The Rule Book (41 page)

‘Is there any way of zooming in on her?’ McEvoy said, frustrated. ‘It’s impossible to see what she looks like.’

‘Not here. I don’t think we have the kit,’ Dr John stated. ‘We’d need the techies to fiddle with it.’

‘Shit!’ The incident had happened 40 metres from the camera and the figures were indistinct and grainy. ‘How long ago was that taken?’

‘About 20 minutes. She left eight minutes before he had his fit.’

‘Get her, I mean his, description sent out to all units. He’ll be well beyond the outer cordon by now. We need to see if we can track his route in and out of the city centre. Also get the tape from McDonald’s. It was a McDonald’s carton and it’s just across the road from where the body was found. Maybe they have some better quality images.’

‘I’ll get on it now.’

‘We’ve fucked up big time,’ McEvoy said to no one in particular. ‘He killed that man right under our noses and we didn’t even notice. He could have sat there for another half an hour or more before we’d have picked up on it.’

Foster had placed the business card in a clear plastic bag. McEvoy studied it, reading the text aloud. ‘“
The Rule Book
. A self-help guide for would-be serial killers. Now published and serialised in all good newspapers.” For feck’s sake! How about the chapter?’

Foster handed him the sheet of paper wrapped in a second plastic bag. McEvoy read it silently, Jacobs at his shoulder.

The Rules

Chapter Seven O: The Murderer D

“At the same time that we are moving into a surveillance society, our lives more and more captured by video cameras and in databases, criminals are becoming ever more adept at avoiding their gaze. They can walk down a busy street and just fade anonymously into the background, all the while seeking a new victim.”

7a. Live an ordinary life. Go to work, have a partner, make friends, mow the lawn on Sunday. Act like everyone else. Do not draw attention to yourself.

7b. Do not drink or smoke – it impairs judgement and makes one edgy.

7c. Always wear a full disguise. Vary this disguise depending on context. Never wear the same disguise across victims.

7d. Always have an alibi. Make sure it is as watertight as possible, preferably recorded in some fashion.

7e. Never feel remorse or guilt – they probably deserved it at some level. There is no such thing as innocence, just as there is no Truth.

7f. ALWAYS get away with it.

Master rule: Do not get caught for anything else – drink driving, speeding, thieving. Have no record and no contact with the law unless necessary.

‘Jesus Christ,’ McEvoy hissed as he finished. ‘He did it right under our feckin’ noses. It’s even in the bloody quote. He killed him in the middle of a busy street. He was visible to everyone, yet no one saw him. You said he’d been wearing a disguise,’ he said to Jacobs.

‘The trickster,’ Jacobs stated flatly. ‘I think the title is a pun of sorts. Chapter Seven O, Murderer D. OD. He killed him with an overdose of some kind.’

His phone rang. ‘McEvoy.’

‘What the hell is happening, Colm?’ Bishop asked.

‘He’s killed the final victim, a homeless man. Looks like he poisoned him, but I can’t be sure until the autopsy’s been carried out. He left a business card and the final chapter.’

‘And did you catch him?’ Bishop asked, already knowing the answer, seeking confirmation.

‘No. There were eight minutes between when he gave him the poison and when we found him dead. He was long gone by then. He was dressed as an old woman. I’ve got the outer cordon looking for her, I mean him.’

‘The press are going to have a field day. I knew this was a bad idea. They’ve already laid siege to the place.’

‘Look, Sir, I need to go. Things are pretty crazy here at the minute.’

‘That’ll be nothing to the firestorm you’re going to get in the next couple of days,’ Bishop warned.

‘If we find anything I call you, okay?’ McEvoy ended the call. He turned to Jacobs. ‘We need to find Karen.’

McEvoy paused in the hallway, listening for signs of life. Nothing. He climbed the stairs, two at a time, pushing open the door to Karen’s room. She was lying in the same corner between dirty blankets. The man he’d encountered downstairs the last time he visited lay on top of the blanket between her and the wall. A burnt and bloodied spoon lay on the ground, a lighter, a twist of tin foil, and a hypodermic needle nearby.

McEvoy knelt down next to the blankets. He rolled her shoulder. ‘Karen?’

There was no response.

‘Karen?’ he said loudly.

‘She’ll probably be out of it for a while,’ Jacobs said.

‘Shit! I don’t believe this.’ He shook her roughly. ‘Karen.’

‘What?’ The word was slow and slurred.

‘Karen. Come on, I need to talk to you.’ He shook her again.

‘You’re wasting your time,’ Jacobs offered.

‘What?’ Karen slurred again, half opening her eyes.

‘Shit!’ McEvoy stood and pulled his mobile phone from his pocket, his anger and frustration rising again. ‘Fuckin’ heroin. We need to get her moved into protective custody.’

‘Is that a good idea?’ Jacobs asked.

