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  “What a bitch. I’ll call Sally now, warn her what’s being said. If she doesn’t already know, that is.”

  “Okay, boss. See you in the morning.”

  Sally sounded concerned when she answered the phone.

  “Hey, Sally. DI Stanley here.”

  “Oh, sorry. I always panic when the phone rings at this hour.”

  “Yeah, sorry about that. I was calling to see if you watched the news tonight?”

  “No. I didn’t. Why? Have you caught him?”

  “Afraid not. But Natasha Barker has given an exclusive interview blaming you for Muldoon’s actions.”

  “She what? I’ll kill her.”

  “Less of that talk. I’m sure she’ll come across as the idiot she clearly is.”

  “Why would she do this to me? It’s been three years for God’s sake.”

  “Exactly. Did you notice a police car out the front?”

  “Yes. They’ve been there for hours. Do I need to feed them or anything?”

  “No. That’s not necessary. Just tell them if you intend to go out while they’re there.”

  “I’ll be going to bed soon. And I must admit, I feel much safer with them there.”

  He noticed Amanda standing behind him as he hung up.

  She stroked his arm. “Do you have to go out?”

  “No, thank God. But I’m going to have an early night just in case anything else happens.”

  Chapter 17

  I replay the news interview for the fourth time.

  “Bitch!” I roar, swiping the contents of the desk to the floor.

  I slam my forehead with the heel of my hand several times and then bite my knuckle until I taste blood.

  There is no way I can make rational decisions while surrounded by this red mist. I need to calm down.

  After pacing a rut in the carpet, I’m in no doubt what must be done.

  Within half an hour, I’m standing outside her house confident the police won’t be able to organise themselves this fast. But I don’t want to leave it much longer.

  The rain has recently stopped leaving massive puddles in the footpath. I take care to step around them as I approach the council house which is just as I remember it—scruffy.

  The front gate hangs on one hinge and is in desperate need of a lick of paint. I skulk along the washed out path to the back door. A light is still on inside, but I’m sure it’s just the landing light.

  Lifting the old wooden bench with one hand, I fumble about underneath and almost squeal with excitement as my fingers nudge and wrap around a key.

  With one last scan around me, I open the back door leaving the key in the lock. I wait, listening for any sign of life, either human or of the canine variety. But no sound comes from within.

  A police siren begins to wail not too far away, and my heart misses a beat. The wail approaches rapidly before fading away.

  I venture inside. My nerves are more on edge than before because I knew the other properties, but I’ve never been inside this house. I use common sense and touch to help me reach the stairs and, once again, pause.

  Still no sound.

  Upstairs, I stop on the landing struggling to see a thing.

  Once again I battle with myself whether or not to continue or run from the building. I replay the news interview in my mind, and it spurs me on.

  The first door on the left is a cluttered airing cupboard. The second is a bathroom.

  I hesitate at the next door on the right and place my ear against it. No sound.

  The knob turns silently. As the door opens inwards, there is a clicking sound as though it had been recently painted, and the paint is still tacky. I freeze, waiting for movement of any kind. Nothing.

  In two strides I’m beside the bed. A chink in the curtain gives me enough light to realise the bed is empty.

  I have no doubt this is her room. She just isn’t in it.

  A car pulls up outside, and I rush to the window just as Natasha steps from a taxi with another woman. They both trot on high heels up the path to the front door.

  In sheer panic, I stride to the top of the stairs.

  They laugh as they fall inside the house, clearly drunk.

  “That guy’s face was a picture when he realised you were the one from the news,” the other woman gushes.

  “Got us another round of drinks, didn’t I?” Natasha laughs.

  My skin crawls and I shudder.

  “Remind me to go out with you the next time you have a spot on primetime TV.”

  “I might’ve made it big by then. Perhaps I won’t fraternise with you once I’m rich and famous.”

  By the sounds I could make out, they were in the kitchen.

