“It seems likely that this man was somehow attracted or excited by the stories he’d heard of such killings,” Dr. Mansfield concluded. “I notice Abbott is quoted in the book as referring to the ‘ultimate highs’ of killing. Maybe our new boy wanted to experience those highs for himself. He may be acquainted with the victim, or he could be an opportunist with an eye to the main chance when he spotted a woman alone.”
“I agree, and I don’t think it was the best of experiences for him,” Stimms interjected. “Although sexual gratification is not the primary drive behind this kind of killing, the perpetrator tends to get sexual satisfaction from the power he wields over life and death. Also, in this case there was no orderly arrangement. Poor Ms. Collins was left with most of her clothes, as though the killer was appalled at what he had done, and was attempting to put as much distance between himself and the victim as possible. No evidence of sexual release was left near the site, but I’d bet there was a sexual component. He did get a high from the killing before the enormity of what he had done set in, probably as the poor woman breathed her last.”
Ellie looked around the table, seeing in Reilly’s face, and in the faces of the others, a dark anger that such a thing should have happened.
“One last thing,” Dr. Stimms said.” I think this man will have covered himself well. He probably has a girlfriend whom he treats like a princess. I don’t think he has a wife, because almost certainly he has some sexual dysfunction that he needs to hide. He may well think there is a perfect woman who is right just for him, who can somehow make these urges go away. However, he may be panicking since he crossed the line into killing. Those around him may notice uncharacteristic mood swings and rages. Otherwise he may be even more attentive than usual, remembering anniversaries, bringing small gifts, that sort of thing. He may also be pressing for a greater commitment in the relationship. He knows if he doesn’t find a cure for his particular longings, he will kill again. Unfortunately, there is no cure - and next time it may not be a stranger he picks up casually. Any woman involved with this man is in danger.”
The room remained silent as Reilly escorted the two experts out. Ellie knew the use of psychologists to profile criminals was not widely accepted amongst some police officers, and it was a measure of the gravity and urgency which the top brass were according this new killing that they had agreed to Reilly’s request to call the psychologist in to speak to the team.
Reilly returned and took his seat. “So, there you have it. It would appear to be the experts’ conclusion that our man is new to the murder game, but not new to hiding his psychopathic tendencies. I’d say this step up in his activities makes him a dangerous man, one likely to kill again.”
Jane Corby added, “Also, our man might have a special woman in his life, someone he either idolizes from afar, or has not yet consummated the relationship with. This woman may be in very real danger now that he’s broken the taboo of killing.” Jane looked directly at Ellie as she spoke, and Ellie couldn’t hold her gaze.
“Does anyone else have anything to add before we continue with the evidence review?” Reilly asked.
“What made this man want to kill? After he’s obviously held himself back for so long? Surely it’s more than just sexual frustration?” a young constable asked, blushing.
“Don’t underestimate the force of sexual frustration,” Reilly quipped, lightening the mood in the room for a moment. “I asked the same question. Dr. Stimms said it is possible that our man has reached some crisis in his life, some point where he needs to make changes. Perhaps he’s dealing with something beyond his control, and this lack of control has forced him over the edge,” Reilly said.
“Maybe the poor beggar wants a divorce,” an older officer said.
“We don’t want to know about your troubles,” Jane Corby said, as a ripple of laughter spread through the room.
Or maybe he wants to get married. Ellie shivered, and Reilly’s sharp eyes caught the movement. She ignored the speculative look in his eyes, and asked a question that had been bothering her. “What would prompt him to copy the Slasher? Surely we must be looking at someone who has had some contact, played some role, or a link, in the Slasher case?”
“What? Like a police officer?” Jane asked, her voice hard.
“Inspector Fitzpatrick has a point there,” said Reilly. “There is a lot about this killing that echoes the Slasher’s work. For instance, the man knew the details about the scalpel—that information was never released to the Press.”
