Urge to Kill (1) (12 page)

‘Not if I can help it. I’ve sat through too many of these things already. Mother fell asleep during the last one. Now where are we going?’

She dropped it then, intent on deciding where they should stop for dinner, but he knew she hadn’t given up on the idea and was seeing herself taking his arm for what she imagined would be a family occasion.

During dinner, Clive acted the perfect gentleman, pulling out her chair and pouring her wine, even though the restaurant was not up to his usual standards. As he smiled at her across the table, his mind was racing, and he knew this couldn’t go on. He would have to do something about Anne.

Now he was forever hearing her screechy voice saying things like,
‘Clive and I drove down together,’ or ‘Oh we had such a lovely dinner.’

He tried confiding in his strongest ally in the office, the receptionist, Gloria. She was in her mid forties and treated him differently from the other girls. For one, she had no designs on him, due to her already running a hot affair with one of the town councillors under her husband’s nose.

Gloria was the unofficial confidant for most of the girls in the office. In the past, when one of the girls became over enamoured and believed she was on the way to becoming Mrs Clive Draper, and he shuddered at the thought, he turned to Gloria.

Gloria would have a quiet word and the miscreant would fall back into the pool of rejects and cause him no further bother. Of course Clive was adept in not ruling out hope altogether, just to keep them in line. One never knew when someone might be useful.

Anne though was another matter. She and Gloria hadn’t got on from the start. Anne tended to see Gloria as a mere receptionist and thought she was somehow better being one of the junior programmers. She refused to accept Gloria as the Mother Hen and would look down her sharp nose at Gloria and take no notice at all.

Yes, something would definitely have to be done about Anne.

CHAPTER 16

M
att hunted for a reasonably clean mug, and made himself a cup of instant coffee in the small kitchen, which doubled as a staff room. He wasn’t looking forward to his meeting with Professor Derek Meredith at eight a.m. sharp. He had been told that, since the professor was such an important person, he should fit in the appointment to suit him.

As he stirred the coffee, he wondered again what so irritated him about the man. Maybe it was his arrogance. Or was it the way he dismissed the victims of a brutal murder? To the professor they were mere objects, to be coldly discussed and forgotten, the perpetrator being his main fascination.

It made Matt uncomfortable, as despite the need to keep a professional distance, he never allowed himself to forget the real people who were affected by violent crimes. Images of the victims, Gracie foremost, and those left behind, kept him going against the odds when everything seemed to be working against him.

Placing the mug beside the reports that were building into a precarious pile on his desk, he sat down and started to read.

It was only five minutes later that he was interrupted by a young uniformed constable who announced in a somewhat reverential tone that Professor Meredith had arrived for him. The PC then stood aside to usher the esteemed professor into the office. Matt could have sworn that the constable gave a slight bob of the head as the professor strode in, as if he were paying honour to a football hero.

With a glare, he dismissed the young man and rose to greet the professor, offering him a seat and coffee. With a glance at Matt’s tatty mug, the professor declined the coffee.

To foster cooperation, Matt moved from behind his desk and joined the professor, sitting opposite him across the small coffee table, taking his notebook with him.

‘Thank you for coming, Professor,’ he said.

‘My pleasure, my boy, my pleasure,’ the professor purred.

I bet it is
, thought Matt,
and so is the cheque at the end of it.
‘You have the briefing?’ he continued, keeping his voice civil.

The professor took a folder out of his battered briefcase and nodded whilst opening it. ‘Very interesting—this chap is making a bold statement, a very bold statement indeed.’

‘So what is he saying?’

‘Well…’ the professor paused as if cogitating, ‘Well, I would say that he is trying to tell us something about his childhood. He probably wasn’t a very happy little boy, not happy at all. Probably felt he didn’t belong.’

Great
, thought Matt, any one of his team could have worked that one out, but he pressed on. ‘So he was unhappy as a boy. But why has he started killing now?’

‘Now this is most fascinating.’

