Текст книги "Scent of a Killer"

Автор книги: Kevin Lewis

Соавторы: Kevin Lewis
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17

The moment they entered through the huge dark wooden doors, Stacey felt as though she had walked in on the set of the popular eighties sitcom Cheers. Delicious smells wafted towards her as she looked out over the New York-style bar-cum-dining room, its walls covered in posters from theatrical productions from around the West End.

‘So, what do you think?’

Stacey turned to Dr Jacques Bernard and smiled sweetly. ‘It’s amazing. You’d never have guessed that something like this was around here. I’ll admit it, I’m impressed.’

They had met an hour earlier in a wine bar close to the Embankment, where they had enjoyed a swift glass of chilled Chablis before making their way to the restaurant that Jacques had booked. They had walked through Covent Garden and then into a side road devoid of pedestrians and traffic. For a moment Stacey wondered where the good doctor was taking her, when, suddenly, he stopped outside a seemingly abandoned building and pointed up to a tiny brass plaque on the wall.

‘We’re here,’ he said with a grin.

‘And where is here?’

He pointed towards the plaque. ‘The coolest restaurant in London.’

Collins leaned forward and read the name engraved on the plaque, which was about the size of a paperback book: JOE ALLEN.

‘The food’s a little dated, as if the place is somewhat stuck in the eighties,’ Jacques continued. ‘And the jukebox hasn’t worked for years – which is probably something of a blessing. But the atmosphere is fantastic and you can do some serious star spotting here. One time, Gwyneth Paltrow was on the table next to me. The great thing about having all these old posters around is that you can be pretending to look at them when in fact you’re checking out who else is here. It’s the perfect excuse.’

They were escorted through to a table in the middle of the main dining area. As soon as she sat down Collins reached into her bag and pulled out her mobile phone. She checked the signal strength and then placed it face up on the table beside her before beginning to study the menu.

‘Sorry,’ she said as Jacques’s eyes looked pointedly at the phone. ‘If anything happens I need to know about it right away.’

‘I understand, of course,’ he replied, returning his eyes to his menu, where they remained until the waitress came to take their orders.

He surprised her by ordering the cheeseburger. Her eyes scanned the menu once more before the waitress held out her hand to take it back.

‘I didn’t see any burgers on the menu. Are they just humouring you?’

‘Ah, it’s one of their trademarks. They serve them but they are not on the menu. It makes people who are in the know feel a bit special.’

‘You mean it makes them feel a bit smug.’

‘Sorry, did you want a burger yourself? It’s probably not too late.’

‘No, it’s fine, I’ll stick with the chicken. Christ, I’ve lived in London all my life and I’ve never heard of this place. How come you do?’

‘Well, it’s not my first time here, in London, I mean. I’ve lost count of how many times now. I was here a couple of years ago for almost six months, a couple of years before that and a couple of years before that too. I’d like to think I know the city pretty well.’

‘I guess that helps when it comes to impressing attractive young students.’

‘Oh, they’re all putty in my hands by the time I’ve finished telling them my name. Is that what you want to hear? Is that the sort of person you think I am?’

‘This is the first time we’ve spent any real time together. I have no idea what kind of man you really are.’

Jacques smiled warmly. Stacey was aware that several women in the restaurant were having sneaky glances in her direction, wondering if her handsome companion was some new hot film star.

‘I’m very glad you agreed to come out with me,’ said Jacques. ‘I was worried that I was being too forward when I asked you to have dinner on the same day that we met.’

‘Well, for someone who works as a psychologist, you must be pretty poor at reading signs.’

‘I specialize in the minds of criminals. I could tell if you were planning to rob a bank, or molest a child, but have dinner with me? I am clueless.’

The conversation flowed easily throughout the rest of the evening, as did the wine. They polished off the first bottle before they had made it through their main courses and Stacey hesitated only slightly before agreeing that they should order a second.

‘Some of us have work in the morning,’ she scoffed.

‘I have to work too,’ protested Jacques. ‘But not until Monday. I have to give a lecture at two thirty in the afternoon and my students will be most upset if I’m not there by at least two forty-five.’

‘Honestly, you academics. You don’t know you’re born.’

‘It’s a quiet start to the week, I admit it,’ he said sheepishly. ‘But there’s a lot that happens outside of lectures. There are one-on-one sessions with students, tutorial groups to monitor, essays and papers to be marked. It’s a full life.’

