Luke Delaney - The Keeper

‘Karen Green,’ he said, the coolness returning to his voice now he understood who she was. Cops didn’t like outsiders sticking their noses into police business. ‘The woman he murdered — her name was Karen Green.’

‘Yes, that was in the file.’ She indicated the dossier she had been reading. ‘A very interesting case, and I think I already have some suggestions about the suspect. I believe he …’ Sean held his hand up to stop her.

‘I’m sure you’ve got better things to do on a Friday night than sit around here with a bunch of grizzly old detectives. Please, take the file home with you and study it over the weekend, and then if you still think you can help, by all means pop back in on Monday and let me know what you’ve found.’

‘Actually I’d rather make a start right away.’

‘You don’t have to do that,’ said Sean. ‘Monday will be fine.’ A silence hung between them while she considered her next move.

‘By then it could be too late,’ she insisted. ‘For Louise Russell and perhaps you too.’

‘Don’t waste your time worrying about me.’

‘I’m not.’

‘Then go home and study your file.’

‘As I said, I’d rather stay here, close to the investigation, where I can be of most use.’

‘Anna, I have two, three days, maybe less, before Louise Russell becomes his second victim. I’m sorry, but I don’t have time to explain the ins and outs of a murder investigation to a layman.’

‘I’ve studied many murder investigations, Inspector. I’m not a total layman.’

‘Is that why you’re here? So you can tell everyone you’ve got your hands dirty with a real murder investigation, instead of just studying one second-hand?’

‘No.’

‘Then why are you here?’

‘To help.’

‘To help how? How many murder investigations have you been involved with, exactly?’

‘None. But I’ve conducted extensive interviews with many convicted murderers, including a study of some of Broadmoor’s most troubled patients.’

‘Really?’ Sean asked, impressed despite himself. ‘Like who?’

‘Like Sebastian Gibran,’ she answered. ‘One of yours, I believe.’

‘One of mine?’ Sean repeated. ‘I wouldn’t call him that.’

‘No,’ she agreed. ‘I was invited to examine him as part of his psychological assessment, to see if he was fit to stand trial.’

‘And you decided he wasn’t.’

‘Yes.’

‘You were wrong.’

‘Sebastian was clearly suffering from a deep-rooted personality disorder, his psychopathic traits and complete inability to form meaningful relationships with people were obvious from the start. His marriage, relationships at work, even those with his parents and siblings were an act: he was merely portraying the person they wanted to him to be, while in fact he was living out an incredibly well-formed and detailed fantasy life from a very early age. He was clearly incapable of truly understanding his own trial, in the context of grasping the real-life implications it could have held for him.’

‘He’s bad,’ Sean told her, ‘not mad. He had every advantage in life, yet he chose to do what he did. He chose to do it.’

‘If you mean he didn’t have the typical background for a serial killer, then you’re right. He doesn’t appear to have been abused as a child or to have suffered any particularly traumatic incident that could have affected him adversely in later life. On the face of it, he was very successful and intelligent, but the fact remains he clearly has a psychotic social behavioural disorder.’

‘He pulled the wool over your eyes,’ Sean jeered. ‘He did to you what he’s spent his entire life doing — he told you what you wanted to hear and showed you only what he wanted you to see, made himself an interesting psychiatric case for the experts to pore over. What better way to keep himself out of prison? And now all he has to do is wait until he feels the time is right to pass all your blunt tests, leaving you with no choice but to declare him sane. Then what happens?’

‘He’ll stand trial for his crimes.’

‘And use all the evidence you and your colleagues have amassed about his state of mind at the time to prove he can’t be held accountable for his actions on the grounds of diminished responsibility. And then he walks free. True?’

‘I don’t know,’ she answered truthfully, never looking away from him. ‘I’m not an expert when it comes to the judicial system. My job is to provide clinical assessments. I don’t get involved in the moral or legal judgements.’

‘I wish I had that luxury.’ Sean was silent for a moment before continuing: ‘Listen, it’s like this — I’ve never met a psychiatrist or read a psychiatric report about an offender that told me anything I wouldn’t expect any of my detectives to be able to tell me.’

‘I really believe I can help you.’

‘I don’t think so.’

‘Well, at the end of the day it doesn’t matter what you think, does it?’

‘Meaning?’

She reached for the briefcase at the side of her chair and pulled an opened letter from inside, handing it to Sean. ‘That’s a letter from your assistant commissioner in charge of serious crime, instructing you to ensure that I have unrestricted access to all matters relating to this investigation, including forensic evidence and interviews with suspects. I will of course not be permitted knowledge of the use of existing covert human intelligent sources or the deployment of undercover officers, although any thoughts I have about how the undercover officer or officers may best infiltrate the offender or offenders would be expected to be fully explained to them, by you.’

Sean scanned the letter without reading it properly, sure everything she said was true. He folded it up, sighing and shaking his head slightly and handed it back to her. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Just one thing.’

‘What would that be?’

‘Don’t ask me questions I don’t have time to answer. Keep your mouth shut and your eyes and ears open. Learn through observation not interrogation. You keep up or you get left behind — understand?’

‘Yes. Thank you.’

‘Thank you? Thank me for what?’ Donnelly and Zukov appeared at his door before she could answer. Sean could tell by their faces they were excited. ‘Something wrong?’ he asked them.

‘Paulo here’s dug up a possible suspect you might want to take a look at,’ Donnelly explained.

‘Speak up, Paulo,’ Sean encouraged.

‘I did what you suggested, guv’nor, and searched the local intelligence records for anyone with previous for serious sexual offences and burglary artifice. You were right — it turns out to be a very unusual mix. I only got one hit: Jason Lawlor, male, IC1, forty-two years old, loads of previous for theft, assault, burglary, commercial and residential and serious sexual offences. But it was his previous convictions involving the use of artifice to gain entry that set him apart.’

‘But has he ever used it to get into a house and then sexually assaulted the occupier?’

‘Yeah,’ Zukov answered, ‘his last conviction. He did six years for burglary and sexual assault and was only released three months ago from Belmarsh, but he’s failed to show up for his last two bail signing dates and he’s also missed his last two Sexual Offenders’ Register appointments. As of now, he’s on the run.’

‘Excuse me,’ Ravenni-Ceron tentatively interrupted them. ‘Sorry, it’s just that the file on this case said the suspect apparently has no convictions, whereas this man has many.’

Zukov and Donnelly both looked at Sean.

‘Don’t make assumptions,’ he told her. ‘Funny things can happen to fingerprints — trust me, I know. And we also have to consider the possibility our suspect is not working alone. Perhaps this Lawlor character’s made himself a friend who has no convictions. Maybe this friend does the grabbing and Lawlor does the rest.’