The Waiting Room (#4 - The Craig Modern Thriller Series)

by Catriona King

  He started talking immediately. “This is evil, Marc. There’s no other word for it. They could have killed hundreds of girls. Hundreds.”

  Craig nodded and John could tell from his clenched jaw that he was on a very short fuse. “And that bastard Harrison has just weighed up whether to give me more staff, on the basis of how it might affect him.”

  The dam that had been restraining Craig’s temper for days gave way, and he slammed his fist hard against the wooden bench, splitting the skin. Blood dripped down the side of the table and formed a puddle on the floor. He watched it grow in silence, as John watched his expression range from loathing Harrison to blaming himself, and back again.

  After a minute John reached for a sterile pack and sat Craig down, dressing his hand in silence, his anger acting as anaesthetic. The ritual calmed them both and when it finished Craig smiled thinly and nodded, acknowledging his Latin temper had had its moment. It was time to move on.

  He spoke quietly, sounding almost Italian, his mixed accent always more obvious when he was emotional. “We started with two murders and there could be scores by the time we’ve finished.”

  John dropped his gloves into the bin. “Better that you find them than the deaths remain unsolved.”

  He led the way to his office and made them both coffee, then chewed on the end of his pen for a moment before speaking. “You can’t think about the girls in the office files, Marc.”

  Craig leaned forward to interject but he stilled him with a hand. “No, hear me out. If you let yourself think of all of them then you’ll lose your focus. And focus is all you have to nail these bastards.”

  “But why wasn’t this picked up years ago, John? From the dates of the girls’ disappearances it’s been going on since 2007.” He shook his head. “They just didn’t look hard enough. It’s a real cluster-fuck.”

  “Forget about who did and didn’t do their jobs. That can be sorted out later. You have to solve Britt Ackerman’s and Paul Ripley’s murders and protect Hannah Benner. That’s your priority. If you do that, you’ll get the evidence to solve the other cases. I’m sure of it. But if you don’t solve their murders then your follow-on evidence will be useless, and these bastards won’t get convicted. Remember. K.I.S.S.”

  K.I.S.S. Not a suggestion but an acronym. Keep It Simple Stupid. Something that Craig had been in danger of forgetting. He nodded, grateful for the reminder. If he didn’t work Ripley’s and Ackerman’s deaths properly then they wouldn’t convict anyone. And he’d take a bet that their killers had enough money to buy the best barristers in the U.K. He shrugged off his anger and felt clarity taking its place. What did they have?

  Britt Ackerman, the twenty-year-old daughter of the Swedish Ambassador, had gone to Bryce’s agency looking for some quick money. Or some freedom. She lied to fulfil the requirement of having no relatives. A requirement that could only be explained by them wanting girls that they could do anything to. Even ‘disappear’ without their families coming looking.

  By the time the men had found out that Britt had lied and had a living father, she knew too much and they had to kill her. And why not take their pleasure while doing it? It had been too late for Britt Ackerman the minute she’d gone to the rendezvous Sylvia Bryce had arranged.

  Paul Ripley was found dead in a mocked-up suicide at 40 Marrion Park, the house next door to Sylvia Bryce’s. He was killed by someone who knew him, but not well enough to notice or care that he wrote with his left hand, not his right. Obscenely wealthy and a senior churchman, he would have had access to church skeleton keys. Those keys would have opened the doors to the church in LeRoy Street where Britt Ackerman was left dead.

  He knew Bryce well enough to have used her prostitutes in Ballymena, and to give her a good enough character reference in 2008 to keep her out of court. But Paul Ripley became dispensable the day after Britt Ackerman was found. Dispensable to whom?

  Tim Morgan, doctor and liar. He was a man who claimed to know nothing, but had been identified by Hannah Benner as the man who’d entered 40 Marrion Park on Sunday evening. In time for Paul Ripley to be killed there. She’d recognised Morgan because he’d tutored her the year before as part of her medical studies. Sylvia Bryce had physically recoiled from Morgan as if he was going to hit her, when she’d seen him in High Street. He was the man who’d previously tried to strangle her, Craig was sure of it.

