Текст книги "An Easeful Death"

Often the killer will have his own bizarre language of symbols. For example a hair fixation, as interpreted by Freud, can be seen to represent a fear of the adult female’s sexuality.

De Vakey, The Pursuit of Evil

After the blood test, Stevie and Monty returned to the flat to find that De Vakey had had a lot more success fixing the TV than Monty had. Jeez, Stevie thought, was there anything the man couldn’t do?

‘Before I saw those files,’ Monty said, settling deeper into the sofa next to Stevie, ‘I thought it was the posing that linked the four crimes. Now I see the link as the cut hair or shaved heads.’ A different perspective on the previous night’s events had strengthened his voice. His colour had improved too, Stevie noted.

‘You’re right, the missing hair is much more of a concrete commonality than the posing alone,’ De Vakey said. He rose from his seat and turned off the TV.

‘The hair could easily be our unsub’s fetish,’ he continued, ‘something that triggers memories he has a compulsion to destroy, something to do with his mother most likely. It’s the timing that has me confused, though. I would expect him to escalate as his compulsions grew, but this pattern is hard to understand. There were three weeks between the deaths of the prostitutes, a jump of several years to Royce, then only a matter of days between Royce and Birkby.’ He gestured to Monty. ‘Have there been any other reports of these kinds of staged murders over the last few years?’

‘No, not unless he’s been overseas or inside.’ Monty said.

‘I’ll put someone on an Interpol search tomorrow, also check out recently released sex offenders,’ Stevie said.

De Vakey was deep in thought. ‘Unless Michelle Birkby wasn’t part of the original equation. Unless she needed to be killed.’

‘She was up to something, she as good as told me she was. She’s been like a dog with a bone over those KP murders,’ Monty said.

His slip into the present tense made Stevie’s heart ache for him; she knew his marriage to Michelle had not always been a loveless one.

‘The pattern’s asymmetrical in other ways, too.’ She leaned towards De Vakey. ‘The prostitutes weren’t gym members, but the last two vics were. We’ve got prostitutes to ordinary women, none of them bearing any physical resemblance to each other: black-haired, red, blonde and now brunette. Object rape to no penetration at all, unpainted victims to painted victims magnificently staged with a Keats’ quotation—I mean so much of it just doesn’t make sense.’

Monty pressed both palms into his eyes before focusing a bleary gaze on Stevie. ‘My notebook has gone along with the case files. There are hazy spots in my memory, but one thing I do remember thinking is how the victims were total opposites. Could his selection be a deliberate attempt to throw us off track, to go against the norm? With all due respect, De Vakey, you profilers base your suppositions on research and statistics. There’s not room for much flexibility there.’

De Vakey shrugged, ‘Nothing can be carved in stone. A profile is about a type of person, not a specific one. But when you’ve studied patterns of aberrant behaviour for as long as I have, you can’t help but notice certain persistent constants.’

‘I know what Monty means, though,’ Stevie said. ‘Look at the Linda Royce case. It’s as if he deliberately tried to make her different from the others: the paint, the elaborate posing, the quotation on her thigh.’

De Vakey looked from one of them to the other. ‘Yes, but fundamentally it’s still the same crime. You’re correct, Monty, when you see the hair as the common link. The man is out to depersonalise the victims, and what better way to do it, especially with a woman, than to cut off her hair? This is the one thing he cannot help doing because it is rooted in his deepest fantasies. It is something he cannot change, no matter how clever he thinks he is. As for the Easeful Death quote, perhaps in his own warped way he thinks that by killing them he’s doing them a kindness.’

‘But it wasn’t written on the prostitutes at all,’ Monty said.

‘Four years have passed, the line might have come to his notice in the meantime,’ De Vakey replied. ‘Who knows what he’s been up to since then. Maybe he’s pursued further education in an attempt to curb his impulses, and maybe it did for a while, until something sparked him off again. The KP murders were a crude attempt to shock; these later murders smack of a much higher level of sophistication.’

De Vakey’s tone was almost one of admiration. Did he regard this murdering animal as a worthy opponent? Stevie shivered and drew her legs tight under her body.

