A Murderous Mind Page 12

  Interesting, he thought. And he was the nephew of Naomi’s dead friend. How would his aunt have felt about him had she survived. It fascinated him to speculate about what might have been had circumstances changed. That was, in part, why it was so satisfying to change those circumstances. To have the power to make them impossible, non-existent. To make an end as he saw fit and not one left to dumb chance. It pleased him to think ‘I have made this so’ whether that concerned the recovery of a child or the ending of a life and therefore of potential for change. Either way it was emblematic of a job well done. Either way he took pride in his work.

  TWENTY-SIX

  Doctor Fincher lived in a retirement village some fifty miles from Pinsent and Vin and Tess left early to go and visit him, intending to see the witness, Deborah Tait, in the early afternoon. She had been the woman who had witnessed the argument between Keith Allen and the unknown man. Deborah Tait was another sixty miles further on than Fincher and that reminded Tess about the breadth of geographical spread of the crimes.

  The appointments had been made by DCI Field the evening before and local constabularies had also been informed. Tess had names and numbers she could use to liaise should the need arise.

  The morning was wet but bright. Heavy rain overnight had cleared and now the road glistened ahead of them. Even with sunglasses, it was dazzling. They seemed to be driving straight into the sun.

  ‘So, what do we know about this Fincher?’

  Vin consulted his notes. ‘Sixty-eight years old, consulted on two of our cases. The Allen murder and William Trevenick. Seems he was also briefly involved when Martia Richter was murdered, but the consultant forensic psych on that was someone called Doctor Elia Vincenza, now deceased. Natural causes,’ he added. ‘She came out of retirement to look at the Richter murder. I wonder why.’

  ‘Maybe Fincher will know.’

  ‘He’s an emeritus professor, apparently. Does that mean he wanders about between universities?’

  ‘Maybe. I think it might just mean he’s retired and just does a bit now an again, but I may be wrong.’

  Vin laughed. ‘Whatever. It’s good to get out of the office for a while. You can hardly move in that little room, not when we’re all in there.’

  He was right, Tess thought, though there wasn’t a lot anyone could do about it. Space was at a premium and her usual desk had been taken over by Field who had added a table alongside that he had allocated to DI Trinder, the Internal Affairs team leader. Another one who had been brought out of retirement. She knew that a lack of really senior and experienced staff at the top level meant that a number of officers had been coaxed away from their fishing and football and gardening and assigned to look over cold cases, carry out periodic reviews and assist open cases in an advisory capacity but it seemed odd, nevertheless.

  ‘What do you think of Trinder?’ she asked.

  ‘Barely spoken to him.’

  ‘I think that goes for most of us. I thought it would be all formal interviews and him breathing down our necks, but he doesn’t seem to be playing it that way.’

  ‘I almost wish he would,’ Vin said. ‘The man prowls. I mean, you look up and there he is. It’s like being sixteen again and taking my GCSEs and having the exam invigilators walking up and down the rows. You’ve done nothing wrong and you still feel bloody guilty.’

  ‘Yeah, I know what you mean. None of his team seems to have met him before, even those from IA. Field knows him, I think.’

  ‘And Joe Jackson did. Don’t you find that a bit weird? That they bring in someone who knew him when everyone else has been selected because they didn’t.’

  ‘I suppose it depends on whether he was a fan or not,’ Tess speculated. ‘Far as we know the pair of them hated each other’s guts.’ Like Alec did. She wondered about the conversation that would have played out after she had left Naomi and Alec the day before. It could not have been comfortable.

  The retirement village was well signposted. Apparently it was for the active over fifties and the little bungalows set in parkland looked expensive and carefully manicured. The park was entered via a large gate and a manned gatehouse. They were greeted with smiles and asked if they would like directions – a loaded question, Tess thought, that was a scarcely concealed ‘who have you come to see’. The road through the parkland passed a manor house that she guessed would once have owned all the land.

  ‘Looks like they have a golf course,’ Vin commented. ‘Bet it costs a pretty penny to retire here.’

  ‘Not on a police pension, that’s for sure.’