  Used to the dark, I move slowly and check out the other two rooms. One is made up with a single bed, and the other is filled with baby gear. An empty cot stands beside the door and a changing table is under the window. Although I can’t see the decor, my guess is the room is decorated with a baby in mind.

  That threw me. As far as I knew, Natasha didn’t even have a baby. I gently close the door, leaving a tiny gap, and wait.

  *

  The friend is the first to come upstairs. She puts on the landing light and goes into the single bedroom. I hear her kick her shoes off and the sound of a zip unfastening.

  I step into the room that is now fully illuminated from the landing light.

  With her back to me, the woman pulls her dress over her head.

  I don’t make a sound as the turquoise fabric is tossed onto the carpet. She is naked apart from a pair of nude-coloured granny knickers and a bra.

  As she turns to face me, she gasps, her hand flying to her mouth.

  “Shhh,” I whisper, indicating the knife in my hand. “Don’t make a sound.”

  Her breath has quickened and exquisite tears are squeezed from her beady eyes, giving me a thrill. Then, the stench of hot urine puzzles me at first until I notice the puddle at her feet. She’s pissing herself.

  I’m tingling all over. This could go so wrong, but I’m sexually stimulated by a wet stain in her knickers. My body feels electrically charged, and my nipples stand on end.

  I rub myself through my clothing. This wasn’t supposed to happen, but my body says otherwise.

  I step closer to her and hold one finger to my lips and lift up the knife in my other hand.

  She whimpers, causing an involuntary spasm in my crotch.

  I grab one of her humungous tits. I’d never seen any as big in the flesh, never mind touch them. I gesture with the knife for her to get on the bed.

  Once she’s lying down, I slice the bra straps and her massive breasts flop free.

  More whimpering.

  Feeling delirious, I’m almost too far gone when I hear a sound at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Ang? What you doing up there?”

  I place the flat of the knife on the woman’s lips and shake my head.

  Natasha sounds closer. “I’ve already necked my wine. I’m gonna start on yours next.”

  I move the knife down to the woman’s throat and press my hand over her mouth. Her eyes are wide as she stares at me in utter terror.

  With one stroke of the knife, the blood spurts. I don’t want to miss one second as the life leaves her amber-coloured eyes, yet I’m aware of Natasha fast approaching.

  “I know you’re trying to scare me, Ang. But it’ll take much more than you jumping out of a cupboard.”

  I yank a pillow out from under the woman’s head and place it over the top of her. In two strides I am behind the door as it begins to open.

  “Ha-ha. Very funny,” Natasha says, as she enters the room.

  “So you want me to pull the pillow off you and then what? Are you wearing my Halloween mask?”

  I gently push the door and it silently swings closed again leaving a six inch gap through which the light pours in. I’m standing directly behind Natasha.

  “What the...?” she says, as she splashes into the large pee
puddle with bare feet. “This isn’t funny anymore, Ang. What’s this on my carpet?” She yanks the pillow off her friend and drops it.

  A soundless scream leaves her lips.

  “Scary enough for you?” I say.

  Her shoulders tense and she turns slowly.

  She freezes, her eyes on stalks.

  Then she screams and lunges towards me.

  I move sideways much faster than the drunken bitch.

  She trips on nothing I can see and sprawls face-down on the carpet before scrambling to her knees and heading for the door.

  I aim a well-placed kick to her side and thrill at her scream.

  She flips to her back holding her midriff with one hand and trying to reach for my feet with the other. “Please, please don’t...”

  “Oh, no, you don’t, bitch.” I stamp on her outstretched wrist pinning it to the floor.

  Her bloodcurdling screams send my heart racing. I’ve never felt so alive. But I’m aware the noise she’s making will alert the neighbours or any passers-by. I need to shut her up. And quickly.

  I straddle her, sitting on her chest, and notice her breathing is suddenly shallow and laboured.

  She is having some kind of panic attack. She stops struggling against me and instead tries to focus on getting enough oxygen into her lungs.

