by Val McDermid
So, a man. In age, anywhere between his late twenties and his early forties. It took time to mature into this kind of killer. Teenagers and men in their early twenties were often sexual predators but seldom took it to the point of no return. Sometimes they became murderers almost by accident, when restraining their victims went too far and ended in death. If they liked the way it made them feel, then the next time it wouldn’t be an accident and another serial killer would be walking the streets. But mostly that first time was deliberate. And it took time for a man’s fantasies to develop the commanding power that would drive him to take a life. So it was mostly safe to assume a higher starting age than for rape or sexual assault. The upper limit wasn’t arbitrary either. By their mid-forties, the urgent rage of youth had faded or been dulled by alcohol. If they hadn’t started killing by then, the chances were they were never going to take that step. The fucked-up childhood was more or less a given too. Of course, it was possible to have all the markers without growing up to embrace the darkness. Tony knew that only too well; anyone examining his own past would have found a series of indicators that, in another man, would have been the first steps on the tortuous route to psychopathy. For him, they had provided the foundation of his empathy with those who had ended up on a different path. He was never entirely sure where the crucial fork in the road had been, but he had ended up a different kind of hunter. And just as the serial killer had a sure instinct for his victims, so Tony had an apparent sixth sense for tracking his prey. In spite of his public insistence that his was a scientific approach, he was well aware that his most crucial insights were drawn directly from the well of intuition. He was practised in hiding this aspect of his work; Carol was probably the only person who understood and forgave it.
So what could he safely say now about the abductor of Guy Lefevre and Tim Golding? Gender, age. Probably a loner, probably with superficial social skills but an inability to make deeper personal connections. He was at home in the countryside; he’d known a location isolated enough for a killing ground, and he’d known the area well enough to feel safe about parking in a public car park and transporting the boy a mile through the landscape to the final destination. He must have known there would be few people around at that time of the morning. But he was also comfortable in the environs of the city, since it was assumed he’d lifted Tim from a street in broad daylight.
At that point, Tony’s thoughts stumbled. Assumption wasn’t fact. There had been no witnesses. The cops had struggled to believe it could have happened without someone seeing something, even though there were precedents in this sort of case. The notorious child abductor and murderer Robert Black had snatched at least two of his victims from the street without anyone noticing. But what if it hadn’t happened like that?
Tony reviewed the evidence. Guy had gone off into woodland to search for birds’ nests. He’d never been seen again, though his map of the nests had been found near the canal. Tim had told his friends he was going down to the railway embankment to watch the freight trains. The women at the bus stop said they thought they’d glimpsed his yellow football shirt between the trees. What if their killer hadn’t been in a vehicle on the streets? What if he’d been on the embankment or in the woods, waiting, ready with some tale that would enrapture a young boy and make him come willingly? Maybe a particularly exotic nest, or some piece of railway machinery? Interestingly, both locations were connected by transport links to the Derbyshire peaks, only a dozen or so miles from Swindale, though not links that the killer could have used. The canal led to a railhead with a direct line down into the dales. And that particular spur of the railway line led to a quarry on the fringes of the Peak District.
Galvanized by the thought, Tony jumped out of bed, grabbed his dressing gown and hurried through to his study. He wanted to get something down on screen, to make his ideas concrete so he could present them to Carol before the morning briefing he knew she’d be leading. They could discuss them over a coffee before she left for work.
While he waited for the computer to boot up, he ran downstairs and brewed some coffee. Mug in hand, he went back upstairs and crossed to the window to stare out at the sky while he marshalled the words he wanted to express his insight.
But it wasn’t the sky that drew his eyes like a magnet. It was Jonathan France’s motorbike, the one incongruity in a streetscape Tony had already grown familiar with. The bike squatted between Carol’s car and the next-door neighbour’s people carrier, imposing its presence with all the malevolence of a tank on the streets of Baghdad. Tony felt as if the breath had been sucked out of him, leaving him hollow.
Then emotion surged in, raw and relentless. It was more than jealousy; it was ragged pain, tearing at him like lacerating claws. It’s your own fault. Because you couldn’t give her what she needed. Because you’re a pathetic excuse for a man. Because you led her into the lion’s den but you couldn’t rescue her. Because love is only worth something if the actions match the words.
Tony hurled his mug at the door, splattering the fresh paintwork and the nearby books with coffee. ‘Fuck it,’ he shouted. Then he threw himself into his chair and pulled his keyboard towards him.
Don Merrick was on his second cigarette of the morning when Paula pushed open the kitchen door. Her hair stuck up in an angled wedge on one side of her head, her eyes were puffy with sleep and her navy dressing gown had a streak of toothpaste on the lapel. ‘How the fuck do you get to look so sorted first thing?’ she grumbled on her way to the kettle.
‘It’s something to do with shaving,’ he said. ‘Even when you feel like shit, when you’ve had a shave you look better.’
‘I’ll have to give it a try some time,’ Paula muttered.
‘You not sleeping?’ Merrick asked.
Paula coughed and poured boiling water on instant coffee. ‘I’m OK once I get off. But that seems to be taking a while.’ She sniffed, added milk to her drink and plonked herself down at the table opposite him. She reached for his cigarettes but he adroitly swiped them out of her reach.