Again, the maddening pause that Matt was sure he did for effect. He waited, trying not to let the impatience show on his face.

‘Yes, intriguing. I believe there may have been some life event. Not necessarily catastrophic, but everyday, like death, birth, redundancy, a trauma say or the ending of a relationship. The sort of thing that happens to us all. However, in the case of this damaged individual it acted as a catalyst.’

Matt thought that any one of those events could push someone closer to the edge, but not into committing such a bizarre murder.

‘Damaged in what way, Professor?’

The professor paused again, and this time, Matt was certain it was because he wasn’t so sure of his ground.

‘As I said, this person is damaged. He will probably have been coping, possibly coping well. However, some event has reawakened an inner turmoil and brought all the painful feelings to the surface, as it were. Killing may be the only way he can externalize these feelings. It may be a release. A most wonderful release.’

Matt felt as if the professor was contemplating some release of his own. ‘So why choose a young woman?’

‘He probably sees her as an ideal object upon which to express himself. Again, she could be related to his childhood.’

‘He is trying to tell us something about his childhood?’

The professor nodded wisely, fingers together in the classical thinking pose.

‘So what is he trying to say?’

The professor dropped his head onto his fingers before replying. ‘Although it will be very clear to him, he will want us to work it out, to understand his pain. This will be part of his task, his enjoyment.’

‘So we are looking for someone who is coping well in society, who wouldn’t stand out? Who is clever and well organised and had a disturbed childhood? How the hell are we going to find him?’

‘Ah, now that is your job, my dear boy, your job,’ the professor intoned.

Matt wanted to shout at him.

‘He will probably live alone.’

‘I take it he is likely to kill again?’ Matt asked, keeping his voice level.

‘Oh yes, almost certainly. He will feel empowered by the process. Highly excited, like a hound that has tasted blood. He will want to recapture that feeling as soon as possible.’

‘The victim. How will he select his victims?’

‘I would assume that the chosen victim may be on the periphery of his acquaintances. In effect, they are standing in for those he would really like to kill but dare not.’

Matt felt his heart sink. If the professor was right, there would be no way to link this killer to his victim, or victims. With no obvious motive, it would be like looking for a needle in a haystack. If Matt and the team didn’t move fast enough to stop him, he would kill again and again.

Although the professor continued, he gave Matt little insight into how they could catch this murderer, and Matt thanked him and brought the interview to a close.

With the interview out of the way, Matt hoped that the morning would bring in some good news, some progress on the many leads the night team had been working on. The murderer had provided enough evidence, so he was either a fool or confident his props wouldn’t lead back to him. If it was the latter, then Matt had to hope that he would become too sure of his own power and eventually trip up.

As he joined the team, Sam was already half way through the briefing and had just asked Wendy to bring them up to date. Wendy hated speaking in front of everyone, so instead of going to the board, she stood by her desk. However, her report was concise and, as he listened, Matt blessed her for her thoroughness.

‘I’ve made a comprehensive list of all known manufacturers of the type of dress Miss Metcalfe was found in, both made in this country and imported. Most of the imports come from China and can be found in fancy dress shops and on eBay. However, the material in this dress is from Yorkshire and is on sale all over the country. Likely sources for the made up dress would be theatre companies or, again, fancy dress shops.’

‘Or they could be made to order?’ Sam asked.

‘Yes. Probably for a specific show.’

‘I can’t think of what show that would be, Guv.’ Everyone knew Fluff was a theatre buff and loved going down to London on her days off.

‘Some marketing companies buy up old theatrical, ex fancy dress shop stock and either sell on eBay, or if they are in need of space, they hold a sale. In addition, locally we have the Royal Shakespeare Company. They have their own costume department, and every few years they have a sale of their unwanted items, selling mainly to professional theatre companies. There was also a large sale in Birmingham earlier this year of the combined unwanted stock from several theatrical companies, including costumes from pantomimes.’

As Wendy concluded her report, Matt stood to thank her personally, causing her to flush as she eased her bulk down into her chair. ‘I’d like you to follow up that Birmingham sale please, Wendy. Exact dates, who ran it, staff, stock, etc.’

