I can see the special agent is sceptical about Ingerson being the first victim, so I explain how Alfonse traced the murders back from Kira.
He listens, but his eyes flit around the room as I’m talking. He’s not taking it in properly, which means he’s either fixated on something else or he’s learned the hard way not to trust evidence handed to him in a nice neat bundle. If I was a gambler my money would be on the latter.
While not accepting our evidence, I’m sure he’ll follow a lot of our footsteps. In the meantime, I can forge ahead and work the leads already developed.
One of the FBI statues bursts in. His face grave but otherwise immobile. ‘Sir, there’s been another body found.’
65
Norm puts the cell back in his pocket and waits for the police to come. This is going to be fun. His family will be gathered together by the police for safeguarding, just like the families of his other victims. Not only will he be inside the police’s circle, they’ll be protecting him from the killer.
It’s something he’s prepared for.
His cousin wasn’t prepared. Her lack of preparation is the reason her corpse is lying naked on the trail behind Sharon Linskey’s house.
It hadn’t taken much effort to get her alone. Always keen to interfere, she’d welcomed him into her home when he’d said he wanted advice regarding a girl he was seeing.
Being prepared he’d brought wine. While she’d finished her dinner, he’d poured her a glass of wine and added a few drops of the poison distilled from the cartons of cigarettes. The random selection of kill methods had thrown back the latest addition.
After just two sips of the full-bodied Merlot, she’d been lying on the floor complaining of stomach cramps. Convulsions followed, along with rapid breathing.
Five minutes later, her breaths began slowing. After ten they stopped altogether.
Then it was a case of stripping her body and dumping it into the trunk of his car. The implants she’d been so proud of looked odd against her flaccid body with its rolls of untoned flab.
She won’t be missed until after she’s been discovered. Her parents had moved to Florida and her husband had run off with his secretary a couple years back.
Lights flash as two cars travel round the corner.
Norm waves with one hand while shielding his eyes with the other.
The cars approach and park off to one side. Four men get out. As they move towards him they are illuminated by a streetlight. Norm recognises Chief Watson and Jake Boulder but not the other two. Judging by the way they are dressed, they could be feds. He hopes so. It’ll make everything so much more interesting. Plus, if the FBI are involved he’s been officially recognised as a serial killer.
A warm feeling envelops his body.
‘It’s over here.’ Norm points towards the alley where he’s dumped the first body.
He takes them behind the dumpster and lets them admire his handiwork.
His victim lies face down. If there wasn’t a pool of blood showing by the faint glow of a distant streetlight, he could be mistaken for a sleeping drunk.
Chief Watson uses his flashlight to sweep the area while one of the feds checks for a pulse.
Norm knows he won’t find one. He’d made sure the man was dead before dialling 911.
The four men say nothing, but he knows they’re thinking plenty. Each one is doing a cursory visual examination of the scene.
The chief finishes the general look with his flashlight and starts a slow pass over the body from the feet upwards.
Norm has to fight to make his face show revulsion instead of pride when the flashlight lingers at the top of the body’s legs. The chief steps forward for a better look at where he’d severed both femoral arteries with a scalpel.
There’s a gasp from someone – he thinks Boulder, but he’s not sure. It doesn’t matter who, what’s important is he’s drawn a reaction.
One of the feds touches Chief Watson’s elbow and he steps away from the body.
Norm approaches the fed who seems to be in charge and puts panic into his voice. ‘Is this a victim of the serial killer who’s in the newspaper? Will my family be safe? Will I?’
The fed takes a moment to answer. Norm can see him working out the correct response. ‘It’s too early to tell at this stage. As a precaution we’d like to know the names and addresses of all your family members who live in Casperton.’
Jake Boulder picks up on the fed’s unspoken request and takes him to one side. As they go, Norm hears the chief being asked if he knows the identity of the victim.
66
As soon as I see the tattoos on the victim’s bare arms, I recognise him. Ian Yarwood drank in the Tree every weekend.
A die-hard rock fan, he’s had the emblems and motifs of all his favourite bands immortalised onto his arms. In just one pass of the chief’s flashlight I’d seen the Guns ‘N’ Roses crucifix, Aerosmith’s angel wings and the Rolling Stones’ lips and tongue.
Try as I might, I can’t recall Yarwood’s name being mentioned by Harriet, Olly or any of their family.
Another point to consider is Yarwood’s body has been found inside the town’s limits, whereas all the obvious murder victims were dumped or displayed in more rural areas.
The clinical way the man has been murdered smacks of our killer, yet he may not fit the selection process.
If it’s the same killer, I wonder if he is getting cockier, more confident. The worst-case scenario is he’s started a new string after being thwarted by the chief’s preventative methods.
The thought he may start choosing victims totally at random isn’t something I care to think about. Should his pattern have changed, he’ll be even harder to predict, let alone stop.
I don’t know the guy who found the body, but I’m sure I’ve seen his face somewhere.
As the chief and the feds talk among themselves, I approach the guy and start asking questions like the detective I’ve suddenly become.
‘Norman Sortwell. Everyone calls me Norm though.’
‘What time did you find the body?’
‘A couple of minutes before I called the police.’ He gives a helpless gesture. ‘I tried for a pulse first. When I couldn’t find one, I made the call.’
‘Did you see anyone else in the alley? Or someone coming out of it?’
‘No.’
‘Why did you go into the alley in the first place?’ This has been troubling me since I got here. The alley is a dead end. Only refuse collectors have a good reason to go down there.
Norm gives a rueful smile. ‘I needed to take a whiz. It was quiet so I ducked into the alley.’
‘Fair enough.’ It is as good a reason as any. ‘Where have you been tonight?’
‘Nowhere special. I came out to get some milk and decided to grab a couple of beers.’
I nod at his answers. They’re commonplace and banal, which is normal for Casperton. Only in the movies do people find bodies while doing something exciting. The exact statistic escapes me, but I know for a fact most bodies are found by dog-walkers.
‘We don’t know for certain if this man has been killed by the person we’re hunting, but to be on the safe side, we’ll need to bring your family into protective custody.’
It’s hard to judge his reaction in the dim light of the alley, but I’m not convinced he’s too worried about his family.
‘All of them or just the ones who live in Casperton?’
‘Just the ones who live locally to begin with.’
After that, who knows? There are far too many possibilities to consider.
Has our killer made a mistake and jumped his pattern or have we missed a connection between Harriet and Yarwood?
Perhaps it’s a copycat killer aping the guy who’s got a whole town gripped with fear. If it is we’re going to need a lot more than three FBI guys.