Luke Delaney - The Keeper

‘And if no one reports them missing?’ Donnelly asked.

‘We wait for a body,’ Sean answered — more cold truths. ‘In the meantime, we’re drawing on all the resources that can be spared. Featherstone’s arranged for extra detectives to be assigned door-to-door inquiries over an expanded area and uniform are carrying out roadblocks close to both abduction locations and the body drop site, checking for suspects and witnesses. We’ve even got India 99 up and about looking for whatever it is helicopters look for. Plus there are uniform patrols, both foot and vehicles, searching for the sort of locations our man could be keeping the victims at, old smallholdings, abandoned factories and particularly anything underground — coal bunkers, cellars, bomb shelters, anywhere remote or concealed, but within a few miles of the crime scenes — our boy doesn’t travel far.’

‘You think he keeps them underground?’ Anna asked, causing all eyes to fall on Sean.

‘Yes. Dr Canning discovered what appears to be coal dust under the victim’s finger and toe nails.’

‘Oh, how I would like a few minutes alone with this bastard,’ muttered Donnelly.

‘Save the tough talk for when we’ve found him,’ said Sean. ‘Everybody happy?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ Sally answered tiredly.

‘Sounds like a plan,’ Donnelly acknowledged. Anna said nothing.

‘One more thing,’ Sean continued hesitantly, afraid of too many awkward questions about how he came by the information, remembering his ruthless breaking down of Douglas Levy. ‘I think he’s disguising himself as a postie. That’s how he gets the doors open.’

‘I’ve not seen anything to suggest that,’ Sally argued.

‘A new witness,’ said Sean. ‘He mentioned something that suggested it.’

‘What?’ Sally persisted.

‘It’s a long and very uninteresting story. Just take my word for it, he’s pretending to be a postman, but let’s keep that between us for the time being — I don’t want to risk a detail like that leaking to the press, and let’s not forget we still have the forensics from five different crime scenes to chase and then we have to cross-reference DNA and fingerprints from all scenes to be sure that this is indeed the same man at each.’

‘It’s the same man,’ Anna said a little too loudly.

‘Of course it is,’ Sean said impatiently, ‘but courts are a real pain in the arse about something called evidence. Theories are fine in the classroom, but not out here.’

Donnelly and Sally looked away, leaving Anna to her own private humiliation.

Sean continued: ‘While we’re all here I might as well say it — this investigation is turning into a monster. We’ve got the world and his wife out there looking for Louise Russell, but it won’t feel like it to us. We’ll be the ones stuck here till all hours, fighting through piles of reports, making phone calls, chasing up forensics, pestering potential witnesses, reading fucking useless intelligence reports and trying to fend off every unsolved murder in the last decade the powers-that-be try to dump on us. But be mindful, and make sure everybody on the team is mindful, that this investigation will be under the national microscope. Which means everybody needs to be on their best, please — no smoking at the crime scenes, no laughing and joking when the cameras are around and be damn careful what you say when you’re talking on your mobiles — if we can eavesdrop on phone conversations, you can be sure the media can. If a conversation you had with the lab turns up in your favourite Sunday redtop, you’ll know where it’s come from. Everybody understand?’ His audience of three nodded and grunted their understanding. ‘Good.’

He was about to head for his office when Sally stopped him.

‘What’s this one about? Why’s he doing it?’

‘It’s about acceptance,’ he answered without hesitation. ‘About finally having what he’s always wanted, but until now could never have. It’s about love — loving them and being loved by them.’

‘Love!’ Donnelly interrupted loudly and abruptly. ‘This doesn’t look like love to me — taking her out to the middle of some godforsaken wood in the middle of the night and squeezing the life out of her, then leaving the poor wee cow’s body lying naked for a fucking dog to find. Which bit of that sounds like love to you?’

‘I didn’t say he was rational,’ Sean explained. ‘His perception of love and what it means is completely different from yours, but it’s still ultimately about love. It’s the one thing he covets more than anything else and it’s the one thing he’s never had.’

‘Are we supposed to feel sorry for him?’ sneered Donnelly. ‘He’s just another sick pervert who needs to be locked up with the general prison population for a few nights before they stick him in segregation. The other prisoners will soon make sure he gets justice.’

‘Not sorry for what he is,’ Sean answered, ‘but maybe we should consider what may have happened to him to make him what he is now.’

‘How do we know anything happened to him?’ Donnelly persisted. ‘Perhaps he just enjoys it?’

‘This one’s no Sebastian Gibran,’ Sean spilled out, immediately glancing apologetically at Sally. ‘He’s a product of circumstance, not nature.’

‘Aye, maybe, but all this love nonsense, I don’t believe it and neither does she,’ said Donnelly, indicating Anna.

‘Really,’ Sean said. ‘Care to enlighten me?’

Anna cleared her throat. ‘At this time it would be correct to say that I don’t see any particular signs of love from offender to victims. I see transferred expressions of revenge and the need to feel powerful, hence the acts of sexual aggression and abuse. But no signs of empathy or affection.’

‘What about the moisturizing cream and traces of perfume on the body? They were too fresh to have been applied before she was taken,’ Sean argued.

‘We don’t know that they weren’t the victim’s own cosmetics,’ Donnelly reminded him.

‘Even if they were the victim’s own, he still gave them to her or allowed her to have them. At the very least that shows a degree of empathy,’ Sean explained.

‘I don’t think they are the victim’s own cosmetics,’ Anna said. ‘I believe they’ll turn out to be the brands used by whoever it is he has this hatred for.’

‘Like his mother?’ Donnelly suggested.

‘Possibly his mother,’ Anna agreed.

‘You’re wrong,’ Sean snapped at them. ‘Strands of what you’re saying are probably true, but you don’t understand him — you don’t understand what motivates him, why he has to do what he does.’ A tense atmosphere hung in the room until Sally broke the silence.

‘So what’s our next move?’

‘Chase forensics and the door-to-door and wait for the tidal wave of information that’s about to come our way,’ said Sean. ‘Speaking of which, I’ll be in my office if anyone needs me.’ He regathered his coat and headed for his small, partitioned room. Donnelly shook his head before burying it in a pile of information reports.

‘I can’t stand drinking from these things,’ Sally told Anna, looking accusingly at her polystyrene cup. ‘Come on, let’s sneak off to the canteen and I’ll treat you to a decent cup.’

Anna shrugged her shoulders. ‘Why not?’

They made sure they were well clear of the inquiry office before speaking again, talking as they walked.

‘So,’ Sally asked, ‘what do you make of Sean then? Intense, isn’t he?’

‘I was thinking more along the lines of arrogant and rude,’ Anna replied.

‘He doesn’t do it on purpose,’ Sally assured her. ‘He can’t help himself, not when he’s absorbed in an investigation.’ They walked in silence for a while as they passed a steady flow of uniform officers heading away from the canteen. ‘He doesn’t approach investigations in a way I’ve ever seen before — he doesn’t rely totally on the tangible evidence laid on a plate for him. He’s more instinctive, intuitive.’ They entered the already busy canteen and found a couple of seats at the end of a long table, where Anna sat alone, feeling self-conscious until Sally returned from the counter with two porcelain mugs of coffee. ‘Where were we?’