Never Somewhere Else (8 page)

‘
Not
to mention?’ Lorimer’s voice was incredulous.

‘Yes.’ There was the usual pause that Lorimer had come to expect between Solomon’s statement and elucidation. ‘He’ll be expecting to hear more about himself. I want you to provoke his vanity by keeping him guessing. If he hears nothing it will seem to him that his case is not important any more, despite the earlier programme.’

‘But if there
is
real information coming through …’ Lorimer hesitated. He felt, like Solomon, the delicate control that this television show was exercising over their unknown killer.

‘You don’t want him to go to ground?’

‘I don’t want any more dead bodies either!’ Lorimer snapped back.

There was another pause
in which Solomon’s sigh was just audible.

‘If no one appears to have telephoned it’s just possible that he will dial that number himself.’

Yes, thought Lorimer, from a call box. The bastard isn’t a fool.

‘Chief Inspector,’ Solomon’s voice sounded almost wistful, ‘I really would like to hear his voice.’ He paused again and when Lorimer did not reply he continued, this time adopting the manner of a teacher speaking to a stubborn child. ‘There are certain aspects of this case I’d like to discuss with you. May I see you about four o’clock tomorrow?’

Lorimer was suddenly torn between annoyance at the man’s presumption and a desire to laugh at the absurdity of taking orders from him.

‘Chief Inspector?’

‘All right. I’ll see what I can do. Tomorrow at four then.’

As he put down the phone he could just imagine Solomon’s wide smile.

Nick Ross was not smiling when Lorimer suggested that the update should make no mention of the St Mungo’s murders.

‘But we have all these calls giving possible names!’

‘And we both know that it’s going to take days to corroborate them. By that time he could be anywhere.’ Lorimer’s mouth hardened. ‘Our psychologist working on the case believes we may provoke our man into making a call himself, if there is no mention of him during the update.’

Nick Ross’s eyebrows rose. A psychologist had not been mentioned by this Chief Inspector from north of the border. That
would
have given extra spice to the programme. A frown of irritation passed over the presenter’s face, the only sign Lorimer had of his displeasure. Somehow it made him feel guilty, as if he had no right to conceal any aspect of this case.

Solomon was right. At
twenty past midnight the switchboard registered the call.

S
olomon was late.
One of his third-year students, an earnest Scandinavian who towered over him, had sought his approval about the research techniques needed for his dissertation. Calmly, Solly had reassured the young man, pointing out the best ways to obtain the data he required. As a result it was twenty-five past four before he emerged from the building into University Avenue and looked up and down for a taxi.

Beneath his placid appearance he was experiencing some excitement. Chief Inspector Lorimer would be waiting, probably with justified impatience, for this meeting. Solly knew that his credibility was on the ascendant since the murderer’s phone call. Now he had to capitalise on that.

At last a taxi appeared over the brow of the hill, its FOR HIRE sign blazing orange. Solly gave his destination and settled back to think.

‘I’m sorry, Chief Inspector. Dr Brightman appears to have left. Can I take a message?’

Lorimer resisted the temptation to be rude. The secretary at the Department of Psychology was undeserving of the brunt of his temper. He’d save it for Dr Brightman.

‘No, thank you.
I expect he’s on his way.’

Lorimer put down the receiver. Since yesterday everything seemed to have changed. It was like looking through field glasses and adjusting the focus. Certain areas now came sharply into view, others remained hazily in the background. One thing was certain, and that was the way that the killer had played into their hands. Well, to be fair, into the hands of Solomon Brightman. Lorimer had spent quite a lot of the night reconsidering the psychologist’s ability to make an impact on this case. Even now a copy of Canter’s treatise lay in his desk drawer. He had been impressed in spite of himself, even from the little he had begun to read.

A rat-a-tat was knocked on his door and Solly’s bearded face peeped round. His habitual smile was sheepish.

‘Chief Inspector.’

‘Dr Brightman.’

‘I’m sorry for the delay.’

‘Well, now you’re here, let’s get down to business.’

Solly sat by the window and unbuckled his battered, soft-hide briefcase. He glanced up and gave a shy smile, as if he were about to offer a explanation for his lateness.

