A Reason to Kill

by Michael Kerr

  “Is that it, Jack?” Tom asked, standing and waiting to be dismissed.

  “Yes, Tom. But keep me posted. I need this shooter roasting on a spit. The brass is pissed over losing the Santini case, and so am I.”

  “I’m more pissed at losing four officers.”

  “That goes without saying, Tom. But all we can do for them is find the bastard and put him and Santini away for life.”

  “And the mole who served Matt and the team up on a plate.”

  “That’s still an assumption. We have no proof of an officer’s involvement.”

  “No, but everything points to it. And if one of our own did sell us out, then I wouldn’t give him a turkey’s prayer of seeing another Christmas.”

  “That’s dangerous talk, Tom.”

  “It’s straight talk, Jack. He’ll go down resisting arrest, or maybe top himself in a holding cell. But his chances of reaching court are slim to none.”

  Tom took the stairs down to the incident room, told the team that they were about to have a civvy psychologist on board, and instructed them to like it or lump it, but to be civil and offer up any information that she requested from them. He then went to his own shoe box of an office and fired up the coffee maker.

  Beth was early. Tom knew she would be. Everyone had their idiosyncrasies, and Beth Holder’s was getting ahead of herself, and usually everyone else.

  “Hi, Tom. Pleased to see me?” Beth said, knowing that the hard-nosed DCI had little respect for her skills.

  “You know it,” he said. “Coffee?”

  “Black, no sugar, please,” she said, delving into her shoulder bag for sweeteners.

  “So take a pew, why don’t you?” Tom said, a little intimidated by the tall, sable-haired doctor, who wore a navy power suit over a high-necked oyster-coloured blouse, that he had no doubt was a designer number. He always felt she was trying to evaluate him, and didn’t like it.

  “You don’t think this is one for me, do you, Tom?” she asked, sliding onto the chair and crossing her legs.

  “No, Beth, I don’t. I was surprised Jack asked you to consult, and that you accepted. This isn’t a serial killer. We’re after a professional hitman.”

  “He may get paid to kill specific individuals, but he obviously enjoys his chosen profession. As a stranger-on-stranger killer, he fits loosely into the same frame.”

  “You reckon?”

  “Yes, definitely. He gets off on repeat killing, so he’s a serial murderer in my book.”

  Tom saw the correlation. Had to admit to himself that she was not just a pretty face.

  They went through all the paperwork. Beth made notes in the margins of the copies he ran off for her. Two coffees later, she squared the thick sheaf off and put it in her briefcase.

  “I need to talk to Penny Page and DI Barnes,” she said, up on her feet, waiting.

  “No problem. Any order?”

  “Yes, the woman first.”

  “And let me guess. You want to do it now.”

  “No time like the present.”

  “So let’s do it.” Tom said, wanting to be done with it, convinced that the psychologist would not be able to shed more light on what they already had.

  “You didn’t release the description of the suspect, why?” Beth asked, walking shoulder to shoulder across the basement garage to Tom’s unmarked Cosworth.

  “Matt...DI Barnes thought it would do more harm than good at this stage. I’m holding off for a couple of days. I agree with him that it’s best for our boy to think he’s home free. What’s your view?”

  “I’m of the same opinion. He’ll cover his tracks if you spread his likeness all over the front pages. Have you got flyers out, though?”

  “Yeah. Every cop on the street has one.”

  “There is nothing else I can tell you,” Penny said to Beth, after she had talked through her recollections of the hostage situation at length with Beth.

  “Tell me how you found him as a person,” Beth pushed. “Was he tense and aggressive in his attitude?”

  “Not all the time. He laughed and talked. Acted as if he was a house guest. But it all seemed false. It was as if he was...empty somehow, putting on an act. I had the feeling he was pretending to show emotions. And he spoke to himself once or twice, as though someone else was present. He was strange.”

  “Thank you, Penny. That helps, believe me,” Beth said, making a quick exit before the distressed young woman could gather her thoughts and ask questions for which, as yet, Beth had no answers.

  “Well?” Tom said when they were outside the room in which Penny and her baby were ensconced under heavy guard.

  “That told me a lot. Faking emotions, self mutilation and talking to his self are pointers. I’m all but sure he suffers from a mental disorder. I believe we have a seriously disturbed individual out there.”

  “I don’t think my DI will be able to give any additional info. He only got a glimpse of the guy before he took two bullets.”

  “Is he having emotional problems, due to what happened to him?”

  “If he isn’t, he wouldn’t be human, Doctor,” Tom said with undisguised irritability. “He almost died. His colleagues did. Believe me, he isn’t a happy camper.”

  Beth stopped and faced Tom. She was so close he could smell her minty breath and see flecks of almost red ochre in her dark irises. Her gaze seemed to pin him to the spot, and was by design, disconcerting.

  “I’m on your side, Tom. Remember that, please,” Beth said. “You have no need to act defensively. I appreciate that you give little credence to what I do, but it’s pretty basic investigative procedure. I take all known behavioural aspects and just extrapolate them. Anything I come up with might just help. Do you have a problem with that?”

