“So what profile would you create?”
“Okay, well what I have got leads me to believe that this person has all the trademarks of a serial killer. So far there are two deaths, if Fleming’s does turn out to be a murder then who ever did it was very clever and may not be finished yet, so stopping them before they kill again is very important obviously. Both of them are rather intricate and well thought out. That suggests we have someone who is coordinated and with an above average intelligence to commit the crimes and for them to be both ruled as not murders.”
“So you definitely think that they are both murders? I know I have read what is in your book but I’m still not sure. I mean, I saw you jump over that fence and try and rescue that guy.”
John shrugged, “Something doesn’t feel right but just for argument’s sake let’s work on the hypothesis that they are. We have an intelligent, coordinated killer who is a marauder; a killer of people near where he lives. The village is small enough that the killer may not even need to drive to the scene of the crime. A car at the Bailey farm would have stood out or left tire marks, although of course at the Fleming incident, a car could have been parked behind the shops and not raised any suspicions.”
“Is it that important to know how the killer got to the scene of the crime?”
“Sometimes it is. If they travel to a place or if they dump a body somewhere it is useful to know which form of transport they use. The likelihood that a killer has a car increases the range that they can work at. With these crimes being so close I feel the killer merely walked to the scenes. They also display a very gruesome and cruel method of death. Dry land drowning for Bailey meant that the killer probably watched him die, to make sure that the farmer didn’t roll over. It seems personal in the methodology.”
Hannah sat quietly for a moment before responding, “So you are saying this person lives locally, knew both men personally, probably didn’t drive to the crime scene and has above average intelligence.”
“That’s about it, but he’ll be around twenty to forty years old by my estimation. The way these people died suggests that it wasn’t a woman and in this area the likelihood is that the killer is Caucasian.”
“How the hell can you try and predict someone’s age and gender?”
“Serial killers tend to be within a specific age range. They develop over time, in cases where there are psychopathic tendencies you can see it from an early age but they commit their crimes as adults. As for gender, most women kill family members or people very close to them.”
“But you said this killer knows both men personally.”
“I did but not emotionally, sure there are female killers that are just as evil as men and the crimes suggest that the person was not necessarily that strong, preferring to incapacitate their targets. Women though tend to poison and the way in which Bailey died if it was a woman it would have to be someone who was very close indeed to him. From what I have learnt about Bailey, he was never romantically involved with anyone.”
“Unless you count his mother, if you listen to the rumours around here,” Hannah said with a slight chuckle, “that whole family was very strange.”
“You should see what was in his house.”
The chef turned to look at him, surprise etched on her face, “You’ve been inside his house?”
Again John shrugged, “I didn’t break in, if that’s what you are suggesting. Rachael Bulloch showed me round.”
“She did, did she?”
John detected the hint of jealousy in her voice and sought to diffuse the situation, “Hey, she just wanted to show me around the place because I was interested in maybe buying it.”
“Really?”
“Hollingswood is growing on me I must admit. I keep meaning to have another look around his place but I keep getting distracted.”
“And I suppose you would have to go speak to Rachael again.”
“Nope I’ve got a key. In fact, if you’re not busy we could go and have a look at his house,” John said, trying to stand up but the back of his knees seized up and he fell; luckily Hannah caught him and guided him back to bed.
“There is no way you are getting out of this bed today.”
“In that case I’ll need something or someone to keep me interested.”
“I suppose I could go call Rachael Bulloch for you,” she said with an edge still in her voice.
Snaking his bruised arm around her John replied, “I don’t think I could handle the both of you.”
Chapter Twenty Seven
With the injuries he had sustained John felt it better to simply stay in the cottage for the foreseeable future. Hannah had left him to his work, citing she had another shift in the pub and that she would send round Lewis when he was free, but did not want to disturb her son when he was actually doing work. With the prospect of being called back to Manchester to be involved in the hunt for a gangland triple homicide looming, John wanted to finish his work in Hollingswood as fast as possible.
John sat in the armchair of the living room with the kitchen table in front of him. His notebook, a set of pens, a few sheets of paper and his phone lay on the top. The phone had stayed dormant all morning and most of the afternoon once he had cleared the anxious voicemails from Hannah. He was praying it stayed that way, since the DNA analysis he had submitted had been under one of the cases he was investigating and had nothing to do with Hollingswood. The charge to the taxpayers would be in the region of over a thousand pounds and John was risking a lot just by chasing down something that the local police should have already done. One of the worries was that they had done their job and he had just submitted evidence twice but he was relying on being right.
John made a couple of phone calls to ensure that if Simon did ring there was a reason for not answering. The numbers he rang he had gotten from his office or from research on the internet. Tying up threads of the investigation and narrowing down his list of suspects even further.
His phone also had the picture of the suicide note; which was bothering him. The more he looked at it the more he doubted that it was a murder but he knew deep down he was right. Staring at the words he tried to see beyond them at the person who had written them, what they were thinking at that moment.
