A Murderous Mind

by Jane A. Adams

  ‘Did you all go out?’

  Daniel and Patrick shook their heads. ‘I had work this morning. I had to be there early,’ Patrick said.

  ‘I just went home,’ Daniel told her.

  ‘Are you all local?’

  ‘I’m not,’ Hank said. ‘I’m from Canterbury. I live in the next block to Ginny and … and Sam.’

  And Leanne, Patrick thought. But she didn’t live anywhere any more.

  ‘I need your details,’ the policewoman said. ‘And, Hank, if you could write a brief account of where you all went last night?’

  ‘But Leanne wasn’t with us?’

  ‘I know, it’s just routine.’

  Hank looked uncomfortable. He pulled a notebook from his bag and pulled off a sheet, began to write while his friends added their addresses and phone numbers to the list of names the police officer had.

  ‘You two can go if you want to,’ she said.

  ‘We’ll wait for Hank,’ Patrick told her.

  They waited in silence for Hank to finish scribbling his account and when he’d handed it over the officer reminded them that they should say nothing about Leanne Bolter. That there would be a formal announcement later that afternoon.

  Paul Metcalf followed them out into the corridor. ‘You all OK?’ he asked. He looks anything but, Patrick thought.

  They nodded.

  ‘What was all that about,’ Hank said. ‘Why did she want a statement about last night? Leanne wasn’t even there?’

  ‘I think they’re just gathering information,’ Paul Metcalf said. ‘I just get the impression they don’t know which bits they need to gather yet so they’re just scooping up everything.’

  ‘So, what now,’ Daniel asked.

  ‘Well, the seminar will have finished, I should get off home,’ Paul told them. ‘You’ve nothing more today, have you?’

  He departed soon after and Hank took out his phone and texted Maeve and Emmie. It turned out they’d had a similar interview just a little earlier. Emmie wanted to meet.

  ‘The Duck?’ Hank asked the other two.

  Daniel nodded. Patrick shrugged. ‘OK, just for a bit.’ He was suddenly, painfully conscious, that none of them wanted to be alone.

  TEN

  Patrick was not an avid watcher of the evening news, but that evening both he and Harry were in position for the start of it. The murder of a young student was big enough to have made the national programme and it seemed strange to see their familiar little town as the backdrop to the piece on camera spoken by such a high-profile reporter. They waited then for the local bulletin, to see if there was more. The identification of the dead girl had been confirmed. Leanne Bolter, eighteen years old and studying foundation arts.

  ‘This was a brutal killing,’ the police spokesman was saying.

  ‘Is there any other kind?’ Harry asked.

  ‘And made worse because the young woman was attacked in a place where she’d have every reason to feel safe. Every right to feel protected.’

  ‘No one is ever safe,’ Harry said. ‘No one is ever really protected.’

  Patrick glanced across at his father and knew that he was remembering; mourning for the young girl who’d been taken from his own life. Harry’s sister had been murdered when she was just thirteen years old.

  ‘Leanne’s friends have been able to provide valuable information,’ the spokesman continued, ‘but police are appealing for possible witnesses. To anyone who might have been in the area last night and may have seen someone or something to get in touch. It doesn’t matter how trivial or how small, any information you might possess could be valuable to the enquiry. Meantime, our thoughts are with Leanne Bolter’s family and friends.’

  ‘They’ve got nothing, then,’ Patrick said. ‘They’re just stock statements.’

  ‘Probably.’ Harry agreed. ‘You didn’t know her well?’ he asked, for what Patrick estimated to be the fourth or fifth time.

  ‘No, not well, but that doesn’t matter, does it. She was one of us. Our group, our friends. Someone killed her.’

  Harry got up. In passing Patrick’s chair he paused and gripped his son’s shoulder, silent sympathy pouring down through his fingers. Patrick heard him go through to the kitchen and fill the kettle, Harry’s usual defence in times of trouble.

  Patrick’s phone pinged, telling him he had a text. To his surprise, it was from Daniel. ‘Have you seen the news?’ it said.

