CHAPTER ONE – STARKLE, STARKLE, LITTLE TWINK…

Lifting the eyebrow had been a big mistake.

It was a face; that he was sure about, bloody grinning at him too. Sure, why not? If anyone deserved the piss taken it was he. Perhaps it was his; he was certainly off his face. The state he was in was bad enough, but he knew he deserved worse, far worse.

Nine sodding years of orange juice and cola down the proverbial. That doctor, what was his name? Strangeways? Strange bloody name. ‘Next time, you’re dead. Your last chance.’

Well, he’d shown all of them, hadn’t he? Nine years, and they hadn’t given him six months. Georgie B, eat your heart out. A couple of years in, when he began to hope he might just have started to crack it, he googled ‘liver damage’. It told him the same as the quacks: the liver would have recovered some, but the scarring stayed, for life. What was left of it.

If he needed an excuse, the Chief Super had delivered it. The two of them went back a long way, to when Geoff Taylor was wearing new sergeant’s stripes and Hunter had just made detective. Taylor had never been one to mince words.

‘I’ve only got one thing to say, John: it was a right royal fuck-up. Entirely your fuck-up. And I don’t have to tell you, probably your last.’

Because of that fuck-up, Petra Slanik was dead.

Sure, she’d been hanging on to life by the thinnest of threads and likely to die anyway, but that made it no easier. He’d sat by her bed for nearly an hour after they’d finished sticking tubes and needles and electrical gadgets into and onto her. It was not the actions of a tough city cop, and it was the first time in his long career that he’d done anything remotely like it. He still did not know why. Maybe because she was the first one they’d found alive, and he felt somehow responsible for the others: Susan Klee, Janette Crask, Alice Mayne. He knew every detail of their lives by heart, and could see their faces in his dreams; Christ, he’d spent enough time looking at their photographs and histories on the white boards.

He’d had the job locked up so tight a cockroach couldn’t get through; policewomen in nurse’s uniforms checking the room every few minutes, a brown-overalled copper doing a janitor’s job on the floor outside, two detectives poncing around with stethoscopes round their bloody necks and Glocks strapped to their bodies under their white coats, and four armed men with him in the nurses’ room at the end of the corridor. Damned near enough to start a bloody war. Just the bill for the job would be enough to send the Home Secretary’s blood pressure through the roof. He was positive: if the Badger showed up, they’d have him. The room was on the third floor, the corridor the only approach.

The Badger showed up all right, using the window-cleaners’ hoist and a diamond glasscutter.

The alarm note on the monitor in the nurses’ room had them all charging down the corridor. He was first in.

Petra’s throat had been slashed from ear to ear, a quick botch job, and blood was still spurting with her last remaining heartbeats over the bed covers and onto the floor.

It was not the Badger’s MO, but then he’d fucked-up too, hadn’t he? She hadn’t died like the others after he’d cut her. He wouldn’t make that mistake again

CHAPTER TWO – WHAT THE HELL YOU ARE, I THINK….

He tried rolling over in bed and the pain in his head almost made him scream.

How much fucking whisky had he put away? He vaguely remembered buying a bottle in the off-licence near the cop shop and opening it as soon as he hit the car seat. After that it was a blank. If he’d driven home he couldn’t remember a yard of it. Sweat had soaked the bed and what he was wearing. Sixteen days into one of the longest heat waves on record; the night-time temperature had not fallen below seventeen Celsius, and the body trying to sweat the booze out had made it far worse.

He tried easing one eye open. That bloody face again; the Mickey-Mouse-with-a-permanent-take-the-piss-grin clock that Marie had brought with her when she moved in, and had the good sense not to take with her when she moved out. Thank God he hadn’t been with it enough to set the bloody alarm.

The damned thing started to ring. No, it didn’t, it was his mobile on the bedside table. Keeping his eyes firmly closed, he grabbed for it and pressed the ‘on’ switch.

He grunted.

‘John, are you all right?’

‘Not so’s you’d notice.’

‘Christ, you sound pissed.’

‘As a fart.’

‘Jesus! And you a teetotaller. D’you want me to come round?’

‘Janie, if you’re coming for a quick shag, believe me, it’s out of the question.’

‘In your dreams, soldier. I can make you a coffee.’

‘Thanks anyway. I’ll see you later.’

‘Everyone’s looking for you. Carlisle’s right pissed off. You’d better have a damned good excuse.’ She switched off.

In seven months Jane Bliss had become a good pal and had proved more than once that she was a damned good copper, even though to start with he’d hated having a ‘pest’, as the fast trackers were known, as a partner. They tended to be distrusted for years by the old-timers, and boy, you bet he was a member of that club! Best of all, she backed him all the way, no matter how wrong he was. He knew he was not doing her any favours; working with him she’d be tainted with the same suspicion he was, but he’d never change. When his long-time partner, Wes Halford, had retired, he’d guessed they’d give him another superannuated, tired old body, to slow him down. Give or take Taylor, and possibly Superintendent Ralph Cutter, he was far from being a blue-eyed boy with the rest of the hierarchy, particularly Chief Inspector bloody Carlisle, sod his eyes. Maybe the Chief Super had arranged it, hoping to spruce him up a bit. Leastways, Jane was easy on the eye: an inch shorter than he was, a genuine, not a suicide blonde, with dancing blue eyes, a high-cheeked, attractive, but thankfully not pretty-pretty face, a ready wit for her age and a figure to die for. Best of all, she was unattached. He fancied her something rotten, but she wouldn’t play ball, and he’d all but given up trying. Not that she was putting it about anywhere else, at least not as far as he knew, and he was a bloody detective, after all. He’d never seen her phone or meet a man, and if there was one she was keeping him well hidden. She hadn’t given out any vibes that might hint she was gay, but then they didn’t, did they? He guessed he was just too old for her twenty-three year old body. Twenty bloody three and already a DI, with a law degree from London University and fast-tracked through Bramshill, and here he was at thirty-nine, the same fucking Inspector rank, and no one to blame but himself. And, he had to face it, bloody lucky to still be one. Even that was down to Taylor, who’d saved his bacon when he’d crashed, and several times since. She’d impressed him most with her reaction to being sexually hassled by Jim Relsus, another of the DIs, who’d pushed his luck too far with what he saw as fresh new game. She’d come out with the most wonderfully salacious put-down Hunter had ever heard, and he’d heard more than a few, not repeating herself once, and keeping it going for over a minute. He couldn’t remember all of it, but it started with, ‘You fucking ignorant, jumped-up, never-come-down, syphilitic, pox-ridden, arsehole-creeping clown…’ From that moment, she was ‘in’, as far as he was concerned. She was quite a girl.

He groaned. Jesus, the sweat was bad enough, but if he didn’t get out of bed right now he’d soon be lying in piss. The pain in his bladder was nearly as bad as the one in his head.

Keeping his eyes closed he levered himself onto his feet and felt his way into the bathroom, sitting down to pee. Having to concentrate where the stream was going would be pushing it. Anita, his ex, would be proud of him, he knew. Towards the end, when recriminations were flying fast and loose, she’d told him one of the main reasons she’d married him was that he always lifted the seat, no matter how pissed he was. In her mind, it raised him far above most of his fellow men. From the state of the bogs at work, and those he’d been in all over the country and abroad, he knew what she meant.

Remembering the detox process he knew what the next six months would be like after falling off the wagon. It was going to be hell on Earth again. Stupid, stupid bastard! And what he should have been doing was going after the killer, instead of wallowing in self-pity.

Still on the throne he took the plunge and opened first one eye then the other. Shit! The pain felt as if it was splitting his skull in two, but he stuck it out, and gradually it diminished to the point where he dared to pull himself upright, holding onto the edge of the sink, and look in the mirror.

The face that stared at him was one he hardly recognised. It was an old man’s face, sagging and rheumy-eyed, with mussed-up pepper and salt hair falling haphazardly all over it.

He stuck the plug in the hole and ran cold water till the sink was nearly overflowing, then painfully lowered his head until his face was under water. He left it there until he needed to breathe again.

It did wonders, but the face in the mirror hadn’t improved any. One thing he noticed: he was still wearing the trousers and shirt from the day before.

The house phone rang and he waddled into the living room, wincing with each step, and picked it up.

A cultured voice he’d heard three times before and knew instantly told him, ‘You have let me down badly, John. When I chose you I never imagined that you would go on the bottle again. I was watching you. I could have killed you any time I wanted.’

‘You fucking bastard! Why d’you have to slit her throat?’

‘Unfinished business, John. You can understand that, I’m sure. You’re a pretty tired old cop, but even you don’t like to leave a job unfinished, do you? Well, neither do I. I was worried about you, thought you might drown in your own vomit, but it sounds as if you’ll live. You will need to leave the whisky and vodka alone, and you really should have locked your door last night. There are dangerous people about; you should know that. By the way, I took a little memento of our time together; I hope you don’t mind. Just remember, keep off the booze. I do not want a second-rate drunkard looking for me. I want a challenge, and I expected that from you. Don’t prove me wrong, John. You will never catch me unless your brain is a hundred percent. Oh, no, that is not correct; I’ll rephrase it: you’ll never catch me. Oh, and no wonder your girlfriend left you; Marie, wasn’t it? You snore so very loudly. Keep well.’

Hunter slammed the handset onto the telephone base, picked the whole thing up and threw it onto the parquet flooring, where it smashed into dozens of pieces and sent chips flying out of the real wood floor that had cost him over a grand. The bastard wouldn’t be able to ring him again. And how had he got the number? It was ex-directory.

Bloody hell! He’d been in the flat!

He steered a wobbly course to the door, almost tripping over something on the way, and tried the handle.

‘Oh, shit.’ He couldn’t believe he’d been so fucking stupid. Fuck the booze. And what was that about a memento? What had the bastard taken?

He looked around at the clutter he could never be bothered to clear up since he’d been on his own. Nothing seemed to be missing, but he saw what he’d almost tripped over: a half litre vodka bottle with the top off, empty; the one he’d kept in the cupboard to prove to himself that he’d beaten the booze, and wasn’t that a fucking laugh? Grain and potato together; it was no wonder he felt bloody lousy.

He could feel his bunch of keys in his pocket, pressing into his thigh, so they were safe; he kept no money in the place, and no valuables, except, oh, no! Not his grandfather’s gold hunter!

The kitchenette had been described as ‘compact’ in the real estate literature, and he wouldn’t have tried to swing a moggy in it even if he’d had one, but he’d managed to fit in a small washing machine that hadn’t been used since Marie left. He pulled open the powder drawer at the top. The plastic bag was still there, the watch sealed inside it.

What the hell had he taken then?

The wallet? No, it was still in his jacket pocket. No worries there, or were there? He opened it up and checked his cards. All present and correct, but the bastard might have taken a note of the numbers and security codes. They’d all have to be changed, along with the locks. Marie’s face still looked out at him from behind her plastic cover, so he hadn’t taken her picture. There was just the one behind it, the one he kept hidden, because of all the bad memories it brought. He pulled Marie’s photograph forward. It was gone: the only picture he had of his daughter Patricia.

He let out a roar that would have been heard at the corner of the street. The fuck-pig had taken the only thing in the world he still valued.

He slammed his hand into a cupboard door in frustration, wanting so badly to hurt the perp and only hurting himself in the process.

Getting in to work was urgent, and he’d have to hurry, but no way could he go without trying to smarten himself up a little.

He showered and shaved, put on clean pants and shirt and one of his better work suits, combed his hair and looked in the mirror.

He still looked ten years older than yesterday, but it would have to do.

Hitting the street he had to close his eyes again. The way he felt it should be pissing down with rain. Instead, that bloody great yellow orb was hitting him with rays so blinding out of a cloudless sky that the urgent need was for the darkest pair of sunglasses he owned.

They were in the glove compartment of his old Ford Mondeo, which was parked badly askew in his reserved space. He’d driven home. What a prat! If a uniform had stopped him it would’ve been the end of the whole shebang. Till last year the relationship between plainclothes and uniform had been good. Sure, they’d always taken the piss out of each other, but had mutual respect. Just the two cases, where CID had sorted out a few of the bad apples had soured things to the point where now there was bloody near open war.

He checked the door of the old banger. It was unlocked. Fucking idiot! He kicked the wheel in frustration and damned near crushed his toe. The air turned blue.

No way would he drive in. It would have to be a taxi, but he needed to cover up his boozy breath first.

He walked to the corner and turned right. A hundred yards brought him to the Blue Diamond Indian takeaway he used. It was closed, but he banged on the door for over a minute, till the owner, bleary-eyed, opened the door. He was angry and trying not to look it. You didn’t upset the police, ever.

Hunter shrugged, ‘Sorry, Sammy, I badly need your help. I can’t go in smelling of booze. Can you find me something to mask it?’

Sansiranjit took one look and felt sorry for him. He wasn’t too bad for a cop and he was a good customer; always insisted on paying, not like most of his sort.

‘A really hot curry, laced with lots of garlic, Mr H?’

Hunter tried to force a grin but couldn’t manage it.

‘You’re a lifesaver, Sammy.’

It fell on stony ground: ‘No, Mr H. I cannot swim, but I am bloody good cook!’

‘That you are.’ And a lifesaver, he added, under his breath.

‘Sit down. I put in microwave.’

‘Don’t heat it up too much. I’m late.’

It was one of Sammy’s hottest, and must have had half a bottle of chilli in with the curry. It broke the sweat out on his forehead, but strangely enough the spicy food made him feel almost like a human being again, even though he was disgusted with himself. Curry for breakfast; how bloody low can you go?

‘How much, Sammy?’

‘On the house, Mr H. It was left over from last night.’

‘And you’d have kept dishing it up for the rest of the week, so how much?’

‘Two pounds to you, Mr H.’

Hunter took a fiver from his wallet, ‘Here. It was worth ten times that.’

There were always taxis cruising his area of Lambeth and he picked one up within minutes in Black Prince Road.

CHAPTER THREE – NOT UNDER THE AFFLUENCE OF INCAHOL…

The buzz of conversation died as he walked into SCD1, and then started up again with more intensity. Ahead of him someone began humming ‘Deep in the Heart of Texas’

As he passed Detective Inspector Glen Cain’s desk the humming changed to words, ‘Our Johnno’s right - in the shite, deep in the doggie’s doo-dah.’ Hunter kept his eyes forward, deliberately ignoring the smirk on the DI’s face.

Jane, sitting at her desk by the far wall, glanced over. She looked worried. He produced a huge grin and a wave and walked straight through into Carlisle’s office, without knocking.

The DCI looked up angrily, ‘Just where the bloody hell do you think you’ve been?’ He pointed at his watch.

He was only one year older than Hunter, but had gone badly to seed, although he paid over the odds for hand-mades, trying to appear suave. He never would. He was one of those unfortunates with bristly black hair whose beard never stops growing. There was grey in it too now, and he always looked as if he’d just got up and come to work without troubling with the bathroom mirror or a razor. Though he was sitting down it was still possible to see that he was over six feet in height, two inches taller than Hunter, with the build to match. A ‘strictly-by-the-book-don’t-stick-your-head-up-over-the-parapet’ attitude had got him slowly promoted to his present level of incompetence, and he hated Hunter with the deep, burning hatred that only a lesser man can feel for a more able but subordinate colleague who fails to acknowledge his superior rank. Beyond that, he still got pains where the jawbone had been reset after Hunter had broken it.

‘I’ve been going round every snitch I’ve got, trying to get a lead. I ought to claim for ten hours overtime.’

As soon as he opened his mouth, Carlisle got a whiff of his breath.

‘Jesus Christ! What the fuck have you been eating? You smell like a bad week in Mombai!’

‘Is it still there from last night? Jesus, that was twelve hours ago. I met one of them in an Indian place, and it had to look authentic.’

‘I don’t believe one word of it, and if I thought for one second you’d been on the piss, Hunter...’

John gave him his broadest grin, ‘Shit, Chief. You know I never touch the stuff.’

‘Okay, get out. Keep me informed in future, and don’t call me ‘Chief’.’

‘No, Chief.’ He turned and opened the door.

Jane got up and joined him, and they walked through the room and out into the corridor.

‘You’re a crafty sod, John, and you stink, but at least it’s covered up the smell of booze. Good job you haven’t got a woman.’

‘No, Jane. It’s not a good job. If I had a woman, I wouldn’t have got rat-arsed last night.’

‘Yes, you would. You just wouldn’t have gone home.’ She laid a hand on his arm, ‘Look, John, I know how you felt. We all did. Hell, I think I’d have gone on the piss myself if I’d been in your shoes. It was a lousy deal; you could never have foreseen what that bastard would do.’

He looked into her eyes, ‘That’s the whole point, Jane; I should have. I wasn’t thinking outside the box, and he bloody was. He even came to take the piss, the bastard. He was in my flat last night.’

‘What?’

‘He was in my bloody flat, while I was out cold. He took Trish’s picture, the only one I had of her.’

‘Oh, John. I’m so sorry.’

He shrugged, ‘Life goes on.’

She was puzzled, ‘How do you know he was in your place?’

‘He phoned me, this morning.’

‘Christ. Have you told Carlisle?’ She saw his look, ‘You bloody haven’t, have you? You stupid sod. He’ll have your guts if he finds out. He…’ She stopped as two detectives came out into the corridor.

She waited until they’d disappeared round the corner before continuing, with her voice lowered.

‘What did he say?’

‘Just bragged a bit about being there, and then said I’d never catch him. He did say he’d chosen me, whatever that meant.’

‘Now that really does have me worried. You’ll have to tell Carlisle, John.’

‘And he’d have me off the case quicker than you can get your knickers down. He’d say I was personally involved and there was conflict of interest; any bloody thing to get me away from the action. Look, I’ll tell Taylor, and I’ll do whatever he says. At least that way I’m covered. What worries me is that if he’s targeting me, you’re in the firing line too. He may come after you to get at me.’

‘Did he mention me?’

‘No, but he’s a bloody psychopath, Jane. He’s obviously been watching me, and therefore you. Who knows what twisted paths their minds follow? I think you need to be watched over.’

She laughed, ‘If that’s your way of trying to get me to move in with you, you can forget it right now.’

He lifted both hands, ‘A man can only try. Seriously, how’s the security at your place?’ He’d never been invited in when he’d picked her up or dropped her off.

‘It’s tight. The outer door is electronic and only opens if a tenant let’s someone in. I had the lock changed on my flat door when I moved in. The one that was on it was just a straightforward Yale type. There’s a five-mortise deadlock on it now, one recommended by our tech guys, and top and bottom bolts, as well as a security chain, and an eyehole.’

‘Make sure you don’t let anyone in unless you know and trust them.’

She grinned, ‘That let’s you out then, John.’

He shook his head sadly, ‘More’s the pity, Jane. You don’t know what you’re missing.’

‘You know what they say, ‘If you’ve never had it, you won’t miss it’.’

‘And you’re telling me you’ve never had it?’

Her grin died instantly, and the light seemed to go out of her eyes. For just a split second she looked as though she hated him, and he realised he’d overstepped some line he’d not been aware of, but for the life of him couldn’t think how. Normally she’d accept a joke with the best of them.

He saw her force a grin back onto her face as she replied, ‘Not with you anyway, nor likely to.’

‘You will be careful though?’

Soberly she told him, ‘I will be careful. I do know how dangerous this perp is.’

‘What did Carlisle have to say at the briefing this morning?’

‘Your ears would have been burning if you’d been awake. He called it a ‘salutary lesson, which he hoped had been learned. Serious mistakes had been made in underestimating the unsub and in the running of the operation.’ He went on about the cost and the AC’s displeasure. He kept looking at the door while he was speaking, and I could see he was bitter and twisted that you weren’t there to hear the few kind words he was saying about you. I think that’s why he was so bloody angry with you. You denied him his moment of triumph.’

‘He’d like to have me transferred to the Trident and Trafalgar OCU.’

‘Oh, no. He’d want to find something far worse for you than black community gun crime. I think he’d form a post in Siberia for you if he could. He really hates you, John. Why?’

‘It’s a long story, Jane. I might get around to telling you about it one day. Was there anything new?’

‘No. She was drugged before he bled her, just like the others, but he cocked up the dosage, they think because she was a stone or so heavier than his previous victims. She was only out for a few minutes; not long enough to bleed out, and that’s how she managed to live.’

‘But not for long, due to me.’ He said bitterly.

‘It was not your fault, John. Stop beating yourself with it. All three doctors who treated her said she had at most a ten percent chance of survival, and even if she did live it was almost a given that she’d be a vegetable for the rest of her life. She’d lost a hell of a lot of blood, and her brain had been deprived for too long.’

‘Ten percent is a damned sight better than none. Have they decided what the drug is yet?’

‘Forensics are not sure. They know it wasn’t rohypnol or gamma hydroxyl butyrate; the ketamine levels weren’t high enough. The urine ‘drugs-of-abuse’ screen couldn’t identify it. Janet Keller is the senior forensic working on this one. You know her, don’t you?’

The way she said ‘know’ made Hunter wonder if she’d been checking up on his past. Not too many people were aware that he and Janet Keller had been an item for a while after Anita had left him. She’d helped him through the divorce and for a year afterwards. He’d always blamed the job for his failure to keep women, but deep down he knew it was the devil that drove him they couldn’t stand. Truth to tell he couldn’t stand himself some days. With Marie, his last live-in lover, it had been different: the sex had been terrific and twice daily at the start, but it gradually went down to two or three times a week. Then for a month he hadn’t been able to get it up, for the first time in his life, and she got the fixed but completely wrong idea he was seeing someone else. He’d bought some generic Viagra that worked for a while, but she knew he’d gone off her, and that was that. Truth to tell, he was glad she’d gone. Sex was the only thing they’d had in common. She hated his music and his choice of food, and conversation was almost non-existent. The human mind was a funny thing: he had gone off her, and though he enjoyed sex as much as the next man it had to be with someone he wanted to shag, and not out of duty.

‘Yes, I know her. I’ll have a chat with her later; see if she’s got any ideas she’s not sharing. What have we got today?’

The two of them were one of the teams in SCD1, the Met’s Homicide and Serious Crime Command, responsible for the investigation of homicide, attempted homicide and infanticide, as well as abduction and missing persons cases where it was suspected that death might follow as a result, and Hunter had been in the unit for over ten years. Compared with today the job then had been a doddle. With the exception of a couple of serial killers the murders were domestics, which were easily solved, and organised crime killings, which were anything but. Now, every man and his bloody dog seemed to be at it, and street gangs were responsible for the major part of their work.

She pulled three sheets of folded A4 out of her top pocket and opened them out, one by one.

‘Michael Speed, nineteen, lives with his mum and dad. Went out for fish and chips at nine-forty yesterday evening and never came back. Maureen Calthorpe, twenty-two, told her partner on the phone at ten o’clock that she was just going to take a bath and would see him when he left off. He was still at work as a computer nerd at one of the City banks, and works evenings. When he got home the front door was open and there was no sign of Maureen. The stupid bugger didn’t report it until this morning, when he woke up and found she still wasn’t there. He said he thought she’d gone out to buy something from the corner shop and was so tired he fell asleep.’

‘Have we got a description?’

Jane gave him one of her ‘you’re ahead of me again’ looks. ‘You really are a bloody Klugscheisser, you know.’

‘Shoulder-length dark hair, brown eyes, attractive and in one of the professions.’

‘Give the man the money! A solicitor, recently qualified. Works for Maple, Ward and Green, one of the top legal defence firms in the City.’

‘Where does she live?’

‘Brent Cross. She’s got a flat in one of those new condos.’

‘What’s the third one?’

‘George Clunes, a pensioner. Says his wife is trying to poison him.’

‘It has to be Maureen first. She fits the bill exactly, but it’s not his MO. He kills them in their own homes. Unless he’s gone up-market. No, this has to be something else. He couldn’t manage to be in two places at once. If he was in my flat he wouldn’t have been able to abduct her at the same time. More to the point, he would have taken great pleasure in telling me about it on the phone this morning if he’d done another one. There’s been no call, like the others?’

‘No.’

‘He always calls so that we can find his handiwork. I’m convinced this isn’t him, but it’s serious anyway. She didn’t just have a bath and walk out. Let’s go and talk to the nerd.’

CHAPTER FOUR – SAD FIGURES ON A BLANK CANVAS

There wasn’t a multi-storey or any other sort of car park within walking distance of the address. Hunter parked the unmarked Astra on a double yellow and stuck the ‘Police on Duty’ card on the dashboard.

The building was almost new and obviously expensive, in an area that was becoming popular with the in-crowd, and had eight floors. The girl lived on the top floor. They pressed the flat number button and after a wait of almost half a minute a voice asked them who they were.

Hunter said ‘Police’, and the electronic door buzzed. Jane pushed it open and they took the lift to the eighth floor.

The door to the flat was open and a lanky male figure stood in the gap, looking as if he’d just got out of bed; straggly, sandy-coloured hair falling over his face. Six feet two and as thin as a beanpole, unshaven, bleary-eyed, and wearing a blue-striped pyjama jacket over a pair of beige slacks.

‘You have me at something of a disadvantage. One was asleep.’ His accent was upper class, and in Hunter’s opinion probably genuine.

‘You are?’

‘Martyn Smythe-Watson - that’s with a hyphen.’

Yes, it bloody well would be.

‘You reported that your partner was missing. Have you heard from her?’

‘Not a word.’

‘Has she ever gone missing like this before?’

‘No. Never.’

‘How long have you been together?’

‘Oh, what is it now? June...about eight months.’

Even while speaking, Hunter had done his thorough check of the room and its contents. A ‘knocker’, one of the itinerant antique dealers whose modus operandi was to go round knocking at doors, offering a fiver for something they knew was worth a couple of hundred, had once told him that he was as good as anyone he knew in the profession at sizing up and valuing everything in sight at a glance. He’d come across quite a number of burglars who could do exactly that as well. This room had not been furnished from Ikea. Even the red velvet drapes would have been a couple of grand at least. The real leather red three-piece had probably cost six months of his salary, and the two large paintings on the walls looked like original Hockneys.

‘How long was it between when you spoke on the telephone and when you arrived here?’

‘I don’t know; two hours, maybe a bit longer. I leave off at midnight and it takes me twenty minutes or so to get here.’

‘And she phoned at ten?’

‘Or thereabouts. I wouldn’t like to swear to it.’

‘Are any of her clothes missing? Do you know what she would have been wearing?’

‘Not a clue, old boy. Never take much notice of that sort of thing, you know, unless one is going to a ‘do’, where clothing is specified. Where Maureen’s concerned, it’s more off than on when she’s with me, if you see what I mean.’

Hunter saw exactly what he meant, ‘If you don’t mind me saying so, you don’t seem too worried that she’s missing.’

He shrugged, ‘She’s her own woman. If she wants to go off and do her ‘thing’, then fair enough. Just seemed a little strange. S’why I called you.’

‘Well, you sit down there, Sir, and we’ll do our ‘thing’. I take it you have no objection to the flat being searched?’

‘Why should I? It’s her place, not mine.’

Hunter nodded to Jane, who went through into the corridor, pulling on scene of crime gloves, and then into the bathroom. The first thing she noticed was that someone had peed in the toilet and not flushed it. The white seat was down and there were drops of urine on the front of it. She shook her head in disgust; he might be one of the upper crust, but he was a dirty sod.

The bath was empty, but there was a faint line of scum at the level the water had reached when the woman was having her bath, and she had not wiped it over. Seeing the rest of the flat, where not a thing was out of place, except perhaps for the woman’s partner and his thrown down clothing, Jane was sure Maureen would have cleaned it as an automatic action after drying herself.

The bath towel was not hung up on the hook behind the door or over the rail, but had been thrown over the upright teak chair near the toilet, and again, Jane knew instinctively that the woman would have hung it up. She picked the towel up and held it against her cheek. It was still slightly damp, so Maureen had done what she said she was going to do, up to that point, at least.

Jane went through into the bedroom. The double bed had been slept in, but there was only one indentation, and the couple of stray hairs on the pillow were not dark, but the same colour as the hyphenated Watson’s.

One lady’s maroon silk slipper lay on the floor near the door and the other by the bed. The bedside rug was askew and rumpled in one corner. The man could have done that when getting into or out of bed, or it could be signs of a struggle. A man’s shirt and jacket lay on a chair by the side of the bed, with shoes and socks beneath it.

She opened one of the wardrobe doors and found more than thirty full-length dresses and over forty pairs of shoes beneath them. Out of interest, she looked at a couple of dress labels. Ricardo Tisci and Versace. She let out a low whistle. The clobber in that wardrobe alone would pay for her flat and her car. The disappearance began to look as if it could be a kidnap for ransom. At least, it wouldn’t be down to the Badger, and John would be glad of that.

He came through the door as she opened the second wardrobe. That one was full of suits, all hand-made. She checked a label: Chanel.

Beneath the suits, and next to another two dozen pairs of shoes was a clothes bin. She lifted the lid and checked the contents: just one pair of black frilly knickers and a matching bra. She didn’t look, but knew the label would not be M&S.

The top two drawers contained dozens of sets of underwear, all top designer labels, and the third one down held two vibrators and four dildoes of various shapes, sizes and colours, the black one being twice the size of the next largest. Maureen must be quite a girl.

She hadn’t heard Hunter come up behind her, until she heard his voice as he peered over her shoulder. ‘Hmm.’

She agreed with him, ‘Quite. Hyphen-Watson obviously wasn’t enough for the lady. I agree with you that this isn’t the Badger’s work. From the little I can see, she was grabbed, probably naked, and abducted. Looking at the clothes, she must be worth at least a million, probably a lot more. We need a full SOCO team here, and his ‘Nibs’ will have to get out until they’ve finished. I’ll eat my uniform hat if we don’t hear of a ransom. By the way, the panties she wore yesterday are still there, with the bra.’

‘So definitely not the Badger.’

‘No.’

‘We’ll need to go and see Daddy when we’ve checked the others.’

Jane picked up the man’s clothes, shoes and socks, and they went back through into the lounge, which Hunter had already searched thoroughly, and told Smythe-Watson the score. He didn’t seem at all perturbed as he put on the clothing Jane had laid on the sofa.

‘One was thinking of a week’s salmon fishing in Scotland anyway.’

‘Leave us your details: home address, home and mobile telephone numbers, email address and where we can contact you, and don’t leave the country until we tell you it’s okay to do so.’

‘I beg your pardon! You can’t do that!’

Jane could see Hunter’s face flush, ‘Oh, yes we can, Sunshine. Now be a good boy and give the lady the details.’

He did so, with some reluctance.

‘Now. Who is Maureen? She’s obviously a seriously rich woman. What’s her background?’

‘She’s the daughter of Sir Jeremy Calthorpe, the…’

‘Investment banker.’

‘Yes.’

‘Okay, you can go. We’d like your keys to this apartment, and you are not to return here unless we give you the go-ahead.’

He opened his mouth to speak and then thought better of it. He took a key from his pocket and laid it on the coffee table.

They watched him stomp out of the flat, muttering under his breath.

Jane grinned, ‘There goes one very unhappy bunny.’

‘One who’s never done a day’s work in his life and never intends to. I hate the idle rich.’

He called the details in and arranged for scene of crime officers, saying he’d drop the keys in around lunchtime.

They decided to do the supposed poisoning next, expecting it to be a wild goose chase.

The address was just round the corner from Old Oak Road, East Acton. There was no bell, and Hunter knocked loudly on the newly painted brown door of the 1930s two-up, two-down ex-council house. The door opened about a quarter of the way and a man’s face peered out.

They showed George Clunes their warrant cards and he came out into the miniscule front garden, closing the front door almost to the latch behind him. A man in his late seventies, in Hunter’s estimation, with thinning grey hair and a pleasant, lived-in face; bent with age, but still apparently in pretty good condition and slightly overweight for his five foot nine inch height.

In just over a whisper he told them, ‘She’s in the kitchen now, cooking lunch. She’ll be putting the poison on mine just before she dishes up. That’s what she usually does; I’ve seen her do it. You’ll have to come back in an hour, then you can take my plate away for testing.’

Hunter had heard it all before, many times, and though it sounded laughable and unlikely, it was never something to take lightly or ignore. The old man obviously had some reason for what he was saying, and there was no obvious sign of dementia, although that was often difficult to diagnose, particularly on such early acquaintance.

‘You look pretty healthy to me, George, if you don’t mind my saying so. Her cooking doesn’t seem to be doing you too much harm. What makes you think she’s trying to poison you?’

‘Fish and chips and pizza keep me going. I go and get a takeaway every night, when I tell her I’m going down the pub, ‘cause I’m bloody near starving by then. I only eat a little of what she cooks; I cut the outsides off the spuds and carrots and eat the inside bit. Same with the meat or fish.’

‘You realise that if we come back and take your dinner away with us she’s going to know you suspect her, don’t you?’

‘She bloody knows that anyway. I keep telling her.’

‘Do you want us to have a word with her now? We could ask her outright.’

The old man shook his head angrily, ‘No! I want proof! She’s bloody clever. She wouldn’t tell you, would she?’

‘So you want us to come back in what, an hour?’

‘Yes.’

Hunter sighed, ‘Okay then, George. An hour it is.’

They both turned away, grinning.

At the car, Jane asked, ‘What are the chances?’

‘From my own experience, about fifty-fifty. If he’s right it’s going to be the only way to prove it, unless we could get a warrant to impound every item in the house and have it tested. I can just imagine the outcry at the cost. We could just pooh-pooh the idea and let them get on with it, but if he then died, I’d be on the carpet again, so we’ve got to do something. I think the Service can run to one test, and I might be able to talk Janet Keller into testing it without any paperwork. She can always produce a report if there is poison. I’ve got a couple of large plastic bags in my kit. Wouldn’t want the Service to be charged with the cost of a plate now, would we? Let’s go and see if they’ve found the boy yet.’

The family lived in one of the soulless flat blocks in Southwark, where the lifts were always out of order and the concrete steps never lost the aroma of stale urine.

They were both panting by the time they reached the tenth floor.

Hunter said it for both of them, ‘I hate this job sometimes.’

A still attractive blonde woman in her mid-forties answered the door, looking worried, ‘Yes?’

‘Police, ma’am. We’ve come about Michael.’

‘Come in, please.’ She led them into her lounge, where a much older man sat in one of the armchairs, dozing. She nodded towards the figure and said, ‘My husband. He was out walking the streets till all hours, looking for Michael. He’s bushed. Do sit down.’

She sat in the other armchair, while the two detectives took the sofa.

‘Tell us again exactly what happened last night.’

‘We’d only had a light tea; a crab salad, and Michael said he was still hungry, so he was going to go out for a fish and chip supper. There’s a chippy just round the corner, and when he goes there he brings it home to eat, but he didn’t come back. We’re so worried about him.’

‘Has he ever stayed out before?’

‘No, never.’

‘Has he got a current girl friend?’

‘He’s never had a girl friend.’

‘A male friend, then? Someone he might have gone to, to eat his supper.’

‘No. He’s…educationally challenged.’

‘I see. So he has no close friends?’

‘There are one or two who go to the same centre that he gets on with, but he wouldn’t know where they lived.’

‘How often does he go to the centre, and where is it?’

‘It’s a council-run place, in Newcomen Street, opposite King’s College.’

‘Is it open at night?’

‘No, only during the day. I’ve been round there today and they haven’t seen or heard from him.’

‘Has he got a mobile phone?’

‘Yes, but he left it here when he went out.’

Hunter took out his pocket book, ‘Tell us what he was wearing when he left.’

‘Nike trainers, white with blue trim, blue jeans, a light blue T-shirt and a pullover the same colour, and his green bomber jacket.’

‘Did the jacket have a hood?’

‘No.’

‘That’s good. We should be able to follow him on CCTV. Could we have a picture of him?’

‘Of course.’ She got up, went to the sideboard and took out a packet of photographs. She selected one and passed it to Jane. ‘That’s one of the most recent, taken when we were on holiday in Margate a couple of months ago.’

They got up. Hunter told her, ‘We’ll try to check his movements, and we’ll be in touch. If he does contact you, let me know immediately.’ He gave her a card.

Going down the stairs he confided his fears to Jane, ‘You know, this could end up being a nasty one. The combination of the late hour and the lad’s mental abilities leads me to imagine all sorts of scenarios; none of them good.’

They found the chip shop with no problem. It was open for lunch. The proprietor said he had been there till closing time last night and had not seen the lad, whom he knew well from lots of previous visits.

‘He’s a lovely boy, always so polite, not like a lot of the yobs we get in here.’

‘Do you thinks any of them could have done him harm?’

The man’s face showed sudden fear, ‘Oh, no. Of course not.’

Hunter knew that he meant the exact opposite.

The hour was just about up when they drew up outside the Clunes’ house.

George Clunes answered the door again, and this time led the way along the hall and into the kitchen. Two plates of food were on the table, steaming, and George’s wife was seated on the far side, already eating.

She was at least twenty years younger than her husband; an attractive brunette, with shoulder-length hair curled inward at the ends, wearing a smart grey woollen dress. Her pleasant face was smiling as she looked up and asked, ‘Can we help you?’

George picked his plate up and handed it to Jane.

The woman looked puzzled, ‘What on earth are you doing, George?’

He looked triumphant, ‘Sorting you out, that’s what I’m doing! I’m not going to let you keep poisoning me till I die!’

She laughed, but it sounded forced, ‘You silly old sod, George. I thought you’d been joking all this time. Why should I try to poison you? We live on your pension. Without you, I’d have nothing.’

Jane tried to ease the situation, ‘We’ve received a complaint, Mrs Clunes, and we’ve had to respond. The food will be tested, and then your husband will be assured that you are not trying to poison him.’

Hunter knew in that instant, from the sudden wary look in the woman’s eyes, although the smile stayed on her face, what the result of the testing would be. The old man had been right!

Jane bagged the food and put the plate back down on the table.

‘We’ll be in touch. Thank you.’

Hunter waited until they were at the gate before he pondered aloud, ‘How long before she does a runner?’

‘Looking at the smart way she dresses and keeps herself, I’d say there’s another guy in the picture. The house is in the old boy’s name, I’ll bet, and if he’s gone, she’d own it and her lover could move in. The games up for her now, and I reckon she’ll be out of there in the next couple of hours. Pity we can’t arrest her now on suspicion.’

‘From the statistics I read in a newspaper the other day, if we arrested every partner having sex outside the marriage, there wouldn’t be many married couples left.’

CHAPTER FIVE – THERE COMES A TIDE…….

He hummed as he worked; the scalpels had to be honed and perfectly clean. A workman had to look after his tools. A master craftsman, such as himself, must be even more particular.

It had taken years to track Hunter down after he left prison. The detective had changed jobs and divisions. By sheer luck he’d seen a newspaper article that mentioned him in regard to a murder case he’d been involved with. Having found him, he’d begun making a detailed study of his life. Two years had been consumed in that study before he felt ready. In the event it had been a great disappointment and anticlimax that Hunter had been so easy to get close to, even though he knew it would never happen like that again. He felt cheated; it had been just too easy. It was a quirk of fate that the day he had chosen was the day the detective fell off the wagon again. The man, normally so careful and observant, had tremendous will power, even if he was a bit of a slob in his personal life, and yesterday’s boozing would be an unrepeatable one-off. Finishing the job on Petra had been a necessity. The effect on Hunter had been an unexpected bonus, and the fact that he’d personally caused such a massive upheaval in the detective’s life was exceedingly satisfying.

Who’d have thought that a simple slit throat would have that effect? Good God, the man had seen slit throats before during his long career. What was one more?

It had been a nice touch, taking Patricia’s photograph. He knew that apart from killing the girl, nothing on earth could have hit Hunter harder, and the phone call to make him aware of his loss helped to twist the knife in the wound. It had taken the best part of six months to trace the girl and her mother. He’d been watching them ever since, and knew their daily itineraries perfectly. It made him feel more powerful in that he knew where they were and Hunter didn’t. He could take them whenever he felt like it, though that would have to wait a while. Hunter must be put on the spot a few more times before he did that.

The detective must be feeling really vulnerable now, and would probably change the locks. The wax block with the impressions of all the detective’s keys sat on the desk, waiting to be used. How long would it be before Hunter thought about having his flat and his car checked for bugs? Even a ‘dick’ could have tunnel vision sometimes. Pity he’d left the car at home this morning. He’d have liked to know where his man had been, with that pretty young female detective he was paired up with now. Hunter had his eyes on her for the main chance, he knew. He’d watched and photographed them enough to know, but she wasn’t giving out, at least not yet, and with her history it was unlikely she would. If she ever did, it would be most interesting to make her a Badge Girl, and watch Hunter go right up the wall.

Colleen Wright was to have the honour of being his next girl. She was at work until five in her smart office, working out insurance claims, and would probably stop at the Starbucks on the way home, for her usual chat with her mates.

She, like the others he’d already saved from the horrors of old age, was totally unaware that she was being stalked. Her keys had been so easy to obtain; he’d put on an overall and a sealed, plastic-covered BT/Telecom badge he’d configured on the computer, going round the desks in her office, checking the phones, until she went for a pee. It was the work of only a few seconds to take the keys out of her handbag and get impressions. Twice he’d stood peeking round the edge of the doorway of her bedroom, watching her antics with one-night stands she’d picked up in bars, and many other nights listened to her lustful cries of ecstasy coming from the voice-activated bug he’d installed in her bedroom light fitting, as she did some do-it-yourself with her hand or the sex-toys she kept in the bedside locker. As with the others, he had a full dossier of photos of her, clothed and unclothed. It would be a shame when she died, but he already had her replacement lined up.

He wondered what Hunter was doing at this moment. He’d have his daily assignments to carry out, if he hadn’t been booted out for being pissed. He must have friends in high places, with what he’d got away with over the years - and it was years. Almost thirteen years to the day since he’d stood in the dock, listening to Hunter’s evidence that was going to put him away, even then dreaming of vengeance. Well, they always said it was best served cold, and that was exactly how he meant to dish it up. Hunter was not only going to suffer, he was going to hurt so badly that he’d crack. He was going to lose his job, his pension, and his loved ones, slowly, one at a time, so that the suffering was prolonged. Then he was going to lose his life.

It was time to give him another call, to tweak him a little more. Pity he wasn’t sure of his facts, but whatever calls Hunter had been on, it had to involve either a man or a woman, and with that sort of choice a woman was always favourite.

He dialled Hunter’s mobile, using the Mayne woman’s phone, which would be thrown away immediately after making the call.

When Hunter answered, he asked, ‘How’s the head, John?’

There was stony silence, then, ‘What the hell do you want?’

‘You must be peeved that it wasn’t one of my girls this time. Blame my friend for that one.’

More silence.

‘Don’t you want to know who did it, John?’

The signal came up showing the connection had been cut.

He glowed. Oh, wonderful! He’d obviously hit a nerve there, and he’d made a lucky choice. It had been a woman. If only he knew the details. Hunter never entertained at home, so he’d have to hope that he said something in his car, before he found the bug.

CHAPTER SIX – THE AFFAIRS OF MEN

Jane had watched his face as he took the call, saw he was gritting his teeth and watched the muscles in his cheeks tense.

The ‘What the hell do you want?’ told her who his correspondent was, and she understood when he jabbed his finger on the ‘off’ button.

He was breathing heavily, and she laid a hand on his arm. No way would she tell him the compassion she was feeling for him at that moment, but she wanted to help him regain his equilibrium.

He turned to her and she thought he’d aged ten years in those few seconds.

‘You mustn’t let him get to you, John. You mustn’t. Let him rant and rave, it’ll help to sink him in the end. Next time he calls, be all sweetness and light. He’ll hate it.’

He sighed, ‘You’re right, Jane. I overreacted. I should have listened to what he was going to say. He might have given something away, though I doubt it. Did you hear what he said?’

She nodded, ‘Do you really think he knows who abducted her?’

‘He knew it was a woman.’

‘Or was he just guessing?’

‘Oh, who the hell knows? He’s got me going round in bloody circles, I can tell you that, and as you well know, that’s not me.’

‘Have you considered why he’s targeting you? Is he someone you’ve investigated or put away in the past?’

‘Of course I have, but have you got any idea how many criminals I’ve helped to put inside in the last twenty years? Bloody hundreds.’

‘Any stand out in your mind who’ve threatened revenge?’

‘Only about a hundred of ‘em.’

‘Mm. I see what you mean.’

‘Besides, I have the feeling that this one wouldn’t have mentioned revenge. He’d have been quietly furious and would have hidden any sign of desired retribution. He’s not one of the shouters of this world. He’s a whisperer.’

‘Does that help you?’

He shrugged helplessly, ‘Hell, Jane, there were even more of them. I’ve been wracking my brain, going through the murderers I’ve put away, but if he is one of my busts, it could have been for anything, and I doubt it would have been murder or attempted murder, because he would know I’d get to him sooner or later if it was one of those. No. I believe it would have been for something else, a sex crime, rape, abduction – something of that sort. He’s progressed to murder from lesser crimes.’

‘Have you got a record of your arrests?’

He managed a weak grin, ‘What do you think I’m doing, writing my bloody memoirs? I can remember some that stand out, like the best and worst pupils stand out in a teacher’s memory, but the rest are in a grey cloud. I guess I could go through the records and compile a list of possibles, but it would take halfway to forever, and even then I might not find him’

‘What if I helped you?’

‘You’d do that?’

‘Sure.’

‘Well, okay. You could check every non-murder case where underwear has been taken or a woman has been cut. There’ll be hundreds of them. It’s very…..’

‘Sweet of me? Don’t say it, John. It’s not sweet of me at all. I just want my big, strong partner on top line all the time, and if a few hours of my spare time can do that, well, I’m on.’

‘I never thought I’d say this to a Bramshill brat, but you are a bloody good partner.’

‘I never thought I’d hear it. Thank you.’ She looked at her watch, ‘It’s about time.’

They’d been sitting outside the Calthorpe building for over twenty minutes, waiting until the appointment slot they’d been given to see Maureen’s father.

The interior of the building oozed wealth. The stairs and the reception desk were real black and grey marble, and the smoke-grey armchairs dotted around were not imitation leather.

The svelte redhead behind the counter, whose nametag read ‘Colette’, insisted on seeing their warrant cards before telling them which floor button to press for the lift.

Hunter could never remember one so silent, smooth and swift. The doors opened again only seconds after closing, and a clone of Colette stood waiting for them in the corridor to escort them to Calthorpe’s office.

Jane was impressed. If he could order his staff’s hair colour, he must be some boss.

The executive stood up as they came in and asked them to sit in the two chairs that had been placed in front of his desk. He was a man of about fifty, with dark brown hair that showed not the slightest trace of grey. Hunter imagined regular use of ‘Just For Men’ kept it that way. His features were those that Hunter always associated with the English Royal family – patrician, strong-jawed, prominent cheekbones, handsome and assured. His hand-tailored dogtooth wool suit looked as if it had never been worn until that day. His top-drawer accent was definitely the genuine article.

‘It is not every day that I have a visit from detectives. I do hope I am not under investigation for some heinous crime.’

‘I must apologise for the rather cryptic message we left. I didn’t want any of your staff to understand why we wanted to see you.’

‘Indeed? How intriguing. Now, however, you can tell me?’

‘How close are you to your daughter?’

‘Maureen or Amelia?’ He frowned.

‘Maureen.’

‘We are very close. May I ask why you wish to know?’

‘Have you had a message from or about her in the last twenty-four hours?’

The frown deepened, ‘You are beginning to worry me, Inspector. Has something happened to her?’

Hunter hated this bit. ‘We have good reason to believe she was abducted from her flat last evening. I hasten to add that there were no signs of injury or struggle, so we feel she is well and will be the subject of a ransom demand. You have not yet received one?’

Calthorpe’s face had gone white with anger and worry. He gritted out, ‘No, not yet.’

‘You are aware of British police policy when it comes to ransom demands, Sir Jeremy?’

‘Yes, I am. One of my close friends was subject to the same kind of crime. He acted according to police requests, and his son died as a result. I am not about to make the same mistake. I shall pay, and I have no intention of giving the police any information regarding contact with the kidnappers. I’m sorry, Inspector, that is my last word on the subject. I do thank you for informing me of the abduction, but I and my staff will handle the matter from now on.’ He stood up. ‘I’ll bid you good day.’

Hunter wasn’t quite finished, ‘She had a sort of live-in boyfriend. Have you any knowledge of a family called Smythe-Watson?’

Calthorpe’s face was a picture. His colour had changed from almost white to a deepening red. ‘That….that….!’ He took a deep breath, before continuing, ‘The Smythe-Watsons are a family with a long history, none of it good. They are penniless scroungers, all of them, and the son is the worst of the lot. I warned her of him months ago, when I found out they were seeing each other. If there’s any skulduggery about, you can be sure that family will be up to their ears in it.’

‘Where can I find them?’

‘The last I heard, they had a place near Godalming, an old ruin of a building.’

‘Well, we’ll certainly be looking at them with interest. Thank you for your time, Sir Jeremy. You know, we would like to be informed if you are contacted, or even if you are not. If you want the information restricted, fair enough. Just tell me, and I promise you it will go no further, unless you want it to. We do want to help you.’

Outside on the street Jane said, ‘You know, I felt like a spare concubine at a eunuch’s wedding in there.’

‘I know. Sorry I didn’t include you in the conversation. Men like Sir Jeremy are dyed in the wool misogynists. If I’d brought you into it, he’d have probably clammed up.’

‘Yes, I recognised the type. He’s never met a woman he could feel would be his equal, so he’s never married, but I’ll bet he’s not averse to using women’s bodies for his own pleasure. Don’t worry, I won’t take it to heart. Where now, back to base?’

‘Let’s call in and see if Janet Keller’s about. We can give her George’s dinner and ask about the drug at the same time.’

Janet Keller had been one of the huge team of forensic scientists who worked in the ugly bunker in Lambeth, not far from Hunter’s pad. He’d met her one evening, having a meal in a restaurant nearby after working late, and they’d jelled immediately. Anita had just left him, and Janet had just ended a disastrous, long affair. It worked for both of them and got them through what would have been a miserable time. The old place, which had handled virtually all forensic investigations for the British police force and other agencies, as well as for other countries, had been closed by Government decree in 2011 and most of its work put out to tender. Janet had transferred with around a hundred other scientists to the new police service, SCD4, called the Forensic Services Command Unit.

They found her working at a mass spectrograph machine in an outer office, for once not suited up in the disposable clothing she always wore in the lab.

She looked up and smiled, ‘Hello, stranger. What brings you down to my lair?’

Hunter held up the bag, ‘Brought you some lunch.’

She pulled a face, ‘Don’t think I fancy that much.’

‘Wouldn’t do you a lot of good. We think it’s poisoned. If you could check it off the radar to start with it would be good.’

‘You trying to get me sacked? Every little thing we do now is guided by money pinching bureaucrats. I have to account for every minute.’

‘Well, okay. Do it officially. This is my new partner – work partner, that is, Jane Bliss.’

The two women shook hands and appraised one another while doing so. Hunter noticed and got the feeling they were like two tabby cats considering the attributes of a passing male. Yet again he wondered if Jane Bliss had heard anything about his affair with Janet Keller.

He brought the conversation back to the subject, ‘The other thing is the Badger murders. Have you found out what drug he used?’

‘Not one hundred per cent, but I’m personally sure he’s using an animal tranquilliser, called telezol. It’s a mixture of zolazepam hydrochloride and tiletamine hydrochloride. Works just the same way as ketamine, but telezol is made for use on small animals and includes very little of that drug. It’s used in just about every vet’s surgery in the UK. Its effects wouldn’t last for long in the human body, and he’d need a large dose – much larger than they’d use for an animal, but it would certainly work, and he doesn’t need them unconscious for long, does he? Once they’ve lost enough blood they wouldn’t regain consciousness anyway. I guess if he is using telezol he’d have had to do quite a bit of experimenting with dosage before he got around to using it on his victims.’

‘Would it be any use seeing if any has been stolen from vets?’

She laughed, ‘You could try, but since so much of it is used, they wouldn’t notice if a little went missing every day. He could have a job at a veterinary lab or have an accomplice who has that sort of job. I think you’d be on a loser with that one.’

‘Shame. We urgently need something that would help towards catching him. Was there anything else unusual about the victim?’

‘Nothing that you’d be interested in. She did have raised levels of chorionic genadotrophin.’

‘She was pregnant!’ They said it together.

Janet nodded, ‘Just.’

Hunter pondered, ‘Wonder if the boyfriend knew?’

‘She might not have kept it anyway.’

‘Well, thanks, Janet. We’ll be in touch.’

Their parting smiles told them both there was still something there, and he knew Jane noticed this time.

Outside in the corridor she grinned at him and asked, ‘When?’

He grinned back, ‘Way back before you were born, dearie.’

CHAPTER SEVEN – ONE STEP FORWARD

Before they left the forensic lab, Hunter called Chief Superintendent Taylor on his personal mobile. He told him about the calls and asked for his advice.

‘You’ll have to tell Carlisle, but for Christ’s sake don’t tell him the perp has been in your flat or called your home number. You know he’d love to kick your arse off the case, or come to that kick your arse anyway. For his ears, you’ve only had the one call. That was on your mobile, and you have no idea how he got that number. You can say quite truthfully that it was while you were out today, and Jane can confirm it for you. She’s a good girl, that one, and headed for the heights one day if she’s sensible. She deserves it. Keep me informed, John.’

So Taylor did know Jane Bliss. Interesting. Hunter decided he’d have to look into that one day when he was at a loose end. That brought on a grin as he thought, ‘Loose end? Huh! What film’s that in, then?’

‘Do you know Sir Jeremy Calthorpe, Geoff?’

The line went silent for several seconds.

‘Why do you want to know that, John?’

‘We’re pretty sure his daughter, Maureen, has been kidnapped, and he doesn’t want us involved. Says he’s going to pay.’

‘You’ve been to see him?’

‘We thought he ought to know.’

‘Bloody hell, John. You like playing with fire.’

Hunter was puzzled, ‘You’ll have to explain that, Geoff.’

‘He’s only very close to the Home Secretary – possibly his best friend. He could have had you hanging out to dry in seconds if he’d felt like it.’

Hunter had to grin again. Once again he’d got away with murder.

‘We found him charming.’

‘I can tell you one thing about Jeremy, and yes, I do know him personally – he may present a soft front, but he’s as tough as a steel spring. He’s got resources we can only dream about, and he can be utterly ruthless, in both his business and his private life. He must have liked you, you lucky bastard.’

‘Do I tell Carlisle we went to see him?’

‘You’ll have to say you informed him, but I’d leave it at that. Is that the full list of your faux pas for one day, or is there more?’

‘Unless you include a young man’s disappearance and a pensioner’s wife trying to poison him, that is it.’

‘I think I can pass on those two. Keep in touch.’

Hunter switched off his phone and asked, ‘Did you hear enough of that to understand?’

‘Enough to understand you’re on first name terms with the upper brass, you mean?’

‘No, Sir Jeremy.’

‘Yes, I heard that bit.’

‘Stick close to me, lover, I’ve got a lucky star.’

‘You’ll need a bloody sight more than that to keep out of trouble, the way you keep looking for it.’

He laughed, ‘You’re right there, Jane. Okay, let’s go and fill the DCI in.’

She had to laugh with him, ‘I take it that will be metaphorically speaking?’

‘This time, yes.’ He became thoughtful, remembering a day when it had not been.

Carlisle was in a good mood. He’d just come back from an excellent lunch with a Spanish friend, who had not only paid for it but had invited him over for a wild boar shoot.

Seeing Hunter and Bliss coming in his door soured the feeling.

‘Well?’

‘Your man called me on my mobile this morning.’

‘My man? What bloody man?’

‘The Badger.’

Carlisle’s face was a picture. Initial disbelief was crowded out by anger at Hunter’s personal involvement, ‘Why you?’

Hunter lifted both hands and had the momentary vision of himself saying, ‘Oy weh!’ while he did so.

Carlisle sighed, ‘Okay. He called you. What did he say?’

Hunter gave him a censored version of his day to that point, including their short visit to Calthorpe and the other two cases they were investigating. He could see Carlisle was not interested in them once he’d mentioned the financier.

‘You know bloody well you should have informed me before going to see him! It was beyond your remit. Do you think the Badger did know about the kidnapping?’

‘DI Bliss and I both think he was guessing blind, hoping to wind me up.’

Carlisle was thinking furiously about how he could use the information against Hunter. Just the phone call was not enough to take him off the high profile case, and though he hated to admit it, if anyone was going to catch the unsub, it would be Hunter. He hated the bastard, but had to grudgingly admit he was the best detective in the place. His own hoped-for promotion probably rested with the results obtained by the man in front of him, blast his eyes.

‘I want a written statement, quoting his exact words, up on the white board, today. You are not to approach Sir Jeremy Calthorpe again without my express authority, is that clear?’

‘As a dewdrop.’

‘Go and get on with your other investigations.’

Their desks faced each other and they both knew the afternoon was going to be a long, boring one. Both called up Camera Watch, Jane for the boy’s disappearance and Hunter the streets around Maureen’s condo. It was becoming a daily tool for all of them. He wondered if many Londoners knew that on any average day they would appear on three hundred cameras around the City. Probably not.

Three rounds of coffee later Jane told him, ‘I’m getting nowhere. I’ve got him leaving the building and as far as the corner, then I lose him. That part of the street where the fish and chip shop is doesn’t figure on the cameras. It’s only about three hundred yards that isn’t covered. In the timeframe ten minutes either side of when he reached the corner there were eighteen vehicles that passed along the road. I’ve got all the registration numbers and I’m going to check ownership. How are you doing?’

‘Worse than you, Jane. I’ve got a two and a half hour time frame, and that’s a busy street in front of her place.’

‘Don’t you think you can narrow it down to just before ten to just after. She did say she was going to have a bath when she rang.’

‘That’s where I’ve started – quarter to ten – but our hyphenated friend is not the most reliable witness in the world, and if he or his family are involved, he’d have been sure to feed us a whole load of shit. We know she took a bath, but we haven’t a clue when.’

‘How would they have smuggled her out of the building? Even taking her down in the lift someone could have seen them, and it looks like she would have been naked.’