  ‘Not sure it’s my cup of tea anyway. It looks too … organized. I’ll bet no one grows Dahlias.’

  ‘Dahlias? What, the flower?’

  ‘My old man has an allotment. He grows these bloody great multi-coloured things and shows them every autumn. Very serious it is. But this doesn’t look like a Dahlia growing area.’

  Tess giggled as she imagined Mr Dattani senior and his giant flowers. ‘No,’ she agreed. ‘This looks more like orchids in the conservatory. I think this must be the one.’

  She pulled into one of the parking spaces beside Fincher’s bungalow and cut the engine.

  ‘He grows those too,’ Vin told her. ‘You’ll have to come round, and admire.’

  Doctor Reg Fincher was waiting by the door as they walked up. He was a tall, thin man who stooped slightly as though used to hitting his head or having to bend down to listen. He leaned on a heavy and rather gnarly walking stick. The handle was carved into the shape of a dogs head and worn smooth by long use. Fincher limped as he led them into his home and Tess noticed that his left shoe was built up at the heel.

  ‘I was born with a club foot,’ Fincher said and Tess got the impression that he’d got used to explaining himself and preferred to just deal with curiosity straight off. ‘Had several operations to straighten my ankle and improve mobility, but …’ He shrugged. ‘Fortunately, I’ve never had a yen to climb mountains or run marathons. Come along through.’

  They followed him into a large and light front room. Beside his chair a trolley had been set out with a kettle and cups and the makings of tea and coffee. A bottle of milk stood in a polystyrene tube. ‘Keeps the milk cold,’ he said. ‘The trolley keeps everything handy. I picked it up for two quid at a car boot. I’ve become an avid car-booter.’

  Tess laughed.

  ‘Oh you’d get on well with my parents,’ Vin said. ‘Every Sunday they’re off somewhere.’

  Dahlias and car boot fairs, Tess thought. She wasn’t really familiar with either.

  Fincher made coffee and then asked what he could do to help. ‘Your DCI Field scanned and emailed the crime scene pictures,’ he said. And he’s given me an overview of your notes. I remember the Trevenick and Allen cases, of course. Terrible. Terrible.’

  ‘And you were briefly involved in—’

  ‘The old lady. Martia Richter. Yes. But only briefly. My colleague, Elia Vincenza, she did the reports on that one. I was fully committed elsewhere so I only did the preliminary write up. Elia took over within a few days and she, of course, went back over everything I’d concluded and made some revisions. I think that must have been the last thing she worked on.’

  ‘She was already retired, wasn’t she?’

  ‘Yes, but only recently. She still had her accreditation so there was nothing untoward. It was at a difficult time for the profession, many people left or took different directions. For a while we thought it would collapse in on itself …’ He paused, a look of concern and sadness drifting across his face.

  ‘Was that after the Colin Stagg affair?’ Vin asked.

  Fincher nodded. ‘There were several years when the profession was in chaos. We undertook root and branch revision and, frankly, it was about time it happened. Even before that there were too many egos riding for a fall. And the media didn’t help, of course. The idea that criminal profilers had some sort of magic wand … of course, that was because the early practice was so influenced by the Am
erican model and the work the FBI had been doing, interviewing serial killers, building their model on what was really quite a narrow sample. And there was the perceived glamour of it all.

  ‘The new professional model is much more Euro centric. It takes more account of regional variations in crime and criminal behaviours and what a Behavioural Investigative Adviser can and can’t say and do is now much more clearly defined and very closely peer-reviewed. I’m glad to say that the likes of myself and Elia had a part to play in that. We must be realistic. No one is infallible and no one should place themselves on a psychological pedestal.’

  He sat back and Tess felt that he was satisfied now he’d got that off his chest. She was vaguely familiar with the events surrounding the Colin Stagg affair, but made a mental note that she would ask Vin about it when they left.

  ‘So, what do you remember about the cases you were involved in?’ Tess asked. ‘It would really help to have someone who actually saw the scene. Crime scene photos can only tell us so much and—’

  ‘Absolutely.’ Fincher nodded. ‘Now, where to begin.’

