Basic Element: A dark gipping detective thriller (Crane and Anderson Book 2)

by Wendy Cartmell

  He glanced at his watch. Donna was flying out today, but if he hurried, he’d catch her before she left for the airport. He grabbed his phone and left his desk, smiling at the thought of talking to her again.

  Holly

  Holly didn’t notice Ciaran leave his desk. Deep in S-Dates, she’d managed to find user accounts for two of the victims. She now needed to crack the third. Dawn’s laptop had revealed an S-Dates account, but she hadn’t saved the password. Holly had tried some obvious ones, drawn from Dawn’s life but none of them had worked. But what she had managed to do was to find the email passwords. Dawn had saved them in a word document on the hard drive, so it was a fairly simple matter to request a new password from S-Dates. The email duly arrived and Holly replied to it and changed the password, making a note of it on the file.

  That small problem solved, she was now able to access S-Dates, logged in as Dawn and check the private messages. And there it was. An arrangement to meet on the night of her death. She now had three S-Dates accounts, three victims and three arrangements to meet. Her reward for the effort and hours she’d put in to find out that information. She huffed out a breath of satisfaction and allowed herself a small smile. But she knew it wasn’t enough. Each meeting had been arranged with a different S-Dates user.

  Feeling as though she was taking two steps forward and one back, she realised she had to go back to S-Dates and get access to the personal details of those three users. Ciaran had arranged the search warrants last time, but when she lifted her head to ask for his help again, he wasn’t there. He was gone and so was his mobile. Probably off chatting to Donna. Again. She grabbed her own mobile and savagely keyed in a message to him: Get your arse back here - we’ve work to do!

  Boy

  I hadn’t meant to kill her. Not really. It had been an accident. Unplanned. Something that had just happened. Such a pity, I thought, as I looked down at her, sprawled across the bed. She had been so beautiful. Still was. For death had yet to change her.

  Colourful silk scarves were juxtaposed with the pale whiteness of her skin; splotches of colour at her wrists and neck. Her button nose had a dusting of freckles on it and her red hair fanned out across the pillow. Her face had relaxed and she now appeared serene, as if welcoming the end. Glad of it. Accepting of it.

  We had found each other on the internet and had met purely for sex. A special sort of sex. The type of sex I had wanted to explore for years and had never before had the opportunity. I’d practised on my own, but lately it hadn’t been enough. That’s when I decided I needed more. A partner to explore with, share with, achieve orgasm with.

  She had been the choker to start with, tying my hands to the bed and then placing a silk scarf around my neck. As I’d become aroused, she’d pressed the carotid arteries. I had been able to feel her finger tips pressing into my flesh, the slither of the scarf underneath them. My brain, denied the oxygen it needed and craved, had made me feel giddy and light-headed. As she’d pressed and released, pressed and released, I’d climaxed with a rush of pleasure, the like of which I’d never before experienced. As I’d fallen back, gasping, I’d felt like I’d gone to Heaven and back.

  Then it had been my turn to be the choker. And that’s when I’d felt the real power. The power of life and death over her was like nothing I’d ever known. My hands had tightened on the scarf, pulling it against her neck, denying her brain oxygen - the basic element of life. Her eyes wide, and unable to speak, she’d silently pleaded with me to stop.

  But I didn’t stop.

  Couldn’t stop.

  Wouldn’t stop.

  Not until she’d collapsed. Her eyes no longer imploring. No longer seeing.

  It had blown my mind.

  Crane

  Crane watched as a young WPC escorted Professor Dennison to their meeting in Anderson’s office. He was looking around the incident room with unbridled interest, which made Crane decide on a strategy he could use later on. He was particularly interested in the Professor’s reaction to their investigation and findings to date. But all that would come later. For now he intended to watch the man closely.

