Compulsion

"Morning, Alistair."

DCI Burns returned the smile. "There's some for you too, when you're ready," he said, indicating his coffee and donut.

"Thanks."

"Fuck, I hate that smell, Reg. Enough to put a guy off his breakfast." Belying his words, Burns bit into his donut. Reg didn't need to know the combination of sugar and caffeine helped calm his stomach.

"You get used to it."

"How long do you reckon?"

"Before you get used to the smell?"

Burns could see Reg was teasing him. "Hahaha, the body, time of death, you clown."

Reg grinned. Black humour was a coping mechanism many involved in crime scene investigation used.

"Hard to say but based on decomposition probably ten to twelve days."

"Any signs of rape?"

"She's too decomposed. I won't know until I get her to the lab and can do some tests."

The two men fell silent. Burns sipped his coffee, grateful for the heat, and chewed on his donut. It was good. He'd have to make note of the bakery.

He studied the scene. The woman's shoes were missing but for the rest she seemed to be fully clothed. Her dark brown hair fanned about her head like a halo. A scarf, the probable murder weapon, remained around her throat, Loose and looking harmless. That something so soft, and even sensuous, could be used so brutally amazed Burns.

She looked posed, her arms and legs, the angle of her torso, the fanning of the hair was all too perfect to be natural. Burns suspected she'd be like the previous victims and that the tests on her skin and from under her fingernails would show she'd been wiped down with bleach.

It was even possible that the dress she was wearing wasn't her own, that the killer had redressed her in something he'd brought with him. At least one husband of the previous victims had stated he'd never seen the outfit his wife was found in. Of course, it was also possible the victim had bought it herself unbeknownst to the husband. Questions. So many unanswered questions.

A young, fresh-faced, uniformed constable hurried up to DCI Burns, interrupting his reverie. He was holding a sodden handbag.

"Sir, we found this between the carport and the cabin."

Out of habit, DCI Burns glanced at the constable's hands. "Good, you're wearing gloves. Carefully look inside, son. I bet there's still a purse in there, isn't there? Don't pull it out or even touch it."

"But, Sir, if we look inside the purse there may be identification of some sort. Won't that help us confirm the identity of the victim?"

"Yes, it would, but I want you to stop and think for a moment." Burns looked the constable in the eye. He liked mentoring the younger officers, just as he'd been mentored in his early days on the force. "With any luck the killer had a look inside too. We don't want to risk smudging a possible fingerprint or dislodging a hair, losing it on a gust of wind."

"I see, sir."

"Keys or phone?"

"Not that I can see, sir."

"Didn't think so." DCI Burns sighed. "Bag it and get it to Forensics."

The young constable nodded. He was in awe of DCI Burns who had a reputation of being a bloodhound. He wanted to learn all he could from him. "What are you thinking, sir?"

"Even without seeing what's in her purse, I'm thinking this lady here is Monica Smith. It's her car and she fits the description. Her husband reported her missing on the 10^th. He came back from a golfing weekend to find his wife and the family computer missing."

"Then why did it take twelve days to find her?"

"This cabin belongs to a cousin of hers. Husband didn't think of it as they've only visited it twice in the last five years. According to hubby, wife wasn't much into camping and roughing it and the cottage, as you can see, is isolated and pretty basic. We only found out about this place at dawn this morning when the neighbour, who arrived late last night, got up early to go fishing and noticed the same car parked here as last weekend. He didn't recognise the vehicle as belonging to the owners. Apparently, the owners usually let him know if they're lending the cabin out to family or friends, so thinking it might be someone who didn't have permission he trotted over and found the door open."

All three men looked down at the pathetic remains of what they were confident was Monica Smith.

"The Strangler again, sir?" asked the constable.

DCI Burns nodded sadly. "It certainly looks like it."

No matter how many crime scenes he'd attended the sight of a life taken violently still affected him deeply. It was his sense of justice that had led him to the police force in the first place.

"Doesn't he normally dump the bodies in the bush somewhere?"

"There's an assumption there that the killer is a 'he', Constable."

