by Val McDermid
He was about to give up his perusal of the photographs when something caught his eye. There was something odd about one of the ligatures that bound Margarethe’s limbs to the table legs. He peered harder, trying to make out the details. The knot looked different from the others.
Tony felt a faint surge of excitement. It might not seem much but, at this stage of an investigation, any deviation from the pattern carried potentially huge significance. And in this instance, it could be all the more important because this was the crime that had been interrupted. Under the stress provoked by that intrusion, Geronimo might have let his guard slip enough to provide a chink in his boilerplate security system.
He was in a fever of impatience to pick up his laptop and get back to Petra’s. Of course, the taxi from Tempelhof seemed to take forever, finding every traffic hold-up in central Berlin. He let himself into the empty flat and made straight for the study and Petra’s scanner. While he was waiting for his computer to ready itself, he took out the magnifying glass from his laptop case and studied the picture more closely. He went back through to the dining area and pulled out the other crime scene photographs. A few minutes with the magnifying glass and his heart rejoiced. He’d been right. All the knots on the ligatures appeared to be straightforward, common or garden reef knots, apart from the single exception in that one crucial Bremen photograph.
He returned to the study and plugged the scanner into his laptop’s USB port. Minutes later, he was looking at an enlarged and enhanced section of the key picture. Tony knew nothing about knots, only that this one was different from the others. He connected to the internet and linked to a search engine, typing in
I’m a knot ignoramus, and I need some help in identifying a knot from a photograph, also info on where it’s likely to be used and by whom. Is there anyone out there that I can send the pic to as a JPEG file?
It would take at least a few minutes to get a response, always supposing there was a knot anorak on-line at this precise moment. To calm his urgent excitement, Tony went through to the kitchen and made himself a pot of coffee. For the first time in hours, he wondered how Carol was getting on. He remembered their tentative arrangement to meet at some point, but he didn’t know when he would be able to get away now he had the bit between his teeth.
When he got back to the desk, he sent her an e-mail, suggesting they meet later that evening. There was a message in his in-box from someone who signed himself Monkey’s Fist. Tony knew enough to recognize the name of a particular knot, and he opened the message with a glimmer of hope.
Hi, Knot Newbie. Send me your JPEG and I’ll see what I can do.
Within ten minutes, Tony was looking at a second message from his new correspondent.
Easy peasy, Newbie. It’s not a common knot, but it’s not really outré. This is a Buntline Hitch. It was traditionally used by sailors to tie a line to the bottom of a square sail. It’s basically a clove hitch tied around itself. It’s more secure than the more common two half hitches, but it has a tendency to jam under pressure. You wanted to know what sort of person would use it, right? Well, like I said, it’s a sailor’s knot. So I guess they’re the most likely people to use one …
Tie one on for me.
Monkey’s Fist.
Tony sat back and stared at the screen, his eyebrows lowered in concentration. After a few minutes, he got to his feet and scanned the bookshelves that lined one wall of Petra’s study. He found what he was looking for on the bottom shelf, along with other oversized volumes. Tony opened the atlas and thumbed through the pages. But there wasn’t enough detail for what he wanted.
Impatient, he turned back to the computer and the search engine. First, he looked at city plans of all the murder sites. Then he studied various physical maps of the countries where the murders had taken place. Finally, he disconnected from the internet and returned to his profile.
8. There is one crucial variation in the murder of Margarethe Schilling. We know the killer was interrupted in the commission of this crime, and any such variations therefore assume great significance since, under stress, we revert to what comes most naturally to us. In this instance, the deviation from pattern takes the form of the knot on the ligature binding the left ankle to the table. All other knots are simple reef knots, involving no specialist knowledge. But the odd one out is a buntline hitch, a relatively uncommon sailor’s knot.
It is worth noting that all the cities where the murders were committed have significant access to waterways. Heidelberg and Köln are on major commercial navigable rivers – the Neckar and the Rhine. Although Leiden is no longer a commercial port, it has an extensive canal network at its heart and is close to the convergence of several major routes at Rotterdam. Given my earlier conclusion that our killer can move around Europe with ease, and given his use of a knot that most lay people would have no knowledge of, I’m prepared to go out on a limb here and suggest that it is a strong possibility that the killer is a commercial sailor, perhaps a crew member on a barge. Of course, he may simply be someone with a nautical background who is employed in another area, but I think the combination of factors gives us a strong likelihood of him being a waterman.
Suggested action: I have no idea what records are kept of barge traffic, but I would recommend, if it is possible, that an attempt be made to ascertain whether any particular vessels were in the general area of all of these murders on the relevant dates.
Tony indulged in a moment of satisfaction. He had a good feeling about this. It was, he thought, finally getting somewhere. He didn’t know how far Petra and her Dutch friend would be able to take the case, given their limited resources. But at least he felt confident that he was pointing them in the right direction. He glanced at his watch. He had no idea when she’d be back, and he was feeling tired and grimy from his day’s travelling. He decided to head back to his own apartment, leaving a note for Petra asking her to call him when she had the chance. With luck, they could sit down later and thrash out what he’d gleaned so far. And if the gods were really smiling, she might have news for him too, if the Europol scheme had borne fruit.
