by Jake Barton
Donna shook her head.
"It’s one of the former names of Sri Lanka. Before it was Sri Lanka it was Ceylon, and before that it was called Serendip. There’s a fairy-tale, about the three princes of Serendip, who made discoveries and reached conclusions by accident, usually while looking for something entirely different. That’s not how I work. If there’s an element of guesswork, it’s based on reason and probability."
"But," Dexter mused. "You could be wrong?"
"Totally."
"So, we could still end up with nothing?"
"Worse than nothing," Kate stated firmly. Dexter stood in the doorway, waiting.
"There’s always the risk I could lead you in completely the wrong direction."
Dexter shook his head, wished them both a good evening, and left.
Donna asked Kate if she could ring home and she nodded, hardly listening as she scrolled through a lengthy document on her screen.
When Donna got through, Peg was full of it as usual. Gary had taken her to Birkenhead market on his motorbike and she’d bought a load of her favourite treats: assorted offal, brains and giblets. Donna shuddered and expressed regret that she wouldn’t be back for an evening meal. "Not to worry," Peg said, "it’ll keep until tomorrow. Hang on, Gary wants a word."
" Hey!" Gary said and the sound of his voice caused Donna’s stomach to flutter. God, she’d got it bad.
"Hey, yourself. Sorry to be such a stop-out."
"No problem. Tell me all about it when you get here. I’ve been in touch with the insurance people. Looks like they’re trying to say I started the bloody fire myself. Get out of paying up. Bastards."
Donna frowned. "That’s ridiculous."
"Not your problem. You keep safe now. You’ll know where to find me when you get in. Looks very comfortable that bed of yours."
Donna felt the heat rise in her cheeks and hung up. Twenty years of age and still blushing like the heroine from a Victorian novel. She went back and sat behind Kate, watching over her shoulder.
"I suppose you’re used to this," Donna said, nodding at the piles of paper. "Can’t say that I’d fancy it – all day and every day."
"It’s what I do, my contribution." Donna wondered if she saw the lack of understanding on her face, because Kate’s voice softened a little. "Trying to explain isn’t easy, so bear with me. I look for patterns of behaviour, similarities and common factors. I’m constantly trying to narrow the field by studying the acts of the offender and inferring the type of person most likely to have carried out the crime."
"Sherlock Holmes?"
Kate smiled. "Not so far off the mark as you might think. There’s a phrase in one of the Conan Doyle books that sums up pretty well what I’m trying to do. The Sign of Four, I think. Something along the lines of, from a drop of water a logician could infer the possibility of an Atlantic or a Niagara without having seen or heard of one or the other. That’s probably not the precise words, but it’s the gist of what my particular skills are all about. The trouble is, unlike the great Sherlock, I’m not a genius. I have to rely on hard work and loads of research. That’s what I’m doing now. Looking for something in the past. Hoping something will strike a chord. Not very glamorous, but it’s the only way I know."
"How do you know what to look for?"
"Ah well, that’s where it gets difficult. Particularly in this case. Marcus Green was put away at a relatively young age, so there’s not as much on file as I’d have liked. I’m looking at the victims and their family, and also the immediate family of Marcus Green. That’s where the answer may lie. The people I usually look for have every reason to avoid detection. They look, sound and appear normal, that’s what makes them so scary. No obvious signs of the devil – eyebrows meeting in the centre of the forehead, piercing staring eyes."
"Doctor Jekyll and Mr Hyde?" Donna said, following up her previous literary reference.
"No, not at all," Kate said. Donna could hear the exasperation in her voice. "I’m not saying anything as simple as a personality change. Turning into a monster at the time of the full moon is not what I’m talking about. This man I’m looking for is far too clever to be obvious. He’s a mild-mannered Clark Kent on the outside."
She snorted. "Well, maybe Superman isn’t the best choice, but in any case, it’s not really what I’m trying to say. He’s the same person, but you’d never know from looking at him what he’s really like. The ones like him, the ones we’ve managed to catch and put away, remain an enigma – in most cases anyway. I’ve studied records of interviews with them, EEG results, and all that sort of thing."
