production of pushing back his chair and sighing before he stood and wove his way through the clutter of largely vacant desks to the whiteboard that retained the information Ben had written on it nearly a month ago.
Picking up a marker, he spoke, making notes as he went. “Okay, based on what we know, here’s what I think. We’re looking for a white male, somewhere between twenty-five and forty. Not too young—a young guy might not appear trustworthy enough for a young girl to climb into their car—but maybe even a bit older. He’s someone so ordinary, nobody even notices him. I also think it’s safe to assume the guy’s a local to the Penrith area. It’s his territory. He’s familiar enough with the area that he feels comfortable. So comfortable, he can pick up young women off the street and make them disappear and nobody even notices.”
He paced around the cluttered confines of the squad room. “He’s invisible to most of us. He goes about his daily excursions without raising the least suspicion. He’s someone any one of us could pass by on the street and not even notice. He’s someone Josie Ward would trust.”
Ellie shuddered. Images of a smiling Ted Bundy flitted through her mind. Dread prickled her scalp. “So, he’s like a cop or someone like that?”
“Yeah, possibly. Although Josie Ward went missing fairly late at night. It would be unusual to see a copper on his own doing a patrol that late. They’re usually out in pairs. It would be a risky move for him. People would probably remember something like that.”
Her frown was fierce. “That’s if Josie’s one of his victims. We don’t know that yet.”
Clayton opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.
“Okay, okay; what else?”
He let that pass. It was true, they didn’t have proof Josie was a victim of their killer, but in his gut he knew things weren’t looking good for her.
He turned back to the whiteboard. “Well, we know he likes to use a saw. So some kind of handyman—a builder or a carpenter—or even just someone who likes to play with timber in his spare time.”
“Gee, that really narrows it down.”
Her voice was as dry as over-cooked steak. Clayton ignored it and continued to write points on the whiteboard. “If we work on the theory that the missing girls are connected to Angelina’s killer, he’s either unemployed or has flexible working hours. He might even be a shift-worker.” He turned around and held her gaze. “There doesn’t seem to be a consistent time when any of the girls disappeared.”
He ticked them off on his fingers. “Josie Ward was after ten at night. Angelina Caruso we’re not exactly sure, but my guess is late afternoon or early evening. Her last class finished at five. No one saw her after that. For Sally Batten, it’s also unclear, but I’d back the girlfriends who thought they saw her at class, to the dope-smoking boyfriend who wasn’t sure when she’d last been home. One thing we do know is that they all disappeared on weekdays. Which means he’s either at work on the weekends or he’s tied up with his own life, then.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he could have a family of his own. Don’t forget, this guy appears to the rest of the world as just another average citizen. Maybe he leaves town on the weekends and goes to his holiday house. A lot of psychopaths lead typically normal lives during their downtime.” He grimaced, his frustration evident. “Who knows? Despite what you see on TV, there’s still a lot of guesswork involved.”
“The art professor definitely ticks some of the boxes,” Ellie said. We’ll have to get a copy of his timetable. Find out when he has free time. I’d also like to know where he lives.”
Clayton nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, at the moment, he’s up there with Wayne Peterson and I can’t wait for him to step off that plane. But there are still a vast number of other possibilities. Even a taxi driver
Picking up a marker, he spoke, making notes as he went. “Okay, based on what we know, here’s what I think. We’re looking for a white male, somewhere between twenty-five and forty. Not too young—a young guy might not appear trustworthy enough for a young girl to climb into their car—but maybe even a bit older. He’s someone so ordinary, nobody even notices him. I also think it’s safe to assume the guy’s a local to the Penrith area. It’s his territory. He’s familiar enough with the area that he feels comfortable. So comfortable, he can pick up young women off the street and make them disappear and nobody even notices.”
He paced around the cluttered confines of the squad room. “He’s invisible to most of us. He goes about his daily excursions without raising the least suspicion. He’s someone any one of us could pass by on the street and not even notice. He’s someone Josie Ward would trust.”
Ellie shuddered. Images of a smiling Ted Bundy flitted through her mind. Dread prickled her scalp. “So, he’s like a cop or someone like that?”
“Yeah, possibly. Although Josie Ward went missing fairly late at night. It would be unusual to see a copper on his own doing a patrol that late. They’re usually out in pairs. It would be a risky move for him. People would probably remember something like that.”
Her frown was fierce. “That’s if Josie’s one of his victims. We don’t know that yet.”
Clayton opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.
“Okay, okay; what else?”
He let that pass. It was true, they didn’t have proof Josie was a victim of their killer, but in his gut he knew things weren’t looking good for her.
He turned back to the whiteboard. “Well, we know he likes to use a saw. So some kind of handyman—a builder or a carpenter—or even just someone who likes to play with timber in his spare time.”
“Gee, that really narrows it down.”
Her voice was as dry as over-cooked steak. Clayton ignored it and continued to write points on the whiteboard. “If we work on the theory that the missing girls are connected to Angelina’s killer, he’s either unemployed or has flexible working hours. He might even be a shift-worker.” He turned around and held her gaze. “There doesn’t seem to be a consistent time when any of the girls disappeared.”
He ticked them off on his fingers. “Josie Ward was after ten at night. Angelina Caruso we’re not exactly sure, but my guess is late afternoon or early evening. Her last class finished at five. No one saw her after that. For Sally Batten, it’s also unclear, but I’d back the girlfriends who thought they saw her at class, to the dope-smoking boyfriend who wasn’t sure when she’d last been home. One thing we do know is that they all disappeared on weekdays. Which means he’s either at work on the weekends or he’s tied up with his own life, then.”
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he could have a family of his own. Don’t forget, this guy appears to the rest of the world as just another average citizen. Maybe he leaves town on the weekends and goes to his holiday house. A lot of psychopaths lead typically normal lives during their downtime.” He grimaced, his frustration evident. “Who knows? Despite what you see on TV, there’s still a lot of guesswork involved.”
“The art professor definitely ticks some of the boxes,” Ellie said. We’ll have to get a copy of his timetable. Find out when he has free time. I’d also like to know where he lives.”
Clayton nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah, at the moment, he’s up there with Wayne Peterson and I can’t wait for him to step off that plane. But there are still a vast number of other possibilities. Even a taxi driver
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