I drove home and slept for twelve hours, waking up in time for an interesting couple of hours on my computer before I went in to work. Luckily, it was a busy night, so I had plenty of complex problems to take my mind off the anticipation of the following day’s Sentinel Times.
They’d done me proud, in spite of the short time they’d had to deal with my message. They’d obviously got on to the plod right away, and managed to persuade them to take it seriously. They’d given me the front page, complete with a photograph of my message, though without anything that would identify who the card had come from.
KILLER A LERTS BEST!
The naked and mutilated victim of a twisted killer has been discovered in a city park following a bizarre message sent to the Sentinel Times.
The killer, who signed himself ‘Santa Claws’, revealed in a grisly Christmas message that he had dumped the body in Carlton Park.
The sick communiqué appeared to be written in blood. It was scrawled on the company Christmas card of one of the city’s leading firms of solicitors.
It was accompanied by a home video of the body’s location, which BEST staff immediately recognized from the distinctive bandstand on Park Hill.
Alerted by BEST reporters, police dispatched a squad of uniformed and plain-clothes officers to the area of the park mentioned in the Christmas card.
After a short search among bushes off the nature trail near the bandstand, as indicated in the video, a uniformed constable discovered the body of a man.
According to police sources, the body was naked. The man’s throat had been cut and his body mutilated.
It is believed that he may have been tortured before his death.
Although this area of Carlton Park is known as a pick-up area for predatory homosexuals, police are not presently connecting this killing with the murders earlier this year of two young men whose bodies were dumped in the Temple Fields ‘gay village’ area of the city.
The body has not yet been identified, and police have not released a description of the victim, who is believed to be in his late twenties or early thirties.
The package, which had been posted on Christmas Eve in Bradfield, arrived at the offices of the Sentinel Times in this morning’s post, addressed to the news editor, Matt Smethwick.
Mr Smethwick said, ‘My first thought was that someone was playing a sick joke, especially since I know one of the solicitors in the firm concerned.
‘Then I realized my friend was out of the country on a skiing holiday, so it couldn’t have been him who posted the package.
‘I rang the police right away, and luckily they took it seriously.’
I should think they did. I’d never been more serious in my life. In spite of what the police were saying, the thought that Gareth was the third in a series must have made the short journey across their minds. It had certainly not escaped the attention of the journalists, who used the latest discovery as an excuse to rehash the killings of Adam and Paul. By the time the City Final edition hit the streets, they’d even found a rent-a-quote academic to spout forth.
INSIDE THE MIND OF A KILLER
The man the Home Office have chosen to spearhead the hunt for serial killers spoke today about the latest slaying that has terrified the city’s gay community.
Forensic psychologist Tony Hill is one year into a major study funded by the government which will lead to the setting up of a criminal profiling task force similar to the FBI unit featured in The Silence of the Lambs.
Dr Hill, 34, was formerly the chief clinical psychologist at Blamires Hospital, the maximum-security mental unit which houses Britain’s most dangerous criminally insane offenders, including mass murderer David Harney and serial killer Keith Pond, the Motorway Madman.
Giving his verdict, Dr Hill said, ‘I have not been called in by the police to consult on any of these cases, so I know no more than your readers do about them.
‘I’m reluctant to make a snap judgement, but if pushed, I’d say it was certainly possible, and possibly likely that the murders of Adam Scott and Paul Gibbs were committed by the same person.
‘On the surface, this latest killing looks similar, but there are certain crucial differences. For a start, the body has turned up in a very different sort of location. Even though Carlton Park is also known as a gay cruising area, it’s got a very different ambience from the urbanized Temple Fields.
‘Also, the sending of the message to the Sentinel Times is a significant variation. Nothing similar happened in the earlier cases, and the killer makes no reference to previous killings.
‘That inclines me to think we may be dealing with at least two separate individuals here.’
And so on and so forth, all of it in much the same vein. All of it saying in neon lights, ‘We haven’t got the faintest idea where to start looking.’ I didn’t think that worrying about Dr Tony Hill was going to keep me awake at nights. I decided it was time to teach the powers that be a couple of lessons they wouldn’t forget in a hurry.
A man is not bound to put his eyes, his ears, and understanding into his breeches pocket when he meets with a murder. If he is not in a downright comatose state, I suppose he must see that one murder is better or worse than another, in point of good taste. Murders have their little differences and shades of merit, as well as statues, pictures, oratorios, cameos, intaglios or what not.
Tony lay sprawled in his bath, a snifter of brandy close at hand. Languid, relaxed, spent, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt this comfortable, this optimistic. His experiences on the phone with Angelica, coupled with his conviction that he’d done a good job on the profile, had given him fresh hope. Maybe he didn’t have to be dysfunctional. Maybe he could join the rest of the world, the ones who handled things, who assimilated the past and shaped their world according to what they wanted to see. ‘I can change my life,’ he announced.
The cordless phone rang. In a slow, flowing movement, Tony reached for it. It held no terrors for him now. Strange how he had grown to welcome rather than fear Angelica’s calls. ‘Hello,’ he said cheerfully.
‘Tony, it’s John Brandon. I’m sending a car round for you. We’ve got another one.’
Tony sat up, the water swilling up and down like an experiment in a marine laboratory. ‘You’re sure?’
‘Carol Jordan and Don Merrick were at the scene within five minutes of the shout.’
Tony squeezed his eyes shut. ‘Oh God,’ he groaned. ‘Where is it?’
‘The public toilets in Clifton Street. Temple Fields.’
Tony stood up and stepped out of the bath. ‘I’ll see you there,’ he said heavily.
‘OK, Tony. The car should be with you in five minutes or thereabouts.’
‘I’ll be ready.’ Tony cut off the connection and walked out of the bathroom, towelling himself dry as he went. His mind racing, he pulled on jeans, T-shirt, shirt, sweater and