Blood Reckoning: DI Jack Brady 4

by Danielle Ramsay

  Amelia nodded in agreement. He again noted there was no intimacy in her eyes. Whatever history they had, professional or personal, she had wiped it clean.

  ‘We may not have matching DNA samples from the old case and this new murder to confirm it’s the same perpetrator, but as I was explaining, we do have the perpetrator’s signature. Details of which were only known to the police and the killer.’

  ‘Like what?’ Hamilton asked.

  Brady looked at him. He was young. In his early twenties. This was no doubt the first time Hamilton had heard about the Joker murders. And the first time he had met Dr Amelia Jenkins. His keenness to prove himself as competent and worthy of being part of the murder investigation was driven by his desire to impress the forensic psychologist. Brady knew the young lad stood no chance with her. He was most definitely batting out of his league. Even if Amelia liked younger men, Hamilton was still very much a boy. He had a lot of maturing to do, lacking the cynicism that so often came with the job. That, Brady noted bitterly, would come later. A few more years on him, and Hamilton would lose his idealism. The belief that you can actually make a difference to the world. Brady just had to think of the Seventies serial murder case left to rot in files on the third floor of Whitley Bay police station, the mutilated victims’ bodies either cremated or buried, long gone and forgotten – until now. Defeatism got to them all eventually. It was hard for it not to. Not when a killer was still on the loose, thirty-seven years after his crimes – and might even have killed again.

  ‘Well, a perpetrator’s signature can include posing or branding victims in a particular way. With these eight victims, all were left sitting half upright, hands bound behind their backs, legs restrained at the ankles, heads bound in black duct tape and their severed penises stuffed in their mouths. If you look at these close-ups of the victims’ groins you can see that they’ve all been repeatedly stabbed. This torture and disfigurement of the victims’ bodies is another part of the killer’s signature. Some perpetrators will take items of clothing, jewellery or even body parts as keepsakes. Again, this would be that individual’s signature. Something unique to them that goes beyond just the act of, say, raping or killing.’

  ‘Like the Joker card?’ Hamilton suggested.

  Amelia nodded. ‘Exactly.’

  This was one of the troubling aspects of the murder. Brady still couldn’t figure out how De Bernier’s killer could have known such details from the Seventies case, unless they were the same person. Or . . . Brady stopped himself. He found it difficult to accept that someone within the police could be responsible. But he knew that they had no choice but to follow it up. Regardless of Molly Johansson. He had to investigate all the possibilities.

  ‘What does the signature say about our killer?’ Brady asked.

  ‘The signature, as you know gives us clues about the perpetrator’s past, personality and emotional and mental state. The psychological driving forces behind any crime can tell us a great deal about the perpetrator. Here,’ Amelia said as she pointed to Alexander De Bernier’s mutilated groin, ‘is the main signature – sadistic torture. Now this can be a sign of underlying emotional issues, such as anger and self-hatred. This is very much the case here. Our perpetrator feels the need to gain control over his victims. They were all males between nineteen and twenty-two years old. All white, with dark hair.’

  ‘Tell me about The Joker,’ Brady said.

  Amelia looked at him. Held his gaze for a moment longer than was comfortable. Or at least, comfortable for him.

  ‘In 1977 he would have been roughly in his early twenties. He would have had a history of mental illness and I suspect you will find that he had been institutionalised. He would have spent time in a young offenders’ institute or in and out of mental hospitals from as young as fifteen. Up until then he would have been seen as a social deviant. Destructive, angry; a social misfit. He would have started hurting and torturing animals early in his youth. He likes inflicting pain and, consequently, lacks any empathy with his victims. I expect he would have been tested for antisocial personality disorder, psychopathy and aggression.’

  ‘Is he a psychopath?’

  ‘Well, psychopathy is a personality disorder in which the individual typically exhibits amoral and antisocial behaviour. The other common traits are: diminished empathy and remorse, disinhibited behaviour, pathological lying, failure to accept responsibility for their own actions. They also lack the ability to love or to establish meaningful, personal relationships; suffer from extreme egocentricity and can have superficial charm and can be cunning, manipulative and very intelligent. I wouldn’t be surprised if our killer shows some or all of these traits.’

