Anna’s jaw tightened, ‘Go on.’
‘Typical motivation for serial homicide is often described as being either sexual or internal psychological gratification. We haven’t evidence of the perpetrator’s bodily fluids, most likely if it were sexual he would have assaulted the girls in that way or left evidence of masturbation. So, we need to ask what is his internal gratification?’
‘Motive?’
‘Not exactly. Sure, motive comes into play, but I’m thinking more along the lines out what does he get out of each kill in the heat of the act.’
Declan’s face looked flushed. He continued, ‘He’s self-assured in his behaviour, appears to operate a con and ploy approach – dupes the girls into accompanying him away from a place of safety into the forest. This shows he can maintain a superficial relationship. He is charming, flirtatious even. They don’t feel threatened by him, which tells us he’s probably young. Young enough for them to feel safe with. Teenage girls still think of the dangerous man as being older. The victim is a prop to him, he doesn’t form attachment, no sexual interference.’ Declan paused, he was watching Anna intensely as if to make sure she was taking in what he was saying.
Anna said, ‘If what you are saying is true, he must have built up a rapport with the girls. Chatted them up, or maybe knew them prior to the murders.’
‘Yes, quite possibly, he knew them, or at least was able to make them feel that he knew them. Kids nowadays are on Facebook with every Tom, Dick and Harry. It could be an online connection.
‘It’s significant that the murder happened in close proximity to the wedding reception. He is letting us know he isn’t frightened. He’s enjoyed the danger of possibly being caught. Somehow I feel that he wants to show us he’s capable of doing something heinous within near reach of safety.’
‘It’s a desire for power then?’
‘Yes. Power and dominance. Superiority even. He’s asserting his power, proving what he can do this under our noses, and maybe, he knows there were significant authority figures at the wedding.’ She could hear the frustration in his voice.
‘And the birds?’
‘I was getting to that. The bird left at Esme’s site was a calling card. He had probably watched from a safe distance, knew the site had been cleared and went back to mark the scene with his docket. He’s intelligent, or at least thinks of himself as being so and wants to play with the investigation. Show his ability to stay one step ahead.’
Anna says quietly, ‘There will be more won’t there, if we don’t catch him?’
‘I think so. The bird could be symbolic; it suggests he sees women as passive creatures, delicate and easily crushed. The insertion of the bird in Grace’s mouth shows he’s getting brasher and sicker and suggests that there is more to come. It’s staged. He is getting a kick out of setting the scene. The birds are props he is using to create an added dynamic.’
They talked some more, going over the details again. The venue, the wedding, the guests and Declan’s PSNI past.
Declan sighed and looked weary. ‘We are looking for someone relatively young – young enough for Esme to feel an affinity with. Someone who has access to the event – so that he can operate under the cover of a big event like a wedding or a prom night.’
‘We’re already checking security, bar and catering staff, but someone might have been brought in on a freelance contract to do the job for the night, giving him access to the event and time to pick out his victim,’ Anna said. ‘We have all the staff from both venues on the interview lists. If anyone isn’t accounted for, we will know by Tuesday at the latest,’ she added, aware that she wasn’t telling him anything he didn’t already know. It was crazy to have allowed Declan to come in and to start down this path of going over the case, but she had been careful not to disclose anything he shouldn’t know, or anything he couldn’t have gleaned from the press. Still, she knew if Thomas or McKay were aware that she was allowing Declan to be involved on any level, her job would be on the line.
He leaned back against his chair, his hands rubbing at his eyes. She recognised the pain etched on his face and something in her stirred in response. It was late and she was tired, but Declan was easy to work with. She liked how his mind was firing off in all directions, leaving no possibility unexplored. She could imagine he had been good at his job. He was wasted in academia. She would have liked to work with him under different circumstances.
‘How are you and your wife coping?’ she asked pouring another glass of red for them both. Her resolve to keep it professional had ended sometime around midnight. Neither of them mentioned how he would drive home after drinking the best part of a bottle of wine.
He shrugged. ‘Izzy and I aren’t exactly together. We haven’t been, not really since this happened.’ he looked down at his legs. ‘I can only speak for myself and right now I’m wrung out. I’m at an impasse, until we get this bastard I can’t grieve, not properly. Every time I think of Esme, I think of him. Of his hands around her neck, of what she felt, of how frightened she must have been.’ He looked down into the glass of merlot.
Anna could see the impact of his suffering in the way he held himself, on the defensive, ready for combat, unsure what was to come next. Anna figured that surviving a car bomb would do that to a person, leave them fragile amongst the wreckage. Now he had to deal with the devastation of losing his daughter in the most awful of circumstances as well.
She recognised something of herself in him. She knew what it was like to lose someone close. First her birth mother; in some deep recess of her being, she knew she bears the wounds of that loss and then, the desperate agony of witnessing Camille’s suffering when death was the kindest release of all.
