DEATH'S SCRATCH

A CHILLING ESSEX MURDER MYSTERY NOVEL

DS TOMEK BOWEN CRIME THRILLER

BOOK 9

JACK PROBYN

Copyright © 2025 Jack Probyn. All rights reserved.

The right of Jack Probyn to be identified as the authors of the Work had been asserted him in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. Published by: Cliff Edge Press, Essex.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

No part of this publication may be reproduced in any written, electronic, recording, or photocopying form without written permission of the author, Jack Probyn, or the publisher, Cliff Edge Press.

eBook ISBN: 978-1-80520-080-2

Paperback ISBN: 978-1-80520-081-9

First Edition

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ABOUT THE BOOK

First, he takes you. Then he cuts you. Again and again, until your last breath slips away.

DS Tomek Bowen is back from a short suspension that nearly derailed his career, and he wants to hit the ground running. But an unexpected phone call from prison shakes his focus—and threatens to pull him into a web of lies and betrayal.

It isn't until a witness comes forward, reporting a missing persons case, that Tomek is reminded of his priorities. Somebody has been abducted, and now their slow, torturous death is being documented live on the Dark Web.

One cut at a time…

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CHAPTER

ONE

SUNDAY

Date: Sunday 13th October

Time: 08:35

Title: The Scratch and Sniff Effect

For the purposes of this experiment, which takes inspiration from The Butterfly Effect in name and nothing else, I will refer to the method of abuse as scratching for a multitude of reasons. Chief among these is the difference in interpretation between the words. Among others, the dictionary defines Cut (verb) as:

1) to penetrate with or as if with a sharp-edged instrument or object.

2) to divide with or as if with a sharp-edged instrument; sever; carve.

3) to detach with or as if with a sharp-edged instrument; separate from the main body; lop off.

Whereas the dictionary definition of Scratch (verb) is:

1) to break, mar, or mark the surface of by rubbing, scraping, or tearing with something sharp or rough.

2) to dig, scrape, or tear (something) out or off with or as if with the nails, claws, etc.

The former suggests brutality and savagery – a mode that contains a sort of frenzied nature behind it. Like the gangs on the streets of London impaling one another with knives or swinging machetes aggressively at each other. To cut is to kill (or at the very least, end up in a critical condition). For the purposes of my experiment, while that may be the ultimate goal, I do not wish to do so in the same short time span or with the same vile nature as some of those savages.

To me, the term “scratch”, by contrast, indicates a sense of care and a considered, thoughtful approach. It is this sense of care, this sense of respect, that I wish to impart on my subject.

I will not share her name nor where she is from. Throughout this investigation, I will refer to her as Tabitha. There will be no identifiable and distinguishing information about Tabitha to protect both her identity and mine. Not until the end of the experiment, at least.

The only pieces of information I am prepared to share are her age and weight, as I believe these will be important control factors and a good benchmark by which to measure my results.

Tabitha’s current age is 31.

Tabitha’s current weight is 82 kg.

(Someone’s been eating one too many chocolate bars!)

As I write this, she is in good health, though she is a little scared, which is to be expected. This is new and frightening for her. But with some gentle and soothing words, that should wane. I will report back.

At the beginning of this experiment, I will be using a kitchen knife to administer the first scratches.

As with any scientific experiment, it is important to be aware of the variables – the things that are out of your control and those that are very much in it.

Purpose:

- To administer one (1) scratch at irregular intervals until the victim passes away, monitoring their vital signs and documenting the progress throughout.

Independent Variables:

- The weapon by which each scratch is administered.

Dependent Variables:

- Tabitha’s heart, kidney, brain, and liver function.

- Tabitha’s mental reaction to the experiment.

Control Variables:

- Administration of food and water, which will be supplied at regular intervals.

- Room temperature, which will remain at 21 degrees.

Throughout, Tabitha will be kept in a room, chained. She will be fed three times a day. A bucket of water will be left in the room, along with a place for her to defecate. She will not be touched outside the parameters of the experiment.

At the end, I will report the number of scratches it took to kill her. Then, amongst you, you can decide if that is too many, too few, whether she was weak and feeble, or whether she was strong and put up a good fight. That is what I wish to determine: the number of scratches it will take to kill a fully grown adult human.

All in the name of science.

I look forward to the next short while that I will be spending with Tabitha, and I hope you are looking forward to it all the same, because I will be documenting the entire process. Step by step. This is one for the history books – and for those who wish to adopt my process.

Or take it one step further.

CHAPTER

TWO

Tomek held his breath as he knocked on the door. The sound of his knuckles pounding on wood echoed around the still street in Westcliff, but it was soon drowned out by the eruption of chatter and laughter coming from the other side. A moment later, the door opened, and the noise that erupted from within was enough to wake the dead. Drunken laughter and excited conversations rolled down the corridor from the kitchen.

As soon as he laid eyes on the person in front of him, Tomek let the breath escape his lungs.

‘You made it!’ she exclaimed, before leaping onto him and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. The sickly-sweet scent of jasmine and lavender perfume was so strong it climbed all the way up his nose.

‘You kidding? What better way was I going to spend my Sunday afternoon?’ He pulled away from her and raised the gift bag in his hand. ‘Sorry Kasia couldn’t be here, though – she’d double-booked with a friend. Turns out she isn’t the only one… I told my mum we’d be over for Sunday dinner, so I’m going to have to leave in a bit. But on the plus side, to make up for it, we got you this.’

He passed the gift bag across to her.

‘For me?’ Nadia asked with joyful optimism.

Tomek shook his head. ‘The royal you. Krishna. Though I think your husband might get more use out of it than you.’

The comment elicited a concerned raise of the eyebrow from DC Nadia Chakrabarti, who, in Tomek’s view, was currently serving a year’s sentence on maternity leave.

‘Do I even wanna know?’ she asked, carefully raising a hand towards the gift bag while maintaining eye contact with him.

Tomek said nothing, just gave her one of those innocent, cheeky chappie smiles he was famous for.

Before doing anything, Nadia pinched the sides of the bag to gauge the contents – the feel, the shape of it, the weight. From the rigid bulge in the centre, she was able to discern that it wasn’t a teddy bear or plush toy.

She dived her hand in, her expression blank, eyes fixed firmly on Tomek. For a few moments, she played about with the items inside, keeping her hand in there, letting her fingers run over the surfaces, over the cellophane wrapping, and over the sharp corner. Then she pulled it out. At first, her expression was one of horror, which quickly turned to confusion and was finally replaced by disgust.

‘Tomek, what is wrong with you?’

He played dumb. ‘They’re not for you. They’re for Krishna. And, like I said, Sharif might want to use them.’

‘Condoms! And a porn magazine!’ Her voice broke mid-sentence, but the disbelief in her tone was still evident. ‘Why have you bought my three-month-old baby some condoms and a porn magazine?’

‘For when he turns eighteen,’ Tomek replied with a shrug of his shoulders.

‘Eighteen!? How long do you think condoms last?’

Tomek snatched the box from her, inspected the underside, then handed it back. ‘Good point. You and Sharif can keep them. You’ll get more use out of them than I will anyway. We can’t have you getting pregnant again; the office just isn’t the same without you. Not sure I can do another year without your delicious leftovers and the way you keep me in check.’

Nadia’s face warmed slightly, and the embryo of a smile began to form on her lips.

‘Bless you,’ she said, returning the magazine and condoms to the bag. ‘I miss you guys too. Sorry I haven’t kept in touch. Krishna’s been keeping me so busy. That’s what today is for, for everyone to have a catch-up.’

‘How is the little one?’

‘Sleeping. Finally. It took him two hours to get down, and he’s been out for an hour. So don’t raise your voice.’

‘Did you say the same thing to everyone else when they started shouting, or am I the only one who gets that privilege?’ Tomek reached for the condoms. ‘On second thoughts, I might have to take these away. That way, there’s no risk of there being any noise in the bedroom at all.’

Nadia snatched the bag away from him and started towards the kitchen, where it sounded like a herd of elephants was excitedly drinking at the oasis. Rachel’s high-pitched squeal of laughter could be heard from outside. Tomek shut the front door behind him and followed. Inside, they found the team in the kitchen: Chey, Sean, Victoria, Rachel, Martin, Oscar, Anna, Nick, and his wife, Maggie, all dressed casually. The men wore a combination of jeans and T-shirts, while the women sported similar ensembles, with the exception that they automatically looked better than the men.

As soon as they noticed his presence, they celebrated his arrival with a loud cheer, which Nadia quickly hushed with a stern shhh and a firm finger on her lips. After greeting everyone, Tomek grabbed a beer glass from the cupboard and a tin of beer from the fridge.

Nadia’s parties were legendary around the office. She was infamous for going all out, over the top, and ensuring that no expense was spared when it came to her guests’ enjoyment. The two of them had worked together for so long, and Tomek had attended so many parties, that she had quickly learned the best way to keep him happy was with a cold tin of beer in the fridge, designated for him, ready for his arrival.

As he took a long swig of the drink, savouring the taste in his mouth and enjoying the sensation of the bubbles tingling against his tongue and cheeks, Nadia approached her husband and handed him the bag.

‘Look at this. A gift for Krishna… from Tomek.’

Sharif took the bag with an appropriate amount of caution, lifted it to his face, and then peered inside.

‘What…? Why?’

Before Nadia could respond, the team begged to know what was inside. Sharif showed them, holding up the items.

‘Condoms and porn? What the…?’ said Rachel.

‘That’s Tomek’s idea of a joke,’ Nadia replied.

‘Tomek!’

The glowering look Rachel shot him was enough to make you think they were partners and that she would discuss the incident with him when they got home.

‘It could’ve been worse,’ Tomek said defensively. ‘It could’ve been a strap-on and a pair of handcuffs. Besides, it’s for the baby. When he turns eighteen.’

‘Mate, by the time he’s eighteen, he’ll probably be watching that sort of thing through VR headsets.’

‘Sean!’ yelled Nadia and Victoria simultaneously, though only the latter was close enough to slap him on the arm for the comment. Victoria gave her boyfriend the same look Rachel had given Tomek. ‘What is wrong with you? Why do you have to behave so childishly?’

A moment of disturbed silence fell over the room as the team picked up on the immediate tension between the sergeant and inspector. This was quickly broken by Sharif sniggering softly, laughing comically to himself while holding his stomach.

‘I think it’s funny,’ he said, eyeing the pair of breasts on the cover of the magazine.

‘Of course you do,’ Nadia replied. ‘You’re a bloke. With an immature sense of humour. And you can stop looking at that as well. That’s not staying. Chey…’ She snatched the magazine from her husband and passed it to the young detective, who accepted it with as much enthusiasm as a man being asked to hold his wife’s handbag in public.

‘Make sure you keep the condoms, husband. It’s not like Chey’ll be needing them any time soon,’ Tomek remarked, eliciting a reticent giggle of laughter. Not everyone found it amusing, least of all Chey, whose expression was downtrodden.

Guilt punched Tomek in the solar plexus. ‘Sorry, mate,’ he said. ‘This isn’t going very well. I’m offending everyone and I’ve only been here two minutes.’

‘But that’s because it’s who you are: the biggest arsehole anyone’s ever met,’ Nick chimed in from the safety of the other side of the kitchen.

‘Coming from you,’ Tomek replied sardonically. He raised his glass of beer in the air. Nick responded in kind. ‘From one arsehole to another.’

‘From one arsehole to another.’

‘Jesus Christ,’ Rachel interrupted. ‘Maybe it’s you two who need the porn and the condoms.’

The laughter that erupted and echoed around the room quickly dissipated as the atmosphere returned to normal and the team fell back into their previous conversations. All but one. Chey. The detective constable stood at the edge of the room, hovering over the platters of finger food, pretending to make a decision.

‘All right, champ?’ Tomek said, slapping Chey on the back. He grabbed a paper plate and began chucking anything and everything onto it: cocktail sausages, mini sausage rolls, crackers, hummus, celery, cold meats, grapes, mini burgers, crisps, chocolate digestives, and an unhealthy dose of pork scratchings. He avoided the small Indian dishes on the first round; he wanted to save some room for his dinner that evening. As he reached the end of the table, he was delightfully surprised to see a cup of tarczyński: thin sticks of meat shaped like the U-bend of a toilet. He grabbed a couple and funnelled them into his mouth.

‘All right,’ Chey replied as he half-heartedly reached for a sausage roll and placed it on his anaemic plate. Tomek took the liberty of dropping a few digestives onto it.

‘What you doing?’ Chey asked.

‘Helping you out. You look like you’re struggling to choose.’

Chey returned the digestives to Tomek. ‘I’m being good. Trying to watch my weight.’

Tomek eyed him up and down. The man was stick-thin, without an ounce of body fat on him. He was the type of person blessed with a metabolism so fast he could eat as much as he wanted, and it would all be burnt off by the time he sat down to relieve his bowels the following day.

‘What you doing that for?’

Chey shrugged.

Tomek didn’t like that answer. He’d seen the same non-committal body language from Kasia when she’d started leaving large quantities of food on the plate, followed by a kitchen sink of excuses.

Dunno.

Not hungry.

I’ll eat later.

Had a big lunch.

Don’t fancy any of it.

Except there was none of that with Chey. Something was bothering him, and Tomek wanted to know what it was.

‘What’s going on?’ he asked.

‘Nothing.’

‘Is it about the condoms?’

‘No.’

‘’Cos if you want a pack, I can get you one. I don’t mind buying them. I stopped feeling embarrassed years ago.’

‘I don’t need you to buy condoms for me,’ Chey hissed, keeping his voice low.

‘Then tell me what’s wrong.’

‘Nothing’s wrong!’

Tomek threw a grape into his mouth and stared blankly at Chey. ‘I won’t leave your side until you do. You look like you’ve just found out Santa Claus isn’t real.’

Chey wrestled with indecision for all of ten seconds before eventually relenting with a deep growl. Then he said, ‘Do you think I’m good-looking?’

