Читать книгу Payback - Harvey Cleggett - Страница 16

Once in the office, John instructed one of his detectives to prepare the crime scene video for viewing in the conference room. He then told Ballard he would meet him there in five minutes after buying his lunch from the canteen. Ballard collected his sandwiches and a glass of water from the kitchen before walking around with his day book. John breezed in minutes later shutting the door, then, placing his food and drink in front of him, activated the overhead video.

Again both men sensed the foreboding they had experienced at the crime scene, however this time they knew they would be witnessing the brutal outcome of a savage killing. Despite this, they attacked their food with vigour as they watched. There was the initial display of the case file number on a marker card, followed by the obligatory location shots showing the street name. The video then panned to take in all the factories in the court.

The entrance to Mario’s premises came into view and both men shuffled attentively as filming progressed to the front office. The additional items such as PCs, filing cabinets and personal objects could be seen, providing them with the details that were missing when they attended the scene earlier. What caught their eye was the pile of empty beer cans on one of the desks; Ballard counted five. In addition there was a half empty bottle of Jonnie Walker. Mario may have been drinking with his two staff, drinking alone, or unwittingly had a drink with the killer; whichever way, it was something that needed to be investigated.

Both men scribbled notes in their day books as the film moved to the factory floor, displaying the rows of concrete statues. Wide shots were taken to give the scale of the room, then the crime scene itself came into view.

As prepared as both men were, John’s mouth dropped open, still full of partly masticated food. What they saw was Mario’s body slumped on the floor alongside an overturned chair. The noose was still around his neck, the rope lying coiled on top of him. “Jesus Christ. What sort of world are we living in?”

Ballard nodded as he washed down a mouthful of sandwich, staring hard at the screen. “I have to say, I’ve never got used to the amount of blood that gets splashed around in murders like these.”

John stared, his mouth chewing mechanically as he took in the scene unfolding before him. The video showed a close up of the exit wound. Both men placed their sandwiches down on the table, stunned by what they saw.

John gulped down his mouthful before hissing, “My God! Look at the size of the hole in the back of the poor bastard’s head.” He took the remote, pausing the video before zooming in for a closer view of the grizzly scene.

Neither man was ashamed to admit the images were disturbing, unlike their younger peers who felt such emotional displays were a sign of weakness. They had an ‘old school’ reputation for toughness which effectively countered their display of humanity.

After switching the video to a wider shot, John got up and walked over to the screen. “Bingo! Your theory about the chair is spot on. Look at his shoes?” As he spoke, he pointed to Mario’s footwear. “Definitely heavy duty. My guess steel capped to save his toes from being crushed should one of the statues drop on his tootsies.”

Returning to the table he clicked the remote and the video continued its gruesome journey, documenting in excruciating detail every facet of the crime. By the time it had ended, the last image redisplaying the case file number, both men sat in silence, digesting their lunch and the scenes that had played out before them.

Ballard glanced at his partner. “Never gets any easier does it?”

With a clenched jaw John snarled, “I swear to God we’ll get the bastard who did this.”

To lighten the mood, Ballard collected his lunch scraps and pushed back from the table. “How about we change pace and have a chat with Ken, your favourite profiler.”

John grimaced, then laughed humourlessly before collecting the remains of his sandwich and drink, following Ballard to the kitchen. Minutes later they were sitting in a tiny alcove devoting their attention to Ken Straun who performed regular investigations as well as provided the squad with profiler expertise.

Ken wore a perpetual worried expression on his face, even when he was happy. When he was drunk and providing the right music was playing, he transformed into John Travolta. Normally reserved, almost innocent looking with wide rimmed glasses, his appearance contradicted a keen intellect and a disgraceful sense of humour.

Ballard, reading John’s body language, arms folded, jaw jutting aggressively, decided to take the initiative. “I remember reading somewhere Ken that profiling was performed by a police surgeon in 1888 on Jack the Ripper. He in fact documented his suppositions… who would have believed that?”

