Easy Kill (4 page)

Subsequently, he’d found Margaret surreptitously checking him for signs of fear or worry. A murder enquiry meant longer hours away from home. Bill was afraid to admit that being in the office was less of a strain than worrying about Margaret worrying about him.

The identity of the initial victim hadn’t yet been established, but a call from a woman who worked on a charity food van had revealed that one of her regulars was thought to be missing. Liz Paterson had agreed to come to the mortuary later that day to check the identity of the dead woman. Even on a brief description, it sounded like a possibility. No match on fingerprints didn’t mean the victim hadn’t been working as a prostitute. It just meant they hadn’t booked her yet.

Bill lifted the mug of coffee, now cooled to tepid just the way he liked it, and moved towards the meeting room. A guy from IT was already there, firing up the
overhead projector. The screen image of the crime, with its gothic gravestones and bloodied corpse, looked like the opening of a horror movie. Once again Bill pondered the setting. Probably the two most important features of any investigation were where the crime happened and how the crime happened. The murderer had persuaded a prostitute to leave the safe area, probably by car. He’d taken her into the Necropolis, which involved parking the car somewhere along the way. How had he convinced her to go there? It was both a sensible and a stupid question. If she was a junkie, she would go anywhere and do anything for a fix. The fashion was to swallow Valium before going out on the street. Valium took the edge off, meant you didn’t care what the hell was done to you, and didn’t remember much afterwards. It wasn’t that long ago a prostitute had been found wandering along a motorway, with her arm severed at the elbow. She couldn’t remember whether her assailant had done it, or if it had happened after she had got out of the car.

Bill was startled from his reverie by the arrival of the other participants. DS McNab acknowledged him with a nod, Rhona with an inquisitive smile. He hadn’t been able to discuss Margaret’s illness with anyone except Rhona, although he had informed his superior officer. Detective Superintendent Sutherland had requested he be kept in the illness loop, as he put it, which Bill had so far studiously avoided.

The Super was next in, accompanied by Dr Sissons and a stranger. The unknown man was tall and broad-shouldered with slim hips, his thick brown hair pulled
back in a ponytail. What intrigued Bill most were the clothes. Dressed in a brown suede jacket, open-necked checked shirt and well worn jeans, he looked uncomfortable, like a man in the outfit of an age to which he didn’t belong. Bill realised his silent analysis was being matched by the stranger’s equally appraising gaze. He held out his hand to Bill.

‘Magnus Pirie, Department of Psychology, Strathclyde University.’

Pirie’s voice exhibited the lyrical quality of the Orkney Isles. Bill recognised both the accent and the Nordic name, having spent three consecutive family holidays in a rented cottage by the harbour in Stromness. He’d loved the place, even thought of retiring there.

‘Professor Pirie,’ Sutherland said. ‘This is Detective Inspector Bill Wilson, who is in charge of the case.’

The man’s grip was firm, his hand warm. Bill had a strong sense from that grasp, and from his clear gaze, that this was a man to be trusted. Pirie released him and turned to Rhona. Bill could tell she was curious and equally impressed.

‘I read your paper on the DNA characteristics of bacteria and virus samples,’ said Magnus.

Rhona looked surprised. ‘I didn’t think psychologists were into hard science.’

‘My first degree was physics, before I saw the light.’

A proponent of psychology in action was impressive to behold. Bill pondered whether Pirie had checked them all out prior to the meeting. If not, the man could read people like a book.

Superintendent Sutherland waved them to their places. Pirie waited until they were all seated before he took his own.

‘Professor Pirie has been making a study of our unsolved cases of murdered prostitutes, eight over the last ten years,’ Sutherland reminded them.

‘There’s no evidence to suggest they were committed by the same man,’ Bill said defensively.

‘I am aware of that. However, in view of the nature of the current case, I have asked the professor to sit in on these proceedings.’ The Superintendent smiled reassuringly at Bill, then signalled to McNab to begin.

While McNab talked them through the crime scene recording, Bill watched Professor Pirie from the corner of his eye. He estimated him to be in his late thirties or early forties, which seemed young to have achieved a professorship. Orkney, Bill knew, had produced more professors per head of population than anywhere else in the UK, so maybe the man’s status wasn’t so strange after all. Pirie’s manner, as he watched and listened to the gory details, was of studied and interested calm. He flinched neither at the images nor the descriptions. Then it was Sissons’ turn to report.

