A Killing Mind. Luke Delaney

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      ‘Then the killer’s a Londoner,’ Sally added.

      ‘Probably,’ Sean agreed, ‘or at least they know London well. Killers like to know their surroundings,’ he reminded them. ‘It makes them feel … comfortable.’

      ‘Any signs of sexual assault?’ the tall and well-spoken DC Fiona Cahill asked.

      ‘The first victim was almost certainly raped,’ Sean confirmed. ‘Too early to say with the second. His post-mortem is tomorrow and his clothes are already being processed by the lab, so we should know more then.’

      ‘Maybe they both crossed the same drug dealer,’ Donnelly argued, his bushy moustache twitching as he spoke. He could always be relied on to look for the simplest solution.

      ‘That’s what the MIT who initially investigated Tanya Richards’ murder thought. Drug dealer or pimp,’ Sean answered. ‘But they couldn’t find anything.’

      ‘Now we have another murder, though,’ Donnelly reminded him. ‘If we can find a dealer they both used, then we’d have a link.’

      ‘Maybe,’ Sean admitted without enthusiasm. ‘We’ll look into it, but I don’t think so. Doesn’t … feel like that sort of case to me.’

      ‘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 that’s certainly not what we’re 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 can’t 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 Gibran’s attack had marked her for life.

      ‘You all right, Sally?’ Sean asked, his eyes narrowing with concern.

      ‘Yes,’ she lied. ‘I’m fine. Haven’t heard that name for a while, that’s 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. ‘It’s 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. We’ll 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 he’s constantly getting them out to spend time with them. They wouldn’t 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 they’ll 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.

      ‘He’s not like you,’ Sean warned him. ‘He doesn’t think like you, any more than you think like him. He’s different.’

      ‘You mean us,’ Sally said. ‘He doesn’t think like us.’

      ‘What?’ Sean asked, confused by her words before another question saved him.

      ‘Why not take some of their hair?’ Cahill asked. ‘Hair’s 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 children’s hair. Lovers keep locks of each other’s hair. It’s 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 he’s capable of anything. For this one, it’s all about the violence – and he wants us to know it.’

      ‘Killers in the past have eaten parts of their victims,’ Sally reminded them. ‘It’s a way of keeping them forever – as if they’ve ingested the victim’s soul. Any obvious reason why he didn’t consume something at the scene? It would have certainly been a statement of his violent intent.’

      ‘That’s not his mindset,’ Sean answered without having to think about it. ‘Yes, plenty of serial killers – if that’s what he is – have consumed a part or parts of their victims, but it’s not usually out of violence or anger. For them, it’s 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. ‘You’re a parent, right, Dave?’

      ‘Aye,’ Donnelly answered in his gruff voice with an accent part East London and part Glaswegian – the city where he’d 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 doesn’t feel compassion СКАЧАТЬ