“So that rules out journalists as a killer—pity, I had one all in the frame,” Jane said with a malicious smile. Station gossip said she’d just broken an entanglement with a journalist on a major newspaper.
“Still bitter, are we, Jane?” Peterson interposed with a grin.
“Get lost, Colin. Maybe it was a cop - I can think of a few who’re sexually frustrated!”
“Okay, okay, that’s enough. You can discuss your personal problems over your tea break,” Reilly cut in lazily. “We need to check out everyone who has been in contact with Abbott—and that should include police officers, prison guards, welfare visitors, prison volunteer visitors, psychiatric and nursing staff.”
There was a low groan as officers calculated the hours of painstaking interviews ahead. As the meeting dispersed, Ellie sat in numbed silence, checking off a grim list in her mind. The killer was someone who’d had close contact with Abbott. Someone who knew things that only the law authorities should have known. Someone who wanted to make big changes to his life. Someone who had a special woman in his life, a woman he did not sleep with but treated like a princess, bringing her unexpected gifts. Someone with mood swings. Someone who had known about the antique scalpel. Brad Anderson fitted on all these criteria. Yet, Abbott had denied giving away the secrets of his artistry. But who could believe a madman?
****
The Reilly who ordered her to his office was a different man to the Reilly who’d called her name in heated passion as the dawn had cast its first rosy light over the Yorkshire cliffs. He was distant, aloof; she was simply a work colleague who had not lived up to expectations. She fisted her hands and tried to control the wayward emotions that surged through her. She might have proven her innocence of the corruption charges but there was still a murderer out there, and she wasn’t going to rest until he was caught. And Superintendent Reilly wasn’t going to shut her out of that investigation.
As soon as the door closed Reilly turned his questioning gaze on Ellie. He didn’t even bother to take his seat behind the tidy desk before he demanded, “Okay, Ellie, what’s on your mind? What do you know? I saw your hands shake as your poured water, and you went white as a sheet during the psychologists’ talk.”
“It’s not what I know, exactly.” She knew she had to tell him, but she felt like a total jerk, maligning the man who had been so kind to her—when she was probably way off base. At that moment Jane Corby slipped into the room, paused as she saw Reilly and Ellie, then continued to her desk as her chief waved her in.
“For God’s sake, Ellie—even if you’re wrong, if there’s something we should investigate, then you owe it to the next potential victim to tell me now.” Reilly’s voice was soft.
“I know you’ve got Brad well up on the list of suspects, and this is just going to confirm your thoughts. But you’re wrong!”
Reilly sighed, pushing down his anger at her defense of Brad. “Just tell us.”
“Brad knew about the scalpel, that it was an antique. I’ve already told you that. I thought he learned that from Abbott, but Abbott says no. He says all great artists keep some trade secrets to prevent lesser people from copying their work.”
“The sick bastard,” Jane muttered.
“But Brad’s smart enough to have made an educated guess, knowing that Abbott’s father was a surgeon who collected antique implements. Anyway, Brad doesn’t fit Dr. Stimms’ list of psychopathic behavior—he’s hardly anti-social or constantly in conflict with authori
ty.”
“But something is bothering you,” Reilly pressed.
Ellie sighed. Brad’s recent behavior did bother her, especially after listening to Dr. Stimms. “There’s obviously something on his mind. He’s always been kind, yet recently he’s been on a very short fuse. Normally, he’s very laid back, easy-going, yet since he’s asked me to marry him, he’s really been pressing for an answer. As Dr. Stimms said, he wants to make changes in his life. He seems…desperate. But I don’t believe he’s a killer.” Ellie returned Reilly’s look.
“We know he has information he shouldn’t have about the Slasher cases, and with what you’ve just said, it does put him well in the frame for a copycat killing.” Reilly left the words hanging. Then he continued, “But none of it is enough to stand as evidence.”
“Don’t shut me out of this case, Reilly—I know Brad is innocent.”
“And how do you know that?” Reilly’s question was mild, but his face was dark.
