Easy Kill Page 18

  If these women had been ‘ordinary’ as opposed to prostitutes, there would have been a public outcry. The notes made depressing reading. Beaten, strangled, stabbed, and in one case possibly drowned, only the 1993 case had a vague similarity to the current murders. Karen McGregor had been found near the Scottish Exhibition Centre, battered and throttled. The forensic report suggested an object had been forced into her vagina. Her husband was charged, but witnesses retracted their statements and Charles McGregor walked free after a Not Proven verdict.

  The unsolved prostitute murders in Glasgow were a disturbing tale of lost lives and drug addiction, a haunting replica of the story told by Lieutenant Blum. The hell these women lived was the same on both sides of the Atlantic.

  Chrissy came looking for her at six o’clock.

  ‘You won’t find anything in there you haven’t read before,’ she reminded Rhona.

  ‘McNab wanted me to take a look at a similar case in Atlantic City.’

  ‘Across the pond?’ Chrissy looked intrigued.

  ‘Similar MO and signature, strangulation and the insertion of a stiletto heel. The criminal profiler on the case voiced the same opinion as Magnus, that the stiletto served as a penis. The killer didn’t or couldn’t have sex with his victim.’

  ‘Any word on Magnus?’

  ‘No.’ Rhona had checked her mobile at regular intervals all afternoon. She’d also tried to call him but got voicemail.

  ‘Maybe he’s out of range?’

  ‘All day?’

  As if on cue, Rhona’s mobile rang. It was McNab.

  ‘Ryan Williams was formerly known as Peter Henderson. He changed his name legally online for £14.99.’

  ‘Is Ryan Williams British?’

  ‘Born in Glasgow in 1962.’

  ‘You’re sure it’s the same man?’

  ‘I talked to Lieutenant Blum. He said the guy had an American passport, but a funny accent. It reminded him of Shrek.’ McNab paused, then went on. ‘That’s not all. Henderson was briefly detained in Edinburgh in 1977 during the World’s End murder enquiry, but released without charge.’

  The police had eventually charged sixty-year-old Angus Sinclair for the murder of the two teenage girls, last seen at The World’s End pub in the Royal Mile in Edinburgh thirty years before. Despite forensic evidence linking Sinclair with the girls, the case wasn’t presented to a jury.

  ‘Why was Henderson a suspect?’

  ‘He said he was in the pub, saw the girls leave, generally made himself available.’

  Even back then, before psychological profiling, thrusting yourself in the spotlight always brought suspicion. It was a well-known feature of the behaviour of certain types of killer, Ian Huntley in Soham being a prime example.

  ‘Have we any proof he’s been back here?’

  ‘I’m working on it.’

  Maybe McNab’s lead was really going somewhere.

  Magnus’s text, asking to meet at her flat, arrived as she departed the lab. She had been praying for this for so long, Rhona almost cried out in relief. She texted back to say yes, then left a message on Bill’s phone to let him know Magnus had been in touch.

  On the drive home, her sense of relief was swiftly replaced by anger at Magnus for causing so much worry. Rhona spent the drive rehearsing out loud exactly what she planned to say to Magnus Pirie when she got there.

  47

  MAGNUS OPENED HIS eyes to suffocating darkness and an overpowering scent of damp and decay. Since he could see nothing, he focused on the smell, identifying it as both organic and cement-based, like a building being reclaimed by nature. At a guess, he was in a cellar. Magnus listened. He could hear water, both trickling nearby and running more freely elsewhere.

  Concentrating on water brought on a sudden and devastating desire to urinate. Only then did Magnus become fully aware of the wire that gripped his hands painfully behind his back, digging into the tender skin of his wrists. He tried to persuade himself that he didn’t need to go, but his body eventually took charge and emptied his bladder regardless. Magnus felt a rush of heat inside his trousers, then the dampening of the ground below him.

  Through a thudding head, he tried to work out how he’d got there. He remembered the girl, Nikki, running from him in the alley; then the discovery that the black car had trashed his bike, rendering it unusable. How he’d decided to leave it propped against the wall, accepting he was never likely to see it again.

