Like This, for Ever

44




AT THE FRONT of the incident room, a large white screen had been hooked up to the internet. Four detectives sat watching the Missing Boys page update itself every few seconds. They’d already tried, and failed, to track Peter Sweep via the usual route – email address and internet service provider. This evening, Facebook had told them, Peter was posting using a smart phone. They’d been happy to supply the number, but all BT had been able to tell them was that it was being used within half a mile of a base station not far from Lambeth. The effort and thought Sweep had put into concealing his identity and whereabouts had done more than anything to convince most members of the team that he and the killer were one and the same. Most, not all.

‘Dana, I just don’t think it’s him,’ said Richmond.

Dana watched Anderson stop pacing the room and turn on the spot to face the profiler. ‘What the hell do you mean?’ he demanded. ‘He’s got a picture of the kid. Scroll it back, Gayle. Let’s all have another look at the poor little bastard, shall we?’

Richmond sighed and ran her hands through her hair. ‘I know that and I know what I’m saying will sound like it’s making no sense, but everything is telling me that this is not your man.’

The room was empty but for the four of them: Dana, Anderson, Richmond and Mizon. The rest of the team were out looking for Oliver Kennedy. Anderson had made no secret of his desire to join them out in the field.

‘Go on,’ said Dana.

‘Boss, with respect, I think I can be more use out on the streets. At least I can knock on doors, ask questions. Sitting here is doing my head in.’ Anderson had walked to the door now, practically had hold of the handle.

‘I know that, but I need you here, Neil. Somebody has to do the thinking.’

‘Not my forte, Boss. If it’s all the same to you, I’ll leave that to the women.’

‘Sit down, please, Sergeant Anderson, Susan has something she wants to tell us.’

Anderson, red-faced and hard-eyed, sank clumsily into the nearest seat and glared at Richmond.

‘I won’t say our killer is the most controlled I’ve ever come across because that would mean relatively little,’ said Susan. ‘The chance to work with serial killers doesn’t come along very often.’

‘Well, excuse us for not providing job satisfaction,’ began Anderson.

‘Stop it!’ snapped Dana. ‘I’m sorry, Neil, but we’re all on edge here. Just try and hold it together, will you?’

Anderson gave a heavy sigh and shook his head.

‘But those of us who do this line of work keep 100 per cent up to date with what’s going on elsewhere,’ Richmond continued. ‘Every time a new serial killer raises his head, whether it’s here or overseas, most commonly the US, we hoover up every bit of information we can find. Every big case has reams written about it and we read everything.’

‘OK, we get you’re well informed, what’s the point?’

‘The point, Sergeant, is that this is one of the most controlled killers anyone has come across. Highly intelligent, exceptionally organized, no hint of anger of any sort. He made one mistake, right at the start, when he didn’t leave Tyler’s body where you’d be bound to find it, but since then, nothing. He plans what he’s going to do, he stalks his victims for days, maybe for weeks, gets his snatch absolutely right. There is nothing sexual or angry about what he does to them. He keeps his cool throughout, then he leaves them for us to find. He is ice man, or woman.’

Dana found herself, once again, thinking about Lacey Flint. Ten minutes ago, from the privacy of her office, she’d asked local uniform to check whether Lacey was in her flat.

‘But suddenly, tonight, that’s all changed. Suddenly he’s like a kid who’s had too many blue Smarties. He boasts in advance about what he’s going to do, he names his victim within minutes of having got him, now he’s giving us a blow-by-blow account of what he’s supposedly doing to the poor kid. There’s a malicious, impish glee about it all and it’s completely out of character.’

‘Another one,’ said Mizon from her desk. ‘This is starting to turn my stomach.’

‘What is it this time?’ asked Anderson. ‘More blood-lust bollocks?’

Mizon nodded. ‘You know what? I think it is him,’ she said, ‘but something has made him go a bit mental. Maybe it’s all this talk about vampires.’

‘No,’ said Richmond. ‘He’s enjoying the vampire angle. We’ve had – what – three references to blood-drinking in the past hour? But all pretty samey and unimaginative. He keeps talking about the warm, nourishing taste of blood, it’s stuff straight out of a cheap vampire thriller.’

‘I get that,’ said Dana. ‘I really do, but isn’t this just the sort of escalation we see with serial offenders? Isn’t it possible that his need for greater public attention this time is just part of the escalation?’

‘If he were showing any sign of reckless behaviour, I might agree with you,’ said Susan. ‘But he isn’t.’

‘You don’t think telling the world what he’s doing is reckless in itself ?’ suggested Mizon. ‘Suddenly he’s the most hated man on the planet. If ever there were a candidate for public lynching, he’s it.’

‘Another reason why I don’t think it’s him. I don’t think our killer wants to be hated. I think he wants to be understood.’

Anderson gave a short, guttural cough, beneath which the word ‘bollocks’ could be plainly heard.

Richmond stared Anderson straight in the face. He looked away first. ‘We have to concentrate on what he’s doing to these boys,’ she went on. ‘He’s draining the blood out of them. Now, we have no idea why he’s doing that, and I certainly don’t believe he’s drinking it, but he will have a reason. It’s part of some ritual that is very important to him and I know he does it calmly and in a controlled fashion. He will want to be alone, to give it his full attention. He won’t want interruptions and he won’t want to break off every few minutes to give an update on Facebook. Killing is an intensely personal, private experience and he will not want to share it.’

Dana’s desk phone rang. She listened for a few moments, then replaced the receiver. Lacey Flint’s whereabouts were unknown.

‘Deep down, I don’t think he wants to hurt these boys. I think he can’t help himself. He may even be deeply ashamed of what he’s doing. This freak-show going on right now feels completely wrong.’

Up on the large screen, another post appeared.

Oops! I think that last one was a bit deep. Oliver isn’t moving any more.

‘Oh, God help us,’ muttered Anderson, dropping his head into his hands.

‘Oops?’ snapped Richmond. ‘Now seriously, did you ever hear of a vicious killer using the word “oops” before? This pillock is playing with us! He’s getting off on making us sick to our stomachs, but he isn’t killing Oliver at the same time.’

Anderson glared at her. ‘You have no idea how much I hope you’re right.’

‘I think she could be,’ said Dana. ‘He’s never killed a child the same night he abducted him before.’

‘Ladies, I would be with you a hundred per cent, were it not for the small matter of Oliver Kennedy being missing and a picture of him tied up and screaming being on the ruddy internet.’

‘Is it possible the photo isn’t Oliver?’ asked Susan. ‘Just some other kid who looks like him? I know his parents identified him, but they were under a lot of stress.’

‘He’s still bloody missing.’

‘This is getting us nowhere,’ said Dana. ‘OK, I’m going back to talk to his parents. Neil, can you check on how the searches are going? Gayle, you OK to—’

‘Keep watching Facebook? Yes, Ma’am.’