The Hanging Time

by Bilinda P Sheehan

  “How do you figure that out? They spend all their time dressed in black and hanging out in cemeteries.”

  “They’re accustomed to people looking at them like they’re outsiders. To them it’s nothing new but what makes them happier is the fact that they’ve embraced what makes them unique. They’re not so much concerned with fitting in and so it removes some inhibitions that the rest of us struggle against.”

  Drew rolled his eyes. “I’d like to be happier, doesn’t mean I’m going to embrace my inner goth.”

  Harriet returned her attention to the image in front of her. “It’s not unusual for teens to embrace being different. Generally, those who are already considered outsiders find it easier to slip into that role.”

  “But does this look like a kid who was an outsider to you?” Harriet lifted the picture and held it aloft so Drew could look at it.

  “Not to mention Sian. According to the file you supplied me with she had lots of friends, did well in school, although in more recent months her grades had started to slip.”

  “Her boyfriend Aidan Wilson moved in the same social circle as Sian. They were both pretty popular in school according to the teachers we spoke to.”

  “Did you speak to Sian after Aidan’s death?” Harriet asked, glancing up hopefully in Drew’s direction.

  “We wanted to, but her parents said she was in no fit state and the DCI agreed. Gregson said we were just upsetting an already broken community.”

  Harriet sighed; it would have been helpful to read through a statement written in Sian’s own words, it would have at least given some insight into her mindset.

  She returned her attention to the papers, sorting through the statements she scanned the documents as quickly as possible. Once she had the copies, she needed she could review it all in her own time.

  Although, if she was correct, then whoever had killed Sian and the other two boys would be at that moment hunting for another victim.

  “How long between each death?”

  “Pardon?”

  “How much time passed between each death?”

  “Eight weeks between Jack and Aidan and three weeks from Aidan’s death to Sian’s,” Drew said. “He’s escalating.”

  “It certainly looks that way.”

  “Well why would he do that?”

  “Killing Jack gave him a thrill. The initial rush would have been intoxicating. He probably re-lived the crime over and over.” Harriet paused and closed her eyes, imagining the person responsible. He would take trophies. It wouldn’t be enough to just re-live the memory. The killer would need something tangible. “Do you know if anything was taken?”

  Drew shook his head. “Not that we’re aware of but then again once the coroner decided it was a suicide in Jack’s case, it kind of shut everything down.”

  “Well what about Aidan, was there anything missing there?”

  Again, Drew shook his head and Harriet tried to keep her frustration in check. She couldn’t blame him, not when he had tried so hard to keep the cases open and going.

  “Well, I’ll go over the case files for the first two and any discrepancies I find we should follow them up with the families. We might get lucky. We should probably follow up with the families anyway. Some time has passed and if there was anything missing then they’re bound to have noticed it by now.”

  “So he’s escalating because he’s looking for bigger thrills?”

  “He probably tried to recreate the initial thrill again with Aidan but it’s never as good the second go around.”

  “Why not?”

  “You can never recreate your first time. Those emotions and experiences are a one and done deal.” Noting the look of consternation on Drew’s face caused Harriet to continue. “When you taste chocolate for the first time, that experience is catalogued by your brain and you spend the rest of your time trying to recreate the experience with every subsequent bar. It’s the same when you read a book for the first time. When you go back for a re-read you already know the thrills and twists before you get to them. You’re anticipating it before it ever happens and that dampens your excitement whether you want it to or not.”

  “Killing another human being is more complicated than just reading a book twice, though,” Drew said, dropping into the seat opposite her.

  “Of course, but not everyone is capable of planning and carrying out a cold-blooded killing of another human being. I merely used the analogy of reading an exciting book for the first time as something you could relate to.”

  “And with Sian what did our guy get by killing her?”

  “Probably much the same. The killer will keep trying to recreate that one perfect moment he experienced when he took Jack’s life; like an addict chasing his next high. He won’t stop until someone puts a stop to him.”

  “A serial killer then,” Drew said, his expression unreadable.

  “He exerts the ultimate control over his victims. Takes the most vulnerable and for lack of a better term in Sian’s case he put her out of her misery. Or at least that’s how the killer perceives his actions.”

  “He doesn’t think what he’s doing is wrong?”

  “No more than you think the job you do every day is wrong,” Harriet said. “In his mind, he’s providing a service to them. Giving them something they can’t or won’t give to themselves.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Peace.”

  Drew scoffed and turned his attention to the file in front of him. “What kind of sick bastard thinks he’s bringing peace to a bunch of kids he murders?”

  “The kind that will kill again, Detective. In these files, in the lives of his victims is the missing key to figuring out just who is responsible for these crimes.”

  “People don’t even want to admit there is a crime, how can we catch him when everyone is burying their heads in the sand?”

  “Or her,” Harriet corrected.

  “What?”

  “We’ve been referring to our killer as a he, it could just as easily be a woman.”

  Drew started to smile but cut off when Harriet frowned at him.

