The Keeper (17 page)

Usually he was able to control his imagination, use it as precisely as a surgeon would wield his scalpel, but today the images in his mind had been almost beyond his control, taking on a life of their own, showing him all too clearly the last moments of Louise Russell. He knew what it meant – that he was already forming a strong connection with the man who had committed this crime.

A distant-sounding voice pulled him further back to here and now.

‘You all right over there, guv’nor?’ called Donnelly. ‘I thought I heard you say something.’

‘No,’ Sean answered. ‘I’m fine.’

Dismissing Donnelly from his thoughts, he stared once more at the frail body lying amongst the dead foliage, questions rushing into his mind, the answers hard on their heels, preventing him from analysing and ordering them logically and systematically as he knew he must. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply and slowly, deliberately blocking the flow of information to allow his mind to settle. When at last he felt the peace he needed to move forward, he opened his eyes to see the yellow morning sunlight piercing the branches of the trees. It was as if the light was split into hundreds of individual sun rays, the rain of last night turning to mist as it warmed, magnifying the beauty of the rays as steam swirled in the ghostly light beams. Everything around him appeared magical, like a scene from some enchanted fairytale – everything except for the broken body lying inches from where he stood.

The questions and answers were starting to come again, but this time he was ready for them and able to control them. Sean moved as close as he dared to the body, close enough to see all that he needed to see. He knelt and scanned her from head to toe, over and over, the injuries telling their own tale: the split lip that showed signs of healing, well-formed dark-brown bruises that must have been inflicted days ago, in contrast with the fresh wounds to the side of her head and her blood-soaked ear. New bruises to her right knee and right elbow. Her right hand too had recently been injured, the skin of the knuckles scraped away, the fingers swollen, possibly broken; the lack of bruising suggested these too were fresh injuries, like the countless lacerations to her feet. Her entire body was covered in bruises in a variety of shades, as if she’d been repeatedly stabbed with a blunt object over a period of time.

Sean leaned closer, drawn by something unusual in the crook of her arm: bruising and needle track marks. She’d either been forced to inject herself or he had done it to her.

Glancing around to check that he wasn’t being watched, Sean snapped on a single rubber glove and carefully brushed the hair from her face. What he saw stopped him dead as he tried to make sense of it. After a few seconds he began searching in his inside jacket pockets, certain he’d remembered to keep a photograph of Louise Russell close to hand. He found it in the last pocket he searched, holding it in front of him so he could compare it with the face of the woman lying on the ground. He strained to recall the Missing Persons Report, searching his mind’s image of it for the Marks & Scars section, recalling that Louise Russell had had her appendix removed when she was a teenager, leaving a four-inch scar on her lower right-side abdomen. His hand moved down her body, floating inches above her skin until he reached the place where the scar should have been, but the skin was pure and unblemished. ‘Jesus Christ,’ he said quietly, struggling to comprehend what he had discovered.

His eyes searched her body for other signs this was not who she was supposed to be, but he could find no more unique marks or scars visible on her front. Carefully he gripped her right wrist and slowly rotated her arm, exposing the underside and the cheap-looking colourful tattoo of a phoenix. Something about it seemed childlike and unreal. There was no mention of Louise Russell having a tattoo. This couldn’t be her.

Sean stepped back, never taking his eyes away from the body. ‘Louise Russell wasn’t your first, was she?’ He spoke to the spirit of the killer whose malignant presence had stained the ground he now stood on so indelibly it was as if he was still here. ‘
This
was your first. You took her and then you took Louise Russell. But why? What are you thinking? What’s making you do these things?’

He stopped, stood in silence, letting his mind roam, exploring each avenue of possibility before speaking again. ‘They’re the same. The two women are the same – late twenties, early thirties, slim, short brown hair, same nose, face shape … This was no coincidence, was it?’ Once more he paused, thought in silence, letting the answers come to him, not forcing them. ‘They reminded you of someone … No,’ he reprimanded himself, ‘more than that. When you saw them, they became someone, someone you loved, someone who rejected you, who betrayed you. They betrayed you, and so you take these women to be with her again, don’t you?’ He was unaware that his hands were pushing the hair on the sides of his head back continuously as he spoke, the effort of concentration subconsciously manifesting itself. ‘But why this?’ His hands now both pointing towards the body, palms upturned, standing, waiting for further revelations. ‘Did she reject you as well and you couldn’t deal with that again, so you punished her?’ He stopped himself, paused, shook his head. ‘But that doesn’t explain this.’ He looked down at the body. ‘This was an execution. You killed her as quickly and painlessly as you thought you could. There’s no rage here, no leaving the body displayed to humiliate her. So tell me, you sick fucker, what made you go from loving her to dumping her here like a dead animal?’

