A pause.
Okay.
Who would you like to tell me about?
Another pause. Thinking. Perhaps calculating.
Brianna Holden. I will talk to you about Brianna Holden. Are you sure you want to hear it?
She did. And she didn’t. Of course.
Yes. What happened to her?
She died. You know that.
Did you kill her?
I’m innocent.
Narey looked to Dakers.
‘He’s denying his guilt, not denying the act,’ he told her. ‘Keep going. Perhaps ask how he knew her.’
She asked.
I don’t remember how we met. I think maybe we spoke online. I believe that’s what happened.
‘He’s consistently using negation here,’ Dakers said from her left. ‘He’s lying. Or lying by omission.’
We got on very well. She liked me and I liked her. So, we arranged to meet.
Did you know Brianna was married?
She didn’t tell me she was married.
Where did you arrange to meet her?
Pollok Park.
Why there?
I don’t know. I don’t remember.
And what happened?
Brianna acted very badly. As if she didn’t like me anymore. I didn’t start the argument. She did.
Did you fight with her?
She fought with me.
Did you kill her?
Do you want me to just brush over the details, Inspector? Would that make it easier for you? Because that’s not how it works. If you want to hear it, you will have to hear it all.
Her stomach tightened and her head turned to the other screen where the young man was slumped motionless.
Go on.
She smelled of vanilla and flowers. It was on her skin. She smelled sweet and spicy but when I tasted it, there was only the acid burn of the spice.
Her skin tightened and flushed scarlet. She wriggled and fought. She just made it worse for herself. She died.
The colour of her face. A red I’d never seen before. It blew up like a balloon as the life squeezed out of her drop by drop. She died.
Narey had to steel herself to reply. Dakers sombrely nodded at her in confirmation. It was horrific but it was useful. She typed.
Did you kill her?
I’m not guilty.
Do you know a man named Kevin Monteith?
I don’t know. I’m not sure.
He was put on trial for Brianna’s murder. Do you remember his name?
No. I don’t know. Maybe.
Did he kill Brianna?
No.
She was aware of Dakers scribbling furiously to her right and moments later, he thrust a piece of paper under her nose. She read it, her brow knotting in confusion.
‘Just ask him,’ the psychologist encouraged her. ‘I’ll explain later.’
Narey huffed heavily and began typing.
Does anyone else know all of you? All the sides that you have?
The screen showed that the question had been read but Narey wasn’t sure that it would be understood. Yet she’d barely turned her head to look questioningly again at Dakers when the response arrived.
No. No one knows all of me. Do you think you do?
Narey turned to Dakers, looking for the answer.
‘Tell him that no, you don’t. But that you know he’s more than one person. No, make that – you know there’s more than one side of him. And ask which side you’re talking to now.’
‘You sure?’
‘Yes.’
She typed and waited.
There are different sides to me. That’s true. And right now? I think you’re talking to the person you’re looking for.
‘You know where you’re going now?’ Dakers asked her. ‘I think so. Stop me if I’m going wrong.’ She typed again.
So, you’re a different person to different people? And some of those close to you would have no idea you’d be capable of the you’ve done?
A short pause.
Yes. Is that unusual though? I don’t think most people would want to show everything to everyone. Most people wouldn’t dare to.
Maybe. But what you’re not showing is very different from other people.
Is it? I don’t really know. Anyway, I’ve talked enough. I’m going now. I have a video feed to watch. And all that stuff I told you about Brianna Holden? None of it is true.
CHAPTER 24
‘He killed her.’
Narey was taken aback by the certainty in Dakers’ voice. ‘You said he was lying at other parts. How can you be sure?’
‘Well, I can’t be sure. But I’m as sure as I can be. The whole basis of SCAN is deception detection. Now, I’m no expert on it but I’ve been rereading what I can, and I hope I’ve got a decent handle on it. At the beginning, he was using a lot of equivocation, the maybes and the mights, one of the main deception techniques. When he spoke about how he met Brianna, he used a lot of negation and was almost certainly lying or trying to keep the truth from us. He also indulged in what is known as statement partitioning, meaning he broke down his telling of the meeting with Brianna and her murder into prologue, incident and epilogue. He rushed over both the prologue and the epilogue in order to omit things but luxuriated in the incident.
‘More than that, when he talked about the crime, the act that led to Brianna’s death, he revealed unique sensory details, things we didn’t ask for and it’s unlikely he made up on the spot. So, he talked about the smell of her perfume, the taste of her skin, the way her face changed colour. These were experienced memories. These were truths.’
Narey held his gaze for a while, accepting the sense that it made.
‘Remind me never to play poker with you.’
‘Oh, I’m terrible at poker. I spend more time looking for tells from the other players than I do at my own hand.’
She breathed out hard. Exhausted from the effort of concentration. ‘So, what else have we learned?’
‘Well, it’s difficult just reading his words and not hearing them, but there’s a calmness, a matter-of-factness about what he says, that leads me to think that he’s capable of switching on and off the personality we spoke to. That’s why I got you to ask the question about there being more than one side to him. It’s likely, as you suggested to him, that he functions as a seemingly normal person, not outwardly displaying the characteristics that we’d expect from a serial killer. You’ve met the type before.’
