Righteous Anger: A frantic hunt for a child killer (DCI Rob Miller Book 3)

by BL Pearce

  On cue, the Chief Superintendent poked his nose into the incident room. “We need to issue a press release, Rob. My bloody phone is ringing off the hook. I’ve briefed the Commissioner. Word is out.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Rob glanced at Harry, who got to his feet.

  “I’ll go and speak to Vicky. How soon do you want it done?”

  “How about in an hour?” Rob suggested. “Just the facts. Five bodies have been discovered, identities unknown, more information to follow.”

  The DCS gave a curt nod. “That should keep them off our backs for a while.”

  A frenzied silence fell over the incident room as fingers bashed away at keyboards and notes were scribbled on whiteboards. A soft murmur every now and then as a point was discussed or a lead developed.

  Rob went outside with the aim of grabbing everyone a coffee, after he’d called Jo. She needed to hear it from him first.

  “How many?” she croaked down the line.

  “Three so far, but they’ve found five graves. Possibly more. We’re still waiting to hear back from the K-9 unit.”

  “Christ, Rob. And they’re all young girls?”

  “Yeah, teens mostly. All female. The three that have been unearthed so far were dressed in their school uniform.”

  He heard her sigh. “I’ve got to get in on this. I can’t sit here anymore while this is going on. These girls were just like Rachel. Innocents. What if it is related?”

  “We don’t know that for sure yet,” he cautioned her. “Just because Arina’s and one of the other missing girls’ rucksacks were found weighted down in a lake or a pond, it doesn’t mean it’s the same killer. Rachel died a long time ago. Weighting a bag down is a pretty common way of making sure it won’t be found.”

  “I know…” She paused. “It’s just… I feel it in my gut, you know. It’s the same guy.”

  He did know. And he knew Jo. If her gut was telling her they might be a connection, he wasn’t about to dismiss that.

  “Is it worth losing a promotion over, though?” he asked. “At this point, it’s still early days.”

  She sighed heavily. “God, I'm so frustrated. I haven’t even had time to look at those Manchester files with this case going on. It’s like Pearson’s going out of his way to pile as much work on me as possible. Bastard.”

  “Give it until tomorrow,” he told her. “We should have all five bodies up by then. I’m going to speak to Sam about searching nearby lakes and other bodies of water, once we know who these girls are and where they disappeared from. If we find any more weighted school bags, then it might justify taking that leave you mentioned.”

  “Yeah, okay. Keep me posted, Rob.”

  “Will do.”

  37

  Rob met Tony Sanderson at Bisley Common after work. As they stared down into the fifth and final grave, the criminal profiler said, “Were they all posed like this?”

  “Yeah.”

  Big, bulbous clouds hovered above them, threatening to burst at any moment. The forensic technicians worked quickly and grimly. One was scraping dirt from around the body while the other carefully brushed dust off her face, sampling anything that might be important as they went.

  They were well practiced by now. Novice to experts in one day.

  A crime scene photographer took shots of the body in situ. He’d done so at every gravesite. From all angles. Later, in the comfort of the overly warm incident room they’d analyse them. Compare them. Look for patterns.

  It wasn’t strictly necessary for Rob to be here. But he couldn’t keep away.

  Dr Liz Kramer stood beside the catering truck, her hands wrapped around a Styrofoam cup. She stared into the distance, the vacant eyes of a woman who’d seen too much. She was done for the day. And done in, by the looks of things. He gave her a wave, but she didn’t notice. Her mind still in a dirt pit.

  Tony stared long and hard at the emerging body.

  “They were all buried with their hands over their chests and clips in their hair,” Rob pointed out. “According to Liz, the pathologist, there’s no evidence of sexual assault or any kind of physical trauma. The killer placed a shroud over them before he covered them up. The graves are fairly deep too. It would have been back-breaking work.”

  Tony nodded. “Probably too much for anyone over sixty. Unless they had help.”

  Rob hadn’t considered an accomplice before.