She nodded her eager assent, and Matt indicated that Sam should continue. Sam said the dolls were made in China, with the main importer based in Leeds. They shipped to a variety of suppliers all over England, which included shops, both chains and private, some arcades, plus market stalls.

As far as the lollipops went, these were manufactured in Birmingham and shipped to several hundred suppliers in the country—mostly to seaside shops, theme parks, and again market stalls.

Matt realised, if he was going to keep McRay happy with the budget, they would never have the resources to cover all the possible outlets. If he was the murderer, he would have sourced all the items needed in a busy, jostling crowd where there was less likelihood of being noticed. Therefore, markets seemed the best bet. Even so, Matt knew it wouldn’t be possible to do a manual check of every retailer of the dolls or lollipops in the country. If they just concentrated on the hundreds of markets it still left them with an almost impossible task. Their best bet would be to enlist the aid of the local police forces and maybe the association of market stallholders.

Sam seemed to be thinking along the same lines. ‘It’s not going to be easy, Guv.’

‘No. Unless we go public with one of these items. The doll, for instance. It seems a bit out of date. Didn’t we have those a few years back?’ Matt asked.

Fluff spoke up. ‘We had Cabbage Patch dolls—must be twenty or thirty years ago. A bit of a resurgence a few years ago. But this is more a Raggedy Ann and they have been around forever.’

None of the team seemed inclined to challenge Fluff’s knowledge of dolls, so Matt asked, ‘Would the doll be the best bet for a public appeal?’

‘Surely the model soldier is the more unique item, inspector?’ DI Grant drawled from the back.

Matt hated the way he insisted on calling him Inspector in that tone, but he kept his voice calm. ‘Yes, definitely. But I would prefer to keep our investigations with that item on a more private level.’

‘Your call,’ he said, somehow managing to imply that Matt was wrong.

Matt let it go, as he was used to doing. However, he noticed Fluff shoot a look of disgust towards Grant. He hoped she wasn’t going to make an issue out of it. Then Sam highlighted another point.

‘If we go public, who’s going to take all the calls? You know what it’s like. We’ll be fielding confessions from every nutter in the country.’

It was a good point. Details about a murder would, under normal circumstances, be kept under wraps for as long as possible. Sifting through calls from the public, some trying to be helpful, and others not, was going to be a costly business.

‘Well, we do have the professor’s esteemed opinion that our murderer will kill again and soon. That should add some weight to our request.’

Promising to ask for extra help, Matt ended the briefing and sent most of the team back to the health club where the rest of the maintenance men and some of the other staff were still to be interviewed.

Matt was relieved that McRay seemed to have retained some of the helpfulness of last night, as it meant they could discuss if it would be wise to go to a public appeal with one of the items.

After working through the pros and cons Matt and McRay thought it would be a good idea, and both agreed that the doll was the most distinctive. Matt left McRay preparing to put the matter before Superintendent Neal and headed back to the health club, stopping only for a quick visit to the Royal Shakespeare Company’s costume department.

The building was made of corrugated iron, painted light grey with yellow trimmings. It would have been easy to miss it except for the large letters, RSC, on its side and two mega lorries, big enough to carry all the flats and equipment for the latest shows, parked outside. This seemed a far cry from the glamour of the theatre itself, set here on the small business park at the northern end of Stratford town.

After the brightness outside, the vast space seemed dim, and Matt could see very little for a moment. Mrs Mason, summoned by the outside bell, bustled up to receive him graciously enough, while reminding him that she was a busy lady, with a new production to costume. As if to emphasise, she pointed to two nearby rails hung with jewelled coloured velvet cloaks while a small golden puppet hung from one end next to a huge egg.

Matt raised his eyebrows at the interesting combination.

‘
Arabian Nights
. Christmas production.’

‘Must get tickets and bring my wife.’ It sounded strange saying ‘my wife’. This was the first time he had used the phrase.