by Tony Black
Brennan returned to his desk, removed his chair and sat down again. ‘Makes you wonder if the door stewards knew them?’
‘Checked their ID you mean?’
‘It’s more than possible … Likely even.’
Collins nodded, ‘I don’t know, these young lassies once they get a bit of makeup on and the high heels they look the part … I’d say they would have been more likely to have been known for being a couple of cracking looking girls.’
‘Cracking looking underage girls.’ Brennan leaned forward, tapped on the folders in front of him with his index finger. ‘Keep at it, Collins. Talk to the stewards, softly, softly mind … These places heat up on the weekend so we’ll give it a bit longer.’
Collins stood up, collected his coat and his bag. ‘I’m happy to keep going out to the pub on the force’s dime, boss, but I just don’t know what this is going to achieve … I mean, it’s like looking for a needle in a haystack trying to find anything that might tie in.’
Brennan eased himself back in his chair, eyed Collins. ‘Right now the fact that both those girls did the club scene is just about all we have.’
Collins returned his hand to his pocket, turned to face the door. ‘There’s the gymnastics stuff that Jim’s following up?’
‘That’s an even longer shot I would have thought.’
‘Well, how did he go?’
Brennan opened his office door, nodded to Collins. ‘We’ll ask him in the morning briefing … Meantime, keep on the pubs and clubs, let me know if anything stands out. If there’s any talk, I don’t know, a boyfriend we don’t know about, a bouncer introducing them to their first joint … anything at all. If it stands out, if we don’t know about it, I want it looked at. Someone knew those girls better than the friends we’ve spoken to, they could be the key that unlocks this whole case, they could know our killer and not know it themselves.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Collins walked through the open door, returned to his desk. On the way he cast an eye in Jim Gallagher’s direction, nodded, and stopped to engage him in chat. At the far end of Incident Room One, Brennan noticed a face he hadn’t seen for some time step through the door. He looked disorientated, a little lost perhaps; Brennan walked towards the man, met him at the coat stand. ‘Joe …’ he extended a hand, ‘Good to have you on board, mate.’
Joe Lorrimer turned around, locked eyes on Brennan and clasped his hand on his shoulder. ‘Glad to be here.’ He rested a briefcase at his feet as he removed his outdoor coat and hung it up. Brennan was waiting as Lorrimer reached down for his briefcase; he rose and the pair walked towards the DI’s glassed-off office.
‘So, have you had a chance to check out the file?’ said Brennan.
‘Aye, the trip was fine, Rob … Thanks for asking,’ Lorrimer smiled as he looked at the DI.
Brennan returned the grin, ‘Sorry, we’re behind the eight ball here at the moment. You know how it gets on these cases …’
Lorrimer turned his head towards the carpet tiles, said, ‘Well, I did wonder when you asked for me … I don’t remember you being so keen to share the load with anyone in the past. But to answer your question, yes Rob, I have seen the files you sent over.’
Brennan was aware of the eyes in the office following them as he led the profiler through the room; he decided it might be best to keep their first meeting limited to invitations only. ‘On you go inside, Joe.’ He called out, ‘Stevie, Jim …’ he pointed to his room. ‘Any sign of Brian?’
McGuire was leaning back in his chair, it creaked noisily as he sat forward, rose. ‘He did a late one last night, sir.’
‘OK, when you’re ready, please, the rest of you in here.’
In Brennan’s office Lorrimer took the chair in front of the desk, Gallagher took the only other spare; McGuire pitched himself on the window ledge.
‘I’d like to introduce Joe Lorrimer,’ said Brennan. ‘Joe’s going to be helping us build a profile for the case, but before we go any further … Stevie, maybe you could fill Joe and Jim in on the morning’s latest developments.’
McGuire was slouching on the ledge, straightened himself. ‘Yes, of course … We had a serology report back from the lab, we have a positive rare blood group ID from both scenes.’
Gallagher slapped his thigh, ‘Confirmation then, that’s it!’
Brennan gauged his reply, thinned eyes. ‘Certainly seems that way, Jim.’
