She would be fourteen now. Perhaps fifteen. The date of her birth was vague, probably because he hadn't been present. By then Linda had long gone, bored of his absences. He tried to explain that being a detective wasn't a vocation, it was a curse. She'd ignored him and said she'd rather raise a child on her own than with him, words that still cut to the quick. Not that he blamed her. He'd treated her terribly, particularly when he learned she was pregnant and determined to keep the baby, no matter how much he tried to dissuade her. Last Foster had heard they were in Edinburgh, living near her family. But that was more than ten years ago. Who knew where they were now? Happy, he hoped. He drained the glass of its remnants.
Fuck the past, he thought. As Katie Drake's story showed, there was nothing but vanquished hope and regret. Reasons to be cheerless.
He put those memories out of his mind and returned to the case. After a few moments in thought he was overcome with a dull ache behind his eyes. I'm tired, he thought, even though it's not long after midnight. He flicked off the kitchen light and trudged up the stairs to his bedroom.
For the first time in months he slept without seeing Karl Hogg's face in his dreams.
A beautiful, wholesome blonde teenager from a respectable home had gone missing. Attractive mother, an actress, which meant lots of pictures on file, brutally murdered.
All in the sanctuary of their 850,000 pounds home. Innocence despoiled. A community united in shock and terror. It was all guaranteed to have the most placid newspaper editor salivating. The British press had not disappointed.
The picture Foster had seen on the Internet the previous day now stared out from the front pages of every tabloid and broadsheet, while rolling news channels cleared their schedules, star reporters put on the lipgloss, fretted over whether to do their piece to camera hair up or hair down, and decamped to the end of the road within sight of the scene.
Faced with the media's feasting, Detective Superintendent Brian Harris had taken overall charge of the investigation.
Foster had been summoned to a meeting with him, DCI Williams, DCI Chilton and a few other senior detectives. He entered with a heavy heart, and fended off the inquiries into his health and well-being with as much good humour as he could muster. Harris looked pale and drawn but grimly determined. What wonderful strategy does he have in store for us? Foster wondered.
His spirits rose when Susie Danson, former forensic psychologist turned professor of applied psychology, entered the room, trailing a strong scent that instantly afforded him a remembrance of investigations past. It had been four or five years since he'd last seen her, but time had treated her well. Same dyed-blonde bobbed hair, same pale-blue eyes lit by a fierce intelligence, same flame-red lipstick. She was wearing a tight blue suit, white low-cut top underneath her jacket. He thought she'd given up criminal profiling in favour of writing books, giving lectures and making money.
Harris introduced her to those who hadn't had the pleasure, as if she was the Queen and they were a football team, putting a slightly creepy hand on her back as he ushered her round them. She nodded politely, almost brusquely. He came to Foster last.
'DCI Grant. . .'
'We know each other pretty well,' she interrupted, and flashed him an immaculate smile. 'How've you been, Grant?'
Aren't you a sight for sore eyes?' he said, shaking her hand. 'I've been better.'
"Yes, I heard,' the smile faded, replaced by a look of concern. Foster wasn't sure if it was clinical.
'I've asked Susie to get involved because she's the best there is,' Harris explained to the group. 'She's had a look at the files, the autopsy report and the scene. She's going to help us narrow the search.
Good, Foster thought. Before he'd met and worked with Susie Danson, he'd dismissed profiling as a bit of well-meaning mumbo-jumbo. She had taught him otherwise.
Harris gestured that the floor was hers.
'Gentlemen,' she said, surveying the room, her file in front of her. 'Of course, all that I'm about to say is based on only a glancing acquaintance with the facts. These are some impressions I've formed that you're free to do with as you wish. I'm going to try and come up with a more considered opinion but you know as well as I do how time in these cases is utterly crucial'
She paused, looked down at her notes, clasped her hands in front of her.
'This killer was organized,' she said. 'There was no frenzy -- he was cool, calm, collected and methodical. This was planned, not opportunistic. There was no sexual molestation of Katie Drake. He did not masturbate near the body, strip her or interfere with her in any way, pre or post mortem. There is an absence of any sexual desire in her killing. However, given what she was wearing, the fact she allowed him entry, all suggests he has charm. She wanted him. I'd suggest this is a man in his late thirties at the youngest, but probably in his forties and still in pretty good shape. I'm also convinced his intended target was Naomi and that his interest in her is sexual and predatory.
He reasoned the way to abduct her was to befriend her mother, whom he knew to be vulnerable.'
No one said anything. Foster knew Susie didn't like these briefings to be a soliloquy. That she liked her opinions to be challenged. 'But why did he kill Katie?' he said.
Why not just abduct the daughter? Most paedophiles don't kill other people to get to their targets.'
'Good point,' she said, nodding. 'I've given that a lot of thought because, as you point out, it doesn't fit the usual pattern. But we know that paedophiles can be very enterprising and very determined. Maybe he deduced that the only way he could abduct Naomi was by getting inside her house to do it. Fourteenyear-old girls are not easy prey, not so easy to pluck off the street, unless he knew her very, very well. I guess he decided his best method was to charm and seduce her mother and be inside the house when she came home. And that to abduct Naomi without her mother preventing him he needed her silenced.'
'What sort of bloke do you think we're dealing with?'
Harris asked.
"I think this man has dated women. I think he's probably of above-average intelligence. His real interest is young girls, early teenagers, on the verge of womanhood, between the ages of eleven and fifteen. You need to look at men who might have been charged with sexual offences with women of that age group, and men who have been charged with offences against their girlfriends' daughters, or even their own daughters. Start with the local area and move out. I'd also add that your killer obviously drives. He is also reasonably fit and strong. I think I can come up with some more given time.'
'Thanks, Susie,' Harris said. 'That's all very helpful.' A murmur of assent passed around the gathering. She flashed a quick smile but her look swiftly became sombre once more.
What about a media appeal?' Foster said. "I spoke to Naomi's dad. He's willing to do one.'
Your call,' she said. 'Some paedophiles get their kicks from watching the family of their victims suffer. That may well be playing right into his hands.'
"I agree,' Harris said. 'Let's make him sweat.' The others nodded their heads.