‘Yeah,’ replied Stacey. ‘Full of leisure. I picked the wrong job, didn’t I?’

‘But you love your job. How is the case going?’

‘I didn’t think you had taken me out to dinner in order to talk shop. Anyway, part of the reason I came out with you is because I need to take my mind off of it all. It’s pretty full on at the moment.’

‘I can imagine. Any sign of Pat?’

‘Who?

‘Patrick O’Neill, your missing officer. The one working with CEOP.’

‘Do you know him?’

‘Not really, but our paths crossed once upon a time, a while back.’

‘Right. No, not a peep. Poor guy. My heart really goes out to him. It’s like half the force is looking for him. But no one has a clue where he might be. You’ve read the transcripts?’

‘Oh, yes. Impressive stuff. We’re dealing with someone with a high level of intelligence, very slick. First class in fact. I have no doubt it’s the same person that your team are looking for. I’m so glad I’m involved in the case. So much more exciting when you’ve got access to the inside info. Especially when you’re facing someone in the psychopathic equivalent of the premier league.’

‘Steady on. You sound like you’re verging on admiration.’

‘Maybe I am. Let’s face it: the vast majority of criminals out there are stupid. Really stupid. That’s why they get caught. They don’t plan, they overlook the obvious, they get overly confident. You get a case like this, where someone has been active for years and never so much as shown up on the radar, I can’t help but feel a certain sense of awe.’

‘So I see.’

‘Sorry. It’s just that I live for this stuff, I really do. The whole cat-and-mouse thing, it’s such a buzz. This is like a chess game. You don’t want to play against someone who is useless – it’s over much too quickly. You want someone who challenges you, makes you think. I’ve actually written my own computer program that compares and contrasts types of activity. It’s fascinating, especially when you look at the guys at the top. If I were going to be a criminal, that’s the sort of criminal I’d want to be. An artist, not a hack. There’s a lot of scum out there, Stacey, a lot of losers; some people don’t even deserve to live at all, let alone prosper. The thing about your job is that most of the time you’re scooping up the stuff that floats to the top; the real geniuses always keep their heads down. A lion attacks the sick and weak from the herd and what is left is stronger, more efficient; in the same way every two-bit killer you arrest leaves a more sophisticated, slicker pool of criminals behind.’

‘I hadn’t thought about it like that. You saying I should give it up? Leave it to the vigilantes?’

‘Why not? You’ll never eliminate crime completely. All you can do is try to keep a lid on it. And for your own sanity, try to work only on the cases where your opponent’s skills are a match for your own. You have many great skills, Stacey. I can tell. You may be closer to cracking this case than you know.’

They smiled at each other again as they lifted their glasses in unison and took deep sips of their wine. There was something tangible in the air between them. You could almost feel the electricity.

Stacey looked directly into Jacques’s eyes and smiled again, toying with her wine glass.

‘I think I need to say something. If we decide to take this any further, it has to be on my terms.’

‘And what terms are those?’

‘I’m not looking for anything serious. My life is complicated enough. I don’t need someone to come along and fuck things up for me; I can do that myself.’

‘Carrying a little baggage, are we?’

‘Don’t even go there, Mr Bigshot Psychologist. We take this one night at a time.’

Jacques nodded thoughtfully. ‘Okay, then that leaves only one question for me to ask.’

‘What?’

‘Do we go to your place or mine?’

Home for Dr Jacques Bernard during his stay in the UK was an executive apartment just off the Strand in a plush block reserved exclusively for professors and wealthy postgraduate students of the university.

Stacey’s heart had sunk when he first mentioned that he had been assigned student accommodation, but it quickly turned out that the place was more than pleasant enough. It was a comfortable studio flat decorated in a modest but cosy manner.

A slightly smaller-than-average double bed was up against one wall. Across from that there was a tiled area with a sink and tiny cooking unit. A small area in the centre served as the living room, complete with a two-seater sofa and a folding wooden table with a couple of chairs.

Two of the four walls were lined floor to ceiling with more books than Stacey had ever seen in her entire life. She stood, awestruck, casting her eye along row after row of volumes. There were dozens of books on psychology and forensics, of course, but also dozens more on the law, computing, history, chemistry, mathematics and philosophy. A whole curriculum’s worth of knowledge. ‘Have you read all these?’ she asked, almost absent-mindedly.