Tomek looked at the man, then at the magazine. ‘Was it a different type of magazine you wanted? You know, with men in it?’

‘Funny. Seriously, though. Do you think I’m good-looking?’

Tomek surveyed Chey in a little more detail this time, casting a scrupulous gaze over his well-groomed beard and his dark, celestial eyes. ‘I’m probably the wrong person to be asking, but yeah, I reckon I could share a bed with you.’

‘Then why won’t anyone else? Girls, I mean. Women my age.’

And then it clicked.

‘Going through a little bit of a dry spell with the ladies?’

‘Dry spell? It’s like the Sahara. I’ve tried everything: all the dating apps, meeting people at pubs with my friends, trying to talk to people at the shops, flirting with the cashier in the local off-licence who’s about ten years older than me. And nothing. Most of the time, they think I’m a weird Indian guy trying to abduct them or sign them up for an arranged marriage. I dunno what to do. It’s seriously getting me down and fucking me off. I need a miracle.’

‘Why?’ Tomek asked. ‘What’s the rush?’

‘All my mates. They’ve got girlfriends. They’re all settling down and thinking about marriage.’

‘Bollocks to that. You’re twenty-five. You have all your life ahead of you to find the right person. And it’s going to happen. You’re kind, you’re sensitive, you’ve got charisma, your mum makes an absolutely amazing biryani, and you’ve got a very strong hairline. On top of that, you’re a genuine person. One day, one girl is going to see all of that, and you’re going to make her very happy.’

Chey grunted in half-agreement.

‘I’m not making it up.’

‘If you’re so sure it’s that easy, then why are you still single?’

That was a question Tomek hadn’t asked himself in a long time. In truth, it was an avenue he wasn’t sure he was ready to venture down. Was he ready to take a cold, hard look at himself? To analyse and scrutinise the reasons (because there was bound to be more than one) why he hadn’t found love and settled down yet? How much of it had been him – his personality, his attitude? And how much of it had been external factors? With the exception of his previous two girlfriends, one of whom had been a murderer and the other had used him for her own professional gain, he thought there was only one person he could blame: himself.

Of course, Kasia coming into his life unexpectedly hadn’t helped, but he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, blame her. None of that had been her fault, and he wouldn’t have changed anything between them for a small sight of love.

Just as he was about to respond, looking deeply into Chey’s expectant, almost childlike eyes, Sean waddled over and set down his can of beer on the table to grab a plate.

‘All right, fellas,’ he said. ‘What’ve I interrupted here then?’

‘I was just about to explain to Chey why I’m single.’

Sean shoved a cocktail sausage in his mouth and spoke while masticating. ‘Pah! That’s a good question. Part of me wishes I was single right now, though.’

‘Trouble in paradise?’

Sean shot a cautionary glance over his shoulder, then leaned in. ‘Thunderstorms and everything. Category fucking five cyclone over there.’ He thumbed towards Victoria, who was conversing with Rachel and Anna. Her eyes flitted towards them, almost telepathically, but she said nothing.

‘Sounds serious,’ Chey said.

‘Don’t get in a relationship,’ Sean replied. ‘Not at your age. Biggest waste of time. Spend it being young, enjoying yourself, living life.’

Chey opened his mouth to respond, but Tomek cut him off. ‘Don’t listen to him,’ he told the young man. ‘Do it if it’s right for you. But don’t do it if you feel pressured to. And don’t be too upset if they don’t work out. Sometimes you learn more from your failures than you do from your successes.’

The profound piece of wisdom, if it could be called that, seemed to register on Chey’s face, and he looked as though he had taken it in.

‘To add to that: don’t get into a relationship with someone you work with,’ Sean began. ‘It almost never works, and it makes things bloody awkward when it doesn’t.’ Sean finished adding food to his plate and downed the rest of his drink, glancing at Victoria as he did so.

I look forward to experiencing that fallout, Tomek thought sarcastically. Just as he was about to offer his long-term friend some words of advice and support, his phone vibrated.

Raising a finger in the air, he fished the device from his pocket and shuffled away. His pulse spiked, and his stomach tightened. Nathan Burrows, his brother’s killer, was calling.

He muted the call, pocketed the mobile, and returned to the conversation.

‘Anything important?’

‘No,’ Tomek said, swallowing deeply. ‘Nothing important at all.’

CHAPTER

THREE

Nothing compared to his mum’s cooking. Not even Michelin-starred restaurants could hold a candle to it, especially her Sunday best. It was more than just a sense of nostalgia for him; it was the chemical reactions that had been hard-wired into his brain from a young age. It was almost primal. Even on her worst days, when the stress of looking after three kids and trying to run her own nail salon got on top of her, she was still able to put on a delicious spread for him and his brothers, who drove her wild.

Tomek’s stomach immediately began to rumble as soon as he smelt the tangy scents of Izabela Bowen’s cooking wafting through to the living room. He offered to help, but her instinctive reaction kicked in, telling him to stay put, talking to him as though he were ten again. That hadn’t stopped him from hovering around the kitchen, pretending to sip gently on his beer while keeping one eye on the rolady that had just come off the hob. As soon as his mother set the boiling pan on the counter, he grabbed a fork from a nearby plate and prodded it into the meat. The forkful of food made its way into his mouth before his mum could stop him, though he was too slow to get away with it completely; she saw the fork in his hand (not to mention the rapid chomping motion he made in case she forced it out of him), and she snatched it from him, smacked him on the arm with the back of her hand, and yelled, ‘Spadaj, Tomusz.’

Go away, Tomek.

And so he did, back to the living room, with his beer in hand, his stomach slightly satiated, and a mischievous smile on his face.

‘What are you smiling about?’ Perry Bowen asked as Tomek entered.

Swallowing the last of his food, Tomek shrugged. ‘Mum wasn’t keen on me offering a hand. I told her I wouldn’t make a mess like I used to.’

‘Sure she didn’t get rid of you because you were going after her food?’

Tomek pretended not to hear his dad, then turned to Kasia and winked.

‘The meat is delicious,’ he said. ‘Make sure you get some of that before I do.’

Kasia grunted. ‘I don’t eat meat, remember?’ she snapped, then turned her attention back to her phone.

‘Oh yeah. My bad. What’ve I missed?’ Tomek asked as he lowered himself onto the sofa beside his daughter. The television was playing, but it was clear that only one person had been watching the latest episode of The Weakest Link.

‘We were just talking about school,’ Perry answered.

‘And Grandad was shouting at the TV,’ Kasia added, keeping her eyes locked onto the small screen in her hands.

‘Reached that age already, have we, Dad?’

Perry raised his can of beer to his lips. ‘Ain’t my fault half the people on this show are stupid. One of the questions was “What ‘X’ is the fear of foreigners or strangers?” and the silly bitch said The X-Factor!’ Perry slapped his forehead with the heel of his palm in disbelief. ‘I mean, come on! How thick do you have to be? And none of these fuckers know when to bank the money; they’re all greedy and want to keep going for as much as they can. No wonder Anne Robinson gave them such a hard time back in the day.’

Perry took another sip of his beer and rested it on his gut, his attention almost immediately pulled back into the drivel on the television, a semi-glazed look washing over his face, as if the screen had suddenly hypnotised him. It was then that Tomek thought his dad looked old. Like the cogs in his brain were starting to run out of lubricant and were slowly coming to a halt. He sometimes forgot that his old man was pushing eighty, and that soon he would start to slow down, both mentally and physically. But, to his dad’s credit, since his retirement, he had kept himself occupied with his model train sets, his crosswords, and his day-long stints in the garage, mending and tinkering with his classic car. With any luck, the throes of dementia (which ran in the family) would remain at bay for a few years more.

Tomek didn’t like to think about that, so he said, ‘Since when did you turn into such a cantankerous old bastard?’

Perry scoffed, eyes still fixed on the screen. ‘You won’t be long behind me, mate. Like father, like son.’

‘Dinner!’

The call came from the dining room and echoed throughout the house. Tomek was immediately transported back to his childhood, sitting in his bedroom, reading one of his comics and wishing he could swing from buildings like Spider-Man. When the call came, he would sprint down the stairs. That had been thirty years ago. Now, at the tender age of forty, he was unable to move as quickly, and his bones and joints creaked as he struggled to lift himself from the sofa. Kasia and Perry, meanwhile, had no such issues. They were up and already at the door by the time Tomek had dragged himself from the sofa’s clutches.

‘Now who’s the old man?’ Perry jibed.

Tomek chuckled, playfully slapped his dad on the back, and then followed them into the dining room. There, they found a variety of plates and bowls filled with mountains of food adorning the table. Their own mini buffet. On the menu was szałot, kluski, and kapusta. All of Tomek’s favourites.

‘There’s so much!’ Kasia noted, eyeing the various vegetarian options. ‘There’s no way we can eat all of this.’

‘Don’t worry about that, sweetheart,’ Izabela said. ‘Your dad and granddad are on hand to hoover everything up at the end.’

Tomek offered his daughter a wide smile. ‘Like I said earlier, make sure you get everything on your plate before it goes. When I was growing up, I was always fighting with my brothers for food. And I usually won.’

‘Only because you were the youngest and your mum felt guilty for you,’ Perry added.

That had been the case. But it all changed as soon as Michał had died. From that point onwards, it was as though his mum didn’t care who ate and who didn’t. Her grieving process had convinced her to forget about her two other boys, forcing them to become independent and learn to fend for themselves. What should have brought them closer as a family had only served to push them farther apart, until a cavernous, impassable gulf had formed between them – one that was, after a long time, gradually starting to diminish.

For a few minutes, as they spooned food onto their plates, the dining room was filled with silence. It wasn’t until Kasia had taken her first mouthful, tentatively trying something new, that Izabela broke the quiet.

‘How’s school?’ she asked, a concerned grandmother.

‘Fine,’ Kasia answered hesitantly.

She had only been back at school a few weeks, following her incident over the summer with Zeus and The Harpies cult. The school had allowed her to return later than the rest of the students, and already Tomek had noticed a difference in her. Their summer of relaxation, journeying up and down the country before eventually ending it on Mersea Island, had had the desired effect: she’d calmed and relaxed, and by the end of it, begun to behave like her usual self. But after only a handful of days back with her peers, he’d observed a sudden drop in her mood. All her friends had bonded over the summer. They’d developed deeper and more meaningful relationships and memories, whereas Kasia had been left out. She didn’t know the in jokes or the banter. She had no idea what they were talking about, and she was undoubtedly assuming that she was the target of it all.

She hadn’t said any of this to him, of course. She’d given him the same monosyllabic answers as just now, but he’d picked up on it. Sensed it. This meant that after almost a year of her being in his life, he’d finally developed a paternal instinct. A fatherly intuition that sensed something was wrong.

‘Have you been able to catch up on all the work you missed?’ Izabela probed.

‘Yeah.’

‘What about your friends? Did they have nice summers?’

‘Yeah.’

‘And your teachers were okay with you going back late? I’m sure you must have been the talk of the town after what happened on Mersea.’

Tomek knew his mum’s intentions were good, especially when it came to Kasia, but the questions were beginning to unsettle her, and she suddenly stopped eating and began to play with her food instead.

‘Yeah, I guess,’ she answered. ‘Not that many people heard about it, to be honest.’

‘But it was all over the news!’

Tomek pointed to Kasia’s phone lying face down on the table. ‘Because her generation lives on that. If it isn’t going viral on social media, then they don’t know about it. Sometimes I don’t envy them for not knowing what goes on in the world. Sometimes ignorance is bliss. But enough about Kasia. What’s new with you two? Got any holidays planned?’

His parents glanced at one another, pursed their lips, then shook their heads, immediately returning their attention to their food. Tomek had known them long enough to sense that something was wrong; that there was something they weren’t saying.

‘No holidays? No time away for just the two of you?’ Tomek began. ‘Something must be wrong. You’re not going through a divorce, are you? Mum’s finally had enough of the snoring, Dad?’

‘No, not quite,’ Perry said gently.

‘Your dad’s going to the hospital tomorrow.’

Izabela set down her knife and fork and reached for Perry’s hand. Suddenly, the relaxed and enjoyable atmosphere in the room disappeared completely. Tomek felt a knot begin to form in the pit of his stomach, the type that forms when even worse news is due to follow.

‘Why?’ Tomek’s voice broke as he asked the question.

‘Nothing serious. Just a routine procedure.’

‘What procedure?’

‘A colonoscopy. I went to see the doctor about some concerns I had, and he suggested I get it checked out. That’s all.’

‘That’s all?’ Tomek repeated. ‘That’s the sort of thing you say when you’re just popping to the shops for a pint of milk and a lottery ticket – that’s all. This is big, Dad. How long have you known about it?’

‘C-couple of weeks. But I wasn’t given the appointment date until Wednesday just gone.’

‘Why didn’t you say anything sooner?’

‘We… we didn’t want to worry you.’

And yet it was having the exact opposite effect.

‘No. You just wanted to delay this conversation. If you’d told me sooner, I might have been able to do something to help.’

‘There’s no need to help,’ Izabela Bowen said, her voice raised slightly. ‘At least not yet. What would you have done?’

‘I could have taken the day off. Helped take you to the hospital. Waited for you.’

‘I’ll be there with him.’

‘I would have liked to be as well.’ Then a thought occurred to him – another reason to get his back up. ‘Does Dawid know?’

Izabela didn’t respond immediately, at least not verbally. She conveyed everything in her expression.

‘Seriously? When?’

‘He… he went with your father to the doctor’s. He was nearby, and… and we asked him.’

Tomek inhaled sharply, holding his breath for a moment, allowing himself time to compose himself before saying anything.

It didn’t work.

‘You’ve got to be fucking joking. Why am I always the last to know? Why am I⁠—?’