‘Slippery slope, Paula. You start cadging fags this early in the day, you’ll be back on two packs before you know it.’ He wagged a finger at her.
‘Grrr.’ She snarled, showing her teeth. ‘I didn’t realize I was inviting my mother to stay.’
‘Your mother wouldn’t have fags for you to nick. So, what are you planning to do today?’
She shrugged. ‘Dunno. Might go down to the Spa, have a swim, see if I can get a massage. I need to do something to make me feel good about my body after two nights on the meat rack.’
‘You don’t have to do this, you know.’
Paula gave him a sidelong look. ‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean you could say you’ve had enough. That it’s freaking you out.’
Paula snorted. ‘Yeah, right. What a good career move that would be.’
Merrick’s expression mingled concern and sympathy. ‘Jordan would understand. She knows what it’s like, she was on the sharp end when it all went pear-shaped. She’s not going to hold it against you.’
‘Even if you’re right–which I’m not convinced of, by the way–that’d barely be fine if Jordan was the only senior cop in the world. I walk away from this, I’ll always be the girl whose bottle went.’
‘Better that than you end up as fucked up as Jordan.’ Merrick studied the table. ‘I’d never live with myself if anything happened to you on this one, Paula.’
Paula squared her shoulders. ‘Get over it, Don. This is about you, not me. I’m holding together. I can do this.’ She pushed the chair back, its legs grating on the tiled floor. ‘You’ve got to stop trying to be the knight in shining armour. You can’t save the world, Don. Concentrate on saving yourself.’ She looked at the clock as she stood up. ‘Isn’t it about time you were getting a move on? Isn’t there a briefing on Tim Golding at nine?’
Merrick grunted. ‘I’m not invited to the party. Jordan wants me to stick with the hooker murders. She wants a fresh
pair of eyes on Tim Golding.’
Paula felt for him. She knew how much of himself he’d poured into the hunt for the boy. ‘I’m sorry, Don. But maybe it’s for the best. That case really ripped into you.’
He looked up at her, eyes wounded. ‘So you think I blew it too?’
‘Of course not. If they do crack it now, it’ll be on the shoulders of your groundwork. Maybe Jordan’s right, maybe she’s wrong. But I’m your friend, and I’m glad you’re not going there again.’ She leaned over and hugged him, her breasts swinging against his chest. Hastily, she pulled back, embarrassed by the sudden flare of surprised interest in his face. ‘I’ll see you in the afternoon briefing, then.’
Merrick watched her go, conscious of her backside moving under her robe. He’d been disciplining himself, not allowing himself to appreciate her body, her air of contained sexuality. But now, finally, he was beginning to wonder whether he was in with a chance after all, whether her offer of the spare bed was really the disinterested kindness of a friend or something more. It was a cheering thought to take with him to the grimness of the murder room.
Carol waltzed into the station, conscious that her mood was not appropriate to what her day held. For the moment, she didn’t care. She’d moved mountains in the night, shifted her world on its axis and she was going to savour the feeling for as long as she could. It wasn’t that Jonathan had been the greatest lover she’d ever had; he’d been too cautious, too solicitous, too damn anxious about his steps in the ritual dance. The cynical cop’s reaction occurred to her: perhaps he had culled his textbook responses from the very book he’d given her. Even if that were true, it didn’t really matter. What was important was that she’d crossed the invisible, intangible line that had separated her from a crucial part of herself. She hadn’t exorcized the rape. But she’d moved beyond it. Her body was hers again.
Jonathan had left shortly after six, and she hadn’t been sorry to see him go. He’d tried to pin her down to another date, but she’d sidestepped neatly, calling on work to shelter her from an encounter she didn’t want. She liked him well enough, but she didn’t want to slip heedlessly into some sort of relationship with him. He wasn’t the one she wanted to be with; but she’d always known that she couldn’t expect Tony to be the one to bring her back to sex. That was a journey she would have to make without him. But having made it opened possibilities for them that had been closed down since Berlin.
She took the stairs two at a time and walked into the squadroom radiating confidence and good humour. Stacey glanced up casually from her computer at her entrance then did so obvious a double-take that it was almost comic. ‘Good morning, Stacey,’ Carol said cheerfully.
‘Morning, ma’am,’ Stacey said automatically.
‘I’ve got a good feeling about today,’ Carol said. ‘You know how sometimes it feels like this is going to be the day when something breaks, when finally we get what we need to move forward?’ Stacey nodded. ‘Well, that’s exactly how I feel this morning.’
‘Dr Hill sent a document file for you,’ Stacey said, not sure how else to respond to what seemed like unfounded optimism. Machines she could do; but people left her bemused, constantly searching for a way to exert the same mastery she applied so effortlessly to the cyber world.
Carol’s mood sobered suddenly. ‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘He’s done a profile on the Tim Golding case. I printed it out. It’s on your desk.’
