Impostor

by LJ Ross

  Sequence of events

  The autopsy report states that CK died between the hours of eight-thirty and ten-thirty, which is an unusually specific approximation of post-mortem interval, made possible by the fact her body was discovered very quickly after death occurred. Information taken from the victim’s family reveal her husband, Liam Kelly, left the family home at approximately eight-fifteen, taking their young daughter to the swimming pool in the nearby town of Ballina for a nine o’clock lesson. The journey took him approximately thirty minutes both ways, allowing for time to get changed etc. and was a regular weekly occurrence. The Kelly home is located at the end of a country lane in an isolated position, not directly overlooked by any neighbours, and is accessible from the front or the back, as there is a public footpath through woodland to the rear of the property, giving access to their back garden. No physical evidence was recovered from either the windows or the doors to indicate forced entry, and CK sustained an immobilising blow to the back of the head once she and her assailant were inside the house, suggesting her killer was able to gain entry and knew CK would be alone.

  The location and timing of events strongly suggests her killer had advance knowledge of the fact CK would be alone in the house; information that could have been readily available given the close-knit community setting but is more likely to have been confirmed by the killer in a series of visits, where he/she observed the Kelly family’s routine. Taking into account the careful staging of CK’s body in her daughter’s room, which has a wide window offering a clear view to the back garden, it is my view her killer observed CK with her daughter on several occasions in that room and therefore used the public footpath at some point. However, on the day CK died, they came to the front door. Whilst it is possible the killer was unknown to CK and was able to gain entry through nefarious means, it is more likely that CK knew or trusted her killer and invited them into her home.

  The autopsy report, blood spatter patterns and evidence of large-scale blood loss in the bathroom is consistent with the Garda theory that, following a blow to the head using a heavy ornament taken from her hallway, CK was dragged to the bathroom, where she was moved into the tub and dealt a killing blow using a knife with a blade approximately five or six inches long, as yet unrecovered. This is significant on two counts: first, the killer may have brought their own weapon for the killing, but was not concerned to bring a weapon to immobilise. This may be because he/she was confident that, without a weapon, they were of superior physical strength and could have immobilised CK without it, but it is more likely because they were familiar with CK’s home and knew there was a heavy bronze ornament on the hallway table that they could use. Second, the killer was not squeamish or afraid to face his/her victim.

  For there to be little or no DNA evidence found at the victim’s home, her killer exercised extreme caution, which demonstrates careful and organised premeditation rather than a crime carried out in the heat of the moment. It is likely they brought a change of clothes or coveralls and gloves, as well as the duct tape used to seal the knife wound. For the sake of completeness, I should mention that the following persons, whose DNA was found in the Kelly home because of a pre-existing relationship with the family/being a member of the Garda’s First Response Team, should not be discounted:

  Garda Team

  Forensic Team

  Garda Doctor / Local GP

  Wider family of CK and LK

  Friends of CK and LK

  Tom and Kate Reilly (see appendix note).

  The offender dealt CK a single, killing blow to the heart, which is significant not only because of the emotional connotations associated with matters of the heart, but because it is a difficult organ to penetrate and would have required significant force and strength of nerve. Most first-time offenders experience panic and demonstrate clumsy methodologies, however this method indicates confidence, some knowledge of anatomy and strength to deliver the blow. The killer’s choice of this method may indicate one of two things: a personal dislike of CK and desire to punish; or, a desire to use CK as a proxy for some other significant person in the killer’s life. Taking into account the care the killer took to clean and re-dress the body, comb CK’s hair and arrange her on the bed, and the absence of more ‘frenzied’ knife wounds, it is my opinion that her killer falls into the latter category.

  Following the staging of the body and a thorough clean-up of all communal areas in the house, CK’s killer might have exited via front or back, but most likely front, given the absence of any prints or physical evidence recovered from the adjoining pathway.

  Personality and behavioural factors

  CK was, by all accounts, a non-confrontational person and generally passive by nature. This elevates her associated ‘risk’ as a suitable proxy for her killer’s purposes, since she was less likely to fight/run/cause commotion, and tells us that the killer is more comfortable and confident selecting a victim of that category.

  Her killer was organised, capable of planning and self-restraint, although this will diminish so long as they remain undetected. This behaviour makes it more likely he/she is able to sustain gainful employment, relationships and standing in the community. It is also less likely they demonstrate ‘obvious’ behavioural traits associated with unstable behaviour. However, the Garda should consider prioritising suspects who have suffered life-altering trauma, which may have precipitated one of two things:

  a one-off psychotic break, leading to the planning and execution of the attack on CK; or,

  a historic break, causing the development and escalation of long-term aggressive behaviours (e.g. towards animals, children etc.) leading to eventual planning and execution of the attack on CK.