‘Whatever it was, he’s had a huge increase in confidence since the KP murders,’ De Vakey continued. ‘Prostitutes are low-risk victims. They put themselves in harm’s way each time they take on a client. Linda Royce and Michelle Birkby, on the other hand, were high risk; they would have been reluctant to put themselves in any kind of dangerous situation. They have family, friends and loved ones who would miss them immediately. This fact would increase the buzz for our unsub and give him an even greater high when he got away with it. The next victim will probably be even more of a risk to him, and I predict that she will turn up sooner rather than later.’

Stevie met Monty’s worried glance.

‘This man will only stop when he’s caught,’ De Vakey answered their silent question. ‘Think of the worst case of drug addiction you’ve ever known and multiply it by ten. The whole of his psyche has been taken over by these urges. When he’s not physically committing these crimes he’s fantasising about them or preparing for the next one.’

‘Have you any idea when that might be?’ Stevie asked.

De Vakey shrugged. ‘I predict the next murder could be within days.’

Stevie stiffened and looked at Monty who stared back at her, speechless.

‘When is the re-enactment of the Linda Royce walk?’ De Vakey asked, forcing an end to the shocked silence.

‘Sunday,’ Stevie said.

De Vakey rubbed his hands together. He seemed animated, his face flushed with excitement. ‘Not only will this reenactment serve as a memory jogger for the general public, it may even lure our killer out. His toying with the police is as important to him as the murdering of his victims. The toying, in fact, has escalated to another plane with the murder of a police officer’s ex-wife. He won’t be satisfied with anything less now.

‘This re-enactment will be hard for him to resist. We need a press release which will list his characteristics, something like...’ he drew quote marks in the air and spoke rapidly, ‘Fit white male twenty to forty years old, intelligent, compulsively neat and tidy. May drive a dark van and own a German shepherd dog. He probably comes from a dysfunctional family and suffered childhood abuse. A history of lighting fires, bedwetting or cruelty to animals and/or younger children.’ He paused. ‘Has anything been mentioned to the press about the absence of sexual assault?’

‘Nothing one way or the other, no comment,’ Monty said.

‘All the better then, we’ll say he’s impotent or gay.’ De Vakey looked at Stevie as he explained his rationale. ‘This may hit a nerve and could quite possibly be correct. It may goad him into wanting to prove us wrong. If we get him angry, he’s more likely to slip up.’

Stevie felt the sofa move as Monty shifted his weight. ‘You think he might target Stevie?’

De Vakey appeared not to have heard Monty’s question. He leaned towards Stevie with his elbows on his knees, as if they were the only people in the room.

‘We can go on to say that the killer feels inadequate with women, could be a closet homosexual or impotent for some reason, the victims are merely an outlet for his rage. My assessment regarding this re-enactment is that our unsub would love to be there, though maybe not in an obvious way, maybe not with the rest of the crowd. It would be a private moment for him. I’ve walked the area, I’ve studied the maps. If I were in his shoes, I’d hide in the alleyway just down from the bus stop. While in hiding I would fantasise about the female police officer. I would imagine her continuing her walk down to where I was and I would see myself grabbing her, from right under the cops’ noses. Now, if this was only in his head, how would he feel if it really happened, if she really did come down the alleyway? He would see it as something that was meant to be and he’d throw caution to the wind. He wouldn’t be able to help himself.’

Stevie glanced at Monty. The knuckles of the hand that gripped the sofa’s armrest were white. She sensed what was coming.

Monty spoke before the De Vakey could continue. ‘I don’t like your plan. We’re talking about life and death here, not a day trip to Rottnest Island.’ The challenge in his tone was unmistakable.

Stevie wondered how De Vakey would respond.

His animation faded, he was back to his usual sea of calm. ‘The chances of his coming to the alley are slim, Monty, but it’s worth a try. I’m merely trying to predict his actions.’

‘No, you’re not getting me,’ Monty said, ‘I’m all for the reenactment, but this ending in the alley, this newspaper advert is ludicrous. She’ll be far too vulnerable—they can hardly position the TRG behind the dustbins.’

‘Maybe not behind the bins, but you’d be surprised at how well these kind of plans can work. Angus and I will consult with the TRG leader and we’ll work out their placement together.’

