by David Hodges
‘Found Eugene suspended from a coat-hook behind the door?’
She took a deep trembling breath. ‘Bloody hook snapped with the weight as I stood there and he hit the floor, but he was already dead.’
Roscoe cut in suddenly. ‘So where did the murdering bastard go? You and Noble used the stairs, so how the hell did he get out?’
Kate swallowed hard. ‘Jimmy rushed over from another room when he heard me yell. While we were checking Eugene out, we heard someone race across the landing and down the stairs. The killer must have been hiding in one of the other rooms.’
‘And you didn’t go after him?’ Roscoe demanded.
Kate’s mouth tightened, reading the accusation in his eyes. ‘Eugene’s body was partially blocking the doorway,’ she snapped back. ‘By the time we got out on to the landing, whoever it was had gone.’
‘And who do you think this “whoever” was?’ Ansell said.
She clenched her hands tightly for a second. ‘It’s obviously got to be Twister,’ she replied.
He frowned. ‘But what possible motive could this Twister have for murdering young Eugene Taylor if his gripe is with you?’
‘I don’t know, sir. Maybe he was lying in wait for me and Eugene happened to walk in on him.’
‘Hardly likely, though, is it? He could have got to you at any time – he didn’t have to set up this elaborate hoax call – and he must have known that you would turn up mob-handed to this kind of shout. There seems no purpose in luring you to the house.’
Kate shook her head in resignation. ‘Unless it was to remind me about Pauline Cross,’ she went on. ‘As I’ve said before, Twister likes to play games, hence the cremation urn and the candles again.’
He grunted. ‘Some game this is. Anyway, we’ll see what Doctor Norton thinks.’
‘Doctor Norton?’
Ansell climbed to his feet. ‘Forensic psychologist and criminal profiler. He’ll be joining us in’ – and he consulted his wristwatch – ‘about half an hour.’
‘But – but if we know who the killer is, what’s the point in getting a shrink involved?’
Ansell studied her coldly. ‘We know nothing of the sort, Sergeant,’ he replied. ‘As a former detective, you must appreciate that we should never prejudge an investigation. Furthermore, apparently Doctor Norton is a very well thought of criminal psychologist – used by several other forces. As he lives on our ground, Mr Willoughby thought we might as well make use of him.’
‘We didn’t use a criminal psychologist on the previous Operation Firetrap case,’ Kate persisted stubbornly, fearing that Ansell was still not convinced Larry Wadman was their man and was seeking to look for other suspects.
‘That was two years ago,’ Ansell countered. ‘Things have changed a lot since then – and anyway, had the senior investigating officer at that time used a criminal psychologist, you might have identified your killer earlier in the investigation.’
‘That’s not fair, sir.’
‘Nor is murder, Sergeant Hamblin, and the Chief Constable will not be amused if we foul up this time.’
He turned towards the door, snapped his fingers and wheeled to face her again. ‘Oh yes, and he’ll want to interview you – and Noble, of course – and no doubt visit both crime scenes. You’re on quick changeover from nights to late turn duty today aren’t you?’
‘On again at 1400 hours, sir,’ Kate confirmed.
‘Right, come on at 1300 hours and see Doctor Norton before the 1400 hours incident-room briefing.’
‘But my inspector—’ she began.
‘I’ve already cleared it with the territorial superintendent, so your inspector will do as he is told,’ he said. ‘Just be there – and come in civvies.’
‘Civvies, sir?’
‘That’s what I said. You’re no good to me prancing about the streets in uniform. I need you where I can find you.’
Despite the night’s awful event, Kate felt a surge of excitement. ‘I’m joining the team, sir?’ she exclaimed.
He grunted. ‘Just an attachment, Sergeant, nothing more,’ he said, ‘but you’d better be worth it.’
And DI Roscoe winked at her as Ansell strode from the room to prepare for his press conference.