The constable reddened and DCI Burns took pity on him. This was probably the young man's first murder scene and most definitely his first serial murder case.

"But that's a pretty safe bet, son. To answer your question, we know of six victims. Five from within 150km of here and another one from Melbourne. Only one was found in bushland. That was the last one which is probably why you thought that was his modus operandi. But our guy is versatile. Adapts to his surroundings. Three were found in cheap motels. And one in her house." He looked up, his gaze once more scanning the interior of the small, rustic cottage. He noted the crime scene crew were still searching and dusting for prints. "And now this one in her cousin's weekender."

"The one in Melbourne, are you sure it's the same perp?"

"Oh yes. You see our clever friend takes the victim's phone and house keys after killing them, goes into their homes, probably after staking them out to see no one else is home, and removes all of their computer gear."

"What the hell for? Wouldn't that be a risk? Someone could see him."

"Yes, it is a risk, but so far he's gotten away with it. No one thus far remembers seeing anything or anyone unusual. We think he's taking all their computer gear because he's meeting his victims on the internet. In fact, I'm personally convinced he's meeting them on Ashley Madison."

"Why? I mean, why are you sure of that?"

DCI Burns was pleased with the constable's questions and curiosity. It reminded him of himself when he was fresh out of the academy. He made a mental note of the constable's name. He'd keep an eye on him.

"Thus far we haven't been able to establish any obvious links between the victims. They didn't go to school together, work together, join the same clubs or gyms, or even work in the same industries. Nothing links them except their appearance. But if you look at all the things the victims do have in common you'll see that they were all between the ages of twenty-five and forty, every one of them was married with no children, and all died while their husbands were away for at least one night. Not only that, but none of them told anyone, not their husbands, or a colleague, friend, or neighbour they were going anywhere or meeting anyone. That's unusual. What do you surmise from that, Constable?"

"Sounds like they might have been cheating on their husbands, Boss."

Burns nodded, pleased. "That's what I think too. So, next step. If you don't want to risk being seen hooking up with someone at a bar or club where would you find them?"

"Online, Sir. Maybe Ashley Madison or Tindr."

DCI Burns nodded. "My bets on Ashley Madison. It's the biggest cheating wives website around and offers our perp more chance to scope out his intended victims."

"So, our killer meets cheating wives on the net, probably Ashley Madison, then after killing them, goes to their houses and lets himself in with their keys and nicks their computers..."

DCI Burns finished the constable's summary, "Thus erasing any electronic trail that might lead us to his identity. Fuck, he probably even sends them pictures of himself. Otherwise, there's no way they'd ever trust him enough to meet him. He meets them somewhere, possibly where they were killed, but he may also have met them at a club or bar first. At this point we don't know."

"But if you think he's meeting them through Ashley Madison, why doesn't he have sex with them? And why not just ask to see their records?"

"Until we catch him we can only surmise his motivations, and, Constable, you think we haven't thought of contacting Ashley Madison?"

The constable blushed, embarrassed to be seemingly questioning his superior officer's methods.

Burns continued, "Firstly, we don't have proof that's how he's finding his victims - it's just an educated guess. None of the victims was advertising the fact they were members. Second, they're an American website so it's a more complicated procedure to get a court order to force them. Last, and by no means least, when we asked them nicely they told us to fuck off and not invade their clients' privacy."

"The sick fucks!" exclaimed the constable, a deeper blush creeping up his throat. "Excuse my French, sir."

"That's alright, son. Sick, degenerate fucks just about covers it in my book as well. Sad to know they wouldn't exist as a business, let alone thrive, without consumer demand."

"So, are you saying all we can do is wait for him to make a mistake, sir?"

"That or he dies or whatever is driving him to do what he does disappears. I wouldn't hold my breath for the latter two. Our profile puts our perp between twenty-five and fifty, so plenty of years left in him, barring an accident."

At that point DCI Burns' phone rang and he stepped outside, walking toward the surrounding bush to answer it. From a distance the constable could see the conversation got his senior officer agitated. DCI Burns pocketed the phone and jogged toward the constable, shouting.

