So what was his motivation? DC Paulo Zukov asked in his thick London accent, his sharp blue eyes peering from a gaunt, unattractive face.
Well, Sean thought out loud, very few stranger attacks result in murder. Most are fights between males that go too far and someone ends up getting killed, but thats certainly not what were dealing with here.
And? Zukov prompted, trying to hurry him along.
And, Sean continued, sexually motivated attacks where the killer only kills in order to cover his tracks, to get rid of the main witness, i.e. the victim. Or and this is much rarer where the motivation is the killing itself. Usually committed by someone with extreme mental health issues, although occasionally, very occasionally, by someone of sound mind who just cant stop themselves. Someone for whom killing is in their nature.
Like Sebastian Gibran, Donnelly mentioned the toxic name.
Yes, Sean agreed. Like Sebastian Gibran.
Sally looked at the floor, her hand automatically going to the place on her chest where her blouse hid the two scars where Gibrans attack had marked her for life.
You all right, Sally? Sean asked, his eyes narrowing with concern.
Yes, she lied. Im fine. Havent heard that name for a while, thats all.
To go back to the teeth and nails, Donnelly intervened, saving Sally from any more unwanted attention. Why take them as trophies? Bloody hard to get out. If he wanted a body part, why not cut off the fingers or ears? A good knife or pruning scissors and he could have had the job done in seconds. Pulling teeth must take time and effort.
Sean had been giving it some thought. Its possible he has experience of extracting teeth and wanted to stick to something he was familiar with.
A dentist? Donnelly questioned.
Unlikely, Sean told him. Someone who tried dentistry and failed is more likely. Well have to check it out anyway, but I think the reason he took the teeth and the nails is because he wanted something durable something from their bodies, but also something that would last. Something that could last forever.
Jesus, Donnelly said quietly.
Other body parts would eventually degrade, Sean explained. Even if he kept them in a fridge especially if hes constantly getting them out to spend time with them. They wouldnt last long.
He could freeze them, Zukov suggested. Could last for years if he did that.
No, Sean dismissed the suggestion. Not personal enough. A lump of frozen meat wrapped in something like clingfilm that would never be enough for him. When he holds his trophies in his hands he needs to feel them, to have them right there with him. Nails and teeth are perfect for that. He can handle them as much as he wants and whenever he wants and theyll never degrade to nothing. Or Sean stopped, momentarily lost in his own thoughts.
Or? Sally tried to bring him back.
Or, he continued, he did it simply because he liked it. He liked pulling their teeth and fingernails. It made him feel good.
How the hell could doing that make anyone feel good? Zukov asked.
Hes not like you, Sean warned him. He doesnt think like you, any more than you think like him. Hes different.
You mean us, Sally said. He doesnt think like us.
What? Sean asked, confused by her words before another question saved him.
Why not take some of their hair? Cahill asked. Hairs personal and non-biodegradable and a lot easier to remove, so why not take hair?
Again Sean had considered it. Too gentle, he answered. Too compassionate. Parents keep locks of their childrens hair. Lovers keep locks of each others hair. Its a sign of affection and caring. The connection he felt with the killer was growing stronger as he expanded on each theory. He wants us to know he feels no compassion. Wants us to know how strong he is mentally that hes capable of anything. For this one, its all about the violence and he wants us to know it.
Killers in the past have eaten parts of their victims, Sally reminded them. Its a way of keeping them forever as if theyve ingested the victims soul. Any obvious reason why he didnt consume something at the scene? It would have certainly been a statement of his violent intent.
Thats not his mindset, Sean answered without having to think about it. Yes, plenty of serial killers if thats what he is have consumed a part or parts of their victims, but its not usually out of violence or anger. For them, its an act of love. They want to be one with the victim keep them alive and with them forever by consuming them.
Love? Donnelly asked disbelievingly. Hell of a funny way to show love.
Sean paused, wondering how to explain. Youre a parent, right, Dave?
Aye, Donnelly answered in his gruff voice with an accent part East London and part Glaswegian the city where hed spent that part of his life before joining police.