  Craig sat listening to the lab’s perpetual background music and thinking, while John refilled both their cups. He reached for his mobile and pressed Liam’s number. It was answered on the first ring and he cut directly to the chase. He’d apologise for his curtness later, if Liam had even noticed.

  “Tell Davy to get on to forensic storage at St Marys ASAP– I need confirmation on who accessed Hill’s and McCrae’s blood. If the blood’s still there, get it over to Des for safe keeping. And chase the force intranet for who viewed the files for the Stephen Barron case. I need the names of anyone outside our immediate team who’s even glanced at those files since April. That’s how they got Hill’s and McCrae’s names.”

  He listened for a moment while Liam updated him on Sylvia Bryce’s hearing later that afternoon, and the fact that her solicitor wanted a chat before they went into court. Craig cut off with a quick, “good” and turned quickly back to John.

  “You were right, John. I was chasing too many things and losing my focus.” He glanced at his watch. “Now, I came here an hour ago because you had something to tell me. Sorry, you haven’t even got a word in.”

  He lifted his coffee, signalling John to start. He reached behind him and lifted a file, opening it to reveal five sheets of paper. Then he tapped the computer and a map appeared on the screen. He spread four of the sheets in front of Craig. Each bore the heading of a psychological profile.

  “OK. These are the victim and perpetrator profiles for each of your two victims; Britt Ackerman and Paul Ripley.”

  “What’s on the other page?”

  John stared at him over his glasses and tutted exaggeratedly. “Patience, patience, Master Craig, as Mr Pogue used to say.” Craig laughed at his perfect imitation of their third year maths teacher, conceding that he wanted everything yesterday.

  “OK, your work has already overtaken some of this but there are still a few new things of interest. I have to say that Emily’s been right on the money with both of them, given that she didn’t have any I.D.s at the time. First, Britt Ackerman. Wealthy, indulged child. Either an only daughter or only child, and definitely a younger sibling if there are any others. Travelled extensively, and constantly having to fit in at new schools and with new friends. It made her a people pleaser, unlikely to stand up for herself. Essentially the perfect victim. More secure in places that she knew and unlikely to stray far from them. So it makes sense that wherever she went to meet the man was within two square miles of the place she lived. Wellesley Avenue to Marrion Park is only half a mile.” He stopped to take a sip of coffee and let Craig ask questions, but Craig stayed silent.

  “In the perpetrator profile we have a man with access to the church and familiar with the layout of a church and its grounds. That fits Paul Ripley. This was also someone who has sadistic tendencies, from the repeated strangulation and number of non–fatal stab wounds on Britt’s body before death. It had to be someone with a wide enough knowledge of religions to know that Sakin knives are used for kosher food and would cause offence to Jews if used in a murder. And that a pentagram is a symbol of Neopaganism, and would offend them. Pretty much everyone in Ireland knows that desecrating an altar with a dead body would cause offence in a Christian church of any denomination. And the marks of the crucifixion.

  The display and abuse was overkill, and overall, there’s an element of frenzy. So I think that he didn’t expect to have to kill her. I think that for some reason he had to do it, perhaps because he realised that she had family who would come looking? But I believe that Ripley actually doing the killing was unexpected. He was clumsy at it and that’s why h
e botched the kill and disposal. That implies that someone else normally kills the girls. The fact that there was so much bruising on her genitalia indicates more than one rapist, I’m sure he was one of them, but I don’t think Ripley was comfortable with the kill.”

  He sipped at his coffee as Craig gazed at the sheets in front of him.

  “OK. The other man or men involved in Britt’s killing included someone who had access to Hill’s and McCrae’s D.N.A. The samples we hold are still sealed, so that only leaves St Marys lab samples. Hopefully Davy will throw some light on that later. Either they accessed it themselves, or they paid someone else to do so, and I doubt if these men want third parties involved in their business. I think that we’ll find that one of them accessed the samples directly, probably Tim Morgan. It wouldn’t be hard for a doctor to get into a hospital lab.

