‘When fingerprints are returned, are they checked?’ she asked. ‘Before being accepted.’
‘A quick visual check, no more,’ Collins told her.
‘And the microfiche?’
‘No. That wouldn’t have been standard practice. So long as the fingerprints were in good order, that would have been that.’
Sean and Brown moved into the outbuilding. There was still light outside, but inside it was dim and damp. Sean could clearly see the last remains of that horrific night: a large circular bloodstain in the middle of the floor. It was rusty brown now. The inexperienced eye would have thought it nothing. He sometimes wished his eyes could be so innocent.
The arterial spray marks went from Sean’s left to right across the room. They’d almost hit the wall over twelve feet away. The detectives moved around slowly in the gloom. The scene had long since been examined and any evidence taken away, but Sean studied it closely nonetheless. He knew nothing would have been missed, but that wasn’t why he was there. He was seeing that night through the victim’s eyes. Through the killer’s eyes.
Brown broke the silence. ‘We know she was on her knees when he cut her,’ he said solemnly, ‘from the distance her blood travelled and the body’s final resting position. He pulled her head back and then slit her throat.’ Brown obviously didn’t enjoy recounting their findings. ‘You really think these murders could be linked?’
Sean didn’t answer. He knelt down. This was how Heather last saw the world. ‘We have a suspect,’ he announced suddenly.
‘A suspect?’ Brown asked.
‘Yeah,’ Sean said. He could feel the clouds lifting from his mind. Could see things he’d never considered before. Standing on the spot where Heather Freeman had died fired his mind, his imagination, the dark side he buried so deep. ‘James Hellier,’ Sean continued. ‘Up until this point he’s been hiding from us. Hiding behind a mask of respectability. A wife and children. A career. But he’s out now. He’s showing himself to us.
‘The gender of the victims doesn’t matter to him. Male, female – makes no difference. It’s not a matter of sex with Hellier. It’s about power. About victimization. The gender is coincidental. Two young and vulnerable victims. Easy targets.’
‘Why’s he not bothered about leaving his footprints,’ Brown asked, ‘if he’s so damn careful where everything else is concerned?’
‘No.’ Sean spoke softly. ‘He’s extremely concerned about footprints. He’s probably experimented with dozens of methods, maybe even hundreds, but each time he comes up with the same conclusion. No matter what he tries, no matter what shoes he wears, what surface he walks on, he nearly always leaves some type of print. Even if it’s the slightest impression in a carpet, like in Daniel Graydon’s flat.
‘He knows he’ll almost certainly leave prints at his scenes, so he gives up trying not to. Instead he masks them as best he can. He wears bland shoes, probably brand-new. He changes the size of the shoes he wears. He can’t change it too much, but he tries.’
‘Why doesn’t he just commit his crimes on solid surfaces?’ Brown asked. ‘That way he wouldn’t leave an impression.’
Sean fired the answer back: ‘Too restrictive. He would have considered it, but discounted it. He needs to spend time with them. In their own homes or somewhere like this. Spending time with them is more important to him than leaving a shoeprint. For him, the risk is worth it. And what’s he leaving us? Virtually unidentifiable, totally un-unique shoe marks. He’ll take that chance.
‘He knows how we link murder scenes,’ Sean continued. ‘We look for exact matches. Unique items. Same weapon. Same method. Same type of victim. Not “almosts”. So he picks victims of different genders. Kills them in different ways and in different types of locations. Your victim he abducts, ours he already knew. He keeps it mixed up.’
Sean kept talking. ‘Most repeat killers work to a pattern. To leave their calling card. When they settle on a method that works for them, they stick with it. Many only kill in their own neighbourhood, where everything is familiar, where they feel safe. When they attempt to disguise their work, then you know you’re dealing with a killer whose primary instinct is not to get caught.’
‘And your suspect fits this profile?’ Brown asked.
‘He paid for violent sex – been doing so for years, no doubt. That probably kept his urges, his impulses suppressed for a while, but ultimately it wasn’t enough. He would have seen your victim. Fantasized about her. It’s more than he can bear. He plans it thoroughly. He’s extremely careful. He finds the planning thrilling, so he takes his time. Finally he grabs her. He uses a big car, or better still a van. He probably steals one or maybe rents one.
‘He brings her out here. He’d have been here, no more than a day or so previously. He wants his intelligence to be up to date. He brings her inside …’ Sean broke off and turned to Brown. ‘How much did she weigh?’
Brown stuttered, taken aback at the unexpected question. ‘I don’t know,’ he said with a shrug.
‘Was she big? Small?’ Sean pressed him.
‘She was small,’ Brown answered. ‘I went to the autopsy. She was tiny.’
‘Then he carried her in,’ Sean said. ‘It was quicker and quieter than dragging her.’ He snapped another question at Brown: ‘Was she tied or taped in any way?’
‘We believe she was taped,’ Brown replied. ‘There were traces of adhesive across her mouth, ankles, wrists and around her knees. The adhesive matches a common brand of masking tape. Nothing rare.’
‘Once inside, he dumps her on the ground,’ Sean continued. ‘He wants her untied, but he’s worried she’ll fight or scream. So how does he stop that happening?’ He looked at Brown.
‘He would have threatened her,’ Brown answered.
‘Absolutely. He would have threatened her,’ Sean repeated. ‘He would have almost certainly shown her the knife that he eventually used to kill her. Any defensive marks on the girl?’
‘No.’
‘Then he told her he wasn’t going to hurt her and she believed him. She did as she was told. If she’d thought he intended to kill her, she would have fought him or tried to run. She agrees to do what he tells her, so he removes the tape from her mouth and limbs … But why is that important to him? She wasn’t raped, so he could have left the tape around her ankles and knees. Why risk taking the tape away?’
Sean’s vivid narration stalled, as if someone had drawn a curtain across the window he’d been looking through. He moved around the room, staring at the floor. He moved like an animal locked in a cage. It was minutes before he spoke again.
‘He had to remove the tape because it was spoiling it for him. It was necessary when she was first abducted, but now it was spoiling his imagery. He’d imagined her a certain way for so long, imagined her dying a certain way, that he couldn’t settle for less. He needed to make life imitate his fantasy. So he makes her take her clothes off. All of them. He doesn’t even let her keep her underwear or a T-shirt on. He’s totally without mercy. Totally without compassion for her – but this is all for our benefit. He wants us to think there’s a sexual motivation for the killing, but there isn’t. He enjoyed the power he held over her, of course – and making her undress was a strong show of his power. But it was purely for us. To stop us linking him to other murders.’ He paused for a few seconds, allowing his imagination to again become the killer’s memory. ‘He makes her kneel down and tells her to perform oral sex on him, but he was never going to allow that to happen, never going to let her get that near to him. He was never going to risk leaving forensic evidence. So he grabs her by the scruff of the neck and cuts her once across the throat. He’s strong and fast. The knife is very sharp; again, probably brand-new. One hit is all it takes. What time was she killed?’