‘What’s the point in having shelves full of books that you’ve read?’ replied Jacques with a grin. ‘I hope to read them all one day. In the meantime, they are just there to make the shelves look good.’

He began inching closer to her. She stood in the centre of the room, facing him as his eyes bored into her. In an instant his arm was round her waist and he was pulling her towards him. His other hand moved to the side of her face, smoothing down her hair. She buried her head in the side of his neck, enjoying the tickling sensation of his moustache against her cheek. She could feel his heart beating against hers. She gave a soft moan and then used both her hands to draw his face towards hers. They kissed. It was a long, passionate kiss, and when they broke apart she had to gasp for breath.

He sank to his knees, pressing his face into her chest, into her belly. She looked down to see his delicate mop of brown hair moving across her torso. A sense of ease slowly washed over her.

He deftly removed her top and his mouth moved up to caress the space between her nipples. His fingers spread wide and felt good against the cold skin of her back. A thumb slid back and forth slowly across one of her shoulder blades.

He pushed her back against the edge of the small bed and they fell on to it as one, sinking slowly into glorious oblivion.

She awoke in the morning alone in the bed. A delicious smell was hanging in the air – a mixture of coffee and something sweet. She pushed herself up on her elbows and saw Jacques sitting at the small desk at the end of the bed. He was completely naked apart from a pair of boxer shorts, his legs crossed, staring intently at the screen of his laptop.

‘Good morning,’ she said softly.

In one seamless movement Jacques turned to face her and eased down the lid of the computer, switching off the screen but keeping the machine itself running. In that split second Stacey had caught a glimpse of what had been on the display – a series of windows with dozens of short lines of writing on the left-hand side of the largest box. Her brow curled into a frown as she looked across.

‘Just catching up on work emails,’ he said with a grin as he stood up and walked towards her. ‘I’ve made coffee and I’m warming some croissants. How many would you like?’

‘I thought you’d be having a lie-in.’

‘Didn’t seem fair when you have to get up. Besides, I wanted to make you breakfast.’

Up until then there had been no awkwardness, nothing uncomfortable. But all of a sudden Stacey felt incredibly vulnerable. Sex, especially with the best part of a bottle of wine inside her, was one thing, but sitting and having a cosy breakfast, that was true intimacy. She didn’t feel ready for that. She knew she had to get away.

‘Thanks, but it’s getting late. I’d better get going. I’ll grab something on the way.’

She wrapped the duvet around herself, picked up her clothes from the side of the bed and headed for the bathroom. When she returned, having showered and dressed, Jacques was still in his boxers. He was sitting at the tiny table unit, chewing a croissant and sipping from a steaming cup of coffee. A second croissant sat on a plate opposite him. She instantly became ravenous.

‘I guess it makes more sense for me to have this here,’ she said sitting down and reaching for the pastry. Jacques smiled, reached for a second coffee cup and filled it for her.

‘Suppose I want to see more of you,’ said Jacques.

‘I think last night you saw pretty much all there is to see.’

Stacey laughed at her own joke but stopped when she realized Jacques was being serious.

‘I know everything you said last night about wanting this to be on your own terms,’ he continued, ‘and I respect that. I totally respect that. But suppose it’s not enough for me. Suppose I want something more.’

‘We’ll just have to wait and see.’

‘Come on, Stacey, stop kidding yourself. There was a connection there the first time we met. We both felt it. Now, I don’t want to hear about what’s happened to you in the past. I know enough police officers to understand what a male-dominated world you work in and how tough it must be to get along on your merits rather than because of the old boys’ network, but that doesn’t mean you have to shut yourself off from everything else.’

Stacey held up a hand. ‘Stop. I don’t want to hear any of this. You don’t know me. Don’t try to fit me into some box. I don’t want to listen.’

‘Because the truth hurts. Because I’m getting to the truth, aren’t I?’ said Jacques, leaning forward. He was almost shouting now, shocking Stacey with his sudden outburst. ‘You think you can stop yourself from ever getting hurt by never opening up, by keeping all your emotions and feelings locked up tight inside you. But what you don’t realize is that by doing that, you’re only hurting yourself in the long run anyway. You’re fucking up your ability to feel anything at all. And if you don’t start to let go and trust someone soon, if you don’t sort your fucking head out, it will be too late for you.’

