A Murderous Mind

by Jane A. Adams

  Tess nodded. ‘And the Trevenick case. What do you remember about that?’

  ‘That he was younger. Mid-twenties. Gay, but only a few close friends knew that because his family wouldn’t approve. He worked at something in computers, I think.’

  ‘The investigating officer thought he might have picked someone up on a night out and brought them back to his flat.’ Vin noted, ‘but friends said that would be out of character and there was no evidence to suggest that. He’d been out that evening with friends who’d dropped him off home and watched him go inside. He’d have had to go out again to pick someone up and there was no evidence of that.’

  ‘I think a little personal prejudice crept in,’ Reg Fincher said carefully. ‘Whoever it was that killed him, Trevenick let them in. There was no sign of forced entry and no sign of a struggle. Injection sites beneath the arm and in the chest, which I think is what you’ve seen with Leanne Bolter?’

  ‘Beneath the armpit and under the jaw.’

  ‘Which means in each case the killer got up really close before the victim knew what was happening.’

  ‘Which either implies a degree of trust or it implies a threat which made them compliant. A gun, a knife—’

  ‘And no one heard anything. The occupants of the flat below said they could sometimes hear him moving around.’

  ‘And they were alerted to the death when blood dripped through their ceiling,’ Fincher remembered.

  ‘Yes, that’s right. In fact that’s another thing that struck me. With everyone else there was a fair certainty that the body would be found quickly. Someone from Martia Richter’s family visited every day. Rebecca Arnold still lived at home. Keith Allen’s girlfriend was due to come and see him that night. Leanne Bolter’s flatmates would realize something was wrong.’

  ‘And if it hadn’t been for the blood, William Trevenick might have gone undiscovered for days. The smell would have drawn someone eventually, one assumes, but that isn’t always the case.’

  ‘You think that’s why his other kills haven’t been logged,’ Vin said. ‘You think his other victims might have been people who weren’t missed.’

  ‘I think it’s a possibility,’ Fincher said. ‘I think ten years is a long time to wait. A long time for the need to build.’

  ‘Then why have some victims that are sure to be found. Why risk killing in such close proximity to other people? Why not always keep it hidden? Pick those victims that no one will miss.’

  Would anyone miss her? Tess wondered. Someone would notice she’d not turned up for work, but apart from that … she had no regular routine. No friends she made a point of contacting regularly. No family that would miss her occasional phone call.

  ‘Perhaps, in his mind, they are not as satisfactory,’ Vin speculated. ‘Maybe they’re like … God, I can’t think of an appropriate analogy. It’ll sound crass, but maybe it’s like a snack when what he really needs to be satisfied is more like a full meal. Sorry,’ he apologized, seeing the look of disgust on Tess’s face.

  ‘I think you have a point,’ Fincher nodded. ‘Distasteful as it sounds I think you may well be accurate in the analogy. He makes do with the simpler, less risky activity, but every so often. Every so often he has to indulge himself. Your young student seems to have been his latest indulgence.’

  ‘The Colin Stagg case,’ Tess mused. ‘That was 1993?’

  ‘Nineteen ninety-two. Rachel Nickell, killed in front of her little boy on Wimbledon Common. A profile was mapped out but the psychologist’s role kind of spread into other areas. It all got out of hand.’

  ‘Entrapment,’ Tess said. ‘Wasn’t that it?’

  ‘From what I remember. Colin Stagg was identified as the most likely suspect and no one looked any further than that. The investigation took on its own momentum, I suppose. The investigating team got a young officer to work undercover, get to know him, see if they could elicit a confession but it all went tits up. He had nothing to confess. It didn’t do the discipline or either profession any good and it put an innocent man through hell.’

  ‘I wonder what Joe Jackson’s opinions were on profilers by the time of the Rebecca Arnold murder. If he trusted them. If his interest in the Hemingsby link, about which we know practically nothing anyway, was influenced by whatever that opinion turned out to be.’

