‘Meaning?’
Dropping her arms and pulling the chair closer into the desk, she leaned towards Ed.
‘What if he’d broken two windows in two different houses? What if he has second target, in case target one repaired the window?’
‘Never thought about that, but it could make sense,’ Ed said. ‘He’s putting in so much planning, it would be stupid to think if plan A is bollocksed, he’d just go home. What you’re saying is he might have given himself a second chance.’
‘Yes,’ Sam said.
‘Another possibility is that Kelly and Danielle were reserve targets,’ Ed went on.
Sam let that work through her mind.
‘Possibly. Let’s do some checks on any reports of broken windows on the days Kelly and Danielle were attacked.’
‘I’m on it.’
Ed sprang to his feet and walked to one of the desks with a computer.
‘They could have come in as criminal damages, or attempt burglaries,’ he said. ‘Shouldn’t take too long. The good thing is single women living alone are more likely to report something like that than blokes who wouldn’t be so bothered once they realised nobody had been inside.’
‘Let’s hope you’re right. I need to eat. Do you want a sandwich?’ Sam said.
‘Cheers. Yeah.’
Turning towards Ed as she reached the door, Sam asked: ‘Any preference?’
Without taking his eyes from the screen, Ed said: ‘Anything as long as it’s got no mayo on.’
‘On a diet, are we?’
‘No. Just can’t stand the stuff.’
‘Okay. Won’t be long.’
Within 10 minutes he stood up, stretched, and walked slowly towards the window. Staring over the grassed area to the road beyond, he thought about all the information. I’m going to get you, you bastard and when I do…
Viewing electronic crime reports, with reams of details, always seemed to strain his eyes quicker than anything else on a computer screen. Standing at the window he grinned, remembering when reports were hand written in triplicate, and how one uniform cop, after three attempts at spelling candelabra, each of them with a line through it, used his artistic talents to draw one on the form.
His mind lost in another era, he jumped as the door crashed open behind him.
‘Did I make you jump?’ Sam laughed as she bounded into the office, throwing a small carrier bag on to the desk nearest to the fridge and kettle. ‘Dinner’s served, master.’
‘Only one master in this room and I’m speaking to her.’
Standing next to the fridge, the mood temporarily lightened, Ed allowed himself a wry smile and shook his head, remembering they weren’t supposed to have kettles, toasters, or fridges in the office. Health and Safety issue. ‘Health and bloody Safety,’ he muttered to himself. Didn’t everyone use these things everyday at home? What were you supposed to eat and drink when the canteen was closed? When you were called out in the middle of the night? The ones responsible for running the health and safety only ever worked nine to five, Monday to Friday. Muppets!
Sam emptied the contents of the carrier bag on to the desk. ‘Cheese and pickle for you, prawn mayo for me, two bars of chocolate. Should keep us going. How’re you getting on with the windows?’
‘Found one reported on the Friday evening before Kelly was raped. Lauren Storey.’
Chapter Nine
‘I knew it!’ Sam shouted, lobbing Ed his sandwich and throwing her arms above her head like a footballer celebrating a goal. ‘I love it when a plan comes together. Love it.’
Tearing open her sandwich, she continued: ‘Come on then, let’s hear it, tell me more.’
‘Lauren Storey. Returns home at 5pm. Sees the broken kitchen window and reports it the next day. I’ve telephoned her. I told her it was just a follow-up call. I didn’t mention the rape inquiry.’
Sam nodded, chewing slowly, her mouth full of prawn mayo, eyes fixed on Ed.
‘She was able to get it repaired almost immediately…her brother’s a glazier. She’s 22, lives alone and works in a fashion store. Obviously I couldn’t ask her to describe herself, not when I’m only supposed to be interested in a broken window. But there’s enough to suspect a connection.’
‘Where does she live?’ Sam asked.
‘Less than 200 yards from Kelly.’
