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Authors: Danielle Ramsay
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had seen to that.
‘Do you remember the Joker killings in the Seventies?’
He suddenly had Gates’ attention. ‘What?’
‘The Joker killings. Seven young men, all murdered within a period of two months during the summer of 1977?’
‘I’m acutely aware of the case, Jack.’
Brady knew that he would have been. After all, Gates had just entered the force at the time. But it was clear from Gates’ voice that he was not impressed with Brady bringing up the past. It was evident that he was uncomfortable with even the mention of The Joker. The killer had never been apprehended. In fact, the police hadn’t even come close to catching him. They had suspects, of course, but none of them were remotely credible. Most of them had been dragged in for questioning to make it look as if the police had a handle on the situation – which they hadn’t.
For some inexplicable reason, The Joker had stopped killing after his seventh victim; much to the relief of the police and the public. Or at least, he had stopped murdering in the same manner. Brady was certain that someone with an appetite for sadism and murder like The Joker didn’t just wake up one morning and decide that they had had enough. The drive to kill would have become overwhelming. The question that had been troubling Brady was why he had stopped.
He steeled himself. ‘This murder is identical to the other seven from 1977.’
Gates didn’t say anything. But his silence said enough. Brady kept quiet.
‘You’re certain?’ Gates finally asked.
Brady could hear the scepticism in his voice. Not that he could blame him. Even he was struggling to accept it – and he had seen it with his own eyes. ‘Yes, sir. Hands and feet were bound with rope.’
‘Gagged?’
‘With his own penis,’ Brady replied.
Gates did not reply. Brady did not need to see his face to know that it would be hard and inscrutable as he weighed up the magnitude of what he was being told. No one, aside from the investigating team and the police pathologist, knew the details of the case. The mutilation was deemed too awful to be released to the public. Not even the victims’ families were aware of the precise nature of their loved ones’ death. They had been fed as little information as possible to avoid the details being leaked to the press. And yet here they were, thirty-seven years later, with a victim murdered in exactly the same manner.
And that was what was troubling Brady. He couldn’t get his head around the improbability of The Joker suddenly returning. Or of it being a copycat killing.
He sighed heavily before continuing. ‘His severed penis had been stuffed into his mouth and his head had been bound with black duct tape. Identical to the Seventies victims.’
‘What about—’ Gates began.
Brady beat him to it. He knew exactly what he was going to ask. The exact same question had plagued him when he first saw the victim.
‘Joker card pressed between the victim’s palms. The card is from a 1960s Waddington deck, sir.’
‘The same as before?’
‘Identical.’
Brady could hear Gates breathing out at the enormity of the situation as he weighed up what to do.
‘What’s your feeling on this? Copycat? Or . . .’ Gates left the question unfinished. Like Brady, unable to accept the prospect that the serial killer had resurfaced after all this time.
‘I don’t know,’ Brady answered honestly. ‘If it is The Joker, then the question is why now, after all this time? And if it isn’t, then how would someone have found out the details of the original case?’
Brady had wondered if it could be someone within the police. He had to; it was a possibility. He knew that right now his boss would be plagued with the same thoughts.
‘I assume that you’re already collating information on the original suspects?’
‘Yes, sir. The team’s busy tracking them down.’
‘Good,’ Gates answered. ‘Who found the victim?’
‘The hotel cleaner.’
‘You’ve
‘Do you remember the Joker killings in the Seventies?’
He suddenly had Gates’ attention. ‘What?’
‘The Joker killings. Seven young men, all murdered within a period of two months during the summer of 1977?’
‘I’m acutely aware of the case, Jack.’
Brady knew that he would have been. After all, Gates had just entered the force at the time. But it was clear from Gates’ voice that he was not impressed with Brady bringing up the past. It was evident that he was uncomfortable with even the mention of The Joker. The killer had never been apprehended. In fact, the police hadn’t even come close to catching him. They had suspects, of course, but none of them were remotely credible. Most of them had been dragged in for questioning to make it look as if the police had a handle on the situation – which they hadn’t.
For some inexplicable reason, The Joker had stopped killing after his seventh victim; much to the relief of the police and the public. Or at least, he had stopped murdering in the same manner. Brady was certain that someone with an appetite for sadism and murder like The Joker didn’t just wake up one morning and decide that they had had enough. The drive to kill would have become overwhelming. The question that had been troubling Brady was why he had stopped.
He steeled himself. ‘This murder is identical to the other seven from 1977.’
Gates didn’t say anything. But his silence said enough. Brady kept quiet.
‘You’re certain?’ Gates finally asked.
Brady could hear the scepticism in his voice. Not that he could blame him. Even he was struggling to accept it – and he had seen it with his own eyes. ‘Yes, sir. Hands and feet were bound with rope.’
‘Gagged?’
‘With his own penis,’ Brady replied.
Gates did not reply. Brady did not need to see his face to know that it would be hard and inscrutable as he weighed up the magnitude of what he was being told. No one, aside from the investigating team and the police pathologist, knew the details of the case. The mutilation was deemed too awful to be released to the public. Not even the victims’ families were aware of the precise nature of their loved ones’ death. They had been fed as little information as possible to avoid the details being leaked to the press. And yet here they were, thirty-seven years later, with a victim murdered in exactly the same manner.
And that was what was troubling Brady. He couldn’t get his head around the improbability of The Joker suddenly returning. Or of it being a copycat killing.
He sighed heavily before continuing. ‘His severed penis had been stuffed into his mouth and his head had been bound with black duct tape. Identical to the Seventies victims.’
‘What about—’ Gates began.
Brady beat him to it. He knew exactly what he was going to ask. The exact same question had plagued him when he first saw the victim.
‘Joker card pressed between the victim’s palms. The card is from a 1960s Waddington deck, sir.’
‘The same as before?’
‘Identical.’
Brady could hear Gates breathing out at the enormity of the situation as he weighed up what to do.
‘What’s your feeling on this? Copycat? Or . . .’ Gates left the question unfinished. Like Brady, unable to accept the prospect that the serial killer had resurfaced after all this time.
‘I don’t know,’ Brady answered honestly. ‘If it is The Joker, then the question is why now, after all this time? And if it isn’t, then how would someone have found out the details of the original case?’
Brady had wondered if it could be someone within the police. He had to; it was a possibility. He knew that right now his boss would be plagued with the same thoughts.
‘I assume that you’re already collating information on the original suspects?’
‘Yes, sir. The team’s busy tracking them down.’
‘Good,’ Gates answered. ‘Who found the victim?’
‘The hotel cleaner.’
‘You’ve
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