“Thirty times, Tony. That doesn’t bear thinking about, not here. We have to catch this guy.”
“Okay, so this is what I do know above what I’ve already told you. He’s in his late twenties, early thirties, because of the level of sophistication of the attack. The use of the scalpel suggests he is skilled with his hands and is right-handed, ninety-five percent of people are. He is physically strong and athletic, evident from the way he killed the dog and the way in which he bound and strung Helen up. His appearance is important to him and he is likely to hold down a skilled job. Someone of this nature will blend in well with society. It is unlikely that anyone who knows him socially would ever suspect him of something like this. He is probably married, or at least has a partner, but she would take a submissive role. He would not be able to cope with someone who had her own sexual needs and presented themselves as an equal in the relationship.
“There was no element of opportunism, which suggests she was known to him. Perhaps he had seen her running or playing with her dog in the park, hence knowing she would stop if she saw a small bird in need of attention. She had a part-time job as a waiter at a popular bar. He may have spoken to her there and gained enough information to track her movements. He then went on to stalk her because she became important to him, someone he wants to savour. He wants to learn as much as he can about her and absorb the rhythms of her life into his fantasy to increase the clarity and pleasure of the experience. He then sets out to create the conditions in terms of self-preservation and privacy. Talk to the regulars where she worked and see if anyone was acting particularly friendly toward her.”
“Yeah, we’re on it. Anything else?”
“He knows the place, which would explain how he disappeared so quickly without bringing attention. I suspect that he lived there in the past or still lives there now. That none of the people in the general area noticed anyone acting suspicious means that he had to be comfortable in his surroundings for this to happen. He must have had a bag large enough to carry a change of clothes and hold his disguise or hidden it somewhere and come back for it later. Otherwise, he would be walking around as a werewolf covered in blood.”
“We searched the woods and found nothing,” Hunt said while he continued to take notes. “What about the stick-thing he forced—?” Hunt couldn’t bring himself to say it out aloud.
“The term is known as snightism, people who force blunt objects into the anus, but I don’t think this is a sexual act in the ordinary sense for him. More an act of violation done intentionally to humiliate her and it’s likely he inserted it after sexual intercourse. The relevance of the words ‘lollipop’ and ‘raspberry ripple’ could also relate to a specific time in his childhood, something destructive and something that was done to him. The lollypop represents a treat in a child’s life and used most often to reinforce good behaviour, but here the act is sinister, used to humiliate: ‘See how you like it.’
“I’ve come across people at the clinic who would feel the same toward Helen; they have not yet reached the point of taking their fantasies out into the real world—but I have not come across such an amalgamation of so many signs in one person before.”
“Signs?”
“Sorry,” Tony said, shaking his head, “it’s something I’ve been working on. They’re not signs as such. What’s the best way to explain, well, more a grouping of personalities, and similar to the way the Zodiac classifies a sign. Each personality has a behavioural pattern or a desire to behave in a certain way. Common denominators then emerge based on thoughts, emotions, desires, and sexual tendencies. Reactions to certain life events lead to dominant forms of depravity, like rape, mutilation, torture, necrophilia, some of which are present in this case. I refer to these groupings as the Thirteenth Zodiac, damaged minds that long to do bad things.
“They cannot be categorised within the confines of the twelve zodiac signs as we know them. So I use the Thirteenth Zodiac to represent twelve new categories. They are the extreme characteristics of the signs that you are aware of, the dark side of personality, mirror images, if you like. For instance, Cancer, the Crab, is categorised as caring and sensitive, but the Cancer I come across has no experience of those feelings and instead demonstrates a tendency to be sadistic and unsympathetic, which is the complete opposite of Cancer. There is no star sign that characterises such a perverse personality but these traits do exist in people and have a profound influence on how they view the world, and act within it. It is the thirteenth character beyond these twelve that I’m talking about. My worry is that our guy is slotting into more than one or two of these groupings. It is most unusual, and given that he was interrupted and may not have finished what he started, I fear for what he is going to do next. This guy, to my mind, personifies the Thirteenth Zodiac.”
Hunt had the look of a little boy who’d overheard something he shouldn’t but had yet to comprehend its meaning when he looked up. “Tell me one last thing, Tony, how the hell can such an insane person be so inconspicuous around others? It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Because he’s not insane,” Tony said.
“How can you say that after what he has done? How can a sane man do this?” Hunt asked, confused and troubled by Tony’s response.
“An insane person cannot realise the consequences of their actions, but here his actions are purposeful and consistent, clearly aware of what he’s doing. What he does lack is what Sigmund Freud calls a Super Ego. He does not feel remorse or empathy. This is not a man who goes home tearing his hair out saying, “Oh, my God, what have I just done? Somebody stop me?” As far as he’s concerned, everything he does is on his terms and he can do what he likes with them. There is no remorse.
“Although his crime is sickening, he really is not sick. He is bad, but he’s not mad, and he is craftier than he is crazy. This person has a strong psychological defence against seeing himself in a negative light and projects blame outwards.
