DI Sean Corrigan Crime Series: 6-Book Collection: Cold Killing, Redemption of the Dead, The Keeper, The Network, The Toy Taker and The Jackdaw. Luke Delaney
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‘Maybe he used a torch?’ Brown said.
‘No,’ Sean replied. ‘He needed both hands free, and the light from a torch wouldn’t be right for what he wanted.’
‘What did he want?’ Brown asked.
‘He wanted to see her. He needed to see her die.’ Sean looked out of the window and saw his own car pointing towards the building. The headlight mountings glinted in the low evening sunlight.
‘He used his car headlights,’ Sean said. ‘He would have checked that ahead of time too. He went there on the night of the murder already knowing car headlights would give him all the light he needed.
‘And when she was dead, he stayed with her. He’d been dreaming about this for too long to just walk away from her now she was dead. He stood here and watched her bleed to death. Watched until her blood stopped running.
‘You didn’t find any signs the body was moved or mutilated after she’d died, did you?’ Sean told rather than asked Brown.
‘No,’ he answered. ‘She died where she fell and wasn’t touched.’
‘He didn’t want to spoil the perfect picture he’d created. All he wanted was to stand and watch her.’ Sean was silent for a while, troubled by the question forming in his mind. ‘Did you search this wasteland for used condoms?’
‘Not specifically for condoms, as far as I know, and I don’t recall seeing any listed on the lab submissions form. Why d’you ask?’
‘Because I think he would have masturbated while he watched her die, but he wouldn’t risk leaving his DNA, so he would have used a condom. Maybe he threw it away beyond where he thought we would search.’ Sean looked Brown square in the eyes.
‘Jesus! Where did you get that from?’ Brown asked.
Sean moved on without answering. ‘Then he left her. He didn’t cover her, not even partially. It would have been a sign of guilt. Remorse. He has no psychological need to try and make amends for his crimes. He felt nothing. He walked away feeling nothing more than a sense of relief, maybe even what for him amounts to happiness.’
‘But what’s his motivation?’ Brown asked. ‘Is it sexual? Is this the only way he can get a hard-on?’
‘Not sexual,’ Sean answered. ‘Power. With this one, motivation is all about power.’
‘But there’s so many sexual overtones to his crimes. Making her strip, making her go on her knees in front of him. You said it yourself: he probably masturbated at the scene.’
‘Because the power excites him, makes him feel alive. The sexual acts are merely symptoms, a way he can release the power he feels building up inside him.’
Brown seemed both impressed and unnerved by Sean’s analysis. ‘Done a few of these types before?’ he asked.
‘Some,’ Sean replied, managing a slight smile. ‘I do a lot of research.’
‘If I can make an observation of my own …’ Brown asked.
‘Go on.’
‘If my killer, our killer, is as clever as you say, as good at disguising his methods as you believe he is, then how do we know he hasn’t killed other people? How will we ever know?’
‘Truth is,’ Sean admitted, ‘unless he decides to tell us about them, we probably never will.’
They were back. Hellier could feel them before he saw them. Only these were clumsier than the last. Why would Corrigan put amateurs on him? Was the DI so arrogant that he thought these second-raters would be good enough to follow him?
My enemy’s mistakes are my greatest gains.
Hellier wasn’t in his own office. He had been earlier, long enough to let the surveillance see him, but now, unseen, he used the office of another junior partner. He’d let it be known he would be working late, to make up for his earlier absence. Truth was, he needed to access certain bank accounts held across the globe. He didn’t want to use the computer in his own office. The police had been in there. They could have somehow bugged his computer. They could be monitoring his online activities. He doubted they were smart enough, but why take the risk?
He was the only person left in the offices. Tonight it was essential to be alone and to move fast. The police had seized many of his bank details and they knew where most of his money was, but not all of it.
They would be moving to block his accounts, but that would require court orders and the banks would take time to comply with the orders’ instructions. That would burn up a few days, and by then it would all be a wasted exercise.
Hellier was skilled on the computer. Able to cover his electronic tracks extremely well. He called up a website on the Internet. It was one he’d set up himself two years ago, but it was no more than an illusion, a front, just like a restaurant or bar could be, and like them there was a back door. But you had to know how to find it. Hellier knew. Of course he did. The illusion was his design.
The site was entitled Banks and the small investor. There was a hidden command icon on the screen. Hellier carefully placed the cursor on the tail of the site’s symbol, a prancing horse similar to the Ferrari emblem. Pin the tail on the donkey and win a prize. He smiled again, pleased with his private joke.
He clicked the cursor twice and waited a second. A type box suddenly appeared in the bottom right-hand corner of the screen, flashing, demanding a password.
Hellier typed: fuck them all.
When Sean arrived back at his Peckham office he found it deserted except for Sally. Ignoring the No Smoking signs, she was puffing heavily on a cigarette. She looked up from her paperwork and was relieved to see it was Sean. She held the cigarette up. ‘Do you mind?’
‘No,’ Sean answered. ‘What are you doing here this late?’
‘Trying to work a few things out.’
‘Such as?’
‘Such as how did Korsakov’s fingerprints manage to get up and walk out of Scotland Yard all on their own?’
Sean didn’t understand and he wasn’t of a mind to ask for explanations. His thoughts were still with Heather Freeman.
‘And why are you back here so late?’ Sally asked.
‘I’ve been out east.’
‘Why?’ Sally sounded almost suspicious.
Sean hesitated before answering. ‘I believe I’ve identified another murder committed by our man.’
‘What?’ The surprise made Sally stand involuntarily. ‘Are you sure?’
‘As sure as I can be.’
‘Another gay man?’
‘No. A girl. A teenage runaway. He abducted her from King’s Cross and took her out to some waste ground in Dagenham. He made her strip before cutting her throat.’
‘I don’t see a connection,’ Sally confessed. ‘Did Hellier also know her?’
‘I doubt it. But he watched her before killing her. Once he’d selected her, he watched her. Learned her movements. Planned everything very carefully. Then he took her.’
‘So she was a stranger, yet Daniel Graydon was someone he knew.’
‘I’m not so sure any more.’
‘Not so sure of what?’
‘That he knew Graydon – or at least, not as well as he’d have us believe.’
‘I really don’t understand,’ Sally admitted.
‘I think he picked Graydon at random. A week or so before he killed him, he went to the nightclub and he selected