Realizing he was standing with his arms outstretched, he quickly tucked them into his coat pockets to stop any more involuntary gestures. Then he stood motionless, processing the information, dissecting it with diamond-sharp clarity, drawing conclusions he would never be able to explain to the rest of his team, let alone an outsider. There was only one other person who would understand what he was thinking – the man who had tortured and strangled the life out of the pretty young woman now lying amongst the fallen leaves and crawling insects.

Sean suddenly turned on his heels and strode towards Donnelly, speaking as he closed the distance between them. ‘It’s not her,’ he announced.

Stunned, Donnelly opened his mouth to reply, but before he could speak Sean cut in:

‘The victim – it’s not Louise Russell.’

‘It fucking looks like her to me, guv.’

‘It’s not her,’ Sean repeated. ‘Similar in every way, but it’s not her. Louise Russell had her appendix removed when she was a teenager. This woman has no post-op scarring and she has a tattoo on her arm. Louise Russell does not. This is not her.’

The weight of what Sean was telling him took Donnelly a few seconds to translate. ‘Oh fuck,’ he finally declared.

‘Oh fuck indeed,’ Sean agreed.

‘So if she’s not Louise Russell, then who the hell is she?’

‘I have absolutely no idea,’ Sean answered, an admission that spurred him to action. ‘OK. I want you to get hold of Sally and tell her to check all the recent missing persons reports for south-east London – but only for women of similar description to Louise Russell. She won’t find many, but let’s hope there’s at least one. When the Lab Team get here, have them photograph the tattoo on the underside of her right forearm – there’s something off there, something odd about it. Get a copy of the photo and give it to someone you trust to research it – local tattoo shops, Internet, etc. Someone may remember doing it for her.’

‘I’ll give it to Zukov. He likes a little project,’ grinned Donnelly.

‘Fine. Meantime, you stay here and liaise with forensics when they arrive. Tell them we need the scene and everything from it processed as a matter of the utmost urgency. They’ll moan like drains that the anti-terrorist boys have got them buried under an avalanche of work, but do it anyway. Make sure they know we still have an outstanding missing person who will be turning up in some other wood making them even more work if they don’t get this rushed through.’

‘No problem,’ Donnelly assured him. ‘But there’s one thing you may have overlooked, boss.’

‘Such as?’

‘We can’t be sure Louise Russell’s disappearance and this woman’s death are connected.’

Sean bit back the caustic reply, reminded himself others around him needed more time, more tangible evidence to draw the same conclusions he already had. ‘No make-up, no painted nails or dyed hair. No track-marks in her arms or legs – no body piercings. This was no prostitute dragged off the street and murdered.’

‘Agreed,’ Donnelly answered, ‘but that doesn’t mean she was killed by the guy that took Louise Russell.’

‘Same age, same physical build, hair, face. There’ll be a MISPER report somewhere that’ll tell us who she is and with it the evidence to all but confirm they were taken by the same man.’

‘If you say so,’ Donnelly sighed.

‘I’m off back to the office to put Featherstone in the picture. Oh, and one last thing …’

‘Aye?’

‘For God’s sake cover the poor cow up with something, will you – she’s suffered enough already. It’ll help preserve evidence if it rains too.’

Donnelly nodded in agreement as he watched Sean picking his way through the fallen branches and tree stumps, heading for the road and his car, just as the killer had the night before.

