The Shadow Man

by Helen Fields

  ‘Our perpetrator has gone from failing, to organised, to chaotic again in just a couple of weeks, yet he’s proving more successful than ever at obtaining his targets,’ she continued.

  ‘So what’s he after? There must be a pattern,’ someone called out.

  ‘I don’t think it’s a pattern as much as a collection,’ Connie replied. ‘He must be fulfilling some sort of fantasy, but not the sort we’re experienced with. Maybe he’s not playing a single fantasy over and over in his head, like most predators do. It seems more likely that his particular fantasy is story-driven and still developing.’

  ‘You want to talk in English?’

  Connie didn’t bother looking up to see where that came from.

  ‘Look at it this way. A standard serial rapist replays the same fantasy. They have a victim established in their mind, and in most cases they’ll be pretty repetitive with the things they do. It’s a movie on repeat in their brain, and while there might be variations such as clothing or location, the basic scenario remains stable. We learn more about them because replaying the same scenario makes them predictable,’ she explained.

  ‘Are you trying to be helpful, or explaining why you’re no further forward?’ A woman stepped from the back wall, arms crossed, killer heels on full display.

  Unfamiliar as Connie was with the finer aspects of the Scots accent, Connie had no doubt that she was hearing the upper-class end of it. Stick-thin and sporting nails that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a high-class dominatrix, both the suit and the attitude screamed senior officer.

  ‘Sorry, we haven’t been properly introduced. I’m Detective Superintendent Overbeck. Do carry on.’

  Connie gave Baarda a quick sideways glance. He’d warned her about Overbeck, and had failed to do the woman justice. She was unlike any police officer Connie had seen before.

  ‘Thanks, I will.’ Connie gave Overbeck a flash of an unperturbed smile. ‘As I was saying, most offenders play out the same scenario. We’re struggling to get ahead of this man because he’s moving his story forward. Each abduction – and we know now it’s the abductions that are relevant to profiling him, not the murders – is the next chapter in his story. It’s unfolding as he goes. We won’t know when it’s reached an end. I doubt even he knows when it’ll end. It’s not a completely unknown scenario in criminal offending, but it is rare to the point that no past cases will assist us.’

  ‘Still not hearing anything useful,’ Overbeck interjected.

  ‘You are, actually, it’s just that you haven’t had time to process the information and decode it yet,’ Connie said.

  There was a moment where no one breathed, all eyes on Overbeck.

  ‘Go on,’ Overbeck said, not the least bit bothered by the attention or by the challenge.

  Overbeck was her own woman. Probably a complete bitch and quite possibly a sociopath. The sort you could girl crush on in the right circumstances, Connie thought.

  ‘I’m not convinced he’s psychopathic, in spite of the two murders. Angela’s death was unintentional. He wanted her, for whatever reason, and the forensic evidence points to an accidental killing in the course of a kidnapping. He replaced her with Elspeth – no corpse – we assume she’s still alive. Meggy was a clean kidnapping, cleverly and carefully planned, and we know he made contact with her in Inch Park. The same park Angela has visited, that’s also in close proximity to Elspeth’s husband’s rugby club.’ Connie took a breath. ‘The risk-taking involved here is increasing exponentially. I’ve never seen anything like it. What we know of the last victim – Danny’s death – is that his killer was completely unbothered about being seen.’

  ‘If that’s true, then why wait in a dark alleyway at night? There’s evidence that some of the street lighting was smashed. That could have been our kidnapper preparing in advance,’ one of the MIT officers said.

  ‘Good point, but that conflicts with him going to Meggy’s school in daylight. I think there’s a difference between those actions he takes to ensure he fulfils each mission successfully, and the need to conceal his identity. He was in the alleyway at night because that’s the exit Xavier uses regularly. Less lighting meant a reduced prospect of anyone else intervening, plus it made it easier for him to conceal himself from Xavier until he was ready to attack. Danny’s part in it was unforeseen, but he’d planned for the eventuality, hence the knife.’

  Baarda stood up and walked to the laptop that was controlling the images on the screen.

