Elizabeth George - In Pursuit of the Proper Sinner

“What else?” was her laconic response.

“Bloody invention,” Hanken muttered. He directed the Londoners' attention specifically to the diagram of Nine Sisters Henge. He pointed out the spot where the boy's body had been found within the circle. He indicated a second area some distance away from the henge, to the northwest. “The girl was here,” he said. “One hundred and fifty-seven yards from the birch copse where the standing stones are. She'd had her head bashed in with a chunk of limestone.”

“What about the boy?” Lynley asked.

“Multiple stab wounds. No weapon left behind. We've done a fingertip search for it but come up cold. I've constables out scouring the moor right now.”

“Were they camping together?”

“They weren't,” Hanken told them. The girl had gone to Calder Moor alone according to her parents, and the facts at the crime scene backed them up. It was apparently her belongings-and here he indicated the photograph that would document his words-that were strewn round the inside of the stone circle. For his part, the boy seemed to have nothing with him aside from the clothes on his back. So it appeared that, setting out from wherever he'd set out, he hadn't intended to join her for his own night under the stars.

“There was no identification on the boy?” Lynley asked. “My super told me no one can place him.”

“We're running the plates of a motorcycle through the DVLA, a Triumph found near the girl's car behind a wall on the road outside Sparrowpit.” He pointed out this location, using an Ordnance Survey map that was unfolded on a desk that abutted the wall holding the china board. “We've had the bike staked out since the bodies were discovered, but no one's come to claim it. It looks like it probably belongs to the kid. Once our computers are up and running again-”

“They're saying any minute,” one of the WPCs called out.

“Right,” Hanken scoffed, and went on with “We'll have the registration information from the DVLA.”

“Bike could be stolen,” Nkata murmured.

“Then that'll be on the computer as well.” Hanken fished out his fags and lit another.

One of the women officers said, “Have a heart, Pete. We're in here all day,” an entreaty which Hanken chose to ignore.

“What are your thoughts so far?” Lynley asked, his inspection of each of the photographs complete.

Hanken rustled under the Ordnance Survey map for a large manila envelope. Inside were photocopies of the anonymous letters found at the feet of the dead boy. He kept one back, said, “Have a look at these,” and handed the envelope over to Lynley. Nkata joined his superior officer as Lynley began to flip through the letters.

There were eight communications in all, each fashioned from large letters and words that had been clipped from newspapers and magazines and taped to sheets of plain white paper. The message on each was similar, beginning with YOUR GOING TO DIE SOONER THEN YOU THINK; continuing with HOW DOES IT FEEL TO KNOW

YOUR DAYS ARE NUMBERED?; and concluding with WATCH YOUR BACK BECAUSE WHEN YOUR NOT READY FOR IT, I WILL BE THERE AND YOU WILL DIE. THERES NOPLACE TO RUN AND NOPLACE TO HIDE.

Lynley read every one of the eight letters before he finally raised his head, removed his glasses, and said, “Were these found on either of the bodies?”

“Inside the stone circle. Near to the boy, but not on him.”

“They could have been directed to anyone, couldn't they? They may not even be related to the case.”

Hanken nodded. “My first thought as well. Except they appear to have come from an oversize envelope that was on the scene. With the name Nikki printed straight across it in pencil. And they had blood on them. That's what those dark smears are, by the way: places where our copy machine couldn't register red.”

“Prints?”

Hanken shrugged. “Lab's going through the exercise.”

Lynley nodded and reconsidered the letters. “They're threatening enough. But sent to the girl? Why?”

“The why's our motive for murder.”

“Do you see the boy involved?”

“I see some thick yobbo in the wrong place at the worst possible time. He complicated matters, but that's all he did.”

Lynley returned the letters to the envelope and handed the envelope over to Hanken. He said, “Complicated matters? How?”

“By making it necessary for reinforcements.” Hanken had had the day to evaluate the crime scene, to look over the photographs, to view the evidence, and to develop an idea of the events from what he'd seen. He explained his theory. “We've got a killer who knows the moors well and who knew exactly where to find the girl. But when he got there, he saw what he hadn't expected to find: She'd got someone with her. He had only one weapon-”

“The missing knife,” Nkata noted.

“Right. So he had one of two choices. Either separate the boy from the girl somehow and knife them one at a time…”

“Or bring in a second killer,” Lynley finished. “Is that what you're thinking?”

It was, Hanken told him. Perhaps the other killer was waiting in the car. Perhaps he-or she-set out to Nine Sisters Henge in the company of the other. In any case, when it became clear that there were two able-bodied victims to dispose of instead of just one and only a single knife with which to do the job, the second killer was called into action. And the second weapon-a chunk of limestone-was used.

Lynley went back for another look at the pictures and the site plan. He said, “But why are you marking the girl as the main victim? Why not the boy?”

“Because of this.” Hanken handed over the single sheet of paper that he'd held back from the anonymous letters in anticipation of Lynley's question. Again it was a photocopy. Again it was taken from another note. This one, however, had been scrawled by hand. THIS BITCH HAS HAD IT snaked across the page, the penultimate word underlined three times.

“Was this found with the others?” Lynley asked.

“It was on her body,” Hanken said. “Tucked into one of her pockets nice and neat.”

“But why leave the letters after the murders were done? And why leave the note?”

“To send someone a message. That's the usual purpose of notes.”

“I'll accept that for a note on her body. But what about the cut-and-paste letters? Why would someone have left them behind?”

“Consider the condition of the crime scene. There was rubbish everywhere. And I dare say it was dark when the killers struck.” Hanken paused to crush out his cigarette. “They wouldn't even have known the letters were there in all the mess. They made a mistake.”

At the other end of the room, the computer finally came to life. One of the WPCs said, “About time, that,” and began inputting data and waiting for responses. The other constable did likewise, working with the activity sheets and reports that the investigative team had already turned in.

Hanken continued. “Think about the killer's state of mind, the principal killer, that is. He tracks our girl to the stone circle, all set to do the job, only to find her with a companion. He's got to bring in help, which throws him off his stride. The girl manages to run off, which throws him off further. Then the boy puts up a hell of a fight, and the camping site is turned into a shambles. All he's worried about-this is the killer, not our boy-is dispatching the two victims. When the plan doesn't go smoothly, the last thing on his mind is whether the Maiden girl brought his letters with her.”

“Why did she?” Like his superior, Nkata had gone back to look at the crime scene photos. He turned from them now as he spoke. “To show the boy?”

“There's nothing to indicate that she knew the boy before they died together,” Hanken said. “The girl's dad saw the boy's body, but he couldn't put a name to him. Had never seen him, he said. And he knows her friends.”