In Canterbury it’s gone just as I knew it would. One of my chosen women made a choice that offered me access. Now I’ve closed the net. This time it will go right. Not like last time. I’ve got to get Dover out of my head. Kayleigh Robson wasn’t my type, not a top choice, but she wasn’t my ultimate goal; Kayleigh was a practice run. My aim was to get experience of conversion, of winning a woman round. For that, Kay from Dover was a necessary component but she wasn’t meant to die. No one was meant to die. I’m not into killing people. What happened was unfortunate, a freak accident, regrettable, but nothing to do with my planning. One moment Kayleigh was fine – well, she was struggling and screaming – but then she fainted. I made her comfortable before going for a pizza and a couple of pints to settle my head. When I got back, she was dead.
The last thing I wanted was to be linked to her death and caught by the police. For a moment or two I panicked – in that situation anyone would panic – but I quickly gained control and planned what to do: destroy her mobile, mine too with both its SIM cards, and scrupulously clean her flat of all traces of my presence. She had no proper cleaning stuff in the flat so I had to go shopping. In a side street, near the centre of town, I found a late-night store and bought what I needed. Back at the flat, I cleaned scrupulously. Working gently, wearing vinyl gloves, I removed Kayleigh’s bonds, turned her on her side and used enough of her concealer to hide the reddening at her wrists and ankles. It wasn’t perfect, but there’s not been a word on the news or in the papers, so it was good enough to fool some hack of a police doctor.
Now all is calm, I’m back in Canterbury and my chosen one is perfect. I need time alone with her, time for her to see beyond the surface, time for her to get to know the real me. Given time, she’ll come to see my true worth. Later, we’ll look back and laugh about the way we met. She’ll thank me for being so clever. We’ll be happy together.
Earlier today, I got some food and drink; it’s here in her fridge. Everything’s in place. I’m relaxed, sitting quietly, waiting for my chosen one to return home.
Alone in the CID Room, Ed glanced at her watch. There was no hurry, but she’d reached a good place to stop. Shutting down the computer, she slipped her mobile into her bag and left the Station on foot. In the city centre, she crossed the Buttermarket to Sun Street and took a window table in Deakin’s where she toyed with a mineral water, wishing Verity Shaw was already there to distract her from her thoughts.
Last June, transferred to Canterbury from the London Met, Ed had been pitched straight into the disappearance of a local schoolgirl. With her new team she’d discovered the case was one of a series of abductions stretching back ten years. The perpetrator was now in jail awaiting trial. However, although the investigation was effectively wound up, Ed still woke at night with an image of the abductor in her head. She had worked on horrendous crimes with the Met, but in London she’d been able to switch off and walk away. With the abductions in Canterbury it had been different. For the first time in her career, the images stayed with her, not because she had led the investigation, but because she couldn’t forget the mothers separated from their daughters. The image of the abductor returned and she shuddered at the evil he had perpetrated.
As she took another sip of water, Ed’s honesty forced her to concede she was troubled by more than recurrent thoughts of the abductions. She would never let her mood influence her work, but for some months she’d felt decidedly below par. Not down, exactly, but until recently things had not been as she would have liked. Ed knew herself well enough to know the reason. There had been a long gap without a man in her life.
Men!
They’d not always treated her well; indeed, a few had treated her badly. Ed could live without them, but on balance, she would rather have a bastard in her bed than no one at all. This time, perhaps, she’d struck lucky. So far there had been no sign that Daniel was a bastard. He was fit and attentive, but he was another cop and that should be warning enough.
Gina Hamilton weaved through the meandering tourists on Mercery Lane and Sun Street. Quickening her pace, she left the city centre and headed home via Palace Street. Mechanically following the familiar route, she was still wondering how long it would be before the Metcalffes offered her a partnership in their dental practice.
‘Bhaaarrrr!’
Gina stopped abruptly at the edge of the kerb, jolted from her thoughts by the blare of a car horn. The number of pedestrians had thinned rapidly and the street was narrowing between flint buildings and a high brick wall. From nowhere she felt a twinge of apprehension, a cold tension between her shoulder blades. She’d felt it before, as if someone were watching her, following her, but that had been weeks ago. Approaching the dogleg beside the entrance to The King’s School she glanced back. The pavement behind her appeared deserted but then, before she could be certain, she’d turned into The Borough and Palace Street had disappeared from view.
Why was she feeling so jumpy? The last time it happened, Gina had been unable to fathom what had sparked her apprehension and now she was equally unable to identify the source of her unease. Annoyed that she should feel so unsettled the evening before her holiday, Gina crossed the road to pick up a ready meal and a foil-sealed glass of white wine at the supermarket on Kingsmead.
‘Snap!’ said a guy behind her at the checkout.
Gina jumped at the sound of the male voice and turned to face the speaker. It was some stranger with a beard.
‘Sorry?’
‘Snap! Your items and mine; seems like we’re both facing a lonely meal for one.’
Gina wanted to end this exchange quickly before he suggested they eat their meals together at his or hers.
‘Sorry, I’m in a rush. I have to get back to pack for my holiday.’
What was she doing? That was way too much information – an open invite for him to continue the conversation. Fortunately, the assistant was scanning her last item. Gina, thinking quickly, put her card back into her purse and pulled out some cash.
‘I guess you live nearby?’
‘Sorry, can’t stop, I must run.’
Gina picked up her bag and turned to leave.
‘Excuse me, Madam.’
What now? It was the assistant. Surely the tenner would cover it.
‘Yes …?’
‘You’ve forgotten your change, Madam.’
‘That’s okay. Put it in the charity box.’
‘I shop here a lot so I’ll see you around.’
Ignoring the stranger’s parting shot, Gina walked towards the exit without looking back. Once outside, she paused to put her purse back in her shoulder bag. Zipping it closed, she saw the bearded guy about to follow her out. Without thinking she half ran around the side of the building to a gap in the fence and took the short cut home via the path by the river.
Hurrying along the rough track, she began to have