‘You have the recording?’ he said instead.

‘Of course. Do you want to hear it now or would you rather discuss … whatever it is you’re so anxious to tell me?’

Lorimer did not try to disguise the sarcasm in his voice. Immediately he was annoyed with himself and wondered how to counter the resentment that this mild-mannered young man provoked in him. Their working relationship had to improve, he thought, or rather his own attitude to it.

‘I’ll come straight to the point.’ Solly crossed his legs and leaned forward slightly. ‘Why was there no rape?’

Lorimer stared at the
psychologist for a moment before answering.

‘But there isn’t always a sexual motive in serial killings.’

The dark head of the psychologist nodded up and down and the huge eyes peered owlishly from behind the tortoiseshell spectacles. He took a cursory glance at the notes he had extracted from his briefcase.

‘I’m concerned that there is no evidence of any sexual motive. Unless this man is simply a fetishist – and I don’t believe he is – there should have been signs of sexual activity. The crimes point to the sort of killer who would achieve a sexual gratification from strangling his victims.’ He paused, as if to let this sink in. ‘Both strangulation and the taking of trophies normally coincide with sexual activity.’

‘You mean rape?’

‘Not always. As you know yourself, some of these serial killers are impotent and use their victims’ fear to heighten their own sexual urges. The absence of semen or any other bodily fluids is surprising.’

‘Perhaps he was clever enough to know about DNA fingerprinting?’ Lorimer suggested wryly.

‘I think he’s even cleverer than that, Chief Inspector.’

The psychologist uncrossed his legs, stood up and turned to look out of the window. When he spoke again, it was almost to himself.

‘I think he is very clever indeed. In fact, I believe he’s leading us up the garden path.’

Lorimer waited. hands clasped under his chin, staring at the enigmatic figure before him. He had the sudden feeling that something momentous was taking place. It was a sensation that left him outside, like an observer. For once, he was surprised to note, such a feeling did not trouble him.

‘Chief Inspector.’
Solly had turned round and Lorimer saw the bearded face, solemn and sad as if some profound insight had wiped away that customary smile. I don’t think we’re looking for a serial killer. Oh, I know he’s killed three young women’ – Solly held up his hand to forestall Lorimer’s protest – ‘I know he went for Alison Girdley. But it just doesn’t fit.’

‘What doesn’t fit?’

Solly sat down again with a sigh.

‘He kills three girls with a bicycle chain. He scalps them and retains their hair. Then he takes them to a park where they will be found by a member of the public. Why?’

‘If I knew why, I’d have had a better chance of apprehending him by now,’ Lorimer replied testily.

Solly nodded sadly again.

‘He wanted to kill. There is no apparent sexual motivation. There is no sign of any preliminary torture or menace. We have Alison Girdley’s statement showing that he lured her near enough to lash out and kill. That’s all he wanted. To kill.’

‘Or to obtain scalps?’

‘If he is a genuine fetishist he would be likely to have a history of mental illness. Your trawl of the hospital records would have uncovered something. Probably.’

‘Wait till you hear what he says on the tape,’ Lorimer replied, pulling open his desk drawer.

He removed a cassette from an evidence bag then slotted it into the tape recorder on his desk. Solly stared intently as the play button was pushed. There was a moment’s silence, then a nervous throat-clearing before a Scottish voice proclaimed: ‘I killed those girls.’ There was a pause that would have done justice to Solly’s own deliberate manner. ‘Can you guess what colour I’m going to have next?’ Another pause was followed by a snigger then the sound of a telephone being put down.

Lorimer watched the
man opposite as he listened intently. Solly’s gaze never wavered.

‘Again,’ he said.

Lorimer rewound the tape and they listened to the words falling into the space between them.

‘So.’ Lorimer fixed his blue gaze on Solly. ‘Do you still rule out the theory that we have a killer who is fixated with scalping young girls?’

Solly did not reply immediately, but sat frowning in concentration, biting his lower lip.

‘I agree that the victims were selected at random,’ he began, then added, ‘Mostly.’

‘Mostly?’

