door was one thing, but to carry out crude disfigurement as an afterthought took a special kind of mentality. The case was deeply disturbing, and bore an eerie resemblance to that of the Riley murders. Just as Jack the Ripper became the archetype lust killer, this one enjoyed showing off his artistic talents. His methods were unnerving, if not demoralising.
Mason stared reproachfully across at him. ‘My hunch says he’s vengeful.’
‘Hmmm, that’s questionable.’
‘But we can agree it’s the same person?’
‘His behavioural patterns are uncannily similar––’
‘Forget the psychology crap,’ said Mason. ‘I’ve said all along these were gangland killings, and I’m sticking to it.’
Carlisle’s heart sank; Mason’s was a thoughtless reply.
‘I’m still trying to understand why he chooses to display his victim’s bodies like something out of a chamber of horrors,’ Carlisle said. ‘There’s no logical reasoning behind his brutality; it’s unnatural in my opinion.’
Their eyes locked.
‘We’ve ruled out drugs, blackmail, and sex,’ Mason shrugged. ‘What other alternatives are we left with?’
‘Don’t rule out selective group killings.’
‘Argh . . . so we’re back to this damn serial killer theory of yours.’
‘And why not, tell me?’ Carlisle replied.
‘I’m not the one who needs convincing here. Besides, you still haven’t persuaded me these aren’t gangland killings. In my book, they fit the bill perfectly.’
‘Surely you’re not suggesting these were planned executions?’
‘Tell me why not.’ Mason screwed his face up, as if the matter was already decided. ‘Someone out there is spreading fear around. It’s an age-old practice, my friend. It’s called payback time. It’s what these people do best.’
‘It’s one way of looking at it I suppose,’ said Carlisle. ‘But I’m still not convinced.’
‘Fear, David. This whole damn business smacks of fear.’
Carlisle elected to stay clear of Jack Mason’s intimidation, preferring a more subtle approach. Fear was an option, but it certainly didn’t fit the bill. Besides, gangland warfare was usually more clinical, decisive and much more direct. This wasn’t the case here, which is why he was intrigued by the singularity of it. Vengeful brutality with a subtle psychological twist, that’s how he now saw it.
Mason eyed him with suspicion. ‘We clearly have a difference of opinion here, my friend. Tell me, which one of us is misreading the facts?’
‘It’s not a straightforward case, and I wish it was.’
Mason’s sighs grew increasingly louder. ‘Let’s turn this on its head . . . what can we learn from the victims’ backgrounds?’
‘Better still, what are his selection criteria?’ Carlisle questioned.
‘Bollocks,’ Mason snapped. ‘That’s a typical psychologist’s remark.’
‘But it stands on firm ground.’
Mason held his hands up in despair. ‘Then convince me otherwise.’
The room fell silent again.
Mason was clutching at straws, challenging his every statement. There were two ways of looking at this, thought Carlisle. Either the killer was trying to mentally poison someone’s mind by killing those around them, or he was purely fulfilling his own fantasies. Whatever he was trying to do, he was certainly going out of his way to achieve it.
Carlisle dug his heels in.
‘He’s a loner, Jack, and he’s targeting a specific group of people.’
‘So why does he mutilate them after they’re dead and not when they’re alive?’
‘Perhaps the reality of the murder never completely fulfils the fantasy, and he feels let down by it. What follows is always more stimulating than the actual crime itself? It’s a typical mindset of this type of person.’
‘It’s an interesting theory, David, but it is what it is . . . a theory,’ said Mason.
In turning to Ernest Stanton’s murder, they were both agreed. There had been no witness statements, no CCTV coverage at the
Mason stared reproachfully across at him. ‘My hunch says he’s vengeful.’
‘Hmmm, that’s questionable.’
‘But we can agree it’s the same person?’
‘His behavioural patterns are uncannily similar––’
‘Forget the psychology crap,’ said Mason. ‘I’ve said all along these were gangland killings, and I’m sticking to it.’
Carlisle’s heart sank; Mason’s was a thoughtless reply.
‘I’m still trying to understand why he chooses to display his victim’s bodies like something out of a chamber of horrors,’ Carlisle said. ‘There’s no logical reasoning behind his brutality; it’s unnatural in my opinion.’
Their eyes locked.
‘We’ve ruled out drugs, blackmail, and sex,’ Mason shrugged. ‘What other alternatives are we left with?’
‘Don’t rule out selective group killings.’
‘Argh . . . so we’re back to this damn serial killer theory of yours.’
‘And why not, tell me?’ Carlisle replied.
‘I’m not the one who needs convincing here. Besides, you still haven’t persuaded me these aren’t gangland killings. In my book, they fit the bill perfectly.’
‘Surely you’re not suggesting these were planned executions?’
‘Tell me why not.’ Mason screwed his face up, as if the matter was already decided. ‘Someone out there is spreading fear around. It’s an age-old practice, my friend. It’s called payback time. It’s what these people do best.’
‘It’s one way of looking at it I suppose,’ said Carlisle. ‘But I’m still not convinced.’
‘Fear, David. This whole damn business smacks of fear.’
Carlisle elected to stay clear of Jack Mason’s intimidation, preferring a more subtle approach. Fear was an option, but it certainly didn’t fit the bill. Besides, gangland warfare was usually more clinical, decisive and much more direct. This wasn’t the case here, which is why he was intrigued by the singularity of it. Vengeful brutality with a subtle psychological twist, that’s how he now saw it.
Mason eyed him with suspicion. ‘We clearly have a difference of opinion here, my friend. Tell me, which one of us is misreading the facts?’
‘It’s not a straightforward case, and I wish it was.’
Mason’s sighs grew increasingly louder. ‘Let’s turn this on its head . . . what can we learn from the victims’ backgrounds?’
‘Better still, what are his selection criteria?’ Carlisle questioned.
‘Bollocks,’ Mason snapped. ‘That’s a typical psychologist’s remark.’
‘But it stands on firm ground.’
Mason held his hands up in despair. ‘Then convince me otherwise.’
The room fell silent again.
Mason was clutching at straws, challenging his every statement. There were two ways of looking at this, thought Carlisle. Either the killer was trying to mentally poison someone’s mind by killing those around them, or he was purely fulfilling his own fantasies. Whatever he was trying to do, he was certainly going out of his way to achieve it.
Carlisle dug his heels in.
‘He’s a loner, Jack, and he’s targeting a specific group of people.’
‘So why does he mutilate them after they’re dead and not when they’re alive?’
‘Perhaps the reality of the murder never completely fulfils the fantasy, and he feels let down by it. What follows is always more stimulating than the actual crime itself? It’s a typical mindset of this type of person.’
‘It’s an interesting theory, David, but it is what it is . . . a theory,’ said Mason.
In turning to Ernest Stanton’s murder, they were both agreed. There had been no witness statements, no CCTV coverage at the
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