Her son had got worse after he’d left.
She hadn’t even heard of the condition, which the psychiatrist had diagnosed. Paraphilia he’d called it. She could see the Professor now, leaning towards her, solemn faced, elbows resting on desk, fingers fixed as a pyramid and pointed towards her. He’d spoken so softly, choosing such carefully phrased words.
“The condition mean that your son needs to do something extreme or dangerous in order to get a buzz,” had been the gist of it.
And he’d rightly concluded that he would get worse as he got older.
How ironic that the son she had named after an angel had turned out to be the devil himself. She knew he should be locked up, as much for his own sake as for others, but she couldn’t bring herself to betray him any further than she had already done.
She shook herself out of her daydream and glanced back down to the shirt she was holding. Tears welled into her sad grey eyes. She wondered if it was time to bring all this to a halt.
* * * * *
The double set of doors burst open, one of them crashing against the wall. Grace was bristling with excitement as she bounced into the MIT office holding aloft a bundle of papers.
“I’ve just got off the phone with our Sex Offender Officer in The Public Protection Unit. I’ve got a cracker of a suspect.”
Grace’s sudden arrival and announcement caused Hunter to jump. He was the only person left in the office; everyone else was out on ‘the ground.’ Only a minute earlier he had looked at his watch wondering what was taking Grace so long. First thing after morning briefing he had given her the task of contacting the forensics lab to see if they had got a result yet from the Kirsty Evans’s samples, and he couldn’t help but wonder why one phone call had taken her the best part of an hour.
Grace almost missed seating herself on her chair. She spun it out from under her desk with one foot and just managed to catch the edge of it as she plonked herself down. She adjusted her posture quickly and slid the sheets of foolscap towards Hunter.
“Firstly we’ve got a positive result from forensics,” she began, almost out of breath “The fibres from under Kirsty’s fingernails match the fibres from the cardigan found on Carol Siddon’s body. The killer is still wearing the same clothing after all these years. And the belt, which was recovered from Kirsty’s neck, fits the marks found on Rebecca’s neck. That’s the good news.”
“What’s the bad news?” asked Hunter. “And take some deep breaths I don’t want you keeling over on me.”
She laughed, “Sorry but I’m so giddy. I’ve got loads to tell you.” She took in a deep intake of air. “The bad news is not that bad actually. Although there is a match for the DNA found under Kirsty’s nails with that from Rebecca’s body and the property Billy Smith found — and it’s not his by the way — it’s not on the national database at present. However all is not lost. Remember you gave Barry the task of going through Rebecca’s school stuff. Well I’ve just had a cuppa with him in the exhibits room and he’s shown me some very interesting snippets from her school journal. I’ve photocopied them to show you. Just look at pages six, seven and eight. There’s nearly three weeks between the first entry and the last extract which was written the day before she went missing.”
Hunter shuffled through the sheets and found the ones Grace had mentioned. He scoured the excerpts from Rebecca Morris’s daily school diary.
Met up with G after school. He showed me the photos he had taken of me. He said I looked very pretty and should consider taking up modeling. He made me blush. We talked for ages. He said I was a lot more mature than my age. Asked if he could meet up again, and I agreed.
Went early to the fair today to see G again. I went early because I had arranged to meet Kirsty but G told me he didn’t want her to be around. He said she would be jealous of me meeting him, because he said she had been txting him because she fancied him. He took my photograph again and said he was going to make a professional portfolio for me. After G had gone me and Kirsty went to the youth club. I told Kirsty about someone older fancying me and wanting to take modeling photos of me. She just laughed and said it was weird. G is right she is jealous.
Arranged to meet G tomorrow. He told me to miss school for once. He was going to start my portfolio so I could take it to a modeling agency. He told me not to tell anyone just yet as it would be a big surprise. I can’t wait to see him again. He treats me just like a grown up.
Hunter whistled through his teeth. “Bloody hell Grace, I bet this is how our killer has been luring the girls. He’s a groomer.”
“He certainly is and there’s more. I got back on to the technicians at Headquarters this morning. Do you remember Tony and Mike were given the job of searching the Evans’s house and they seized the computer?”
Hunter nodded.
“Well they’ve pulled off a number of chat room extracts, which Kirsty’s been having, with someone called Josh who says he’s seventeen. Well they’ve managed to trace the IP address and it comes back to one Geoffrey Collins.” She dropped several printed sheets in front of Hunter adding to the pile already on his desk.
Hunter knew from previous dealings that Grace was referring to the Internet provider service, where addresses could be tracked back to an individual computer.
“And get this, Geoffrey Collins is actually a thirty-seven year old man, and Public Protection Unit have confirmed he’s on our sex offenders’ register. If you look at pages ten and twelve you can see some of his profile that PPU have faxed over to me. His last conviction was over eight years ago and that’s probably why he’s not on the DNA database. He was done for gross indecency against two girls. One was fifteen and the other fourteen. What do you bet that G in Rebecca’s journal is Geoffrey Collins?”
“My, my, we have been busy haven’t we?" Looks like you’ve solved this all on your own. You’ll be after promotion and a commendation next,” Hunter replied.
“If the cap fits,” she smiled back modestly.
“That is real good work Grace. Now you can help me get an operational plan drawn up with the SIO so that we can do an early morning knock on this Geoffrey Collins.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
DAY THIRTY: 5th August.
Geoffrey Collins lived in a one bedroom flat above one of the charity shops on Barnwell High Street. A decision had been made the night before not to contact his landlord for fear of word leaking out and Collins fleeing before the early morning raid. By 7am both marked and unmarked police cars lined the High Street. Overnight one of the evening shift detectives had secreted himself at the rear of the place to keep a check of Collins movements, ensuring he didn’t leave before he could be arrested.
Hunter and his team were at the back of the queue of police vehicles, watching the Task Force don their protective gear and check their firearms. They were taking no chances. Ten minutes later the radios crackled into life, the Task Force Inspector had begun coordinating the operation. His instructions were short and precise and in a matter of minutes the immediate area around the flat had been cordoned off.
Hunter wound down the car window as the ‘Strike…Strike…Strike.” shout went out over the airwaves.
Two dull thuds pierced the stillness of the morning, followed by the shattering of glass and splintering of wood.
He knew at that moment that Collins door had succumbed to the Task Force battering ram. He listened intently to the radio chatter as the armed team swept the building ‘clearing’ each room, and in less than a minute his name was being called.
“DS Kerr?” The Task Force Officer requested.
Hunter responded.