The Double Tap (Stephen Leather Thrillers) (32 page)

       
‘Interesting?’ repeated Jackman. ‘I hoped you’d find it more than interesting.’

       
Cramer flexed his shoulders inside the suit. ‘No offence, but a lot of it seemed to be guesswork.’

       
‘Guesswork?’ Jackman repeated slowly, stressing the two syllables.

       
Cramer looked across at the Colonel. The Colonel nodded that he should continue. ‘You say that the guy we’re after is intelligent, but that’s a given because he couldn’t do what he does if he was stupid,’ Cramer said.

       
‘Sure,’ said Jackman.

       
‘Yet you go on to suggest that he was a bully at school, and that he didn’t go to university.’

       
Jackman steepled his fingers under his chin and studied Cramer. ‘And I stand by that.’

       
‘That has to be guesswork, right?’

       
‘What else aren’t you happy with?’ asked Jackman, ignoring Cramer’s question.

       
‘You say he has a military background, and again I’d say that would be a given. But you say he left and had trouble keeping a job afterwards. I’d have thought that someone with army training, someone with above-average intelligence, wouldn’t have a problem finding and keeping a job.’

       
‘Like yourself?’ said Jackman quietly. Cramer held the profiler’s look for a few seconds. Jackman smiled tightly. ‘Anything else?’

       
‘Yeah. What makes you think he lost his driving licence?’

       
The Colonel made a soft snorting sound as if he was suppressing a laugh, but Jackman kept his eyes on Cramer. Jackman pushed his spectacles higher up his nose with his forefinger. ‘I feel like Sherlock Holmes about to explain himself to Dr Watson. But it won’t be the first time.’ He uncrossed and recrossed his legs, taking care to adjust his creases again. ‘How much do you know about profiling?’

       
‘I saw
Silence of the Lambs
.’

       
Jackman gave Cramer another tight smile. ‘Okay, I can see how an outsider would think that what I do is guesswork, but you’ve got to remember that I’ve got thousands of case histories to draw on, data on murderers and their victims from all around the world. Those cases allow me and profilers like me to draw certain conclusions, to assign certain characteristics to killers. In about five per cent of the cases dealt with by FBI profilers, the profiles lead directly to the arrest of the perpetrator. In another ten per cent of cases, the perpetrator is arrested as a result of the investigation being refocused following the profile. And in almost all cases, when a successful conviction is made, the criminal closely matches the profile. Profiling works, Mike, there’s no doubt about that.’

       
Jackman rubbed his hands together, making a soft whispering sound. His eyes were fixed on Cramer’s with almost missionary zeal. ‘Leaving aside the specifics of the man we’re looking for in this case, it’s a general rule that serial killers are white and male. That holds true almost without exception, so even if we didn’t have witnesses I’d be assuming that our killer fits those two characteristics.’

       
‘So you’re assuming that a paid assassin fits the same criteria as a serial killer?’ asked Cramer. ‘I thought serial killers were all crazy.’

       
Jackman shook his head. ‘It’s a common misconception,’ he said. ‘In fact, only two per cent of serial killers are ever classified as insane. My research leads me to believe that there is a valid comparison to be made between a serial killer and the man we’re looking for. He kills on a regular basis, the killings appear to be happening at decreasing intervals, and he has a consistent method of killing. These are all characteristics of an organised serial killer.’

       
Cramer frowned. ‘Organised? What do you mean, organised?’

       
‘We divide killers into two types: organised and disorganised. Basically, an organised killer plans his crime in advance, a disorganised killer is an opportunist. An organised killer will take his weapon with him, a disorganised killer might pick up a knife at the scene of the crime and use that. An organised killer will often travel to carry out his murder and will cover his traces afterwards, a disorganised killer will kill close to home and won’t care about how quickly the body is found or whether he’s left fingerprints.’

       
‘We know our man is organised,’ said Cramer. ‘He’d have to be to be a contract killer.’

