Deadly Dance

by Hilary Bonner

  Vogel called Mary then, told her briefly what was happening and apologised for the night before.

  ‘I can’t believe I behaved so badly,’ he said. ‘I’m so very sorry, sweetheart.’

  ‘I’m sorry too,’ Mary responded at once.

  ‘You didn’t do anything,’ he said. ‘I just took everything out on you, just like you said.’

  ‘It’s all right,’ she said. ‘It really is, David.’

  He had known it would be, of course. Nonetheless, he breathed a sigh of relief.

  ‘Oh, and by the way,’ Mary continued, ‘Eytan called this morning, soon after you left.’

  Vogel thanked her for telling him. They both knew he was far from ready to return the call. He was also far too busy. Vogel was about to say goodbye, when Mary suddenly said,

  ‘I was just thinking about the names you mentioned: Leo Ovid and Saul Homer and how you thought that they must be connected in some way. You don’t suppose that your killer likes word games just as much as you do, David?’

  That turned on a switch in Vogel’s mind, which – now his argument with Mary was behind them – was suddenly clearer than ever. Vogel said a hasty thanks and a swift goodbye to Mary. He couldn’t wait to follow up her idea.

  Like many compilers of crosswords, Vogel was a classicist and more than moderately familiar with ancient literature. He knew that Homer, the legendary writer of The Iliad and The Odyssey, was often considered to be the father of Greek mythology. Then there was Ovid, an important mythographer of the Virgil and Horace era. He felt so certain that those names hadn’t been picked at random. The two surnames held a direct link to ancient mythology and perhaps that was the biggest clue. Homer and Ovid were writers, they were creators of characters. Maybe what Vogel needed to look for was a mythological character with some, yet to be revealed, relevance to all that had happened.

  He began scribbling the names on a piece of paper, jumbling them up, transposing letters. He kept thinking about what Mary had said: might the killer also like word games? As a crossword compiler, he was an expert juggler of letters and words. He played with all five names at first – an awful lot of letters, even for him. Then he separated the last names from the first names. He got nowhere with Homer and Ovid, so he started to concentrate on Al, Leo and Saul. He felt quite sure there was an anagram there somewhere.

  He delved into his memory, dredging the very depths of his knowledge of ancient literature. Eventually something jumped out at him.

  He turned to his computer and went into google. The results took just a moment or two.

  Vogel leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Oh my God, he thought. Could this be possible? Leo, Al and Saul. The whole thing was unbelievable.

  After just a few seconds he forced himself back into action. He printed out a couple of pages and reached for his phone to call Hemmings, then thought better of it. This needed to be done face-to-face. On the way through the incident room, he asked Willis and Saslow to join him.

  They followed at once and he could feel their eyes on his back, as he strode purposefully along the corridor to Hemmings’s office. Vogel was excited and, at the same time, in a state of some shock. He could feel beads of sweat forming on his forehead and his trembling hands were clutching the freshly printed pages.

  Hemmings was on the phone when Vogel poked his head around his office door and asked if he could see him for a minute. Immediately, the DCI ended his call and beckoned Vogel and his two lieutenants in. Hemmings had realised immediately that something momentous was afoot.

  Vogel knew he was blinking behind his spectacles as rapidly as he ever had in his life. He couldn’t help it. He feared that what he was about to say was going to sound crazy, so much so that he wasn’t sure he could deliver it with the required conviction.

  ‘We are looking for just one man, for three very different murders,’ he began. ‘The DNA results have made that virtually irrefutable. The thing is, what I think I have discovered is, that our perpetrator actually thinks he is three different people. Indeed, he lives his life as three different people.’

  ‘You’re losing me, Vogel,’ responded Hemmings. ‘What possible evidence do you have for that?’

  ‘Not evidence exactly, sir, but either I’m right or we have a pretty unbelievable coincidence. I’ve been playing with the names the bastard’s been using, jumbling up the letters and that sort of thing. At one point I removed the duplication. The names Leo, Al and Saul, contain two As and three Ls. So by removing two Ls and one A, I was left with the letters LEOASU.’