‘Okay, but if he is there, there’d still be a risky delay between his grabbing her and back-up arriving.’

‘This is just supposition, Monty, a long shot. I’m just trying to think objectively.’ De Vakey passed a tongue over his lips and looked Monty in the eye.

Monty sprang to his feet. ‘And I’m not?’ he bellowed. ‘You’re not being objective, you’re being callous. You want us to use Stevie as bait, for God’s sake. This is a re-enactment we’re talking about, something that is supposed to be shown on television as a memory jogger—not a bloody entrapment! You’ve said yourself that you don’t do individuals, only types. Who knows how this creep will respond to your goading through the press? He could do anything.’ Monty kicked out at a beer can they’d missed and it clattered into the wall.

Stevie squirmed on the sofa. Monty was supposed to be one of De Vakey’s most staunch supporters, but here he was going against the first proactive suggestion the profiler had made. And besides, she wanted to do it.

She tried to keep her voice cool and steady. ‘But it could work, Monty. Why not try to kill two birds with one stone?’

‘Three birds, more like,’ he said. ‘I won’t have it. I will not endanger you in this way. The only thing I’m sure De Vakey is right about is the fact that this creep is building up to something bigger and better. The timing of this re-enactment is wrong. I’ll have it cancelled.’

He stormed towards his phone.

Stevie rose from the sofa and put her hand on his arm. ‘Monty, you’re off the case, remember? This is between Angus, James and me. I want to do it, I’ll have protection and I’ll be wired. You’re just going to have to trust me.’

Monty glared at her and raised a corner of his lip. ‘Just what is it you’re always trying to prove?’

Stevie froze. ‘What the hell do you mean by that?’ Her eyes darted to De Vakey, catching the deepening furrow between his brows. This wouldn’t do. Making a scene in front of De Vakey, showing how easily Monty’s words could hurt her would not bloody do at all.

She took a deep breath, let it out slowly and settled back into the sofa. ‘It’s not about me, it’s about catching this killer before he kills again.’ Her voice sounded a lot calmer than she felt and she was pleased to see that her hand was steady as ever as she reached for her smokes.

Monty had turned his back on her, feigning an interest in something outside the window. His broad shoulders began to sag.

‘I’m still not happy about this,’ he said finally, dragging his feet back to the sofa.

Stevie dismissed him with a wave of her hand. ‘So you’ve said, but there’s nothing you can do about it, is there?’ She turned to De Vakey. ‘Moving on. You said before that our killer had some kind of police involvement. This reinforces Monty’s theory that someone with police access must have tampered with the files. Keyes and Thrummel are the obvious candidates for taking them from Monty’s flat, but someone else is clearly involved too.’

‘Yes, the missing notes are disturbing. Clearly the albino cleaner also needs checking out. In fact, all your male colleagues at Central can loosely be considered suspects or accessories.’ De Vakey gave Monty a look he thankfully missed.

‘The thin blue line is getting thinner,’ Monty said to his toes. ‘I had Wayne check the database for Harper’s missing alibi. It wasn’t there, so it must never have been entered in the first place. Nor was the name of the prostitute interviewed about the Lorna Dunn murder. It’s common knowledge that the case was bungled, but experienced officers couldn’t cock things up to this extent.’

He looked at Stevie, hesitated for a moment, running his tongue over dry lips. ‘I also asked Wayne to check out Tye Davis. Wayne talked to his supervisor at the mine and was told Davis was working the day Royce was murdered. He’s sending Wayne down his timesheets.’

Stevie felt the blood rise to her head. ‘What? Couldn’t you have said something to me first?’

‘We know a disgruntled cop might be involved—after everything you went through with Davis, surely he crossed your mind?’ Monty said.

De Vakey raised an eyebrow at Stevie’s reddening face. ‘Is there something I haven’t been told?’

Stevie forced herself to breathe. ‘Later,’ she said to De Vakey. He would have to know, but not now, and not with Monty present. She pulled her legs onto the sofa and hugged her knees. ‘Is there any chance there’s a second party involved in the actual murders?’ she asked.

‘In my experience this kind of killer works alone. He would consider the murders to be private, personal moments that he would have no wish to share. But it needn’t stop him from manipulating other people to serve his purpose...’ De Vakey’s sentence tapered off, as if he’d become lost on another train of thought.