‘My guess is a big travelling trunk, or something similar. The occupants use the front door, but there’s a delivery entrance round the back. A vehicle has to drive down the right hand side of the building to get there. All I can hope for is to see a van or a big car go down there in the time frame.’

‘How far have you got?’

‘Ten eighteen. There’ve been well over a hundred vehicles pass along the road during that thirty-three minutes, but none of them have stopped.’

‘If he was telling it straight, she would have got into the bath around ten. How long would she have stayed in the water, I wonder?’

‘Don’t know about you, but I sometimes soak for a hour or more.’

‘Mm. It has been known. Best guess for a woman, I’d say a quarter of an hour.’

‘They would have had to have been in the building, or even in the flat, well before they took her. There are all sorts of loose ends. How did they get into the flat? Easy if the boyfriend let them in or gave them a key. How did they know she’d be having a bath at that time, or didn’t they care? Shows possible pre-knowledge. How did they even get into the building from the rear? Presumably only the janitor would have a key, or someone would have to open it from inside.’ He was still running the Camera Watch pictures as he spoke and suddenly stopped the picture.

‘I’ve got a white minibus turning into the service road at ten-twenty-one.’

‘Can you see the reg?’

‘Trying to zoom in. Blast! The clever sods have muddied up the plate. I can see the first letter, an ‘R’ and the last letter looks like an ‘F’, but could be ‘P’ or ‘B’ or even another ‘R’.’

‘Let’s hope the front plate is clearer.’ She walked round to his side of the desk. ‘Go onto fast forward.’

They watched together as the minutes flicked by on the screen.

Hunter stopped it again as the minibus came into view round the corner of the building, with the time clock showing ten thirty-two. He zoomed in again and swore. The front number plate on the vehicle was plain white, with no letters or numbers. He zoomed in closer, to see if he could get enough of the driver’s face for the facial recognition programme. The driver’s visor was down, and from the angle of the camera only the portion of the face below the eye line was visible.

The perps knew where the cameras were.

Hunter switched out of Camera Watch and into the number plate recognition system. Without much hope he keyed in the details he had and mentally crossed his fingers.

Within second he had the possibles, seventy-nine of them, and he groaned.

‘Cheer up, it’s better than a hundred, John.’ Jane told him as she went back round to her own seat. Two minutes later she told him, ‘I’ve got him! He’s with a woman, coming back round the corner towards his entrance, arm in arm with her.’

‘What’s the woman like?’

‘Bloody awful picture, as usual. Difficult to make out too much, but she’s dark haired, or wearing a dark wig. Short skirt and skimpy top, so possibly a working girl. They’ve gone into his block.’

‘So that’s what the lucky bugger does when he goes out. Bloody nice fish and chips. Wonder what his mother will think?’

‘Will we tell her?’

‘Not if he goes back home of his own volition. If we have to go and find him, yes. There’s no hurry. A boy’s got to lose his button some time.’

‘You’ll lose yours again if you don’t get down to it.’

He sighed and got down to it. After all, that was what most good detective work consisted of – half an hour on the scene and twenty or more hours of slogging computer work. At least it was a damned sight quicker than the old paper trails he’d followed when he started on the force. What niggled most was that he wanted to be out after the Badger, not snowed under with other investigations, but until the killer made another move they were stymied. He wondered what the man was doing at that moment.

CHAPTER 8 – THE LAST PRACTICE RUN

With a thin moustache and a dark curly wig he already looked a different person. Add the reflector aviator’s glasses and his mother wouldn’t recognise him. He inserted the cheek pads and used his tongue to make them comfortable. A quick glance in the mirror satisfied him. It was coming up to four o’clock – time for him to go and see Colleen again.

He’d spent the afternoon gloating over his trophies, taking each pair of panties in his bare hands while looking at the photographs of the women, running his fingers over them and lifting to his nose to smell them. All of them had been the panties he’d taken off his patient on the day she died, or nearly died, in the case of Petra. Each pair gave him more than half an hour of heavenly delight. His penis had taken a real beating and he was utterly satisfied. There would be another pair of panties there soon, courtesy of Colleen Wright. He already knew what she smelled like and would have liked to remonstrate with her for using talc down there. Wasn’t she aware that there was a very real chance of developing ovarian cancer from its long-term use? So many women were almost criminally ignorant when it came to their precious little parts. Didn’t they know that the vagina continually cleaned itself with healthy microbial flora and did not need washing inside? There were eleven pairs of panties in all – most of them from before he became the Badger and changed his operational method. His best prize was a pair of Marks and Spencers black frilly knickers that the woman had worn for five days before putting them in the washbin. The smell had stood the test of time.

The police didn’t have a clue that he was responsible for the other deaths, although every one of them had been in the Greater London area.

He’d toyed with the idea of letting slip to Hunter that there might be others, but realised it might give the detective a lead to identifying him too soon. He’d followed Hunter’s progress on case after case. The bastard was like a bulldog once he got a scent, and since the crime for which he himself had been incarcerated had been attempted murder, it might just give Hunter that little bid of edge. He’d been so unlucky that time – caught only because the police had entered the building on a completely different matter and found him working on the girl. The stupid sods hadn’t tied him in with five other unsolved murders they had on the books, and he’d been sent down for just the one attempted. Hunter had not been a murder dick at the time. He’d been in charge of the burglary squad that went into the building, luckily for him, because he knew that Hunter would have dug out the others if he hadn’t been burglary. He’d given them quite enough of a clue with the badges. If Hunter couldn’t work that out he didn’t deserve to succeed.

With regret he put away the last pair of panties and closed up the room. Time to go.

It was fun riding the underground, knowing that even if the men and women around him were ever questioned, the descriptions they gave of him would be wildly inaccurate. Prison had at least done that for him, completing his criminal education by putting him alongside master forgers, impersonators, thieves, burglars and con men. He’d been an avid pupil and now, armed with all that information, he felt secure in the knowledge that he could outwit the police at every turn.

He pulled on a lightweight beige cotton jacket and a flat cap before leaving the house, checking the road carefully in both directions for any possible observers in parked cars before leaving the safety of the porch.

He walked two stops before catching the bus to Piccadilly Circus, and then the tube out to Osterley, where the girl had her flat.

He enjoyed sizing up the women who got on and off, considering whether he would want to use them as patients. It was like being a child in a sweetshop, or window-shopping for toys. One he would definitely have liked to work on got on at South Kensington and stayed near him, holding on to a strap as far as Acton Town. She obviously hadn’t looked at herself in the mirror with back lighting. The lightweight, almost muslin skirt she had on resembled a tutu, and with the carriage lights on the other side of her, he could see the flesh of her body as clearly as if she’d not been wearing a skirt. She certainly had no panties on. The crack of her arse was as clear as day, and he wished she’d turn round so that he could see her labia and see if she’d shaved. He guessed she was wearing a thong. It seemed to be the in thing these days. None of his patients had worn one, but there had to be a first. He had the urge to go back to one of his early tricks, before he’d killed his first one. He would stand directly behind an attractive chick on a crowded train and use his vivid imagination to work up a nice hard-on. Every time the train jolted, he’d jam his body into her arse, making sure she could feel his boner. They could move, but there was nothing they could do about it. This train wasn’t crowded enough, unfortunately. He’d have to get his kicks from Colleen.

Her flat was over a Chinese takeaway, with the entrance halfway down a short passage between that and the empty shop next door. The takeaway didn’t open till six, except on Saturdays, and if he approached from the right the passageway was out of the vision of the people behind the counter anyway.

When he did the job he’d be using the van and uniform, but today he just wanted another trial run for kicks.

He let himself into the outer door with the key and closed it behind him with the toe of his shoe, then pulled on surgical gloves, and a camouflaged all-over head net of the type used by hunters, with just an oval gap for the eyes. There would never be a stray hair left for the attention of a sharp-eyed forensic scientist. The flight of steps in front of him led up to her front door and he climbed them and knocked loudly. He’d once gone into a flat, expecting the woman to be at work and she’d been off sick and started screaming blue murder. He’d got out quick, and the woman, who would have been his next patient, lived, unaware of her lucky escape. He was not about to take that chance again.

There was no answer. He unlocked the door and entered, closing it behind him.

He went straight into her bedroom and to the laundry basket.

Lifting the lid he almost swooned with ecstasy. There were two sets of underwear on the top of the pile and he picked them up, one by one, and put them under his nose. Colleen’s scent, mixed with that of the talc. It was so hard, having to put them back for the time being. She might notice they were missing if he took them, and he wanted nothing to alarm her before her due date. He had will power – he could wait a couple more days. Five past five. She’d have her Starbucks and get home about twenty-five to six. Plenty of time.

He looked through the last couple of letters she’d received and put back in the envelopes. One from a woman friend in Hull, full of girly chat, and one from her father – just a short note with the details of an antique item he wanted her to bid for in an auction. From the correspondence he’d read earlier he knew that her old man was a banker in Dublin, and had half a dozen racehorses in training. He’d even had a second at Ascot in the current year. Her mother had divorced him and was living in the Lido de Jesolo, near Venice, with her Italian golf tutor.

He knew from reading letters from her friends and some she’d left half-written herself that she’d left Ireland for sexual reasons. A good Irish Catholic girl did not give herself to men she hardly knew. At least, she couldn’t do it for long and get away with it. Daddy had made it worth her while to move to England, where it was far more acceptable. She certainly enjoyed it, and not a night went by without sex of some sort, whether with a man or by herself. He’d often thought of making a DVD of the aroused women he’d recorded. It would sell a million!

He moved around the flat that he knew now as well as his own pad. All the furniture was antique, mainly Georgian, and worth a bomb. In the guest bedroom was a huge mahogany linen press, and that was his hideaway when she was in the flat. She kept little inside it, except for suitcases and winter wear, and she was not likely to come near it.

He spent the next half-hour going through her cupboards and drawers, whose contents he knew well. In the wardrobe in her bedroom he found two new outfits by Chanel – a white linen tailored suit and another in light grey with gold trim. The girl certainly knew how to spend money

At five thirty he went to stand by the door, listening, and had only a short time to wait before he heard the lower door being opened and closed. He sauntered into the guest bedroom and got into the linen press, whose door he’d left open, ready. He pulled it to, leaving just enough of a gap to see through.

She came into the flat humming a tune from the hit parade, which annoyed him. Wait until you have the blood running out of you, and see if you feel like humming then, he thought.

He could hear her moving about and imagined her getting undressed for the shower which she always took soon after getting home – the bit he’d come for.

Today, however, she didn’t seem in a hurry to get wet. He saw her go past the doorway, wearing just pants and bra, and then heard her speaking to someone called Peter on the telephone. To begin with she was pleasant and joking, and he seemed to be responding.

‘Aw, Peter, she’s a slag, you know that. She’d shag anything. If he’s serious about her he wants his tiny mind examined. She’ll just use him and then chuck him. Are you coming over tonight? What? That’s not nice! Oh, you think so, do you? You seemed to enjoy it all right! Well fuck you too! Pol thoin! Foc il leat! Fucker!’

She slammed the phone down and went into the kitchen, mumbling in Gaelic, ‘Gowl! Pol thoin! Pog ma hone!’ He heard a glass being put down on the work surface and knew she must be pouring herself a stiff drink. Well, she didn’t drive, so what did it matter? He was getting angry himself; how dare she mess up his schedule?

At last he heard her padding into the bathroom and turning on the shower. He waited until he heard the shower door close before getting out of the press and creeping out of the room.

He went first into her bedroom and lifted the lid of the linen bin. This was what he’d come for, a sniff of freshly removed panties.

They were on the top of the pile, with the bra. Purple today, and by Celine, a Fauve padded bra, with the central silk knickers in the colour and black lace around them.

He picked them up reverently and lay back on the bed, with the garment pressed to his nose. Oh, her wonderful scent, and so fresh. He wished he could stay there for hours, just as he was at that moment, in ecstasy.

She only stayed in the shower for two or three minutes normally, so it was not possible, but a man could dream, couldn’t he?

He got up, straightened the bed, replaced the knickers and lowered the lid of the linen basket.

Tiptoeing to the door of the bathroom he moved his head just far enough to see her in the shower.

She was sideways on to him, so he was able to move carefully to the other side, ready to leave the flat, watching her all the time. She’d finished washing her hair, which she always did first, and was just letting the water flow over her head, moving her fingers through her locks. He couldn’t understand that – all the others he’d watched over the years went immediately to their snatch when they started showering, probably thinking it was the smelliest part of their bodies and needed washing first. Colleen left it to last, and always made it a long job. Twice he’d seen her masturbate to orgasm in the shower, and hoped she’d do so today, particularly since this would be the last time he watched before she died.

She moved her hands languorously over her belly and thighs, twice sliding her right hand in between her legs, before raising them to her chest. He watched her begin to massage her breasts and nipples until they stood out proud.

Her hands moved down and she slid both up and down a dozen or more times, over the tops of her legs and into her groin, before moving her left hand behind her, the index finger extended, and inserted it into her anus, while her right hand began slowly stroking first the mons pubis and then her vulva and clitoris.

She’d half turned towards the door and was almost facing him, but he thought she would be so unaware of anything outside the shower cubicle that he could have stood in front of it and masturbated with her. Oh, if only!

He could see that her thumb was extended, like the index and fourth finger, so that she was using just the middle two fingers, moving painfully slowly to begin with, gradually increasing the speed, to rub the vulva and clitoris in a circular motion before entering and leaving her vagina.

The speed increased until her hand was moving as fast as she could move it. He could see she was working her left hand inside her too, increasing the pleasure, and could imagine her juices flowing over her fingers from her vagina. He wished he could smell them. She was moaning and her body was flexing with the ecstasy she was feeling. Little squeals of delight with momentary slowing of the hand told him that she was deliberately holding off her orgasm to extend the pleasure. Suddenly, she let out a tremendous, ‘Aaaaaaahh!’ which went on for almost twenty seconds, and almost fell onto the side wall of the shower.

For a moment or two she was motionless, heaving huge breaths, which decreased as she began moving her hand again, as fast as she could, repeating over and over again, ‘You bastard, you bastard, you bastard! Foc tu! Foc tu! Foc tu!’

The second orgasm was even more powerful than the first, and he could see her whole body shaking with the after-effect.

His own erection was hurting like hell, and for a moment he had the mad idea of coming over her hall carpet, but he dare not leave his DNA. It would have to wait until he got home, where he could relive it all again with some other woman’s panties.

He watched her hand go up to the plastic basket hanging from the rail, where the body wash was kept, and then down to wash between her legs.

It was time to go.

He put his hand down his trouser front and pulled his penis up against his stomach. Mustn’t upset the local talent. He let himself out of the flat and went down the stairs and out of the bottom door.

She was quite a girl, and he was going to miss these sessions.

CHAPTER 9 – JAMES BOND, EAT YOUR HEART OUT!

Hunter looked at the time – ten past four. He’d checked up on sixty-one of the minibuses the DVLA had come up with, and had rejected all but one of them, which had been reported stolen ten days before, from an address in Guildford.

It had immediately triggered an alarm in his head. The boyfriend’s family lived near Godalming, and Godalming was near Guildford.

Like all detectives worth their salt, he didn’t believe in coincidences. He’d have to either clear it with Carlisle or go in his own time. It was a no-brainer.

‘What are you doing this evening, Jane?’

The two detectives nearest to them turned their heads, interested.

‘Washing my hair, why?’

‘Fancy a trip to Godalming?’

‘One of the best towns in Britain to live in, according to all the blurbs. I don’t see why not. It might cost you a pizza or a doner kebab.’

‘You’re on.’

The two interested parties looked at one another and raised their eyebrows. Hunter might be getting lucky, by the looks of things.

He was grinning, and so was Jane. Both knew what the office gossip would be the next day.

Getting up from his chair, he suggested, ‘We’ll go and see the boy’s parents first, okay?’

‘Mm. That should be fun.’

‘Bring one of the photos of the woman.’

‘Got it.’ She’d earlier zoomed in on the pair and run off several copies of them together and the woman on her own.

Outside, Hunter suggested they take the unmarked police vehicle, so that they could pick up his Ford on the way back.

The woman came to the door when they rang the bell. She looked haggard, but pleased to see them.

‘Have you found him? Any news?’

Jane asked, ‘May we come in, Mrs Speed?’

The woman ushered them into her lounge and offered them chairs, but they remained standing. There was no sign of her husband.

‘We think you son is perfectly alright.’ Jane told her.

The woman sighed heavily with relief, ‘But where is he?’

Jane took the photo out of her shoulder bag, ‘Do you know this woman?’

‘I don’t know her, if you mean to speak to, but I have seen her. Why?’

‘Do you know where she lives?’

‘Somewhere on the second floor, but what’s she got to do with Michael?’

‘We think he may be with her.’

‘I don’t understand. Why would he be with her?’

‘That we shall have to find out. Would you like to come with us. We’re going to see if we can talk to her and find out what the situation is.’

The woman looked puzzled and agitated, ‘Derek, my husband, is out.’

‘You can tell him when he gets back.’

‘But……oh, all right.’

Leaving the flat, Jane asked, ‘Do you have your key with you?’

The woman patted her skirt pocket, ‘Oh, no, just a minute.’

She hurried into the lounge again and came out holding the key.

They went down to the second floor and began knocking on doors. The woman came to the fifth door they tried. She was much younger than she looked in the photograph, around twenty, and had the flattened nasal bridge, slightly slanted eyes and irregularly shaped mouth of someone possibly affected with Downes Syndrome, but both of them were amazed at the girl’s appearance. Had she not had the slight defects, she would have been a beauty. She was clean, her shoulder-length hair shone, and she was wearing a smart, although rather short, floral cotton dress that emphasised her well-rounded figure.

Jane produced her warrant card, ‘Could you tell us your name, please?’

‘I’m Tracey.’

‘And your second name, Tracey?’

‘Weekes. Weekes is my second name.’ There was only the slightest hint of difficulty in speaking.

‘Can we come in, Tracey?’

‘I don’t know. Why?’

‘We want to ask you some questions about Michael Speed. Do you know him?’

‘Michael? He’s my boyfriend.’

‘And is he here now?’

The girl began to get agitated, ‘You aren’t going to take him away, are you? He wants to stay here with me! I want to look after him!’

Jane hastened to reassure her, ‘We just want to talk to him. If he wants to stay, it’s for him to decide. No!’ She put a hand out to restrain Mrs Speed, who was trying to get past Tracey. ‘You must wait here, Mrs Speed, unless Tracey invites you in.’

‘But……he’s my Michael!’

Hunter decided he’d better intervene, ‘He was your Michael, Mrs Speed, but you have to see that he’s old enough now to make his own decisions. We’d like you to wait outside until we see what’s what. Please.’

The woman shrugged, ‘His father will be pleased.’

‘I beg your pardon?’

‘His father – he’s wanted to put him in a home for years. If I went first, that’s what would happen to him.’

Hunter wanted to tell her what he thought of that idea but decided he’d better hold his peace, or he might lose his temper.

‘We’ll go and have a word, okay?’

She shrugged again.

Tracey led them into the flat and they were both favourably impressed. It was spotlessly clean, with nice, fairly cheap but durable furniture. They could see through into the kitchen, which shone.

Jane told Tracey, ‘Your home is a credit to you.’

‘Thank you. I try to keep it nice. I’ll call Michael.’ She opened a door and said, ‘Darling, will you come out, please?’

She waited at the door and when the lad appeared she took his hand.

He looked frightened, and Hunter hastened to make him feel at ease. ‘You’ve nothing at all to worry about, Michael. We just want to know if you want to stay with Tracey, or go back and live with your Mum and Dad.’

‘I’m going to marry Tracey. I want to stay with her.’

Tracey added, ‘We want to stay together. You don’t need to worry – we know all about condoms and birth control. We don’t want to have any little mistakes, like us.’

Jane couldn’t help herself, ‘Oh, Tracey! You mustn’t say things like that!’

The girl shrugged, ‘It’s true though. Our genes would go through to the baby, and that would be another one for the State to pay for.’

There was sense in what she said, but it was hurtful to hear her say it.

‘They don’t pay for me. I work.’

‘Where?’

‘At the supermarket down the road. I started stacking shelves, but they let me train, and now I’m on the tills. I want to be a manager.’

Jane enthused, ‘That’s wonderful, Tracey.’

‘Yes, and Tony, my manager, says he can give Michael a job, loading the lorries.’

The two detectives looked at one another. Hunter asked, ‘Would you come to the door and tell your mother that you want to stay here?’

The lad looked frightened all over again, but nodded.

‘Come along then, I’ll come with you.’

Hunter opened the door. ‘Michael will tell you his wishes, Mrs Speed.’

The woman said, ‘Michael?’

‘I want to stay with Tracey, Mum. We’re going to get married.’

The woman started to cry, and urged, ‘Come here, son.’

He went to her and they cuddled, both of them with tears running down their cheeks.

At last the woman pushed him to arm’s length.

‘Please invite me to the wedding.’ She turned and walked quickly away towards the stairs.

Hunter turned to the girl, ‘We wish you both lots of luck, and a good life, Tracey.’

When the girl smiled, they could see how difficult it was for her, ‘Thank you.’

As they walked away from the door Jane, whose own eyes were moist, asked, ‘Is that a tear I see in the corner of your eye, John?’

He blinked.

She rubbed his arm, ‘Aw, you old softie.’

His grin was a bit lopsided. The scene had affected him deeply, even if he didn’t want to admit it.

‘If only every case ended up as well as this one.’

They had chosen rather a bad time to get out of the City. The rush hour was still on, and it was almost an hour later when they hit the countryside. After that it was reasonably pleasant cruising down to Godalming.

Jane had got the address from the Census. The Smythe-Watsons lived at a place called ‘Aizengott Hall’, five miles outside the town. Looking at it on Google Earth they’d seen that it was one of the monstrosities from the mid-eighteen hundreds whose ugly design was probably best described as of the ‘Victorian lavatory period’. It had just about everything: gargoyles, turrets, mansards, twisted chimneys, heavily worked soffits, with everything from German crosses to religious symbols. Even in the Google picture they could see that it was completely run-down, with windows broken and tiles missing.

Around the Hall were half a dozen buildings of various sizes, two large barns and a variety of smaller sheds. In amongst the sheds stood half a dozen caravans.

The Census had told them that five Smythe-Watsons lived at the address: Reginald Claude, Agatha May, Regina Emilia, Eutonia Felicity and Caroline May. He guessed they were the parents and three children, probably grown up, if Maureen’s boyfriend was anything to go by. Two other adults were registered at the premises as well, a Peter Edward Bromley and a Carla Esposito – possibly servants.

They stopped by the verge, thirty yards from the entrance. The whole layout was visible through the post and wire fence. No one was in sight.

Jane was curious, ‘How are we going to do this, John?’

‘We’re going to drive in, slowly, looking out to each side as we go, to see if we can see any sign of the minibus. We’ll stop in the middle of the circus and sit in the car, waiting to see who comes out.’

She grinned, ‘Sounds like you’ve really thought out this master plan.’

‘Have you got a better idea?’

‘Camouflage and blackened faces at three o’clock?’

‘D’you want to give Carlisle a seizure?’ He had been considering that alternative, but if that happened, Jane would not be included. He was not about to ruin her career any more than he had already.

‘Mm. That would certainly be a plus.’

He put the car in gear and drove slowly up to the entrance and into the grounds. As they went further in he saw that the drive ended in a circular piece around a tatty area of lank, unmown grass and weeds. He stopped on the far side of it. The doors of all the buildings they’d passed had been closed, with no chance of seeing what was inside.

Close up to the Hall they could see that it was, indeed, a ruin, and obviously uninhabitable. The heavy oak front door was hanging off its hinges, and all the visible windows had been broken.

Nothing happened for several minutes, and they began to wonder if anyone was at home. One thing pleased Hunter – there were no dogs in evidence, though whether any were in any of the buildings or caravans was anyone’s guess.

At last, a male figure, dressed in olive moleskin trousers and matching pullover, with a pheasant design on the left breast, over a country-style shirt, appeared from one of the caravans, carrying a closed shotgun.

Hunter said, ‘Stay in the car.’

He got out, leaving the door open, so that Jane could hear the conversation, and stood waiting, keeping a wary eye on the gun held firmly in the man’s hands. It was pointing unwaveringly at Hunter’s chest.

Belligerently, the figure asked, ‘What the bloody hell are you doing on my property?’ The accent was exactly the same as that of Maureen’s boy friend, and Hunter guessed that this must be the father.

‘Mr Reginald Smythe-Watson?’

‘Who wants to know?’

‘Detective Inspector John Hunter, Serious Crimes Squad.’

‘Oh, yes? And why should DI Hunter and his girlfriend be visiting me?’

The gun’s point of aim had not varied.

‘We had a word with your son, Martyn.’

‘And?’

‘We had reason to believe you had a white minibus.’

‘Martyn told you that?’

‘Not exactly.’

‘Then what exactly?’

‘Do you have a white minibus?’

‘If we had, you’d already know about it, wouldn’t you, with your Big Brother facilities?’

‘Have you got Maureen Calthorpe here?’

‘Don’t know what you’re talking about, chap.’

‘Would you mind if we had a look in some of your buildings?’

‘Detective Inspector, before I lose my temper and my finger gets tired I think it is time you left my property. If you want to search here, get a warrant. Now, without putting too fine a point on it, fuck off!’

Hunter had the last word before he got back into the car, ‘I hope you’ve got a licence for that shotgun.’

Jane asked, ‘What do you think?’

‘I think he’s guilty as hell, but whether they’ve got her here or somewhere else is anybody’s guess.’

‘So what do we do?’

‘If this was a television police series we’d wait just up the road, and within ten minutes the minibus would appear, with the woman tied up in the front passenger seat, and we’d be able to make the bust and have the denouement before the credits were due to roll.’

‘So you think we should bugger off home and leave it till later. A masterly plan of inactivity.’ It was not a question.

‘Can I put you on a train?’

‘No, you bloody can’t! If you’re intending to go in there later on, I’m going to be there with you. I’m your partner, remember.’

‘Jane, what I’m going to do is an illegal act. Breaking and entering. If we get caught, it means our careers. Mine has been up the creek for years, so who the hell cares, but yours is headed for the heights. If you keep your powder dry you’ll make Commissioner one day. That I’m sure of. Do you want to risk all that for a loser like me?’

She became very serious, ‘You might be a loser, John, but you’re my loser. Someone I might tell you about one day once told me, ‘When you’re partnered with someone, unless they’re crooked, you’re with them all the way, wherever it leads, even if it destroys you. If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.’ I’m sorry, John, you might be many things, but one thing you are not, and that’s crooked, so you’re stuck with me. I know you want to get into my pants; you’ve told me enough times, and that’s another ball game altogether, and not up for discussion, but professionally we’re a team.’

He shook his head in wonder, ‘Fuck my old boots, partner. Or, since you’re a lady, seduce my ancient footwear. That was one hell of a speech. Okay. I know when I’m beat. Let’s go and find something to eat. We’ve got several hours to kill.’

He drove into Guildford and found free street parking near the town centre. A short walk brought them to a comfortable-looking restaurant. Looking through the window they could see that it was about three quarters full, which augured well for the quality of its food.

They were ushered to a small table with two comfortable chairs near the far wall and asked what they would like to drink. Hunter asked for a carafe of tap water and Jane said she would share it. The waiter looked slightly upset at no order for alcohol but offered them menus and went to get the water.

Jane ordered salmon en croute and Hunter opted for the lamb shank.

They were pleasantly surprised that their meals arrived less than ten minutes later. Both were cooked to perfection, with the vegetables - cauliflower, broccoli and carrots, with a portion of red cabbage to go with Hunter’s shank - nicely ‘al dente’, and they took their time, eating leisurely and relaxing in each other’s presence. Hunter couldn’t help comparing Jane with Anita and Marie, along with several other short time female acquaintances from across the years. The only one who came close was Janet Keller. They had not exactly been soul mates, but their tastes in food, clothes and music were very close. Both of them hated politics and bad manners.

Jane hadn’t mentioned politics once since he’d known her, but he knew exactly what she felt about bad manners. He often wondered what she’d think of his Johnny Cash collection. He had no idea what music she liked. When he’d put the question to her she’d answered, ‘My tastes are pretty eclectic’, and left it at that. He had once let loose about immigration, and knew he was showing his mildly homophobic instincts. She’d just said, smiling, ‘Don’t worry, John – at your age, you’ll be dead and gone long before this little island becomes completely Islamic, which is, as you know, a foregone conclusion.’ He still didn’t know if she agreed with him or not. She had that ‘je ne sais quoi’ that he’d been looking for in a woman ever since Anita, who’d had it in spades. Many women wound him up like a taut spring. With her he always felt relaxed, even in tense work situations. His temper was sometimes on a pretty short fuse and at times like that she was a damned good calming influence. He just wished he were twenty years younger.

Like now, for instance; the food was there to be enjoyed, along with the ambience. There was no need for conversation.

A lot of men and women in similar situations felt they had to say something. With them, it was unnecessary.

He was a fast eater and finished first. He put the knife and fork parallel on the plate and laid his napkin on top, then sat back to look around and wait for her to finish.

She left just the tiniest scrap of pastry and smiled, ‘Good breeding, you see, John. Mother’s influence. She put on an upper crust accent – ‘One should always leave a small part of the meal, to show that one has had an elegant sufficiency.’

He looked at his own plate where not a scrap remained except the bone.

‘I’ve left a bit too.’

‘Aha! Is it edible?’

‘If you’ve got good teeth, or you’re a dog. Shall we have a desert?’

‘Why not?’

They both chose the lemon cheesecake.

She started to argue about going Dutch when the bill came, but he reminded her, ‘Doner kebab or pizza, you said. This was the best alternative. No bloody argument, now. I’ll let you pay on the next stake-out.’

‘What are we going to do until we go in?’

‘Too late for the cinema. I doubt there’s a dance on, but there’s probably a casino somewhere, if you want to gamble. I thought we’d park up and try to grab some shut-eye. There’s a farm track into a field about a quarter of a mile down the road from the Hall.’

‘Sounds good to me.’

Once parked she shuffled around to get comfortable and asked, ‘What time are we going in?’

‘I thought about one. They should all be asleep by then.’

‘Okay. Goodnight. Don’t talk again, I’ll be asleep.’

He laughed, ‘How do you know that?’

‘Because I’m just about to put myself to sleep, John.’

‘You…….how, for Christ’s sake?’

‘By hypnosis.’

‘Now you are kidding me.’

‘No, John. I’m not.’ He could see she was serious.

‘How come you know how to do that?’

‘My GP, Doctor Loftin, who uses it in his practice every day, taught me how to use self-hypnosis. It was difficult at first, and took me twenty minutes or so. Now I can put myself out in less than ten seconds. It’s the most wonderful thing I’ve ever learnt in my life and I use it for all sorts of things. Studying, for example. I can tell myself I’m going to remember every fact I read from a particular book or article, and I do. Pain can be perfectly controlled, even for operations.’ After a short hesitation she added, ‘It saved my sanity.’

He was intrigued on several counts, but took up the main one, ‘Okay, say I accept that you can put yourself to sleep. How do you know when you’re going to wake up?’

‘You programme yourself. You can do any sort of instruction, like, ‘You will wake up in exactly three and a quarter hours’, or ‘You will wake up at eleven minutes past six’, and so on.’

He laughed out loud, ‘Now you are having me on. I don’t believe it. How does your brain know what time it is?’

‘Okay, John. You say you’re going to sleep. Whether you do or not, I will wake up at two minutes to one. If you’re asleep, I’ll wake you at that time. If not, you’ll see me wake then.’

He knew she wasn’t joking. ‘Bloody hell. And I always thought it was all a fake.’

‘Not so. Goodnight.’

He tried to stay awake, but his body was still suffering the effects of the previous night and he soon fell into a disturbed slumber.

Her hand shook him awake and she pointed at the dashboard clock.

He laughed, ‘I bet you’ve been waiting an hour to do that.’

‘You believe what you like, wanker.’

He was just about convinced, ‘Can you teach me how to do it?’

‘I don’t know. I could try. Once of these days when we’re at a loose end I’ll try to hypnotise you. If I can do that, you should be able to learn to do it yourself. I have successfully hypnotised two friends.’

He put a scared look on his face, ‘You’ll have to promise not to take advantage of me while you’ve got control.’

‘You should be so lucky.’

‘Yes, I should. Are you ready to become a criminal?’

‘As ready as I’ll ever be.’

‘Come on then.’

‘Shouldn’t we rub mud over our faces and hands?’

‘You’ve been watching too many Tarantino films.’

The road was a quiet one, with only a couple of cars passing every hour, and they saw no traffic on the short walk to the Hall entrance.

There was no gate, and they slipped in and moved over to the left hand side of the property, approaching the first of the sheds.

It was a small affair, only about ten by eight – too small for a vehicle and unlikely to be where the woman would be kept. They walked past it, and two others around the same size. The largest barn-like structure with tall double doors was fifty yards further on and they crossed quickly to it.

The doors were secured by a hasp and a massive padlock. Jane thought they were stymied.

Hunter muttered something under his breath and took his Swiss Army knife out of his trouser pocket.

She whispered, ‘What did you say?’

He whispered back, ‘I said I didn’t believe it.’

‘What didn’t you believe?’

‘They put a bloody great lock on, costing damn near a hundred quid, and there are just three screws holding the hasp.’

He opened the large screwdriver blade on the knife and began work. Just a few seconds later he held his hand out, ‘Screw, Jane?’

She smiled, ‘Get real, John.’

In less than a minute that side of the hasp was free, and he began to ease open the door.

There were no windows in the building, and it was stygian dark inside, but he’d brought his pencil torch from the car and switched it on.

There were three vehicles inside and one of them was a white minibus. He shone the light down to where the registration plate should be and found it gone.

He swore.

‘Stay at the door, Jane, and keep watch. I’m going to look for that plate.’

There were waist-height benches along both sides of the building, filled with clutter, both on top and underneath. The registration plates were nowhere to be seen. As a last chance he opened the driver’s door and there they were, on the passenger seat. The plate was the one they’d seen on the video. Bingo! If the vehicle was here the woman probably was as well.

It was all they’d come for. Now it was a case of trying to get a warrant to raid the place. He’d been trying all day to think of what reason he could give Carlisle and still hadn’t come up with one yet, but he would.

Suddenly Jane whispered, ‘John, quickly!’

He took the couple of paces to get to her side, ‘What is it? Have they woken up?’

‘Christ, no! We’re surrounded by bloody ninjas!’

‘What?’

‘Look.’

He peered round the corner of the door. At least ten figures, dressed all in black with full head masks, were running over the grass towards the caravans. All had firearms in their hands.

‘Bloody hell. Must be Calthorpe’s men. We need to scarper. Come on.’

As they stepped out of the door a voice to their left ordered, ‘Stop right there. Put your hands up.’

They did as they were told.

‘Are you Smythe-Watson?’

Jane was impressed by Hunter’s cool reply, ‘No. We’re police officers. I would put the weapon down, if I were you, otherwise it will be ‘Assault with a deadly weapon’ at the very least.’

He was rewarded with a light laugh, ‘You might be who you say, buddy, but you’ll just have to wait a while, till we sort this business out. You can put your hands down, but I warn you, if you try anything, I will shoot you.’

‘Don’t worry, we’re happy to stand here and watch proceedings.’

‘Good.’

Jane dug him in the ribs, smiling, ‘Can I dispense with these screws now?’

There were shouts and dogs barking, mixed with the sounds of doors being smashed open. Lights were coming on all over the place.

The occupants were herded out into a group, most of them in pyjamas or nightdresses, but one man was completely naked, and walked with his hands over his privates. They could hear the questions about the girl and the negative answers.

The man in charge of the attacking group was obviously not satisfied with the replies, and Hunter heard him tell one of the other men, ‘Set fire to that one.’ The voice was instantly recognisable.

The man, who had a can in one hand, began moving towards the caravan indicated.

It had the required effect, and Hunter guessed the leader had chosen the caravan used by Reginald, who was bent over, with his arm twisted behind his back. It was the caravan where any money he had would be stashed.

Smythe-Watson told them where Maureen was being held, and two of the men grabbed him and frog-marched him towards the Hall.

A couple of minutes later she was brought out, with a blanket wrapped round her.

The leader of the armed group waited until they reached the rest of them, looked closely at the girl and asked a question, then without warning smashed his pistol butt onto Reginald’s scalp. The head of the clan collapsed in a heap at his feet.

Hunter saw him nod at the man with the can. He walked over to the caravan, went up the steps and poured petrol all over the carpet, came down again and threw a match in.

Within seconds the caravan was fully ablaze.

The leader picked up the girl and began carrying her out.

Their captor shouted out, ‘What do I do with these? It’s the Old Bill.’

The leader stopped for a second and nodded slowly as he looked at Hunter, then with a flick of the hand indicated that they could go. Their captor walked off and left them there.

There were four cars parked just outside on the road, and in less than a minute the whole troupe had embarked and departed.

The scene they’d left behind them was bedlam, with figures rushing about with buckets in a vain attempt to save something.

Hunter grinned at Jane, ‘He said he’d take care of it.’

‘That was him in charge, wasn’t it?’

He nodded, ‘It was. It’s another one for the memoirs, but totally off the official record. He’s saved us a lot of difficult explanation, and with the sort of restrictions they put on us, I doubt if we’d have found Maureen.’

‘No.’ She put her head on one side and regarded him, ‘You know, I’ve bloody well enjoyed myself tonight. You aren’t such a bad old codger, John.’

‘Hey, less of the derogatory adjectives, you.’

She laughed, ‘Can you imagine the heart attack Carlisle would have if you wrote a report and had it on his desk in the morning.’

He agreed, ‘Believe me, if I thought it would finish him off, I’d do it.’

CHAPTER 10 – ALPHA, BETA, GAMMA – THETA?

The next morning Hunter and Jane were at their desks a quarter of an hour before any of the other detectives, and tried to look busy.

Carlisle was always in five minutes before the half eight start, so that he could catch any late comers, and he was on time again, followed in by most of the others.

The DCI couldn’t help looking surprised at Hunter’s presence so early, but tried not to show it.

Hunter grinned at Jane. He knew Carlisle was thinking ‘What the hell is he after? He’s up to something, I know it.’

Carlisle waited until they were all seated before he told them, ‘We’ve been given the help of one of the criminal analysts to help solve the Badger killings. You know how successful they’ve been with some cases, the attempted jewel robbery at the Dome being their biggest success, where they put together the crooks who’d never in their lives been on the water hiring boats and meeting up with jewellery fences and others who were hiring JCBs, and so on, to come up with the right answer.

We need all the help we can get. I know you’ve heard most of it before, enough to get you bored with repetition of the facts, and a lot of it is on the white boards, but I think Alan Simpson can give us food for thought. He’s not been involved with the case up till now, so can think outside the box. Anyway, he’ll be working in this office, probably until the case is solved, and he’ll have Stephen Gray’s desk while Stephen is off sick. Please do go and see him if you have any new ideas. He’s standing out in the corridor. Jimmy, will you ask him in, please.’

Hunter knew Simpson from another murder case four years before and liked the man. He had a good brain and could look at things on the slant and produce new ideas, but didn’t push them.

He walked up the aisle, nodding to one or two of the officers he knew from past cases, giving Hunter a sly grin for the secret they shared on how the case that they’d worked on together had been resolved – another one where Hunter had stuck his neck out and bent the rules, but got the result. Geoff Taylor had done some clever cover-up work for him on that one too.

Carlisle introduced the analyst, and Simpson began, ‘A lot of this is old hat to you, so forgive me if I go over the basic ground again.

We have a serial murderer who uses a fairly unique method of killing his victims. He immobilises them with some kind of anaesthetic, sits them down in a chair and then while they are unconscious he opens the brachial artery at the cubital fossa, or the elbow, if you prefer, just before the brachial splits into the radial and ulnar arteries.

We believe from the distressed state of his victims when found, and particularly in the case of Petra, that the anaesthetic he gives them only lasts a short while, intentionally so on his part, because he wants them wake up and have to endure the extra agony of watching themselves dying. By the time they’re awake enough to realise that, they’ve lost so much blood that they haven’t the strength or will-power to try to stop the bleeds or call for help.

They collapse, usually on the floor near the chair. So much for the actual crime, but during the period of unconsciousness, he carves his trademark badge on their forehead.

I know a lot of work has gone into trying to decipher what that badge means. As you know, it’s like a circle, which has been pulled out at either end to form an oval. If the line which runs from top to bottom were the only thing inside the oval, it would obviously have just the one connotation; it would be a stylised depiction of a woman’s vulva. That, considering the nature of the crimes, is still the most likely interpretation. The small horizontal line across the top of the vertical could be, and this is only one possible meaning, his termination of the vulva’s use in the case of the victims. Near the bottom of the vertical line we have this little curled bit coming out to the left and that is the part that is most puzzling. The first time he did it most of us thought his knife had slipped, but it reoccurs in the latter cases, so is obviously of some significance. I’ve shown the pictures of the device to several of my colleagues, and two of the women have suggested that it is the tail of a tampon, sticking out of the vulva, and that he is killing women to stop them having periods, or ha s b e e n d i s a p p o i n t e d a t s o m e t i m e w h e n t r y i n g t o h a v e s e x u a l i n t e r c o u r s e , a n d f o u n d t h a t h e w a s s t y m i e d b y s u c h a t h i n g .

A n o t h e r l i n e o f t h o u g h t e n t i r e l y i s t h a t p a r t o f i t i s a d e p i c t i o n o f t h e l o w e r c a s e G r e e k l e t t e r t h e t a , h e d r e w a ¸ o n t h e w h i t e b o a r d , a n d t h a t o p e n s u p a c o m p l e t e l y d i f f e r e n t a n d d i v e r s e c a n o f w o r m s .

F i r s t o f a l l , i t s a f a v o u r i t e g i r l s n a m e . H e c o u l d b e c a l l i n g a l l o f t h e m h i s T h e t a .

O r h e c o u l d b e b o a s t i n g , t e l l i n g u s h e s a m e m b e r o f a s o r o r i t y , t h e D e l t a S i g m a T h e t a .

W h e n used in mathematics, Theta means ‘An Unknown Angle’. Could there be a hidden message in that? If so, what’s the unknown angle we’ve got to look for?

Again, Theta is the usual name for a vector of parameters of some general probability distribution. The problem is to find the value of theta, and thus theta becomes an enigma, which, of course, he wants us to regard him as.

Theta can also refer to the time delay on an option. Is he using it to describe the time delay in what he’s doing to the girls?

In the standard theory of transformational grammar, a Theta-role is the formal device for representing syntactic argument structures. The Theta roles are named by their thematic relations, for instance: Agent >;; Theme >;; goal. We could get into all sorts of minefields if we tried to follow that one up. For instance, he’s the agent, the method of killing is the theme, and the goal is obvious.

With a completely different use, Theta rhythm is essential for hippocampus function – memory.

Finally, Theta equates to ‘TH’ in the English alphabet, for what that is worth.

My own view, and I stress it is mine alone, is that he’s used the classic antique design for the vulva and combined it with theta, plus whatever that little squiggle is lower down. So it is the age-old sign representing a female, with his own version of one of the meanings of theta added.

There is definitely a message there, and I’m convinced it’s directed at us. He’s saying, ‘Solve the clue, and you’ll be on the way to finding me.’ He is directly taunting us.’

Hunter and Jane exchanged glances. Both knew it was Hunter alone for whom the message was written. It would have to be him who solved it, but he was not about to make that public.

Simpson continued, ‘I’m also convinced that he’s killed before this series of murders began, probably with a different MO. Whether he’s ever been caught or not we don’t know. You’ll need to look at any series of murders in the past ten years or so, particularly if they haven’t been solved. These Badger killings only started recently. You need to check all killers who’ve been released in the last couple of years and check the MOs, to see if there are any points of similarity.

I and some of my fellow analysts have been considering what kind of lifestyle this man leads. Together we’ve come up with a composite, based on the times of the crimes, the places they were carried out and the trophies he’s taken.

As you know, he takes as a trophy the panties the women are wearing on the day he kills them. We believe he removes them from their bodies while they are still alive, probably after he has anaesthetised and before he’s cut them.

We believe he’s relatively well off and probably has no regular job. If he does work, it will be part-time or non-daytime. The crimes have been carried out during the day, one in the morning, one just after lunch and the other two late afternoon/early evening. The times of the crimes will of necessity have to do with the hours that the women worked. Janette Crask was a night nurse. She came home at around eight thirty-five and was killed some forty minutes later. We know she went straight in for a shower before having breakfast – her uniform was on the chair in the bathroom. We believe the perp was in her flat before she got home. He may have wanted to watch her having a shower. She put on a robe after drying herself, micro waved some porridge and ate it. He must have been waiting in her bedroom for her, because that’s where the struggle and the murder took place.

She went to the gym four times a week and was stronger than the average woman. Apparently she could bench-press almost the same weight as a man of the same build. From the marks on the carpet we know he had some difficulty overcoming her, but he would have used the syringe on her as she came through the door, and the drug would have acted fairly quickly. He used the chair in the bedroom to sit her on, and he cut her there.

In her case as in all the others, there was no sign of a break in. He obviously used keys, so there are three possibilities: he was well known to her, either he or someone he knew had been a previous tenant of the property and retained a set of keys, or he’d somehow got hold of a key. We know she’d lived at that address for over four years, so the second of those is probably not worth considering. You’ve talked to all her neighbours and friends, and not come up with any man she’d been dating, so that’s also an unlikely scenario. One of her friends said she thought Janette might be a closet lesbian, which would rule men out anyway. We’re left with the last one. How could he obtain a key? The landlord was checked out carefully. He had a key, but it was in his safe, and he had a rock solid alibi. Just as in the other cases, the perp has somehow got hold of a key. That’s something you must work on: how?

Just as in the other cases, the telephone call came through to the Met central switchboard at about the time the drug would have been wearing off. Leaving out Petra Slanik, which was a different set-up, the earliest response by us was four minutes – that was Alice Mayne, and she’d been dead less than five minutes at that point, according to the pathologist.

He calls the minute he leaves the property and is at a safe distance. The phones he uses are either pay-as-you-go disposables or the phones of his victims, which are never used again.

You’ve all heard the calls. There’s really little to work on, since all he says is, ‘Murder at’ and the address, but his voice has been the subject of voice analysis and it seems he is a well-educated man, probably in his late thirties or forties, and his accent is cosmopolitan London, with no trace of Cockney.

Another line you need to work on is how he meets or selects the women. Are they using Facebook or doing a lot of tweeting? Does he see them in the street or in a supermarket and follow them home? Could he be cruising around on the Underground, watching for one who meets his criteria? Three of them used the Tube, so it’s possible that’s where he first saw them. Does he drive a taxi? I have a strong suspicion that he studies them for quite a while to find out their habits, so that he’s not taken by surprise when he kills them. They are women who live apart from their families, so mother, father or siblings are not going to visit suddenly out of the blue. They have no present regular lover - man or woman. He can only know all that by careful study. Since he seems to have the keys to their dwellings, he has probably been inside while they were at work, and studied their correspondence and what’s on their computers.

Janet Keller, who has been doing most of the work on the victims, is fairly sure that the drug used is an animal tranquilliser, called telazol, which is used by just about every vet in the UK. I believe DS Blake has been ringing round all the London vets to see if any quantity has been stolen. Any luck, Brian?’

Blake stood up, a coal-black six-footer, born and bred in the East End, built like a brick outhouse, whose favoured sport was getting into the ring and beating someone black and blue. He was one of Hunter’s best friends in the room and winked at him now.

‘Four fairly major lots stolen, three in raids. An Albanian guy who was one of the cleaners was done for the other lot, and that was recovered. All the people I spoke to say they can’t really control the amounts of telazol used, because it’s in almost constant use by thousands of vets. So – no luck from me. Sorry.’

‘Not your fault, Brian. Thanks for trying. So, as far as the drug is concerned, our man may work or have worked in a veterinary surgery, either as a vet or as an ancillary worker. You can imagine how many of them there are, so it would be a non-starter trying to find him that way. It will be an added help if we ever catch him, that’s all.

Alice Mayne, also a nurse and a shift worker, came home just before one o’clock in the afternoon. She was murdered only a few minutes after that, and was probably attacked as she came in her front door. He would have had to do that, if he was already in the flat, because there was nowhere to hide. Again, he was in the property before she got home, and must have had a key. Identical MO.

Susan Klee was in her second year as a language teacher in a large comprehensive. She took the tube home and got there at five to six, according to the woman who lived in the flat opposite and heard her coming up the stairs and going into her front door.

We received the message at six seventeen, so he must have attacked her immediately upon her arrival home.

Then we come to Petra. She was a qualified accountant and had her own little office just around the corner from where she lived. She left work at five thirty, so would have got home at five thirty-five. The message came in at five fifty-one, but by then, Petra had been found. She’d come round to find herself bleeding out and had the sense to press her thumbs on the cuts. She got to the door and shouted, and her neighbour came out and found her. It was his first mistake, and it proves to us that he leaves them as soon as he’s cut them, leaving them to suffer on their own.

The only other point is their similarity in appearance. They are all brown-eyed brunettes with shoulder-length hair, all in their early twenties, all really attractive and in the professions, if we include nursing.

He doesn’t interfere with his victims in any sexual way; there’s no intercourse and no semen left. Dirty panties are his fetish and it possibly means that for some reason he’s unable to have satisfactory intercourse with a woman, and uses the panties as his erotica when masturbating. Either that, or he might feel he is too ugly to attract a woman enough to have sex with him. It will be his way of obtaining sexual satisfaction, and killing the woman is tied in with the act. She will never be able to have intercourse with another man. She’s his for eternity. He may see letting her bleed out as giving her a last period. Somewhere in his past there was an incident that ruined his ability to have normal sex. Sniffing used panties may seem bizarre to some of you, but if you look on the Internet, you’ll find that he’s far from alone in that fetish – though almost unbelievable it seems it’s as common as sliced bread, though I’m not suggesting that all those involved would resort to murder to gain their satisfaction. If any of you have suggestions, I’d be happy to hear them.’

Carlisle stood up again and thanked the analyst and then looked angrily around the detectives sitting in the room.

‘There’s one thing I’ve left till last because I want it written in six-foot high letters of fire in the forefronts of your minds: it is obvious that there is a mole in this room, feeding inside information about this case to a reporter at the Clarion. Only you people have had access to the intimate details of the case. You’ve all seen the headlines and read the reports. You’ll know what I’m talking about. No information was given to the media about the designs the perpetrator left on the victims, yet not only did the media know about them, they even had one printed in the papers. No sooner had we started calling him the Badger, the name was shouted from the headlines. Let me tell you that if I find out that one of you has passed on even one shred of evidence, your arse will not stop bouncing until you’re out on the street with no job and no pension. On top of that there will be criminal charges brought against you. Your rank if any, will not save you. Remember the recent cases, where senior officers were sentenced.’

He turned on his heel and stomped into his room.

Simpson had stood beside Carlisle during the diatribe, and began to go to his desk when the DCI went off.

Hunter indicated with his head that he’d like to speak to him and Simpson came over.

Quietly, the detective told him, ‘He’s started making calls to me, Alan. He reckons he’s chosen me – that was the word he used, ‘chosen’. For what reason I don’t know.’

‘How many calls has he made?’

Hunter lowered his voice even more, ‘Officially only one, but he rang my home phone too. He’s even been in my flat while I’ve been asleep and stolen a picture of my daughter. Keep all of that quiet. I wanted you to know, because we’ll probably need your help on this one.’

‘Who else knows?’

‘Only Jane. My partner.’ He indicated with his hand and Jane, who was watching, gave him a smile.

‘Can you keep me up to speed if he calls again?’

‘Sure, and anything else that comes up.’

‘I’m a bit worried about that photograph. Could he be after your daughter?’

‘I hadn’t thought of that, but I’d say no chance. I think he took it just to wind me up. Last I heard, she was living in Bristol, with her mother and new step-dad. If I don’t know where they are, he’s hardly likely to.’

‘The last thing I’d do is underestimate him, John. He’s a bloody intelligent and crafty sod. How did he know you had a daughter, and more to the point, how did he know it was a photograph of her?’

Hunter felt a sudden cold shudder, ‘You’re right. It’s something to think about. I’ll try to trace and warn them. Thanks. By the way, what was that load of old bollocks about Theta? Pretty way out, Alan.’

‘Yeah, it’s probably nothing to do with it, but I’m a bloody analyst – I have to look at all possibilities.’

‘I know, and I’m glad we’ve got you on our side.’

Simpson got up, shook Hunter’s hand, nodded to Jane and left.

Hunter had begun compiling the list of cases concerning murderers and attempted murderers he’d had any dealings with. He’d started with the most recent, and he hadn’t even got a year back yet, but already had a running total of twenty-seven.

Carlisle opened his door and beckoned him in.

He wondered what the hell he’d done wrong now, but was surprised to see Carlisle smiling. He had the phone in his hand, holding it out to Hunter.

The DI took it and said, ‘Hunter here.’

Sir Jeremy Calthorpe’s melodious tones told him, ‘I’ve just been telling Chief Inspector Carlisle how professionally and sensitively you and your partner dealt with my daughter’s abduction. Your sense of duty over and beyond what was necessary impressed me immensely, and I have asked the Chief Inspector if he could give you a commendation as a result. You will be glad to know that Maureen is back home again, and was not harmed. Thank you very much for all your efforts Inspector. I shall remember you, and if you ever need a favour, and I do mean anything at all, please do let me know.’

Hunter hung up the receiver.

Carlisle was looking at him curiously, ‘Is there anything you haven’t told me about that job, Hunter?’

‘I don’t know what you mean, Chief.’ He tried to look innocent and failed totally.

‘Sir Jeremy wasn’t thanking you for your one visit to his office, I know. I’d love to know what you’ve been up to behind my back, but I don’t suppose I ever will. The ‘Over and beyond’ gave me the distinct impression you were mixed up in getting the girl back to him. Anyway, I suppose I’ve got to say ‘Well done’, but don’t for a moment think you’re getting that official commendation, because you’re not.’

‘I’d have dropped dead on the spot if I had.’

That actually made Carlisle smile, ‘Hell - I slipped up there. That would have made it worthwhile.’

Hunter’s, ‘One day, Chief, one day.’ as he turned away, wiped the smile of the Chief Inspector’s face.

CHAPTER 11 – AND HERE COMES A CHOPPER TO CHOP OFF HER HEAD.

Jane looked up from her own research, ‘How are you doing with the murderers, John?’

‘I’m not even three years back from the present day, and I’m already up to eighty-nine. I can’t just look at the ones where I was lead detective, I’ve got to include any I worked on, or where I gave evidence in court. I even worked on the Gareth Williams case, but I think I can leave that one out.’

‘That was the GCHQ spy, wasn’t it?’

‘I think ‘spy’ is a bit of a misnomer. He was very much on the sidelines of the work they do there and couldn’t have given much away. Nobody in the know can make out why he was killed.’

‘I think you should include it. You never know what sort of ‘mental click’ you’re going to get, and if you’re making a list, it should be a full one.’

‘You’re right, but it’s going to come to something like four hundred if I go back only ten years. Back then, we were averaging around a hundred and eighty murders a year, never mind attempted murders. We must be doing something right, because the Force has been cut down, the population has increased every year, and yet the number of murders a year has almost halved. Only ninety-eight we know of for last year. The percentage we’re solving has gone up, too.’

‘Have you come across any yet that made you think?’

‘A couple, but what I’m doing at the moment is just making a list of names and dates, with anything I can remember about the perp and the case. When I’ve got the full list I’ll start looking at them in detail: age of the criminal – some might be dead now - the MO, any linked crimes, whether they made threats, my own ideas about them. Thank God we haven’t got a case to go out on just now….. oh-oh. Why don’t I keep my big mouth shut?’ He’d just seen Carlisle come out of his room and look around, his gaze coming to rest on Hunter.

‘Got a job for you and DI Bliss. A serious assault, possibly attempted murder. A girl called Sinead Mossen.’

Hunter got up, trying not to sigh. He knew Carlisle would be delighted to see how pissed-off he was. ‘Where is it?’

‘The paramedics have taken her to St Mary’s.’

‘It’s not our boy, is it?’

‘Sorry to disappoint you.’ Hunter knew he was not sorry at all. ‘Looks like the boy friend did it.’

‘Do we need SOCOs?’

‘Possibly. You can make a decision once you’ve seen the girl.’

Hunter pulled himself out of his chair, perking up a little at the thought of the job. St Mary’s eh? He might just get lucky – about five years before he’d had a hot fortnight in Madeira with a young Jamaican nurse who worked at the hospital. She’d had to go and look after her ailing mother, who’d had a stroke while they were away, when they returned to the UK, and she’d not rung him as promised. When he spared it a thought, he imagined she must still be caring for her parent. He had lost her phone number, along with all the others stored on it, when he’d dropped his mobile and wiped the memory. Fate was a funny thing – they might just run into each other. The bloody trouble was he couldn’t remember her name. As he recalled, it was a strange name, and throughout the holiday he’d called her ‘Sugar’.

His phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket and answered it.

‘Hunter.’

‘Hi, it’s Janet. I have that result for you, John. She was trying to kill him with arsenic. The body can stand a certain amount, witness Napoleon on the Isle of Elba, so your man was lucky he cut the outsides off the food.’

‘That’s great, we’re just off on a job; we can pick the woman up on the way back.’

‘Er, John.’

‘Yes.’

‘How’s your love life?’

He laughed, ‘Bloody non-existent.’

‘Would you like to go out for a meal or something?’

‘I’ll certainly go for the ‘something’, Janet.’ She was great in the sack and she always fed him well afterwards.

‘Give me a ring.’

‘I’ll do that.’

‘Good. ‘Bye for now, then.’

He switched off and noticed Jane looking at him with her head cocked quizzically to one side.

He grinned, ‘You won’t let me into your knickers. I’ve got to get some satisfaction somewhere. Keith Richards and Mick Jagger have got nothing on me.’

‘Who?’ She grinned.

‘You’ll be telling me next you’ve never heard of the Stones. Bloody ignorant pleb.’

