Hunter whipped out his police radio. It sparked into life as he pressed the open channel button “I want Scenes of Crime and the computer team up here immediately,” he called in.
He knew they wouldn’t be long. He had included them in his operational plan the previous evening, briefing the SOCO manager over the phone before leaving work, and ensuring that they were in their vans at the end of the street before the start of the morning’s raid.
Though his team would be carrying out a thorough search to gather evidence he knew that he still required the full range of specialist skills to process the crime scene, and despite the fact that the firearms unit had trampled through most of the flat Hunter knew that there would still be some significant clues around.
Within minutes he heard the heavy footfalls of several individuals clomping hurriedly up the stairs.
Red-faced and breathing heavily, SOCO manager Duncan Wroe, whom he had known for many years, poked his head of straggling hair and unshaven face round the door. As usual the white forensic suit he wore hung limp on his rake-thin frame. He unfortunately always looked so dishevelled; yet despite that appearance Hunter knew that Duncan was one of the best SOCO officers around. So much so, that two years previously he had been selected by the Home Office as a member of a Forensic Science Team to travel to Afghanistan and train up newly appointed Afghan Scenes of Crime officers in modern forensic science methods.
Hunter knew he was going to get a thorough job done. He greeted him eagerly, snapping off one of his latex gloves to shake his hand. His part was over. It was time to update the SOCO manager and hand the crime scene over.
As Hunter briefed Duncan the computer technician slid past, making straight for the laptop. The pale-faced, spectacle wearing young man slotted a memory stick into one of the available ports and hit the ‘enter’ tab. The screen saver flashed on. The desktop image showed another picture of Kirsty Evans. It was a replicated shot from one of the photos Grace had already recovered as evidence.
The technician pushed his spectacles back over the bridge of his nose, entwined the fingers of both hands together and bent them back until they clicked. For a few seconds his elongated digits hovered above the laptop.
The image reminded Hunter of a pianist about to play a concerto.
As if reading his thoughts his fingers dropped onto the keyboard and began their dance upon the keys. After a few seconds he mumbled. It seemed more to himself than to anyone else in the room. “The guy’s password protected his system. This will take me a little time.” The techie began to work the keyboard again.
Around the room the Scenes of Crime officers’ activity had also begun. They were setting up a camera to record the scene, and taping the unmade bed for fibre samples.
Hunter knew from experience that finding transferred fibres could link a victim to the scene. He tugged at Grace’s elbow. “There’s nothing we can do here for now. Bag up all the photos and we’ll get back to the station. We need to get Collins circulated tonight.”
She acknowledged with a nod of her head and finished sealing the exhibit bag.
* * * * *
Hunter entered the MIT office to find that Barry Newstead was its sole occupant. The big man was hunkered over a computer, laboriously plink-plonking the keyboard using only his index fingers. Hunter smiled to himself as he watched the seasoned ex-detective thump each key with his stubby fingers. It was a complete contrast to the typing skills he had recently witnessed being performed by the young computer technician on Collins’ laptop.
Hunter scraped back his seat with his leg, slipped of his jacket, dropped it over the chair back and flopped down. “Shall I get you a bucket of water Barry, that keyboard’s going to be on fire soon,” he said straight-faced.
“Piss off,” Barry retorted, eyes still focussed downwards.
“Now, now Mr Newstead show some respect.”
“Piss off Detective Sergeant.” He glanced across at Hunter, pushing his spectacles up onto his head, catching his gaze.
They both cracked a grin.
“Bloody computers, they’re more trouble than they’re worth,” Barry added, rolling his neck and knuckle-rubbing the tension from around his eyes. “Anyway Mr Sarcastic where’s your side-kick?”
“Grace is booking in some evidence we got from Collins’s place. We found a whole bunch of recent photos of Kirsty Evans. They look like they were taken in the park just before she was attacked. We’ve got him bang to rights when we catch him.”
“Any stuff relating to the other girls?”
“When I left Scenes of Crime were just starting, and a computer whizz-kid was just going through Collins’s laptop. Anyway I’m surprised to find you in. I thought you’d got a load of statements to get.”
“I heard on the radio that you’d not got Collins and I guessed you’d want all his background stuff to track him down. That’s what I was doing, or trying to do, when you came in.”
“Okay what have you got for me then?”
Barry snatched up a bundle of papers and pointed them towards Hunter. “I got most of it from the Sex Offender Officer in the Public Protection Unit. He told me over the phone what they had got on the computer, which wasn’t as much as what was held in a paper file they had, so he faxed me that. I’ve skip read it and it contains his entire prosecution file. I’ve also rung Probation and they’ve given me snippets from his prison intelligence record as well as info from all the meetings they’ve had with him. They’ve e-mailed me everything but I can’t seem to pull the bloody stuff off.”
Hunter couldn’t help but grin again.
“It’s alright for you. This technical crap is all new to me. Give me a phone and a pen any day.”
“You’ve done a good job anyway Barry. It’s saved us loads of time, but you didn’t need to go to all this trouble.”