Sam closed her eyes and said: ‘She had to be either the prime target or the reserve. Single woman, same age group, same area, a window broken the same day.’
‘I agree,’ Ed said. ‘We’ll need to interview her, and tell her what we think. She might have seen someone acting suspicious. We can put a panic button in her house. We need to ask her if we can put some cameras on it as well. If she was a target, he could come back.’
‘He could,’ Sam agreed. ‘We’ll need a bigger team tomorrow… there are already loads of lines of inquiry coming together in my head. But for now I’d like someone to visit Lauren. We know she’s at home at the moment. She may give us a lead, and I don’t want to leave it too long. Imagine how she would feel if we let her spend the night alone when we think she’s been singled out to be raped in her own home.’
‘Absolutely,’ Ed said. ‘If she wants any panic buttons or cameras, we’ll have to call out the technical guys, and that can’t wait until tomorrow. I’ll speak with Jason and he can prepare an interview strategy for her. We’ll see what she would like before I call out the technical support, but I’ll put a call into the supervisor just to put them on standby.’
‘Okay. Any other broken windows reported?’
‘No, nothing last night. They might not be on the system yet or just never been reported.’
‘We may need to put something in the media asking for information about broken windows,’ Sam said. ‘That could speed things up.’
‘Might do,’ Ed nodded. ‘I’ll go and speak to Jason. He’s going to need to brief whoever’s going to interview Lauren.’
‘While you do that, I’ll contact control room and ask if anyone else has called in to report a broken window.’
Jason was in the small office next door, working up the strategy for the re-interview of Kelly when Ed walked in. It was a mirror image of the one he had already written up for the interview of Danielle. One of the decisions was to video-record the interviews. The benefits were numerous; as there was no need to write everything down, the interview flowed much more smoothly and was more like a conversation, which in turn helped the victim to relax. The DVD recording also allowed the senior investigators and Crown Prosecution Service lawyers actually see the victim making her statement, her reactions and body language as well as just the bare words.
Interview advisers – few in number – were specifically trained and used in major crime investigations, their skill helping to get the best out of those often reluctant to speak.
Ed updated Jason about Lauren and why she needed to be interviewed today.
‘No problem. Ed.’
Sam had the desk phone to her ear, her hand over the mouthpiece. ‘Hi Dave,’ she said, as Detective Sergeant Dave Johnson walked in. ‘Thanks for coming out.’
Wearing a white dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a black-and-white-striped tie, he was a veteran of many major investigations. A good man to have around. Dave had a retirement date to in five months, but it was the last thing he wanted. He felt he could still contribute but after almost 30 years' service, he had been served with a regulation A19 notice. In simple terms, he was being forced out.
At 51, he had no idea what else to do. In reasonable shape, he had a mop of grey hair, which some of the younger female officers thought made him look like Richard Gere. Women of all ages would often look at him admiringly, and blush if he returned their gaze with his piercing blue eyes.
What frustrated Dave even more was that A19 notices had long been consigned to the past, but with all the austerity measures imposed by the Government, shrinking police budgets meant cuts had to be made to officer numbers. It
wasn’t possible to make police officers redundant, so the forced retirement of those who had completed the maximum pensionable service had again become an attractive option. The cries of ‘loss of experience’ from the Police Federation had fallen on deaf ears. No one was indispensable.
Sam ended the call.
‘No problem,’ Dave told her. ‘Sundays are always shit days.’
‘I didn’t know if you had the kids.’
‘No. They’re older. Got their own mates. You know how it is. What do you want me to do?’
‘There’s been another rape,’ Sam said. ‘Looks like it’s connected to one back in November. Can you get all the admin and stuff ready for tomorrow?’
‘Yeah, no problem.’
