As she finished her sentence, there was a loud buzz and the front door unlocked. Callaghan walked in and Logue followed her into the well-lit hall. There was a round oak table placed in its centre and on the polished marble floor next to it were scattered flowers, broken pieces of ceramic and a large golden retriever with a guilty look on his face. Logue bent down and patted him on the head.
“Well, boy, you must be Juno, pleased to meet you, have you been causing mayhem?”
Juno wagged his tail in response.
Logue suddenly realised that he was standing alone in the hall and that Callaghan had already gone into a large living room to his left. A small grey-haired woman in her sixties walked up behind him, holding a broom and a dustpan, and extended her free hand to him. “Hi, my name is Lea Winerman.”
Logue shook her hand awkwardly and said, “How’s it goin’, I’m Detective Ray Logue from Ireland. I’m helping Olivia with a case.”
“Oh yes, I know. I have heard all about you. Why don’t you go into the living room and I will be there in a minute after I clean this mess up,” Lea replied.
“Yea, sure.”
Logue took a step forward and then turned back to ask, “Do you need any help?”
Lea looked up at him and smiled. “No, its fine, I can manage. Please go ahead.”
The large living room was sparsely but tastefully furnished. An ivory suite sat in the middle of the room with a glass topped table in the centre. The room was bright with daylight flooding in from a massive bay window. It was warm but not overly so. It felt just right, comfortable, a place where you could feel at ease and relaxed. For decades Lea had worked as a Jungian psychoanalyst. The living room was the place where she convinced hundreds of her patients to open up to her. It was important that she created a safe and relaxing environment for that purpose.
Lea had delved deep into the dark depths of some of her subjects’ minds. She developed a keen interest in ancient religions and what some would classify as the paranormal or the occult through her research. This was the reason why Sam Harper had first contacted her after reading one of her books, titled A Primeval Instinct, which was an analysis of the rationale behind murder. Since then she had helped Harper and his team out on various cases as a criminal profiler. She enjoyed the work.
Logue took a seat next to Callaghan on the couch. After a few minutes, Lea walked in with Juno trailing behind her. She sat down on the armchair opposite them and the dog lay down beside her feet.
“So, you had time to read through the copy of the case files I sent you last week?” Callaghan asked.
“Yes, I read them,” Lea responded calmly.
Callaghan took out a tape recorder from her bag and placed on the table.
“I hope you don’t mind,” the female detective said.
“That’s perfectly fine,” Lea responded.
“Could you decipher anything from the pattern of the killings?” Callaghan asked.
“Obviously you have already established that the killings occur twice a year and every ten years. The dates are always the third of June and the sixth of December. They happen only in the years ending with nine, 1979, 1989, 1999 and 2009,” Lea replied.
Callaghan shook her head and asked, “Why nine?”
“It is because nine is the killer’s number, it is very important to him. The first killing date adds up to nine, three plus six, as does the second one, six plus one plus two. The sixth of December is also in the Zodiac sign of Sagittarius which is the ninth sign. Multiples of nine always reproduce themselves. nine times nine is eighty-one, eight plus one equals nine. Three times nine is twenty-seven, two plus seven equals nine, five times nine is fifty-four, you get the picture. Don’t you?” Lea asked.
“Yeah… I think so,” Callaghan replied, her expression puzzled.
“Bear with me a little more. So, the number nine when multiplied together gives eighty-one. Add the two digits and what do you get?”
“Nine.”
“Exactly! It’s fascinating how the connection goes on and on. The number nine is very important to him.”
“You said very important to him, how do you know that the killer is a man?” Logue asked.
“Oh yes, most definitely, the killer is a man.”
“How can you be certain of that?” Callaghan asked.
Lea looked at both of them and smiled. “It’s because the number nine is a symbol that signifies a man.”