‘This isn’t about you,’ Perry snapped, silencing Tomek instantly. ‘This is about me. I’m the one going in for a procedure. Not you. Not your mum. And not your brother. Me. And this is exactly why we didn’t want to tell you. Because we knew you’d react like this. Because we knew you’d only think about yourself. You don’t have to be involved in everything we do, Tomek.’

Tomek couldn’t believe what he was hearing. They treated him like a child, a fully grown addition to the family that had never quite belonged, never quite been there. Always on the edge of the family discussion. Always on the edge of family pictures so it was easy for them to fold over the photograph and remove him from view.

Sometimes, he felt like a stranger in his own family.

He said nothing and took a large gulp of his drink before continuing to eat his food. Sensing tension beside him, he turned to Kasia and asked, ‘How’s the szałot?’

She looked at him incredulously, as if the world was about to end from nuclear fallout. Like he had the codes to stop it, and instead, he was getting distracted by a delicious spoonful of vegetables.

‘It’s… it’s nice.’

‘Good.’

With that, Tomek continued to enjoy his dinner in silence, save for the jarring sound of metal clinking against ceramic, which, over the years, he’d become so accustomed to that he was able to block it out.

The drive home followed a similar pattern: silence, profound and awkward, save for the sound of the windscreen wiper blades battling against the light early autumnal rain. Tomek used the time to process his thoughts and control his frustrations, but it was having little impact. He was livid with his parents for putting his brother ahead of him, for keeping information from him, for treating him like a baby.

Yes, in truth, he had acted a bit like a petulant child. But the way he saw it, he had every right to. He had every justification to be fed up with his mum and dad. They’d treated him as second best for the last thirty years, always putting Dawid above him, whether it was school, friendships, social engagements, or extracurricular activities. Anything Dawid wanted, Dawid got. The best son they could possibly have. The teacher’s pet.

And then they were surprised when Tomek reacted the way he had?

Bullshit.

But then he remembered that it wasn’t about him, that he wasn’t the star of the show. His dad, the man who had raised him, provided for him, and protected him in many ways he had momentarily forgotten about, was the one having the procedure.

Things quickly made sense to him.

He was just about to turn off the A130 when Kasia slowly turned to face him. She too had been sitting in silence, staring out of the windscreen, no doubt turning the same thoughts over in her mind.

He caught sight of her looking in his direction.

‘Is Granddad going to be okay?’ she asked.

Tomek held his breath before responding. In that moment, he realised this was much bigger than him. Much bigger than his own insecurities.

‘He’s going to be fine,’ he told her.

‘Is he going to die?’

Tomek turned his focus to the road ahead.

‘No, mate. You heard what they said. The doctor reckons it’s just a precautionary thing. Routine. They do this all the time. And when they catch this sort of thing early, assuming there is something to catch in Granddad’s situation, then they always have a better chance of stopping it.’

‘Yeah, but they also have a chance of not stopping it.’ She then began to reel off a series of depressing and alarming facts and statistics about colon cancer in the UK. Facts and statistics that concerned Tomek, though he tried not to show it.

‘Have you been looking it up on Google?’ he asked.

She nodded.

‘Don’t do that. You’ll just make yourself upset.’

‘Too late.’

Tomek let out a heavy sigh through a thin gap in his lips.

‘Have you had a check-up recently?’ she asked.

He bridled with discomfort. ‘What?’

‘A prostate exam. The NHS website says you should go if you’re in your forties. I know it’s not the same as what Granddad’s having, but it’s still a good thing to get done.’

‘No,’ he answered defiantly. ‘I haven’t.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I don’t need to. I’m fine.’

‘You said yourself that when they catch these things early, there’s a better chance of survival.’

Before Tomek could answer, he felt his phone vibrating in his pocket. He carefully wedged it out, while keeping one eye on the traffic, and glanced at the screen. Nathan Burrows again. Tomek muted the call and placed the device in the small compartment by the gear stick.

‘I also said that there’s nothing to worry about with Granddad. And there’s nothing to worry about with me.’

‘But you don’t know that. I don’t want you to get sick.’

Kasia lowered her chin to her chest and wiped the side of her eye. Tomek glanced over, saw that she was tearing up, then placed a hand on her thigh.

‘Hey, come on, mate. Don’t be silly. I’m fine. There’s nothing to worry about. I’m your dear old dad. Nothing’s going to happen to me. I’ve suffered way worse, haven’t I? And I’ve come out on top?’

Though coming face to face with killers wasn’t quite the same as battling a silent enemy he knew nothing about.

Still, his desperate plea seemed to have the desired effect. Sniffling, Kasia nodded and said, ‘Okay. But will you keep me updated on what’s happening with Granddad?’

‘Of course,’ Tomek said.

As long as they keep me updated, he thought.

His phone began vibrating again. Another call from Nathan. The tenth in almost as many days, ringing to tell him the same thing as before.

I did something for you, Tomek. And now it’s time you returned the favour.

But Tomek had no intention of doing the favour, let alone finding out what it was.

CHAPTER

FOUR

MONDAY

The following evening, Perry Bowen’s mouth opened wide as he struggled to stifle a yawn. He raised his hand to his lips, but it was too late. The yawn had escaped and jumped onto Tomek, who found himself momentarily incapacitated as his brain filled with oxygen.

‘Boring you, am I?’ Perry asked.

‘I’m catching your yawn,’ Tomek said. ‘Hopefully that’s all I’ll catch from you.’

Perry rolled his eyes. ‘Hospitals are some of the cleanest places in the world.’

‘Not after you’ve been in there.’

Before Perry could respond, Tomek opened the car door and hopped out. By the time he reached his dad’s side, the door was already open, and his dad was halfway out of the car.

‘Come on, old man.’

Tomek held out his hand, but Perry swatted it away.

‘I’m not an invalid,’ he snapped. ‘I can look after myself.’

‘Bet you won’t say that to Mum. You’ll be lapping up the attention. You’ll have her wrapped around your little finger by bedtime.’

‘Best time of my life whenever I got sick,’ Perry said with a wry grin. ‘The amount of soup, tea, and medicine she used to ply me with was crazy. Meanwhile, I didn’t have to lift a finger.’ He made a French kiss gesture with his hand. ‘It was perfect. Whereas whenever she was sick, I was completely useless and could never find anything she needed, so she just ended up looking after herself anyway.’

‘Classic Dad behaviour,’ Tomek remarked as he shut the door and ushered his dad towards the front door.

Waiting for them was Izabela, a hand towel draped over her shoulder, arms folded across her chest. As they approached, the stern expression Tomek had inherited from her rapidly disintegrated, and she embraced her husband, pulling Perry in tightly. Perry let out a groan as she hugged him too hard.

‘Were you behaving yourself?’ she asked as she pulled away.

‘What do you mean?’

‘I know what you’re like. Winding everyone up.’

It was where Tomek got it from.

‘I was a good boy,’ Perry replied. ‘I was hardly going to annoy them before my operation, was I? I didn’t fancy coming out of there with my arsehole stitched together, thanks very much.’

‘That reminds me!’ Tomek said, hurrying to the boot of his car. He returned a moment later with a circular cushion with a hole in the middle that he’d bought as a joke. ‘The doctor said you should have one of these.’

‘Fuck off,’ Perry replied. ‘I’m not using that. It’ll give me piles.’

‘And that’s the last thing I need,’ Izabela said, snatching the cushion from Tomek and shooting him an unimpressed glare. ‘Thanks for bringing him back, Tomusz,’ she added, then turned to Perry. ‘Come on, you. Let’s get you inside.’

‘Okay…’ Perry sounded resigned to his fate.

‘Is that it?’ Tomek asked, standing in the doorway, feeling like he was in a rom-com about to have the door shut in his face.

‘I can take it from here,’ his mum said. ‘I’ve looked after your dad long enough to know what I’m doing. Come on, the soup’s been boiling on the hob all day. I made your favourite.’

‘You did? Oh, wow! You didn’t have to…’ Perry’s voice quietened as he disappeared down the corridor.

His mum stopped and turned to face him. ‘Thanks again, Tomek. I really appreciate it,’ she said as she closed the door in his face.

And with that, his role in his dad’s rehabilitation was done. Sooner than expected. A part of him had thought he’d be invited in, that he could stay for a coffee, maybe even a sweet treat or a taste of some of his mum’s soup.

Instead, he’d been kicked to the kerb, told to continue with his life. Disregarded.

As he scuffed his shoes along the concrete on the way to the car, channelling his frustration into inanimate objects, he wondered why he’d bothered at all.

Shortly after getting into the car, it hit him – hard. His dad had just had an operation, and all he’d been able to think about was himself. Shame rose in his chest, curling into guilt and grief that clenched his stomach.

He drove the rest of the way in silence. There was something different about silence in a car – more amplified, more profound. The rustle of his coat, the rhythm of his breath, all sounded louder, more present. But somehow, it helped. The thoughts screaming in his head echoed through the cabin until they dulled into static, and eventually, silence.

The procedure had gone well. No complications. No immediate concerns. Still, the thought of his father being seriously ill – dying – was one he hadn’t prepared for. He dealt with death daily, but it was always someone else’s loss. Someone else’s son. Someone else’s father.

Not his.

He liked to think their family had earned some kind of immunity after everything. That nothing as cruel as Michał’s murder could touch them again. So far, they’d been lucky. As if some higher power had stepped in, protecting them until the memory of Michał faded – until age and time softened it, dulled it, or erased it entirely as dementia took hold.

As he pulled the car to a stop outside his flat, his phone vibrated. He paused and glanced at the screen.

Nathan Burrows.

Wherever there was a God, the devil was not far away.

He answered the call. He didn’t know why. He felt compelled. Perhaps curiosity. Or perhaps it was in his best interest to hear what the man said and hope he never called again.

Though something told him that wouldn’t be the case.

‘Hello, Nathan.’

‘Ahh, Tomek! Your phone does work. I was beginning to think you’d given it away. Because I’ve been ringing and ringing, and all my calls have been going through to voicemail. So you can’t have blocked my number. You’ve just been ignoring me instead…’ The level of persistence in Nathan’s voice was obvious.

‘I’ve been busy.’

‘So busy you can’t answer your text messages either?’

There had been loads of those. All saying the same thing: Call me. Need to speak.

‘The world of policing is busy work,’ Tomek replied.

‘Yes, yes, yes. It never stops. Blah, blah, blah. Still, things are busy at home as well, aren’t they? I mean, with your dad…’

An icy wave splashed across Tomek’s entire body, sucking the air from his lungs.

‘What are you talking about?’

‘You know perfectly well what I’m talking about. How did the operation go?’

‘How…’ Tomek’s voice broke as he spoke.

‘I trust he’s home safe and sound.’

‘How…’

The world outside the confines of the car began to melt and blur into one all-consuming wall of black. Tomek’s lips turned dry while his mouth filled with saliva.

‘How do you know?’

‘Eyes and ears,’ Nathan replied. ‘The same eyes and ears that helped find your daughter and attempted to rescue her from the terrifying clutches of that man only a few months ago.’

‘If you…’ Tomek cleared his throat. ‘If you go anywhere near my dad…’

‘Don’t worry,’ Nathan replied calmly, coldly. ‘Nothing’s going to happen to him. Dear old Perry Bowen’s safe.’

Tomek expected to hear “For now” through the phone, but when he didn’t, he felt a fraction of the tension in his shoulders ease.

‘What do you want, Nathan?’

‘Like I told you before. I’m calling in a favour.’

Except during that phone call, Tomek hadn’t stayed on long enough to know what the favour was.

A knot formed in his stomach.

He was about to find out.

‘How long ago was it that your brother died?’ Nathan asked.

‘You mean, since you killed him?’

Nathan paused. ‘The semantics aren’t important right now. What is important is that we both acknowledge it was thirty years ago. And I’ve been here ever since.’

‘Because you deserve to be,’ Tomek said, clenching his jaw. ‘You fucking butchered him, poured battery acid into his eyes, genitally mutilated him. Or have you forgotten that?’

‘You know very well that I haven’t. You know that I’ve repented, sought forgiveness, apologised – countless times, in fact. And I trust that my recent behaviour has proven how much I care about mending my relationship with you and your family.’

Tomek said nothing, slowly turning his head towards the light bleeding through the curtains from his and Kasia’s flat.

‘What about our bond, Tomek?’ Nathan said. ‘I feel we’ve grown closer over the past few months. I never thought we would exchange as many texts as we have. Do you not think I’ve done enough to be forgiven?’

Tomek didn’t want to answer the question. He didn’t know how to. He didn’t even know if he knew the answer.

‘You see,’ Nathan continued, ‘thirty years I’ve been here. All my life.’

‘Because you took my bro⁠—’

‘Quiet. I’m talking,’ Nathan interrupted. ‘Thirty years I’ve been in here. I’ve traded my life for his. I’ve done my time. Given it up. Been a good boy. Kept my head down. And now I want out. My time in this place has come to an end. Rather, it will come to an end. You see, Tomek, I’m nearing the end of my life sentence. But before they let me out, I have a parole meeting at the end of the month. There, a board will decide my fate. They will determine whether I’ve earned my place back in society. And do you know what will help their decision-making?’

Tomek chose not to answer.

‘A heartfelt and considered nod of approval from a member of the family of the person I killed. A whisper in their ear telling them that I’ve earned their trust and that I’ve shown how sorry I am.’ Nathan inhaled sharply through the phone. ‘You fit that bill perfectly, Tomek. That’s where the favour comes in. You’re going to tell them how much I deserve to be let out of this fucking place.’

Tomek said nothing.

‘You need to answer me, Tomek. You⁠—’

‘You didn’t ask a question,’ he retorted. ‘But the answer is no. You can fuck off if you think I’m doing that for you. Absolutely not. Thirty years ago, you killed my brother. And there isn’t a day that goes by when I don’t wish I could do to you what you did to him. You deserve to rot in that place. You’re going to die there, Nathan. And the sooner you realise that, the better.’