  In general, killers who seek proxies as substitutes for the ‘real’ person they would like to kill continue to escalate as they grow in confidence and move closer to their ‘real’ target. (N.B. if the ‘real’ target is already dead, a killer may continue to use proxies indefinitely until their dissatisfaction leads them to make errors, commit suicide or, alternatively, hand themselves in to police). In this case, it is my view that the killer coveted CK’s role as a mother/primary caregiver and was conflicted in their desire to ‘capture’ her essence, whilst also removing CK from the world, insofar as she represented a person for whom they harbour resentment (either justified or unjustified)—namely, a mother figure. I do not believe CK’s killer demonstrates psycho-sexual motivation at present, but this may develop as feelings of power are associated with the taking of life. This is borne out by a lack of semen or other bodily fluid found at the crime scene.

  The killer is able to blend in within the community. In previous cases, offenders have belonged to ‘unseen’ professions, e.g. postman/woman, as well as more prominent, ‘trusted’ professions, e.g. doctors, teachers, religious leaders. For this reason, the Garda should focus on suspects in public service or retail occupations within the town, or alternatively in prominent and trusted local positions, e.g. church, town council, school, paying close attention to work patterns and logistical availability to commit the crime.

  The physicality of the victim and method of killing would suggest an able-bodied male assailant…

  Gregory leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms above his head, surprised to find it was growing dark outside. He rubbed his eyes and reached across to flick on the desk light, whose eco-friendly bulb shone a thin white-grey light over the scarred wooden desk and bore an uncomfortable resemblance to those found in the hospital mortuary, two floors below.

  The profile may be meaningless, he thought; a jumble of words and thoughts that bore no resemblance to the person they eventually apprehended.

  On the other hand, it might contain something that could help.

  He typed a final sentence at the end of the summary, then clicked ‘SEND’.

  * * *

  As Gregory was locking up his office for the night, he was approached by one of the ward nurses.

  “Alex? Do you have a
minute?”

  “Of course,” he said, shifting his briefcase to his other hand as he pocketed an enormous keyring. “Anything the matter?”

  The nurse looked harried, her nerves frayed around the edges.

  “I hate to trouble you, as you’re on your way home,” she said. “The thing is, we can’t get Cathy Jones to settle down. She says she won’t sleep without her rosary.”

  He shook his head.

  “You know the rules around personal effects,” he said. “That includes religious paraphernalia.”

  “But, surely, since she’s been here so long—”

  Gregory interrupted her, speaking urgently.

  “It doesn’t matter how long she’s been here. Cathy Jones remains a danger to herself and others. Have you read her notes?”

  The nurse nodded.

  “Then you’ll know the previous attempts she’s made to escape, and to attack nurses and doctors responsible for her care. She’s unpredictable. She can’t be trusted with anything that could be fashioned into a weapon.”

  He was deadly serious, so much so that the young nurse took a half-step away.

  “Don’t turn your back on her,” he warned. “Never, ever turn your back on somebody like that.”

  He waited until the nurse had relayed his decision, and then moved along the corridor to Cathy’s room. A Perspex glass window facilitated twenty-four-hour observation, and he peered through the glass to find her kneeling beside the single bed, which was pushed against the side wall and drilled to the floor.

  Her hands were clasped together, and her mouth moved in silent prayer.

  He imagined what she might be saying, or asking of God to forgive, and was reminded of what Father Walsh had told him about the sanctity of confessionals. If Cathy Jones was making her confession, he did not belong there.

  Alex moved away again, as silently as he had come.

  CHAPTER 22

  Friday

  While Alex Gregory steeled himself to board the tiny plane from London to Knock Airport for a second time, Colm McArdle zipped up his jacket and poked his head around the living room door.

  “I’ll be off now, Aideen,” he said. “I won’t be late tonight, my flower.”

  She looked up from the novel she was pretending to read, and snorted.

  “That’ll be the day,” she said. “Didn’t you tell me the same story, last week?”

  “Aye—but, you know, Ned Malloy had a birthday…”

  “Oh, for pity’s sake,” she said. “Lord save us from all the birthdays and anniversaries you and those no-goods you call friends seem to have every Friday night.”

  He grinned at her.

  “That’s why I fell in love with you,” he crooned. “It’s an intelligent woman you are, Aideen.”

  She snorted again, and louder this time.

  “Only in comparison with you, Colm McArdle,” she quipped. “Now, be off with you, if you’re going, and leave me in peace.”

  But she was pleased when he trotted over to bestow a kiss, which she returned wholeheartedly. They hadn’t enjoyed so many years as man and wife without having a little bit of spark between them.

  “Save those kisses for me,” he said, with a wink.

  “I’ll save them for Cillian Murphy,” she muttered, and fiddled with the remote until the latest episode of Peaky Blinders appeared on the small television set in the corner of the room.

  The novel forgotten, she settled back with a contented sigh and reached for the small bag of fruit gums she’d hidden beneath her knitting bag.