At that, Logue laughed, he couldn’t help himself. It all sounded so ludicrous to him. Callaghan glared at him and shuffled uncomfortably on the couch. Logue wanted to get the facts straight, so once again he asked Lea in a sceptical tone, “Look, I’m sorry, this all sounds a bit airy fairy to me. Let me get this straight, since the number nine is connected to all the murders, it justifies that the killer is a man?”
Hearing his tone, Lea once again smiled and sat back comfortably in her chair. In her career, she had dealt with this kind of scepticism many times. Lea’s job was to identify the anomaly in the situation and then make sense of it. Sometimes, it became hard for people to understand what she was trying to explain because while in her mind it made complete sense, others couldn’t even comprehend the situation. As a criminal profiler, she realized that she had to patient with detectives, things needed to follow a pattern to be explained. She couldn’t simply jump from point A to C, leaving the B to make sense itself to the listener. She knew that people needed time to comprehend and absorb her ideas.
Logue looked at Lea and noticed her smile. It was one of those condescending smiles that said, poor you, maybe you aren’t smart enough to understand this.
“Sorry about Detective Logue’s rudeness, Lea, please continue,” Callaghan said.
“Don’t worry. I was not insulted at all. I understand it can be difficult for some people to take all this sort of information onboard. Anyway, to further elaborate, the number nine represents patience and meditation. Psychologically, the number nine is known as the Grand Total and is referred to as eternity. The killer may be spiritual or religious, perhaps he thinks that he is doing God’s will. Nine is the number of heaven. Jesus died after nine hours on the cross and he appeared nine times to his disciples after his resurrection. After a Pope dies there are nine days of mourning. According to ancient scriptures it takes nine days and nights to reach heaven or hell. There were nine levels of Hell according to Dante. In superstitions, the cat has nine lives. There were for many decades only nine planets in our solar system. This number was considered sacred in the ancient Egyptian, Greek and Aztec civilisations. It represents totality and immortality. Nine represents the gestation period. It is the number of Brahma the creator in Hinduism. The unborn lies in the mother’s womb for nine months and the developing baby is shaped like a number nine.” Lea stopped, took a breath and paused for a moment. “Would you like me to go on?”
“Yes, absolutely, it’s fascinating,” Callaghan replied.
Logue stared at Lea. He was confused. He didn’t know whether to take her seriously or not. The same confusion was reflected in his eyes, he wasn’t sure how to use what the profiler was saying in the investigation. His gaze then diverted towards Callaghan and he observed that she was busy fiddling with her tape recorder. She was cursing to herself in whispers as she took out the mini cassette, shook it, put it back in again and then hit the record button. A smile crossed her face as she could see that it finally started to work. Lea started to talk again on cue.
“The ninth Tarot card is the Hermit, the loner. The killer is careful, he plans out what he is going to do to the last detail. The one thing common in most killers is the existential crisis. However, this man has already figured out his path. He runs it through in his thoughts. He is a perfectionist, and he finds the killings rewarding. This is one of the reasons why all the killings follow a pattern. Everything has to work in harmony, to a rhythm if you like. He might even record the killings, so he can reflect on them afterwards and relive his pleasure. He derives satisfa
ction from his clean and precise work and that is his reward.
“Can I ask you a question, Miss Callaghan?”
“Yes, sure, and it’s Olivia please.”
“Okay. What is your date of birth?”
“Fourth of March 1977.”
Lea picked up a pen and a notepad from the side table and began writing down on it and then lifted her head.
“Your birthdates add up to thirty-one. Three plus one is four. The number four signifies your life path number. Four is called the number of order and justice, very apt wouldn’t you say? You work for the greater good and you believe in the justice system, so it stands to reason that you would be a four.”
“So, what about me, what does my birthdate stand for… Charm, intelligence, good looks?” Logue said with a wide grin.
“Very well, what is your date of birth, Mr. Logue?” Lea asked.
“It’s the twentieth of January 1959.”
“Okay, here you are,” Lea said as she passed Logue her notebook that she had just written her calculations on.