Monty also seemed to grow distant. ‘I’m going for a little drive tomorrow, visit an old mate.’ His flat tone gave nothing away. For the first time during this discussion Stevie felt as if the two men might be on the same wavelength. She stubbed out her smoke and waited for Monty to continue. When nothing else seemed forthcoming she prompted, ‘Who?’

‘Peter Sbresni.’

‘The lead of the KP killings? Monty, he’s not a mate, you’ve never even met him! He was sacked before you got here for Christ’s sake!’

Monty shrugged. ‘We shared the same barber for a while.’

‘You’re still suspended; it could take days to get the results of your blood test and get you officially off the hook. You’re on a razor’s edge as it is, you can’t jeopardise yourself any further.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with looking up an old mate. I may be suspended but I can still socialise.’

‘I’ll come with you, then,’ Stevie said, concerned about what Monty might get up to once he was outside the system.

‘I don’t want you involved. You need to stay with De Vakey and help Angus and the others.’

‘You want to keep me out of the loop to get back at me for this re-enactment thing, is that it?’

‘For God’s sake, Stevie, you’re being petty now. You’re far more in the loop working with the team than you are with me at the moment.’

She was being petty, she knew it, but couldn’t seem to help it. She was still angry about his overprotective attitude, smarting that he chose to show it in front of De Vakey.

De Vakey held up his hands like an exasperated father trying to calm down warring siblings. ‘It’s been a long day. I think we should all get some sleep and rethink our course of action in the morning.’

They all went to the door. As De Vakey descended the steps, Monty held Stevie back with a hand on her arm. Out of De Vakey’s earshot he said, ‘I’m sorry if I came on too strong, I suppose I overreacted. It’s just, I...’

Stevie took his hand and squeezed it. She knew what he was going to say and tried to make it easier for him. ‘I know. You promised Dot you’d look after me. She should never have asked you to do that.’ She let out a breath. ‘It just makes everything so complicated, doesn’t it?’

His eyes met hers and held them for a moment. He set his jaw, dropped her hand and walked back into his flat.

***

De Vakey’s hotel room told Stevie little about the profiler she didn’t already know: that he was a neat freak with expensive tastes was as obvious here as anywhere else. A small suitcase rested on the luggage rack, a folded handkerchief on the nightstand next to one of his books, his laptop closed on the table.

After flinging her jacket over one of the chairs, she used the excuse to wash her hands to check out his bathroom. An old-fashioned badger bristle shaving brush rested near the sink. She picked it up and brushed it across her cheek imagining the feel of an unshaved man against her skin, breathed his scent from an expensive bottle of cologne. The silver hairbrush next to the cologne was the kind her grandfather had used.

They were from different worlds, she reflected, and he was definitely not her type. In fact, other than the idealised men in her DVD collection she didn’t think she had a type anymore. Why then, did she feel tingles of excitement when he sat close or put a hand on her arm? Why, when he’d asked her up to his room, did she even have a moment’s thought that it might not be to discuss the case? His physical attraction, compounded by his enigmatic qualities had obviously stirred up dormant hormones. But the awareness gave her power; she’d identified the problem now and could be on her guard.

But did she want to be?

She watched as he busied himself at the bar fridge, selecting a bottle of champagne, brows creased, as if it was the most difficult decision he’d had to make all week. Choice made, he popped the cork with practiced ease and held a full glass out to her.

‘I don’t drink champagne,’ she said, standing in the middle of the room.

‘Would you prefer a beer?’

‘I thought we were here to talk about the case.’

‘We are, but I don’t see why we can’t make our unpleasant business as pleasant as possible.’

He held the champagne glass out again. Noticing her slight sway of hesitation, he was at her side in an instant.

She reluctantly took the offered glass and sat down on a chair near the small circular table, as far away from the king-size bed as she could get.

He leaned against the wall near the bathroom door. ‘You were going to tell me about this Tye Davis character.’

She bit at her bottom lip. Should she, shouldn’t she? Tye had been occupying her thoughts to an unreasonable extent over these last few days. Despite his tight alibi, there was still something about the Linda Royce case that struck an uneasy, personal chord. In her head she saw Tye reach for the camera in the bedside drawer, heard his voice, smooth and cajoling. ‘Come on, Stevie, pose for me baby, you know you’ll like it.’

