The Rain Killer

‘Does it really make any difference which he did first? He murdered and mutilated them. Isn’t that enough?’

‘It matters,’ Sean reprimanded her. ‘If we want to stop him we need to know what motivates him and to do that we have to think like him.’

Townsend looked at him suspiciously. ‘Is that how you caught Oscar Stokes – by thinking like him?’

Sean ignored the question as he stared at the photographs of the victims. ‘This one’s in a rage. First he rapes them, then he rids himself of them by efficiently and cleanly strangling them, but it’s not enough, so he takes them some place close by, where he can take them from the car and he does this to them. He needs them out of his car because he knows there’s going to be a lot of blood.’ Sean pointed to the horrific wounds on Rebecca Shepard’s naked body.

‘How did you know he rapes them?’ Townsend caught him out. ‘I never told you that.’

Sean realized his mistake. ‘Middleton must have told me.’

‘Of course,’ Townsend played along, ‘only we can’t actually be sure they were raped. All had signs of recent sexual intercourse. There was evidence of vaginal trauma on each of them, but it doesn’t necessarily mean they were raped – given their profession.’

‘Take it from me,’ Sean told her, not concerned how he might sound, ‘they were all raped. DNA? Semen?’

‘All five victims had semen and DNA matching the same man inside them. The chances of it not being from the killer are astronomical.’

‘But his DNA’s not on the National Database?’

‘No,’ Townsend confirmed. ‘We’ve circulated his DNA throughout Europe through Interpol and the FBI have had it too – nothing. But he has to have offended before right? He didn’t just jump straight in with … with this?’

‘Probably,’ Sean agreed, ‘but not absolutely. Maybe we need to get his DNA signature further afield.’

‘Not many countries beyond Europe and the States have DNA databases,’ she reminded him.

‘No,’ Sean conceded. ‘I don’t suppose they do … Before you said there wasn’t much blood at the scenes because of the weather?’

‘I did.’

‘Every scene was affected by the weather?’

‘Rain,’ Townsend stated again. ‘He likes to hunt in the rain.’

‘Then it’s deliberate – he chooses to kill in the rain.’

‘That’s what we believe.’

‘Because he knows rain can damage forensic evidence – such as washing away blood …’ Sean talked out loud, ‘but is it something else as well? Something … emotional to him? A memory?’

‘Rain?’ Townsend asked. ‘How could rain be personal to him?’

‘I don’t know,’ Sean admitted, ‘but I’ll be sure to ask him.’

‘Getting a bit ahead of yourself aren’t you?’

Again he ignored her comment. ‘There’s something else as well,’ he told her, ‘why he needs the rain – something you might not have thought of.’

‘Such as?’ Townsend asked, crossing her arms defensively.

‘They’re street girls, right, so that’s where he’s taking them from, but he needs to be quick – he can’t be seen to be hanging around. Can’t risk attracting attention. The rain gets them in the car quicker,’ Sean continued. ‘Instead of standing on the pavement discussing business through the window, they get in his car – where it’s warm and dry. No doubt he encourages them to, and then he has them.’

‘I suppose that’s possible,’ Townsend admitted.

‘Not possible,’ Sean insisted. ‘Probable. He’s a thinker and a planner and he’s in control of what he’s doing. If the circumstances aren’t exactly what he wants, he’ll drive away. He’ll just walk away and wait for another opportunity.’ He’d just reminded himself of something she’d said. ‘You said the times between the murders varied by as much as a few weeks?’

‘Yes,’ Townsend confirmed. ‘There doesn’t seem to be any particular pattern.’

Sean massaged his right temple with his middle finger and stared at the photographs of the victims for a long while before speaking. ‘Remarkably similar in appearance, aren’t they?’ he finally said.

‘That much, we had noticed,’ Townsend answered, sounding slightly annoyed.

‘Apart from some of the age differences they could be the same person – slightly built, pale skin, straight black hair. What colour were their eyes?’ he suddenly asked without looking away from their faces.

‘Varied,’ Townsend answered. ‘As far as I can remember some had blue eyes, some green, others brown. Why? Is it important?’

‘No,’ Sean answered, although he wasn’t sure of his own answer – not yet. ‘Just an idea. But look at them,’ he told her, waving his hand past the dead faces. ‘For him, only they would do and we know he’s not particularly driven by a time scale, so …’ he paused to allow his thoughts to form into something tangible. ‘So it’s the availability of this particular type of victim that … women that look exactly like these that dictates when and where he strikes.’

‘We assumed he’d selected the victims because they probably reminded him of someone from his life he has a serious grudge against,’ Townsend explained. ‘His mother. An ex-wife. An ex-girlfriend.’

‘You’re right to assume that much,’ Sean agreed, ‘but which is it and why?’ Townsend just shrugged as Sean continued to stare at the photographs in the boards. ‘Can’t be easy finding street girls that look so similar,’ he told Townsend, ‘not as and when he needs them.’

‘Maybe he pre-selects his victims,’ Townsend suggested. ‘DI Ramsay seems to think he could be.’

‘Possibly,’ Sean partially agreed, ‘but people in their line of work are unreliable. Just because they’re there one week doesn’t mean they’ll be there the next. And don’t forget he needs the right weather. He needs the rain.’

‘So you think he cruises for victims rather than pre-selects?’

‘When the need to take another overwhelms him he waits for the rain,’ Sean explained, never looking away from the photographs, ‘then he goes searching – searching for the perfect victim. If he can’t find exactly what he’s looking for he goes home. If it stops raining he goes home. He has control, but it still means he spends a lot of time cruising, which means he’s driving around the streets a lot – and always in the rain. He’s giving us a chance to find him and stop him, and find him and stop him we have to, because this one won’t give it up unless we make him.’

‘I know he won’t,’ Townsend agreed, ‘they never do, but why? Why can’t he stop?’

‘Because whatever it is he’s trying to satisfy can never be satisfied,’ Sean explained. ‘The more he feeds the beast, the hungrier it becomes.’

***

His entire body burnt with pain as he forced himself to complete yet another set of press-ups – the smoke from the dozens of candles and joss-sticks swirling around his body as he pumped his arms over and over again, raising his body from the floor until finally, drained of oxygen, the fibres of his muscles could lift his weight no more and he collapsed on the ornate rug that covered the centre of the living room in his small rented flat.

Exhausted as he was, he still managed to control his breathing – not gulping for air, but breathing in slowly and deeply, everything under control – just as he’d trained himself to do over years and years of practice. The mind must always control the body. After less than a minute he was able to spring into a standing position and walk slowly to a large mirror dominating one entire wall. He glanced at the television that quietly played a sadistic pornographic film, but his interest in it was passing. It was his own reflection that he longed to see. His toned body glimmered with sweat – every sinew defined and visible – but it was the beauty of the colourful creature that wrapped itself around him that transfixed him. The huge head of a mighty serpent, mouth gaping with fangs bared, covered his chest and the thick scaly body trailed over his shoulder and wound down his back before coiling back around his lower torso and then spiraling around his right leg – the tip of the great beast’s tail resting on his foot.

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