Everyone Lies

by D. , Garrett, A.

  ‘Okay. First off, even if the concrete has destroyed her soft tissues, we will get DNA from her teeth.’

  She felt the knot at the back of her neck loosen a notch.

  ‘Now, one question at a time, all right?’

  She nodded. ‘Will we get indications of whip marks?’ It was the one thing they had which would link Tanya’s attacker to Marta.

  ‘As I said, the grave is shallow – no more than a shell scrape, really. The concrete is acting as a kind of cap over the body and the ground under the tiles is damp. If the dorsal surface of the body has been in contact with the ground, then the back and buttocks would remain damp. As you know, damp flesh can turn to adipocere, and that might show striations in the flesh caused by a riding crop.’

  ‘That’s a hell of a lot of “ifs”.’ Despite that, she felt a glimmer of hope. ‘When will we know?’

  ‘It could take a couple of days just to lift the body out,’ he said quietly and calmly. ‘We can’t just go in and dig her up. He buried her, then retiled and regrouted, yet there was more blood – where did that come from? Not from Tanya – her injuries weren’t severe enough. So there could be other girls tortured here who didn’t come forward. There could even be another body.’

  ‘Oh,’ she said, swallowing a wave of nausea.

  ‘The forensic archaeologist will have to stratify the site. She’ll work very slowly and very painstakingly, sampling, bagging and tagging the tiles, the grout, the new concrete, the old concrete, layer after layer. There could be vital evidence in or on the plastic sheeting, in the soil, or maybe he dropped something into the concrete without realizing. The wrapping itself could be traced back to point of origin—’

  He broke off, and she looked into his eyes; he was telling her that they were doing everything they could.

  ‘You need to know if we’ve got a definite connection,’ Fennimore said. ‘I understand that. But if it takes longer, it takes longer, and you’ll have to accept it.’

  ‘I know.’ She bowed her head.

  ‘It’s probable the room has been sealed for some time, reducing the risk of contamination, and it’s cold, and surprisingly dry, which means there’s an excellent chance of finding the victims’ DNA from the blood spatter. They might even get his DNA from the rings and the hook.’

  She was suddenly angry again. ‘Why the hell didn’t they do that two years ago?’

  ‘Scientists can only do what the police ask them to do. Jesus, Kate, you know that. The fact is, they weren’t even asked to collect evidence from this building.’

  She exhaled through her nose. ‘I’d love to know who led that investigation.’

  He shrugged – that was something to pursue in the future. ‘We’re supposed to be meeting Alastair Varley in Manchester this afternoon,’ he said. ‘I need to email him about the new developments, and my laptop is back at the hotel – we really should be heading back, Kate.’

  She’d forgotten about their meeting with the forensic psychologist, and she had yet to make peace with her superintendent. She nodded and they headed back to her car.

  As she fired up the engine, her phone rang. She slid off her glove and fumbled in her pocket, cursing, answered without looking at the screen.

  ‘Hello, Kate.’ It was Tanford. ‘I got your email. I noticed it was sent just before midnight last night – you’re putting the hours in, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, well, you know how it is, Tanno.’

  ‘You wanted to know about the Henrys … I’m not sure I can tell you any more than Field Intelligence.’ He sounded apologetic.

  ‘Field Intelligence says the two of them are clean,’ Simms said.

  ‘Depends on your definition, I suppose. For what it’s worth, a lot of the girls are on drugs, and the lads probably dabble themselves, but it’s a given in their trade. Like I said, it’s not much.’

  ‘Thanks for checking, Tanno,’ she said. ‘I appreciate your taking the time.’

  ‘Always a pleasure,’ he said. Then, ‘I sent the Snowstorm report – did you get it?’

  ‘I haven’t got email access,’ she said. ‘I’ll get to it as soon as I get back to the office.’

  ‘Where are you now?’

  ‘Fishing expedition,’ she said.

  Like a good cop he waited a few seconds longer, allowing the silence to create pressure on her to reveal more, but she resisted, filling the silence with her thanks.