  * * *

  The journey over the Irish Sea to Knock Airport was no less death-defying than the last time, and it turned out that forewarned was not necessarily forearmed when it came to the impact of gravity upon one’s internal organs. Consequently, Gregory’s stomach was still settling back into its usual position as he walked through the automatic doors leading to the arrivals area, where he expected to find Maggie Byrne or Padraig waiting for him, as before.

  It was neither.

  Emma had been leaning against one of the pillars, the toe of her boot resting back against the concrete. When she spotted him, she raised a hand and waved him over.

  Gregory had no way of preventing the small burst of pleasure it gave him to know that she’d come to meet him. It took only a few seconds to close the distance between them but, in that time, he drank in the sight of her. She was dressed simply in black jeans and a matching jumper, against which the bold red of her hair rippled like liquid fire beneath the industrial lighting overhead. She wore scuffed boots and carried a raincoat over one arm.

  “Hello again, Doctor Gregory.”

  “Alex,” he said. “I was expecting to see Padraig.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” she said, with a smile. “His Land Rover has finally packed in, and Maggie’s looking after Declan tonight. Besides, night driving is hard on her eyes, so I offered to come instead.”

  “Thanks,” he said, as they stepped out into the chilly evening air. “Where’s Niall, this evening?”

  She looked over at him, then away again.

  “He’s out,” she said, and crossed the short-stay car park towards a small blue SUV. “This one’s mine. The boot’s full of junk, so just sling your bag on the back seat.”

  He did as he was told, his eye falling on the child’s seat and the small collection of books littering the back of the car. He took a deep breath before tugging open the passenger door.

  She was a good driver, handling the car with easy confidence as they made their way through the quiet countryside towards Ballyfinny. Gregory watched her hands on the wheel, then looked away, out of the window at the passing night.

  There was an uncomfortable silence.

  “I—”

  “Are—”

  They spoke together, then laughed.

  “You go first,” Gregory said.

  “I was going to say, ‘Are you sorry to be back in Ballyfinny?’ ”

  He watched the way the headlights of passing cars lit up her face and hair, and knew the answer to that question was simple.

  “Yes,” he said. “And, no.”

  She glanced across at him and smiled.

  “You’re one of those complicated types,” she said. “I can tell.”

  “Am I?”

  “All men are,” she qualified. “It’s in your genetics—I’m certain of it.”

  “There must be some research, somewhere,” he said, angling his body towards her. “But I thought we were simple creatures.”

  Their eyes met briefly, before she turned back to the road ahead.

  “Niall’s a complicated man, too,” she said, and slowed the car at a sharp bend. “He’s been working all the hours, on this case.”

  “He’s dedicated,” Gregory said, and swallowed something in his throat. It might have been guilt. “I hope he finds my profile useful.”

  “He’s talked of little else,” she said. “He and Con have been putting together fresh lists of suspects to look at more closely, based on your ideas. He says you’ve got a knack for stepping inside people’s minds.”

  Gregory said nothing.

  “It must be a lonely place,” she said softly. “I wouldn’t want to roam inside anybody else’s mind; I’d be afraid of what I found there.”

  “I’m not afraid,” he said. But it can be lonely, he added silently.

  They were silent for a few minutes, each content to watch the road ahead, and then she took a sudden turn to the left, pulling the car to a standstill along a narrow country track.

  “Is everything alright?”

  She unbuckled her seatbelt and turned to look at him.

  “I need to tell you something,” she whispered.

  * * *

  Colm McArdle polished off the last of his pint, then checked the time on the antique clock hanging above the bar in O’Feeney’s.

  Nine-fifteen.

  He’d promised faithfully that he’d be home at a reasonable hour,
and b’ God, he meant to keep it. “Another half, Colm?” his friend asked.

  He warred with himself, caught between the friends he’d known since boyhood, and the wife who’d give him the cold shoulder if he pushed his luck.

  “Aye, why the devil not? It’s early, yet.”

  The table cheered him on.

  “A round of the Black Stuff!” Colm told the barman.

  “Aideen’ll be in here, wanting my guts for garters,” he said. “I took a tellin’ from my grandma, last week, for serving you past ten o’clock.”

  “Ah, now. Would you begrudge an old man his bit of pleasure?”

  The barman laughed.

  “On your own head, be it!”

  Colm scooped up the glasses and wound his way back to the table beside the fire, where the conversation had turned to murder.

  “Awful, awful thing,” one of them was saying. “And she, nothin’ but a girl.”

  “Knew her grandfather,” another one said. “Good man.”

  At that moment, Padraig stepped into the bar, and they raised a hand in greeting.

  “A pint for our friend,” Colm called out to the barman, and cleared a space for the newcomer. “He’s got the look of a man with a terrible thirst.”

  The men laughed, and Padraig joined them.

  CHAPTER 23

  In the moments following her declaration, Gregory waited in expectant silence, wondering what Emma planned to say, and how he might react, when she did.

  “Before I tell you, I want you to know I’m not proud of myself,” she said, eventually.