Doctor Clement Norton was nothing like Kate had imagined. Tall and angular with collar-length blond hair and a slight stoop, he wore tinted steel-framed glasses that turned a deep mauve colour in the light, plus a stud earring in his left ear that boasted a silver crucifix. The tan coloured leather jacket, green needle corduroys and blue suede shoes completed the image of someone more arty than clinical and she could not help but smile when Ansell introduced him to her in the incident-room commander’s office. Norton responded with a courteous, ‘Delighted to meet you,’ in a soft almost weary tone that carried a slight lisp and she blinked as she stepped forward to shake his limp hand and was enveloped in a cloud of strong, sweet perfume.
It was apparent from the start that the psychologist had been fully briefed about the two murders, but he insisted that Kate went over the same ground again and listened intently as she recounted the gruesome details, nodding and occasionally interjecting in a gentle probing manner when he sought clarification.
When she had finished, he sat back and stared at the ceiling for a few moments without saying anything, as if digesting the information. Then, leaning forward, he studied her intently.
‘The suspect, Twister, I believe you called him, what do we know about this man, apart from the fact that he kills his victims by breaking their necks?’
Kate frowned, then abruptly reeled off the information as if paraphrasing the CRO file she knew so well. ‘Real name Larry Wadman. Ex-SAS, but dishonourably discharged. Then worked for crime syndicates in the North as an enforcer and a night-club bouncer. Got eighteen months imprisonment for benefit fraud. Came down to Highbridge on release, ostensibly to help his sick father manage his undertaker’s business in the town, but inherited the business on the old man’s death, which he ran into the ground.’
She took a deep breath before continuing, even the mention of Twister giving her palpitations.
‘He must be in his late forties now. Last time I saw him he was a big muscular man with a full black beard,’ she wrinkled her nose in disgust, ‘plus a really unpleasant body odour, and, according to his descriptive file, he has numerous body scars and what have been described as cold dead eyes – like a fish.’
Norton made a face and shook his head almost irritably.
‘Yes, yes, yes, all very interesting, but what do we know of the man himself? What is he like? How does he think? What rings his bell?’
Kate stared at the psychologist levelly. ‘He’s a cold-blooded killer, sir; a man who kills effectively and dispassionately. He is incredibly strong and cunning, and he likes to play games with his prospective victims – a bit like the game he is playing with me now.’
Norton raised an eyebrow. ‘Indeed. An interesting subject then?’
She grunted. ‘Not how I would describe him, sir.’
He grinned. ‘Touché, Sergeant Hamblin. And you think he is behind these murders and has come back to torment and ultimately kill you?’
‘I know it, sir.’
He sat back in his chair again and threw a quizzical glance at Ansell. ‘Then we’d better catch him first, hadn’t we, Chief Inspector?’ he said.
The incident-room briefing was short and sweet and Kate was not surprised to see the effect Norton had on the team of cynical hard-bitten coppers. If spot assessments were the order of the day, this lot had already made up their minds about the flamboyant psychologist the moment he was introduced and it was smirks and side-glances all round. However, with Ansell beside him and Willoughby sitting in the wings, still looking uncomfortable and out of his depth – as he had at the disastrous dismembering press conference earlier – no one dared to come out with the usual homophobic cracks that might otherwise have been expected.
And the humour died altogethe
r when reference was made to young Eugene Taylor; a dark sombre atmosphere descending on the room as Kate related the incident, speaking in a husky halting tone and holding back her tears with an effort.
‘So why did this bastard kill a kid like Eugene?’ a thick-set detective snarled from the back. ‘It don’t make no sense.’
Norton crinkled his brow in thought. ‘I can’t be certain at this early stage,’ he said, ‘but from the information I have gleaned about the main suspect, it is possible it was an act of bravado.’
‘Bravado?’ the detective snorted. ‘What does that mean?’
Norton nodded. ‘It would not have mattered who had drawn the short straw to check the upstairs part of the house,’ he explained. ‘Any policeman would have done. Your killer, I believe, was making a statement – he was letting Sergeant Hamblin know that he could still get to her whether she had a chaperone or not.’
Roscoe turned on him. ‘You’re saying he set up the burglary at Pauline Cross’s place just to kill a copper?’
