The Visitor (#3 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series)

by Catriona King

  Liam let out a loud guffaw. “Great. An educated nutter!”

  “But if the killer knows about forensics John, wasn’t it careless to kiss her?”

  “Well they might have been careless, but I doubt it somehow. It’s more likely they believe they’ll never get caught to compare the D.N.A. against. It probably also means they aren’t in the system. This isn’t a known criminal, Marc, so that would rule out Tommy’s crew.”

  “What about the other two women?”

  “There’s nothing in their P.M.s, Trust notes or insurance reports that you don’t already know. Murdock was suspected of drinking in the first case, but nothing went to the G.M.C. And both women were cremated so that’s going to give us nothing. Also, none of their blood samples were kept. To be fair they wouldn’t always be, but again it’s an omission by Davis that needs to be investigated, along with the thinness of the files. I’m chasing up all of that. Marc, can you pop into the lab later please? I’ve an answer on Evie’s cause of death, but I want to show you something first.”

  “OK, thanks - I’ll see you then.” The video link closed and Craig turned to summarise.

  “All right. In view of the attempt to kidnap Beth Walker and the tailing of Murdock and Stevens, we must now consider these three to be at risk. We know that some of those tails were Tommy’s crew and we’ll be lifting them today, but we don’t know what the killer might try next. Liam – can you organise protection for Dr Stevens and Nigel Murdock? And you’d better cover Sister Johns as well, just in case. Round the clock until I say otherwise. They won’t like it, but insist. Annette - when you’ve finished taking Beth’s statement, do the same for her. Joe, can you get uniform to round up any of Tommy’s crew that we haven’t already got in custody? Hold them all for questioning. And tell them to get solicitors - we may be bringing charges.”

  “Tommy as well, boss?”

  “No, not just yet. He has a solid alibi for the time of Beth’s attack - he was in Stranmillis Road station with me. We questioned him about tailing Murdock on Saturday night, but I’ve heard nothing from uniform on him since. So I have to assume that either he gave up, which I doubt, or they missed it.

  We know who was tailing Dr Stevens on Sunday. It was Gerdy, Gerard Bonner. He’s ours already, but he won’t give Tommy up as ordering the tail. So just ask Reggie Boyd to keep an eye on Tommy locally for now, please. Tommy’s definitely behind the tails, but unless one of his men confirms it we won’t get anything to stick. But if we lift his crew he can’t replace the tails - he only has a small team nowadays. So let’s get them all in. It might just be enough to put the wind up them.”

  He lifted a folder from the desk and handed each of them a sheet of A4.

  “OK. I want to look at the profile again quickly. We know they use drugs to subdue their victims, consistently Insulin and Pethidine. They appear to be part of some sort of ‘scene’ and symbolic in some way. On cause of death. John will give me Evie’s final C.O.D. later today, but we have nothing concrete on the first two victims. However, the victimology is consistent - pregnant women having female babies. And they all had Caesareans, either planned or emergency. The victims don’t appear to have anything in common other than that. They had different ages, backgrounds and their babies fell in different birth orders. The sex and survival of the babies is far too consistent to be accidental - and it’s very tricky to manage if you’re intent on killing the mothers at any costs. So, it all implies that the killer is extremely organised and accurate.”

  “Or psychic, boss.” Craig smiled ruefully. He could so with a bit of psychic ability himself.

  “The ‘piggy-backing’ on the intravenous drip implies skill and education, as does the sentence construction in the note. The note may be a part of the killer’s ‘signature’. We don’t have notes from the first two cases, but they could have existed and been destroyed. The killer has easy access to their victims, so they either work in the M.P.E. or visit it frequently. And they know the layout of the Maternity Unit very well. They always target women in side rooms, probably for easy access and escape. They also know how to locate and disable electrical systems, so we have a killer with knowledge of electrics or electronics.

  We have the same doctor and midwife team every time, Murdock and Walker. The odds on that are well beyond coincidence. I don’t want us to get wedded to this profile but just bear it in mind. Especially that this is an educated killer, with electrical knowledge, access and knowledge of the Unit. And given the male D.N.A. now, almost certainly male.”

