Everyone Lies (36 page)

She opened her mouth, but he pre-empted her question, explaining, ‘Functional violence might be something like a blow to the head to stun the victim – something which helps him to accomplish the crime.
Expressive
violence is part of the script that runs through his head before the event – his fantasy. The key here is that Rika, Marta and your Hull victim also suffered bruising to their necks consistent with the use of a broad choke strap. He prolonged the torment – terrorizing his victims. The use of neck compression to choke the subject unconscious, allow them to recover, and then choke them again, is absolutely about control, and the ultimate control is of course the power of life or death over another human being.’ His brows drew down a fraction. ‘Put all of these things together, and this man’s signature is very distinctive. His fantasy involves control, fear, pain – and power. He might refine his methods of torture or change the way in which he hunts his victims, but his need to control, terrorize and inflict pain are consistent.’

‘If he varies his MO to lower the chance of being caught, why was our victim dumped out in the open?’ Simms asked. ‘Doesn’t that increase the risk?’

‘You don’t need me to point out the enormous amount of good luck a person would need to avoid CCTV in a city like Manchester, and choose an alley that was not overlooked, and arrive at a time when the place was empty and
remained
empty long enough for him to remove the body from his vehicle and drive away unseen.’

‘It had occurred to us that he lives here in Manchester,’ Simms said.

‘But your Hull witness said he seemed to know the factory where he took her – so it could be he’s relocated from Hull to Manchester. The CCTV evasion suggests that he is also surveillance aware – so a security-related occupation is worth looking at.’

‘I’ve got someone checking the records of the firm who last covered security at the factory site,’ Simms said.

He nodded in approval.

‘What about the different ages of the victims? It’s quite a wide range.’

He waved his hand dismissively. ‘He is selecting his victims from a vulnerable group, rather than victims of a specific “type”. Prostitutes are more willing than most to engage in risky activities; addicts are less likely to complain, less likely to be missed. Also, as your surviving witness proves, less likely to be listened to if they
do
complain. He paid them, gave them drugs. And he was highly controlled in what he did.’

‘He smashed Marta’s face to a pulp.’

A businessman walking past with two pint glasses glanced at her in shock, and she smiled an apology.

Varley didn’t notice. He sipped his coffee and nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yet the flogging was entirely systematic – designed to cause intense pain – no sign of rage there. It was controlling, sadistic, organized; he took his time. This man sees torment as art.’ He paused, still thinking. ‘There were no signs that your murder victim had previously undergone whippings?’

‘None,’ Simms said.

‘That in itself might account for the extreme violence. Rika had old scars and new, suggesting that she submitted herself to multiple sessions, and the Hull victim tried to please her attacker. Both were compliant – he could control them. It’s possible that Marta would not comply, and it took extreme violence to subdue her.’

Simms exhaled slowly. ‘So, who are we looking for – apart from someone who works in security?’

‘A misogynist.’ Varley lifted one shoulder. ‘Obviously. He is persuasive, superficially charming, but he likes to be in control. There might have been a recent stressor – at work, or possibly at home.’

‘You think he has family?’ she asked.

‘It’s possible, although the marital relationship might have broken down – a common stressor in these cases. If he works within a team, work colleagues might have noticed absences and failures; odd behaviour – he may have become unreliable and difficult to deal with. He sees women as objects. He doesn’t
interact
with them, he acts
upon
them, and takes what he wants from them.’

They all reflected on this for a minute or so, and finally Kate said, ‘Is it possible we’re looking for two attackers?’

‘The bite marks in Marta’s PM photos
do
seem somewhat tentative,’ he said. ‘What was the situation with your Hull victim?’

‘He did bite her,’ Kate said, ‘but I can’t request her file from Humberside police, or the forensic images – I promised to keep her out of the inquiry.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s … unhelpful.’

Fennimore saw her tense and mediated for Varley: ‘I think Alastair means that the bites are inconclusive as evidence.’

Varley nodded. ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you either way if George Howard is your man.’ He checked his watch and stood. ‘I need to catch a train before this flurry of snow brings the entire rail network to a halt. I’ll complete my report on the journey and email it to you this evening – tomorrow at the latest.’ He zipped up his coat and picked up his briefcase.