The detective took a pair of glasses out of his jacket pocket wiped them on his shirt and looked down at the figures Lea had written. He noticed that she had added the numbers of his date of birth, twenty plus one plus one plus nine plus five plus nine equals forty-five, four plus five equals nine. The number nine was circled.
“You see, Detective Logue, you share the same life path number as the killer, interesting isn’t it,” Lea said with a contented smile, glad that she had rattled Logue.
“What the hell does that mean?” Logue said, clearly agitated.
“It means that maybe you too could be a killer… or a victim for a killer. Have you ever had to take a life in your line of work back in Ireland, Detective?” Lea asked.
“Yes, unfortunately I had to on a number of occasions as part of my duty,” Logue responded.
“How did that make you feel?” Lea asked.
“It depended how bad the bastard was I shot, and by the way, I thought we were here to profile the serial killer and not me,” Logue said, standing up.
“Relax, Ray, Lea is only trying to engage you… sit down,” Callaghan ordered. “I’m sorry Lea, is there anything else you could tell us?”
“Can we assume that he is psychotic?” Logue asked as he sat back down.
“Most definitely,” Lea replied.
“How could we track him?” Callaghan asked.
“He is an educated man, very well read. Highly intelligent, he could be very religious, thinking that he is doing God’s work. He is calm and quiet. Very reserved, probably a single man, he never married one would imagine, preferring his own space and privacy. He is a man of words, hence the poetry, his calling card, the line from the poem. He has killed seven times so far. Each time he leaves a line from a verse of A Paean starting with verse one. There are eleven verses, does that mean eleven murders or will he finish with murder number nine? The next kill is due in just over two weeks on December the sixth. He is also a man of numbers. The next murder will be number eight, of course you hopefully will stop him from completing that kill,” Lea answered.
“How about a priest who teaches math and English?” Logue said mockingly.
“Maybe,” Lea replied. “It might not be that ludicrous a suggestion.”
“Lea, you say that he thinks he is doing God’s work. Are we possibly looking at a person who thought he was doing the world good by getting rid of these people? But up until now, the people killed had no criminal records. They led ordinary lives, which made no sense because if the killer was targeting people who had done something bad in the past, these people didn’t deserve to be killed,” Callaghan stated.
“They might not have a criminal record, but in his eyes they have committed some act of sin or immorality. Study the victims’ backgrounds again,” Lea replied.
“Okay, we will, but is there any little thing that might allow us to find him, find the killer?” Callaghan asked.
“I believe he records his kills so that he can study and admire his work afterwards.”
“How… with a video camera, you mean?” Logue asked.
“Yes, possibly, or with a standard camera, or possibly he even sketches the murder scene or records the audio with a tape recorder like Olivia has,” Lea replied.
“So… we need to cross-check anybody in Boston who has bought a video camera, a digital camera, a tape recorder or a sketch pad over the last year or so… That should really narrow things down,” Logue said sarcastically.
Callaghan, ignoring Logue’s remark, pressed the stop button on the tape recorder and pocketed it. She extended her had to Lea and said, “Thanks, Lea. You have been a great help. I think now we have a solid lead and something will come up sooner or later that will help us connect the dots.”
The two detectives walked out into the large hallway towards the front door. Lea opened it as her dog stood behind her. As Logue followed Callaghan outside he turned and patted Juno on the head and then looked up at Lea.
“By the way, I think the reason Juno breaks so much of your expensive pottery is because he is frustrated, he wants a lady friend, he needs a good…”
Before Logue could finish his sentence, Lea had slammed the door shut. Logue laughed to himself as he walked down the steps, happy that his psychoanalysis of Juno had rattled and agitated the profiler.
Logue and Callaghan walked towards the car and got in. Callaghan looked stunned, she was lost in her thoughts. The case was getting more complicated by the second and all they had come up with up till now was a theory, a solid theory, but nothing that gave them proof.