She shook her head to dispel the image. The memory alone made her feel uncomfortable. Perhaps sharing her story, getting some reassurance from a professional like De Vakey, would put an end to her illogical suspicions. But sharing intimate details of her former sex life was easier said than done. She took several gulps of champagne: she needed Dutch courage to get through this. Bubbles invaded her sinus cavities. She should have gone for beer.

‘Take as long as you like,’ he prompted with a smile, eyes crinkling in a way that was hard to resist.

With another slurp her courage grew.

‘I was in love with him,’ she said. ‘I feel stupid about it now, but I fell for a classic con. He was clever, witty, charming and romantic when he wanted to be. He wooed me with flowers and expensive dinners. I never saw his other side. When we met he was the youngest senior sergeant in Australia, people said he was going far, would probably end up as commissioner one day. I was only a constable and I guess I was overawed. My father was dying from MS and Tye bent over backwards to help Mum and me out. We began to rely on his support more and more.’ She paused for another sip of champagne; this was getting easier by the moment.

‘My folks made a small fortune from the sale of the family station and Dad gave me the money for my house. When Tye and I decided to move in together, Dad was adamant he should sign some kind of tenancy agreement, just in case. I felt awkward about it, but it was Dad’s money after all, he had a right to insist. Tye signed, but once we set up house things hit the fan. He started to get moody and secretive, having irrational bursts of temper which I put down to pressures of the job—he was working Vice at the time. And then he started spending money. Jeez, did he spend up big. I questioned him about it once and he lashed out and knocked me to the ground. I was stunned. I didn’t know how to deal with it.’

The quaver in her voice betrayed her and she didn’t care. It was such a relief to finally be able to tell someone how it really was. Most of it.

‘Because you still loved him.’ De Vakey moved to her side and squatted down to her level. ‘Because he apologised and said he’d make it all up to you.’

She nodded. Boy, did Tye know how to make up. Sex with him had been terrific; she’d never understood why he needed to use the camera.

‘But the money still bothered me,’ she continued. ‘And I suppose there was no small amount of revenge involved in my motives, too, I mean how dare he hit me? I didn’t do anything rash, but I made some discreet enquiries, began to check up on him, and my suspicions grew. I eventually told a senior officer in Vice who had some doubts of his own, and he had Tye followed. He was caught red-handed receiving protection money from a pimp in Northbridge. There was an investigation. He denied the charges, as did the pimp, and there wasn’t enough evidence for prosecution. Tye was dismissed and left town—and I was carrying his baby.’

De Vakey refilled her glass. ‘A disgruntled cop, certainly. You’ve read my profile of the unsub. Could any of it apply to Davis?’

Stevie looked at her glass. The bubbles rose like strings of pearls. She said softly, ‘Well, he didn’t have any sexual hangups, although he did sometimes want me to pose for his camera.’ Bubbles caught in her throat. ‘I never did, of course.’ She made herself look directly at De Vakey. ‘The posing of the victims, you don’t think...’

He gave her a reassuring smile. ‘No, I don’t think so.’

Relief washed over her as the load lifted. ‘And he came from a stable family background. Never once owned a German shepherd.’

The absurdity made her smile. Surely that nervous giggle wasn’t hers? It must have been—he smiled that irresistible crinkling smile again.

She tried to pull herself together. ‘The only thing that fits is the cop bit. Greed was the motive behind his shonky dealings. Looking back on it, I think that’s why he was interested in me. We’d just come into some family money.’

‘Don’t underestimate yourself, Stevie. You’re a beautiful woman, despite your efforts to hide it.’

It wasn’t the words, it was the way he said them. A wave of heat surged through her, from her toes to the lobes of her ears, a feeling she hadn’t had for a very long time.

It was time to go.

She rose to her feet, pretending she hadn’t heard him. Keeping her tone businesslike and her hand on the table for support, she said, ‘Just one more thing before I go. In the car you said you needed to say something you couldn’t say in front of Monty. Are you suspicious about someone in Central? I reckon Monty is, but he won’t say. Tell me, what’s on your mind?’