“He’s a man of the world, he travels a lot, and I don’t think he’s short of women admirers.”
“Ah, yes, but can he perform with them?” Jane asked.
Reilly gave her a black look but did not intervene.
“I wouldn’t know,” Ellie said softly.
“Don’t tell me you’re not sleeping with him?” Jane scoffed. “The best way you could help him is to bring us some DNA material for a forensics comparison with the stuff found at the scene.”
Ellie looked at the other woman coldly. “I’ll get some proof—though not the kind you’re suggesting,” she declared, slamming from the room.
“Jesus, Jane…” Reilly rounded on his inferior officer after the door closed behind Ellie. But his sergeant didn’t flinch.
“It may be that Fitzpatrick is the only person who could get close enough to Brad Anderson to get a sample for matching with DNA from the scene,” she said firmly, “You want to try for a court order? Or walk in there and say Mr. Anderson, we think you’re a killer, please may we have a blood sample?’”
“She says she’s never slept with the man,” Reilly retorted, knowing he had to tread carefully through this particular minefield.
“Which fits him even more firmly into the profile,” Jane snapped back. “What Ellie Fitzpatrick doesn’t seem to understand is that if Dr. Stimms is correct, she could be his next victim!”
“I’ve not overlooked that,” Reilly said quietly. He forced himself to sit at his desk and focus on the job at hand while his gut roiled with fear for Ellie. “Jane, from now on, I want Ellie kept out of situations where she’s alone with Brad Anderson, at least until we clear him.”
“And how do we handle that, sir? Operation Gooseberry?” Jane’s sarcasm brought no response. “She may be the only one close enough to find the evidence that will prove him guilty - or clear him!”
“We can’t take that risk,” Reilly flashed back.
“Well, I don’t think she’s asking your permission,” Jane held her ground even though she knew her superior officer was furious. “Ellie Fitzpatrick is a police officer, and she’s already shown she can cut it when the odds are high, like last night.”
“But last night she wasn’t emotionally blinded to the men who were threatening her,” Reilly said, anger rippling over his tired features.
“Sir,” Jane Corby said, standing, “I’ll go and get us some coffee—we’ve got a lot of evidence to review as the reports come in. Looks like an all-nighter. And you ought to leave her to it—Ellie Fitzpatrick is in the best position to nail Anderson, if he’s guilty.”
“And what if he nails her first?” Reilly demanded.
“She’s a strong woman. If she were anybody else, wouldn’t you agree this was the only way?”
Sinking back into his seat, Reilly nodded. Jane was right.
“You owe it to Fitzpatrick to let her do this, without letting your own feelings get in the way - Sir.”
Reilly shot a look at his sergeant, rubbing at the bridge of his nose then swiping the hair back from his forehead. “Is it that obvious?” he asked at last.
“Oh, yes, sir—it’s that obvious. I think probably the only person who doesn’t see it is Ellie Fitzpatrick—besides yourself, of course.” Aware she’d stepped way over the line, Jane hurried from the room in search of coffee to keep them going through the long hours ahead.
Resort to Murder
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Ellie’s mind raced as she left the station. Reilly was convinced that Brad was a killer—but was he blinded by his feelings about Brad’s relationship with her? In all her past work with Reilly she could not remember him being anything but scrupulously impartial. So was it Ellie who’d been blind, all these months, not seeing a side of Brad that should have been obvious? Dammit—she had a psychology degree and years of experience as a police officer—she’d have seen if the man that close to her was insane.
And what of Jack Goodfellow? Surely it had to be more than coincidence that the fiancé of a murder victim should return barely 24 hours before a copycat killing took place?
And why, Ellie asked herself, swinging out into the busy afternoon traffic, was Roberta Collins murdered and left so close to Ellie’s home? Was it just the proximity of FunLand, the widely advertised new resort, that made this murder fit with the copycat’s idea of the Sunshine Slasher slayings? Or was there a deeper meaning?
