‘Looks like it’s him then,’ Ed said. ‘What did he say?’
Rummaging through the papers, Sam found Kelly’s second statement.
‘Here, let’s have a look.’
Sam’s eyes flashed through the paragraphs.
‘Okay. Kelly rang the police immediately after she got the call. It was 7pm on the Tuesday and she was at home with her mother. Kelly couldn’t bear to be alone in the house so her mum had temporarily moved in with her after the attack.’
‘She could be there for a long time,’ Ed interrupted.
Both had interviewed many victims of rape over the years. Most had eventually, outwardly at least, put their attacks behind them but would forever carry the mental scars. Many would never be the same person again.
The woman who had been attacked in the street at night would never again be alone outside in the dark; those who had been assaulted in a multi-storey car park would never use one again; a victim targeted in a park may never be able to take her children there to play. The memory of rape was permanent. It may be locked away in the back of their mind, but it never went away.
‘The caller told her he was sorry and hoped he’d not hurt her,’ Sam Said. ‘Kelly said she was fighting every sinew in her body to hang up, but something inside her was telling her to keep listening. He told her she was beautiful and that he hoped she’d enjoyed their time together as much as he had.’
Ed shook his head. ‘What a sick bastard! What else?’
‘He said something along the lines of how he hoped they could have gone out together somewhere, but that it was out of the question now she had gone to the police. He said he had seen it in the Press. Kelly remembers he asked her ‘why did you do that?’ before he hung up.’
Sam paused, thinking about the call and silently saluting Kelly’s courage.
‘He never raised his voice,’ Sam continued. ‘He was calm throughout. Kelly thought he had even sounded a little sad when he asked her why she had gone to the police.’
Ed scowled, jaw muscles tensing.
‘Sad? He’ll be sad alright when we get our hands on him.’
Ed’s face reddened and they both fell silent, each thinking through the new information, before the ringing telephone made them jump.
‘Jesus,’ Ed said.
Sam picked up the receiver. ‘Sam Parker.’
She listened and ended the call with a ‘thank you’.
Sam replaced the receiver, picked up a pen, and tapped it repeatedly on the desk.
‘Ed, we need an interviewer and a level-5 interview adviser. We’ll be running this job by tomorrow.’
‘Why’s that?’
‘That was an update from Seaton CID. The crime-scene boys at Danielle’s have found a broken kitchen window.’
‘So? He had to get in somehow.’
‘There are pieces of newspaper stuck to the window frame, some kind of temporary repair. No way Danielle did that after the attack.’
‘Coincidence? Forget it. We’ve got a serial rapist. I’ll call them out.’
Sam nodded. ‘And Danielle’s okay for interview. You make the calls. I’ll stick the kettle back on. Oh, and see if you can get hold of Dave Johnson. He can sort out the room.’
He drove to an out-of-town retail park intending to buy identical clothes to the ones he had burnt. If the police ever suspected him, a witness or an image from a CCTV camera could identify his clothing. The new clothes would pass any forensic test – he hadn’t been at the scene in them. They were exactly the same clothes, but not the clothes.
A self-satisfied smile spread across his face. It was inspired.
He got cash from a machine within walking distance of his house. A future investigation could put him at the retail park that day if he made a withdrawal there. Bank cards, like mobiles, left a forensic trail. From there it would simply be a case of them following the evidence. The CCTV, which seemed to be all over the park, might pick him up going into a sports shop, and the cameras inside might put him at the till buying the identical tracksuit. In no time the police would be building a case, not because they were brilliant detectives, but because of his own carelessness. Likewise, there was no danger of him buying anything on a credit or debit card. Strictly cash only.
The hand movements of the man standing opposite in sweatshirt and joggers were a blur as he pushed and pulled the hangers before taking a black shiny tracksuit from the tubular rack. They looked at each other briefly with an air of recognition, the type where you know the face but can’t place it.