There was something in the quiet dignity of the way he conducted himself, how he contained his pain that made her want to reach out and comfort him. He was methodical in his approach; every action was deliberated and considered. She could see that it was an effort for him not to bow under the weight of the grief. But like the bough of a tree he could only bend so far before breaking. Without giving it too much thought, she placed her hand on his face. He moved towards her, as if her touch was balm to his pain. He went to speak, to protest probably. ‘Shsssh,’ she said, leaning into him, her lips finding his.
Anna woke first, her neck sore from the position she had been lying in. Declan was still asleep, spread out in front of the dying embers of the fire. They had made a makeshift bed on the floor of pillows and a duvet, while they lay talking into the small hours of the morning. Anna smiled at the memory of him. His touch had been so tender and gentle she had barely felt his hands wandering over the contours of her body. He kissed her with such reverence at first and then desperate passion, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. She had taken the lead, moving fast before either of them gave it too much thought. As her hand had reached down to undo his belt buckle he had stopped her, held her by the wrist and asked if she was sure. She answered by pushing her hand roughly down his trousers and reaching for him, neither was turning back after that. He had surprised her by staying. The downstairs cloakroom meant that he had no need to go upstairs, and they had managed to sleep well enough on the made-up bed of pillows and duvets.
Later, when she pulled his trousers off, she looked at his legs and saw the scars and the crumpled stumps patched together by the surgeons. Her hands moved over them as if needing to understand how they had been damaged, and how they had been put together. He kissed her long and hard, pulling her faded T-shirt over her head. Now she turned into him, feeling the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed deeply.
He stirred. ‘Hey, you,’ Declan said turning to her.
‘You were sleeping so soundly I didn’t want to disturb you.’
‘I haven’t slept like that for weeks, not since …’ he drifted off not wanting reality to ruin the moment. ‘My back is going to kill me,’ he said smiling.
‘I hope I’m worth it,’ Anna joked getting up.
‘Totally.’
Anna felt herself blush. It was the way he looked at her, like she was salvation.
20
Anna watched from the side of the conference room as Thomas sat down beside Richard McKay, facing the bank of reporters and television cameras. The initial awkwardness between them had dissipated and Anna was relived to be focusing on the case. Cameras began whirring into life, flashes of light and the chatter quieted down.
‘Thank you for joining us today. I am Detective Inspector Richard King. I will provide you with some information of the what has happened in the two cases, and then you will hear from Mr Dowds, father of murdered girl, Grace Dowds.’
Anna watched the hacks scribble their indecipherable shorthand in their notepads. She knew they had a job to do but once too often she had seen first-hand their intrusiveness and their lack of respect for the due process of the law. She had a mistrust that they would spin these murders into something salacious, as if the death of two young schoolgirls wasn’t bad enough, they would look for the worst possible angle. Trawl their Facebook pictures to find the most suggestive one, and all the time manage to look like they are taking the higher ground, hounding the police to do more, while badgering the girls’ poor, heartbroken relatives. She thought of Declan and his desperation to ensure the murderer was caught. The memory of his hands all over her body flit through her mind before she dragged her thoughts into the present moment and focused on Richard’s words.
‘… We have a double murder inquiry with the second body, that of Grace Dowds, aged eighteen, found in the grounds of the Culloden Hotel. I can tell you that both girls died as a result of strangulation. The PSNI Serious Crime Operations are, of course, doing everything possible to ensure the killer is apprehended.’
He paused to allow questions. Immediately a tall gangly man stood up, ‘Is it true that you have brought a detective over from Wales because your people aren’t used to dealing with crimes of this nature?’
‘No, most definitely not. The detective you refer to was here on a planned secondment, but of course we welcome her input.’ His eyes met Anna’s across the room.
‘Can you say if either of the two girls were sexually assaulted?’ a female reporter this time, who remained seated.
‘No. There was no evidence of sexual assault.’
‘If there was no sexual assault, would you say you are struggling to find a motive?’
‘We can’t say anymore at this point. Now, Mr Dowds would like to speak.’
The room fell into a hush again.
‘I would like to appeal to anyone who may know anything which can help bring this killer, or killers, to justice to come forward. I am putting up a reward of £100,000 to help find who did this.’ A buzz went around the room, the reward hadn’t been mentioned to them before this. Anna knew too well they weren’t going to gain anything from it. Often, such rewards caused more harm than good. They would need extra officers just to man the phones. Every crank and his aunty would be calling the hotline with their own personal take on the case and possible sightings and theories.
Dowds waited until hush fell over the room again, before he continued, ‘Grace was a beautiful, loving daughter and we are heartbroken that this has happened.’ He bowed his head.
‘That brings our press conference to a close,’ King said, standing and leaning in to talk to Stephen Dowds.
The rumble of voices in the room rose and they all began packing up. They had been thrown their tidbits for the day; it was back to the newsrooms to make something of it.
His hand automatically reached to stroke the dog while he watched the local news programme. ‘Good boy,’ he said, smiling to himself. The collie, as always stood to attention, the best dog ever. He had named it Odin, after the one-eyed Viking god of gods. Odin liked to meddle in affairs in order to stir up the mortals, encouraging violence and war. By doing so he increased the number of warriors in Valhalla that would be there to fight with him in the final battle.