  ‘Yes, just watching it. You heard anything more?’

  ‘Nothing. Lots of people are going home. Hank said he’s calling his parents. He needs money for a ticket.’

  There would be a lot of people fleeing, Patrick figured. Murder was like a contagion. It would be no use trying to persuade students or parents that the campus was probably one of the safest places to be right now, with the police presence and extra security drafted in. Murder still felt like something you could catch if you stayed in the vicinity.

  ‘Will you be in tomorrow?’

  ‘Yes. You?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Good.’

  Harry returned with a tea tray and set it down on the coffee table. ‘I can stay home from work tomorrow if you like?’

  Patrick smiled. ‘I won’t be here,’ he said. ‘I’ve got a nine o’clock start and lectures all day.’

  ‘Ah, of course, it’s Thursday, isn’t it. You’ll be going in then.’

  ‘I want to, Dad. It doesn’t seem right not to and besides, I’d like to see people, you know?’

  Harry nodded. ‘I know.’

  Later, after he’d gone up to his room, Patrick texted Gregory and told him about Leanne. He wasn’t sure why, just that it felt like the right thing to do. He didn’t know that in his own bedroom, his father, rising to the self-same impulse, had done the same.

  ELEVEN

  Most people had already left for the day when Tess read through the case summary on the death of Rebecca Arnold. The similarities to Leanne Bolter were startling. She too had been eighteen, blonde, slim build. Though not a student. She’d left school at sixteen and worked in a department store, now long closed, on the opposite side of town from the University. She still lived with her parents and had a steady boyfriend she’d been with since school.

  And she’d been killed when other people were in the house. Her parents had been in bed in the next room while their daughter died.

  Unlike Leanne Bolter, Rebecca’s throat had not been cut. She had been asphyxiated, smothered when her killer pressed her face hard into the pillows on her bed and then sat on her back while she fought to breathe.

  Tess found herself gasping for air as she thought about it, her chest tightening as though wrapped in a steel band. She took a sip of her coffee, trying to calm her nerves and almost choked; the liquid just didn’t want to go down her suddenly constricted throat. She sat with the hot coffee in her mouth, hoping no one was looking her way, until the spasm finally eased and she managed to swallow.

  She pushed the cup aside.

  The rest, though, the evisceration, the arrangement of the body, the time it must all have taken, all that was horrifyingly similar to what had been done to Leanne Bolter, even down to the careful combing of the hair.

  Tess stared at the crime scene pictures and found that she was no longer able to tell the two girls apart. Were all the victims like this? How many and over what period of time. How was it that the media wasn’t all over this? For it to be reported as a stabbing implied collusion between the parents, the press, and any number of officers who worked the case. She knew it was routine to always keep certain facts that only the killer would know out of the public domain. That was standard practice, but to downgrade what she was seeing in the photographs to something that, though still terrible, seemed almost normal in comparison; that would have taken some doing. Surely.

  But then again, Tess thought, playing devil’s advocate with herself. If I’d been the parent of a girl killed in such a horrific way, would I be able to cope with, to pro
cess, the full truth of it. Would I feel more … comfortable was the wrong word … comforted, maybe, by the idea that my child had died quickly and, if not cleanly, then certainly less horrifically. Asphyxiation generally took longer than most people thought. There would probably have been minutes of Rebecca fighting for breath, desperate and terrified and in pain before unconsciousness finally took her. What parent would want to be left with that image?

  Tess sighed and leaned back in her chair unable to say if that train of thought made any more sense. There was so much she didn’t know. So much none of them knew. She was almost resentful of Sergeant Briggs; had he not told her of the previous case then she’d have remained in blissful ignorance; have been able to fool herself that this was a one off. A terrible, horrifying killing, but an isolated incident.

  Even as she allowed the thought to be formed, Tess knew it would never have been like that. The scene was too practised, too confident, too precise. Whoever did this was cocky, arrogant, knowing. First kills were clumsy and opportunistic for the most part and were usually last kills too. Tess had decided long ago that most people were potentially capable of killing another human being but few people were cut out for premeditated murder and even fewer, thankfully, had the kind of mind that could, that wanted or needed to make a habit of it.