  ‘We’re currently working on the basis of a character from an animated film. I’m not sure how well that’s going to translate into enabling a real-world capture. We have descriptions from the girl at Meggy’s school and an inebriated homeless man. Is there anything in particular we should be looking out for?’ he asked.

  ‘What’s interesting is that, in spite of the fact that we only have evidence from a child and someone who was drunk, they vary remarkably little in detail. The man you’re looking for is thin to an extreme. This is making his head appear larger and his eyes look sunken and dark. He’s wearing clothes that are tight enough to show how emaciated he is. The description of the denim jacket is interesting. It sounds like something from the 1970s.’

  ‘So we’re looking for a skeleton who hasn’t updated his wardrobe for forty years,’ someone laughed.

  ‘Essentially yes. This skeleton, if giving him a name helps fix him in your heads, is delusional. He’s gathering jigsaw puzzle pieces from his fantasy to take somewhere and fix together. He’s willing to be seen and willing to kill to bring his imagined scenario to life. The emaciation of his body that both witnesses describe might be part of a physical illness that’s contributing to his delusions, or it might be a symptom arising from the delusions. Either way, he’s making no effort to hide his physical condition, which gives us the benefit of using it to try to identify him.’

  ‘So we should be approaching healthcare workers, clinics, local mental health services to see if they recognise anyone of this description?’ Baarda asked.

  ‘That’d be a great start,’ Connie said. ‘Focus on referrals for eating disorders or physical conditions that involve wasting. What I’m more concerned about is the link between his physical appearance and his psychological condition. If he’s collecting people, he has an end goal. Given how reckless he’s becoming and how coldly he killed Danny tonight, I’d say he’s getting close to the end. Too reckless too early and he’d be jeopardising his big ending.’

  ‘And what might that so-called big ending look like?’ Overbeck asked.

  ‘No idea,’ Connie said. ‘But you’d have to assume all options are open. What we should avoid, at all costs, is interrupting his fantasy. That’s his no-go zone. Anything or anyone who gets in his way will be disposable or replaceable. He’s chosen each person for a reason. They’re playing a role. Particularly Elspeth. To suggest he has a mother fixation is kind of trite when it comes to men offending against women, but I believe she’s the lynchpin. He’s either reproducing a mother or wife figure, or he’s trying to create one he never had. Either way, I’d put money on his own mother no longer being alive, and on him being single. Critically, his fantasy has to remain intact.’

  ‘All right. We’ve heard the psychology, but there are more important practical considerations. How much time do we have, and how do we find him?’ Overbeck asked.

  ‘In terms of time, you should assume not much. Angela Fernycroft was murdered nine weeks ago. Elspeth was kidnapped five weeks ago. As to how we find him, we have to change a crucial element of his offending pattern. He’s unconcerned about being seen, acting with impunity. I need to know more about him to tell you how to find him. That means opening a dialogue. I’d like to do that tonight.’

  Overbeck ignored the crowd and walked between bodies until she was just inches from Connie.

  ‘But you said we shouldn’t interrupt the fantasy. You don’t think that announcing to him that he’s being hunted will burst his twisted little psycho-bubb
le?’

  ‘Not if we play along with it,’ Connie said. ‘No threats, nothing that changes his sense that he’s in control and that this will all play out exactly the way he wants it to.’

  ‘All right, Dr Woolwine,’ Overbeck said. ‘Hold your press conference. We’ll organise the cameras and get you a platform. If he’s that deluded, though, there’s no guarantee that he’ll be watching or listening.’

  ‘He’s still linked to the real world somehow,’ Connie said. ‘He’s been going out, researching, stalking, checking his facts and interacting. If Elspeth, Meggy and Xavier are all still alive, he’s also feeding them and caring for them. That’s a commitment. If we can get my message on enough screens, fill the headlines with it and bombard the press, then he’ll see or hear it somewhere.’

  ‘You said, “If Elspeth, Meggy and Xavier are still alive”,’ Overbeck said. ‘You should know that I don’t like the word “if”, Dr Woolwine, but I just don’t have your natural optimistic personality. Angela Fernycroft was brutally murdered in her own bed.’