Thomas Keller slowly descended the stone stairs to the cellar, the low morning light casting a long shadow that moved across the floor like an evil spirit. He listened for sounds of movement from below without losing concentration on balancing the tray of breakfast items, his mood calm, but somewhat melancholy. As he stepped into the room he placed the tray on the same little makeshift table behind the old screen and pulled the light cord, managing a forced half-smile in Louise Russell’s direction. ‘I have to go to work soon,’ he told her, ‘but I thought you might like to get cleaned up a bit and have some breakfast.’ She didn’t respond. He was pleased to see she was wearing the clothes he had given her, his smile broadening as he admired the well-dressed woman locked in her cage.

‘You look lovely,’ he told her. ‘Did you use the moisturizer and perfume I gave you? I can’t smell them.’ Still she didn’t respond. ‘Don’t feel like talking, eh? Never mind. I understand. You’re upset about …’ he managed to stop himself before saying the name. ‘You’re upset about the other woman that used to be here. Well, don’t be. She’s gone now. She can’t make any more trouble for us. We won’t have to listen to her lies.’

Louise broke her silence. ‘What happened to her?’

‘I told you, we don’t have to worry about her any more,’ he answered, agitation creeping into his previously calm persona. ‘So please, let’s not mention her again … OK?’

‘What did you do to her?’ Louise persisted, contempt and anger overtaking her fear and caution.

‘We don’t talk about her,’ Keller erupted, his face contorted with rage. ‘We don’t fucking talk about her ever again. Never again. Do you understand?’

Louise rocked back in her cell, her temporary courage deserting her, her hands pushed out in front of her as if to fend him off. ‘OK. Sorry. I won’t mention her. I promise.’

‘Good,’ he said, calmer now. He pulled the key and the stun-gun from separate pockets, looking at them guiltily. ‘I’m sorry about this,’ he told her, ‘but I don’t know how much they poisoned you. There may still be some inside of you, making you think things about me that aren’t true. We need to be careful.’ He unlocked the cage door and pulled it gently, allowing it to swing open under its own weight, stepping back to give her space. She began to crawl towards the door, but he stopped her midway: ‘Wait, don’t forget the moisturizer and perfume. I want you to use them today. But make sure you take all your clothes off first. I want you to wash properly before you use them.’

Louise crawled back and gathered the items, clutching them to her chest as if they were something she treasured, despite her revulsion.

As she left her cage she registered the daylight from above pouring down the stairs and knew the door was open. There was nothing she could do though, not with him watching her every move, stun-gun at the ready. She walked past him, using her peripheral vision to watch him, waiting for him to lower his guard and give her a chance, but he stayed alert and the opportunity never came.

She moved behind the screen and began to undress, carefully hanging her clothes over the screen, looking at him sheepishly to show him her embarrassment at being watched. ‘Please, excuse me.’

Keller took the hint. ‘You want some privacy, of course.’ He moved deeper into the cellar, resigning himself to watching her through the thin material of the screen as she removed the last of her clothes and began to wash, wiping the cloth across her naked body. But he felt no stirring today, no delicious anticipation of when they would be together. The events of the previous night seemed to have dulled his senses and lessened his feelings towards the woman he watched in silhouette through the fabric. Doubts began to seep into his mind as to whether she was the true one after all, but he managed to chase them away, for now.

She had begun to dry herself, hurriedly rubbing the coarse towel over her skin. ‘Don’t forget the cream and perfume,’ he told her, watching the silhouette freeze for a few seconds before reaching for the moisturizer, her hands almost frantically rubbing it into her shoulders. ‘Slow down,’ he demanded. ‘Take your time. I want you to put it everywhere. It only works if you put it everywhere.’ Again she froze for a few seconds, then carried on massaging the cream into her skin. A satisfied sigh escaped his lips. ‘That’s better,’ he said encouragingly. ‘Do it just like that.’

He watched for minutes as she performed for him, but still his excitement failed to reach its previous levels, leaving him feeling disappointed and unfulfilled. ‘Now the perfume,’ he insisted, watching as her shadow pointed the small bottle towards the base of her throat and pressed twice, the tiny cloud of man-made scent casting its own silhouette as it floated through the air behind the screen.

When she’d finished dressing she walked from behind the screen and headed obediently back towards her cage, the scent of the cream and perfume wafting under his nose as she passed him, its combination intoxicating, but still the excitement he expected to feel was not there. He looked away from her.