“Oh I do, believe me I do. What I wouldn’t give to be part of the team to track him down. Just a couple of minutes with him are all I would need.”
During his detective constable days he had been with Barry on more than one occasion when he’d meted out his own form of justice on arrest, but it was the way in which he had almost spat out the first part of the sentence, which caused consternation in Hunter. “What do you mean?” he probed.
“Nothing Hunter. I just want to catch Geoffrey Collins like you do. The guy’s got a lot to answer for, killing all those innocent girls.”
Hunter thought that he faltered over his words and that wasn’t like Barry. “There’s more to this isn’t there?”
“No, no. What makes you say that?”
Hunter saw that Barry was blushing.
“Come on spill the beans.”
“Nothing to spill. You’re reading too much into this.”
It was the look on Barry’s face, which caused the alarm bells to ring in Hunter’s head. It was one of unquestionable guilt.
“Barry I’m not as green as I’m cabbage looking and you more than anyone should know that. We go back a long way.” He stopped in mid-sentence. Things were clicking into place. “This is about Susan Siddons isn’t it? All the work you did off your own bat when her daughter went missing. Susan was more than a snout wasn’t she?”
Barry’s face set grim. “Nail on the head Hunter. I wanted to tell you ages ago but I knew if I did, you wouldn’t allow me onto the team.”
“Damn right I wouldn’t Barry.” Hunter raised his voice. “Be straight with me now. How long were you and Susan carrying on?”
“On and off for years Hunter.” He paused. “Carol Siddons was my daughter.”
- ooOoo -
CHAPTER TWENTY
DAY THIRTY-ONE: 6th August.
Nursing a cup of strong coffee Hunter leaned back in his seat. He didn’t normally touch coffee until mid-afternoon, but he needed the huge caffeine hit this morning. He felt so weary after another restless night. What with the images of his crazed father still replaying themselves in his sub-conscious, coupled with Barry’s surprise revelat
ion yesterday, he seemed to be spending more time worrying about people than this case.
Recounting Barry’s confession he realised only too well the implication this could have on the investigation. True, Barry had shouldered this burden for too many years, but what a time to reveal it, thought Hunter. The ex-cop had fathered a child to an old informant. A child who featured centrally in a murder case. In fact one of the biggest murder cases Hunter had ever been involved in, and the ex-cop was part of the investigation. It could compromise the whole enquiry, Hunter said to himself. If defence council got a whiff of this the case might not even get to court. Hunter knew he had to keep this suppressed, and last night he had warned Barry not to reveal this to anyone else.
Hunter’s head was beginning to thump. He reached into his top drawer, took out two paracetamol tablets, popped then into his mouth, and swilled them down with the remainder of the coffee.
Around him he noticed that the office was beginning to fill up ready for that morning’s briefing.
Grace practically fell into the office, bouncing on the balls of her feet. She snatched the cup from Hunter’s hands and made towards the kettle at the far end of the office. She sniffed at his cup before she set it down. “What’s with you drinking coffee at this time of day?” She said, switching on the kettle and turning to face him. Catching sight of the dark rings circling his eyes, she quipped, “Jesus Hunter you look shit.”
“Thank you Grace, for those words of comfort.”
“No I’m being serious Hunter. Are you going down with something?”
“Could do with a good night’s sleep that’s all. This case is getting to me.” He wasn’t going to expand on his reply, not even to Grace.
She rinsed out his cup and dropped in a tea bag. “I’m making you tea, too much coffee’s bad for you,” she said turning back to her task.
“Thank you mother.”
“You need mothering,” she retorted, tapping one foot as she impatiently waited for the kettle to boil.
It raised a smile in him. She’s like a breath of fresh air, he thought to himself, if he could only but tell her why he felt so low this morning.
She poured steaming water into two cups. “Anyway I’ve had a very interesting half hour with Duncan Wroe. I called in at the SOCO offices on my way to work, just to see if they had got anything.” She stirred the cups, squeezed out the tea bags and then added milk.
“He’s told me that despite the fact the place was such a shit-hole, most of the surfaces had been wiped clean – and get this - with concentrated bleach.” She set down Hunter’s cup in front of him and sunk into her chair opposite.
Hunter’s face took on a puzzled look.
“That was my reaction,” she added, pointing a finger at him. “Every flat surface; doors, and even the lap-top keyboard. The whole place is clean as a whistle of prints. They’ve found a couple of fresh blood spills in the bathroom; very minute, and they’re fast-tracking those to forensics today.”
“That’s strange,” Hunter responded. A frown creased his forehead.
“That’s what I thought. And also get this - the computer techie says the images of Kirsty, together with its password protection code were only recently added to Collins’s laptop. They think someone else must be involved with Collins, someone who wants to cover up every trace that they were ever there. That’s the only explanation they can give to their findings.”
Hunter pursed his lips, “Someone’s testing us to our limits Grace, and the sooner we get hold of Collins the better.”