  He closed his eyes as though the better to remember and Tess exchanged a glance with Vin. Fincher was in his element, she thought. It must be hard to retire from what must have been an all-consuming profession and then not have anyone to talk to about it. To have to keep silence because of the nature and confidentiality of his work.

  ‘Well, I think I should start with the Martia Richter case, if that’s all right with you. I was involved only in the initial stages but went to the scene on that occasion before the body had been removed. You know how unusual that is? Especially now. Usually our opportunity to walk the scene comes a few days later and we brief ourselves from the crime scene photos and the PM report.’

  ‘Why was that?’ Vin asked. ‘Why were you there so early?’

  ‘In part it was a sign of the times,’ Reg Fincher said. ‘This was in 1990, so two years before the Colin Stagg debacle led to the majority of us being persona non grata with many forces. The SIO was a DI Trinder—’

  Tess was momentarily taken aback. She exchanged a quick glance with Vin, relieved that Fincher’s eyes were still closed.

  ‘It was his first major case as SIO and he was newly promoted to DI. I suppose he wanted to make a good impression. Since the late 90s, of course, all Behavioural Intelligence Advisers have to be ACPO approved, but back then it was all media excitement and anyone with a degree in applied psychology looking to jump on the bandwagon.’

  ‘That’s a rather scathing view,’ Vin commented.

  ‘Perhaps,’ Fincher agreed, opening his eyes and grinning at DS Dattani. ‘But I’m an old man and I’ve seen a lot of changes. Plus, no one listens to me any more so that grants me a certain freedom of expression.’

  He looks like a mischievous kid, Tess thought.

  ‘Anyway, we ‘profilers’ as we were termed in those days, before we became BIA we were looked upon by some as near magicians and by others as interfering idiots who wouldn’t know a criminal if they fell on us.’

  ‘And DI Trinder—’

  ‘Was shocked enough to bring in all the big guns he could find. You’ve seen the crime scene photos?’

  Tess nodded, remembering the image of the old woman propped against her bed, her hair spread out around her, hands resting on what was left of her abdomen. ‘Had you seen anything like that before?’

  ‘Not like that, no. It was shocking. A visceral scene that evoked a visceral reaction. What struck me about the scene was how neat and tidy it was as though the killer had defined an area of operation and kept all the mess and brutality and … and focus very, very tight. It was an impression Elia shared, something she commented on independently when she took over a few days later.’

  ‘And why the handoff?’ Vin asked.

  ‘Oh, pure practicality. I was due to spend the term lecturing in the US, it just wasn’t possible for me to continue.’

  ‘And that compared to the other crime scenes, in what way?’ Tess would never have described the Leanne Bolter scene as neat or tight.

  ‘Utterly different,’ Fincher said. ‘I’ve had a good look at the new scene photos that you sent me and also reviewed the old ones you so kindly emailed and they just reinforce my memories. There was a progression between the Richter scene and the William Trevenick scene and then again with Keith Allen. But you’ve got to remember, with the Allen murder, the victim was a big man who fought back. He didn’t give his killer an easy time. Allen was a real break in the pattern. If you look at the other victims that we know about, they are small, slight, easily overpowered. Keith Allen stood six three, was heavily built, muscular, he would not have been easy to subdue and the scene reflected that.’

  ‘You said, that we know about,’ Tess commented.

  Fincher nodded. ‘There’s what looks like a ten-year gap between the Richter killing and Rebecca Arnold. Another four between that and William Trevenick and then two between Trevenick and Allen. Then a longer period of what, nine years before he killed your young student? It doesn’t follow what we’d see as a usual pattern. It’s the opposite of escalation and yet the level of … skill, for want of a better word, seems to have developed as does what I suppose you might term the theatricality.

  ‘The Richter killing, though I’m pretty sure it wasn’t the first, was almost modest. It was controlled and, as I said, focussed. Consciously restrained and confined in comparison. By the time he killed Leanne Bolter, he seems not to care about that any more. He wants to make a big impression. It’s a major display of power and the sole object seems to be to set out to create maximum impact. Maximum shock.’