Remember when they were young and you used to play with them and hold them and tell them you were going to gobble them all up?
Aye, Donnelly replied, shaking his head, but that was different.
No, Sean insisted. Psychologically, the same. But not for this one. He doesnt feel compassion or love for them and he doesnt want them to live forever inside of himself. He wants them dead. He wants to destroy them.
Why? Sally asked. Why such strong feelings of violence and hatred towards strangers?
Who says he hates them? Sean corrected her. Maybe theyre simply a means to an end.
What means? What end? Sally pushed him.
I dont know, he told her honestly. Not yet.
Great another paranoid schizophrenic off his meds, Donnelly said, dismissing anything more sinister.
No, Sean explained. Theres no frenzy to these attacks. Theyre controlled and planned. This isnt someone hearing voices in their head or seeing demons on the train. I dont sense mental illness here, or at least nothing a court would recognize as such.
Then were looking for someone whos made the conscious decision to select victims and kill them, Cahill asked, but with controlled violence?
Thats what these photographs say to me, Sean agreed. And I reckon weve got about ten days to find him before he kills again. I could be wrong, but he doesnt look like hes going to become a sleeper. Now hes started, hell keep going, probably at about the same pace or faster.
Do you think hes killed before? Sally asked.
Possibly, he admitted. Well have to look into it anything that looks remotely similar will have to be checked. But I think Tanya Richards was his first. He tried something new and he liked it. It didnt scare him or freak him out. It was probably everything he hoped for, maybe more and he needed it again and quickly, hence he turned and tapped a photograph of William Dalton ten days later he strikes again. Its a drug to him now. He needs it. He looked around at the quiet, stoical faces all eyes on him, waiting for ideas and leadership. He let the responsibility sink in before speaking again.
All right, he stirred his team, weve all done this before. We all know what an investigation like this means and how to get a result. A few heads nodded. Dave, he turned to Donnelly. You sort out the door-to-door. Dalton was living in a garage, so maybe he was something of a local celebrity. People might know him more than usual.
Donnelly nodded. Want me to do the same for Richards? he asked. Not sure I want to trust some other MITs findings.
Fine, Sean agreed. They wont like it, but do it anyway.
Theyll survive, Donnelly shrugged.
Sally, Sean continued assigning tasks: track down Daltons friends and family, will you? Chances are they dont know hes dead yet. He was a heavy drug user working the West End. Lets find out what his associates can tell us about his lifestyle. They might have some useful information, as might his family especially about how he ended up homeless. Theres a crucial piece of information hiding somewhere waiting for us. We dig and dig and dig till we find it. Dont second-guess what could be important and whats not.
We know he had an Oyster card and used it regularly, so lets get it interrogated and see where and when hes been moving around. Fiona Cahill looked up from the notes she was scribbling; Take care of it, OK. Cahill nodded her agreement. Sean turned to Jesson. Alan: Dalton moved around the West End most days and travelled back to Southwark most nights, most likely to Borough Tube if he was living off Mint Street, so well have CCTV coming out of our ears. Get hold of British Transport Police and tell them to preserve all CCTV from those areas and routes until we can give them something more specific once weve looked into his Oyster card.
BTP. Done, was all Jesson said in his Liverpudlian accent.
As Im sure you all understand, the original investigating team will not be happy about losing this case, Sean reminded them. No MIT wants to lose a job like this, so if you come into contact with them, keep it nice. No rubbing their faces in it, please. We need them onside and cooperative. Dont want them holding back any information to make things difficult for us. Ill do my best to smooth things over with them and I expect each of you to do the same.
Thats it for now, Sean told them. Get yourselves organized and ready to go. Dave will be office manager and will put you into teams as soon as he can and give you your individual tasks. OK lets get on with it.
As the meeting broke up, the team moved quickly back to their desks gathering phones, notebooks, pens and anything else experience had taught them they might need, chatting loudly and excitedly to each other as they did so. Sean drifted back towards his office followed by Sally, while Donnelly remained in the main office and started barking out orders.