“It is not remorse that he feels, Marcus, it’s excitement in the knowledge of the outcry that’s coming, the fear he can instil in a whole community. He is a reviled and hunted person, using his wits, reason, and resources to protect himself. Here is a hunter who wanted to kill. He will try again and I fear the next time will be worse.”
Hunt pressed his lips firmly together, his eyes on the ceiling. “Worse. Other than the victim being dead, how can it get any worse?”
“If we don’t catch him and catch him soon, the next victim will likely experience a faith not imagined in hell. He is going to refine his techniques. His methods to inflict fear and pain will worsen.”
Hunt drained the cup of coffee.
26:
“Duty calls.”
Alex Dirkan stopped turning the dial on the radio when he hit on a song by the Hot House Flowers and tried, somewhat unsuccessfully, to match the vocals with his voice. He was driving to St. Augusta hospital for the last pick up of the day and looked forward to getting home early. He’d gotten a call from Pat on his mobile an hour earlier and for the sake of not tarnishing a decent start to the day, he let it run to voice mail. He already knew the call was for a collection but was not in the mood to spend the next ten minutes having another drawn-out conversation with him. Unfortunately, there would be no escape when he met Pat in the next hour. He didn’t know Pat’s second name, nor did he care to. If it had ever been presented to him he had forgotten it.
Pat managed the hospital’s interim storage facility, which included the management of hospital waste, hence, the reason for Alex’s association with Pat and his impending visit to the hospital. It was fair to say that Pat enjoyed Alex’s visits more than Alex did. On the plus side it was also the same hospital where Suzanne, his wife worked, specializing in the care of ill or premature new-born infants in the Neonatal intensive care unit or NICU.
The contract for St. Augusta was largely due to Suzanne and her rapport with the
procurement manager; they were good friends. Suzanne was easy on the eye, dedicated to her work as a nurse, and as demonstrated by previous events in her personal life, she was a fighter.
Winter was almost over and judging by the last few days, the first days of spring had come early. Warm enough to leave the overcoat at home and the window of his red Renault Traffic partly open.
Ever since the accidental spillage of one consignment, the smell from the back continued to seep into the front compartment or the “Sin bin” as Alex called it. The nauseating stench had rooted itself into the van’s metal foundations and became a constant reminder of what he did for a living. He described the stench to Suzanne as “A smell worse than vomit and on a par with death.” When they both thought about it, it wasn’t too far from the truth. To some degree, death certainly played a part. Fresh air through the open window was a welcome change without freezing his nuts off, although, freezing had been a better option to the alternate gagging. Even the bittersweet taste in his mouth was gone, left by the half dozen air fresheners stuck to the wall of the van behind the headrest. Spring officially became Alex’s favourite time of the year.
Nickelback was followed by the Black Eyed Peas’, “I Got A Feelin’.” Alex made a mental note to save the station to the radio’s memory. This was his kind of music. He part sang and part hummed the lyrics, waiting for the chorus to raise his voice and sing along.
Alex took the song to be a good omen. It lifted his spirits in the hope that tonight was indeed going to be a good night. Finally, he and Suzanne might be able to put the thoughts and emotions of the past behind them—if just for tonight—and concentrate on the two of them. He was sure it would do them both a world of good. They always had such good chemistry in the bedroom. They pencilled it in at breakfast, to give it a go that night, which was a start, but Suzanne was still not a hundred percent sure she was ready and may need more time. Alex hoped he had a way of bringing her around.
Six months had gone by since the last mishap—if you could call it that. The doctors called it a recurrent miscarriage, the occurrence of three consecutive miscarriages, the probability of which was 0.34%, unless there was something wrong internally. After her second, there was an 85% chance that she could conceive and carry normally afterward. When she hit three, they were not so sure, and after four, miscarrying after just six weeks, the probability was all but lost.
Suzanne, though was a woman of strength and character, and seemed to be getting back to her own sweet self once again, and if he could get her to relax then there was no reason why they shouldn’t enjoy a bit of TwoTime. He had a plan that included lots of candles, a bottle of red wine, a hot bath, a light neck massage for when she got back from work, the favourite smell of Spaghetti Bolognese and garlic bread with melted mozzarella cheese, sure to do the trick. Get all that right and dessert should firmly be in the cards. Okay, truth be told, it was their counsellor’s suggestion but Alex was well up for it.
Alex didn’t hear the mobile ring in its housing above the volume of the radio. It was the flashing on the display screen that caught his attention. The caller was Suzanne, and not Pat for the third time. He turned down the radio and rolled up the window before pressing the speaker.
“Hi, honey, what’s up?”
“Not much, have a break coming up and was wondering what time you were getting here?”
Alex thought Suzanne sounded jaded, fed up about something, but decided to say nothing about it. “I’m on my way now, about another twenty minutes or so, not long.”
“I wanted to grab a bite in the cafeteria. I can take a half hour when you get here. Can you hurry up, please?”
Alex decided not to ignore the tone this time. “You seem a bit down. Is everything all right?” He just hoped it had nothing to do with him.