  The killers were likely to be familiar with the place in which they killed Britt Ackerman and live in the same locality. Individuals kill and dispose to bodies close to home. Large groups of people murder in a different way.”

  Craig interjected. “Paul Ripley lives on the Lisburn Road and Tim Morgan lives on Upper Malone, up near the Mary Peters’ track.”

  John nodded. “That fits for both of them. I don’t think either Ripley or Morgan were skilled killers, I think it happened in a hurry when they realised she had a father who would come looking.” A look of disgust soured his face. “But they both took full advantage of her before, or even after she died.”

  He paused for a moment. “That brings me to Paul Ripley’s death. This was a straight forward fake suicide. But they botched it. They thought he was right-handed instead of left. My best guess is that they chose the house to do it in because it was the place they used to meet the girls and had easy access from both their homes. That’s why Hannah was told to go there as well, close to a student area. Although it was careless to kill Ripley the same night she was due to visit. Again, someone botched things up.”

  He paused and lifted the phone. “Des, do you have the forensics on 40 Marrion Park yet? Yes? Could you bring them up? Marc’s here.”

  He dropped the receiver and turned back to his sheets. “Emily believes that the person that killed Paul Ripley was a man. Fair enough. Although he had enough medication in him to fell Finn McCool, so I suppose a strong woman could have done it.” He looked at Craig keenly. “Is Sylvia Bryce big?”

  Craig shook his head. “No. Five–three and thin. She couldn’t knock over a teenage boy.”

  John shrugged. “Far more likely to be a man anyway, from the violent method of killing. Emily’s profiled that if Ripley killed Britt Ackerman, then it was his accomplice in her murder that killed him.”

  Craig nodded. Morgan had disposed of Britt Ackerman with Paul Ripley, and then killed him a few days later. But even if Ripley found out Britt had a father how did he get up the nerve to kill her? He wasn’t their usual assassin. John answered the thought as if he’d heard it.

  “Because he was ordered to kill her by someone else, Marc. And he was scared of them, rightly as it turned out. Ripley wouldn’t have made the decision to kill Britt by himself. I don’t think it was Morgan either. Whoever was waiting for her to be delivered made it. Ripley and Morgan are part of the food chain but my bet is that they’re not at the top of it, no matter how wealthy they are.”

  He considered for a moment. “I think whoever ordered her death is a man so used to killing that it’s his default solution. Perhaps he’s military.” He looked at Craig cautiously. “Or even police.”

  Craig startled at the word ‘police’ and then nodded. He’d met good and bad men in the force, and the bad ones could be really evil. It would explain a lot. The lack of prosecutions over the years, the poor investigation of the missing girls, and the accessing of the case records involving Tommy Hill’s D.N.A. If someone high up in the force was involved it would answer a lot of questions.

  “Ripley and Morgan, ordered by someone senior?”

  “Yes. Morgan’s obviously capable of killing, judging by the attack on Sylvia Bryce. And it would make sense that he could access the D.N.A. at St Marys. But I still think he acts on orders.”

  “Who told him which D.N.A. to access?”

  “You already know the answer to that. That’s why you asked Liam to check the police intranet.”

  Craig stared at the ground grimly. “It could still be someone in the prison system.”

  John gave a hollow laugh. “Come off it, Marc. You know that won’t wash. That would only have given them McCrae’s D.N.A. Whoever did this knew to get Tommy Hill’s as well, so that means they looked at the case file, not just the individuals. I know you don’t want to believe it, and neither do I, but all the signs point to this being someone in the police.”

  He stared at Craig intensely. “We both know that no-one below Inspector could have accessed those records without clearance from higher up. And only someone close to the case would even have known to look. They’d have to be pretty senior to have the respect of men with wealth and status like Ripley and Morgan. This is someone in high up in the C.C.U. command structure”

  “Or the judiciary.”

  John smiled at his friend’s unwillingness to accept the inevitable. “They wouldn’t have the password to access the files.”