  He chuckled. ‘I get the message: all right, I’ll butt out. Only, mind you don’t hook any sharks on that rod and reel of yours.’

  They set off with the coming storm a hint of grey shadow at their backs, filling the rear-view mirror, while ahead the sky was clear, and, beneath it, the Pennine hills shone like new linen, twinkling under bright sunshine.

  35

  ‘Every couch potato and dim detective with satellite TV is an expert in forensic psychology.’

  ALASTAIR VARLEY

  The Old Nag’s Head was a Victorian pub off Deansgate, one of the oldest in the city and proud of it; a row of carriage lanterns hung above the etched glass windows, and the white paintwork and its rich gold-and-black trim had been recently freshened up. As snow began to fall, you could believe that at any moment a hansom cab drawn by a gleaming black horse would come trotting round the corner at a clip.

  Kate Simms stepped through the door, dusting snowflakes from her hair. Fennimore knew how her meeting had gone with Detective Superintendent Spry before she’d even opened her mouth.

  ‘That bad?’ he said.

  She sat down, shucking off her coat, and reached for the coffee and sandwiches he’d ordered from the bar.

  ‘He accused me of abandoning my own investigation “in pursuit of personal glory”.’

  ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Oh, it gets worse – the inquiry is inter-authority now, and ACC Gifford has the overview. I needn’t tell you that if Gifford finds out that you’ve been advising me, he will not be pleased.’

  ‘Has he been in touch yet?’

  She shook her head. ‘Nor Humberside police. Spry says he speaks for them all “in expressing his appreciation”, but “the means and manner of disposal of the body” – in his opinion – indicate “a disconnect between Marta’s death and the Hull murder”.’

  A gust of cold air blew in and they looked towards the door, to a solemn-looking man in a Barbour jacket and cord trousers.

  Fennimore stood to greet the newcomer, smiling.

  Professor Varley did not smile; Fennimore sometimes speculated that he lacked the necessary facial musculature. His face was long and narrow, and his hairline seemed to recede by a few millimetres annually, lengthening his undertaker’s visage as the years went by.

  They shook hands, Varley’s hand cold and hard in his palm, and Fennimore made the introductions. Kate wiped her hands on her napkin and stood.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said. ‘I missed breakfast, so this is brunch – got to eat when you can.’

  Varley apparently didn’t find the comment worthy of a reply.

  She extended her hand. ‘Chief Inspector Kate Simms.’

  He took, squeezed and released it quickly without making eye contact.

  Fennimore wished he’d warned her about the Professor, but when they exchanged a glance, she seemed to be saying in the quirk of her eyebrows, And I thought you had zero social skills.

  She reached for the cafetière and turned the handle towards Varley. ‘Help yourself.’

  He seemed irritated to have to perform the task himself, but after a slight hesitation he poured himself a coffee and took a sip.

  ‘So …’ Fennimore said.

  Varley set down his cup. ‘In my opinion – bearing in mind the geographical locations and time frame involved of course – Rika, Marta and your mystery victim were subjected to both expressive and functional violence of such close similarity in method and sequencing as to make it extremely unlikely that there is no causal connection.’

  Simms threw Fennimore a helpless look
.

  ‘So, in your opinion all three women were tortured by the same man.’

  Varley frowned, irritated. ‘I believe that’s what I just said.’

  ‘My superintendent thinks that the difference in MO proves there’s no connection between the Manchester victims and Hull,’ Simms said.

  ‘Difference,’ Varley said sharply. ‘What difference?’ Varley resented intrusions into his area of expertise.

  ‘Marta was dumped at the back of a city-centre hotel; the Hull victim was buried.’ Kate shrugged. ‘Different MO.’

  ‘Oh, of course. How stupid of me. When it comes to the criminal mind, every couch potato and dim detective with satellite TV is an expert in forensic psychology.’ Varley’s expression hadn’t changed, but he might as well have spat on the floor.