  He should have turned homewards then, but hadn’t. Instead he’d walked through Calton towards the Necropolis. He’d been crossing a strip of waste ground when he’d suspected someone was following him. He’d caught a scent at first, then heard a soft crunch as a foot met gravel.

  At that point he’d upped his pace, heading for a distant street light that marked the main road. The last thing Magnus remembered was a rush of air as something came down heavily on his head.

  As his eyes grew accustomed to the darkness, Magnus began to distinguish the shape of the space he was in. Low-ceilinged, a brick archway to one side. He had no idea how long he’d been trussed up there, but judged by his biting hunger and thirst, it might have been up to twelve hours.

  He’d no doubt his abduction had been prompted by his online bid, and railed at himself for not calling Bill immediately. Magnus winced at the bitter memory of Anna losing her life because of his stupidity and arrogance. What if he’d hastened Terri’s death too?

  A rush of anger engulfed him. He’d thought himself clever. So clever he could catch the killer by psychological insight. What a fool he’d been. The killer was smarter than him. The killer had read his weakness, and played it to perfection.

  The cramps in his arms had worked their way up to his neck. Magnus twisted his hands in an effort to free them, then stopped when he felt the wire draw blood.

  There was a growl in his guts and he realised his bowels would move soon of their own accord, despite his efforts to prevent them. Magnus didn’t care about pissing his pants, but he was damned if he would soil them too.

  He rolled onto his front, then rose to his knees and with a huge effort climbed to his feet. His ankles were tied, but more loosely, with cord. Magnus worked at one shoe. Once one foot was out, the other was easy. Then he began to twist his wrists in ever expanding circles, spitting a litany of curses, as the wire stretched and loosened. The release, when it finally came, made him stagger in agony. Magnus realised in that moment that he had never experienced real pain before. He’d merely observed and analysed it, kidding himself he understood.

  When he’d regained control of his body, he dipped his head and exited through the archway. This space gave immediately onto another. Magnus paced its perimeter until he found a matching archway on the opposite side.

  He stood for a moment and listened. The sound of water seemed louder now. Magnus took a deep breath, expecting to smell an underground stream, but it was the faint smell of sweat that met his nostrils. At the same time he was conscious he was on the outskirts of a source of light.

  As Magnus crept forward, the human scent grew more intense. More than one person was or had been close by. Magnus looked through the archway.

  A harsh arc light held her full in its gaze, like a stark camera shot in some horror movie. Crouched and rigid with fear, Terri Docherty watched Magnus emerge from the shadows.

  48

  ‘I’M NOT GOING to hurt you.’

  Terri pressed herself to the wall, mewing like a kitten.

  ‘It’s okay, I’m here to help you.’ Even to himself, it sounded weak and pathetic. A man who could barely walk, was here to help her. He tried again. ‘My name is Magnus. I’m a profiler with the police. I’ve been looking for you.’

  ‘And now you’ve found her.’

  Magnus swivelled around, looking for the voice’s owner, finding no one.

  ‘You bid for her and now she’s yours.’

  ‘I’m here to help her.’

  The shot, when it came, was unbelievably loud in the
confined space, ricocheting from wall to wall. Magnus flung himself to the ground. Eventually the bullet buried itself somewhere and died.

  ‘Next time I shoot her through the head, just like Cathy.’

  Magnus had never felt so cold.

  ‘You’re here to fuck her. Get on with it.’

  The place went eerily silent. All Magnus could hear was the rush of water. For the first time in his life his brain had ceased to function. It offered him nothing. No thoughts, no ideas, no possible solutions.

  ‘Fuck her, or I kill her.’

  Terri’s naked body glistened with sweat and blood. Magnus realised she’d already been wounded. Something – a bullet? – had scored her neck, and her left breast had an oozing wound. Her terrified eyes sought his and Magnus read the truth of her anguished request. Terri would rather submit than die. Magnus crawled slowly towards her, running various scenarios in his head.

  ‘I won’t hurt her,’ he shouted into the blinding light. He moved to cover Terri’s body with his own, trying to judge where the last shot had come from.