  This gives me a delicious moment to inspect her exquisite face.

  The light from the landing illuminates the room, but her face is in the brightest strip close to the slightly open doorway.

  Her cat-like green-grey eyes are rolling. Her chest heaves with every breath made even more difficult with my weight on her.

  Is she having a fit? I’d never witnessed anything as totally thrilling before.

  Once again, I feel a stirring between my legs, and I press the fingers of my free hand there.

  Natasha seems oblivious of me while her own body struggles to perform the most basic of functions.

  I consider grinding my crotch onto her dying face, and the thought alone sends wave after wave of ecstasy pumping into my jeans.

  My orgasm makes me groan and shudder.

  Then, suddenly repulsed by what only seconds ago had delighted me, I roar and slam the knife into the side of her head directly above the ear.

  I know the blade is sharp—I’d spent hours sharpening it myself. But I didn’t expect it to slice through a skull with such ease.

  The result is instant.

  Natasha stops moving. Her eyes freeze mid-stare.

  I lean forwards. My face so close to hers, I could lick her. I stare into her dead, unseeing eyes for a while.

  Chapter 18

  After a chaotic breakfast with the kids, and having to change his shirt at the last minute because of Jacob’s jammy fingers, Adam arrived at the station ten minutes late for the briefing.

  On the upside, Cal and Frances seemed okay. They were huddled together over their morning coffee at the kitchenette table.

  “Right, team, can we do this?” Adam said, heading to the huge whiteboard at the back of the room.

  They all congregated behind him, dragging chairs with them.

  “Okay. Let’s go through the facts. To date we have three murders, and prima facie, all committed by Miles Muldoon.”

  They nodded, settling down. Les and Julie both scribbled on pads.

  "There have been zero sightings of the suspect since Tuesday, the day of the first murder. His fingerprints and DNA were found at the first murder scene, and I'm in no doubt today's results will put him at the second as well."

  “Michael Curtis..." He pointed to a grainy image of a grey-haired gentleman. "...a sixty-eight-year-old retired naval officer, suffered sixteen stab wounds to his upper body and head. The blade, one of the neighbour's kitchen knives, had snapped off in his skull. Muldoon’s fingerprints were found on the knife handle and crowbar left at the adjoining property belonging to Sally Kemp, his ex-girlfriend. The words, DIE YOU BITCH, had been smeared in faeces across her bedroom wall."

  “Dirty bastard,” Les said.

  “We’ve also had confirmation the blood on the clothing discovered in Muldoon’s car boot belonged to Michael Curtis.”

  “Surprise, surprise,” Frances said.

  “Indeed.” He nodded. “Sally Kemp, some of you may be aware, is the daughter of Charlie Kemp, our ex—Chief Constable.”

  “I remember little Sally as a girl,” Ginger Dave said. “She was beautiful back then with milky white skin and masses of red hair.”

  Adam nodded. “She’s just as beautiful as an adult, but has shitty taste in men, by all accounts. Anyway, Charlie Kemp is in the late stages of cancer, and Sally has taken time off work to help care for him at home.”

  His eyes involuntarily sought out Frances which caused awkward glances from the others.

  Adam coughed and turned back to the board. “We’ve arranged for a public protection unit to be based at the property for a couple of nights as Mister Kemp can’t be moved.”

  “Good call, boss,” Dave said.

  “Yeah, but we can’t justify blowing the budget on a whim, so we need results ASAP.” He turned his back again. “Okay, next up, Lana and Dean Davis.” The image taken from Lana’s Facebook page looked nothing like the serious young woman they’d met a couple of days ago. “The father and daughter were found still in their sleeping positions in bed, their throats cut ear to ear. Lana is another of Muldoon’s ex-girlfriends, and we believe Dean had assaulted Muldoon on Tuesday for mistreating his daughter. A message of YOU DESERVE IT was once again written in faeces on the wall. Lana’s mother lives in Devon and should arrive today to identify the bodies. Anything else, Cal?”