‘Thanks.’ Carol was already moving, making for her office. She snatched up the printout as she shrugged out of her coat and started reading. At once, she recognized the familiar opening disclaimer:
Re: Tim Golding
The following offender profile is for guidance only and should not be regarded as an identikit portrait. The offender is unlikely to match the profile in every detail, though I would expect there to be a high degree of congruence between the characteristics outlined below and the reality. All of the statements in the profile express probabilities and possibilities, not hard facts.
A perpetrator of sexual homicide produces signals and indicators in the commission of his crimes. Everything he does is intended, consciously or not, as part of a pattern. Uncovering the underlying pattern reveals the killer’s logic. It may not appear logical to us, but to him it is crucial. Because his logic is so idiosyncratic, straightforward traps will not capture him. As he is unique, so must be the means of catching him, interviewing him and reconstructing his acts.
This is a supplement to the draft profile I prepared earlier at the request of DI Merrick. As I stated previously, the perpetrator is likely to be male, between the ages of 27 and 42. He will probably live alone. It is likely that he has superficial social skills but he is unlikely to be capable of forming close friendships with either sex. In this case, given the age of the victim, I believe it to be unlikely that he has ever had a sexually functional relationship with any adult. He will have obsessive personal traits and may have an interest in the sort of hobby that provides an outlet for obsessional list-making such as trainspotting, birdwatching or philately. He is probably intelligent and functional enough to hold down a job, but it will not involve teamwork. He will prefer a role that allows at least the illusion of autonomy and will ideally spend much of his working day alone.
I believe that the same perpetrator is responsible for the abduction and probable murder of Guy Lefevre. However, given that only the body of Tim Golding has been discovered to date, I will confine myself initially to the specifics of his case.
It is clear that the killer is very familiar with the crime scene. He knew that the car park would be deserted at the time of day he chose to arrive. He knew he would be able to transport Tim Golding to Swindale without interference. He knew he would be able to use Swindale for his purposes without interruption. Therefore he must have a high degree of familiarity with the area. By taking Tim Golding to this particular spot, the killer is signalling that this is his place, somewhere special to him. When looking at suspects, a search of their home/workplace/computer will almost certainly uncover photographs or even paintings of the dale. I would suggest canvassing universities to see whether their field trips include Swindale; local amateur geological societies; climbing organizations; old railway enthusiasts; and of course, the Peak National Park ranger service, who, as well as being familiar with the area, are likely to know which other groups frequent Chee Dale and Swindale. I would also recommend a trawl of the literature; guide books, rambling publications. If this trawl proves negative, it strengthens the case against any putative suspect who can be shown to be familiar with the terrain.
It is likely that the killer may previously have attempted to lure other victims to Swindale. I would recommend checking with local police for any reports of stranger approaches to children in this area. The killer may have used the children’s natural curiosity about their environment to draw them in (see below).
I have been giving further consideration to the means of Tim Golding s abduction. Given the absence of witnesses to support the theory that he was snatched from the street, and given we now know we have a perpetrator who is comfortable in a more rural environment, I would suggest that the killer made his contact with the victim AFTER he had left the street and made his way down the railway embankment. Given his familiarity with the countryside, the perpetrator could have found a credible approach to the boy along the lines of having something to show him: a fox’s earth, a badger’s sett, a bird’s nest. (This is even more probable in the case of Guy Lefevre, who was looking for birds’ nests at the time of his disappearance.) Alternatively, playing on the boy’s interest in trains, he could have posed as a railway enthusiast or employee promising him access to some special treat. There are several points further down the line where it would have been easy to take a child from the trackside to a parked vehicle with a low risk of being seen. In support of this contention, I offer the fact that this freight line runs away from Bradfield in the direction of the Peak District. Its te
rminus is a mere dozen miles as the crow flies from Swindale. The line moves from what we know now is our perpetrator’s territory into Tim Golding’s home territory. This is a connection that should not be ignored. We should also therefore consider the possibility that the perpetrator may be a railway worker or a railway enthusiast, particularly since part of the route he must have walked Tim Golding down is a former railway track.
He is more likely to live near the body dump than to the place where he originally picked up Tim Golding. He is more comfortable in the country than in an urban environment.
The perpetrator will also have private access to a computer. Given that the image of Tim Golding ended up on the computer of a known paedophile, it would be worth liaising with colleagues involved in the investigations into internet child pornography. It may well be that they have cases pending against others who have seen images of Tim Golding. These offenders may be willing to reveal their sources in exchange for some sort of deal. It may also be that in the vast volume of information held by Operation Ore but not yet acted upon is the name of our perpetrator. It may be worth running any names that crop up in the Tim Golding investigation against those in Operation Ore’s databanks.
Finally, I would like to return to the disappearance of Guy Lefevre. As previously outlined, I believe there is a strong likelihood that whoever was responsible for the abduction of Tim Golding was the same person who took Guy Lefevre. That being the case, I think it is extremely likely that Guy’s body will also be found in Swindale. The killer is clearly comfortable with his choice of body dump and his ability to get his victims there. It’s likely he had already tested it out on Guy. When Tim’s remains are clear of the grave, I suggest exploring the area immediately beneath him. If that produces no result, I would recommend widening the search to the rest of the dale.