The Profiler (17 page)

“Oh, well, that certainly narrows it down.”

“There’s no need for sarcasm, Detective Cooper. We’re all feeling the strain here.”

She blushed under his quiet reprimand, made even worse with Clayton standing a few feet away, listening to every word. She mumbled an apology.

Clayton crossed his arms over his chest. “What about the DNA evidence? Have we got a match on that?”

Ben grimaced. “No, at least, not yet. We’ve only just started running it through our database. Of course, it’s only going to find a hit if our perpetrator’s already in there.” He shrugged. “But, you never know. We could get lucky. It’s unlikely this is the first time he’s crossed the line.”

“Any news on the wood shavings found in Josie Ward’s hair?” Ellie asked.

Ben turned over a couple of pages and scanned the contents. “Looks like it’s
radiata
pine. A soft wood that’s popular with handymen and hobbyists.” He looked up and held her gaze. “Again, it’s available in most good hardware stores. But what’s really interesting is the same kind of shavings were also found underneath Angelina Caruso’s fingernails.”

Ellie let out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God for that. I know I shouldn’t say that, but at least we know there isn’t another madman out there doing this.”

“I agree,” Clayton said. “What about the saw marks?”

A bleak smile thinned Ben’s lips. “Yeah, that’s probably some of the better news. The saw striations left on the bones of both girls are a match. They were definitely made by the same saw. Samantha Wolfe tells me a saw’s teeth pattern is unique to the particular saw. A bit like a person’s fingerprints. If we find the saw, we’ll likely find the killer. According to the lab results, it’s a stainless steel hacksaw.”

He acknowledged Ellie’s raised eyebrow with a nod and added, “There were microscopic pieces of stainless steel in the wounds. Apparently, it’s not uncommon for a saw to leave bits of itself behind, particularly if you’re sawing through tough material.”

“Like bone,” Clayton muttered, his face dark.

Ben’s eyes were brutal as they stared back at him. “Yes, like bone.”

Ellie broke the tense silence by clearing her throat. “I take it the DNA didn’t match Wayne Peterson?”

“No. We’d have arrested him by now if it had.”

A thought suddenly occurred to her. “What about the trash bags? Did they have any luck with them?”

Ben flipped through the pages of the report. Ellie looked at Clayton from beneath her lashes. His shoulders were slumped and his head was down. He stared at the floor. She felt the same weight of responsibility and disappointment.

“It doesn’t look like there’s anything here about trash bags.” Ben pierced her with a look. “Were they both wrapped in trash bags?”

She inclined her head. “Angelina was. Both her head and her limbs. The bags looked like they’d come from the same source, too. At least, to the naked eye. Black, heavy quality.” She winced. “Probably available from every shop and supermarket in Sydney.”

“I can’t find anything in here about trash bags.”

Passing Clayton the lab papers, Ben continued. “I suggest you get onto the lab and find out about them. At the very least, they should be checked for fingerprints. You never know. It might give us a lead and at the moment, that’s something we’re preciously short of.”

“Sure, boss. No problem.”

Ben strode toward his office and Ellie looked up at Clayton. “So, what do you think? Got any new brainwaves about who the hell we’re looking for?”

“He likes to shop for bargains at Bunning’s Warehouse?”

Her answering frown was fierce. “It’s not a laughing matter, Munro.”

“I’m not suggesting it is. But you’ve got to admit, I’m probably right. All the evidence we’ve found so far could be purchased from a Bunning’s. Or a Home Depot. Or any other hardware store, if it came to that. I bet there’s at least a dozen of them out here.”

So what do you propose we do? As far as I know, those shops don’t have individual customer databases and we don’t have a clue who we’re looking for.”

“It could narrow down his location, though. Most people shop at their local stores. It would be unusual for him to travel to a distant suburb to buy his hardware. Whether he bought it especially for his little games or had them in his back shed, they had to have been purchased from somewhere.”