Ballard maintained a straight face as John scowled at him, then Ken for good measure. The worried look on Ken’s face intensified as he glanced between the two men. Taking a huge breath he stared up at the ceiling for at least three seconds before blurting out, “I know you don’t believe in profiling John, but I do have a few theories on this case, as fresh as it is.”

With Ken still staring at the ceiling, Ballard nudged John with his elbow before saying, “Ken we’ll take anything you have, believe me.”

“Yes Ken,” John grunted, unconvincingly. “Let’s hear what you’ve got.”

Ken took another breath, directing his gaze at both men. “Well, if you take the FBI method of profiling, which is used in England, the Netherlands and other European countries, there are five phases. Firstly there’s the assimilation phase in which all the evidence or information from the crime scene such as victim photos, witness statements and so forth is examined, as our team is doing now.”

He paused to see if there was any reaction from Ballard or John. As there was none, he continued. “Secondly, there’s the classification phase. It’s here many profilers attempt to classify the murderer as either ‘organised’ or ‘disorganised’.”

For the first time John showed a degree of interest. Leaning forward he asked, “Well Ken, which one is our guy? In your opinion?”

Ken warmed to his task, pleased he now had John’s attention. Ticking off the points on his fingers he said, “Well, it’s unlikely this was a random murder, considering the killer was trying to prolong the victim’s state of fear by standing him on a chair, threatening to hang him.”

Ballard and John looked at each other, nodding in agreement.

“Next, as there was no forced entry, it’s possible the killer knew the victim. Following that, fingerprints haven’t found a match with anyone with a criminal record so this means the killer either doesn’t have one, or he wore gloves. This still has to be proven.

“Now, the victim was shot with what is believed to be a hollow point at close range, I saw the photos of the powder burns on the victim’s forehead. Adding to this, the shell wasn’t left at the scene.”

He leaned back in his chair, now comfortable in his element. “Finally and this is a bit left field, the rope wasn’t just tossed onto the body, there was a degree of care taken in how it was placed. All this denotes a man who plans and may even have an obsessive compulsive disorder. I’m imagining him coiling the rope as he dispassionately views his handiwork. In summary, it’s very possible this is a highly organised man, assuming it is a man.”

John looked across at Ballard. “You know Mike, Ken’s quite bright. I don’t understand why you poke fun at his profiling skills.”

It was Ballard’s turn to scowl at John. “Ignore him Ken. He hasn’t eaten all his lunch and you know what he’s like when his sugar level’s down.”

Ken inspected both men’s faces, evaluating their seriousness before continuing. “I have to caution it’s in the ‘classification’ stage where many profilers get it wrong. While it appears the killer is organised, this is only one murder…”

“And let’s hope it bloody well stays that way!” snapped John.

“Quite right. All I’m saying is I’m making an assumption on very little evidence. Now, the third stage of profiling involves attempting to reconstruct the behavioural sequence of the crime, that is, the offender’s modus operandi.” Ken paused to take another deep breath then exhaled. “In my opinion the killer knew the victim, who, for whatever reason let him into the factory, either because he was forced to or he was unaware of the killer’s intention. At what time the crook was let in is unknown, but I’m told the shooting was around 2 a.m.”

Ballard cut in. “We’ve a revised time of about 1.30 a.m. It’s unlikely the medical examiner will narrow it down any closer, so yes we’re looking at 1.30 to 2 a.m.”

Ken shrugged. “That being the case, it appears there’s a significant elapse time from when the victim would have gone home, say between 5 and 9 p.m. and 1.30 to 2 a.m. in the morning when he was killed.” He steepled his fingers while resting his elbows on the desk. “What was the killer doing in all that time? We don’t know. Was he playing the cat and mouse capture, release, recapture routine? Was he enjoying his domination over the victim? Remember the deceased posed no threat as his hands were bound behind him with a cable tie. Was the killer trying to get information, or a confession?” Ballard glanced across at John.

Ken leaned forward over his desk. “I don’t believe there were any torture marks on the deceased, other than the rope marks and the bullet wound. As such, my thoughts are the killer isn’t sadistic.” He paused. “In my opinion he isn’t capable of what I term in-your-face torture, such as cutting off fingers, bits of flesh, or engage in non fatal stabbing or mutilation wounds. Clearly he is capable of… again my terminology, ‘decisive’ murder. Kicking the victim off the chair then blowing his brains out. In a way that’s a far more remote form of killing.”