‘I might let you see my record collection one day.’

‘That I would like, particularly if it’s like my etchings.’

‘Maybe. One day.’

‘Did you hear the result of the test?’

She nodded, ‘Arsenic.’

‘Much easier to get hold of than some of the others. If she’s still at home we’ll arrest her after we’ve sorted this other one out.’

Traffic was starting to build up, but they made St Mary’s in less than half an hour.

Hunter knew the area well, and knew equally well that there was no chance of finding street parking anywhere near Praed Street. He remembered once being sent round to the rear campus gatekeeper, where there were just a couple of spaces reserved for service engineers, and thought he’d try his luck. They could only refuse, and if they did, he’d park in an ambulance bay.

An elderly man came out of the cubicle when he pulled up. He turned the window down as the man walked over to the car, looking angry.

Hunter expected anything except the greeting he received: ‘Well, shit and bloody corruption! John Hunter, as I live and breathe.’

He looked carefully at the face and suddenly recognised the oldster, ‘And bugger me if it isn’t Inspector Ray Madden.’ He stuck his arm out of the window and shook the old man’s hand. He hardly recognised him. He’d been as lean as a whippet and now the face was round and puffy. Steroids, probably.

‘In the flesh, but a bloody long time since the ‘Inspector’ bit was valid. How the hell are you?’

‘Pretty bloody good, Ray. This is Jane Bliss, by the way.’

Madden bent down and nodded to her.’

‘You got a job to do here, John?’

‘Yes. Shouldn’t take too long, Ray, but I need to park up.’

‘No problem, boy. Stick it over there.’

On the way into the hospital John told Jane, ‘He was my boss when I first joined the Met. One of the best bosses I’ve ever had. Sharp as a razor blade. Taught me most of what I know. He must be finding it hard to make ends meet on his pension, and it looks as if he’s been ill.’

It was several years since he’d been in St Mary’s, and the hospital had obviously recently had a big make-over. He asked at reception where the Mossen girl had been taken and was told that she’d gone through A&E and was now on a ward.

They found her sitting up in bed, talking animatedly to a young man sitting beside her bed on a chair and holding her hand.

Hunter introduced himself and Jane, and the girl looked worried. Her companion went a bright red.

She was a plain girl, a mousy blonde, with a rather pasty complexion, and a flat nose that looked as though it might have been broken at some stage.

Jane began the questioning, as they had agreed beforehand, ‘Could you tell us exactly what happened, Sinead?’

‘We were fooling around and pretending and somehow the knife cut me, but Sean didn’t mean it. It was an accident.’

Hunter looked at the young man, ‘I take it you’re Sean?’

He received a nod in reply.

‘Come along then, Sean. I’d like to talk to you outside.’

As the man got up, Hunter asked the girl, ‘How did he break your nose?’

She stammered, flustered, ‘He…..he didn’t!’

‘How did you break it then?’

‘It was an accident.’

‘You seem to suffer from a lot of accidents, if you don’t mind me saying so.’ He turned and led the way to the door at the end of the ward.

Outside in the corridor he asked, ‘Now you can tell me the truth of the matter, Sean. Were you trying to kill her?’

The young man hesitated, then obviously made up his mind to come clean, ‘We’d been having a bit of a stupid argument about nothing, and Sinead was cooking. She had the knife in her hand, waving it about, and she got carried away and came at me with it. I managed to get it off her and the next thing I knew it was sticking out of her chest. I can’t remember anything after seeing her come flying towards me with the knife out in front of her. I must have blacked out. I didn’t mean to hurt her. They said she was lucky to be alive. The point missed her heart by less than an inch. I would never hurt her. I love her too much.’

‘How did you break her nose?’

He looked thoroughly miserable. ‘I can’t remember. It was another argument.’

Hunter told him, ‘I’m going to get a court order making you go for psychiatric assessment. You’re in danger of becoming a murderer, in fact you damned near became one today. You’re obviously a danger to Sinead, and you two will have to decide if it’s wise for you to continue seeing each other. Now, give me your personal details, age, address, phone number, and so on. Obviously, Sinead is not going to make a complaint against you, so you won’t end up in court this time, but you will if you don’t go for the assessment and any course of treatment they prescribe. If I ever come across you again in this sort of situation, your feet won’t touch the deck! Do you understand?’

‘I do, and thank you. I will do as you say. I’ve always been afraid of my temper.’

Hunter opened the ward swing door, let the lad through and made a motion with his head for Jane to join him.

Walking back to the car she told him the girl had refused to make a complaint against Sean. There was no more they could do in such a situation, and it was just sheer good luck that it had ended the way it had.

‘You’re a woman. Tell me – why do women stay with men who beat them up?’

She shook her head, ‘Don’t ask me. I’m as amazed by it as you are. I certainly wouldn’t.’ She put her head on one side, ‘Have you ever hit a woman?’

‘No, never, and I think if I ever did, I’d top myself. Even when I’ve had to restrain a female criminal, and a couple of times when they’ve injured me, I’ve never hit one.’ He laughed, ‘I’ve put a couple in a half-Nelson though.’

She joined him in the laugh, ‘Hell, John, anything to do with Nelson is okay. He was bloody British, after all.’

The traffic was getting worse every minute, and it took them over an hour to drive to East Acton.

Hunter parked outside the house and they walked up to the door and knocked.

George Clunes opened the door wide after only a few seconds. He looked tired out and he hadn’t shaved.

Listlessly he asked, ‘Come to arrest me, Inspector?’

‘No.’ Hunter told him, ‘Not you, George - your wife.’

The old man shook his head, ‘Bit late for that. You’d better come and see.’

The two detectives looked at one another. They knew they were in for more bad news.

The woman’s body was sat upright in the same chair she had been sitting in to eat lunch the last time they were in the house.

Her face was a mask of blood, which had run down from the horrendous gaping wound in the top of her head. A bloody household meat chopper lay on the table.

Jane gagged and Hunter said quickly, ‘Go outside if you want.’

She got her stomach under control. It had just been the surprise and the smell. The woman had been dead for some hours, and it was a warm day.

‘I’m okay now, John.’

‘My fingerprints are on it.’ George offered. ‘It won’t be any problem for you to prove I did it.’

Hunter shook his head, ‘But why did you do it, George? We had her banged to rights – she’d have gone to prison for what she tried to do to you.’

‘She laughed at me. Told me she’d got a lover man who was giving it to her every day. Told me how good he was, how he made her…..you know. Made a mockery of me not being able to give her what she wanted any more, and she wouldn’t want it if I could. I was no good for her. I kept telling her to stop, she was doing my head in, but she just kept on and on, rubbing it in. I can’t remember doing it, but I must have done, ‘cos I found her like that when I woke up.’

‘Okay, George. Take it easy. Jane will read you your rights and take you out to the car. Before she does that go round the house and get anything you want to take with you, alright?’

He dialled the number for the scene of crime officers and gave them the address.

By the time the SOCOs had arrived and they’d driven George Clunes back to put him in the cells, it was way past six o’clock.

Walking down the corridor on the way out, Jane asked him, ‘Have you had your locks changed?’

‘Too damned right. Yesterday morning. I’ve cancelled all the credit and debit cards too. If that bastard tries to use them he’s in for a nasty shock.’

‘I’ve got the feeling he’s too clever for that.’

‘I think you’re right. He just wanted to wind me up.’

She laughed, ‘He managed to do that all right.’

He grinned ruefully, ‘That he did.’

‘He’s not going to stop, is he? I wonder what he’ll do next?’

CHAPTER 12 – THE PLOT THICKENS

Anita pulled the silver Porsche 911 into the lay-by outside the school, set the handbrake and switched off the ignition. ‘Good luck with the German and maths exams, darling.’ She leant over to give her daughter Patricia a peck on the cheek.

The girl made no move to get out of the car. She had never been a rebellious teenager, unlike most girls of her age. Despite tremendous peer pressure she’d never tasted an alcoholic drink, had not smoked, and would never dream of taking a drug. Far worse than that, in her friends’ eyes, she was in danger of being persecuted as a minority group, being only one of three in her class who had not lost their virginity. She rarely fell out with her mother or answered her back, but she couldn’t agree with the latest move. Though she didn’t know it, she’d inherited her father’s tenacity when she felt really strongly about something. This was one of those times.

‘I’m sorry, Mum, I’m not going to tell them. There’s no point. I don’t want to change, and it isn’t for much longer, anyway. I’ve only got two more exams after today and then we’ll be on extended leave until the school year ends. It’s daft. If you have to change our names again, why can’t I go back to Dad’s? I like Hunter. It’s a good name.’

‘Because I don’t want you to.’

‘I will when I’m eighteen.’

‘We’ll see what happens then, but for now you’re going to be Clarke.’

‘Why? That’s what I can’t understand. We’re Layton now, why can’t I just stay Layton?’

Anita sighed, ‘How many times do I have to explain? It was alright while we were in Bristol, but now we’re back in London your Dad could find us if we use the name Layton.’

‘What would be so terrible about that? You know I want to see him. I can’t remember him much, but I remember he was always nice – always joking. I still don’t know why you divorced him.’

Anita sighed again, ‘When you’re old enough you’ll understand that some adults just can’t live together.’ How could she tell her daughter that she still loved her father, and that it was only the drinking and the unsocial hours that initiated the break-up? Her affair finished it, but since she’d always told the girl it was Hunter’s fault she was not about to change the story now. Maybe, just maybe, when she was older. That was another reason for not seeing him. He might let it slip. He had been a damned good father and a good husband. He was also a bloody good detective, and that was much of the problem – if a job ran over normal working hours he kept at it, so he was hardly ever at home, and when he was, he drank. He was not a nasty drunk – that wasn’t the problem. He became a lovable fool, as Patricia said. When she thought about it, he had made her laugh a lot.

Though not quite a nymphomaniac, Anita liked a lot of sex, and so did John in their early years together, but the booze had ruined his libido, and towards the end they never made love and she’d burnt out two vibrators.

That was when she met Alan Layton, and though she didn’t love him she began the affair. He was a seriously rich man, recently divorced from his second wife, and he treated her royally. When he proposed she hadn’t hesitated. Only after the wedding had she realised her mistake. Like many before her she’d equated good sex and money with good marriage. She tried to make a go of it, and enjoyed the high life and the foreign luxury holidays, but only six weeks after the wedding Alan had begun another affair, and it was the first of many. How she’d stuck it for all those years she didn’t know, but finally she’d had enough.

Alan had shrugged his shoulders when she asked for a divorce. He’d arranged a large lump sum payment as a settlement and as an additional gesture made her and Patricia recipients of lifelong trust payments. They would never be short of money, and she didn’t need to work, but just a couple of weeks of idleness had almost driven her crazy and she went back to the law firm she’d worked for when she met John Hunter.

The girl was insistent, ‘Mum, I want to see Dad, and I want his name. I’ll bet he’d call me ‘Trish’, not Patricia.’

‘I’m sure he would, but you’ll get on a lot better in life if you keep your full name. Trish sounds like something you might order in a Chinese takeaway.’

‘Oh, Mum, you’re such a snob.’

Anita sighed. She had to admit that life with Alan had had some effect on her in that direction. She decided a compromise was necessary, ‘Look, darling, would you, just for me, please leave it for now. After your sixteenth birthday, if you still want to, maybe I’ll say yes, but for now, please let it be.’

‘You won’t even tell me his address. I know it’s in Lambeth somewhere.’

‘I’ll tell you that too. Look, if you don’t want to tell the school about the name change today, then fine. I’ll go along with that, but for the rest, let’s leave things as they are for now. Alright?’

The girl shrugged her shoulders, ‘Okay, Mum. But only for now, right?’

‘Right. Off you go now.’

After waiting until her daughter disappeared inside the school Anita started the engine, put the Porsche in gear, looked in the rear view mirror and pulled out into the traffic when a space came up. She didn’t notice that the Post Office van which had pulled into the lay-by just behind her when she parked pulled out to follow her, just as she’d not noticed it following her for three miles before they reached the school.

CHAPTER 13 – AND THICKENS…..

The van with the cleverly copied Post Office logo followed the Porsche until Anita drove into the secured underground car park below her firm’s offices.

Twice he’d tried to get into the offices using his ‘phone fault’ excuse, and each time the girl on reception had told him they had ‘in-house’ trouble-shooters to look after faults.

He’d looked up the names of senior officers in the firm and tried to ‘deliver a parcel’ to one of them. Again he was stymied. The receptionist told him to leave it with her for delivery. He did have a laugh, thinking of the man’s face when he opened the box and found a house brick, but the laugh was on him, because he still hadn’t got Anita’s keys.

There were two possible alternative choices, neither without risk, and he was beginning to think it might have to come down to a breaking and entering job, but had decided to give it one more try and hope a different girl was on the desk.

He’d got his blond wig and thin moustache disguise on again, with mirrored aviator glasses and a long-peaked cap. There were two cameras in the reception area, and no doubt there would be more in the corridors and offices.

A black VW Golf pulled away from a parking meter as he drove past the building, and he pulled straight into the gap, getting a rude blast of the horn from an elderly woman driving a grey Mercedes 230, who had been waiting patiently for the Golf to get clear before taking the space.

He longed to give her the finger but stuck to his absolute principle of not doing anything that could be remembered as odd. Who knew, the old girl might just ring the Post Office with the van’s registration number and start a nasty ball rolling. He waved politely at her and smiled as she drove past, shaking her head in disbelief. He was chuffed to see there was still forty minutes on the parking meter. It might not be enough, and he stuck three more pound coins in to add another three quarters of an hour to the time unexpired.

He mentally crossed his fingers when he saw that there were two girls he hadn’t seen before on the desk. A young redhead was speaking quietly on the phone and an even younger blonde stood watching him as he entered through the door.

He presented his false Post Office ID and told her he’d been called in because there was a fault on one of the phones.

The girl was dubious, ‘Who called you?’

He pulled a sheet of paper out of the top pocket of his overall, ‘A woman called Anita Clarke. She didn’t say which department she was in.’

‘I’ll have to ask my colleague. It’s my first day here.’ She turned and began to speak to the other girl, but received an imperious wave of the hand, telling her to get on with it. The redhead turned her back, and it was obvious her phone call was a private one.

The blonde sighed, ‘All right then.’ She looked down at the list of personnel working at the firm, frowning, and with the tip of her tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth in concentration. ‘It looks as if Anita Clarke is on the fifth floor, room five-one-seven.’

While thanking her he was thinking that it was a pity she was blonde – he would have liked to have her as a patient, with her pert little tits and large, made-for-fellatio mouth.

He hurried to the lift before the redhead could finish her conversation and intervene.

The small individual offices all had glass panels on the internal walls to the corridor and wooden walls between them. He walked slowly along past Anita’s room.

She was sitting on a black swivel chair behind her light oak desk, writing something in a file. Her handbag and a jacket hung from a rack just inside the door.

The next three offices on the opposite side of the corridor had someone in them, but the fourth was unoccupied. He went in, lifted the phone and pretended to be taking the bottom off with a screwdriver.

There were several files open on the top of the desk and he expected the return of the office’s occupant at any minute, but he was lucky. Only six or seven minutes after going into that office he saw Anita come out of her door and walk down the corridor until she was out of sight.

He quickly exited the office he was in and went into hers. He took her bag down from the rack, opened it, and rifled inside.

He found a handkerchief, two tampons in their packets, a small tube of some sort of cream, an iPad and a packet of mints, but no keys. He checked the pockets of the jacket – nothing.

Quietly he swore, ‘Fuck it! Fuck it! Fuck it!’ The bloody woman must have the keys in the trouser pocket of her expensive tan and orange trouser suit. It was a no-go and it would have to be Plan C, dangerous though it was.

He almost ran along the corridor to the lift, went down to the ground floor and walked out without a word to the receptionist.

The morning would be almost over by the time he got home, and Anita would have to wait. Hunter was going to have quite enough distraction soon, and the prolonged anticipation of the final blow was pure pleasure in itself. There was a lot of preparation work to do, and a fairly long drive ahead of him. Today was Colleen’s day, and he mustn’t be late for her!

CHAPTER 14 – SEEK AND SEEK, BUT SHALL YE FIND?

They’d left it till the morning to interview George Clunes. It was a slam-dunk, but procedure had to be followed. Hunter had insisted on a medical examination of the pensioner beforehand, to ascertain if he was of sound mind. The doctor had said George was as sane as he was, for what that was worth.

He was brought into the interview room handcuffed, and Hunter told the officer who brought him in to remove them.

The man looked annoyed and started to say something, but stopped when he saw the look that came onto Hunter’s face. He nodded, undid the cuffs and went out without speaking.

Jane had been watching the old man’s face. It was completely devoid of expression, and he seemed to be in a daze. Jane told him to sit down.

Hunter started the recorder and went through the preamble; date, time, those present, details of the case, then asked George if he wanted a solicitor present. He refused. He was then asked if he wanted to make a statement.

He said simply, ‘I killed her.’

‘Do you want us to take into account any mitigating factors, George?’

‘No.’

‘Why did you kill her?’

‘We’d been married twenty-three years and she was having it away with someone else and trying to poison me.’

‘You realise you will be sent for trial. You really should have a lawyer representing you. One can be provided for you free of charge, you know.’

George Clunes smiled sadly, ‘I don’t need a solicitor, Inspector, I’m guilty and I’ll say so. Prison or no prison, it won’t make the slightest difference to me. I’ve got nothing left to live for. I loved my wife. She’s gone and there’s nothing left.’

‘Very well, George. I’ll see you in court.’ Hunter concluded the recording, went to the door and told the constable to return the pensioner to his cell. They set off back to the office.

Jane looked upset, ‘Poor old man. I know he’s a murderer, but I do feel sorry for him.’

‘So do I, Jane. He’d have happily gone on with his life until his time came, if it hadn’t been for his wife trying to kill him. Sometimes this job stinks.’

‘I meant to ask you – did you check up on your ex after Alan spoke to you?’

‘Yes – no problem there. The woman I spoke to told me ‘Mr and Mrs Layton are holidaying in Peru.’ Talk about the high life.’

‘What about Trish?’

He stopped walking, suddenly looking worried, ‘I assumed she was with them. I shouldn’t have done, should I? She’ll be doing her GCEs and GCSEs at the moment – it’s the silly season for exams. Anita will have made arrangements for Trish if she’s gone swanning off up the Amazon or wherever, but you’re right – Trish might be vulnerable. I’ll find out from Layton’s secretary where she is. In fact, I’ll do it right now.’ He took his mobile from his pocket, clicked through to the number he’d dialled before and pressed ‘Call’.

He heard, ‘Layton Enterprises.’

‘Hello, is that Amelia?’

‘Yes, it is. Could I ask who’s calling?’

‘John Hunter. You will perhaps remember I rang asking if I could speak to Mr Layton and you told me he was in Peru with his wife.’

‘Oh, yes, Mr Hunter. How can I help you now?’

‘I was Mrs Layton’s first husband, and I’m trying to find out where my daughter Trish is at the moment. You said her mother was in Peru, but is the girl with them?’

He heard a laugh, ‘Oh, Mr Hunter, you have the wrong Mrs Layton. Mr Layton is on holiday with the new Mrs Layton. They were married a fortnight ago, and they’ve gone away for an extended six-weeks’ honeymoon. He and Anita divorced almost a year ago. I liked her, and Patricia was great. I was sorry they left. You’re in London, aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, so are Anita and Trish. They moved back there several months ago.’

‘Do you have an address for them?’

‘No, sorry. Mr Layton might know where they moved to, and he will have instructed his bank to make payments to them, but I’m afraid I can’t help you there.’

Hunter was stunned. He thanked the woman and switched off.

Jane asked, ‘Problems?’

He sighed and nodded, ‘Big ones. They’re back in ‘The Smoke’. Bloody hell. If that bastard finds them……..’

‘Now, take it easy, John. You don’t know if he’s even thought of them, never mind found them.’

‘He knows too damned much about me and my life. I know he’ll have thought about them and he’ll have been looking. I’ll have to find them.’

‘No, John. We’ll have to find them.’

‘Thanks, Jane. Let’s just get this paperwork on George done and dusted and then we’ll start digging. Knowing Anita, she’ll have gone back to her maiden name, Clarke with an ‘e’, but we’ll have to try all three – Clarke, Hunter and Layton. The woman said they’d moved back to London, so Trish will be a student in a London school. Trouble is, there are bloody hundreds of them in the Greater London area, and we have no idea what part they’re living in.’

‘It won’t be any good trying the Census, they won’t have been here that long. What about the phone companies?’

‘Trish always insisted on ex-directory, and I know she changed her mobile number after we parted. Layton would probably know where she moved to, and maybe even her telephone number, but he won’t be back in the UK for weeks.’

Jane had a sudden inspiration, ‘What about the examination boards? They’ll have a list of students taking exams. What subjects would she be taking and what level?’

He shook his head, ‘Bloody good idea, Jane, but they left before she went to senior school. I wouldn’t have a clue, except maybe a language. She really took to learning bits of the local lingo wherever we went on holiday abroad. She learnt quite a bit of Spanish, so that might be a shot. I don’t know if they still even have to take what we used to know as the ‘core’ subjects any more – English, maths and a science, and then of course there are several boards setting the examinations. Things have changed a lot in recent years, and much of it not for the better. The problem will be that the examining bodies have so many hundreds of thousands taking each exam all over the country that they almost certainly won’t want to spend the time looking through for one pupil.’

‘No, but we can try. Estate agents would be a waste of time. What was Anita’s job when you married her?’

‘She was a trained solicitor.’

‘With what firm?’

‘Bloody hell, Jane, that was so many years ago. Something like ‘Belton and Jefferson’ or ‘Pillocks and Bollocks ‘– a double name anyway, but the way they get taken over and take on new partners it will no doubt have changed its name long before now. If I think of it, I’ll give them a call, but I’d doubt very much if she could just walk back into a job in the same firm.’

‘There are too many recruitment agencies to try. What else is there?’

They thought of it together, ‘DVLA.’

‘Trish is too young to have a licence, but Anita might have renewed her licence or registered a car. Let’s get back to the office and I’ll give that a try.’

Using the official police request system, he found her under the name Anita Clarke. She had registered a new Porsche 911 GT1, but the address given was one in Bristol, and she’d obviously not given a thought to updating it. The car wasn’t due to be re-taxed until the next January, when she probably would change the address. It had been a good try.

He sighed heavily and told Jane, ‘Almost, but not quite. I don’t know why, but I’ve got the jitters about this. I have the strong feeling the Badger knows where she is and is planning something. I feel bloody helpless.’

‘Keep trying, John. Anything I can do, just let me know.’

He was so uptight he missed the chance to throw in an ‘Anything?’

CHAPTER 15 – ON YONDER HILL THERE STANDS A MAIDEN

It was quite a run out to Osterley by road. He observed all traffic regulations and stayed well within the speed limits, even the twenties, and arrived with almost an hour to spare.

After checking there were no traffic wardens on the pavements he pulled up on the double yellow lines in front of the Chinese takeaway, which would not be opened for quite a while, removed the cones labelled with ‘police’ stickers from in front of the empty shop next door, where there were no yellows, and pulled the van into the kerb only a few yards away from the alley leading to the girl’s flat. The cones he threw into the well in front of the passenger seat.

Carrying just the shoulder bag with his necessary bits and pieces he sauntered the few yards to the alley entrance.

There were few pedestrians and none of them close. He went down the alley and let himself in the bottom door. Today he would wipe the handle as he left. Before going up the stairs he pulled on rubber gloves and his head covering.

After knocking and waiting, he opened the flat door and went in. He put the bag in the linen press and went into Colleen’s bedroom and looked in the linen bin. Empty. He swore. She’d done all the washing. How could she do that to him, to spoil his fun? He’d make her suffer extra for that.

He pulled back the bed covers and bent down to smell where she had lain, but pulled back when he saw the stains on the sheet. The dirty cow had let someone fuck her and had not changed the bed linen. No way did he want to smell some other fucker’s cum. No fucking way!

He thought of leaving the covers pulled back, so that she could see she’d been found out, but there was no point – she would be unconscious before she got to her bedroom.

He sat down and waited. She’d be at the Starbucks for a while yet.

~~~oOo~~~

She sat nursing her latte, lost in thought, when a voice behind her asked, ‘Dia dhuit, Colleen. Conas ata tu?’

She knew the voice immediately, although she hadn’t seen its owner for over two years.

She answered, ‘Dia is Muire duit, ta me go maith, Conan.’

‘Can I join you?’

‘Of course. How was Guatemala?’

‘Hot. Didn’t like it at all, but the money was good.’

‘How come you’re here, in this place?’

‘Looking for you, mo chuisle, I’m starved for love.’

She giggled, ‘You mean you know I’m good for a shag, you dirty bastard.’

‘Ay, that too. I hoped you wouldn’t be hitched or anything.’

‘You know me better than that. I’m glad to see you. You’re looking well. Those Guatemalan girls must have been good for you.’

‘One or two of them. But I always thought of you while I was doing it.’

‘Aw, quit the Irish blarney. You’re in luck anyway. I was sitting here feeling randy, and you’ll be much better than a do-it-yourself job, if that ding-a-ling of yours hasn’t shrunk in the heat.’ She drained her coffee. ‘Come on then, let’s go and work up an appetite for supper.’

~~~oOo~~~

He stood just inside the flat door with the hypodermic in his right hand, ready to plunge it into her neck as she came in.

He heard the lower door being opened and then the two voices.

Fuck! What to do? What was the bitch thinking?

He had only moments to decide. Unless he wanted a bad melee in which he’d be outnumbered and might come out second best there was only one possibility – back into the linen press for a bloody long wait, while they screwed and fucked around until they went out for a meal. She didn’t cook, so that was a certainty. Christ, he’d make her suffer for this!

He closed the press door almost to the limit, just leaving enough of a crack to peer out.

They went straight along the hall to the lounge and he heard her ask if the man wanted a drink before they went to bed. There was no answer and he guessed, correctly, that they were kissing.

He heard her say, ‘I’ll take that as a no, then, Conan. Go into the other bedroom – there’s clean sheets on the bed in there. I’ll just have a pee and then I’ll join you. You can get undressed ready.’

He heard the soft brushing sounds of the man’s feet on the thick pile carpet as he came into the room, but could not see him. He heard drawers being opened as her inquisitive visitor looked to see what was stored in them. The man’s figure came into view as he walked round to the other side of the bed, taking off the last of his clothes.

He almost gasped – the guy had a boner like they had in the porno movies he’d seen. It had to be nine inches long and looked half as thick as his wrist. No wonder she had the hots for him.

He expected the stud to pull back the bed covers and get in, but inquisitiveness got the better of him and he came towards the linen press door, obviously intending to open it and look inside.

Shit! There was no option – he had to take action!

As the stud came within a couple of feet of the door, he smashed it open as hard as he could, smacking it into the guy’s face and breaking his nose.

He jumped out of the press and while the man was dazed he gave him half the contents of the syringe in his neck, then ran to the door of the toilet which was opening as the girl came through, shouting, ‘Conan, what the…..?’

He sank the point of the syringe into her neck and pressed the plunger to the limit.

He stood shaking with tension, the adrenaline coursing through his veins, thinking furiously. Should he dash out and let them call the police when they came to? No. Hunter would love that and he was not going to give him the satisfaction of knowing he’d bungled another job.

He had another full syringe in his bag. The girl would be out for a couple of minutes, so he had time.

First things first. He hurried to the press and retrieved his bag.

The scalpels were in a compartment at the front. He took out the largest, held one of the pillows from the bed close over the man’s body to stop the blood from spurting everywhere and slit his throat with a single slash. The body jerked several times, then was still.

He stepped back quickly, throwing the pillow onto the bed when he was at a safe distance from the spurting blood and went back into the hallway.

The girl was beginning to moan as she came to. He sank the hypodermic into her neck again and injected all the contents. It wouldn’t be perfect – she might not come to in time to watch herself die, but that couldn’t be helped.

He removed her suit trousers and took off her panties, taking a few seconds to sniff the crotch before stuffing them into the bag, then pulled her upright and through onto one of the kitchen chairs.

She had on a beige woollen cardigan and he rolled up the sleeves. Not bothering to change scalpels, he cut into the arteries on her arm, one after another, trying to judge just the right size cuts, so that she wouldn’t bleed out too soon.

He was breathing heavily. He thought quickly – had he left anything they could use to find him? No – he was sure he had not. He’d made the best of a bad job, but he admitted to himself that it had shaken him up badly.

He took Colleen’s mobile phone from her bag to make the call with. He guessed the man had a phone in his pocket, but blood had spurted onto the clothes and it would be pretty messy trying to get at that.

The thing to do now was to try to relax and take things easy. No rushing – just look as if he was a normal guy going about his everyday business.

He let himself out of the flat, stepped carefully down the stairs, removed the head covering and the gloves on the bottom step and put them in the bag. The right hand glove still had some blood on it, but he always washed them first and then disposed of them in a public waste bin far from his home after an operation He opened the bottom door and was about to go out when he heard steps coming along the passage. He eased the door to again and had just closed it when a loud knock came from the other side.

He stood absolutely still, hardly daring to breathe.

The knock came again, and then, half a minute later, again.

He waited.

After a long pause whoever it was knocked loudly again.

A man’s voice shouted, ‘Fuck you, Colleen! Bitch!’

He heard the sound of footsteps fading but waited another ten minutes before venturing to open the door and peer out.

There was no one in sight and he exited into the alley and closed the door behind him, remembering to wipe down the handle to remove any fingerprints.

That was just too much, he thought. Why hadn’t he stuck to his original model and only go for patients who had no men friends? He would not make a mistake like this one again.

Exiting the alley he glanced carefully left and right. Both the road and pavements were almost clear, apart from one old lady walking towards him with her dog about a hundred yards away on his side.

He waited until he was safely seated in the van and the woman had gone past before dialling Hunter’s personal number.

The DI looked at number recognition, but it was not one he knew.

‘Hunter.’

‘Hello John. Guess who? She’ll be dead now, but she’s at this address….’

‘You know I’m going to get you, don’t you?’

‘In your dreams, Detective. I’ll have some more news for you soon. Keep off the booze, and off Jane. Not that you’ll ever do any good there. I’ll tell you all about her one day. Poor girl. Oh, by the way, I thought you were a law-abiding detective. What’s all this breaking and entering business? Naughty, naughty! Keep well, John.’ The line went dead.

Hunter sat at his desk fuming. Jane saw how coldly furious he was.

He stood up and shouted, ‘All hands to the pumps! He’s done another one!’ He gave them the address and there was a mass movement. Carlisle had heard him and came out of his door.

‘Hold it, everyone!’ He looked over at Hunter. ‘Did he call on your mobile again?’

Hunter nodded. He could see Carlisle’s anger, although the DCI was trying to keep it in check. ‘We’ll just take a small team. Myself, DIs Hunter, Bliss, Barnette and Cain, and you, Alan. I’ll call the local station and get them to send a man in first, just in case she’s still alive, but I’ll tell them to make him wear full scene of crime gear and come out and wait outside the premises as soon as he’s ascertained that she’s dead. I’ll organise the SOCOs and try to get Janet Keller to the scene ASAP. When we get there, no one goes in until the SOCOs are finished. Our job is to question the whole bloody neighbourhood. Someone must have seen something. Also, we commandeer any camera footage.’ To Hunter he said, ‘We’ll take two cars. I’ll go in my own with Alan Simpson and DIs Barnette and Cain. You and DI Bliss go in another. On the way, try and get a line on that mobile, although it will probably belong to the girl he’s killed.’

Going out to the car Hunter thought about what the perp had said. What was that all about when he was talking about Jane? Something that had happened to her? How did the killer know anything about Jane? And how in hell did he know they’d been involved in breaking and entering? Could Jane have told anybody?

It suddenly hit him – the bastard had bugged him! His car certainly, and probably his flat too. Christ. What a bloody chump he’d been. It should have been the first thing he thought of when he knew the perp had been in his place. He must have got the car keys while he was asleep.

He’d been thinking of taking his own jalopy to the address, in case they were kept very late, but changed his mind in a hurry. That car was staying in the park downstairs until one of their experts had been over it with a bug detector.

He waited until they were on their way before mentioning it.

‘I’ll get the technical people to sweep the car and the flat, and you’d better have your car checked too, though we’ve never used that yet. He must have heard everything we said when we went out after Maureen. He said something else that puzzled me, to do with you.’

Jane was astonished, ‘With me? How? What?’

‘I don’t know what, if anything, you’ve got in your past, Jane, and if there is something it’s none of my business, but the killer knows something. He didn’t tell me what, just that there was some reason you and I could never be an item, and this time he didn’t mention old age.’ He didn’t tell her about the ‘Poor girl’ epithet.

She’d gone very quiet and he was sure there were tears forming at the corners of her eyes. She turned her head away from him and he suddenly felt like a heel for bringing it up.

The silence continued for some time.

Eventually she turned to face him and told him, matter-of-factly, ‘I was abducted and gang-raped by six youths when I was fourteen, John. It lasted all night and most of the next day. I think they intended to kill me after they’d finished with me, but by sheer luck some buyers came to look at the empty building they’d taken me to and scared them away. I’ve never been able to even think about sex since then without total revulsion. I like you very much. I would often love to cuddle you, but I haven’t dared, because you would get the wrong idea. I really need to be loved; I crave affection, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make love physically, and believe me, I’ve spent more time with ‘shrinks’ than you could possibly believe.’

He swung the car viciously into the kerb and stopped on a double yellow. He leant over and took her in his arms, pulled her gently to him and cuddled her like he had never cuddled anyone in his life.

‘You poor little sausage.’ He repeated over and over.

He felt so sorry for her that he began to cry himself, and she heard his sobs.

‘Oh, John, you soppy ha’porth. You mustn’t.’ She started to cry too.

How long they stayed like that neither of them knew afterwards, but they were brought back to reality with a vengeance when someone started banging on the glass.

They looked up to see an irate fifty-something woman in traffic warden’s uniform making signs for them to turn down the window.

Jane did so.

‘What the h….. what on earth do you think you’re doing? Let me have your driving licence, mister.’

John wiped his eyes. He pulled out his warrant card and showed it to the woman. ‘We’re very sorry. It’s the bloody job. We’ve just found out someone we knew has been killed. This is a police vehicle and we’re both detective inspectors.’

The woman looked closely at his card. She was still suspicious. ‘Can I see yours too, lady?’

Jane picked her bag up from the floor and took out her warrant card, which the woman inspected just as carefully.

She was a realist and knew that if she reported them it would be thrown out anyway, so decided to let them off gracefully, ‘It sounds a likely story, but I’ll accept it. I must say it looked just like a cuddle to me.’

Hunter gave her his most winning smile, ‘We both thank you. Have a good day.’

He grinned at Jane and started the engine.

A little way down the road he said, ‘I can well understand how the rape has affected you, Jane. I can’t conceive of anything so horrendous, and I’d happily kill the bastards if I could get my hands on them. If there’s ever anything I can do to help, I’m here for you, you know that. If you ever want to track those sods down and punish them, I’m your man. And I just love cuddles for their own sake, so I’m here if you ever want one of those. I am glad you told me, for many reasons, probably the least one of which is that I really thought I was losing my touch.’

‘No, John. You certainly are not. You could charm the birdies right down out of the tree, you smarmy bastard.’

‘That’s my girl.’

Yes, she thought, I know I could be, if I could only get rid of the demons. She was so pleased she’d told him. It would make them better work partners, she knew. He had his hard side, but deep down he was a real softie, and she knew she could now count on him to defend her at a push.

CHAPTER 16 – WHAT LIGHT THROUGH YONDER WINDOW BREAKS?

Hunter pulled up near the address five minutes behind Janet Keller and her SOCO team. Their car was parked outside the empty shop and he pulled in behind it. There was no sign of Carlisle’s car.

The constable sent by the local police station stood in the alley, just by the bottom door entrance to the flat, accompanied by a uniformed inspector.

After introductions all round, Hunter asked, ‘Have you been inside?’

‘Only as far as the kitchen.’ The inspector held up a plastic bag, ‘Wearing full scene of crime gear, of course. The girl was dead, and though I didn’t check for a pulse, the man was obviously with his Maker too – I don’t think there was a drop of blood left in his body.’

Hunter was puzzled, ‘The man? You mean there are two bodies up there?’

‘Oh, yes, didn’t you know? The girl is in the kitchen and the man is in the first bedroom. I guess they were about to have sex – he’s naked as a winter twig. Is this the one they call the Badger? She’s got something cut into her forehead.’

‘Officially no, and I’m going to have to ask both of you to keep stumm about this job, even with your mates. You can say there were two bodies, a man and a woman, but no details, okay?’

The inspector assured him, ‘Absolutely. No problem. Right, Hobbs?’

His man nodded, ‘Right, Inspector.’

‘Thank you for your help, we’ll take it from here.’ He held out his hand to each of them in turn and Jane did the same.

As soon as the two uniforms were out of earshot, Hunter said, ‘He’s obviously been caught out. He must have been waiting in the flat, expecting her to come home alone, but she brought an escort, and I guess he panicked. Good. Well – not good for the poor bastard who got in his way and copped it accidentally, but it will have got him rattled and might slow him down a bit.’

He saw Carlisle turn the corner into the alley, followed by the two DIs and Alan Simpson. The DCI looked angry again, and Hunter mentally marked another tick on the wall for another one up on his boss.

‘How the fuck did you get here first?’

‘I know the shortcuts, Chief.’ He saw his boss’s anger go up another notch at his use of the hated abbreviation and couldn’t resist a grin, which pushed it even higher.

‘I thought I told you to get statements?’

‘Just about to do so. Saying ‘Hello’ to our local counterparts. We’ve got two this time.’

‘Two? Two what?’

‘Why, bodies, Chief.’ Hunter turned away and moved off towards the main road. Without looking, he knew that Jane alongside him was grinning too.

They spent the next hour and a half knocking on every door in the street and taking statements. At the end of it they had two possible sightings of a man near the entrance to the alley. One made him an almost six feet tall black man, with a bald head, and the other was a small man who ‘might have looked a bit oriental’.

Obviously no one had seen their perp. Hunter firmly believed he would have been disguised anyway.

They went back to the alley, where their fellow detectives stood chatting, with Carlisle bending Alan Simpson’s ear a few yards further on. Hunter, observing them as they approached, thought how things had changed. Only a few years back there would have been a blanket of cigarette smoke hanging over them. Now not one of them smoked.

Janet and the SOCOs were still upstairs.

He walked up to Carlisle and asked, ‘Do you mind if we go and get something to eat, Chief?’

The DCI waved his hand, ‘Don’t be long.’

They went out of the alley and into the Chinese takeaway that was underneath the flat.

There was only one customer, waiting for her order, and two men behind the counter, one a very young man in his late teens and a wizened old man who could have been his great grandfather.

The younger one asked them, with almost a Cockney accent, ‘Back again with more questions, Inspector?’

‘Not this time. We’d like to order something to eat.’

He held his hand out for Jane to order first.

‘I would like some egg fried rice with prawns, please.’

‘Is that all you want, Jane? How about a spring roll to go with that?’

‘No thanks, John. Got to watch my figure.’

‘I could do that for you.’

‘You do that enough anyway. What are you going to have?’

‘Two spring rolls and the kung pau chicken with noodles.’

The young man turned to his elder and rattled out a string of Chinese, and the old man disappeared through a hanging beaded curtain into the rear of the shop, from which they heard pots and pans being moved around and stirred, with an accompaniment of muttered Chinese, as if the oldster was repeating the ingredients to himself as he added them.

Hunter told her, ‘Always sounds like a lot of disjointed syllables, but it’s a fascinating language. I started to learn it once. In some ways it’s extremely simple. You don’t use the tenses as we do. Instead of saying ‘My father is going to Canton with your brother tomorrow’, you say, ‘Father go Canton with brother tomorrow.’ It makes sense really. If they’re going tomorrow it’s obviously in the future, so no future tense is necessary. The possessives are only necessary if you need to stress them, and they are there to be used if that’s the case.’

‘What happened – did she move out?’

He laughed, ‘You know me too well, Jane.’

The old man came back into the shop with their order.

Hunter made a slight bow to him and asked, ‘Key! Yigi zuo ma?’

The old man giggled. It sounded like water going down a drain, ‘Dang ran, dang ran. Tso hsia pa.’

Hunter bowed again and told Jane to sit down.

She was laughing, ‘You really are a bloody show-off, John. Very impressive though.’

‘I try.’

‘Shouldn’t we get back? Carlisle will go nuts if we aren’t there when Janet comes out.’

He tapped the side of his nose. ‘You worry too much. Relax.’

She shook her head in wonderment, ‘You crafty bastard. She’s going to give you a tip-off, isn’t she?’

‘No good having friends if they don’t help you, Jane. Take your time and enjoy your food.’

He loved Chinese food and had to admit that the spring rolls were probably the best he’d ever eaten. He always said that you can tell a good Chinese restaurant by the quality of the spring rolls. As he began on the kung pau chicken he was even more impressed.

The youngster had disappeared behind the curtain into the back room and the old man had been watching him carefully.

Hunter was about halfway through his chicken meal when he was asked, ‘Zuo ma?’

Enthusiastically, he told the old man, ‘Yao, xie xie. Bang ji. Zhen hao.’

He was rewarded with a huge smile and a head that seemed in danger of falling off, it was nodding so hard.

‘And I guess you just told him it was very good?’

‘Delicious and excellent, and it is. You should try a taste.’ He held the plate out to her and she took just a small amount.

A look of wonderment came on her face, ‘My God. You’re right. There are peanuts in there too. What a fabulous taste.’

‘It’s one of the things I cook really well, but not as well as the old fellow there. This is one of the best I’ve ever tasted. The secret is first of all in getting the marinade ingredients exactly to your liking, and then being very careful with the sauce. It’s a matter of juggling the amount of cornflour and water, and you have to keep adding water throughout the cooking to get it just right, otherwise the sauce gets a bit sticky.’

‘I didn’t know you cooked. You’ve been hiding your lights under the proverbial.’

‘You never asked. I love cooking but I have to really be in the mood to cook for myself. I do a good thing with French Provincial too. Come round for a meal whenever you feel like it.’

‘You know, I might just do that. Next time I go in a Chinese takeaway I’m going to go for the kung pau.’

‘Some places make it with prawns and that’s just as good.’

Hunter ate fast and they finished their meals almost at the same time.

His mobile rang and he saw that the number was the same one the perp had used before. He switched it off.

‘Him again?’

He nodded, ‘Him again, wanting to gloat, no doubt. I’m not going to give him the pleasure.’

The phone rang again and he was about to switch it off when he noticed the caller was Janet.

‘Hi, Jan. How’s it going?’

‘Just finished up, John. I’ll give you a minute to get back from wherever you are, because I’m sure you haven’t been keeping your old friend Carlisle company, then I’m coming downstairs.’

‘Thanks, Jan.’

He took Jane’s arm, ‘Time to go and join the troops.’

The old man behind the counter called to him as they got up, ‘Ming t’ien ni mên lai pu lai?’

Hunter had to disappoint him, ‘Ming t’ien wo mên pu lai.’

‘Ai ya. Hsien shêng shuo ti Chung Kuo hua chên hao.’

K u o c h i a n g , W o p u k u o h u i c h i a n g c h i c h q .

H e w a s r e w a r d e d w i t h a r e n e w e d b o u t o f g i g g l e s .

O n t h e w a y o u t o f t h e d o o r , J a n e a s k e d , A r e y o u g o i n g t o e n l i g h t e n m e o n t h a t l o t ?

H e a s k e d i f w e w e r e c o m i n g b a c k t o m o r r o w a n d I t o l d h i m w e w e r e n o t .

A n d t h e last bit?’

‘You’ll think I’m bragging. He said I speak Chinese very well. I told him he flattered me and that I only speak a few sentences, which is true.’

‘Well, for someone who only speaks a few sentences, you certainly impressed me. She must have been some teacher.’

He grinned wickedly, ‘I can tell you that the old myth about the thing being sideways on is just that - a myth.’

She hit him in the ribs with her elbow.

Carlisle gave him a withering look as they walked up to the other detectives, ‘You took your bloody time.’

Hunter nodded amiably, ‘We did, Chief.’

Carlisle was about to add another pithy report when the door behind him opened and Janet Keller walked out, followed by the SOCOs.

‘It’s all yours, Chief Inspector. We’ve taken all the samples and photos we need, and we’ve been over the place with a fine toothcomb for residuals. If you could make your viewing as short as possible, I’ll have the bodies removed.’

‘Is there any doubt it’s the Badger?’

‘No doubt at all. The badge is there, as usual. I believe the unfortunate bloke just got in the way and had to be put down so that he could get to the girl.’

‘Any possible prints?’

‘No, as usual. This is conjecture at the moment, since I’ll have to run all the tests with the mass spectrometer and the gas chromatography equipment before I can go firm on any of it, but these are inspired guesses: I found traces of what appeared to be some kind of talc, such as is used on rubber gloves, on the inside of the door of an antique linen press in the spare bedroom, which leads me to believe the perp was hiding in it. It should confirm what we’ve suspected all along – that he wears gloves all the time. We’ve never found a hair or any DNA, so he probably wears something over his head too. Anyway, it looks as if Colleen’s boyfriend went up to the press, possibly to open it. The perp must have smashed the door into the man’s face – there’s blood on the outside of the door at about the right height – then given him an injection of anaesthetic before slashing his throat. The victims’ names, by the way, are Colleen Wright and Conan Petrus. There was a mobile telephone in Conan’s pocket, but no others in the flat, so I imagine hers will have been used to call in the murders.

I believe Colleen may have been in the toilet when the man was attacked and probably heard the commotion. There’s urine in the toilet basin, and it hasn’t been flushed, so I think she got up quickly to see what was going on and ran out, meeting the perp in the hallway, and that’s where he injected her. Marks on the carpet indicate that he dragged her into the kitchen and sat her on a chair, where he cut her arteries and left her to die. Her trousers were left on the floor of the hall; the panties had been taken. You can go up now, but please, as usual don’t touch anything. As soon as you’ve finished we’ll remove the bodies.’

Carlisle and the two DIs who were travelling with him climbed the stairs. Alan Simpson made no effort to follow them, and Hunter held Jane’s arm to hold her back, ‘We’ll go up when they come back down. Don’t want a crowd up there. Janet’s given us all the information we need anyway, and I don’t think we’ll be able to deduce anything else from the scene, but we will have a quick look.’

The three men came back down less than a minute later, Carlisle looking grim, Cain grinning, and Barnette looking decidedly green and unhappy. Hunter knew the DI hated blood. He’d obviously only gone in with Carlisle because of the reaction if he hadn’t. Hunter got on well with him. He was not the brightest knife in the drawer, but he’d been a good plodder. At fifty-two he was looking forward to retirement, and was determined not to do anything to jeopardise the safe progression to that end.

Carlisle glared at Hunter, ‘You heard what she said – don’t touch anything. And I want a report stating the exact words used when he rang you about the crimes.’

‘First thing in the morning, Chief.’ Hunter assured him.

It looked as if the DCI was going to say something else, but thought better of it. He turned on his heel and left, followed by the two DIs and Alan Simpson, who said, ‘Cheerio’ before walking off.

‘We’ll have a shufti, Janet. Won’t be long. Will you do the posts tonight?’

The pathologist looked at her watch, ‘No. They’ll keep till the morning, and there won’t be anything new.’

‘Do you mind if we join you?’

‘Be my guest.’

‘Thanks.’

Jane followed him up the stairs. ‘You didn’t ask me if I wanted to be there.’

‘No. Like the bishop said to the actress, if you haven’t seen one before, now’s your chance, and if you have it doesn’t matter.’

He checked both doors as he went and at the top he told her, ‘No break-in again. The bastard had keys, just as he did at the other places. I wish I could work out how he manages that. For a long while I thought he must have been having affairs with the women, and they’d given him keys, but I don’t believe that now. I think we need to go to where they worked, see where they left their keys during the day, and ask if any strangers have been seen in their workplaces. He could be posing as a cleaner or something.’

‘I think that’s a jolly good idea, John. I wonder that Alan didn’t think of that. He’s usually really good with that sort of thing.’

They’d gone in just far enough to see past the end of the bed in the spare bedroom.

Jane shuddered. ‘Just look at that poor bugger.’

He nodded, ‘Look on the bright side though, Jane. He’d have died happy – he was just about to get his end away.’

‘He’d have died a lot happier if he’d already done so.’

‘That’s some piece of equipment he’s got there. God knows what it must have looked like when it was primed for action, although Janet once told me that death can bring on an erection, and even an orgasm sometimes.’

She dug him in the ribs, ‘Trust you to think of that at a time like this. Go on through.’

Colleen had fallen off the chair onto the artificial wood floor of the kitchen. She was lying on her side, naked from the waist down, with a pool of blood covering much of the floor. She had shaved her pubic hair completely.

‘He’s stuck to his age range and hair and eye colours. I’ll bet she’s in one of the professions too.’ He looked at his partner, ‘You know, Jane, I’m amazed that you’re not affected by scenes like this.’

‘Oh, I am affected, but not how you think. The blood doesn’t bother me – I used to help my father when he slaughtered our animals, and I’ve often been deer stalking and bled and gralloched the kills. The effect it has on me is one of immense sadness. These poor girls, with so much of their lives ahead of them, slaughtered by that madman just for his own pleasure.’

‘I’d go along with all of that, except for the madman bit. He’s not mad, Jane. He’s absolutely sane, and that’s the problem. If he was mad, he’d make mistakes, and he hasn’t made one, even here, when he was surprised.’

‘What about Petra? Wasn’t that a mistake?’

‘Maybe a small one, of timing, but he overcame it. Come on, let’s get out of here and let Janet get on with her job. There’s one other thing I want to do while we’re here.’

‘And that is?’

‘An idea I’ve just had.’

She grinned at him, ‘I do hope you’re not going to do something our beloved Chief would disapprove of, John.’

‘Ah, now would I do that?’

‘Yes, and turn the knife in the wound too.’

Janet gave the pair of them a strange look as they exited the door at the bottom of the stairs. Hunter knew women well enough to know exactly what she was thinking. He looked directly into her eyes and shook his head slowly. She smiled, satisfied with his unspoken reply.

Back out on the street he made no effort to go back to their car. He stood looking up and down the road.

‘What are you thinking, John?’

‘It suddenly struck me when we were in the flat that it was strange no one saw him. That almost certainly means that he didn’t walk the length of the street to get here. If he had, he would have been noticed, so how does he get to the places where he kills the women? Does he come by bus, underground, bike, motorbike or car? I’m thinking he brought some kind of vehicle. We asked everyone if they’d seen a strange car or person in the road. Maybe we didn’t ask the right question. Let’s try again.’

It was tiring and unrewarding work at any time – the job all policemen hated the most. Having already questioned everyone at all the houses and businesses along the road, they were met with animosity in most cases and slammed doors in others. They had only three more properties to check when they met a talkative female pensioner who had not been at home when they called earlier.

Her name was Molly, and she was eighty-one, she told them, but, in her words, ‘still with it’.

‘I watch all the police series on the box. I often work out whodunit long before those stupid dicks do.’ Hunter groaned inwardly. They were in for a long harangue with nothing worthwhile at the end of it.

‘I was puzzled when those police cones were put in the road. That shop’s been empty for over a year.’

‘What police cones?’

‘The ones that were down the street. I saw them for the first time yesterday and they were there when I took Charley for a walk this afternoon, but they were gone when I came back.’

The hair on the back of Hunter’s neck seemed to have taken on an electric charge.

‘Where exactly were these cones?’

‘Outside the empty shop with its windows covered with three-ply, down near the Chinese takeaway. The Post Office van was parked there, so your lot must have come and removed them during the afternoon.’

‘Are you sure it was a Post Office van, not just a red one?’

‘Oh, of course. It had the logos on the sides and the back door.’

.Do you know how long it was there?’

‘No. I saw the postman come out onto the street and get back in. Then the van drove off, but the cones were gone.’

‘What time was that?’

‘Just before six.’

‘You said, ‘come out’, do you mean out of a house or a shop?’

‘No, silly man. Out of that alley next to the takeaway.’

Hunter almost didn’t dare ask, ‘Did you notice what the postman looked like?’

‘I don’t take much notice of postmen, dearie – not my type at all. He had a funny little moustache, and he had hair like some of them old men do on the box.’

She’d lost him there and he shook his head to clear it, ‘Hair like what?’

‘Scruffy, like a wig.’

‘What colour?’

‘Light brownish and curly.’

So, he thought, just as I imagined, he’s always disguised when he goes out. It probably wouldn’t help much, but it was worth a try, ‘If I send an artist round, could you help her draw a picture?’

‘Oh, yes. I’d love that. I’ve seen it done so many times on the tele.’

‘Could you stay at home now for the rest of the day?’

‘I’ll have to walk Charlie about ten o’clock, but otherwise I’ll stay in.’

‘Good. Is there anything else you can tell us about this man?’

‘Not really. He had on Post Office uniform, with a little peaked hat, like the black lads wear, although they have them on backwards, and a pair of those shiny sunglasses so you can’t see the eyes. He did seem to walk a little funny though.’

‘How do you mean?’

‘Well, not really with a limp, but just a little bit like that, if you know what I mean – as if he’d stubbed one of his toes and was favouring one foot.’

‘How tall would you say he was?’

‘Medium height – about your size, maybe.’

‘Thank you very much, Molly. You’ve been tremendously helpful.’

The old woman put a hand on his arm as he turned to go, ‘You haven’t told me.’

‘Told you what, Molly?’

‘What he’s done.’

‘Oh,’ he hesitated, but she’d know tomorrow anyway, ‘he’s a mass murderer.’

CHAPTER 17 – OH, NO, JOHN, NO, JOHN, NO!

Jane waited in her flat until he rang to say he was downstairs. She checked the peephole viewer nevertheless before exiting her flat door. The rape attack had left her permanently wary, and John’s warning had added to that wariness.

He got out of the car as she approached and she thought for a moment he was going to play the gentleman and open the passenger door for her. Instead he met her halfway across the pavement and stopped.

She was intrigued, ‘Something up, John?’

‘I had the car and the flat checked last night. There was a voice-activated mike under the dashboard, a tracking device inside the rear bumper, and two mikes in the flat. They were all state-of-the-art jobs, so he’s not stinting on cost. My tech expert told me he wouldn’t have got much change out of a grand for the four bits. I’m going to put them on eBay, and if I get a chance I’m going to tell the perp. The car should be clean now, but I’m not taking chances.’ He looked into her eyes, ‘I’m going to take a certain course of action which is not exactly kosher, and it could affect you badly if it got out. I want to run it past you and let you decide.’

‘Well, knock me down with a feather, John, this is new. You’re always doing things like that without telling me first. What’s different this time, are you going to hold up a fucking bank or something?’

‘Worse than that, Jane. I’m going to withhold information that we should pass on.’

‘The woman’s information?’

‘Mm. And the artist’s impression.’

‘Christ. You don’t go for half measures, do you? How are you going to keep the artist’s picture from them? She’ll be paid by the Force, so they’ll have to know.’

‘Not necessarily.’

‘You mean you’ve done a private deal with her?’

‘Something like that.’

She grinned, ‘Oh, I get it. You really have spread it around a bit, haven’t you?’

He shrugged, ‘Friends come in handy sometimes.’

‘The sort that open their legs, you mean.’

‘And some that keep them closed.’

‘Ouch!’

‘Bloody hell, Jane, I didn’t mean you. I was thinking of someone else. I am sorry.’

‘Don’t be, John. I’m a bit over-sensitive in that department, as you can guess.’

‘I know, and I’m a stupid thickhead who hasn’t got his brain in gear.’

She smiled at him, ‘I’ll let you off this time – don’t do it again.’

He looked at her seriously, ‘I don’t tell you this often enough – you’re a bloody wonderful partner. I wouldn’t change you for any one I’ve partnered before.’

‘From what I’ve heard about some of your ex-partners, that’s high praise indeed.’

He nodded, ‘I have been lucky. Old Fred Archer for one.’

‘He was killed, wasn’t he?’

‘Mm. Poor sod. He’d been married to Carol for twenty-two years. She was devastated.’

‘I’ve heard about it, but not the details. If you don’t want to talk about it I’ll understand.’

‘I never have before, but it was a bloody long time ago, so what the hell? We were not armed and it was just a run-of-the-mill checking job – an address where a ‘person of interest’ as they say had once resided. A pleasant enough woman answered the door and asked us in. We walked ahead of her into the lounge, completely relaxed and not expecting trouble, and before we had time to look around we’d both been shot. I was lucky – both bullets just missed my heart, but Fred’s didn’t. They told me he hadn’t suffered – he was dead almost instantly. A neighbour heard the shots and called it in. End of story.’

‘Not quite. You had a close call too, if my information is right.’

‘Okay, yes, pretty close. I’d lost a lot of blood and there were a few bits inside that needed sewing back together, including a lung. I was off work for six weeks.’ He grinned, ‘It did make me more watchful and wary going into properties.’

‘Did they ever catch the shooter?’

‘No, nor the woman.’

‘Could he be the Badger?’

‘It’s possible, I guess, but he actually came out best, and I believe the Badger came out worst in our encounter, whatever it was. That’s why he’s after retribution.’

She stood thinking for a few moments, then asked, ‘Do you mean to keep the info back for just a while or altogether?’

‘Altogether. I don’t want you too involved when I go after that bastard, but I’ve got the distinct feeling it will be me who has the final showdown with him, and you might possibly be with me. Something else I want to do is to trap the mole, and I’ll need your help to do that.’

‘That will be a pleasure. Have you any idea who it is?’

‘I’m almost certain.’

‘Are you going to tell me?’

‘Why not? It’s Carlisle’s buddy, DI Cain.’

‘You sure?’

He nodded, ‘Just watch me prove it.’

‘What is it with you and him? Is it just because he’s brown-nosing Carlisle and trying to keep in with him? He seems to hate you as much as the DCI does.’

‘No. I just know too much about him.’

‘Are you going to tell me?’

