Хилари Боннер - Deadly Dance

Vogel felt a frisson of excitement.

‘What does he look like, boss?’

‘A pretty ordinary Joe. I’ll send it to you.’

‘Thanks.’

‘Oh and David…’

Vogel stiffened. In their almost two-year association, Vogel could count the number of times Hemmings had addressed him as David on the fingers of one hand.

‘Well done. Nobody else in the force would have come close to this.’

Hemmings ended the call, leaving Vogel thinking that his superior officer was not wrong about that: which meant that the consequences of going public with the Aeolus theory, whatever they may turn out to be, now rested on Vogel’s, not particularly broad, shoulders.

A press conference was held at the Avon and Somerset Constabulary’s Portishead HQ at 11 a.m. the following morning. It was hosted by Hemmings, as SIO, with Vogel and the force’s senior press officer, Jennifer Jackman, by his side. Willis and Saslow were also present, as Vogel’s first lieutenants, in case he wished to refer to them, but they hadn’t been asked to sit on the platform.

Vogel suspected that Hemmings may have been hoping this would be one of the conferences the Chief Constable might choose to host himself. But the CC, like most of his rank in modern policing, had become rather more a politician than a policeman. He excelled at covering his own back more than anything else, in Vogel’s opinion.

Hemmings, however, gave no sign of any discomfiture he might be feeling and did a more than competent job. He ran through the basic details of the three murders, then revealed that DNA evidence pointed to the same perpetrator in every case. There was a stir of increased interest in a briefing room packed almost to capacity.

On the instruction of the CC, Jennifer Jackman had already indicated that there’d been a sensational development suggesting a strong link between the cases of Timothy Southey, Manee Jainukul and Melanie Cooke. Journalists known to be closely following these cases had been contacted directly. Almost all of those in attendance were experienced crime reporters representing local and national television, and mainstream local and national written press. They understood about profiling and modus operandi. They were as surprised by the DNA evidence as Vogel and the MCIT team had been.

Hemmings turned to Vogel to explain his theory of Dissociative Identity Disorder. Vogel hated doing this sort of thing, but he couldn’t avoid it. It was his convoluted brain that had come up with the Aeolus theory and it was only logical that he should be the one to pass on his thinking to the world at large.

By the time he finished the air of quiet excitement and anticipation had turned into near bedlam. The press photographers and news cameramen pushed forward, thrusting their cameras into Vogel’s face. Many of the gathered journalists rose to their feet and started to shout out questions. Others were clearly already filing copy.

Jennifer Jackman called for order.

‘Neither DI Vogel nor DCI Hemmings will say anything more nor take any questions until everyone calms down,’ she said. ‘Please take your seats and if you have a question raise your hand.’

Jackman succeeded in her plea for calm, to a degree, but her reward was merely a sea of waving arms.

‘Question for DI Vogel,’ began the correspondent from BBC Bristol. ‘Are you really telling us that we are looking for one man, who thinks he has at least four personalities including a figure of Greek mythology, Detective Inspector? Could you clarify that for me please?’

Bedlam turned to hush.

Vogel blinked rapidly behind his spectacles. He reckoned he would prefer to pull his own teeth out, rather than face the great British press on a charge.

‘Well yes, that’s about it,’ said Vogel.

‘Do you have any medical evidence to back this theory up?’

‘We have taken advice from a senior criminal psychiatrist, yes, which led us to decide to make this announcement this morning.’

‘So do we have three different motives then, as well as three different identities within the same perpetrator? Is that what you are saying, Mr Vogel?’

That was a concept Vogel had considered, but he had so far been unable to come to a properly thought-out conclusion.

‘Until we apprehend this man and can acquire detailed psychiatric reports on his state of mind, I’m afraid we cannot comment on his motivation,’ he said.

‘Exactly how do you plan to apprehend him, DI Vogel? I mean, isn’t he really little more than some kind of fantasy figure?’

‘Not exactly, we do have a photograph of our suspect,’ Hemmings interrupted.

The DCI waved a hand at Janet Jackman, who had her laptop open in front of her. She tapped the keyboard and a large image of the photo emailed to Manee Jainukul flashed up on the big screen above the platform.

Vogel turned to look at it. He’d already pored over the photo on the train as soon as Hemmings had emailed it to him the previous evening and again when he got home and again that morning. He had a feeling that face was vaguely familiar but then, he’d spent so much time looking at it he supposed it would be.

‘The experts tell us this image has been heavily Photoshopped,’ said Hemmings. ‘We have no idea how alike it is to our suspect — whom we believe to be Saul Homer, Leo Ovid, and Al — but it’s the best we’ve got. Please use it to help us find him. He is highly dangerous.’

The media went ballistic.

I wasn’t quite sure what I felt when I watched the news and read the TV reports. In a way I was proud of the attention. Who wouldn’t be? My story led the news on every TV bulletin and I was splashed all over every front page. My picture was everywhere, well, the picture they thought was me. It was the same on the net.

Of course, I knew the story was a captivating one. A damned good yarn, the press boys would say. I particularly enjoyed headlines like POLICE PUZZLED AND BEFUDDLED BY TRIPLE KILLER…, MYTHICAL MURDERER MAKES MOCKERY… and THREAT OF THE THREE-IN-ONE FIEND…

I was, of course, aware that merely by working out what I was, the forces of the law had put me at greater risk of discovery. Detective Inspector David Vogel was clever for a police officer, there was no doubt about that, but not as clever as me. I wasn’t too worried.

The media asked one question. The same question.

‘Who is Aeolus?’

I am Aeolus. I am not the pathetic creature whose picture the police released. I’d used and doctored that picture, for my own ends. It barely resembled me. Nobody would recognise the real me from that picture.

I am Aeolus. I am the ruler of the winds. I have powers the likes of which DI Vogel can only ever dream of.

The results of the press conference wildly exceeded anything Vogel had ever experienced. Even the coverage of the Sunday Club murders in Covent Garden, which had attracted extensive media attention, paled into insignificance compared with this.

It was approaching mid-morning the following day and Vogel was still trying to get to grips with the sheer enormity of public response to the massive media onslaught, when his phone rang. Bill Jones, the duty sergeant at Trinity Road — the police station which covered the St Pauls district, where the body of Manee Jainukul was found — sounded unusually animated.

‘Woman just walked into the front office here. I think you should see her personally, sir,’ said Jones. ‘Claims she had an internet relationship with your Saul. Got a feeling about this one, sir.’

‘You’ve talked to her yourself?’

‘Briefly, sir.’

‘All right,’ said Vogel.

He respected Sergeant Jones and was pretty sure the man wouldn’t bother him directly with anyone likely to turn out to be a nutter. If Jones thought this woman was worthy of Vogel’s personal attention, then she almost certainly was.