A throaty ‘gruumph’ caught their attention and they turned their heads to the front of the room where Detective Superintendent Robshaw was standing in front of the incident boards. This morning another man was in tow, clutching a tumbler of water. Tall and slim in his late forties, stylishly cut gelled hair, tailored striped shirt and designer jeans.
Definitely not cop, thought Hunter.
“Dishy,” whispered Grace in Hunter’s ear.
“Gay,” Hunter shot back.
She elbowed him. “Jealous.”
“Morning Ladies and Gents” The SIO began his morning introduction to briefing. “Can I firstly introduce Dr Paul Stevens, who is a Home Office Criminologist from the Behavioral and Geographical Profiling Unit. Dr Stevens has been reviewing our cases, and visited some of the scenes and is here to give us an insight into the type of person we are looking for. It may help us especially now that we have a chief suspect.”
The Criminologist stepped forward and took a swig of the water.
“Good morning guys,” he began. “Why am I here? You may well ask. One thing I can assure you of is that I am not here to steal your thunder. Your force has asked me to look at all the stages of your investigation to see if I can give an insight into the profile of the person you will be looking for. I was told this morning that you now have a major suspect in the frame for this, so my arrival this morning might be too late. However my thoughts on this case may just assist your interview once you catch him.” He stepped backwards and then began striding across the front of the four wipe boards, one for each of the girls attacked, tapping each one as he passed.
“Firstly let me say that although this may well be the first serial killer investigation you’ve been involved in, for many it may not be your last. At any one time it is statistically known that there are at least two serial killers operating across Britain. I have only to mention Hindley and Brady, Peter Sutcliffe the Yorkshire Ripper, Fred and Rose West and of course most recently, and the most infamous to date, Harold Shipman, to name but a few.” His hands were becoming more and more animated as he got into his stride.
He had already captured Hunter.
“Serial killers fall into two categories, organised, and disorganised. I’ve visited each of the sites where the bodies have been found and also where his last victim was attacked. These are not easy to get to and in the case of the bodies, which have been hidden for a decade, the original tracks to those sites would have only have been known by someone who is local to this area. This is someone who feels confident that they can stop their car and have the time to dig and bury a body. In the most recent case, the attack on Kirsty Evans, that he can secrete himself until she arrives and then have enough time to carry out his attack. The jogger coming along was pure luck.”
Dr Stevens moved across the wipe boards, snatching a quick look at the photographs now affixed to their surfaces. His eyes rested on the time lines of each of the murders.
“The intervals are getting shorter.” He settled himself onto the corner of a desk, pushing back a thigh and dangling one leg for comfort. “He is killing to fulfil a need and the urge to kill is stronger. The nature of his attacks plays a big part in his psyche as well - the strangulation with the belt and then the viciousness of the stabbings. Its frenzy is almost revengeful, punishing.”
“Do you think that’s where the cutting of the word evil into the bodies comes in?” interrupted Hunter.
“Some of that yes. But my personal feeling is that the marking of the girls is about what he thinks of each of the victims. Looking into the background of all these girls, their rebellious social antics, and their activities have made them become his victims. Added to that their physical profiles are all similar, and I would think that somewhere in his past an abusive woman or girl has featured strongly in his life.”
“We’re looking at other girls who are currently outstanding as missing persons. Do you think there is the likelihood that he has killed them?” Grace asked.
“Without reading through their files that is difficult to answer. However, a serial killer does not just emerge by chance. He has grown in confidence and is prepared to let you know which are his victims, and as in the case of Claire Fisher, who he abducted and murdered. My guess is there are still victims out there waiting to be found.”
“We know about his signature marks carved into the torsos of each of the girls, but what is the significance of the playing card?” interjected Hu
nter.
“I’ve given that some thought. In the Rebecca Morris murder he left the seven of hearts over a gaping wound just above her heart. In the case of the mummified remains of Carol Siddons, although you have not yet found a playing card, the post mortem revealed that her heart had been removed. Finally with Claire Fisher, she was a skeleton so we don’t know if any organs were removed, but he left behind the three of hearts. I think what you have here is the part of the sequence of each of these killings. Claire being his third victim, and Rebecca his seventh. The card suit - the hearts, signifying he has taken their hearts literally and physically.” Dr Stevens took another swig of water, clutched it in both hands and travelled his gaze around the room.
“You have a pattern here. I am pretty confident when I say this guy is local, and given his most recent attacks on Rebecca Morris and her best friend Kirsty Evans, still works or lives around here. He knows his victims, either from his past, or he selects them. He carefully finds a place where he can attack them and also has a safe place where he can dispose of them. This is someone who plans meticulously. It was purely by chance that he was disturbed after killing Rebecca and now this recent attack on Kirsty. It is imperative that you catch him soon because believe me he is not going to stop.”
* * * * *
Katherine Winter loved walking her dog at this time of the morning; except for the wildlife she had the woods to herself. A fine summer’s mist was beginning to drift up from the overnight damp floor, swirling around her legs as she broke into a jog. Whipping out the rubber ball from her fleece pocket she launched it towards a gap between the trees.
Heart of the Demon (D.S.Hunter Kerr) Page 20