  ‘The practice had changed by then,’ Vin pointed out. ‘The shrinks were getting their act together again. What’s happening about Hemingsby and the other Rebecca Arnold suspects, anyway?’

  ‘Alfie Briggs and Nat Cooper are chasing them up which might be difficult in Hemingsby’s case. Jackson left surprisingly little detail about him in the records. His last known address was a B & B that’s been closed for at least the past three years.’

  ‘Have you asked Sergeant Briggs about him?’

  Tess shook her head. ‘Not had a chance yet. It might be interesting to find out what Joe Jackson’s opinion on forensic psychologists was back then too.’

  ‘I think we should mine our resources for all they’re worth. The Friedmans and Alfie Briggs are our links to the past, if you like, they are our eyewitnesses.’

  And we all know how unreliable eyewitnesses can be, Tess thought.

  ‘What do you make of Fincher’s idea that the Allen killing was personal?’

  ‘It might fit with our witness who saw him arguing with someone.’

  ‘Well, we’ll see what our witness has to say soon. How long do you reckon from here. Fancy stopping for something to eat?’

  Tess, not driving on this stretch, peered at the sat nav. ‘It reckons about an hour and fifteen, so yes, I think lunch is definitely in order. What did you make of Fincher?’

  ‘He enjoyed his job,’ Vin said. ‘I don’t know, he seemed almost gleeful at times but maybe that’s just a coping mechanism. I suppose it’s like any profession that brings you in contact with the worst that people can do day after day, you find ways of lessening the impact.’

  ‘And what’s your method?’

  Vin shrugged. ‘I spend time with my family, I eat good food. I don’t talk about work in the house.’

  ‘Not at all?’

  ‘No, I sit in my dad’s shed on his allotment and I watch him fuss with his Dahlias or whatever and I spill my guts to him when I need to. Then I imagine he’s digging all of that crap in, like fertiliser, turning it into something good.’

  He must have seen the incredulous look on Tess’s face because he laughed self-consciously. ‘Sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud.’

  ‘Maybe I should get a frigging allotment.’

  ‘There’s a hell of a waiting list,’ Vin told Tess, reminding her of Alec telling her the same. ‘What do we know about this woman we’re off to see?’

  ‘Deborah Tait. Lived a few doors up from the garage where Keith Allen was killed. She knew him to say hello to, she said. Knew his cousin better. She was twenty-five at the time of the murder, married the following year and moved away. Her parents still live in the same house they did back then, which is how we got in touch. Field spoke to her on the phone, but he reckons the personal touch is needed which is why we are on the way to hear her tell us what we’ve already got in our records.’

  Vin glanced at her. ‘That’s a bit jaundiced,’ he said. ‘It’s always better to talk to people. You know that. Odd memories can surface. Different questioning styles can elicit different answers.’

  ‘You sound like a training manual,’ she said sourly. Then apologized. ‘Sorry, there’s just something about Fincher that’s left me feeling out of sorts.’

  ‘Anything in particular?’

  ‘Hard to say. Just the feeling that I didn’t ask the right questions. That I didn’t elicit the new response, you know?’

  ‘I thought he was doing his best to be helpful. And if you missed an opportunity then so did I, so—’

  ‘Maybe it wasn’t even that.’ Just before they had left, Fincher had promised to make arrangements for them to access his records, curr
ently in storage. ‘Maybe it’s the thought of more filing boxes to go through,’ she said. ‘That’s enough to make anyone feel sour.’

  Vin laughed. ‘There was a sign for a pub that does meals just back a ways,’ he said. ‘Look, there’s another one. Shall we?’

  Tess looked at the brown sign emblazoned with a silhouette of a knife and fork. ‘It’s called the Black Dog,’ she noted. Somehow that really suited her mood.

  TWENTY-SEVEN

  Reg Fincher turned on his computer and opened the files Tess had sent to him. He had managed to keep his emotions under control while the police officers had been in his home, but receiving the images and reports the night before had been like a punch in the guts and he knew he could not go on in denial.