  Tom frowned. “Forgive me if my scepticism shows. Truth is, I expect you to come up with a thumbnail sketch of a young white guy who probably lives alone, was abused as a kid, and went on to mistreat animals and burn buildings down before he found his true vocation. And even if you’re on the money, It won’t help us collar him, unless your findings include a name and address.”

  “I’ll try to rise above your low expectation of my profession, Chief Inspector. I just look at a different set of clues. Understanding someone’s personality can in some cases narrow the field. If between us we can home in on this man, then it won’t matter how we got there. It isn’t a competition. And be aware that I’m not looking for brownie points. I don’t need this work. The pay is cheap.”

  “So why do you put yourself up for it?”

  “To make a difference. Isn’t that why you’re a cop?”

  “I don’t know why I’m a cop. It just happened, a lifetime ago. Let’s start over. I don’t want you to get the wrong idea. I’m open to any input.”

  “Good. Tell me how you think this has affected DI Barnes. It will help if I know where he’s coming from.”

  “He’s dedicated. One of the best at what he does,” Tom said, breaking the eye contact and walking to the car. He said nothing else until they were both belted up and he was driving out of the clinic’s gates. “Matt comes across as a hard-nosed individual who doesn’t suffer fools gladly. He isn’t a diplomat. He tells it how it is, and if you don’t like it, he doesn’t give a toss. The slaughter at the safe house has shaken him up a lot more than he would ever admit...even to me. He was the OIC...officer in charge, so in his book he’s responsible. It went down on his watch.”

  “But it would have happened whoever¯”

  “But it didn’t. The buck stopped with him, so he considers himself responsible for the baby getting thrown out with the bath water. It isn’t something you can rationalise. You had to be there, and neither of us was.”

  “How badly hurt was he?”

  “It was touch and go for a while. Another few minutes at the scene and he wouldn’t have made it. He lost a kidney, got his leg broken, and almost bled out. But it’s not just t
he physical injuries that are paining him. And between us, his significant other walked out on him, which I reckon added to his overall sense of failure.”

  “Why did she or he leave?”

  “She, Doctor. Matt is many things, but queer isn’t one of them.”

  “You sound a little homophobic.”

  “Maybe I am. And as long as I don’t let it get in the way of my work, I can choose to believe that God or nature intended sex to be a way for males and females to procreate, and gave them the appropriate genitalia to get the job done. Anything else is abnormal in my book. Grey isn’t a colour I have a lot of time for. I like black and white.

  “Linda left Matt because he was a stranger passing through. I don’t think he’s the type of man who has the capacity to be emotionally involved enough for a woman. They want more than he can give. There’s not enough room in him for a permanent relationship. He was army, then cop. He doesn’t see it as a job. I think he’s on a mission. But Christ knows what really drives him. He doesn’t show a lot. It’s all inside...and lead-lined.”

  “Thanks for sharing that,” Beth said. “I imagine him to be a lot like you.”

  “We tend to see certain things in the same light. But he’s nothing like me. I’ve known him for years, and yet I sometimes think I don’t know him at all.”

  “Is he aware that I’m consulting on this case?”

  “Yeah. I gave him a bell, to give him time to get his head around it.”

  “You mean he’s another non-believer?”

  “No. He has an open mind. He even took a course on this behavioural science stuff. You might find he has his own idea of what makes our shooter tick. Don’t mistake him for some plod who doesn’t know where you’re coming from. He’s as sharp as broken glass.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  MATT was fully aware of Dr. Beth Holder’s reputation, and had even met her once. He knew that she had developed her own Criminal Personality Programme, and that she was highly regarded as being one of the best evaluators of human behaviour outside of the underground warren below the US Marine base at Quantico: The FBI academy over the pond in Virginia.

  After Tom rang and told him that he was driving out to see him, accompanied by Beth, Matt opened a couple of windows front and back to create a through draught, and sprayed the kitchen and lounge with air freshener to nullify the stink of stale sweat, cigarette smoke and Scotch. He even washed up the pile of plates and cutlery he’d dumped in the sink, and closed up the sofa bed. Lastly, he got Des – the cop who was on duty outside, guarding him – to go upstairs and find him a clean T-shirt and pair of jeans. He then cut the left leg out of the jeans and slit the side of them open so that he could fit them around the cast and fasten them up with safety pins. A cruel waste of a good pair of Levi’s that were only five or six years old.

  He had washed, combed his hair, but not shaved, when a car pulled up outside. He limped through to the front door before the bell rang.

  “I’ll get the coffee going,” Tom said after the introductions were done with and Matt was sitting on the sofa. Beth took an easy chair, facing him across an Ikea coffee table.

  “We met briefly on the Gentleman Killer case three years ago,” Matt said.

  Beth remembered his face. “You’ve lost a little weight since then,” she said. “It doesn’t suit you. And I’m not so sure about the designer stubble.”

  “Thanks. I’ll go on a junk food binge and shave.”

  They smiled. Both had the simultaneous thought that they could probably work together.

  “Isn’t your forte serial murderers, Beth?” Matt asked.