Stacey stood up abruptly and took a step back. ‘I don’t know who the hell you think you are. You might be great when it comes to analysing crime in theory, but when you start to talk about real people and real emotions you’re just full of shit.

‘We had a bit of fun, but that’s as far as it goes. You can theorize as much as you like about what you think might be going on inside my head, but only I know the truth.

‘It’s not that fucking complicated. I’m a single mum, I’ve got elderly parents who I sometimes need to look after, and I’ve got a demanding job that plays havoc with my social life at the best of times.

‘We had a nice evening. Don’t make me regret it.’

Stacey picked up her handbag and grabbed the last of her croissant. ‘I’ve got to go to work. I’ll see you around.’

Jacques rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t let the door hit your planet-sized ego on the way out, will you?’

18

Morning prayers had only just begun as Collins bustled her way into the office wearing the same clothes as the day before and hoping to high heaven that no one noticed.

Anderson raised an eyebrow in her direction but she guessed it was more of a comment on her arrival time than on her clothing. She moved quickly into a back corner of the room alongside Tony Woods, who gave her a nod of acknowledgement. The two officers then turned their full attention to the DCI.

‘As you know, we’ve to focus attention on the abduction of Detective Sergeant O’Neill. We suspect the person who took him is the same person that Bevan had been speaking to on the internet, who in turn we believe is the person behind the killings we are investigating. CEOP have been working around the clock on the case, and they’ve managed to strike up a conversation with shygirl351.

‘They’ve arranged to meet in a chatroom later this morning,’ Anderson continued. ‘I’ve arranged with CEOP to relay whatever is being said to one of our computers here so we can monitor the conversation. The hope is that we can draw this person out into another meeting.

‘According to Carter, it’s going to be a slow process. They estimate usually it takes between two and six weeks to get to the point where they are willing to arrange a meeting. Coming so soon after a potential murder, it may take a little longer. But I think it would be good for us to look in on the first couple of conversations, as it might give us more of a clue about the sort of person we are looking for.

‘There’s a little bit of politics going on here and it’s not yet clear who’s going to take the lead on the job. In theory we’re all working together but you know what they say about too many cooks spoiling the broth. I’m hoping that won’t be the case here.’

The briefing over, Collins and the other officers returned to their desks, an air of uncertainty hanging over them. The officers were increasingly split about the best way forward with the case. Although Patrick O’Neill had been missing for almost four days, they had no absolute proof that he had been killed, or that he had fallen victim to the killer, or even that their killer was using the internet to find potential victims.

A new search of Chadwick’s computer and his laptop had failed to find any link to this kind of activity. No one on the team wanted to admit it, but they were blundering around in the dark.

As if the pressure of work wasn’t bad enough, Stacey was finding it difficult to concentrate for other reasons too. Jacques Bernard’s words were playing heavily on her mind. There had been plenty of men over the years but always on her terms. That was the way she had always wanted it. The job, Sophie, it was all too much to deal with on its own, let alone with a man in tow. In her experience men were not to be trusted, they were after only one thing and once they had it they turned into complete bastards. They would do or say whatever it took to get inside your head and once they were there, they would fuck around just for the sake of it.

Stacey had done her best to prevent this from ever happening. The kind of men she liked, the ones she found herself drawn to, tended to live for the thrill of the chase. She made it relatively easy for them, she knew that, but nine times out of ten she would end the relationship at that point. The men had got what they were after, for sure, but so had Stacey. And they would get nothing more.

But Stacey was getting older. She couldn’t keep on behaving like a horny teenager. In a few short years’ time her parents would be dead and Sophie would have left home. And then she would be all alone. Is that what she wanted?

Was Jacques really different or was he as full of shit as all the others? There was something about him that made her a little uncomfortable, though she found it hard to put her finger on exactly what that was. Woods had sensed it too and made no secret of his hostility towards the man. But they had slept together now, and it had been good. And Jacques clearly wanted more. Perhaps it was time to soften her attitude, to let down a few of the barriers she had built up over the years. Time would tell. She would have to tread carefully. She would give it a few days, and then she would agree to meet with him again.

‘Are you okay? You look like you’re a million miles away.’

Collins looked up to see Tony Woods smiling at her. ‘Sorry, Tony, deep in thought. What’s up?’

‘Shygirl’s online. They’re about to hook up with the feed.’