  Cal got to his feet, and everybody turned to face him.

  “Just last night’s news. Natasha Barker, yet another ex, gave a doozie of an interview. She slagged off Muldoon and Sally. Clearly, this was a scorned woman hitting back. But she gave a lot of facts away, and we’ve had several irate phone calls already this morning. Oh, and the DCI is gunning for you, boss.”

  Adam shrugged. “Thanks, Cal. Frances and I will pay Miss Barker a quick visit this morning although a bit after the fact. The best we can do is ignore it and hope it dies down. Anybody else want to share anything?”

  Ginger Dave raised his hand. “I went through Muldoon’s phone and work computer, going back four years. I found nothing untoward. Even the small amount of pornography was as vanilla as it gets. This guy was squeaky clean up until Tuesday this week, and he vanished off the face of the earth, if you don’t count the murders, of course. He’s not touched his bank account or anything, and the five hundred quid he withdrew on Tuesday won’t last him long.”

  “Thanks, Dave. How about you, Les? Julie?”

  “We’ll be interviewing all the staff at Pinevale Publishing today. They’re setting up an interview room for us, unless you’ve anything else for us to do, boss?”

  “I wish I had. If we don’t get anywhere today, we’ll all be twiddling our thumbs by tomorrow,” Adam said.

  “There is one thing,” Julie said, surprising everyone. She usually stood behind Les and let him do all the talking. “The Sentinel Hotel where Muldoon was staying doesn’t have CCTV, but the key card was last used around 6pm on Tuesday.”

  “Yeah, but it doesn’t show what time he left the room, and he didn’t take the card out of the power slot,” Frances said.

  Adam sensed a little competition between the women. Frances had had them all to herself for the past year, and now she had to share them all with a younger and extremely astute woman.

  “Yeah, but we know the time of death for the first victim was around 2.00am. Sally received a call from him at 8.15pm and we can safely say he made the call from his hotel room as that was the last call made, and he left the phone behind. If he didn’t let himself back into the hotel after 6pm then he had to be there when he made the call.”

  “Valid point, Julie. Well done.”

  “So we can scour the CCTV footage from the main
roads for any cars approaching the roundabout between 8.15pm and 2.00am,” Julie said, clearly pleased with herself.

  “Wonderful, and while you’re at it, check all the cab firms. Muldoon got from the hotel to the apartments somehow. He could’ve walked, but then I’m sure somebody would have spotted him.” He jumped to his feet. “Right, you lot. We need results today. You ready, Frances?”

  *

  “How are you today?” he asked, once they were in the car heading to The Bed Superstore.

  “I’m okay. Oh, and thanks for talking to the others for me.”

  “No worries. I presume they were all good this morning?”

  “Yes. Cal called me when he got home yesterday which made it easier. They were all lovely today.”

  “Good. They were all devastated, just so you know. Amanda too.”

  She smiled, sadly, and nodded. “I know. So what are you going to say to our Ms Barker? How do you want to play this?”

  “I’ll tell her to go in hiding, give her the wild shites, as Cal would say.”

  She chuckled. “Yeah, he cracks me up with that.”

  “She must have known she was jeopardising our investigation. I’d like to throw her in the clink for twenty-one days.”

  Frances raised her eyebrows, a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. “A bit severe, don’t you think, boss?”

  “No more than she deserves, in my opinion. Some people have no regard for others.”

  “Is something wrong?”

  “What do you mean?” he asked, glancing at her, then back to the road.

  “You seem tetchy. Has something happened at home?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Mary found Amanda’s newspaper cuttings about the paedophile ring. Amanda’s devastated as you can imagine.”

  She sucked air in through her teeth.

  “And Mary also asked if she was the baby Amanda gave up for adoption.”

  Frances had discovered Mary was Amanda’s actual daughter at the same moment he had. She swore to keep it to herself, and this was the first time they’d mentioned it since that day.

  “Yikes! What did Amanda say to that?”