  “Yes, but Jack McClane asked me to look at this one. And I get the feeling that your hitman falls into the same category. A career choice of killing people for money is serial to me on one level.”

  Matt shrugged. “I think they have a different mindset.”

  “More disciplined, Matt. And channelled in a way that on the surface might appear to be wholly different. But the bottom line is that they are repeat killers.”

  “So you’d compare this guy to say, the Gentleman?”

  Beth frowned and pursed her lips for a second. “To a degree, yes. Karl Mason committed up-close acts of barbarism on his victims, and left them covered by a sheet with a ‘thank you’ card and a rose on their chests. In each case, he had stalked the women after careful selection. They had to conform specifically. All seven of them were approximately the same age and colouring. They physically resembled his ex-wife, who had left him for another man. But not all ritual or pattern murderers are reacting to one traumatic event that has triggered their actions. This guy kills for the thrill of it. I have no doubt that although he does it professionally, he will also do it for pleasure. The bottom line is, that behaviour always reflects personality. Something started him off. Maybe contract killing is grandstanding. His actions impress the people that hire him. The payment is reward for a job well done. It will bolster his self esteem as well as his bank account.”

  Tom brought three mugs of coffee through on a tray and set it down on the table.

  “Are you saying that one incident can blow their circuits and send them down a certain path?” Matt asked Beth.

  Beth shook her head. “No. It’s never usually as simple as that. I think it’s an accumulation of things, culminating in one event too many. Research shows that a typical serial killer has been disturbed as a child. They become apart from the society they live among, introverted, and vent their pain by making others suffer.”

  “You don’t accept that some apples just go bad without any outside stimulus to account for it?” Tom asked.

  “Yes, as an exception, but not the rule. From what I already know, this man has mental problems. He self mutilates and talks to himself. He might be a homicidal psychopath who also suffers from schizophrenia. At the very least, he may well be dysfunctional, unable to form relationships, and have a host of other symptoms.”

  “Does that help us?” Matt asked.

  “It should. He may have spent some time in an institution. And even if not, he could be under the supervision of a community mental health team.”

  “What would that entail?” Tom asked.

  “It would depend on his needs and the severity of his symptoms. The therapies may well include drugs and counselling. Most patients would see a social worker or community psychiatric nurse on a regular basis, who would in turn feedback to a consultant psychiatrist, psychologist, and the patient’s GP. There would be quarterly or six monthly reviews to assess progress, treatment and care.”

  “I’ll arrange for flyers to be sent to all councils who operate these teams. It might just winkle him out.” Tom said.

  “It’s a long shot, but worth trying,” Beth said. “Even if he was suffering from...say, schizophrenia, he might not warrant close supervision. The majority manage their symptoms with antipsychotic drugs and only see their doctor infrequently. You would have to run the mugshot past every GP in the Greater London area. And at the moment I’m not a hundred percent sure that he is schizophrenic. I just think he could be.”

  “And how do you suppose I can help you?” Matt asked. “I saw him for maybe half a second.”

  “Close your eyes and replay that glimpse in your mind. Forget about what he was wearing. Just see his face,” Beth said.

  Matt closed his eyes and concentrated on being back in the hallway of the bungalow. As the killer appeared to him, Beth spoke again, as if sensing the moment. “Now hold that scene,” she said, “in the same way that you would freeze-frame a video on replay.

  “Okay,” Matt said “I’ve got it.”

  “Are his eyes wide open or narrowed, Matt?”

  “Wide, staring.”

  “Is he looking edgy...under pressure?”

  “No. There’s a slight smile on his face. He appears to be relaxed, without a care in the world. As cool as ice.”

  “That’s interesting,” Beth obser
ved, making notes as she spoke.

  “In what way?” Matt asked.

  “If you had just shot a young couple, then two armed policemen, before breaking into a house where you knew there were more armed police, would you feel relaxed and as cool as ice?”

  “No I would be tense and totally concentrated,” Matt replied.

  Beth continued. “From what you saw, and having spoken to Penny Page, I think the young man we are looking for shows inappropriate behaviour.”

  “Killing people in cold blood is inappropriate behaviour, Beth,” Matt said.

  “I mean that his manner was unusual. A person in his position, say a soldier on the front line for example, would be keyed up and operating under a great deal of nervous tension, definitely not noticeably laid-back. But this perpetrator was in a life and death situation, which he obviously found to be pleasurable and stimulating. He has no fear of death.”

  “Are you saying he has a death wish?” Tom asked.

  “Not exactly. I sense he feels almost invulnerable and in total control. It may not even cross his mind that there is the slightest chance of him being hurt or apprehended.

  “I’ll take everything I’ve got and work up a profile. The bottom line is, that you are looking for a man with a heart of stone. What the Yanks would quite appropriately call a stone killer. And more. He is a serial murderer who allows others to select his prey. There are no ritual or pattern aspects. Evaluating the act itself doesn’t take us anywhere. He will employ whatever means he thinks necessary to accomplish the deed. Predicting his next move is impossible at this time. You’re looking for a sociopath who doesn’t present measurable specifics. Without a recognisable signature aspect, his personality is unknown, and there is no insight to his post-offence behaviour.”