"Constable, take over here. The station just got a call. A guy came home early from a business trip last night and found his wife missing. She hasn't returned this morning so he called it in. The wife fits the description of our victims - thirty-six-years old, no kids, with shoulder length brown hair. With any luck our killer hasn't had time to go to their house yet and take the computer."

*****

The drive seemed interminable. It felt like every idiot who got their drivers licence off a cornflakes packet was out for a drive and determined to slow him down. It took all of his self-control to not lean on the horn the whole trip.

Part of him hoped that when he got to the address he'd been given, it would prove to be a false alarm and that the man had located his wife. Another part hoped her disappearance was linked to The Strangler. He was ashamed of that hope. That hope would mean another death, but he was desperate for a break in the case. Thus far they had nothing. No DNA, no fingerprints. No fibres. No witnesses. No nothing.

He pulled to the kerb and switched off the ignition. The house looked large, a tastefully restored period home, with bricks that had been painted white. Black and white striped awnings shaded the windows and front door. The trims were black. All in all, stylish with a Parisienne feel.

Burns walked up the paved path that was lined with glossy black ceramic pots filled with a lush green foliage and a mix of pink and white flowers. Under different circumstances he'd have taken a photo of the house and path to show Cath. She loved that sort of thing.

DCI Burns paused at the front door, silently reminding himself to be patient and empathetic. He'd seen it too often in his career; cops who'd seen too much violence, too much bad behaviour from their fellow man and became hardened to it. Immune. It made them insensitive and impatient. Burns didn't want that to happen to him so he always made a point of reminding himself that he was dealing with someone who was probably scared, angry, confused, and worried. Different story when he was interrogating someone he thought was his perp. Then he was a hardcase.

Burns flexed his neck to ease the tension he felt before raising his hand and knocking on the front door. It opened almost immediately. Almost as if the man had been waiting on the other side for his arrival. The man looked worried, dark circles hinting at a sleepless night. A frown creased his brow and his hair was standing on end as if a hand had run through it many times.

Burns held out his hand and introduced himself."

"Have you found her? Have you found Brooke?"

"Not yet, sir." As much as Burns wanted to jump right in and ask about the computer gear he made himself follow procedure. "May I come in?"

"Oh yes. Sorry," the man mumbled, running a hand through his hair making it stand even more on end.

"Sir, I'm sorry to have to ask you to go over everything that has happened but I need to hear it from you."

The man led Burns to the kitchen and offered him a drink. Burns accepted a glass of water, noting how the man's hands shook as he poured and handed the glass over.

"Um, well, I was away for work and was supposed to be away for a couple of nights but I finished up early and returned last night. Brooke wasn't home. Her car was gone. I wasn't too concerned at first but when it got to midnight and she still wasn't home, I spoke to the neighbours who were still up, then I started ringing around our family and friends. No one had seen her or heard from her. That's when I got worried. I rang all the hospitals. No one matching her description has been brought in."

DCI Burns could hear the stress in the man's voice. Poor bastard, he thought. He knew how frantic he'd feel if Cath were to go missing.

"So, none of the neighbours noticed what time Brooke left?"

"Um, sorry, I forgot. Yes, Mrs. Jackson from number thirty-five said she thought she saw Brooke's car leaving at around 7:00 p.m. but she's not one-hundred percent certain of the time and says she didn't really take much notice so she didn't know if Brooke was alone or had someone in the car with her.

"And you've tried calling Brooke, I presume?"

"Yes, several times but it just goes to voicemail. I've left her umpteen messages to call me."

"Has Brooke ever done anything like this before?"

"No. Never."

"I'm sorry to have to ask this, but how were things between you and Brooke? Did you argue before you left? Any marital issues?"

"No. No argument. No issues. Everything was normal. She kissed me goodbye and waved me off just like she has every other work trip."

"This may seem a little odd, but I need to ask you if your wife's computer or tablet is missing?"

"I, um, I don't know. It's not something I thought to check. All I checked for was her handbag and clothing. Her regular handbag is gone but everything else in our bedroom seems normal. I don't think any of her things are missing."

DCI Burns tried to contain his excitement. "Would you mind if we check to see if all your computer gear is still on the premises. It's important."