A smile appeared on Ken’s face as he looked at John. “Of course there’s another theory regarding the shooting which you may not like. Have you considered that the dispatching with a bullet may have been a mercy killing?” Both men looked at Ken, astonished. “By mercy killing I mean as the victim’s neck was unlikely to have been broken, he would’ve been flaying about choking to death. As you know, this can take some time and it isn’t a pretty sight. What may have occurred is the killer couldn’t take it any more, or didn’t have the time, so he put the victim out of his misery.”

John snorted. “So the killer is really Mother Teresa sporting a .45 calibre?”

Ken smiled politely. “I warned you my theory may be hard to accept.”

Ballard stole a look at John, who in turn was looking at Ken with new found respect. Both men remained silent, inviting Ken to continue.

“The final two stages are associated with the killer’s signature, in other words, what the offender does to satisfy his psychological needs when committing the crime. This raises the question, has our killer achieved what he set out to do, or is this part of a bigger plan? My belief is if more killings occur, his taste for it will intensify dramatically.

“This murder was controlled rage, perhaps revenge of some kind. He’ll relive this over and over in his mind, perhaps even invent an excuse to re-enact it. It may now be an intoxicating feeling he can’t resist. Heaven help anyone he plans to kill in the future, should this be his objective. Without doubt he’ll drag out the act, extracting maximum psychological pleasure from it.”

Ken slumped back in his chair, as though his comments had physically exhausted him. Again he looked at both men for a reaction. John obliged. “Ken, mate. I’ll never doubt your ability to crawl inside a shithead’s mind ever again. I’m sorry I ever questioned you.” Ballard glanced sideways to see whether John was being sarcastic, surprised to see he wasn’t.

Ken’s face lit up in a beaming smile. “Always willing to help you guys. You know that.”

Ballard stood and shook Ken’s hand. “Many thanks, Ken. You’ve given both of us a lot to think about. I can assure you we’ll be calling on you again before this is over.”

John grunted his appreciation as he moved from Ken’s desk, summing up the meeting. “So what we have is an ‘organised’ killer who’s murdered for revenge in a state of controlled rage, has a penchant for mentally torturing his victim then thinks nothing of dispatching them with a minimum of effort. On top of that, if he’s planning to kill again he’ll precede the act with some form of extended psychological torment.”

Ballard grimaced. “Scary thought John. Ok, where to from here?”

John listed their actions so far. “Well we’ve checked the crime scene, interviewed neighbouring factory owners, checked with forensics, viewed the crime scene video and had a preliminary profile briefing.

“Sounds a lot but think what’s left: catch up on the autopsy; view the interviews with the wife, the family and Mario’s two staff; re-interview each of them; see where fingerprints and the DNA take us; check with the eCrime and Crime Scene boys; update the Case Narrative in our offender and intell’ databases; write up our reports…”

Ballard threw up his hands. “Enough John, enough. Let’s tackle things one at a time.”

John ignored him, a devilish grin on his face. “So you’re suggesting we eat the elephant by starting with the tail then move to its testicles.”

Ballard shook his head. “Very classy John, but yes, something along those lines.”

As John headed towards his desk, he called over his shoulder, “I’ll give the medical examiner a call to see when we can drop around.”

Ballard waved a responding hand as he headed for Delwyn’s office to provide her with an update. Minutes later, while he was still touching on the key points, John knocked politely on her door. Acknowledging Delwyn with a brief nod he directed his comment to Ballard, “We’re in luck. Matthews has finished the autopsy. He can spare us time if we get over there in the next half hour.”

Delwyn, looking tired but determined said. “Go guys. Keep up the good work, something’s bound to give. I can feel it in my bones.”

Handing Ballard his day book, John commented, “I knew there was a reason I didn’t finish my lunch. Let’s visit the man.”

Five minutes later, after surviving another high speed descent in the police car they headed for the Coronial Services Centre, or as John preferred to call it, ‘The Morgue’.