  ‘Why? What would have made him this way?’ Brady questioned.

  Amelia shrugged. ‘Nature or nurture? Most likely he was genetically predisposed to commit these sadistic acts,’ she said as her eyes drifted back to what their unknown perpetrator had actually carried out. ‘But typical contributing factors can be abuse as a child, whether emotional, physical or sexual. More than likely to have happened at a young age and continued up until his teens.’ Amelia paused for a moment as she looked around the table. ‘Jeffrey Dahmer, a serial killer also known as the Milwaukee Cannibal, was neglected as a child and later in life was diagnosed as suffering from borderline personality disorder. He raped, murdered and dismembered seventeen young men between 1978 and 1991. Many of his later murders involved necrophilia, cannibalism and preservation of body parts. Including penises, and all of the skeletal structure.’

  ‘Shit!’ Daniels cursed. ‘That’s one sick bastard!’ Sitting beside him, Kenny looked equally as disgusted.

  ‘Don’t worry, Daniels, I don’t think you’re his type,’ Amelia said.

  Daniels didn’t look impressed with her comment. But a look from Brady made him keep his mouth shut.

  ‘Do you think that’s what we’re dealing with here? A British equivalent to Jeffrey Dahmer?’ Brady asked.

  Amelia weighed up the question before answering it. ‘Yes. You potentially could have a series of murders again. Just like in the summer of 1977. And like Jeffrey Dahmer, he might start getting more and more extreme.’

  ‘And he’s gay?’ Brady asked. He already knew the answer but he wanted the rest of the team to hear it.

  Amelia nodded. ‘Most definitely.’

  Brady looked around the team. None of them looked too clever. Not surprising, given the topic of conversation early on a Monday morning.

  ‘I’m sorry, how can you be so sure that the murderer responsible for either the serial killings in the Seventies and the one committed on Saturday evening are gay? Heterosexual men are known to commit sexual acts on other men. It’s a dominance thing. Just like when men rape women. It’s rarely about the sex act itself, it’s primarily about humiliating the victim.’

  Brady looked at the muscle-bound forty-something detective sergeant who had asked the question. He had a square jaw and a sneering mouth. He recognised him as one of DI Bentley’s men, brought in from North Shields station. He was sitting with his thick, bulging arms crossed, clearly not accepting her words.

  Amelia looked at him. If his rancorous attitude bothered her, she didn’t let it show. ‘I agree with you. Look, I’m well aware of the myth around male rape that all perpetrators are homosexual. And that the reverse is true, that heterosexual men make up the majority of perpetrators who assault or rape other men. But I can assure you that this isn’t the case here. Yes, the victims were specifically targeted because of their sexuality. But their murderer was not some homophobe on a rampage. Anything but. He himself is homosexual. But the rage and disgust he takes out on these young men is really what he feels about himself. He despises his sexual attraction to men, which is why he so violently mutilates their groins. He not only severs the penis, he humiliates the victim by gagging them with it. That’s after he’s ejaculated in their mouths. Then he smothers them in black tape, hiding their identity. Faceless and genderless, he leaves the
m to suffocate to death. It doesn’t take a psychologist to point out the significance of that.’

  The DS looked even less convinced. ‘So, what you’re saying is that the victims were all gay as well as the murderer?’ he asked, raising an eyebrow at her. ‘What do you know about their backgrounds that was overlooked by the investigators at the time?’

  Again, Amelia seemed untouched by the sarcasm in the detective sergeant’s voice. ‘Simple. The choice of crime scenes. The Seventies murders all took place in isolated areas. Ideal for what the suspect planned to do with his victims.’ She paused for a moment as she briefly looked at Brady. No sooner did she catch his eye, than she broke away and turned to Conrad who was next to her.

