“I was just thinking thoroughly before I actually delivered my answer. I’m not really sure. Maybe it has been a while since I was around the dating circuit to notice. The trouble is when you’re married you feel safe, wrapped up in your own little cocoon. If you get what I mean?”

“I suppose so. Having never been married, it’s hard for me to comment on that. Do you have kids?”

Her question flummoxed him. A picture of his son filled his mind, causing him to doubt his plans. The conversation was becoming far too personal for his liking. He plucked a question of his own out of the air. “And what do you do for a living, Tracy?”

Her cheeks puffed when she blew out a long, dissatisfied breath. “I’m a petrol attendant. I work for the local Esso garage. Hate it with a passion. I only do it because it pays the bills.”

“You should aim higher in life. God loves a trier, as they say. All too often, people are just willing to plod on in this life. That’s not for me.”

She laughed. “Spoken like a true underwear rep.”

His rage sparked in his gut—he hated it when folks mocked him. He had ambitions of being a millionaire and raising his family in a huge mansion overlooking the Broads. She had no right to mock him. He placed his cup on the dressing table and excused himself. He closed the bathroom door behind him and studied his reflection in the mirror. His eyes darkened along with his thoughts of what he was going to do to that woman. Up until she had mocked him, he’d had serious doubts about going through with his plans, but her dumb remark had put paid to that. He slipped his hand into the overnight bag he’d placed in the bathroom earlier and pulled out the knife he’d stashed away in a secret pocket. He played with the knife, twisting it, and shuddered when the light caught the blade, catching his reflection in the steel. Scott had to suppress the urge to let out a Vincent Price-type laugh that he’d witnessed when his parents had allowed him to stay up on Saturday nights to watch the double-horror-film package on TV. Perhaps those days had initiated his lust for murder. He hadn’t really thought about that before.

Scott placed the knife in his trouser pocket, quietly opened the door, and peeped into the room. Tracy had put down her cup and was stretched out on the bed. Is she giving me the come-on? Or is she prick-teasing, like all the others? He forced himself to smile. “Made yourself comfortable, I see.”

She shot up and swung her legs off the bed. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. I’ll take the sofa.”

She replaced her legs on the bed and looked at him shyly. “We could share.”

“Really?”

“I didn’t mean to suggest any kind of funny business. If I keep my clothes on all night, what’s the harm in sharing? I’m not likely to tell anyone. Are you?”

“No. Okay, that’s fine by me.”

She patted the bed, inviting him to join her. He pretended to drop something and bent down beside the bed, where he removed the blade from his pocket and slipped it under the bed for later. They chatted for the next hour or so, his anger ebbing in and out as she told him more about her sad and lonely life. Eventually, she drifted off to sleep. He leaned over her, resisting the temptation to kiss her. Finally, he gingerly reached under the bed and withdrew the knife. The first cut was tinged with a mixture of emotions. He covered her mouth to prevent her from screaming as he inserted the knife over and over again, sometimes viciously and at others with the gentleness of a caring lover. Either way, he watched as the life disappeared from her eyes and her arms and legs stopped thrashing.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Sally kissed her mother goodbye, made a quick fuss of Dex then headed off to work. The drive took her through wide-open countryside that sparkled like coloured jewels under the sun’s early rays. She loved this part of the country and would never have dreamed of living anywhere else in the UK—that had always been a stumbling block in her marriage to Darryl. He had wanted to live down south, in London, where he could live the high life more suitable for a pilot’s image. He even ordered Sally at one point to look into leaving the Norfolk Constabulary and joining the Met, but her friend Lorne Warner had persuaded her to stay where she was if she valued her “quiet life.” In the end, Sally had insisted to Darryl that she loved policing East Anglia and would feel lost in the likes of London, where the far harder types of criminals tended to rule.

Still, even East Anglia had seen its fair share of serial killers over the years—notably the Suffolk Strangler, Steve Wright, not to mention the current case she was working. It was a sign of the times that crime was escalating, and forces, due to the cuts, were struggling to deal with their bulging caseloads. But upping sticks and moving to London had never, and would never, be an option for Sally.

Maybe that was where her marriage had started to go wrong. She had never wanted a life filled with hosting endless fancy dinner parties for all of Darryl’s friends, some snootier than others. She preferred a serene life, at the end of the day. I’m definitely a curl-up-on-the-sofa kind of girl. She shrugged. “And that’s how it’s going to be from now on; I’ll make sure of that. Men are definitely off the agenda for the foreseeable future.”

She pulled into the station car park as Jack arrived. Studying him as he got out of the car, she tried to work out what kind of mood she’d be dealing with during the day. Today, his broad shoulders were pulled back, not slouched, and there were no heavy bags under his eyes, which was also a good sign. “Good morning, Jack. How are things at home?”

He smiled briefly. “Let’s just say that the barricades are down, and all parties are now on speaking terms again. I hate going home to a war zone.”

They walked into the station and went up the stairs. “I don’t know anyone who really enjoys arguing. I certainly don’t. Glad things are working out for you all. Any news if Teresa is keeping the baby or not yet?”

“We’re still discussing it. The thing is, Donna really wants her to keep it.”

“And you’re not so sure?”

“Nope! Mainly because I can sense us taking care of the child more than Teresa will.”

“I would have thought that was a given. I’m sure things will sort themselves out soon.” She patted his arm. “I wonder what lies ahead of us today. At least we know the streets will be safe now that Dorling is locked up.”

“Until the next bloody serial killer surfaces. Once the media start announcing the story, it will spark something in some dumb arse’s brain! And so it continues.”

“You’re right. Still, it keeps us in a job, eh?” Sally agreed with her partner.

After issuing the team their instructions for the day, Sally entered her office and spent the next few hours dealing with a few issues that cropped up in her morning post. Halfway through the morning, Jack walked into the office. “I don’t believe it.”

“What?” Confused, Sally looked up from the form she was about to sign.

“We’ve just heard about another bloody murder.”

Sally leaned back in her chair. “Really? Where?”

“In a motel room. The girl was stabbed repeatedly.”

“Why do I sense there’s more to this story than you’re telling me, Jack?”

He tutted. “Because you know me so well. There were traces of semen left on the victim, like all the others.”

Sally bounced forward again. “What? That’s impossible! Dorling is tucked up safely in a cell, isn’t he? Have you checked?”

“First thing I did. Yep, he’s still behind bars. Do you think we’re looking at a copycat killer?”

She ran a hand through her hair. “I don’t effing know. Maybe the victim was killed a few days ago. Jeez… I suppose we better get over there. Have the pathologist and his team been informed?”

“They’re on their way now.”