He considered for a moment before answering, ‘I might as well. It’s fairly common knowledge anyway. He was in Vice for most of his early career, and plodded on for years without lighting any fires. He got up to sergeant on seniority alone and he stuck there for ages, never making any waves. Suddenly, out of the blue, he started making a series of sensational drug busts, damned near one a week, dealers the Met had been after for years without success, caught with their pants down and banged to rights. Suddenly he was the dog’s bollocks. He got a commendation and promotion to DI.’

‘And? Surely that wouldn’t make him hate you?’

‘He might be intelligent in a crafty way, but he’s as thick as two short planks in another. About eight months after the last bust, he not only bought a brand new Beamer but the stupid bastard drove it to work. There were quite a few of his fellow dicks who’d been jealous of his busts and his promotion, and it didn’t take long for the buzz to get around that he’d been taking backhanders. Internal investigations were started, and they quickly found out he’d been feeding information to Kasim Azerbani, the new Russian mafia drug lord in town. Though he’d deleted the texts on his mobile and on the computer, the techs soon got them back, and they were lethal. Kasim wanted to get rid of the opposition, and he gave details of their activities piece by piece to Cain, who organised the busts.

The powers-that-be were in a quandary. They could hardly throw the book at someone they’d just commended and promoted, and they couldn’t leave him in Vice. Solution – they transferred him to Serious Crimes, where, as you’ve seen, he does sod all except kow-tow to Carlisle.’

‘But surely Carlisle will throw your evidence out, won’t he? He’s big buddies with Cain.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ve got that covered too. I’m really going to be flavour of the month with our dear boss.’

She shook her head in wonder. How he got away with what he did she’d never know. He always seemed to have all the angles covered, and she guessed it must come with long practice.

Once in the vehicle they were careful not to speak of anything important and just chatted about the traffic and the weather. Anyone listening would have been bored to tears.

Hunter drove straight to Janet Keller’s forensic laboratory, parked in the only empty space, which was marked, ‘Director only’ and called in to tell Carlisle where they were before they went into the building.

Janet had been waiting to start the autopsy on the girl until they arrived.

She greeted them as they entered after knocking. They had put on the two complete anti-hazard sets of clothing, which she’d laid out for them on a bench just outside the door of the lab. Janet had long ago convinced him that dead bodies were much more dangerous than most live ones.

‘Greetings, fellow vampires. Ready for some blood and gore? Not much left of the former, but there’ll be plenty of the other. We’ve done the post on the man. Not much to relate, really. His blood, what was left of it, was interesting; he had hepatitis A and also a touch of malaria. His passport was in his jacket pocket, and it seems he’d only just got back from Guatemala. The water there in a lot of places is a source of hepatitis, and he’ll have picked up the malaria there too. Other than that, he was a pretty healthy corpse. An interesting one if you were doing a thesis on penis length. His was pretty impressive.’

‘That’s what John thought too.’ Jane told her, ‘It’s not really something I’ve studied in any depth. Nor have I the inclination.’

‘Most of my study has been on the stainless steel table in here, I must admit.’ Janet told her.

‘When you two have finished the wedding tackle debate…..’

‘Would you like to have a front seat, or would you rather sit down at the side and listen?’

John asked, ‘Close up, Jane?’

‘If you can, I can.’

‘Right. Here we go then. She’s all ready for us to start. I have to do the usual rigmarole on the recorder first. We’ve weighed and measured the corpse, so we can get straight on with the autopsy.’

She switched on the voice-activated machine and dictated the date and time, the place, her name and qualifications and those of her diener, Jason Green, then the names of the two DIs.

‘The body is that of a twenty-three year old Caucasian woman, Colleen Sinead Wright. Height one hundred and seventy-one centimetres, weight fifty-nine kilograms. Meticulous examination of the external surface of the corpse shows one open cut to the brachial arteries on each arm, the points from which the body was exsanguinated. There are two injection sites on the right side of the neck. An old scar of approximately seven and a half centimetres runs horizontally across the lower stomach on the right hand side, possibly from an appendix operation. Another scar eight centimetres in length runs vertically from the mid-calf of the left leg down towards the ankle, possibly the result of surgery to repair a broken tibia, seen in the x-ray taken earlier. The surface of the body is in good condition generally, with no unusual bruises, eczema, bullet holes or injection sites, except that to the neck. Head hair and eyes both dark brown. There is no pubic hair, and it appears that the area has been shaved within the last two days. Clitoris and labia slightly enlarged indicating regular sexual activity. There is no scarring around either the vagina or anus, and no evidence of recent forced sexual activity.’ She opened the mouth and inspected inside, ‘Subject has all her own teeth, with just one filling, the second maxillary on the left hand side. Close inspection of the nose and eyes gives no indication of surgery.’

She switched off the machine. ‘That’s it, basically, folks. I can’t see any other likelihood than that she died from the exsanguinations, but if you want to stay….?’

Hunter said it for both of them, ‘We’ll stay.’

‘Okay, here goes then.’ She switched the recorder back on.

She made the usual Y-cut from each of the shoulders to the breastbone and thence down to the pubic bone. She had scarcely finished the cut when Jason began peeling back the skin, muscle and fat, before cutting through the bones and the attached tissue, so that the chest and stomach cavity could be opened for the removal and weighing of the organs. Most of the autopsies Hunter had been at he’d seen the diener use some kind of saw, but Jason used an implement that looked a bit like an old fashioned scythe. It did the job just as easily, as he pulled it through one rib after another. Hunter guessed it had some sort of sharp teeth. Jason then used a scalpel to cut the connective tissue, and lifted out the ribs.

The smells from this corpse were nothing like some of the smells Hunter had experienced where bodies had been found days or even weeks after death. It was rather like being at the butcher’s shop when they were cutting up a carcase.

‘Examination of the internal organs shows no signs of abnormalities.’

She began cutting them from their attachments. When Hunter had watched previous autopsies, the pathologist had always tied off the arteries and veins supplying the organs with blood. Janet wasn’t doing that, and he guessed, correctly, that in this case there was no need, since the blood had all been drained. Another thing that Janet did differently was to lift out all the major organs in one lump before she began to dissect them, leaving the stomach and intestines in the cavity for the time being.

Jason meanwhile had cut through the skin from ear to ear at the back of the head, and then pulled the skin of the scalp forward over the face of the corpse. He carried over a Stryker saw from the workbench and used it to make a cut around the middle of the skull, then, using what looked like a woodworker’s chisel, which, in fact, it was, and a rubber-headed mallet, he took off the top plate of bone, leaving the brain open to the air.

Janet went to help him, and levered up the brain with her hand, so that she could reach beneath it to cut it away from the spinal cord.

She put the brain in a jar of fixative.

Weighing of the organs came next, with the kidneys weighed separately, and Hunter was amazed as always that the right one invariably weighed more than the left. After weighing, Janet took slices from each for closer inspection later under the microscope.

While she did that Jason had been removing the stomach and intestines. He’d washed the intestines to remove waste material from the bowels.

Janet switched off the recorder and asked, ‘What did she have for breakfast, Jason?’

‘Not a lot. She’d drunk quite a bit of coffee during the day, and only eaten a sandwich for lunch – looks like pastrami on rye. Guess she was trying to keep her weight down.’

The pathologist looked at her two guests, ‘That’s about it, unless you want to look at the slides. The only cause of death was what he did to her. She wasn’t sexually molested, apart from her knickers being taken, and she wasn’t pregnant. I don’t think the pastrami sandwich would have killed her.’

‘No. Thanks a lot for having us, Janet. I’ll be in touch.’

Both he and she were smiling under their masks in anticipation.

Hunter pressed the unlocking device as they approached the car, then removed the angry note from under the windscreen wiper. He screwed it up without reading it and threw it over his shoulder onto the back seat as he got into the car and started the engine.

‘Time we were getting back, Jane, or shall we stop off somewhere for lunch on the way?’

She grinned at him, ‘Better think about Carlisle’s blood pressure, John.’

‘Yeah, I guess you’re right, and we need to do the other business too. This is how we’ll do it……….’

They both sat working at their desks, keeping an eye on Cain. After about an hour the DI got up and went out of the office door.

Hunter nodded to Jane and they also both got up and exited the room.

They stopped just a few yards from the door of the men’s toilet, and when sounds of movement came from behind the door Jane started speaking quietly but forcefully, ‘You haven’t told him? You stupid sod. It’ll be my neck on the line as well as yours. You can’t keep information like that to yourself. What did the woman say?’

Both of them noticed the door ease open just a fraction.

Hunter nodded and grinned, ‘She said he was driving a white van with a water company logo on the side and back, and was wearing some sort of dark uniform with a badge hanging from his lapel. He’d parked just down the road from the woman’s address.’

‘ D’you think that’s how he gets into their houses, tells them there’s some trouble with the water supply?’

‘Almost certainly.’

‘When are you going to tell Carlisle?’

‘I’ll tell him tomorrow morning. I want to telephone a friend of mine who works for the water company first. He can find out who was in that van, maybe. I’ll do that this evening.’

‘You do take some risks, John. I don’t want to be part of this at all. I haven’t heard anything about it, okay?’

‘Fine by me.’

Back in the office he wrote Cain’s name and the details of the information on a slip of paper and sealed it in an envelope. He went into Carlisle’s office.

Carlisle looked as if a bad smell had just walked in, ‘What do you want, Hunter?’

‘I want you to sign the back of this sealed envelope.’

‘The hell I will. What game are you playing?’

‘D’you want to know who’s passing information to the Clarion?’

‘You know I do.’

‘Then humour me. If I’m right, what’s in this envelope will appear in the paper tomorrow. I’ve fed this false information to just one person. It’ll put egg on the editor’s face at the Clarion, because he’ll have to admit they were wrong and retract it. Then the reporter will get a rocket up her arse. As soon as I see a copy of the paper tomorrow, I’ll give you the envelope and you can take it from there. You’ll catch the mole and make the media look bad too. It’s a win-win situation for you. You saw the paper this morning – every little detail that Simpson mentioned about theta and the rest appeared almost verbatim. Someone in that room out there had a recorder on all the while he was speaking. Tomorrow there’ll be details of the latest two murders, along with this dodgy stuff.’

‘How do I know it’s not you leaking it? I’m told you once had a fling with Gerry Norton.’

‘If you can call four days nine years ago a fling, okay, I did. She got the boot the second I found out she was a scribbler. I always check out new birds – I’m a suspicious bastard, as you well know. I took her back to my place for the first time and said I was going for a pee. About thirty seconds later I looked round the doorpost and she was going through my desk. She went out of the door with a flea in her ear before the minute was up. It’s your choice, I don’t care either way.’

Carlisle hesitated for only a moment. No way did he trust Hunter, but for the life of him he couldn’t see how this one could blow up in his face.

He put his hand out and took the envelope, gave Hunter one more suspicious look, signed across the sealed edge and handed it back.

‘You’d better not be trying to get one over on me, Hunter’

The DI smiled sweetly, ‘Aw, Chief, would I ever do that?’ He turned and exited the room, sliding the envelope into his inside jacket pocket.

The rest of the afternoon he spent compiling his list. By four o’clock his phone had rung three times and he’s switched it off each time, knowing it was the Badger, and wanting him to become angry.

Jane asked, ‘Are you going to do that every time he calls? He might tell you something important.’

‘He’s more likely to if I make him wait.’

‘He’ll be more dangerous if he’s angry.’

‘And more likely to make a mistake.’

She held her hands up in surrender, ‘You’re the boss.’

By quarter to five he’d gone back to 2003 and the number of cases had reached two hundred and eleven. His desk was littered with A4 sheets he’d printed off with the details of the murders, the murderers and the victims.

The phone rang again and the caller display told him it was the same number.

He put the mobile onto speakerphone, spun his hand round and round to tell Jane to record the call, shouted, ‘Quiet, everyone!’ and pressed the green button. He pre-empted the caller, ‘Don’t you ever give up? I don’t want to hear your bloody voice. I’ve got enough to do clearing up your handiwork.’

‘Don’t be like that, John. I liked you. I thought we might have a meaningful relationship, but you’re spoiling it. Why are you doing that? All I want to do is talk to you.’

‘Okay, well talk. I’m all ears.’

‘I wanted to let you know that I’m giving you a day off today – no new patients.’

‘That is bloody kind of you.’

‘My pleasure, John, my pleasure. How far back have you got, looking for me?’

‘Kiss my arse!’

‘Tut-tut. We are in a tizzy today, aren’t we? Anyway, you can relax this evening, in the sure knowledge that I won’t be disturbing you.’

‘And is that the lot?’

‘Oh, no, John, no, John, no!’ He sang part of the old song, ‘You’ll need to rest up, because tomorrow, John - oh, tomorrow. That will be another day. One you’ll never forget for the rest of your life. Sleep tight. I’ll be in touch.’

The line went dead.

The room erupted in bedlam. Carlisle had come out of his office and had been listening along with everyone else.

John heaved a huge sigh, ‘Did you get it, Jane?’

‘Every word. What did he mean about tomorrow?’

‘I dread to think. Whatever it is, it’s going to be personal. Play it back.’

They all listened again, shaking their heads at the perp’s audacity.

Hunter knew that he was in for a frontal attack, and it could only mean the Badger was going after either him or someone close to him. He had Trish’s photograph. If he touched her, and was ever close enough, even if it meant life in prison, Hunter would kill him!

CHAPTER 18 – SEEKING STILL

Hunter looked at his watch. Five eighteen. His body was soaked in sweat and his mind was already reeling. He doubted he’d slept more than ninety minutes of the four hours he’d spent in bed.

From the moment he got home the previous afternoon until just after one he’d spent every minute trying to trace the whereabouts of Marie, Anita and Trish.

Before leaving the office he’d phoned Bristol CID and spoken to a DI Blake, who assured him he’d move Heaven and Earth to try to find where Anita and Trish had gone. Hunter suggested contacting all the removal firms in and around the city, all the taxi companies, the banks, the hotels and the garages where Anita might have had her servicing done. Blake had agreed that he’d get more joy in person than Hunter would over the phone. He sounded like a good man to have on the team, and hopefully he’d get some information.

Hunter had managed to locate Marie fairly easily through a friend of hers who worked in one of the local semi-legal knocking shops that went by the pseudonym of ‘massage parlour’. The local ‘plod’ and even Vice turned a blind eye to most of them, as long as they didn’t deal drugs or employ under-age girls. They got a lot of possible rapists and molesters off the streets and kept the crime figures down. Hunter couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard of one being raided. They tended to keep their noses clean. He knew the shop where the woman worked was in Islington, and found the right one after visiting four others, where he’d been offered, and turned down, just about every sexual deviation known to man.

He’d been introduced to Maisie when he and Marie were out one evening at one of the local comedian talent shows. Most of the so-called humour had left him cold, and the new hopeful comics all seemed to believe that if they didn’t use the f-word five times in every sentence they wouldn’t succeed. Sure, he used the word himself, when necessary, but then he grinned as he thought, ‘but not every second fucking word.’

Maisie had made a really deep impression on him. Six feet one inch tall, weighing at least ninety-five kilos, with an amazing 38DD pair, but with the most beautiful smiling face, surrounded by shoulder-length blond hair, bobbed under at the base, and cornflower-blue eyes. It was not her size, weight or beauty that impressed him most. It was the way she moved – as delicately as a newborn foal, and her voice – not deep and masculine as he’d expected, but light and musical.

He’d been surprised when Marie told him her friend managed a massage parlour and had worked her way up mainly by lying on her back.

She recognised him as he came in the door, ‘John. Lovely to see you. Surely you haven’t sunk this low? I’ll have to do you a special price.’

‘Hello, Maisie. Are you still in touch with Marie?’

She hesitated, and he told her, ‘Look, I don’t want you to put me in touch with her or anything like that. I want you to give her a warning. There’s a guy out there murdering women, and he’s said he’s going to get at me. I can only imagine it will be with someone I’m fond of. Although we broke up, I’ll always have a soft spot for Marie, and I don’t want anything to happen to her. Can you tell her this evening that it is deadly serious, and she should go off somewhere for at least a fortnight, now, tonight, telling no one where she’s gone. Tell her to ring me when she wants to come back and I’ll let her know if it’s safe.’

The woman looked shocked, ‘My God, John. I’ll tell her, don’t worry. Wait a minute.’

She picked up a mobile phone and dialled a number.

‘Marie? It’s Maisie. John is here with me – yes, John Hunter.’ She gave her friend the message and listened, then handed the phone to Hunter.

‘Hi, John. Thank you for the warning. I’ll go off straight away. You know where I’ll go, okay?’

‘Okay, Marie. Please take care.’ She would be driving to her mother’s place in Argyleshire. She’d told him once that it was where she always went when things got too much for her in The Smoke.

He handed the phone back to Maisie.

She grinned at him, ‘You look frazzled, John, wound up real tight. You definitely need some relief. How about it? On the house? I’ll even break a promise I made to myself five years ago and see to you personally. I fancied the pants off you the first time I saw you, but you were Marie’s.’

He managed a sad smile, ‘Any other day I would have accepted with pleasure, Maisie. I’m sure it would be an experience to remember, and you do me great honour in offering it, but I’m so wound up I know it would be a disaster, and I don’t think I can take any more of them just now.’

‘Well, another day then. Whenever you like, you hear? Just drop in.’ She took his face in her huge hands and gave him a deep throat kiss that lasted well over a minute then put a hand down and felt his crotch. She gave him a big grin and said, ‘Hell’s bells, John, you weren’t kidding!’

As soon as he reached home he switched on the computer and went into Facebook.

He tried every possible nickname he could think of that Anita might use. She knew enough after their marriage to avoid any real name usage on the Internet. He had no idea how to start looking for Trish. Teenagers spoke a different language to the one he used. He tried to imagine what she looked like now – was she a miniature version of Anita, or had she a completely different personality? The braces would be gone, for sure, and her figure would have filled out. With her sixteenth birthday coming up soon she would be a young woman now, and it hurt him more than he cared to think about how much he would have liked to be part of her growing up.

There were literally tens of thousands of listings on Facebook, and he realised as he started nodding asleep over the computer that he was getting nowhere.

It was ten to one – dare he ring Jane?

He did, and she answered immediately.

He started to apologise but she told him to be quiet.

‘I’m still looking, John, but I haven’t found anything either.’

‘I’m going to go to bed now. Why don’t you do the same, and we’ll start again in the morning?’

‘I’m too wide awake to sleep I think, but I agree. We’ll be fresher in the morning.’

He felt anything other than fresh, but levered himself out of bed and went into the shower, where he turned the water on to ‘cold’.

Drying himself off he suddenly had the urge for a drink, and knew it was going to become a raging impulse throughout the day. Yesterday he’d been lucky. Now it started.

He tried to think of other things – it was too early to call Blake. What could he do? Make a list of anyone Anita knew in the old days, friends, the hairstyling salon she used, her old bank. He’d started when he got back from work but it was a short list - his memory was pretty blank on that period of his life. The booze again. She’d banked with Barclays in Kennington Road, not far from a beauty salon she frequented in Vauxhall Street, Lambeth. Unless she was living back in Lambeth she would be unlikely to use that salon again, even if it was still open, but he would have to check it out – the only thing he had to clutch at were straws. Similarly with the bank, but Anita was a bit of a traditionalist and if she still had an account, it would be with one or other branches of Barclays. Unfortunately he banked with Nat West, so there was no friendly manager he could cajole into helping him find which bank she now used. He’d have to approach the manager of the Kennington Road branch and throw himself on his or her mercy. With all the rules and rigmarole of the new privacy laws he didn’t rate it with much of a chance. There had been a woman who came to the flat once a fortnight to tend to Anita’s feet and his own, but for the life of him he couldn’t remember her surname. She was a jolly Scottish woman and her Christian name was Aileen, but beyond that he just couldn’t remember. Yellow pages didn’t give many first names and none of the chiropodists or podiatrists listed there or on the Internet gave him a mental click. The woman must have been in her late fifties back then and had probably given up working.

From what her ex-husband’s secretary had told him, Anita had got so much money from the divorce that she didn’t need to work, and he guessed she’d now be enjoying the life of Riley, free from the daily grind. From their small talk - when they’d still been talking - he knew she disliked not only the firm but also all her fellow solicitors where she worked, and he guessed that it would probably be a waste of time ringing them to see if she had any friends there. At this distance in time, most of the staff would have either left or would have forgotten her in any case. Even so, it would be worth a phone call. They’d already tried the DVLA and had Anita’s car registration number. He needed to put out a BOLO – the ‘Be on the lookout’ call to all officers, telling them to watch out for a particular vehicle, but he knew it would not be possible for him to originate one without Carlisle finding out and wanting to know what the hell was going on. He picked up the phone and dialled Taylor’s personal number.

He sighed heavily as he replaced the receiver. He felt useless, knowing for sure that the Badger would have his own day all planned out and be ready to go.

CHAPTER 19 – FREEDOM LOST

He was in a rare good mood, as he cleared away and washed the breakfast dishes. Normally a ‘boiled egg and soldiers’ man, he’d done himself proud that morning with a full English, followed by toast and marmalade, enjoying every morsel while he thought of his prey. Hunter would have had little sleep and would be even more vulnerable than ever. He wondered how the detective was coping with the desire for alcohol. Knowing the man’s willpower, probably quite well. Perhaps he could do something about that. It would need careful planning, but he was sure that somewhere along the line he might be able to get close enough to spike a drink.

He had the hypodermic syringes loaded and ready, and the disguise he would wear for the job was completely different from any he’d used before. The wig was blonde and instead of a moustache he would have a small goatee. The glasses would be like bottle bottoms, with heavy rims.

He’d spent all of yesterday evening readying her quarters in the old office complex. There were six one-gallon containers of water and a fridge/freezer full of food – plenty enough carefully selected food for the week he expected her to be his guest, but the bare minimum of water. Fifty each of plastic plates, knives, forks, desert- and teaspoons would more than last the course. The chemical toilet was primed and there was toothpaste to go with the new toothbrush he’d bought and plenty of toilet paper and soap. He had no idea if she would be due for her period while she was there, but he’d laid in a supply of Tampax, similar to those he’d seen in her handbag. He’d found an old tin bath in a flea market and she’d have to wash herself in that and save the water for the next time, or go thirsty. He was looking forward so much to having that pair of panties after she’d been wearing them for a week. They would be the pride of his collection, replacing the five-day pair.

It would be the first time he’d dealt with a subject without having first been into their accommodation and found out all their habits in advance, and it was just a little disconcerting, working in the dark. The books he’d supplied were mainly murder mysteries – five of them by his favourite author, Tony Nash. He hoped she would enjoy them; she’d have nothing else to do. With no lights provided, she’d only be able to read during the day, anyway. He’d considered a battery television or radio, but decided against it as dangerous. He wanted her as disorientated as possible and lack of news would help.

He didn’t even know if she was a vegetarian, but he’d taken care of that by having fish, meat and vegetable meals. Of course, they’d all have to be eaten cold, but he’d bought all pre-cooked and tinned stuff. He dare not let her loose with a cooker.

The firm’s and the daughter’s telephone numbers would be on her phone, so that would not be a problem.

Had he thought of everything?

The abduction had to go exactly as planned for the whole thing to jell, but after that, it should go like clockwork.

There was time enough to spare before leaving.

He switched on the TV, selected the News Channel and sat down to watch, keeping an eye on the clock.

At ten past seven he switched off the set, went downstairs and wheeled his bicycle out onto the path, closed and locked the door and rode off to pick up the van, four streets away. He opened the tall steel gates, wheeled his bicycle in and drove the van out, alighting to close the doors before driving off. There was nobody in sight, and that was the reason he’d bought the property. It was in the middle of a block of disused buildings – warehouses, offices and lock-up garages in one of the most rundown areas he could find. He’d never seen anyone near the place. Even the kids seemed to stay clear of it, not that they played on the street anymore. Glued to a screen of some sort damned near twenty-four hours a day. Progress? No, sir!

Anita was a creature of habit, and he knew to the minute what time she would leave the house. He’d also checked the run several times and had allowed ample time to get there. Being a little early he slowed on the last two miles but still arrived slightly earlier than he’d intended, so pulled up by the post box on the corner of her road, got out and pretended to do something to the box.

He had only eight minutes to wait before the Porsche came out of the gateway, and he started the van and put it into gear.

From now on, he hoped she would follow her normal procedure.

At the school she pulled in, set the handbrake and switched the engine off.

‘Have you got everything, Darling?’ She asked her daughter.

‘You know I have, Mum. You check enough times before we leave home.’

‘I know, I’m obsessive.’

Trish smiled, ‘You are, but I love you.’

‘And I love you. Good luck today. They’re the last ones, aren’t they?’

Trish heaved a huge sigh of relief, ‘Tomorrow – freedom. Hurray!’

‘Off you go then.’

She leant over to kiss Trish, then watched her as she walked up the pathway to the school entrance. As usual, she waited until her daughter had disappeared inside the building.

Just as she was about to restart the engine she saw a shadow by her side window and heard a slight knock on the glass.

A postman was making signs to her to turn her window down.

She pressed the button to lower the window, and he felt the rush of cold air from her air-conditioning unit cool his sweat. Although it was early, the temperature had already hit twenty-three degrees and the humidity was over eighty percent. By afternoon it was supposed to reach thirty-two Celsius.

‘Can I help you?’

‘Oh, would you? I’m due in at the sorting office and I’m having trouble with my van. I always seem to get this one. I think they have it in for me. It has this idiosyncratic fault that requires two people to start it. I always keep it running when I’m out, but had a momentary mental aberration and switched it off when I pulled in to deliver the school mail. You wouldn’t do the necessary and sit in the driver’s seat while I twiddle the thingummyjig under the bonnet to start it, would you?’

She laughed at his weird use of English, which went with his strange appearance, and said, ‘Of course. Why not?’

‘Oh, I am so grateful. You cannot know how much.’

She followed him back to the van and he opened the door for her to get in.

The moment her bottom hit the seat he injected her in the neck.

She tried to fight it, but within just a few seconds went limp.

He pushed the body with all his might into the passenger seat, walked quickly back to the Porsche, pulling a rubber glove onto his right hand. He pulled open the driver’s door of the German sports car and grabbed her large handbag, then took the keys out of the ignition. He looked around to see if anyone was observing him. Satisfied that no one was, he walked nonchalantly back to his vehicle, jumped into the driver’s seat and started the engine. As he pulled away, he felt inside her handbag, removed her mobile phone and slipped it into his top pocket.

Perfect. Now all he had to do was keep her subdued until they reached the unused building. Probably one more shot would do it. He didn’t like to use more than two because of the nasty side effects.

The traffic was building up and she started to stir when they were still two miles away from their destination. He rammed the other hypodermic into her leg and depressed the plunger to its limit. If she woke again before they got there, he’d have to hit her.

She was still comatose when he reached the eight-foot tall steel gates, and he quickly got out and unlocked them.

As he put the van into gear to drive in she groaned and her arm swung down to her side, but he knew she would be out for a few more seconds, and he hurriedly got out and closed the gates.

By the time he got back to the passenger door of the van her eyes were open, staring vacantly.

He grabbed both her arms and brought them round to the front, picked up the pair of handcuffs from where he’d left them on the floor of the passenger well and clicked them into place round her wrists.

She was coming back to full consciousness quickly now, and realisation suddenly hit her.

He saw her mouth opening, ready to scream and he hit her hard in the mouth, cutting her bottom lip, which began to bleed.

‘Don’t do that, Anita! If you try it again, you’ll be hit again. I really don’t want to hurt you, so please be quiet.’

‘You bastard! If you don’t want to hurt me, why am I here?’

He pulled her out of the van onto her feet and told her quietly, ‘Just to upset John, Anita, that’s all.’

She understood immediately, and he could see her mind working. He saw her leg tensing, and as she tried to knee him in the groin he twisted sideways, grabbed the leg, twisted it, and had her laid out flat on her back in a second, the wind completely knocked out of her.

‘I really wouldn’t try anything else like that, Anita. I’ve learned all the self-defence arts and you’re not in the same class.’

He bundled her over to the outside door of the building, opened it and pushed her inside. She was making no more effort to resist, but he knew she was an intelligent woman, and would be waiting for her most favourable moment to act. It was even hotter in the building than outside, and he knew she was going to suffer from the heat, but he couldn’t do anything about that. He might have the God-like power of life or death, but he couldn’t control the weather, more was the pity. He was sweating like a pig himself, and could see the slick of sweat on her forehead.

When she saw the steel cage inside the main room she suddenly came to a stop.

He could feel her shaking with rage.

‘You don’t need to put me in there. I’ll be quiet and behave.’

‘Oh, I know you will, Anita. You’ll have no choice, my dear.’

‘I’m not your ‘dear’ and never will be. You’ll have to kill me first.’

‘That, of course, could be arranged, but you see I do not have that on the agenda - at least not at the moment, and if things pan out as I expect them to you will be returned to your home and daughter unharmed.’

‘Do you really think I believe that? You’re the one they call the ‘Badger’, aren’t you?’

‘Very perspicacious of you, Anita, but I do not look on you as one of my ‘patients’. I have taken you for a very different purpose. I really do not intend you any harm, and I do hope your stay here will not be too uncomfortable. We actually share the same aims – both of us hate John Hunter and would like to cause problems for him. You divorced him with more than a little acrimony, so that must be the case, and he caused me a considerable disruption to my life. We are a lot alike in that respect.’

She kept the thought to herself that his research had been flawed in at least one respect, and it gave her just a faint glimmer of hope.

‘The cage will be your living quarters for a week. There is ample food, although you will have to conserve the water, and re-use it for bathing. If I were you, I would not waste energy trying to escape – the one-inch diameter steel bars are embedded in the floor and the lock is one that cannot be picked. You can scream as much as you like – there will be no one within earshot. There are books but no radio or TV, I’m afraid. You have a mattress, but I couldn’t take the chance that you might disassemble a bed base or a chair, so you will have to sleep and sit on the floor. Now, if you will please enter?’

He took her arm to help her over the foot-high steel bar at the entrance.

He could see the panic in her eyes and decided to twist the knife a little.

‘I would like you to take your panties off now, please.’

She sneered, ‘So you are going to rape me, you sick bastard.’

‘Rape you? Of course not – nothing was farther from my mind.’

‘Then why……..? Good God!’ A look of utter disgust showed on her face, ‘You’re sicker than I thought. You’re one of those panty sniffers, aren’t you?’

He smiled widely, ‘You see, Anita, we are getting to know one another.’

She squatted awkwardly, due to the handcuffs, put her hands up her skirt, trying desperately not to lift the hem far enough for him to see her genitals as the garment came down, and managed to get a finger hold on the material at the edge of the panties and pull them down.

She left the garment on the floor at her feet, hoping he would attempt to pick it up.

He smiled again, ‘Nice try, Anita, but having you kick me in the face is not part of the plan. Back up now, over to the mattress.’

She realised there was no option and took half a dozen small steps backwards.

He picked up the panties, turned them inside out, folded them so that the crotch was uppermost and held them under his nose.

‘Mm! Exquisite, my dear. The smell of your sexual parts reminds me of an orange grove I once visited in Thassos.’

‘To say you disgust me would only please you, so just take it as read.’

He pulled a pair of frilly lace knickers from his pocket. ‘I would not like to think of you having to go naked down below while you’re here, so I brought you these. They are expensive designer panties, so quite up to your living style.’

‘I don’t want your handouts. I’d rather go without.’

He tried not to let his disappointment show, ‘As you wish, but they are here if you want them.’ He dropped the panties on the end of the mattress.

He pulled out the key for the handcuffs, crossed the short space between them and released her from the constraints.

‘I must leave you now. Is there anything else I can do for you before I go?’

She wanted to be unladylike and tell him to fuck off, an expression she had used less than half a dozen times in her life. The way she felt it was the only thing that fitted the bill, but she realised it would be wasted breath and would probably just please him. She kept silent.

‘Very well then. I take it your regular numbers are on your mobile. Let’s have a look – ah, yes, this is the firm you work for. I am now going to dial that number. When they answer, you will tell them you won’t be in for a few days due to your daughter being ill. Be very careful to do exactly that and nothing else. I intend Trish no harm at all, but if you try to be clever with this call, I’ll change my mind and make sure she joins you, or I might even make her one of my special patients. I’m sure you know what that means. Be good now and you won’t need to worry - I’ll call Trish and let her know what’s happened just as she leaves school this afternoon. I shall give her Hunter’s address but not his phone number, so she can go to her father. I want him to be pleased and surprised when he sees her, and only then to be hit with the knowledge that I have you. He will, if you’ll pardon the expression, go ape-shit. At least you can be sure she will be well looked after while you are here. He’ll see to that.’ He looked around, satisfied at the amenities he’d provided. ‘You will not see me again for seven days. If all goes according to plan, I will release you on my next visit. If John finds and kills me in the meantime, you will die alone in this cage and one day, perhaps many years from now, your bones will be found and cause quite a hullabaloo. Now, the call…..’

He dialled the number, listened until he heard the dialling tone, then passed the phone to her.

Knowing that she had to do as he said, to protect Patricia, she gave them the message he’d insisted upon and pressed the button to end the call.

He took back the phone.

‘Goodbye, Anita. At least, for now.’

He exited the cage, closed the door and twirled the eight-digit combination locking device, set in a large steel block, which could not be accessed from inside the cage.

Anita watched his back disappear through the door of the old main office. He didn’t even bother to push the door closed, which told her he had spoken the truth when he said her screams could not be heard. It didn’t mean that she wouldn’t try periodically, but she knew it was unlikely anyone would hear. She was unaware of the careful preparations he was making on the way out of the building.

Being a practical woman and recovered from the anaesthetic, she decided that the first thing she had to do if she was to be here seven days was to look at her surroundings and everything he’d supplied, so that she could plan ahead. She walked over to the fridge and opened the door. As he’d said, it was well stocked, and she wouldn’t starve. There were two packs of cooked chicken drumsticks, which would have to be eaten within two days, three cooked pizzas, which would keep for probably up to a week if necessary, although they’d go hard and unpalatable. A dozen eggs sat in a tray and she guessed they were hard-boiled and would keep. Two packs of smoked fish and packets of salami and ham had sell-by dates over a week ahead and there were tomatoes, two cucumbers, a pack of celery, two avocados, six bananas and five Conference pears. In a box beside the fridge/freezer there was a box containing several tins of baked beans, corned beef, Spam and tinned salmon and tuna. He’d left a tin opener with them. She wouldn’t starve.

He’d said there was limited water though, and many of the items he’d left contained a lot of sodium. Anything salty would have to be left. If she took the skin off the chicken, it wouldn’t be too bad, and she decided to eat that first. The ham and salami were full of salt and they would have to be left, along with the tinned meat. The fruit would be the best thing, along with the tomatoes, celery and cucumber, all containing water. She managed a sardonic grin – the only benefit of her incarceration would be a weight loss.

There were six containers of water, with about five litres, or one gallon in old money, in each. She’d have to use one for washing, which left five for seven days, if he’d been telling the truth, which she doubted. If it were true, five gallons for seven days sounded a lot, but the room was like an oven. Her whole body was wet with sweat, and she guessed the ceiling above her was underneath a flat roof, absorbing the burning rays of the sun. If there were a problem with water it would be because of loss of liquid through perspiration. There were two windows high up on the far wall, but the opening lights were closed, one of them not perfectly, certainly not enough to let any air in.

The only door to the room was the one he’d left by. There had obviously been another in the far wall – it was possible to see the different texture in the emulsion, where it had been bricked in, and what must be the inner wall of the room was taken up by what looked like a new glass panel that she couldn’t see through. It struck her immediately that it was a one-way viewing panel, which only underlined how sick he was.

She’d toyed with the idea of taking all her clothes off while she was there, to try to remain cooler, but there was no way she was going to provide him with a free show.

She looked at the panties he’d left on the mattress. She was not a woman who liked to go without underwear, but it was obvious what his intentions were – he wanted her to wear that item of apparel for several days, to use for his own sick pleasure. There was not much she could do to fight back, but for him to come back and find them unused would probably hurt him more than anything. She would not wear them. John would be proud of her, and if he found her before the sicko came back, she’d happily give him her all – knickerless - on that bloody mattress, female smell and all – if he still fancied her!

CHAPTER 20 – ANOTHER STEP FORWARD

John Hunter picked Jane up at eight-twenty, using the same safe technique they’d used the previous day. Before they got into the car he brought her up to date on his search activities, and what he had planned for when businesses opened up.

‘Has he called again?’

‘Not yet.’

‘He will, won’t he? Today?’

‘Almost certainly. At least, you’re still safe and Marie has gone away, so she should be okay too. It’s Anita and Trish I have to worry about. I think he deliberately left it till late yesterday to give me that lead, when all the businesses had shut for the day. I just hope I can reach them before he does whatever he has planned.’

‘Fingers crossed. You know you’ve only got to ask if you want any help.’

‘I know, Jane. Thanks. Let’s get under way now, and I can get started. There’s one other bit of business to take care of first.’ He opened the car door and picked up a newspaper from the front passenger seat and showed her the headlines, ‘THE BADGER KILLS TWO MORE’.

‘Is our contribution in there?’

‘Word for word.’

‘I didn’t want to believe you on that one, but it must be Cain.’

‘I told you he was able.’

She dug him in the ribs. ‘How puerile.’

‘Come on, let’s go.’

They were early, and sat in the car until they saw Carlisle go into the building. Hunter looked at his watch. Eight twenty. They had to wait a couple more minutes.

He saw another car come into the park and said, ‘Its okay now.’

She looked puzzled but got out of the car and followed him in.

Carlisle was standing by his desk, reading, his back to the open door, and Hunter walked in, the envelope in one hand, that day’s Clarion in the other.

The DCI turned, looked puzzled for a moment, then remembered, ‘It’s in there?’

‘Every last word, exactly as I predicted.’

‘Let me see.’ He took the envelope, slit it open and removed the A4 sheet, which he unfolded and started to read.

Suddenly he snarled, ‘You can’t get away with this, Hunter - he’s one of my best men – worth ten of you! This goes in the wastebasket! It’s the only place for it……Oh, good morning, Sir.’

Chief Superintendent Geoff Taylor had just come into the room. He held out his hand, ‘Something interesting, Joe?’

Carlisle held the page back, ‘No – nothing of interest, Sir. Storm in a teacup. You know the sort of thing.’

Taylor was insistent, ‘I’d like to see it though.’

The DCI knew when he was beaten. He held out the sheet of paper.

Taylor, who already knew exactly what the contents were, pretended anger, as he appeared to read what was written on the page.

‘You call this a storm in a teacup?’ He pushed the door of the office closed. ‘I just don’t believe it; were you trying to cover this up, Joseph?’ His expression changed as if he suddenly understood the full ramifications of what he had just read. He looked appalled and said sadly, ‘Oh, no. Don’t tell me you’re mixed up in the leaks too? Christ, what a mess. You bloody fool - you know they’ll throw the book at you.’

Carlisle face went deathly white and primeval fear showed in his eyes. Taylor’s use of his full Christian name told him what greasy ground he stood on. One whiff of this connected to him and he could kiss not only his promotion but also his pension goodbye.

‘Absolutely not, Sir!’

‘Thank God for small mercies. Get this man in here, now.’

Carlisle went to the door, almost quaking in his shoes, and called, ‘DI Cain!’

Cain got up from his desk and walked towards the office, looking worried.

He stopped at the door and Carlisle said, ‘Come in, Glen.’

Taylor tried to keep the anger out of his voice, ‘Have you been passing information to a reporter at the Clarion, Cain?’

Cain looked from Taylor to Carlisle to Hunter. He could see the game was up and bluster would get him nowhere, ‘I’d like to see my union rep.’

Taylor held out his hand, ‘I’ll take your warrant card now.’ Under the circumstances, he was not about to say, ‘Please’.

Cain realised there was no option to that order. He pulled it from his pocket and handed it over.

‘I would also like you to hand over your mobile telephone, which will be returned to you after inspection by the technical department. You are suspended from duty as of this moment, and will be charged with wilful misconduct to such a degree as to amount to an abuse of the public’s trust in your office. There are other serious charges on file and still open, relating to drugs offences. You will be charged with those as well. Do you have anything to say at this time?’

Cain looked belligerent, ‘As I said, I’d like to see my union rep now, and I’m not handing over my mobile.’ He glared at Hunter, ‘You are going to get yours! You set me up, you bastard!’

Taylor told him, ‘You just added another charge – threatening a fellow officer. Get out of my sight. You are a disgrace to the Force. Clear your desk and leave the building within the next ten minutes, or you will be forcibly ejected.’

The Chief Superintendent waited until Cain had left the room before telling Hunter, ‘Thank you, Detective Inspector. Would you leave us now?’

As Hunter walked out he heard Taylor say, ‘Why I came to see you, Joe - when is Paddy Wallace’s leaving ‘do’, and what are we doing about a retirement gift?’ Hunter grinned wickedly. Poor old Carlisle hadn’t a clue. He’d looked as if he was going to have a heart attack when Geoffrey suggested his complicity. Good old Geoffrey always came up with the goods when needed. This was another one Hunter owed him.

He sat down and grinned across at Jane when she lifted her eyebrows in question. He gave a single slow nod and she grinned back.

He pulled the list he’d compiled out of his pocket and picked up the phone.

A recorded voice told him, You have reached the offices of Bilton and Haversham. Please choose from the following options: if you wish to speak to a solicitor, press one……’ He didn’t wait for the other options, but jabbed his index finger on number one. A real live secretary answered, ‘Good morning. Which solicitor would you like to speak to?’

He crossed his fingers as he told her, ‘Anita Layton’

‘Ms Layton has asked that she be called Anita Clarke now.’

Christ! He thought, she does bloody work there again.

‘That’s fine. Could you connect me, please?’

‘Just a moment, Sir.’

He heard her speaking to someone else but couldn’t make out what she was saying. She came back on the line, ‘We’ve had a call to say that Ms Clarke will not be in today. Sorry, Sir.’

‘Did she ring in herself?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did she say why she wouldn’t be in?’

More mumbling, then, ‘Something to do with her daughter not being well.’

He was disappointed, not being able to speak to her, but heartened to have found her so quickly and that she seemed okay.

‘Could you give me her address and her telephone number, please?’

‘Oh, now come on, Sir. Surely you’ve heard of the privacy laws?’

‘This is Detective Inspector John Hunter, Serious Crimes. You’ve heard of the Badger, I’m sure – the man who’s killing women?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, we believe he’s stalking Anita, and we need to know she’s safe.’

‘I still can’t give you her address or number over the phone, sir. You would have to come in with some authorisation and see someone senior in the firm.’

He began to lose it, ‘For Christ’s sake woman, I’m her ex-husband!’ Jane was signalling frantically to him and he realised that all he was doing was putting the woman’s back up. He eased his tone, ‘Look, I’m sorry I shouted, I’m just desperate to find her before he does.’

There was a slight hesitation, then, ‘You must see that would be the very last reason in the world I would give you her address or telephone number, however I will telephone her and give her the information. Goodbye, sir.’ The line went dead.

‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ He swore loudly and slammed his fist on the desk. The room went quiet, and he looked around. Everyone in the office had stopped what they were doing and he found he was the centre of attention. He raised both hands, trying to smile, and mouthed, ‘Sorry.’

Jane was sympathetic but knew how badly he’d handled it. A pity she hadn’t suggested calling herself, but then John hadn’t expected Anita to be working there.

‘At least we’ve got some idea where she’s living – it can’t be too far from where she’s working.’

‘I don’t know – some of the people in this office come in from places like Ruislip and Hendon. London’s a funny place. Would you believe the trains from as far away as Norwich and Portsmouth are full of commuters who come over a hundred miles into The Smoke every day to work?’

‘I suppose you’re right. She could still be commuting from Bristol, if it comes to that.’

‘I doubt it – she’d want to get as far away as possible from the marriage, and the girl in Layton’s office thought she’d moved back to London. I’ll give Blake a ring and see if he’s got anywhere with those removal firms.’ He dialled the number and a metallic voice told him to leave a message. ‘No go, I’ll have to call him later.’

He went back to the list of murderers and attempted murderers, but couldn’t concentrate. For some reason he was still not convinced that Anita was all right. He hoped that bloody sixth sense of his was wrong this time.

Detective Inspector Blake rang just after ten.

‘I’ve found the address for you, John. It was the eleventh removals firm I tried. They moved her to an address in Hampstead – Camberley Grange, South End Road, Hampstead. It’s a big detached house set in its own grounds. A very expensive property, the guy who drove the pantechnicon told me. He reckoned several million.’

‘You’re a star, Peter. If ever there’s anything I can do for you, just let me know.’

‘I might just take you up on that, John. I’ve been thinking about transferring to the Met for a long time. I’ve got most of my family living in London, and some of them are getting on a bit.’

‘I can certainly help you there, Peter. I might even be able to get you into Serious Crimes, if that’s what you’d like.’ He knew Geoff Taylor would pull some strings to take on a good cop who’d helped with a case.

‘Sounds good to me. I’ll be in touch. Take care.’

‘You too. You’ve helped me no end.’

He stood up and indicated with his head that Jane should join him.

Carlisle came out of his office as they moved off.

‘Where do you think you’re going, Hunter?’

‘Following a lead, Chief.’

‘What lead?’

‘The address of a possible Badger target.’

‘How did you get it, and why is it just you two going? Don’t you need a team?’

‘It’s only a possibility. If we need backup we’ll call it in.’

Carlisle was obviously in two minds, but knew Hunter well enough to know he was not one to waste time.

‘I was going to give you this one.’ He held up a sheet of A4. ‘Young woman didn’t come home last night.’

Hunter decided to mollify Carlisle, ‘We can have a look at that one when we’ve dealt with the other.’ He took the sheet. A glance told him they would not be too inconvenienced by the job. The address was no more than a mile from Anita’s pad.

The hot, humid spell was still with them, and the forecasters were saying it would go on for a minimum of ten more days. At least the Astra they took from the pool had a fully working air conditioner.

Reaching South End Road, he was impressed with the houses, set well back from the road, and he trickled along, looking at the names on the driver’s side while Jane looked on the other. He found the house about a third of the way along and gave a low whistle.

It was nothing less than a mansion. Solidly built of white stone about a hundred years ago, probably for one of the businessmen who went tits up in the big Crash in 1929, it had to have at least six bedrooms. Anita had really come up in the world.

He turned into the drive and drove slowly up to the front of the house. There was a three-car garage set back at the side, but no car in evidence.

They got out and walked up the seven steps to the huge oak door, beside which hung one of the old-fashioned handles that one pulled to ring the bell indoors.

He grinned at Jane as he pulled it, ‘Fucking ding-dong.’

The door opened and a huge, blowsy woman in her fifties wearing an apron over her floral dress stood aggressively in the doorway.

‘Ola, que quieres?’

Hunter’s Spanish was just about non-existent, but he’d picked up just a phrase or two on holiday, ‘Habla Usted Inglés?’

‘No, lo siento.’

‘Oh, shit!’

Jane murmured, ‘I think you might need me on this one, John.’ She smiled sweetly at the woman.

‘Vive Senora Anita Clarke aqui?’

The woman beamed, relieved to be able to understand someone, ‘Si, ella vive aqui.’

‘Es que in casa?’

‘No. Ella salio en el coche con su hija.’

‘A qué hora?’

‘A eso de las ocho.’

‘Sabes cuando va a regresar?’

‘Lo siento. No tengo no idea.’

Jane held out one of her cards, ‘Cuando vuelva, dile que llamar téléfono a mi. Es muy, muy urgente por su seguridad.’

‘Voy a hacer eso.’

‘Muchas gracias.’

‘De nada.’

Jane turned away and the woman closed the door.

John looked at his partner with amazement, ‘That was bloody impressive, Jane.’

‘You can do the Chinese, I can do the Iberian.’

‘But you sounded so bloody fluent.’

‘I was brought up with it. My father was stationed in Madrid for six years when I was a little girl. Apart from a few minutes in the mornings the only persons I spoke with every day were Consuela, my nurse, and the housekeeper. Till I was eleven I spoke Spanish far more than English.’

‘You’ve never told me what you father does.’

She grinned mischievously, ‘No, I haven’t, have I?’

He saw immediately that she was not going to, ‘Well, I’m glad you were with me. I’d have been completely stumped. I can manage ‘Dos cervezas, por favor’, and that’s about my limit.

‘I thought you were off the booze?’

‘That was way back when. Christ. Thinking about it, it was damned near twenty years ago. Anyway, tell me what she said.’

‘Anita went out with Trish in the car around eight o’clock this morning. I’ve asked the woman to tell Anita to ring me very urgently concerning her safety. I don’t think she’ll hesitate, if what you’ve told me about her is true.’

He sighed with relief, ‘So she’s alright, then.’

‘Well, we know she was at eight o’clock this morning.’

‘I wonder where she went?’

‘At that time of day, I’d have said she was taking Trish to school, but if she was ill, perhaps they were going to the doctor’s.’

‘That might be it.’

‘Are you going to wait here, in case she comes back?’

He considered for a long moment, ‘No, I don’t think so. We’ll come back as soon as she rings though. We’d better go and have a sniff at this other job.’

CHAPTER 21 – HOODLUM, DOODLUM

The address was in St Raphael’s Way, just off the North Circular, a medium sized family house in the middle of a terrace.

There was no bell, and Jane knocked on the door.

A flustered-looking woman in her early forties came to the door. Her dark brown hair was dishevelled and she’d obviously been crying.

Jane held out her warrant card and introduced them both and the woman invited them in.

Hunter nodded surreptitiously to Jane. A woman’s touch was obviously needed here. He didn’t want to be responsible for any tears.

‘Your daughter’s name is Kylie, Mrs Andrews, that is correct, is it not?’

‘Kylie, yes.’

‘She’s seventeen?’

‘Just. Last month.’

‘And you haven’t heard from her since she went out last evening?’

A loud sniff preceded the ‘No’, and Hunter noticed the woman’s eyes becoming moist.

‘Where was she going?’

‘Up West somewhere, dancing.’

‘Has she a man friend?’

‘Not any longer. She had a long-time boyfriend, Keith, for the last two years, but they broke up recently.’

‘How recently?’

‘About ten days ago.’

‘What was he like?’

‘Tall, good looking, dark wavy hair……’

Jane interrupted her, ‘Sorry, I meant what sort of a person was he? Open? Friendly? Trustworthy? That sort of thing.’

The question seemed to throw the woman for a while, then she said, ‘I didn’t like him. I never could take to him. He had a funny look…..I know that sounds strange, and it’s difficult to explain. I just had the feeling there was something not quite right about him. Kylie thought the world of him and when I told her I didn’t like him, she became really angry and wouldn’t hear a word against him.’

‘How did he take it when they broke up?’

‘He was so angry he put his fist through a shop window.’

‘His name is Keith. Do you know his surname?’

‘Deaverall – Keith Deaverall.’

‘Where does he live?’

‘He’s got a flat in Holborn. Kylie told me it was over an insurance company.’

‘How old is he?’

‘A lot older than her. She wouldn’t ever tell me, but I think he must be nearly thirty – almost twice her age.’

‘What does he do for a living?’

‘I don’t know. Nothing, really. He seems to be around at any time of the day. I’ve always thought he must sell drugs – he’s always got loads of money, and wears a heavy gold chain round his neck and another round his wrist. He’s got three huge gold rings on his fingers, too. Drives a big red sports car.’

‘Has he ever threatened Kylie?’

‘If he has, she hasn’t told me – but then, she wouldn’t have.’

‘Do you know why they broke up?’

‘I asked, but she wouldn’t tell me. She looked as if she was hurting and I wondered if he’d been hitting her, but I really don’t know.’

‘You don’t know what club she might have gone to?’

‘No, sorry.’

‘Was she going with a girl friend or alone?’

‘Alone, I think. Since she’s been going out with Keith, she’s lost all her girlfriends. He choked them off when they first got together.’

‘Do you know if they’d been having sex?’

She sniffed, ‘Don’t they all, these days? She got pregnant last year and he made her have it aborted.’

‘Do you think she might be pregnant again now and has gone off to have another abortion?’

The woman sighed heavily, ‘I really don’t know. It’s possible.’

Jane told her, ‘Try not to worry. We’ll do our best to find her quickly and bring her home. Here’s my card. If she returns, please let us know immediately. If you need to ring us, you have the number.’

Outside she asked, ‘What’s your take on it, John? The ex-boyfriend?’

‘Sounds just the type. It’s the only lead we’ve got, anyway, and you know it’s the nearest and dearest that are in the frame, ninety percent of the time. We’ll try DVLA driving licences first.’ He tapped out the details as far as they knew them on the vehicle’s keypad and pressed ‘Send’. Less than twenty seconds later they had Deaverall’s details, with the address he’d supplied. Hunter looked at the result and grunted, ‘Bastard!’

The address was that of the girl. It made Deaverall sound even more suspicious.

‘Okay, Plan B.’ He selected a name from his call list and pressed the green button.

A cautious voice said, ‘Clements.’

‘And a top o’ the morning to you, you bloody exile.’

‘John?’ The voice sounded disbelieving.

‘In the flesh, Patrick. How the devil are you?’

‘Pretty good, for an old ‘un, John. Must be eight years since we last spoke. I guess it’s business?’

‘You guess right. What rank are you now? I heard you were up for promotion.’

‘I got it – Detective Chief Inspector. Seems strange and, do you know, I don’t enjoy the job half as much as I used to at the sharp end. So much bloody paper.’

‘Tell me about it. Do you by any chance know a Keith Deaverall?’

‘Huh! Do I bloody just! I’d love to nail that crafty bastard. Why? Have you got something on him?’

‘We’re not sure, to be honest. He’s been screwing a girl for about two years and they broke up ten days ago. Apparently he was furious. Now she’s gone missing.’

‘I wouldn’t give much for her chances. We had him banged to rights on a dealing charge three years ago, a slam-dunk if things had gone as they should have, but the witness disappeared just before the trial. We haven’t found the corpse, but we’re sure he killed the man. If he can do it once, he can do it again.’

‘Now you have got me worried. Do you have an address for him?’

‘Not a current one. I’d like to know where he plants his head at night, we’d be better able to keep an eye on him. He’s a major player, and he’s apparently hooked up recently with one of the Russian mafia mobs that are trying to take over the whole shebang. They’ll kill at the drop of a hat.’

‘Don’t I know it. We’ve been told he’s got a flat in Holborn, over an insurance company office.’

‘That’s helpful. Can’t be too many of them. It’s not an area well known for private dwellings. Where are you, in the office?’

‘No, we’re out in the car.’

‘Leave it with me for a few minutes. I’ll do some checking and call you back.’

Jane asked, ‘What do we do now? Back to Anita’s house?’

‘She hasn’t called, so there’s no point. Let’s grab a coffee and see what Patrick comes up with.’

They found a small workman’s café two streets down and ordered two lattés. Hunter was astonished when they came up – two huge mugs, full to the brim, and only ninety pence each.

‘They ought to start a franchise or open a branch in the West End. They’d put Starbucks out of business in a week.’ He took a sip, ‘It’s bloody good, too. Real coffee.’

Patrick Clements rang back just as Jane, the last to finish, replaced her mug on the table.

‘You’ve got eight insurance companies with offices in Holborn, John. Five of them take up all floors of the buildings; two have flats above that are occupied by the branch manager. There’s only one with a private flat above it. I can’t find out who the tenant is, but I guess it’s got to be our man.’

‘How do you want to play it?’

‘It’s your bust, John, but I’d like to have a team present. You may find him a bit of a handful, even though I respect your prowess, having seen you in action.’

‘That’s great! Back up would be appreciated. Give me the address and tell me what time you can get there.’

Patrick dictated it and suggested, ‘Park in the loading bay for the luxury lingerie shop two down from the insurance company. We’ll meet you there.’

Hunter suddenly felt dubious, ‘Do you think we’re going off at half cock, Jane? He may have had nothing to do with the girl’s absence.’

‘Then he’s in the clear, and we’ve lost nothing except a little time.’

By the time they reached the loading bay Patrick had suggested, there was already a red Ford parked there with four men in it. The colour of the vehicle meant they’d decided to come armed with shooters. It couldn’t do any harm.

They got out, and Patrick and his men did the same. Nods were exchanged. Hunter didn’t recognise any of the other useful looking officers, all wearing flak jackets, but realised that it was no wonder. It had been a long time since he’d had any dealings with Vice.

Patrick told them, ‘The entrance to the flat is at the side. We may need to smash it in, which will give our presence away to Deaverall. I looked on Google Earth, and there’s no obvious fire escape, but no doubt he’s got some emergency system, with a rope ladder or something. I’m leaving two of the lads below, just in case.’

One of his men took a battering ram out of the boot and they began the walk to the flat entrance.

The door was heavy steel, with a thick glass panel in the centre. Patrick looked at in dismay, ‘The ram won’t even dent it and that glass is shatterproof. What do we do now?’

Jane told him, ‘Just give me a sec.’ She walked off. All of them were puzzled.

Less than a minute passed before she was back with them, accompanied by a middle-aged, pleasant looking man in a typical City business suit. He was holding a big bunch of keys.

The third one he tried turned the lock, and he smiled triumphantly.

Jane thanked him, and he told her, ‘Always happy to help the police.’

Patrick waved a hand, ‘Your show, John. We’re right behind you.’ To the manager he said, ‘Would you mind coming with us, in case we need an independent witness?’

They climbed the stairs quietly. At the top, Hunter knocked on the door. The bell had been outside the bottom door.

After a few seconds an annoyed voice shouted, ‘Who is it?’

Hunter shouted back, ‘The office manager from downstairs.’

‘What do you want?’

‘We’ve got a fire. You need to evacuate the flat now.’

They heard multiple locks being turned.

As the door opened, Hunter lunged forward, hitting the man who stood there with his shoulder and knocking him to the ground. Before he could do anything to defend himself, Jane had dropped with full force onto his stomach with her knees and handcuffed him. Hunter watched, impressed.

Deaverall struggled furiously, out of breath and coughing between words, ‘What the fucking hell is this? Get these fucking things off me and get out of my fucking flat!’