       
‘Exactly,’ said Jackman. ‘The man we’re looking for is the ultimate organised killer. Which means there’s every reason to assume that he fits the profile of an organised serial killer.’ The profiler stood up and went over to the window. He stood there looking out, his hands clasped behind him as he continued his lecture.

       
‘Organised killers and disorganised killers tend to come from different backgrounds,’ Jackman added. ‘We know this not because of some great psychological insight, but because at the FBI’s Behavioral Science Unit they’ve constructed profiles of every serial killer that’s ever been caught. I used to be with the BSU and part of my job was to interview these guys, to get inside their heads and to find out what makes them tick. By comparing their backgrounds, we can start to draw conclusions about their common characteristics.’

       
Jackman turned around and faced Cramer. He held up his left hand and began counting off on his fingers. ‘One, organised serial killers tend to be of above average intelligence. It isn’t unusual for them to have an IQ above 120.

       
‘Two, partly because of their generally high IQs, organised killers tend to have feelings of superiority, and that leads them to pick fights, to drive too fast, to argue with their bosses at work. You asked why I thought our man has lost his driving licence. That’s because most of the organised killers profiled by the BSU had a string of driving offences, and more than half had had their licences taken away. Telling them they’re driving too fast doesn’t have any effect, because they think they know best.

       
‘Three, organised killers tend to come from families where the father had a job but where there was little discipline at home. Disorganised killers often have a family background of mental illness or drugs and more often than not there’s also a history of abuse. Not necessarily sexual, but almost certainly beatings and the like.

       
‘Four, organised killers are usually very sociable, on the surface at least. Disorganised killers are loners, organised killers are happier in groups.

       
‘Five, organised killers generally have numerous sexual partners and are good in bed.’ He saw the look of disbelief on Cramer’s face and grinned. ‘It’s true. They’re often very good-looking and great talkers, but because of their nature they usually can’t sustain long-term relationships.’

       
‘They bore easily,’ said the Colonel.

       
Jackman nodded his agreement. ‘That, and they have a tendency to pick faults in their partners. Also, despite their success with women, a lot of organised killers have a deep-seated hatred of the opposite sex. You’ve got to remember that most serial killers choose women as their victims, but that might not apply in this case. I think it’s reasonable to assume that our killer comes from some form of dysfunctional family. I doubt he suffered sexual abuse. Divorce, maybe, or an early parental death.’

       
‘You’re saying that the loss of a parent makes a child more likely to grow up to be a serial killer? That seems like a hell of a generalisation.’

       
Jackman folded his arms. ‘The way you put it, it is. And it’s obviously not true. Plenty of children from single parent families grow up to be perfectly respectable, hard-working citizens. I lost my mother when I was ten, but I didn’t grow up to be a killer. It’s what happens afterwards that’s important, it’s how the remaining parent treats the child that counts. Children have to be taught the difference between right and wrong, they have to be taught to be sociable, they have to realise that they’re not the centre of the universe, that other people matter, too. It’s the lack of that training that produces the sort of personality which is capable of becoming a serial killer. Are you with me so far?’

       
Cramer nodded. He didn’t like being lectured, and he didn’t like Jackman’s overbearing confidence, but if Jackman held any clue to the killer’s identity, Cramer wanted it.

       
‘The Bureau began compiling profiles of convicted killers in the late Seventies,’ Jackman continued. ‘They started with assassins and would-be assassins, guys like Sirhan Sirhan and James Earl Ray, running them through a sixty-page questionnaire, looking for common features, something that sets assassins apart from other people.’

       
‘Other than the fact that they kill people,’ said Cramer. The Colonel flashed Cramer a warning look but Jackman ignored the interruption.

       
‘Most assassins kill to attract attention to themselves,’ Jackman continued. ‘They might claim to be acting in the name of some political cause or another, but generally they’re seeking attention. Often they keep diaries, for instance. When you get your man, I think you’ll find that somewhere he kept a diary or a record of what he’s been doing. Almost certainly with photographs, newspaper clippings, maybe even video recordings of news broadcasts.’