  ‘And so?’ enquired Hemmings.

  ‘Well I tried looking for anagrams, any combination of all, or some, of those letters that might make a word, or rather a name. One combination forms the word Aeolus. It even uses all the letters. AEOLUS. And it hit me straight away. I was focusing on some kind of connection with ancient mythology – because of the last names our killer had used, Homer and Ovid – and I remembered, or half-remembered anyway, who Aeolus was. I mean, it’s pretty unbelievable, but …’

  ‘Vogel, get on with it,’ instructed Hemmings.

  ‘Yes sir.’

  Vogel looked down at the Wikipedia printout in his hand.

  ‘“Aeolus, a name shared by three mythical characters, was the ruler of the winds in Greek mythology. These three personages are often difficult to tell apart and even the ancient mythographers appear to have been perplexed about which Aeolus was which.’”

  Vogel lowered the printout and looked directly at Hemmings. ‘It was Aeolus who gave Ulysses a tightly closed bag containing captured winds, so that he could sail easily home on a gentle, easterly breeze. But his men thought the bag was filled with riches, they opened it and unleashed a hurricane. And Homer relates that story in The Odyssey, his masterpiece.’

  Vogel paused, waiting for the response of his fellow officers.

  Saslow was the first to speak.

  ‘Well, our man has certainly unleashed a hurricane and he may not have finished,’ she said. ‘It’s crazy all right, boss, but I reckon you might be on to something.’

  ‘S-so you actually think the bastard believes he is three different people, boss?’ Willis enquired haltingly.

  ‘I think we are probably dealing with someone who is suffering from multiple personality disorder or dissociative identity disorder, as it is more usually known nowadays. His transition from one self to another is not always voluntary and when he is in one identity, he may have no memory of the others, or not all of them anyway,’ said Vogel. ‘That’s my basic understanding of this condition, but this would be a particularly extreme case.’

  Hemmings looked stunned.

  ‘Well one thing’s for certain,’ he said. ‘We can’t afford any more mistakes on any of this. To start with, we need an expert medical opinion, Vogel.’

  ‘Yes boss. I was about to suggest that. There’s a trick cyclist in London, who Nobby Clarke called on in the aftermath of the Sunday Club murders. She’s a chum of Nobby’s, big in the world of criminal psychiatry. Our killer there had a personality disorder too, but nothing like this, though.’

  ‘All right. Well, get on with it then, Vogel. Try for a meet today, if you can. DCS Clarke will be the one to fix that for you, then, won’t she? And let’s keep this between ourselves, shall we, until we know a bit more.’

  ‘OK, boss.’

  ‘Meanwhile, we carry on looking for Al, Leo Ovid and Saul Homer as if they are three different people. I don’t see what else we can do.’

  ‘OK, boss,’ said Vogel again.

  He led Willis and Saslow towards the door.

  ‘So, if you’re right, which would be his real self, then boss?’ asked Saslow as they stepped into the corridor. ‘Saul, Al, or Leo? And how do we know?’

  ‘I have no idea, Saslow,’ replied Vogel. ‘Maybe there’s even another self.’

  ‘What? Aeolus, you mean?’

  ‘Good point, but no, as well as Aeolus. Look, we have no other record of any crime w
here his DNA has been found. So maybe our man has been living an apparently normal life outside his three, or four if you include Aeolus, alter egos.’

  ‘Surely nobody could do that, boss,’ said Willis.

  ‘I have no idea what this bastard can and cannot do,’ replied Vogel. ‘He certainly doesn’t seem to do limits. If I am right, there is only one thing we know for absolute certain about him: he’s mad. Quite mad.’

  TWENTY-FOUR

  Vogel called DS Clarke straight away.

  ‘Boss, I think I’ve got something here, but I need help to sort it out,’ he said. ‘Do you remember that trick cyclist, the one you got to help us tie up the loose ends after the Sunday Club murders, Freda something or other?’

