A Killing Mind. Luke Delaney

But he knew they were not. Yes, he’d ejaculated inside the dying prostitute and done things to the dying homeless man, but they were not sexual acts. His body had simply become so electrified by the power he felt that it was overwhelmed with every sensation – as if he was feeling every emotion and physical feeling a person could ever have, only he was feeling it all at the same time. It was too much for any person to control – even one as strong as he was. Ejaculating in and on his victims had merely been an emergency release – to allow him to regain control of his own growing power. Still, he knew he needed to do better in the future and suppress his body’s crude needs when in a heightened state of stimulation. It was either that or risk forever being branded as a sexually motivated killer, which would undermine everything he was trying to achieve.

      Using a breathing exercise he’d picked up from a yoga video, he tried to calm his tense body and relax. The killings had left him feeling invincible, but it was gratifying to know he remained in complete control of his own body.

      After a few minutes of sitting in silence, he picked up the photographs and mementoes, placing them neatly in their bags before packing them tenderly into the plastic box that he returned to the freezer compartment of his fridge. As he closed the door he was already debating what type of person he should choose next.

       3

      Sean pulled up close to the police cordon in Mint Street, Southwark – the area of London south of the Thames from the City. Some of that wealth had spilled across the river, but the financial institutions clung to the bankside like limpets, leaving the south side of the river dominated by sprawling housing estates. It was an area he knew well.

      He was about to climb from the car when his phone rang. Cursing under his breath, he struggled to free the phone from his jacket and looked at the caller ID. It was Dr Anna Ravenni-Ceron. His heart skipped a beat and his stomach tightened. It had been a good few months since he’d spoken to the psychiatrist. He’d hoped distance and time would fade his feelings towards her – remove the temptation she always seemed to represent when they were close. Now another murder investigation appeared to be bringing them back together. He cleared his throat and slid his finger across the screen to answer.

      ‘Anna,’ was all he said.

      ‘Sean,’ was all she replied.

      They allowed a few seconds of silence between them before Anna spoke first. ‘How have you been?’

      ‘OK,’ he answered, shrugging as if she could see him. ‘Busy with other people’s problems.’

      ‘I heard,’ she told him. ‘How’s Kate? How are your kids?’

      ‘Good,’ he replied. ‘And you?’

      ‘Fine,’ she said. ‘Though finding life dull, compared to being part of an SIU investigation.’

      ‘And now you are again,’ he reminded her.

      ‘Only if I want to be,’ she explained. ‘And only if you want me to be.’ He didn’t answer – her question making his mind swirl too much to be able to speak. Did he want to be close to her again? Every day. ‘Assistant Commissioner Addis wants me on the investigation.’

      ‘Featherstone told me.’

      ‘Right,’ she replied.

      ‘I assume Addis wants the same as always?’ he asked.

      ‘I haven’t met him yet,’ she explained, ‘but I’m assuming so.’

      ‘Keep an eye on me while pretending to be helping profile the killer,’ Sean spelt it out, ‘and report back to him on whether I can be … trusted.’

      ‘I would imagine,’ Anna agreed, ‘but as far as I’m concerned, our arrangement stands.’

      Sean thought hard for a while. ‘I don’t know,’ he admitted. ‘If Addis ever found out you were feeding everything back to me, he could make things very difficult for you.’

      ‘Don’t worry about me,’ she reassured him. ‘I’m not a police officer. There’s a limit to what he can do to me – whereas you …’

      ‘I’m an asset,’ he reminded her. ‘It buys me some leeway, even with Addis.’

      ‘What do you want me to do?’ she asked him bluntly.

      He chewed his bottom lip for a few seconds. ‘Meet him,’ he found himself saying, although in his mind he was urging her to walk away from him, from Addis and the Special Investigations Unit and never come back. ‘Find out what he wants and if it’s the same as always, agree to do it. At least that way if he decides to come after me I’ll have a heads-up.’

      ‘OK,’ she agreed solemnly.

      He sensed her unhappiness, how confused her feelings were. ‘You don’t have to do this,’ he told her. ‘You don’t have to do this for me.’

      ‘No,’ she answered. ‘I want to.’

      ‘OK,’ he agreed, then tried to move things on: ‘I could use you anyway. This new one,’ he explained, ‘feels … complicated. Anything you can tell me about him will help.’

      ‘No doubt Addis will give me a copy of the file,’ she went along with him. ‘Once I’ve read it, I’ll give you my thoughts.’

      ‘Good,’ he told her, then struggled with what to say next. ‘It’ll be nice to see you again,’ he managed, immediately wincing at his own words.

      ‘It’ll be nice to see you too,’ she answered.

      He touched the screen to end the call and stared at the phone for a while before sliding it back into his jacket pocket. Climbing from the unmarked car, he made a beeline for the two uniformed officers who were guarding the tape that marked the cordon. He spoke to the tall female constable who was clutching the crime scene log. Sean held up his warrant card so they could both see.

      ‘DI Corrigan – Special Investigations Unit. This is officially my scene now,’ he told them.

      The constables looked at each other, confused. The woman spoke for both of them. ‘Sorry, sir. The DCI from the MIT is inside with forensics. DCI …’ she looked down at the log, ‘DCI Vaughan.’

      ‘Like I said,’ he reminded her, ‘it’s my scene now.’ He pulled a business card from his warrant card and handed it to her. ‘No one in or out without my permission,’ he insisted. ‘You call me before letting anyone in. I don’t care if it’s the Commissioner – you call me first. Understand?’

      The female constable gave a shrug of resignation before answering. ‘Whatever you say … sir.’

      Sean awkwardly covered his shoes with a pair of forensic foot protectors he’d pulled from his pocket and ducked under the tape before heading to the garage some forty metres away where he could see figures in blue forensic suits working under the spotlights that lit the scene. As he drew nearer he noticed a figure standing in the dark observing the activities. The man wasn’t wearing a forensic suit, but stood in a long dark coat, his back to Sean, although his feet too were covered with protectors. Once Sean was within a few feet of the man, he turned to face him. His face appeared tanned, despite the depths of winter; he was in his early fifties, but handsome, his physique stocky and powerful. Sean noticed some of the grey strands of his hair reflecting the streetlights.

      ‘DCI Vaughan?’ Sean asked, holding up his warrant card.

      ‘Yes,’ Vaughan answered in a London accent – his demeanour immediately telling Sean he was dealing with another career detective and not someone racing through the ranks on accelerated promotion. ‘And who might you be?’

      ‘DI Sean Corrigan,’ he told him. ‘Special Investigations Unit.’

      ‘DI Corrigan,’ Vaughan smiled knowingly. ‘I’ve