THE MURDERER'S SON a gripping crime thriller full of twists Page 16

  ‘And our dead nurse, Julia Hope? The same knife was used. As yet we have found no connection between her and the Fleets, so why kill her?’

  Charlie shrugged. ‘Yeah, well, I haven’t got that far.’

  Jackman leaned back and stretched. ‘We know very little so far about Julia Hope. We don’t even know where she was killed, let alone why.’

  ‘I’ve asked uniform to check the hospital CCTV from the last time she worked. They are going to try to build up a picture of her movements from when she was last seen, to when we know she died,’ said Marie. ‘Plus they are speaking to all her work colleagues and friends to try to find the last person to have contact with her.’

  Preston looked thoughtful. ‘Could the hospital be the common denominator between the two victims? Provided of course that there is a common denominator?’

  Max joined in. ‘Well, Julia was a nurse, and Alison was taking big doses of prescription meds. Is there any chance that there was some kind of illegal drug dealing going on at the hospital?’

  Jackman grunted. ‘I can’t say that had occurred to me.’

  ‘It’s possible.’ Marie looked at Jackman. ‘Worth a few discreet enquiries, guv?’

  He nodded slowly. ‘I’d say so, but only very discreet ones. If the staff are prepared to give one of our constables a dose of laxatives simply because he was doing his duty, then God help anyone who accuses them of drug dealing!’ He paused, and then said, ‘And we are still left with trying to discover whether Daniel Kinder is a murderer’s son with a hereditary penchant for killing.’

  ‘Or a pillock with soup for brains,’ finished off Max.

  ‘Nicely put, Max. Although I think his problems go considerably deeper than your, er, assessment.’ Guy Preston gave the young detective a patient smile.

  ‘Sorry, Prof. But that’s what it boils down to, isn’t it? Either he’s a dangerous killer, or barking enough to muck up a serious murder investigation.’

  ‘Well if you put it like that, I have to agree.’ After a few moments’ silence, Preston pulled a laptop from its leather case. ‘By the way, I’ve scanned a lot of my early research on Françoise Thayer. Maybe one of you guys could print off copies for everyone? They are saved in a folder under her name.’

  ‘No problem.’ Charlie took the laptop and headed for the door. ‘Back in five.’

  ‘And I’ve been getting into the stuff that Orac accessed. You were right, boss. It makes grim reading.’ Marie pulled a face. ‘I tried to concentrate on her personal life, especially anything about her conceiving a child.’

  ‘It was a boy, and he was taken into care, right?’ added Preston.

  ‘Right. For his own safety, he was given a new identity and scrupulously monitored both physically and mentally throughout his early school years. Now, at this stage in the game, unless Orac can work some more magic, he’s untraceable.’ Marie gave a little shrug. ‘We have no date of birth because she never registered him. The child’s age matches Daniel Kinder’s, but then it probably matches a lot of others too.’

  ‘I don’t know if your research mentions it, but the boy was very badly treated,’ added Preston. ‘Physical abuse, mental torture, and probably a lot more. When he was finally got away from her, he was a mess.’

  ‘Was there ever a name for him?’ asked Jackman.

  ‘No. He was referred to as Boy Six throughout all the reports.’

  ‘Why six?’ Max looked puzzled.

  ‘I never found out, although it was suggested that he went into care on the sixth of the month. It was probably something as mundane as that.’

  Marie thumbed through Orac’s folder. ‘It says the same here, and adds that Boy Six was so severely traumatised that it was considered improbable that he would ever be able to recall the things that happened to him in his early life.’

  ‘Oh shit,’ murmured Max. ‘Just like Dan the Man.’

  Before anyone could answer him, Charlie Button pushed the door open and passed around copies of Guy Preston’s research notes on Françoise Thayer.

  Marie was still looking at Orac’s file. She looked at Jackman and said, ‘What’s quite chilling is the fact that Thayer may have killed up to seven other people. The French police still have open cases that are attributed to her, but remain unproven. And all of them were vicious, brutal attacks involving weapons with sharp blades. It seems that she had a thing about knives, razors, axes, anything that could inflict the maximum amount of damage to her victim.’