  ‘Yes, but you have to remember—’

  ‘While I talk, your lips need to remain firmly sealed, dear,’ Overbeck said.

  Connie shrugged and perched on the edge of a desk.

  ‘Don’t tell me again that her death was accidental. Accidental death is discovering an adder in your car footwell when you’re driving down the motorway, getting bitten, passing out and helplessly ploughing into another car. Angela Fernycroft was suffocated and left in the marital bed for her children and husband to find. Her killer had stalked her and broken into her home, likely watching and waiting while she took a bath and read a book. In my eyes, and forgive me if I use the wrong terminology, that makes him a complete fucking psycho.’

  There was a murmur of agreement from around the room. Connie bided her time.

  ‘I’m also aware of the little factoid that our man’s DNA has been linked to another case where an unidentified woman possibly disappeared in Edinburgh no fewer than five years ago. Five years, Dr Woolwine. Let that sink in for a moment. It means that this maniac might have been roaming our streets, selecting his victims, sharpening his senses, and building up a head of steam for half a fucking decade. That’s the equivalent of him taking both an undergraduate degree and a master’s in stalking and slaughtering, assuming he hasn’t been at it for even longer than that.’

  ‘Agreed,’ Connie said.

  ‘What that makes him is dangerously criminally insane as far as I’m concerned. So why on earth should I believe for a single second that Elspeth, Meggy and Xavier aren’t already dead?’

  Connie stood up again, giving the room a moment to settle before speaking. Overbeck was a compelling orator in front of an audience predisposed to agree with her. They would take some persuading.

  ‘Fair question,’ she said. ‘We know this man kills when a scenario goes wrong for him. He leaves the body where it is. No fuss, no attempt to conceal it. We don’t have Elspeth’s, Meggy’s or Xavier’s body, so your starting point is that you have to assume kidnap rather than murder. As yet we’ve established no motive for him to have killed them. Ergo, they are alive until proven otherwise. More than that, he wants them for something. They’re precious to him. The stalking, his knowledge of their lives – which yoga class, which park and school, which sports centre at a specific practice time – means he’s invested in them. He’s doing something with them. God only knows what, but this is purposeful, not impulsive. Could they be dead? Absolutely. Have they been tortured or abused? The statistics tell us that it’s almost inevitable. Will he kill them at some point in time?’

  Complete silence from the crowd.

  ‘Yes,’ Connie said. ‘Yes, he will. He’s unstable. He’s dangerous. Whatever fantasy is in his head will prove unfulfilling one way or another. When that day comes, his emotional dam will burst. Has that already happened? Maybe, maybe not. Which is why we assume alive, so we proceed as speedily as possible before he does kill again. At the moment, calling him out via the press seems an option worth pursuing.’

  ‘So be it,’ Overbeck said. ‘But a word of warning. This tactic requires us to reveal to the families of all our missing persons that their loved ones are part of a larger scheme that is at best terrifying and at worst shows that their precious abductees are in the hands of a ruthless killer. So I’m going to need results.’

  ‘I understand—’

  ‘Let me qualify that. I’m going to need fuck-up-free results. No one dies because of the decision I’ve just taken. This man has kidnapped the daughter-in-law of an extremely prominent philanthropist, a little girl and a physically vulnerable adult. For this to end well, each one of them needs to survive unharmed. I’m assuming also that you’d like your career to continue with your reputation intact hereafter.’

  Connie folded her arms and stepped even closer into Overbeck’s face.

  ‘I suspect that sort of professional intimidation is more effective on people with a different history than mine. I’m going to do my best to make this work because lives hang in the balance. Not for any other reason. But nice try.’

  ‘Whatever the fuck it takes,’ Overbeck said. ‘Press conference in one hour. Make me proud.’

  ‘That was better. Has no one ever told you, you’re much more effective when you’re motivational rather than threatening,’ Connie said.

  ‘Has anyone ever told you not to shit where you eat?’ Overbeck replied, walking away.

  Baarda gave it a few seconds before taking her place.