‘Not entirely – he was making you a promise as well by leaving the burial urn – but killing young Taylor was a part of it, yes.’
‘So how could he have known that Kate wouldn’t be the one to check the upstairs?’
‘He couldn’t, but I am quite sure he would have had a Plan B in that event. He needed to demonstrate his power, that was all there was to it, and if not young Taylor, he would have selected someone else – perhaps PC Noble.’
‘Me?’ The contempt in Jimmy Noble’s voice was obvious. ‘I wish he had chosen me; I’d have fixed him good and proper.’
There was a faint patronizing smile on Norton’s face as he turned his head to look at the policeman. ‘I think it is important to understand what we are dealing with here,’ he said quietly. ‘Plainly, this man is not just a psychopath, but a trained killing machine who needs to be treated with the utmost respect. He has a total lack of empathy or any genuine sense of emotion. Cold and calculating, he will not feel guilt or remorse for any act he carries out, but will be driven solely by expediency and the desire to kill.’
‘But surely, if he lacks emotion,’ Willoughby cut in, ‘how could he be capable of revenge? That involves emotions like passion and hate, does it not?’
Another patronizing smile. ‘Agreed, Superintendent, but you see, for him, this isn’t revenge in the normal sense of the word. Miss Hamblin here represents unfinished business – a challenge that needs to be overcome. He will almost certainly admire and respect her for managing to elude him for so long, and stretching things out now – what Miss Hamblin referred to as playing a game – will actually serve to enhance his satisfaction when he finally completes his task. It’s a bit like sexual bondage – someone delaying the inevitable orgasm as long as possible to reach maximum fulfilment.’
‘Sounds like a load of crap to me,’ Noble commented again with barely suppressed fury. ‘All this boils down to is the fact that we’re dealing with a bleedin’ nutter and the sooner we stick him in a loony bin the better.’
Norton nodded slowly. ‘Excellent sentiments, Constable,’ he agreed. ‘But remember this, psychopaths are not lunatics with staring eyes, who are prone to screaming and foaming at the mouth. They are, to all intents and purposes, normal people just like you and me; you could be sitting next to one on a bus or in the cinema without knowing it. Herein lies the danger and catching this particular individual may be a lot more difficult than you appreciate.’
‘So what do you recommend?’ Ansell asked quietly, his dark eyes fixed on Norton with an unwavering – almost hungry – intensity.
The psychologist met his gaze with equal candour, pushing his tinted glasses up on his nose before returning to his audience. ‘We try to understand our adversary,’ he replied. ‘Try to get inside his head to see what makes him tick.’
‘And where will that get us?’ Roscoe growled.
Norton’s patronizing smile was back. ‘Knowing your enemy will help you catch him, Inspector,’ he said. ‘So let’s summarize the information we have acquired so far.’
He picked up a black marker pen and turned to the white board behind him, making notes on the squeaky surface as he continued. ‘We have already perceived that our chief suspect is an efficient assassin and that he is clever, ruthless and focused. It is also apparent that he is a meticulous planner – the murders of Jennifer Malone and PC Taylor tell us that – which means he will have worked out, down to the finest detail, what and when the endgame will be.
‘But, more importantly from an investigative point of view, he is an obvious risk-taker; someone who enjoys the challenge of operating on the very edge, as part of an obsession with power and a belief in his own infallibility. This could be his Achilles heel and may cause him to make a mistake. What we have to do is to wait for that mistake to be made.’
Roscoe was plainly unimpressed. ‘And what do we do while we are waiting?’ he said drily.
Norton studied him, his face grim. ‘We watch our backs,’ he replied. ‘We watch our backs very carefully indeed.’
chapter 10
UNIFORMED POLICE OFFICERS were still on guard at the front and back of Wadman’s Funeral Directors when Kate drove Doctor Norton to the derelict property and a couple of reporters materialized as soon as they got out of the police car, one, a willowy blonde woman of about 25, with dark rimmed glasses, clutching a mic in her hand. Norton had the good sense to keep walking, head down and plainly keen to keep a low profile as he headed for the rear gate, but it seemed the girl with the mic was more interested in Kate.
