Easy Kill Page 12

  Magnus paused again. The atmosphere in the room was electric. They were growing impatient, waiting for him to pronounce on the case.

  ‘I believe that, like Sutcliffe, our man is not a loner. He is confident around women. He can be charming and persuasive and is used to getting what he wants. He does not kill on his own patch, but one he visits for the purpose. He enjoys moving between his norm and what he regards as the degenerate section of humanity. Think Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde. He’s exploring the Mr Hyde in his nature, and is growing increasingly fond of it. He chooses prostitutes because, with them, his power is complete. These women are not people to him, but objects to be manipulated, abused, then dispensed with. He is methodical. He plans and expects the plans to work out. He is confident he can outwit us. The insertion of an object into a victim’s body is rare and is sometimes linked to a failure to achieve penetration in the normal way. This may be one factor in his increasing anger and levels of violence.’

  Magnus cleared his throat and continued.

  ‘Rapists are usually in their early to mid twenties. Serial killers are more likely to be older. Violent, serious crimes tend to come later in an offender’s career. So the question we need to ask is, where has he been? It is possible to slip through the net. Ian Huntley did so successfully for years, being accused but never charged for sexual offences until he finally moved on to murder. Without doubt, our man has been offending. The most likely explanation is that he’s been raping and abusing women who haven’t reported it, perhaps prostitutes, perhaps a partner.’

  He was silent for a moment.

  ‘So our man is mid to late thirties, with blond hair, left-handed. He has a car to transport his victims, which means he has a reasonable income. He is familiar with Glasgow, but doesn’t necessarily live here. Dr MacLeod identified sea salt and diesel traces on the ligature used on the last victim, which suggests he is closely connected to boating. We can’t be precise on all dates, but on Terri’s disappearance and Lucie’s death, we are. On those two dates there were a number of yacht races taking place on the Clyde. Competitors in these are not confined to the west of Scotland clubs. I would be interested in seeing a list of members of clubs using the Clyde and also outside competitors.’ He paused long enough to take another sip of water. ‘I also believe the killer researched the Necropolis well before he chose it, possibly taking one of the guided tours. We need to ask ourselves, why the Necropolis? I understand the place is used by doggers and is a recommended site of theirs. Is that what drew him there in the first place? He chose a secluded spot for the earlier burial. The later ones, a more prominent grave, suggesting a greater confidence. The disturbance of the earlier grave indicates he wanted us to find it, which means he returned despite the police presence.’

  There was silence, as they digested the information.

  ‘And this latest development, of a possible online auction?’ Sutherland asked.

  Magnus took time replying. ‘The killer is a sexual sadist. We know his attacks are becoming more frequent and more violent. I think he drew us to the third grave because he is finished with the Necropolis. The question is, where and what next? It’s perfectly possible for a website to stay hidden from search engines, with directions given only to a chosen few. If your IT team has found his, then they are either very skilled, very lucky, or – the more likely explanation – the killer intended this to happen.’

  ‘He’s challenging us to do something about it,’ Bill said.

  ‘It would appear so.’

  ‘And what do you suggest?’

  ‘I suggest I go online and place a bid.’

  30

  AFTER THE MEETING, Bill disappeared with the Super. Rhona suspected the DI was being grilled on the deployment of personnel, man hours being spent, and of course, the absence of a suspect. Magnus’s suggestion that he should make a bid in the online auction had been rejected. Doubtless, the next move was also being discussed behind closed doors.

  Bill had been silent after Magnus’s performance, though Rhona sensed no antagonism. There was a danger that they would concentrate solely on Magnus’s profile, which might be wrong. She, like Bill, was more inclined to deal in hard facts. The murderer was probably blond and sailed in salt water.

  Rhona wasn’t anxious to hang around with so much to do back at the lab, but it seemed churlish to refuse Magnus’s offer of a coffee. They made a mutual decision not to visit the police canteen, and decided to take advantage of Glasgow’s famous café society.

  A wall of heat met them on their exit from the police station. Car fumes from the busy one-way system choked the already stagnant air. Despite this, Sauchiehall Street was buzzing. There was nothing a Glaswegian liked better than hitting the shops in the sunshine, especially since the sun had been in short supply of late.

