by James Carol
There was also evidence that he’d used a magnetic door sensor to trigger the bomb, the same sort of sensor used in home alarm systems. The magnet had been superglued to the door, while the reed switch was glued to the frame. When Sobek opened the door, the switch closed and the circuit was completed. From that point on the explosion was inevitable. The device adhered to the laws of physics. Once the reaction had started nothing could stop it.
‘What’s the weak link?’ Winter asked.
Anderton pointed to the chair. ‘Isabella’s the weak link.’
‘Exactly. She’s the chaotic element. Everything else is binary. The reed switch is either on or off. The detonator is either live or inert. And the explosives are either just sitting there or they’re going boom.’
Anderton walked back over to the chair, deep in thought. ‘The killer cannot afford for his victims to move. Not so much as a muscle. If they do then they might pull out the wire. If that happens then the bomb won’t work.’
‘So he tells them that the bomb is fitted with a mercury tilt switch. If they move, then it’s going to go off.’
‘But it isn’t fitted with one. The crime-scene investigators confirmed that.’
‘And that’s his big lie. His victims don’t know that, though. By now they’ll be hanging on his every word. Whatever he says, they’re going to believe.’
‘Why not just fit the bomb with a tilt switch? They’re easy enough to get hold of.’
‘They are. But they’re not as easy to get hold of as fairy lights and matches. Part of this guy’s MO is that he wants to leave as small a footprint as possible. The beauty of his bomb is that he can get hold of the components without raising any suspicions whatsoever. Are you going to look twice at someone buying Christmas decorations in December? Or fireworks at the end of June? No, you’re not. Superglue you can buy any time of the year, from any old hardware store. Same goes for the ball bearings and the wire and the nine-volt batteries and the lengths of steel pipe.’
‘Okay, I get it. If he’d used a tilt switch then we might have been able to trace the sale.’
Winter caught that ‘we’. She wasn’t talking about the two of them. Once a cop, always a cop. ‘That’s not the only reason,’ he said. ‘I’d even go as far as saying it’s not the main reason.’
‘Because the main reason is that he doesn’t want the bomb going off early.’
‘That would spoil all his fun,’ Winter agreed. ‘It’s imperative that the bomb is triggered by the husband.’
‘Because that’s another way for him to show that he’s all-powerful.’
‘That’s how I read it. These murders are all about control and domination. We’re back to Small Man Syndrome again. He’s overcompensating for the inadequacies that plague his day-to-day existence. Remember, bombers are the lowest of the low.’
‘Lower than low,’ Anderton echoed. ‘So we’ve established that he’s lying to his victims. How does that help?’
Winter was thinking about the where, why and who of the situation again. This helped with the why, which was the hard road. If they worked out the why, then that would point them in the direction of the killer, but it wouldn’t take them all the way to his door. Winter could think of one way to use the information, but he didn’t know if Anderton would sanction the move.
Everyone had lines they wouldn’t cross. Winter was still trying to establish where Anderton’s lay. That sign on the dashboard of her Mercedes back at the airport indicated that there was hope for her. Then there was the fact that she’d been able to send him copies of everything gathered during the police investigations into the first three murders. Crime-scene photographs, autopsy reports, interview transcripts, witness statements. Information that was okay for the detective leading the investigation to have, but not so okay for a civilian, which was technically what Anderton now was.
‘It doesn’t not help us,’ he said. ‘At this stage we can’t have too much information. Agreed?’
‘Agreed.’
‘Since Sobek’s no longer here, I’m figuring he wasn’t too impressed with me sitting on his chair.’
‘His chair?’
‘Who else is going to be coming up here day after day to sit here?’
‘I’d never thought of it like that, but yeah, I can see how that might work. So what did you make of him?’
‘Well, you’re right about one thing. He’s definitely strange.’
‘And?’
Winter took a moment. ‘And I’m wondering about his motivation. Before Isabella was murdered he was all about status symbols, and making sure people saw them. He had the cars, and the plane, and the house. Now, you could argue that Isabella was a part of his collection, too. A man like that is going to need the trophy wife on his arm, right? I’ve seen the photographs of her and, speaking on behalf of red-blooded males everywhere, I’m telling you that she was stunning.’
Anderton nodded for him to go on.
‘That’s the reason he’s obsessed with this. Somebody has stolen one of his things, and that’s completely unacceptable. Think about it. He’s got cars in his garage that he doesn’t drive, a plane he never flies and a house he doesn’t live in. Why do that? He does it because he’s a collector and, like any collector, all that matters is owning the thing you covet.’
‘And when you get hold of that thing, you’re going to keep hold,’ Anderton put in. ‘The only way you’re letting go is if it gets pried from your cold, dead hands.’
‘We need to keep an eye on him. The last thing we need is for him to go vigilante on us.’
‘Do you think that’s likely?’
‘I’m going to throw that question back. You’ve been dealing with him for the past three years. You know him as well as anyone. Do you think we should be concerned?’
Anderton didn’t respond. She didn’t need to. The answer was written all over her face. This was something she would have considered, and she would have reached the same conclusion. He checked his cell phone again, but the text still hadn’t arrived. This would be a good moment for it to appear. The perfect moment. He gave it another couple of seconds but his phone stayed frustratingly silent.