She groaned aloud, searching for elusive connections. Frustration gnawed at her. “I wonder if that’s significant, or are we just clutching at straws?”

Clayton looked down at her, understanding reflected in his eyes. “I know what you’re saying, but I think we need to consider everything, no matter how desperate it makes us feel. The fact that the paint hit the shelves not long before Angelina disappeared seems to be a coincidence.”

His expression changed to one of grim determination. “But I don’t believe in coincidences. Not when they’re teamed up with dead bodies.”

Ellie sighed and glanced at her watch. “We’d better get moving if we’re going to meet the professor’s plane. I called the airline a little while ago. They’re expecting it to land on time.”

“Let’s get to it then. Now that we have found foreign DNA on one of our victims, I won’t need much of an excuse to demand a sample from Mr Boston.”

* * *

Clayton scanned the throng of passengers pouring out through the arrivals gate at Sydney’s Mascot Airport and looked for Stewart Boston. A picture of the professor had been supplied to them by the university. He could have picked him up at the airport, but he was hoping Boston might lead them to the place where he’d taken the girls. According to the forensic reports, Josie Ward hadn’t been killed where she’d been found. He had to have some hidey-hole where he carried out his savagery
—if
he had carried out the savagery. That was yet to be decided.

Clayton glanced over at Ellie where she stood a few feet away. She wore a fitted skirt that ended just above her knees and conformed to the roundness of her butt. Slim, shapely legs were encased in black nylon stockings ending in ankle-length leather boots with chunky two-inch heels. She casually strode back and forth amongst the people who waited for the arrivals. His eyes tracked the gentle movement of her butt. When he realized what he was doing, he dragged his gaze away.

“Get a grip, Munro,” he muttered under his breath, forgetting for a moment that his words had been captured by the microphone pinned discreetly to the lapel of his jacket.

Ellie half-turned and frowned at him, but otherwise remained silent. Clayton refocused his attention on the arriving passengers.

“There he is.” Ellie’s words sounded through Clayton’s earpiece. He looked toward the arrivals gate and spied the man who’d just appeared in the entryway.

She was right. It was Stewart Boston. He wore a loose flowered shirt and a pair of dark board shorts. On his feet were some leather flip-flops. Wispy blond hair hung around his face. He didn’t look like a man who’d left murder and mayhem behind him, but Clayton had learned long ago how deceiving looks could be.

The man turned to a young woman who walked a few feet behind him. She had a knapsack slung over one shoulder and leaned toward him as he spoke. They were too far away to hear what was said. A short time later, the woman headed toward the exit and Boston turned toward the luggage carousels.

Clayton wondered whether the woman was significant or if she was merely another passenger. Their plan only allowed for the following of one of them. Without evidence to the contrary, he had no reason to suspect the woman had anything to do with Stewart Boston or the investigation.

He glanced over at Ellie. “He’s heading toward the baggage claim.”

She shot him a quick look. “You tail him. I’ll go and get the car. Let me know which direction he takes out of the airport.”

Clayton grimaced. Their plan was to follow Boston, regardless of his mode of departure. If he took a train or the bus, Clayton would board with him. If he left in his own transport, or had a friend collect him, Ellie would follow in the car. Either way, they hoped to keep him within sight until he arrived at his destination.

“I’ll call you as soon as I know where he’s going.”

Ellie nodded and walked away. Clayton followed their target, making sure to keep a discreet distance behind him. It was easy enough to do. At that time of the morning, the airport swarmed with travelers.

He watched while Boston collected two suitcases off the carousel and then turned toward the exit. Staying back, Clayton spoke into his microphone.

“He’s heading for the exit, so the train’s out. It’s either the bus, a taxi or a private vehicle.”

“Gotcha. I’m parked in the drop-off zone outside of the Qantas Terminal. Let me know as soon as you know.”

