There had been a temptation to attack him there and then. A solid blow to the solar plexus followed by a sleeper hold would have done the trick nicely, but in doing so he would have unmasked himself as the killer.

Plus, he wants the random selection of the method to throw up one of the delights he still has in store.

When Boulder left, he’d noticed the bulge at the back of his waistband.

There is no telling how proficient with a gun he is, but the information is collected and stored as he begins to plot ways to capture him.

He gathers his jacket and leaves the room. Five paces along the hallway he knocks on the door of his parents’ room. Mom answers and lets him in. He feigns shock as he informs them of Josie’s death.

They sit in silence for a time, then Norm leaves them to come to terms with the news.

As he hands the room key back to the receptionist, he sees which other keys are missing from the row of pegs. He knows from a conversation with a cop the whole corridor was reserved by the police. The empty pegs tell him which rooms Boulder’s family have been allocated.

Norm smiles as he realises the significance of just two keys being missing. Boulder’s sister and mother are here but the man himself isn’t staying to be guarded.

Instead, Boulder is still active. If he’s active he’s vulnerable.

The feds and local cops will be watching his back, but Boulder is unpredictable and will at some point do something that puts him at risk.

He’ll be there, ready to kill him.

Norm leaves the motel and decides to walk home. The fresh air and exercise will invigorate his body. He wants to be as energised as possible when he tackles Boulder.

He passes a 7-Eleven but turns back and walks in. He buys a copy of the Casperton Gazette, scans the front-page headlines and skim reads the article by Ms Rosenberg outside the store. She’s covering the murder of Angus Oberton. What pleases him most is the nickname she’s given the killer.

He loves being called ‘The Watcher’; it’s perfect as it’s exactly what he does. He watches. If he’s lucky it will stick. A good nickname will help secure his place in history.

73

I find the press camped out in the station’s reception area. Ms Rosenberg is at the head of their ranks as they clamour for more information about the two latest victims.

Her eyes pick me out as I try to sneak into Chief Watson’s office. She approaches with a raptor-like expression. As usual she’s wearing enough foundation to support a skyscraper.

‘Are you any nearer to catching the Watcher? Have you any leads? How many more people must die before he’s stopped?’

I keep my mouth shut. I’m not even prepared to say ‘no comment’. It’s the chief and Doenig’s place to speak to the press. Maybe the mayor’s too.

Their moniker for him is apt though. ‘The Watcher’ is the perfect fit.

When I enter the chief’s office, I find him and Doenig briefing one of the FBI agents.

Doenig sees me enter and points at his colleague. ‘This is Agent Cuthbert. He’s going to be your bodyguard.’

I flick my eyes at Cuthbert. He’s dressed in a sombre dark suit, has the necessary cropped hair and the stance of someone expecting trouble. The way his arms are held makes him look like a cross between a gunslinger and someone carrying two rolls of carpet.

‘No offence, but isn’t he a little obvious as a feebie?’

Doenig scowls at me. ‘He’ll lose the suit and get some normal clothes. We do actually train for this type of situation in the FBI.’

I mumble an apology and avoid his eye. I can feel colour filling my cheeks at my naivety.

Cuthbert leaves the room so I use the distraction to ask the chief what he wants me to do next.

‘I want you to go over all the reports. The ones from the CSI teams, the coroner, the investigating officers. You’re looking for anything that can possibly be used to identify the killer. You need anything, ask Darla.’

I understand he is both dismissing me and keeping me close.

He doesn’t dare have me running around town where the Watcher can attack me. Therefore, he is using me to double check and reassess all the details in the safe environment of the police station. Cuthbert is sure to be the pedantic type who’ll never be more than six feet away.

There is no way the Watcher will try anything when I am so well protected. He’ll either wait until the levels of security are lessened, or abandon his selection process and find another victim.

I’ll need to find a way to persuade Cuthbert to give the Watcher enough space to feel confident he can attack me but not so much my life is at risk.

After leaving the chief’s office, I ignore Ms Rosenberg again and speak to Darla. She promises to bring me the reports I’ve asked for.

I choose to use the office Alfonse used yesterday. It’s hot and stuffy with the aroma of stale sweat and junk food, so I open the windows and take a seat where the breeze cools me while also taking the worst of the nasty smells away.

‘Here you are, sweetie.’ Darla dumps a stack of files onto the desk nearest me. ‘Good luck with that lot.’

I know what she means. I’ve read most of these files already and I haven’t seen anything of note. Perhaps getting all their information into my brain in one pass will make the details more pertinent in relation to each other.

When Cuthbert arrives back, I’m so engrossed with a report I don’t notice him until he’s at my side.

‘Are you serious? Are you trying to get yourself killed?’ His blank face is showing its first impression and it’s one of complete disgust and amazement. ‘You’re the target of a serial killer and you’re sitting by an open window. Not only that but you’re so wrapped up in what you’re doing, you’re not paying any attention to what’s going on around you.’

As he’s berating me, he goes round the room closing windows and dropping blinds. I can understand his frustration and anger. In his position I’d be the same.

Not only is he tasked with a dangerous duty, the person he’s protecting seems to have no idea about basic common sense precautions. For him, this is the type of assignment on which careers are made or broken. Anything bad happening to me will, for him, be the equivalent of writing a letter of resignation.

Seeing the scale of his reaction, I realise there’s no way I’ll be able to persuade him to let me draw the killer out.

I try to placate him by apologising then asking his opinion about the facts I’ve gleaned so far.

The distraction works. There’s every chance it’s the first time he’s been asked to contribute on anything other than guard duty since arriving in Casperton.

We settle into an uneasy truce and each pick up a file. The room becomes stuffy again, but Cuthbert ignores it and I think better of asking for an opened window.

We’re reading the files in chronological order. From time to time, he’ll ask me a question. It’s usually something to do with local knowledge, but one or two of his points are good ones.

After six hours with nothing more than coffee I call a halt and stand up. ‘C’mon. We need to eat and I want to speak to someone who’s doing research for me.’

Cuthbert reaches for a phone. ‘We’ll order in.’

‘No we won’t. It’s the middle of the day and we’ll be eating in a crowded public place.’ He doesn’t put down the phone so I push harder. ‘Trust me, it’ll be fine. My treat.’

He wavers so I walk towards the door forcing him to make a decision one way or the other. He puts down the phone and picks up his jacket.

74

Instead of my usual seat at the counter, he directs me to a booth at the back. I can see why he’s chosen the booth. From our seats we have a full view of the diner and can see both entrances and the doors to the bathrooms. Nobody can approach us unseen by his watchful eyes.