  Suddenly the arc light snapped off and they were plunged into darkness. Somewhere behind him, Magnus heard a footfall, then something sharp jabbed his neck.

  Magnus knew he was in darkness, yet his mind insisted on pretending otherwise, swooping him through a kaleidoscope of images that exhilarated and nauseated him at the same time. The realisation he had no control over any of his senses terrified Magnus. He’d been drugged. With what, he had no idea. His tortured brain tried to remember what Rhona had said in the lab about crystal meth and its effects on the nervous system.

  He’d no idea how long he lay in this semi-hallucinatory state, but eventually reason reasserted itself and he opened his eyes to the glare of the arc light. The first thing to hit him was his smell. He reeked of sweat, blood and fear.

  Magnus rolled off Terri’s inert body with an intense feeling of guilt and remorse. Then the memories came in a rush. The crack as the bullet hit the brickwork near his head. His dive to the ground. Crawling towards Terri and covering her body with his. Then darkness. After the jab in his neck, a rush of heat and light. A throbbing sensation as the drug entered his bloodstream. Every sense suddenly alive and drowning in heat and pleasure.

  Shame burned at him now as he recalled his attacker’s order. Could he have done something in his altered state? The idea repulsed him.

  Magnus crawled towards the stream, expecting any moment to hear the whine of a bullet or hear a warning shout. When none came, he ducked his head under and lay there for a moment, letting the sharp chill of the water clear his brain.

  On his return, he found Terri curled in a foetal position, her eyes closed. Magnus checked her pulse and sniffed at her mouth, picking up a faint chemical smell he couldn’t identify. He examined her bonds. Her manacled neck and wrists were attached by what looked like an anchor chain to a large ring embedded in the wall.

  ‘Terri,’ he said softly. ‘I have to go for help.’

  She stirred and gave a small moan.

  ‘Can you tell me who brought you here?’

  Her eyes flickered open. Magnus was horrified to think the fear he saw there might be directed at him.

  ‘What does he look like?’

  Terri shook her head as though she didn’t want to remember.

  ‘Please try, Terri.’

  Spittle trickled from her mouth and her eyes rolled in her head. She was still tripping on something.

  Magnus felt for her pulse again and found it faint and skipping. He got to his feet. Terri’s only hope was for him to get out of there and bring help.

  49

  THERE WAS NO sign of Magnus or his bike outside her flat. Rhona propped open the front door and went upstairs.

  Tom was alone and pleased to see her, greeting her arrival with much purring and ankle-twining. She picked him up and gave him a hug. Her meal sat ready to re-heat. Rhona felt momentarily guilty – she hadn’t even thought to call Sean to tell him when she’d be home. She poured a glass of wine and settled on the window seat to wait. Magnus had said he would be there in twenty minutes.

  Half an hour later there was no sign of him. Irritated, Rhona decided to have her meal. She ate in silence, the kitten having ceased its sound effects and retreated to its basket to sleep. Afterwards, Rhona went through the motions of clearing up, her temper shortening with each passing minute. Her vocal rehearsal of what she planned to say to Magnus when he finally arrived made Tom prick up his ears warily.

  Rhona eventually deserted the kitchen for her study, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling that something wasn’t right. She texted Magnus’s number asking where the hell he was. Seconds later a text message arrived, containing an image.

  The bodies were bleached by a strong white light, but Rhona immediately recognised Magnus and the missing girl. Terri was naked, her manacles visible, her face contorted like a cat hissing in fear. Magnus lay on top, eyes closed, his face turned to the camera, as though caught in the act.

  Shock sent Rhona sliding into a chair. She stared at the screen in disbelief, but however she tried to explain the image, it looked like a rape scene. She used the landline to call Bill, unable to contemplate using the mobile. Bill answered almost immediately and Rhona blurted out what had just happened.

  ‘Okay, stay there, McNab and I are on our way.’

  Rhona waited in her study, her mind reeling, her gut churning, the mobile with the offending image beside her on the desk. Was Magnus capable of such an act? Did she know him at all?

  When Bill and McNab arrived, McNab took the phone and downloaded the image to his laptop. The larger version that now filled the screen was even more damning.