  Something passed between them. Nobody else in the room had noticed. But Brady had. And it hurt. He felt excluded from whatever intimacy they shared. It was clear that Conrad had shared whatever was troubling him with Amelia. That one fleeting look spoke volumes.

  Brady knew what she was going to say. Realised that Conrad had told Amelia about McKaley’s refusal to acknowledge that the crime scenes were gay cruising spots. However, Amelia was an obvious choice to confide in. If anyone could see a pattern, it would be the team’s forensic psychologist.

  Amelia began again, her words slow and deliberate – mainly for the benefit of the belligerent DS. ‘At the time of the Seventies investigation, no one made the connection that where the bodies were found could be crucial to the investigation. It was assumed that they were just ideal locations to carry out a crime at night. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. These locations, Brunton Lane, Leazes Park, Heaton Park and the others,’ Amelia gestured towards the whiteboard and the crime scene photos, ‘all are known among the gay community as cruising areas. If you’re gay and you want to meet like-minded men for casual sex, these are the places to go. I would suggest that the Seventies suspect knew where he could pick up young gay men. All of them appear to have been consensually tied up. Which makes me think that the killer is someone who you would trust. Someone who comes over as non-threatening. Especially if you weren’t particularly strong, like these victims. Or else why would you allow yourself to be put in such a vulnerable position?’

  Brady was waiting for Daniels and Kenny to make some puerile remark. It didn’t come. They both were remarkably contrite for a change. He assumed that they both knew they were in for a bollocking once the briefing ended. Instead it was Harvey who spoke.

  ‘Wouldn’t their build mean that it would be easier to overpower them? To tie them up against their will?’ Harvey asked, frowning at Amelia.

  Brady studied Tom Harvey. He was the oldest member of the team and a long-standing friend. He was a detective sergeant with no intentions of rising through the ranks, considering the politics to be too bothersome to be worth it. He always spoke as he found. Still unmarried and fast approaching his late forties, he had made some desperate choices when it came to dating. He had tried every dating website out there and had still failed. For a detective, he was lousy when it came to choosing women. He currently had a twenty-two-year-old Thai girlfriend. At least, that’s what he believed. That jarred with Brady. Not that Harvey would listen to him. He was still waiting for her to come over to the UK – despite the bitter fact he had already paid her £5,000 for the privilege. At least, that was the amount he had told Brady. Brady was certain he had parted with a heftier amount of cash than that. But Harvey would not, or could not, see that he was being played. The middle-aged fool really thought she was interested in him – not his wallet. He was an average-looking bloke. His light brown hair was cropped short to disguise the flecks of grey that were becoming more and more dominant. It wouldn’t be long before Harvey was covering up with Grecian 2000 in an attempt to reclaim his misspent youth, and keep his twenty-two-year-old internet girlfriend. Brady noticed the tell-tale nicks on his strong, square jaw. Razor cuts. Whether it was the murder investigation, or more likely, his girlfriend’s latest demand for money, Harvey’s mind hadn’t been on the job at hand.

  And he looked worried. Deep lines were etched into his forehead. His puffy, blood-shot eyes told Brady he’d had a few too many drinks last night. But the bags under his eyes were permanent. As was the ever-expanding waistline. Brady thought of Harvey’s main pleasure in life – drinking. He had an unquenchable thirst and a knack for being the last one standing at the end of a heavy session, still wanting more to drink. Brady studied his earnest face. He was certain that there was a slight jaundiced hue to his skin. Maybe it was the overhead fluorescent lighting, or maybe the heavy sessions in the pub were catching up with him. Brady made a mental note to talk to him, just to check that he was all right. He had a lot of time for Harvey. He had gone up through the ranks with him. Brady had initially worried that his promotion to detective inspector would rankle with Harvey. But, it hadn’t. Harvey was a better man than that. He had wished Brady well, and meant it.

  Amelia shook her head as she looked at Harvey. ‘No. There was no evidence of struggle. If someone was attempting to tie you up, you’d fight back. There’s no physical evidence of this on any of the bodies. Including De Bernier’s.’