  Dressed in casual chinos and shirt again, Crane noted the Professor wore his clothes well. Upright and confident, he commanded attention, but not in a showy way. The four of them stood as the Professor entered the room. It was with a quiet aura of authority that he looked around the room and held each person’s gaze in turn, as he shook their hands. Holly and Anderson smiled a friendly greeting, but Ciaran’s grin seemed more reminiscent of pulling a face while sucking a lemon and Crane noticed his handshake was limp and quick.

  As the meeting started, Crane focused on the Professor, who reached for his briefcase and drew out several folders. He placed these on the table and wriggled a few times in his chair as though to get more comfortable. He leant on his forearms and looked at Anderson expectantly.

  “Thanks so much for coming, Professor. We’re all looking forward to your analysis of the perpetrator. Aren’t we?” After a few mumblings from the rest of the team, he nodded for the Professor to begin.

  “Well this was certainly an interesting project for me,” he said. “I’d firstly like to thank you for thinking of me and I can only hope my insights may be of some value.”

  Here we go, thought Crane. A typical academic who uses ten words where one would have done.

  “As you have already concluded that the same person is responsible for all three deaths, I haven’t bothered with that side of the investigation, rather focusing on the type of person who would have such predilections. I believe that was what you wanted to know?”

  “Exactly, Professor,” said Anderson.

  But Crane was wondering how much longer he could keep his concentration, if the man continued with his convoluted language.

  “This particular case has necessitated I draw on not just criminology, but forensic psychiatry and pathology. Using all these tools, I have been able to determine some characteristics for you. Recently, use is being made of ‘dynamic’ risk factors, such as: attitudes, impulsivity, mental state, family and social circumstances, substance use, availability and acceptance of support. So I’ve used those to make a structured professional judgment.”

  Crane caught Ciaran rolling his eyes and had to stifle a laugh.

  “Sexual offenders exhibit heterogeneous characteristics, yet they present with similar clinical problems or criminogenic needs e.g., emotional regulation deficits, social difficulties, offense supportive beliefs, empathy deficits, and deviant arousal.”

  Crane came out of his fug. Perhaps they were getting somewhere at last. He wondered why Anderson was letting the Professor waffle on. But maybe it was a ploy, or a technique, so Crane had better let him be.

  “Because there doesn’t seem to be research on a type of sexual predator with our man’s particular deviancy, I decided to explore the type of person who becomes a rapist, as this is the nearest offender category and has been well documented. In comparison with child sexual abusers, rapists are more likely to be younger, to be socially competent, and to have engaged in an intimate relationship in the past.”

  “Can I just stop you there, Professor. Ciaran, would you just make bullet points of this on the whiteboard please?”

  Ciaran glared at Anderson, but Crane was glad to see he did as he was asked without comment.

  “So he’s probably a young man, socially competent and has had sexual relationships. Is that right professor?”

  Dennison nodded and then continued with his lecture. “In addition, rapists often display the following criminogenic needs: intimacy deficits, negative peer influences, deficits in sexual and general self-regulation, and offense-supportive attitudes.”

  Crane just had to interrupt. “I get the gist of what you’re saying, Prof, that our man finds intimate relationships difficult, he’s been around others of his type who have influenced him possibly such as the BDSM community and he finds it difficult to control his needs. But ‘offence supportive atti
tudes’ has me stumped.”

  Professor Dennison smiled at Crane, “To simplify it, our man justifies his desire for auto erotic sex by seeing it as being a perfectly normal sexual desire. He doesn’t think it’s wrong. Furthermore he feels entitled have to his own particularly strong sexual desire. He wants and needs it, so therefore he can have it.”

  “That’s all a bit cold and callous,” said Anderson.

  “But it rather sums him up, doesn’t it, Inspector?”

  “Christ,” muttered Holly.

  Dennison said, “It almost goes without saying that he is a prolific internet user.”

  “Nothing goes without saying,” countered Crane. “Please assume we know nothing and tell us everything. That way we won’t miss out on a potentially critical trait that would help us to catch this monster.”

