Shallow Ground (Detective Ford) by Andy Maslen (to read list txt) 📕

he suffers from antisocial personality disorder, which is the clinical term used in America’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual, by the way.’

‘But he could be. A psychopath?’

‘Psychopaths are organised, cunning, able to blend in, despite their lack of empathy. They’re deceitful. They use people to get what they want. They can come off as arrogant, even hyper-confident. Our killer appears to fit those criteria, yes.’

Ford’s mind flew back to his encounter with Abbott. She could have been describing the consultant haematologist from life.

‘Does their pathology give them any weak spots?’ he asked.

Hannah nodded. ‘Psychopaths believe they are omnipotent. It can lead them to make errors. Even quite basic errors.’

‘What sort of thing?’

‘Their compulsion to kill and their sense of godlike power can make them careless. They may leave physical evidence at the crime scene. Even their own DNA.’

‘What about sociopaths?’ Ford asked. ‘Are they basically the same thing?’

‘Sociopaths are far less controlled. When they turn to violence, it is often chaotic, unplanned, brutal. They make very little effort to hide their tracks. If this killer fits into one of these two layperson’s terms, it’s “psychopath”.’

‘Shit!’ Ford inhaled, closed his eyes, took himself back to the two crime scenes and the glaring images of blood loss and degradation. It’s all about the blood, isn’t it? ‘I think he was calm throughout,’ he said. ‘No practice jabs. Just one puncture wound, straight into the femoral artery. No shaking hands or sweat clouding his vision. Also,’ he carried on, leaning forward in his chair, ‘most murderers, even if motivated by extreme rage, would find it hard to switch from a brutal, bloody killing of an adult to a precise, drug-induced murder-by-injection of a small child.’

Sandy leaned back in her chair and clasped her hands behind her head. She looked at them in turn. ‘Fine. I sanction the two of you working as a profiling team. And while we’re on the subject, I’ve read your file, Hannah. We’re a small team down here. Not exactly overburdened with resources, if you know what I mean? It would be a criminal waste, no pun intended, not to make use of your US experience.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘If Henry wants to involve you in the wider investigation, interviewing suspects, say, and you think you can add value, go ahead. OK with you, Henry?’

‘Fine by me, boss.’

Sandy pointed a finger at Ford and Hannah in turn. ‘But that’s in addition to your normal CSI duties, not instead of, understood?’

Hannah nodded. ‘Understood, Juno.’

To the sound of the Python’s unrestrained laughter, Ford led Hannah out of the office.

DAY EIGHT, 9.15 A.M.

With the help of a social worker and a friendly GP, Ford had Eadon’s medical records open in front of him. One phrase leapt out at him:

In-patient, SDH, 15–17/03/18, blood poisoning.

The hospital again. Four people, all connected by this one workplace: Angie Halpern, Charles Abbott, Matty Kyte and now Paul Eadon. His heart beat a little faster as he picked up the phone. While he waited for the hospital records office to answer, he circled the phrase ‘blood poisoning’.

He requested information on Eadon’s stay – specifically, which ward he was on and who was involved in his treatment and care. The records clerk promised to call him back.

He walked over to Jools, who nodded at him, one hand clamped over the mouthpiece of her desk phone. The call finished, she tapped a couple of keys on her PC.

‘There you go, guv. Our Mr Eadon had a record going back to the early noughties. Mainly low-level thievery and public order offences. Nothing I can see linking him to Angie, though.’

His mobile rang. It was the records clerk from the hospital. He noted down the names of doctors and nurses who’d looked after and treated Paul Eadon, underlining two:

Seema Patel (N)

Rajnesh Kumar (N)

Jean Stretton (N)

Becca Gordon (N)

Angela Halpern (N)

Dr Vida Katalammy

Dr Cameron Thorne

Mr Charles Abbott

He rubbed his chin, frowning. A concrete link between both adult victims and Mr Abbott, God’s gift to haematology. He added Paul Eadon and doodled a couple of extra words.

Paul Eadon – victim

Seema Patel (N)

Rajnesh Kumar (N)

Jean Stretton (N)

Becca Porter (N)

Angela Halpern (N) – victim

Dr Vida Katalammy

Dr Cameron Thorne

Mr Charles Abbott – blood/cancer (fentanyl?)

He imagined red lines linking the different players. Was someone targeting everyone who’d treated Eadon? Was that it? Did it mean other people on the list were potential targets of the killer? Abbott knew all about blood. His life’s work. No motive as yet, but according to Hannah’s typology, for the killer, blood signified.

His phone rang again. ‘No caller ID’ message.

Scowling, he answered. ‘Ford.’

‘Hi. Kerry Battle, Sky News?’

Ford swiped a hand over his face. He knew without having to be told what this meant. Someone had gone social with the news and now it was a matter of hours before the London media and the world’s descended on his city.

‘Yes, what can I do for you, Kerry?’

‘A source tells me you’re investigating three rather unusual murders down there. Would you care to comment on that?’

Play hard to get or softly-softly? Try to keep a lid on it and risk alienating the media? Or feed the killer’s appetite for notoriety and get press help with public engagement?

No contest. He pulled a face and nodded at Jan, who was miming, ‘Coffee?’ as she passed his desk. He mouthed, ‘Media,’ back at her – grimaced as Jan rolled her eyes.

He remembered words of advice on a media training course he’d attended. ‘Don’t say anything you don’t want to see on the front page of the Daily Mail. And there’s no such thing as off the record.’

‘Your source is correct. Five days ago, a woman was murdered, along with her young son. Yesterday, a man was murdered. We believe we are looking at the same killer.’

‘My source tells me he’s bleeding them dry. Can you confirm that?’

‘The adults, yes.’

‘Not the little boy?’

‘No.’

‘How did he die?’

‘We’re holding that back. To screen out nut— I mean, people who enjoy confessing to crimes they didn’t commit.’

‘So it’s a serial killer.’

‘The