She looked into his face. It took a few seconds to recognize the man. He looked different and had something over his hair. It was him. The policeman. Sean. She stopped breathing, trying to comprehend what was happening. She almost began to feel relieved. She knew this man.
She saw a spark of red light reflect off the blade of his knife. He moved so quickly and surely. She was still lying on her stomach. He pointed the knife at her swollen eye. She tried so hard not to cry, but she wasn’t strong enough to stop the tears that began to stream down her face. They made her damaged eye sting and burn.
He brought his face close to hers. He spoke quietly into her ear.
‘If you do as I say, you will live. If not, you die.’
It was the most exquisite experience of my life. The others were wonderful, but this was so much better. To spend so much time with her before she died. To watch her writhing naked in front of me, fighting with her bindings. At first she cried constantly. I could hear her muffled pleas, but I ignored them. I couldn’t hear what she was saying clearly. It was a shame. I would have very much liked to have heard what she was saying.
After I bound and gagged her I tortured her for a while. Then I put on two extra-strength condoms and entered her. I’d already shaved off all my pubic hair, so there was no chance of leaving them a hair sample. I told my wife I had a suspected hernia and the doctor had asked me to shave myself before he examined me. The stupid bitch will believe anything I tell her.
With her face twisted to one side, I could see her profile. She looked shocked when I entered her. As if she just couldn’t believe I could do this to her. If she knew me better, she wouldn’t have been so surprised. The more she struggled, the harder I pulled on the stocking that ran down her back. As I pulled, the bindings tightened simultaneously, drawing her legs further up her back as the thin nylon tightened around her throat. All her crying had released the mucus in her nasal cavity, making disgusting noises as she tried to draw breath. It was distracting and spoiling my experience. I hadn’t pictured that she would be so disgusting. I told her she had to stop sniffling or she would die. Once she’d stopped I loosened her harness and allowed her body and head to fall back to the bed.
I had never felt so powerful. I was magnificent above her, on top of her, holding her in the harness made from her own clothing, her face pressed into the mattress. I consumed all of her. As I reached orgasm I pulled the bindings as hard as I could, my eyes shut in ecstasy. When I opened them again she was dead. Her own urine ran down the inside of her legs − even in death the bitch tried to spoil it for me.
I let my penis go flaccid while it was still inside her before carefully pinching the ends of the condoms and pulling myself out. She slumped to the floor on her side. Very carefully I removed the condoms, my flaccid penis falling into my waiting hand, warm and slippery with sperm and spermicide, the feel of it in my hand causing the excitement to return, but there was no time for any more fun here. I put the condoms into a self-sealing freezer bag and then into my rucksack. I took the tape off her mouth and put that into another self-sealing bag. I would have so liked to have been naked myself, but it was too dangerous. I must work out how to be naked next time, without leaving a treasure chest of evidence.
I pulled my tracksuit trousers up and grabbed the rucksack. I checked the room and saw the dressing gown was still over the lamp. It had given off a delicious light, making her pale skin appear blood red. No need to remove it. The drawer I had taken the tights from was open too. No need to close it. There was a slight blood smear on the wall behind the bed. No need to clean it.
I moved quietly across the flat to the bathroom, leaving the same way I came in. I want the police to find it, so considered leaving it open, but decided that might be too obvious. My muscles have grown somewhat tired by now, but I have enough strength to hold on to the drainpipe with one arm while I move the catch back to the locked position. I make sure I leave enough scratches on the latch so even the police can find them.
I climb down the drainpipe as quietly as a spider on a thread. I strip off the clothes worn in the flat and put them in large bin liners. These in turn I place inside the rucksack. My other clothes wait in their neat pile for me. I take my time to dress. No need to hurry. I enjoy the calm I feel spreading beautifully through my body and mind, feeling a hundred times more powerful than I did before my visit. The warm night air wraps around my body like smoke around a smouldering log. I put the bag over my shoulder and head towards Shepherd’s Bush, although I’ll keep walking for a few miles yet before catching a night bus far enough away that it’ll never be checked by the police.
I will go visiting again soon and next time will be the greatest yet.
18
Thursday morning
Sean, Sally and Donnelly were back in Sean’s office. They were assessing the feedback from Sally’s appearance on Crimewatch and Sean’s press conference. It wouldn’t take long. The phone lines hadn’t exactly been set on fire − a couple of teenage prank calls and a few rough descriptions of men seen in the area of Daniel’s flat, possibly on the night of the murder, maybe not. Far from a deluge of information.
They’d expected as much: Hellier was too cautious to have allowed himself to be seen by witnesses at that time of night. But at least the dedicated surveillance team was back, so Hellier wouldn’t slip away quite so easily again.
Donnelly was called to the phone. He crossed the office, took the receiver from a young detective constable.
‘Dave Donnelly.’
‘DS Donnelly? How you doing?’ Donnelly didn’t recognize the voice. ‘I’m a friend of Raj Samra. He said you wanted a call if anything out the ordinary came up. Said you wanted a call before anyone else.’
‘That was my request.’ Donnelly was naturally suspicious. He didn’t know this man who was doing him a favour. He wasn’t about to let himself be set up. ‘Sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.’
‘DS John Simpson. SCG out west. Murder Investigation Team.’
‘Can I call you back in a minute?’ Donnelly asked.
‘Sure,’ Simpson replied. ‘I’m on a mobile. Want the number?’
Donnelly scribbled the number on a small notepad. He wasted no time in calling Raj Samra. He confirmed DS John Simpson existed. He vouched for him too. That was good enough. Donnelly called him back.
‘DS Simpson.’
‘Sorry about that. I was right in the middle of something,’ Donnelly lied. ‘So, what have you got that may interest me?’
There was a worrying pause before Simpson answered. ‘A body. But I think you’d better come and see for yourself.’
Donnelly thought hard for a few seconds. Should he go? Was he sure enough yet? Probably not. ‘Okay,’ he answered. ‘I’ll come and take a look. Unofficially for now.’
‘I understand,’ Simpson reassured.
‘Where are you?’
‘It’s a flat over in Shepherd’s Bush. Seventy-three D, Minford Gardens.’
DC Zukov saw Donnelly appear on the pavement outside the crime scene and head towards him, moving nimbly, looking naturally strong. He stamped his cigarette out as Donnelly got closer.
‘You got one of them for me?’
Zukov pulled a squashed packet of Marlboro Lights from his trouser pocket. Donnelly seemed paler than usual. ‘Well?’ Zukov asked. ‘Did you do it?’
Donnelly lit up and took a deep drag. ‘No.’
Zukov went quiet. He looked Donnelly up and down. Had the big man lost his bottle? ‘Why not?’ he finally asked.
‘Because I’m not sure, that’s