He paused to consider his answer and she took a swallow from her glass.

‘You,’ he said.

She nearly choked; bubbles came out of her nose, forcing her to lunge for the handkerchief on the bedside table. From the corner of her watering eye she saw his face light up with a grin. For God’s sake, he was laughing at her.

A small tide of champagne snowballed over the edge of the glass as she slammed it down. ‘You got me here under false pretences—I’m going,’ she said, storming over to the chair where she’d left her jacket and bag.

‘Stevie, please, listen to me.’ De Vakey stopped her with a touch on her arm.

When she shook off his grip, his hand moved to her other arm. She whirled around to meet his eyes, sure she’d see their familiar irritating gleam, his patronising way of telling her to lighten up and take herself less seriously. Instead she saw loneliness and need, another hint of the vulnerability she’d glimpsed in him at the abduction site—or was it merely the reflection of her own weakness?

She saw her failed relationships falling like rose petals at her feet.

The pressure of his fingers increased. ‘Stay. Please,’ he said in a voice soft as cotton. He sought the band holding her ponytail and released her hair, running his fingers through the silky smoothness as it cascaded around her shoulders like water.

She continued to cling to her jacket and bag, a half-hearted signal that this fleeting moment would soon be ending. Emotionally he meant nothing to her. Christ, she barely even liked him. But if that was the case, why did her body refuse to respond to her brain’s command to leave?

She took a breath. ‘You are a master at seduction, Mr De Vakey.’

‘I’m a master of everything I do.’

‘Humble, too,’ she smiled. ‘Arrogant bloody prick.’

When he laughed, her decision was made.

She allowed him to take her by the hand to the bed. As he leaned over to cover her mouth with his, the mattress sighed underneath them.

Right or wrong, she began to lose herself in him, to savour the almost forgotten thrill of her own arousal. She deserved this, didn’t she? God, it had been such a long time.

But fate decreed it hadn’t been long enough.

What the hell was that noise? It took a few seconds of confusion before she realised the nightmarish rhythm was coming from her bag at the side of the bed. De Vakey said to leave it, but she couldn’t.

She dived for her phone, shutting off the thumping beat of AC/DC’s ‘Highway to Hell’. For Christ’s sake, Barry had sabotaged her ring tone again.

‘Hooper.’ Breathless, she was all too aware of the hand creeping up her leg, kneading her inner thigh like a cat.

‘Stevie, I’ve just had a thought.’ Monty, oh God. She pushed De Vakey’s hand away and edged further down the bed.

‘Do you know if anything of significance was discovered at Michelle’s apartment?’ Monty asked.

‘I don’t think so. They dusted it for prints and only found Michelle’s and her cleaning lady’s. No sign that anyone else had been there in a long time.’

The silence stretched from Monty’s end of the phone. He said, ‘Are you okay? You sound out of breath.’

‘I’ve just been wrestling with Izzy.’ The lie scraped her throat like dry toast.

‘And you always telling me not to stir her up before bedtime.’

‘Yes, well...’

‘Shall I say goodnight to her?’

‘She’s just run off to the bathroom.’

After a beat Monty said, ‘I gather they didn’t find the safe.’

She stood up and turned her back on De Vakey. ‘Safe, what safe?’

‘It’s in the cavity of the dividing wall between the front entrance and the living area,’ Monty said.

‘That’s the first I’ve heard of any safe.’

‘I’d be interested to know what’s in it. Could you go and have a look? The combination’s 270568.’

Her eyes scanned the room in a panic. ‘Pen?’ she mouthed to De Vakey, wincing at the sound as he climbed off the bed.

‘The combination’s her birthday. I put the safe in for her myself a few years ago.’ She took the pen from De Vakey and repeated the number as she wrote it on her hand, then read the address back to him to make sure she’d got it right.

‘Is Dot staying over?’ Monty asked.

She hesitated, glanced at De Vakey. ‘Yes.’

‘Good. You could check on that safe now, then. You’ll have to call in at Central for the key and security doo-hickeys. The place is like Fort Knox. Ring me back even if you don’t find anything important, I don’t mind if you wake me. And give Izzy a hug from me, okay?’