Donna held up a hand. "Sorry," she said. "EEG, I know it’s some form of…."
"Electro-encephalogram," Kate enlightened her. "It measures patterns of brain activity. In almost every case, nothing stands out, they’re as normal as you could possibly get. None of this scientific crap is any use with the people I’m looking for."
For some reason, Donna felt the need to argue with her. "So, you’re saying science is no use at all? What about lie detector tests? They must be of some value or they wouldn’t be persevering with them, trying to improve their effectiveness."
Kate stretched out her slender hand. "I’ll show you something about the infallible polygraph test. Take my pulse."
Donna took hold of Kate’s wrist and glanced at the digital clock at the bottom right-hand side of her computer screen. She sat still while a minute passed, feeling the faint but definite flutter through her fingertips.
"Seventy-nine," Donna announced, releasing Kate’s wrist.
Kate grimaced. "Too many of these things," she muttered, gesturing at the pile of empty Coke cans in the wastebasket at her feet. She visibly composed herself, her face a mask of concentration, and then extended her hand to Donna once more.
"Try it now."
Within seconds of taking her hand Donna was aware of the difference – a far stronger pulse, firm and regular. And slower. Donna kept hold of her hand for the full minute, and then dropped it. Kate grinned.
"Well?"
"Forty-two."
"I can do better if I really concentrate. Change my heartbeat by making myself calm, or take the opposite tack and flood my system with adrenalin, setting my pulse racing. Not difficult. Still think a lie-detector test is gospel?"
Donna shook her head.
"Until we come up with some way of reading people’s minds, these people," she tapped the files in front of her, "will continue to live amongst us. Undetected. Maybe undetectable. This man, let's be positive and call him Marcus Green, he’s bad news. For starters, he’s a clever sod. He knows the opposite sex, understands them too, and knows which buttons to press. I reckon he’ll be a looker, but I don’t have a recent photograph. Being good looking isn’t enough on its own. Oh, it’s a good start, I’ll admit, but it doesn’t explain his ability to get the trust of girls like Celine. It’s more a matter of caring, showing interest in them as people. That’s what does it."
"Would that work with you?"
Kate looked at Donna sharply. "Every single time."
Donna sat staring into space for a while, her thoughts racing.
"What?"
"Sorry?"
"What's bothering you?" Kate asked.
"Oh, just thinking about what we're up against." Donna sounded weak and defensive, and hated herself for it, but Kate Davies intimidated her no end. She'd never felt so fucking inadequate in her life.
"Would it help if I tell you what I know about him? Him and others like him? I told you I would go along with the idea that Marcus Green could be a prime suspect, and I will. But, and it's a big but, it could equally be a total waste of time. I can't risk that. Not when lives may be at risk. Do you see that?" Donna nodded. "Need to keep an open mind. The person we're after may be someone else. I have to keep that possibility open. Understand?"
"Yeah."
"Well, let's see. What can I tell you? He's a planner, we know that. He'll stalk his victims – that's part of his
ritual, part of the fun. He's highly intelligent, adept at planning, organised in everything he does. The ultimate control freak. He'll plan the stalking, the abduction, everything." Kate drew breath, while her eyes scanned the documents before her. "He'll have a place to take his victims. This is important as he doesn't want to kill them. Killing isn't his intention. Power is what turns him on. Killing is the ultimate expression of power, but there's more to it than that. He'll be enjoying himself with his victims that means he'll want to prolong that enjoyment as long as possible. This presupposes he has access to somewhere safe and discreet, somewhere he won’t be disturbed."
"So you don't think it’s just about killing?"
"Oh, it'll come to that in the end. When he's wrung all the pleasure from his victims. Up until that point, he'll want them conscious, fully aware, able to scream. I’ll bet anything at all that he'll be excited by their screaming."