Tomek hung up and switched off his phone before Nathan could respond. He panted heavily, adrenaline coursing through him. His pulse pounded in his ears until the sound began to echo inside the car. What had once been a safe, calm environment for him had suddenly become chaotic, hellish.

The walls were closing in on him. He needed to get out of there. He needed air. To breathe. To run home and see Kasia. To hug her. Protect her. Let her know nothing would ever happen to her.

Without checking for oncoming traffic, Tomek flung the door open and hurried across to the other side of the road. It was only a short distance, a single stride, but already he felt infinitely better. The pounding in his head dissipated, and his breathing steadied.

As he inserted the key into the front door, the sound of a car engine started. Something within him – Intuition? Fear? Paranoia? – urged him to look.

A white BMW with glaring white-and-blue headlights pulled out from the side of the road and crawled towards him before eventually slowing to a stop. A moment of silence passed until the driver’s window lowered, revealing a bald thug with a teardrop tattoo just beneath his eye.

Neither man said anything. They just stared at each other in silence, save for the gentle ticking of the engine.

Without speaking, the man engaged the window and slowly moved away.

But he didn’t need to say anything. The message from Nathan Burrows was loud and clear.

CHAPTER

FIVE

For the first time in a long while, I’m running again. Sprinting out of the classroom, through the corridors, across the playground, and out of the school grounds. It’s been so long I thought my legs would buckle and falter, like a newborn calf, as if I’d somehow forgotten how to run. But this time, there’s no issue. Not just with my legs, but with everything.

The sky is a little lighter this time, as though it’s still creeping over the horizon in the west, clinging to the last remnants of the day.

The sound of wildlife is more dominant too. Birds tweet in the distance – so many I can’t name them. Mercifully, there are no seagulls threatening to drop their massive mess on my head.

And it’s warmer, almost mid-spring warmth. Not to mention there’s no rain, which is strange because there’s always rain pelting my face, soaking through my clothes to my skin, matting my hair, splashing against my ankles and legs.

As I leave through the school gates, I leap into the road without looking. Cars coming in both directions avoid me. I know I’ve been hit by one of them in the past, but this time there’s nothing.

No collision. No metal crashing into bone.

This is all so strange. I can’t work out if this is real or fake.

Fake or real.

For a few hundred metres, I continue along the road until I come to the roundabout. On one side is the kitchen shop. On the other, the off-licence with a couple of kids sitting outside. One of them has just bought cigarettes from the shop owner. They’re laughing and cajoling one another, pretending to be ‘bros’. But I know one of them grasses on the other to the police about the drugs they’ve been selling, and their relationship quickly falls apart, along with the rest of their lives.

A moment later, before I know it, I’m at the mouth of the park. Suddenly, it’s turned pitch dark. I can barely see the metal gate in front of me. There’s no glare from the traffic behind me, no light bleeding in from the streetlamps.

Like stepping into a whole new world.

I cross the threshold.

The temperature drops. Silence falls. My heart rate begins to spike. I know what’s coming. I know what I’m going to find in front of me.

And then I see it. Fifty yards away. Closer than before. Illuminated by an effervescent glow, as if my mind is forcing me to see Michał’s body in all its gory detail: the bloodied brick lying beside his head, the battery acid streaming from his eyes, the lacerations and gouges on his stomach and chest, the mutilation of his penis, the caved-in skull.

And there, standing over him, is Nathan Burrows. The person who killed him. The fifteen-year-old dressed in a navy Adidas tracksuit. His short, greasy hair and spotty teenage face staring back at me.

Behind him, blended into the background, my mind not letting me see him, is the other killer.

Charlie.

The man I’ve been chasing for thirty years.

I stop. Drop my arms by my sides. Watch.

‘Get away from him!’ I cry, but there’s no sound. My lips are moving and my lungs are screaming, but there’s no sound coming out of my mouth. It’s like someone’s turned down the volume.

And yet, when Nathan begins to laugh, I can hear him perfectly.

Previously, the nightmares have cut off at this point. Sometimes I’ve chased after him. Other times I’ve come face to face with my brother. But this time, Nathan starts to chase me. His movements are faster than I can react, and he’s already rounded Michał’s body before my lead feet begin to move, and the rest of my body takes over. My legs start to pump, my arms following. One foot in front of the other, and before long the grass beneath my feet gives way to tarmac. I don’t dare look behind me. I don’t dare turn round to see where Nathan is. How close he is.

I dart along the road, toying with the idea of leaping into the oncoming traffic, but I’m not brave enough. Eventually, I arrive at a junction, turn right, and head through a small alleyway. The sound of my feet thumping on the concrete, followed by my frantic, exasperated breath, is all I can hear.

Soon after, I arrive in a small cul-de-sac. There are cars parked on the sides of the road, the houses packed neatly together. I slow to a stop in the middle of the street, scanning my surroundings. My lungs are screaming and my legs feel like jelly. I can’t outrun Nathan forever. He’s older and fitter than I am, and he’ll eventually catch up with me.

It’s useless.

If I’m going to avoid suffering a similar fate to Michał, I must play smart.

And so I look for a hiding place. A small space for me to wedge myself into.

And then I spot it: the underside of a white van. Big enough for me to lie under.

I rush over to it, remove my bag, drop down, and shuffle underneath. My fingers and the side of my face graze against the concrete as I drag my school bag in behind me. Once in, I pause and hold my breath. The world has returned to normal now. The sound. The lights. The rain that has started to fall.

And then I hold my breath. Waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

A few moments later, the sound of footsteps rapidly approaches. I can feel my heart in my mouth. From my position, I can see the alleyway, and I see Nathan barrelling down it. He’s sprinting, moving with an athleticism I didn’t know he had. I tense my body as he reaches the end of the alleyway.

But he just keeps going. One foot in front of the other without stopping.

I stay under the van until I can no longer hear his footsteps. Only then do I release the breath I’ve been holding. Air floods back into my lungs, and the tension flows out of my body.

Slowly, and as quietly as I can manage, I pull myself out from beneath the van. I’m wet, covered in dirt and pieces of gravel. But most importantly, I’m alive.

Still, I don’t dwell on it for too long: I grab my bag and start towards the alleyway.

But as I reach the mouth of the alleyway, a car engine starts, and I feel compelled to stop. It’s more the colour of the car than anything that concerns me. I recognise it.

A white BMW.

I slowly turn my head. The car’s been there this entire time, but I didn’t see it until now.

Perfectly clean. Blacked-out windows. Non-standard wheel rims. And a blurred number plate that looks illegal.

The car reverses and turns in the road. It isn’t until the driver’s side of the car is at my side that the window lowers. And then I see him. The bald man with the teardrop tattoo, staring at me from behind the car door with pitch-dark eyes and a blank, expressionless face.

Panicked, I turn around and sprint down the alleyway. I don’t think. I just act. I don’t look behind me. I just continue putting one foot in front of the other, with one very prominent realisation bouncing around my head.

I can’t outrun Nathan forever.

CHAPTER

SIX

TUESDAY

Date: Tuesday 15th October

Time: 07:42

Title: Scratch

Tabitha spent her first night with us superbly. She was an absolute dream. A little restless, as was to be expected, but I can’t blame her for that. This is all very unfamiliar to her. She is like a wild animal that has been captured and locked inside a zoo, where the entire world can watch, gawp, and point their fingers at her – if they only knew how and where to find her.

I have done my best to soothe her, but so far my efforts have had little impact. I will continue to try new methods without resorting to extremes, such as morphine or other opioids, as I fear they may interfere with the experiment and throw everything down the pan.

So far, I have tried the following methods to placate Tabitha:

Lavender oil on her pillow

Gentle orchestral music, thanks to Classic FM

I have even given her a journal to write her concerns, thoughts, and feelings down. I know it will not help her sleep, but I am hopeful that I will be able to better understand my subject as time progresses. There is, of course, the hope that she might begin to trust me. Right now, I am sure she believes we are doing the work of monsters. But I want her to realise that this is false. We are doing the work of science, of evolution. We are testing the limits of the human body and mind. We are testing how far someone can go before they eventually succumb to the inevitable. A real test of endurance and spirit.

Next, I will turn my attention to Ashwagandha supplements or other digestible methods. If she resists further and continues to cause her pulse to spike, I fear this may have a negative impact on the results.

The seventh incision:

For the seventh incision, our instrument of choice was a small noticeboard pin, the type you would find plugged into a corkboard in a police station, hospital, or school. The type that would never do too much damage unless inserted into your eye.

Here are the results:

Location on the body: forearm

Wound width: 0.5mm

Wound depth: 10.4mm

Wound length: 5.8cm

Blood loss (est): 25ml

And now for Tabitha’s vitals, including how much water and food she’s had for the day:

Tabitha’s total weight: 82kg

Waist measurement: 38.4 inches

Chest measurement: 37.2 inches

Upper arm measurement: 12.5 inches

Thigh measurement: 25.8 inches

In short, no change from the day before. This is to be expected, as the investigation has only just begun. More scratches will be administered at random intervals. Thank you for your support.

CHAPTER

SEVEN

Rachel held the cup of coffee beneath her nose for a moment, letting the steam warm her chin and lips before eventually setting it down on her desk. She was cold; far too cold for October. The temperature outside was just over ten degrees, and she was sure she had seen her breath mist in front of her that morning as she wandered across the car park. For some reason, though, the office felt even cooler. Either she was getting sick, or someone had stupidly left the air-conditioning unit on overnight. She hoped it was the latter. However, from the congestion beginning to form in her sinuses and the snot that was starting to leak from her nostrils, she realised the former was more likely. She was coming down with the cold that seemed as infectious as an STD.

She reached into her desk drawer, pulled out an old packet of Soothers that had been there for almost a year, and popped one into her mouth. The sweet blackcurrant flavour exploded on her tongue, combining horrifically with the bitter, grim aftertaste of coffee. The sensation made her grimace and immediately regret her decision. Still, as they say, prevention is better than cure. Right then, all she could think about was preventing the onset of a cold that had left some in the office bed-bound. The last thing she needed was time off.

Not just because she disliked being sick but because she couldn’t afford to take time off. She didn’t want to be away from her colleagues, the people she’d come to really appreciate and admire over the last thirteen months. The people she’d come to call her friends. Moreover, she didn’t want any time away from the job. Right then, it was all she had. Outside of the force, she didn’t have much of a life. No friends, no partner or loving girlfriend to go home to in the evening. Nobody waiting for her at home. She had flirted with the idea of getting a pet – a cat, a hamster, or maybe even a handful of fish. But she had neither the time, money, nor inclination to care for one. She didn’t know what was wrong with her, but she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to give a pet the best life it could possibly have. The job consumed too much of her time, energy, and effort for her to focus on anything else. Some days, she even forgot to feed herself because she was too focused on the thousands of outstanding tasks that needed completing every day.

As she set the packet of Soothers back in the drawer – hopefully for the last time for another year – her phone vibrated on the desk, illuminating her wallpaper. Looking back at her was a picture of her favourite anime character, Tony Tony Chopper, from the anime series One Piece. She had been a fan for nearly twenty years but had kept it to herself for fear of judgement from her colleagues. When she wasn’t working all hours of the day, she was reading, and sometimes re-reading, books from the series. She had accumulated almost a hundred titles at home and had several figurines and memorabilia to go along with them.

She glanced at the notification from Vinted. A pair of shoes she’d been trying to sell had just sold for a fraction of the price she’d paid for them. But it was all money she was saving to put towards the latest collector’s edition she’d been eyeing: a behemoth statue that cost over a couple of hundred quid and would take pride of place on her chest of drawers in her bedroom.

As she put the phone back on the desk, her landline began to ring. The sharp, sudden noise jolted her, and she answered.

‘DC Hamilton,’ she said, hiding the cold shudder in her breath.

‘Hi, Rach. Are you busy right now?’

It was Magdalena from the reception desk downstairs. The civilian support staff member was the face of the station and was on hand to greet everyone walking through the doors. She was a similar age to Rachel and attractive too, she thought.

‘Yeah, I reckon I’ve got a couple of minutes to spare for you,’ Rachel answered with a hint of flirtation in her tone.

‘You always do,’ Magdalena replied, cutting the flirtation dead. ‘Are you able to pop down now? A young gentleman has just walked in, and he wants to report something.’

‘Can’t it be handled by a uniform?’

‘Not from the brief explanation I’ve been given,’ Magdalena answered, lowering her tone. ‘I think this one sits firmly with you guys. And from the sounds of it, you might want to come down quickly.’

CHAPTER

EIGHT

As he entered the building that morning, a scattering of leaves blew in behind him. He paused, kicked them aside with his shoe, then started towards the reception desk.

‘Morning, Mags,’ he said, offering a wave of his hand that belied his feelings.

‘Morning, Tomek. Oh, wait!’ She leapt from her chair and leaned over the computer monitor to call him back. ‘I have a message for you.’

Tomek froze, then retreated a few steps.

‘Go on,’ he said with a huff.

‘Rachel was looking for you.’

He ran his fingers through his hair, brushing off the small droplets of rainwater that had begun to fall moments before.

‘Me specifically?’

‘Well, anyone from your team. But you’re the first person I’ve seen.’

‘Where is she?’

‘Interview Room One.’

Tomek glanced down the innocuous, well-lit hallway where the interview rooms were located. He thanked Magdalena before heading towards them. As if sensing his arrival, Rachel emerged just as he was about to knock on the door.

‘Tomek!’ she yelled, relieved.

‘Everything all right?’

She paused, opened her mouth to respond, then looked at him strangely. ‘Are you all right? You look like you ran over a child on the way here.’

‘I’m fine,’ he lied. Thoughts of Nathan Burrows, the man in the white BMW, and his father had plagued him all night. ‘I heard you were looking for someone from the team?’

Rachel’s face lit up. ‘Yes. He’s in here. It’s just…’

Tomek waited for her to finish. She surveyed the corridor, then pulled him into another room.