  “More often than not it’s women who fill the role in society of caregiver. It conjures all kinds of connotations in the mind not least of which is someone who is merciful. Our killer, man or woman, sees themselves as a mercy killer.”

  “But the way they killed them, there’s a brutality there that I just don’t see a woman carrying out.”

  Harriet smiled thinly at him. “You would be surprised, Detective Inspector, the levels of brutality a woman is capable of. Don’t underestimate the opposite sex just because you believe them to be fairer.”

  Drew dropped his attention to the case files in front of him.

  “It’s a bloody needle in a haystack.”

  “Not necessarily. I’m telling you to keep an open mind. However, it is more than likely our killer is a male in his early thirties to mid-forties who has suffered a recent tragic loss.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Something triggered our killer a little over three months ago,” Harriet said. “If we can figure out what that is then we’ll be one step closer to finding our man.”

  Drew climbed to his feet. “Well I need a coffee,” he said. “Do you want one?”

  Harriet nodded “A coffee would be great, thanks.”

  She watched as he moved toward the door, noting the slump in his shoulders and the weary expression in his eyes as he pulled the door open.

  “We will catch him, Drew,” she said. “I can promise you that.”

  It was a foolish promise to make. She couldn’t truly promise him anything, at least nothing concrete anyway. But seeing the look of despair in his eyes made her want to reassure him.

  He glanced back at her and for a moment Harriet was certain she saw a flicker of recognition in his eyes as he looked at her. It was gone in an instant and she found herself wondering if perhaps she had imagined the emotion.

  “Of cou
rse we will,” he said, his voice tight. “What choice do we have?”

  He was gone before she could answer him. As she sat there surrounded by the files of so many whose lives had come to an untimely end, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had passed between them.

  Did he remember her after all? And if that were true then what was he going to do about it?

  Pushing the questions that swirled in her mind aside, Harriet turned her attention to the file of the seventeen-year-old boy whose life had ended so abruptly.

  “Why him? What did you see in him that made him your perfect first victim? Does he remind you of yourself? Or is it just what he represents to you?”

  They were questions she didn’t have the answers to but as she flipped over the statements of Jack’s family, Harriet knew the key to cracking the case lay in finding out the truth.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Bianca pushed the trolley around the supermarket, only half paying attention to the shelves.

  Ryder’s most recent picture was the only thought on her mind. She wasn’t entirely put off by his forward nature. After all, it was practically blasé these days to receive a dick pic or two, right?

  No, it was him asking her for ‘something to help him get by until Saturday night’, that had thrown her for a loop. The idea of sending a stranger on the internet a picture that most would consider compromising sent a prickle of discomfort racing over her skin.

  Or was it excitement?

  There was something exciting about the whole situation. Risqué and dangerous. What if he turned out to be nothing like his pictures or his profile? What if everything he’d told her was a complete lie?

  It wasn’t implausible, she’d watched enough television programs about women and men getting cat-fished on the internet.

  What if he took one look at her and decided she was nothing like her profile, or pictures?

  The more she thought about it all, the more her mind spiralled into panic.

  “Just breathe, Bianca.” If Harri were here she’d tell her she was just overreacting.

  No, Ryder wasn’t cat-fishing her. It just wasn’t likely, not when they spent most nights on the phone, talking into the wee hours. If he was pretending to be someone he wasn’t, then he was the most practiced liar to ever walk the earth.

  Bianca prided herself on not being easily taken in by those around her. Having a forensic psychologist for a friend made her more suspicious than most. Plus she had Tilly to think about, being a single parent to a child wasn’t exactly a cake walk and so more often than not she found herself airing on the side of caution when it came to most situations.

  But this was different. This was all about her and her desires and wants. Tilly wasn’t involved and she certainly wasn’t going to get hurt if something went wrong with Ryder. No, Bianca had been careful to keep her daughter distanced from it all. If Ryder turned out to be an asshole the only one who would get hurt in it all would be her and her fragile ego.

  As she passed down through the baking aisle, she recalled the conversation with Tilly from Monday morning and paused to grab the ingredients for cookies. There was only milk-chocolate chips on the shelf and she grabbed three packets and dumped them into the shopping cart before making her way toward the milk.

  As she rounded the corner, the same feeling of being watched slid down her spine. It was happening more often now. Was it just her imagination?

  Pausing, she scanned her surroundings but everyone around her was going about their business. Nobody stood out as suspicious and nothing seemed out of the ordinary.

  Her pocket buzzed and she jumped, startling the woman next to her who had at that moment reached into the fridge for a pint of milk.

  “Sorry,” Bianca said, smiling apologetically as the woman shot her a dirty look.

  She moved away from the milk and tugged her phone from her pocket.

  “Hey, Baby! I’m just in a meeting and bored out of my box. If I hear one more time about shareholders percentage, I might just jump out the window. The only thing getting me through is the picture you’re going to send me.”

  “You’re very presumptuous,” Bianca typed quickly, her fingers flying over the touchscreen. “I’m in the supermarket, I can’t just drop everything to cater to your needs.” She added a tongue faced emoji at the end to make it a little more light-hearted.

