‘He does, but I can’t see Jean King or Janet Rice having much to do with a down and out, at least not to the extent of inviting him into their home. Did you smell him? No, we can forget him, too off the wall.’
‘Ma’am.’ T’Baht nodded and looked away ‘More off the wall than a stranger-killing serial killer who just happens to kill people who know each other? I’m right, and I’ll prove it somehow.’
Healy walked over to his desk, picked up his coat and shuffled out of the room. Dornan watched and wondered.
***
Martha Reid was sitting in her favourite chair looking out of the bay window of her flat. People, cars and dogs came and went but Martha saw none of this activity. She was pondering the meaning of what had popularly become known as ‘closure’. She had now outlived both her children and her husband and, she felt, the point of living at all.
She thought about Joe Turner and her grandchildren in Spain. Joe had called by a couple of times; and phoned once or twice, but without Kate there was no real bond. Her grandchildren never called. She wondered if Joe had killed Kate. She wondered if Joe had killed Julie. She wondered if she even cared now.
***
The following morning Susan Dornan allocated tasks to the squad. John Frame was concentrating on trying to trace Ivana Jakonowski, the former receptionist from “The Cathedral House Hotel.” Since the DNA evidence from Kate Turner’s suitcase had proved that she had stayed there, he had quickly established that the employee who would have been on duty when Kate Turner booked in, with her mysterious and, perhaps, killing partner was Ivana Jakonowski but that she had now left the hotel. No-one seemed to know where she had moved on to or where she lived, a sad reflection on modern life he felt, but it was paramount to trace her as she may well be the only person who had actually seen the killer.
Seen Azrael?
It had been difficult getting any background on her. With Poland now being in the EEC and the “Open Borders” freedom that followed from that, he couldn’t even be sure when she had come into the country, far less where she might be working after leaving the hotel. He made an enquiry with the tax office to see if he could trace her work history through a tax code, if she had one, and had been in touch with the Polish police to see if they could trace a relative who might have a phone number or address for her.
By 10.00am Jill French was entering the Marriott Hotel with a photo of Peter Harris. She had phoned ahead to ensure the receptionist, Helen, was working that morning.
‘Helen, I’m going to show you a number of photos. If you recognise the man you know as Mr Harris, the man who asked for Julie Connor the day she was murdered, can you just point him out to me?’
By 10.10am Jill French was leaving the hotel and on her mobile phone to Susan Dornan.
‘It’s our Harris’ was all she said.
Jack T’Baht was angry. Angry that his suggestion that Boom Boom Colin Banks could be Azrael hadn’t been given the credence he felt it deserved and angry that his superior and his inferior work colleagues; both women, had formed some sort of mutual admiration society when it came to theories on these cases. He intended putting a stop to that.
***
Matt Healy had not gone into work that morning. He was sitting in his living room fixating on Joe Turner and any mistakes he may have made. You may think you’re some sort of avenging angel, you fuck, but I’ll be cutting your wings off very soon. You can be sure of that. He also thought of Susan Dornan. Why had she slept with him, if Ray Ford was so special? Why are women the way they are? Fucking bitches. He looked at the sideboard and the photograph taken many years before of his passing out of Police College. Him and his mother. No father present. He in his crisp uniform, her in the blue coat he had bought her. He had liked buying her things. Although she had never seemed to appreciate his efforts, he was certain that she was grateful, and proud of him. What would she have done in her later years, anyway, had he not stayed on living at home? Yes, she had been grateful. It just wasn’t in her nature to show it. He got up, picked up his car keys from the hall table and left.
Chapter 15
It was a Friday night that Susan Dornan and I first made love. We had been to a movie and then gone back to her flat. We had chatted for a while and when I had hinted about making a move to leave, she had quietly said: ‘Why don’t you just stay?’ So I had.
We were lying in her bed when she told me of the developments in the murder cases that were beginning to draw the attention of the Glasgow media.
‘Looks like we’re facing a serial killer, Ray.’
‘Christ.’
‘Azrael, actually.’
‘What?’
‘Calls himself Azrael. After an Archangel who dishes out justice, apparently.’
‘Right. Does this mean Joe Turner is off the hook?’
‘Not really. Matt Healy thinks Turner is Azrael. Besides, there is no doubt Turner killed Julie Connor. Although....’
‘Although what?’
‘Sorry, Ray, I can’t say. If anything changes I’ll let you know I promise but we will need to talk to Turner again.’
‘Make sure I’m present, Susan. You know the rules and I don’t like the sound of Healy’s thinking.’
‘I will. If it’s any consolation, I don’t agree with the “Turner is Azrael” line either.’
‘Any ideas who it could be?’
‘One, but even that’s a very long shot indeed.’
‘Bet I know who you’re thinking of.’
‘Who?’
‘Tony the Tiger, he’s a cereal killer!’
‘Oh ha, ha! Everyone’s a comedian these days.’