‘Still no sign of that text you’re waiting for?’ Anderton said.
‘Still no sign. Okay, I’ve seen enough. What do you say we get the hell out of here?’
6
‘Marilyn Monroe,’ Winter said when they got back to the car.
‘And what does she have to do with anything?’
‘In the early hours of August 5, 1962, Marilyn Monroe was found dead in the bedroom of her house in Brentwood, California. If you believe the conspiracy theorists she was killed by the Kennedys. If you believe the LA County coroner she died of acute barbiturate poisoning. And if you believe Elton John then she was found in the nude.’
Anderton had the key in the ignition and was just about to turn it. She let go and the keyring rattled for a second before going quiet. ‘Do you have any idea how many hours we spent trying to work out the significance of that date?’
‘A few.’
‘More than a few. We looked at that date in every conceivable way, then we looked at it in every inconceivable way. When we were done looking at it do you know what we concluded?’
‘You concluded that it was arbitrary. I read your summation of the case.’
Anderton nodded. ‘Exactly. It’s arbitrary. The first murder was committed on August 5 three years ago. Why did the killer do that? Who knows? Maybe he just liked the way the planets were aligned. Anyway, a year passes and he gets the itch to kill again. August 5 is coming up and he’s got good memories of what happened on that day last year, so he thinks what the hell and kills his second victim on the anniversary.’
She paused for a breath. Winter could sense her frustration. It was evident in every word, every syllable. He knew exactly where she was coming from. There was nothing more infuriating than a puzzle that refused to be solved.
‘The unintended consequen
ce was that he received a whole lot of attention that he wouldn’t otherwise have had. Human beings like patterns. We’re programmed to seek them out. So another year passes, and we’re approaching August 5 again. Only this time things are different. The media has got a hold of this and they’re winding the situation up. They’re pouring fuel on the fire and the flames are climbing higher. There’s a real sense of anticipation in the air. And our guy doesn’t want to disappoint.’
‘It’s a good theory,’ Winter said. ‘The problem is that it relies on coincidence. He commits the first murder on the fifth because the planets are aligned, then the second murder a year later on some nostalgic whim.’ He shook his head. ‘We’re dealing with a psychopath here and they’re not the nostalgic type. They’re pragmatic by nature. The bottom line: when it comes to serial killers, I’d prefer to steer clear of coincidence.’
‘So what’s your theory? Why the fifth?’
Winter shrugged. ‘Right now, I’ve got no idea.’
‘But you think it’s significant?’
He nodded. ‘If we can work out why this date is important, then we get an insight into who he is. The better we know him, the easier he’s going to be to hunt down. The successful hunter isn’t the one who chases the prey, it’s the one who understands it well enough to be waiting at the correct watering hole. Where, why, who. This ties into the why. That’s the road less travelled, but even the road less travelled will still get you to your destination.’
Anderton didn’t say anything for a moment. ‘Okay, you’ve turned me into a believer again. So how do you intend finding the answer?’
‘The obvious place to start looking is in the files from the first three murders. Hopefully there’s something in there that was missed. I made a start on the plane and my plan is to carry on looking tonight.’
‘There’s a lot of information there.’
She wasn’t wrong. In the old days it would have taken up at least three boxes, one for each murder. These days you could fit everything onto a flash drive and still have enough space left over for more music than you could listen to in a lifetime.
‘It’s a big day tomorrow,’ he said. ‘I’m not anticipating getting much sleep.’
‘I’d offer to help but I’ve been through everything a hundred times. Backwards, forwards and sideways. It’s got to the point where I can’t see the forest for the trees.’
‘That’s the reason I’m here. Fresh eyes and a fresh perspective.’
‘And God knows we need it. Right now, everyone’s just hanging around waiting for this guy to strike. The problem with that approach is that it means that someone else has got to die before this investigation can start moving again. I can’t let that happen. Three women have already died. That’s three too many, if you ask me.’
‘That’s why we need to hit this thing from as many different angles as possible. In addition to going through the files, I want to talk to the other two husbands. That’s my first priority. They might not have seen the killer, but they witnessed the murders. We’re talking two degrees of separation here. On the basis of that, I need to speak to them.’
‘Eric Kirchner still lives in Vancouver, so that shouldn’t be a problem. David Hammond might be trickier. He moved to Montreal, where he’s trying hard to forget that any of this ever happened.’
‘Do you know where Kirchner lives?’
‘Yeah, it’s not far from your hotel. While we’re down that way we can get you checked in and drop off your case.’
‘Sounds like a plan.’
Anderton turned the key in the ignition and the engine burst to life. Before she could pull away, Winter’s cell phone vibrated. He took it out and checked the screen. There was one new text. It was short and sweet, confirmation of a meeting that he’d been trying to sort out ever since he had an ETA for his flight landing in Vancouver.
Anderton waited for him to look up. ‘Judging by your expression, I’m figuring that’s the text you’ve been waiting for.’
He nodded.
‘Good news or bad?’