  ‘Do you mean Professor Freda Heath, per chance, Vogel, arguably the most distinguished criminal psychiatrist in the country?’

  ‘That’s the one, boss. Could you arrange a meet, soonest?’

  ‘Perhaps, if you were a little more respectful, Vogel.’

  ‘Sorry, boss. Look, I think I may have sussed out something about this raving lunatic we’re both after, but I need to be sure I’m not going barmy myself. Can you fix a meet today?’

  ‘Vogel, you don’t half push it. It’s two thirty in the afternoon already and you have to get here from Bristol. Freda’s NHS. Do you expect her to drop everything?’

  ‘I hope you will persuade her too. Yes. We’ve got three deaths between us already, boss, and barely a clue to go on.’

  ‘She’ll want to know where you’re coming from, Vogel.’

  ‘Of course.’

  Vogel briefly explained his hypothesis. When he’d finished there was a brief silence before Nobby Clarke spoke again.

  ‘So you think our man has, at least three, separate identities and may also believe that he is a figure from Greek mythology. Is that about it?’

  ‘Yes, boss.’

  ‘You don’t think this is a theory that may be just a tad off the wall, do you, Vogel?’

  ‘The whole thing is off the wall, boss, but it’s all we’ve got. Anyway, that’s why I need to talk to your trick cyclist. Sorry, I mean Professor Heath.’

  Clarke let that pass.

  ‘I’ll call you back,’ she said and, without another word, ended the call.

  Ten minutes later she was back on the line.

  ‘Freda says even NHS doctors have to eat. She’ll meet you and me both for an early dinner. Six o’clock at Joe Allen. She’s giving a talk to the Royal College of Psychiatrists at eight and will need to leave around seven thirty. Don’t be late.’

  ‘I won’t. Will you be able to stay on? I want to pick your brains more about the Timothy Southey murder and generally compare notes.’

  ‘Vogel, what time did you leave home this morning?’ asked Clarke obliquely.

  ‘About a quarter to six. What’s that got to do with anything?’

  ‘And you’ll be lucky to get home much before midnight. You don’t change, Vogel, do you? Can’t imagine how your missus puts up with you. You’re like a dog with a bone.’

  ‘And you’re not, boss?’

  ‘Ummm, maybe, but I don’t have a missus.’

  ‘Really, boss?’

  ‘You’re so pushing it, Vogel.’

  Vogel smiled. DCS Nobby Clarke was notoriously protective of her privacy in many more respects than just that of her name. Nobody in the Met knew anything worth knowing about her private life. There were the usual rumours amongst the good old boys that she was a lesbian, but based more on the fact that she had rarely been spotted with a man, other than a colleague, and always turned up to police functions alone.

  In spite of the banter, she was and would always be something of a mentor to Vogel. He welcomed the opportunity of discussing everything with her, almost as much as getting the opinion of an eminent psychiatrist.

  ‘By the way, Joe Allen, that sounds familiar.’

  ‘I’m quite sure it does. You’ll be able to find your way all right, I expect.’

  ‘I will indeed, boss.’

  He caught the 3.30 p.m. train from Bristol Temple Meads by the skin of his teeth and arrived at Joe Allen in Covent Garden at five minutes to six. He paused briefly outside, remembering his association with the restaurant, known as Johnny’s Club at the time, during the Sunday Club murders. Vogel hadn’t been there since that investigation. It looked much the same as he remembered it. The same theatrical billboards and photographs. The same piano, albeit with a different, female pianist, wearing a hat.

  He was the first to arrive and shown to the table in the far corner, where a plaque commemorating Sunday Club remained on the wall. Clarke and Professor Freda Heath arrived a couple of minutes later. Freda Heath was very tall, very black and very beautiful. She was also very clever and at the top of her profession, which, of course, was the only thing about her which really interested Vogel.

  Hands were shaken and greetings exchanged. They quickly ordered drinks and food.

  ‘I asked for this table,’ said the DS, waving one hand at the Sunday Club plaque. ‘Holds a few memories for us, eh Vogel?’

