“Sorry, mate,” the profiler said. “I’ve been in a symposium for two days. How are you getting on with your serial offender?”
“There’ve been some developments,” Rob explained. “I wouldn’t mind running them by you – off the books, of course.”
“Sure thing.” Tony never minded helping out when he could. “You free for lunch? I'm going to be in your neck of the woods. It’s our ten-year anniversary tomorrow and I’ve got to get Kim something special.”
“Hey, congrats! That’s amazing.”
Rob had met Kim several times and both liked and admired her. A paediatric nurse, she was perfect for Tony. Although, how they found time for each other with their busy schedules, he didn’t know. But it worked. Or maybe that’s why it worked.
“What’s amazing is that she’s stuck with me all this time.” He laughed. “How does one o’clock at the Argentinian sound?”
“Perfect. See you then.”
“Angie Nolan’s social worker was employed by a company called The Homestead,” said Jenny. “It’s a children’s charity based out of Woking.”
A slither of ice slid down his back. “That was the name on the flyer Tessa Parvin brought home.”
Heads bobbed up.
“It’s the same one Chrissy Macdonald called,” said Evan quietly.
“Holy crap, Rob.” Jo stopped typing. “What was his name again?”
“Paul Daley,” supplied Jenny, wide-eyed.
Jo typed his name into Google. “According to his Linkedin profile, he’s worked for various charities over the last few years as a social worker and a volunteer counsellor.”
“The Homestead?” asked Rob.
Jo looked up and nodded. She turned the laptop around so they could see his profile picture. A man about Rob’s age, with wispy brown hair and a kind, open face with dark eyes stared back at them.
“He could be our man,” whispered Jenny.
“He wasn’t Anna Dewbury’s social worker,” pointed out Mike. “That was a guy called Alan Simpson.”
“That was eight years ago,” pointed out Jo.
“Mike, call Alan Simpson and ask him if he knows Paul Daley.”
Mike nodded and pulled out his phone.
Adrenalin shot through him. They had a lead. A real one. Something he could take to the Chief Superintendent. But would it be enough to keep Major Crimes off their back?
The 300g ribeye steak sizzled on the board as it was placed in front of him. Rob’s stomach growled.
“This looks great. I’m ravenous.”
His friend laughed. “That’s when you know you’re working too hard, when you forget to eat.”
He wasn’t wrong there.
“So, tell me what you’ve got?”
Rob took a bite and savoured the taste for a moment. It was fantastic. Succulent and cooked to perfection. “It seems several of the victims, if not all of them, were sexually assaulted,” he said, once he’d finished chewing.
Tony started. “By the killer? That doesn’t sound likely.”
“No, by a person they trusted. Either their father, stepfather or in one case, an uncle. We’ve also discovered three of the girls sought help via a children's charity or helpline. That’s the only link we can find between them.”
Tony paused for a moment as he ate his steak. Rob could see his brain ticking over. He let him think while he finished his own meal.
Finally, Tony said, “It makes perfect sense.”
“It does?”
“Absolutely. We already know your killer must have had a violent childhood or witnessed extreme violence at some point in his formative years. What if that was sexual abuse? Maybe he suffered at the hands of an abuser, or he watched someone close to him suffer. A sibling or a parent. Think about it. He knows what it’s like. He empathises to the point where he wants to save these girls, protect them.”
“By killing them?” Rob stared at his friend, his fork poised in the air.
“In his mind, yes. If he can’t stop the abuse, he might view death as the preferable option.”
“Jesus.”
Rob put his knife and fork down. In a weird, fucked-up way, what Tony said made sense.
“Especially if there’s a religious angle,” continued the profiler. “He might even see the killings as merciful, a mission from God.”
Rob felt his stomach churn. “That’s messed up.”
“Indeed, but then so many of these people are. Most serial offenders feel their actions are justified in some way or another. Ridding the world of sex workers, hatred towards women, homosexuals or other marginalised groups, revenge…”
Rob knew all about that last one.
“It’s misplaced rage, fuelled by a dysfunctional upbringing. Sometimes there’s mental health issues too, which don’t help. Paranoid schizophrenia, PTSD. But in this case, I’d say your killer is in complete control of his emotions. He strikes me as a thorough, meticulous man, possibly with an obsessive-compulsive disorder.”
“Why OCD?” Rob wanted to know.
“The way the bodies were posed. All exactly the same. Precise. Blue hair clips.”
“What do you think the hair clips mean?” he asked.
Tony smiled. “I’m glad you asked that. I think the person he watched suffer wore them. With every girl he “saves”, he’s recreating that first kill.”
Rob shuddered.
“They like to relive the experience,” Tony told him. “I’ll bet he goes back to the burial site often. He probably keeps souvenirs or trinkets from his victims too. Things to remind him of their final moments.”
“That’s sick.” Rob knew serial offenders often took mementos of their crimes, but to hear it put like that made his skin crawl.
Tony met his gaze across the table.
“Welcome to the mind of a serial killer.”
49
“Thank God! Now that’s what I want to hear.”
DCS Lawrence beamed at him from across the desk. “Great work, Rob, and to your team too. We finally have a suspect.”
“We’re still trying to tie him to the murders,” Rob pointed out. He didn’t want to give the Chief Superintendent false hope, but at the same time, he needed to give him something to feed to Major Crimes. “But as soon as we do, we’ll bring him in for questioning.”
“Excellent. Now I know it’s premature, but the public wants to hear we’re making progress. There’s been so much in the media lately about these girls, including the one we’ve yet to identify. Did you see that spread in the Times yesterday?”
Rob shook his head.
“I need you to give
