Authors: Michael Kerr
MATT
was fully aware of Dr. Beth Holder’s reputation, and had even met her once. He knew that she had developed her own Criminal Personality Programme, and that she was highly regarded as being one of the best evaluators of human behaviour outside of the underground warren below the US Marine base at Quantico: The FBI academy over the pond in Virginia.
After Tom rang and told him that he was driving out to see him, accompanied by Beth, Matt opened a couple of windows front and back to create a through draught, and sprayed the kitchen and lounge with air freshener to nullify the stink of stale sweat, cigarette smoke and Scotch. He even washed up the pile of plates and cutlery he’d dumped in the sink, and closed up the sofa bed. Lastly, he got Des – the cop who was on duty outside, guarding him – to go upstairs and find him a clean T-shirt and pair of jeans. He then cut the left leg out of the jeans and slit the side of them open so that he could fit them around the cast and fasten them up with safety pins. A cruel waste of a good pair of Levi’s that were only five or six years old.
He had washed, combed his hair, but not shaved, when a car pulled up outside. He limped through to the front door before the bell rang.
“I’ll get the coffee going,” Tom said after the introductions were done with and Matt was sitting on the sofa. Beth took an easy chair, facing him across an Ikea coffee table.
“We met briefly on the Gentleman Killer case three years ago,” Matt said.
Beth remembered his face. “You’ve lost a little weight since then,” she said. “It doesn’t suit you. And I’m not so sure about the designer stubble.”
“Thanks. I’ll go on a junk food binge and shave.”
They smiled. Both had the simultaneous thought that they could probably work together.
“Isn’t your forte serial murderers, Beth?” Matt asked.
“Yes, but Jack McClane asked me to look at this one. And I get the feeling that your hitman falls into the same category. A career choice of killing people for money
is
serial to me on one level.”
Matt shrugged. “I think they have a different mindset.”
“More disciplined, Matt. And channelled in a way that on the surface might appear to be wholly different. But the bottom line is that they are repeat killers.”
“So you’d compare this guy to say, the Gentleman?”
Beth frowned and pursed her lips for a second. “To a degree, yes. Karl Mason committed up-close acts of barbarism on his victims, and left them covered by a sheet with a ‘thank you’ card and a rose on their chests. In each case, he had stalked the women after careful selection. They had to conform specifically. All seven of them were approximately the same age and colouring. They physically resembled his ex-wife, who had left him for another man. But not all ritual or pattern murderers are reacting to one traumatic event that has triggered their actions. This guy kills for the thrill of it. I have no doubt that although he does it professionally, he will also do it for pleasure. The bottom line is, that behaviour always reflects personality. Something started him off. Maybe contract killing is grandstanding. His actions impress the people that hire him. The payment is reward for a job well done. It will bolster his self esteem as well as his bank account.”
Tom brought three mugs of coffee through on a tray and set it down on the table.
“Are you saying that one incident can blow their circuits and send them down a certain path?” Matt asked Beth.
Beth shook her head. “No. It’s never usually as simple as that. I think it’s an accumulation of things, culminating in one event too many. Research shows that a typical serial killer has been disturbed as a child. They become apart from the society they live among, introverted, and vent their pain by making others suffer.”
“You don’t accept that some apples just go bad without any outside stimulus to account for it?” Tom asked.
“Yes, as an exception, but not the rule. From what I already know, this man has mental problems. He self mutilates and talks to himself. He might be a homicidal psychopath who also suffers from schizophrenia. At the very least, he may well be dysfunctional, unable to form relationships, and have a host of other symptoms.”
“Does that help us?” Matt asked.
“It should. He may have spent some time in an institution. And even if not, he could be under the supervision of a community mental health team.”
“What would that entail?” Tom asked.
“It would depend on his needs and the severity of his symptoms. The therapies may well include drugs and counselling. Most patients would see a social worker or community psychiatric nurse on a regular basis, who would in turn feedback to a consultant psychiatrist, psychologist, and the patient’s GP. There would be quarterly or six monthly reviews to assess progress, treatment and care.”
“I’ll arrange for flyers to be sent to all councils who operate these teams. It might just winkle him out.” Tom said.
“It’s a long shot, but worth trying,” Beth said. “Even if he was suffering from...say, schizophrenia, he might not warrant close supervision. The majority manage their symptoms with antipsychotic drugs and only see their doctor infrequently. You would have to run the mugshot past every GP in the Greater London area. And at the moment I’m not a hundred percent sure that he is schizophrenic. I just think he could be.”
“And how do you suppose I can help you?” Matt asked. “I saw him for maybe half a second.”
“Close your eyes and replay that glimpse in your mind. Forget about what he was wearing. Just see his face,” Beth said.
Matt closed his eyes and concentrated on being back in the hallway of the bungalow. As the killer appeared to him, Beth spoke again, as if sensing the moment. “Now hold that scene,” she said, “in the same way that you would freeze-frame a video on replay.
“Okay,” Matt said “I’ve got it.”
“Are his eyes wide open or narrowed, Matt?”
“Wide, staring.”
“Is he looking edgy...under pressure?”
“No. There’s a slight smile on his face. He appears to be relaxed, without a care in the world. As cool as ice.”
“That’s interesting,” Beth observed, making notes as she spoke.
“In what way?” Matt asked.
