The Lover's Children novel Chapter 71

KLEMPNER

“Did he suceed?”

“Not in this case. Susumu’s stomach contains only the remains of her last meal. However, Victim Number Two, Achara Saelim, did succeed in swallowing the banknotes. The first set at least. They were found in her stomach during the autopsy. But in that case, yes, the killer simply repeated the process. Although he didn’t waste more money on her. He used newsprint for the second attempt, again ramming it down her throat until the airway was blocked and she asphyxiated.”

Borje’s warning not to eat before I arrived was good advice. I tap on the bag containing the flattened banknote. “Are those stains blood?”

“Yes. Whatever it was he used to force the notes down, it damaged her oesophagus and trachea.”

“What does damaged mean, in this context?”

Borje pauses, breathes. “He forced the notes down her throat using some semi-sharp instrument. In the process, he ripped her throat lining. Banknotes aside, there’s a good chance she would have choked on her own blood.”

My stomach churns. “Can you speculate what this sharp instrument might have been?”

“Something long and blunt-ended, but sharp enough to cut the lining of the throat. Probably metallic.” He rocks his hand. “Screwdriver maybe?”

“Was it the same with all the previous victims?”

“Yes, each woman. Identical method each time. Two twenties. Jammed down far enough to block the airway and cause asphyxiation. The violence committed on the bodies afterwards has escalated, but the murder method has remained the same.”

I ponder. “What will forty buy you these days?”

He arches brows. “From a street hooker in those areas? Pretty much anything most clients would ask for I’d have thought.”

I gesture down to the brutalised corpse. “But not this.” I’m thinking aloud, not really expecting a response, but he replies anyway, his voice quiet.

“No, not this.”

“Where’s the rest of her? Do we know?”

“Yes. Her internal organs were still with her, scattered over the surrounding area. We retrieved them piecemeal.” He gestures vaguely to the second locker where, now I look, I see several boxes of the kind a hospital might use for the transport of biological materials.

“When you say scattered, was there any kind of pattern? As though he’d been trying to arrange or display them? Or was it random?”

“Random so far as we can judge. You have the photos of the site where she was discovered, I believe?”

“That’s right.”

“Judge for yourself then. But the investigating officers saw no pattern to it. And neither did I.”

“And in the earlier cases?”

“In the earlier cases, the damage was not so severe. The body was mutilated but still in one piece. The scale of the post-mortem assault has escalated in each case. Susumu is the worst so far.”

Borje maintains a steady monotone. I follow his lead. “And did you find… all of her?”

“Almost all. Not all the damage was inflicted by the killer. There are teeth marks on some of the bones and flesh. Canine teeth.”

“Dogs?”

“Or urban foxes perhaps.” He shrugs. “Can’t blame them. The body was out in the open. From the point of view of the local wildlife, she was just meat by then. They were doing what came naturally.”

“That’s what predators and scavengers do.”

“Quite. Her liver was partially eaten. And her limbs had been gnawed, as you can see from the damage to the calf of the left leg and hand. But…” He raises a finger to underline the word… “…what certainly wasn’t due to the City wildlife was that Susumu here, and all the other victims, each had a strand of hair missing. Clipped short, close to the scalp.”

I chew that one over. I’ve known some of the psycho types that kill and torture for fun. Some of them had me in mind as a target. But I never made a study of the mindset. “Some serial killers do that, don’t they? Take…” I flounder for a moment, trying to think of an appropriate word… “… souvenirs?”

“Yes. It’s a common pattern, and this one apparently fits that pattern. Give me a second…”

Borje extracts a pair of vinyl gloves from the box by the washbasin and snaps them on, then returns to the cadaver. Reaching in, he parts the woman’s hair to reveal the scalp. “If you look here… In each of the murders being attributed to the Surgeon, you’ll find something similar.”

From the exposed area, a stump of hair, perhaps half an inch long, protrudes amid the remaining hair. “… You can see there’s a lock been cut.”

“And it remains missing? It wasn’t found with the… scattered remains?”

“That’s correct. I went to…” Borje pauses as the double doors bang open ahead of a green-uniformed orderly towing a steel trolley, the draped hump of the latest of the deceased laid out on top. A second orderly pushes from the rear. Fitted green caps cover their hair. Matching masks are pulled down under their chins like green beards.

He hunches. “Partly, I thought it might give me some insight, professionally speaking. In truth, when I saw her the first day, it was so shocking that I wasn’t sure I’d been thinking clearly. I wanted to be sure I’d not overlooked anything. But really…” He spreads palms… “I suppose I felt the girl needed some acknowledgement. That some recognition was due to her.”

Recognition?

I suppose…

Keep it professional…

“And what did you find?”

He breathes deep, looks up again. “Nothing really. Not that wasn’t already covered. I mean… I wasn’t going to find it because I didn’t really know what I was looking for. The investigating team and the sweepers had already been over the scene. It looked on the face of it, as you suggested, like a Ripper-style murder. The grassed area in the park where she was found was awash with blood because the killer scattered her internal organs over a wide area. But it wasn’t the kind of spray pattern you’d get if she’d been alive while he was cutting her. It took a while for the photographers to finish their part of the work. After that, they brought her to me here…”

“Was it the same pattern with the other women?”

“Broadly, yes.”

“That’s not something that’s appeared in the papers.”

Borje shudders. “You imagine the police want copycats out there?”

Fair point…

“Serial killers work to patterns. I have that right?”

“I’m not an expert, but that’s my understanding.” Borje sweeps a hand through his hair. “I’ll say that I have become more knowledgeable on the subject since this started.”

“So… Were the women similar physically? It wasn’t easy to judge from the photographs. Were they all Asian types perhaps? Like this one? Petite and athletic? Tall, dark and well-built?”

“Nope.” He gives a sharp jerk of the head. “No, not at all. The first victim, Olivia Wilson, was Caucasian, tall. Perhaps five feet nine. So was the third, Emma Williams. Number Two. She was the oldest, at twenty-four years old. Achara Saelim was Thai. About five feet, five. And the youngest at seventeen. Number Four, Anna Jansons, was East European… Um… Latvian, I think. Five, seven. Susumu here, she was of Japanese origin. And as you see, about five feet, five.”

“How about hair type? You said he took some from each of them.”

Another sharp jerk. “Achara, Thai, and Susumu, Japanese, were of course, both dark-haired. Anna had the typical looks of an East-European. Blondish to fair. Olivia was strawberry blonde. Emma was brunette. I’ll get you the files. And the in-life photographs. But I would never have put that set of women in a group and thought, ‘there’s a man’s type.’”