  ‘Everything all right?’ he asked.

  ‘She likes me,’ Connie said. ‘Which is what I need from our skeleton man, too. Let’s get to work.’

  Wearing the skinniest jeans she could find and a t-shirt so tight it might as well have been sprayed on, Connie sat on a chair on the small stage in the press room, alone. It was a far cry from normal police press conferences. A representative from the media liaison team had gone into meltdown while Connie was explaining how she needed the press call to go. There wasn’t to be a uniform in sight. No panel. No desk, nor formal microphones. Just informal clothes and a lapel mic. She wasn’t going to wear any makeup, and there would be no questions taken when she’d finished speaking.

  ‘You’re still representing Police Scotland,’ the liaison officer had groaned. ‘We have protocols. The families of the missing persons will be watching too, and they’ll expect a level of respect.’

  Connie kept her voice low. ‘If it’s a choice between respect and getting their loved ones back, I’m pretty certain they’ll choose the latter. People respond to reflections of themselves. I need to present myself as physically and emotionally close to the murderer as I can so he can relate to me. Every image means something different to him than it does to you.

  ‘Here, the uniforms represent safety and structure. To him, they’re a threat and a brand for a world he’s rejecting. If I look like him, I might be able to appeal to something in his subconscious that tells him I can empathise. Thin like him, unadorned, functional. So no desk, no formality, and you’re going to need to inform the families that I’ll be saying a few things they might not appreciate hearing. I’m aiming to have a conversation with the kidnapper. It’ll sound one way to you, but if I get this right, it’ll sound very different inside his head.’

  ‘It’s not the established method for press conferences,’ the liaison officer said.

  ‘Amen to that.’ Connie clipped on her lapel mic and took her seat.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Elspeth fetched water and a cloth and cleaned Xavier’s cuts. She and Meggy had helped to get him into an upright position on the couch, much as he’d protested when they first went to touch him. Elspeth understood. She must have sounded just as maniacal as Fergus, but if inhabiting their captor’s world was the only way to keep them all safe, then that was what she intended to do.

  ‘I saw your photo in the paper,’ Xavier said between sips of tea and applying a wet cloth to his bruises.
‘It didn’t occur to me that the same man was kidnapping me.’

  ‘You’re in the wrong place if you’re expecting an explanation. I have no idea why he took me, even less how he chose Meggy. Are you hungry?’

  Xavier shook his head before checking that Meggy wasn’t within earshot, but Elspeth had sent her to the unoccupied bedroom to get the bed ready.

  ‘I just watched him kill my friend,’ he whispered. ‘He stuck a knife in him like it was nothing at all, as if he didn’t even register that he was killing someone. I was so certain I was next.’

  Elspeth sank onto the sofa and closed her eyes. ‘Please don’t give Meggy the details.’

  ‘Of course.’ He reduced his voice to an almost inaudible whisper and leaned forward to Elspeth. ‘How long have you been here?’

  ‘I don’t know. There’s no natural light, and he turns our lighting on and off randomly. I lost track with my watch between night and day.’ She looked up suddenly. ‘What’s today’s date?’

  ‘October 7th.’

  ‘I’ve been gone that long? My children will think I’m dead, they’ll stop looking for me. My God … what did the papers say? Does anyone know what happened to me? Please tell me they don’t just think I ran off.’

  ‘At first they thought it was a ransom situation. There was some copycat attempt asking for money. The police caught them and realised it was a scam. There was a lot of coverage about your disappearance at first. It’s quieter now,’ he explained.

  ‘And Meggy? Was she in the papers, too?’

  ‘Yes. There was a police raid, something to do with her mother, and after that there were general appeals for information. But they’ll find Danny’s body and they’ll be looking for me. He left my wheelchair in the middle of a car park. They’ll be looking for us all now. If we can just stay alive …’

  ‘You haven’t told him what we found under the floorboards, then,’ Meggy said from the doorway, sounding petulant.

  Elspeth wanted to hug her and tell her everything would be all right, but the girl was too old for lies, and she was too tired to tell them.