‘This guy,’ she began. ‘He came in about an hour ago. Said he needed to report a crime. And I have absolutely no idea what to do. I need help.’

A few minutes later, Tomek understood why.

The man sitting opposite him was Andy Wilson; thirty-seven and dressed in an old pair of jeans and a thin Primark T-shirt that had been washed to within an inch of its life. It looked like cardboard, and Tomek presumed the colour had once been purple but now resembled skin. The man looked as though he hadn’t showered in weeks, as evidenced by his messy mop of hair covered in a thin layer of grease, and his pockmarked skin, which could fill a jar of oil if you squeezed his face. Like a honeycomb.

‘One more time,’ Tomek said, unable to hide his incredulity. ‘Just so I make sure I heard you correctly.’

Andy shuffled in his seat. ‘A friend of mine – well, not a friend as much as an acquaintance; I’ve only ever spoken to him online, never in person – has started to post some weird things. I don’t know whether they’re true or whether it’s a cruel, unfunny joke. He’s calling it the Scratch and Sniff Effect. According to his posts, he’s taken a girl named Tabitha hostage and is conducting a live experiment on her. He’s torturing her, one little scratch at a time, while documenting the process via a series of blog posts online.’

It took a full two minutes for Andy to get the explanation out a second time, which was a marked improvement from the three minutes it had taken him the first time. Understandably, he was nervous and spoke slowly, sometimes correcting his language and swapping out words he hadn’t used before. There was nothing rehearsed about it, nothing to indicate he’d sat in front of the mirror that morning to practise. It all seemed natural.

Tomek took a moment to fully wrap his mind around what he’d heard. A kidnapping. Torture. Live on the Internet. It was incomprehensible.

‘Show me,’ he instructed.

Andy flinched and lowered his hand to his trouser pocket. ‘Really? You want to see?’

‘I need to see.’

There was no want involved whatsoever.

A few seconds later, Andy had pulled out his phone, unlocked it, navigated through his homepage, and slid the device across the table, face-up. At the top of the screen was a logo Tomek didn’t recognise: a black scorpion.

‘What’s this?’

‘It’s the software we use.’

‘I can see that. What’s it called?’

‘Scorpion.’

‘Never heard of it.’

Andy pursed his lips, more oil leaking from his pores as he did so. ‘You wouldn’t have. It’s from the dark web.’

Tomek withdrew his hand from the device as if it were about to explode. ‘The dark web?’

Andy nodded.

‘What’re you doing on there?’

‘Talking, making friends. It’s not as seedy and dangerous as people make out. I mean, there are some places that are sick and twisted. But I use it because it’s much more secure, and I get to meet a lot of people who are into the same sorts of things as me.’

‘Which is what?’

‘Web design and coding, as well as games.’

Summoning courage, Tomek slowly lifted the phone from the table and held it between himself and Rachel so they could both see the screen. He took a moment to digest what he’d seen.

‘When… when did you first see this?’ he asked.

‘Last night,’ Andy answered, but all Tomek could hear was Tabitha, Tabitha, Tabitha, playing on repeat in his head. A poor woman had been abducted and was now being tortured online for the whole world to see. ‘I was going to come in as soon as I saw it, but…’

‘Why didn’t you?’

‘I didn’t know if you were open.’

‘We’re always open,’ Rachel said, setting the phone on the table.

‘I’d have thought you could find that sort of thing out on your dark web,’ Tomek added, with a hint of indignation.

‘I… I could have. But I panicked. A part of me didn’t believe what I was seeing…’

‘While the other part did?’ Tomek asked.

Andy shook his head. ‘Not at all. I meant I was in too much shock, that’s all. I couldn’t sleep because of it. I came as soon as I woke up.’

Tomek checked his watch. Eleven am. It made sense for someone who was presumably unemployed and still lived at home with his mum. He grabbed the phone and looked at the blog poster’s name.

Emperor.

‘Like Penguin? Or Palpatine?’

Andy played with his fingers. ‘Palpatine.’

‘That’s a Star Wars character, in case—’ Tomek began explaining to Rachel.

‘I know who Emperor Palpatine is, thanks. You don’t need to mansplain that one to me,’ she retorted.

Tomek hid his embarrassment by scrolling to the bottom of the post. There were half a dozen comments. Some celebrated the experiment, while others voted on the next method of torture. The sight of it made him sick. But he knew it was just the beginning and that if the post had got six comments after less than twenty-four hours, there was no telling how many more it would get as things progressed, as they began to snowball in one deadly direction.

They needed to find Tabitha. Fast.

‘Do you know who he is?’

‘I don’t know his real name,’ Andy replied.

‘Come again?’ Rachel said.

‘I don’t know his name. I don’t know anything about him. I’ve never asked.’

‘What do you call each other then?’ she probed.

‘I call him Emperor, and he calls me Darth.’

‘Why the Star Wars references?’

Andy shrugged. ‘It’s just what we like. They’re our favourite characters. Besides, they’re our online names. It’s sort of an unspoken rule on the dark web where you don’t get personal with people. Everyone just talks and takes the piss out of each other, but I couldn’t tell you his name, how old he is, or where he lives. It would kind of defeat the object of the dark web if I could.’

Tomek stared at the blog post on the screen again. All he could think was that they were looking for a ghost. A man, or possibly a woman, who didn’t exist. Someone completely random. A stranger on the street. Someone you walked past in the shopping centre with a secret online identity and a woman locked up somewhere, slowly being cut to death.

‘What can you tell us about him?’ Tomek asked.

Andy repositioned himself at the table. His face became glazed over, as if lost deep in thought.

‘He likes video games,’ he began. ‘Lots of video games. Horizon. God of War. But also some of the more obscure and prohibited ones you wouldn’t have heard of, like Basilisk Dungeon, Genital Jousting, and No Mercy. They’re banned on most mainstream sites, but he likes to play them.’

‘But you don’t?’

Andy shook his head profusely. ‘They make me sick. I just go on there to play some of the old versions of games that don’t exist anymore.’

Tomek nodded thoughtfully. ‘What else?’

‘His favourite food is fish; he loves fish, always bangs on about it. He didn’t like school and could never get on with it growing up. He said the teachers used to pick on him because they didn’t think he was the brightest kid. He doesn’t work. And when he’s not online, he’s fishing.’

‘Fishing?’ Tomek repeated.

‘He has a big magnet.’

‘A magnet?’

‘He’s not fishing for food. Not fishing fishing. He goes metal detecting. Looks for things in rivers and lakes.’

‘Do you have any clue as to where he lives?’ Tomek interrupted impatiently.

Andy shook his head.

‘Why not? Surely that’s one of the first things you ask someone: what’s your name and where are you from? I understand that you don’t ask for people’s names on the dark web, but does the same apply for their location as well?’

Andy considered for a moment. ‘I… I know he’s from Essex. That’s about all I know. When I first spoke to him on chat, he just said, “Oh, I’m from Essex in the UK”, and then I was like, “No way, same!” And that was about as far as it went. I don’t need to know where he lives. He doesn’t need to know where I live. It’s just the way things are done⁠—’

‘On the dark web,’ Tomek finished. ‘What else can you tell us?’

Andy shrugged. ‘That’s pretty much it for now. I’m sure something else will come to me. I’m just… my mind’s been going crazy ever since I saw the post. I hope he isn’t really doing this and that it might be some sort of cruel and seriously unfunny joke. I hope nobody is really going to die. It would be such a terrible loss.’

CHAPTER

NINE

‘Is this some sort of joke?’

DCI Cleaves’ voice echoed around the small confines of his office. He stood behind his desk with his arms folded across his chest.

‘I don’t think it is,’ Tomek answered.

‘Sounds like one to me,’ Victoria added.

‘How can you be so sure?’ Rachel asked. ‘With all due respect, ma’am, you weren’t there. When I first heard it, I was freaking out. I couldn’t believe it.’

‘And do you now?’

Rachel hesitated. Her lips opened and closed a handful of times. ‘I do, yes. Something isn’t right. The blog post indicates as much.’

‘Show me,’ Nick demanded.

Tomek opened the folder he’d prepared and slid across the screenshots he’d made from Andy’s phone.

‘I took as much information as I could,’ he began. ‘The name of the software they use to communicate is called Scorpion. The OP’s name⁠—’

‘OP?’

‘Original poster, sir,’ Rachel explained. ‘It’s a commonly used term within social media platforms, and you’ll see a lot of people referring to it in the comments.’

‘Could it have any other meaning?’

Tomek and Rachel looked at one another, then shrugged. Seemingly placated with their response, Nick began reading through the screenshots. When he was finished, he handed them across to Victoria and folded his arms across his chest again.

‘It certainly makes for distressing reading,’ he began. ‘But it’s not very helpful.’

‘That’s a good point,’ Victoria said, dropping the sheets onto Nick’s desk. ‘Where is this supposed to be taking place?’

‘We don’t know,’ Tomek answered. ‘But I’m convinced it’s in Essex.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Andy and the OP bonded over living somewhere in the county.’

‘But you don’t know who the OP is?’

‘No.’

‘Nor do you know who the victim is?’

‘No.’

‘It’s not looking good, is it? Where do you propose we start?’

‘At the missing persons reports. See if anyone matching the victim’s description has gone missing,’ Rachel explained.

Victoria sniggered, then picked up the sheets of paper. ‘All it says is that she’s thirty-one. It doesn’t say where she’s from or what other distinguishing characteristics she might have. We don’t even have her real name.’

‘Doesn’t mean to say she’s not on the system,’ Rachel snapped back, with a notable hint of venom in her tone.

Victoria bridled at the intonation, wrapping one leg over the other. She opened her mouth to speak, but Tomek cut her off.

‘We’re going to need to do more than that. We’re up against the clock on this one. Big time. Each hour that passes is potentially another cut that slowly kills Tabitha. We’re going to need the whole country on it: the NCA, Norfolk Police, Kent Police. This should be a nationwide hunt.’

‘You were convinced it was happening around here not too long ago,’ Nick interjected calmly.

‘I still am. Doesn’t mean to say we can’t ask for help. The other forces can keep their ears to the ground for anything suspicious. Besides…’ Tomek paused, mulling the thought over in his mind. ‘I suspect this will only grow in popularity on the dark web, and if we don’t catch this thing early, it might begin to spread…’

That was a sobering thought, one that sucked the air out of the room. It was something nobody wanted to cling to for too long.

‘I’m still not convinced,’ Victoria said.

‘Why not?’

‘We just don’t know anything yet. We’re shooting in the dark. Literally in this case. And I’m not sure it’s worth expending a vast amount of resources on it yet.’

She cast a quick glance towards Nick, who offered his support with a soft nod of his head.

‘I’ll lead it,’ Tomek said. ‘I’m willing to take on the majority of the work.’

‘Me too,’ Rachel said quickly. ‘We can do it together.’

‘And with Chey’s help,’ Tomek added.

‘Chey?’ Nick asked.

‘He’s the youngest person on the team. He knows about these things; practically came out of the womb with an iPhone and laptop in his hand. He might be able to advise on the software side of things.’

Victoria and Nick mulled the decision over, communicating telepathically with one another via a series of raised eyebrows and a quick tennis match with their eyeballs.

In the end, Nick relented and said, ‘Fine. You three and one other. Take your pick. But be smart about your time and resources. Think about what you’re doing before you do it. We can’t afford to throw away much budget on this. My suggestion would be to first confirm that this isn’t some drugged-up glue sniffer playing a prank on people.’

Tomek nodded and turned his back on the chief inspector and inspector. As he held the door open for Rachel, Nick called him back.

‘Tomek, there’s something else,’ he said.

Tomek cast a nervous glance around the room. ‘Am I in trouble? What have I done?’

He felt a knot in his stomach tighten. What was this about? Kasia? His harassment and several phone calls from Nathan? Was he getting the sack? His rapid thoughts sent his pulse racing.

‘You’re either about to blow smoke up my arse,’ he said, ‘or you’re about to let me down gently.’

Nick sniggered. ‘The last thing the world needs is more smoke blown up your arse. We won’t be able to pull you back down again.’

Tomek’s lips had suddenly become dry. He licked them.

‘Don’t look so worried,’ Nick said, gesturing for Tomek to take a seat. ‘It’s just a little chat.’

‘Just a little chat,’ Tomek repeated.

‘Just a little chat,’ Victoria echoed from the back of the room.

‘It’s just that…’ Nick cleared his throat. ‘We want to make sure you’re “okay” to do the job. You’ve been through a lot these past couple of months, with Kasia and Mersea Island, and we don’t want you to be jumping into anything so soon if you don’t feel comfortable. You’ve tried to take on this role in the past, and it hasn’t necessarily worked out. We just wanted to make sure you were aware of the risks going forward. You’re going to have a skeleton team; you’re going to be managing their time and the budgets, and given the severity of the case, you’re going to have a lot of pressure on you.’

Tomek took a moment to respond. He didn’t know whether to be grateful or offended. Grateful that they were taking the time to check on him before he embarked on the investigation, or offended that they thought he couldn’t do it.

‘I’ll be fine,’ he said shortly.

‘And this whole thing you mentioned with your dad…’ Victoria continued.

‘He’s fine,’ Tomek snapped. ‘He’s back with Mum now. Dropped him off last night.’

‘And the results?’

‘All clear.’

‘Good. Well, I’m happy to hear it.’

‘Is that everything?’ Tomek asked, lifting himself out of his chair. ‘Only, I’ve got an important investigation to run.’

As he left the meeting room, their points echoed in his mind. Sure, he had distractions: Zeus and The Harpies, the attack on Mersea Island, and his dad. But they were all common knowledge. The one that nobody knew about, the one that was plaguing every waking minute of his day, was locked inside his head. And the man responsible was laughing at him for it several hundred miles away, locked in a prison cell.

CHAPTER

TEN

The investigation into Tabitha’s disappearance had been given the operation name “Trident”. Several hours later, after further requests and phone calls, Tomek had summoned the missing persons team to the Major Incident Room.