They were talking about the murders on the television. The screen was filled with an image of the river Lagan, flanked by the grassy banks, teaming with wildlife if you knew what to look for, and the woodland behind. The reporter was talking about Esme, her life taken from her in the picturesque setting on the day of her sister’s wedding. Then they switched to the scene at the Culloden, the hotel manager speaking to the camera, saying that they were all shocked by what had occurred.
His girls. How he had taken them from the hotel venues and led them to their deaths. The press conference was shown. Police were appealing for witnesses to come forward. The chief detective was doing the talking, but off to the side of the conference table, he could see that female detective, the one they had sent over from the mainland. Anna Cole. The papers said she was Welsh. She was interesting, attractive, in that easy way some women had of not trying too hard. He liked that. She was looking to the male detective doing the talking and then her gazed moved to the audience of reporters, poised with their notebooks and microphones.
He thought of a line he had read and liked, ‘The man who knows birds by both sight and song has a tremendous advantage over him who does not.’
He stroked the black and white pelt of the dog, thinking of the work involved. His latest creation. Like all good collectors, he liked to keep a notebook of his finds, data and projects. He enjoyed the skill involved, the development of his learning. How each project taught him something new. From discovering the best mount for supporting the structure, to selecting the perfect eyeball, to achieving an accurate head shape. It was all so rewarding. He even enjoyed sewing thousands of tiny stitches, painting beaks, and each of the individual transformative tasks.
As always, he had taken careful measurements before the skinning. There was no room for error.
‘You’re a good boy, Odin,’ he said. The dog had been a good specimen, just like the girls.
Anna was still thinking about the birds. She was sure the first one had been deliberately placed at the site, and that Declan was right. It was a macabre tribute.
‘Hey, Thomas, any word from the tech guys on the birds?’
‘No, nothing yet. Could we be dealing with a twitcher with a passion for killing young girls?’ he said.
‘Twitcher, as in a bird watcher?’
‘Yeah, hard to know, but the bird angle has to be explored.’
Anna looked down at her notes. She had been looking up bird symbolism. Trying to see if there was some sort of hidden message. So far all she had turned up was a whole heap of possibilities and nothing concrete.
‘Esme’s murder site had been cleared days ago so whoever had left it must have been watching to make sure we’d cleared off,’ she said.
‘Yeah, I was thinking that, but until we know more about bird, how it died and how it links up with the one found Grace’s mouth we can’t run with it.’
Thomas moved across the incident room and sat on the edge of her desk. His face over-eager as he said, ‘Give the tech guy a ring. Put a rocket up their arses. Your Welsh accent’ll charm him into getting us the job done.’
Anna rolled her eyes at him but picked up the phone.
‘PJ, Anna Cole here any news on those birds yet?
‘DI Cole, I was just about to give you a call. Saved me the bother of dialing your number.’
Anna could hear the smugness in his voice. He obviously had something worth sharing but was playing up his role. Tech guys could be the biggest assholes.
‘Well, I’ve had a good examination of your first wee birdy. It’s a black guillemot. It wasn’t hard to identify – black and white plumage and bright red feet. I took the liberty to speak to an ornithologist. He says you find guillemots in the larger sea lochs of Scotland, and the northern and western isles, but it’s also found in here in Northern Ireland and the Isle of Man.’
‘And, any idea on how it died?’
‘I found a tiny fragment of netting embedded in the bird’s throat which would suggest it was caught in some sort of tra
p. Its neck has been wrung. A quick twist and it would snap easily enough. So, whoever left it there probably left you a wee message, all right.’
‘Any chance of tracing the netting fragment?’
‘I’m on to it. Should take another couple of days, could have been something the bird picked up from a trawler net so I have to rule out if it’s been an incidental find. I suspect not though, so I’d say look at trappers, wildlife experts that kind of thing. The Royal Society for the Protection of Birds might help you out.’
‘Right, thanks PJ. If anything comes through on the netting let me know straight away. What about the second one?’
‘That one’s still with the pathologist. Since it was found in-situ on the victim, she deals with it so you’ll have to chase her up.’
Anna thanked him. Thomas had heard it all via speakerphone. ‘So, the killer is definitely in the know about how to capture and handle a bird. He has trapped it and left it for us to find.’
‘Yeah, so it’s over to Margaret McCann now to see what the second bird tells us.’
The office was still busy. Holly was up to her eyes trying to organise the extra hands that had been called in. The reward would be nectar to every idiot seeking attention but they needed to follow up every single call.
Anna let the buzz of voices fade behind her as she added her sketch to the wall of maps, scribbled notes, photographs and time lines. The photograph of Esme caught her eye. The image didn’t convey the sparkly girl Declan had portrayed her to be. He had said she was bright and articulate, never slow to speak her mind and quick to point out injustice. She was mad about animals and longed for a dog. Declan said he’d wished they had given in and got her one.
Now Grace’s picture was added to the wall. Her photograph placed beside Esme. Her family feeling the same agony that Declan told her of. The frustration, rage and desolation that sat like a boulder on his chest. She reached for her phone.
Little Bird: a serial killer thriller Page 12