  ‘And if Alexander De Bernier’s killer is the same person, and that’s a big “if”, why wouldn’t this murder have taken place in the gay pick-up areas like the original crimes?’ Harvey asked.

  ‘Why the hotel? Because that would give the murderer privacy. Why not the locations used in the Seventies? Because these spots are so well-known now, unlike then, that they are the last place you would go to commit a crime. Too many cars and people cruising by to see what’s on offer.’

  It was DC Kodovesky’s turn to question the forensic pathologist. ‘I don’t understand. Are you saying that this is the same person? The same killer from thirty-seven years ago? How could that even be possible?’

  Brady knew he was going to have to call an end to the briefing. The same questions were being raised as the team tried to get their heads around the murder – or murders. They were getting nowhere, and fast. He took a much-needed drink of water. He had a hell of a lot to get through today, once the briefing was over. There were still a few areas he needed to cover. But then the murder team had to get to work. In particular, delving into De Bernier’s personal life. They still didn’t know where he had relocated. Or how he could afford such expensive designer clothes and accessories. Bank accounts had to be accessed to find out what money De Bernier actually had and where he had sourced it. Brady was certain there was more to him than they initially first suspected. He was hoping that the victim’s girlfriend would have some of the answers.

  He looked at Kodovesky. In her late twenties, she was one of the youngest members of his team. Her long black hair was always worn scraped back into a tight knotted ponytail. It was a harsh look. But it suited her. Her clothes were professional, yet practical: a black polo neck top, black pinstriped trousers and low-heeled black boots. She never deviated from this dress code. For good reason; the same reason she never wore make-up on the job or a skirt. Kodovesky was making a statement. She was a pragmatist. And as such, she was all too aware that she worked in a male-dominated police force. Women did make it through the ranks. But they were still the rarity; the one example that could be cited to prove that equality existed in a predominately testosterone-fuelled environment. One where the size of your bollocks still counted. The bigger, the better. Consequently, Kodovesky chose to downplay the gender card. Her air of detachment was simply self-preservation. She had a lot to prove, despite being better at the job than most of her male peers.

  She was clean-cut and career-obsessed. Two words interested her – fast-tracking. Like Conrad, she did not socialise with other coppers. She kept her head down, did what was asked of her and more, and then went home. Brady could guarantee that she would always be the first one in and the last one out, and admired her dogged tenacity. She knew where she wanted to be, which was giving out orders behind the DCI’s desk.

  Amelia looked at Kodov
esky and nodded. ‘Good point and one that I’ve been struggling with. The problem we have here is that even though the MO has changed, with a physically different type of victim, and a radically different crime scene choice, the signature is identical,’ she said. She then looked around at the rest of the faces. ‘I’m sure you’re all aware that the modus operandi is the methodology of the crime. Meaning the procedures and rules that the suspect follows. You can see that with the first seven victims the perpetrator was consistent with his type of victim and choice of crime scene. But an MO can evolve over time and change as a result of the suspect’s experience. This can then have an impact on the planning and execution of the crime and even the choice of victim.’ Amelia stopped for a moment, allowing the room to register what she was saying. ‘If this is the same suspect, then it would be a given that he would have evolved and changed over thirty-seven years.’

  ‘Why now? Why start again?’ Kodovesky asked.

  It was a question that was on everyone’s mind. Including Brady’s. He had done nothing but think about it from the moment he walked into the crime scene. But he had already reached a conclusion. He was curious to know whether Amelia had reached the same one.

  ‘And you say “he”, are you certain the suspect is male? I can understand the Seventies murderer being male . . . but with De Bernier, maybe it was his girlfriend. Especially given the threatening text she sent him,’ Kodovesky said as she looked from Amelia to the crime scene photos of the victims on the whiteboard. ‘Women may commit less than ten per cent of murders but surely that doesn’t rule them out. They’re still driven by the same forces as male murderers. And his girlfriend did have the motive. She also threatened to . . .’ Kodovesky paused, embarrassed to point out the obvious.