  He packed up, ready to go.

  “OK, thanks everyone. Let’s have a quick catch up at four o’clock. Nicky, could you get press liaison here for me about twelve?”

  The room emptied quickly but Nicky waited behind, approaching him tentatively.

  “How’s your Dad, sir?”

  Craig glanced at her quickly, wondering how she’d found out. She answered his querying look with a smile.

  “Lucia phoned me earlier. She wanted me to know so that I could take care of you.” She gave him a wry look. “Because you never take care of yourself.”

  Craig half-smiled, imagining just how cheekily Lucia had said it.

  “Thanks for asking, Nicky, but I’m fine. Dad got good treatment and he’ll be home within the week. We were actually lucky it happened. They picked things up before he had a full-blown heart attack.” Then he grinned broadly at her. “And I had my tight jeans ready to wear at that nightclub too...”

  ***

  “Beth, it’s Sergeant McElroy. Can I come up?” Annette shouted loudly into the street-level entryphone, trying to be heard above the traffic in Eglantine Avenue. She hated entryphones - it always felt like she was talking to herself. Same with blue-tooth.

  She scanned the wide street, a main thoroughfare between BT9’s Lisburn and Malone Roads. It was only nine o’clock in the morning, and the traffic was already shocking. People were racing past like they were at Le Mans. She sincerely hoped there was a speed camera at the bottom. After a moment’s silence the door opened remotely and a Foyle accent said. “Top floor.”

  Annette walked up three carpeted flights of stairs, until her ascent stopped abruptly, outside a cheerful yellow front door. Many of the Victorian houses in Eglantine had been converted into apartments, and their high ceilings and broad windows made them spacious and bright.

  Beth opened the door cautiously, wearing her comfort clothes, and Annette was aware of someone moving in the kitchen behind her. Beth caught her enquiring look. “Janey took the day off work. She didn’t want to leave me, after what happened.”

  Janey Holmes’ spiky brown head popped out of the kitchen. She shot Annette a smile, the steristrips on her lip barely holding against the grin. “Coffee all right for everyone?”

  “That would be lovely, thanks.”

  Beth led the way into a cosy living-room with Victorian charcoal sketches on the walls. They matched perfectly with the corniced ceiling and Annette openly admired her taste, making a note of the colour scheme for Pete’s next bout of D.I.Y.

  “This is lovely. Have you been here long? I didn’t even know these flats existed.”

  “We’ve had it for four years. We were lucky - we got a bargain after the market dipped. Sorry about the cables - it’s being re-wired. That’s why we were staying at the nurse’s home. We were supposed to be there for two more weeks, but they must have tailed me from there to Sarajevo, so I’d rather be here now.”

  Beth’s dark purple hair emphasised the pallor of her skin, and the circles under her eyes definitely hadn’t been there the week before. Annette got ready to tape the interview just as Janey came in with the tray.

  “I know an officer took a statement from you both yesterday. And we’ve got your blood samples - that was quick thinking, well done. It’ll be no comfort to you, but you weren’t the only people targeted at the weekend. Although the others were more fortunate. They were followed but not touched. We’re picking up the men responsible tod
ay.”

  Beth relaxed visibly when Annette said the men were being arrested, slumping against Janey in relief.

  “When you’re both ready, could you tell me again, exactly what happened?”

  After a sip of hot coffee, Beth took a deep breath and started to talk.

  ***

  Craig headed back to the squad after updating an unhappy Harrison, telling Nicky he’d be at the lab until twelve. Then he headed out of the building for some fresh air before leaving.

  There were workmen all over Clarendon Quay, fitting moorings for some event. The place was buzzing in anticipation - even the seagulls seemed more excited than usual. He loved being near the water, there was always something happening. He’d even thought of a naval career once, before a trip to New Scotland Yard had hooked him on policing.

  It was a bright day and the view in either direction was impressive. The river swept up past Samson and Goliath, towards the Albert Bridge. The other direction took it through the widening water of Belfast Lough and out to the Irish Sea.