Narey nodded. ‘Of course I have. But I’m not sure I’ve ever fully grasped how they’re able to do it.’
‘Well, often they have an ability to disassociate, to save themselves from having to deal with difficult feelings, and to compartmentalise so that they can act as different people in different situations as needed.’
‘Okay, I get that. But how?’
Dakers nodded. ‘There’s an American criminal psychologist, a friend of mine, named Katherine Ramsland, one of the very best in the business. She spent five years corresponding with Dennis Rader, the BTK killer. She says that people like Rader, like our man Marr, do what Rader called cubing.’
‘Cubing?’
‘Yeah. It was Rader who introduced her to the phrase, and it might be the best way of explaining how their minds work in terms of being able to function in society. Rader was a family man, he had a wife and two children. He graduated from university, had a good job, was president of the church council and a Cub Scout leader. And he tortured and murdered ten people across a seventeen-year period. How was he able to be all those things to different people? He likened it to being a cube, and showing whatever face he needed to.’
‘Is that not just self-serving bullshit?’
‘In one sense, yes. But it’s more than that. We all do it to some extent. You have to be a different person at home with your daughter than you are when you’re interviewing a suspect. You have to be a different person with your husband than your daughter. But, with killers who can function i
n this way, the skill set required is way beyond what most people could achieve. It’s off the scale.’
‘And you think that’s how it is with Marr? That he cubes? He can display a seemingly normal persona to the rest of the world, then switch to someone that can murder five, six or more people?’
‘I’ve not exactly got a lot to go on, but yes.’
‘So how much more difficult does that make it for us to catch him? Or don’t I want to know the answer to that?’
Dakers smiled ruefully. ‘You don’t. But there’s something else. I’d say he’s a compulsive narcissist. A risk taker.’
‘Okay. So, the more risks he takes, the greater our chance of catching him.’
The psychologist blew out hard. ‘That’s one way of looking at it.’
‘And the other?’
‘He knows you’re on to him and that the net, however slowly, is closing in. But he’s a risk taker. He’s going to kill again while the going is good. For the moment, I’d say watching the guy die is fulfilling whatever need he has. But that’s not going to last. He’ll kill again.’
CHAPTER 25
Kayleigh McGrath was small, slim and with a deep tan that suggested Shawlands must have a rare microclimate. Her dyed-blonde hair and heavy make-up completed the look. It was all but impossible for Narey to tell what the woman was thinking under the foundation, the eyeliner, the blusher and the fake tan.
Her sister was Brianna Holden, the twenty-seven-year-old wife and mother of two who was found strangled on the outskirts of Pollok Park three years earlier. Kayleigh reluctantly agreed to be interviewed after a few half-hearted attempts to say that she’d been through this often enough already.
‘It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it,’ she explained while drawing on a cigarette next to an open window in her flat, ‘and obviously I want the guy caught. Obviously. I’d do anything to get the bastard that done it. It’s just hard. You know?’
Narey nodded. She knew.
‘I mean, I’m not stupid, I know I look like I’m all hard and dolled up for a night out but that’s just the way I make myself. There’s not a day I don’t think about Brianna. She’s still my sister. And after that guy Monteith getting off, I’ve not been able to rest. Know what I mean?’
‘I do. And I’m sorry for making you go through all this again but we’re hoping a fresh pair of eyes might come up with something that wasn’t noticed first time round. Can you talk to me about the night Brianna was killed?’
Kayleigh sighed heavily. ‘Aye, sure. Why not? I was watching her kids because her man was at work. Brianna went out about seven and I had the kids in bed by nine thirty. That was it until we got the calls from your lot just after midnight.’
‘Was she meeting another man?’
‘Sorry?’
‘Was Brianna meeting someone else the night she was murdered? She was dressed as if she might have been on a date.’
‘No.’
‘Are you sure. What did she tell you she was doing?’
‘She didn’t. And I didn’t ask. She just said she needed me to watch the weans because she was going out.’
‘Okay, what did you think she might be doing?’
Kayleigh looked away and Narey was sure she was right.
‘How did Brianna meet this guy, Kayleigh?’
‘I didn’t say she met a guy. And I’m not—’
‘Did she use a dating site?’
McGrath reddened under the make-up, clearly flustered. ‘Brianna was married.’
‘That’s not what I asked you, Kayleigh. Did your sister use a dating site?’
Kayleigh McGrath crossed her arms across her chest. ‘My sister was a good person. I’m not having her name—’
Narey had had enough. ‘Kayleigh, let me stop you right there. This isn’t about judging Brianna. It’s not about who she was or what she did. I couldn’t care less if she was unfaithful to her husband, except where it might be a factor in making sure we know who killed her. Did she use a dating site?’
