‘Yes, we are looking, with colleagues in other areas, throughout the UK, at the possibility that this might be a serial killer.’
He caught a few puzzled looks around the room.
‘Since Saturday’s murder we have been seeking information from other forces, checking for groups of similarly brutal unsolved killings in other communities. We have been in touch also with Interpol, and with the FBI in Washington. One or two lines of enquiry have emerged, but I have to say that none of them look promising.
‘There’s something else to remember. It’s one thing knowing that you have a serial killer on your patch. It’s something else catching him. As soon as an obvious pattern emerges in one area, he usually moves on. That’s why some have lasted so long in the States. Strings of forty or fifty murders have come to light, but rarely more than four or five in a single location.’
‘So are you saying that if we have had a serial killer here, he may have run his course?’
‘It’s possible, John. But no one should make that sort of assumption. It could be fatal.’
Skinner looked around the room.
‘Groups of unsolved murders aren’t as uncommon as people think. Look at the Rippers. The first one was never caught, and the second went on for years. So did Neilsen. And look at Bible John.’
One or two of the old lags nodded. Bible John was a mystery man from the early Sixties in Glasgow, who had murdered a number of young women. Several witnesses had spoken of seeing victims with a young man whose most memorable feature had been a readiness to quote from the Bible, a trait which still makes a man stand out as an oddity in a Glasgow disco.
‘You don’t think there could be a connection here, Mr Skinner?’ asked John Gemmell of the
‘Do me a favour! If Bible John is still around, and I hope fervently that he is not, he’d be well over fifty by now. These killings are the work of someone who is agile and pretty strong. Another thing: Bible John’s method was the same every time. This guy varies his methods.’
An English TV reporter, a newcomer to Skinner, raised a hand.
‘Chief Superintendent, are you checking on recent releases from secure hospitals?’
‘Yes, we have done that, and we’re looking further back. But the fact is that when people are released from a secure mental hospital, they normally take time to readjust to society. They are cautious, and tend to stay indoors most of the time. An orgy of violence such as this is most likely to occur in the course of an escape. But even then, few escapees get more than a few miles. They put all their efforts into planning the breakout, then once they’re on the outside, they realise that they haven’t a clue what to do. I have the feeling that we are dealing here with a man who plans every step he takes.’
John Hunter again. ‘Does that mean there could be a motive?’
‘On the face of it, no. But if there is, we’ll find it.’
There were several more questions of detail, on timing, about the murder weapons and about the backgrounds of the four victims. The press conference was dragging naturally to a halt, when William Glass, of the
‘Chief Superintendent, with due deference to you, might one ask why the Chief Constable himself is not here, and why he has not been seen to have taken personal charge of such an important investigation?’
There was a shuffling of feet among the other journalists. John Hunter looked across angrily at his colleague.
For a time it looked as if Skinner would ignore the question. He glared at the man with the same look he had fixed on hundreds of suspects as they protested innocence, until Glass broke the eye-contact and looked away, flustered.
‘Mr Glass.’ A formal address by Skinner was his form of rebuke to the media and they all knew it. ‘The Chief is in charge of this enquiry. I report to him as Head of CID. I am also answerable to the public. That’s why I’m here talking to you when I could be out knocking doors with my lads.
‘I have been the spokesman since the first murder. The Chief Constable feels that it is important that I continue in that role, as the man with the most detailed knowledge of the enquiries. That is the channel of communication which he wishes to maintain.’ His voice rose and hardened. ‘If you want to maintain it you will oblige me by ensuring that your questions are relevant and pertinent.’
Skinner looked around the room. ‘Thank you, ladies and gentlemen; this conference is closed!’
As the door closed behind him, Skinner heard John Hunter begin to harangue Glass, to murmurs of approval from his colleagues. He knew that he should have kept his temper in check, but it had been a hard week.
He was still seething quietly when he reached the gym. Since his teens karate had been one of his favourite sports. He had maintained it on reaching high rank, partly as an example to his troops, but also because it compelled him to keep up a high standard of fitness. He changed into his whites, tied on his black belt, and went into the gym, to the club which he had helped to found.
The instructor was a newcomer. He was an army drill sergeant who had been sent along, at Skinner’s request to try to improve standards. Skinner was prepared to stay in the background, his normal practice, and work on coaching beginners, but the soldier, with a trace of cockiness, singled him out.
‘Shall we work out, sir? Let’s show these people what it’s all about.’
Skinner sighed and nodded. They exchanged bows and moved to the centre mat, surrounded by a group of around twenty policemen and women in white tunics. Skinner was aware, suddenly, for the first time ever, that he was the oldest person in the room.
The thought was still in his mind when the man kicked him painfully on the left calf.
‘Just trying to get your mind on the job, sir.’
Cheeky bastard, thought Skinner. But he did not react. The cocky look grew in the man’s eyes. Another flashing kick caught the tall detective on the right thigh.
‘Still haven’t got your attention, sir.’
Skinner feinted to his right, then pivoted on the ball of his left foot. His right toes, bunched, jabbed the inside of the soldier’s thigh, with force. The foot swept up, the outside edge slamming into the testicles. The leg retracted, then swung up and round, until the foot slammed into the soldier’s left temple. Clutching his groin, the sergeant collapsed in a crumpled heap.
‘You’re wrong, son,’ said Skinner to the white-clad figure. ‘I couldn’t take my bloody eyes off you. Class dismissed!’
He took a quick shower and caught up with Andy Martin in his office. One of the detective constables in the class had beaten him there from the gym, carrying the news that the boss had kicked the shit out of the karate instructor.
Martin eyed him warily. ‘You all right? Or are you still in your Bruce Lee mode?’
Skinner cocked an eyebrow at his assistant. ‘Never better, Andy. Let’s drink some lunch. Fancy a pint in the Monarch?’
They found a Panda car heading out on patrol. It dropped them outside a big grey pub which was situated on the edge of one of the city’s worst crime spots, and which boasted one of the biggest beer sales in the East of Scotland. Skinner had no doubt that the two statistics were related.
When the two policemen entered the public bar, several patrons drank up fast and left by the nearest available exit.
‘Thanks very much, Mr Skinner,’ said Charlie, the manager. ‘Not even the Salvation Army can clear this place quicker than you can. Thought you’d be up the High Street the day, onyway.’
‘We won’t catch anyone up there in the daylight, Charlie. And the way our luck’s been, we wouldn’t spot the bastard if he was running down the High Street waving a chainsaw.’
‘Naw, youse’d probably jist think he was yin o’ thon Labour cooncillors. By the way, ah wis sorry tae hear on the radio about the young polis.’
‘Thanks, Charlie.’
Skinner ordered and, despite Charlie’s protests, insisted on paying for two pints of McEwan’s 80 shilling ale. He took a bite out of the thick, creamy head, and motioned Martin over to a table. The inspector could see that the unaccustomed black mood had gone.
‘You know, Andy, all of a sudden I feel optimistic. Daft, isn’t it. Not a clue, almost literally, yet there’s a voice