  “But… I don’t think that’s the case,” Tony continued. “These murders look personal. Private. I’ll bet he took care of them, brushed their hair before clipping it back, making sure their hands and faces were clean before preparing them for burial.”

  “Why would he do that?” asked Rob.

  “He cares,” Tony replied. “These girls meant something to him.”

  “Then why kill them?”

  None of it made any sense.

  They watched as the final swabs were taken. The technicians meticulously documented every sample, before storing it in a big evidence box. A crime scene officer checked every move they made. No mistakes. No mix-ups.

  The female forensic technician beckoned to two men waiting at the catering van who came over and began lifting the body onto a stretcher. They’d transport it to the local mortuary where it would join the others in cold storage overnight, ready for Dr Kramer to study with fresh eyes in the morning.

  “Do you know for certain that he did?” Tony said.

  Rob frowned. “What are you saying? That he found them and buried them?”

  Tony shrugged. “It’s a possibility. Or he felt he was justified in killing them.”

  “What could possibly justify killing a teenage girl?” Rob’s voice soared across the clearing. Several heads turned in their direction.

  “Nothing, obviously,” Tony replied, giving him a look. “But to the killer, something.”

  Liz came over, jolted out of her reverie. “Hello, gentlemen.”

  Rob introduced them. “I don’t think you’ve met. Liz, this is Tony Sanderson. Tony, meet forensic pathologist and the woman I couldn’t do without, Liz.”

  “I know you by reputation.” Liz held out her hand. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.”

  “Likewise.” Tony shook it, smiling.

  Rob could have sworn he saw the stalwart Dr Kramer flush, but she recovered quickly. She had no time for sentiment. “This last one’s the most recent. Under a year, ten months even. We’re hoping to get some DNA off her. There appears to be decomposed flesh underneath her fingernails.”

  Rob’s eyebrows shot up. “You mean she clawed her attacker?”

  “Possibly.”

  Yes!

  Rob took a triumphant lungful of damp air. This could be the break they’d been waiting for. It could identify the killer.

  “Find any marks on the victims?” Tony asked. “Any injuries of any sort?”

  “Most of the bodies were too degraded to tell,” she replied. “But the bones appeared to be intact, even the hyoid, so they weren’t strangled. If you ask me, the killer took good care of them before he buried them.”

  “That seems to be the general theory,” Rob murmured.

  “It’s a strange one, Rob.” Liz stifled a yawn. “Excuse me, gentleman, I have to go. Believe it or not, I’ve got to go out tonight. After a day like today.” She flashed a wry smile. “I’ll be in touch tomorrow, once we’ve had another look.”

  “Okay, thanks Liz.”

  She bid them goodbye and trudged wearily back to her car.

  “I don’t get it,” said Rob. “What am I missing here? This guy abducts five girls – that we know of – over the course of the last few years, takes good care of them, then kills them and buries their bodies ritualistically in the woods.”

  “Is this sacred ground?” Tony looked around them. The clearing wasn’t very large, but it was private. Hemmed in by trees. The police and forensic vehicles had parked as close to the clearing as they could get, yet they were still over two hundred metres a
way.

  At Rob's blank look, he expanded, “Is there any religious or other significance that would make this a good burial spot? Usually when a serial offender buries all of his victims in the same place, it’s because it holds some special meaning for him, or for them.”

  That was a new angle.

  “I’ll look into it. I know the parish church borders on the south side, but I have no idea if that’s relevant.”

  “The vicar would know,” Tony pointed out.

  Rob made a mental note to talk to him in the morning, or maybe he’d swing by the vicarage on his way home, if it wasn’t too late.

  “Also, your killer might not like violence. He prefers to drug his victims or smother them.”

  “Why wouldn’t he like violence?” Rob could hazard a guess, but he let the expert explain.

  Tony shrugged. “He might have been abused as a child, perhaps he witnessed a violent act or was subject to violence over a period of many years. There are any number of reasons why a person wouldn’t want to use violence, particularly on children.”