  She wondered how long it would take for her request for information to be fulfilled and how many other reports like this would land on her desk and who would take over the enquiry when it was accepted that this killer was back – if he’d ever really gone away. How many more deaths had there been between Rebecca and Leanne? Who had died before that?

  And then there was the added complication, the added taint. Tess hadn’t been mentored by the famous – now infamous – Joe Jackson, but Alec had and Naomi and many others who still served as senior officers. Most had managed to escape the fallout from Jackson’s crime; enough distance had been established between their time with him and their subsequent careers, but if Jackson was in any way involved with this … Tess didn’t want to think of the consequences. Not for anyone.

  Vin came into the office and dropped down in the chair beside her desk. He looked pretty pissed off, Tess thought.

  ‘Tell me,’ she said, though she could guess what news he brought.

  ‘Well the slightly good news is that we’re getting Chief Inspector Field back. At least we know him.’

  Tess nodded. ‘And the less good news?’

  ‘There’s a team from Internal Affairs heading our way too. They’ll be shadowing the investigation.’

  Tess groaned.

  ‘We knew it would happen.’

  ‘I know, I know. But that doesn’t mean I have to like it. How’s it going to affect our team?’

  ‘Well, those that worked most closely with Joe Jackson are mostly retired or moved on, thankfully. There’s only a couple, like Sergeant Briggs, left around here and I don’t think he’s in for any flack. It’s not going to be pleasant, though.’

  ‘No, it’s not. Any news on the rest of the case files?’

  ‘Coming with the Internal Affairs team,’ Vin said. ‘And you and I have been assigned to facilitate.’

  ‘Of course we have,’ she said bitterly. What had already been a lousy day had just promised to get ten times worse.

  TWELVE

  It was getting dark when Alfie arrived at Naomi and Alec’s flat. It was a while since Alfie Briggs had spoken to either of them. He’d moved to a job twenty miles down the coast just about the same time as Naomi had her accident and was forced to leave and only returned the previous year. He’d run into Alec on occasion since then and kept himself abreast of Alec-related news. Had been shocked when he heard that Alec had quit. To his mind, Alec was a born copper, despite the slightly rocky start. He had an investigating head, Alfie Briggs had always thought; a need to know that few other jobs could satisfy.

  And now, his boss DI Tess Fuller had sent him on a bit of a mission and Alfie was not at all sure how Alec and Naomi were going to take what he’d been told to say – and what he’d been told to ask.

  He arrived around eight in the evening, ringing the bell and announcing himself over the intercom. When he pushed the heavy, part-glazed door open and entered the hall, Alec stood at the top of the stairs, a big black dog at his side.

  ‘Sergeant Briggs,’ Alec said laughing. ‘Of all the people I didn’t expect. Come along up.’

  Alfie climbed the stairs and paused to fuss the dog before shaking Alec by the hand. ‘It’s been a while,’ he said.

  ‘Ages. Years. Come on in.’

  ‘I’m sorry to intrude—’

  ‘You’re not. Come and have a mug of tea and a piece of cake and tell us what brings you here. I’m not going to flatter myself that this is just a social call. Not after all this time.’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Alfie said.

  He followed Alec into the flat. Naomi came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. ‘Hello,’ she said. ‘It’s been a while, Alfie.’

  ‘It has indeed, my dear. You’re looking well. Very well. And your old man’s retired, I understand. Shame on you, Alec. A young man like you.’

  ‘I wanted to get older,’ Alec said. ‘I didn’t think I was going to manage that if I stayed where I was.’

  ‘Right. No, well I’ve heard stories, of course. You’ve had an eventful couple of years.’

  They were dancing around the purpose of his visit, Alfie realized. He didn’t want to talk about Joe Jackson and Alec and Naomi both realized that his arrival must mean trouble. He’d never been a close enough friend or colleague that a sudden visit after what must be five years at least might just signal a sudden impulse.

  He said yes thanks to tea and cake and settled himself in a chair by the window and wondered how he should begin.