It has been a long time coming. Goodbye my friends, I go to see my love. Do not look upon my act as cowardly, I need to be strong in my own way. I must end it. There is no hope left. I’ll be at peace. No one had anything to do with this. It is my decision totally. Things have just gone wrong too many times for me.
I am sorry
George Fleming
There were a number of lines that did not feel right. There was some sort of argument in the man’s head if it was truly a suicide letter. John could see that and the reinforcement of No one had anything to do with this was one he had seen before and did not necessarily suggest that someone other than Fleming had been the author. It just felt to the detective that there was something off about the syntax and structure but John enjoyed the puzzle that it presented even if he was not what you would call a ‘Grammar Nazi.’
John put in another email to his hacker contact and waited to add that information to what he had already gathered for an equivocal death psychological autopsy. The manner of the death made him want to narrow down the possibilities. Of the five specific circumstances he immediately ruled out natural and accidental as well as undetermined. The two left were suicide and homicide.
The paper and pens he had at his disposal were used to sketch out the rough area of the crime scenes, giving John a somewhat accurate aerial view of the places of interest. He was interested in where a person could have hidden so that Bailey, who had lived on the farm all his life and would notice if anything was amiss, would not have noticed his assailant. Worryingly one such place was where he had seen some more cigarette ends. If he had picked just a couple of them up he could have saved himself some time. Deciding he needed some help, he rang Lewis.
“Hello Detective, is there
anything I can help you with? My mother said you wanted to speak to me,” the young man answered.
“Yes I do. In fact I was wondering if you wouldn’t mind doing some leg work for me?” John said very aware that his legs were in agony. ‘I know you’re busy with your work but come at your earliest convenience.’
“You want me to do some actual policework?”
“Well it is not official of course but it would be very helpful and would give you a feel for what we do. I’m a little indisposed at the moment and it would be extremely useful for me if you could collect something I believe maybe crucial in my investigations.”
“That sounds pretty cool actually, I can come round in about half an hour. I’ll just finish this chapter and I’ll walk down to the cottage.”
“Thank you Archie.”
“Archie?”
John sighed, “Sorry it’s an old joke I guess, one of my favourite detective stories. See you in a bit.”
Lewis arrived sooner than he had estimated and John was still sat at the table resting his feet on a stool. The detective had to shout to the student to open the door; as he did not want to move from the comfortable position he was in. Lewis was dressed in jeans and a well-worn jumper with walking boots, contrasting with the tracksuit bottoms and bright yellow t-shirt that John had managed to put on with great difficulty once Hannah had left.
John indicated for Lewis to sit on the couch, “Thanks for coming.”
“You look in a pretty bad way detective. My mum said you were set upon when you left the pub. I hope you don’t think my dad had someone waiting for you. I know he was pretty rough on you in there,” Lewis managed with a smile but with some concern in his voice.
“I know who attacked me. One of your old enemies, Keith Birkett, thought he would get his own back on me for a little altercation we had recently. It just means I can barely walk that’s all. There’s not much I can do at the moment but I’ll heal up quick enough.”
“I can’t believe he would be so bold as to attack a police officer.”
John nodded, “The problem with not telling people who I am. Remember I was working undercover till the jump over the fence trying to rescue Fleming incident and I doubt Birkett can read, let alone ask around about someone. No he must have just seen me leave the pub and snook up on me. My own fault for going down the unlit pathway.”
“So what did you want me to do for you sir?”
“If you look in the inside pocket of the jacket hung up on the back of the bedroom door there should be some evidence bags. When I was looking around the Bailey farm I found some cigarette ends and I then found some at the Fleming scene.”
Lewis looked a little perplexed, “You say there were some at Harry’s farm?” John nodded in the affirmative, so the student continued, “Harry never smoked. He was always very aware of flames around his barn. Especially since the fire he never let anyone smoke if they worked here.”
John put his hand to his mouth, infuriated with himself, “Then it’s even more important that we pick up what could be key evidence.”
“Are you sure that they weren’t picked up by the officers on duty when they found him?”
“To be honest I don’t know but the locations in which I found them wouldn’t necessarily be the places where people would look. For some reason they were still there and there is little chance of course that they were placed there afterwards. They were well back under an overhang on both occasions, so the ones near Bailey’s farm may just have remained dry enough to process during the poor weather we have been suffering. At the church there have been no weather issues.”
“Do you think you can get anything from them though?”
“It’s a long shot I know but it would give me something more concrete to go on. We can place someone at the scene of the crime, which is vital in all of this. It would prove that there is a second person and therefore that they are in some way involved which then begs the question; why did they not help either man?”
Lewis bit his lip and shook his head, “I just can’t believe someone would do that to either men, not here. All we can do is try and find out the truth I guess,” he said, standing up and going over to jacket to remove a few bags before holding them up to the light to ensure that there was nothing in them and then placing them in his back pocket.