The computer had been set up in a side office on the far side of the incident room. On the way Collins and Woods passed the board in the centre of the incident room that carried the pictures of the victims and many of their details. Collins suddenly felt drawn towards the images and stood directly in front of them, looking up at each face in turn. Woods was soon beside her.

‘Come on, we don’t want to miss this,’ he said.

‘This is weird.’

‘What?’

‘Well, I never noticed before how much our three victims look alike. I mean, it’s not like anyone would be able to mistake one for the other, they’re very different, but they are very much all of the same type. Dark hair, intense eyes. Strange, really.’

‘Not necessarily. Killers often have a particular type of victim they’re looking for. It’s quite common for men who go after prostitutes to kill all blondes or all brunettes. A lot of the gay male killers will go after men who look very similar to one another because that is what they find attractive. Even if it’s not sexual, as in the case of one man killing another, there may still be a distinct type. An ideal victim.’

‘Sounds like you’ve been reading up on this.’

Woods allowed a smile to creep along the corner of his mouth. ‘Just keeping it real. Come on.’

Collins and Woods joined Anderson and the rest of the team, who formed a semicircle around the large computer monitor where Rajid was sitting.

Anderson folded his arms as he waited for the chatroom conversation to begin. His face was taut with concentration and it was clear that the strain was starting to get to him, as it was the rest of them. Collins caught his eye as he looked around the office.

‘I have no idea how this is going to go,’ he said. ‘It may be a complete waste of time. The only thing we know for sure is that whoever is behind shygirl351, they’re not what they appear to be. And I for one am anxious to find out exactly who they are.’

Rajid hit a few buttons and a large window appeared on the screen in front of him. ‘Here we go,’ he said. The group shuffled forward, waiting for the first words to appear.

‘Is that an email programme?’ asked Collins.

‘Nah,’ replied Rajid. ‘It’s a chatroom site, pretty big with teenagers. Why?’

‘No reason. Just looks familiar.’

‘You don’t let Sophie go online, do you?’ asked Woods.

‘She’s a teenager with an iPod Touch. I couldn’t stop her even if I wanted to.’

A hushed silence fell over the room as the screen name of the undercover officer from CEOP appeared.

dangermouse37: hi

shygirl351: hey, nice to see you here again

dangermouse37: well I really enjoyed chatting to you yesterday

dangermouse37: I know you’re young, but you seem really mature

dangermouse37: much more so than most girls of your age

shygirl351: thx

shygirl351: flattery will get you everywhere!

dangermouse37: where might that be?

shygirl351: lol

shygirl351: depends on where you want to be

dangermouse37: I quite like the idea of being wherever you are

shygirl351: whoa, slow down there stud

shygirl351: this won’t be any fun if you try to rush things

shygirl351: lol

shygirl351: I’m guessing you must be new to this

dangermouse37: kinda. Sorry, didn’t mean to upset you

shygirl351: not upset. No harm done

shygirl351: so are you a friend of Patty?

dangermouse37: Who is she?

shygirl351: Not she, a he, silly. Patty’s my nickname for him. You probably know him as Patrick

A cold chill passed through the members of the team gathered around the screen. ‘Oh shit,’ breathed Anderson. There was an uncomfortable delay before the next words appeared.

dangermouse37: sorry, who are you talking about

shygirl351: oh come on, don’t play games. I’m not in the mood

shygirl351: you guys are all one big happy family aren’t you

shygirl351: CEOP and MIT, all working in perfect harmony

‘Oh fuck,’ gasped Collins.

‘How the hell does he know about CEOP?’ said Anderson.

‘O’Neill must have said something,’ Collins replied. ‘This is bad.’

dangermouse37: Where is Patrick now?

shygirl351: That’s more like it. Now you’re asking the right question.

dangermouse37: please, tell us where he is

shygirl351: He’s right here with me. I’m looking at him right now

dangermouse37: Is he all right

shygirl351: Depends on what you mean. He looks fine to me

dangermouse37: Can we speak to him.

shygirl351: Of course, I’m only looking at him from the neck up.

dangermouse37: You need to stop this right now

shygirl351: Stop now? But it’s so much fun

shygirl351: I’m just getting warmed up

dangermouse37: If you stop now, it might make a difference

shygirl351: You must be kidding

shygirl351: The only way you could believe that crap

shygirl351: is if you have no idea how many there have been

A wave of despair washed over the members of the team.

dangermouse37: Let us help you

shygirl351: I think I’m doing just fine on my own. Have to go now.

shygirl351: Things to do

shygirl351: People to kill

shygirl351: Bye

There could no longer be any doubt. Whoever was online masquerading as shygirl351 was also the killer of Chadwick, Miller, Gilbert and, it seemed, several others. It was also time to accept that Detective Sergeant Patrick O’Neill was almost certainly dead too.