  ‘Terri was definitely alive when this was taken.’ It was the only positive thing that could be said. McNab threw Rhona a sympathetic look, which didn’t help.

  ‘Can we find out when it was taken?’ Bill said.

  ‘Not unless we have the phone.’

  ‘When exactly did you last see Magnus?’

  ‘Midnight on Monday night.’

  ‘Almost twenty-four hours ago.’ Plenty of time for both Terri and Magnus to be dead.

  ‘Was Magnus swabbed and fingerprinted when he joined the team?’

  It was standard practice that the DNA and fingerprints of all police personnel were stored on the Scottish National Database.

  Rhona shrugged helplessly. She had no idea. McNab looked uncomfortable. As crime scene manager, that’s something he should have checked. Rhona wondered where this was leading. ‘What are you saying? That Magnus is complicit in this?’

  The words were out in the open now.

  ‘He could have been forced to have sexual intercourse with her,’ McNab offered.

  ‘We don’t know that’s what’s happening. Not for certain.’ Rhona looked to Bill, willing him to agree.

  Bill’s troubled expression didn’t change. ‘Okay, let’s see if we’ve got anything more from the mobile company on the whereabouts of Magnus’s phone,’ he told McNab.

  ‘You’ve been tracking him?’ Rhona didn’t know why that surprised her.

  ‘The only activity on this phone in the last twenty-four hours are the text he sent Rhona before, and this photo.’

  ‘Magnus didn’t send it,’ said Rhona, firmly. ‘The killer did.’

  50

  AFTER BILL AND McNab left, Rhona went to bed. She lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling, unable to banish the image of Magnus and Terri from her mind.

  The online auction had been an invitation to torture, rape and murder the girl. If Magnus had been coerced into having sex with Terri, what else had he been forced to do?

  Rhona ran through every exchange she’d ever had with Magnus, back to the first strategy meeting. She was a reasonable judge of character, but not as astute as Chrissy, whose judgement Rhona would stake her life on. Chrissy had openly declared her liking for Magnus.

  Magnus could be arrogant, determined to go his own way regardless
of orders or advice. But a rapist? No. She couldn’t believe that of him. But what if his life were in danger? Or Terri’s? What then?

  The red light of her mobile blinked at her from the bedside table. If a call came in from Magnus’s phone, Bill wanted to know, whatever the hour. Rhona had turned up the volume in case she dozed off, although at the moment it didn’t look likely.

  Eventually she did, drifting into a fitful sleep punctured by nightmarish images of Magnus looming over her, his hands holding her down, his mouth hot on hers.

  She wakened suddenly, to find Sean next to her.

  ‘I was having a nightmare.’

  ‘Sounded like a different kind of dream to me.’ Sean’s expression was inscrutable.

  Had she talked in her sleep? Rhona knew she should say something, but couldn’t. A flash of something like pain crossed Sean’s face. Rhona reached for the mobile and brought up the image. ‘Take a look at this. That’s what I was dreaming about.’

  Sean stared dumbstruck at the photograph. ‘What the fuck’s going on?’

  Rhona told him the minimum. The girl in the image was Terri Docherty. Magnus had gone missing, having been, they believed, in contact with the killer. She’d received a text to meet him earlier at the flat. He hadn’t turned up, but the image had been sent as soon as she contacted him.

  Sean listened in silence. When she finished he said, ‘The sex looks real to me.’

  ‘Yes, but … it can’t be. Magnus wouldn’t …’ she stumbled to a halt.

  ‘The girl was terrified.’

  ‘I know,’ Rhona’s voice faltered.

  Sean drew her into his arms.

  ‘I don’t want you involved in this,’ Sean said angrily.

  ‘It’s my job.’

  ‘Fuck the job.’

  ‘I’m not in any danger.’

  ‘Yeah right. You’ve been hanging out with a nutter I just saw rape someone, but you’re not in any danger.’

  She shouldn’t have shown Sean the photo. She should have made an excuse, a joke about rude dreams.

  ‘This is police business. It has nothing to do with you.’

  Rhona felt Sean’s body go rigid.