A Simple Act of Violence by R.J. Ellory Read Free Book Online

preliminary file on the third however, and then last night, this most recent one . . .’
    ‘Who was present at the second?’ Killarney asked.
    ‘Second one came under the Fourth Precinct,’ Miller said. ‘None of us dealt with that one.’
    ‘And the third . . .’ Killarney glanced at the pages on the desk beside him. ‘Barbara Lee . . . any of you present at that one?’
    Carl Oliver, seated to Miller’s right, raised his hand. ‘Me and my partner, Chris Metz.’
    Metz also raised his hand to identify himself, and added, ‘That, officially, fell under the Sixth’s jurisdiction, but they didn’t have anyone free so we were called in.’
    ‘Which explains one of the primary reasons that this serial has continued unchecked for eight months,’ Killarney said, ‘and also explains why your chief of police has assigned it to one precinct, one lead detective . . . right, Mr Miller?’
    Miller nodded.
    Killarney turned back to Carl Oliver. ‘So tell us about the third one, Detective Oliver.’
    ‘Same,’ Oliver said. ‘Lavender.’
    ‘So we have our signature perhaps. The ribbon in the second case . . . Miss Ann Rayner, was—’
    ‘Pink,’ Al Roth interjected.
    ‘And then we have the blank name tag. A luggage tag? A John Doe tag? A lost property tag? This we don’t know, can only begin to guess at.’
    Killarney nodded slowly, unfolded his arms, put his hands in his pockets. ‘Margaret Mosley, Ann Rayner, Barbara Lee, Catherine Sheridan. Thirty-seven, forty, twenty-nine and forty-nine years of age respectively. Ribbons in blue, pink, yellow and white. The same perfume at each crime scene. Perhaps our friend doused the body, the bed and the curtains with lavender water in order to obscure the smell of decay. Possibly he believed he could delay discovery of the body.’ Killarney tilted his head to one side, sort of squinted at Miller, then looked at Roth. ‘Or perhaps not. Regardless, it did not work in this last instance because pizza had been ordered.’
    ‘Perhaps both the name tag and the lavender mean nothing at all,’ Miller suggested.
    ‘Indeed, Mr Miller. Oh what tangled webs we weave when first we practice to deceive, eh?’ Killarney smiled knowingly. ‘Personally I blame the television.’
    Miller frowned.
    ‘And the internet,’ Killarney added.
    ‘I don’t understand—’
    ‘You know how many tricks of the trade you can find on TV and the internet?’ Killarney asked.
    Miller opened his mouth to speak.
    ‘A rhetorical question, Mr Miller. Point I’m making is that pretty much anything you might want to know about what we’re looking for at a crime scene can be learnt on the internet. If you know what criminalistics and forensics are looking for you can hide it, or, indeed, you can give them something to find that means nothing at all.’
    ‘You think he’ll kill again?’ Miller asked.
    Killarney smiled. ‘Kill again? Our friend? Oh yes, Mr Miller . . . I can pretty much guarantee that.’
    Glances were exchanged between the detectives present - awkward, uncertain.
    ‘So now you want to know how you’re going to find this guy, right?’ Killarney asked. ‘You want to know what I know. You want to hear the magic words that will throw the light of truth and reason into this darkest of places, isn’t that so?’
    His audience waited, silent and expectant.
    ‘Well, there are no magic words, and there is no light of truth and reason,’ he said quietly. ‘You will find this man with persistence . . . nothing but unrelenting persistence. This is not luck. This is not guesswork.’ Killarney smiled. ‘I know I am telling you something you already know, but sometimes all of us need to be reminded about the simple truths of investigatory work. And if you want a reason, a rationale . . .’ He shook his head. ‘Well, I’ll tell you this, gentlemen, you cannot rationalize an irrationality. The only person who understands precisely why this Ribbon Killer does what he does