‘She should never have got married.’ McGrath barged through Narey’s attempt to interrupt, holding a hand up, pleading with her to wait. ‘It was a huge mistake. Graeme Holden was a huge mistake. That guy was never right for her. He was a waste of space, but Brianna found that out too late. She hated being married to him. And yes . . .’ She heaved out a breath. ‘Yes, she started looking around. And yes, she went on a dating site.’
Narey felt her gut tighten.
‘Do you know which site?’
McGrath pursed her lips and shook her head. ‘No. She never said. She just told me that she was looking online. “Window shopping”, was how she described it. At first anyway. Then she got a bit coy on me and I suppose I knew she’d got talking to someone she liked.’
‘Why didn’t you tell this to the police?’
‘I didn’t know if she was meeting anyone that night. I really didn’t. And anyway, your people had no doubt that guy Monteith had killed her after they found her bag in his car. Except he was on CCTV on the other side of the city. Once he got off, I didn’t want to go back and say. It seemed too late.’
‘And you didn’t want people to think badly of her.’ Eyes closed, head nodding, McGrath admitted it.
*
Stefan Kalinowski lived in the West End, in a flat on Highburgh Road, just a few hundred yards from where Narey used to live before she and Tony finally bought a place together. She looked up at the long line of old red tenements and got briefly sentimental for days when she was young, free and more or less single. She wouldn’t swap though.
Kalinowski worked as an electrician during the day and played gigs in local pubs at night. He couldn’t understand why they wanted to talk to him, but he was home between six and seven and she and DC Kerri Wells were welcome to visit.
He was in his early thirties, pushing six foot, dark-eyed and good-looking, with fair hair that he kept pushing back on his head. He was barefoot, mid-change of clothes Narey guessed, and seemingly anxious to get moving. He sat on the edge of a large, green armchair, a Greenpeace poster on the wall behind him.
‘I’m singing in the Ben Nevis in an hour so I don’t have too long, sorry. And I don’t understand, what is it I can help you with?’
‘Do you have any friends or family in America, Mr Kalinowksi?’
‘America? Not that I know of. Why?’
‘We’re working on a joint investigation with police in Los Angeles. They have provided us with a list of names connected to that investigation. Your name appears on it.’
Kalinowski laughed but the smile quickly disappeared as he realised Narey was being serious. ‘My name? That doesn’t make any sense. But how do you know it’s me? Mine maybe isn’t a common name in Glasgow but I’m sure there’s more than one in the US. Why me?’
‘The name on the list we were given had information about the person. We were wondering if it fitted you.’
‘Okay . . .’ he sounded very wary. ‘Try me.’
‘Okay, let’s start with music. Are you a fan of Echo and the Bunnymen? Maybe A Flock of Seagulls?’
‘Yes . . . both. But . . .’
‘And I see the Greenpeace campaign poster on the wall. What about Quentin Tarantino movies?’
‘I loved his early stuff but lately he’s disappeared up his own arse. I’m sorry, but this is just weird. It’s freaking me out a bit. How do you know this stuff?’
‘Has anyone from the US contacted you? Maybe through Facebook or online somewhere?’
‘No. I’d remember. No one. Is this some sort of phishing scam? Do I need to change my bank cards or my passwords?’
‘It might be something like that, but we’ve no reason to think anyone is after your bank details. What about online dating? Do you use that sort of thing?’
Kalinowski’s mouth dropped open, confusion creasing him. ‘What? No. What would I need to do that for?’
‘There’s nothing wrong with it,’ Narey assured him. ‘We’re not j
udging you.’
He scoffed. ‘Judge all you want. I don’t do internet dating. I’m not being big-headed, but I don’t have to. I’ve no idea what you people are talking about here.’
‘Some of the other people on the list we’ve been given have been harmed, some very seriously. I don’t mean to alarm you, Mr Kalinowski, but you may be at risk.’
‘From what?’
‘From attack by an associate of the person who held the list in Los Angeles.’
‘This is nuts. So, some freak had got some stuff about me online. These people never leave home so I can’t say I’m too worried. I can look after myself.’
‘Stefan, this is serious, and you could potentially be in danger. I need to ask you again. Do you use a dating site?’
‘I’ve told you, I don’t. I really don’t know what this is about but I don’t use a dating site, have never used a dating site, don’t think I ever would use a dating site, don’t need to use a dating site. Does that answer your question?’
‘I guess it does. I need to ask you to be careful. Watch where you’re going, don’t go anywhere alone, don’t take any risks.’
‘I’m not a child, Inspector. Like I say, I know how to look after myself. I’ll be fine.’
*
Emily Dornan was surprised to find the police at her door. It had been two years since she’d been attacked and she’d assumed the case had been forgotten, if not closed. Somewhat bemused, she invited Narey and Wells into her house in Dennistoun.
She was in her late twenties, long blonde hair parted in the centre. Just as the profile in Ethan Garland’s notes had suggested. She told them how she’d got off a train at Alexandra Parade and realised someone was following her. She was punched and being strangled when she heard voices shouting. Her attacker let her go and ran off.
‘And you’d no idea who it might have been that attacked you? Anyone that might have threatened you or held a grudge? An ex-boyfriend, maybe?’
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