Authors: Rob Kitchin
‘Well, how about the body?’ McEvoy asked calmly.
‘Give us a chance, we’ve only just got here. The body might have been stripped here – a lot more private than out on the path. We might pick up something.’
‘Is there any chance we can get the bag off his head so we can identify him?’ McEvoy added. ‘We need to get started. We need to catch this bastard before he kills number three.’
‘As soon as we get a clean route in, we’ll do that,’ Deale said, calming a little. ‘The pathologist should be here shortly.’ She moved away to one of the bags of equipment.
One of her two colleagues, the taller of the two men, sidled over to McEvoy. ‘She’s only in this mood because she hates Charlie Deegan,’ he whispered. ‘Anything goes wrong it’s our fault, otherwise he claims all the credit. He’s shafted us a few times.’
‘Brendan,’ Cheryl interrupted sharply, ‘can you trace back the route of the body, tape it off, and see if you can find anything.’
‘I’m on it,’ the man said, pulling a tight smile at McEvoy. He plucked a role of blue and white tape from a bag and started to follow the edge of the yew trees, searching for the body’s path.
McEvoy stood to one side and watched Cheryl Deale and her other colleague start to work. Behind him he could hear Charlie Deegan and his three DSs approach. His mobile rang again.
‘McEvoy.’
‘Dermot Brady hasn’t been out of our sight since yesterday,’ Plunkett said, ‘except for when he was in his apartment.’
‘So he couldn’t have killed our man here then,’ McEvoy replied.
‘Doesn’t look like it. Not unless he managed to sneak out,’ Plunkett answered. ‘I’d say he’s off the hook.’
‘Seems that way.’
‘Should we keep a team on him?’ Plunkett asked. ‘Just in case.’
‘What?’ McEvoy asked, his mind wandering. ‘No, no. There’s no need. We know where he was. Look, I’d better get off. Keep in touch, okay?’ McEvoy ended the call.
He turned his attention back to Cheryl Deale.
‘Haven’t you got anything better to be doing,’ she asked, looking up, ‘than watch us?’
Colm felt his face start to redden. ‘I’ll … I’ll just go and see if Elaine Jones has arrived yet,’ he said, embarrassed, feeling like a spare part.
Cheryl Deale stood with her feet wide apart, well away from the body, and leant over the victim’s head. She cut one of the handles of the plastic bag with a scalpel and took hold of the corners and eased it back over the man’s blue-grey face and slightly greying hair. Pulling it free she dropped it into a clear bag held open by one of her assistants.
The man’s eyes stared up at them, wide and vacant rather than surprised. His lips were slightly parted, the bottom of his top teeth just visible. His forehead was grazed, grit still embedded in the wounds. There were two pinch marks at the top of his nose where his glasses usually rested. Deale shuffled her feet back a little and stood clear of the body.
McEvoy waved Martin Cleary forward from where he waited a few yards away with Charlie Deegan. He took a couple of steps and leaned towards the body, his hands shoved deep in tweed suit pockets.
‘David Hennessey,’ he growled. ‘Worked in the politics department. I used to see him around. Liked a pint and a bit of a flutter, but nice enough man.’ He leant back and looked at McEvoy. ‘Don’t know what he could have done to have deserved this, poor bastard.’
‘Probably nothing,’ McEvoy replied. ‘Probably just another random victim. Do you know where he lives? Anything about him?’
‘I doubt it’s random, Colm,’ Cleary said. ‘Too much thought has gone into this. The place, the time, the way the body is painted. It’s lots of things, but it ain’t random.’
McEvoy pursed his lips, thinking about what Cleary had said. The man might have retired, and he might be a cantankerous old git, but he’d a lot of experience to draw upon.
‘Personnel will be your best place to start,’ Cleary continued. ‘They’ll have a file with his personal details in. Maybe a staff photo you can use.’
McEvoy nodded and turned to where Deegan stood. ‘Charlie, you’d better …’
‘… go and see what personnel have got,’ Deegan finished quickly, clearly frustrated that McEvoy was in charge of things. ‘I’m on it.’ He started to head briskly back towards the car park.
‘Right, well, I guess I’d better leave you to it,’ McEvoy said, unsure what to say. He took one last look at the body and started to trail after Deegan, Martin Cleary in tow.
‘This is a bad business, Colm,’ Cleary said. ‘A bad business.’
‘I know.’
‘And you need to watch that Deegan. He’s only interested in glory. He’ll be running his case, not yours. He’d dump you in the shit without hesitation if he thought he could fill your shoes.’
‘I know that as well.’
‘Just so long as you do, Colm. Just so long as you do. You’ve enough to be worrying about without watching your back. You need your people in here, not just his.’
McEvoy nodded, but didn’t respond.
From behind them Cheryl Deale shouted out. ‘Sir.’
McEvoy looked over his shoulder. She was waving for him to come back.
He set off, Cleary staying where he was, waiting to see if it was worth the effort of returning.