       
Cramer shifted in his chair. ‘Okay, I see what you’re saying,’ he said. ‘But I don’t see how it’s going to help me identify the killer.’

       
‘In terms of being able to pick him out of a crowd, you’re right,’ Jackman admitted. ‘Profiles don’t work like that. What the FBI and other law enforcement agencies do is to use the profile to select the most likely suspects, so that they concentrate their resources in the most productive way.’

       
Cramer exhaled deeply and rubbed the back of his neck. It seemed that the more he tried to get specifics from the profiler, the more nebulous he became. It was like grabbing mist. ‘What about his nationality?’ Cramer asked.

       
Jackman shrugged. ‘American or British would be the most likely, possibly Australian or South African.’

       
‘Why?’

       
‘The man’s calmness under pressure and his marksmanship suggest Special Forces training.’

       
‘So why not German?’

       
Jackman removed his glasses and twirled them around in his right hand. ‘German is a possibility, yes. But whatever his nationality it’s clear he has an affinity for languages. Witnesses who heard him talk disagree completely as to his voice and accent. He was working as a waiter for three days before the killing of the Kypriano girl and spoke fluent Greek. We have witnesses in Miami who were sure that he had a New York accent and a bodyguard whose client was shot in Bangkok says the assassin is Scottish.’

       
‘Scottish?’

       
‘The bodyguard was from Glasgow and he swears that the accent was genuine. I’m not convinced that a German would be able to speak perfect Greek and English without a trace of a German accent.’

       
There was a knock on the door and Mrs Elliott appeared pushing a tea trolley. The Colonel smiled his thanks as she placed the trolley by the side of his desk and left the room.

       
‘There was something I didn’t read in your report that I thought would have been worth mentioning,’ said Cramer.

       
Jackman raised his eyebrows and stopped twirling his glasses.

       
‘The way he kills. Close up, one shot to the face, one to the chest.’

       
Jackman nodded. ‘It’s his signature. It’s a way of telling the world that he did it. Like Zorro carving a Z with his sword.’

       
‘There are easier ways of killing. The head-shot is risky. It’s not the way we’re trained to shoot.’

       
‘How would you do it?’ Jackman leaned forward, eager to hear Cramer’s reply.

       
Cramer shrugged. ‘The chest. It’s the biggest area, you’re less likely to miss. Rip through the heart or a lung, the liver even, and it’s all over.’

       
‘Faster than a shot to the head?’

       
‘A head’s easier to miss.’

       
‘And you think it’s significant?’

       
‘You don’t?’

       
‘I just think it’s his way of letting the client know that he did the job.’

       
Cramer put a hand up to his mouth and tapped his lips thoughtfully. ‘Maybe,’ he said.

       
‘You don’t seem convinced. But he can’t very well leave a business card, can he?’ Jackman smiled and there was something canine about the gesture, like a dog contemplating a bone.

Dermott Lynch was washing up when he heard a key slot into the front door lock. He picked up a large carving knife but almost immediately heard Marie call down the hallway, ‘It’s me.’ Lynch replaced the knife in the soapy water.

       
Marie walked into the kitchen and put a plastic carrier bag onto the table. ‘You’re very domesticated,’ she said.

       
Lynch shrugged. ‘You have to be when you live alone. You soon learn that if you don’t do it, it never gets done.’

       
‘Why Dermott, you mean there’s no young lady in your life to clear up after you?’

       
Lynch chuckled and rinsed the cutlery under the cold tap. ‘There are several young ladies, Marie, but I don’t think any of them are the type who’d do my housework.’ He picked up a towel and dried his hands. Marie took a bulging envelope out of her handbag and opened it. ‘It’s in fifties and twenties,’ she said. ‘Will that be enough?’