by Ed James
The crowd parted between them, letting Palmer get at him.
Concern creased his forehead. ‘You okay, Marie?’
‘I didn’t need saving.’
‘No, but I needed to stamp authority on that rabble.’
Palmer rested her rucksack on the ground.
‘You suit your hair down.’
Instinctively, she patted her head. ‘Thanks. You look smart.’
‘I feel like a large part of my brain died overnight. Not that three hours counts as sleep.’ He yawned into his fist. ‘I was up half the night looking through every Matt and Matthew who disappeared in the last six months between Penzance and Berwick-upon-Tweed. Wondering if I should search in Scotland and Northern Ireland. And that’s assuming he’s even been reported missing, or hasn’t been gone longer than six months. Just way too many and no way to narrow it down without . . .’ He looked at her with hope in his eyes.
‘Well, I couldn’t sleep last night. Had all that Matt stuff running though my head too. So I worked on the profile.’
‘I could do with some hope.’ Corcoran hefted up her rucksack for her. ‘But I could do with some coffee more.’
[07:30]
Palmer sat in the station’s canteen, flicking through her notebook, refreshing her thoughts, but she was so tired and insights were elusive.
‘Here we go.’ Corcoran rested two steaming mugs on the table and sat opposite her, tucking his tie in. ‘You said you took it black, right?’
‘Correct. I’m lactose intolerant. And thanks.’ She reached for a sachet and tipped the brown sugar into her cup, then stirred it in, all the while fighting off yet another yawn. ‘You handled yourself well in the briefing.’
‘I’ll take that as a compliment.’ Corcoran slurped at his coffee. Must have a mouth lined with asbestos. ‘Taking briefings is the part of the job I like least, would you believe?’
‘I would. I have to talk at conferences several times a year. Hundreds of bored academics is much harder than thirty wired cops.’
‘Different crowds, I suppose.’ Another sip and he rested his cup down. ‘Not sure half of my lot know where to find the sinks in the bathroom, let alone someone who’s kidnapped three people.’
Palmer stopped blowing on her tea and set it down. ‘You definitely think it’s three?’
‘I was trying to keep Sarah and Howard separate, but you were right to be flexible.’
‘This isn’t about right or wrong.’
‘No, it’s not.’ Corcoran nodded at her notebook. ‘So what have you got for me?’
Palmer stared at the page, transfixed by the drawings.
‘What’s up?’
‘I just don’t know if I can do this, Aidan.’ She looked up at him. ‘Do you mind if I call you Aidan?’
‘That’s been fine so far. Do you prefer Marie or Dr Palmer?’
‘I don’t like Marie, but my parents didn’t bless me with a middle name. And I’ve been letting you use it, so take that as a compliment.’
He smiled at that. ‘Why don’t you think you can do this?’
‘As you’ve kept pointing out, usually when I speak to these people, I have a couple of twenty-stone guards next to me.’
Corcoran laughed this time. ‘I promise you won’t come a cropper, so long as you toe the line.’
‘I’m not being funny, but you and your dodgy hip don’t give me much reassurance that someone who’s abducted and held two physically fit and strong people won’t get at me too.’
‘There’s a whole squad here to protect us. Okay?’ He picked up and sipped his coffee without flinching. ‘We won’t go in anywhere that’s not completely under our control. Besides, we need to find this bastard first.’
‘The hard part.’
He nodded. ‘Anything that’ll help with that?’
‘I don’t know. This is from first principles, okay? So please be patient.’ Palmer traced her fingers over the page, deciding where best to start. There. ‘Okay, so most of the serial killers I’ve had contact with—’
‘This isn’t a serial killer.’
‘Correct, but the psychology is usually the same, it’s just an escalation path.’ She waited to see if he had any objections but he just took another sip. ‘Most have been driven by fantasies of power and control, others by visions, and some by just pure lust. Disorganised psychopaths who pick their victims at random.’
Corcoran finished his coffee before she’d even started her tea. ‘You mean like the Washington snipers?’
‘You’re well read.’
He shrugged. ‘Two people who just shot at random people in car parks and on freeways.’