Sean paused next to him as he passed and quietly spoke in his ear. Keep them on it, he told Donnelly. Two victims is enough. Donnelly merely nodded. As soon as he entered his office, Sean started putting on his coat and filling his pockets with the detritus from his desktop.
Going somewhere? Sally asked.
Ugh, Sean grunted as he looked up, suddenly pulled out of his own thoughts. Yeah, he rejoined the world. I need to go out.
Where? Sally pushed.
The scene, of course, he told her.
The MIT will be all over it, Sally reminded him. Maybe we should leave them to it and take control of their exhibits when theyre done.
No, Sean replied firmly. I want our people on it. I want DS Roddis and his team. No one else. Roddis is the best.
Sally didnt argue. OK. Want some company?
No, Sean told her. Ill go alone. Stay here and help Dave.
Fine, Sally reluctantly agreed. If thats what you want.
Sean sensed her doubt. But ?
So long as you havent decided to try and solve this one all on your own, she voiced her concern. Its been a long time since we had a proper investigation. I know what youre like, Sean. Youre hungry for this, I know you are, but were a team, remember? We work as a team we solve this quicker. You try and do it alone, it could be She let her words trail off.
Could be what? he asked, puzzled.
Dangerous, she said with conviction. For you and everyone around you.
Dont worry about me, he tried to reassure her. Were a team I get it. Its early days and theres much to do. We just need to divide and conquer until things are moving, is all. Youre more use to me here, helping Dave, than you are trailing around after me.
Thanks, she replied sarcastically.
Thats not what I meant, he tried to recover. Look, Ill be back soon and Ill tell you everything I find. OK?
Fine, she relented.
I wont be gone long, he insisted as he brushed past and headed across the main office before disappearing through the door.
David Langley returned home to the small rented flat in the wrong part of Wandsworth that had been his home since his wife decided hed had one too many encounters with other women and had thrown him out. Where low-rise estates dominated and danger was never far away. The bitterness he felt towards her and at having to leave the family home burned deep in him like a stove of hatred. He blamed her for the failure of their marriage. Shed enjoyed pushing their sex life to the boundaries of near torture in the early years, but as he tried to push even further she had suddenly turned conservative and uninteresting. No wonder hed looked elsewhere.
He grabbed himself a beer from the fridge and drank it quickly before taking another. The drab walls of the flat began to close in on him, making him feel trapped and depressed. He decided to phone his ex-wife, who still lived in their smart terraced family home in upwardly mobile Earlsfield. Maybe she would let him speak to their two children instead of constantly trying to poison their minds against him. So what if hed forgotten he was supposed to pick them up or take them out a few times? He was busy providing for them, wasnt he?
He punched the number into his phone and listened to the ringing tone as he waited for it to be answered. There was a click, followed by a familiar voice.
Hi. This is Emma, Charlie and Sophie Hutchinson. Hearing her use her maiden name for his children as well as herself started his blood boiling. How dare she? We cant get to the phone right now, so please leave your name and number and well get back to you as soon as we can. Bye.
Pick the phone up, Emma, he demanded. I know youre there. He waited a few seconds; nothing. I said, pick the phone up. I want to speak with my children. Still nothing. Stop being a bitch, Emma and answer the damn phone. You cant stop me speaking to my own children. I have a right to speak to them whenever I want. He was met with more silence. Fine, he shouted into the phone. Have it your own way. Ill be speaking to my solicitor first thing in the morning. Whos paying for that bloody house you live in anyway? He slammed the phone down. Fucking bitch, he cursed to the empty flat.
Painful memories of the day she made him leave the family home swept back into his spinning mind him blaming her for his infidelities while she screamed at him to get out, calling him a complete loser. Loser, he repeated the insult shed thrown at him. Ill show you whos a fucking loser. Ill show everyone. He breathed in deeply and felt himself begin to calm as images of his victims washed over him, leaving him feeling powerful and in control. He chastised himself for not having mastered his temper. Control was everything. If he was to achieve his ultimate goal, he needed to put aside everything from his past including his children and lost wife. He needed to let them go.