‘If she does know the identity of The Raven then I want her wrapped in cotton wool. I don’t want her to suddenly disappear, either through her own choice or his.’

He pulled the wig free and smiled at himself in the cracked mirror, his face reflected back two dozen times. He’d done it. He’d walked into the lion’s den, killed a man and left without anyone noticing. He’d proved the truth of
The Rule Book
and his own genius. There could be no argument. He’d outwitted all the forces of the Irish state ranged against him. He’d even told them when and where he would strike and still they had failed to ensnare him. He would justifiably be the headline news on every news station on the planet. He felt euphoric; invincible.

If it weren’t for his partner, lying behind him in the bath, he could slip back into anonymity; continue his life as before. But that wouldn’t be a problem. He would be safely hidden, ready to rise again at his choosing, long before anyone came to look for her.

‘You would have been proud of me, Sam,’ he said, running hot water into the sink, preparing to wash the make-up away. He’d excelled himself this time. The disguise had been perfect. As far as anybody who’d seen him were concerned, he
had
been an elderly woman – no question.

He turned to face her. Her eyes were closed, her face drained of any colour. ‘I did it, Sam. I fuckin’ did it. I’m The Raven. The Trickster. I said I would do it and I did. I wrote the rules. I wrote the fuckin’ book!’

He reached out and touched her shoulder. It was cold to the touch. ‘Sam?’

She did not respond.

‘Sam?’ He sat on the edge of the bath and stroked her cheek. ‘And then there were eight,’ he muttered to himself. ‘The epilogue. The final chapter that will announce my name to the world.’

He slowly started to unwind the tape from around her head, his euphoria subsiding. Once he finished he balled up the twisted tape and stared at her pale, placid, innocent face. Her pain and hatred were now gone – she was in a different place; the place Laura and his other victims were now residing. Somewhere other or nowhere; here, then gone.

He looked down at her lacerated body and pulled a tight smile. She had served his purpose; been the safety valve for his tension, stress and anger. She had never been anything more than a prop to create the illusion of a normal life. He knew he should be feeling something towards her – for her – but he felt nothing. He was just playing a scene for an absent audience.

He turned back to the sink and continued to remove his disguise. Once finished he left the bathroom without looking back and headed through into the living room to watch the news and bask in the rhetoric and hyperbole of panicked and flustered reporters and commentators. He felt invincible.

They were driving back towards O’Connell Street.

‘You need to try and calm down, Colm,’ Jacobs advised. ‘You’ll make poor decisions when angry.’

‘Just concentrate on The Raven and forget about trying to do your mumbo-jumbo on me, okay? He killed that man right under our feckin’ noses! Just walked in, gave y’man the burger, and calmly walked out again. I’m going to get taken to the cleaners.’

‘Well, being angry isn’t going to help,’ she said patiently. ‘You need to be calm and collected. Try and get things in perspective. You hit one of your colleagues earlier on. Even if he was taunting you, how’s that going to help? You’re acting like a bull in a china shop.’

‘Listen, Kathy, I know you mean well, but will you shut the hell up, okay? If it hadn’t escaped your attention I’m in charge of seven, that’s seven, murders. That sick bastard’s just committed the seventh in broad daylight in a place where over 20 officers were waiting for him and we still don’t have a feckin’ clue as to who he is! Of course, I’m angry. I’m feckin’ livid!’

‘All I’m saying is that you’ve been under enormous stress,’ she continued evenly, ‘you’ve practically had no sleep in the last week, and you’re hyper-tense. If you don’t calm down you’re going to have a heart attack or a stroke. That, or you’re going to say or do the wrong thing, something you’ll regret later.’

‘Kathy, shut up, okay?’ McEvoy said, annoyed and frustrated, knowing deep down that she was right, but too angry to admit it or act on her advice. It was now over an hour since The Raven had given the homeless man the burger. It was clear that he’d gotten clean away. They’d – he’d – been made to look a fool. Hitting Deegan had been stupid, but he deserved it. And he shouldn’t have been there; he should have been suspended. They continued on in silence.

His mobile phone rang and he snatched at it. ‘McEvoy.’

‘He left the same way he came in,’ Dr John said. ‘Up O’Connell Street, along Parnell Street, up Parnell Square West past the Rotunda, along Granby Row, across Dorset Street onto Saint Mary’s Place. We lose him after that.’

‘Shit!’

‘He barely entered our box. Certainly didn’t go anywhere near the spire or Earl or Henry Street. The only decent shots we get of him are from McDonalds, and he keeps his face looking down the whole time. He was wearing a head scarf over a grey-haired wig, a blue dress and cardigan, a black coat, black stockings and black shoes.’

‘Get the best frames released to the media ASAP. We want to speak to anybody who saw her between four and seven this evening. Get them to ring the confidential hotline. We need to know where he went after Saint Mary’s Place.’