Fennimore thought he would leave it there – cool, professional, dispassionate as always, but his gaze lingered on Kate Simms. ‘Be careful, Chief Inspector,’ he said.

‘Me, personally?’ Kate glanced uneasily at Fennimore. ‘Why?’

He set his briefcase down on the chair in front of him and took her in with his cool, level gaze. ‘These killings could hardly be more sinister; and the man you are seeking could hardly be more dangerous.’ He looked first at Fennimore, then Kate. ‘Serial offenders don’t stop unless they’re made to stop, so the hiatus between 2007 and the present could be because he was in prison, or his victims may, like Rika, have been easy to hush up with cash and heroin. But there could be others like Marta who refused to comply.

‘He didn’t just spring into this from nowhere. The man you are looking for has operated with impunity for years, gradually gaining confidence.’ Varley went on, his eyes fixed on Kate Simms’s face. ‘With the discovery of the body in Hull, we know that he has been fully fledged – if I may use that metaphor – since 2007. He had complete freedom to do what he liked to young women – until
you
exposed him. Worse than that, you have connected him to a murder. And now you seem to have found a burial site. He will be enraged by this gross intrusion into his sphere, and he will be looking for someone to blame. Sociopaths
never
blame themselves.’

She watched him leave, her face impassive, but when she reached for her coffee cup, her hand was trembling.

‘Are you all right?’ Fennimore asked.

‘Tell me he’s grandstanding,’ she said softly. ‘Tell me he’s a bullshit artist who loves to make an impact.’

Fennimore would love to have told her what she wanted to hear, but he couldn’t. He looked at her, trying to find a gentle way to say it, and she nodded.

‘That’s what I thought,’ she said, and he saw a quiver of fear in her eyes.

36

Kate Simms went through the door ahead of Fennimore, brooding on Professor Varley’s warning, thinking about the man who had followed her in the car park near the Midland Hotel, taken photographs of her as she interviewed Candice. Could she really be in danger?

Small dry flakes of snow were falling thickly now, and she turned up her collar against the chill. A group of men blocked the pavement and, frowning, she moved to sidestep them.

One of them said, ‘That’s her,’ and she felt a stab of alarm. He held a Manchester Police warrant card in his hand. She recognized him vaguely as a DI she’d met before; he was saying something that didn’t make any sense. Two others of the group had stopped Nick Fennimore.

‘You are Kathryn Rebecca Simms,’ the DI repeated.

‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Look, what’s this about?’

‘Kathryn Rebecca Simms—’

She couldn’t work out why this idiot kept repeating her name. The two men with Fennimore were moving away and she called, ‘Nick.’ He didn’t turn. She reached in her bag for her own warrant card, but the DI seized her arm at the elbow and stripped her bag from her shoulder.

‘Hey!’ She jerked her arm free. ‘I’m police – my ID is in the bag.’

‘I know who you are, Chief Inspector,’ he said. ‘I’m arresting you—’

‘
What?
’ She tried to listen, but the noise in her head was too loud, so she had to lip-read the rest.

‘… committing an indecent act in a public place—’

‘This is bullshit.’ She turned to walk away, but the second officer moved in. ‘It’s
crazy
.’

The DI caught her again and leaned in close. ‘Look, ma’am,’ he said, ‘I don’t want to have to cuff you. But I will if I have to, okay?’

She glared at him, ready to do bloody murder, but there was no malice in his face – this was just a cop doing his job.
Doing someone else’s dirty work
, she thought with a hot surge of bitterness that almost blistered through her skin.

She nodded, breathing slow and deep. ‘All right, but you can let go of my arm.’

He held her gaze for a few moments longer, then she felt the pressure of his fingertips relax a little, and he released her, finishing the words of the caution. He gestured towards a waiting car – unmarked – a small mercy.

As they pulled away from the kerb, she glimpsed Nick Fennimore, his hair and shoulders flecked with snow. His expression was unreadable. Nick was so sensitive about his privacy since what happened to Rachel and Suzie; she couldn’t help wondering if he felt he hadn’t been roped in to this sorry mess against his better judgement.

