similarities, Joe, but shouldn’t you be focused on Evelyn Arnold? That’s what the boss wants from you. Isn’t that the one you want as well?’
He gave Kline a half-smile. Kline recognised this as Pete’s way of telling him not to screw up on the chance he’d been given. Was it an open secret? Did everyone in the building know about it? Or was it just that Pete had the Chief’s confidence?
Kline let his colleague know he wasn’t to be shifted. ‘The answers to Evelyn Arnold lie in the complexity of ALICE, so I have to carry on down that route.’ Kline twirled his coffee carton between his fingers, then asked, ‘Anything you can give me?’
Pete Simpson shook his head. Kline wasn’t sure if it was at his stubbornness or because there was nothing new. ‘Sod all. Knocked out in her apartment with Propofol, taken to the site where she died of her…’ He grimaced. ‘Let’s a call them ‘injuries’’.
Kline waited. Pete shrugged. ‘There’s nothing more from SOCO and nothing else for them to test. We have a white transit near her apartment in the early hours, but the plates are false and no picture of the driver.’
‘No photographs on or near the body?’ Kline was grasping for anything.