Cheryl Deale held a small plastic bag using a pair tweezers. ‘It’s a second note,’ she explained. ‘It was placed in his mouth in what looks like a sandwich bag.’
‘Can you see what it says,’ McEvoy asked, moving towards her.
She held the bag up level to her face. The bag had slightly unfolded but was still creased and there was condensation inside. ‘Not really,’ she said. ‘I need to flatten it out.’
‘Just pull the bag tight,’ McEvoy suggested.
‘The condensation might ruin the note.’
‘Can we take the note out and put it in a new bag?’ he sug-gested.
‘I guess.’ Cheryl nodded. ‘Brendan, I’m going to need two evidence bags – one for the note and one for the bag.’
Brendan reached into a box and handed her a second pair of tweezers.
Gently Cheryl pulled the note free and dropped it into a bag held by him. She then put the sandwich bag into another bag. She took back the bag with the note in, handing the tweezers to Brendan. She peered through the clear plastic and read aloud.
The Rules
Chapter Two A: Motive D
“Murderers know, to varying degrees, that they are constructing a world of their making, a world different to that of their fellow citizens. They are driven by an imperative to act on their deviant desires. Many hold some notion that they have the right to play out their fantasies, or envisage themselves on a mission for God or some other entity that conveys on them the right to torture and kill. Yet others believe that their victims deserved the terrible crimes done unto them.”
2a. Have no reason to kill beyond murder. The motive should be death itself. Nothing else.
2b. Do not let sex, money, religion or power cloud things. Pathology will be your downfall.
Master rule: Do it because you can, not because you have to.
‘That’s all it says,’ she finished.
‘All the same, sounds like he has it all worked out,’ Cleary said, having walked back to the group when it was clear McEvoy was not going to re-join him. ‘He understands the nature of motive; that the most difficult crime to solve is a motiveless one.’
‘Can you get a copy made as soon as possible,’ McEvoy instructed, ignoring Cleary. ‘Give one copy to Deegan, the other to Barney Plunkett. Tell Barney to see if he can locate the quote. Is it the same source as before or a new one? And if you find anything else let me know. I want to nail this bastard. And we are going to nail him.’ McEvoy sucked in a breath and pumped it back out through his nose.
‘I’ll do it straight away,’ Cheryl said. ‘Then we’re going to do a wider sweep and also process where he left the cards. We’re then
heading back to the lab. I’ll ring you the moment we get anything.’
‘He thinks he’s being clever,’ McEvoy continued, ‘but the perfect serial killer is the one who kills and no one even knows it’s happening. People just disappear and are never found. He’s leaving us notes and he’s leaving us the bodies, which means he’s leaving us evidence. We just need to make sense of it.’
McEvoy stood outside an old manor house and sucked deeply on his plastic cigarette. A sign stating ‘Personnel Office’ was pinned over a doorway. He watched Martin Cleary walk off towards the front gates and pulled his mobile from his pocket.
‘Barney, it’s Colm. Can you go through the centre’s records and see if a David Hennessey has ever been through the place. Also check with Janine Smyth.’
‘Who’s David Hennessey?’
‘The second victim. He worked here in the university in the politics department. Martin Cleary has just identified him. I want to know if there are any links between the victims.’
‘You think there is a link?’ Plunkett asked sceptically.
‘I’ve no idea, but if there is then that’s an opening. Look, I’d better be going. I need to catch up with the team here.’
‘Is it going okay? Deegan behaving himself?’
‘I’ll talk to you later, Barney.’ McEvoy disconnected the call and opened the door. Through an opening to the right he found a door marked reception. He knocked and entered. A woman in her forties was sitting behind her desk. A man wearing a garda uniform was standing behind her, looking over her shoulder. The two other desks in the office were empty.
The woman spoke. ‘Can I help you?’
‘I was looking for an officer,’ McEvoy stated. ‘DI Charlie Deegan?’
‘And you are?’ the guard asked.
‘Detective Superintendent McEvoy. I’m the investigating officer for the murder up beyond.’ He gestured to his right. ‘I wanted to know what he found out about David Hennessey.’
‘He left a couple of minutes ago, Sir,’ the guard said, standing up straighter. ‘He went off with the head of personnel – Carl Fahy – to Dr Hennessey’s office. DI Deegan wanted me to stay here with Margaret while she searched through some files.’
McEvoy nodded. ‘I think I’ll catch them up. Can you tell me where Dr Hennessey’s office is?’
McEvoy strode from the manor house and took a diagonal path leading towards the seminary buildings and the church. A couple of hours in and he was already feeling like a spare part. A tetchy spare part. Bishop was pulling strings but it was his investigation. Now things seemed to have drifted. Deegan was doing his own thing and he had no idea where the incident room was. He was running around on his own trying to catch up. He needed to either get hold of things and take charge or get off site and let them get on with it. He knew which Deegan would prefer. Deegan wanted this for himself. He’d run his own separate investigation competing, rather than collaborating, to catch the killer.