Dead Memories (D.I. Kim Stone #10)(48)

It didn’t matter what was taken, the motivation was always the same: to prolong the fantasy of the crime, and between crimes – often while targeting future victims – a serial killer pulls out their trophies to relive the crime over and over.

The police had viewed the murder of Jennifer Townes as a crime of passion from the outset. A one-off attack by someone she knew. The taking of a trophy, a keepsake, went against that theory, but there was something else.

The murder of Jennifer could have been an escalation. No serial killer wakes up one day and starts killing just like that. There is always a history.

French serial killer, Michel Fourniret, only started killing after one of his rape victims reported him to the police.

Some start by breaking and entering for valuables, realise one night there is a woman living alone, rapes her and then targets homes of women living alone. Escalation. Another could strangle one of his victims because she fought back and he enjoys it. Escalation.

She knew from experience that an evolving serial killer is usually organised and demonstrates more maturity and confidence with each killing, learning and modifying his MO.

A devolving serial killer is normally unorganised and totally controlled by his fantasy and his impulses. His crimes would become more and more erratic, without real purpose, and usually loses complete control over reality and his own actions.

Her mind started to throw up possibilities, the most disturbing of which was that they had caught the killer as he was beginning to devolve: a dangerous time for any female crossing his path.

She compared the two crime scenes. Jennifer had disappeared from the bar at the end of her shift. The killer had subdued her successfully late at night and taken her to an abandoned warehouse two miles from the club, where he had been able to brutalise and rape her for hours before she’d even been identified as missing.

The abduction of Beverly had been around three hours earlier in the night. She had been dragged to an alley that ran behind a row of houses and was disturbed when a dog began to bark.

Was he already unravelling and making impulsive mistakes?

But given the fact she didn’t believe this was the act of a rejected lover who had then gone on to attack another woman she had to consider the killer had escalated.

As a consultant for each police force she’d worked for she’d had no personal experience of the sharing database HOLMES and now HOLMES2 but she knew it was an information technology system for major incidents used by all UK forces.

And it could help her find out if any similar incidents had been logged before.

She had no access to the system, but she knew someone that did.

She lifted her head.

‘Stacey, you got a minute, cos I really need your help?’





Sixty-Three





Stunned by his admission, Kim followed Henry Reed into a light and airy space that was clearly a few walls short of its original build. The remaining walls were formed of exposed grey stone. The lounge blended into the kitchen before curling around into the dining area with one door that she presumed led to a bathroom.

The single chairs, small television and large bookcases told her everything she needed to know about how this man lived his life.

‘May I get you something to drink, a snack?…’

‘We’re fine,’ she said, still surprised at his admission upon answering the door.

‘A glass of water,’ Bryant said, shooting her a sideways glance.

‘Please sit,’ he said, pointing to a light beech table with a bench on either side.

He took a bottled water from the fridge and poured it into a glass and added two slices of lemon.

Kim hated her colleague right now.

‘You have no idea how long I’ve waited—’

‘Why did you write the book?’ Kim asked, cutting him off. It was important to her. This man wasn’t what she’d been expecting but it was a long time ago. Just because he didn’t appear ruthless and cold now didn’t mean he hadn’t been a complete bastard back then.

‘Did you write books on other damaged kids too?’ she asked, bitterly.

He placed Bryant’s drink down with a trembling hand, his face a mask of shock.

‘Absolutely not,’ he said.

‘Then please explain why you chose to exploit me?’

His shock deepened. He shook his head. ‘It wasn’t like that.’ He took a breath. ‘Let me start from the beginning. I was there that day, at Hollytree. The day they found you both. I was twenty-eight and happened to be close by writing an article on the Halesowen cricket club. I was right behind the line. I saw your brother, that’s to say I saw the tiny body bag holding your brother.’

Kim swallowed down the emotion that suddenly clogged her throat.

‘There were people whispering about your mother, about your father or lack of and about the two of you. My heart was already breaking. And then I saw you.’

He shook his head and blinked rapidly.

‘You were brought out of the tower block, and I’ll never forget it. The silence. You were like a frail little rag doll. Thin and white with your black hair and dark eyes. The fear shone from you. You were six years old and you already knew you were completely alone. It was maybe four seconds until you disappeared from view into the ambulance but not one person spoke. Every gaze was on you. There were three photographers behind me that had jostled for position and you know something, not one of them took a photo.’