***
Joe Turner was lying in bed as well. Unaware of the scenario that was forming around him or, if truth be told, unaware of a lot of what had been happening over recent weeks. He would never admit he had a drink problem but he was now willing to admit that he couldn’t handle the binges the way he used to be able to. He could remember leaving his bed-sit a couple of days ago and he was definitely back there now but what had happened in the intervening time was a haze. He had staggered to the bathroom that morning for a pee and an aspirin, seen the scratches on his cheek and decided to go back to bed. He knew he had told Martha he would pop in that afternoon but he wasn’t going anywhere looking the way he did; far less Martha’s. He would phone her when he got the chance. He remembered deciding to walk into the city centre and stopping at a couple of bars on the way. He didn’t remember how many ‘a couple’ consisted off but could remember being ‘well on’ by the time he reached the Counting House. From there it was a pick-up, possibly a bar maid, something to eat and a carry-out back at her place. Then nothing.
***
Colin Boom Boom Banks was lying down as well; but he didn’t have the luxury of a bed to lie on. He too was unaware of what was developing around him, or of where or what he had been doing over the last few days. His bed was made up of two discarded tarpaulin sheets, with a folded cardboard box as a pillow. The scratches on his face were as mysterious as the whereabouts of his knife. He had searched in vain for it earlier; but to no avail.
He couldn’t let his mother know he had lost his knife. He would save his pocket money and go to the shops and buy one that looked just the same. Money? He peered into his personal mist. He remembered going to some doors offering to do some work. Two kind ladies offering him food. Had he eaten? He couldn’t say.
***
Susan Dornan had decided not to call Matt Healy. She was sure he would check in once he had calmed down and looked rationally at the evidence. Besides, after the previous night with Ray Ford, she wasn’t keen on reminders of her stupidity getting in the way of the feeling of contentment she was enjoying at that moment.
She and Jill French were on their way to Uddingston to question Peter Harris about what his business with Julie Connor was on the day she was murdered. Harris didn’t seem fazed or upset at their arrival. He asked them in and showed them into the living room.
He offered tea. Both women declined
‘Mr Harris, were you at “The Marriott Hotel” talking to Julie Connor shortly before she was murdered?’
‘Yes.’
‘What were you talking about?’
‘I was asking her for a favour, some understanding.’
‘About what?’
‘I’m not prepared to say. It was a private conversation and has no bearing on what happened later.’
‘How do you know Julie?’
Harris paused, ‘We’re reconciled friends.’
‘Was she an ex-girlfriend of yours? The age gap is about right for you.’
‘Petty detective, very petty indeed. And you couldn’t be further from the truth.’
‘Tell us the truth, then.’
‘I have. I went there to speak to her. Shortly after I arrived someone else called in to see her and she left with him. Then I left as well.’
‘Did you see this other person?’
‘No.’
‘Where did you go?’
‘Into the city centre. Some shopping.’
‘What did you buy?’
‘Some CD’s, couple of books.’
French caught Dornan’s glance reflected from the glass coffee table.
‘What kind of music do you like, then, Peter? Any favourite authors?’
‘It varies. Why? You going to arrest me for bad taste now? Oh, and by the way, my lawyer says that there is no chance of this ridiculous rape/ murder charge going to court.’
‘Did he indeed?’
‘Yes, and he’s a she, actually.’
‘So, come on. What music do you like?’
‘Lori McTear, Amy MacDonald, Shania Twain...’
‘All women. Interesting. KT Tunstall?’
‘Maybe.’
‘What about authors?’
‘What about them?’
‘Who do you like to read?’
‘Terry Pratchett, that kind of thing.’
‘Not real world stuff then? You like fantasy stuff?’
‘Is there a point to this?’
‘Ever read the Bible, Peter? Old Testament?’
‘Yes.’
‘What you think?’
‘About what?’
‘The Bible. Any hidden messages there, do you think?’
‘Wouldn’t say they were hidden, actually. But before you ask anything else, my taste in garden furniture or whatever, I’d like you to leave now.’
Harris escorted French and Dornan to the front door.
Dornan turned ‘We’ll speak again, Azrael.’ Harris paused, smiled, then gently closed the door.
French looked across at Dornan as she started up the car. ‘What do you think?’ she asked.
‘I think it’s him.’
***
That afternoon Azrael sat in his car. He watched the women walking through the city centre. Shopping, going to work, some with children, some with friends, all dressed like whores. His In Car iPod connection allowed him to listen to his own choices and save him from the inane ramblings of local radio cretins. He sat, he watched, he could feel sweat on his forehead, yet he was calm. He felt his work may soon be done. The Lord rewarding him for a lifetime of devotion. He focused again on the passing crowds.
Perhaps one or two more, one or two.
By the time Dornan and French had returned from speaking to Harris, Matt Healy was at his desk. He had the file on the Kate Turner murder spread across his desk. Dornan gave him a quizzical look: ‘I thought you were concentrating on the Connor killing, Matt?’ She said as she pulled up a chair to his desk.
‘Oh, you know what the song goes “Let’s start at the very beginning, it’s a very good place to start”, Sound of Music, I think, Julie Andrews,’ Healy replied.