He picked the same shiny tracksuit as the man then another in dark blue. On Thursday evening, he would drive to another retail park and buy an identical blue tracksuit. He would use one of them for his next visit, the other he would keep to be handed over to the police if the need ever arose. Conscious that a shop assistant quizzed by police might remember someone buying two tracksuits the same colour – and with the CCTV cameras recording – he used different stores. That said, it seemed to him shop assistants never made eye contact these days and probably couldn’t remember anything, which suited him. He wasn’t much for eye contact himself. Still, there was no reason to run the risk.
He walked towards the racks of training shoes and tried again to place the face of the other man. Stop thinking about him and it will come. The harder you try, the less likely you’ll remember.
He turned his thoughts to the police and knew they would need more luck than a lottery winner to catch him. Only luck had caught Peter Sutcliffe. His capture had nothing to do with all the detectives hunting him. The Yorkshire Ripper was caught by two patrolling uniformed police officers. Pure chance and a million-to-one chance at that.
So long as he wasn’t caught at or near the scene, he would be fine. He started to whistle the song as he strolled to the checkouts.
Ed Whelan telephoned a Level-5 interview adviser. The officer would be responsible for producing the strategies and co-ordinating all the interviews with witnesses and suspects. The interview adviser, like the Senior Investigating Officer, didn’t interview anyone themselves.
In the sport shop, Jason Stroud’s mobile vibrated in his pocket. Answering it, he told Ed he could get to the office within 45 minutes. Jason was delighted to be involved. ‘Result,’ he thought to himself. He wanted to be on this investigation.
Chapter Seven
‘What about his phone?’ Ed asked.
Sam found the relevant document. ‘Not on a contract. Just a ‘pay as you go’. No need for him to hide the number.’
They had been involved in many investigations where mobiles were a central line of inquiry. They knew identifying the owner of a ‘pay as you go’ phone would be almost impossible. No contracts meant no documentation. Top-up wherever, whenever. Buy the phone and if your name and address were requested, provide a false one. Nobody checks.
Linking it to an individual would be extremely difficult. If the number was listed in the mobiles of friends and associates under a suspect’s name, an investigator could begin to show the phone belonged to that suspect.
But it was a long, slow process, and one that always needed a starting point. Anyone criminal who was cautious and smart around planning would keep a separate Subscriber Identity Module card – the SIM – and only use that SIM to contact a victim; no friends or family would ever need to know it existed and there would be no need to hide the number from victims or police.
Ed stood up, frowning, and walked over to the window. He stared at the skyline, his hands resting on the windowsill, and muttered: ‘Something else to look for when we search his house.’
Sam leaned back in her chair and stared at the ceiling. ‘God, it must have been so much easier in the golden days before mobiles. Getting bills for landlines must have been a piece of cake.’
‘Yeah, it was,’ Ed said. ‘But there was no DNA in those days. Don’t hark back, you’ll start to sound like a dinosaur like me.’
Their laughter exploded around the room as Jason Stroud
walked in and greeted them. Sam picked up her cup of tea, and as her eyes moved to Jason’s, he quickly looked away. Had he been staring at her again? Was she imagining it? She had no reason to dislike him but she did think that he was always mentally undressing her. She had seen him sneaking glances at other women in the building. He seemed awkward around women, never meeting their eyes when he was talking to them, but when they weren’t looking, he couldn’t stop himself staring.
Maybe he was just shy. He was certainly an introvert and therefore by nature not your stereotypical detective. At 29, he had been a cop for 10 years. Similar in size to Sam, he had dark brown hair with a side parting and he wore an ill-fitting double-breasted grey Prince of Wales check suit. It gave the impression he belonged to a bygone age. His black brogue shoes, while undoubtedly expensive, always seemed to be in need of a polish. The yellow or pink ties he always wore, irrespective of the colour of his suit, shirt or shoes, meant he was never going to grace the pages of a fashion magazine. Sam wondered whether the high-street outfitters he visited were actually charity shops.