Hunter knew that if the girl was not there he would be in very deep water – probably deep enough to finish his career, and maybe Jane’s too. There would be enough questions to be answered in any case, even if they found her there.

‘Look after him for a minute or so, would you, Patrick?’

Clements’ looked pleased as punch. He’d not told Hunter that they’d managed to get a search warrant from a friendly magistrate before leaving the station. Whatever happened, the comeback wouldn’t be too severe. Deaverall could complain all he liked about his human rights, but he wouldn’t get very far.

Jane came back out of a room at the far end of the corridor, mobile telephone in her hand, dialling 999 for an ambulance. She nodded to Patrick and went back in. The vice detective lifted Deaverall to his feet and told him, ‘I’ve waited a long time for this moment, you prick. You won’t get rid of the witnesses this time – that I can promise you. You’re going down for a long, long stretch. Abduction and God knows what else.’

‘I don’t know what you’re on about. If you’re talking about the girl, she’s here of her own volition.’

‘That’s not my side at all, but I don’t think she’ll agree.’

‘Oh, yes, she will!’

‘You think you can ride roughshod over everyone, don’t you? You’re going to intimidate her into saying what you want, or you’ll kill her. Well – let’s leave the girl out of it for a minute. We’re going to take this place apart, brick by brick if necessary. Knowing how bigheaded you are, you’ll have something stashed here. We’ll find it. Then you’ll be in deep trouble.’

Patrick saw Deaverall’s slight facial changes as he spoke, and knew they would find what they were looking for.

‘If you try to say you found drugs here, my solicitor will prove they were planted.’ He sneered, ‘You’ve got nothing.’

Patrick stamped as hard as he could with his police issue boot on the top of the dealer’s bare instep. Deaverall yowled. ‘Oh, I am sorry. I slipped. You’ll have to be careful I don’t slip again.’ He grinned widely, ‘This is the manager of the insurance company downstairs. He will be with my officers while they search. I think your solicitor will have difficulty trying to prove that he planted anything. Face it, loser, you’re going down.’

The ambulance siren that had been audible for half a minute became much louder and switched off. They heard the sounds of multiple feet on the stairs and medics appeared in the doorway.

Patrick pointed down the hall.

One of the medics asked, ‘Does this man need attention? He looks pale.’

Patrick laughed, ‘I don’t suppose you’ve got a nice hypodermic full of air handy, have you? I’d love to make him look a lot paler.’

The medic grinned, getting the joke, ‘If it’s like that, I’ll leave him to your tender mercies.’ He moved off down the hall. When he entered the bedroom he couldn’t help his, ‘Jesus H. Christ!’

Jane and Hunter were standing by the bed where the girl lay naked and bleeding. They had cut the ropes that had tied her arms and legs to the four corners of the bed but hadn’t dared to try in any other way to help her. What she needed were experts. She was unconscious. Dozens of cigarette burns covered her body and face, and a knife had been used to disfigure her face and breasts. There was a lot of blood on the sheet beneath her bottom and more on her vulva and thighs, and there were several angry injection marks on her arms. The most they could say was that she was alive – just.

There was nothing else they could do here, and Hunter was impatient to go back to Anita’s house.

‘We’ll leave it with you guys.’ He told the paramedics, where are you taking her?’

‘A & E at University College Hospital – that’s in Cecil Flemming House.’

‘I know it, it’s in Grafton Way.’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Thank you.’

The Spanish woman answered the door of Anita’s house again. They were grateful for the rush of cool air-conditioned air that came out at them. The woman shrugged her shoulders expressively, ‘Ella no ha vuelto a aparecer – no ha regresado.’

‘Que ha llamado por teléfono?’

‘No, lo siento.’

‘What do you want to do, John?’

‘We could wait for a while.’

‘Shall we ask her if we can wait inside?’

‘No, we’ll sit in the drive.’

‘It’ll be bloody hot in the sun with the aircon off.’

‘You’re right. We’ll head back. We’ve got the paperwork to do on the girl anyway, and we’d be achieving nothing here.’

The woman looked puzzled until Jane told her, ‘No vamos a esperer. Dile que llamar téléfono, harias eso?

‘Si. Por supuesto.’

‘Adios.’

Walking back the few steps to the car brought both of them back out in a sweat. When he switched the engine on, Hunter said, ‘Look at that temperature, will you?’

It registered thirty-three degrees. It would be at least twenty-five in the office, even if the dodgy old apparatus were still working.

CHAPTER 22 – THREE STEPS BACK

By five o’clock Hunter felt as if he was sitting on hot coals. He could not keep still and he realised that the word ‘jitters’ really did mean just that. His alarm bells were ringing like a five-alarm fire and he knew the worst must have happened.

Jane looked across at him for the hundredth time in the last two hours and felt helpless. She could see he was indecisive for the first time since she’d known him.

The rest of the room was emptying and there was nothing to keep them there any longer.

She got up, ‘Come on, John. Let’s go. If you want me to keep you company for the evening, I will – no hanky-panky, mind.’ She hoped that the banter would give him a little respite from his black thoughts. It didn’t work, but he did get up.

The outside temperature had reached a record thirty-five in the shade, and the inside of his old banger must have been nearer fifty. The cloth seats almost burnt them as they sat down, and once again she was glad he couldn’t afford leather.

He switched the aircon onto ‘Low’ and the fan cut in, but only stirred the hot air around. She had no spare fat on her, but felt how wet her buttocks were becoming and knew how he must feel, being probably a stone overweight.

He didn’t take her up on her suggestion and drove her home.

As she got out she repeated the offer and added, ‘But anyway, ring me the moment you have any news, John.’

As usual, he waited until she rang from the flat to say she was okay before moving off.

The traffic at that time of the day was always a bastard, but that evening it seemed gridlocked. It took him almost an hour to cover the four miles, and he felt relieved when he pulled into his space.

He was surprised to see a young woman sitting on the steps below his flat, and even more surprised when she got up as he approached and came towards him.

She was looking at him strangely, her head to one side, then suddenly ran up to him and threw her arms round his neck, sobbing, ‘Dad! Dad!’

He was flabbergasted. He hadn’t recognised her at all, but realised it must be Trish.

She was crying loudly, and he could feel the tears on his cheek.

He waited until the sobbing died a little and pushed her gently out to arm’s length.

‘Shhhh. Get your breath and tell me, Trish. Where is your Mum?’

‘He’s….got….her…Dad. The…Badger. He…told…me.’

Hunter’s heart sank. His sixth sense was never wrong.

‘Come inside, sweetheart. Let me get you something to drink and then you can tell me. How long have you been here?’

‘Nearly two hours.’

‘You must be parched.’

‘I had a little water in a bottle, but I used it a long time ago.’

He looked at her carefully. She was slim, but not underweight for her height. Her dark brown hair was shoulder length and shone in the sunlight and her figure had filled out beautifully.

She interrupted his thoughts. Distraught as she was, she couldn’t help giggling, ‘Dad, you’re staring at my boobs.’

He dragged his eyes away, ‘Oh, sorry, sweetheart. I just couldn’t get over how you’ve developed into such a beauty.’

‘I hope you’re not saying I’ve got big boobs, Dad.’

‘Not at all – they’re just right. But enough of boobs. Who does your hair?’

‘Mum’s stylist. She can afford to have someone come to the house now.’ She lifted her nose in the air and sniffed, ‘We’re dreadfully rich, you know – Spanish live-in maid, and all that.’

‘I do – we’ve been to the house.’

‘You have – why?’

‘Because I felt you and your Mum were in danger.’

‘I knew something was wrong when I came out of school and saw the Porsche still there and no one in it. Then, almost as if he was watching me, my phone went and the…….’ She started to cry again, and he pulled her to him and held her tight.

‘Don’t try to talk now. Come on – I’ll make us a cool drink and then we’ll talk about it.’ He wasn’t about to tell her, but he was sure the perp would have been watching her.

He unlocked the door and ushered her into the flat.

‘Sit down, sweetheart. Won’t be a minute.’

‘I need the loo first, Dad.’

‘D’you remember where it is?’

‘Mm. I think so.’

She disappeared.

Before she came back she washed and dried her face.

He was waiting for her, standing with two tall glasses of orange juice. ‘Come on, let’s sit at the table.’

‘What? No gin, Dad?’

‘I can see your Mother has been indoctrinating you. After the divorce, I never touched another drop of alcohol until recently, when I had a relapse, but it won’t happen again. It was because of the Badger. Now, tell me what he said, as exactly as you can.’

‘He said, ‘Tell your Dad that I have Anita. She is being well taken care of and will be quite safe for seven days from this moment. He has that long to find her, or me. After that, all bets are off.’ Then he gave me your address.’

‘Seven days. What time did he ring?’

‘At quarter to four, just as I left school.’

‘At least he says he hasn’t harmed her.’ He didn’t like to tell her how much credence he put on anything the Badger said.

‘How are you going to find her?’

‘I’m going to use the entire resources of the Metropolitan Police.’

‘Will you kill him when you find him?’

‘You shouldn’t ask questions like that, sweetheart.’

‘No, I know, but will you?’

‘If I can get away with it, yes. He’s a lethal psychopath. For what he’s done, he deserves to die.’

‘Thanks for telling me. They’ve tried to indoctrinate us against capital punishment at school, but I believe some crimes are just so unbelievably bad that the perpetrators should be exterminated.’

‘That’s my daughter talking. Drink your orange juice.’

She looked at him shyly, ‘I’ve always loved you, Dad. I kept asking if I could see you.’

He felt choked and tears welled up in his eyes. ‘That makes me really happy, Trish. I thought I’d never see you again, and that madman got into this flat and stole my only picture of you.’

‘The one with me wearing braces? Ugh.’

‘The very one. I must take a picture of you now.’ He began to get up and she stopped him. ‘You won’t need a picture, Dad. I’m with you now, and I’ll see you as often as you like. I told Mum yesterday morning I was going to contact you.’

‘I’ll bet she wouldn’t let you do that, Trish. She’d be afraid of some home-truths.’

‘I don’t know – she still loves you too, you know.’

He couldn’t help a slight chortle, ‘Now that I do not believe.’

His daughter told him, ‘We women know each other.’

He gave in, ‘Well, if she does, she has a very strange way of showing it.’

‘She’s too embarrassed, Dad. When you separated I knew, even at that age, that she’d made a big mistake with my new step-dad, even though he was kind to us. He had a roving eye, and couldn’t keep his hands off any girl he met.’

Hunter was suddenly angry, ‘He didn’t……?’

She laughed, ‘Oh, you should see your face, Dad. No, he didn’t. He was fine with me – never anything the slightest bit off.’

‘Thank goodness for that. Now, what are we going to do with you? You’ll have to get to your school during the week.’

‘No, that’s no problem. We took the last exams today and though I’m still officially a pupil until the middle of July I don’t have to go in at all until the last day.’

‘Good. That’s one thing solved. Just let me ring my partner, and see what she has to say.’

‘Your partner?’

‘Not the kind you’re thinking about, Trish – my police partner.’

‘Oh.’ She looked relieved and her reaction astonished Hunter. He and her mother had been divorced for so long that he couldn’t imagine her being worried at him having an amorous attachment.

He dialled Jane’s number and told her the news, then asked, ‘What do you think Trish should do? I’ve got a spare room, but the Badger knows my flat, and he might come after her here.’

‘She could live in my pad, John – I’d be happy to have her, but what would she do during the daytime? She’d be a virtual prisoner.’

He told Trish the score and asked for her input.

‘That would be alright, I guess. You really think I shouldn’t stay here?’

‘As I told you, he’s been in this very room, and he’s really crafty. I wouldn’t dare leave you here alone. Wait a minute, I’ve had another idea.’ To Jane he said, ‘I think I may have the solution. If I don’t come back to you in the next couple of minutes, I’ll see you in the morning.’

‘Don’t you want to start looking tonight?’

‘What could we achieve? I want the big guns on it, and that would be impossible tonight.’

‘You’re right. Try to get a good night’s rest anyway, John.’

‘I’ll try. Pity I can’t hit the whisky bottle.’

‘Don’t even think about it.’

He switched his mobile off, ‘How would you like to stay with Maggie?’

She looked puzzled, ‘Maggie? I don’t…..’ Her face cleared, ‘Aunt Mags, you mean? Oh, yes, if she’ll have me. She’s lovely.’

‘She’s also a lot older than when you knew her, but she’s still good fun.’

He was about to dial another number when his phone trilled. When he saw whom the caller was he almost didn’t believe it.

‘Have you got ESP, Geoff?’

‘I don’t get you, John. What do you mean?’

‘I was just about to ring you.’

‘Why? Has someone already told you?’

‘Now I don’t get you, Geoff. Told me what?’

‘A patrol car has just spotted Anita’s Porsche.’

‘Outside the school, yeah?’

‘You’re right, but how the hell did you know?’

He brought the Chief Superintendent up to date and then asked, ‘Do you think Maggie would look after Trish until this is cleared up?’

The voice boomed down the phone, ‘Don’t be so bloody stupid, John. She’d love to. Hang on, I’ll ask her.’

Hunter could hear Taylor talking to his wife, Margaret, and smiled as he heard her say, ‘Give me that phone. I’ll give that so-and-so a piece of my mind. Will I look after her indeed.’

She came on the phone, ‘Good evening, John. Of course she can come here. I’d love to see her again, and she can have Alison’s old room. She’s away at Uni, as you know. When are you going to bring her over?’

‘In about an hour, if that’s all right?’

‘That’s fine. I’ll have dinner ready for you.’

‘Oh, Maggie, that’s not necessary, I can get us a takeaway.’

‘And have my wrath on you forever? Come for dinner. It’s one of your favourites anyway – chilli con carne.’

‘You’re a star, Maggie, as always.’

‘And you’re a lying flatterer, but I love you.’

That settled that. He switched the phone off.

‘Okay, Aunt Mags it is, Trish. I’ll come and see you every day, and tell you what’s going on. I know you’ll worry about Mum, but you know we’ll be shifting Heaven and Earth to find her.’

The Taylors lived in an attractive four-bedroomed detached house overlooking Ealing Common. Built in the heady days before the Great War, when a house had to have its privacy, it had almost an acre of garden, mainly down to mature trees and shrubs, with a long drive leading down from the road.

With Anita and Trish he’d spent many enjoyable hours there. It was a happy household, and Maggie, a motherly woman, with an ample bust and an unruly mop of flaming ginger hair, without a trace of grey, always made them welcome, and doted on Trish.

She’d heard the car stop and was running out to them before Hunter switched the engine off.

Taylor appeared in the doorway and nodded a greeting.

Trish was scarcely out of the door before she was bundled into Maggie’s arms and given a fierce hug.

‘My goodness, you are a big girl now.’

‘It has been a long time, Aunt Mags. Thank you for having me.’

Maggie held her at arms length, ‘It’s a huge pleasure, Trish, believe me. We’ll have to feed you up a bit though – you’re so thin. Come on indoors. You too, John.’

She took Trish with her through to the kitchen and Hunter followed Taylor into his den at the back of the house.

‘Sit down, John. Has he called you?’

‘Not yet.’

‘But he will.’

‘I know.’

‘You’ll have to try to keep calm.’

‘It’s difficult.’

‘I can imagine. You know you’ll have to be taken off the case, don’t you? I can’t stop that.’

‘I know, Geoff.’

‘But of course you won’t stop – you can’t. How are you going to play it?’

‘I’ve decided to take some days’ leave – I haven’t used any this year – and I think I know where I can get some outside help. I might ask you and Jane to use some of the Met’s resources if I need to.’

‘I’ll give you all the help I can, John. You know that, but I don’t think I want to know about the outside help. You know you can’t use a weapon.’

Hunter forced a wry grin, ‘No, of course not, Geoff.’

Taylor shook his head, ‘You said that with your tongue between your teeth. You know if you do I won’t be able to keep the wolves off you.’

‘I wouldn’t ask you to, Geoff. Whatever happened to me, it would be worth it.’

‘Have you any leads?’

‘Not so far. I’m sure he’s someone from one of my past cases, but I haven’t found it yet. I will, though – I know I will.’

‘You’ve got that famous feeling of yours?’

‘I have. There’s something niggling away at the back of my brain. It’ll bust through sometime. I hope it’s soon, because he’s driving me nuts, and he knows it.’

‘Do you believe he’ll keep Anita safe?’

‘Funnily enough, I do. He’s a devious bastard, but up to now he’s told it straight. It’s coming to a climax. He wants it to be just him and me – something like the OK Corral. It probably won’t be six-guns, but he’s got something nasty and original planned, I know. He’s obviously been holding a grudge for years – that’s clear from the amount of research he’s done, not only on me but on everyone around me, including you, Geoff. He’s found Anita and Trish and he knows all about Jane’s past, as well as mine. God knows how he gets his information.’

Taylor gave him a quizzical look, ‘Has Jane told you?’

Hunter nodded, ‘After I told her what he’d said.’

The Chief Superintendent was thoughtful, ‘It’s good that she has. The only thing I was worried about when I teamed you up together was if your rampant libido got the better of you and she reacted badly.’

‘So it was you who arranged for her to partner me?’

Taylor nodded, ‘That girl is going to head up the Met one day, and I knew she would learn more from you than from anyone else. I thought it would give her a big initial boost.’

‘Thanks for the vote of confidence, but you took a bloody big chance. What if she got tarred with my brush? You know how Carlisle’s gunning for me.’

‘I took a calculated risk.’

‘It was worth it. I agree with you that she’s going to be a shit-hot detective. She’s an intelligent, sharp, no-nonsense woman, and with the law degree she’s on a winner. Tell me, what does her father do?’

Taylor grinned, ‘She hasn’t told you?’

‘No.’

‘Perhaps I shouldn’t.’

Hunter shrugged, ‘Your choice, Geoff.’

‘Have you heard of Sir Henry Bliss?’

‘He’s Minister for Internal Security, isn’t he?’

‘That’s the man.’

‘And I’ll just bet he’s another pal of yours with a funny handshake.’

Taylor laughed, ‘You might think that, but I’m afraid I could not possibly comment.’

‘No, I’ll bet your bloody couldn’t. So he got you to introduce Jane into the Met.’

‘I did put forward a suggestion, yes.’

‘With a Pop like that, and her looks and intelligence, she’ll go up like a rocket.’

‘We can only hope so.’

‘As long as I don’t ruin her chances.’

‘Quite.’

Maggie poked her head round the door, ‘Feedbag time, gents.’

They got up and went through into the dining room.

The chilli was just as Hunter liked it, just hot enough so you could still taste the beef, with lots of garlic, and he brought a smile to a sombre gathering, telling them how he was going to breathe on Carlisle the next morning, when he asked for leave.

He gave Trish a long hug at the door and told her he would see her the next day, thanked Taylor and Maggie and went out to his car, searching the garden and drive, and later the road, for watchers or tails, relieved that he saw none.

CHAPTER 23 – BY THIS LEEK I WILL MOST HORRIBLY REVENGE

The night shift comprised DI Hamish Hamilton, a Scot from Midlothian, DS Anthony Gray, and DI Annie Green.

Gray was asleep at his desk, his head on his arms. Hamish, a good friend to Hunter, looked up from the report he was writing and uttered his favourite comment, ‘Ach, ma grannie’s arse, John. Cuid ye no sleep, laddie?’

It made blonde buxom Annie, whose back was to the door, turn and smile seductively at him. ‘Hello, John.’

Four years before they’d indulged in a six-month fling that both of them enjoyed. It might well have gone on much longer, but Annie wanted more commitment, and when John told her there was no chance she’d said she wanted marriage and would have to keep looking elsewhere. They’d parted the best of friends. After many short-lived alliances she still hadn’t found one bloke she liked as much and had made a few tentative attempts to woo him back, without success, since Marie had moved in with him by then. He was the most considerate lover she’d had and always thought of the woman’s needs before his own. From discussing sex with a lot of other women she’d found out that he was damned near unique in that respect. Now she’d just about given up on the idea of wedded bliss and would be quite happy to shag him whenever he wanted, no strings attached, but he seemed impervious to her obvious charms.

The hands on the clock read four forty-eight.

John sat down at his desk and continued with his list. He had eighteen months still to go and intended to have it complete by the time the day shift came in. Jane had been working for days on her lists, and had given him those as well, containing the details of three hundred and sixty-seven offences where underwear had been taken or cuts had been inflicted. He hadn’t yet had time to even look at her lists, but it was one more task he’d have to do urgently. His own list had to come first.

At six o’clock Annie asked him if he’d like a coffee and he stretched and told her he’d love one.

She went out to make it and brought it to him at his desk. She pulled a chair over and sat down next to him. Very quietly she murmured, ‘It’s been a long time, John.’

‘It has, Annie.’

‘I’m lonely and I’m bloody frustrated. How are you fixed at the moment? Is Jane coming across?’

He shook his head, ‘No, and nor is anyone else. I’d love to take you up on the offer, Annie, but Anita has just been kidnapped, I’m being targeted by a serial killer, and my fifteen year old daughter has just turned up on my doorstep. It’s not a good time.’

‘Oh, Christ. You poor sod. Sorry I asked.’

He managed a weak grin, ‘Don’t worry, Annie, I still love you.’

She sighed, ‘I wish, I wish.’ She took her courage in both hands, ‘If you ever want to share a bed – even for just half an hour or so – no strings…’

He laid his hand on her arm, ‘You’re a great girl, Annie. You deserve a decent bloke, and you know that’s not me.’

‘I know, John, but a girl can dream, can’t she?’

She got up, planted a light kiss on his forehead, picked up his empty cup and went back to wash it. She held the tears back until the kitchen door was closed behind her.

He wrote the last name at twenty to nine, went for a pee and came back into the office just before Carlisle arrived.

He stopped him before he reached his inner office.

‘The Badger has abducted my ex-wife, so you’ll want me off the case, yes?’

Carlisle smirked happily, ‘Of course. Conflict of interest.’

‘I’ve got twenty-eight days leave coming. Is it okay if I take ten, starting now?’

The DCI was taken aback for a moment but couldn’t see how he could object.

‘All right, if that’s what you want, but hear me loud and clear – if you interfere with the investigation into the Badger’s activities in any way, shape or form, you’ll never stop bouncing. You’re out of it, understand?’

Hunter smiled sweetly, ‘Of course, Chief Inspector, of course.’

Carlisle knew when the Mickey was being taken. He snarled and turned away.

Hunter looked around at the faces watching. Every one of them was grinning and it was obvious in how much esteem they all held their less than beloved leader.

He waited outside the door of the office until Jane arrived. He’d left her a message and she’d come in by taxi.

He greeted her with, ‘Sorry about the lift, Jane.’

She retorted, ‘You’ve got plenty enough to worry about without that, John.’

‘I’m still bothered about the safety aspect.’

She patted her bag, ‘Don’t tell anyone, but I’ve got my illegal pepper spray, and I have it in my hand from the moment I open my door until I arrive here.’

‘Good for you. A thirty-eight or a ‘persuader’ would be even better.’

‘You want me to get done for illegal possession? No chance. Have you seen what one of these sprays does?’

He nodded. ‘I wouldn’t like to be the recipient. I’ll bet you’ve done some self-defence classes too.’

‘Have you been looking at my CV?’

‘No, just thinking of the way you disabled our boy Deaverall yesterday.’

‘Ah, yes. Gave it away, didn’t I? Have you got the full list?’

‘Just finished it. I’m away off home now to study it. I’ll give you a ring later and we can exchange notes. You’ll let me know if anything develops?’

‘Of course, John.’

‘I’ll pick you up at five anyway and run you home. We can have a chat then.’

‘You know you don’t need to.’

‘I do. If I bring you to work and take you home at least I’ll know you’re safe. It will be one less thing to worry about, and we’ll be able to compare notes twice a day.’

‘Well, if you’re sure. How was it with Trish at Taylor’s house?’

‘Her and Maggie were getting on famously when I left. She’s going to help Maggie make jam today.’

‘Oh, that’s great. I’ll see you at five, then.’

‘It’s a date.’

She grinned, ‘It had better not be.’

He worked continuously until three-thirty, not even stopping to make a drink. He’d been through the entire list and was left with just three names. At least the work was keeping his mind off the booze.

Shanny Mandilson had murdered three woman by slitting their throats and in every case he’d taken their panties, but had not sexually abused them. He’d been found as ‘not of sound mind’, and had been sent to an institution for the mentally ill. He had ranted and raged in the courtroom, and had threatened Hunter, along with everyone else, including the judge.

Slade Langerford had murdered two teenage girls. He’d forced them to write suicide notes, doped them unconscious, then slit their wrists. The razor blades had the girls’ fingerprints on them and both were initially put down as ‘suicides’, but Janet Keller had found the injection sites and the drugs in their bloods, and had sounded the alarm.

Hunter had been given descriptions of three men who had been seen talking to one of the girls during the week prior to her death and went through the old files. He found an assault, where an attempt had been made to drug another teenager, who had managed to get away from the attacker. Langerford had been one of the suspects

questioned, but the teenager couldn’t or wouldn’t identify him, and he was released without charge.

Hunter staked the man out and followed him for over a week. He seemed to be leading an exemplary life and the detective had just about given up hope of an arrest until one day he saw Langerford using binoculars to watch a young blonde from a distance. He knew he had his man.

The teenager was lucky. Hunter continued tailing Langerford and watched him break into the girl’s home one evening when her parents were out. Hunter followed him in and arrested him. He told the perp that he was arresting him for the two murders, and that they had DNA evidence.

Langerford said he didn’t want a solicitor, although he was offered one twice, and confessed to the crimes.

When the trial came up, the public defender asked about the DNA statement. Hunter denied telling Langerford that they had his DNA from the scenes.

‘What I said to him was a true general statement, ‘We have DNA from the scenes of the crimes’. He misunderstood, and believed I had said it was his, which I had not.’

The lawyer had tried to have the evidence ignored, suggesting that Hunter had inferred that the DNA was the perp’s, but the judge quashed the attempt.

Langerford was outraged and knew he’d been duped. He’d threatened Hunter openly in court, stating that he would get his revenge if it took the rest of his life. He’d been sentenced to life imprisonment, but for what that meant nowadays, he could be out. It would need checking.

The third one was a psychopath called Shayn Wallyard. He’d killed five prostitutes by disembowelling them, and, like the Badger, he took dirty knickers from each of them. He’d been caught and sentenced on DNA evidence. Again, he should be in for life.

The problem was that even if they were still inside, they could have similar-minded friends who’d been released, or relatives on the outside who might take up their cause.

He rang Jane and asked her to check the whereabouts of the three. The doubt still remained with him, however, and it wasn’t helped when his mobile rang and he saw the number.

‘John, baby. How are you? Any closer to finding me? I’ll bet you’ve been hard at it all day. I noticed your car is outside your flat. Have they thrown you off the case?’

‘Listen to me, you sick bastard. If you hurt Anita or anyone else in my immediate circle, in any way, when I find you I will kill you. That is a solemn promise.’

‘I have no doubt of it, John, and I would expect nothing less. Of course, I may kill you, either then or before. Even if you find out where Anita is, I warn you now, it will not be easy. You have just over six days, and counting. Don’t waste any of that time. I’m just going to send you a video. You can see that she is enjoying her holiday. Have a look at it now.’ John watched as Anita got up from a mattress and crossed to the fridge to get an apple. She began to eat it, looking up at the camera. The picture faded. ‘You see I am looking after her well. For now. How is Trish doing, by the way? I’ll be keeping a close eye on her, of course. She does almost fit my profile, although she is a little young for the part.’

Hunter felt his heart racing and he dared not speak. Seeing Anita in that cage had given him a vicious pain in his chest. He ended the contact, knowing that yet again he’d come off worst. The Badger was laughing at him, and getting away with it.

CHAPTER 24 – HERE WE GO ROUND THE MULBERRY BUSH

Jane got in the car and immediately complained, ‘Christ, John, Can’t you get some new wheels? This seat just burnt my arse again! You could have parked the other way round.’

‘And what a lovely arse it is too. I can’t help the weather, can I? You know the air-con gets cool enough in winter.’

‘ Don’t I just I remember. Good job I didn’t have my brass monkey with me – it would have lost weight. If I’d had any balls it would have frozen them off too. I’m amazed you’ve still got any.’

He pulled back and looked at her in mock astonishment, ‘You’ve been peeping.’

That at least got her laughing, ‘Boy - you should be so lucky.’

‘Anyway – you have got balls. The type that matter.’

‘Thank you, kind sir.’

‘Now then, what’s the score on our trio?’

‘Langerford is still in Wakefield top security.’

Hunter nodded grimly, ‘The place they call the ‘Monster Mansion’. I wonder if he’s going round the mulberry bush?’

‘Sorry, John, you’ve lost me.’

‘Wakefield was built about 1590, and there was, and still is, as far as I know, a mulberry tree in the prison yard, where the women prisoners used to walk round on exercise. The first prison governor, a guy called Duncan, wrote the nursery rhyme, ‘Here we go round the mulberry bush’. You must remember that.’

‘Of course I do, but I didn’t know it came from there.’

‘I’m a mine of useless information. I know about that because I had to go there once to interview an inmate. What about the others?’

‘Shanni Mandilson is in the Dangerous and Severe Personality Disorder Unit in Whitemoor. I spoke to one of the senior staffers and she said he’s almost completely away with the fairies, or at least pretends to be.’

‘So he’s not the Badger. What about Shayn Wallgard?’

‘He’s still banged up too, was in the high security wing at Whitemoor, but was transferred to Bellmarsh because he’d been a bad lad – killed a fellow prisoner with a shiv he’d made out of a plastic spoon handle. He’ll never come out.’

‘He’ll have to watch himself there. That’s where they put most of the terrorists. The narks who work there and some of the terrorists call it ‘The British Guantanamo Bay’. They reckon that one is escape-proof. Anyway, that means my top three are out of the frame, and I can’t get a mental click from any of the names on your lists, so it’s unlikely I was involved in any of the cases, even on the sidelines. We’re back at square one. I wasn’t too hopeful, because I’m sure I know who the Badger is, and it wasn’t one of them. I’ve got something at the back of my mind, and try as I might, I can’t bring it out. I know it’s important.’

‘Can I make a suggestion?’

‘Need you ask, Jane?’

‘Will you let me introduce you to a friend of mine, Doctor Loftin?’

‘Hell, Jane - I’m not ill.’

‘He’s my GP and he uses hypnotism a lot in his practice, to control pain and cure all sorts of mental problems. He taught me self-hypnosis after his treatment, and saved my sanity. He might be able to get you to remember – to pull the information out of the recesses of your brain.’

Hunter grimaced, ‘I don’t know if I believe in all that. I always thought it was a load of old cobbler’s.’*

‘Not at all. Believe me, it’s the most important thing I’ve ever learnt. Great when you’re swatting for exams. Anyway, whatever you think of it now, what have you got to lose?’

‘You’re right. Nothing. Couldn’t you hypnotise me, since you’ve learnt how to do it?’

‘Possibly, but Harold would know how to make you regress. I wouldn’t.’

‘Okay, then. Sure. Go ahead and fix it up.’

‘I’ll give him a ring this evening; he’ll still be doing appointments at the moment.’

She suddenly noticed they were travelling on West Cromwell Road and grabbed his arm, ‘Where are we going, John? This isn’t the way home.’

‘You’ve been invited to dinner, Jane.’

She looked down at her rumpled suit, ‘Like this? Good God, John, I’d have liked to shower and change. This isn’t the way to your place, either. Am I being bloody abducted?’

He shook his head, ‘Don’t worry, you know the people well, I believe.’

She watched as he turned onto the North Circular and realised where he was headed.

‘Chief Superintendent Taylor, for a pound?’

‘I won’t take that bet, Jane. You do know them, don’t you?’

‘Yes, I do.’

‘No problem then.’

As they drove into the drive leading down to the house they saw Maggie and Trish knocking a shuttlecock backwards and forwards over a line they’d strung between two trees.

Jane was astonished, ‘Will you look at those two in this heat.’ She leant over to look at the thermostat on the dashboard display. It read thirty-two degrees Celsius.

‘I’d say they must be mad, but I know they’re not.’

He parked the car and they got out. Trish came running towards them, shouting ‘Dad! Come on, give me a game.’ She reached him, gave him a big hug and a sloppy kiss on the mouth.

He grinned, ‘You’ve only just got me back in your life – d’you want to see me off already? It’s too hot for an old man like me. I just want to sit in the shade.’

She pretended to pout, ‘Spoilsport.’ She suddenly noticed he was not alone.

He saw the woman-to-woman appraisal and told her, ‘This is my partner. Jane, meet Trish, my long lost daughter.’

Trish offered her hand and Jane said, ‘I think we can do better than that, Trish. I know you as well as if you were my own daughter, the way John keeps talking about you.’ She took the youngster in her arms, gave her a hug and kissed her forehead, making her a friend for life.

Maggie walked up to the group, embraced Jane as an old friend and told Hunter, ‘You’re a lifesaver, John. I don’t think I could have carried on another minute. I’m bushed. And sweaty.’

‘Don’t give me that, Maggie. You could go on for hours.’

She shrugged, ‘Anyway, you could give your daughter a game now. I need to go in and see how the dinner is doing.’

Trish grabbed her arm, ‘No, he’s a worn out old man.’ She grinned at her father, ‘I’ll come and help you, Aunt Mags. Come on, Dad.’

Taylor had been watching from the doorway and greeted them as they came in, ‘Jane, John. Would you both like to come through?’

They followed him into his den, where he told them to sit, and took the armchair behind his desk.

‘Anything?’

‘Not so far.’

‘Has he rung?’

Hunter nodded. ‘He asked how Trish was doing. He didn’t say so, but I got the feeling he knew she was here. He said he’d be keeping an eye on her. He asked if I’d IDed him yet, and his insistence on that tells me that I do know him, if I could only drag the information out of my brain. He’s almost saying, ‘Do you remember me?’ Jane and I have been through every case on our lists and eliminated all of them. I’m going to try hypnosis, on Jane’s suggestion, to see if that works.’

Taylor nodded enthusiastically, ‘Actually, John, that is a very good idea.’

‘You go for that stuff too, do you?’

Taylor thought for a moment before answering, ‘I can’t go into the case – it’s still sub judice, but yes – I do believe in it.’

‘Well – I’m outnumbered – bring on the good Doctor.’

Taylor looked at Jane, ‘Loftin?’

She nodded.

‘Just a minute.’ He speed-dialled a number.

‘Harold? Geoff Taylor. Are you busy or can you speak?’

He listened, then asked, ‘Could you see one of my people asap? You can? Great. I’ll bring him myself. Ten-thirty.’

‘He’ll see you tonight. You can enjoy your dinner, and then enjoy a new experience. Can I get either of you anything? Water, fruit juice, lemonade?’

Hunter’s withdrawal symptoms were fast becoming intrusive and he knew something that might help.

‘Could you do me a Bloody Mary, Geoff – no vodka and heavy on the Tabasco?’

‘I certainly can. How about you, Jane? Glass of wine or something?

‘Thanks, Geoff, but I’ll just have some water, if you don’t mind.’

‘Certainly. I haven’t asked, but have you seen your father lately?’

‘No. He’s pretty busy, and so am I these days. It’s getting to be birthdays and Christmas only. We have a long chat on the phone every Sunday though. I imagine you see him more often than I.’

‘Perhaps. It’s a shame though. We’re having the same sort of thing with Alison. She doesn’t come home in the vacs any longer, and I guess Christmas will be the next time we see her.’

‘Is she courting?’

‘We believe so, but we don’t know his name. I think there’ve been several different lads while she’s been there; she’s determined not to tie herself down until she’s made a name for herself in the business world.’

‘What is she studying?’

‘Accountancy and business management.’

‘Sounds useful.’

‘Mm. I think she’s hoping one of the big banks will head-hunt her.’

Maggie poked her head round the door, ‘Get your feedbags on. It’s ready.’

* ‘Cobbler’s is the shortened version of ‘Cobbler’s awls’ – Cockney slang for ‘Balls’

CHAPTER 25 – WHAT’S PAST AND WHAT’S TO COME IS STREWED WITH HUSKS (SHAK.)

Hunter followed Taylor’s Mercedes across town. He’d intended dropping Jane off at her pad on the way, but she’d insisted on coming with them.

‘I want to be there to see if you remember who he is, John. D’you think I’d be able to sleep without knowing?’

‘I could ring and tell you.’

‘You could, but I wouldn’t be able to relax. No. Geoff and I both want to know as soon as you do.’

He’d shrugged resignedly. He knew her strength of determination well enough to know he couldn’t win that argument, and in truth he was glad she and Geoff would be there if he did get a breakthrough.

Doctor Loftin lived in a quiet, backwaters mews in Chelsea, with its own parking yard, that must have once been stables. Hunter guessed the good doctor was seriously rich.

He came to the door himself and ushered them in.

Hunter did his usual fast appraisal. He saw a handsome man of around fifty, with short-cropped sandy hair, about five-eleven tall but slightly stooped. The face was angular, with pronounced cheekbones and jaw, which in another man could have seemed pugnacious, but the numerous laughter-lines around the magnetic grey eyes told him that the man before him saw much in life as humorous.

Geoff introduced Hunter to the doctor, who shook his hand and told him, ‘I’ll just settle Geoff and Jane down in my lounge, and I’ll be back in a few moments, if you would wait here, please?’

He was back quickly and said, ‘Follow me.’

Hunter was led into a small room, which held just a doctor’s couch and a chair. The walls were dark green, with matching curtains. Light came from a circular neon tube set into the ceiling at the far end of the room.

‘I’m told you are a sceptic, Mr Hunter. Would you agree?’

Hunter felt embarrassed. ‘I’ve never understood hypnotism, so I guess I’m like most people who haven’t experienced it.’

‘But you have an open mind on the subject?’

‘After speaking to Jane and Geoff about it, yes.’

‘Good. Now at this point I usually spend half an hour or so asking the subject why they want to be hypnotised, before I decide whether to go ahead or not. In this case we can dispense with that, since I know exactly why you do.

Hypnotism comes easier with practice and the first time it usually takes a little while before the subject is ready. To explain what happens when I attempt to hypnotise you – yes, there are certain people who cannot be hypnotised, Mr Hunter – I shall count to ten and when I reach the number ten, you will go into a hypnotic trance. You will be wondering, as everyone does, how you will be brought out of that trance. When I want you to wake, I shall count to five, and on the count of five, you will awaken. I assure you that there are no deleterious effects whatsoever from being hypnotised, and I cannot make you do anything you do not want to do while you are under my influence. Do you have any questions?’

‘What happened to the ‘Look deep into my eyes’ business?’

‘The stuff of pure fiction, I assure you.’

‘Really? Well, I think I’m looking forward to the experience.’

‘Good. Now, if you would remove your shoes and loosen your tie and collar, please, then get on the couch and find the most comfortable position you can.’

Hunter did as requested.

The doctor switched off the neon tube, and the room became dark; the only light being dim ambient light coming in through the window and a tiny pinpoint of light in the ceiling above Hunter’s head.

Loftin’s voice became low, melodious and quietly insistent, ‘Imagine you are lying on a beach in the West Indies or on the Mediterranean or Aegean – one of the Greek islands, perhaps. There is just the faintest hint of a breeze, and a light shushing of tiny waves breaking on the shore. You are comfortably warm, tired, and totally relaxed. You have no worries whatsoever. There is nothing on your mind. In the far distance you can hear very faint music, making you want to go to sleep. You are very, very tired, and very, very relaxed. All thoughts have left your mind. You long to go to sleep. You are so, so sleepy. Relax… relax. Let your body slump and the muscles in your limbs go limp. Good. You are sinking…..sinking. Your body is being absorbed in the warm sand, enclosing you like a cocoon. You are totally relaxed. Now I want you to concentrate all your thoughts on the tiny point of light above your head. Concentrate. Concentrate. I am about to count to ten. When I reach the count of ten, you will go to sleep. One………you are very, very tired…….two……the soft breeze is brushing your eyelids, making them want to close…….three…….your eyelids are so, so heavy……four……..your eyes are closing……five…….you are falling asleep……six…..you are drifting….drifting….drifting…..seven……your eyelids are so, so heavy – so heavy that you can’t keep them open…they are closing, closing….eight….you are almost asleep……nine…….go to sleep……ten.’

Hunter felt wonderful. He wondered when the hypnosis was going to start.

Loftin spoke quietly, ‘Your right arm is made of lead. It weighs three tons. No matter how hard you try to lift it, you cannot. It is too heavy. Try to lift your right arm.’

Hunter wanted to laugh. What was this doctor thinking about? He’d show him how stupid it was. He tried to lift his arm. It was stuck solid to the couch. Loftin must have put some glue on it. He struggled, but it would not budge one millimetre.

‘Lift your left arm off the couch.’

He lifted the arm.

‘All the weight has gone from your right arm and it is now almost featherweight. Lift it up for me.’

He lifted his right arm.

‘Good. Now your left arm is made of lead and you can’t lift it. Try to lift your left arm.’

He struggled again. No chance.

Loftin pulled a pin from his lapel. ‘I am going to stick a pin in your hand. You will feel it go in, but it will not hurt at all.’

He jabbed the pin into the back of Hunter’s hand. He felt the point enter his flesh but there was no pain.

Loftin was pleased. The detective had gone under so easily that for a moment the doctor had thought he was pretending. He had had subjects do exactly that in the past. The pin trick was always the decider. If they were fooling, they always yelped.

‘You have something in the recesses of your mind that you want to remember. It is something that happened long, long ago. We are going to go back into your past and discover what it is you are trying to remember. We are taking you back fifteen years. What were you doing?’

When he spoke, Hunter heard how strange his voice sounded – slow and drawling, almost not like his voice at all, ‘Drinking.’

‘Forget the drinking for now. Was there anything in any of the cases you dealt with in that year that you have kept in your mind, worrying you now about something you need to remember?’

‘Sweat broke out on Hunter’s brow. He twisted and turned with the force of the concentration, then slowly his body relaxed and the strange voice said, ‘No.’

‘Good. Go forward to the next year, fourteen years ago. What job were you doing?’

‘Robberies, thieving, break-ins.’

‘Go through that year in your mind. Was it that year that this thing happened that you want so much to remember?’

Loftin watched while his subject suffered the stress of recollection.

‘No.’

‘Come forward another year, to thirteen years ago. Was there anything then?’

This time the turmoil went on much longer. Hunter’s subconscious was reacting turbulently, and sweat was pouring down his cheeks. His body flexed and his hands and arms twitched. Suddenly he was still.

Loftin asked quietly, ‘Have you found what you were looking for?’

Hunter’s weary voice said, ‘Joan Cross.’

Loftin looked up and breathed silently, ‘Thank you, Lord.’

There was just the other quite easy thing that Jane had asked him to do, out of Hunter’s hearing.

‘You have, in the past, had problems with alcohol. From this moment, you will never want to drink alcohol again. You hate alcohol. You know for certain that if you drank even one sip you would be sick from its horrible, disgusting taste. You will not suffer any withdrawal symptoms from not drinking. What do you think of alcohol, John?’

‘I hate alcohol.’

Loftin smiled. Another convert. ‘In a moment or two I am going to wake you up. You will feel on top of the world, better than you have felt in months, with no ill effects from your experiences while you were asleep. One….two….three….four….five.’

Hunter woke up, looked at Loftin and asked, ‘Couldn’t you do it?’

Loftin, who had experienced this moment so many times before, told him, ‘You were one of the easiest subjects I have ever hypnotised, Mr Hunter.’

‘You are joking! You didn’t hypnotise me. I knew what you were doing the whole time.’

‘Of course you did, but can you remember any of it?’

Hunter frowned, concentrating, ‘No. Not all of it anyway, just some parts.’

‘The thing you were trying to remember. Do you know what it was?’

‘No.’

Loftin couldn’t resist a smirk, ‘Does the name Joan Cross mean anything to you?’

Realisation suddenly dawned, ‘Bloody hell! You did hypnotise me!’ He jumped off the couch and took Loftin into a bear’s embrace. ‘Joan Cross. ‘J’ on a cross. Of course. Doctor – you’re my friend for life. How much do I owe you?’

‘Not one penny, Mr Hunter. If it helps you bring a murderer to book, I am repaid a hundred times over.’ He would not tell the detective of finding his wife murdered in their kitchen.

Geoff and Jane looked up expectantly when the two men came into the room.

Loftin gave a thumbs-up and Hunter was grinning from ear to ear.

Jane asked excitedly, ‘You remembered, John?’

He nodded, ‘It was so bloody obvious. God knows why I missed it. The Badger’s signature – it does signify a woman, but he was taunting me. The little tail sticking out to the left is the bottom of the letter ‘J’. Although the main design is of the vulva, the horizontal line and the vertical line make a cross. With the ‘J’ it reads, ‘J’ ON A CROSS. The first word is a four-letter anagram – Joan. It was the slight difference in the way he walks that was bothering me, and he walks that way because when he tried to escape I tackled him and brought him down. It damaged a bone in his right ankle. The bastard even tried to get compensation for the injury. We were called to a break-in in progress and caught him red handed, with the woman who lived in the house tied up to a chair. He hadn’t harmed her, but was obviously intending to – there were two sharp knives laid out on the table next to her. I gave evidence at his trial, and he got four years.’

‘So who is this ‘he’?’

‘Callum Kirtlish – a really evil sod. I always believed that he’d intended to murder the woman and had probably murdered before, but the two thick dicks from Serious Crimes told me to mind my own business and get back to chasing robbers. It wasn’t my remit, so I couldn’t chase him up, though I would have liked to.’

Geoff was apologetic, ‘You know I ought to give this to Carlisle, don’t you?’

Hunter nodded.’

‘And I should, of course, warn you not to pursue him on your own, shouldn’t I?’

‘As you say, of course.’

‘Consider yourself warned.’ He frowned and brushed his forehead with the back of his hand. ‘You know, I don’t feel too sharp – must be old age. My memory is getting very bad. I can’t even remember what we were talking about a few minutes ago.’

‘Don’t worry – I often go into a room and can’t remember why. You’re not alone.’

‘That’s good to know. Now, if you need any help, I’ll give it to you – any time, day or night.’

‘Thanks, Geoff.’

‘And I’ll try to be in the front line, John.’ Jane assured him.

Hunter was realistic, ‘Well, we can’t do anything more tonight, so we might as well try to get a good night’s sleep and start fresh in the morning. One thing you can do for me, Jane – run off a dozen copies of his mug shot, so I can show them around.’ He turned to Loftin, ‘Thank you again, Doctor. You have convinced a doubtful man.’

‘Not the first and certainly not the last, Mr Hunter. I’m glad to have been able to help, and I do hope you catch him.’

Hunter stretched, beaming, ‘It must be finding out who it is. I feel absolutely bloody marvellous.’

He didn’t notice Loftin’s big grin.

CHAPTER 26 – A VERY PRESENT HELP IN TIMES OF TROUBLE

After dropping Jane off at work, Hunter drove straight to Calthorpe’s office complex, parked up and went into reception.

‘Could you ask Sir Jeremy if he’d see me, please?’ Hunter held out his card.

The girl recognised him from his previous visit, ‘Just a moment.’

She used the intercom and asked the tycoon if he would grant the detective an interview.

He was as good as his word and told her to send Hunter straight up.

Hunter was surprised to be met by Calthorpe in person as he got out of the lift.

‘Detective Inspector. I hardly expected to see you again so soon. Come on through. What can I do for you?’

Hunter took his courage in both hands, ‘You did say, if there was anything I ever wanted……….’

Calthorpe nodded, ‘I did, and I meant every word of it. Looking at your face, I can see that it’s something serious. Tell me about it.’

Hunter told him everything about the killer, the murders and the abduction of Anita, including details of the court case where he’d given evidence, and the sentence passed.

‘I’m officially off the case and on leave. I have an inside track, so I’ll be kept informed of what the police are doing, but I have no legal force in going after Kirtlish.’

‘So how can I help?’

Hunter grinned, ‘Tell me to get lost if I’m treading on toes. I believe you have access to, shall we say, professional security agents?’

Calthorpe smiled, ‘That I do. For your information only, I have what can only be described as a small but highly efficient private army, with experts in every aspect of espionage and warfare, up to and including nuclear. Business nowadays is cutthroat, and business espionage rife. Anyone in my position has enemies who would just love to pull one down. My men are kept highly trained, as I believe you experienced, and they include computer and electronic specialists as well as those who excel with weapons and explosives.’

‘Is there any chance you could let me have the use of one or two of them when I go after this man?’

‘With pleasure. Just a moment. I guessed what you might want, and I’ve warned him to be ready.’ He spoke into the intercom. ‘Charles. Come in, would you?’

A single knock announced the arrival of the man he’d called. He was just over six feet in height, and the suit he was wearing could not hide the rippling muscles. He was pushing forty, but was as fit as any man half his age. He had a rugged, lived in face and his head had been shaved. A long scar ran from the side of his left eye down his cheek to his chin. He was grinning widely as he came towards them.

‘John Hunter, begorrah.’

Hunter stood and held out his hand, ‘Paddy, you old sinner. As ugly as ever. Long time.’

‘Damned near twenty years, John.’

Calthorpe looked as if he’d just concluded a million dollar deal.

‘Were you on that job the other night?’

‘I organised it.’

Charles O’Dell had joined the Met after leaving the regular army as a staff sergeant. He’d been badly wounded and was expected to die, but after ten months in intensive care he’d made a slow recovery. His injuries had come about because of a cock-up by a senior officer, and O’Dell had decided he didn’t want his future health to be in the hands of anyone similar again, so had changed course and entered the police force. He and Hunter had joined on the same day and gone through training together - drinking, shagging and sporting buddies. They’d worked together for three years, until O’Dell had been selected for specialist firearms training and John hadn’t seen him since.

‘You left the Force?’

The grin was back, ‘Had a slight disagreement with my DCI. He didn’t like the way I handled a job.’

‘Join the club. I’m still working under mine, and he’s never forgiven me for breaking his jaw.’

‘Only his jaw? Man, that’s chickenfeed.’

‘It was enough, but I’m working on better. It’s great seeing you again.’

‘It sure is. How can I help you?’

‘I’m hoping that Sir Jeremy…..’

Calthorpe interrupted him,’ You can stop that right now, John. My friends call me Jerry and after the other night I list you among my friends.’

‘Thank you, Jerry. As I was saying, I’m hoping that you can use your resources to find out where Kirtlish is living and, more importantly, where he’s keeping Anita. When we find out where she is, I would like some help in getting to her, because he has inferred that he’s left some nasty surprises for me if I do find where he’s got her. He said, ‘it will not be easy’. I have the feeling it would be beyond my capabilities. I also believe that in the final outcome he expects either me or both of us to die when I attempt to reach her. ’

‘So you think he might have booby trapped the place?’

‘It’s certainly a possibility.’

‘Charles has a couple of men who can deal with just about anything in that line, and we’ll worry about that when we come to it. First things first – we have to find his domicile. His name is Callum Kirtlish, right?’

Hunter nodded.

‘Leave it with me. I’ll ring you as soon as I have any information. He’s probably going under a different name, but my team should be able to find him. They’ll go back to when he left prison, talk to his cell mates while he was inside and track him. He won’t have given his details to the Census, but no one can hide these days. Is there anything else you can tell me about him?’

‘He has access to quite large quantities of telazol. It’s an……’

‘Animal anaesthetic. Fifty-fifty tiletamine and zolazepam. Mm! Used pretty universally, but it’s a handy tie-in. He must have some veterinary connection.’

‘Trouble is, everyone in the vet industry, even on the periphery, has access to it.’

‘True, but from the little you’ve told me about this character I’d say he’s obsessive and would need to be sure of his supplies. I’d be surprised if there isn’t a closer connection.’

‘You may be right. I’d tend to agree with you about his obsessiveness.’

Calthorpe held his hand out again, ‘You’ll be getting a call when we’ve found anything out, and you’ll be in at the kill.’

‘I can’t thank you enough.’

‘You already did, John.’ Hunter was surprised by his next words, ‘Give Jane my best regards, would you?’

CHAPTER 27 – IF YOU CAN TREAT WITH TRIUMPH AND DISASTER

Anita turned the last page of ‘Murder by Proxy’. It was the first book she’d read by Tony Nash, and she’d enjoyed it immensely. An original, ingenious plot thundered along to a horrifying climax, and the evildoer was as bad and diabolically cunning as one could possibly imagine, give or take the madman who’d put her in the cage. She hadn’t been able to put it down, and at the rate she was reading, the books he’d left wouldn’t last.

She looked up at the camera. She couldn’t actually see the lens, but she knew he was watching, and she’d not heard a sound from behind the glass panel, so he wasn’t next door. The camera was part of a structure she’d noticed up in the roof – it had to be – there was no other reason for the complicated arrangement of wired items to be up there.

If he’d hoped to see her go to the loo he’d been disappointed. Each time she went to the toilet she held the sheet off the bed in front of her. Several times each day she’d held the unworn knickers up towards the camera, hoping to make him angry.