  He leaned heavily on the railings, listening to the soft sounds of boat-horns drifting in, as he stared down through the water. The slow moving waves had a hypnotic effect that helped him think, and he watched them undulating, hoping that they would give him some answers. But the sea never gave up its secrets.

  ***

  By eleven o’ clock Craig was walking into the lab, carrying donuts. John was leaning over his laptop, focusing intently on the screen.

  “Sorry, are you busy John? I should have called ahead.”

  “No, it’s just a boring conference paper. Anyway, I asked you to drop in. I’ve got something to show you.”

  “Evie’s cause of death?”

  “Yes. But we need to go down to the morgue for a minute.”

  On the way down Craig updated him on the weekend’s events, volunteering. “I took Julia out on Saturday night - I’ve been neglecting her.”

  He paused, hoping that John would fill-in the gap with his own feelings, while John took it as a sign that his friend wanted to talk. He was grateful that Craig hadn’t mentioned his breakdown on Saturday afternoon.

  “How’s it going with Julia, by the way?”

  “Well, it wasn’t really. We hardly got to see each other. She nearly dumped me yesterday.”

  John turned to look at him, shocked that Craig’s love life was a shambles as well. “Why? I thought you were happy together.”

  Craig shook his head ruefully. “I’m too busy with work to be fair to any relationship. And the distance between here and Limavady isn’t helping. We’re both wrecked, trekking up and down the M2.”

  “I know what you mean, getting to St Marys to see Natalie is hard enough...” John’s voice tailed off and he looked sad for a moment, then regrouped and turned back to Craig. He shook his head hard, as if it would erase Natalie’s memory. “So what’s the solution?” That was John, always logical. Everything had an answer.

  Craig stared at the floor shyly and John saw the beginning of a blush. “Well...we chatted...”

  “And? Cut to the chase, man!”

  “She’s going to request a transfer from Limavady. Then we’ll get a place together and see how it goes.”

  “My God!” John said it with the surprise that Craig still felt. He grinned at his friend and punched his arm cheerfully. “And a million women weep, ha ha. Good for you. When’s the wedding?”

  Craig’s look of shock said ‘slow down’, and so did his next words. “We’re nowhere near that yet! Let’s just see how it goes.” But John was on a roll and they walked into the mortuary to his incongruous whistles of ‘Here comes the bride’.

  Once there, the mood changed abruptly. This was a place where people who’d been loved or ignored slept in drawers. There wasn’t much to laugh about.

  John pulled Evie’s trolley out gently and took a magnifying glass from his pocket, focusing it on the skin of her young throat. Craig gazed down at her sadly. What a bloody waste.

  “What are we looking for, John?”

  “The Pethidine and Insulin didn’t kill her, and there was no ingested poison in the stomach analysis. Something else caused her death, and I’ve finally found it. It was strangulation. It wasn’t obvious, or we’d have seen it on day one. The thing that confused me was the absence of external marks, or any internal damage to her hyoid bone and larynx. But then I realised. Of course! Simple occlusion of the Carotid arteries.”

  Craig gawped at him, marvelling at the ‘of course’. He was sure that no one else would have come within a mile of the diagnosis.

  “If the arteries are completely closed it produces loss of consciousness in less than fifteen seconds, followed by rapid death. And it doesn’t leave a mark. The pressure needed to do it is about eleven pounds - indicating someone very strong. To avoid a struggle it’s usually only used to kill children or women, or completely incapacitated men. Evie fitted the profile perfectly. Plus, she would have been almost comatose from the medication, so she wouldn’t have fought back. That fits with the lack of the defensive injuries normally seen in strangulation attacks.”

  He gloved up to demonstrate, pointing at Evie’s throat.

  “Let’s suppose that the killer used the palm of one hand to apply pressure across the front of her neck - here. That would avoid any of the external trauma that you’d expect to see from fingertips or nails. Also, the pressure is distributed evenly, so very often there are no internal neck injuries either. But you can see that my hand doesn’t reach right across her neck - she was a sturdy young woman and she had a broad neck. So not only would the killer have had to be very strong, but they’d also need large and long hands. Hold your hand above her neck, Marc.”