‘That depends on your perspective. If I said the name Charlotte Delaney, how would you respond?’
‘As in Charlotte Delaney the crime reporter?’
‘That’s the one.’
‘In that case I’d respond by telling you that the woman was a bottom-feeding, soulless, bloodsucking vampire. And that’s being polite.’
‘That’s what I thought. So, from your perspective, I’d say that the news isn’t so good.’
Anderton’s eyes narrowed. ‘What’s going on, Winter? Why is Delaney sending you texts?’
‘Remember what I said about hitting this thing from as many different angles as possible? Well, this is one of the different angles that I was talking about.’
7
Global BC’s studio was in Burnaby, a city that was grafted on to the east side of Vancouver. The two cities had kept growing to the point where it was now difficult to see the join. The only indication that you’d moved from one to the other was the sign at the city limits. From Sobek’s house it was a forty-minute drive, west to east. The fact that Anderton spent most of the journey trying to persuade Winter that he was selling his soul to the devil made for a long forty minutes.
The next right took them onto Enterprise Street, which was nothing more than an elongated, stretched-out business park. Large cubist buildings sat nestled amongst carefully designed areas of green and large parking lots. Global’s building was a third of the way along. The black colour scheme, satellite dishes and aerials made it appear sinister, like this was a base for a shady government agency. Anderton pulled into the lot and found a space. She killed the engine.
‘Last chance to back out,’ she said.
‘I know what I’m doing.’
She gave him a cynical look.
‘I’ve used this tactic before,’ he said. ‘And got results. On that basis the end more than justifies the means.’
‘So how does this work?’
‘Serial killers follow the news religiously, so we use that fact to draw the killer out. Now, we’ve got two options. Either we attack him or we try to identify with him. The police and the media have been attacking him for the past three years, and all that’s done is push him deeper into the shadows. So, instead of attacking him, we give him a sympathetic character to identify with. Me. Best-case scenario, he actually starts talking to us.’
‘You really think that’s going to happen?’
‘At this stage all I can tell you is that it could happen. I once worked a case where I did a press interview saying that everyone had got the killer wrong. He was misunderstood, he’d had a crappy childhood, nobody loved him. Blah, blah, blah. Et cetera, et cetera. Two days later the police received a handwritten note. It was addressed to me. On the back was one sentence. I am not EVIL. There was a capital letter at the start, a period at the end, everything was spelled correctly and the sentence was grammatically correct, so straight away we knew that we were dealing with someone educated. We released the note to the media and three people came forward saying they recognised the handwriting. Turns out the killer was a radiologist with a college education.’
Anderton said nothing.
‘At the moment this guy’s had things his own way for too long,’ Winter continued. ‘Right now everyone’s just hanging around waiting for him to make his move. That’s what he’s expecting to happen, because that’s what happened last year. This is the ideal time to mount a pre-emptive strike.’
‘I get all that. And if it was anyone else except Delaney, I’d say go for it. But you can’t trust her, Winter. The woman’s a rattlesnake.’
‘It’s got to be Delaney. Global’s news programme is watched by more people in Vancouver than any other, and Delaney is their go-to person for crime stories. This is about engaging with as large an audience as possible. There’s no point going to one of those neighbourhood cable channels that’s way up in the hundreds, because the only person who’s going
to be watching is the interviewer’s mom. Maximum exposure, that’s what we need here.’
‘But this is Charlotte Delaney we’re talking about.’
‘I can handle Delaney.’
‘Okay, my turn for a story. Delaney didn’t like the way I handled the investigation into Isabella Sobek’s murder. After Alicia Kirchner was murdered there were calls for me to step down, then, after Lian Hammond was murdered, the gloves really came off. Back at the start of my career, I worked under a guy who was taking kickbacks. I inadvertently couriered some of the money on a couple of occasions. In my defence, I was young and naive. I made a mistake, that’s all. There was no intent to carry out a crime, and no financial gain on my part. Internal Affairs agreed that I was a victim of circumstance and no charges were ever brought against me.’
‘I already know all this, Anderton. You don’t need to justify yourself. You’re one of the good guys. I get it.’
She showed him the hand. ‘You need to know what Delaney is like, so shut up and listen. Anyway, she drags up the story, but puts a new spin on it. Basically, she made it look as though I was a co-conspirator. She also insinuated that I’d been having an affair with my boss, that I wasn’t as innocent as I’d made out. Unfortunately, my old boss was long dead, so he wasn’t around to deny the allegations. I, of course, denied everything, but it didn’t make any difference. Trial by media is brutal. You’re guilty until proven innocent, and there’s no way you’re going to find an impartial jury. When that shit sticks to you, it sticks forever.’
She stopped talking and stared out of the windshield. Winter knew where she’d disappeared to. She’d gone back in time to those dark days. Like so many businesses, police work was a results-orientated profession. From her superiors’ point of view, she’d struck out three for three. Delaney’s article was the final straw. They knew she was innocent, but her public image had been forever tainted. They couldn’t have her heading up a major investigation. They offered early retirement and she accepted. What else could she do? By that point the writing was all over the wall.