  Dennison didn’t seem at all offended by Crane’s bluntness. He just dropped his eyes to his papers and carried on. Perhaps he saw Crane as an annoying student, a thought that made him smile. Then he quickly had to re-arrange his features into something more solemn as Dennison continued.

  “There is a group of sexual offenders who use the internet as part of a pattern of offline contact offending, including those who use it to acquire victims and/or disseminate images that they produce.”

  “Sorry, you’re losing me,” said Anderson.

  “I think what Profession Dennison means, is some predators migrate from seeking and finding images on the internet, to meeting with actual, real people, with whom he can bring his sexual deviance to life. The internet is therefore used to find victims as well as providing a source of images which could provide him some sexual satisfaction,” said Ciaran from his position by the whiteboard. “Hence his membership of S-Dates.”

  The Professor looked mildly surprised and said, “Exactly, thank you for that succinct explanation, Detective. So, let’s look in more detail at our man’s possible background. We should expect to find experiences whilst growing up of physical abuse, parental violence, emotional abuse, and cruelty to animals.”

  “Ah, said Holly, “the whole setting animals on fire sort of stuff.”

  “Precisely. These experiences can result in externalizing behaviours. As an illustration, researchers have found physical and verbal abuse during childhood leads to antisocial behaviour and callous personality traits, both of which lead to aggressive sexual fantasies. So, an individual who has been raised in an emotionally impoverished environment is often unable to identify his emotions in an accurate manner and, as a result, is likely to become confused when confronted with emotionally charged situations. These individuals often react to confusing situations with overt aggression.”

  Crane watched Anderson nodding his agreement and wondered if he was as confused as Crane was.

  “I think he frequently masturbates, which suggests problems with emotional self-regulation. Frequent masturbation coupled with frequent pornography use, increases the likelihood of sexual compulsivity. Likewise, insecure attachments suggests; intimacy deficits, empathy deficits, antisocial lifestyle, and social difficulties. Violence in the home has been shown to be predictive of antisocial lifestyle, a hostile attitude toward women, emotional callousness, and hostile masculinity.

  “Jesus,” said Holly. “I’m liking him less and less.”

  “Individuals who have experienced child maltreatment are likely to exhibit distorted internal working models of relationships, which results in poor social skills and emotional self-regulation. The lack of social skills, especially during adolescence, is likely to result in rejection by others, which in turn will decrease self-esteem, increase anger, and produce cognitive distortions about peers and relationships. Negative emotions combined with those cognitive distortions may increase the intensity of sexual desire and deviant sexual fantasies.”

  “So basically he’s an aggressive sexual predator who thinks he can take what he wants from any woman he meets,” said Crane, wondering why the Professor couldn’t just have said that in the first place.

  “That’s right. He’s clearly able to carefully plan his offenses and doesn’t seem to experience an internal conflict after the offense, because he’s achieved his sexual goal.”

  “Could this impulse to constantly achieve his ‘sexual goal’ as you call it, have escalated into murder?”

  “Oh, must certainly. But more importantly, I believe the taking of life has become an essential part of his sexual deviancy.”

  Those words echoed in Crane’s brain. The taking of life has become an essential part of his sexual deviancy. In which case their killer wouldn’t ever stop. He wouldn’t just have bondage-type sex, or auto erotic sex, he would always want sex that ends with murder. Sex that ends with him strangling the life out of his victim. Crane could see it was a powerful motivator to continue with his killing spree. They had to find him. But how?

  Over a welcome cup of coffee, Crane and Anderson chatted further with the Professor, Holly and Ciaran having made their escape, citing pressure of jobs still to do. Crane showed him their incident boards.

  “What do you think, Professor?” Crane asked, showing him the mind-map type diagram that filled one board. The un-named killer sat in the middle of the map with arrows going out to each victim.

  “So the only common denominator you have at the moment is the killer himself and a dating site?”