  ‘And cause the maximum amount of blood loss,’ Preston added. ‘You’ll see from my notes that I was certain that she suffered from something called hematomania, which is a morbid fascination with blood.’

  Charlie’s eyes widened. ‘What? Like Dracula?’

  Preston let out a short laugh. ‘You’re closer than you think, Charlie-boy. People suffering from this disorder are your real-life vampires, only not all of them actually drink it.’

  Jackman nodded. ‘I’ve heard of it. Isn’t it similar to hematolagnia?’

  Now Preston widened his eyes. ‘Forgive me for saying so, but not too many DIs are familiar with a psychological term like that one.’

  Jackman shrugged and went on. ‘A blood fetish is a term used to describe the belief within a society or culture that blood as a material substance possesses powerful or magical properties. As I recall, translated, it means “bloodlust” and it’s generally a sexual thing, involving sadomasochistic play and blood-sports.’

  ‘You’re correct. Even in its sexual form, it’s very dangerous, not just because of the permanent injury and scarring that it causes, but because of illnesses transmitted though the blood.’

  ‘This is gross.’ Max sounded sickened.

  ‘Believe me,’ said Preston grimly, ‘It was a very good thing that the media played down Françoise Thayer’s case. If the public had known what she really got up to, they would have all hidden at home behind locked doors until she was captured. Things would have come to a standstill.’

  ‘Orac’s documents say that the Home Office pathologist believed that she had a very specific method of killing. She would first cut her victims so that they bled profusely, but were not initially in mortal danger. She then proceeded to inflict deeper lacerations, all producing copious quantities of blood, until she finally either finished them off, or watched as they bled to death.’ Marie swallowed. ‘As you say, “Blonde Butcher” was something of an understatement.’ She read on. ‘“And the pooling blood was disturbed.”’ She looked at Preston. ‘What the hell does that mean?’

  ‘She placed her hands, palms down into the warm blood, and slowly moved them in a circular motion. It was something she took delight in demonstrating, miming of course, to anyone who was sick enough to engage with her.’ Preston puffed out his cheeks, ‘She didn’t drink, or bathe in it. For Thayer, it was that first touch, the feel of freshly let lifeblood on her hands. I think it was her sole means of gratification.’

  ‘Sick bitch,’ growled Max.

  ‘Ditto,’ agreed Charlie.

  ‘Well, edifying as all this is, it still doesn’t get us any closer to knowing about Daniel’s parentage, does it?’ sighed Marie.

  ‘No, but I have an idea.’ Jackman scratched his head thoughtfully. ‘As Orac has been kind enough to make contact with the detective who headed up the original enquiry, it wouldn’t hurt to go have a word with him. I may be greatly mistaken, but there’s an outside chance he’s kept something, some small item that never made it into an evidence bag.’

  ‘A memento?’ Charlie looked sceptical. ‘Why?’

  ‘It often happens. It’s usually when a case is never solved and the detective finds that he can’t let go.’

  ‘Keepsakes, mementos, trophies, souvenirs, tokens. They are all very powerful, as you know, DI Jackman, if you’ve studied sociology.’ Preston looked at him with undisguised new interest.

  Charlie sniffed. ‘Well, I knew serial killers liked trophies, but I’d never thought of a copper collecting stuf
f from dead people.’

  ‘It’s not stuff from dead people, Charlie,’ said Jackman tolerantly. ‘It’s just something from a case that they can’t ever forget, a case that probably stole months, maybe years of their lives. It could have been the final straw, the case that wrecked their marriage or sent them screaming to the bottle. It’s deeply personal, Charlie. It was their case.’

  ‘I’ll go,’ said Marie. ‘I’ll give him a bell, and if he can see me, I’ll leave straightaway. If I go on the bike, I can be back by the afternoon meeting, hopefully with some answers.’ She looked at Jackman. ‘And I know what you’re looking for, guv. Don’t worry.’

  Jackman smiled and nodded. ‘No speeding, now.’

  Marie threw him a look that said, ‘Yeah, right,’ placed the paperwork on his desk and left the room. Jackman noticed the looks on the faces of the three others. He was thinking of DNA.

