He clicked on the secure link and scanned down the list of names on his computer screen. There were five men who had served time with Gleason in San Quentin and who had since been released: Lee Tomlin, Harry Lomax, Michael David Federline, Charles Garrison and Robert Dean Hornbeck.

Tomlin, a 45-year-old black man, was a petty drug dealer and small time pimp; Lomax, 31, had been sentenced for internet fraud and identity theft; Federline, 37, had committed a series of indecent assaults on young women; Garrison, 52, subjected his wife to regular beatings until, on the last occasion, he had nearly killed her; and Hornbeck, 48, a former high school teacher and summer camp leader, was a paedophile who couldn’t keep his hands off young boys.

‘Right guys – hey, listen,’ said Josh, standing up and shouting across the investigation room. ‘We’ve been sent the names from the prison and I’m copying it and sending it to each of you right now.’

His black eyes narrowed as he bent down to send the email. He had been working for two weeks now without more than an hour of sleep a night and the effects were beginning to show. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, razor burn had spread across his neck like a nettle sting and his skin looked pale and gaunt. But he couldn’t allow himself any slack now. Although he had tried his best to be objective the investigation had become something of a personal battle, one he had to win; after all, the alternative was just too painful to contemplate.

‘Okay, as you can see we’ve got five names, men who may have been associates of Gleason in San Q,’ he said, addressing his team. ‘By the way, before I go any further, I presume all of you are up to speed on the Gleason case?’

The question was, of course, rhetorical – he prided his team on the quick acquisition and accumulation of information – and it was met with grunts of affirmation and the nodding of heads.

‘Great. So I want a full background check on each of these individuals as well as a current address. As you know, this case is urgent, so as soon as we have addresses I want them brought in for questioning. We can’t let this one slip away from us. As everyone knows, three people all connected with Gleason have been sent threatening packages, and in the case of Dr Kate Cramer, who was the lead forensic artist in the case – well, she discovered a dead baby girl floating in the sea outside her house.’

Although this was not news to the team it was still met with expressions of outrage and disbelief.

‘The perpetrator is obviously willing to kill,’ he continued. ‘And so it’s most likely he’s killed before.’ He looked across the room to Dr Jennifer Curtis, the specialist psychological profiler on his team. ‘Would you agree, Jennifer?’

A tall, slim and beautiful black woman stood up and addressed the room.

‘That’s right, sir,’ she said, clearing her throat. ‘From all indications I would say, without a doubt, that we are dealing with a psychopath, someone who has, most probably since he was a child, felt no concern or empathy for anyone or anything. He views people – babies, even – as nothing more than inanimate objects that he can manipulate at will. I thought it would be a good idea to go back to the police records of each of these individuals concerned and scour them for any signs of psychopathic or sociopathic behaviour. Obviously, since they have all ended up in prison it’s likely that most, if not all of them, will have experienced behavioural problems of some sort – problems at school or work, feelings of isolation and alienation, addiction to drugs or alcohol. But I want to look for signs of disassociation as well. The person who is doing these things no doubt feels superior to the rest of mankind. He thinks, to a certain extent, that he is some sort of god, and the rest of us are his little playthings.’

‘Get all the original police interviews and court transcripts on each of these five men and see what you can find.’

He turned to another member of his team, a stocky black man, who he knew happened to be gay, and who, in the course of a number of investigations, had proved himself to be an expert interviewer and interrogator.

‘Lansing – I want you to go to San Quentin and interview the governor and staff and other inmates and see if you can discover any more about Gleason and his connection with these men. Did Gleason have any confidantes? Who were his friends, if that sick fuck had the capacity to make any? Did he have any enemies? Did he do any deals in prison? Take drugs of any sort? Who came to visit him? Did he receive any letters? Okay?’

‘Right, sir,’ said Lansing. ‘I’ll fly up there tonight.’

‘Great. What’s the latest on the daughter, Roberta Gleason? Helen, did you manage to get hold of her to check to see that she is okay?’

He looked over to a pale, drawn woman who was wearing a pink fleecy hat. He knew that Helen Holt had been diagnosed with breast cancer and that the hat hid a patchy scalp, the result of chemotherapy. He had pleaded with her to take more time off work, but she was insistent she was well enough to carry on. The treatment had left her weak, but it had seemed to be effective. What she needed, she had told him, was something to keep her mind off her illness; this case, he was sure, would certainly do that.

‘I paid a visit to her home in Hollywood, but she wasn’t there,’ she said. ‘I left a couple of messages on her home phone and her cell, but they went unanswered. Finally, I went to her workplace, at Cedars-Sinai, where I found her. She told me that she had been out of town for a few days, staying with a friend in Vegas.’ She flicked through the pages of her notebook until she found the summary of the interview. ‘Although she was in the middle of her shift, she talked to me in her break. She seemed genuinely shocked when I asked her about her father. She told me that she had tried to forget about him and that he had deserved to die in prison. She couldn’t forgive him for what he had done. After leaving home at 18 to go to college she never saw him again. There’s obviously still a lot of anger there and I -’

‘Sorry to interrupt, Helen, but I think it’s necessary to share with you certain details of the Gleason case that were never made public at the time, for reasons which will soon be obvious. Most of you will have heard of Detective Bill Vaughan, who headed up the case, and who sadly passed away before seeing Gleason sentenced. According to his notes, Roberta was systemically abused by her father during her teenage years.’

‘And why wasn’t he prosecuted?’ asked Jennifer, a note of anger in her voice.

‘Soon after Gleason was arrested Bill Vaughan went to interview Roberta. She told him that Gleason had abused her until, at the age of 18, she left home to go to college. That was in 1992, the same –‘

‘- the same year that the attacks started,’ said Jennifer. ‘So Gleason, after losing his daughter, began to hunt out replacements.’

‘That’s right,’ said Harper.

‘The sick fuck,’ said Jennifer. ‘But I still don’t get it – why didn’t the state prosecute Gleason on grounds of abusing his daughter?’