“Before you go, have a look at this map. These locations are roughly where I saw the offending articles. If you can bag them up and bring them back I’ll get them to the lab as soon as possible. Also I’ve created a psychological profile; which I thought you’d like to go over,” John lifted up another piece of paper on which he had written the more pertinent details of the character study of the killer.
“Brilliant, that stuff is really interesting. I'd better get going before it starts to get dark. Then we can go over what you have got.”
Chapter Twenty Eight
Lewis spent a couple of hours with the detective, delighted that he was helping after retrieving four samples from each location. He left promising to return early the next morning to help John, if he was still in need of assistance. Left alone, John retired to the bath and tried to soothe his injuries. He was feeling rather pruned by nightfall and was happy to go to bed, hoping the next day would be better for his battered body.
Waking in the morning in a warm bed was much better than the day before but his body still rebelled against strenuous activity such as walking. However being in pain was not going to stop him from solving the case.
He was of the opinion that his cover had been blown and with that in mind he thought it better to be proactive and aggressive in his investigation now. John was not feeling strong or confident enough to venture into the Woodsman and further question Tom Cooper but thought he could bluff his way in situations that would not be so physically dangerous.
Dressed in one of the suits he had brought with him, a black pinstripe number with a white shirt and deep red tie, John got in his car and drove to the other Bailey farm. The road down to that farm was in much better condition than the one near his temporary home.
Anthony Bailey’s house was a newly built residence that was twice the size his brother’s residence. The entrance was a sturdy old oak door complete with iron studs and a painted black knocker. Behind the house stretched green pastures that led up the beacon hill, offering a great view of the golf course. There appeared to be no barns in the vicinity but there was a series of trees to one side that hid a number of buildings from view. From the sounds coming from that direction, John assumed that was where the farm work was being done. A small kennel was next to the house with a small dachshund sat in front of it, its head resting on the front paws.
John stepped out of his car with some difficulty and did his best to stride towards the door with an air of authority and without a limp. A walking stick sat on the back seat of his car but he was too proud and stubborn to use it considering he knew what sort of man he was about to meet. His step was a little shortened due to the injuries but he stood tall, the bruising and deep cut around his left eye the only visible sign of his altercation with Keith Birkett.
Knocking on the door with a rhythmic thump John waited impatiently. He was a little nervous, being in such a delicate state, but mused that he had been in worse situations in the past. The door opened to reveal Anthony Bailey who was wearing a shooting jacket over a thick cream woollen shirt and sturdy green cotton trousers. He also wore a gruff expression on his weathered face, “Yes? Who are you and what are you doing on my property?” he said before the dog ran round the corner barking and jumping trying to get into the house. The farmer turned on the dog and kicked it way from his feet, “Get back outside you little rat.”
John gritted his teeth at the animal abuse as the dog ran back whimpering but was pleased that his makeover had led to Bailey not recognising him. Opening his jacket he pulled out his wallet and showed his police badge to the man, “I’m Detective Inspector John Harper, I’m here to discuss the death of your brother. I�
�ll only take a few minutes of your time.”
“My brother,” the farmer answered with a face like thunder, “died by accident, Detective.”
“That might be the case but I have only a few questions to close up our investigation if you don’t mind.”
“I do mind Detective, I’m a busy man and we have finally laid my brother to rest.”
John did not accept the concern for his brother’s memory from the way the man spoke, “Like I’ve said sir there are only a few questions I need answering and we can file this all away.”
“If you’re quick Detective, I have a site visit to attend to.”
“Would that site be the farm that used to belong to your brother?”
Anthony Bailey folded his arms, “It was never just his farm, Detective. I was raised on that farm; I built this one with my own two hands,” he indicated it with a wave of his hand, “I left him to work that land whilst he looked after my mother. I could’ve bought out his share any day for the last twenty years.”
“I take it that is the site you are going to. I hear you are selling the land.”
“What of it? It is my land to sell after all.”
John just nodded, “Nothing I was just enquiring sir. It seems rather fast to be closing a land deal. They usually take a number of months don’t they, if you have inherited the land that is?”
“What are you suggesting?”
“Do you know a George Fleming or if your brother did sir?”
“No what the hell has that got to do with my land? You are beginning to test my patience, Detective,” Bailey said with more anger in his voice.
John remained as calm and replied, “Are you sure sir? Are you positive you do not recognise that name?”
“Yes I am sure. Now what about my land?”
“Land sales take months sir. I’ve checked and it appears your brother didn’t want to sell to you or anybody else. Especially to the water company that is planning on building a new pipeline through this area. Now sir I’ve spoken to a lot of people about your brother he wanted to stay on his land for the rest of his natural life, so it surprised me that he has registered a sale with the water company,” John said with a finger raised to his lips, the other hand across his body cupping his elbow.
A Village Not So Green (John Harper Series Book 1) Page 15