"Um, okay."

The husband sounded confused but led the way to a small but tastefully set up study and there, in pride of place, sat a PC. Burns wanted to shout for joy. A break at last.

"I need to take this PC to our I.T. team. Does your wife own a tablet or iPad? If so, we'll need them too."

The man left the room to retrieve an iPad that he said his wife used for reading and streaming movies.

Burns donned some gloves and carefully began disconnecting cables.

"Why is our computer and Brooke's iPad important? How will that help in finding her?"

Burns looked up from what he was doing. He couldn't help but note the husband had paled and was staring at his gloved hands.

"Is she dead?" he whispered. "Do you think someone kidnapped Brooke? Murdered her?"

"We don't know, sir. But one possibility is that Brooke made a connection with someone online who convinced her to meet them. We won't be able to confirm that until we examine your computer. It's not our only line of inquiry. We're doing our utmost to locate your wife."

Burns felt bad but didn't want to tell the man there was a high probability, based on the other victims, that not only was his wife cheating on him, but was dead. Until they found Brooke's body there was hope. There was the possibility that the similarities of her physical appearance to that of the other victims was a coincidence.

"Is there anyone you would like me to call for you? Any family or friends? Anyone you can stay with?"

The guy shook his head. "I don't want to leave the house in case Brooke comes home."

"I'm sorry, but I'm going to have to ask you to. There's some more questions we'd like to ask and we have some mug shots we'd like you to have a look at."

"Mug shots? Who of?"

"Sex Offenders."

Burns watched the man's Adam's apple rise and fall and his eyes water. As Burns had seen a hundred times before in a hundred other murder investigations, the man began to blink rapidly, trying to internalise his fear rather than succumb to it in front of another man. If anything, the man's face went even paler.

DCI Burns turned and made a trip out to his car with the PC to give the guy time to get his emotions under control. Often that was the kindest thing to do. Burns felt ashamed of the relief he felt when he returned to the living room to find the man looking ashen but calm.

He made another trip to the car with the cables, mouse, keyboard, and iPad. Before returning to the house, he made a call to the station, giving orders for all available non-uniformed officers to discreetly check to see if anyone was staking out the house, and if they came up empty handed to stake the place out themselves.

Call made, he returned to the house and asked the husband to follow him to the station, hoping the killer would return that evening and see the house dark and try to access the property. At that point, the four burly coppers he knew were assigned to stake the place out would pounce, with deadly force if necessary.

DCI Burns handed the computer gear over to the boffins after getting some suggestions from the husband on his wife's passwords. Apparently, the PC was hers. Hubby used a laptop which he kept at his office. That news gave DCI Burns even more hope they'd caught a break on the case at last.

He considered retrieving the guy's laptop as well - experience had taught him not to jump to conclusions. After all, the biggest killer of women wasn't any given disease; it was someone they knew so the husband couldn't be eliminated as a subject too soon. His gut was telling him, though, that Brooke was The Strangler's latest victim so he decided he'd make a call on the guy's laptop after seeing what the techies could retrieve from her PC.

Burns made the guy a coffee and asked him some more questions about Brooke and the state of their marriage. With each question Burns struggled to concentrate on the man's answers. He couldn't help repeatedly glancing at his phone, hoping to see a message from the techies.

Even though Burns thought it unlikely that one of the sex offenders on their register was the perp he had the husband scroll through the database. Besides, it was a handy way of keeping the guy away from his house without unduly alarming him. As expected, no one pinged.

Hoping that the time at the station had served to calm the man he explained that he was free to go but requested he stay away from his house until further notice. The husband elected to stay at the station for the time being, saying he didn't want to have to deal with questions from family and friends. DCI Burns could understand that. So often a person managed to keep it together until someone asked them if they were okay. Somehow that phrase and ones like it opened a floodgate for many.

The husband was no sooner settled in what was actually an interview room with a fresh cup of coffee when Burns received word they'd cracked the PC and the woman's Ashley Madison profile was an open book. Within another ten minutes, they had an address where the naïve wife had agreed to meet the man who had been grooming her for six months.