‘It’s bloody cast-iron, you mean. What’s the blood group?’
McGuire answered him: ‘It’s B.’
‘Jesus, rare as hobby horse shite that is.’
‘It’s a rare group,’ said Brennan. ‘And it does tie the two cases together but let’s not get carried away, it’s not a perp’ ID … we don’t have a smoking gun quite yet.’
Gallagher seemed to take the statement as a slap down, he crossed his legs and ran a finger along the crease of his trousers. He remained quiet though looked to be desperate to speak up.
Brennan said, ‘Right, Joe, sorry to throw you in at the deep end but do you have any initial findings you’d like to share with the group?’
Lorrimer picked up his briefcase, balanced it on his knees and opened up; he removed two blue folders. He placed the folders on the top of the briefcase as he closed it again and leafed through the files. ‘Right.’ He removed a pen from his shirt pocket and tapped at the page he had selected. ‘If we’re progressing on the assumption that this is the work of one killer, then that ties in with my initial recce of the files. The signatures – the ligatures, torture, taking souvenirs – all look to be identical to me.’
As Lorrimer paused, Gallagher spoke in a hushed voice. ‘And can you say anything about the person we’re looking for?’
Brennan turned to Gallagher, his words lit a fuse in him. ‘This is no person, Jim … It’s a fucking animal we’re hunting.’
Lorrimer raised his eyes from the notes, seemed to sense the animosity between the pair. He halted mid-stride for a moment, then adopted the role of mediator. ‘He’s a bit of both, I’d say, Rob.’ He patted the papers, ‘Look, there can be no doubt this is an extremely disturbed mind we’re dealing with here … The mutilation alone is worse than anything I’ve ever seen in my career, but the fact that it’s been carried out in your own backyard and there is next to nothing known about his MO five years down the track shows the level of intelligence we’re up against.’
Brennan squirmed in his seat, brushed beneath his chin with his forefingers, said, ‘I wasn’t a part of the Fiona Gow investigation.’
Gallagher’s eyes widened, burned into him.
‘Regardless,’ said Lorrimer, ‘what we have is a pattern killer who has evaded capture – twice. He’s obviously intelligent and resourceful and he’s going to be riding on a surge of confidence right now. That makes him more dangerous than ever.’ Lorrimer closed his file, tucked away the page he was looking at and returned the biro to his shirt pocket. ‘I don’t think we’ll have to wait another five years to see his next victim, Rob. We need to get this bastard … and soon.’
Chapter 26
DI ROB BRENNAN rose from his desk as his office emptied; he kept a close eye on Gallagher, followed him round the door, watched as his knees met on every step, his sloped shoulders rose and fell. At his desk he removed his chair, slid it silently on its runners over the carpet tiles and then lowered himself down with a sigh. He shuffled some papers, pulled a pen from his inside pocket and hunched himself over the middle portion of the broad desktop. Brennan had expected Gallagher to keep walking, head straight for the Chief Super’s office but he surprised him. Gallagher continued to surprise him, he couldn’t work the man out and that made him an unknown quantity. Brennan didn’t like the unknown, it was a threat to him. He liked facts. He liked the world to make sense, and though he knew that was impossible he tried to make his small part in it as facile as he could. He felt his brows tighten, his neck stiffen; there was a deep itch working in the centre of his brain. He wanted
to locate it, remove it, but the option wasn’t there.
Brennan turned to face Joe Lorrimer who was standing, briefcase in hand, as the DI drew his gaze back towards the inside of the office. The room looked suddenly smaller than he remembered.
‘So, where do you want me, Rob?’ said Lorrimer.
Brennan waved a hand over his shoulder, in the direction of Incident Room One, ‘Find yourself a spot; Stevie will sort you out with anything you need.’
The profiler nodded, stuck a finger in his collar and stretched his tie loose; he was looking out to the open-plan room when he spoke, ‘I don’t want to speak out of turn, mate … But do I sense some tensions on the team?’
A tut. Brennan pitched himself on his toes, he raised his hands on his hips and stretched out his back. As he walked towards the back window, the chimney stacks and rooftops made a jagged saw blade against the grey sky. ‘Nothing I can’t handle,’ he said.