Taking no chances, sure that he would have installed an infra-red facility, she’d only bathed at night and though it was difficult she lay on the mattress under the sheet to get undressed and then held the sheet between her and the camera until she could sit in the tiny bath, keeping hidden by pulling the sheet over her head and body while she washed. She hated using the same water over and over again, but had decided right at the start that in the present heat wave thirst might become her biggest problem, so had emptied just one of the water containers into the bath, and would add no more. At least she had soap. She felt less than perfectly clean, and if she were granted just one wish, it would be for a scalding hot shower. She wondered if she would ever live to have another. Before getting out she pulled the bath towel he’d left for her use around her body under the sheet to dry herself, before putting her clothes back on as if she were dressing on the beach after a swim. She would have been pleased if she could have seen just how angry he was.

~~~oOo~~~

He’d been so hopeful of days of peep show, and she had made him so furious and frustrated that he just had to change his plans. He knew he’d made a bad mistake, leaving her the sheet and the towel to hide behind, and considered going back and taking them from her. That would be an insurmountable problem; the design of the system only allowed for one entry and exit after the initial setting, and if he went back now it would mean he couldn’t be there at the end, the whole point of the exercise - he’d set the booby-traps too perfectly, and even he couldn’t get to her unscathed a second time. He’d made them tamper-proof.

He’d spent an entire morning with his collection of knickers, unable to hold an erection long enough to come, his mind repeatedly whirling back to his anger. The only alternative to going mad was to find another subject. She would be a rush job, without the long period of watching and studying beforehand, but it couldn’t be helped.

It was devastating that she’d spotted the camera. He had intended a week of pleasurably taunting Hunter, by sending him videos of Anita peeing, shitting, bathing, showing herself off. Perhaps, he’d hoped, masturbating. She was a sensual creature, he knew, and was sure she couldn’t go a week without relief. Hunter would have gone crazy – so far out of his mind that he would be ready to dash in regardless and commit suicide when he told him her location. If she was doing it, it was while she was in the bath, hidden from his sight, the rotten cow!

Carrying his briefcase with his equipment, he took the tube into the West End business district just before five, wearing the moustache and dark glasses and a Digger outback-style hat. He bought a newspaper he didn’t want to read from a corner kiosk and stood looking at it near a block of offices.

The trickle of leavers on the dot of the hour became a crush, and it was like being a butcher at the animal sales. So many to choose from, but it had to be one not wearing a ring. He didn’t want to be confronted with an angry husband just as he started to carve her.

A pretty brunette in his selected age range was looking down at her shoe as she walked and he stepped into her path and almost knocked her over.

She would have fallen if he hadn’t grabbed her elbow and pulled her upright.

‘Oh, I am so sorry.’ She apologised, ‘I wasn’t looking where I was going.’

He grinned at her and said in a strong Australian accent, ‘Nao worries, darlin’. I should’a bin a bit more careful meself. More used to the outback than city streets.’

She smiled, ‘Thank you for saving me, anyway.’

‘My pleasure entirely. G’day.’

She fitted the bill exactly.

He waited until she was twenty yards away before he bent down, whipped the moustache and glasses off and put them in his pocket, removed the hat and dropped it into the first waste bin he came to and pulled on a dark blue beret.

She went down to catch the tube at Leicester Square, and chose the Northern Line platform, waiting on the side for trains heading north. He used his Oyster card and followed her down to the platform, staying well back. She didn’t board the first train that came in and looked up at the board giving information on the next. When it came in she entered a carriage as soon as the doors opened. He kept his face averted until he’d slipped into the next carriage along. He stood near the connecting doors, so that he could keep an eye on her. She took a seat two rows back from the doors, opened her bag and took out a glossy magazine and started to read.

Station after station went past without her once looking up, and he began to wonder if she was going to the end of the line.

At last she put the magazine back into her bag and began to take notice of the stops, standing up just before the train reached East Finchley.

He was not happy. It was child’s play to tail someone in the busy West End, but it was a far different matter out in the wilds of the suburbs.

He followed her off the train and up the steps to the exit, but stayed well back as she left the station, and stood watching her as she walked away. She turned a corner a couple of hundred yards from the station and he did a speed-walk, itching to run, but not wanting to attract attention.

At the corner, he casually peeped around, shocked to see her only twenty yards from him, talking to an old lady. He could see that it was an animated conversation, but couldn’t hear what they were talking about.

It seemed to go on for ages, and he was worried someone would notice he was loitering. He’d bent down as if retying his shoelaces twice, and had spent several minutes pretending to look for something in his pockets and in his briefcase, as other pedestrians passed him. There was no shade; the late sunshine was still red-hot and he was sweating for England.

It began to look as if he would have to give this one up and find another, when the old lady came hurriedly round the corner and bumped into him.

She apologised, ‘Do forgive me.’

He put his head down to try to confuse her mind in case she was later asked to supply an Identikit artist with his details, ‘Don’t worry, madam. No harm done.’ He hurried past her.

The woman he’d followed was nowhere in sight and he hurried along the pavement, looking into the gardens of the well-built detached houses along the street.

He’d got to the eighth, and had decided to do only two more, when he saw her near the front door, bending down.

She was speaking, which puzzled him for a moment, until he realised she must be petting an animal.

He stood stock still, looking around to see if anyone was watching, pleased that the few pedestrians on the pavements seemed to be minding their own business, and there was little traffic.

The woman straightened and walked up to the front door, her hand held high, obviously holding the key.

He took one of the syringes from his pocket, ran as fast as he could the ten or so yards up to the door and pushed the needle into her neck as she turned in surprise.

He caught her as she fell, turned the key that she’d already inserted in the lock and dragged her inside, kicking a large ginger tomcat in the process. The cat, angry at the treatment, clawed his right leg viciously, and he could immediately feel the blood running down his leg.

His breathing was harsh and he was sweating profusely.

He pulled the woman’s body down the hall and into a well-furnished lounge, where he dropped her onto the brown moquette sofa.

Quickly, he pulled up the skirt of her grey designer suit, grabbed hold of her sexy, frilly lace knickers and pulled them off. Stage one, now for stage two, the badge. He put his hand into the briefcase for the scalpel, but stopped suddenly, his eyes glued to the flesh between her legs.

He had never touched any of his subjects with his bare hands, but the sight of this woman’s pudenda affected him strangely.

She was completely shaven, and with her legs open he could see that her labia and clitoris were as small and delicate as those of a pre-pubescent girl – one who had no sexual experience and had never masturbated. Could it possibly be?

He couldn’t help himself – he inserted two sweaty fingers of his right hand deep into her vagina and felt inside. Incredibly, she was a virgin!

A long time since he’d deflowered a virgin. He couldn’t resist. He jabbed the fingers in as far as he could, over and over, felt the hymen tear and used his long nails to rip it as much as he could. He felt the wetness of blood on his hand.

He removed his bloody fingers and held them under his nose. Magnificent! The knickers would not have the metallic smell of the blood, which was masking the smell of her crotch on his fingers, but would have her pure scent, which is what he’d come for. He hadn’t time now to test them. He wiped his fingers dry on her skirt, not worried about DNA any longer, since it was already inside her, and in any case, although they had his fingerprints they didn’t have his DNA on record. It would be one more thing to help drive Hunter crazy. He picked up the flimsy garment, pushed it into his pocket and delved into his briefcase for the scalpel.

She was already beginning to stir, and he took the second hypodermic from his pocket and gave her half the contents, then quickly ran the scalpel round and down into the design on her forehead, then added the tail of the ‘J’, before pushing her right sleeve up roughly and cutting hurriedly into the brachial artery.

He’d begun to push up the left sleeve when he heard the front door open and a man’s voice shout, ‘Helen! We’re home. Put the kettle on for your old Dad.’

He was petrified. He doubted he could tackle two adults, or possibly more, even though he had the element of surprise and a scalpel in his hand, but the only way out of the room was into the hallway or through a window. He didn’t want to be seen, so it had to be the window. He dropped the scalpel into the briefcase, crossed quickly and quietly to the glazed frames and tried the catch.

Fuck it! The handles were fitted with window locks, and there was no key in sight.

‘Helen? Where are you?’ He could hear sounds of movement in the hall and the woman was coming to again on the sofa, groaning.

‘Helen?’ The man’s voice sounded worried, ‘What’s up, love?’

The woman asked, ‘What is it, Ronald? What’s the matter?’

‘I don’t know. Didn’t you hear it?’

Running with sweat and panic-stricken he looked around for something to use as a weapon. There was a large bronze on the windowsill, of a jockey on a racehorse, but it must weigh nearly half a hundredweight and was too heavy to pick up and swing.

If it came to a fight with one man, his combat training would have made it a sure thing, but with the woman there too, he would have to improvise. He wasn’t sure if there was enough dope left in the syringe to knock a man out. The only weapons he had were that and his hands. It had to be quick and efficient. If the man was the woman’s father, he might be elderly, but he didn’t sound it.

He crossed to the open door and waited behind it.

A man’s figure came into view, his back to him.. He heard the man gasp, ‘My God, Helen! Call an ambulance, Miriam! Now! Quickly!’

As the woman’s father bent to try to stop the bleeding in his daughter’s arm he hit him with a rabbit punch then pulled the syringe back out of his pocket and stuck the needle into the man’s hand, his thumb pushing the plunger down to the limit.

The blow had not been perfectly delivered – the angle was wrong – but combined with the dope it had the desired effect – the man collapsed, twitching, onto his daughter’s body. He would not be out for long.

He swung round the door and ran straight into the woman, who must have weighed sixteen stone.

She screamed, and he hit her in the face with the briefcase, then in the centre of her stomach with all the strength in his fist.

She staggered, and he pushed past her, grabbed open the front door and rushed outside.

Panic still had him in its grip and his heart rate was well over a hundred. He knew he had to try to calm down and control his actions.

First, he needed to get far away from the scene and as fast as possible. The alternatives: go back into the station and hope to God a train came immediately – some hope, since they only ran about every fifteen minutes out here in the sticks - or hijack a car.

He walked quickly back to the corner and towards the station, expecting any minute to hear screams for help coming from the house.

There was a newspaper, drinks and snacks kiosk just outside the station, and a rank with two waiting taxis. A woman had just stopped her silver Honda Accord to buy something from the kiosk.

His first impulse was to take one of the taxis, but instinct told him that there might be a general alert put out very soon, and the London taxi drivers had taken to putting locks on the interconnecting, sliding glass panels between driver and passenger. With the added technology of central locking doors, the driver could deliver him straight to a police station. They didn’t like passengers in the front, either, unless the back was full.

It had to be the woman.

He loitered a second or two, looking at the display of newspapers, waiting until she paid and went back to the car, knowing that any moment a hue and cry would develop around the corner.

As she sat down at the wheel and started the engine he opened the passenger door and slipped in beside her, holding the scalpel out menacingly.

‘Drive!’

She calmly switched off the engine and got hold of the door handle, looking him full in the face, ‘Fuck you!’

He jabbed the scalpel into her neck and she squealed.

‘If you don’t drive – now - you die!’

Blood was streaming down from the cut into her clothes.

‘Am I? Have you…?’

‘It’s only a scratch, but it’s nothing to what I’m going to do if you don’t drive off right now.’

In the wing mirror on his side he could see the driver’s door of one of the taxis opening and a turbaned man’s head leaning out, looking at the woman’s car.

‘Fucking drive, woman!’

Shaking with fear, she re-started the engine, put the car into gear and pulled jerkily away.

He watched as the Sikh taxi driver got back into his vehicle, expecting him to follow. He didn’t, and it seemed obvious he was not about to risk losing some income on a wild whim, following something he wasn’t sure of. Thank God for immigrants.

‘Where…..?’

‘Just drive – into the City. I’ll tell you when to stop.’

He rummaged around in the glove compartment and found her driving licence and insurance. He slipped the driving licence into his pocket.

‘Just so I know where to find you.’

After a few miles she seemed to have accepted her fate. She was still alive, so the damage was not fatal, ‘How is my neck?’

‘Looks far worse than it is.’

‘Are you going to kill me?’

He had considered it – she could give a good description of him, but then so could the woman he’d tried to kill and probably her mother too. Not only that, he’d left his fingerprints and DNA at the scene. They would know who he was within the hour. This woman was doing him a big favour, and he liked to think that he was no indiscriminate killer.

‘No. You are going to drop me off and go on your way without further molestation. I’m sorry I cut you, but it was your fault. If you’d driven off when I told you to you would not have suffered at all.’

She didn’t believe him and was all the time hoping to see a police car, so that she could ram into it and have him arrested.

He saw her moving her head, looking from side to side, into the rear-view mirror and ahead, and read her thoughts, ‘I know what you’re thinking, and the moment you begin to do anything like that, this scalpel is going to slice your throat from ear to ear. I’ve already killed, so one more won’t make any difference to the sentence. I would advise you to forget the idea, if you want to live.’

She changed her mind about the police car. What she didn’t know was that a BOLO had gone out after the taxi driver called the police and every foot patrol and vehicle in London was on the lookout for her Honda. It was sheer bad luck that she’d avoided them.

They were getting very close to the West End, and traffic was dense.

‘Drive down Oxford Street and stop for a second outside Selfridges. When I get out, put the car into gear and rejoin the traffic. If you stop before you get home or report me to the police, I promise I will come after you, and I will not be merciful.’

It was not somewhere any sane person would choose to stop, but she did, and he said, ‘Goodbye, and thank you.’ He had the sense to open the door with his handkerchief over his hand, and wiped the outside handle after he’d closed the door.

They’d have a Photofit of him without a disguise, and his DNA, but maybe not his fingerprints. He tried to remember if he’d touched anything in the house. Only the front door handle, he thought, but they’d definitely check that.

He watched her, hurrying away, grinding the gears, not believing she was still alive. He was unaware that she was stopped less than two minutes after turning at Marble Arch, after a constable on duty near the entrance to the station clocked the car’s registration number and rang it in.

He’d calmed enough to grin at her discomfort, turned back towards the corner and hurried to the Bond Street underground station. He was nothing if not a realist, and though the operation had been something of a disaster, and the girl would survive, he had what he’d wanted most - her knickers!

CHAPTER 28 – A LITTLE KNOWLEDGE

John was waiting for her in the car park, and he’d remembered to park facing away from the sun. It was still blistering hot and she was perspiring from the twenty-yard walk after leaving the relative coolness of the building.

She got in. ‘Well done, John, thanks – just a nice warm bum this time.’

‘I’d better do a ‘No comment’ on that one. What have you got?’

She took an envelope out of her bag and handed it to him. ‘Here are the mug shots you asked for, and I know when he got out of Carbrooke, and who his parole officer was.’

‘What did he tell you?’

‘I haven’t been able to contact him yet. His office told me he’s on a scuba diving holiday in the Seychelles until next Friday. I spoke to the woman who’s standing in for him while he’s away, but she’s new to the job. She tried to look up his notes from that period, but found they were missing. It made me wonder if our boy was trying to cover his tracks.’

‘Very likely.’

‘I asked her if they’d had any break-ins and she asked her boss, who’d been there a long time. First off he said ‘No’, but then he remembered they had, about ten years ago, but nothing was stolen.’

‘That will be it then. He’s going to be hard to find, but if anyone can do it, Jerry can.’

‘Jerry?’

‘Sir Jeremy. I did what I said I would do and he’s going to help. You were right. He has got a team of bloody ninjas, and an old friend of mine is their leader.’

He told her of the help he hoped to get from Calthorpe’s team as he drove her home.

‘Can’t you do anything yourself?’

‘Not without access to the police programmes. Jerry will have a lot more chance than I would. I think if I needed the secrets of the latest stealth bomber he could get them. It must be wonderful to have that kind of power.’

He turned the corner into her road, pulled up immediately beside the main door and told her, ‘I’ll stay here till you call’

Jane heard the phone ringing as she approached the door of her flat. She hurried to turn the lock, but the noise stopped as she stepped inside.

Caller ID showed it to be from the unit and she speed-dialled back.

Annie Green answered and told her excitedly, ‘He tried to do it again and was caught red-handed.’

‘You mean we’ve got him? That’s terrific.’

Annie sounded deflated, ‘Well, not exactly.’

‘How not exactly?’

‘Well, not at all, really.’

Jane felt like telling Annie to make up her bloody mind, but realised her fellow detective was stressed up. ‘You’d better explain, Annie.’

‘He followed a young woman home, drugged her at the door and took her inside, where he removed her panties and apparently put something inside her, hopefully his fingers, because she says she feels sore down there and there was some blood. He cut into one artery and was obviously about to cut into the other, because the sleeve was pushed up when her parents came into the house. He drugged and hit the father and punched the mother, then got out of the house and down to the local station, where he hi-jacked a woman’s car, with her driving. She dropped him off outside Selfridges. A patrol stopped her car just afterwards, so we’ve got her and a number of other witnesses who’ve given descriptions, and a team of SOCOs are on their way to see if they can find fingerprints and DNA.’

‘So what you’re telling me is that he got clean away again?’

‘Well, yes, but it is good news, isn’t it?’

‘Yes, of course it is, Annie.’ If you knew his name, as I do, you’d have more to crow about, she thought. ‘What about the woman he attacked?’

‘Her father used to be in the St John’s Ambulance Brigade, and when he came to he staunched the wound. She’s in hospital, awake and stable. They’ve given her a transfusion and say she’ll make a complete recovery. Janet Keller is on her way there now to supervise the swabs for DNA. Chief Inspector Carlisle is coming back in and he’s asked me to phone around and get the whole crew in if I can.’

‘I’ll ring for a taxi and should be with you in about half an hour if I can get one.’

Taxi? Bloody hell - she thought, John! He’d still be sitting outside, waiting for her to tell him she was okay. She rang him.

‘John. I’m so sorry.’

‘God, Jane, I’ve been going frantic. I’ve pushed every bloody bell trying to get someone to let me in to see what had happened to you, and nobody’s fucking responded. I had visions of you bleeding to death.’

‘The phone was ringing when I got to the door.’ She told him what had happened.

‘So our advantage in knowing who he is will soon be lost. They’ll know within the hour.’

‘Can you run me back to the station? Carlisle wants everyone back in.’

‘Sure. Come on down, as they say in the best competition shows.’

When she opened the door of the car she noticed he’d covered the seat squab with the rug that was normally kept on the back seat.

He grinned, ‘Can’t have your beautiful bum too hot, can we?’

‘I’m getting worried about you, John. You’re getting too considerate.’

She worried more at his enigmatic, ‘Mm.’ and hurriedly changed the subject, ‘Our friend Callum can’t be feeling too happy at the moment. Oops – sorry.’ She’d suddenly remembered the microphone problem.

‘Don’t worry.’ He assured her, ‘I’ve had it checked again and it’s clear of bugs.’ He started the engine, selected first gear, looked in the rear view and side mirrors and pulled out into the heavy rush-hour traffic. ‘He’ll be back home, licking his wounds and angry as hell. I don’t understand what made him change his MO. He’s researched all his previous victims carefully before going for the kill. This time it seems he just decided to go out and do one off the cuff. Something must have triggered it. All day I’ve been expecting him to ring to wind me up about Anita again. I thought it was strange that he hadn’t. He was obviously too busy.’

‘Do you think she’s still all right?’

‘I do. If she wasn’t, he would definitely have telephoned.’

‘I wonder if she might have something to do with his actions?’

‘I can’t imagine how, although Anita is nobody’s fool. Though she was always careful not to show it, I sometimes felt a bit inferior with her. She never did tell me what her IQ was, but I know it was a bloody sight more than mine. She got a double First at Oxford, which will give you some idea. If she thought she could upset him she would – whatever it took. I could see in that video clip he sent that she knows he’s got cameras on her, and she might have found a way to annoy him. Who knows what triggers the criminal mind? If we catch him and they do a psychological evaluation we might find out. Until then we can only conjecture.’ He pulled up at the station, ‘Give me a ring when you want picking up. Doesn’t matter what time.’

She smiled as she got out, ‘My hero.’

He put his head on one side, ‘I should be so lucky.’

CHAPTER 29 - salus extra ecclesiam non est – (THERE IS NO SALVATION OUTSIDE THE CHURCH)

He went into the church in the next street to his hideaway, knowing it would be empty at that time of day. He’d long ago managed to obtain a key to the door which led to the stairs up to the spire, and had often climbed up to observe the surrounding roads. He knew what vehicles were usually parked on what streets. If there were any police presence he would see it immediately.

Only one person apart from himself knew the location of the cage; that had to be taken care of as a matter of urgency and couple of other loose ends needed to be dealt with, but first he needed to go home and get into a disguise.

There were a hundred and forty-seven concrete steps up to the viewing ports near the top of the spire and fit though he was he was out of breath when he reached them.

He watched for over ten minutes until he was satisfied. Everything was exactly as it should be. He was safe, for now at least.

Going down was less of a problem, and he was hurrying to go back through the door into the church when he heard a noise beyond it.

He swore again. What was the old saying, ‘Didn’t your mother tell you you’d have days like this?’ Every bloody thing that could go wrong had gone wrong, and it was still continuing.

A firm believer in Fate, he stood, trying to control his anger, just inside the door, listening to the sounds from the other side.

He could hear two voices, a man’s and a woman’s, but for several minutes he couldn’t make out what they were talking about. He caught the odd word here and there, but they didn’t make any sense. Then it went quiet.

The next sounds were of a man grunting and a woman squealing, and he knew exactly what they were doing. They’d decided to use the church for their own benefit, just as he had.

He squeezed open the door and peeped out. They were only ten yards away from the door but facing away from it. They’d put several of the kneeling cushions on the floor and the woman was lying on them. The man’ bare arse was pumping up and down between her wide-open legs and they were obviously getting very close to orgasm. It almost made him feel sick, watching the man’s penis slamming into and out of her wet slot, his ugly balls swinging madly.

He stepped carefully through the door and locked it behind him; tiptoed across to the font, out of their sight, and along the aisle. When he got near the door he shouted, ‘‘Ere, ‘ere, Wot you fink you’re doin?’, waited until he heard ‘Fucking hell, Bernard – stop! There’s someone there! For fuck’s sake, stop!’

Laughing, he slipped out of the door. Bernard obviously had a full head of steam and no brakes. He could imagine her pushing her lover off and hoped he’d ruined their moment.

His street was empty apart from the mangy St Bernard that was always in evidence, flat out on the hot pavement, its tongue hanging out. He knew how it felt – his clothes were soaking wet from sweat. It was not just hot – the humidity was somewhere up near the hundred per cent, and the record temperatures were set to continue for at least another week. Somewhere, someone was cutting down another rainforest. They were the real criminals, and made him look a saint by comparison. The kids of today might very well find themselves having to live under domes to stay alive later in life. Well, he needn’t worry. He’d be long gone.

He checked that his tell-tales were still in position – no one had been into his pad while he’d been away.

It was now a fact of life that he could no longer leave the place unless he was heavily disguised. Photofits of his face would be plastered all over the TV and billboards. Hunter and his cohorts would be after his blood with a vengeance now they had his name. The detective would be out on his own – he would have been taken off the case the moment he disclosed that Anita had been abducted – but the Bliss woman would be keeping him up to date.

Never mind – he was still well ahead of the game, and they were still in the dark.

First things first. He’d desperately needed relief and still did. The woman, Helen, her father had called her, would supply it. Smelly with sweat, for once he could not even spare the time to shower first.

He stripped completely then took the knickers from his pocket. Holding them to his nose with one hand, he fondled his penis with the other. Wonderful! A tremendous erection – now it would be no trouble at all. Despite everything, it had been worth it.

~~~oOo~~~

Two hours later, an old man tottered along a pavement in Southwark. It appeared that he had a deformed backbone, and although the hump was not pronounced, it was enough to draw looks of pity from the pedestrians who passed him. Tony Petroni, the Italian quick-change artist who’d taught him all about disguises in prison, called it his ‘Dick the Shit’ disguise, and made him laugh when he explained, ‘You know, Cal – Richard da Turd’.

With it he was wearing a grey wig and goatee, and he’d used greasepaint to make his face look aged. Looking in the mirror before he left home, he’d reckoned he would have fooled his own mother.

Jack Fraser had worked alone with no employees when he’d installed the cage, and he hoped he still did. He’d phoned and made an appointment, but could not ask that question without arousing suspicion in the ex-SAS security specialist. Fraser not only had to go, but his records had to be destroyed too. It was going to be difficult but it had to be done. If the man had been a criminal, money might have kept his mouth closed. Unfortunately he was a model, upright citizen. If they showed Anita’s cage on the box, he would report it immediately. He’d been suspicious when he’d installed it, not really buying the story of a place for an orang-utan to be kept. Kirtlish thanked his God he had not asked the man to install the other devices.

The workshop was a triple garage attached to the man’s house, with access through a side door.

He knocked and the door was opened almost immediately.

He took the hand that was held out for him and told Fraser, ‘Don’t be surprised at the disguise, Jack. I had to avoid someone. You know how it is – a woman scorned.’

‘Bloody hell, it is you. I must admit it’s bloody good. Where did you learn to do that?’

‘Long story, Jack, which will keep till another day. I’m a bit short of time. Can I show you what I want?’ He pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket.

‘Sure, come on over to the bench and lay it out there.’

He’d made a sketch of a design for an anti-break-in system of infrared beams, similar to that which he’d already fitted in his home and in the building where Anita was being held. He’d deliberately made it difficult to read.

‘She’s got two really big brothers, and she’s threatened to have them come after me. I want to install something like this in my entrance hall, to warn me if they do. Can you do it?’

Fraser, six foot two, muscular and as fit as when he had been in the Mob, followed his visitor in. He had thought the man a bit touched when he’d done the last job for him. This latest thing only added to his feeling that his client was paranoid, but he’d paid the asking price without quibbling the last time, and he saw no good reason to deny him.

The design was pretty small and he bent to take a closer look at what was required.

The needle plunged into his neck made him rear up and start to swing his fists at his attacker. His size meant that the drug was taking much longer to work than normal, although he’d been given a double dose.

He was having trouble seeing and controlling his arms and legs, but had enough fight in him to force his visitor out of the door, which he slammed and bolted before he collapsed.

His attacker stood outside, swearing without stopping. What a fucking day! He couldn’t even do this right. Damage control first. At least Fraser had no idea where he lived, but he knew where the cage was. He could mess up the entire plan. He had to be stopped, but how?

The three front garage doors were down and would almost certainly be locked, since Fraser never used them as entrances. He had to try them. They were indeed all locked, but the middle one seemed to have a little give in it, some small motion.

Not caring what passers-by might think, he looked around for something he could use to force the door. There was a metal stake holding up a rose bush in the border. He ran and wrenched it out of the ground, ignoring the pain from the thorns of the bush, which ripped into his hands. He inserted the point of the stake into the side of the door at the bottom and exerted all his force.

To begin with all it did was make a noise. Then, with a jolt, the door shot up and wobbled noisily at the top of its traverse.

He ran inside. Fraser had begun to recover and was trying to pull himself upright, using a stool by the side of the bench.

He took the kitchen knife he’d brought with him out of his pocket and slashed at Fraser’s neck, missing the jugular but making a nasty wound.

The ex-SAS soldier uttered a loud, ‘Grrrh!’ and tried to defend himself, attempting to pick up the stool.

His training came to his rescue. He kicked Fraser’s shin with his steel-edged shoe twice. It brought the man down, and he stuck the point of the knife into the back of his neck, cutting down into the vertebra.

Fraser uttered several grunts and became still.

Although the workshop had been cool with the air conditioning running flat out, the open door had caused the temperature inside to reach almost that outside, and sweat was pouring down his cheeks, making some of his disguise run.

He had to hope all Fraser’s records were in the workshop. He removed the sealed can of magnesium strips and the battery from his pocket and took the top off the can. He pushed it under the work surface near the computer, inserted the two wires and connected them to the battery. As the metal began to ignite he walked back out of the door, pulling it down behind him, and walked away, using a faster pace than he’d used on the way there.

He’d stopped a taxi and was several miles away when the workshop exploded as the fire reached Fraser’s supply of compressed gases.

CHAPTER 30 – STILL ON THE CHAIN

Carlisle couldn’t keep still, even though he knew he was attracting attention by walking up and down. It looked as if they might stand a chance of catching the perp without Hunter’s involvement. He knew other phone calls must have been made without the detective informing him, and he was sure the devious sod was up to something that would probably never see the light of day, but with this breakthrough his hopes were up.

His first impulse on hearing of the foiled attempted murder had been to get in his car and drive to the house where it happened. Only as he took hold of the blistering hot door handle had he changed his mind. If anyone was going to co-ordinate this operation, he was the man who would do it. Instead of driving to the house, he drove to the station, arranging the call-back on the way.

The detectives were coming in every few minutes, and he’d soon have a full house. The problem was that up till now there was no further news and it was beginning to look as if he’d over-reacted. Overtime was a dirty word these days, and except in emergencies had to be authorised in advance. Unless he could prove the extra staff had been necessary he would be getting a severe ear bashing at the very least. Hunter’s friend Taylor would probably enjoy delivering it. Promotion looked even more remote.

His phone rang and he hurried to answer it, pleased to hear Mike Smiley’s voice on the other end. Mike was heading up the SOCO team at the house. It was the call he’d been waiting for.

‘We’ve finished, Sir. The place will remain guarded and the man and his wife are both being kept in hospital overnight.’

Carlisle’s impatience got the better of him, ‘What have you found, man?’

‘We found fingerprints on the front door handle…’

The DCI interrupted him, ‘Well, send them over, for God’s sake.’

‘….but they were so blurred they would be useless. The woman had got hold of the handle after the perp left. She’s a big woman and with the sweat and all…’

‘Bloody hell! So, nothing? What about DNA, he must have been sweating too?’

‘We’ve taken the door handle off and bagged it for testing and I asked Janet Keller to take the woman’s blouse. He hit her in the stomach, so he’ll have left sweat there. Janet had already taken a sample from where he hit the girl’s father, and, of course, swabs from the girl’s lower regions. There doesn’t seem to be anything apart from the door handle that he touched while he was in the house. We’ve bagged a variety of hairs from the lounge and the hall, but it will take days to sort out who they belong to.’

Carlisle was devastated. The woman’s Honda had been brought in and checked, but the clever bugger had wiped both the inside and outside handles as he got out. There were two hairs on the back of the passenger seat, but they’d need to be tested. He’d been sure there would be usable fingerprints in the house. Now they’d have to wait for the DNA results to come in. At least then they’d know his name – his DNA must be on record. Carla Raymes, their call-out artist, was doing a composite at that moment with the help of the woman who had taken the perp into London, along with the Sikh taxi driver. When the hospital allowed it, Carla would try to have the victim confirm the details of the drawing. Then they would publish it in the media and ask for the public’s help.

This evening they could do nothing. Red-faced he walked back through the door into the detectives’ area.

‘Sorry, people. False alarm – we have no fingerprints and we won’t have DNA until tomorrow. You’ll be able to claim for one hour’s overtime, or preferably have an hour off sometime in lieu – your choice of time, of course.’ He hoped to God they’d take the second choice, but with the way his luck was running he doubted it.

He turned, went back into his office and closed the door, not wanting to listen to their righteous grumbles or see the smirks on their faces.

Jane waited until she was outside before calling John. He had only minutes before returned home from dropping her off and was about to drive to Taylor’s for an evening with Trish.

He laughed when she described Carlisle’s embarrassment.

‘We’re still ahead of the game then.’

‘We are.’

‘I’ll come and get you.’

‘No, John. I’ll get a taxi this time. You’ll want to be getting over to see Trish.’

‘Please, go back inside and sit down at your desk until I get there. Kirtlish will be even more unpredictable now he’s been thwarted, and he could very well come after you to get back at me.’

‘I thought he’d be more likely to stay low.’

‘I don’t think so somehow. He’s got an agenda, and he’ll follow it regardless. Traffic’s not too bad at the moment. I should be with you in about twenty minutes. While you’re still at your desk, ring Carbrooke and try to find out who Kirtlish shared a cell with during his time there.’

Carlisle saw her come back into the office. What was she up to, he wondered? She’d gone out, now she’s come back in. There must be a reason.

He walked through into the outer office and up to her desk, ‘Decided to stay on in your own time?’

‘No, Sir. Waiting for a lift.’

‘From Hunter?’

‘Got it in one, Sir.’

He tried not to show his anger, ‘Has he got anything more than we have?’

She smiled sweetly, ‘You’d have to ask him, Sir. He wouldn’t tell me anything, would he?’

He knew that was not true, but also recognised when he was on a hiding to nothing. He hated grovelling, especially to Hunter, even by proxy, but his reputation, for what it was worth, was on the line.

‘Tell him I’d be glad of any input he might have.’

‘Certainly, Sir. I’ll do that, but you know he’s on leave. He’s out of the loop. Probably just relaxing.’

‘Yes, of course.’ Relaxing, my arse!

After he’d gone back into his office she rang the prison. The day staff had already left, but she was lucky to be put through to a senior warder called Fred Barnes, who had been there for over twenty years.

He remembered Kirtlish well, and off the top of his head could give her the names of the three men who, for various periods, had shared his quarters.

‘His first cellmate was an Italian, Antonio Petroni, like Kirtlish in for attempted murder. After him there was a rapist called Peter Peterson for about a year, and then a Frederick Smellin. Peterson died of a heart attack, just days before he was due for release. We thought it was suspicious, and wondered if Kirtlish could have been behind it, but the autopsy found nothing odd. Petroni finished his time and I don’t know where you might find him, but Smellin is back with us. I think he likes it inside, with three meals and a bed guaranteed. Leastways, he always re-offends within a couple of months of being let out.’

‘Would it be possible for my colleague, Detective Inspector John Hunter, to come and see Smellin?’

‘No problem. When would he like to come?’

‘It’s urgent. I’d say as soon as possible. Would there be any chance this evening?’

‘Lights out is at ten. If he can make it before then, I’ll meet him and take him in.’

‘Thank you very much.’

Her mobile trilled and she got up to walk out to the car park, watched by Carlisle, who would have loved to know whom she’d been speaking to.

She gave Hunter the news as she got into the Mondeo.

‘I’ll drop you off, nip in to see Trish and then go over there.’

‘D’you think you’ll get anything out of him?’

‘Probably not, but we are at a bit of an impasse. I haven’t heard anything from Sir Jeremy yet, and I’m a bit like a dancing bear with no music at the moment.’

‘And you’re still on the chain.’

He sighed, ‘Very much so.’

CHAPTER 31 – LIE DOWN WITH DOGS

Trish tried to hide it but he could see she’d been crying, and looked as if she could burst into tears again at any moment.

She asked if he’d had any more messages, and he had to tell her he had not. It was worrying him too, but he couldn’t say so. Kirtlish was up to something if he hadn’t had time to try and annoy him during the last twenty-four hours. He wondered what it was. Half a dozen times he’d tried dialling the number of the mobile the perp was using, but it always came up with the ‘switched off, try again later’ message.

He gave his daughter a big hug, ‘You know what they say about no news, Trish. If anything bad had happened, he’d have been straight onto me. Your Mum is one of the most practical and clear-thinking women I’ve ever known. She won’t be panicking, and she’ll be working out the best way to escape all the time. I know she will. It wouldn’t surprise me to see her waiting outside my flat one day, like you did.’

Trish was no fool, ‘You don’t believe that any more than I do, Dad. I’m not nine years old any more, you know.’

‘No, Trish, I know. I promise I’ll ring you the moment I hear anything more, okay?’

‘Okay, Dad. I’ll go and help Aunt Mags with dinner now.’

‘I’ll come with you. I have something I want to show both of you.’

Maggie was slicing chicken breast and had a board full of other ingredients laid out in front of her.

‘Wish I could stay for dinner, looking at that lot, Maggie.’

‘You’re welcome, you know. There’ll be plenty.’

‘There always is. I wanted you to have a look at this picture. This is the man you have to watch out for.’ He handed her and Trish photos of Kirtlish.

‘He doesn’t look much.’

‘No, Maggie, and that’s where the danger lies. Believe me, every inch of him is evil.’

Maggie put her arm round Trish’s shoulders, ‘We’ll watch out for him, won’t we, girl?’

‘Good. I don’t want to worry you, but it’s best to be on your guard. He could very well be disguised.’

He went through and knocked on the door of Taylor’s den.

The door was opened and Geoff Taylor indicated with his head that Hunter should enter.

‘I’ve just spoken to Carlisle. With nothing to go on, he almost ruined this month’s bloody budget.’

‘I know. Jane told me.’

‘Kirtlish went way out of his comfort zone with this one. Do you know why?’

‘No, but I think it might have something to do with Anita. She’s got a damned good brain, and I think she might just have got him angry enough to trigger off this latest episode.’

‘He hasn’t contacted you again?’

‘No, and that has me worried, but then that might be part of his plan - he could be delaying deliberately to make me worry. I keep trying to get into his mind, remembering little things from the trial. I can’t say he’d mad – he certainly isn’t, but he is what in the old days might have been described as ‘a little bit touched’, before political correctness came on the scene. Small things that we would overlook make him really angry. I remember that after a recess he went back into the dock and created a holy stink, banging his fists on the woodwork, his eyes wild and spittle flying out of his mouth as he shouted, just because they hadn’t topped up his water glass.’

‘I suppose you could say he had bad luck – if the woman’s parents hadn’t come home at that precise moment he’d have killed her and got clean away, and no one the wiser. Up to that point everything seems to have gone exactly as he wanted it to.’

‘Of course, you’re right. He’s had a bad day though and I’m waiting for something to happen.’

‘What are you up to – are you staying for dinner? There’s plenty – Maggie expected you and is cooking enough for a small army, as usual.’

‘Wish I could, Geoff, but I’m off to Carbrooke, to see one of his old cellmates. Probably a wasted effort, but I can’t afford to miss the chance.’

‘You wouldn’t be thinking of a little bribery, by any chance?’

Hunter put on an innocent look, ‘Now, Geoff, what do you think I am?’

The Chief Superintendent guffawed, ‘Get out of here, you slimeball! I don’t know why I have you in the house.’

Hunter joined in the laughter, ‘You recognise a fellow spirit.’

‘You might be right at that, John. The best of luck with him anyway.’

He stopped by the kitchen to say his farewells to Trish and Maggie and was handed a carrier bag.

Maggie said, ‘I know you’re going to go without dinner, so Trish has made you some beef and horseradish sandwiches. There’s a flask of coffee as well, black with no sugar, if that’s how you still like it.’

He was grateful and showed it, by kissing both of them on their foreheads. ‘You spoil me.’

Maggie laughed, ‘We try, John.’

Traffic had tailed off slightly, but London roads were never quiet, except perhaps in the early hours, and the journey took just over an hour.

Carbrooke was an old prison, opened in Victorian times, with newer wings added in the years following the Second World War. He gave his name at the microphone outside the external ten-foot high doors and a small side door opened half a minute later. A warder beckoned him in, and held out his hand.

‘Fred Barnes. Pleased to meet you. Welcome to the old lags’ home. Let me carry your briefcase for you.’

Security was tight. Hunter was asked to leave his mobile at the first checkpoint and was patted down three times on the way in. His briefcase was not opened once and he realised Fred Barnes had an inkling of its contents.

Frederick Smellin had been taken down to a small interview room and a warder stood guard at the door.

Barnes told the guard he could go for a cup of tea. He handed Hunter the briefcase as he opened the door and grinned knowingly, ‘You’ll need your notes, John. I’ll come back in ten minutes. Will that be long enough, do you think?’

‘Should be fine, Fred, and thanks.’

Smellin was a small man, no more than five feet five tall, with a skinny body and a foxy face, prison-pale and covered in old acne scars. At first sight, Hunter knew that the man could never have made a living as a conman – he looked shifty and uncomfortable and would have most people feeling for their wallets, to make sure they still had them.

Hunter smiled warmly, put his hand out, introduced himself as ‘John’ and shook the convict’s hand, which obviously surprised him.

‘Did they tell you why I wanted to see you?’

‘No. Why do you? Have you found the stash?’

Hunter shook his head, ‘Nothing like that, Frederick. In fact nothing to do with you, so you don’t need to worry. I’m just here to see if you can give me a little information.’

Smellin drew his small frame upright, ‘I ain’t no snitch. You can go back to wherever you came from. You’ll get nothing from me.’

‘Just have a look at the book I brought you. I’m told you like reading.’

‘Who the hell told you that? What do I want with a bloody book?’

Hunter pulled the large book out of the case and pushed it across the table.

‘Open the front cover.’

The convict looked unconvinced but did as he was told, and his eyes lit up, ‘Bloody hell! How did you…..?’

Hunter had bought one of the empty book shells that people buy to hide things in from thieves. In a bookcase with other books, they mistakenly hope it will fool robbers. It never did. He’d crammed in nineteen packets of cigarettes and a prepaid mobile phone, gold dust to a con in prison.

Smellin gulped and his eyes glittered avariciously, ‘What’you wanna know?’

‘Anything you can tell me about Callum Kirtlish.’

He noticed the look of terror that came over Smellin’s face as he pushed the book back towards Hunter.

‘I want you to go. Now. And take your bloody book with you.’

‘Are you that frightened of someone on the outside?’

‘Of bloody Kirtlish – too bloody right. I wouldn’t live to use this.’

‘You mean he’s got friends in the prison?’

‘I wouldn’t know, but I ain’t gonna chance it. Someone’s already been onto me today about him.’

Hunter was surprised to hear that - Paddy must have moved fast, unless it was Kirtlish - but pretended to ignore it, ‘What if I tell you that he’ll be dead within the next few days.’

‘Dead? How can you know that?’

‘Because I’m going to kill him.’

Smellin forced a weak laugh, ‘You’ll be lucky, Sunshine. Not him you won’t.’

Hunter reached over the table and grabbed Smellin’s arm, twisting it viciously, ‘Yes, I bloody well will. He’s kidnapped my wife and put her in a cage.’ He excused himself for the small lie.

‘Christ, that hurts! You’re the fuzz. You can’t kill.’

‘Just watch me.’ He let go of the arm.

Smellin had got over his initial alarm, ‘I might be able to help you. What do you want to know?’

‘Where he lived and anything else you can tell me. You must have been pretty close, living in the same cell for all that time.’

‘Funny that – he never did say where he lived. He told me once that he had several bits of property, in London and around the country, though he didn’t say where, and I know he’d got a hell of a lot of dosh. He’s even got a villa in Spain. Once, when we were talking about where you could buy a good piece of pork these days, he mentioned a butcher’s shop in Ilford, but I don’t know if it had anything to do with where he lived.’

‘Where did he get the money from?’

‘Well, he was in business, wasn’t he?’

‘What business?’

‘Dogs and cats – you know, what do they call ‘em?’

‘Veterinary clinics?’

‘Yeah. That’s it.’

That answered the question of where he got the telazol at least.

‘You don’t know what they were called, do you?’

Smellin’s brow wrinkled as he tried to remember. ‘Pets something or other – Petsbite, Petsmight, Petsshite, something like that.’

‘If you do remember, tell Mr Barnes, okay? There might be a little something extra in it for you if you do.’

Smellin had completely got over his jitters, ‘Will do, Mr Hunter.’ He lowered his voice, ‘Thanks for the book.’ He pulled it back towards him.

Not wanting to, Hunter held his hand out again.

CHAPTER 32 – PRONE TO ANGER AND REVENGE

Hunter had driven less than half a mile when his mobile rang. He’d got it on hands-free and switched it on, immediately noticing the number.

Not giving the perp a chance to say anything, he gritted, ‘You’re seriously losing your grip, Callum. What a fuck-up.’

He was gratified at the short silence that followed, before the murderer answered, ‘So, you’ve worked it out?’

‘Joan Cross.’

‘Ah, yes, Joan Cross. You ruined a perfectly good kill there, John. I’ve never forgiven you for that. Six weeks of planning wasted. You stopped me in mid-career, just as I was getting into the swing of it.’

Hunter was intrigued – Kirtlish was telling him he’d killed before the attempt on Joan. ‘How many had you done before her?’

‘Wouldn’t you like to know. You’ll have to do some more homework to find that out. Those Serious Crimes idiots were nowhere near as good as you at the job.’

‘You know I’m coming for you now.’

‘I’m banking on it. The best man will win, and I’m that man.’

‘One of us will die, and it will be you.’

‘Oh, I don’t think so, John. I have quite the opposite opinion. Your vision is too clouded. It was clever of you to send Marie away, not that I couldn’t find her if I wanted to, but you still have Trish to worry about, and Jane, and Anita of course. You can’t cover all the bases; I have you at a disadvantage. Would you like to see how Anita’s getting on? I’ll send you a picture at the end of this call. She’s sleeping peacefully, as you’ll see, and perfectly safe at the moment, but at the end of the seven days that sleep will be permanent. You see, what I haven’t told you before is that at the precise point in time when that seven days is up, at a quarter to four in the afternoon, a timer will release gas into that room. If you haven’t found and released her by then, poor Anita will be no more.’

Hunter felt a sharp pain in his chest. ‘You really are a sick bastard.’

‘There you go again, John – wrong on all counts, as you always are. My parents were married, unlike yours, and I am in perfectly good health, physically and mentally.’

Hunter knew Kirtlish was trying to wind him up as usual and tried to cool his approach. He spoke quietly when he replied, ‘Maybe you are, Callum. Maybe it’s me that’s mad, because I fully intend to kill you.’

‘And I know you are too much the professional policeman to be able to do that, John. Should it ever come to such a situation, though you would struggle with your conscience, your only response would be, ‘Take him away and charge him’, and you would spend the rest of your life worrying about whether I could escape.’

‘We’ll see.’

‘We will. Here’s the photo. Sleep tight, John.’

Hunter clicked onto the picture, which must have been taken in the early hours of the morning. Anita looked peaceful enough and was obviously in no immediate danger, though time was crucial. One thing he noticed was that the panties which were lying on the floor by the foot of the mattress were in exactly the same position as they had been in the previous picture Kirtlish had sent. The picture was so small that it was difficult to see exactly what they were like, but unless Anita had changed her habits, they were not the style she had habitually worn when they were married, and he didn’t think she would have changed. There was a lot of lace around the legs, and she was not one for lace embellishment. Not only that - it was totally out of character for her to leave something like that lying around. She was almost obsessively neat. He nodded thoughtfully. Good for you, Anita. She had obviously left them there for a purpose. Was that what had annoyed Kirtlish?

He speed-dialled Taylor.

‘He’s called again, and sent another picture of Anita. Could you tell Trish her Mum is still okay. It’s getting late, so I won’t come over again now. I’ll see her tomorrow evening.’

‘Did you get any joy from Smellin?’

‘A couple of things. Kirtlish apparently owns some veterinary businesses, and once mentioned a butcher’s shop in Ilford, for what it’s worth. There may or may not be something in that. That’s a hell of an area to cover, and it could well be a false lead, but I’m going to get on the computer when I get home and do some checking. At least, we know now how he got the drugs.’

‘Good work, John. Keep me informed.’

‘Will do, Geoff. Goodnight.’

He rang Jane and told her about the call from Kirtlish and what he’d found out from Smellin.

She surprised him by saying, ‘Petzrite.’

‘Is that the name?’

‘Must be. It’s the only one I know with a name anything like it. It’s a nationwide organisation – at least one in every city, I believe. Mother used to take our cat to them. If he owns that lot, he’s seriously rich.’

‘So some of the staff must know him and where he lives.’

‘You would think so.’

‘They’ll all be closed now, but I can start checking first thing in the morning.’

‘You can find all the branches on the Internet tonight and you’ll have the list to use when they open.’

‘I can visit all the ones in London tomorrow, anyway.’

‘I wish I could help you.’

‘I wish you could too. One thing you can do if you are at a loose end is to check all unsolved murders in the Greater London area before the Joan Cross attack. He gave me the impression that he’d done several, so they may go back years.’

‘Do I pass any of this on to Carlisle?’

Hunter’s professionalism fought with his personal needs. The struggle was a short one.

‘No. I don’t want him charging about with his size eleven boots, messing up my approach.’

‘You realise if he ever finds out you’ve withheld information on a murder inquiry you’ll be out of a job and probably facing charges?’

‘I know. I’ll take that risk.’

‘And what about me?’

‘I’m sorry you’re in the firing line, Jane. The very last thing I want to do is jeopardise your career. If you’d prefer, I’ll leave you out of the loop from now on, then they can’t do anything to you. Just try to forget I’ve told you anything. There is one other thing you need to know though – Kirtlish mentioned you again as a figure of interest. Be damned careful.’

‘I’ll keep the pepper spray in my hand, and if you think you can get rid of me as easily as that, you’ve got another think coming.’

He grinned. He’d known what her response would be. ‘Good. I’ll ring you again tomorrow.’

He had one more call to make and dialled the number.’

A gruff voice said, ‘Speak.’

‘It’s John, Paddy. Got some info for you.’

‘And I have some for you. Yours first.’

Hunter told him everything he’d learned that evening.

‘You got more than we did – another prison inmate who owed Jerry a favour tried to put the squeeze on Smellin and got nothing. Your approach worked better and I should have thought of that. I spent my time trying to find out who built the cage your ex-wife is in. We went through all the firms in the London area capable of doing that sort of job. We’ve found out now, but a bit late – it was another old mate of mine, Jack Fraser, ex-SAS, and he was killed this afternoon. I’m pretty sure your man got to him to ensure he couldn’t tell where he’d built it. His wife was working in her kitchen and saw smoke coming from the garage next to the house that he used as a workshop. She managed to drag his body out but he was dead before the place was set alight. All his records were on the computer in the workshop, and they were destroyed in the fire, but he’d told his wife about this cage that he said the customer wanted to keep an orang-utan in. He’d joked about it, saying he might be working for a murderer. It had taken him over a week to build, she said, and he’d told her where it was, but she’d been taking a chicken out of the oven at the time and wasn’t paying attention. She did remember she heard him say it was north of the river. Now you say Smellin said Kirtlish mentioned a shop in Ilford. If he was buying meat from that shop there’s just a faint chance he lives in that area, but it’s a hell of a long shot, and we’ve got no starting point. I think we’re going to have to concentrate on the northeast quarter of Greater London, but that’s a huge area, with a lot of buildings. I’ll need Jerry’s helicopter. If he’s not using it, I’ll take a first look tomorrow morning.’

‘Make that ‘We’ll take a look’, Jack. I want to come with you.’

‘Okay, John. No problem. I’ll give you a ring first thing in the morning.

CHAPTER 33 – NILLI ILLEGITEMI CARBORUNDUM*

Anita had studied every item in the cage, racking her brain, trying to think of ways they could be used to aid her situation. She had plenty of paper in the books she’d already read, and if only she could light a fire, perhaps enough smoke would go up and out of the tiny gap she’d noticed in one of the two small windows high up on the end wall to attract attention. How was it possible to create fire without matches or lighter? Rub two Boy Scouts together, someone had once told her, or was it sticks? Forget it – she had neither Boy Scouts nor sticks, so that was a no-no. She’d considered trying to short out the fridge and use the spark to start a fire, but he’d cleverly thought of that. The carcase was fixed to the outside bars with strong metal brackets and the cable had been nailed to the floor with clips at a right angle, stretching away to a socket in the wall, totally out of her reach. She wondered if it might be possible to short it using the internal light socket, and she’d taken the bulb out to see. It didn’t seem likely. In any case, she needed it working to keep the food fresh enough to eat. In this heat it would go bad in less than a day.

There was nothing she could use to hoist up a signal. In the best stories, the heroine would have had a pair of scissors or a knife and could cut strips off the sheet and mix some of the porridge with water to make a paste to stiffen it and make a rod long enough to reach the window with a piece of sheet as a flag on the top.

Even in her situation she had to grin; she must be in a bad way – beginning to hallucinate.

There was one thing she could try – there were six tins of meat she was not going to eat and they would make good ammunition.

She picked one up, a tin of bully beef, and hefted it in her hand. She’d always been good at throwing things. Now was the time to see just how good she was.

With all her force she threw the tin at the window, trying to miss the eight-inch apart bars above.

The tin hit a bar full on and rebounded, missing her by inches. She exhaled loudly. It was going to be dangerous, but if Bruce’s spider could do it, so could she.

Twenty minutes later she was bathed in sweat, had a very painful shoulder where a tin of Spam had hit her on the rebound, and had only managed to get one tin cleanly through the bars. It was a good shot, but hit the strip of metal between the two panes. She felt like crying with frustration and exhaustion, but deep down there was the good feeling that she’d done something to try to help her situation. Maybe she would try again later.

Water was getting short and she’d worked out how long the remaining two gallons would last. She’d been incarcerated for more than seventy-two hours. If he came back at the end of seven days, as he’d said, she had to last for four more days on that. Half a gallon for each twenty-four hours. It wasn’t much, and it was necessary to make provision in case he didn’t come back. Supposing he got killed, or had an accident. How long would she be able to last without water? She knew that human beings could go for a long period without food, three weeks or thereabouts, but she seemed to remember they could only last three days without liquid. The building she was in just seemed to absorb the heat and she guessed the temperature inside hadn’t dropped below twenty-eight or -nine degrees since she’d been there – she’d wanted to pee only once a day and was losing liquid all the time by sweating. It might be possible to drink the bath water, but it had so much soap in it that it would probably make her sick. She made the decision not to pee in the toilet from now on, but into one of the plastic cups he’d left, and she’d put the urine into one of the empty containers. If it became absolutely necessary, she would try and drink it. Ugh! There were lots of stories of people who’d survived by drinking their own urine, and it was even mentioned in the King James Bible – she’d remembered being shocked as a small girl finding the passage in Isaiah 36 ‘…..the men which sit upon the wall, that they may eat their own dung, and drink their own piss…..’

It was the last thing on earth she’d want to do, but if it meant staying alive a little longer…..

She felt useless and incompetent, feelings she’d never known in her life before. It would be so easy to panic, and that was the one thing she must not do. Oh, John, where are you? Why can’t you be up there in that helicopter I can hear?

*Schoolboy ‘pig’ Latin: ‘DON’T LET THE BASTARDS GRIND YOU DOWN’

CHAPTER 34 – TOO CLOSE TO HOME

Though the Met Office had forecast possible thunderstorms, sparked off by the extreme temperatures and high humidity, there was no sign of them yet. Hunter hoped they would stay away for a while anyway – they wouldn’t go well with a helicopter search.

He rang Jane from the road outside her pad and watched her look both ways before opening the glass front door of the building.

As she got into the car he pointed at her hand, ‘You can trust me and put that away now.’

She looked at him seriously, ‘Are you sure, John? A girl can’t be too careful – you might be one of those sex maniacs.’

He laughed, ‘Oh, how I wish. Those days are long gone. I’m a staid, middle-aged lover now.’

She changed the subject, ‘Have you found out where the Petzrite clinics are?’

He nodded, ‘There are seven in the Greater London area, and I’ll visit all of them today. First of all I’m going for a helicopter ride with Paddy over the northeast quadrant, to have a look at what semi-derelict and unoccupied buildings there are. I believe Anita’s in one of them. I’ve got the feeling we’re getting close, but it’s a long way from over yet. He’s not going to sit on his heels and just watch; he’s got something else planned. The usual victims are not what he has on his mind now – he’s got the intention of raising the stakes as far as I’m concerned. He wants me chasing my tail, and he’s calling all the cards. At least I’ll know where you are, after I drop you off. That’s one of the two areas I’ve got to worry about. Trish is the other, and I’m going to go and pick her up when I get back from the helicopter ride. She can come with me when I visit the clinics, so I can keep an eye on her myself.’

She felt more affection for him than she liked to admit to herself, knowing that he was so concerned for her welfare, and pushed the thought from her mind, ‘Sounds like a good idea. Have you told her?’

‘Yes, I rang her just before I left home. Maggie was going to take her shopping but I asked them to stay at home and be watchful.’ He drove into the Serious Crimes car park and stopped near the door, ‘Here you are then. Door-to-door service will be resumed this afternoon, madam.’

‘You make me sound like a dowager. It’s ‘Miss’ if you don’t mind.’

He threw off a two-fingered salute, ‘Miss it is, Miss.’

She gave him a big smile, ‘You know, John, you can be quite lovable when you put your mind to it.’

Before he had a chance to answer, she’d turned her back and was walking to the door of the offices.

Paddy had had to wait until the ‘copter was brought back from Edinburgh and refuelled. Hunter had arrived an hour before it was due and they’d spent the time looking over a large scale map of the area east of Romford and north of the river..

It was an area famous for its industry and there were dozens of buildings that had been designed for other than housing purposes. Paddy marked all of them with red crosses in marker-pen. From the map it was impossible to see which were presently unoccupied and they both hoped they’d be able to deduce that from the air. Even if they looked unoccupied on Google Earth it would only mean they might have been when the pictures were taken, and might have no relevance to their present use, but when they had a list of possibles, the search engine would enable them to look at the buildings closely and in detail, for ways of approach.

Once they had that list and had checked them online they could visit each of them by vehicle and on foot and check out those that were most likely for Kirtlish’s purposes.

Both of them knew it was not going to be a five-minute exercise.

At one point Hunter asked, ‘Do you think we should concentrate on Ilford?’

‘Let’s see how long the search takes and then make a decision.’

When they’d finished the preparatory work Paddy rang Sir Jeremy, as he’d been told to do, and they were invited into his office for coffee.

Hunter began to thank him for his help and was told, ‘No thanks are necessary, John. You went out on a limb to help me. I don’t need to do that – all my resources are there to be used, and it is the very least I can do for you. I hope when it comes to the actual rescue of your ex-wife we can be of much more help.’

‘You don’t know what that means to me, Jerry. Without the Met’s backup I would be hard pressed to do it on my own’

The phone went and Sir Jeremy picked it up and listened. He said, ‘Thanks, Jim.’

‘We’re ready for the off. She’s on the roof waiting for you.’

The helicopter was idling and they ducked under the blades and entered by the open door. Paddy closed the door then introduced Hunter to Jim Crowley, the pilot, and gave him the details of what they wanted.

‘No problem. You realise with the overflight rules I have to stay at least a thousand feet above any installation, so I hope you’ll be able to see as much as you want from that height. We’ll do a square search of the whole area. I did enough of those while I was in the RAF – most of them over Baghdad, Basra and Kabul. At least we shouldn’t have to worry about being shot at while we’re doing this one, eh?’

Hunter didn’t like to disillusion the pilot. He knew if Kirtlish was underneath them with a weapon he wouldn’t hesitate.

‘Settle yourselves down then, and off we go.’ He pushed forward on the collective and they were away.

Less than ten minutes saw them over the designated area. Crowley knew his stuff and they were easily able to decide which buildings were occupied and which were not, mainly by the presence of vehicles parked in the grounds.

At the end of the search they had nineteen possibles.

Crowley asked if they had all they wanted and Paddy said, ‘Could we have a closer look at Ilford, Jim? That really will be it then.’

Crowley shrugged, ‘It ain’t my aviation fuel, Paddy, and Sir Jeremy told me I was to give you whatever you wanted. Be my guest.’

There were less commercial buildings in the Ilford area, and only three were unoccupied.

Satisfied with their work they returned to headquarters and went back to Sir Jeremy’s office to brief him on their discoveries.

He looked at Hunter, ‘What do you want us to do, John? We could leave it entirely to you, but it would take you days and if your murderer is watching he would know you’re near to finding Anita. Paddy, here, can use a team of average-looking men and women and do an initial look over each of them without arousing suspicion. It will give you time to visit your vets, and anything else you need to do. Paddy will tell you when they’ve had a look at all of them and you can come back in to discuss final tactics.’

Hunter could see the sense in what Sir Jeremy was suggesting, ‘I agree with you, Jerry. It’s the sensible thing to do. Thanks again.’

As he left the building he heard a rumble of thunder in the distance, but the sky was still without a trace of cloud. Inside, he’d felt comfortable in the air-conditioned atmosphere, but by the time he’d reached his car he was soaked in sweat again.

As he got in he swore as his backside touched the burning hot seat. He should listen to Jane – he’d parked facing the sun again.

Arriving at Taylor’s house he was dismayed to see the front door standing open and an ambulance parked near it.

He halted the car, jumped out and ran into the house.

A paramedic threw his arms out and stopped his rush. ‘Whoa there, mate! Where d’you think you’re going?’

‘What’s happened? Is it my daughter? Is she hurt? Where’s Maggie?’

‘Is your daughter the pretty young girl, Trish?’

He nodded, ‘Yes. Is she all right?’

‘She is now. Just calm down and I’ll fill you in with the details. My co-worker is in the bedroom with her at the moment, checking her over, but she should be fine. Her aunt is with her too’

‘I need to see her.’

‘You can in a few moments.’

‘Tell me what happened.’

‘Apparently she and her aunt were attacked and drugged by someone dressed as a postman. The aunt went to the front door and was knocked out by the drug, and the intruder then went through into the kitchen and did the same thing to your daughter. He drew some sort of design on her head with a marker pen, but then left. At least, when the aunt came to he was gone. We need to find out what drug he used before we can be absolutely sure they’ll be okay.’

‘It was telazol, an anaesthetic used on animals.’

The medic as puzzled, ‘How do you know that, Sir?’

Hunter took out his warrant card, ‘He’s a serial murderer and that’s what he uses. She’s all right then?’

‘Shaken up, as you can imagine, but otherwise all right.’

‘He didn’t---?’

‘No, thankfully he didn’t, at least we don’t think so, and neither does your daughter.’

‘Thank God.’

‘Amen to that.’

The female paramedic came through into the hall and the man introduced Hunter as Trish’s father.

‘How is she?’

‘Pretty good, under the circumstances. It was a shock, but she’s a resilient girl. There will be some posttraumatic stress, but at her age she should get over it fairly quickly. If you’re going to stay, we might as well be off. I’ve got most of that marker pen off her forehead. What’s left will come off with washing over the next couple of days.’

Hunter thanked them and went through to the downstairs bedroom that Trish had been using.

She was sitting on the bed, holding Maggie’s hand and looking tearful. He could still see the design, and her forehead was red where the medic had rubbed it with surgical spirit, but it was not too obvious.

Hunter nodded to Maggie, but went straight to his daughter and hugged her. He kissed her forehead.

‘Oh, Trish. You poor little sausage.’

She managed a weak smile, ‘You always used to call me that, Dad.’

He shrugged, ‘Old habits die hard. He didn’t touch you, I mean……?’

‘I know exactly what you mean, Dad. No – at least I don’t think so. I don’t feel sore or anything, which the paramedic said I would if he had, but……’ She looked as if she were about to cry, ‘he took my panties off and took them away with him.’

Hunter’s fists clenched. If Kirtlish had been in the room at that moment, he would have killed him with his bare hands.

‘That’s what he does. He collects them.’

‘Ugh! He’s disgusting.’

‘He’s certainly that.’ He was kicking himself for not insisting on protection for Trish and Maggie, and for not having warned them about postmen and the van. It was his fault the perp got into the house and he’d never forgive himself for putting them in danger. Sir Jeremy would have been happy to provide men to protect them, and Taylor could have arranged it with little trouble.

‘How are you, Maggie?’

Taylor’s wife shrugged, ‘It wasn’t the worst experience of my life – I think you know what that was – but I feel ravished, although I wasn’t. He obviously wasn’t interested in my voluminous under garment. I think I was just in the way, and he put me out to get to Trish.’

‘You must have got a good look at him. What did he look like?’

