A few seconds later she had composed herself. When she looked back, the screen was blank again.
‘Okay?’ Townsend asked, genuinely concerned.
Anna nodded, swallowed, then said: ‘And what about Sharon Steiner? Any idea what happened to her?’
‘No, apart from the fact that she’s missing. There was a small quantity of her blood on one of the pillows, suggesting she was struck or attacked in some way while she was still in the bed. It probably wasn’t a fatal attack, just enough to subdue her. Our assumption at present is that the intruder killed Ben Steiner in the bed, most likely with an axe. Very quickly afterwards he rendered Sharon Steiner unconscious, and this gave him time to drag Ben’s body to the bathroom and dismember it. After that, it seems that he carried Sharon away with him and completely disappeared. The only thing we’ve got to go on are a few grainy images caught on the CCTV camera of a petrol station quarter of a mile away. I’ll show you.’
He tapped a few buttons on the laptop, and on the screen behind the desk some murky, colourless petrol pumps and a stretch of road just across from them appeared. One, two, three jerky frames played in sequence, over and over on a loop, showing the barely discernible shape of a van passing by along that stretch of road.
‘The quality’s too bad for us to get a number plate or any distinguishing ID on that van,’ Townsend said as the loop of three images repeated itself again and again. ‘But the time these pictures were taken and the direction the van’s going in would tally perfectly with an intruder making their getaway from 19 Elm Crescent.’
‘But … I don’t understand, Detective Inspector. Why lead me to believe that your whole investigation is a shambles? Why make me think that? And for God’s sake, why let me print it?’
Townsend poured himself a fresh coffee, settled himself into his chair, took a moment to collect his thoughts, then spoke.
‘We don’t know the identity of the man who killed Ben Steiner and abducted Sharon Steiner – but whoever he is, he’s not entirely unknown to us.’
‘It’s the so-called “Santa” killer, isn’t it,’ Anna put in. ‘The killer who always strikes in December, breaks into a home, kills the man, abducts the woman, holds her hostage until Christmas Day when at last he kills her.’
Townsend nodded: ‘All that stuff’s in the public domain, Ms Vaughan. But what you won’t know about are the Twelve Days of Christmas.’
‘What do you mean, the Twelve Days of Christmas?’
‘We’ve kept this information strictly out of the media. Nobody knows about it except those of us in CID dealing directly with the Santa investigation. You see, Ms Vaughan, every time Santa strikes, every time he abducts a woman and holds her hostage, he contacts us. He makes it very clear – crystal clear – that all communication between him and us is strictly private. If we speak to the press about it, the hostage dies immediately. If we keep it private, there’s a slim chance we might just find her alive. So, we keep quiet – and that’s when Santa starts taunting us with clues as to where to find the missing girl. These clues – or taunts, or whatever the hell they are – come in one at a time, sometimes two or three in rapid succession in a single twenty-four hour period. And each one is based on “The Twelve Days of Christmas”.’
‘Like the note attached to that awful present left outside my door!’ Anna exclaimed. ‘On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me … ’
‘Yes,’ nodded Townsend. ‘That’s Santa. Perhaps there’s a cryptic meaning in the contents of that present, a clue as to how to find Sharon Steiner before the time runs out. Or perhaps he’s just playing mind games with us. Or perhaps he’s just amusing himself. God alone knows. What I know, however, is that for the last twelve years he’s been doing the same thing, and every time CID fails to make sense of the clues until it’s too late. All we ever find is the body of the victim, and not so much as a trace of that bastard Santa … until he surfaces again with a fresh victim and starts the whole process rolling again.’
‘Why does he do it?’ Anna asked. ‘Have you attempted to psychologically profile him?’
‘There’s a file on his possible psychological motivations that’s two inches thick, Ms Vaughan, but it’s no damned used to me. I’m not a psychologist, I’m just a copper. My job’s to find him, not analyse him.’
‘But you haven’t found him.’
‘We will,’ Townsend said firmly. ‘My team will. I will. This year. This year it’s going to be different. This year, I’m on the case. This year me and my people will get the girl back alive. This year we’ll collar that bastard Santa and we’ll bang him up for the rest of his life. This year.’
He got to his feet and paced about for a few moments, tense and agitated.
‘He likes playing games with the police,’ he said at last. ‘Right from the start it’s how he’s always operated. He snatches his victim then taunts the police with clues as to how to catch him. Every time it’s the same. And every time he outwits us. We’re always too slow. We never work out the clues until it’s just that bit too late. But this time around, Ms Vaughan, I’ve decided that I will change the rules.’
‘I think I see your tactics,’ Anna put in. ‘You’ve deliberately made yourself and your investigative team look incompetent. That’s why you posed as a whistleblower and got in touch with me. You made sure I put all this stuff in the paper, and now Santa thinks he’s dealing with a bunch of fools.’
‘Precisely. Painful as it is to paint myself as a cretin in public, it’s a price I’m willing to pay to get Santa to drop his guard. I want him to get overconfident. I want him think he’s already beaten us. I want him to start making mistakes … and I’m hoping that’s exactly what’s happened already.’
‘What makes you say that?’
‘That “present” that turned up on your doorstep a few hours ago. It’s the first time he’s ever sent anything like that to an outsider, to somebody other than the CID investigators coming after him. For the first time ever, he’s changed his procedure. And that, surely, must mean something.’
‘But why the hell would Santa start sending things to me?’
‘I can’t answer that, Ms Vaughan, but this is the first time he’s ever sent a clue to anyone other than the police. It’s not like him.’
‘Maybe he saw me speaking up at the press conference.’
‘Quite possibly. Whatever the reason, the fact that he’s suddenly shifted his tactics tells me he’s thinking differently about CID this year. My hope is that he’s getting cocky, that he wants to run rings around the supposedly incompetent DI Townsend who’s been sent to catch him. The fact that he’s directed his first clue not to me but to you, Ms Vaughan, is a hopeful sign – at least, that’s how I choose to see it. I hope to God I’m right; we might just have a chance to save that poor Steiner girl if I am. I’m sorry, Ms Vaughan, that you’ve found yourself unexpectedly dragged into all this. It was never my intention. But you have been dragged into it now. Santa’s dragged you in. He wants you involved. He wants you to come and play his deadly “Twelve Days of Christmas” game. And I’m sorry to say that it’s too late for you to back out now.’
‘He’ll kill Sharon Steiner if I don’t play along with this madness?’
‘Undoubtedly.’
‘But if we figure out his game, and beat him at it, we could save Sharon Steiner and put a stop to Santa once and for all.’
Townsend nodded slowly and said: ‘I could use your help in this investigation, Ms Vaughan. Santa’s taken an interest in you. A keen