Marijke frowned at the notes she’d made. Hartmut Karpf, the detective from Köln, had decided to call her directly as well as sending his initial notes via Europol because there were discrepancies between their two cases that he wanted to discuss. ‘I’ve spoken to my colleagues in Heidelberg and Bremen, and it’s not that I doubt we’re dealing with the same man,’ he’d said. ‘But I thought you should know that I think we’re looking at a serious escalation here.’
‘I appreciate you calling,’ she’d said. ‘So, what exactly do you have?’
‘You want the whole story?’
‘Everything you have, from the beginning.’
The rustle of paper down the phone, then he spoke. ‘OK. Dr Marie-Thérèse Calvet, aged forty-six. Senior lecturer in experimental psychology at the University of Köln. She didn’t turn up for work this morning, and her secretary couldn’t get a reply from her home number. She was due to give a seminar, so one of her colleagues was enlisted to stand in for her. But the slides that accompanied the seminar were locked in Dr Calvet’s office. So the colleague borrowed the master key from the janitor and let himself into her office. Dr Calvet was lying naked and dead, tied to her desk.’ Karpf cleared his throat. ‘Her colleague was not exactly helpful. He threw up all over the crime scene.’
‘If it’s any consolation to you, it probably made no difference. This killer doesn’t leave us anything to work with in forensic terms,’ Marijke said consolingly.
‘I gathered as much. Our scene-of-crime officers were very disgruntled. Anyway, for the record, Dr Calvet’s body was on its back, arms and legs spread out, each tied to a leg of the desk near the floor. Four standard reef knots, incidentally. Her cl
othes were underneath her, they’d been cut away once she was tied down. And it was obvious that her pubic hair had been cut away, along with the skin.’
‘So far, this is all according to his pattern,’ Marijke said.
‘Except of course that this is the first time he has killed someone inside their university,’ Karpf corrected her. ‘All the other victims were found in their homes.’
‘That’s true,’ Marijke said, mentally kicking herself for her stupidity. But at least now she knew she was dealing with a detective who was as sharp as this inquiry needed. ‘What else did you find?’
‘I demanded an urgent postmortem. Dr Calvet sustained two blunt trauma head wounds, at least one of which would have been enough to knock her out for a while. There were bruises to her throat consistent with manual strangulation.’
‘That’s new,’ Marijke confirmed.
‘The cause of death, however, was drowning. A tube of some sort had been forced into her throat and water poured down it. As with the other cases, I believe. But the really significant difference here is that Dr Calvet was raped vaginally before she was killed.’
‘Oh shit,’ Marijke breathed. ‘That’s bad. That’s very bad.’
‘I agree. Killing’s no longer enough for him.’
There had been little more to say. Marijke had promised to send Karpf a full report on the murder of Pieter de Groot, and he had assured her that all the relevant material from his case would be sent immediately via Europol. The one thing Marijke hadn’t shared was what she was going to do next. She opened up her e-mail program and began to compose a message. Escalation could change a profile dramatically. Dr Hill needed to know what she had learned as soon as possible. Marijke might not know much about serial killers, but she did know that when anyone as controlled as this killer appeared to be losing it, life could become very cheap indeed.
27
The private room looked as if it had been modelled on a nineteenth-century hunting lodge. Wood panelling covered the walls, relieved only by heavy oils of rural landscapes. A stag’s head was mounted on one wall, a wild boar’s on another, the glass eyes glittering in the candlelight. A log fire blazed at the centre of an inglenook fireplace flanked by a pair of leather club chairs. In the middle of the room was a small circular table, blazing brilliant with crystal and silver and dazzling white napery But it was all an elegant fake.
A bit like me, Carol couldn’t help thinking. She hadn’t expected to see Tadeusz again so soon after her abrupt departure from his boat. But within an hour of her return to the apartment, she’d opened her door to a bouquet of flowers so large it completely obscured the delivery woman. The card read, I’m sorry. My manners are atrocious. I’ll call you soon – please don’t hang up. Tadzio.
The relief was physical. Her shoulders dropped and her back muscles unclenched. She hadn’t blown it after all. Luckily, the reaction she’d invented had proved to be the correct one to disarm him. When he called, he managed to be graciously apologetic without grovelling. And so she’d agreed to his dinner invitation. She’d have liked to have talked strategy with Tony, but he was out of reach. She’d have to make do with a late-night debrief.
To reach the private room, they’d taken a lift to the seventeenth floor of one of the modern skyscrapers in Potsdamer Platz and walked through the reception area of a modern restaurant. Crossing the threshold had been an entry into another world. Carol couldn’t help a bubble of laughter escaping her lips. ‘It’s absurd,’ she said.
Tadeusz beamed with delight. ‘I hoped you’d think so. I can’t take it seriously, but the food is exceptional, and I think it’s an experience one should have at least once.’