  They sat in tense silence until Des Marsham the Head of Forensic Science broke it by entering. He greeted them both cheerfully, completely missing the atmosphere, and waved a sheet of paper in the air, giving both of them their own copy.

  They read as he talked, running through the confirmation that Paul Ripley’s suicide was a mock-up. The gunshot residue on his hand confirmed the shot had been fired with his right hand. But the quantity was small, meaning that most of the G.S.R. was probably somewhere else, on a pair of latex gloves.

  Ripley’s blood was positive for Rohypnol and Ketamine, both delivered orally. There were no signs of a struggle, meaning that he’d most likely taken a drink with his killer. A drink laced with roofies and Ket.

  Craig nodded. It confirmed what they already knew and it would stand up in court.

  “Thanks Des, that’s great. It will make our case for us.”

  Des smiled broadly. His beard was so thick that it curled up as he smiled, completely hiding his lips. It looked as if he had hairy teeth.

  “That’s not all Marc. Don’t forget the other forensics from the house.”

  Craig fixed on him excitedly, knowing he wouldn’t have mentioned it if it wasn’t good news. “What did you find?”

  “A lot.” Des pulled a chair in from the hall, and sat down. Then he gazed pointedly at the coffee machine, until John remembered his manners and jumped up, drawing an Americano from its nozzle.

  “We have D.N.A. from several women and men in the house, indicating that it was well-frequented, despite the pristine décor. Just on the décor - the carpets in the bedroom Ripley died in had been replaced recently. Very recently, judging by the tackiness of the glue. I’d say less than a day before you found him.”

  Sometime between Britt Ackerman’s death and his.

  “But we managed to find blood and hair in the underlay anyway. They’d had a good go at cleaning up but there were minuscule traces that they’d missed. There was more blood in the drain of the upstairs shower.”

  Craig and John exchanged a glance, willing it to belong to Britt Ackerman.

  “I know what you’re thinking and yes, some of the blood in the drain belongs to Britt Ackerman. We’ve matched the blood in the underlay to her as well. Both of your victims died at 40 Marrion Park.”

  Craig’s voice was insistent. “You said there was D.N.A. from several women and men at the house?”

  Des nodded, waving his coffee cool with his page. “There was. Not all of it was from blood…” He paused for a second. “There’s blood D.N.A. from four other females in the drain. And we found other female D.N.A. in skin cells.”

  He sipped at his drink. “We found a few prints as well. We’re
running them through the database now.”

  “Can you get them over to Davy, Des? We have some other cases to match them to.”

  Des was about to ask but a look from John told him he’d explain later.

  “OK. The men’s D.N.A. was from skin cells and a few hairs, but mostly semen. There were a lot of people through that house.”

  Yes! Craig almost punched the air. “Can you check those for a match with Ripley?”

  The more hard evidence they had the better. He wondered if they had grounds yet for D.N.A. warrants on Bryce and Morgan. If they could prove that Sylvia Bryce had been in number 40, it would tighten her links with the men, not only to procuring but to knowing about the whole sordid mess next door.

  “Des, that’s brilliant. How soon can you isolate the D.N.As for me?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Great.”

  Just then Craig’s mobile rang, it was Liam back again. He excused himself to answer it outside, leaving Des and John to get excited over D.N.A.’s double Helix, in the way only true scientists could.

  “What have you got for me, Liam?”

  “You were right about St Marys, boss. Morgan accessed the bloods last Friday. I’ve got a warrant to lift him and McLean’s out there looking now.”

  “That’s great news, so what’s the doom and gloom voice for?”

  “It’s the intranet. You’re not going to like it.”

  Craig braced himself for Liam having hit a dead-end. “Go on.”

  But he was wrong. It was as far from a dead-end as it was possible to get. And it left Craig with the biggest headache he’d ever encountered in his career.

  He snapped the phone shut and stood in the hallway for a moment, thinking. When he re-entered the room Des and John were telling mad scientist jokes, completely missing the irony.

  “I need to go. Sorry.”