“Ah, it’s just been a stressful morning. I’m a bit agitated, that’s all, don’t mind me.”
“Okay, well, I’ll give you a call as soon as I pull in.”
“See you then,” Suzanne said and hung up.
At one-fifteen, the subsidised staff canteen in the hospital was bustling with the hum of mumble and the scratching of cutlery against glazed earthenware plates. The smell was similar to every other part of the hospital. Some type of disinfectant used on the table tops and on the floor. Only when Alex got to the counter could he properly smell the food.
“What is that disinfectant they use in here or better still, in the operating theatre? Maybe I could try using it on the van. That would work,” he said to Suzanne while waiting their turn in the queue.
Suzanne turned to Alex and spoke in a low voice, “Do you have to bring that up now, just as we’re about to eat?”
Alex leaned into Suzanne’s ear. “I didn’t mean anything by it, but you don’t have to drive around with that smell in your face all day. It’s all over me.”
Suzanne shook her head to tell him to drop it and stepped up the queue, leaving Alex to consider what the hell was up with her.
He opted for the chicken curry with rice and chips and a strawberry trifle for dessert. Suzanne asked for pumpkin soup and a salmon salad with brown bread that she picked off the shelf farther down the line. He paid a total amount of money that hardly seemed worthwhile and they found a table for two just as another couple left to get back to their shift.
Alex sat down opposite Suzanne and watched her close her eyes, wipe the lines off her forehead and tuck the long strands of dark hair behind each ear. He took a moment to admire how artfully beautiful she was without an ounce of makeup, dressed in her blue nursing-care tunic.
He knew something was wrong. Her tone and irritated gestures toward him provided clues. She looked stressed and agitated and did everything except look at him, not wanting to give him false hope for tonight, he supposed. Besides their little confrontation in the queue, he was sure, whatever the problem, it had nothing to do with him. He decided to tread carefully, be supportive.
“What’s the matter, honey? You look a bit stressed. I hope you’re not thinking too much about tonight! We don’t have to, you know,” Alex said with some concern, and then spoilt it by putting a fork full of curry and rice into his mouth.
Suzanne looked up at him. “No, sorry about that back there, I shouldn’t have snapped. It’s not that,” she said and gave Alex a weak smile before looking back down at her food. “It’s just been a shitty morning.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” He chewed down on a piece of chicken.
Suzanne played with her soup before she spoke, lifting the spoon and spilling the soup back into the bowl. “I assisted in carrying out an abortion this morning,” Suzanne said, pressing her lips together and looking back up at Alex for a split second.
“Oh.” He put his fork down without taking a second bite of the curry. “I thought that was illegal.” The concern in his face was back.
“It is, unless a psychologist can convince a judge that it’s in the best interest of those involved. In this case the judge deemed it necessary.”
“Was it one of your patients?”
“No, not exactly. Do you remember, about four months ago, the girl who was attacked in Brushy Park?”
“Helen, Helen something, the one the papers were saying was attacked by a werewolf. It’s her you’re talking about?”
“Yeah, Helen Dooley. I won’t forget that name in a hurry, and her only seventeen years old.”
“Jesus, I am sorry you had to go through that.” He reached across the table to hold her hand.
Suzanne took his hand and squeezed tight. The gesture was a comfort to Alex, too, no arguments.
“I had to prep her before the operation,” Suzanne went on to say. “That was the first time I saw her. She looked nothing like that beautiful little girl in those photographs and in that video of her on the news. The gossip throughout the ward was th
at Helen panicked when any of the male doctors came to see her. That’s why I was sent down to her. They said she was in a bad way but I still didn’t expect to see what I experienced this morning.”
Alex shook his head and continued gently rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb. His head hovered over the curry; he salivated with every breath, but he resisted the temptation to take another mouthful. Given the nature of the conversation that would be just downright insensitive.
“When I went to the room to give the anaesthetic for the pre-op, I stopped at the open door for a moment. I saw this frail, fragile little girl propped up on a pillow, barely moving. I could clearly see the scar running the length of her forehead as her mother, Kate, that’s her name, stood over her, brushing her hair. In her other hand, Kate held a few sticks of makeup and I could tell she was wondering how she could use it to put her daughter back together again. Her eyes were so wet they looked like they had never dried. The sight of the two of them choked the breath right out of me. Kate looked like an overgrown child playing with her doll, tucked up in a toy bed, except that everything was life-sized.”
Alex felt guilty for even thinking about food.
“I could see the first signs of panic on Helen’s face when she saw me enter the room. Only through her eyes, nothing else about her moved. Kate immediately asked me to take my hair out of the ponytail, which I did and it seemed to calm her. Even the mere resemblance of a man freaked her. And do you know what struck me the most?”
Alex shook his head a fraction, realising it was a rhetorical question.
“Kate turned toward me and knocked the chair, causing the contents of her bag to spill onto the floor. Except it wasn’t her bag. It was Helen’s bag and I helped her pick up the few things, including a card that had fallen underneath the bed. Her mother sat back down and I looked at the card in my hand.”
The Ice Scream Man Page 17