  Craig complied. His hand reached - he was two inches taller than John.

  “New research shows that hand size links with height. Large or long hands generally go with a taller man. So we’re looking for a tall and very strong assailant here. She has some puncture haemorrhages in the eyes, which is a sign of strangulation. But they could also have been caused by vigorous resuscitation, and she definitely had that.”

  “How certain are you on this, John?”

  “This is our answer, I’m sure of it. And I think that the D.N.A. on her forehead belongs to her killer. When you find him we can match it. Our murderer’s a strong, tall man. Taller than me. And tell Annette that’s not just chivalry. Even if the D.N.A. wasn’t conclusive it would take an abnormally strong woman to kill this way.”

  “This is great, John. Brian Murray and Geoffrey Kerr are both tall and had a close relationship with her, so we’ll chase their D.N.A. first. If they don’t match we’ll start wider sampling. I’ll call you later.”

  He turned to leave but John’s body language said that he hadn’t finished. “Marc...this is a very unusual method of killing, so maybe that’s a clue as well. I would look for men with combat training, if I were you.”

  Craig nodded. “That’s exactly what I was thinking.”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Monday. 2.30pm.

  Annette caught Liam on his mobile. He was at home in the back garden, about to take a sip from a long cold beer. He’d booked the afternoon off weeks before to take Danni and Rory to the baby clinic, and they weren’t long back.

  It was a hot day, so he was playing at being ‘King of the Barbeque’ and Danni had her brother’s kids coming over at four-thirty. So, as much as he liked Annette, he really wasn’t pleased to hear from her. They’d worked so much over-time in the past week that everyone was getting frayed. The thought of a barbie and beers was the only thing cheering him up.

  “Ayyye, Cutty. What can I do you for?” Annette heard the edge in his voice and knew that she was about to add to it.

  “Murdock’s disappeared.”

  Liam was focusing on the grill, absentmindedly turning a sausage, when what she’d said suddenly sank in. “What do you mean disappeared? He can’t have! Maybe he’s just pissed off on his boat somew
here?”

  “Will you listen to me? He didn’t come into work this morning and the protection detail has been trying to find him all day. His secretary called his wife an hour ago, and she phoned us. It turns out they’d been looking for him too. He had a full private clinic booked this morning and he just didn’t turn up. They’d been leaving messages on his mobile for hours. It was only the fact that he’d no operations or deliveries scheduled that stopped them ringing the wife before now. The last time anyone saw him was on Maternity, last night about eight, when he delivered a private patient. He’d been in the M.P.E. most of the weekend so he stayed over at his place in Belfast.”

  “That’ll be the place in Owenville, where Tommy was caught tailing him on Saturday. Has anyone checked there? The address is in the report.”

  “Joe’s already checked. It’s empty. The C.S.I.s are over there now.”

  Liam sobered up quickly. “Have you been in touch with the girlfriend? She was seen by the guys tailing Tommy on Saturday.”

  “Nope. Any idea who she is?”

  “It shouldn’t be hard to find out.”

  “That depends how discrete they were, Liam. And I can hardly ask the wife, can I? She’s absolutely frantic – seems Murdock’s the very devoted hubbie.”

  “Aye, right.”

  “Well, he does a good impression of one anyway. And she says it’s not like him to miss patients’ appointments...especially the private ones.”

  Liam whistled and stabbed the sausage hard, leaving the fork vertical.

  “Did she actually say that? About the private patients?”

  “Yep...and not a bit ashamed of it either. She sounds as stuck up as him.”

  “A match made in heaven.” He paused, thinking for a minute. “Any signs of a fight at the house?”

  “Joe says there’s nothing to see. And Liam...”

  “Aye?”

  “Remember that Tommy’s out there free as a bird. He’s been loose since Saturday night, long before Murdock disappeared. He could have done anything to him.”

  Liam signed deeply, rubbing his eyes with his now-free hand. “Or... Murdock could be our killer, Cutty, and he’s just staged his own disappearance.”