  Magnus’s striking looks and accent caused a bit of a stir among the female staff of the café-bar they chose. The young girl, who came to take their order, lost her tongue in the process. Magnus appeared completely unaware of the effect he was having. It rather endeared him to Rhona.

  The coffees arrived quickly and with a smile. Glasgow’s citizens had a reputation for friendliness, but in Magnus’s company it appeared guaranteed.

  ‘So, what did you think?’ Magnus said, when the waitress finally dragged herself away.

  ‘It sounded plausible, but if we’re being honest, it doesn’t get us any closer to picking up a suspect, or finding Terri.’

  Magnus nodded. ‘I’m going to see Terri’s parents this afternoon. Did you know her father works at the Kip Marina?’

  ‘Why didn’t you mention that at the meeting?’

  Magnus remained unfazed by her response. ‘I discussed my plans with DI Wilson beforehand.’

  So that was why Bill’s reaction had been more positive than Rhona had expected. One thing was certain, Magnus’s next move was never going to be easy to anticipate.

  ‘I wondered if you fancied tagging along in your forensic capacity, to take saline samples and red diesel from the yard?’

  Salinity did vary throughout the estuary, so it might prove useful. Red diesel might not be so conclusive.

  ‘Bill’s okay with this?’

  ‘It was Bill who suggested it.’

  Magnus was silent as Rhona negotiated the city centre traffic and made her way onto the M8. Crossing the Kingston Bridge reminded her of Terri’s handbag. It had been retrieved from the westbound carriageway, suggesting the car was heading out of town, although there were plenty of exits that allowed you to double back. Magnus had suggested the killer knew Glasgow well, but didn’t necessarily live there. If that was the case, he could have buried Terri’s body anywhere in the acres of surrounding countryside, and it might never be found.

  Bill had taken Rhona’s advice and asked Judy to study aerial photographs of the Necropolis, checking for the telltale colour changes in vegetation caused by recent decomposition. No further graves had been identified from the photos. Maybe Magnus was right and they’d found all the victims who’d met their end in the City of the Dead.

  She had called in at the lab first, leaving Magnus to survey the luscious vista of Kelvingrove Park, while she checked on Chrissy, who was attempting to lift prints from Terri’s handbag.

  ‘Any luck?’

  ‘Two, but not great and they might turn out to be Terri’s. How did the meeting go?’

  ‘The discovery of the hair went down well.’

  ‘And what did our Norse God have to say?’

  ‘He gave us a preliminary profile. It sounded plausible. Also Terri’s father works at the Inverkip Marina.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Bill wants me to take a water and diesel test, while Magnus talks to Terri’s parents.’

  ‘So, a jolly in the sunshine?’

  ‘I won’t be away that long.’

  Chrissy gave such a deep sigh that Rhona contemplated sending her instead, but she was keen to observe Magnus in action.

  As they headed
down the M8 towards Greenock, Magnus brought out A Guide to Clyde Yacht Clubs. The Firth of Clyde boasted ten sailing clubs, from the centre of Glasgow to Troon on the south-west coast, by way of every loch that fed into the firth. The list included two clubs at the foot of Gare Loch, home to Faslane Naval Base and the Trident nuclear submarine fleet. Looking for a murderous mariner in the sailing world of the Firth of Clyde would be like looking for the proverbial needle in a haystack.

  On a day like this with Aegean skies, it would have been difficult to believe they were in Scotland, were it not for the spectacular view across to the Cowal Peninsula and the distant rise of Ben Lomond.

  Magnus gazed out of the window, enthralled. ‘I’ve been in Glasgow two years and I’ve never come this far west. I always go home if I get more than a weekend off.’

  ‘Is Orkney like this?’

  Magnus laughed. ‘No. The islands are pretty flat. Ward Hill on Hoy is the highest point and it’s less than 2,000 feet. Peedie in comparison to those mountains.’

  ‘I take it “peedie” means wee?’

