‘And when has this Hammerer ever so much as indicated that he even knows how to write — let alone with a lipstick?’
‘Maybe he read about it in the papers?’
‘Oh come on,’ said Jake. ‘You know better than that. All special features of a killer’s modus operandi are held back from the papers for precisely that reason.’
Anticipating some further argument from the second detective, Jake turned to face him, and added, ‘The fact that this girl happened also to be a receptionist is purely coincidental.’
‘It may be convenient for you to look at it that way, Chief Inspector Jakowicz,’ he said. ‘But if you’ll think about it for just a minute longer you’ll remember what you’re so often telling the rest of us. Multiples tend to pre-select a type of victim to murder and then stick with it. Whereas the M.O. can vary a great deal, depending on the killer’s level of confidence, which is itself a factor of how many people he’s killed.’
‘I don’t think you can ever properly define a type of victim by profession,’ argued Jake. ‘Her age and physical appearance are what count most of all. And for what it’s worth, I’ve never been all that convinced by your theory that the Messenger is predisposed to kill only receptionists. As I recall, one of his early victims was an office cleaner. Moreover he has never attempted to penetrate any of them, with or without a condom.’
Jake felt herself flush with anger. She made a fist and tried to hold on to her temper. The fact that Mary Woolnoth had once been a beautiful young woman with her whole future in front of her seemed to have escaped her two colleagues. She stared balefully at the third detective, the one who had declined to examine Mary Woolnoth’s forensic photographs and who, until now, had remained silent.
‘What about you?’ she snapped. ‘Are you in the game or not? You’d better put up now, or keep out.’ It was indeed, she considered, like some ghastly game of poker.
The man raised his hands in surrender.
‘No, not mine, this one,’ he said. Looking around the table he added, ‘But for what it’s worth, I agree with the Chief Inspector. This looks to me like the work of the Lipstick Man.’
‘I must say, I agree,’ said Dalglish.
The first detective pulled another face.
‘Come off it, George,’ said Dalglish. ‘Look, I know you’re desperate for a lead, but this isn’t it, I’m certain. Your Hammerer’s never once murdered outside of Hackney.’
The second detective remained resolutely unconvinced.
‘Receptionists, typists, cleaners,’ he said moodily. ‘Fact is, they all work in an office. We know that’s the way the Messenger selects his victims. He kills them while he’s making a delivery.’ He paused for a moment and then added, ‘Look I’d still like Mary Woolnoth as a possible.’
Dalglish glanced at Jake who shrugged back at him.
‘Provided my man gets the first credit for this kill, I’ve no objections,’ she said. ‘And if there are any developments, I’ll be sure to let you know.’
Dalglish returned to his computer. ‘All right then, we’re agreed,’ he said. ‘That’s number — ?’
‘- six,’ said Jake.
‘Number six for the Lipstick Man.’
After the meeting Jake stopped the detective who had supported her claim, to thank him.
‘That’s all right, ma’am,’ he said.
‘Detective Inspector Stanley, isn’t it?’
He nodded.
‘Forgive me,’ she said, ‘but as head of Gynocide, I’m supposed to know all the cases of multiple murders involving females—’
Stanley lowered his voice and glanced over his shoulder. ‘Actually, I’m Homicide, ma’am,’ he said. ‘Really I shouldn’t have been there at all, only there was a bit of a mix-up. Somehow we received information that it was a man, not a girl who had been found. I’m looking for a multiple who’s killed seven men. Well, I didn’t want to say anything in case I looked stupid.’
Jake nodded. That explained why he hadn’t bothered to examine the photographs.
‘As it happens,’ Stanley added, ‘I found it quite fascinating. Are these meetings always like this?’
‘You mean, do we always squabble about whether a body belongs to this or that investigation? No, not often. Usually, things are a little more clear cut than today.’
As she spoke, Jake thought of the pictures of Mary Woolnoth and of what the pathologist’s scalpel had done to her. You couldn’t get more clear cut than that, she reflected. For a moment something started to rise in her throat. No murder was ever quite as brutal as what took place on the autopsy slab. A clear cut, from chin to pelvis, the skeleton and the organs hauled out of the flesh, like a suitcase ransacked by customs at the airport. She choked back her emotions with another question.
‘A multiple who preys on men. That’s quite unusual, isn’t it?’
Detective Inspector Stanley agreed that it was.
‘I presume that this would be the Lombroso Killer that we’re referring to?’
He nodded.
‘I thought Detective Chief Superintendent Challis was in charge of that investigation.’
‘He is,’ said Stanley. ‘It was him who sent me along to this meeting. Just to check that it wasn’t one of ours.’
‘What’s his M.O.?’
‘Who, the Lombroso Killer? Oh, nothing particularly unusual. He always shoots them in the back of the head. Six times. Mafia-style. Why do you ask?’
Jake shook her head. ‘No reason. Just curious I suppose.’ She looked at her watch. ‘Well I must be going. I have a plane to catch. Not to mention my own multiple.’
I always shoot them in the head, and it’s not just because I want to make sure of the job. I think it’s because the head, theirs and mine, is where all the trouble started: theirs and mine.
I don’t think they can feel very much. Of course it’s hard for me to say, only they rarely make a sound. That much I can be sure of because the gun is so quiet. Six bullets in six seconds, with no more report than a short fit of coughing. Actually, that’s not precisely true since there is also the distinctive sharp crack of the successful head shot, which is very different from the sound of a bullet piercing an ear. I imagine that this is the sort of thing you would just not notice if you were using a conventional gun, which makes a lot more noise.
While working I tend to concentrate my fire at the back of the head. If you know anything about the brain and its topography you will be aware that cortical vents are so widely dispersed that, short of using something like a steam-roller, no brain injury can destroy them entirely. There is however a great deal of medical evidence to show that people survive frontal brain damage more often than any damage to the rear of the brain. Witness the number of boxers who die, not from a hard blow to the forehead, but when they hit the backs of their heads on the canvas. Believe me it’s true, I’ve read a lot about it, as you might perhaps expect under the circumstances. Seen something of it too.
The human brain may be compared to a chess board, with the pawns to the forefront and the knights, bishops, rooks, king and queen, the so-called pieces on the eighth rank at the back of the board. Thus it may be said that I more or less ignore the pawns and try to eliminate as many pieces as possible. This strategy seems to work very well. Even so, one of my victims, I believe it may have been the third, survived in a coma for several days before he finally died. There’s no accounting for cerebral asymmetries.
Most often, I perform these executions at night, or when working hours permit. This follows a short period of surveillance when I establish the victim’s identity and his habits. Possession of a comfortable vehicle with music and microwave minimises any inconvenience that might be occasioned by such an operation.