‘Take your word on that one, Matt. Before my time.’
‘Aye, right.’ They both smiled.
‘Susan, let’s think, open minds, outside the box and all that shit. Who are the “possibles” for this?’ he said pointing at the open file.
‘Harris, Turner, Banks, Mr X. So it’s fair to assume that one of these four is Azrael as well. Right?’
‘OK.’
‘OK, so the guy has sometimes left us cards. The guy has sometimes left DNA. But we are the ones that have assumed that they are linked. Like Alex Caldow the profiler said; this guy is engaged in an intellectual game with us. T’Baht got me thinking. Banks used to be a doctor, right? So he’s intelligent, right? He’s a whacko, right? Bodies and semen aren’t exactly off limits for him, right?’
‘I get what you’re saying and we’ve looked at all this before in relation to the Kate Turner killing but it’s a stretch, Matt, to go from that to him definitely killing Kate and being Azrael. I don’t buy it, sorry.’
‘Let’s go and see the work colleague of Banks, Mary Stringer her name was, based at the Nuffield. Can’t do any harm. Meantime, give Jack some credit and tell him to try and trace Banks and get him in here.’
‘You’re right. You phone the Nuffield and I’ll speak to Jack T’Baht. I’ll tell you on the way to speak to Stringer how French and I got on with Harris.’
On the way to the Nuffield Hospital that afternoon Dornan told Healy about the meeting with Harris and her view that he may well be Azrael.
‘Well, it’s either him; Banks or who I told you all along it is, Turner. So let’s get to the truth by elimination; starting with Banks if only to show up McFarlane’s profiler.’
‘What about Mr X?’
‘Susan, we don’t really know if there even is a Mr X or Harris could be Mr X and Azrael. Fuck, anything’s possible the way this load of shit is going.’
Mary Stringer’s office was larger and more homely than either Dornan or Healy expected. She saw the slight surprise in their faces and explained that this was also the room she saw her patients in so it needed to put them at ease.
‘I suppose I don’t need to ask what you are here about, or should I say who?’
‘We know you spoke to DC Allan before, but could you perhaps go over what you know of Colin Banks for us? We feel it may be important.’
‘Of course, but can I preface everything by saying that Colin Banks was a good, highly intelligent, kind man? He just fell to the demons…..that’s all. It could happen to any of us.’
‘We’re not making any assumptions, Doctor, I can assure you, and Colin’s, well, “proclivities” shall we say, are not of immediate concern to us unless they impact on current enquiries.’
‘Well, as I said, Colin was a brilliant doctor but his childhood was troubled. His father abandoned him and left his mother to bring Colin up alone. Outwardly she did an excellent job, worked hard to send him to private school, catered for his every need if you like, except the emotional side that only a mother can give. Colin became what used to be called “A Mammy’s Boy” and, I think, he ended up with a mother fixation in later life. Paradoxically he also seemed to have problems relating to other women probably because of the incessant hammering into his sub-consciousness of the “other woman” who had ruined his father and mother’s marriage. Anyway, as you know, Colin eventually turned to “other ways” to express himself and deal with his emotional issues.’
‘How do you know these things, doctor? Was he a patient, as well as a colleague?’
‘No, but he did confide in me. You should be grateful because had he been a patient I couldn’t have spoken to you about him.’
‘To your knowledge did he ever actually assault a woman?’
‘Not actually assault but we did receive a number of complaints from some female members of staff that he had flown off the handle with them and they feared he might hit them. We spoke to him, obviously, but he hadn’t actually done anything wrong per se and he was shy and timid more than anything. However, just before “the end” he was suspended for threatening a Ward Sister with a knife, but before any formal action was taken, his actions with dead bodies came to light and that was the end of Colin’s career;
and his time inhabiting the world as we know it.’
‘You didn’t mention any of this to DC Allan.’
‘He never asked the questions you’re asking.’
Dornan and Healy both sat trying to react normally to what was not a conversation that most people would regard as normal; both with a feeling that the medical fraternity were closing ranks.
Dornan thanked Stringer for her help and she and Healy headed for their car but before they had reached it Dornan had phoned in to stress the importance of finding Colin Banks.
***
Max Kermack and Paul Allan were sitting in Jamie Oliver’s recently opened Italian Restaurant in the city’s George Square flicking through holiday brochures.
‘I can’t really take any leave at the moment, Max. Too much going on.’
‘Fair enough, but no harm in looking. Honeymoon suites look nice. I’ll be bringing my laptop, by the way. I’m serious about the writing thing.’
‘Good. I’d like to read some of your stuff.’
‘Only if you contribute, dear. Come on, Paul. What’s the latest in poor Kate’s murder?’
‘Look, I’ve told you I can’t say much.’
‘What about the hotel receptionist, then. How did she actually die?’
‘Throat cut.’
‘Anything sexual?’
‘No.’
‘Was Kate’s throat cut too?’
‘No.’
‘Could the same guy have killed them both?’
‘Maybe. Look. We just don’t know, Max, and that’s all I’m saying.’
The Initial Blow Page 17