  He nodded. ‘Although we also say peedie wee.’

  Rhona pointed across the water to the village of Kilcreggan. ‘I went camping there when I was a Girl Guide. We were eaten alive by midges. Ended up sleeping in the local church.’

  ‘Ah, midges. We’re not bothered with them much in Orkney. Probably because of the hundred-mile-an-hour gales.’

  They’d relaxed into a camaraderie that made Rhona feel slightly guilty. It wasn’t flirting exactly, but it wasn’t far off it. She decided to change the subject.

  ‘I understand Terri’s mother has already been interviewed?’

  Magnus took his cue from her and changed tone. ‘She said she expected Terri home the weekend after she had disappeared.’

  ‘I thought Terri had cut all contact with her family?’

  ‘According to Bill, one of Terri’s regulars maintained her father told her never to get in touch again.’

  ‘And her mother knew that?’

  ‘That’s what I aim to find out.’

  31

  RHONA HADN’T VISITED Gourock since she was a child. Her father had been fond of the seaside town and had taken her mum and her ‘doon the water’ whenever the opportunity arose. Rhona suspected that the further west her dad travelled, the more the landscape reminded him of Skye.

  Heading to Gourock by train had been one of the pleasures of her childhood. Rhona still remembered disembarking in the Victorian station building, with its glazed canopies; the feeling she’d entered some magical sunlit kingdom. The domed roof was gone, bulldozed in the 80s, the stately ticket office now unbelievably a PortaKabin.

  Rhona followed the shore road, noting both the familiar and the new. The outdoor pool she’d swum in as a child was still there, but refurbished and boasting a year-round thirty-degree temperature on the board outside. Years ago, the incoming tide had simply washed over a low concrete wall, covering the base ofthe pool with sand. Rhona felt a small pang of regret. There had been something exotic about swimming among fronds of seaweed.

  Magnus interrupted her reminiscences to give her directions. ‘Take the next left going up the hill.’

  The Dochertys’ house sat alone, high above the town. A post-war bungalow with a large garden, it called to mind children playing on the lawn, or climbing up to the tree house Rhona could see in a large spreading oak. The garden was neat and well kept, but looked empty somehow.

  ‘Mrs Docherty’s expecting us.’ Magnus glanced at his watch. ‘We’re a little early.’

  The crunch of wheels on gravel brought no response from the house. Later, a flash of colour approached from the direction of the tree house, suggesting their arrival had been observed from there.

  The woman who walked towards them wore a blouse and light-coloured slacks, her hair cut short. As her face came into view, Rhona saw her deep worry-lines and under-eye shadows. Here was someone who didn’t sleep at night and got no peace in daytime. Worry was as corrosive as any disease.

  Magnus held out his hand. ‘Magnus Pirie. I’m a criminal psychologist helping look for your daughter.’ He indicated Rhona. ‘This is Dr MacLeod from Strathclyde forensic department.’

  There was silence as the woman regarded Rhona with interest. ‘I watch CSI,’ she offered, eventually. ‘I enjoy seeing them catch the killers.’

  Rhona said nothing, not wanting to shatter the woman’s illusions.

  Mrs Docherty led them into a bright sitting room where the chintz-covered suite matched the curtains, and the carpet was soft and deep beneath their feet. On a polished sideboard stood a row of photographs in silver frames. A couple posed with a little boy and girl very close in age, then there was a selection of the same children growing up. Terri and her brother looked so alike they might have been twins.

  Mrs Docherty ushered them to a seat on the couch and offered them tea. When the woman departed to put the kettle on Magnus took the opportunity to wander around the room, looking more closely at the photographs and staring out of the window.

  You could tell a great deal about the occupants of a house by the rooms they chose to live in. This had been a bone of contention for Rhona when Sean moved in. He was happy amidst disorder. She wasn’t. Gradually they’d adapted enough to rub along together. Still, even now, when Sean went on tour Rhona tidied away his clutter and returned with pleasure to her habitual minimalism.

  Rhona couldn’t imagine how sad it must be to sit in this room with a photograph of your missing child.