The five-strong unit was led by DI Jason Thorn, a man with whom Tomek had crossed paths multiple times in the past. Sitting in descending order of rank at the table, were the rest of his team: DS Martina McCall, a woman who looked as though she’d fallen through the paint aisle in B&Q with her bright red hair; DC Kirsty Corrigan, a woman in her early thirties whose hair was already greying; and DCs Jamal Kilman and Stacey Alexander, both of whom had hair of the same length. Some faces he recognised; others he didn’t.

Just as Tomek was about to speak, a knock came at the door, and Chey hurried in, apologising profusely for the interruption as he found a seat at the table.

‘As I was saying,’ Tomek continued, ‘all we need you to do is have a look for us. Run a check through the system. What’s so difficult about that?’

‘Resources. Manpower. You’re looking at our entire team right now.’

‘Are you saying you don’t want to try and save a missing person’s life?’

Jason let out a sigh so heavy that Nick would be proud of it. ‘It’s not that I don’t want to help. It’s just that we’re stretched so thin right now; it’s taking us weeks to get through anything. And… and, in all honesty, I’m… I’m…’

‘Go on…’ Tomek said, fixing his eyes on Jason.

‘I’m dubious.’

‘Dubious? About what?’

‘The veracity of what you’re talking about. This is on the dark web, remember?’

‘That doesn’t mean it’s not true,’ Tomek said. ‘If anything, I’d say it’s more likely to be true because it’s on the dark web. What about all the child porn? Human trafficking? All that stuff’s legit. So why wouldn’t this be?’

Jason’s shoulders hunched forward. ‘I’m just talking about past experience, that’s all.’

‘What happened?’ Rachel asked.

‘About four years ago, a similar situation occurred. We received reports of a random account on one of these apps on the dark web that popped up and started posting about a woman they’d been stalking, detailing what she looked like, what she was wearing, whether she saw him and where she went. Then, according to the posts, he reportedly abducted her and kept her in a flat somewhere. He live-streamed it all, exactly the same as now.’

‘And?’

‘He kept her there.’

‘Just kept her there?’

‘Yeah. Fed her. Clothed her. Bathed her. As far as we could tell, she had a good life. She was allowed to watch television and play video games. But then he started to hurt her. He reported cutting her and beating her.’

Tomek’s skin turned cold. ‘Did you find her?’

Jason shook his head. ‘We knew where to find her – here, in Essex – because he posted location names and everything. We knew what she looked like – he gave multiple detailed descriptions. And he even gave us a name: Fiona. But when we looked into her disappearance, she didn’t exist.’ Jason’s shoulders straightened. ‘There was nobody by her name in the area. Nobody matching her description who’d been reported as missing. It was all a con, some elaborate joke played out by a messed-up individual who tried to string people along by pandering to their sick and twisted fantasies.’

‘What happened to the girl?’ Tomek asked.

Jason offered him a blank expression. ‘What do you mean? She didn’t exist.’

‘To the person posting about her, she did. For whatever reason, he’d created her as a figment of his imagination and then he’d done whatever he did to her. What did the suspect say had happened to the girl?’

Jason’s eyes fell onto the table, and he began tapping the surface with his knuckle. ‘He let her go, apparently. One day, he decided he’d had enough of keeping her locked up and chose to free her.’

‘And that’s when you realised it was a hoax?’

‘That confirmed our suspicions, yeah,’ Jason said before being attacked by a chesty cough. Once he’d finished coughing, he added, ‘If it was real, I like to think she would have come to the police, but we heard nothing from anybody.’

‘And what happened to the person behind the account?’ Rachel asked.

Jason shook his head. ‘Never found him. Or her. After they’d let the fake victim go, they deleted their account and disappeared from the dark web. We never got a chance to find them.’

Tomek hoped a similar outcome didn’t befall their investigation.

Though he did hope that their victim was very much a real person, a living, breathing human being – one they could save.

‘Like I said,’ Jason continued, ‘I was just dubious and wanted to make you aware. That’s why I’m hesitant to expend any resources on it.’

A moment of contemplation fell on Tomek.

‘Lightning rarely strikes twice,’ he said. ‘We need your team to do everything they can to find this woman.’

CHAPTER

ELEVEN

Alight shower of rain had started to fall on the windscreen. Just enough to distort Sean’s vision, but not enough to warrant the use of the windscreen wipers. He couldn’t stand the squeaking noise they made every time their arms swung from side to side. It triggered him, but not enough to fix them. They’d been on his to-do list for months now. However, it was so far down his priority list that he’d thought about cleaning the car before fixing them.

Shortly after it had begun, the rain stopped. By the time Sean pulled the car to a stop, many of the droplets had disappeared. He switched off the engine, then turned to Rachel. She’d let her hair down over her shoulders and had applied a thin layer of make-up. The sickly-sweet smell of perfume emanated from her clothes: weak, yet noticeable, like it had once been lathered over her coat years before and still lingered.

‘You going out on the pull tonight?’ he asked.

She shot him a despondent stare, one that she was quickly becoming famous for. ‘I don’t think people call it that anymore.’

Shrugging, he said, ‘Could’ve been worse. Could’ve called it courting.’

Rachel shuddered. ‘My grandad used to call it that when he was telling me about my nan. But I just thought it was weird.’

‘You’re the weird one,’ Sean remarked, opening the car door. ‘I think it’s cute. A throwback to simpler times when people were more romantic and stayed with the ones they loved.’

Rachel climbed out of the car. A gust of wind blew her hair about her face. She gathered it and quickly placed it into a ponytail. Shutting the car door, she said, ‘You’re quite the romantic then?’

‘I’m surprised Victoria hasn’t told you.’

She shrugged. ‘Victoria’s told me nothing about your relationship. Which I think is fine, by the way. I’ve seen plenty of workplace relationships crumble because everyone else decided to get involved. You tell something to someone in confidence, then soon after it’s everyone’s business. And then you realise how alone you really are.’

Sean sensed her change in intonation. ‘Speaking from experience?’

‘Maybe,’ she responded coyly. ‘Once, but never again. It ended horribly and was part of the reason I moved here.’

‘Oh?’

She zipped up her coat and rounded the front of the car as Sean closed his door.

‘Things just got really awkward. She was above me. We wouldn’t talk to each other. We couldn’t look each other in the eye. She wouldn’t give me tasks to do, not meaningful ones, anyway. She wouldn’t offer any support when I asked for it. It just made things difficult. So I decided I didn’t need that in my life anymore.’

Sean locked the car and nodded, his mind wandering to thoughts of himself and Victoria. They had been together for nearly a year. At first, things had been great: the romance, the intimacy, the laughter, the connection. But ever since he’d moved in with her, things had begun to deteriorate. Fast.

The sex had dried up. The laughter had frozen over. And the connection had almost completely melted away. They were struggling, snapping at one another, and gradually beginning to resent each other’s company.

‘Sean?’

Rachel brought him out of his reverie by waving her hand in front of his face.

‘Sorry.’ He looked up at the house in front of them.

Brambles and weeds had overtaken the garden of number thirty-seven and were slowly encroaching on number thirty-nine. Amongst it all, Sean spotted a punctured football lying beneath the mess. Beside it was a discarded pair of secateurs, rusted and ruined. The facade of the house wasn’t much better either. Large chunks of painted pebble-dash had fallen off, and even larger cracks ran up the height of the building. The window frames were timber and had cracked and turned rotten over the years. The windows themselves were stained brown, and the curtains behind them discoloured to a shade of nicotine. And there was the scent of that in the air too.

They were in Vange, a small suburb situated in the south of Basildon, which first appeared in the Domesday Book in 1086. Sean knew the area fairly well, having grown up nearby, and he took the lead and knocked on the door. While they waited, a shower of rain began again, this time heavier.

A few moments later, a woman in her late fifties with poorly trimmed black bobbed hair opened the door. She was dressed in dark trousers and a thin grey top that hung loosely off her body. When she opened her mouth, a set of half-missing, tobacco-stained teeth was revealed. The smell of cigarettes immediately wafted out of the house and invaded Sean’s nostrils.

It was like being at home, he thought. Growing up, his mother had a crippling smoking habit, one that, had she not kicked it twenty years before, would have almost certainly killed her. He was no stranger to the smell, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed it any more.

‘Mrs Wilson?’ Sean asked.

She nodded, her eyes slowly narrowing with concern.

‘Is your son in? We’re with the police. We were wondering if we could come in for a chat.’

The concern deepened. ‘Is this about that scratching business? Andy told me about that.’ She shook her head. ‘Terrible, terrible business.’

‘Is he home, Mrs Wilson?’ Rachel asked.

‘Oh, yes. How silly of me. He’s upstairs, playing on his video games. Please, come in.’ Mrs Wilson stepped aside to let Sean and Rachel through.

The smell of tobacco inside intensified, making Sean lightheaded. He shut the door behind all three of them and followed Rachel and Mrs Wilson into the living room. The space was, much to Sean’s surprise, clean. The carpet was freshly vacuumed, the walls were without scuff marks, and the sofa was free from stains and scratches. The room had a nice, homely ambience about it; the only thing letting it down was the tobacco smell that had been ingrained in the fabric.

‘Tea? Coffee?’

‘Water,’ Sean answered.

‘I’ll have a tea, please, Mrs Wilson,’ said Rachel.

‘You can call me Violet,’ the woman replied with a broad grin before heading off to the kitchen.

While they waited, Sean and Rachel observed the living room. In the background, they heard Andy Wilson screaming and shouting in his room. Two minutes later, Violet returned, drinks in hand.

‘Thanks,’ Sean said.

‘Will Andy be joining us for this?’ Rachel asked. ‘We need to speak to him.’

‘Of course!’ She slapped her forehead with the palm of her hand. ‘How silly of me. You know what boys and their video games are like…’

Violet set her mug down on the arm of the chair and headed upstairs. As soon as she was out of the room, Sean and Rachel turned to face one another.

‘Boys and their video games? He’s thirty-fucking-seven years old, for crying out loud,’ Rachel whispered.

Sean opened his mouth to respond, but before he could get anything out, the sound of Andy barrelling down the stairs excitedly stopped him. The thirty-seven-year-old leapt off the bottom step and burst through the door.

‘Hi, guys!’ he said with a small wave and the same excitement as a holiday park performer walking onto the stage.

‘Hi, Andy,’ Rachel said, lowering her tone as if she were talking to a child. ‘We wondered if we could ask you a few more questions about your friend?’

‘I already told you everything I know.’

‘We understand,’ Rachel said. ‘But my colleague misplaced some of his notes, and so we’ve come to go over some of the things we went through. Plus, my colleague, Sean, doesn’t know much about the investigation, and I was hoping you might be able to bring him up to speed?’

He shrugged as though it were only a minor inconvenience. ‘I guess that’s okay.’

‘Good,’ Rachel said as she pulled out her notebook. ‘Do you mind if I take some notes?’

Sean didn’t know why she was treating the man like he was a child, but it was clearly working. From the brief chat he’d had with Tomek before leaving, he’d been told what to expect: a greasy-haired layabout in his late thirties and still living with his mum. Sean had expected him to be fairly mature, cogent. But there was something boyish, childish about his demeanour that he hadn’t been expecting.

‘You can take as many notes as you like,’ Andy confirmed.

‘Let’s begin then, shall we? Have you spoken to your friend since we last spoke to you? Has he reached out to you at all?’

Andy shook his head.

‘Have you tried messaging him?’

Another shake of the head. ‘Would you like me to?’

‘Not yet. But we may need to use your account for such purposes.’

‘Use my account?’ Andy’s tone suddenly sharpened. ‘What for?’

‘We might need to make contact with your friend. Perhaps ask him a few questions about what he’s doing. If he trusts you, he might be willing to open up to you, and then, with any luck, we’ll be able to use that information to save Tabitha.’

‘Oh… Oh, I guess that makes sense.’

Sean took a sip of his water. ‘What sort of games are you into, Andy?’

‘Games? Oh, I play Fortnite, Minecraft, League of Legends.’

‘They’re not the ones you mentioned earlier,’ Rachel interrupted.

Confusion flashed across Andy’s face momentarily. ‘I play lots of games. The ones I told you about were the ones me and The Emperor played together.’

‘He’s always shouting when he’s playing his computer games, aren’t you, Andy?’ Violet stepped in.

Andy nodded.

‘Sometimes I have to tell him to quieten it down. Especially if I’ve got to be up early in the morning. But we often stop playing before eleven, don’t we? Particularly on a work night.’

Another nod.

‘What do you both do for work?’ Sean asked.

‘We both work at the Tesco Extra in Pitsea.’

‘It’s one of the biggest in Europe!’ Andy exclaimed.

‘Is that right?’ Sean asked, pretending to be enthused.

‘Andy’s part time and he processes the online orders for customers, and I work on self-checkout.’

Sean made a mental note, then decided to get the conversation back on track.

‘Have you ever heard The Emperor’s voice, Andy?’

Andy looked horrified, as though he’d been asked to skin a cat alive. He shook his head.

‘Where’s your laptop, Andy?’ Rachel asked.

‘I don’t use a laptop.’

‘What do you use?’

‘A computer.’

‘What’s the difference?’ Sean asked, even though he knew full well.

‘Everything!’ Andy cried. ‘There are so many more things you can do on a gaming computer than you can on a laptop.’

‘Like what? I thought you could do everything on a laptop nowadays?’

‘They’re more powerful, especially for gaming.’

‘And what about what our friend, The Emperor, is doing? Does he need a computer, or can that be done from a laptop?’

Andy brooded over the question for a long moment, chewing on his bottom lip.

‘It’s possible he could do it from a laptop. But… I wouldn’t want to say for certain. He might have a terminal somewhere. Have you… have you found out where he is yet?’

Sean shook his head. ‘We’re still working on it. But we wondered if you might be able to answer that for us?’