‘Yes. I believe one of these girls was known to him. I believe that he has very cleverly tried to make us think that we are dealing with some maniac who compulsively kills and scalps young women for some sort of perverted pleasure.’ Solly shook his head, then continued, ‘I don’t believe that. I think he is putting up some sort of smokescreen. He has killed two young women at random to cover up the premeditated murder of a third.’

Lorimer’s eyes hardened, but not because he disbelieved the psychologist. He had encountered some violent criminals in his career, but never anyone capable of such cold-blooded intent.

‘You mean Donna
Henderson was deliberately stalked and killed, then the others were used to make it look like a spate of serial killings?’

‘Yes. Perhaps. He puts a deliberate signature on these deaths; the chain, the scalping, the removal of the bodies to the park. He wants us to think that there is a serial killer on the loose. But it’s all too deliberate. Too neat.’ Solly’s voice drifted off in thought.

‘You really don’t think this is a serial killer, despite the attempt on Alison Girdley’s life?’

‘No. He’s clever. He’s well read.’ Solly’s grin returned. ‘He may even have been a student of psychology.’

Lorimer returned the smile.

‘God help us.’

The two men looked at each other for a long moment. Solly continued to smile and then nodded, acknowledging the new sense of co-operation between them.

‘Well,’ Lorimer’s tone became brisk again, ‘We’ll have to go back over the Donna Henderson case with a fine-tooth comb. If what you believe is true, there are going to be some disgruntled police officers raking over the same facts and figures.’ Lorimer took a deep breath. ‘How would you profile him?’

‘The tape helps, of course, but I would say he is white, single, in his early thirties. He may suffer from some sort of personality disorder.’

‘Schizophrenia?’

‘Possibly. He may well be as outraged as the next man when he reads about the murders, if he does have such an illness. But it’s early days to speculate on his mental health. He’s probably a professional who works and lives on his own. He’s not taking the scalps home to mother. Usually multiple killers have backgrounds of deprivation in their childhood: a lack of moral guidance. So he may have been orphaned or illegitimate.’

‘I’m still
concerned about that ambulance. How does it figure in your profile?’

‘Yes. That’s interesting. I wonder if he uses it for transporting equipment of some kind. A pity the Girdley girl didn’t see inside.’

‘She won’t think so!’

‘There is one thing that bothers me.’ Solly looked up, the smile nervous now. ‘You won’t like this, Chief Inspector, in view of what I’ve said, but … This man may not have started out as a compulsive killer. His intention might simply have been to cover his tracks.’ Solly’s pause was loaded with significance and he spoke softly, ‘But he may have become a compulsive killer.’

Lorimer could hardly believe his ears.

‘You’re right. I don’t like this. First you say that he’s not then you say that he might be. Dr Brightman, you seem to have a habit of contradicting yourself.’

Solly shrugged his shoulders and raised his hands, palms upward, in an exaggerated gesture.

‘I said once that he was a hunter. It’s as if he has acquired a taste for blood.’

‘You think he’ll kill again, then?’

‘Oh, yes. I don’t think that voice on the tape realises just what he has said. He intended it to mock us, and to make us continue to believe that he would go on killing. What he may not realise is that he has begun to enjoy it.’

Despite the stuffiness of his office, Lorimer shuddered.
For a few minutes he had felt a sense of relief with Solomon Brightman’s theory. If the killer was a cold-blooded murderer with one of the more recognisable ‘ordinary’ motives, then the killing might have stopped. But now? There was a chilling truth in what the psychologist said. Lorimer had never experienced a case like this, but he had read about killers who had killed for profit, jealousy, revenge or whatever, then found a perverse delight in blood-letting. Often it was paranoia that set in. But sometimes killing just became easier, the killer drawing a sense of power with each death.

‘Chief Inspector.’ Solly stood up, putting his papers back into the briefcase. ‘May I have a copy of the tape please?’

Lorimer drew out a second tape from the evidence bag and handed it over.

‘Thank you.’ Solly sat down again to fasten the briefcase. ‘Oh, were there any other phone calls of any significance after the programme?’

‘Possibly. We’re working on them, but it will take time to sort out the nonsense from the genuine calls. And even they might be well-intentioned but misleading.’

‘Yes.’ Solly stood up again. ‘Well, thank you, Chief Inspector. I hope this has been helpful.’