  “He opted for a more humane method of killing them,” Rob summed up.

  Tony nodded. “It looks like it. Hopefully Dr Kramer will be able to shed some light once she’s done the post-mortems, although after all these years…” He left the sentence hanging.

  Rob knew the chances of them finding any useful evidence were slim. The peaty soil, bacteria, wild animals and the passing of time had seen to that.

  Rob bribed Tony into going to the vicarage with him by offering to buy him a beer. They were in the area. Two birds and all that.

  “St John the Baptist,” Rob read, as he parked on a grassy verge outside the ancient stone building. It was fairly isolated, being removed from the more developed part of the village.

  “Looks fifteenth century.” Tony admired the stonework and oak porch.

  He didn’t know. Old buildings weren’t his thing.

  “Let’s hope the vicar is around,” said Rob. “It’s gone six.” There was no sign of a vicarage or any cottages on the church property. The days when the church provided accommodation were long gone. In fact, in most cases vicars faced the dismal prospect of a homeless retirement. They earned a pittance and saving for the future was out of the question. Often, not even a true calling was enough.

  They pushed open the massive oak door and went inside.

  “It’s so modern,” said Rob, surprised. By the state of the exterior he’d expected dark wooden pews and dog-eared hymn books. Instead, it was light and airy. Warm pine floorboards and yellow lighting cast a welcoming glow, while modern seating filled the worship area. Up front, a tasteful wine-red carpet led to the altar, upon which stood several contemporary candlesticks and a divine flower arrangement.

  “It’s cold in here.” Tony pulled his jacket closer around him.

  “We’re closing up for the night,” a voice resonated from the wings.

  They turned. A smiling middle-aged man in jeans and a leather jacket approached them. “How can I help you?”

  “We’re looking for the vicar,” Rob said.

  “You found him.” He grinned again. “Reverend Edward Purvis, but you can call me Father Ed, everybody else does.”

  Rob blinked. “Sorry, you didn’t look like… Never mind. I’m DCI Miller and this is Tony Sanderson. We were wondering if we could ask you some questions.”

  “Are you investigating the bodies found in the wood?” he asked.

  Rob scowled. “How did you know about that?”

  “Everybody is talking about it.”

  Great.

  “Is it true they found several gravesites?”

  “Yes, it’s true,” Rob walked further into the church. “Do you mind if we sit down?”

  “Of course. Come this way.”

  He led them down the aisle. Rob hadn’t taken this route since his wedding. He shivered involuntarily.

  Halfway down, the vicar branched into one of the rows and took a seat. The chairs were comfortable, just the right height with cushioned seats. If you were going to make people sit for hours, they might as well be comfortable.

  “Now, what can I help you with?”

  “We were wondering if the area in Bisley Common where the bodies were found had any religious significance?”

  “The woods, you mean?”

  Rob nodded.

  The vicar thought for a moment, then said, “I don’t know about the land, but the well that the church was named after is supposed to have healing powers.”

  “The well?” Rob didn’t recall seeing one. He glanced at Tony, who shrugged.

  “Yes, the Holy Well of St John the Baptist. It’s little more than a trickle now, and bricked up, but it’s still there. It reportedly dates backs over a thousand years.”

  “Where is it?” asked Rob.

  “Along the footpath behind the church,” he said. “Rumour has it that it has never dried up or frozen over. People still come to sample the water, although I wouldn’t advise it.” He chuckled. “At one point, though, it was the water supply for the whole village.”

  “Did you know a young girl called Arina Parvin?” Rob asked on a whim.

  Father Ed thought for a moment. “I don’t think so, but then I don’t know all my parishioners. We get a good crowd in for Sunday service, but it’s not what it was. And the youngsters don’t come. Was she one of the people you found buried in the woods?”

  Rob got to his feet. “Thank you so much, Father Ed. You’ve been very helpful.”