‘Why him?’ Violet interjected. She placed her arm over her son’s shoulder. ‘My boy’s got nothing to do with this.’ She spoke softly, unthreateningly, but Sean sensed there was a ball of venom ready to explode in their faces when the time came.

‘Nobody’s accusing your son of anything,’ Rachel replied, trying to ease the tension in the room. ‘We just wondered if you’ve remembered anything since you came down to the station? If your friend had mentioned where he lived? What type of places he liked to visit? Was that the sort of information you shared? Because right now, Andy, you’re the only lead we have. And we need to make sure we get as much information as possible so we can catch the person doing this before anything really bad happens to Tabitha.’

Andy slowly turned towards his mum, eyes wide. After a few moments, she nodded, and Andy turned back to Sean and Rachel.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘He never told me anything like that. As I said before, he didn’t tell me anything about where he lived or what he liked to do. The only things we discussed were the game we were playing and fishing.’

Sean came to the rescue. ‘Could we have a look at your computer set-up, please, Andy?’

‘Of course!’

With dog-like excitement, the thirty-seven-year-old leapt out of his chair, almost knocking Violet’s mug of coffee onto the floor, and hurried towards the door. He paused at the foot of the stairs, looked back, and when he saw Sean and Rachel lagging behind, he waved them along. Violet followed at the back.

The stairs and the landing at the top of them were spotless. Not a speck of dust in sight. Andy’s room, however, was in stark contrast. Clothes were flung over furniture, and plates filled with dried ketchup and discarded crumbs were piled up on the bedside table. Bottles of soda and energy drinks occupied their own little space on the floor – so close to the bin, yet so far. What Sean was looking at was a teenager’s bedroom, except it was inhabited by a man quickly approaching forty.

‘You’ll have to excuse the mess,’ Violet said as Andy leapt over the bed and onto his gaming chair. ‘This is his own space, so I don’t like to get involved.’ She lowered her tone so only Rachel and Sean could hear. ‘We’ve had one too many arguments about it, and in the end, I lost.’

That was painfully obvious to see.

In the far corner of the room was Andy’s gaming set-up. Sean had no reference for what it should look like, but in his modest opinion, it looked professional. A large matt black desk was positioned in the corner of the room. On it were two computer monitors, one horizontal and the other vertical. In front of the screens was a multicoloured mechanical keyboard, leather mat, headphone stand, and a gaming mouse. Surrounding the desk was a series of multicoloured LED lights that pulsated gently against the wall. There were no wires, no mess, nothing out of place. In a room full of chaos, it was the only oasis of calm.

Sean wondered whether it was a reflection of Andy’s mental state. He observed the bookshelf beside the desk. It was completely empty, except for what looked like an overturned puzzle book.

‘Not a big reader?’ Sean asked.

‘Oh, I am. I like fantasy and science fiction, but why would I pay for books when I can get them for free from a pirate website?’

Sean grunted. I think there’s a whole community of authors, some struggling to make a living, who might have something to say about that, he thought.

‘Sorry about the mess,’ Andy said, swinging on his chair. ‘Sometimes it’s messy. Sometimes it’s clean. Depends on what mood I’m in.’

Sean turned to Violet. ‘Frequent mood swings?’

She shrugged. ‘They come and go. He has his good and bad days, just like all of us. But we take it one day at a time together. Some days he’s okay; the next he’s not.’

Rachel shuffled through the detritus towards the desk. She placed a hand on the back of Andy’s chair and observed what he was doing.

‘So this is what the homepage looks like?’ she asked.

‘This is where everyone posts, across a whole range of topics, from rabbits to raki. It’s a bit like Reddit in that sense. People ask questions, and people post about things. A lot of the time, they don’t want these conglomerates tracking their data.’

Sean moved across the bedroom to join them. He bent forward and inspected the vertical monitor on the left. His eyes quickly fell on a specific blog post.

‘Open that one,’ he ordered.

Andy put up a fuss, but then quickly caught himself when he realised what Sean was pointing at.

Andy clicked his mouse, and the blog post opened.

‘I don’t believe it,’ Sean said, reading aloud. ‘“Scratch number fifteen.”’

CHAPTER

TWELVE

Abubble the size of a plastic cup exploded from the bottom of the water fountain and raced to the surface, suddenly reminding Tomek that he was thirsty. Pushing himself off the desk chair, he made for the water fountain, grabbed a cup, and began filling it. The liquid was cold and numbed his mouth. He let out a long sigh as he finished swallowing and chucked the cup into the bin.

Behind him, the receptionist was clicking away on the keyboard, no doubt pretending to be busy in the empty office. Online shopping, messaging her friends on Facebook or WhatsApp, playing with the latest AI tool; whatever it was people did on computers nowadays.

Tomek returned to his seat and watched her from behind the computer screen. Whatever it was, she was fully engrossed in it. For a moment, he wondered whether she was playing a computer game; possibly one of the games Andy Wilson had spoken about.

Then his eyes began surveying the rest of the waiting room for the tenth time. The space was almost clinically clean. To his left was a mural painted by a local artist. In the centre of the design was a young child playing on a swing, surrounded by climbing frames and slides. It was cleverly done, though he didn’t know what its purpose was, especially inside a therapist’s office.

The place had been refurbished since his last visit, and since the leak that had torn through Isabel Fox’s office. Kasia was in the middle of her latest therapy session, her first since the event that had scarred her at the beginning of summer, and she’d asked Tomek to accompany her. He’d been more than happy to oblige, to act as a safety blanket for her and metaphorically hold her hand throughout the process. The only problem was the hour-long wait, the sitting around, the twiddling of his thumbs, playing Candy Crush on his phone, while glancing up at the same mental health poster on the wall now and then.

Before his eyes fell on it for the thirtieth time, the door beside it opened, and out came Kasia, followed by Isabel Fox. The therapist was dressed in a smart suit, with a full face of make-up. Meanwhile, Kasia looked scruffy. Her uniform was askew, top button undone, shirt untucked, tie hanging halfway down her shirt, and skirt riding halfway up her thighs.

‘Here you are,’ Tomek said, climbing out of the chair and feeling his knees creak as he stretched his legs. ‘All good?’

Kasia said nothing as she made her way towards him. Her eyes were puffy, her nose red. In her hands, she held a scrunched tissue, which all but answered his question.

‘Slow and steady,’ Isabel answered. ‘Slow and steady. It’s a marathon, not a sprint. We just need to keep reminding ourselves of that. But we covered some good ground today, didn’t we, Kasia?’

Kasia nodded, unable to make eye contact. She grabbed her blazer from the chair beside Tomek and draped it over her shoulders.

‘How are you getting on, Tomek?’

Isabel’s question distracted him from Kasia.

‘Me? Fine.’

She saw right through his lie, though he wouldn’t have expected anything less from a qualified mental health professional.

‘And the nightmares?’

‘Aaaaaaalllll goooooood.’

‘When was the last time you had one?’

Tomek’s eyes quickly flitted to Kasia, who stared at him, unimpressed. He hoped she wasn’t about to open her mouth and call him out for lying.

‘I… I can’t remember. It was so long ago now.’

Both women folded their arms across their chests. For a moment, they looked like sisters: similar height, similar build, similar hair colour, and the exact same facial expression.

‘Still…’ Isabel began. ‘Might be worth you booking an appointment, just for us to have a catch-up. I’m sure what happened at the castle must be playing on your mind as well?’

She was fishing. Tomek could see the bait hovering in front of him, and he wasn’t going to go anywhere near it.

‘Maybe when things quieten down at work. I’ve only just come back, and you know what it’s like – full throttle already.’

His mind hadn’t stopped thinking about Tabitha, about the blog posts, about the fact she was out there somewhere, currently being tortured, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Meanwhile, Nathan had lingered at the back of his brain like a tumour.

‘Don’t leave it too long,’ Isabel said, then turned her attention to Kasia, placing a soft hand on her shoulder. ‘You’ve made good progress this evening, Kasia. I’m pleased. And you should be too.’

Kasia grunted.

‘She says thank you,’ Tomek answered for her. On the way out, he caught a glimpse of the receptionist’s computer screen: the woman was, to his surprise, sending an email rather than messaging her friends on social media as he’d expected. Perhaps she’d mastered the art of making it look like she was busy at the right time.

He couldn’t fault her for that.

Outside, a gust of wind greeted them, blowing Kasia’s hair in his face and a flurry of leaves over his feet. It was pitch dark, and the streetlamps in the car park did little to illuminate his Volkswagen. As they started towards it, his phone began to vibrate in his pocket.

Nathan Burrows’ name appeared at the top of the screen. Tomek hadn’t realised it, but the man had tried calling him three times already.

He quickly ignored the call and pocketed the phone. As Tomek rounded the bonnet, something in the car park caught his eye.

A white vehicle.

A white coupé.

Tomek held his breath, frozen with his hand on the door handle.

In the dim light, he thought it was the white BMW that had been following him. He squinted his eyes, half expecting to see the man with the teardrop tattoo appear in the window.

‘Dad?’

At first, her voice didn’t register.

‘Dad! What’re you doing? It’s cold.’

And then he came to.

‘Sorry, mate.’ He unlocked the car.

Before Kasia climbed in, she asked, ‘Everything all right? What are you looking at?’

He shook his head and put on a forced smile. ‘Nothing. I just thought I saw a fox. That was all.’

She didn’t believe it, but he suspected she was too tired and emotionally drained to question him further, as she just lowered herself into the car.

‘Just a fox,’ he told himself as he joined her. ‘That’s all it was. Something that wasn’t there.’

CHAPTER

THIRTEEN

Rain splashes against my shoes and trousers, soaking my socks and feet. I jump into a puddle as I leap across the road and sprint down the street. Puddles, puddles, and more puddles. I catch every one. It’s as if I’m aiming for them.

Like I used to do when I was a kid, jumping into every puddle I ever saw. Whether it was at the lake, the park, the woods, or along the beach. No matter how dirty it made me or how much washing it meant Mum would have to do afterward, I still did it.

I didn’t care then. And I don’t care now.

Running. Splashing. Sprinting.

Until I enter the park and come to a sudden stop. This time, the puddle is filled with mud, thick and sodden. I leap over it and clear it – just. My trailing foot catches in the mud, and I almost slip but stop myself with my left hand. Now it’s covered in mud. Mum won’t be too happy about that. Never mind. She’s not here to berate me for it just yet.

I have to catch up with Michał. But there’s someone in the way. Nathan. Again. This time, I can see him properly, his face softly illuminated in a dull yellow from the glow of the streetlamps outside the park. And the figure’s behind him.

Charlie. Hidden, covered in black.

Charlie, Charlie, Charlie.

I repeat the name in my head so that it doesn’t go anywhere. I don’t want to forget it. Mustn’t. Can’t. Won’t.

Charlie’s name, along with Nathan Burrows’, will stay with me for the rest of my life.

‘What are you doing over there, Tommy boy?’ Nathan asks. Before I can respond, the killer begins to sing a rhyme.

Little Tommy Tucker

Sings for his supper.

What shall we give him?

White bread and butter.

How shall he cut it

Without a knife?

How will he be married

Without a wife?

‘Don’t you want to come and see your dead brother?’ Nathan asks. ‘Don’t you want to come and see what we’ve done to him? Charlie and me. We spent a lot of time with him. Did a lot of things…’

Where the hell was all this coming from? I’ve never experienced any of this before. Never conversed with Nathan in the past. Never had a dialogue with him.

These dreams are getting worse.

First, he’s invaded my life. And now he’s invading my dreams in different ways.

The quicker I can get this guy out of my head, the better.

‘Whaddya say, Tommy? Teflon Tommy? T-Bone? Come over and say hi. Charlie would like to meet you. And I’m sure you’d like to meet him.’

I do. Very much. But I still can’t say for certain that he exists. He could still be a figment of my imagination. A string of hope I’m still pointlessly clinging onto.

‘Tommmmmmmyyyyyyyy,’ he goads from afar.

As I move to take a step forward, something catches my eye. Something small, slight. Standing there in the mud with a school bag by her side and her hair stuck to her face. Matted and wet. Like something from a horror movie.

‘Kasia?’ I start. ‘Since when did you start coming here?’

She’s wearing the same outfit as she had on in the therapist’s office. She doesn’t move or respond, so I carefully approach her, one squelchy, muddied footstep at a time. As I near, I see her face. Covered in a combination of mud and blood. Red and brown melted together. For a moment, I think she’s been attacked. That she’s suffered the same fate as Michał.

And then I see him. The man with the teardrop tattoo. Except this time he’s not in the car. He’s just entered the other side of the park and is coming towards us slowly, stalking across the field silently. Hauntingly, like the Slenderman. Like a terrifying nightmare.

I try to move my feet, shift my legs, but the lower half of my body is trapped, stuck in the mud. I can’t get out. Meanwhile, the man with the teardrop tattoo approaches Kasia still. I scream, but nothing but air escapes my lips. My voice box is broken, non-existent. As the man nears, he raises his hand and places it on Kasia’s shoulder.

Kasia’s scream pierces the night sky, deafening me. I thrash and kick my legs, but nothing’s happening. I can’t move.

The man embraces her and begins to walk her in the opposite direction. The screams continue. Except now she’s calling my name. Calling out for me. Begging for me to rescue her.

And yet I can’t. My bastard feet!

For a moment, I wonder if she’s about to suffer the same fate as Michał. I can’t bear the thought for very long. Two of my relatives dying on the same day. And I did nothing to protect either of them.

As Kasia and the man with the teardrop tattoo reach the end of the park, all I can hear is Kasia’s screams slowly beginning to fade away until there’s nothing left. As soon as the noise finishes, I turn to where Nathan, Charlie, and Michał should be.

Except there’s nothing there.

I’m all alone.

CHAPTER

FOURTEEN

WEDNESDAY

He had been looking at the screen, staring into the pixels until they became blurred and unfocused. He didn’t know how long it had been. Two minutes? Four? After the fifth, time had become obsolete.