‘It’s not you I’m worried about, Rob.’
‘Meaning?’ The harshness of his voice surprised him, seemed to echo in his ears.
‘An unhappy team doesn’t get results,’ said Lorrimer.
Brennan let his brain settle, absorb the words he was hearing and try to – if not process them – at least store them away for attention at a later date. There was nothing to be gained in the job from letting others know what was on his mind, even people he trusted. He took Lorrimer’s concern as genuine, he had known him from his early days in CID and rated his abilities; he had hand-picked him for the role of profiler on his team and he understood his misgivings. The investigation was proving difficult enough without any added problems. Brennan turned away from the window, walked back towards the door to his office, pushed it closed, and turned to face Lorrimer. ‘Can I get straight to the point?’ he said.
‘Of course. I wish you would,’ Lorrimer grinned, scratched the side of his nose.
‘I could do without the third wheel, to be honest.’
‘Gallagher you mean?’
Brennan gnawed at his lip, ‘Got it in one.’ He rested himself on the edge of the desk, folded his arms.
‘I take it you never asked for him on the team, then?’
‘He clawed his way in, and I’m far from convinced we need him but he has the ear of Benny.’
Lorrimer tilted his head to the side, put out a palm, ‘Benny?’
‘Chief Superintendent Bernard Hill … He has it in his head, or should I say Gallagher put it in his head, that because he worked on the Fiona Gow case five years ago his experience is invaluable to us.’
‘But you disagree?’
Brennan huffed, unfolded his arms and patted down his pockets. ‘I can read case files, Joe. I don’t need a …’
‘… Third wheel. I heard you.’
The DI leaned back on his desk, retrieved a packet of Embassy Regal and a plastic lighter from beside his blotter. Pocketed them both. ‘I don’t like the way he operates, he’s got his eye on taking the investigation off me and he’s all over Benny like a hot fucking rash.’
Lorrimer lowered his brows, his tone seemed to drop in the same proportion. ‘Are you sure this wouldn’t be about something else, Rob?’
‘What do you mean?’ Brennan felt his stare cut into Lorrimer.
‘I heard about you and Joyce …’
The mention of his wife’s name stung, it was a shock to hear her brought into the conversation. He had been used to his personal life being put under the microscope at the station since his brother’s death but the fact that it had happened in the past didn’t lessen the impact on this occasion. Brennan looked up to the ceiling tiles, pinned back his smile. ‘Bloody Charlie never misses a trick … Tell you on the way in did he?’
Lorrimer kept his gaze firmly fixed on the DI, shrugged his shoulders. ‘I’m sorry, if it’s any consolation.’
Brennan bit, ‘I’m not, if it’s any consolation.’ He turned round, the wooden desk creaked as he raised himself from its edge, faced the profiler. ‘Look, Gallagher’s stepping on my toes, that’s all it is, Joe.’
Lorrimer didn’t seem to buy it; he looked convinced that there was another explanation lurking beneath the surface of Brennan’s bluster. ‘You said yourself that he worked on the Fiona Gow case, Rob …’
‘And?’
‘I’m just saying, that must have been a hard case to work. He couldn’t have been pleased to see the trail run cold …’ Lorrimer massaged his wrist, ran a finger over the face of his watch. ‘Maybe he’s looking to make up for that lack of a result now, maybe he sees his chance and is a bit over anxious. Ever thought of that?’
Brennan removed his packet of cigarettes, drew one out and put it in his lips. ‘Maybe.’
‘You’re not buying that though?’
Brennan made a half smile, tapped his stomach, ‘I’m listening to this.’
Lorrimer took a step towards him, raised a finger, tapped on Brennan’s head. ‘Just don’t let it interfere with that, eh.’
The DI smirked. ‘Aye, sure …’ he turned for the door, ‘Going for a smoke now, Joe … But, there is one thing you can do for me.’
Lorrimer tipped back his head, ‘What’s that?’
He held the handle, rammed it down, but kept the door closed as he flicked his head towards the wider room, ‘Gallagher’s been doing a fair bit of time over in your neck of the woods, some gangland stabbings I believe, can you ask around?’