‘I think he must have been in disguise. He had a sort of peaked cap on and Royal Mail uniform, but he had a blond moustache and dishevelled hair coming down over his face. He was driving a Royal Mail van, too. He didn’t look anything like that photograph you showed us. That’s why I opened the door when he knocked. I’d looked through the spy hole first and saw the van. I’ve been expecting a parcel for several days and he had one in his hand. I didn’t have much time to look at him, because the second I opened the door he lunged forward and injected me.’

‘He was in disguise, unless he’s grown a moustache, and his hair isn’t that colour. You didn’t notice the van’s registration number, did you, Maggie?’

She slapped her forehead, ‘What am I like? Yes, I did, because of the fifty-five. I saw a registration number the other day, starting with MI55, and I thought it would be nice if there was one starting with KI followed by fifty-five.’

He wondered where she was going with it and she read his thoughts. ‘Sorry, I was away with the fairies there. The van registration started with EL55. I didn’t notice anything more, I’m afraid.’

‘That’s a terrific help anyway, Maggie. Thanks.’

His phone beeped and without thinking he switched it on. There was a photograph, which he expected to be another one of Anita, and he had to peer at it for several seconds before realising what it was. Furious, he deleted it and a message came up, ‘Thought you’d like to see your daughter’s precious little parts. I enjoyed them.’

He felt like throwing the phone onto the floor and jumping on it. His blood pressure had just gone through the roof; his head felt on fire, and he felt a huge pain in his chest.

He grabbed Maggie’s shoulders, digging his fingers into her flesh, and leaned forward, gulping in huge lungfuls of air, trying to hold the oxygen in his lungs as long as possible. He knew it could be a mini heart attack, and he’d been taught that trick by a medic a long time before, during his boozing years.

He could not even make out the worried voices of Trish and Maggie, trying to find out what was wrong

The pain gradually became bearable and he could hear again.

He opened his eyes, which had been clamped shut during the attack.

‘Phew! Sorry about that. I hope I didn’t hurt you, Maggie.’

He had, and she would have the bruises for a week as proof, but she told him ‘No.’

Trish looked more worried about him than she had about what had happened to her.

He told her, ‘It was him, taking the Michael.’

‘I know. I saw the photo.’

The thought horrified him, ‘You didn’t?’

She nodded, then tried to smile bravely, ‘You know what you used to tell me the Bishop said, when something nasty came on the tele, Dad. You used to bathe me when I was little, so you’ve seen it before. He’s a sick man. I think we ought to feel a bit sorry for him.’

‘You can feel sorry for him when I’ve finished with him; I never will, but you’re right – he is a sick man. You know I’m so proud of you. It takes a really adult personality to deal with something like that.’

She laughed out loud, ‘You’re so old-fashioned, Dad. There were far worse pictures than that floating around the school every day, from boys and girls. They call it ‘sexting’ – showing off the intimate parts of your body, and doing all sorts of sexy things with them.’

Maggie’s face was a picture and he was shocked to the core, ‘You didn’t…..?’

She laughed even more, ‘Just look at you. No, Dad. I certainly didn’t, and never would. It’s not my scene at all, and I thought those pictures were sick too, but at least they’re just a silly part of adolescence. I always think about how the stupid girls and boys who sent them are going to react when they become the CEO of a big concern, say, or an inspector in the police or a senior doctor, or a politician even, and someone posts their naughty bits on the Net. Sure as day follows night that’s going to happen, and I don’t believe they’ll think it so funny then. This pervert is something else again, though.’

‘I was going to take you with me today while I drive around London, trying to find out where he lives, but I think you’d better stay here with Maggie, and I’ll come back when I’ve finished. I’m staying here now until there’s a guard though.’

He dialled Taylor’s direct number and told him what had happened. He could hear the anger through the silence that came before the explosion, ‘That fucking bastard! You’ve got to get him, John. I’ll come over straight away and send a squad car too. We’ll have a twenty-four hour guard. Locking the stable door, I guess, because even he wouldn’t be stupid enough to return, but I’ll feel happier. Let me speak to Maggie.’

‘I’ll wait till you arrive.’

He passed over the phone and led Trish away and out into the garden.

‘Aunt Mags was great, Dad. I’m so glad I was with her. He might have…….’

‘I don’t think that was in his plan, Darling, thank God. If it was, he would have cut that design into your forehead, like he did with all the others, instead of using marker pen, and you would be dead. His sole intention, and it worked, was to make me angry – to stop me thinking clearly.’

‘I don’t think he knows you too well, does he?’

‘Maybe not, but he will very shortly, love. That I promise you.’

CHAPTER 35 – ANIMAL CRACKERS IN THE SOUP

Hunter stayed only a short while after Taylor got home.

He’d made a route out to cover the seven clinics. It wasn’t exactly a circular route but it would be the shortest. He started with the one in Ealing, not far away from Taylor’s house.

The building was relatively modern and attractive, with parking space for over thirty vehicles in front, surrounded by landscaped borders. If they were all like this, Kirtlish must be loaded.

There were three smartly uniformed members of staff on the counter, all women, in a reception area much bigger than his living room. The walls, covered in posters advertising pet foods and medicines, and interspersed with warning notices, covering all the diseases animals were liable to contract, were lined with quite comfortable upright chairs, half of them occupied by owners, with dogs at their feet or carriers containing cats and other small animals on their laps.

One of the women finished putting something through the till, handed a receipt to a customer and asked him if she could help.

‘I’d like to see the manager, please.’ He held out his warrant card.

She didn’t seem surprised at a visit from the police and said, ‘Just a moment, Sir. I’ll see what I can do.’

She left the area and was gone for over a minute before she came back with an older woman, wearing a green baize apron over her flowered dress and a nametag, ‘Lucy Mahon’.

She appraised him as she approached and then indicated with her head that he should follow her.

She led him into a room that had shelves full of books and medicines on one wall and a steel table attached to another. There were no chairs.

She looked upset. ‘I thought we’d finished with this.’

He was puzzled, ‘What would the ‘this’ be, Ms Mahon?’

It was her turn to frown, ‘Why, the break-in, of course, Inspector. Isn’t that why you’re here?’

‘No, but tell me about it.’

‘Eight weeks ago, after the staff had gone home for the night, someone broke in via the back door and stole all our computers and a lot of other stuff. We have an expensive and elaborate alarm system, but they somehow managed to disable it.’

‘Did the ‘other stuff’ include telazol?’

‘Yes, and a lot of other drugs. Your scene of crime people couldn’t find any fingerprints and decided it must have been a professional gang. They said there’d been a spate of similar break-ins in the Greater London area.’

Hunter considered – it didn’t sound much like Kirtlish’s style, but it could have been a cover, and a good security system was not easy to breach.

‘That ‘s interesting, and useful to know. It could be connected with my inquiries, but it was for another reason that I came to see you. Do you know the owner of this business?’

‘The owner?’

‘Yes. Does he or she ever come to see you, to check up on how things are going, and so on?’

‘The simple answer is ‘No’, I’ve been in charge here for eleven years and I’ve never met anyone concerned with the ownership.’

‘Who pays your salaries?’

‘The company – Petzrite.’

‘And where are they based?’

She looked suddenly embarrassed, ‘I honestly don’t know. Somewhere in the Channel Islands, I believe. When I was interviewed for the job, it was here. The woman, who introduced herself as Peggy Cummins, said she came from Head Office, but that’s the only contact I’ve had with the firm proper, and I’ve never seen or heard from her since. I send all the invoices to a box number in London; and our salaries are paid from an account at the local branch of the Halifax. ’

‘But don’t you have anyone overseeing the operation?’

‘No, that’s why I love this job – it’s like having my own business. I have complete freedom to run the place according to my own beliefs. I take on new staff, I make all the decisions on what medicines to use, what computer programmes to purchase, and so on. My salary, and those of the rest of the staff, increase year on year, above the rate of inflation. There have been no problems.’

‘But surely you must have a telephone contact number, for urgent communications?’

‘No, I haven’t. The Cummins woman told me I had complete authority in all decisions regarding the running of the business and that there was to be no telephonic communication with head office. Petzrite has a website, and she told me that I could communicate by email if absolutely necessary. The only time she smiled during the whole interview was when she said that and added, ‘For instance, if the building burns down.’ Since it has not, I have never used the Internet to contact them. Incidentally, I have looked up the website and there is no address or telephone number given.’

‘And the company just pays up for any invoices, without interfering?’

‘Yes.’

‘Amazing.’

‘’Isn’t it? I’ve worked for three firms since I left college, and this is the first time I’ve come across anything like it.’

‘But it obviously works.’

‘It does. We make a good profit, and the business ticks over beautifully.’

‘Good for you.’ He pulled out one of the photographs, ‘Have you ever seen this man?’

She took the photo and looked at it carefully.

‘You know, I think I might have done, a long time ago.. He came in trying to sell a range of drugs from an American company. We have our own suppliers and I wasn’t interested. I remember him because he asked several quite searching questions about the business.’

‘You’ll be surprised to know that he was your boss. He owns the whole chain.’

She looked shocked; ‘You mean he came to check up on us without letting on?’

He nodded.

‘What is his name?’

‘Callum Kirtlish. If he does come to see you again, could you please give me a call?’ He gave her one of his cards.

‘Of course.’

The Hammersmith clinic was even larger and the car park was full. He double parked behind a new Range Rover and went inside.

The manager, a man this time, told him a very similar story to that of the Ealing clinic. He had never met or seen the owner, and the only personal contact with head office was when he’d been interviewed by the Cummins woman. There had been a serious break-in three months earlier, when all the computers were stolen along with a mixture of drugs, and the security system was disabled.

It began to look as if the professional gang theory might be right.

The third clinic, in Islington, was a much smaller affair, squeezed in between a health food shop and an Italian restaurant.

As he got out of the car his mobile rang It was another mobile number he didn’t recognise, and he immediately thought it would be Kirtlish, using a different phone.

It wasn’t.

Fred Barnes’ voice told him, ‘They got him, Inspector. He didn’t have time to enjoy his smokes.’

‘Smellin?’

‘In the shower. Slit his throat.’

‘Damn! It must have been Kirtlish’s doing. Have you found out who did it?’

‘No, and we won’t. There must have been several of them in on it, and seeing what happened to Smellin they’ll not be in a hurry to grass.’

‘What can I say? I’m sorry I caused you so much trouble.’

Barne’s laughed cynically, ‘When you’ve been in this game as long as I have, you look at it another way – the taxpayer’s got one less mouth to feed and house. He was a professional old lag, and he’d have been in and out for the rest of his life. He’s no loss to the world, so don’t regret his passing. I certainly won’t.’

‘That’s one way of looking at it. Once again, my thanks for your help. We are getting somewhere now.’

‘By the way, I’ve got your book, if you want it back.’

‘No, that’s all right. I’m sure you can find some use for it.’

He pushed open the door of the clinic.

Eileen Gray, the senior staff member in the vet’s, told him she had regular meetings with the owner, Mr Henry Clements. Hunter showed her the photograph and she said, ‘No, that isn’t him. It’s nothing like him. Mr Clements is a jolly little man, with fat red cheeks and ginger hair and moustache.’

‘When was the last time you saw him?’

‘About a month ago. He comes in when he wants supplies. He does roving work, on small pets and horses.’

‘What sort of supplies does he take?’

‘The usual stuff we all use.’

‘Including telazol?’

‘Oh, yes. He uses a lot of that.’

‘Do you keep a drug register?’

‘Of course.’

‘May I see it?’

She reached beneath the counter and handed the thick book to him.

‘Does he sign for the drugs he takes?’

She blushed bright red, ‘Well, er, no. He asks me to sign them out for him.’

He gave the book back to her and put her mind at rest, ‘Don’t worry, I won’t report your little mistake. What I want you to do, the next time he comes in, is to try to phone me while he’s here. Tell me my spaniel is recovering nicely from the operation, and I’ll know what you mean.’ He gave her a card, knowing it was a forlorn hope that Kirtlish would go in again in the near future, but it was a chance.

‘What has he done? Has he used the drugs for some other purpose?’

‘You could say that.’

She put a hand up to her mouth, ‘Oh, my God.’

He had a sudden thought, ‘You don’t know where he lives, by any chance?’

She brightened, ‘He’s never told me, but when I took some boxes out to his car once I saw part of a big envelope on the back seat. It was covered up, but when I pushed the box in it moved the stuff on top of the envelope and I could read part of the address. It was ‘ENHAM’, and I thought straight away it was probably Dagenham. I remember because he was just behind me and almost pushed me out of the way so that he could pull the box back over it, and I thought it was very unlike him. He’s usually so polite’

‘That’s very useful, thank you.’ He knew it could equally well be scores of other places, including Denham, Wenham or Medmenham, but if it had been Dagenham, and if it had been something addressed to him, it bolstered their choice of search area.

The Wandsworth and Newham branches were large affairs and Kirtlish had never been seen at either of them. There had been a break-in at Newham, with similar stuff stolen and the same MO as the others.

Crossing over the river, he visited the Southwark clinic first and found an efficient, well-run business, where the manager thought he recognised Kirtlish’s photograph, but said it was years before and he couldn’t be sure.

At the last one, in Lambeth, the manager told him he’d seen the man in the photo only the week before, though he looked much older. He’d asked if there was a leaflet about myxomatosis and remarked how efficient the business looked.

Hunter again left a card and the same request, wondering what Kirtlish had been up to in visiting the branch.

He just had time for a quick cup of coffee at a Starbucks before going to pick Jane up.

CHAPTER 36 – CAUSE AND EFFECT

It had been a good day. Just the thought of Hunter’s reaction to the photograph had filled him with jubilation. There was just one thing that could have made the detective’s rage worse, and though it had not been in the plan, he regretted now not doing it.

Rape, of course, was impossible, and had been all his life. He’d tried and tried, spent thousands on psychologists, sex therapists and prostitutes, but although he could get an erection, the moment he tried to insert it, it disappeared.

Her name had been Monica Callwood, his first real girlfriend. They’d been going out together for almost a year, and neither of them had any sexual experience. Monica was so afraid of getting pregnant that, although they practised mutual masturbation almost every day, she had never let him enter her.

One day she read an article in a woman’s magazine about the part of the menstrual cycle when it was impossible to conceive, and she decided to let him do it in a field behind her house.

He’d been rampant, and for a short while had happily rammed his way into her belly. He’d pulled back to be able to see what it looked like, going in and out, and looked down.

His penis was covered in blood, and he fell back, horrified, screaming at her, trying to wipe the blood away with his hands, running into the small beck that ran through the field, frantically trying to wash the blood off in the water.

She had run home crying, and had never seen him again.

It was six years later before he next managed to come, after he’d found a soiled pair of panties on the floor of a cab he’d used. His nose wrinkling in disgust, he’d turned away from them and looked out of the window at the passing traffic, but then, without knowing why, he’d picked them up and put them in his briefcase. When he got home he pulled them out of his case with his fingertips to put them in the waste bin, but an irresistible impulse made him lift them to his nose. Immediately, he felt his penis swelling to the most urgent erection he’d ever had, and the outcome took only seconds.

He’d managed almost a month, using just that pair, before the effect lessened, and he knew he had to have more.

It was a short move to breaking into houses to find them in laundry bins, and it would probably have continued in that vein if he hadn’t been surprised by a woman while he rifled through her dirty undies.

He’d reacted instinctively, grabbing her round the throat and squeezing, until the life left her, surprised to find that he felt cool and detached looking down at the corpse.

He lifted her dress, slipped her panties off her, and held them up to his nose. They achieved the same result as the ones from the taxi.

He began to masturbate, but came to his senses. He must not leave his DNA, and he wiped everything he’d touched before leaving the house.

After that, he continued to steal a new pair every few weeks, but the murder had got under his skin. He realised that not only did the killing give a tremendous boost to the effect of the panties, but the fantastic feeling of power that came with the death was an even headier aphrodisiac.

An intelligent man, he knew that off-the-cuff killings would soon lead to his arrest, and he began picking his victims and making long-term surveillance of their homes and habits before carrying out the crime.

If Hunter had not accidentally come across him after he’d tied up Joan Cross, he believed he’d never have been caught.

Although he could not have raped Trish, he should have violated her, either with his hand or with some object. Hunter might be furious now, but he would have been murderous, no better than himself, if Trish had had to go to hospital, ruined for life.

The picture he’d taken of her pudenda he’d uploaded onto the computer and had it in front of him, larger than life.

Most men would have been able to come just looking at the picture, but although he appreciated the sight of the virgin sexual organs, it did nothing to excite him.

He picked Trish’s panties up and held them under his nose.

CHAPTER 37 – SLEEP OF A LABOURING MAN (Ecclesiastes)

Jane’s reaction to the news was as he’d expected. She felt, she said, as if she had been violated herself. Hunter, still flaming angry and at a loose end after dropping her at home, rejoined Paddy in the office he was using as a control centre for his ‘troops’, as he called them. He had a big whiteboard up on one wall, with an enlarged Google Earth presentation of the area they were to search, measuring over six feet by five, and with all the buildings they were interested in outlined in yellow marker. Six of them were coloured in with black marker and one in red.

He swore without stopping for breath when Hunter told him what Kirtlish had done.

‘We’ve got to get that bastard, before he can do any more damage.’

‘I couldn’t agree more. How’s the search going?’

‘As you can see, we’ve eliminated half a dozen of them, and have one possible, so far. It’s still blistering hot out there, even at this time of day, and my mates are suffering, but I made sure they took plenty of water with them. They’re going to stick it until nine o’clock, and then start again in the morning. We did think of working through the night, seeing what lights were on, but decided against it as being inconclusive.’

‘From what he’s said, he’s got Anita in a building which is not his home, and we need to find out where he lives. I think it will be in the same area, but it will be more difficult to find. Your men and women are concentrating on derelict and unused buildings. We also ought to be looking at likely domiciles for him.’

‘Any ideas?’

‘He’s mega-rich, so it will be quite a pad; probably something worth several million. I thought it might be worthwhile doing a Google Earth search of all the streets in that northeast sector, looking for that sort of property, then checking with the Census and the voting lists to see who lives there.’

‘Sounds like a good idea to me, although it’ll be a mammoth tast. I’ll help you with that. I feel a bit like a spare prick at a lesbian wedding anyway, sitting around waiting for reports to come in. You find a property and I’ll check the lists.’

They worked steadily until nine o’clock when the calls updating the list of buildings ceased. They’d located over four dozen likely properties and eliminated only sixteen of them. The records seemed to be incomplete. Paddy glanced at his watch then turned to Hunter.

‘You look shattered, my friend, and that’s just how I feel. We’ve both been at it for over twelve hours, and we’ve got to that point where we have to consider the law of diminishing returns. I think we’ll achieve much more by getting a good night’s rest and starting fresh in the morning.’

Hunter stretched and yawned, ‘You’re right, and my stomach’s telling me my throat has been cut. I haven’t eaten all day.’

‘Bloody hell – why didn’t you say so – I’ve got some sandwiches in the drawer here.’ He pulled out the drawer and took them out, grimacing. The edges of the bread had turned up and the filling of beef and pickle looked much the worse for wear.

‘I don’t think I’d recommend them though, the heat’s got to them.’

‘I reckon a pizza might be the answer.’

‘There’s a Prezzo just round the corner. They do a magnificent margherita.’

‘Let’s go for that then.’

The pizza was just as good as Paddy had predicted, and Hunter wolfed it down, feeling much better for something in his stomach, but he couldn’t relax.

After Paddy had said ‘Goodnight’ and gone off in his car, Hunter decided that he would not be able to sleep and might as well do something useful.

He drove to Ilford and started to check out some of the addresses they’d not been able to find names for. In the drives of eight of them he saw vehicles parked and wrote down the numbers. He wished he was driving a patrol car with immediate access to the DVLA database and considered for a moment stopping a police vehicle when he saw one and using theirs, but with the way things were with uniform he decided against it. Time was of the essence, but nothing could be done during the night, and Jane would be able to get the information for him in the morning. At nine of the others, garages by the side of or integral with the buildings meant that cars would be under cover. His search extended eastwards.

What he’d wanted most to find was the Post Office van Kirtlish was using, but realised from the outset that it was probably a forlorn hope. It would have been too easy, and finding the perp and where he was holding Anita was not going to be facile.

He suddenly woke up when something banged against the window.

A pair of uniformed officers stood beside the car, which was parked at an angle to the curb. The headlights and the ignition were both on.

He switched off the lights and turned the window down before turning the key to switch off the ignition, swearing under his breath, and hoping he hadn’t burnt out the coil.

‘Hello, officers. How can I help you?’

The larger one of the two grunted, ‘Step out of the car, would you please, Sir?’

He opened the door and got out.

The other officer handed him a breath tester and said, ‘Would you blow into this please, Sir?’

He tried to placate them, ‘I haven’t been drinking.’

‘Really, Sir? You’ve parked in a rather strange place, and in a rather strange way, if you don’t mind my saying so. Not to mention the double yellow lines and your headlights on. Blow, please, or if you prefer not to do so, we’ll ask you to accompany us to the station, where a doctor will take a blood sample.’

He had a bad headache coming on and felt like swearing at them, but knew it was the last thing he should do. He had to take a chance on giving his details, which would be the next thing they asked for anyway. He blew.

The officer who had handed him the device took it back off him and checked it.

‘It’s clear.’ He sounded most surprised.

‘Of course it is. I told you I hadn’t been drinking. I’ve just been on the job since six thirty yesterday morning, and I must have fallen asleep. Look.’ He pulled out his warrant card and handed it to the taller of the two. ‘Detective Inspector John Hunter. I’m after a serial killer, and time is so important that I had to keep on, even though I was tired out. I’m sorry I’ve caused you a problem.’

‘You’re after the Badger?’

‘Got it spot on.’

‘Bloody hell. Is there anything we can do to help? I’m Alan Pierce and my mate here is Colin Wicks.’

‘You could do a check for me on these registrations. This is my own car, and I haven’t got the facility.’

‘Sure thing, hand it over.’

While he was gone his colleague tried to pump Hunter for information, ‘You think there’s some local connection?’ He sounded too eager. ‘You being in this area, I mean.’

Hunter knew he had to play it down, ‘I’m just clutching at straws, looking all over London for a van. Been at it day and night. God knows how many miles I’ve covered. This is one area I haven’t been in before.’

‘What van are you looking for? We might have seen it.’

‘It’s a Royal Mail van, with a registration number that starts with EL55.’

‘Essex registration, eh? I haven’t noticed it, but we’ll keep an eye out for it, and if we do see it we’ll give you a buzz, okay?’

‘That’s very kind of you. If you do see it, don’t stop it or let your interest be obvious. We need to catch him in the act.’

The big man said, ‘Roger that.’

His mate returned with the list. ‘Got them all for you. I did a health check on the owners too. The three with asterisks have criminal records you might want to check.’

‘That’s great. Thank you – you’ve helped big time.’ He decided to give them a prestige boost. ‘If you ever feel like a move into our branch, give me a call and I’ll try and help.’

They almost preened themselves and he realised he’d done just the right thing.

The bigger man looked at his mate and said, ‘We might just do that. Thanks. I really think you ought to get off home now though, Inspector. You should just see yourself.’

Hunter agreed, ‘After making a chump of myself like that, I’m going to do exactly what you suggest.’ He put his hand out, ‘It was a pleasure meeting you, Alan, Colin.’

‘And you, Inspector, and good luck with the perp.’

CHAPTER 38 – THE BEST LAID PLANS

Thirst was becoming a huge problem. The half-gallon she’d allocated for the day was long gone, and there were still several more hours of daylight. Her idea of saving her urine was not working out too well either. She’d managed just a few drops during the afternoon, and it was so yellow and pungent she knew she’d never be able to drink it, no matter how dehydrated she was. She’d put it down the toilet and thrown the soiled plastic cup through the bars as far as she could, hoping to avoid the smell.

Even the level of water in the bath had gone down till there was not much more than an inch left, and even that was beginning to smell pungent. To begin with, putting her feet or her arms and hands in the cool water had helped, but it felt warm now, and every time any part of her body was immersed the level dropped more as she took it out, so she had to stop that and conserve now what was left for intimate washing when she got up. She managed a little smile when she considered that she must smell far worse than Josephine, waiting unwashed for Napoleon to come back from the wars.

It was stifling hot and humid and when she slept even the sheet seemed to make her sweat more, but she would not give him the pleasure of seeing her sleeping without it. She would have loved to remove her bra, but there was no way she was going to allow him even a hint of her nipples. She was actually thankful that he had caused her to wear no knickers, which would have made her perspire even more. The very worst thing of all about the heat was the effect it had on her libido. It always had. In hot weather she always wanted more and more sex. Her body craved it, but with the camera on her twenty-four hours a day she had been unable to masturbate, and it was driving her crazy. She slept with her fingers inside her, had woken wet twice, and had managed two orgasms just by fingering her clitoris gently, biting her lips hard when she came, to avoid making a sound. It was unlike her – she was a screamer!

She shook her head – she really had to stop thinking about sex. The water, now, that was her biggest problem, and had to be addressed urgently. Tomorrow, she decided, I won’t drink, I’ll just wet my lips and take a tiny sip.

She’d already finished all the murder mysteries he’d left and she picked up the first one to read again, only this time she decided to take longer and look for the tiniest mistakes. She had done some proof reading to earn money while she was waiting for her university course to start and had enjoyed it, looking for the lurking commas that shouldn’t be there, or should be there and weren’t; semi-colons and colons misused, split infinitives, unless it was obvious the author knew what he or she was doing and used one deliberately for effect, and, of course, spelling mistakes and words used incorrectly.

There were none of the latter in the books, or she would have noticed them first time around, but it would be an absorbing task looking for the others, and she desperately needed something of that sort to keep her occupied, so that she didn’t dwell on her predicament.

Suddenly she had a thought – what would he do if he thought she was dead? Would he come in to check? It would mean staging a collapse and lying still for a long time – several hours in fact.

Could she do it? Why not? What else was there to do?

She got up and walked slowly towards the fridge. Halfway there she clasped at her throat, staggered, made her eyes go upwards to show the whites and slowly collapsed on the floor, her limbs twitching several times before becoming still. Even the controlled drop hurt a lot when she landed.

She lay there on the hard floor, trying not to grin. She was sure the performance had been worthy of an Oscar.

The floor was already hurting and she knew the next few hours were going to be a living hell. She hoped it would be worth it.

~~~oOo~~~

He knew the moment he saw her.

The woman was an attractive blonde in her late thirties, early forties, and she’d walked along the street as if she were minding her own business, but he’d never seen a woman walking in that area alone, and she seemed to be walking aimlessly, looking left and right and stopping occasionally for a few seconds, facing the building she was passing. All the buildings in that street were vacant, and a woman had no business being there. She was taking photographs with a concealed camera - that was obvious.

She had nothing in her hands, so it must be concealed in her clothes somewhere or more probably in the shoulder bag. He’d used enough of the newer micro-cameras to know how easy it was to conceal them.

She was not one of Hunter’s close circle, that he was sure of, and she didn’t appear to be in disguise.

Maybe it was someone working for a property developer who didn’t want anyone to know he or she was showing interest, but he didn’t think so.

It had to be Hunter’s work.

He grinned, knowing he hadn’t underestimated the detective inspector. It was obvious that the net was closing, but what Hunter didn’t know was that the spider at the centre of the web was more than ready for him.

This would be the first reconnaissance, looking at possibles, but how had they known which area to search? He cast his mind back, trying to remember where he’d gone wrong.

Smellin, perhaps, though he couldn’t remember ever mentioning where he lived during his time in prison. Ah, yes, the butcher’s shop in Ilford. If that was so, and they’d managed to get to the convict before he was killed, they had an even larger area to search, and it would take too long. Anita would be dead in two days. Pity he hadn’t had Smellin taken care of earlier.

Wait a minute though. It might not have been Smellin. Could it possibly be that Eileen had seen the address on that envelope he’d had on the back seat, in the split second it was visible?

It was possible, and he had to accept that anything possible had been found. Should he take care of her too? Probably not, the damage had most likely already been done. Well, there were still a lot of buildings to search. Hunter wouldn’t be coming for him too soon.

He watched the woman go round the far corner of the street and switched the monitor to the cameras providing surveillance of his own house. The grounds were quiet and everything seemed in order.

Time to send another picture to Hunter, to keep him on his toes.

He changed cameras to that covering Anita and leapt up as the image came on the screen.

He groaned, ‘Oh, no. No. You can’t, Anita.’

He quickly got back his sang-froid as he imagined she was probably foxing, and wound back…..and back…..and back…. ‘Come on! You can’t be!’ Suddenly, there she was standing. He stopped the rewind and saw her walking towards the fridge. He watched the seeming heart attack and her fall. She hit the ground hard, and couldn’t possibly have faked it, could she?

He wound on slowly, looking for the tiniest change in the position of her limbs and her splayed fingers. In over two hours there was nothing. She was dead.

Damn! Damn! Damn! All that work for nothing. He might just as well have killed her in the first place. Surely she wasn’t that dehydrated already?

Should he send that picture? No, definitely not. It would incense Hunter, but he would be much more wary when it came to the final approach to her gaol. He had to make Hunter believe she was still alive.

He sent off a picture of her just before she fell, with the message, ‘She’s waiting for you, John, and she’s nearly out of water.’

It wasn’t in the plan for him to join her in the building yet. She would be bloated and smelling to high heaven by the time he got there, but it was just one more thing he would be prepared to put up with to see Hunter die.

CHAPTER 39 – HI-HO, SILVER!

Though he desperately wanted to, Hunter knew it was not feasible with the state of the early morning traffic to run out to Taylor’s to check on Trish and be sure to be back in time to pick Jane up.

He rang instead and was surprised when Trish answered instead of Maggie or Taylor. She sounded bright and breezy, ‘Taylor residence.’

‘Hello, little sausage. How are you feeling?’

‘I’m really great, Dad. I felt lousy after it happened, but I got up this morning and saw the sun shining and thought, ‘Here I am, still in one piece.’ I was lucky. Apart from a sore neck and a lost pair of knickers, I’m the same girl I was yesterday. I didn’t know anything about what he was doing, and I wasn’t molested or raped. It was no worse than going to a male doctor and having your bits looked at, if you think about it. Those other poor girls weren’t so lucky.’

She certainly seemed okay, but he wondered if she might be putting on a brave front for him.

‘How is Aunt Mags?’

‘I’ll let her tell you herself.’

‘Maggie here, John. I’m fine, really. Geoff wanted to stay at home with us, but I’ve told him he’s got to carry on as normal. We have two of his men on guard, so we don’t have to worry about a repeat.’

He lowered his voice, ‘Is Trish really okay?’

He heard a laugh, ‘Yes, John. You don’t need to worry.’

‘I’ll try and pop over this evening, although I can’t promise.’

‘Stay for dinner then.’

‘Right. I will if I can. Thanks.’

‘Here’s Trish again.’

‘Hi, Dad. You will be careful today, won’t you?’

‘I will, poppet, and I hope I’ll see you this evening.’

‘We’ll cook you something good.’

‘I look forward to it.’

‘Find Mum, please.’ It was the first time she’d mentioned Anita since the first day, but he’d known she was thinking about her all the time.

‘I’m going to try my very best, Darling.’

‘I know, Dad. ’Bye.’

Jane looked concerned when she saw him. ‘What on earth have you been up to, John? You look dreadful.’

‘Just lack of sleep, Jane. My eyes feel as if they’re full of grit. Time is running out for Anita, and I foolishly thought I could just keep on through the night. Two uniforms found me asleep in the car and breathalysed me.’

She was horrified, ‘You hadn’t been…….?’

‘No, thank God. I was just shattered. I’d managed to pull into the curb and must have stalled, because the engine wasn’t running, but the lights and ignition were on and the handbrake was off. Bloody good job I hadn’t stopped on a hill. Might have been a bit of a mess.’

‘How were they with you?’

‘Funnily enough, great. Two really nice guys. Maybe the war between us is not as bad as I thought.’

‘Damned good job you were sober though.’

‘You’re right. It would definitely have been the end of my career.’

She asked seriously, ‘How are you doing in that department?’

‘A damned sight better than I expected to. I haven’t given it a thought, to tell you the truth, until you just mentioned it. Maybe that slip hasn’t had any effect, or it’s because I’ve got so much on my mind that there isn’t room for it to intrude. If we ever get to a satisfactory solution to this lot, that’s when the problem could get serious.’

‘Well, you know I’ll help you through it, whenever it comes.’ If Dr Loftin got his usual result, there would never be a problem, she thought, but she hadn’t been able to ask him.

‘Thanks, Jane.’ He knew she meant it, and he guessed he might need to take her up on it.

She asked the question she’d intended to ask first, ‘How is Trish?’

‘Unbelievably well, or if she isn’t she certainly made me believe she is. Maggie thinks so too.’

‘All the pundits tell you the young bounce back quickly.’

‘They do generally. I’m sure there’ll be some PTS at some time, but for now at least she’s okay.’

‘Maggie will be trying to fill her days so that she doesn’t have too much time to think about her mother.’

‘Unlike me. I can’t think of anything else. Whatever we’re doing doesn’t seem to be enough. Paddy and his team are flat out and so am I, but it’s just taking too long. Kirtlish must be laughing at us. Time is running out for Anita, and with this weather, if he hasn’t left her enough water, she’ll be dehydrating. That can cause all sorts of problems, from dizziness to fits, and all points in between. It’s highly unpleasant, starting with dry lips and tongue, light-headedness and headaches.’

He looked suddenly so desperate that she urged, ‘What is it, John?’

Tears had come into his eyes, ‘I don’t think we’ll reach her before he gasses her.’

She put her arms round him and pulled him close, ‘Don’t dare even think it, John. You will. I know you will.’

She could feel him sobbing and they stayed like that for a long while. She knew he’d been holding back his feelings for days and needed the release.

When he did pull back he tried to force a smile. ‘Jane, you cuddled me.’

‘So I did.’ She was not about to admit it to him, but she’d actually enjoyed it.

‘Let’s get you to work.’ He started the engine.

She put a hand on his arm, ‘No, John. Switch off again.’

‘Why?’

‘I’m going to ring in sick. I’m coming with you. You need all the help you can get.’

‘You know what’ll happen if Carlisle finds out you’ve been working while you’re supposedly off sick.’

‘If it really came down to it, Dr Loftin would see me right.’

‘He’s certainly a handy man to know.’

She dialled Carlisle’s number and told him, ‘It’s DI Bliss, Sir. I’ve got a rather nasty female problem, and I think I ought to stay out of the office for at least today.’

She listened for a moment and then said, ‘Yes, Sir. I should be in tomorrow.’

She switched off the phone and Hunter said, ‘That was clever. If you’d mentioned any other complaint he’d have made some snide remark about me. He’ll guess, of course, what your real reason for staying away is, but won’t be able to do anything about it.’

‘Come on then. Hi-ho, Silver, away!’

Hunter drove them first to see how Paddy’s team was progressing.

‘We’ve got just three more to check, and then we can concentrate on the likely ones.’

‘Jerry’s helicopter hasn’t got any of the sort of gadgets the police use for tracking criminals, I suppose?’

Paddy was all ears, ‘No, but what’s your thinking, John?’

‘I was thinking that if we could use thermal imaging equipment, like we have in the police helicopters, we could overfly the unoccupied buildings at night and if we see a single response in any of them, it would probably be Anita.’

‘What a bloody marvellous suggestion, and why the hell didn’t I think of it? I don’t know if we can get such a thing, and I don’t know if they can see through roofs. I also don’t know if we could get it fitted in time even if one is available, but I’ll give it my best shot. Just hang on one.’ He picked up the phone and dialled a number.

‘Jerry, John has just come up with a terrific idea.’ He detailed the possible operation. They heard him say, ‘Great. I’ll get onto it right away.’

He put the phone down and told them, ‘He’ll pay for it if I can find one, and the fitting, and an operator if necessary.’

Hunter felt just a trace of optimism for the first time in days, ‘We’ll leave that one with you. We’re going out again looking for his house.’

‘Good luck with that. Keep me posted.’

They drove across to the next area to that he’d inspected on his previous visit and Hunter stopped at a road he hadn’t checked, where he’d been unable to find details of occupancy at four properties of the expected size.

Jane said, ‘There’s not much point in both of us checking one place, is there. Why don’t we divide it up? I know what you’re looking for – overdone surveillance, electronic gates, shaded windows, and particularly that Post Office van. How do you want to play it? Do we go up and ring the bell and see who comes to the door?’

‘I wasn’t going to do that, but it would be a quicker way of eliminating a lot of them. The only problem would be if it’s the right one, and Kirtlish shoots one of us.’

‘We both know what he looks like, and I’ve got the feeling he wouldn’t answer the door.’

‘You’re probably right, but I don’t like to put you in danger.’

‘You’re not, I am, and happy to do it.’

‘Well, if you’re sure.’

‘I am. Give me these two and you take the other side.’

At one of the addresses Jane tried, the occupant came to the door and gave her name. At the other she got no response. One of Hunter’s seemed unoccupied and had an estate agent’s sign in the garden. He looked through the window and saw that the room was empty of furniture. It was another that he could write off.

The last looked possible. Completely fenced at the front with inch-diameter ten-foot tall steel bars, and with a matching electronically controlled double gate, it looked to be a substantial four- or five-bedroomed property, probably built in late Victorian times. He could see two surveillance cameras from the end of the drive, one of them on a post covering the road and pavement outside, and on closer inspection noticed two smaller ones almost hidden amongst the ivy clinging to the front of the house.

He rang the bell by the side of the gate and waited, but there was no response. The double garage had no side window and he couldn’t tell if there was a vehicle inside. The drive was asphalt and it was impossible to tell if a vehicle had used it lately. It was one to go on the ‘possibles’ list.

At just after two Paddy had rung to tell them he’d located the equipment they needed, in Leicester. ‘It’s being flown down to us with an operator and two men who know how to fit it to Sir Jeremy’s Bell Jetranger. The operator told me it would have to be used during the early hours of the morning to stand any chance of success, because with the present heat wave the sensors would be blocked by returns from roofs and ground. They’ll have absorbed so much heat from the sun during daylight hours and it’ll take several hours for it to dissipate. He also said we might be very disappointed, because they can’t see through roofs at all, so the only chance we’ve got of locating Anita with it will be by looking through any windows the buildings have. Most thermal imaging cameras can’t even see through glass, but they’re bringing a special type, which does. He’ll tell us all about it when he gets here. How are you getting on?’

‘Slowly.’

They worked right through until quarter to five, eliminating over seventy percent of the addresses he’d started with. They were left with just seven properties, where they’d had no response and Hunter had the feeling that one of them was the right one.

Jane asked, ‘Why don’t we check out those seven again. Some of the occupants might have come home?’

He shrugged, ‘Might as well, I suppose. We’ll start back at the beginning again.’

He drove to their starting point, where there were two properties close together, one of them the one with the tall fence he’s checked out that morning, while she was checking the other.

Jane suggested they swapped, laughing, ‘They might like the look of me better than you and open up.’

‘And what if it’s Kirtlish?’

She held her hand up, ‘I’ve got my old favourite.’

‘Okay then.’

They got out and he walked along the road towards the property Jane had tried that morning.

She walked off in the opposite direction to check the other.

The gates were open at the house he visited, and there was a silver Jaguar standing in the drive.

He used the huge knocker on the door and it was answered immediately by a woman in a maid’s uniform.

He asked after the man of the house and she told him to wait, closing the door.

CHAPTER 40 – MORE THAN YOU BARGAIN FOR

He’d watched that morning as Hunter pressed the bell and zoomed in to his face, interested to see his features that close up again.

His hatred was cold as in the best revenge dishes, and when he killed Hunter it would be with clinical precision and lack of emotion, a job that had taken thirteen years, completed to his satisfaction.

He thought the detective looked tired and a bit washed-out, but there was no indication that he’d been drinking. What a pity.

He knew they’d be back, probably later that day. There would only be so many houses in the area where the occupants were unknown. In retrospect he thought he should have had the place registered in another name, but then the final denouement would have taken longer.

He’d wanted and expected Hunter to find this place. It was not his selected killing field – that had to be where Anita was held – but it was to be a stepping-stone along the way, to make Hunter believe that he was calling the shots and was in control. He wanted the man’s disgrace to be final at the moment of his death.

It was time to destroy some of the evidence of his early kills. When the forensic teams went over the house there should be nothing in the past they could attribute to him, except for the Badger killings. After this his modus operandi would be entirely different, and would be carried out in a different city, where he could work in peace for several years.

When Hunter entered this room he wanted him to see his daughter’s private parts in wide-screen glorious colour. He was glad he’d bought the largest monitor available.

For a few moments he considered switching to the camera over the cage, but she’d upset him so much by dying too soon that he couldn’t bring himself to look at her body again. There would be time enough for that in the final episode, when Hunter found her.

After spending a pleasant and rewarding hour with his panty collection he packed them all away carefully in a bulging briefcase and took it downstairs, where he placed it on the kitchen table, just inside the back door, then went back upstairs and began burning the photographs and press-clippings of the women he’d killed.

At lunchtime he cooked himself a mushroom and ham omelette and ate it next to the briefcase, closing his eyes occasionally, imagining the smells of its contents mingling with those of the omelette.

Ever the perfectionist, he washed up carefully and put the plate and cutlery back in their respective places. He looked around. Everything was neat and dust-free. The forensics people would be so pleased.

The next thing was to put on his old man disguise. Those first moments had to give him the advantage, so that he could injure Hunter without killing him – the next move in the game. He’d put it on so many times that it was done in a few minutes.

Knowing he’d have some time to wait he went back upstairs to watch the gate monitor. To many people, sitting still doing absolutely nothing for hours would be impossible. He was used to spending hours completely without moving or making a sound, and often thought it must be the same with hunters, waiting for a deer to appear and come within range, not moving even that little finger, which would result in a fast-departing bobbing white bottom, as the quarry bolted in fear.

When it came it came as a wonderful surprise. It was not Hunter, but Jane Bliss ringing the bell. His plan had to be changed quickly. He could see she had something in her hand and knew instinctively it was for protection.

The baseball bat was standing ready by the door and would be unseen as he opened it.

He pressed the gate release just long enough for one gate to begin moving.

~~~oOo~~~

Jane had rung the bell beside the steel gates of the house Hunter had visited that morning and they began to move, opening just far enough for her to squeeze through.

She held the pepper spray ready for instant use and walked up to the door.

A stooped old man who appeared to be in his eighties opened it.

She introduced herself and in a wheezing voice he said, ‘Come in, my dear.’

Unsure, she took a couple of steps forward and stopped, then, thinking the poor old man probably needed to sit down she decided to do as he asked.

She was moving past him when he seemed to straighten his back and her instincts kicked in. She stopped and took a pace backward, trying to lift her hand with the spray.

Something hit her on the head and she went down, unconscious.

Kirtlish pulled her shoes off and undid her trousers before pulling them off too. The panties he just had to have and they came off and were held under his nose for a few seconds before being jammed into his jacket pocket.

He knew he had only moments before reinforcements would arrive. She would not have been on her own, and he’d made all the arrangements in advance, expecting this moment.

He pulled her legs wide open and looked dispassionately at her private parts, considering for a few moments whether to hurt her internally, but he knew with her history nothing he could do would make any difference to her. She was badly damaged goods already. The youths he thought of as unspeakable criminals had seen to that. Come to think of it, it would be an interesting exercise after all this was over to track them down and punish them for what they’d done. He’d cut their balls off. What an excellent idea – punishment to fit the crime. It would certainly stop them repeating it, and it was something to think about when he had more time. For now he was quite happy with the panties, which could go with his collection, already packed up and ready to carry away to his next stop. He left her legs open – if Hunter was with her it would give him another embarrassing moment, or maybe a lascivious one, knowing his romantic history, the dirty bastard.

Without a backward glance he walked calmly along the hall and through the door at the end, picked up the briefcase from the kitchen table where he’d left it and exited via the back door.

His bicycle was standing by the gate in a wooden fence, behind which ran a path between houses, leading out into a different road.

CHAPTER 41 – OFFICER DOWN

Hunter had waited for almost a minute before knocking again. This time a woman of about seventy opened the door.

She looked at him severely, ‘What’s all the banging about?’

‘Police, Ma’am. Sorry to disturb you. Are you the owner of the property?’

‘Of course.’

‘And your name, please?’

‘Peters.’

‘Thank you, Ma’am.’

‘Is that all, young man?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then why didn’t you just ask the maid instead of making me get up from my chair?’ She slammed the door in his face.

He sauntered back to the car and drove round the corner to the house Jane had gone to.

She was nowhere in sight, and he noticed the gates were slightly ajar.

He guessed she was talking to the owner and got out of the car, untroubled, and squeezed through the gap in the gates himself.

The door of the house stood open and he walked up to it expecting to hear voices.

What he saw appalled him.

Jane’s body lay with its head towards him. There was no movement and a lot of blood. The sight of her bare open legs, something he’d infinitely desired for so long, now only filled him with even more disgust at the actions of the perp, and he thought of how she would feel if she knew how clearly she was revealed to him now. There was no blood coming from her vagina, which gave him faint hope that Kirtlish had not injured her there. He looked away. Her trousers were lying on the floor near her feet. He would have to put them back on her and do them up; her first thought if and when she woke up must not be of her nakedness.

He groaned, ‘Oh, Christ. What have I done?’

He dropped to his knees and tried for a pulse in her neck, relieved to find she was still alive. He pulled out his phone, dialled 999 and asked for an ambulance, then dialled Paddy’s office.

Not giving his friend time to speak he insisted, ‘I want all your troops and you now, Paddy.’ He gave him the address, ‘He’s injured Jane, I don’t know how badly. He may still be in the building.’

Feeling totally inadequate, he began stroking her forehead, his hand becoming bloody, not caring about contaminating the crime scene or Lockhard’s Theory on transfer of evidence.

A slight moan preceded a twitch of her arm and he decided he’d better put her trousers on before she woke.

His hand was so bloody he had to wipe it on his jacket and then his handkerchief before touching her trousers, not wanting her to see they were soiled, or the marks of his hands.

He moved down to her feet and quickly slipped the neck of the trousers over them, then lifted her legs and then her bare bottom as he pulled them up, thinking as he did so how horrified she would be if she knew how intimately he’d touched her.

He pulled the zip up quickly and did up the button, just in time.

Her head moved and her eyelids flickered.

He stood up quickly and took the two paces to her head.

Her eyes opened, unfocussed, and he said, ‘Take it easy, Jane. You’ve been hurt.’

‘Wha…..?’ She tried to move her shoulders.

He dropped to his knees again and restrained her, ‘Wait till the ambulance gets here.’

Her eyes flickered several times before they opened wide, and he could see that she knew him.

‘John? What happened? Where am I?’

He held up three fingers, ‘How many fingers can you see?’

‘Three, but…..’

‘Just lie still until the medics have had a look at you.’ He could hear the ambulance siren getting closer.

It stopped just outside the gates and within seconds two paramedics, a man and a woman appeared.

He pulled back and let them get to her, ‘She’s been struck on the head with something.’

The male medic repeated the thing with the fingers and they expertly examined her, asking if she hurt anywhere else. She said ‘No.’ to Hunter’s relief. He’d imagined Kirtlish doing all sorts of devilish things to her private parts. It seemed, as it had with Trish, that he’d followed his agenda and didn’t divert from it, even when intimacy was involved.

The woman asked, ‘Could you tell me your name, love?’

In a weak little voice, Jane told her, ‘Jane Bliss.’

‘Do you know where you are?’

‘London.’

‘That’s right. Well done.’ She turned to Hunter, ‘How long was she unconscious?’

‘For about four minutes after I arrived. Six or seven minutes at the outside.’

‘We’ll take her back with us to the hospital for a check-up. She’s almost certainly got concussion, although there doesn’t seem to be any amnesia, but sometimes it comes on afterwards.’

‘How long do you think she’ll be kept in?’

‘Until later this evening. Come and see her around seven or eight. They might release her then.’

While she was speaking the male medic had secured Jane’s neck with a brace and readied her for the stretcher. He’d located the control for the gates just inside the door and had opened them fully, so that he could back the ambulance in.

Hunter kneeled down again and squeezed Jane’s hand gently, ‘I’ll come and pick you up later. I’m so relieved you’re okay.’

He received a tiny smile for his reward, ‘I didn’t use the pepper, did I?’

CHAPTER 42 – THE FOX HAS LEFT HIS LAIR

Paddy arrived with his men and women as the ambulance drove out of the gates.

The search of the house quickly told them that Kirtlish was long gone, and they were all too aware that he was still at least one jump ahead of them. Paddy had warned all of them not to speak or make any obvious gestures before entering the house. They knew the perp would have left microphones and cameras in situ and would most probably be watching and listening to them.

Hunter led the way.

In an upstairs room just off the landing a large monitor showed Trish’s private parts, luckily without any wording and he quickly found the control to remove it from the screen, not explaining to the others who’d followed him into the room what he was doing and ignoring the obvious interest of a couple of the men who had no idea whose genitals were on show. Then he sat down and waited.

Paddy and two other men were sweeping the house with detectors and found microphones and cameras in every room, as well as in the hall and on the stairs and landing. They were quickly disabled, and it was only after Paddy was sure that all of them had been rendered safe that he shouted, ‘Okay. Clear.’

Hunter tried the other controls on the video panel, which were not marked in any way, and was suddenly horrified to see Anita’s prone body appear on the screen. She seemed to be dead and he felt a sudden pain in his racing heart. He looked at the time shown on the bottom of the screen and realised it had been fixed many hours before. He tried moving the control and there she was alive, looking wan and scruffy, her tired, unhappy eyes revealing some of the degradation she had suffered, her hair dirty and dishevelled, totally unlike her normal, elegant self, and yet he could see the resilience in her posture. She had not given in yet. Almost as if she knew someone was watching, she lifted up her right hand with the middle finger extended in an obscene gesture. He took in several really deep breaths and felt his heart rate slowing.

One of Paddy’s men behind him laughed, ‘She’s giving you the old finger, John.’

He disagreed, ‘I think she was giving it to him, Fraser. Look at the time frame.’

Those particular images were timed an hour before, and he used the control again to move the image to the present.

Anita sat on the mattress, reading a book, her head down. The panties were still on the floor in the same place as before.

The water containers near the side of the cage all looked empty. She must be terribly thirsty. He could see how she licked her lips every few seconds, one of the early signs of dehydration. She must be out of water, and there would be no more unless he could find her in time. His heart went out to her. It was quite light in the room where she was being held, and it meant there had to be windows. They might just stand a chance of seeing her from the ‘copter.

In the grate were the remains of a dozen or more photographs and other pieces of paper. Kirtlish had destroyed evidence before leaving and it proved to Hunter yet again how organised the perp was. He’d known they were close to finding him and had prepared everything in advance for his escape.

The burning question now was - where had he gone?

The obvious answer was to where Anita was being held, but Hunter was not sure. He knew that Kirtlish would be there at the end of the seven day stipulated time, but thought he’d have a staging post between the two places, where he’d go in the meanwhile. It would not be too far from where they were at the moment, but there were hundreds of buildings within a half-mile radius and it was anybody’s guess. It would be harder to find than the present address and time was of the essence. The thing to concentrate on was the fact that they knew where he would be tomorrow afternoon, even though that location was not yet known to them. All their hopes were pinned on the infra-red camera, and he prayed their hopes would not be in vain.

Anita was looking up at the camera again, and this time she used her hand with the thumb and index finger touching and made masturbating motions with it.

The three men and the woman who were searching the room all laughed, and Hunter told them, ‘It seems my ex-wife has learnt some nasty habits since she left me. She always used to be a lady.’

The woman said, ‘Even ladies have their moments, John, when the situation requires it, and this certainly comes under that category. I think this guy deserved anything she could throw at him.’

‘The last picture he’d left was of her apparently dead. She’s certainly alive now. I wonder if she deliberately played dead to upset him and try to force him to change his schedule?’

He used the control to backtrack to the point where she was lying on the floor and noted the time, then moved further back, until she was again on her feet. He played the last couple of minutes before she fell, and watched the action carefully. She certainly hit the floor hard, and the fall looked natural, but he saw the way she curled her body as she fell. He’d taken her on a parachuting course as a treat on their first wedding anniversary and they’d been taught how to land without hurting themselves. She’d been an avid pupil and must have remembered it better than he had, or had been having more lessons, because she’d done an almost perfect copy of that instructor’s method.

He shook his head admiringly, ‘That’s my girl. What a performer.’

Paddy, an experienced parachutist himself, had watched it with him and agreed, ‘A perfect PLF. Play it again, Sam.’

They watched even more carefully.

She folded slowly, following the prescribed routine: the side of the calf, the side of the thigh, the side of the buttocks and finally the side of the back – the latissimus dorsi muscle.

To anyone not versed in the technique it would just look like an unconscious body crumpling, but to the two men watching now it was blatantly obvious that Anita had staged it.

Hunter let the tape run after she’d fallen and they watched for the tiniest movement of fingers, toes or breathing. After ten minutes he fast-forwarded it almost an hour. She had not moved. He repeated the fast-forward three times, and, like Kirtlish, would have been convinced if he didn’t know better.

‘She had him well bloody fooled. It must have been absolute agony, lying on that floor without a twitch for so long. What a clever girl. He must have thought his final plans were up the creek. She waited until after dark before she got up, and by then he’d given up watching and accepted her death. He’ll have had to revise whatever he’d got planned for the final act.’

Paddy had been assessing their immediate options and suggested,’ We might as well get back to the office and meet these guys with the camera equipment. I’ll leave Joe, Tom and Sheryl here to keep watch on Anita and the house, just in case he comes back.’

‘What about the garage?’

‘You’re reading my thoughts, John. If we can’t find the keys I’ll use my skeletons. I don’t think we’re going to find anything in there, but you never know.’

‘He might have booby-trapped that too.’

‘Good thinking, Batman. Peter Shore is downstairs. He’s one of my booby-trap specialists. We’ll let him risk life and limb first before I unlock it.’

They didn’t find the keys anywhere and Paddy and Hunter retired to a safe distance while Peter inspected the doors, looking in the gaps between them and the jambs with a huge magnifying glass which had a powerful built-in light, then into the lock itself.

He turned and walked back to join them, and Paddy asked, ‘What’s the verdict, Sherlock?’

‘It’s definitely wired. Both doors and lock. I’d guess explosive. Cleverly and expertly done. There’s no way of disabling it from outside.’

‘I’ll send a JCB. There might be nothing in there of interest, but we need to make sure. You can knock either the rear or side wall down and get in to it. By the way, remind me to buy you a deerstalker. You’ll really look the part then.’

CHAPTER 43 - GET THEE BEHIND ME, SATAN – AND PUSH LIKE HELL!

Sir Jeremy had met the men from the camera company and they were well on the way to having the instrument fitted to his Jetranger.

There were two men working under the ‘copter with their backs to them when Hunter and Paddy walked up to the machine, but they’d been noticed. A head appeared in the open doorway and a voice spoke to them in a very upper-class accent.

‘You must be Paddy, a fellow Irishman, I believe.’

The man descended. ‘Timothy O’Reilly, originally from the fair city of Dublin, and now domiciled in the, how shall I put it, ‘different’ is probably best, city of Leicester.’

‘This is John Hunter. It’s his wife who’s been kidnapped.’

They shook hands.

O’Reilly pointed to the two men underneath the ‘copter, bolting a piece of equipment onto the aircraft, one holding the item in place and the other using a spanner.

‘The long streak of piss is Andrew.’ The man gave them a wave with his free hand, ‘The little geek is Tom.’

Tom had both hands busy and shouted, ‘Hi.’

O’Reilly looked apologetic, ‘You do realise that you may be in for a big disappointment, don’t you? This equipment is the bee’s knees but even though I’ve brought our very latest, it might not give you the answer you need.’

‘Can it see through glass is the burning question?’

‘Qualified yes, John, but not very well through double-glazing or any of the latest special types of glass. If it’s single-glazing and older glass you’ll get something – not a perfectly clear image, as you would outside, but good enough to see if it’s human or animal. It’s a good thing you detailed what you needed, or we’d have brought a standard LWIR job – that’s the Long-Wave Infra Red camera, which won’t see through glass at all, although it is magnificent outdoors, or a Medium Wave IR unit, which will see through some glass but with a badly degraded image. What do you know about thermal cameras?’

Both of them said simultaneously, ‘Bugger all.’

‘Quite normal. Very few people do know much. They work on wavelengths that are a bit higher than visible light. As temperature goes up, wavelength goes down, so when something gets hot enough it glows in the visible spectrum, so it can be seen with the naked eye. I won’t go into the nanometres covered by that spectrum, but you get the idea. The LWIR would be no good for you, because the glass would distort the image too much. The MWIR would be better, but not the best we can do for you. I’ve brought the latest Short-Wave Infra Red job, which enables us to see through glass, but as I said the image it shows might be somewhat degraded.’

‘All we’re interested in is knowing if someone is in a building, and if it is just one body.’

‘Then that should be no problem, as long as there is a suitable window.’

‘And there’s the rub, as the Bard had it.’

Paddy pointed to the white board, ‘These are the twenty-four properties we’ve narrowed it down to. Two are just concrete blocks, with no windows, the rest all have some windows, but in a couple of cases not many, and quite small.’

‘Well, as I told you earlier, it’s no good starting too soon, because of the heat retention of the buildings and ground. With twenty-four to cover we’ll probably need two hours, and we have to have completed the job at least an hour before sunrise, which is five nineteen tomorrow morning, so I suggest we take off at two.’

Paddy nodded, ‘Agreed. I’ll stay in the office and perhaps try and get an hour’s shut-eye. You’ll be wanting to see Jane, won’t you, John?’

‘And I’ve promised Trish and Maggie I’d go and have dinner with them, so I’ll have to go there first. I’ll make sure I’m back by one.’

He called the hospital before leaving and was given the usual message with the words ‘stable’ and ‘comfortable’. Asking if Jane might be discharged that evening brought the expected response concerning the doctor’s rounds. He decided to be there in person as soon as he could get away after dinner.