  ‘Please call me Nora,’ insisted Mrs Docherty as she poured the tea.

  They all drank and Rhona waited for Magnus to start the proceedings.

  ‘Is your husband going to join us?’ he finally asked.

  A shadow crossed Nora’s face, then she mustered herself. ‘He has to work today.’

  The embarrassed silence extended as a flush blossomed on Nora’s cheeks. She sought refuge in handing around a plate of biscuits. Magnus took one. Rhona joined him. The woman looked so uncomfortable she couldn’t bear to refuse.

  ‘You expected Terri to arrive on Friday night?’ Magnus asked.

  ‘She said she would come down at the weekend.’

  ‘Did your husband know?’

  Nora studied her cup. ‘We didn’t discuss it.’

  ‘Was Mr Docherty here on Friday night?’

  Nora threw Magnus a guarded look. ‘He went out in the car about eleven. He does that sometimes. Drives about. It keeps his mind off things.’

  ‘What time did he get back?’

  ‘I don’t know. I fell asleep.’ Nora changed the subject. ‘I went to the drop-in centre on Saturday. I wanted to talk to people who knew Terri. I wanted to meet her partner, Leanne,’ she added defiantly.

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘She didn’t come in, but Marje said she would give Leanne my number and ask her to call. She hasn’t yet.’ She looked anxiously at Magnus as if he could help with that.

  Magnus’s next question caught Rhona by surprise.

  ‘Nora, do you believe your daughter is still alive?’

  Nora replied instantly. ‘I know she is.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  Nora took a deep breath, then glanced swiftly at the row of photographs. ‘When Terri’s brother Philip was sixteen, he collapsed at school and was rushed to hospital. His guidance teacher, Mr Beattie, phoned me. As I drove there, I felt …’ she stumbled, corrected herself, ‘I sensed my son die.’ Nora was reliving the moment. ‘I was right. The time was logged on his chart.’ She checked for a dismissive reaction from Magnus and found none.

  ‘And you’ve felt nothing like that about Terri?’

  ‘I’m very frightened, all the time. But no, I haven’t felt that.’

  ‘Tell me about her.’

  Nora spoke for an hour; about Terri as a baby, as a little girl who rode ponies with her brother. ‘They were so close they were like twins. When Philip died, Terri was distraught. They said
she would get over it. She never did.’ Nora gave them an apologetic look. ‘We weren’t much use to her. We were grieving ourselves.’ She looked down at her hands, clasping and unclasping them in her lap. ‘Terri became clinically depressed. She told me once … that she’d lost her soul.’ Nora’s voice cracked. ‘Then she found heroin and that took away the pain.’

  Losing one child to illness then losing a second to drugs seemed unbearable. Rhona had avoided all of this by giving her child away for adoption. It was something she tortured herself with every day. Here, in this room, it seemed unforgivable.

  ‘Terri has kept in touch?’

  ‘She said she was coming down this weekend. She told me she was clean. Marje at the centre said it was true,’ Nora’s tone defied any possible scepticism. She explained about sitting up waiting for a phone call, then seeing the news and calling the helpline.

  ‘Did your husband know she was coming home?’

  Over Nora’s shoulder Rhona could see the photograph of Mr Docherty with his two young children. She’d heard about this man, through Bill and now Nora. An elusive figure lurking at the edge of this family tragedy.

  Nora looked distressed. ‘David won’t talk about Terri any more. He says she’s as dead to us as Philip.’ She threw Magnus an agonised glance. ‘Terri lied over and over again. She wasn’t Terri any more. She would say anything, do anything to get the drug. It broke David’s heart.’

  ‘You mentioned Philip’s guidance teacher, Mr Beattie.’

  ‘A kind man. He tried to help Terri after Philip died. He runs the school sailing club. He taught them both to sail.’

  By the time they came to leave, Magnus’s questioning had revealed much about the Docherty family. How it had operated up until Philip’s death, and how they had survived afterwards. Terri had come from a good strong home. It made Rhona sad to think even that hadn’t been enough to save her. No wonder her parents were devastated. Rhona wondered how they managed to breathe, let alone function.