‘Rob …’ he tightened his features. ‘I’m not conducting a witch hunt for you.’
‘Who said anything about a witch hunt? … I’m just looking for a few folks’ impressions of him.’
Lorrimer looked away, seemed unsure but obviously wanted to calm the waters between them. ‘I’m promising nothing.’
Brennan opened the door, the hinges sang out. ‘Time for that smoke, I think.’
In the corridor, Brennan glanced towards the Chief Super’s office; the door sat open and his secretary was already battering away at a keyboard but there was no sign of Benny. The DI felt relieved; he could only evade him for so long though and he knew that when he did finally encounter the Chief Super he would have to explain why he had brought in Lorrimer when the force was owed the services of a profiler from Northern Constabulary. Brennan didn’t want to be treated to another lecture on the perilous state of the nation’s finances, he didn’t want to be told about budgets and cost savings and economy drives. He had a murderer to catch and he would do that the best way he saw fit, without running to Benny every time he needed a petrol receipt stamped or a stationery requisition put through. He was a detective, not a micro-manager.
At the front desk Charlie sat hunched over a copy of the News, he had an involved look on his face, eyes slit behind his reading glasses, but when he spotted Brennan he rose from his seat and flattened his palms on the counter. ‘I was just about to buzz you,’ his voice pitched high like a child’s.
‘Oh, aye,’ said Brennan. ‘Sounds ominous.’
Charlie flashed the tip of his tongue through the tiny aperture of his pinched mouth as he turned over the newspaper. He folded the middle seam and pointed to an article that covered a whole page.
‘Jesus Christ,’ said Brennan; he felt the skin prickling on his face. There was a picture of the Sloans – they were holding a photograph of their daughter Lindsey.
Charlie leaned forward, rested on his elbows, said, ‘And you’ve not even read it yet!’
Brennan picked up the article, his thoughts had started to play tag with the possibilities. He looked over the paper’s edge, ‘What does it say, Charlie?’
‘Everything …’ He cleared his throat, tapped on the page. ‘Says they were told about the bastard’s handiwork … the mutilation, the hacking, the strangulation … Leaves nothing out, pretty bloody gory read if you ask me.’
Brennan felt his hand rising to his mouth, he touched his face but everything had started to feel unreal to him now. All he could think of was the Sloans and how they must feel to have been g
iven that knowledge, to understand that their daughter’s last moments on the Earth had been spent being tortured. ‘Where the hell have they got that?’
‘Pathologist …’
‘Pettigrew, that what it fucking says? … I’ll hang him out to dry.’
Charlie pressed his weight to one side, the counter sighed beneath him, ‘Might have been a flunkey, they’ve had some bother getting the right folk down there. Not a job I’d fancy myself it has to be said.’
Brennan started to switch off to Charlie, he was filtering the information he needed but there was very little of that. He had watched Charlie’s enthusiasm to deliver a new turn of events, a fresh tale, and when he had removed all he could that was of worth to him he started to scan the article. The newspaper’s layout highlighted the most salient comments.
‘Lindsey was gagged and bound when they found her, when they examined her they found her private parts had been removed with a knife.’
The quote was attributed to Mr Sloan.
Brennan felt his pulse quicken, he knew none of this was going to help the family. Why had the paper done it? He knew none of this was going to help the case either, or him. He had managed to keep the investigation’s details out of the press so far, he knew that any reporting would inflame the situation, create panic. The public could sometimes be a help in such instances – with sightings, backgrounds – but more often than not they were a hindrance. He didn’t want to be weighed down with cranks or have women scared to walk the streets. He didn’t want to read sensationalist headlines from editors who wanted to sell newspapers based on gory updates and he didn’t want to run a phalanx of hacks following his every move either. There was also the Chief Super to consider; he didn’t want to give Benny any more reasons to question his handling of the investigation.
Brennan looked up from the News page, saw Charlie staring out to the car park. He started to fold up the paper, slapped it down on the desk. ‘Has Benny seen this yet?’