  “And the car,” said Anderson and pointed to the image of a Suzuki Jeep. “This has been seen on CCTV in the towns where the murders took place; Aldershot, Portsmouth and Southampton.”

  Crane saw a look of surprise cross the Professor’s face, accompanied by a tremor in his hand that made his coffee cup rattle in its saucer. But it was gone in an instant, to be replaced once more by the slightly enquiring look he normally wore. His Professor face, Crane had no doubt.

  “Hampshire definitely seems to be his stalking ground,” Anderson was saying. “We’re having to liaise with the local police, who are aiding the investigation in each of the towns. That’s how we managed to get so much relevant CCTV footage. The only trouble is the time it’s taking to go through it.”

  “Don’t forget the dating site,” Crane said and pointed to the third board, where details of the S-Dates site had been noted. Once more, he caught a faint startled look, before Dennison composed himself. “You know,” Crane chatted on, “I never realised how large Hampshire actually was. Are you familiar with the County, Professor?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose,” Dennison said. “I travel to other campuses quite a bit, so I suppose I frequently visit Southampton and Portsmouth Universities.”

  “Have you been to either of those recently?” Crane had his ‘soldier’s face’ on. Cold. Inscrutable. Determined. It was as if the temperature in the office had fallen a few degrees.

  Professor Dennison put his cup and saucer back on the table and pushed his hands in the pocket of his chinos. “Why do you ask?”

  “No particular reason. So, what’s your answer?”

  “Yes, I’ve been to both establishments recently.”

  “Oh, really? When?”

  Professor Dennison turned to Anderson. “I thought I was here to talk about professional matters, DI Anderson. Why do you want to know about me? I’m not a suspect am I? I can assure you I don’t fit the profile at all.” He smiled, but it was one of those grins that didn’t light up the eyes.

  “You don’t fit the profile you’ve drawn up,” said Crane.

  Dennison seemed confused. “What are you trying to say?”

  Crane paused then laughed. “Nothing, nothing at all, Professor. Anyway if you’ll excuse me I have things to do.”

  Crane grabbed his stick from where it was propped up against his chair and made his slow way out of Anderson’s office. He thought it interesting that neither Anderson, nor the Professor, said a word until he’d left the room. Crane definitely felt the Professor had something to hide. His furtive behaviour and his attempts to avoid answering questions pointed to it. But Crane co
uldn’t catch criminals on a feeling, even if it his gut was screaming there was something ‘off’ with the Professor. He still needed evidence.

  Theresa

  Theresa was cleaning the silver when Tim came downstairs. He’d been in bed asleep when she’d arrived back from doing a bit of shopping, so she’d left him to it. She was happy to keep their contact down to the minimum, but wondered what he was doing back home before 5.00pm on a work day. Wanting to keep herself busy, to stem the flow of doubt and fear and horror that never seemed to leave her, she’d pulled out the canteen of cutlery and proceeded to clean it.

  “Bloody hell, Theresa, can’t you find anything better to do?”

  His voice coming from the lounge door made her jump and drop the cleaning cloth.

  “I’ll have you know this is a very worthwhile activity,” Theresa said brandishing a fork at him. “Look how tarnished this fork is!”

  Tim looked at it askance, then shook his head and walked into the kitchen. “What’s for dinner?” he called.

  Sighing, she put down the fork and on entering the kitchen watched him looking around. “What are you looking for?” she asked.

  “Dinner.”

  “Oh, really Tim, it’s all prepared and in the fridge. We’re having steak and chips, so it doesn’t need to be cooked until you’re ready for it.”

  “Oh, right, well,” he bumbled, pulling a beer out of the fridge.

  Theresa looked at him and sighed. Living with such an exacting man was wearing her down. She spent all day keeping things nice and clean and he didn’t even notice all her hard work. She looked at her fingers which were grey from cleaning the silver and went to the sink to wash them.

  “Did you have a good day?” She wasn’t really interested, but it was a topic of conversation and she wanted to chase the scowl off his face.