  He knew who had done this. He had known for a long time in his heart of hearts however impossible and ridiculous it might seem to suspect such a man of anything violent or cruel. Reg Fincher knew.

  He closed his eyes, blocking out the pictures on the screen and then he made up his mind.

  The mobile number he rang was answered on the second ring. ‘Reg, this is a surprise. How are you?’

  ‘A surprise? I don’t think so. I had a visit this morning from two police officers, came down from your neck of the woods, wanted to talk about Martia Richter and Rebecca Arnold. Oh and William Trevenick and Keith Allen. You see the connection, I’m sure.’

  ‘I know the cases, yes. Reg, I’m not sure—’

  ‘You assured me you had nothing to do with Martia’s death and I believed you. You had alibis; more alibis than any one man could possibly require for the others and I believed that too. I chose to believe that anyway.’

  ‘Reg. What’s all this about. You sound hysterical.’

  ‘Is that your professional opinion? I didn’t think we liked to use that terminology these days.’

  ‘Reg, what’s brought this on? It isn’t like you to jump to ridiculous conclusions and they are ridiculous, you know.’

  ‘Are they? Are they really. Time was when I’d have done anything to believe that. When I did do anything to believe that. I never told you that I consulted on the Rebecca Arnold murder, did I? Off the record as it happened. A detective called DI Jackson came to me asking questions. About you. He knew it was you even if you did have enough witnesses willing to swear you’d been somewhere else at the time.’

  ‘I’m ending the call now, Reg. You’re getting yourself upset over nothing. Take yourself for a walk, calm down. You’re meant to be retired, remember. You always told me you wanted a long, peaceful retirement, so why are you spoiling it for yourself?’

  The phone went dead.

  Reg Fincher put his head in his hands. His whole body shook with the emotion of it.

  He won’t let this go, Reg told himself. He’s right. I’m a bloody fool.

  He picked up his phone again and this time he called his solicitor. His papers were lodged in secure storage, Reg no longer remembered exactly what he had packed away in store but he knew that this might be his last chance to hand them over to someone who might make use of them.

  The courier would deliver them to DI Fuller by Monday, he was told. Was everything all right?

  ‘Yes,’ Reg assured his solicitor, an old friend who’d taken care of his occasional legal requirements for years now. He wondered if he should confide, wondered if he should pack a bag and run away. Wondered if he should call Tess Fuller and tell her what he suspected and could not prove.

  He ended the call and sat down, staring again at the computer screen.

  He didn’t deserve help, he told himself. And anyway, where would he run to that he could not be found?

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  Deborah Tait – or Needwood, as she was now – seemed relieved that they had not arrived in a marked car and didn’t look like police officers. Her home was on a new estate, the roads still not fully tarmacked and teams of landscapers still busy in the communal areas.

  ‘This is nice,’ Tess said.

  ‘It is isn’t it? It’s a bit small, but at least it’s got us on the property ladder. It’s a shared ownership scheme with the housing association. Only way we could ever hope to do it. I mean I work too, but only part-time at the moment with the kids being little and still at school.’ She glanced at her watch.

  ‘What time do you have to collect them?’

  ‘Oh, not till three. I’m all right for a bit. Sit down, can I get you anything?’

  She was hovering nervously and Tess shook her head. There seemed no point in prolonging the agony. Deborah obviously didn’t want them there, intruding into her new life with memories of the old one. Tess could imagine the indignation when her parents told her they had given her address to the police and that it was about Keith Allen.

  ‘We won’t keep you,’ Vin said, sitting down. ‘And we’ll keep it all as brief as we can.’

  Deborah Needwood nodded and took a seat. ‘It’s just that I don’t know what more I can tell you. I told the police at the time and I talked to that Inspector Field on the phone so I don’t see why—’

  ‘We have to be seen to be doing everything by the book,’ Vin said. It was a phrase he used a lot, Tess knew, but one which did seem to placate nervous or indignant witnesses.