Simms reported to Detective Superintendent Spry two hours later. The elevator doors opened directly onto an open-plan office and Simms drew a few stares immediately. She walked past desks and workstations and she could almost hear necks creaking as they craned to get a look at her.

Spry’s door flew open at her knock with such force it rattled the blinds on the windows. He snatched up a bundle of lab analysis requests from his in-tray and shoved them into her hands. With finger and thumb, he teased out a request for hair analysis on George Howard and laid it on top of the pile.

‘A new lab request,’ Spry said.

‘We’re looking for roofies,’ she said. ‘It might account for Howard’s amnesia.’

‘After I told you there would be no more lab requests.’

Like a magician doing a card trick, Spry found a second sheet and plucked it from the bundle in her hand. He was standing so close she could smell stale coffee on his breath. ‘Toxicology on the drugs seized during Operation Snowstorm,’ he said.

‘That isn’t a lab request,’ she said. ‘All I asked for was a printout of the existing report.’

‘Nevertheless, you contravened my
specific
and
unequivocal
orders to
stop
.’

‘No – I requested the Snowstorm toxicology a while ago.’ Her body was so tense her chest ached.

He stared at her as though she were a picture puzzle he couldn’t quite grasp. ‘
Why
exactly did you need them?’ he asked, in a tone that said whatever her answer was, it wouldn’t be good enough.

‘For comparison.’

‘You mean comparing
your
drugs deaths with a major drugs operation?’ He feigned surprise. ‘But why wasn’t I informed of this?’

‘Because I wasn’t sure if—’

He spoke over her. ‘Be
cause
, Chief Inspector, if you had told me, you knew damn well I would refer it to the Intelligence and Security Bureau. And
you
wanted all the credit for yourself.’

That part at least was true. She bowed her head.

‘When I received those, I called your office, but you weren’t in; I spoke to Renwick and discovered that George Howard is still in custody, that he still hasn’t been charged. Then I find out that you have been
arrested
– for
indecency
, of all things – and with whom?’ He picked up a photograph from his desk – Manchester Airport car park; Simms in the back of her car, topless, Fennimore stealing a peek. He held it in front of her face, his hand quivering with rage. ‘That
train wreck
of a man who was booted out of the Crime Faculty.’

She felt her cheeks flush hot with anger. ‘Fennimore has given me good advice—’

‘
Irrelevant
. In a criminal investigation, the source of information is just as important as the outcome, and so far as the ACC is concerned, Fennimore is tainted. Which means his advice, his lab analysis –
anything
he’s done for you in this investigation – is tainted.’

‘He’s one of the best forensic scientists in the UK—’

‘When his wife vanished, he as good as
stole
FSS resources in pursuit of his own private investigation, and he dragged you along for the ride. And now you invite him back into your life,’ he roared. ‘What the hell did you think you were playing at? Are you
actually
suicidal?’ He stopped for a moment, breathing hard through his nose.

‘Who gave you the lab requests?’ she asked. ‘Who sent in the photographs?’

He stared at her, his forehead a deepening crimson, and she took the incriminating snapshot from his hand. ‘I’m guessing Crimestoppers. I mean, it’s been such a boon right from the start of this investigation, hasn’t it?’

He’d heard the sarcasm, but didn’t pull her up on it; in fact, he seemed wary.

She took the photograph from his hand. ‘This is bullshit. But you know that, sir, because the DI who arrested me was full of apologies when he let me go, and you would be top of his calls list as soon as I was out the door.’

He eyed her with dislike. ‘You’re very sure of yourself.’

‘I’ve every right to be,’ she said, grateful that he hadn’t heard the slight tremor in her voice.

He didn’t say anything, but his jaw clamped so tight she could hear his teeth grinding.

‘I’m guessing that the lab requests found their way into your inbox anonymously.’

He glared at her, and she held his gaze, daring him to tell her she was wrong. When she was sure he wouldn’t challenge her, she gave a curt nod of her head.