  If the old detective had taken something, it could have belonged to the killer herself, and there was an outside chance that with their new technology, forensics could retrieve something. It was a long shot, but even with Orac and her superhuman skills, it could take weeks to track down those missing evidence boxes, only to find that they had been reduced to a small pile of ashes in a burnt-out building. It was certainly worth a try to get the mystery of Daniel Kinder off his back.

  ‘So she’s still riding motorbikes, is she?’

  Preston’s voice brought Jackman back to earth.

  ‘Oh yes, like the wind,’ said Max. He gave an exaggerated shiver. ‘You wouldn’t get me on one of those things for all the tea in China.’

  Jackman listened to the three men talking about the dangers of motorbike riding, and he felt a sudden irritation. Actually, the irritation was all for Preston and his casual comment about Marie. Its implication was that they were bosom buddies. And for some reason, Jackman didn’t like that.

  He scratched his head and wondered why it should bother him. After all, he and Marie were not an item, and he certainly did not harbour thoughts in that direction, but they did have a relationship. He was unable to describe it, but it was a powerful connection, and he knew that if he asked her, Marie would say she felt it too. They were partners, and he knew that he would lay down his life for her if it ever became necessary. It was a bond built on mutual respect, and he admired her deeply. It was something he had never come across before in a working CID team. From the things that Marie had told him about her previous senior officers, he was pretty sure that she had never experienced it before either. He decided that it gave him a certain right to express his opinion when it came to people who impinged on her life. And Preston’s comment about her riding a bike had sounded almost disparaging, as if Preston was entitled to say what was best for her.

  ‘Tell the professor about what sarge did after her husband died.’ Charlie was looking at Max, an awed expression on his boyish face.

  Jackman tensed. He thought about pulling the plug on the conversation, but it really wasn’t down to him. What Marie had done was something that he believed to be deeply personal, and that had taken great courage.

  ‘Did you know Bill Evans raced a vintage motorbike, Prof?’ Max asked.

  Guy Preston shook his head. ‘I knew they went to race meetings, but I didn’t know he competed.’

  ‘Bill was a top motorcycle cop and a vintage bike racer in his spare time until ten years ago, when he crashed and burned.’

  Jackman winced. Bad choice of words, Max, he thought.

  Max pulled a face. ‘The sarge told us he was on an old Vincent Black Shadow, his pride and joy. The track was greasy and he took a rear wheel blow-out. He was killed outright.’

  Preston blenched. ‘Was Marie there? Did she see it happen?’

  Jackman took up the story, anxious to end it.

  ‘It happened right in front of her. But what Charlie was talking about was what Marie did afterwards.’ Jackman took a deep breath. He was still moved by what she had done. ‘She retrieved his shattered bike and rebuilt it. Then, on the first anniversary of his death, she took it to the same track, and raced it in his name. She didn’t win, but that wasn’t the idea. She completed the course and took third place on the podium, which was more than she had hoped for, but she went home content. She had given him closure in the best way she could.’

  The bike, as far as Jackman knew, was still in her garage, now wrapped up and protected from all harm. Marie now rode a Kawasaki Ninja ZX-6R that was probably already on the road and heading towards Rutland.

  ‘But we digress. We still have two dead women, and we are a long way from giving either of them closure.’

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Skye watched Daniel as he sat on the floor cradling the cat. His shoulders were hunched and his knees were drawn up to his chest. Skye felt her world begin to disintegrate.

  Daniel needed help, and if he didn’t get it soon, he’d finish up being sectioned. How could he have gone from being an intelligent young man with a brilliant future to . . . this? He had become an unreachable and tragic stranger. She could only guess that his long-time obsession with a sick killer had been somehow exacerbated by the death of Alison Fleet, and it was too much for his mind to cope with.

  But what should she do? It was all very well to say that they’d work with the police shrink — and she was mightily relieved that Daniel had gone along with that suggestion — but it would be an hour a day, if they were lucky. Then, when the novelty had worn off, it would be an hour a week, then once a month.

  She sank down onto the floor next to him and hugged him. They must have stayed that way, without speaking, for a very long time, because when the doorbell rang and she moved to get up, her arms and legs were stiff.