Jason was, however, a methodical planner, the reason he was such a good interview adviser. He had the knack of reading lots of information and coming up with the right questions.
Ed left Samantha and took Jason into an adjoining office. Alone with her thoughts, she paced the room. Every avenue seemed to have been followed up in relation to the first attack. Danielle’s account would give her a very clear indication whether both attacks were committed by the same man. That said, Sam was already convinced they were. She just wanted a little more confirmation.
She walked to the toilet and began mentally developing the ‘lines of inquiry’ for the latest attack and some sort of matrix to compare the similarities between both rapes.
One of the first steps was to identify all registered sex offenders living in the area. The skill was deciding how big that ‘area’ should be. The bigger the area, the more sex offenders, and the greater the number of potential suspects there would be for elimination. With a limited amount of officers at her disposal, the inquiry could grind to a halt running up investigative blind alleys. Meanwhile, the attacker would be free to rape at will.
Ed briefed Jason on both rapes, giving him an overview of each. It was Jason’s job to plan the interview with Danielle and liaise with the interviewing officers. He would also identify all areas of questioning for interviewing a suspect, even though one hadn’t been identified yet.
Leaving Jason, Ed returned to Sam, who told him she wanted to look at some of the signature traits in the way the rapist – or rapists, she cautioned herself – behaved.
‘Okay,’ Ed said, as they sat down at a desk opposite each other. ‘Lone female in her house at the time. First question…how did he know that?’
Sam considered it, wrapping her pony tail round her fingers.
‘Does he already know her?’ she said. ‘Does he work with her? Has he followed her home? Has he had a conversation with her? A chance encounter where she’s mentioned her domestic circumstances?’
‘If he works with them, it’s a bit dodgy attacking more than one,’ Ed said. ‘That’s if it’s the same attacker.’
‘Yeah, increases the risk of being identified. Plus, why was she attacked? Why was she selected? Has she somehow come across him? Where does she socialise and who with?’
Jason Stroud popped his head around the door. ‘The interviewer’s on her way to see Danielle. I’ve told her to establish as soon as possible when the window was broken. I just need to pop home if that’s okay. I think I’ve left the oven on. I’ll be back in less than an hour and I’ll crack on with the stuff for the revisit to Kelly.’
‘Yeah, no problem,’ Sam said.
She turned to Ed, a look of surprise on her face. ‘I never had him down for cooking a Sunday dinner.’
‘Me neither, but his wife’s just left him.’
Sitting in his front room, he shuffled the driving licences , staring at the beautiful, youthful faces of Kelly, Amber, and, Danielle. Looking at each in turn, he recalled their time together, everything still vividly etched on his brain. He hoped his handwritten notes about Kelly and Amber would let him relive the smallest details of their lovemaking in the years to come.
The small brown moleskin notebook was expensive and pleasant to the touch, just like the girls. In the unlikely event the police ever got on to him, the book would burn easily; recording his thoughts on a computer would leave an electronic trail that he could never be 100% certain had been destroyed by the delete button.
Tonight he would relive his time with Danielle moment by moment. He had enjoyed writing at school, but this was in a different league. At school, his bright imagination had made sure his short stories satisfied his teachers, although there had been one when he was 15, a Miss Joy, who he would have been delighted to satisfy in another way. Was there ever a more aptly named woman, all hair and tits and wiggling that arse in those tight short skirts? She must have known what she was doing to every red-blooded boy in the classroom.
This writing was different, though. This was reality, not fiction He would take hours, not wanting to leave out even the smallest detail. The more he wrote now, the less likely his memory would fade in the future. Examining Kelly’s photograph, he reached down and began to touch himself but as his heart rate increased, he reluctantly accepted now wasn’t the time.
In the bedroom, like a mother laying down her newborn baby, he placed the notebook and driving licences carefully inside the bedside table drawer. Each licence was face up, each girl looking at him whenever he opened that particular drawer. Neatly, they sat alongside the pen and the Newcastle United programme.