“Copy that.” Clayton followed Boston out of the exit and into the crisp winter morning. The sun shone wanly through the scattering of clouds. A light breeze blew in from Botany Bay and ruffled his hair. People drew their coats around them, but Clayton barely felt its effects.

Boston joined the queue of travelers who waited for a taxi. Clayton hung back and spoke once again to Ellie.

“It looks like he’s catching a cab. Move the car up a bit closer so I can climb in as soon as we know for sure. There’s so much traffic, it will be easy to lose him.”

“Will do,” came the quick reply.

The line for the taxis crawled forward. Boston looked vaguely restless, but that could have been simply because of his wait for a cab. Clayton remembered when he’d flown in a month ago. He’d been lucky then to obtain a cab so quickly.

The security guard pointed to Boston. “You’re up next. Bay number five.”

The professor hauled his suitcases toward the vacant cab. Clayton waited until the driver popped the trunk and Boston tossed his cases in the back before striding away in the direction where Ellie had parked.

“Okay, it looks like he’s taking a cab. It’s a black and white Holden Commodore Sydney Taxi Cab, registration TC 1829. I just saw him load his suitcases into the trunk.”

“Where are you?”

“Right here.” Clayton opened the passenger side door and climbed in. Ellie looked at him, her face tense.

“He’s just pulled out. Up there.”

Ellie accelerated and joined the line of traffic heading out of the airport. Boston’s taxi was two cars in front of them. Clayton drew in a deep breath and released it slowly. The first part of the plan had been a success.

“Do we have Boston’s residential address?” Ellie asked.

“Yep. He lives about a block away from the Penrith campus.”

“So he’s certainly within our killer’s perimeter.”

“Yep.”

Ellie glanced at him, her eyes alight with excitement. “This could be it, then.”

Clayton couldn’t help the surge of anticipation, but tried to remain cautious. “Could be.”

“Let’s hope he puts up a fight. I’m spoiling for an excuse to play dirty.”

Clayton grinned and looked up and down the pint-sized length of her. She looked tough enough to fight a bantam. “Lucky you have me along, then. There’s nothing I enjoy more than playing dirty.”

Her cheeks turned scarlet, and she grinned back at him. His heart did a somersault. His body hardened with need. Christ, he could barely think when she smiled at him like that. It wasn’t good. It wasn’t good at all. With a gargantuan effort, he focused his attention back on the road.

“Boston doesn’t look like the type a young girl would be taken in by,” Ellie commented. “I mean, he’s got to be in his fifties and that balding hair and beer belly’s not the most attractive attribute. He looks sleazy, more than anything.”

“Maybe it’s all in his manner. Maybe he has the knack of charming girls into his room or wherever it is he takes them? Don’t forget Ted Bundy could charm the pants off anyone. Even law enforcement officers were taken in by him.”

Ellie shot him a wry look. “Somehow, I don’t think you’ll fall into that category.”

A shaft of pleasure surged through him at her compliment. He grinned.

“Are you actually acknowledging my skills, Detective Cooper? Because that’s what it sounded like. You know how they pay me the big bucks… I just want to make sure you get your money’s worth.”

“Humph,” Ellie snorted, her eyes alight with mischief. “Don’t worry about me getting my money’s worth. It’s our erstwhile and completely unsuspecting taxpayers I’m concerned about.”

“Well, worry no more. I’ve been looking forward to chatting to Professor Boston for weeks. Leave him to me.”

“Not on your life, sweet cheeks.”

Clayton grinned. A warm glow started low in his belly and gradually spread upwards. Suddenly, the day seemed even brighter.

* * *

Professor Stewart Boston climbed out of the cab and retrieved his suitcases from the trunk. Ellie and Clayton watched from their hiding spot nearby. They’d followed the cab until it came to a halt outside the university’s Penrith campus and now held their breath as they waited for Boston’s next move.

His residence was nearly a block away. It was unlikely he was headed there on foot, lugging two suitcases. The more likely option was that he was going to the office he had on campus.