Now she had to face the thought that had been in the back of her mind since she’d found Collins’ body on the beach. She almost rammed the car in front of her when she missed the traffic light change. The driver gave her a furious blast of his horn and waved his fingers in a rude sign, but she ignored him.
All this time they’d been searching for a link to bring the whole Collins murder into focus. The timing of the killing could be easily explained by the newspaper and TV articles focusing on the new book—Brad’s new book—about the Slasher.
The question was: Why here, in the wilds of Yorkshire? Although Abbott had been arrested in Leeds, he’d lived a transient’s life and his killings had occurred all over the country. The opening of the new resort was one answer, but it didn’t seem enough. Resorts were opening everywhere as the tourism season started. There had to be a stronger link.
And that link was Ellie herself.
She pulled onto the forecourt of a petrol station, parking carefully. Tension clenched her stomach as she worried this idea from all angles. The more she worried it, the more she believed it to be true. She was the link that brought the facts of this case into focus. Roberta Collins was murdered at the new FunLand Resort by someone copying the Sunshine Slasher because Detective Inspector Ellie Fitzpatrick, who had led the earlier murder investigation, lived nearby.
A cold certainty that she was right lodged in Ellie’s stomach, sending shivers dancing over her skin despite the sun streaming through the car windows. But there was still something missing. The killer had to be connected to the events of the Slasher killings two years ago. Jack Goodfellow might fit that description—but what was his connection to Ellie? She had not been involved in interviewing him because he’d been eliminated quickly from suspicion. Goodfellow hadn’t even appeared in court—the shock of his fiancée’s murder had made him ill and the prosecution had simply read his brief statement in court.
Then there was Brad Scott—Bradley Scott Anderson—but Ellie hadn’t met him until she’d been placed on suspension and moved out to the family holiday home. He couldn’t have known who she was when he moved in next door—or could he? It seemed to be stretching credulity to suggest Brad bought his cottage simply to be near a woman he’d never met before.
Turning the ignition key, Ellie coasted toward the petrol pumps and asked the young attendant to fill her tank. As he worked, her eye was caught by a profusion of cut flowers on a display stand near the door of the small shop attached to the station.
****
Back in his office, Reilly was also looking for links. He was convinced Ellie was the hub of this case
. But what was the link between the original Slasher case, with Ellie as head of the investigating team, and the current case? Flicking through old newspaper clippings in the files, he finally found it.
A couple of paragraphs as a sidebar to the main trial story in a tabloid newspaper told readers that B.S. Anderson, who had written biographies of several U.S. serial killers, had switched his attention back across the Atlantic to focus on one of his native country’s home-grown serial killers, Hector Abbott. “Was there another book in the offing?” the headline asked.
Turning to the top of the page, shock pushed the air from his lungs. Hearing his low gasp, Jane came to read over his shoulder, and swore as she saw the accompanying photograph. “My God, Ellie and Anderson—at the Sunshine Slasher trial!”
“There it is! That’s the link—Anderson knew Ellie two years ago.” Reilly’s forefinger tapped the grainy photograph. Ellie and the prosecuting barrister had been caught by a press photographer as they left the courthouse after the trial. In the random crowd that surrounded them was Brad Scott Anderson.
“Looks like he wanted to get to know her better,” said Jane, her voice low. “See the way he’s standing so close, crowding her, and the look on his face?” Reilly spat a curse. Jane was right. Although there were other people in the throng of police officers and members of the public and press photographed leaving the court building, Bradley Scott Anderson was looking at the pretty blonde inspector as if she were the only person in the world.
Reilly was reaching for his phone when Colin Peterson poked his head around the door. “Thought you’d want to hear this right away, sir. They’ve just rushed Jack Goodfellow to hospital. He was found half dead from carbon monoxide poisoning in his car. Seems he’d rigged the exhaust. And the officer on the scene says there’s a note confessing to the Roberta Collins killing.”
Resort to Murder Page 18
