19
The slide switched to that of Jodie Davis’s bruised chest. Magnified, two additional perpendicular marks were visible midway along the bruise.
Meira Sorrenti sat forward. “What sort of knife are we looking at?”
“Melanie Havelock described a narrow blade, but can’t remember anything else.” With the laser-pointer, Anya directed attention to a small mark at the edge of the bruise, just above the covered nipple line. Even higher was a fainter impression that could easily have been missed. “This is made by part of the handle. My guess is the attacker put pressure on the woman’s chest with the knife held flat, but moved the handle during that time, which left the two marks you can see.”
Hayden Richards stopped taking notes. “It doesn’t fit with a kitchen knife. The handle’s too wide.”
“I agree. What’s interesting is that the blade itself isn’t very long, only about three inches.”
Meira stood and looked closer at the screen. “Could be a switchblade.”
Detective Constable Abbott put his hands behind his head. “If it is, tracking it’ll be almost impossible. There’s a huge black market and chasing Internet sellers takes a lot more manpower and computer expertise than we’ve got.”
He looked across the briefing room at the analyst, who shook her head at the thought.
A gentle knock on the door caught their attention.
Hayden stood and shook hands with the adult Harry Potter lookalike. “This is Doctor Quentin Lagardia. He’s a profiler. Some of you already know him. For those who don’t, he’s got a PhD in abnormal psychology and has put together some profiles for SA units around the country.”
Meira remained standing and folded her arms. “We have a detective in this building who is trained in profiling.”
“Yes, but Doctor Lagardia is here at the request of the Local Area Commander due to the media’s propensity to jump on serial cases.”
Quentin repositioned his glasses and cleared his throat. A mild hand tremor disappeared when he unzipped his jacket and opened his briefcase at the table.
Hayden quickly introduced the profiler to everyone in the room.
“Doctor Crichton was about to discuss the pattern of injuries the two victims sustained.”
Anya drew two body outlines on the whiteboard and marked the areas in which each of the three women suffered injuries. Melanie Havelock and Jodie Davis were named, but Louise Richardson was labelled Victim One to protect her privacy.
“A fourth woman, Gloria Havelock-Melanie’s mother-was raped by two men a year ago, but only one of the injuries matched, so we’ll leave her out for now. The others all had trauma to the left sides of their faces from a hit. With the knife mark on the left side of the chests, he holds the knife in his right hand but must swap it to punch with that hand when he thinks they’ve looked at him. Jodie Davies had a swollen jaw even though he pulled her jumper over her face early in the assault. She didn’t see him at all.”
“He’s right-handed. Was her bra pushed up or cut?” Quentin Lagardia inquired.
“Intact and pushed up.”
The profiler nodded and scribbled on his papers. “What about the others?”
“Havelock and Davis reported the same thing. I can’t be sure about Victim One.”
“Can you tell me anything about Victim One and her assault?”
“She’s a professional who works later than normal business hours, and who worked in the same area the other attacks have taken place. She’s my height, a bit heavier and has brown shoulder-length hair.” Anya referred to the intelligence statement she’d written. “She had on a blue skirt and a white shirt, nothing revealing. She’s a little hunched due to a scoliosis-curvature of the spine-so doesn’t look her full height, I suppose.”
Meira sounded impatient. “Did she see anything that can identify the man? Do we know if he looked familiar, did he have a car? Anything you can give us that will actually help?”
“This is helping. The detail is crucial,” Hayden said. “May I suggest we make the most of the resources we have with us today.”
Meira shot him an angry stare. “Then let’s ask the locals. Did you find anyone last night? Any information from the canvass?”
DC Abbott cleared his throat. “The door-knock of the area didn’t yield much. No one even knew the family, and had no idea what cars they drove. It’s a problem with automatic garages. No one knows the regular comings and goings of the neighbors. They did manage to remember who owned the most expensive house in the area.”
“Who lived there before?” Quentin asked. “Maybe Jodie wasn’t the original target.”
“A widower and his four sons.”
Hayden stood and paced. “I want to go over all offenses within a ten-kilometer radius that might have been misrecorded: bag snatches, robberies, muggings. It’s possible he was interrupted and the incidents were never reported as an assault. We may have to reinterview the complainants, to see if he threatened them with sexual assault, or if he fits the description we’ve already got.”
The analyst took copious notes. “I’ll get right on it.”
“I’ve asked Anya to fill in any details she can on Victim One. Given the fact that she won’t come forward and speak to us, we need to know as much as possible about her.”
“What about the rape kit she had done? Can that be tested anonymously?” Abbott asked.
“No,” Meira snapped. “Not unless she gives us permission, and that means making a statement.”
“Yeah, but if it’s anonymous, even if the evidence links the same offender with the other victims, it gives us a pattern and strengthens the brief we’ll give to the prosecutors.”
Anya understood his logic, but it wasn’t that simple. “The Office of the Director of Public Prosecutions has made it very clear that it can’t use anonymous samples in evidence. I’ve been trying to get them to accept coded samples, but there’s debate as to whether that still betrays a victim’s confidence. Especially since a code has to be able to be traced back to the victim. It’s a chain-of-evidence concern that opens up a legal can of worms.”
Abbott thought for a moment. “Then why don’t you just encourage the women to give false names? Who are we to know if the woman isn’t who she says? That way she might feel safe enough to give a statement.”
“I didn’t hear that,” Meira said with a wry smile.
For the first time, Anya felt she was on the same wavelength as the taskforce leader.
“Victim One wanted her kit destroyed and we had to comply with that request. There’s no evidence left.”
Meira threw a pen across the desk in front of her.
Hayden scratched his moustache. “Any suspects so far?”
Abbott spoke with less confidence. “The local boys pulled over a guy last night. Twenty-eight-year-old Caucasian. Five foot nine, solid. Had a porno mag in the car and had a dark cap, sunglasses. He was abusive, uncooperative and lives near the station.”
Hayden walked to the whiteboard and wrote down the details. “Put him down as a person of interest. Anyone else?”
“Geoffrey Willard,” Meira announced. “Released three weeks ago from Long Bay. Did twenty years for the rape and stabbing murder of a fourteen-year-old girl. He’s 1.7 meters, weighs about 80 kilograms.”
“He did a runner a few nights ago when a pack of locals found out where he lived,” Hayden said. “We want him under surveillance when we find him.”
“Haven’t the women described their attacker as taller and heavier than that?” Abbott ventured.
Quentin shifted in his seat. “Often people overestimate the size of their assailant. It’s understandable given they’ve been overpowered and don’t have the normal perspective.”
But eye-witnesses still swayed courts. Anya had been to one of Hayden’s talks in which a man in sports gear ran into the lecture theater, held a prop gun to Hayden’s head and took his wallet before fleeing. From the theater full of detectives, descriptions varied from a five-foot-tall white man to a six-foot-tall dark, swarthy-looking man of Middle Eastern appearance. An hour later, the supposed thief returned to the theater and took his place in the front row. No one recognized him in a suit. That proved a great lesson to Anya. Eye-witnesses were notoriously