  ‘You’ve seen the news?’ Alfie asked.

  ‘The murder?’ Naomi guessed. ‘Yes, we heard it on the six o’clock. A student, isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes. Leanne Bolter. Eighteen years old.’ He paused, knew they were waiting. ‘Alec, you remember in either your probationary year or just after. You and I went to a scene, a young girl, killed in her bed while her mam and dad slept in the bedroom next door. I know it was a long time ago, but—’

  ‘But a sight like that isn’t one you forget,’ Alec said quietly. ‘I was twenty-two, not much older than the dead girl.’

  ‘Her name was—’

  ‘Rebecca Arnold,’ Alec said. ‘Whoever did it, he was never found.’

  ‘No. Alec do you remember’-

  ‘What he did to her? Alfie, like I said, that’s not the kind of thing you forget. I couldn’t understand why it was reported the way it was. Couldn’t get my head around how cautious everyone was.’

  ‘The official report said she was stabbed. But the truth was far more than that,’ Alfie agreed.

  ‘What happened?’ Naomi asked and Alfie was reminded that she and Alec had not been together then. Had been only casual acquaintances, so far as he knew and that actually Naomi may not even have been a police officer at that point. She’d joined the force a year or so after Alec. ‘The killer knelt on her back and pushed her face into the pillows. When she was unconscious he turned her on her back and … eviscerated is the word, I think. Then he combed her hair out on the pillow and left her there for her mam to find in the morning.’

  Naomi winced. ‘And that was all held back? Why?’

  ‘Because the boss, DI Jackson, thought it was for the best. There was evidence this wasn’t his first. The killer. That he’d done this before. No one wanted mass hysteria, that’s what he said. And the higher-ups agreed with him. He was a persuasive bugger was Joe Jackson.’

  He saw Naomi flinch as he said the name. Alec’s face was grim.

  ‘And what does that have to do with Leanne Bolter?’

  Alfie paused, not wanting to say more. Not wanting the look of shock to deepen on Naomi’s face, or the despair on Alec’s. They didn’t want or deserve th
is, he thought. ‘The killer didn’t suffocate her this time,’ he said softly. ‘He cut her throat. But the rest is the same, even down to the hair.’

  ‘My god,’ Alec said. ‘But Alfie, it’s been what, fifteen years. No, must be closer to sixteen. No one goes quiet for that long.’

  ‘Unless they’re locked up or something,’ Alfie argued. ‘Alec, Naomi, I was there. I saw the similarities, I had to speak up. They’d have been noted later down the line anyway. Internal Affairs are reopening the earlier case and they’re looking back at the others. They’ll want to talk to you, being as how you worked with Joe.’

  ‘We all knew him,’ Alec said. ‘He was the biggest thing round here.’

  ‘And you’ve come to warn us?’ Naomi asked.

  ‘Tess; DI Fuller, she wanted you both given the heads-up. She knew it would be painful. Reopening old wounds. They’ll be interviewing everyone who was involved in the original case. Asking about Joe Jackson. Making certain that nothing was missed. Alec, you were only a very tiny cog in the machine, back then. I doubt they’ll be much interested in you, but—’

  ‘But I still worked the case,’ he finished. ‘Alfie, looks like I retired at the right time after all. At least I’m just a civilian now.’

  Alfie nodded. ‘There are not many of us still around,’ he said. ‘It’s going to be unpleasant, for those that are.’

  ‘Is Tess SIO?’ Naomi asked.

  ‘Until DCI Field arrives. He’ll get up here tomorrow, along with Internal Affairs. Look, I’d best go. Thanks for the tea. I’ll try to pop round just for a social call next time. It would be nice to catch up properly.’

  ‘It would,’ Naomi agreed. ‘Take care of yourself, Alfie.’

  Alec saw their old colleague to the door and then resumed his seat. ‘Do you think Patrick knew her? Same course, isn’t it? From what they said on the news.’

  ‘Sounds like it. Give them a ring. It’s odd that Harry hasn’t been in touch about it.’