“Hey, you okay?” Logue asked.
“Yeah, I am fine. That was just a lot to take in,” Callaghan replied.
“I know. Who would have thought the number nine could hold so much power? Look, I’m sorry if I was a bit insulting to Lea, but she was a bit too much for me. I couldn’t handle all that hocus pocus crap she was spouting,” Logue said.
Olivia acknowledged Logue’s words with a slight nod and continued to stare out through the windscreen. She drummed her fingers on the steering wheel and then turned towards Logue.
“I was thinking, after all that talk maybe we need something stronger. Let’s skip the coffee and go for a drink, what do you say?”
“I thought you would never ask.”
Callaghan started the car and backed it out of the parking space. “I know a great Irish pub near your hotel. We will have a few drinks and then I can drop you off.”
“Sounds good.”
Chapter 10: O’Malley’s Bar
Monday 23rd November 2009
George Street, Boston
5:00 PM
Callaghan parked the car in front of a bar with a green neon sign hanging above it which said O’Malley’s Authentic Irish Bar. Logue’s eyes were trained on the two men engaged in a heated conversation at the side of the building. Callaghan placed her hand on Logue’s shoulder and said, “Relax, those two are police officers. This bar is a go-to place for most of the local district police officers and some of the detectives. We often come here to blow off some steam. Plus, the bar is safe and heavily guarded with CCTV cameras.”
Logue relaxed and nodded. They both got out of the car and Logue trailed behind his partner into the bar. An old-fashioned bell chimed when Callaghan opened the door which caught the attention of a number of guys at the bar. They turned and smiled at the female detective. She was clearly a regular customer.
Heading straight towards two empty stools at the end of the bar, Logue followed her. After five minutes the bartender, who was occupied chatting to customers about a sport programme on the TV, finally came over to them. He swaggered towards Callaghan and gave her a fist bump.
“Yo, Olivia, good to see you. Haven’t seen you around for a week or so.”
“Yeah, was busy with this case and it’s been kicking my ass.”
She turned towards Logue and introduced him to the bartender. “This is R
ay Logue from Mayo in Ireland, my temporary partner on the case. Ray, this is Dale, the best bartender in this area. But he talks too much.”
“Oh, darling, now you are just messing with me.” Dale laughed.
Callaghan smiled and shook her head.
Dale nodded towards Logue and asked, “So, you’re from Mayo, my pop was from Mayo, from Castlebar. I was over there a few years back with him. He loved it there. I have tons of cousins over there. He passed away last year. What part of Mayo are you from, Ray?”
“I’m based in Port Ard, but I’m a Donegal man, from Letterkenny,” Logue replied.
“Cool. So, I’ll stop my yakking, what can I get you both?” Dale asked.
“You know what I want,” Callaghan said.
“I sure do honey,” Dale said with a wink.
“I will have a bottle of Heineken if you have it,” Logue interrupted.
“Yeah, we do stock them. Let me check in the back and see if we have a chilled bottle.”
Ray looked up and saw a clock hanging above the bar’s cabinet. It was ten past five, which meant he had plenty of time to enjoy a few drinks before he headed back to the hotel.
Dale disappeared, and Logue turned around on his stool to check out the bar. It was a small place, eight tables and four booths, all of which were occupied. Weird paintings hung on the wall, mostly abstract art. He wasn’t much of an art fan, but he was pretty sure these were picked from a local discount department store. All of them seemed to follow a pattern and they somehow matched the décor of the bar. The thunk of the bottle being put down on the bar drew his attention back to the counter.
“There you go, your Heineken. We have more in the back so just holler when you need another.” Dale smiled.
Dale then turned to Callaghan and placed a small round tray in front of her. Five shots sat on the tray with a blue colored liquid in the glass.
“There you go darling, your five shots of blue kamikaze,” Dale whispered.
Logue looked at Callaghan and raised his eyebrows.
Nine Lives Page 7