  Ryder’s response was almost immediate. “You’re killing me here. If you’re not comfortable sending me a nude, maybe just a preview before Saturday?”

  Bianca grinned and slid the phone into her purse as she directed the trolley toward the tills. It took only a few minutes to check out all the items she had and within ten minutes she was back behind the wheel of her Ford.

  “Do you mind if I kiss you when we meet?” Ryder’s message sent a thrill racing through her.

  Did she mind? He seemed to be pretty clear about what was going to happen when they met. He’d gone ahead and made a booking for a hotel nearby even though she’d been hesitant to agree and when he’d texted her the reservation number, Bianca had gotten butterflies in her stomach. She hadn’t felt like that in what felt like so long and experiencing it now seemed so strange, especially when she was experiencing it because of another man and not the one she’d originally pledged to spend the rest of her life with.

  Was this her being unfaithful? Scooping her phone from her handbag she dialled Harriet’s number and listened as the call rang and rang without an answer.

  “This is Harriet’s house number. If this is important, please feel free to call me on my mobile number. If not, then leave a message after the beep.”

  “Oh, Harri,” Bianca sighed as the beep echoed in her ear. “Hey, it’s just me. I was just checking to see if you were still coming up this weekend. You know you don’t have to if you don’t want to...” She trailed off. It wasn’t the real reason for her call but trying to explain the sudden emotional surge she’d experienced to an answer machine seemed a bridge too far. So instead she resorted to tried and tested conversations. When Harriet got back to her, she could tell her then. Maybe at that point she would have figured it out and wouldn’t need to burden her friend.

  Ending the call, she let her head drop back against the back of her seat. She was definitely making a mountain out of a mole hill. She was an adult and Tom was dead, she could either live in the past or... Her eyes filled with tears and she blinked them away. He wouldn’t want her to live like this. He’d want her to move on and build a new life for her and Tilly.

  But knowing it and believing it were definitely two different things.

  Scrubbing her hands over her eyes, she started the engine and pulled out of the car park. Maybe when Harriet called, she could help her navigate the murky waters she was sliding into.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Dumping her coat and bag onto the kitchen counter, Harriet tipped the precarious pile of papers and files next to them.

  The time had passed faster than she’d imagined possible. How long had it been since she’d been so engrossed by something that she hadn’t even noticed time passing at all?

  She’d always prided herself on her ability to focus so intensely that the rest of the world fell away from her. But since the incident in the clinic that had caused her to leave her beloved clinical work behind, she’d found it difficult to lose herself in the work as she had once done.

  Moving over to the phone, she clicked a button on the answering machine and listened to the familiar beep following her instructions to leave a message.

  The first call went dead without anyone bothering to say anything and Harriet had the sneaking suspicion that it was probably just a robot call offering her insurance she didn’t need or some other such nonsense. The next message was from Bianca who wanted to know if Harriet still planned to come up at the weekend and would she mind looking after Tilly because the babysitter had fallen through. As she listened to her friend’s enthusiastic voice, Harriet smiled and moved over to the fridge.


  She rummaged through the contents before emerging a moment later with a half-eaten block of cheese and a bunch of grapes that had definitely seen better days.

  Grabbing a packet of crackers from the cupboard, she carried her meagre meal into the living room and kicked off her shoes before she settled onto the sofa. Bianca’s bubbly ‘bye!’ left Harriet alone in the silence.

  The phone next to her rang and without thinking about it, she reached over and scooped the phone off the cradle and pressed it to her ear.

  “I’m only just in from work, Bianca, give me a minute to—" Harriet started to speak and cut off abruptly as the sound of rich male laughter curled down the line and into her ear.

  “Harriet, it’s me, Jonathan.”

  She ran the name over in her mind and came up blank.

  “Dr Connor.” There was no denying the disappointment in the doctor’s voice at her lack of recognition or enthusiasm.

  “I’m so sorry,” Harriet said, instantly feeling guilty for not recognising him sooner. “I thought you were somebody else.”

  “Evidently,” he said wryly. “I hope you’re not too disappointed that it’s just me?”

  It was a loaded question and Harriet instantly recognised it for what it was. Others might enjoy those sorts of games but she wasn’t the kind of person to enter into pointless flirtations to soothe the ego of a colleague.

  “What can I do for you, doctor?” Harriet kept her voice cordial without losing the professional tone she’d perfected over her time in psychology.

  “If you remember, I said I’d call to see when we could arrange for that drink.”

  “Of course I remember,” Harriet lied. She’d gotten so caught up with Drew and his case that she’d forgotten Dr Connor ever mentioning that he would call her. “You wanted to discuss my mother’s care.”

  “That and other things,” Jonathan said smoothly. “I was hoping I could entice you to meet tomorrow evening?”

  “Well, I—"

  “I think it would be particularly beneficial to your mother’s care if we were to review her care plan together. I’m sure you’ve got some thoughts on how we could move forward with her therapy.”