  ‘Some I would like to forget, boss,’ said Vogel.

  ‘We solved the case, that’s the main thing.’

  Vogel nodded. He would have preferred to have solved it a lot more quickly, before so much damage was done. Now, he was becoming desperate for the Tim Southey, Melanie Cooke and Manee Jainukul murders to be solved, before anyone else was hurt or killed.

  ‘I hear you have a rather intriguing theory for me,’ interjected Freda Heath.

  ‘The boss has filled you in then?’ Vogel asked, Freda nodded. ‘So, am I just as crazy as I believe our killer to be, or does any of this make any sense to you at all?’ asked Vogel.

  Freda Heath nodded again.

  ‘It does make sense,’ she said. ‘And it’s possible that this could be an extreme representation of Dissociative Identity Disorder. But you may not be aware, David, that there are a number of highly esteemed figures in my profession who don’t even recognise its existence.’

  ‘Really? I’ve done some internet research and I would have thought there were far too many case histories on record for any expert to totally dismiss it.’

  ‘Not totally, perhaps, but it is a reasonable argument to dismiss DID when used as a defence in criminal law as nothing other than a legal ploy. And there are definitely examples of that having been the case in the UK and to a considerably greater extent in the States and then there is the Iatrogenic factor.’

  Vogel raised his eyebrows questioningly.

  ‘Cause and effect,’ said the professor. ‘It has often been alleged that the wide publicity given to people of suggestive personality, combined with the credulity and enthusiasm of therapists …’ Freda Heath allowed herself a wry smile. ‘… has been responsible for at least a proportion of those claiming to suffer from DID.’

  ‘But you don’t go along with that? You believe in DID?’

  ‘Whether or not I go along with the Iatrogenic factor depends on the circumstances,’ said Freda. ‘There is little doubt it plays a part. But in my opinion, the Iatrogenic factor can detract from the genuine cases out there. Even I am cynical about anything in psychiatry that cannot be clinically proven but, over the years of my work at The John Howard Centre, I have no doubt that I’ve dealt with several, absolutely genuine and involuntary cases.’

  Vogel realised he had no idea what The John Howard Centre was, and neither could he exactly recall Freda Heath’s position in the NHS.

  Nobby Clarke came to the rescue.

  ‘Freda’s professor of Personality Disorder for The East London Trust, and The John Howard Centre is their medium security hospital out at Homerton,’ she said. ‘I’ve been there. Trust me. There is unlikely to be any condition of the human mind which hasn’t been seen at the John Howard.’

  Vogel was thoughtful.

  ‘You referred to “totally genuine and involuntary cases,”’ he began. ‘Does that mean that someone
with DID has no control over which personality they become at any given moment? Because I am not sure how our man could have continued to function, if that is the case.’

  ‘Sometimes they can maintain a certain control,’ Freda explained. ‘They have their own ways of keeping an unwanted, alternative identity at bay, for example. If they are with people, they may make an excuse like a visit to the bathroom, or feeling ill if more time is needed, in order to prevent an involuntary intrusion.’

  ‘How long can someone keep up this business of being several different people?’

  ‘Much longer than you would think.’

  ‘Is there always a dominant personality, one which takes precedent over the others and maybe has some control over the others?’

  ‘More often that not, yes. What we usually talk about is a host. In the case of your man, whom you believe to have several unrelated identities, Saul, Leo and Al, possibly Aeolus too, there is probably a host. Your subject’s behaviour patterns indicate that there is a secretive side to all three of these characters. This secrecy was perhaps obligatory with Al the paedophile, but not necessarily so with the other two, before they turned to murder.’

  ‘But isn’t the host Aeolus?’ asked Vogel.

  ‘I doubt it. Complicated as this sounds, I would say Aeolus is the driving force. The personality your man aspires to be, rather than the host. We can assume that he has been going about his day-to-day existence in an apparently normal way for a considerable period of time, perhaps years. This doesn’t quite fit with being a Greek mythological hero. No. I suspect that there’s an unrelated host; someone who appears to be totally normal.’