Donna shuddered.
"Want some more?"
Donna nodded.
"Like I said, we're not looking for a beast with horns. He'll look quite normal. That's almost always the case. A sadistic nature hidden behind a respectable facade. They can be married men with children, devoted husbands and fathers, yet still go out to rape and murder women or children. That's the really scary part. There's no sense to this, it's just the way they're made."
"Jesus!"
"In this particular case, he'll have good social skills and be able to talk to strangers without arousing their suspicions or causing them any alarm. He'll have a well maintained but anonymous vehicle. Nothing that will attract attention, but unlikely to break down through mechanical failure. He'll have planned each step of the way and breakdowns will not figure in the script."
"If you know so much, are you any closer to finding him?"
Kate frowned. "Most of this may be a bunch of crap. I told you it's not an exact science. A big bonus is that I understand computers, can find my way into just about any of them eventually, which is something my Dad never dreamed of. What I don’t have is his gift, his capacity to see the whole picture inside his head, and then make that critical jump to a solution through pure intellectual reasoning. I can’t do that. Oh, I’ve had my successes, but with me it’s more perspiration than inspiration."
Donna thought back to what Dexter had told her about some of those past successes and surmised that she was probably selling herself short. Intuitive had been one of the words he’d used to describe her prowess. Add in a phenomenal memory, the ability to work for long hours without a break and a remarkable intelligence and it all added up, in Dexter’s words, to a formidable machine.
"Dexter really rates you, doesn't he?"
Kate shrugged.
"He reckons you're right nine times out of ten. He also said he had no idea how you come up with what you do."
"I wouldn’t expect him to. He thinks the world of you, did you know?"
Donna shook my head.
"When he asked me if he could bring you along, I needed to be certain. Dexter gave you top marks. You’re on his short list."
"What list?"
"People he trusts. A very short list. He said you were still too naive for your own good, but you’d get over that in time."
"I don’t want to get like Dexter, never believing anyone."
"When you’ve been told as many lies as he has, you’ll understand why he’s like he is. He trusts you though and if you’re on the approved list, that’s good enough for me."
"Are you on the list?"
Kate snorted. "No chance. We use each other, but we each have our own agenda. That way we both know where we stand."
"He likes you though. I can tell."
Kate laughed. "Good old faithful Dexter," she said mockingly then turned back to her screen, dismissing any further conversation.
*****
Kate threw down the pen she’d been holding with a muffled scream of irritation. Donna sat alongside her, scanning through a thick sheaf of documents. Donna bent over, retrieved the pen from the floor, and handed it back.
"I’m getting too old for this shit," Kate grumbled. "Can’t concentrate for more than five minutes at a stretch." Donna said nothing, well aware that Kate had been concentrating on her task for the past two hours without a break. Donna thought of the mind-set of someone like Kate, spending her life trying to get inside the heads of killers, rapists and degenerates. Trying to understand what made them tick. She couldn’t do this job.
"Time out?" Kate suggested, pushing herself away from the work-surface with a groan of exhaustion.
They went into the kitchen and Kate put the kettle on. Ten minutes later, Donna was sitting at the table telling Kate about her feelings for Gary Rudd. Kate smirked at the name.
"What?" Donna said.
"I’ve just had him on the screen. I’m looking at all the family members. He’s a bit of a clever clogs, did you know that? A top fine arts degree and no end of other good stuff on his CV. Won awards all over the place. Clean driving licence, in credit at the bank, not religious, no political affiliations, has the Daily Telegraph and the Sunday Times delivered and subscribes to Architecture Today. No criminal record other than a caution for drunk and disorderly when he was eighteen. No known diseases or major illnesses, he’s not HIV positive, and never been treated for any form of venereal disease. That’s worth knowing, isn’t it?"
"Bloody Hell," Donna exploded. "Is nothing safe from you?"
"Not a lot. I’ve got most things, including his inside leg measurement on file. If I need anything else of a more intimate nature I’ll leave it to you to find out."