“If you had just shot a young couple, then two armed policemen, before breaking into a house where you knew there were more armed police, would you feel relaxed and as cool as ice?”
“No I would be tense and totally concentrated,” Matt replied.
Beth continued. “From what you saw, and having spoken to Penny Page, I think the young man we are looking for shows inappropriate behaviour.”
“Killing people in cold blood
is
inappropriate behaviour, Beth,” Matt said.
“I mean that his manner was unusual. A person in his position, say a soldier on the front line for example, would be keyed up and operating under a great deal of nervous tension, definitely not noticeably laid-back. But this perpetrator was in a life and death situation, which he obviously found to be pleasurable and stimulating. He has no fear of death.”
“Are you saying he has a death wish?” Tom asked.
“Not exactly. I sense he feels almost invulnerable and in total control. It may not even cross his mind that there is the slightest chance of him being hurt or apprehended.
“I’ll take everything I’ve got and work up a profile. The bottom line is, that you are looking for a man with a heart of stone. What the Yanks would quite appropriately call a stone killer. And more. He is a serial murderer who allows others to select his prey. There are no ritual or pattern aspects. Evaluating the act itself doesn’t take us anywhere. He will employ whatever means he thinks necessary to accomplish the deed. Predicting his next move is impossible at this time. You’re looking for a sociopath who doesn’t present measurable specifics. Without a recognisable signature aspect, his personality is unknown, and there is no insight to his post-offence behaviour.”
“You could be totally wrong,” Matt said, making eye contact with Beth and holding it until she broke away. There was a fleeting frisson between them, that both found a little unsettling. Matt continued. “He could be an ex-forces type who kills purely for money. If he’s seen enough action and corpses, then murdering for profit instead of Queen and country might seem a good career move.”
Beth didn’t agree with that premise. “I wouldn’t rule anything out. But I don’t see him being part of a structured organisation like the armed forces. I believe he is a loner. Hopefully time will tell.”
When Beth and Tom left, Matt felt somehow less empty and alone. He could still smell Beth’s perfume. The fragrance had circulated throughout the ground floor. He wondered if she was involved with anyone. She had not been wearing an engagement or wedding ring. He saw an independence and apartness in her that he could empathise with. Decided that she may be like him, to a degree.
After pouring more coffee, he took a notepad from next to the phone and wrote up everything he could remember Beth saying about the perp. He respected her approach. He had seen how successful profiling could be. Flipping the page over, he made observations of his own:
Evaluation of the criminal act.
Contract killing: Well planned and executed. The perpetrator
was focused and unconcerned as to how many other casualties
were involved. The incursion was carried out with surgical
precision. The prime target was executed, and an attempt
was made to eradicate all witnesses.
Specifics of crime scene/scenes.
Main crime scene was in bungalow where witness was under
protection of armed officers. Secondary crime scenes were
a van outside safe house and house next door.
Victims.
LESTER LITTLE
¯
in protective custody. Due to appear as
prosecution witness against his employer, Frank Santini.
DS DONNY CAMPBELL
DC BERNIE MELLORS
DC KEITH COLLINS
DC TONY DELGADO
Protection officers on duty at time of attack.
JERRY PAGE
¯
next door neighbour.
Matt stopped and found himself picturing his late colleagues as they had been in life. Each had been a first class officer, and together they had constituted a highly efficient and close-knit team. It still seemed impossible to him that they could have been taken out so easily by a lone gunman. Total confidence and the element of surprise were all that the unknown subject had needed. It was obvious to Matt that they had all died as a direct result of a rogue cop passing intelligence to Santini. It could have feasibly been one of his own team, but he strongly doubted that. He hoped that it wasn’t. If it had been, then his ability to judge people was not as finely tuned as he believed it to be. If it had been one of his own, then surely he would have shown at least some small degree of edginess, knowing that the hit was about to go down. He would also have been ready to protect himself. Matt imagined a scenario in which Santini had threatened and manipulated an insider. Maybe taken a family member hostage. The threat of a wife or child being fed to a wood chipper, or being tortured in any number of ways, was a strong enough incentive to ensure that most men would sell out. He may have believed that only Little would have been hit; no loss. The fact was, a cop, the gangster, and the killer were all now on Matt’s personal list of people to hunt down and settle his account with.
Tossing the pencil onto the pad, Matt got up and went for yet more coffee. He was done with writing. He would leave that to Beth Holder. The best chance he and Tom had was to find the bent cop. But without a suspect to investigate, as yet, that was also a dead end. What other pressures would make a cop set-up his colleagues and be in Santini’s pocket? Cash. Being indebted to the scumbag. Santini ran gaming clubs. If a cop got himself in too deep and was allowed to keep going, then he would be wide open to coercion. Maybe that was it. A gambler who was still rolling the dice, trying to get out from Santini’s clutches. He had probably been promised that his marker would be torn up if he came through with Little’s location. Whoever it was should have had the nous to know that you can’t deal with the likes of Santini; ever. It was a one-way street, and once you were on it there was no stopping or turning back. He would now be on the gangster’s payroll for keeps. To Matt, the cop was the starting line. An enemy within their ranks was a frightening proposition. The team’s every move would be being monitored. He determined to follow this line as a priority. God forbid, he would look at everyone, including the officers who had died, and even Tom Bartlett. He would make a list of every cop who could have known of Little’s whereabouts, and dig out the son of a bitch who had gone over.