  “Glad I could help. Do you want to see the well?”

  He glanced at Tony.

  “Why not?” the profiler said.

  The vicar pointed them in the right direction. They followed the overgrown path until they came across a rectangular stone structure about a foot and a half high. It had a grate covering one side. A rusty pipe spat out a tiny trickle of water.

  “So, this is the well of St John the Baptist,” said Tony. A giant green sign to the side proclaimed that it was. “I must say, there isn’t much to see.”

  “Not anymore,” Rob agreed, his eyes were elsewhere. “Isn’t that the back of Bisley Wood?”

  They peered into the deepening dusk. In the distance, they could see the hazy, purple treeline and if Rob’s bearings were correct, beyond the woods lay Bisley Common.

  “Could be a factor,” Tone mused.

  “I don’t know. Why bury them near a well? Even one with supposedly healing properties?”

  Tony shook his head. “You’ll have to ask him that when you catch him.”

  38

  “I feel like we’ve been down this road before.”

  Rob sat across from Tony in The Cricketer, a local pub in Richmond. They’d chosen a table by the window so they could look out over the village green. A footpath sliced it diagonally in two and around it, white terraced houses stood like cardboard cut-outs, their interiors burning softly. Families enjoying an evening meal. Watching television. Living their lives. It was comforting after the wild, windswept and quite frankly, creepy heath where the bodies had been buried.

  Tony grinned. He’d assisted Rob with a profile of the Surrey Stalker that had turned the case on its head. Tony was good at what he did, which was why he consulted for London’s top law enforcement agencies.

  “All killers have different signatures,” he commented. “Yet, there are definite parallels. You’re looking at someone who’s been doing this a long time. Five bodies, possibly more?”

  Rob nodded. The K-9 unit hadn’t reported any more macabre finds – thank God – but that didn’t mean there weren’t others at different locations.

  “It’s taken time to hone his craft. Years, even. This pattern, the posing, the preparation, would have developed over time.”

  Rob reached for his pint.

  “His first kills would be the most telling,” Tony went on. “They’re likely to be messier, more chance of being caught on camera or witnessed by a passer-by. The grave sites
would be less thought out, not as well planned. Easier to find. The bodies would be more dishevelled, less prepared.”

  “We don’t know how far back to look,” Rob remarked. Then he told Tony about Jo’s sister.

  “Twenty years!” Tony exhaled slowly.

  Rob waited for him to assimilate the information, think about it, form a response.

  “It’s possible,” he said eventually. “These killings were meticulous, well planned, the act of a sophisticated killer. He’d had to have started very young.”

  Rob pursed his lips. “Early twenties, maybe?”

  “It could be even younger than that.” Tony tapped the side of his glass with his index finger. “He takes care of his victims, doesn’t use violence…”

  Rob tried to work out where the profiler was going with this. He couldn’t, so he sat back and sipped his beer, waiting for the gears to work.

  “I’d hazard a guess – and this is purely an educated guess, mind you – that your murderer made his first kill as a teenager.”

  Rob spluttered. “What?”

  “It stands to reason he witnessed extreme violence at a young age, was even a victim of it himself, and it’s imprinted itself on his psyche. He’s a killer, through and through, but he doesn’t want to inflict pain on his victims. What does that tell us?”

  Rob shook his head. This was way beyond his level of expertise.

  “He’s protecting them.”

  “From what?”

  Tony shrugged. “We don’t know. It could be anything. Pain, conflict, abuse, bullying. Perhaps he sees himself as a saviour of sorts.”

  This was feeling very tenuous now.

  Rob frowned. “Are you sure we’re not reaching? The victims didn’t appear to be injured or abused.” Although, the post-mortems would confirm.

  “Possibly,” Tony concurred. “Like I said, it’s educated guesswork, but given the way the bodies were posed, and the care taken with them, I’d say you’re looking for someone with a traumatic childhood, socially awkward, perhaps quiet or introverted, and possibly a religious fanatic.”