  It certainly did that, Tess thought. She imagined she could still smell the scene on her clothes and skin. ‘You are certain it’s the same perpetrator?’

  Fincher shrugged. ‘No one can be certain of anything. The balance of probability is, yes, the same hand, yes it’s a male. In all probability he would have started in his mid to late twenties and he chose an initial victim or victims that could be easily subdued and dealt with.’

  ‘So, that would make him in his fifties?’ Vin asked.

  ‘In all likelihood. Mobile and at ease in a variety of settings, I would say. He doesn’t stand out in either a terraced street, a university or the sheltered housing development that Martia Richter lived in, which, when you consider he would have been a considerably younger man, is interesting.’

  ‘Do you think there will be a link between victims?’ Vin asked. ‘They seem like such a disparate group, both in ages and occupations and where they are geographically.’

  ‘Maybe,’ Fincher said. ‘But my feeling – and that’s all it is – is that our man selects on some criteria of his own. That he has his own agenda and process that makes sense to him but might not show up as a pattern that any of the rest of us could recognize.’

  ‘A doctor, a butcher, a—’

  Fincher was shaking his head. ‘It takes only minimal skill to do what he did. These days you could find instructions on the internet for gutting an animal. Prior to that you could have found it in your local library. There’s no particular level of skill here. Just a hell of a lot of confidence and that confidence has only grown over the years and, if he’s not dealt with, it will just continue to grow.’

  ‘Maybe he’ll become overconfident? Slip up?’

  ‘Which implies there would be further murders,’ Fincher pointed out. ‘I wouldn’t count on that, to be honest. Even if we are wrong in the assumption that we’re missing some bodies, he’s still been active for a long time and he’s paced himself carefully. He’s controlled and organized and doesn’t seem inclined to rush. The one break in the pattern is Keith Allen and I’ve always suspected that to be anomalous in some way. It felt more spontaneous—’

  ‘He went prepared. He injected Allen with ketamine,’ Tess objected.

  ‘And he rushed the job. He barely left in time before the girlfriend got there. It stands out.’

&nbs
p; ‘If I pressed you on that?’ Tess said, sensing there was more.

  Fincher shrugged. ‘As I say, I’m an old man and no one takes any notice of what I say any more. But I’d always felt … sensed … maybe imagined that it was personal. If I was asked to pick out a weakness in his oeuvre, then that would be it. Keith Allen.’

  Tess absorbed that before asking, ‘Was there a BIA on the Rebecca Arnold case? I don’t recall one from the records. Sorry, you probably wouldn’t know anyway. It’s just suddenly struck me that I didn’t see a note of that.’

  ‘I’m sure there would have been,’ Vin said, suddenly puzzled.

  Fincher shrugged. ‘Sorry, can’t help there. I was called to the William Trevenick scene because by then our computer link-up had improved and I was identified as someone who’d worked on the Richter scene. Elia was too ill to come herself. She died not long after, but I attended the scene and did the write up and the advisory report.’

  ‘And did it seem familiar when you first saw it? Would you have identified it as related to the Richter murder?’

  ‘An interesting question,’ Fincher approved, looking at Tess. ‘I think I would, yes. The Richter murder stayed in my mind, as you might expect. I hoped not to see anything like that again, but I thought I might. Someone who enjoys his work as much as our perpetrator does won’t be able to resist.’

  ‘Work?’ Vin asked. ‘You think he has a purpose in doing this?’

  ‘Who can say? It was just a figure of speech. But I’m sure that the killer will have a certain internal logic to his actions. It will mean something to him even if that meaning never becomes clear to any of us.’

  ‘And would it help? If we understood what drove him?’

  ‘Possibly. Possibly not. If he had a particular victim type then you might be able to make predictions. I’m not an expert in geographical profiling, but from what I’ve seen there seem no obvious geographical links – though that is a line of enquiry you should have analysed, you know. It might be possible to identify a centre from which he’s branching out. But as the victim profile is so varied and there are no obvious links between them I’m guessing – and I hesitate to use that word – that he’s picking his victims according to some game plan of his own. He must be recognizing something about each one that fits with an internal checklist. What that might be …’