Temporarily lost in his own thoughts, he knew that details of the attack would be in the papers tomorrow. The newspaper reports about Kelly were buried in the soil in his allotment. He had felt physically sick when he realised Danielle had called the police. Walking past her house and seeing all those white-suited scientists caused his stomach to heave so badly he thought he was going to vomit in the gutter there and then. As he turned the corner, he bent over double and retched, feeling acid on the walls of his mouth. Why had she called them? Did any woman ever do as they were told? He would have liked to meet up with her, perhaps take her to the cinema, his treat. Wiping his mouth as he stood up, he acknowledged that she was no different to any other woman he had met, just another lying bitch. He’d call her in a few days. He didn’t care if that frightened her. That was her problem. He wanted to hear her voice. Shit, if she hadn’t called the police, it could have been so different. Who knows where it might have ended?
Breathing in the cold air, contemplating calling Danielle, his mind drifted to those women he’d phoned years ago; girls from school; women whose photographs were in the local paper; women he’d seen working in shops. When they answered the telephone, his first question was what colour knickers were they wearing. He wished he could have seen their faces. Not all of them hung up straight away. Some called him a pervert or shouted obscenities at him. When he told them what he was doing to himself, he hoped they stayed on line long enough to hear him finish.
His calls had more substance to them now. He had had a relationship with them, shared their bed, talked to them afterwards.
His mind veered in another direction. Where the fuck’s the mobile? Jerked back into the present, he rubbed his eyes. Where is it? Think! Think!
His second mobile had his victims’ numbers in the address book. No other numbers were stored. It was never topped up online or at an ATM. He would travel out of town and buy a top up card for cash at a small local mini-market.
The phone had been bought from an independent retailer in Newcastle, a direct train journey from Seaton St George. Nobody had asked his name and address, and he didn’t offer it. He hadn’t seen any CCTV in the shop and it didn’t look like the kind of place to have a covert system.
That trail was now so cold, it was Arctic.
It must be in the house. It never left his house. Until he was ready to call one of his girls, that is. He always called them miles from home, from some secluded quiet spot. He remembered reading about a kidnap where the police had been able plot the whereabouts of the criminals’ phones.
Where had he put it? Convinced it wasn’t in its usual place in the tea caddy, he tried to control his panic, telling himself he would look for it as soon as he got home. ‘It’s not as if I’m a suspect. What evidence could they have? None. Absolutely nothing.’
Sam looked up from her cup of steaming tea as soon as Ed walked in. ‘It just keeps getting better,’ she said. ‘I’ve just spoken to a Natalie Robson. She contacted control room at 4pm yesterday to report a broken ground-floor toilet window.’
Ed sat down without speaking, not wanting to interrupt.
‘She thought it might have just been local kids,’ Sam told him. ‘Seems she was happy for one of the neighbourhood uniforms to call round sometime today. They’ve not been yet, which is why it isn’t on the system. I’ve told her we’ll get someone round to see her. I kept it vague.’
‘To be fair, by the time we call someone else out and they get here, we’ll have finished speaking with Lauren,’ Ed said. ‘We may as well use the same interviewing officer. No need for another briefing, and we’ll have some continuity.’
‘Yeah that’s fine,’ Sam agreed. ‘Of course, what we do know is that Natalie must have been the reserve. She and Danielle didn’t fix their windows. Our man went to his first choice. There was no need to move on to his second. And by the way, Dave Johnson’s out.’
Ed walked to the kettle. ‘So enlighten me about this power rapist.’
‘Okay,’ Sam said, putting her cup down and resting both arms on the desk.
‘There are four distinct categories of rapist. I think ours is a ‘power reassurance’ rapist.’
Leaning against the wall with a freshly made mug of tea in his hand, Ed stared at Sam through squinted eyes. Where did she learn this stuff?
‘It’s the most common,’ Sam went on. ‘The behaviour of all rapists during their attack – we’re talking stranger rape here – will reflect their everyday personality. This group uses a surprise approach like our man, albeit he’s sneaking up on the victims in their homes. It’s not a blitz attack or a con. This suggests he has a limited social life and he’s not happy committing an assault.’
Ed pushed himself off the wall.
