hands’ – Sean turned to him, seeing it clearly in his mind now. ‘Their hands would have been clawing at their own throats. They were too busy trying to stop the flow of blood to fight back. He wanted to watch them. Watch them in silence.’
‘And before the fight instinct took over,’ Canning went on, ‘he cut the carotid artery, giving them only seconds to live.’
‘He watched the life drain out of them,’ Sean continued, ‘and then he went to work on their teeth and nails.’
‘Interesting,’ Canning admitted. ‘But you realize it’s all guesswork – I’ll never be able to say for sure which wound was inflicted first.’
‘No,’ Sean accepted. ‘The crime scene should help though: blood-spray patterns, footprints in the blood, anything else we can find.’
‘Build up a picture, eh?’
‘Try to, at least,’ Sean told him. ‘If you just give a jury a long list of evidence, you’ll lose them.’
‘Not sure that would be the case here,’ Canning argued. ‘The viciousness of these attacks would keep most juries interested, not to mention his distinctive modus operandi.’
‘I suppose,’ Sean reluctantly agreed.
There was a moment’s silence, then Canning spoke again. ‘Does it worry you?’
‘Does what worry me?’
‘That he wants to leave you in no doubt that the crimes are his.’
‘It does,’ Sean admitted. ‘It tells me he wants the world to take notice of him and that’ll he’ll never stop until it does.’
‘Why does he want the world to take notice of him?’
‘Don’t we all?’ Sean answered with a question. ‘But that’s too general – not specific enough to him. I don’t think killing is the thing that drives him. I think it’s a means to an end. The way he can achieve whatever it is he’s trying to achieve.’
‘Are you sure?’ Canning asked doubtfully.
‘No,’ Sean shook his head. ‘Not really.’
‘Well, one thing we can be sure about,’ Canning told him, ‘is the type of victim he seems drawn to. Young and vulnerable.’
‘Victims of society become the victims of killers,’ Sean explained.
‘Indeed,’ Canning agreed sadly.
‘And there’ll be more of them,’ Sean warned. ‘Unless I can find him and find him quickly.’
‘Then you’d better get on.’ Canning turned to his tray of torturous instruments and removed a lethally sharpened scalpel. ‘And so had I.’
Back at his desk, Sean carefully read through statements from Dalton’s friends and associates – those who’d seen him on the day he died and those who had not – hoping to find some piece of information that could put him on the tail of the killer. He was confidant that he had formed an accurate sense of the killer’s mind, but that wasn’t going to give him a name and address. His instincts alone were never enough. He needed solid physical evidence too.
There was a single loud knock on his open door and he looked up to see Addis standing in the doorway, a folded copy of a newspaper under his arm. Immediately recognizing this as a bad sign, he sat bolt upright. ‘Sir.’
Addis entered and placed the newspaper on Sean’s desk, opening it at the centre pages and smoothing it out. He took a seat and waited in silence while Sean took in the double-page spread beneath the headline Broadmoor: The Mind Map of Murder. A large photograph of Sebastian Gibran, taken shortly after his committal, dominated the pages along with smaller photographs of other infamous Broadmoor residents. A small picture of a grim-faced Geoff Jackson appeared next to his byline. He sighed deeply inside. Jackson, he thought to himself, what the hell are you up to now?
Addis heaved a sigh. ‘I suppose we should be thankful he didn’t mention you by name. Neither I nor the Commissioner approve of having the names of Metropolitan Police officers spread across the pages of national newspapers.’
‘Why would they mention me?’
‘You caught him, didn’t you?’
‘In a way,’ Sean agreed, ‘although he was more handed to me than caught.’
‘Don’t underestimate the part you played,’ Addis told him. ‘Which is why the likes of Jackson have an unhealthy interest in you. He may yet try to drag your name into this – according to the final paragraph, this is merely the first of a series.’
‘Gibran wouldn’t be too happy if he dropped my name in.’
‘Why not?’ Addis asked.
‘He feels the way I caught him was somehow unfair, that I wasn’t worthy of catching him.’
‘The strange mind of Sebastian Gibran,’ Addis said, shaking his head. ‘Well, catch him you did. And now he’s giving interviews to The World from bloody Broadmoor.’
‘How the hell did Jackson get access?’ Sean asked. ‘Gibran’s always refused to cooperate with journalists.’
‘Through his lawyers, I’m told.’ Addis saw the look of suspicion on Sean’s face. ‘I have a lot of contacts,’ he explained. ‘Not much I can’t find out with a couple of phone calls. Anyway, he agreed to meet Jackson. Some nonsense about how he respected him for having the balls to meet with that murdering bastard Jeremy Goldsboro while he was still at large.’
‘Well,’ Sean acknowledged, ‘that did take some balls.’
‘Maybe,’ Addis waved a dismissive hand, ‘but whatever the reason, Jackson has access to him now and there will be further interviews to follow.’
Sean shrugged. ‘So long as he’s not interfering in anything current, why should we care if Jackson wants to spend his time shuttling backwards and forwards to Broadmoor? Might actually be doing us a favour – keep him out the way of our new investigation.’
‘And if Gibran starts talking about his own case?’ Addis asked. ‘Starts making accusations of wrongdoing by the investigation team? Apparently, he continues to maintain that crucial evidence was planted at his home address by the police. What if Jackson splashes that all over his rag?’
Sean’s face remained deadpan. ‘Is he, though – talking about his own case?’
‘No,’ Addis conceded. ‘Not yet.’
‘And he won’t,’ Sean insisted. ‘He can’t. As soon as he starts arguing lucidly about his own case, we can push to have him declared sane and tried for murder and attempted murder. He’s too smart for that.’
‘I hope you’re right,’ Addis told him. ‘But once Jackson finds out about these new killings he’s unlikely to leave it to some junior reporter. He’ll be all over it. If only the MIT South hadn’t let it be known that Dalton’s death was linked to another murder.’
‘The media would have found out soon enough. We need them onside for press conferences and appeals,’ Sean reminded him. ‘So long as we can keep Jackson at arm’s length, there won’t be a problem.’
‘I suppose so,’ Addis admitted, buoyed by the chance to increase his own public profile. ‘And what about the current investigation?’ he asked, changing tack. ‘Any significant breakthroughs? If he kills again, people will start to get concerned. Especially if he moves away from prostitutes and the homeless to someone who actually …’
‘Who actually matters?’ Sean finished for him.