Chapter Eight
‘Do you think Jason is up to this job, Ed?’ Sam asked, her legs outstretched as she leaned back in the chair.
‘Yeah. Why?’
‘It’s just that I’ve known him for 10 years, but I don’t really know anything about him. He’s quite aloof. Doesn’t disclose much of himself. His choice I suppose, as long as he can do the job.’
‘He’ll be fine,’ Ed said. ‘He’s always done a good job for me, and he was certainly keen enough to get involved.’
‘Maybe I’m being unfair. It’s just… oh I don’t know.’
Sam ran her fingers through her hair, sat up straight, and continued: ‘Okay. So. Our two victims lived alone. We know from the first rape the attacker was there for over an hour. Not in a rush to leave. He obviously felt safe in her home. So not only did he know she lived alone, he knew he wouldn’t be disturbed. That suggests she was targeted, not a random selection. Agree?’
‘Definitely,’ Ed nodded. ‘He’s also taken a knife with him. Kelly couldn’t describe it but none of hers had been stolen or moved from the kitchen. Unless he’s taken one of her knives, and then replaced it in the drawer, which seems unlikely, then we can assume he’s brought his own with him.’
‘I don’t like assumptions,’ Sam said. ‘But you’re right; if we believe there’s an element of planning, then he’s not going to rely on finding a knife at the house, and let’s not forget he took the ropes with him too.’
She inhaled deeply. ‘I doubt Danielle will be able to describe the knife either. If it’s the same person, and he slowly moves the knife across your face, all you’ll be looking at is the tip of the blade. That amount of fear? No way you’ll be describing the blade or the handle.’
‘Natural human reaction,’ Ed said. ‘And remember, these girls have been woken up in the middle of the night with a masked bastard in their room. They’ll have been terrified.’
Ed paused then went on: ‘So he knows they live alone. He’s taken a knife. He’s taken rope. The window in Kelly’s case was broken the day of the attack. We know there’s also a broken window at Danielle’s, but we don’t yet know when it was broken. Has he just discovered the broken window at Kelly’s or has he done it earlier?’
Ed reflected on what he had just said, pulling his chair clos
er to the desk, sitting almost to attention.
‘Jesus, Sam. He’s setting up the entry point in advance.’
‘Possibly,’ said Sam. ‘Very possibly.’
She stood up and tugged at the bottom of her jumper. Creative thinking and logical reasoning always seemed to come easier to her when she paced the room. It was a habit she had discovered during her time at Durham University, often jumping out of bed in the middle of the night and roaming her room until the answer she had been seeking finally flew into her mind.
‘Let’s take that one step forward, Ed. What if he had broken the window earlier that day? Then he goes out on the night with his mask and knife, but when he gets to the house, the window has been repaired. His attack’s blocked.’
‘He could break it there and then,’ Ed said.
‘But if that was the case, why break the window earlier in the day and risk being seen? No, I don’t think he’d do that. He doesn’t want to break a window in the middle of night and risk waking her up.’
‘So, what you saying?’
‘I’m not sure what I am saying,’ Sam answered. ‘What would he have done if the window had been repaired? Gone home? He’s all psyched up to rape. Would he really just go home?’
They both paused for thought.
Ed broke the silence. ‘Would he risk attacking someone in the street? I doubt it, too many variables.’
Sam started talking with her hands in the style of a modern-day politician.
‘Once he’s inside, he stands at the side of her bed. He’s wearing gloves and the mask. He wakes her and puts a hand over her mouth. He’s forensically aware. He’s not going to leave prints.’
‘But he would have to take his gloves off if he was putting a condom on,’ Ed said. ‘Christ, when I was younger, I couldn’t put the bloody things on for love nor money.’
Sam burst out laughing at a mental picture of a young Ed fighting with a Durex, the moment of passion ebbing away with every failed attempt.
Dark Tides Thrillers Box Set Page 5