Donna laughed out loud. "You fucking mad bitch," she said.
~ Chapter 15 ~
"Look at me."
Paula opened her eyes, shielding her daughter from the beam of the lantern. Marcus grinned.
"Almost time now," he said. "Another day, maybe two, and it will all be over."
He walked over and sat on the extreme edge of the mattress. Paula stood her ground, only shrinking away as his damp hip brushed against her own. Celine was shaking, teeth chattering, under the shelter of her mother’s arm. Fear, rather than any chill in the air. Since the rape of her mother, she’d switched off, withdrawing into a world of her own.
"You’re very like your sister, aren’t you?"
Paula didn’t answer. He’d been away all day, but she thought she’d heard him outside once or twice. She knew he’d been swimming for his flesh was cold.
"She cheated me, you know? Your sister. All that teacher talk of helping me, being someone I could rely on. None of it was true. She told them about me. Would have handed me over to the police, told my mother what I did to that boy who stole from me. I couldn’t let her do that. My mother wouldn’t like it. I had to stop her, or if not stop her, then punish her." He lapsed into silence, and for the first time, Paula saw the madness in his eyes.
Paula ignored him, turning her face away. He reached across her and dragged Celine across the mattress, throwing her on the floor. Paula screamed as he got up and reached for the plastic bag with which he’d almost suffocated her.
"No!" Paula screamed. "Leave her alone. I’ll tell you anything you want to know."
"I know you will," Marcus replied, forcing Celine’s legs apart with his knee. "But you had your chance and didn’t take it. You can tell me when I’ve finished with her."
Paula’s screams mingled with Celine’s cry of pain as Marcus thrust his hips forward.
*****
As Donna crept up the stairs, the flickering light leaking out of the front room told her she needn't bother tiptoeing. She looked round the edge of the partly open door. Gary was sitting facing the wall his back towards her. He was staring into space, but looked up as Donna came into view.
"Fancy a walk?" Donna asked.
The incessant pounding of the waves on the sea wall provided a soothing counterpoint to the passing traffic. A faulty streetlight blinked on and off, causing the harsh sodium bulb to flicker
in an irregular fashion. In the gutter, a few large leaves fluttered in the breeze of passing cars, flapping against the kerb like empty brown paper bags.
They walked around the lake in silence, the lights along the Welsh shore twinkling against the dark brooding hills behind. This side of the Dee estuary was waking up with the onset of first light. A milkman stopped at the corner as they approached and threw the remnants of his sandwich to the wheeling gulls. Donna held tight to Gary’s arm, digging her fingers into his flesh. He stopped at a section of sea wall where the rising tide was just beginning to flow over the wall into the Marine Lake and helped her across.
When they reached the sanctuary of the slipway below the sailing club, they sat close together on a bench overlooking the lake, watching the first streaks of dawn flitting across the sky. The Little Eye came into view with the brooding hump of Hilbre Island beyond. In the stillness, Donna heard the baying of distant seals. Gary squeezed her hand tightly.
"You must be knackered, Donna."
Donna shook her head. She’d only had a couple of hours sleep on Kate’s spare bed, but wasn’t really feeling tired. Perhaps it would all catch up with her later. They walked back to the house in silence. The washed-out blue sky degraded into mist over the shoreline with the promise of a better day ahead. Haze, at this time of year was always a good sign. The old maxim in the event of the Great Orme being visible in the far distance beyond the Point of Ayr meaning rain was on the way, was only half the story. Cynics would say that a failure to glimpse the Great Orme meant it was already raining.
"The thing I like about you," Gary said, fiddling with the key-fob she’d just handed to him.
Donna waited patiently. This sounded promising.
The key slipped from his fingers and dropped to the floor. Gary swore and dropped to one knee to retrieve it.
Donna was still waiting, a little less patiently now. "Go on."
He ignored her, still fiddling with the key ring. Donna coughed. Loudly.