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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Stryer was able to tell them he had approached her sister close to her home, sometime between eight and nine, maybe a little earlier. Christ, he’d even had a conversation with her in the middle of the street. He was beginning to think he was uncatchable. His sociopathic arrogance was matched only by his violence.
Sean and Sally donned forensic suits and entered Linda Kotler’s flat. It looked very different to how Sean remembered it, forensic examiners going about their work making it seem full of life. They went directly to the living room, where Sean had seen the docking unit for Linda Kotler’s home phone. He examined it without touching and saw traces of aluminium powder on both the phone and the base. ‘Has this phone been dusted yet?’ he asked a middle-aged woman, shapeless in her paper suit. They all resembled workers in a nuclear power plant.
‘Yes,’ she answered. ‘I did it.’
‘Have the messages been listened to?’ Sean asked.
‘No. We’ll do that back at the audio lab, for continuity.’ But Sean had had enough of waiting. He pressed the message playback button and hit the ‘speaker on’ switch. ‘I don’t think you should be doing that,’ the woman protested.
‘DI Corrigan. I’m in charge of this investigation.’
The machine beeped long and shrill. A ringing tone could be heard. Linda Kotler’s voice filled the room. Everyone stopped and listened to the woman who had been murdered only two plaster walls away.
They listened as the sisters chatted. This was it. Sean’s heart was going faster and faster. He knew what was coming, but he didn’t want to hear it.
‘And does this man have a name?’ Debbie asked.
He could see Sally watching him out the corner of her eye.
‘Sean,’ Linda’s voice said. ‘Sean Corrigan.’
The middle-aged forensics officer was staring at him now. ‘Haven’t you got work to do?’ he snapped. She moved quickly away.
Sean stood and led Sally to the bedroom, where they found Donnelly wearing a forensic suit. Sean also recognized the slim figure of Dr Canning, kneeling over Linda Kotler’s lifeless form. A number of labelled specimen jars and exhibit bags were spread across the floor close by, within easy reach of the pathologist. DC Zukov was doing his best to assist Canning.
‘Anything interesting yet?’ Sean asked.
Dr Canning was stony-faced. ‘Inspector Corrigan. I shall assume you are responsible for dragging me halfway across London.’
‘Sorry, but I felt it was necessary.’
‘Because you believe you have two connected murders. Sergeant Donnelly here filled me in on the details.’
‘Three murders,’ Sean corrected him. The pathologist frowned. ‘There was another. The first of the series occurred about two weeks ago. Post-mortem’s already been done, but I’d like you to cast an eye over it.’
‘Very well,’ Canning replied. He went back to work. He talked as he examined the body.
‘So elaborate. Probably the most elaborate bindings and ligatures I’ve ever encountered.’
‘Why?’ Sean asked. ‘What’s the purpose?’
Canning pointed to the knot on the stocking that ran along the victim’s spine. ‘That’s a slip knot. My best guess at this time would be that it’s a type of harness.
‘He positions the victim face down on the bed, then by pulling the slip knot up and down he can control the tightness of the bindings around her throat and legs simultaneously. Quite the instrument of torture.’
‘Anything else?’ Sean asked.
Canning scanned the body, wondering where to begin. ‘You’ll have to wait until the post-mortem before it’s confirmed, but I’m sure the cause of death will be strangulation.’ He pointed to the victim’s neck. ‘You can see the ligature’s sunk into the flesh quite deeply. Far more deeply than was necessary to kill her. Quite a surprise the skin didn’t break. There’s other severe bruising too. Probably all caused by the same ligature.’ Canning took a deep breath. ‘This is a strong man you’re looking for, Inspector.’
‘What caused the other bruising around the neck?’ Sean asked.
‘I believe the killer repeatedly tightened the ligature around her neck, but released it before death.’
‘And before she passed out too,’ Sean added.
‘I wouldn’t be able to say.’
‘He wouldn’t have let her pass out,’ Sean assured him. ‘He wouldn’t have let her escape into unconsciousness. Not even for a second.’
Canning raised his eyebrows. ‘It would appear he had knowledge of auto-erotic asphyxiation,’ he continued. ‘Popular with sado-masochists.’
Hellier’s face flashed in Sean’s mind.
‘She was sexually assaulted, too. Raped both vaginally and anally by the look of things. No immediate signs of semen or a lubricant. I suspect he used a dry condom.’
Canning spoke to DC Zukov. ‘Could you pass me that halogen lamp, please, Detective?’ Zukov passed him a metal-cased lamp that was big enough to be a helicopter searchlight. Canning flicked the lamp on. It gave off a less bright light than expected, but that wasn’t its purpose. Held at the right angle, it would allow the naked eye to observe otherwise near-invisible marks. Fingerprints, footprints, hairs, tiny fragments of metal …
Canning began to slowly sweep the light across the body. He started at the lowest point. In this case it was the knees. The legs were still bent and tied back so her feet almost touched her buttocks. The light moved to her back. ‘Hello there.’ Canning had found something. He froze the light on the victim’s back. Sean moved two steps closer.
‘Careful,’ Canning warned him. ‘We haven’t examined the entire area around the body yet.’
Sean stopped and crouched down. He craned his neck to get a better view of the victim’s back. ‘What is it?’
‘If I’m not very much mistaken,’ Canning said, ‘it’s a footprint.’ He moved the lamp to another angle. ‘Yes. There.’ The shoe-shaped bruise came more into focus. ‘Definitely a shoe mark. Pretty plain, though. No ridges or pattern.’
‘A plain-soled man’s shoe, between size eight and ten.’
‘Yes,’ Canning agreed. ‘That would be my guess. I’ll have it photographed back at the mortuary. Should show up well enough.’
‘Why would he do that?’ DC Zukov asked the question, the disgusted look clear on his face.
Sean knew why, but he wouldn’t say. He knew Canning would work it out.
‘He pressed down on her back with his foot while pulling the ligatures tighter. That’s probably when the other marks around the neck were caused.’
‘Sick bastard,’ Zukov said. ‘Sick, evil bastard.’
No one disagreed.
Needing a break from the scene, Sally stood outside in the street smoking. She doubted whether the male officers felt what she did for the victim. Did they ever feel vulnerable and scared like a woman could? Did they ever consider how intimidating a big man could be to a woman, just by standing a little too close in a bar, at a bus stop? Probably not.
What must it have been like for Linda Kotler? Those last minutes, God forbid hours, of her life. Totally overpowered by this man, this wild animal. Did the male officers have any real idea how hundreds of thousands of women across London would feel when details of the latest murder were released to the press?
Many would stop going out at night until he, the killer, was caught. Others would rush to buy rape alarms, some would start to carry offensive weapons.