  ‘The modus operandi of a violent criminal is only a means to an end,’ he said, enunciating his words precisely as though she was hard of hearing. ‘It evolves, is subject to change, adaptive to environmental circumstances. Killers may be monsters, but they are not animals – they are human – and like any human with a modicum of intelligence, they adapt and evolve. They learn. The method of disposal of the body in this case is unlikely to be part of his fantasy – so he may vary it at will, and according to immediate circumstances.’ He paused. ‘Do you follow?’

  Fennimore glanced at Simms; she didn’t seem offended by his patronizing manner, and he guessed she’d goaded Varley so that she would have good, strong arguments to take to Spry on her return to base.

  She brushed the crumbs from her fingers. ‘I’m just a dim detective, so I hope you won’t mind if I translate that into English. You’re saying he made use of what was available. The bonus for him is, if his behaviour is unpredictable, he has less chance of being caught.’

  Varley’s eyebrows were thin and straight, and rarely betrayed any emotion, but the way his eyes swivelled from her to Fennimore and back denoted a certain level of surprise.

  ‘More or less,’ he said, begrudgingly. ‘I do not like the word “signature” of which our American cousins are so fond, but it may help a lay person like you to understand.’

  Her eyebrows twitched, but she didn’t comment.

  ‘The signature, therefore, is something the perpetrator must do to fulfil a psychological need; it fulfils his fantasy. These fantasies do not arrive fully formed. They are rehearsed mentally, over and over, sometimes for many years before selecting the first victim. Signature acts have emotional significance, and are therefore stable and unchanging. You need to look at the consistencies, rather than the differences, when comparing these assaults – focus on the actions that remain constant. In this case, those actions are physical and mental torture.’

  ‘The use of a riding crop,’ Simms said.

  ‘The whip marks are unusual in themselves,’ he agreed. ‘The cross-hatching is highly unusual. This is expressive, rather than functional violence.’

  She opened her mouth, but he pre-empted her question, explaining, ‘Functional violence might be something like a blow to the head to stun the victim – something which helps him to accomplish the crime. Expressive violence is part of the script that runs through his head before the event – his fantasy. The key here is that Rika, Marta and your Hull victim also suffered bruising to their necks consistent with the use of a broad choke strap. He prolonged the torment – terrorizing his victims. The use of neck compression to choke the subject unconscious, allow them to recover, and then choke them again, is absolutely about control, and the ultimate control is of course the power of life or death over another human being.’ His brows drew down a fraction. ‘Put all of these things together, and this man’s signature is very distinctive. His fantasy involves control, fear, pain – and power. He might refine his methods of torture or change the way in which he hunts his victims, but his need to control, terrorize and inflict pain are consistent.’

  ‘If he varies his MO to lower the chance of being caught, why was our victim dumped out in the open?’ Simms asked. ‘Doesn’t that increase the risk?’

  ‘You don’t need me to point out the enormous amount of good luck a person would need to avoid CCTV in a city like Manchester, and choose an alley that was not overlooked, and arrive at a time when the place was empty and remained empty long enough for him to remove the body from his vehicle and drive away unseen.’

  ‘It had occurred to us that he lives here in Manchester,’ Simms said.

  ‘But your Hull witness said he seemed to know the factory where he took her – so it could be he’s relocated from Hull to Manchester. The CCTV evasion suggests that he is also surveillance aware – so a security-related occupation is worth looking at.’

  ‘I’ve got someone checking the records of the firm who last covered security at the factory site,’ Simms said.

  He nodded in approval.

  ‘What about the different ages of the victims? It’s quite a wide range.’

  He waved his hand dismissively. ‘He is selecting his victims from a vulnerable group, rather than victims of a specific “type”. Prostitutes are more willing than most to engage in risky activities; addicts are less likely to complain, less likely to be missed. Also, as your surviving witness proves, less likely to be listened to if they do complain. He paid them, gave them drugs. And he was highly controlled in what he did.’

  ‘He smashed Marta’s face to a pulp.’

  A businessman walking past with two pint glasses glanced at her in shock, and she smiled an apology.