Trish met him at the door and gave him a big hug. She looked fine and her youthful exuberance didn’t seem put on. He hoped he’d read her right and that she had got over the shock.

He told her he’d been watching Anita by live feed only an hour before and saw tears form in her eyes. He did not tell her about the dehydration problem.

She brightened up again, ‘We’ve done a gourmet pheasant dish tonight, Dad. Pheasant breast cooked with onions, sultanas and red wine with cream. It’s called ‘Pheasant à la Gaybird’. It tastes gorgeous. I’ve never had the chance to cook before, because Alan’s staff would hardly let me in the kitchen. It’s great. I might try to become a chef, instead of a lawyer.’

He laughed at the enthusiasm of youth. He was so proud of her and knew she was going to be a success whatever she decided to do with her life.

Although every detail of the case was buzzing through his head, he wanted to just relax for a short while in good company, but Taylor wanted to know every detail, and he found himself telling them about Jane, the perp’s escape, and the plans for the night.

The food was just as good as Trish had promised. He’d never been a lover of pheasant or partridge. On the few occasions he’d eaten it the flesh had been tough, and either too gamey, from being hung too long, or with little taste, and he realised he’d only eaten it in places where the chef hadn’t a clue how to get the best out of it. Eating the dish Maggie and Trish had prepared made him realise how wrong he’d been. The flesh was succulent and the flavour unusual and special.

He decided on the spot that if, when all this was over, Trish wanted to cook the dish for him in his kitchen, he was certainly going to encourage her.

They knew he needed to get away and shooed him out of the door only minutes after he’d eaten the fruit compote desert that followed the pheasant.

He was too tired and stressed out to put up with the run-around the woman on the reception desk at the Royal tried to impose on him. He grabbed the arm of a passing female doctor, gave his rank and name, told her what had happened and asked if she could take him to Jane.

The woman was at first put out at his cavalier approach, but took in his weary appearance and sincerity and took pity on him.

She nodded to the receptionist, who had been about to call Security, and indicated with her head that he should follow her.

Once outside the reception area she remonstrated with him, ‘Try not to do that too often, Inspector. The whole place would come tumbling down if we didn’t stick to protocol, and Sarah will be having apoplexy. She’s good at her job, and she would have got you where you wanted to go.’

‘Eventually, maybe. I’m afraid events are moving too fast for that.’

‘Be that as it may, I could have been on my way to save a child’s life, for all you knew. You must follow procedure.’

He gave a boyish grin, ‘I’m told off, doctor. I apologise.’

‘You grovel well, I must say. Come on, I happen to know where Jane is. I was on duty when she came in. Harry Mickleburgh is looking after her. We’ll go and ask him what the situation is.’

Mickleburgh, a hefty six-footer with a crew cut, was studying case notes in the small room at the end of a ward and the woman told him who Hunter was and asked after Jane.

‘She has concussion, and needs bed rest for at least a day, but otherwise she’s pretty good. I’ve used superglue on the wound, which was superficial, although it had bled profusely. It doesn’t appear that her attacker wanted to kill her. She wants to go home, and she’s been expecting you. As long as you’re prepared to make sure she gets there, I don’t see any reason to keep her in any longer. Use one of our wheelchairs to take her down to your vehicle. She’s quite weak and she’s had a number of painkillers.’

Hunter was relieved. He’d been worried about long-term damage to Jane’s brain.

‘Thank you very much, doctor. Can I go in and see her?’

‘Of course. She’s at the far end, on the left.’

He thanked the woman doctor who’d brought him up to the third floor and she waggled a finger at him, ‘Don’t forget now, Inspector – protocol, protocol.’

He nodded. ‘I’ll remember.’

Jane looked happy to see him. Her head had been cleaned up, and the wound was not obvious. He told her the good news and she started to swing her legs out of the bed.

‘Don’t you think you’d better get dressed first?’

She stopped moving, ‘Can you get the nurse to pull the screen round, John? My clothes are in the locker, but this is a mixed ward and all I’ve got on is this gown, with no back to it.’

‘Sure.’

Less than ten minutes later he was helping her into his Mondeo. By then he’d given her all the latest on the progress of the case, Anita’s cleverness and Trish’s cooking. He returned the wheelchair to the rack and went back to the car.

Just as he was about to turn the ignition key she said, ‘You know, John, it’s a funny thing, but when they took my trousers off I had no panties underneath. Do you know how that happened?’

He carried on turning the ignition, mumbling, ‘How do you mean, Jane?’

‘Well, who’s the only one we know who’s taking panties?’

‘You know it’s Kirtlish.’

‘Yes, but he’s never put a garment back on again, has he?’

‘Not that we know of, no.’

‘John……..?’

He shrugged as he pulled away, ‘I couldn’t leave you with no trousers on, could I?’

‘So you had a good look?’

‘I tried to look the other way.’

‘My boy scout. I imagine it must have been pretty difficult getting them back on, with me lying flat out on the floor – particularly with you looking the other way.’

‘Fairly difficult, yes.’

‘Requiring a fair amount of touching of my naked body, would you say?’

‘Look Jane…..’

She could hear that he was becoming exasperated and burst out laughing, ‘Thank you, John. I really mean that. Were you on your own when you put them back on?’

He nodded, ‘Before the ambulance and the troops arrived.’

‘It wouldn’t have been the end of the world, but I’m glad I wasn’t showing my all to the whole world. Bad enough that Kirtlish saw it.’

When he pulled up at her apartment block she said, ‘Would you come up with me?’

‘Of course, if you want.’

‘I do. I’m feeling more fragile than I wanted to admit to the doctor. I thought if I did he wouldn’t let me out today.’

‘Don’t get out. Wait a second.’

He went round to her side, opened the door and helped her out, holding her arm.

She told him the code for the electronic bottom door, 1066, and he thought that would probably be the first number any self-respecting burglar would try.

On the way in and in the lift she leant on him, and he could see that she was near to falling.

‘My key is in my bag. Could you open the door?’

He found the key and was impressed to see it was a Chubb. He opened the door, helped her in and into an easy chair.

It was the first time he’d been in her flat and felt strangely at home there. The furnishings were a mixture of old and new, but were all top quality.

A beautiful little French escritoire which appeared to be genuine Louis XIV looked to be the oldest piece, but there were several small tables and knick-knacks from the Georgian period. Jane seemed to like Ercol too, because he could see through into the dining room where a table and six chairs from that factory stood, in front of a matching Welsh dresser from the same stable. The three-piece was newest and was cream leather.

There was no sound from Jane and when he turned to look her eyes were closed and she seemed to be asleep.

As if she knew he was watching her, the lids fluttered open.

She managed a smile, ‘You caught me out, John. While I think of it, there’s a spare key on the top of that cupboard near the door. Take it, so you can get back in when you want to.’

He was concerned, ‘Are you sure you’re all right? You don’t look it.’

‘I will be in the morning.’ She seemed to hesitate then asked, ‘Will you do something for me, John?’

‘You know I will – anything.’

‘I need to go to bed, but I can’t undress myself. Would you do it, please? I don’t care if you look.’

He gulped, hoping he would be able to do it without an unfavourable reaction. ‘Of course. Come on.’

He’d undressed his fair share of women, usually in haste and with little care for where the clothes went, but this was a first for him. He sat her down on the bed, a large single.

‘Have you got a nightdress or pyjamas?’

‘No. You’ll think I’m awful, but I always sleep in the raw.’

‘I don’t think anything of the sort. So do I.’

He’d removed her blouse and reached around her back to release the bra, keeping his eyes directed towards the wall, but as the bra came off he couldn’t help himself, he had to look.

Her breasts were beautiful, and he knew he’d never seen such perfection before. Anita’s breasts when they’d first made love had been a perfect picture, but Jane’s made them seem everyday. They were not round, but pear-shaped, with the tip of the pears uplifted into glorious mid-brown aureoles, centred with highly sexy, slightly overlarge nipples, with dipped centres.

He couldn’t take his eyes off them and suddenly realised she was looking at him.

He moved his eyes quickly back to the wall and she giggled. ‘Are they really that good, John?’

He sighed, ‘The most beautiful breasts I’ve ever laid eyes on, Jane.’

Tiredly, she said, ‘I’m glad, John.’

She seemed to be falling asleep as he undid the button of her trousers and slid down the zip.

He’d not pulled back the covers before sitting her on the bed and had to lift her to move them back, so that he could lay her on the bed.

Her eyes were closed, but she was still awake. She said, ‘Now you, John. Undress and get into bed. I don’t want to make love, and it doesn’t mean we’re an item. I feel more than a little fragile and almost as violated as…..I just need you to hold me, naked. Don’t worry, I trust you.’

You might, he thought, but I don’t bloody trust myself!

Trying desperately to think non-sexual thoughts he slipped off his clothes and slid into bed next to her, keeping his thighs as far away from hers as he could, feeling the desperately unwanted erection hardening.

She snuggled backwards into him and felt it trying to enter between the cheeks of her bottom.

‘Lift it up, John, so that you can come closer to me.’

He slipped his hand down and lifted the shaft, aligning it with his belly, before pulling in tight to her to stop it going into the wrong position again.

A sleepy voice told him, ‘Mm. That’s nice, John. You see, it’s behaving itself.’

No, it bloody isn’t, he thought, this is agony. I’m just glad I’m not twenty anymore or this bed would be in a hell of a mess. Unwanted, the damned thing kept pulsing, almost making him panic. There was going to be some seminal fluid leaking out anyway, and he’d have to make sure none went onto her flesh or the sheet, but at least there would be no orgasm.

He realised she was asleep and gradually eased back until their bodies were only touching at the top. The erection was just as hard, but it was easier to bear.

He tried to lie very still and stayed in bed for almost half an hour until he was sure she was in a really deep sleep. It was impossible to move his thoughts away from the young body next to him, and he stayed erect the whole time, feeling it pulse with every heartbeat.

Eventually, positive that he would not disturb her, he lifted her head and took his arm from around her neck, before sliding out of bed and dressing quickly.

It was almost time to go flying.

CHAPTER 44 – NEEDLES AND HAYSTACKS

Paddy and the three camera experts were playing low-stakes Texas Holdem when Hunter walked into the office. He looked at the pot and whistled.

‘Bloody hell, boys. There must be all of one pound fifty in there.’

They all grinned.

Paddy looked at his watch, ‘We’re almost ready for the off, John. It’s alright in here with the air-conditioning, but what’s it like outside?’

‘Temperature gauge shows seventeen Celsius.’

‘Let’s hope the buildings have cooled down enough. We’ll just finish this hand.’

John enjoyed playing poker but hadn’t sat in on a game for months. He looked at the face cards.

It looked an interesting hand. Andrew had two aces and two kings showing, along with the five of hearts – a good hand for bluffing. Tom’s face cards were the six, seven, nine and ten of spades, with the four of diamonds. Timothy was showing three jacks, with a six and a ten of clubs, and Paddy had a pair of twos, with a three of diamonds, a five of clubs and the queen of spades.

John guessed there would probably be only two players left in if the stakes had been higher, and listened to the bets with interest.

Paddy seemed to be holding back, and Hunter knew instinctively that the man had the winning hand.

When they turned over, he was proved right. Andrew had only his two pairs, Tom had filled his run, but with the eight of hearts, not a spade. Timothy was sure he’d won, having filled his full house with the ten of diamonds.

Paddy held off for several seconds before turning over his hole cards, grinning widely, ‘Read ‘em and weep, suckers.’ His two hidden cards had been the other two twos.

O’Reilly stood up, ‘I don’t know how you do it, Paddy, but remind me not to play with you again – ever. Do you know, John, this…..gentleman has taken over eleven pounds off me in two hours, and we’re only playing for pennies.’

‘He’s got six pounds of mine, too.’ Tom complained.

‘What about you, Andrew?’

‘I think I’ve done well. The lucky sod’s only got just over a pound of my money.’

Hunter told them, ‘Poker’s my game, but I’ll take your advice and stay clear of this table.’

Tom and Andrew would not be coming with them, but would stay in the office in case of equipment failure.

Timothy, Hunter and Paddy clambered into the machine, which Jim Crowley had ready and ticking over and they took off.

Paddy had decided what order to do the twenty-four buildings in and sat beside Crowley so that the pilot could see which ones to hover over. Timothy O’Reilly sat immediately behind him, ready to give his interpretations of any infrared responses, and Hunter sat behind the pilot. Paddy had used the details given to him by his foot patrols and their own observations on the previous flyover to mark in the positions of any windows on the diagrams.

The first six buildings showed no infrared response at all and he crossed them off his list. The next was a disused office block and they immediately got a blurred return.

Timothy told them, ‘There’s too much heat there for one person. My guess is it’s being used to house illegal immigrants or it’s someone growing cannabis. We can tip off the police anyway. I don’t think it’s the one you’re looking for.’

Three more had no show and they moved onto the next grid.

The first building had a definite return. The window was quite a small one and the pane was glowing softly.

‘That’s a possible. Can you get us at an angle where we can see down into the window, Jim? All we can judge from this is that there is probably someone in there, down below the window.’

Crowley tried for ten minutes or more, but could not find a position that would give them a better view.

Paddy said, ‘That one’s got to go on the list.’

Two more were negative before they had something of the same problem. Again, the two small windows showed up on the monitor with a faint glow, and O’Reilly thought it worth changing position to see if they could get a better view.

Crowley took his machine up another two hundred feet and the camera expert laughed, ‘Look at that, will you.’

There were plainly two bodies, one on top of the other.

‘Someone’s found a hideaway where he can screw someone other than his wife, but we’re going to have to check it, just in case.’ He didn’t want to say out loud what he was thinking: the perp might be having it away with Anita.

After checking twenty of the twenty-four, they had four possibles that would have to be closely investigated on foot later in the day.

The twenty-first was similar to the first one they’d rated a possible – two windows high up on one wall of the main block, which was surrounded by lower flat-roofed rooms with much larger windows.

Again the glass gave a low glow, and O’Reilly told them there was a fair chance one person was in the room and asked Crowley to try for a better position.

After several minutes of trying, O’Reilly said, ‘Hold it there.’

He was too late. The helicopter had been moving, and for just a second he’d seen what looked like a person’s head at the bottom edge.

‘Can you try that again, a bit lower and nearer to the building?’

‘I was a hundred feet lower than the legal limit then, Timothy. I’ll be up before the board if I’m caught too low.’

‘They’ve got to prove it, Jim, and we aren’t going to be there many seconds.’

‘Well, okay then. Here we go.’

O’Reilly saw the same small orb at the bottom of the window for a fraction of a second, before it was gone again.

‘Put that one down, Paddy. There’s definitely at least one person in there.’

Numbers twenty-two and twenty-three were both negative, but the last filled them with hope. They could clearly see one body lying prone.

‘That’s got to be the first one we go into.’

They landed at twenty-one minutes past four, just as the eastern sky began to lighten. It was still seventeen degrees and the day looked like being another scorcher.

Hunter, thinking of Anita with no water, was all for going straight out and starting the search, but Paddy would not hear of it.

‘We’re all completely knackered, John – you most of all. If we’re going to be on top line, and we really must be to tackle what we have to today, we must get a couple of hours shut-eye. We’ll set off at seven.’

CHAPTER 45 – FRUSTRATION, FRUSTRATION

He’d slept badly for once, his dreams full of untold horrors, and on waking he realised how much in turmoil his brain had been in anticipation of the coming day.

He had no intention of dying or of being injured – that honour was reserved for John Hunter, but the human mind would always take into consideration lurking dangers, and there was nothing one could do about it.

The monitor showing the front of the building showed no activity, and he wondered if Hunter was as good at his job as he’d thought.

Maybe he hadn’t managed to find the place, in which case he’d have to telephone him sometime during the next few hours. There was little time left.

He had to have food to see out the day and though he didn’t feel in the least hungry he made himself a slice of toast and perked some coffee, but eating the dry toast was difficult, and he left half of it and threw it in the rubbish bin.

Meticulous as always, he washed up and put the plate, mug and knife away, before going back into the bedroom. He’d never be able to use the other house again, and this would have to be his headquarters until he moved cities. It had to be kept spotless.

Knowing the danger he would be in, he just had to use the panties before leaving. It might well be for the last time.

He took them from the briefcase and selected one. He’d use Anita’s last, as a salute to her. He knew she would be proud to be the one who satisfied him.

~~~oOo~~~

Anita lay comatose on the mattress, her skin dry. There was no moisture left in her to sweat. She was into the last few hours of dehydration before death

~~~oOo~~~

The van seemed nondescript, a beat-up looking eight-year-old Volkswagen LT35, white with small patches of rust around the bottom of the doors and the sides and with six months of dust and dirt on its paintwork, but there the similarity ended.

The engine had been expertly tuned and would take the van along all day at over a hundred miles an hour if necessary on its strengthened chassis and shock absorbers. The inside was fitted out luxuriously, with full air conditioning, seats for eight people, video coverage of all sides around the van and storage for all the equipment the attack team would need. There was even a coffee machine.

Paddy was driving, with Hunter riding shotgun, and all the seats in the back were full. Dress was a complete mixture. Two of the team, Peter Shore and Tracey Lissell, the demolition and booby-trap experts, were clad in overalls and peaked caps, both of which carried the logo of an electricity company, the rest were in cleverly designed casual clothes, which concealed a variety of weapons and tools. All were armed.

Paddy pulled up forty yards short of the tall steel double gates of the last likely premises they’d overflown just hours before, leaving the engine running, and Colin Wakes, an expert locksmith Paddy reckoned was even better than he was at breaking and entering, got out after checking there was no traffic and no pedestrians on the street.

There were no visible cameras on the building or fence.

Wakes sauntered up to the gates and inspected the heavy padlock. He nodded to himself, put his hand into an inside pocket and drew out a kind of Allen key, which he inserted into the keyhole of the padlock. Hunter was amazed to see him give just one twist before lifting the lock off the hasp that held the doors together.

He opened the gates wide.

Paddy drove up to them and swung the van into the yard.

Before they had time to alight Wakes had pulled the doors closed behind them.

The team piled out, all pulling on rubber gloves, and without instructions ran to take up positions around the building, which occupied the central part of the half-acre site.

It seemed derelict, but Wakes came up to Hunter and Paddy and showed them the lock.

They could clearly see that it had been oiled relatively recently. The place was obviously not as derelict as it appeared.

The main entrance was directly opposite the gates, and one of his men had radioed Paddy with the news that there was a small back entrance.

‘I reckon if this is the place, he’ll have booby-trapped both ways in. We’ll go in the front. It’ll give us more room to manoeuvre. It’s all yours Peter.’

Shore, Wakes and Tracey Lissell moved up to the door and both of them used small hand-held devices to check all the way round the doorjambs and down the centreline of the double glass doors.

Shore turned and shook his head, and Wakes went to work on the lock. Within seconds he had the door open, and the three of them entered what had obviously been the reception area of the building. The part where they had seen the infrared return had been towards the back, and there was a corridor leading off the area they were in, next to the closed doors of a lift.

The three operatives moved forward slowly, taking short steps, Shore in the lead with a detection device held out in front of him, Tracey two paces behind him, and Wakes the same distance behind her. They approached the corridor warily, looking carefully around them as they went.

At the entrance to the corridor Shore turned, looking puzzled, and shrugged his shoulders. They’d found nothing untoward so far.

They were not going to be lulled into a false sense of safety – both Shore and Lissell had been in many dire situations during their time in the forces and having seen many of their colleagues killed, thinking they were safe, knew that was the recipe for disaster.

To those waiting just inside the entrance it seemed an eternity before the message came through, ‘Clear’, and they moved forward, to find the three operatives inside a large room, bending over something on the floor.

At first they were unable to make out what the interest was, but it was where they had seen the glow from the helicopter.

There was no cage, as they had seen in the videos of Anita, but Hunter’s heart was suddenly painful when he saw that it was a body they’d been looking at.

He ran forward, his heart pounding.

It was not Anita. The unconscious teenager lay on a dirty blanket, drool coming from his mouth. A pair of trousers lay on the floor near him. He’d vomited, soiled and wet himself over many hours and the smell was horrendous.

Paddy said it for all of them, ‘Bloody hell. We come looking for one captive and find another. Have a quick look at him, Sammy.’

Another of his men stepped forward and did a quick inspection of the teenager.

‘He’s severely dehydrated. Must have been here days. I think he was brought here, drugged, probably raped and left to die.’

‘Shit! Back to the van, everybody. We’ve got to get out of here now. Give me that clean phone, Barry.’

He dialled 999 as he hurried along the corridor and reported the find. Asked who he was he said, ‘A passer-by’.

Wakes checked the street was clear and the van pulled out as the last man in pulled the back doors closed. The gates were left wide open.

Paddy headed for the next stop on their list.

‘Damned near impossible to believe, isn’t it, John?’

‘Not really, Paddy. There’s an abduction every couple of hours in the Greater London area, and these places are ideal for dumping bodies. You’d be surprised how many have been found. Almost always too late, when the place is being revamped for a new business.’

The next building was more difficult in that it was close to shops, and even at that time in the morning there was traffic and some pedestrians moving along the pavement. After sitting impatiently for almost half an hour, Paddy told Wakes to go and open up. If anyone reported a break-in they would have to bluff their way out of it.

Wakes had more trouble with the integral lock on the gates but managed to open it after almost three minutes of sweaty toil.

Again Paddy drove in and Wakes closed the gates behind them.

He was surprised to find the lock on the main door of the building broken, and Peter Shore, accompanied by Tracey Lissell again entered first.

Half a dozen rats, disturbed in their feeding, scurried away in front of them.

Litter of all sorts lay strewn all over the floor. Empty cardboard cartons about a foot square made up much of the rubbish, but crumpled up sheets of A4 printer paper were also there in abundance, along with sandwich wrappers, empty beer cans, wine bottles and odd bits of food and chicken bones.

Shore beckoned the party in and told Paddy, ‘Looks like someone’s been having a party or a rave here. I don’t think this is your place. Stinks of piss and crap. No wonder the rats like it.’

Paddy agreed with him, ‘We’d better check it out though, just in case.’

The team swept through the building but found nothing except more litter. The further in they went the worse the smell became, and they could clearly see that some of the rooms had been used as toilets, with human faeces and paper in corners. Others had been places used for coitus and there were dozens of used condoms scattered around.

‘Looks like the local lads’ and lassies’ club.’ Paddy joked, ‘They must have the gate key. Come on, let’s get out of here and leave it to the rats.’

As they drove to the third on the list, Hunter looked at his watch. It was nine forty and time was rapidly running out. He thought constantly of Anita, dying of dehydration, and felt the pain of severe indigestion starting. He knew from past experience it could only get worse as the worry worked on his system, and there was no way they had time to go looking for antacid remedies. He’d have to suffer it, but it wouldn’t make the day go any easier. In truth, he was beginning to lose hope.

Their next target was different again. The outer gates were easy, but both the front and back doors to the building were steel, with steel jambs, and the locks were of the six-digit combination type.

Wakes had an electronic combination lock buster but was having difficulty.

He told them, ‘It gets to the fourth okay, but then goes haywire every time. Whoever fitted this knew his business.’

‘Can’t you enter the four digits then try all the combinations. Surely it wouldn’t take that long, there are only ninety-nine, aren’t there?’

‘Already tried it, Paddy. Doesn’t work for some reason. I don’t like to admit it, but I’m stumped.’

‘Okay, don’t worry. Peter, it’s your baby now.’

Shore and Tracey Lissell worked together for around five minutes, then Shore told them all to step back behind the van.

The explosion sounded loud enough to have every copper in the area on their necks, and Paddy expected to have visitors.

The door hung open and Shore entered with Tracey. The rest of the crew waited outside.

Tracey came back out after a couple of minutes, followed by Shore, who told them, ‘Hundreds of cannabis plants under strong lights. Someone’s making a lot of money.’

Paddy smiled grimly, ‘Might as well ring this one in too. Give your lot something to keep them busy with today, John.’

‘I don’t think the growers will be too happy with what you’ve done to their door, Peter. We’d call that ‘Use of undue force’. Can they trace that explosive?’

‘Not a chance, where that came from.’

‘Let’s vamoose, before the law and order boys arrive.’

As they got back in the van Hunter asked, ‘What’s the next one?’

‘It’s the other one where we thought we saw what might be a head.’

‘Please, God, let it be the right one.’

‘Amen to that, John.’

CHAPTER 46 – THE BOY SCOUT’S MOTTO

The van turned into the street where the building was situated. It was the second on the left. They had noted on flyover that none of the buildings on either side of the street was occupied, so hoped there would be no problems with traffic or pedestrians.

Just as Paddy was about to brake, however, a marked police car drove round the far corner and stopped outside the gates of a building opposite to the one they intended to visit.

Paddy exploded, ‘Fuck it! What the hell do they want?’ He increased the revs and cruised past the police vehicle, just as the two occupants, a male and a female officer, alighted and made for the gates.

Hunter was looking at his watch every couple of minutes now, aware of the seconds ticking away to Anita’s death. Any delay could be fatal. He considered the options: should they just wait until the police went of their own accord, or should he approach them and ask them to leave?

The latter course, even if they did what he asked, and that was doubtful, would lead to unanswerable questions as to his behaviour and involvement in a nefarious and unauthorised incident. It would almost certainly mean his job.

He’d reached the stage where even that meant nothing compared to Anita’s life, but it would most probably be a wasted gesture.

Paddy drove round the corner and stopped. He got hold of the door handle.

‘I’ll have a shufti and see what they’re up to.’

Hunter could see him in the wing mirror. He crept to the corner and peeped round.

The two police officers stood talking outside the gates, and it appeared they were waiting for something or somebody.

This just wouldn’t do. Paddy hurried back to the van, taking out the pay-as-you-go untraceable mobile. He dialled 999.

‘Emergency Services, which service did you want?’

‘Police.’

‘Police. Could you give me your name and address, please?’

‘I haven’t got time for that – three robbers armed with sawn-off shotguns just ran into Barclays Bank in Dagenham. Hurry.’

‘Is that the Heathway branch, Sir?’

‘That’s the one.’

‘Please give me your name and address, Sir.’

‘There’s a fucking armed robbery in progress! Fucking hurry!’ He switched off.

Less than thirty seconds later they heard the siren of the police car departing.

Hunter clapped his friend on the shoulder, ‘Bloody good thinking, Paddy, but

you’ve ruined the local cop-shop’s budget for the month.’

‘Taxpayer’s privilege, mate, and it worked. Oh, no.’

A street sweeping lorry was coming very slowly towards them.

Paddy prayed, ‘Please, please, don’t turn right.’

The sweeping van turned right.

‘Bloody hell, what next? We’ll never get into that building at this rate.’

He switched on the intercom to the back of the van, ‘Colin, get out and go round the corner. See if you can get started on the lock and give me a buzz as soon as you’ve got it open and that bloody street sweeper has turned the far corner.’

He waited until the locksmith had left the van then drove a short way and did a three-point turn, ready to race round the corner when he was given the nod.

It seemed ages, but was less than two minutes, when Wakes rang.

Paddy accelerated hard.

~~~oOo~~~

It was all quiet when he let himself in through the gates. It was a quarter to ten. He decided to give it until two o’clock; if Hunter hadn’t found it by then he’d have to give him the address.

He used the keypad on the outside of the door to disable the explosive charge wired to the base of the door, the first of the traps waiting for Anita’s ex-husband, then unlocked the old, deliberately-easy-to-pick two-tumbler lock.

Once inside he re-set the explosive charge, which was a small one, designed to cause flesh damage to the legs of anyone foolish enough to try to enter the door, but not broken bones.

The control switch for the other nasty surprises he had planned was on a panel just inside the door. It worked on the same principle as a normal household security system, which allowed the user thirty seconds to exit and lock the door, except here it had the opposite use, allowing the same period of time to get past the booby-traps before they became active again.

He’d modified it somewhat, so that it was for one-time use only. Now if Hunter switched it off it would seem safe, but everything would still be working. Anyone cutting the infrared beams would be a target.

He smiled, thinking, ‘You’ll see just how clever I am before you die, John.’

He walked past the hidden shotguns, loaded with number nine shot and with half the powder removed. They would pepper the body and cause excruciating pain, but not disable the person shot.

The next nasty was contained in what looked like a plastic conduit, running across the ceiling, but which was actually a container full of concentrated sulphuric acid, which would descend on anyone cutting the beam below.

Hunter would have begun his odyssey with anger. By this stage, it would have been replaced by raging agony as he staggered his way the last few yards towards where Anita lay.

He was surprised that he could not smell decaying flesh. Surely her body must be at that point now?

He reached the door of the room that held the cage and stopped in shock.

She was not lying where he had last seen her. She was on the mattress, and he could see her chest rising and falling as her failing body took stertorous breaths.

He shook his head disbelievingly. He was not easily fooled, but the woman lying at death’s door in front of him had managed to do just that. He was full of admiration for her. She was a worthy opponent, along with John Hunter.

‘Anita!’ He called, and repeated it several times.

He noticed the body respond with a tiny sideways motion of the head, but she was too far gone to open her eyes and look at him.

Satisfied that there was no way Hunter could save her or himself he exited the room again and carried on to the next door on the left, which he entered and then locked carefully, before pressing a switch that turned off an electro-magnet which had been holding in place over the door a quarter-inch thick sheet of steel. Running in two steel groves fixed each side of the jambs it fell with a tremendous crash, effectively sealing him off from any attack from that direction. His escape route was through a door in the opposite wall, which led to the basement, connected to that of the block across the street by a tunnel.

He walked over to a luxurious executive swivel chair and gratefully sat down. On the right hand arm of the chair were the two switches he needed for the final act. On the left arm were the controls for the CCTV cameras, whose monitors, lined up on the floor in front of him, would allow him to sit in comfort and enjoy Hunter’s progress and wounding from the front gate all the way through to the door of Anita’s prison. The monitors sat just below the huge sheet of one-way glass, taking up most of the wall, which would allow him to watch the final dying moments of the detective and his ex-wife.

CHAPTER 47 – H2O OR H2SO4?

Colin Wakes closed the gate behind the van and the procedure they’d become used to began again.

Peter Shore and Tracey Lissell went forward and did their thing at the front door while the rest of the team watched. The temperature was already in the eighties and out of the air conditioning they were all sweating badly.

They noticed Peter say something urgently to Tracey and she turned and came back to them.

‘That door’s definitely wired. Peter thinks it’s probably explosives. If he can’t disable it he’s going to blow it.’

Paddy told Hunter, ‘If it’s booby-trapped we must have the right place, John. I’ll fetch your stuff.’ He went round to the back doors of the van and came back with a haversack and a five-foot long extending metal pole with a grab on the end of it, which he handed to Hunter. ‘Everything’s there that you asked for.’

They could see Peter using his hand-held electronic gizmo, trying to find the correct combination. After several minutes they saw him nod triumphantly and punch in some numbers, after which he used a pick on the door lock. He opened the door and inspected it carefully, then signalled them to join him.

He pointed to the sausage-shaped charge strapped to the inside bottom door panel.

‘That wouldn’t have killed anyone. It’s anti-personnel, but designed to wound, rather than kill. Either he doesn’t know what he’s doing, was short of explosive, or was deliberately intending to wound.’

Hunter nodded. He was jubilant, ‘It’s him! I know it’s him! That’s his trademark – he’s playing with me. We’ve found the right place. Anita’s inside and he will be too. Thanks for all your help, Paddy, but I’m going in alone. I have to – this is my job now.’

He’d only taken one step forward when Peter Shore grabbed his arm and yanked him backwards. ‘Not yet, you’re not, John! D’you really think that little blob of explosive was it? If I read this guy right, there’ll be more.’

Hunter suddenly realised what a fool he’d been. Of course there’d be more. Completely out of character he’d let his heart rule his head.

‘Sorry, Peter. I was going off half-cocked. You’re absolutely right. You do your thing.’

Shore asked, ‘Will you go and get Amy please, Tracey, and the air rifle? The rest of you come back with me, while I explode this little baby.’

They took a dozen paces backwards and Shore made the controlled explosion, which demolished the bottom of the door, shards of which flew out a couple of feet.

Hunter was puzzled. As they walked forward again he asked, ‘Who’s Amy?’

Paddy laughed, ‘You’ll see, John.’

When Tracey returned he recognised the thing that looked a bit like a mechanical dog walking behind her. She was carrying a gas-filled .22 Air Arms air rifle in her left hand and had a controller gadget in her right.

‘A remote-controlled bomb detector. You really have got all the gear, Paddy.’

‘We’ve had some unusual jobs to do for Jerry. You wouldn’t believe some of the things these financiers get into.’

‘If I get the sack over this, p’raps I’ll ask Jerry if I can join you.’

‘Not necessary, John. I do all the recruiting, and if you ever want a job, you’re in.’

Tracey pulled up an extending rod on the machine and opened the top out at about six feet high into a kind of flag that didn’t seem to have any electronics. Hunter asked what it was for.

‘If there are any beams that will break them, just as if a human being was walking through them.’

Before she sent Amy forward, Peter asked for the rifle. He lifted it into the aim. Hunter hadn’t noticed it before, but saw that Shore’s target was a small lens high up on the far wall, its casing painted to match the emulsion on the wall, the only giveaway a small length of wire that disappeared into the plaster.

The slight crack of the escaping air preceded the sound of the hit, and he saw tiny pieces of glass fall. Two more shots followed.

Shore grinned, ‘That’ll stop the bastard being able to see what we’re doing. This panel on the wall looks as if it should control something, but if what I’ve seen so far is anything to go by, it’ll be useless. In fact, he probably hoped you’d use it and think you were home safe, John. Okay, Tracey, you can send Amy in now.’

The robot moved forward, its antenna swivelling from side to side. The monitor in Tracey’s hand was showing a clear picture of what was in front of the machine.

At around eight feet in they all jumped at the explosive noise of twelve-bore shots in the enclosed space. The flag on the top of the pole was peppered with shot, and a few pinged off the metal of the pole, without breaking it.

‘Are you glad I stopped you now, John?’ Peter asked.

Hunter nodded vehemently, ‘All I can say is, ‘Phew’. That would have been me.’

‘Again not intended to kill, but you’d be hurting badly by now, with your legs shredded and two hundred odd pellets under your skin. Maybe one of your eyes blinded.’

‘What a pretty picture you paint, Peter.’

‘Yes, don’t I? I’ve seen too many of my mates injured and killed, and I’ve got a few scars of my own from a couple of times when I wasn’t careful enough. In this game a little extra checking can save a lot of misery. Let’s see if there are any more surprises.’ He indicated with a nod of his head that Tracey should continue.

The robot crept steadily forward on its twin tracks and was almost at the end of the corridor when a sudden deluge fell from the ceiling, and they could see the metal of the machine start to steam as acid attacked it.

Peter groaned, ‘Oh, lovely. If we don’t get that washed off in one hell of a hurry it’ll be a write-off, and they cost well over forty grand.’

Paddy said, ‘Probably sulphuric. Imagine what that would have done to your face, John.’

Hunter felt the hackles on the back of his neck rise. He could imagine trying to get to Anita with his face burning and probably blind. Kirtlish was a genuinely devilish bastard. More than ever he wanted the pleasure of squeezing the life out of him with his bare hands.

Amy was still moving forward and had reached the open door to the room with the cage. It’s camera was still taking pictures and passing them back to Tracey.

She showed the monitor screen to Hunter. ‘We’re in. There doesn’t seem to be any other nasties controlled by beams, so if you want to go forward…..’

~~~oOo~~~

He’d seen the outer gate open and the van drive in. He swore – Hunter was not alone, but at least he seemed to have only one other person with him in the front of the van.

Watching the rest tumble out of the back filled him with dismay. They might just have a chance to get to Anita.

Suddenly he relaxed again. It didn’t matter what they did, Knowing Hunter as well as he did, he was sure the detective would insist on being the first in, and nothing could get in the way of his death, no matter what the rest did. Some might even die with him.

It would be an interesting exercise to see how they coped with his little toys.

He heard and saw the way the big blond man tackled the outer door and was suitably impressed. He didn’t know where Hunter had found his allies - they certainly weren’t police, but whoever they were they were experts. He’d underestimated his enemy yet again, and he was well aware that it was the most disastrous thing anyone could do. Not to worry, he was still in control of the final outcome.

He saw one of the men lift a rifle to his shoulder and a second later he lost his picture and cursed. Now all he could do was wait until Hunter entered the room in front of him and wonder what was happening in the corridor.

A few seconds later he heard the sound of his fixed guns firing, but knew they had probably bypassed them somehow. He could only hope.

He was surprised to see the machine enter the room where Anita lay in the cage. No wonder they’d managed to get past his little tricks. It was a great shame Hunter would not be suffering from their effects – it would have made the whole exercise more enjoyable, but it would not affect the end result, and seeing that the machine had full camera facility, he knew Hunter would be seeing the image and coming forward.

CHAPTER 48 – AT ARM’S LENGTH

He’d waited long enough and ran forwards, jumping over the pool of acid eating away at the wood flooring.

He went into the room at a rush and up to the bars of the cage.

There was a loud metallic crash behind him and he turned to see that a sheet of thick steel, running in channels either side of the door, had descended, completely blocking his way out.

It was not time to worry about exits yet. Anita was the priority. She seemed to be asleep, but he knew she was either in a coma or very close to it.

He shouted, ‘Anita! Anita!’

She lay curled in the foetal position, with her face looking away from him and her bottom the nearest part of her. There was no movement from her. He guessed she was comatose, in the latter stages before the final coma, with only a short time to live.

A disembodied voice boomed, ‘This is God. You are doomed, John, doomed.’ The words were followed by a cackling laugh.

He looked around him and realised that the glass wall was really a viewing screen, with Kirtlish behind it. It was almost certainly unbreakable glass.

He didn’t bother with gestures or vitriol. He brought forward the metal rod he’d carried into the building and began to pull out the extending pieces, hoping it would be long enough. They’d tried to judge distances from the CCTV images of Anita in the cage, and had decided that the mattress lay somewhere between a dozen and twenty feet from the bars. He’d practised with several extending rods, plastic and metal, and found that one of twenty foot in either material could not be controlled with any efficiency by a man at that distance. He could just manage the fifteen-foot metal rod and they’d decided on that as the nearest compromise solution. The problem now was that Anita looked to be farther away than that. If he couldn’t reach her she might die with him watching, before the others could break through the wall of the room and get to them.

Pushed out in front of him, with his arm extended as far as he could reach and the handle in his fist, the grab on the far end of the rod just touched the edge of the mattress, only a couple of inches from Anita’s skirt, but the mattress was three inches thick, and at that distance, the weight of the pole would not let him lift the grab with one hand. It was bad planning: he’d only practised with two hands on the rod, and they thought they’d taken everything into account. He was suddenly afraid that the mistake might be fatal. Trying to pull the mattress with her weight on it would be impossible. He had to go for some part of her clothing, to pull her off the mattress and onto the floor.

The temperature in the room was over ninety degrees Fahrenheit and sweat was pouring off him with the effort he was making.

‘What a brave try, John. I congratulate you on your foresight, but you should have brought a longer pole. What did you think you would do with her, even if you managed to pull her over to you - give her mouth-to-mouth? Ha-ha-ha-ha-ha. This is better than watching one of my patients die.’

Hunter stayed silent. He was not going to waste energy giving Kirtlish any extra pleasure.

He tried again, without success, to lift the end of the pole and realised he would never be able to do it. He wanted to cry with frustration. Anita was dying before his eyes and there was nothing he could do about it. He could hear Paddy and his men banging away at the door and further down the corridor on the walls. He hoped they would be able to break down the door of the next room where Kirtlish was, but knew the perp would have taken precautions to prevent that, and probably had a reinforced wall between them and him.

‘Go on, John. Keep at it. Remember, there is only so much time remaining.’

The gas, of course! He renewed his efforts, again without success and stopped to think.

The mattress had been laid at a slight angle to the square of the cage and the bottom of it was half a dozen inches nearer to him than the side, where he’d been trying to reach her skirt.

He moved the grab end of the pole down to the end of the mattress and tried again. It was impossible to lift, but suddenly he had an idea.

The fingers of the grab were almost four inches apart when open and the mattress was three inches thick. If he was very careful, he might be able to walk the grab up the mattress.

He twisted the pole until the fingers were at right angles to the edge of the mattress and used all his force to move the end until the lower fingers touched it.

The two upper fingers were just higher than the top edge and he twisted as hard as he could, watching the fingers move just half an inch onto the top of the mattress.

He used every ounce of his muscular power to continue twisting and slowly, very slowly, the lower fingers lifted until they were level with the upper ones.

Suddenly, they rolled over and the whole grab lay on the top of the mattress.

The sound of clapping came over the loudspeaker. ‘Clever boy. Well done. I’m impressed.’

Hunter felt drained of energy. The heat in the room was sapping his strength fast, and sweat was running into his eyes, but he dare not wipe it away or relax even for one second. He used the same technique to roll the grab towards Anita’s buttocks and the edge of her skirt and finally brought it into position, but the grab was still that two seemingly insurmountable inches away. There was only one thing to do – he’d have to take the chance of pushing the handle forward until he held it only by his fingertips. If he dropped it, it would almost certainly land out of reach and he’d have failed. It was another shit or bust decision.

He edged the handle forward until it was held by just his forefinger and thumb. The grab had some of the skirt material in it.

He heaved a huge sigh of relief. The job was not over yet by a long way, but at least now there was a chance.

The device was one that incorporated a locking brake at the handle end, which locked the fingers as tight as a vice. It consisted of a ring pull, sticking out of the end of the tube.

He had to somehow let go of the handle and get his finger into that ring pull. If he missed, all bets were off. Normal use of the rod would have it held in the left hand, leaving the brake to be worked with the right, but with his right arm extended through the bars and the rod at its extreme limit, that was impossible. It might be possible to curl his little finger enough to push it through the pull, but that finger would not be strong enough to set the brake. It had to be the index finger.

He reckoned the odds and guessed it was about twenty to one against, but he had no option. He’d played the same game all of us play at some time in our lives, trying to catch the card or coin that someone drops between thumb and forefinger before it slides through, and he knew how impossible that was. There was one thing that might help, but would make the shot more difficult. If he threw the tip of the handle upwards, he’d have a fraction of a second more to direct his finger. It would have to be in the next few seconds, because his thumb and finger were aching so much he knew he would not be able to hold on for much longer.

He took several deep breaths, readying himself for the attempt, said a short prayer under his breath then out loud, ‘Here goes nothing’.

Seeing the tiny amount that the handle rose when he let go almost made his heart stop as he lunged with his forefinger at the ring pull.

Amazingly, the finger went straight into the hole.

He’d forgotten how sweaty his hands were, and the finger, out straight, started to slip, with the weight of the pole pulling down on it.

Frantically, he twisted his hand until the finger was upright.

Just the tip of the finger was poking through the ring. Everything was on a knife edge. The perspiration running down his forehead and into his eyes was like a river.

Ironically, it was the sweat that saved the day. The finger was so slick that the ring pull slid down the finger of its own accord, until it lay secure at its base.

At last he dared bend the finger and exert pressure to pull the ring slowly towards him, watching the fingers of the grab close on the material of Anita’s skirt. When he felt the pressure that told him the fingers were closed, he jerked the ring pull to set the brake.

Within seconds he had the handle secure in his hand again. The problem now would be if the skirt held on her body. With the weight she must have lost in the last few days it might well pull off her waist.

The voice came again, ‘Congratulations, John. I never thought you’d do it. Now for the big pull. You have my full attention and I’ll grunt along with you to help you.’

He pulled. She was a dead weight and the first pull moved her less than an inch. It would never do.

He placed his feet apart against two of the bars and used them to strain against as he exerted all his strength, using his body weight as added pulling power as his torso went backwards.

Suddenly she was on the floor and pulling her was much easier on the smooth surface.

He pulled hard and continuously until her back was up against the bars at his feet and he bent down and pulled at her blouse until her head was near the bars too.

‘Excellent, John. You really are a wonder, you know. I’m very interested to see what you intend to do now you’ve got her. She’s still in the cage, and you’re outside it. Your friends cannot possibly get to you in time to help. I’ve made sure of that.’

He opened his haversack and took out a half litre bottle of water. He twisted the cap, took it off and laid it next to him on the floor, then opened Anita’s lips and let just a small amount run into her mouth before moistening her lips with his finger.

‘Oh, how sweet. I wish I could watch this all day, John – it’s good enough for prime-time television - but it really is time for the last act, which I am going to enjoy and remember till my dying day. As they say in the best shops, it was a pleasure doing business with you. Goodbye, John.’

Hunter heard the loud hissing noise, coming from a vent in the wall near the glass panel.

The bastard was releasing the gas early.

He quickly delved into the haversack and pulled out two gasmasks, held his breath and pulled one over Jane’s face and tightened the strap, then pulled the other one on himself.

Kirtlish was livid. How could Hunter have planned for this? It was impossible for his plans to be thwarted, it was……. He suddenly remembered he’d told Hunter about the gas.

A meticulous planner like himself, caught out in a basic error. It was a savage blow to his self-esteem, but he knew when he was beaten.

‘Looks like you have the edge on me this time, John, but we’ll meet again, never fear.’

He rose from the chair and headed for the other door and freedom.

He’d taken his eyes off the monitors and hadn’t seen what Hunter took out of the haversack next.

The first two bullets from the .357 magnum revolver only caused the glass to star and Hunter swore as he pulled the trigger four more times. Time stood still, while nothing seemed to happen, then suddenly the entire screen shattered, several shards cutting into Kirtlish’s flesh as he took the first breath of gas……

CHAPTER 49 – EVERY CLOUD HAS ONE

He thought he’d entered a flower shop. He’d certainly never seen so many different blooms anywhere else.

Anita lay with her eyes closed, but her cheeks had colour in them and she was breathing easily now they’d taken the ventilator away.

She still had a drip attached to her arm, and would have it for at least another day, but otherwise the emergency was over. She was a very lucky girl.

He sat quietly beside the bed, watching her.

After Kirtlish had collapsed and died, he’d worried about her dying before Paddy and his people could get to them.

He wanted to continue trickling water into her mouth, but the first thing he had to do was to get rid of the gas. He could no longer hear the hissing, and guessed that Kirtlish had estimated the amount necessary to fill the room and kill them and it had finally run out, but with the room still full of the stuff, all it needed was a spark from the fridge switching on to blow them to Kingdom Come.

The two windows were high up on the wall, but the extending pole was just long enough for the grab to reach them, and he left Anita’s side, raised the pole and started swinging it back and forth, slamming it into the panes. He didn’t notice the tin of meat Anita had thrown. It had bounced to the back of the room. He kept swinging.

It took a long time before one of them cracked, but then on the next hit the whole pane smashed outwards onto the adjoining flat roof.

He was surprised to hear a shout of, ‘Bloody hell! Are you trying to kill me, John, after all I’ve done for you?’

Paddy’s face appeared in the gap, grinning, but suddenly the Irishman began to gasp and cough.

Hunter took a deep breath then pulled the mask to one side and shouted, ‘Get out of the way, Paddy. Let the gas escape first. Can you smash that other window?’

He quickly pulled the mask back on, but not before he’d caught a whiff of the gas that made him want to gag.

He heard a shouted, ‘Sure. Stand back.’

The glass of the other window shattered all over the floor and Hunter saw a boot in the gap for a second before it was withdrawn.

The knocking on the wall of the room became louder and a piece of masonry fell onto the floor.

He knew it would only be a short while before the Fifth Cavalry came to the rescue.

In fact it was a bit more than a short while – almost half an hour – but eventually they were all in the room. Sammy, the medic on the team, had fixed up a drip through the bars of the cage and three men were working with the acetylene cutters they’d brought with them for the express purpose of cutting out the bars.

From then on it had all been downhill.

Just after they left the building, Jerry used the pay-as-you-go phone to ring the police and report a corpse. When asked for his details he made them all grin, ‘I’m the same passer-by that told you about the injured lad this morning.’ He wiped the mobile clean of prints and threw it out of the van’s window on the way back to base. Before leaving, the team had removed the memories from the camera equipment Kirtlish had been watching and used chemical sprays all over to ruin any DNA left from sweating. Only Hunter had not worn gloves, and they wiped every surface he could have touched. The police forensic team would have nothing to connect them with the incident, but were going to have a field day, trying to work out what on earth had gone on in the building.

His body was still suffering from lack of sleep and stress, and he dozed off, suddenly coming awake as his head fell forward to see that Anita’s eyes were open and directed at him.

She whispered, ‘My hero.’

‘Hello, Munchkin.’ He used the term of endearment he’d used when they were married. He always said he loved her so much he could happily eat her. In fact he’d tried, many times, to her great satisfaction.

Her voice was gravelly and low, her throat not having recovered from the dryness of dehydration, but she was determined to tell him, ‘You know, John, all the time I was in that cage, I imagined you coming to save me, mounted on a white charger, like Roy Rogers in the old westerns, with a white suit and Stetson, and when you found me I was going to fall into your arms and make love to you for hours.’

‘Like in the old days, you mean?’

She gave a faint nod, ‘We were good together, weren’t we?’

He had to agree, ‘Bloody fantastic.’

‘Could we be again, John?’

He’d thought about it a lot during the last twenty-four hours. When they’d been together they had been happy, and the sex was out of this world. If only he hadn’t been drinking, they might still be together, although on balance the pressures of the job had probably been the deciding factor.

‘We’ve been there, done that, and moved on, Munchkin. We aren’t the same people we were then. It’s a nice idea, but an impractical one. I think you know as well as I do that it wouldn’t work.’

She looked sad. ‘I thought you’d say that. I expected it. You’d never really be able to forgive me for leaving you. It would always be there in the background.’

He took her hand. ‘I’ll always love you, you know that. I always have and I always will, but it will have to be as a friend, not a lover.’

She squeezed his fingers. ‘And I you.’

He smiled, ‘You know, Trish told me that, and I wouldn’t believe her.’

‘You can now. I’ve been a very foolish woman and you can’t possibly imagine how many times I’ve regretted it. I’ll never find anything like the happiness we had. I should have given you my full support. If I’d helped you might have been able to beat the booze.’

‘I doubt it, Anita. I was in a bad way. I think you were fully justified in what you did.’

‘It’s very nice of you to say that, John, but I’ll always blame myself most.’

‘Strange how things work out. Kirtlish would be so put out if he knew there was a silver lining to his devilish machinations. We’re having a heart-to-heart that would have been impossible a week ago, and I’m back in contact with Trish.’

‘I’ve been trying to insist on ‘Patricia’, but it’s been a losing battle, and now I know I’ve lost.’

‘You’ve done a terrific job with her. She’s a grand girl, with a responsible head on her shoulders.’

‘That she is.’ Her expression suddenly became serious, ‘John, would you mind if I married Jerry?’

He sat back suddenly, ‘Wow! That one came out of left field. When did this happen?’

She smiled. ‘It hasn’t – yet. These flowers are from him and he’s been very…..what can I say….simpatico. We just seemed to hit it off from the first second we set eyes on each other. You know what I mean. Remember the ice cream?’

The first time he’d seen her, she’d been licking a 99 cornet, and when she saw him she’d let the cornet fall forward so that the ice cream fell onto the floor. They’d stood with eyes locked for half a minute before they both fell about laughing. Oh, yes, he knew what she meant. It could happen, that love at first sight thing.

‘I like Jerry a lot. Is he single?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Might be a slight problem.’

‘Might be.’

‘Anyway, good luck to you both. No. I wouldn’t mind in the least.’

‘And of course you can see Trish whenever you want. She was here earlier, and she says you are a lovely Dad, and she wants to spend a lot of time with you.’

‘That’s great.’

She looked very tired and he realised he was not helping her recovery.

‘I’ll come and see you again tomorrow.’ He squeezed her hand and got up to go.

‘John.’

‘Mm?’

‘I’d like you to kiss me – like you used to – just one more time.’

He bent down and began the kiss, feeling immediately the response it always got.

Almost a minute later he pulled away, breathless, his body on fire.

She was smiling broadly, looking at his crotch, ‘It still did the trick, didn’t it, Tiger?’

He grinned sheepishly, ‘Did it ever.’

‘I’m glad I can still have that effect on you, at least. I really wanted us to make love one more time, you know, even if we can’t be together. Would that be possible, before I go and get tied up with someone else? I’d love to repay you for saving me. Please, John, take me now - you’re so ready.’ She began to push the bed covers down.

Though his body was screaming at him to agree, remembering how good she was, his brain was telling him it would be the worst thing he could do.

He grinned ruefully, ‘If I don’t bloody well go this instant, I’ll be lost. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ He pulled the covers back up, kissed her on the forehead and almost ran to the door.

CHAPTER 50 – HE WHO LAUGHS…LAUGHS…LAUGHS…

Carlisle sat at his desk looking livid. He’d bitten the head off any of his staff who’d tried to talk to him that afternoon. Okay, they’d found the Badger and he was well and truly dead. They could keep the public happy and insist they’d done their job, but he doubted they would be able to keep the kudos. The media were so bloody clever these days, and word might just be leaked about how the death came about. Cain was gone, thank God, but there was always another hand ready to grab at freebies. If the public got a sniff that the police had not been involved in his discovery and death someone’s head would have to roll and he was pretty sure it would be his.

Already he’d had to try to placate the Assistant Commissioner, his immediate superior, Superintendent Cutter and his boss, Chief Superintendent Taylor. They’d all asked searching questions he was unable to answer. The main one – why the hell hadn’t he known what was going down?

All that was bad enough, but what was causing most of his acid heartburn was the suspicion, in fact almost the sure knowledge, that Hunter had been mixed up in it somewhere.

It had all his hallmarks – a job cleared up and no trace of his part in the handiwork. How he’d managed to find Kirtlish and kill him with what seemed to be his own tools was beyond belief, but Carlisle was convinced.

A bang on his door made him look up and the bile rose in his throat and almost made him gag.

Hunter strode in, looking far too cocky.

‘Afternoon, Chief. Thought I’d just pop in to say I’ll be back in the saddle tomorrow. My ex-wife is okay – I’ve just been with her, so there’s no conflict of interest any more. Anything exciting been happening?’

For once, Carlisle was incapable of speech. Spluttering, his face suffused with anger, he flung his hand out, fingers pointing at the door.

Hunter could not help himself. He laughed in Carlisle’s face, ‘Well, Chief, if you feel that way about it, I’m going. I know when I’m not wanted. Was it something I said?’

Carlisle lost it. He grabbed at the heavy onyx pen-holder on his desk and threw it.

Hunter ducked and the heavy projectile smashed through the glass and showered with shards the two detectives who sat closest to the office.

Hunter sauntered back down the room, returning grins with the others sitting at their desks.

He had telephoned Jane with the news as soon as they’d left the building where Kirtlish lay dead, and several times since.

She’d asked him to come and see her, but till now he’d made excuses and he didn’t know why. Strange feelings had him feeling ambivalent about her, wanting desperately on the one hand to be with her, and afraid on the other of the possible consequences.

He was afraid of his feelings and only too aware of his age. Nothing good could come of it he was sure, if he let her know how he felt, but she would be badly hurt if he kept away.

Taking his courage in both hands he drove to her apartment and let himself in the front door.

He rang the bell instead of using the key she’d given him and he saw the eye at the peephole before she opened the door, surprised.

‘It is you, John. What are you doing standing there. Come in, you daft ha’porth. Where’ve you been? I mean, I knew you were all right, but I thought you’d come and tell me all about it. Can I get you a…..cup of tea or coffee?’

He nodded, ‘Coffee, please.’

He stood in the kitchen next to her, aware of the animal attraction and the scent of the shampoo she’d used on her hair, and was pleased when they moved back into the lounge.

They sat down next to one another on the sofa and he told her everything, except for Anita’s proposal.’

‘So it’s finally all over.’

‘Yes.’

‘But you don’t look too happy, John. What is it? What’s wrong?’

He had never been one to beat about the bush, ‘I’m sorry, Jane. I know I’m an old fool, but I’m afraid I’ve fallen in love with you. We’ll have to make a partner change, because I won’t be able to stand being close to you and not want to take you in my arms every few seconds. It would just be too much to bear.’

She was looking at him very curiously and saying nothing.

The silence stretched into what seemed a very long time, then suddenly she burst out laughing.

She laughed and laughed until her laughter became almost hysterical.

To start with he became hot and flustered, angry at her for her reaction, but gradually her laughter became infectious and he found himself grinning, then giggling, then laughing, until the room resounded with their hilarious laughter.

They laughed until they were so weak that they fell into each other’s arms, both heaving huge gulps of air as they tried to regain normality.

Finally, she pulled back just a little way and said, ‘You are a bloody fool, John Hunter. You might be an old bloody fool, but the fool bit is the important bit. Do you think I care about your age? You’re the most genuine man I know, give or take Geoff Taylor, and I’ve loved you almost from the first minute I met you. I daren’t tell you because of…..you know. I thought there was no way you’d ever want to be with me.’ She became serious, ‘There is still that thing, John. I don’t know if I’ll ever be able to let you make real love to me, but I can do other things for you. I can…..’

‘Ssshhh! Luckily I’m at an age where that isn’t as important as it is when you’re nineteen or twenty. We’ll take it slowly and ste \ j k o … ¤ ê î 0 1 P Š ©

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‘And can you promise no other women? There’s Janet, and Anita, and Annie, to mention three who’d like you back in their knickers.’

He lifted his fingers. ‘Scout’s honour.’

Her smile was like the sunrise, ‘Then come here and kiss me, my love.’

~~~oOo~~~

If you have enjoyed this book, please read the others by this author:

Murder by Proxy

Murder on the High ‘C’

Murder on Tiptoes

Murder on the Chess Board

Murder on the Back Burner

The Iago Factor

The Most Unkindest Cut

Single to Infinity

Blockbuster

Blood Lines

Hell and High Water

Tripled Exposure

Unseemly Exposure

A Handful of Dust

A Handful of Salt

A Handful of Courage

The Devil Deals Death

Tripled Exposure

The Makepeace Manifesto

Panic

Hardrada’s Hoard

The Last Laugh

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€Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 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€Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 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€Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 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€Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 € € ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 € € ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 0 €Š ˜ 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