Palmer held up a finger. ‘As far as I can tell, that isn’t what we’re dealing with here. While we don’t have a clear MO, they’re not just taking people willy nilly. There seems to be a method to this. Planning, striking at the most opportune moment. So I think we’re looking for someone motivated by revenge and a desire to right a perceived wrong.’
‘So, “mission-oriented”, right?’
‘Well, yes.’
A dark look flooded his face. ‘Okay, so I’m with you so far. What’s his message?’
‘That’s what I’ve been up half the night thinking through.’ She took a tentative sip of tea. Still way too hot for a normal human to even touch. ‘We need to listen to what he wants us to hear.’
He rolled his eyes at her.
‘I’m serious. There’s something that haunts him.’ Palmer jabbed a finger on the page. ‘We’re dealing with a clever, precise individual, someone who may appear to be completely normal, but who won’t stop until he’s either apprehended or has completed his mission. But even then, he might just redefine the mission and keep going.’
‘And what are you basing that on?’
‘Well.’ She turned the page back. ‘Of the killers I mentioned last night, Burke was a mission killer who deflected failings in his home life by murdering random people. But there’s someone much closer – Ross Murray.’
Corcoran flinched. ‘What about him?’
‘You know him?’
‘Unlike most people these days, I still read the papers.’
‘Well, you’ll know he started out as a rapist, then became a killer. His mission was about helping people. I dug into the interviews when I couldn’t sleep. He blamed it all on his ADHD, but the prevailing orthodoxy is he wanted to help his mother. See, when he was a small boy, his stepfather murdered her right in front of him. And he couldn’t help her. So it all became twisted inside out. And he started thinking if he could help these women, he’d help his mother stay alive, but he just kept killing and killing until he was caught.’
Corcoran swallowed hard. ‘You think our guy’s similar?’
‘Could be.’ Palmer slurped tea and instantly regretted it. Her tongue was burnt. ‘Or could be completely different. Ross Murray’s first two were opportunistic rapes in parks. Our perpetrator . . .’ Her tongue tingled. ‘According to Sarah and Howard, our guy doesn’t spend any time with his victims.’
‘Meaning?’
‘He doesn’t appear to enjoy their suffering on an intimate level. He’s seemingly more occupied with what the crime signifies than in any particular act.’
Palmer looked across the canteen. Thompson and Magrane were in the queue for coffee, laughing and joking like the best of friends. She couldn’t figure out who’d won their turf war.
When she looked back, Corcoran was staring at her. ‘So how do we catch him?’
‘Well. Creating these cells or cages, wherever they may be, must require some degree of privacy and a knowledge of construction. He could own a piece of isolated land somewhere. Does that mean he’s wealthy? And the engineering skills required to build the cells seems relatively advanced.’
‘And how does that help?’
‘It means we’re probably looking for someone who doesn’t live in a city. He can come and go as he pleases.’ Using Ross Murray’s words like that made her shiver.
‘It starts to narrow it down.’
‘Anything else?’
‘For Sarah, he maintained a programme of calculated starvation, down to the day she would die. He’s kept Howard at exactly the same weight . . .’
‘So we’re looking for a nutritionist who lives in the sticks?’
‘Aidan, please.’
Corcoran held up his hands, but tilted his head like he hadn’t conceded the point. ‘I’m listening.’
‘Our guy must’ve devoted significant time to his mission. Does that suggest he hasn’t got a family? That he lives alone?’
Corcoran shrugged. ‘So a single nutritionist who—’
‘Aidan.’
‘I’m joking.’
‘It’s how you cope, I get it.’
‘Right.’ He looked embarrassed for once. ‘We’ve been hunting connections between Sarah and Howard, but I just can’t see any.’
She scanned her notebook, stocking up her memory with facts rather than fanciful leaps. ‘Both victims are from different parts of the country. Devon and Cambridge. Different backgrounds. One is a project manager, the other a chef. Seemingly different personalities and interests, different family lives.’
‘Neither have children.’