‘The victim was in her mid to late teens, five feet two inches in height and of slim build. She’d not eaten for some time. Various sites on the body, including the inner thigh and arms, suggested drug abuse. Tests are still being run on the breakdown of those. The sample harvest showed evidence of a number of recent sexual partners with a variety of sperm deposits evident on low vaginal, high vaginal and cervical swabs. There
were also traces of condom lubricant. The six puncture wounds on her genital area were made by a blunt-ended object, probably the stiletto heel found inserted in her vagina. That is still to be confirmed by forensics. The wounds were inflicted before death, causing a large loss of blood. However, death was by asphyxiation.’ Sissons paused at a small gesture from Professor Pirie, who wished to ask a question.

‘Are you able to deduce at which stage in the murder the sexual act occurred?’

‘We can’t assume that the murderer had sex with the victim,’ Rhona said.

Dr Sissons agreed. ‘The victim had more than one partner shortly before she died. However, as Dr MacLeod rightly says, we cannot assume that one of those men killed her.’

‘I appreciate that, but is it possible to deduce whether a sexual act took place after death?’

‘Of course, that would be important,’ agreed Rhona.

‘Crucial, from a psychological perspective. The contact a murderer has with his victim leaves a behavioural trace, just as he leaves chemical and biological traces.’

‘Unless significant non-vital injuries have been sustained, you cannot say when sex occurred,’ Sissons confirmed.

‘I removed the stiletto on site,’ Rhona said. ‘There was little obvious damage, which probably suggests the victim wasn’t resisting by this time. Does that help?’

‘Yes, thank you.’ The professor fell silent.

Bill had listened to this interchange with growing concern. It wasn’t that he dismissed psychological profiling per se, but just because
Cracker
made good prime-time TV, didn’t mean it worked in real life.

Sutherland, on the other hand, looked impressed by the professor’s contribution. Bill wondered if this was his superior officer’s pet project, designed to show Strathclyde force was at the forefront of new developments in detection.

The rest of the meeting continued as normal. Bill revealed a prostitute had been reported missing by a member of a Christian organisation, which provided free food to those in need, and told them that Ms Paterson would be coming to the mortuary that afternoon to view the body.

Rhona began her report on the various samples taken from the scene, and the grim discovery of a second body with similar injuries beneath the first.

The professor interrupted again. ‘How well buried was it?’

‘Sufficiently to avoid being dug up by marauding animals.’

‘Was there any evidence to suggest he might have attempted to bury the second one with the first?’

‘No. The Victorian grave has a metal lid a couple of feet below the surface, so there wasn’t much room.’

‘How long had the first body been there?’

Sissons answered this time. ‘We can’t be exact because of the degree of decomposition, but probably upwards of a month.’

Pirie was silent for a moment, then said, ‘I think there’s another nearby, either buried or hidden.’

‘Why?’ Rhona asked.

‘He took the two women to the same place and killed them in the same way. The distinguishing feature between the two murders is his disposal of the body. Organised killers hide their kill, unless they become confident they can’t be caught. To have reached that level of confidence, he must have killed before, more than once.’

Bill had already worked that out without a degree in psychology. That’s why he had men combing the graveyard and surrounding area. That’s why he already had a team headed up by DC Clark on the streets of Calton, and another going through missing persons. Bill realised Pirie was watching him, no doubt reading his expression.

‘Nothing I suggest will be new to you, Inspector. Everything I’ve learned has come from people in the front line, like yourself.’

It was a nice little speech. Suitably deferential. Bill wasn’t impressed, but from the look on his face Sutherland was. Bill silently wondered, if Pirie had really meant what he’d just said, then how the hell having him around was going to help at all.

‘
HAVE YOU TIME
for a coffee?’

Bill had made a swift getaway after the meeting. Superintendent Sutherland had ‘left the professor in Dr MacLeod’s capable hands’, suggesting she help him in any way she could. Rhona decided to play along, if only to give Bill peace for a while.