‘Naomi Betjeman, Bridgwater Clarion,’ she said as a couple of cameras flashed nearby. ‘Kate Hamblin, isn’t it – Sergeant Kate Hamblin?’
Kate frowned. Damned press. Well informed, as usual, she thought, ignoring her and quickening her step, but finding the woman easily keeping pace with her.
‘Is it true the dead prostitute found in the chapel of rest was dumped in a coffin and kitted out in a police uniform?’
Kate felt a spurt of acid in her stomach. Someone had been opening their mouth too wide. As far as she knew, that information had not been released. ‘No comment,’ she replied and tried to keep walking, but the other stepped in front of her, thrusting the mic towards her face.
‘Is there a link between this murder and the murder of the police officer in Highbridge last night?’ she said.
Kate physically pushed her aside. ‘I said, no comment.’
But this was one reporter who was not about to give up that easily, especially after the reluctance of the police hierarchy to answer questions at the press conference earlier. ‘Is it true the police have called in a criminal psychologist to help solve the murders?’ she persisted, walking alongside her.
Kate was tempted to snatch her mic and stick it somewhere personal, but resisted the urge. ‘No comment,’ she repeated.
The girl tried to get in front of her again. ‘I understand it’s a Doctor Clement Norton. Is that true?’
Kate brushed her aside for a second time, but made an inadvertent slip as the uniformed constable on the gate stepped forward to bar the psychologist’s passage. ‘Let Doctor Norton through,’ she called out.
‘So you’re Doctor Norton then?’ the press girl shouted when the constable on the gate complied. ‘Do you think we’re dealing with a serial killer here, Doctor?’
But neither Kate or Norton bothered to reply and the constable guarding the back entrance then shut the gate behind them.
The rear yard was full of late afternoon shadows and it was completely deserted, as was the building itself – the SOCO team having been pulled off, after finishing their initial crime-scene examination, to cover Pauline Cross’s house. Kate sensed a heavy menacing presence when they stepped inside and, as a police officer, she felt angry with herself for finding reassurance in Norton’s presence.
Norton himself seemed unaffected by the atmosphere, which pressed down on Kate like some tangible force. Switching on his torch, he
emitted a tuneless whistle as he peered through the taped-off doorway of the chapel of rest.
‘Where do you think he got his coffin from?’ he queried, directing the beam very slowly around the room.
Kate shivered, examining the hallway behind them with her own torch as if she sensed something lurking there. ‘The place was an undertakers,’ she replied tightly.
‘Liked his candles, though, didn’t he?’ he went on, unwittingly echoing PC Noble’s words. ‘I gather he put on quite a display?’
‘You could say that.’
Norton faced her in the gloom. ‘I hear that in the Operation Firetrap case he swopped bodies.’
She nodded. ‘Pauline Cross had hired him to carry out the murder of her husband, Alf, but there was an argument when things started to go pear-shaped, during which she apparently stabbed him in the gut. So he killed her, then removed the corpse of a lady due to be cremated the following day from her coffin, putting her back in the fridge and substituting Pauline’s body instead.’
‘And this Pauline was eventually cremated?’
‘Yes, but we didn’t know until after the funeral what had happened – not until one of the staff here found the other woman in the fridge, still with the label on her toe.’
To her astonishment, he chuckled. ‘You must admit, there’s a certain black humour there.’
She scowled. ‘I don’t find any of it in the least bit funny,’ she retorted tartly.
He cleared his throat, suddenly humbled. ‘No, of course not. Not in the least bit.’
For some reason, perhaps just curiosity, Norton insisted on the full tour of the premises, despite Kate’s obvious reluctance, and they ended up in the big garage at the back. The vehicles she remembered from before were still in situ and clearly visible in the light penetrating the garage through the skylights – two black Daimlers, a green van and the sinister Land Rover that had featured so much in the case two years ago.