  ‘I suppose you do,’ Deborah agreed, but she still looked unhappy. ‘So what can I tell you?’

  ‘If you could just run through what you told our colleagues that would be really helpful.’

  ‘Well. I don’t see how it would, but …’ With a deep sigh, Deborah Needwood began.

  The afternoon he was killed, she saw Allen and a man she didn’t recognize arguing about something. They were standing on the pavement just outside of the garage.

  ‘I had to pass by them to get home,’ she said. ‘I felt uncomfortable. But Keith had spotted me and I didn’t want to cross the road in case that looked … well … Look it sounds silly, but I didn’t want to draw attention. I didn’t want the man he was arguing with to … make him think … to look like I was judging him in some way.’ She laughed nervously. ‘That sounds so silly, I know. But it was the way I felt. I wanted to get by them as fast as I could.’

  ‘It can be embarrassing, seeing people you know arguing in the street,’ Tess soothed.

  Deborah seized on that. ‘Yes,’ she agreed eagerly. ‘It can, can’t it? But I didn’t know the other man. I’d only thought I’d seen him around once before and I wasn’t sure about that either.’

  ‘You’d seen him before? Did you tell the other officers that?’

  Deborah shook her head. ‘I don’t remember. I suppose I must have done. I saw him in the corner shop a few days before. I didn’t think anything about it at the time only when I saw him arguing with Keith I remembered him. I remembered his coat. I remember thinking it was a nice coat. Expensive-looking. Double-breasted wool. Dark grey. It stuck in my head because Dad had been looking for a new winter coat and I knew he’d like one like that but I knew we’d never be able to afford it. Not really like the one the man was wearing. You could see it was expensive. You know how you can tell sometimes?

  ‘I didn’t tell the other officers that. I felt really stupid saying something like that. They’d have thought I was a right idiot, wouldn’t they?’

  ‘So, what made you tell us?’ Vin asked gently.

  ‘Because my husband said I should tell you everything, even if it sounded stupid. He said, you never knew. A little thing might be important.’

  ‘He’s right,’ Vin nodded encouragingly and Tess sat back willing to let him take the lead. Vin could be really persuasive.

  ‘Do you remember anything more about him? His age, what he looked like. What he sounded like? You said he and Mr Allen were arguing. What was his voice like?’

  ‘Arguing but not shouting. It was like they were tense, like they were trying to keep it quiet, but Keith looked furious and he was waving his arms about, you know? The other man, he was really still. He just stood there, not moving, like he was trying to b
e really calm but that was just winding Keith up more. You know what it’s like when you lose your rag with someone and they try to take the high ground and tell you to calm down and be reasonable?’

  Vin nodded. ‘My mum,’ he said. ‘Still drives me mad.’

  Deborah laughed. ‘Mine too. So I went past them and I could feel him looking at me.’ She looked away, suddenly nervous again.

  ‘How did he make you feel, Deborah?’ Vin asked.

  Tess frowned at the odd question but Deborah nodded.

  ‘Scared,’ she said. ‘Exposed. I suddenly didn’t want to go straight home. I didn’t want him to see where I went. So I went to the corner shop and bought milk I didn’t need and chatted to Wendy, the owner, for a little while and when I looked out before I left, he’d gone and Keith was still standing in the street looking furious. I made sure I couldn’t see him anywhere and then I went home.’

  She had lost all the colour in her face, Tess noticed. She looked scared, just remembering.

  ‘Can you remember anything about the way he looked?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘How about when you saw him in the shop. Did he scare you then? Did you notice anything about him then?’

  Deborah shifted in her seat. ‘His hair had some grey in it, but he wasn’t old. Forties, maybe? Pale skin, not like he worked outside or anything. Taller than me. About the same height as Keith. Keith was over six feet tall. I think. Not as broad as Keith, even in the coat he didn’t look as wide. Keith was wearing his work fleece. It had the garage logo on it. He had it on over his overalls.’

  ‘And his voice?’