They sat by the fire, supplied with champagne by their personal waiter, who left them in peace, pointing out that he could be summoned by pressing a buzzer when they were ready to order dinner. ‘I really am sorry about this afternoon. I think your resemblance to Katerina unsettles me. It stops me thinking straight. And of course, in our line of business, paranoia is never far from the surface,’ Tadeusz said.
‘I won’t deny I was angry. I’m not accustomed to being accused of murder,’ Carol said, allowing a little acid into her tone.
He inclined his head in a regretful nod. ‘It’s not a good basis for building trust. I feel ashamed of myself, if that’s any consolation.’
‘Let’s try and put it behind us. I promise not to walk out if you promise not to ask if I assassinate my business associates.’ She smiled.
‘I promise. Perhaps I can demonstrate my good intentions by listening to the details of your proposal?’ Tadeusz said.
Carol felt butterflies tumbling in her guts. This was one of the many testing points of the operation, she knew. She took a deep breath and outlined her fictitious business in East Anglia once more. ‘In exchange for a roof over their heads and food, they work for me without wages for a year. At the end of that time, they get an Italian passport and their freedom. And that’s the deal,’ she concluded firmly.
He raised his eyebrows. ‘A sort of slavery, then?’
‘I prefer to think of it as indentured labour,’ she said. Obviously, I only want adults. ‘I don’t want families – kids are no use to me.’ Carol marvelled at how easily she was playing the role of the tough businesswoman she was supposed to be. She seemed to be getting in touch with a side of herself that she hadn’t realized existed. She wasn’t sure how much she liked this cold and calculating person, but it took surprisingly little effort to slip into the personality she’d fixed on for Caroline Jackson.
‘I don’t traffic in kids.’
Carol raised her eyebrows. ‘I had no idea you had such a sentimental streak.’
‘It’s not out of sentimentality or squeamishness,’ he said. ‘Kids are harder to control. They’re noisy. They cry. And they provoke stupid heroics from the parents. It’s better to avoid them. So, if we do make a deal, you can rest assured you won’t be getting any kids from me.’
He was talking explicitly now, Carol realized with quiet delight. Somehow, she’d penetrated his defences. It never occurred to her that part of the reason for his candour was that she was on his turf; if she proved to be dangerous, she could be closed down permanently without a trace. Had she thought of this possible consequence, she would never have had the courage to up the stakes as she did. ‘I’m glad we understand each other. But before we talk terms and details, I want to see how you operate. You can sacrifice me any time it suits you with a call to the British authorities. So I need to be sure that I’m linking up with an outfit that is every bit as professional as mine.’
It was a challenge, a gauntlet thrown down between them. Tadeusz stared at her long and hard, watching the changing light from the fire play across those features at once both strange and yet as familiar as his own. ‘How do I know I can trust you?’
‘Like I said. You’ll have something on me. I show you mine, you show me yours. Take your time. Don’t decide now. Think about it. Sleep on it. Do what you have to do to satisfy yourself that I’m on the level. But if you’re not prepared to let me see for myself that you can run a serious operation, I’m not taking a chance on you.’
He looked at her, his face unreadable. Carol wondered if she’d pushed too hard, too fast. Had she lost him before she even had him on the hook? Eventually, his lips curled upwards in a smile. ‘I’ll see what can be arranged. But for now, let’s concentrate on paying our debt to pleasure.’
A surge of pure exhilaration swept through Carol. She was really getting somewhere, and it was a great feeling. She tucked her feet under her in the big leather chair and opened the menu. ‘Why not?’ she said.
The worst thing about profiling, Tony thought as he read the detailed message from Marijke, was the deaths that he couldn’t prevent. His way of working was intense, burrowing under the skin of the perpetrator, finding a meaning in behaviour the rest of the world condemned as monstrous or perverse. It was as if he was conducting a dialogue with the dead that made it
possible for him to have some sort of intercourse with the mind of the living killer. That, theoretically, should provide the police with a signpost they could place on their own map of the information they had gathered, a signpost that would point them in the right direction. And so, when another name was added to the roll call of victims, it was impossible not to take it as a measure of personal failure.
It was important, he knew, not to let this profound disappointment erode his confidence in what he had already achieved. There was nothing in what Marijke had told him that undermined any of his previous conclusions. What he had to do now was to analyse the new material and incorporate it into his profile. This was simply an accumulation of more data, not an implicit criticism of his performance nor a marker of failure, he insisted to himself.
He could almost believe it, but not quite. He reread what had happened to Dr Calvet, his mouth tightening as his imagination conjured the scene before his eyes. This tiny, fragile woman, completely unsuspecting, an easy target for Geronimo. Odd, he thought. Most killers would have gone for such an easy target first. But this killer had so much confidence in his abilities that he’d started with much greater challenges. Tony wondered if having been disturbed in Bremen had shaken that confidence enough for him to have deliberately chosen a weaker victim in an attempt to shore up his belief in himself. ‘It must have been a shock to you, to have someone walk in on you in the middle of your moment of glory,’ he said softly. ‘You dealt with it, but it must be preying on your mind. Is that why you killed this one in her office? Did you think there was less chance of being disturbed there in the evening, after everyone had gone home?’