  Varley didn’t notice. He sipped his coffee and nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yet the flogging was entirely systematic – designed to cause intense pain – no sign of rage there. It was controlling, sadistic, organized; he took his time. This man sees torment as art.’ He paused, still thinking. ‘There were no signs that your murder victim had previously undergone whippings?’

  ‘None,’ Simms said.

  ‘That in itself might account for the extreme violence. Rika had old scars and new, suggesting that she submitted herself to multiple sessions, and the Hull victim tried to please her attacker. Both were compliant – he could control them. It’s possible that Marta would not comply, and it took extreme violence to subdue her.’

  Simms exhaled slowly. ‘So, who are we looking for – apart from someone who works in security?’

  ‘A misogynist.’ Varley lifted one shoulder. ‘Obviously. He is persuasive, superficially charming, but he likes to be in control. There might have been a recent stressor – at work, or possibly at home.’

  ‘You think he has family?’ she asked.

  ‘It’s possible, although the marital relationship might have broken down – a common stressor in these cases. If he works within a team, work colleagues might have noticed absences and failures; odd behaviour – he may have become unreliable and difficult to deal with. He sees women as objects. He doesn’t interact with them, he acts upon them, and takes what he wants from them.’

  They all reflected on this for a minute or so, and finally Kate said, ‘Is it possible we’re looking for two attackers?’

  ‘The bite marks in Marta’s PM photos do seem somewhat tentative,’ he said. ‘What was the situation with your Hull victim?’

  ‘He did bite her,’ Kate said, ‘but I can’t request her file from Humberside police, or the forensic images – I promised to keep her out of the inquiry.’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s … unhelpful.’

  Fennimore saw her tense and mediated for Varley: ‘I think Alastair means that the bites are inconclusive as evidence.’

  Varley nodded. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you either way if George Howard is your man.’ He checked his watch and stood. ‘I need to catch a train before this flurry of snow brings the entire rail network to a halt. I’ll complete my report on the journey and email it to you this evening – tomorrow at the latest.’ He zipped up his coat and picked up his briefcase.

  Fennimore thought he would leave it there – cool, professional, dispassio
nate as always, but his gaze lingered on Kate Simms. ‘Be careful, Chief Inspector,’ he said.

  ‘Me, personally?’ Kate glanced uneasily at Fennimore. ‘Why?’

  He set his briefcase down on the chair in front of him and took her in with his cool, level gaze. ‘These killings could hardly be more sinister; and the man you are seeking could hardly be more dangerous.’ He looked first at Fennimore, then Kate. ‘Serial offenders don’t stop unless they’re made to stop, so the hiatus between 2007 and the present could be because he was in prison, or his victims may, like Rika, have been easy to hush up with cash and heroin. But there could be others like Marta who refused to comply.

  ‘He didn’t just spring into this from nowhere. The man you are looking for has operated with impunity for years, gradually gaining confidence.’ Varley went on, his eyes fixed on Kate Simms’s face. ‘With the discovery of the body in Hull, we know that he has been fully fledged – if I may use that metaphor – since 2007. He had complete freedom to do what he liked to young women – until you exposed him. Worse than that, you have connected him to a murder. And now you seem to have found a burial site. He will be enraged by this gross intrusion into his sphere, and he will be looking for someone to blame. Sociopaths never blame themselves.’

  She watched him leave, her face impassive, but when she reached for her coffee cup, her hand was trembling.

  ‘Are you all right?’ Fennimore asked.

  ‘Tell me he’s grandstanding,’ she said softly. ‘Tell me he’s a bullshit artist who loves to make an impact.’

  Fennimore would love to have told her what she wanted to hear, but he couldn’t. He looked at her, trying to find a gentle way to say it, and she nodded.

  ‘That’s what I thought,’ she said, and he saw a quiver of fear in her eyes.

  36

  Kate Simms went through the door ahead of Fennimore, brooding on Professor Varley’s warning, thinking about the man who had followed her in the car park near the Midland Hotel, taken photographs of her as she interviewed Candice. Could she really be in danger?