‘Bloody hell, Sam, what’s rape if it’s not assault? The worst assault. Jesus, short of killing them…’
He moved towards a chair, the fingers of his right hand tightening around the Newcastle United mug.
‘I know that, Ed. What I mean is he’s not happy beating someone up. If we’re going to use this type of thinking to work out what sort of person he is, we have to try to take emotion out of it. We need to concentrate on the crime and this offender in a way that we can catch him. Being pedantic about particular phrases won’t help.’
Ed tried to keep the doubt from his face, not truly convinced but feeling too out of his depth to push back.
‘Yeah, okay,’ he said. ‘Sorry. It’s just you said earlier they want a relationship. I can’t get my head around that.’
He paused and looked into his mug. ‘By the way, where did you learn this stuff?’
Sam allowed herself a quick smile.
‘I read a lot. It’s fascinating stuff.’
‘Go on then. Sounds interesting if nothing else.’
Sam said: ‘Look, this guy needs to prove himself to himself. He has low self-esteem. He’s demonstrating to himself that he can have a relationship with a woman. In his world, she’s a consenting partner. He sees himself as a lover.’
Ed shot up in his seat, tea erupting from his mug and spilling on to his thigh.
‘Shit!’ he said, rubbing his leg. ‘A lover? You sure?’
He shook his head, his jaw hanging open.
‘Yes. That’s why he asks if he’s been gentle, if she’s enjoyed it. His fantasy is that this is a relationship. He asked her to undress. That’s what you’d expect in a consensual relationship.’
Ed’s eyes were locked on Sam.
‘He’s used minimal force,’ Sam told him. ‘He threatens her with a knife, but his personality doesn’t fit with violence and he has little or no confidence with women.’
Ed’s right fist was now tightly held in the palm of his left hand.
‘This all sounds well and good, but I’ve always thought of them as vicious, gutless bastards. I have a wife and a daughter. I’m not sure I can buy into this ‘wanting a relationship’ school of thought.’
Sam looked at Ed and saw a stubborn anger plenty of ‘old school’ cops would share, a lifetime in the job setting their approach in stone.
She was patient and pushed on.
‘Ed, this is years of research in America. The categorisation has been around since 1977. There must be something in it. We may as wel
l explore it. We’ve nothing else to go on at the minute. Once we’ve got Danielle’s account we can compare the traits in his behaviour. We already know about the common thread of the broken windows.’
‘Yeah, a high level of planning, as we’ve said.’
‘And if I told you this type of rapist uses surveillance techniques on their victims, and may target more than one at once?’ Sam left the words hanging in the air.
Ed shook his head slowly and straightened in his chair.
‘Maybe there’s something in it,’ he said. ‘Anything that nails the bastard.’
Sam would take that as a victory, albeit a small one.
She went on: ‘Our discussion earlier, when I said about him being psyched up – you know, what if the window had been repaired? That’s when I remembered reading something about more than one target. I had some notes in my desk. I read them when you were briefing Jason.’
Ed smiled.
‘And here was me thinking you were the font of all knowledge,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t have said anything. You’ve just shattered my illusions, thinking of you as a combination of brains and beauty.’
‘Flattery will get you everywhere,’ Sam said grinning, throwing her head back a little.
Then it was back to business, the mood serious once again.
‘What about the driving licences?’ Ed asked. ‘You said they were souvenirs, not trophies.’
‘I think that’s what they are,’ Sam said. ‘To him, his victims aren’t a conquest so he doesn’t need trophies. He wants souvenirs instead, something to remember them by. With a licence, not only does he have their names, he has a photograph.’
She saw a look of bewilderment breaking across Ed’s face.
‘I’ll try to explain.’ She paused. ‘Did you play sport at school?’
‘I was a decent footballer. Played for school, then in the local leagues. Played at a decent standard. I was a bit fitter then. Lighter.’
‘You’re not too bad these days.’
Be My Girl Page 6