“Firstly let me say that although this may well be the first serial killer investigation you’ve been involved in, for many it may not be your last. At any one time it is statistically known that there are at least two serial killers operating across Britain. I have only to mention Hindley and Brady, Peter Sutcliffe the Yorkshire Ripper, Fred and Rose West and of course most recently, and the most infamous to date, Harold Shipman, to name but a few.” His hands were becoming more and more animated as he got into his stride.
He had already captured Hunter.
“Serial killers fall into two categories, organised, and disorganised. I’ve visited each of the sites where the bodies have been found and also where his last victim was attacked. These are not easy to get to and in the case of the bodies, which have been hidden for a decade, the original tracks to those sites would have only have been known by someone who is local to this area. This is someone who feels confident that they can stop their car and have the time to dig and bury a body. In the most recent case, the attack on Kirsty Evans, that he can secrete himself until she arrives and then have enough time to carry out his attack. The jogger coming along was pure luck.”
Dr Stevens moved across the wipe boards, snatching a quick look at the photographs now affixed to their surfaces. His eyes rested on the time lines of each of the murders.
“The intervals are getting shorter.” He settled himself onto the corner of a desk, pushing back a thigh and dangling one leg for comfort. “He is killing to fulfil a need and the urge to kill is stronger. The nature of his attacks plays a big part in his psyche as well — the strangulation with the belt and then the viciousness of the stabbings. Its frenzy is almost revengeful, punishing.”
“Do you think that’s where the cutting of the word evil into the bodies comes in?” interrupted Hunter.
“Some of that yes. But my personal feeling is that the marking of the girls is about what he thinks of each of the victims. Looking into the background of all these girls, their rebellious social antics, and their activities have made them become his victims. Added to that their physical profiles are all similar, and I would think that somewhere in his past an abusive woman or girl has featured strongly in his life.”
“We’re looking at other girls who are currently outstanding as missing persons. Do you think there is the likelihood that he has killed them?” Grace asked.
“Without reading through their files that is difficult to answer. However, a serial killer does not just emerge by chance. He has grown in confidence and is prepared to let you know which are his victims, and as in the case of Claire Fisher, who he abducted and murdered. My guess is there are still victims out there waiting to be found.”
“We know about his signature marks carved into the torsos of each of the girls, but what is the significance of the playing card?” interjected Hunter.
“I’ve given that some thought. In the Rebecca Morris murder he left the seven of hearts over a gaping wound just above her heart. In the case of the mummified remains of Carol Siddons, although you have not yet found a playing card, the post mortem revealed that her heart had been removed. Finally with Claire Fisher, she was a skeleton so we don’t know if any organs were removed, but he left behind the three of hearts. I think what you have here is the part of the sequence of each of these killings. Claire being his third victim, and Rebecca his seventh. The card suit — the hearts, signifying he has taken their hearts literally and physically.” Dr Stevens took another swig of water, clutched it in both hands and travelled his gaze around the room.
“You have a pattern here. I am pretty confident when I say this guy is local, and given his most recent attacks on Rebecca Morris and her best friend Kirsty Evans, still works or lives around here. He knows his victims, either from his past, or he selects them. He carefully finds a place where he can attack them and also has a safe place where he can dispose of them. This is someone who plans meticulously. It was purely by chance that he was disturbed after killing Rebecca and now this recent attack on Kirsty. It is imperative that you catch him soon because believe me he is not going to stop.”
* * * * *
Katherine Winter loved walking her dog at this time of the morning; except for the wildlife she had the woods to herself. A fine summer’s mist was beginning to drift up from the overnight damp floor, swirling around her legs as she broke into a jog. Whipping out the rubber ball from her fleece pocket she launched it towards a gap between the trees.
“Go get it Rusty.” she shouted.
The Irish red setter spun its head in the direction of the flying ball and then shot after it at breakneck speed. Twenty yards ahead Rusty darted into the undergrowth out of Katherine’s view and all she could hear for several seconds was the scratching of paws amongst the undergrowth. Her attention was distracted when above her she became aware of a cacophony of cawing, and looking up she saw a building of rooks, swirling and swooping, reminiscent of an army of apache helicopters, an image which she had seen so many times recently on the news broadcasts from Iraq. Within seconds Rusty’s barking was adding to the discordant sound. She wondered what on earth was happening, and although she experienced slight trepidation she pushed past the bushes towards the direction of her barking dog.
She spotted her Irish red setter resting on its haunches, staring upwards, still barking wildly.
Her eyes followed the dog’s line of sight. Nothing could have prepared Katherine for what she found herself looking at. Dangling from a rope, fastened to a large tree bough, was a man’s body. The first thing she noticed was the colour of his head. It was purple, and hopping bluebottles covered its bloated flesh. Then the smell hit her. It was a creeping, cloying smell of tepid urine and faeces, and her stomach leapt to her throat. Gagging, she gripped her nose and reached for her mobile.
* * * * *
DC Mike Sampson shifted uncomfortably in his oversized forensic suit. Because of his body weight to height ratio he generally found that to find anything to fasten over his pudgy stomach the sleeves would always be too long. Tugging at his sleeves had become a habit, and this was what he was now doing in his blue plastic mortuary oversuit.
He dropped the exhibit bag he had been carrying onto one of the side tables in the sterile room. The clear plastic wrapper contained an A4 printed note SOCO had recovered from the pocket of the hanging Geoffrey Collins. In bold letters it simply stated ‘I AM A MONSTER FORGIVE ME.’
Earlier that morning he had raced to Barnwell woods straight after briefing on the orders of SIO Detective Superintendent Robshaw, to take charge of a very active scene. Upon his arrival he saw that the uniform Sergeant and his shift had done a cracking job. The Police Medical examiner and Scenes of Crime had already been called out and were en-route, and a clear path had been roped off to the location where the lady walking her dog had discovered Collins’s body
Because of the efficiency of the sergeant and his team he was merely there to check that everything which needed to be done, was being done. His role at the scene ended when they cut down Collins for removal to the mortuary, ensuring that the loop and knot of the rope remained in situ around his neck.
That had been two and half hours ago and Mike was at the mortuary to observe Collins’s post mortem, confirm the suicide, and then they could wrap up this investigation and celebrate in the pub.
The post mortem was already underway by the time he had suited and entered the mortuary cutting room. Pathologist Lizzie McCormack together with a Scenes of Crime Officer were already moving business-like around Geoffrey Collins’s naked corpse which lay on one of the stainless steel autopsy tables.