‘If you don’t mind having it back at the forensic lab?’

Professor Pirie’s face lit up and Rhona realised that was what he’d wanted all along.

‘I’d love to take a look at the evidence you collected.’

‘Superintendent Sutherland ordered us to welcome you into the fold.’

He looked discomfited by the remark and Rhona relented. ‘A joke,’ she said hastily. A good psychologist would be able to tell she was lying. Pirie was a good psychologist.

‘I’m sorry if Superintendent Sutherland has made things difficult by asking me in. But I do appreciate the opportunity to study the case.’

It was strange, even eerie, to meet a man who could read mood and manner so accurately.

‘I deal in the minutiae. You might learn more from Bill.’

He met her gaze. ‘We both deal in the traces the perpetrator leaves behind.’

Rhona wanted to argue that her traces were real and scientifically proven, but for the moment she held her tongue.

Chrissy’s reaction when Rhona walked in with Professor Pirie was worth the awkward journey. Rhona’s offer of a lift had been met with the news he’d come by bicycle. After discussing the possibility of him following the car, they’d agreed to put the bike in the back. Travelling with the handlebars between them had at least discouraged further conversation.

‘This is Professor Pirie . . .’ Rhona began.

‘Magnus.’ He held out his hand to an open-mouthed Chrissy.

‘Chrissy’s my right-hand woman,’ Rhona explained, since Chrissy seemed uncharacteristically tongue-tied. ‘Professor Pirie is an investigative psychologist. The Super asked him in to help with the Necropolis murders.’

‘Cool.’

‘Chrissy is a
Cracker
fan,’ Rhona explained.

‘And
Wire in the Blood
, and
Prime Suspect
and . . .’

‘I think he gets the picture.’

Magnus smiled. ‘So am I,’ he admitted. ‘I only wish I had the same results as my small-screen equivalents.’

‘Is there any coffee?’ Rhona said to break up the prime-time TV admiration society.

‘Of course,’ Chrissy looked up at Magnus. ‘How do you like it?’

‘Black, no sugar.’

When Magnus excused himself to go to the toilet, Chrissy gave Rhona her unadulterated opinion.

‘Wow. I wouldn’t mind him studying me in detail.’

‘You’re pregnant.’

‘The perfect contraceptive.’

‘What about Sam?’ Rhona regretted the question as soon as it escaped her lips.

‘Sam’s dead,’ Chrissy said flatly.

Rhona chose her words carefully. ‘You don’t know that for sure.’

The brazen Chrissy was gone, replaced by a vulnerable one. ‘We both know he’s dead. So why keep pretending?’

A discreet cough behind them indicated Magnus’s return. Rhona wondered how long he had been standing in the doorway, listening to their conversation.

Chrissy turned abruptly away. ‘I’d better get on.’

Rhona had hoped to deposit Magnus with Chrissy, but that was no longer an option. She would have to deal with him herself.

Rhona began with the victim’s skirt. The plastic material, designed to resemble snakeskin, was spotted with dark splashes of what was probably the victim’s blood. Intermingled were lighter coloured areas which might or might not have been seminal fluid.

‘The haemoglobin of mammals has the capacity to behave as an enzyme in the presence of hydrogen peroxide,’ she explained for Magnus’s benefit. ‘We use this to test for blood.’

Rhona rubbed a damp filter paper over a stain, then added a drop of leucomalachite. When the colour remained unchanged, she added the hydrogen peroxide, and watched it turn green.

‘It is blood, but this is a presumptive test. It doesn’t tell us it’s human, only mammal.’

Magnus watched as she applied a similar test for the presence of semen.

As Rhona became absorbed in her work, she stopped explaining. The skirt seemed to have become an artist’s palette, painting the picture of a life she could barely imagine. At first glance the skirt had no pockets, but as Rhona went over it in finer detail, she discovered an opening at the back, close to the waistband. A twenty-pound note had been slipped inside. Magnus came closer as she carefully unfolded it with her latex-covered fingers.

‘If this is a punter’s note, he should have left some trace of himself on it, hopefully a fingerprint.’

She was exerting little to no pressure on the note, yet the portion that lay between her finger and thumb began to disintegrate. Rhona dropped the note lightly on the table.