After shaking the counsellor’s hand and thanking him for his time, Ben walked out onto the street and realised that there was nobody he could rely on to get him through this. There was nobody he could be absolutely honest with about what he had done, and nobody who would stand by him after learning what a monster he had become. Nobody, that is, except his mother.
28
Summers had spent a couple of hours with the police psychologist, going over the old profile she had inherited from the case files, and looking to improve the psychological profile of The Phantom. She’d accept anything that could give her more clues as to narrow down the search and how to track him down.
Ninety per cent of serial killers were white, aged in the mid-twenties to mid-thirties, had an above average IQ, although didn’t necessarily perform well at school, and also preferred to spend time alone as opposed to taking part in social activities.
Serial killers can be categorized; some kill for gain, taking money or objects of value. That wasn’t The Phantom. Some seek the power over their victims, but The Phantom was more a hit and run kind of killer, so that wasn’t him, either. There was no sexual motivation for the killings, nor was there a specified group in the victims; The Phantom had killed different races, ages, sexes and religions. With the previous types of serial killers excluded, meant that the chances were, that The Phantom was what is known as a visionary serial killer. Usually psychotic or schizophrenic, the killer would perhaps hear voices who instructed that the killings should take place.
Something that didn’t fit with any pattern of serial killings is the time frame that The Phantom worked at. Even if Summers only included the cases she believed could reasonably be attributed to The Phantom, the killings spanned over years, not weeks like history would dictate.
Summers and the psychologist also discussed the potential for The Phantom not to be a loner, but a family man. Not someone who lived alone and could come and go as he pleased, but a man with responsibilities who had to be careful not to be discovered by his loved ones to be a mad-man.
Summers had a theory that The Phantom was someone who jogged from home to crime scene, being able to move quickly without using transport or attracting attention from the public, for if you see someone wearing sports gear jogging down the road, you think nothing of it. If you see a man running in ‘normal’ clothes, it is normal to ask why, is he late? Is he being chased? Is he doing the chasing? Either way, you’d be remembered. Someone that jogged would also have the perfect excuse to leave his wife and children at home without at all looking suspicious.
But the psychologist didn’t agree. She said that the statistics showed a much greater chance the killer was a loner of sorts. Although, she did concede that there had been cases, where for example, a wife or girlfriend suffered from a type of paraphilia called hybristophilia. That meant she would be sexually aroused or attracted to a criminal, someone who was capable of cruel or outrageous crimes. This phenomenon is known as ‘Bonnie and Clyde’ syndrome, after Bonnie Parker and Clyde Barrow, part of a gang who robbed and murdered in the early thirties in Texas and Louisiana, USA.
Sat now alone in her office, Summers concluded that she had learnt some interesting facts and stats from the psychologist, but she was no closer to finding The Phantom.
Psychology, learning how the mind works and what makes us human. It was a field that she had of course touched on back at university, but it took a back seat as her attentions were mainly focused on the anatomy, medications and all the other things trainee doctors needed to know.
But she wasn’t a doctor, she was a detective. She had the biggest case in the country to solve and at that moment, she didn’t have a clue as to how on earth she was going to do it.
Just as she thought that things couldn’t get any worse, the door to her office opened and in walked Kite, carrying the results from the forensics laboratory. He dropped the paperwork on Summers’ desk and shook his head.
‘No joy,’ he said.
Summers took a deep breath and turned to face the map on her wall. She stared at the crime hot-spot and tried to gauge the amount of residential housing. She had to make some decisions based on information she didn’t have; she was going to follow her hunch. She stood and approached the map, looked at the three square miles and knew that there were too many houses and apartments to knock on every single door and ask for help in solving the case.
She turned to Kite.
‘We need the latest census,’ she said, knowing that luck for once was on their side, as it was only done just over a year ago. The census is done every ten years, so this exercise could have been little or no help at all.
‘You’re going to get in contact with the Office of National Statistics.’ she said.
‘Ok,’ said Kite, not quite sure where this was heading.
‘And you’re going to find out how many men…’ she paused briefly, weighing up the probable age of the killer, but not wanting too big an age range and therefore creating too many doors to knock on, ‘you’re going to find out how many men aged between twenty-eight and forty-five are living in this area here,’ pointing at the crime hot-spot.
Kite looked doubtful.
‘Boss, there’s gonna be bloody hundreds!’ he stated, ‘Maybe thousands. What are we gonna do, demand alibi’s from the entire community?’
Summers shook her head.
‘There won’t be thousands,’ she responded, ‘but even so, maybe that’s too many.’
She was thinking fast, she could feel the idea was good but just needed fine tuning.
‘Ok, get the names on the census from last year, and then do a search on the census from eleven years ago; using ages eighteen to thirty-five. Anyone who is on both lists fits the profile age and location. Let’s start again on the streets.’
‘You’re the boss, but, what are we gonna do? Knock on the door and ask if The Phantom lives here?’ asked Kite.
‘No,’ she replied, ‘we’re going to ask for DNA samples, in order for any innocent potential suspects to rule themselves out of our investigation, and at the same time, help solve this bastard case once and for all.’
Kite wondered whether he should point out the obvious flaw in his boss’ plan of action, he decided he’d better.
‘But we don’t have any DNA to compare samples with,’ he said.
Summers smiled, if only for an instant.
‘Detective Kite, as of right now, only you, me, and the lab know that we don’t have any DNA samples,’ she said. ‘And that’s how it’s going to stay. Anybody who refuses to give DNA will be asked for an alibi for the latest murders, those who cannot provide one better have a good reason why we don’t drag them down to the station for further questioning.’
Kite saw a determination on Summers’ face, he knew that this was a long shot, but he trusted her judgement; she had proven herself to be one of the best, after all.
29
Ben stood on the doorstep of his mother’s house, the house he grew up in, the house where all he knew was innocence and love and joy and happiness. How things had changed. He didn’t really want to face her just yet, but she’d left a couple of messages after he’d ignored her calls, so felt obliged.
He also didn’t want to hear more about his father but knew he needed to. To be told that the man he grew up admiring, learning from and trusting more than anybody else, was a cold-blooded killer. To be told that his father had in fact passed on to him this sickening disease that was now penetrating his every thought, every waking moment. How could the man he loved, and who loved him unconditionally let this happen?