In many ways it was a huge step forward for the investigation: at long last they had a definite suspect. But at the same time the development was a huge step backwards. It was clear that the killer was incredibly sophisticated and unafraid of being caught. They had long known they were dealing with someone extremely dangerous. Now that was looking like the understatement of the century.

Watching the online conversation had taken the wind out of everyone’s sails and the officers that made their way from the side office back into the main incident room did so with their heads bowed low.

Anderson followed them back, then called for their attention. ‘Okay, people, we need to focus. I know this is a hell of a lot to take in. This is the worst-possible scenario, but we still need to do our jobs – for O’Neill’s sake, and for the sake of any other victims that there might be out there. We need to find this bastard. I need you all to be on the case here.’

Anderson announced that there would be a briefing in thirty minutes’ time, after he’d had a chance to speak to DI Carter over at CEOP and plan a strategy. Collins and Woods headed back to their desks to wait.

Collins’s mind was filled with images of the earlier victims. Had the same fate awaited O’Neill? Were his excavated remains rotting in the back of some car waiting to be discovered? There but for the grace of God, she thought again.

But there were other thoughts in her mind too. She couldn’t get rid of the feeling that she had seen the chatroom page somewhere before and that it was important. She struggled to place it but came up blank time and time again. But then it came to her. She knew exactly where she had seen that pattern of windows before. She had seen them briefly that very morning, in the split second it took Dr Jacques Bernard to close the screen of his laptop computer.

‘Shit,’ she gasped.

‘What is it?’ asked Woods. ‘What have you got?’

Collins opened her mouth to speak but caught herself just in time. It sounded ridiculous. Beyond ridiculous. But then again …

‘It’s funny, isn’t it, Tony?’ she said slowly. ‘All those things Dr Bernard was saying about the guy we’re looking for, about how he’d be fascinated by the workings of the police and would try to get a job that had close links to them, about how he’d be intelligent and methodical, good with computers.’

‘Yeah, what about it?’

‘Well, that could all apply to him, couldn’t it?’

‘Right, him and every other member of the civilian support staff, apart from the good with computers bit,’ said Woods with a grin. But Collins did not return the smile. ‘Are you serious?’

‘I went out with him last night. He told me he’d written his own programs. He’s strong too. It all fits.’

‘Jesus. You are serious.’

‘I don’t know. I need to do some research. I need to cross-reference the times he was in the country with the times the murders took place. Can you help me?’

Woods exhaled loudly. ‘I dunno, Stacey. I don’t like the guy but putting him in the frame for this is something else. Was your night out with him that bad?’

‘He fits the profile.’

‘For God’s sake, Stacey. Even if he does, even if he’s killing paedophiles, why would he go after O’Neill?’

‘Because he would have recognized him. He told me that he knew him. You should have heard him last night. He was practically grilling me for information about the case.’

Woods snorted with laughter. ‘So let me get this right. This guy is so smart that no one can catch him, that he can operate under the radar for years, but one night out with you and he’s spilling the beans and putting himself in the frame? No way. And of course he asked you about the case. He’s a consultant. He’s supposed to do that.’

‘You said he gave you the creeps.’

‘For crying out loud, Stacey, he’s a player. It’s written all over his face. I could tell you were interested in him. I was trying to protect you.’

‘Forget it.’ She spun to face her computer and began typing frantically. ‘I’ll do it. Just let me get on with it.’

‘With pleasure,’ said Woods, getting up to leave.

Ten minutes later Collins had found nothing to dissuade her from the idea she was on to something. Far from it. The dates that Dr Bernard had been in the country matched the times of the murders, though that alone was far from conclusive. Bernard had been in the country for months or years at a time. It could easily be nothing more than coincidence. Then again, if he had been out of the country during the time of one killing, it would have been incontrovertible proof that it could not have been him.

Collins rushed up from her desk and made her way over to Anderson’s office. She burst in just as he was picking up the phone to dial a number.