‘Correct, and they’re both in their twenties, so that’s maybe not unexpected.’ She took a sip of tea. ‘There doesn’t appear to be any connection between where they were taken and where they were found. They both have secrets. Sarah’s affair, Howard’s drug sting. Beyond that, their lives seem perfectly ordinary. The only thing that seems to connect them is a rough age bracket and the ordeal they have been subjected to. I mean, Sarah runs and Howard surfs, but I can’t divine anything from that.’
‘How would Matt fit into this?’
‘We just don’t know.’ She turned the page, just blank lines filled with the three names and nothing much connecting them. ‘Two data points isn’t enough. We need to know more about Matt.’ She circled the name with her finger, highlighting how little they knew about him. ‘And it’s possible he might have more people incarcerated than this Matt. He had Sarah and Howard. If we add in Matt as a third, parallel victim, then it’s possible he could have a fourth or even a fifth now.’
Corcoran shut his eyes for a few seconds. ‘Or Matt might not exist.’ He reopened them. ‘It could just be misdirection.’
‘Well, quite. But I believe he’s choosing to let them go rather than murder them. That greatly increases the risk of him being caught. So it’s clear he wants the world to know they have suffered.’
‘Back to your mission.’
‘Precisely. It could be the connection is their actions are morally questionable, that someone’s targeting people who have committed dubious acts.’ Something sparked in her brain. She clicked her pen and scribbled a fresh connection between Howard and Sarah. ‘This could be something, Aidan. He left philosophy textbooks for them to read.’
Corcoran twisted his lips. ‘Her affair and his drug-dealing aren’t public knowledge, though. We had to dig and dig to get that information.’
‘So, it could be that it’s not the connection, but it could also be how we strike lucky. There may be someone who is aware of the affair and the drug-dealing. Someone who wants them to pay.’
‘Someone we need to find.’ Corcoran took a deep breath, then nodded slowly. ‘Okay, so I’m starting to—’
His phone barked out the Charlie the Seahorse theme tune.
‘Aidan, really?’
‘Sorry, I thought it’d help.’ He checked the display. ‘Got to take this.’ He put the phone to his ear and turned away from her. Then straight back. ‘My flag on the system has just been triggered. Someone by the name of Matt has turned up in Brighton saying he was abducted and kept in a prison cell.’
Twenty-six
[Corcoran, 10:05]
Hard to miss Brighton police station. A huge grey building like an IKEA store made from Lego. The oversized blue entrance was stamped with Brighton Police Station in the sort of font you’d see outside some east London web start-up. Most of the neighbouring buildings were stuck in the eighties, except for this office over the road, seemingly carved from blocks of glass.
Corcoran watched Palmer get out into the thin rain and jot down yet more notes. He sat back in his chair, trapped by his phone call.
‘Aidan, what’s your read on DI Magrane?’ Thompson sounded cagey.
‘He’s angling to take over your case, right?’
‘Maybe.’
‘Look, if I was giving him the benefit of the doubt, I’d say he doesn’t want to lose his drugs investigation. He’s running a big operation down there, got someone for it and he won’t let that go without a fight.’
‘Aidan, be straight with me. Do you honestly think Howard was dealing drugs?’
‘Couldn’t say without spending a few hours going over their files in detail, then spending a day interviewing him.’
‘But your gut feel?’
‘Look, it doesn’t matter to us whether Howard’s guilty or not. Our case is about finding whoever did this to him.’
She grunted. ‘Always the voice of reason, aren’t you?’
‘I try to be. Look, I’m in Brighton, I better—’
‘Brighton? What the hell are—’
‘I’ll call you later. Bye.’ Corcoran killed the call and waited for her to call him back in a fury. Nothing after ten seconds, so he got out and shuffled towards the police station.
Palmer tossed her long ponytail over her shoulder as he caught up with her. Now her hair was liberated from the plait, she looked more mature, like she meant business, and less like a disturbed schoolgirl. ‘Two hours driving down from Kidlington and you’ve barely spoken.’
‘Look.’ Corcoran stopped beside her outside the front door, hands in pockets, smiling. ‘We’re both frazzled here. Both stayed up all night, pushing ourselves way too hard. Don’t try and psychoanalyse me.’