  Daniel seemed not to have heard the bell. Indeed he hardly seemed to notice that her warm embrace had slipped away. Skye felt a pang of fear as she went to answer the door. What would it be this time? Whose sombre face would she find on her doorstep? What awful news would she hear? Skye wondered if she could take much more.

  ‘I’m so sorry to intrude.’ Lisa Hurley looked eaten up with concern. ‘But you left your phone at my place when you hurried off earlier.’

  Skye stared at the dark red mobile phone in the outstretched hand, and almost laughed out loud. The person at the door was just a friend with a bit of lost property. She smiled, but felt tears escaping from the corners of her eyes. ‘Thank you so much. I didn’t even know I’d left it.’

  Lisa Hurley looked on the verge of tears herself. ‘Skye, you need some help. You can’t deal with all this alone. You’re making yourself ill.’

  Skye bit back the tears, drew in a shaky breath, then beckoned Lisa inside.

  They walked slowly down the hall and halted in the doorway to the lounge. Skye pointed to the still form sitting on the floor, like a stone Buddha. ‘Look at him. Look at my Daniel, Lisa. I love him, but I just don’t know what to do anymore. I don’t know how to help him.’

  Lisa Hurley stared at Daniel, then turned away and went to Skye’s kitchen. Without a word she filled the kettle and turned it on, then took three mugs from the dresser. ‘How long has he been like that?’

  Skye, grateful to be doing something mundane, opened a new jar of coffee. ‘An hour? When I got back he was edgy, nervy. He kept pacing up and down and fretting that he’d had another of those episodes where he doesn’t know where he’s been. Then he just sank down onto the floor and withdrew.’

  ‘He needs medication. Some serious medication by the look of it, and he shouldn’t be on his own.’ Lisa narrowed her eyes. ‘Who has he been referred to?’

  ‘Professor Guy Preston. He’s a psychologist working with the police. We are supposed to be seeing him this afternoon.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘At his home.’

  ‘That’s not right, surely?’ Lisa frowned. ‘He should be seeing Daniel in a clinic.’

  Skye sighed and placed a spoonful of coffee in each mug. ‘He’s seeing us privately. It’s a conditi
on of Daniel being released. And as far as I can make out, this Guy Preston is going to be taking over the new psychiatric unit out at Frampton Shore, but it’s not finished yet, that’s why he’s offered to see us at his place. He’s a top man by all accounts.’

  ‘You’ve spoken to him?’

  ‘Yes. I liked him, he was really supportive,’ Skye swallowed. ‘I trust him. I really believe that he can help Daniel.’ She pushed the mugs closer to the boiling kettle. ‘But most of all, he’s on our side. He doesn’t think that Daniel killed anyone, and he’s told the police so.’

  Lisa leaned back against the workbench. ‘That’s great, but he really needs to see him when he’s like this.’ She looked straight at Skye. ‘I hate to say this, but he’s in a bad way, and at this stage he needs more than just your love and support. He needs professional medical help.’

  ‘Then I’ll explain just how bad things are to Guy Preston when we see him this afternoon. Maybe he’ll have Daniel admitted to hospital.’

  ‘It would be the best thing. But right now, we need to try to talk to Dan.’ Lisa poured water, milk and sugar into the mugs. ‘He will have to be a damn sight more responsive if he’s going to have a productive session with a psychologist.’

  Skye led the way back to the lounge, then abruptly stopped. The cat wound itself around her legs.

  ‘Daniel?’ Slopping coffee, she put the mug down on the table and ran to check the bedroom and bathroom. ‘He’s gone!’ she called to Lisa.

  Lisa raced to the open back door and looked outside. ‘He’s out here!’ she shouted back.

  Skye ran to Lisa’s side and saw Daniel half walking, half running down the back alleyway.

  ‘Daniel! Come back!’

  Together they ran after him, and for a moment, Skye thought he would come back to her. He paused, turned and looked at her with the saddest expression. Then he said, ‘Don’t come near me, Skye! Get away from me!’ And then he ran.

  They chased after him, but when he vaulted a fence and disappeared into the maze of old railway buildings, Skye knew they wouldn’t catch him. She felt Lisa’s hand on her shoulder as they both gasped for breath.