‘It’s all part of the service, I’m afraid.’
Corcoran sighed as he shifted over to open the door, his suit jacket rumpling in the salty breeze. ‘Come on.’ He entered the building, warrant card already out.
An open space with a bored-looking desk sergeant staring at his mobile phone. He took one look at them, then whistled like he was out hiking on the South Downs and his dogs were straying a bit too far. ‘Jase!’
‘What?’ A skinny uniform hauled himself up to standing. Spaghetti arms and chunky legs, dark skin, black hair shaved close and rounded off at the front. He offered a hand but winced as Corcoran shook it. ‘PC Jason Wilkinson.’
‘DS Corcoran. This is Dr Marie Palmer, who’s working with me on this case.’
‘Cool, cool, cool.’ Jason led them through the station, yawning into his fist. ‘Sorry. Been on since ten last night. Absolutely shattered.’
‘Join the club. What happened?’
Jason stopped by the sign for the custody suite. ‘Me and Ali.’ He blew air up his face. ‘That’s my partner, Alison. PC Davidson, yeah? We were doing a walkabout last night, down the seafront, got a call about this geezer going mental outside a pub. We jogged round and . . .’ He laughed, despite himself. ‘Geezer was stark bollock naked, standing on a taxi, wielding this knife.’ He was trying to keep his laughter under control. ‘Not the first time we’ve seen that round here, know what I mean? But this geezer, he was trying to cut his arm off. I stopped him, but . . . mate . . .’
‘Is your partner about?’
‘She’s not in.’ Jason frowned, eyelids flickering. ‘Meeting her wedding planner, yeah?’
‘Can you call her? It’s important we speak to her.’
Jason got out his phone and started tapping away. ‘Sure thing.’
‘The way I heard it, you were critical in taking him down, right?’
‘Right.’
Corcoran opened the custody suite door. ‘And he’s definitely called Matt?’
‘I mean . . .’ Jason was focused on texting. ‘That’s
what he was shouting. “I am Matt! I exist!” I took him down, but . . . crazy.’
‘Strange.’ Palmer had her notebook out again but wasn’t writing anything. ‘Was he drunk?’
‘Didn’t smell of it, but you never know, yeah? Could be spice. Could be anything. He kept mentioning cells. That’s why I called you.’ Jason was staring hard at Corcoran, open-mouthed. ‘That Witney Woman case and that guy in Rugby. The press conference said they was in cells. Matt kept saying don’t put me back in the cell. Didn’t want to be drowned?’
Corcoran smiled. ‘Did you get the impression he meant prison?’
‘Nah, more like he’d been imprisoned. And that’s why I called you.’
‘Let us know when we can speak to your partner.’ Corcoran let Palmer go first and followed her through.
The door to the cells squeaked open and a brute of a custody sergeant grunted through. ‘Jason send you?’
‘PC Wilkinson, yes.’ Corcoran joined him by the doors. ‘Here to—’
‘He’s been like that since they brought him in, I swear.’ The sergeant shook his head and stepped out of the way. ‘I mean, what do you take to get like that?’
In the cell Matt lay on the bed, almost perfectly still, just his chest heaving, like he was sleeping, but his eyes were wide open. Through his fuzzy ginger beard, in bad need of some grooming, his mouth hung open.
Corcoran grasped the metal bar. ‘Is he meditating?’
‘Don’t know, mate.’
Matt looked underweight, slack skin on his arms, but that was still a step above the skeleton that Sarah had been reduced to.
‘I exist.’ Matt was now staring at Corcoran, huge dark bags under his eyes like someone had punched holes in his skull with a mining drill. His eyes were randomly moving as though he was following patterns that weren’t there. A twitch. Then another one. Then he focused straight on Corcoran. ‘Tell me I exist.’ Then back to the random eye movement. ‘Please, any of you?’
‘You exist, as far as I can tell.’ Corcoran entered the cell and crouched next to him, stabilising himself on the bed frame. ‘What’s your name, sir?’