Eventually, he blinked, and as he looked at the digital clock in the bottom corner of his computer screen, he realised he hadn’t been zoned out for that long. Rather, he had been staring at the same black pixel on the screen for two minutes.

Two solid minutes of thinking about Nathan Burrows. Kasia. Charlie. Michał. The man with the teardrop tattoo. He pondered the demands Nathan had placed on him, particularly his request for a good word in the ear of the parole board.

It might be a necessary evil, a way to secure his and his daughter’s safety. A way to ensure the man stayed out of his life for good… even though he knew that would almost never be a possibility.

His mobile phone was vibrating against his leg, and in a panic, he pulled out the device and looked at the screen. Nothing. Just his imagination playing cruel games with him. He tossed the device onto the desk and let out a long sigh. The phone had felt heavy all day, weighing down his pocket, and his mind, all that morning.

He wanted to smash it, chuck it out of the window, set fire to it, and never look at it again.

But before he could dwell on that, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

He quickly spun round to see Rachel standing behind him.

‘Good morning, Miss Hamilton,’ Tomek began.

‘Sorry to disturb you, Sarge, but… but I think there’s something you might want to know.’

‘I’m all ears, Constable.’

‘It’s Tabitha, sir.’

Tomek raised an eyebrow.

‘DS Martina McCall from Missing Persons thinks she’s found her.’

Tomek leapt out of his seat. He needed to be standing when he heard this information.

‘Her name’s Vicky, sir. Vicky Sanchez. Thirty-one. From South Ockendon.’

‘Photo?’

Rachel nodded and handed a folder across to Tomek. Before opening it, Tomek addressed the office and asked the members of his skeleton team to come over. They did so a few moments later. Tomek allowed Rachel to explain to the rest of them.

When she finished, she said, ‘There’s just one other thing you should know, sir.’

‘Which is?’

Rachel hesitated and cleared her throat.

‘She’s been missing for two weeks already.’

CHAPTER

FIFTEEN

Tabitha, or Vicky Sanchez as they believed her to be, had grown up in Ipswich, a small town just over the border of Essex in Suffolk. The town had recently gained popularity thanks to its local football team reaching the top flight of the footballing pyramid, which was sponsored by one of its biggest exports, global superstar Ed Sheeran. Vicky hadn’t lived there for long, however, having moved out at the age of nineteen. Her parents still lived there, almost an hour away from the station in Southend.

Tomek had been looking forward to the solo drive, but before he left, Martina McCall from the missing persons team had accosted him and suggested she join him. At first, he rejected the proposal, but in the end, he agreed. After all, she was the one who discovered Vicky’s identity and had dealt with the investigation into her disappearance. That morning, Martina was dressed in a plaid suit, and in her hand, she held a reusable cup of coffee. She hovered the mug beneath her chin and took dainty little sips every now and then.

‘That’s the problem with those,’ he said. ‘They keep them too hot so you can’t actually drink them.’

She looked at him with a sideways glance. ‘That is kinda the point.’

‘My preferred method is to let it cool all the way down by forgetting about it, and then bitch and moan before I nuke it and then complain when it’s too hot again. It’s a vicious circle.’

Martina replied with an almost non-existent giggle. If he was trying to flirt with her, he was doing a terrible job of it. Usually, he would have been cracking jokes, making her laugh and wonder where he’d been all her life. But right then, he was so far off his game he could have been playing in the National League. However, something told him there was hope yet – a little glimmer in her eye, a little twinkle in her wry smile.

‘So…’ he began, ‘Missing Persons, eh? That sounds like fun.’

‘It’s about as much fun as what your team does,’ she replied, taking another little sip.

‘Still, it must be quite rewarding when you bring someone home. Usually, the only time we bring someone home is when they’re in a body bag.’

Christ, mate. What the fuck was that? It wasn’t until he repeated it in his head that he realised how stupid he’d sounded. If he could slap his forehead with the palm of his hand repeatedly without her seeing, he would have done.

‘Yes, that is arguably one of the biggest differences between our two teams,’ Martina replied. ‘How long have you been in CID for?’

Tomek had to think about that for a moment. ‘Coming up to fifteen years.’

‘Fifteen years? You don’t look old enough.’

Tomek smirked. ‘Isn’t that supposed to be my line?’

‘How old are you?’ she asked.

‘Forty. You?’

‘How old do I look?’

‘Twenty-one.’

Martina smiled in response, this time displaying a set of perfectly white teeth behind a pair of rose-pink lips that complemented her hair. ‘Not far off. Thirty-nine.’

‘What’s your skincare routine?’ he asked jokingly.

‘I’d love to tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.’

‘That secret, is it?’

She nodded. Tomek’s attention drifted away from the road as his eyes fell upon her pretty flame-red hair, which framed an even prettier face. He came to when a car slammed on its brakes in front of him.

‘I’d like to get there in one piece, if that’s all right,’ she commented.

‘Only if you tell me what your skincare routine is.’

‘Sleep. A full eight hours.’

‘In this job? You must be joking.’

‘It helps that I’m single.’

‘Finding love isn’t as easy as it used to be. What got you into it, anyway?’

‘Love?’

‘No. The job.’

‘Boredom.’

‘Boredom? From what?’

‘The working world. I was in a tedious corporate job for a while. Hated it. Used to gouge my eyes out at the beginning and end of each day. Thought I was trapped in it for the rest of my life. Then, one day, I had an epiphany that there was more to life than mind-numbing data entry. That there were more important, more fulfilling things to do with my time.’

‘So you decided to join the police? Where you’re pretty much set for life? Doing the same thing day in, day out… Doesn’t sound like much of a change to me.’

She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. Then, after a while, she said, ‘Yes… but this is way more fulfilling.’

They arrived at Vicky Sanchez’ parents’ house a short while later. Laurel and Mark Sanchez were both in their late fifties, but that wasn’t the reason they looked as though they hadn’t slept in weeks. The heavy bags under their eyes and the tired, drawn expressions on their faces were indicative of the worry they’d had since their daughter’s disappearance. Tomek doubted they’d slept a wink since she’d gone missing.

The Sanchezes lived in a large four-bedroom house, a property that seemed far too big for just the two of them. The kitchen had been renovated to reflect modern times, complete with sharp, pristine surfaces, furnishings that looked almost futuristic, and appliances that bordered on the unnecessary. Tomek’s attention was immediately drawn to the fridge to his left. It wasn’t the size or the colour of the fridge that captivated him. No, it was the 21.5-inch LCD television screen that blinded him as he laid eyes on it.

‘Cool, eh?’ Mark Sanchez said, making his way towards it.

Tomek was unable to pull his eyes from the fridge. ‘I just… I don’t get it… Why?’

‘Because it’s fantastic. It’s the future.’

‘Mark loves his tech,’ Laurel said, pointing at her husband’s wrists. Both were adorned with pieces of wearable tech: a smartwatch on one wrist and a fitness monitor on the other.

Before Tomek could respond, Mark began running him through the fridge’s functionality, as if he were in a showroom. He double-tapped the screen; the display changed to a view of the inside of the fridge. ‘How cool is that? You can see inside the fridge, so you know what’s in there.’

Tomek was dumbfounded. ‘What’s wrong with just opening it?’

The smile on Mark’s face dropped slightly, but he wasn’t going to let that stop him. He began prodding various buttons and swiping across several screens, much too quickly for Tomek to keep up. ‘It lets you assign expiry dates to your food, gives you recipes, and lets you add missing food to your shopping list. It tells you how to cook things via a recipe app, sets timers, connects to your phone, makes notes on the screen, adds your favourite apps, and it even lets you know when you’ve left the door open.’

Mark demonstrated the last functionality by leaving the door ajar. Thirty seconds later, his phone chimed, and he showed the notification to Tomek.

Tomek feigned interest by pursing his lips and nodding. ‘It can do all of that, but it can’t even close itself? Disappointing. I’d get your money back if I were you.’

Mark’s face froze. He slammed the fridge shut and joined his wife’s side, folding his arms. ‘Mind telling us what you’re here for?’

Well done, Tomek. What a way to spoil the mood.

‘It’s about Vicky,’ Martina began.

‘Have you found her?’ Laurel asked, her voice filled with hope and desperation.

Martina shook her head. ‘Not yet. But there has been a development. Might we find somewhere a little more comfortable to discuss it?’

Clinging onto each other for dear life, a pose that suggested they’d done it several times before, the Sanchezes moved into the living room. Tomek and Martina followed, finding a space on the sofa opposite Vicky’s parents. Tomek kept his eyes fixed on the couple, rather than allowing them to wander onto any other nonsensical high-tech appliances surrounding him.

‘She’s dead, isn’t she?’ Laurel began, a catch in her throat.

‘No,’ Martina answered. ‘We do not believe she is. But there is something you should know.’ She turned to Tomek expectantly.

He picked up on the pleading look in her eyes, took the mantle from her, and started to speak, lowering his tone to match the atmosphere. ‘The other day, something alarming concerning an individual on the dark web came to our attention. We believe this person may have your daughter.’

‘Oh my God!’ cried Laurel.

‘We are doing everything in our power to find both this person and your daughter. We have a team of investigators looking into the posts, trying to locate the attacker.’

‘Oh my God. Vicky!’

‘We need your help in understanding her last movements. Whether you can think of anyone who might be doing this to her. Whether she ever mentioned anyone acting suspiciously around her, or if she ever said anything about anyone following her at all? The Major Investigation Team and I are new to this operation, so I will need you to cover some ground you may have already gone over with Martina and the rest of her team.’

‘Again?’ Mark asked. ‘You’ve just told us that our daughter is being held captive by someone on the dark web, and you want us to tell you everything again?’

‘I appreciate this has come as a bit of a shock to you⁠—’

‘A bit of a shock? A bit of a shock! Finding out you’ve been made redundant is a bit of a shock. This is like a fucking knife through the heart. We’ve been going out of our minds worrying about Vicky, wondering where she might be, wondering what might have happened to her. What more do you want to know that we haven’t already told you?’

Tomek took his time to respond, to collect his thoughts. More importantly, he needed to let Mark and Laurel calm down. They were agitated, distraught, completely baffled. And rightly so. Tomek knew that he needed to tread carefully if he didn’t want to rock the boat any further.

‘I understand your daughter used to work as a nail technician in South Ockendon, where she lived; she was single and often went out on the weekends into London or more locally at Lakeside with friends for drinks and brunch. I know that she was a social butterfly and wasn’t afraid to speak to anyone, and that she hadn’t had a romantic relationship for some time. I know that her favourite pastime was watching true crime documentaries on Netflix while enjoying a tub of ice cream with a hot water bottle – regardless of the weather. I know that she enjoyed going for runs and was training for a half-marathon in April. And I know that she was thinking about studying for a Master’s in Business.’

Silence fell between the four of them. Laurel and Mark continued to cling to one another.

‘It seems you know our daughter better than we did,’ Mark said slowly.

‘Than we do,’ Laurel insisted, tugging on his arm. ‘She’s not dead yet, Mark.’

‘Yet…’ Mark hit back, lowering his head. He wiped a tear from his eyes.

‘Don’t you dare talk like that,’ Laurel said, tugging on his arm again. Harder this time. ‘Don’t you dare take that tone. Our girl’s strong. She’s determined. She’s brave. She can get through this. She will get through this.’ Laurel turned to Tomek and Martina, swallowing down the tears. ‘My husband is right. You seem to know her better than we do. But in relation to your questions, she didn’t mention anything to either of us about anyone acting suspiciously. The last contact we had with her was when she asked about coming up to see us the weekend after she went missing. Perhaps she might have told us then. But when we spoke to her, she didn’t let anything slip. As far as we were aware, she was perfectly safe and perfectly healthy.’

‘Is there anyone you can think of that might be responsible?’ Martina asked. ‘Former boyfriends? Estranged lovers?’

Laurel shook her head. ‘I’m afraid you’ll know more than we do on that front. She kept her sex life a secret. We never tried to force her to tell us anything. She’s her own person, with her own body. We just warned her of the dangers. That’s all.’

‘Did you speak to her on the day she went missing?’ Tomek asked.

Both parents shook their heads.

‘We don’t know anything beyond what we’ve already told you,’ Mark said, his tone laden with defeat. ‘We don’t know what she was doing, where she was, or who might have done this. Does that make us bad parents?’

‘Not at all,’ Tomek replied, unconvincingly, though that wasn’t his intention. ‘I couldn’t tell you where my daughter is all of the time, even though I’d like to.’

‘Once they reach a certain age, you have to just let them go…’ Laurel said, more to console herself than anything else.

‘Precisely. It won’t do anybody any good by blaming yourselves.’ Tomek lifted himself from the sofa. ‘Like I said, we will do everything we can to ensure we find your daughter and bring her home safely.’ He handed them each a business card. ‘If anything comes to mind, feel free to contact me at any time. We can show ourselves out…’

CHAPTER

SIXTEEN

In truth, Tomek hadn’t been surprised by Mark and Laurel’s lack of knowledge about their daughter; she had left home several years ago and fallen out of contact with her parents the same way Tomek had with his own. There were times when he felt like his own parents knew nothing about him, as if he were a stranger. Her parents were probably right; he and the team knew more about Vicky’s life and disappearance than they did.

From the initial reports, which had been gathered from Vicky’s boss and colleagues, the story was that she hadn’t turned up for work one morning. After several missed phone calls and text messages, what had started off as frustration and discontent quickly turned into panic. Nobody had seen her since the night before, when she’d left the salon and headed straight home. That had been the last anyone had seen of her. Her friends didn’t know where she’d gone, what she’d been doing, nor if she’d been planning to meet anyone. She had vanished into thin air, like a bubble bursting into nothing.

Another thing that had seemingly vanished into thin air was the petrol in his car. He was sure he’d had half a tank when he’d left for work that morning, and now it had suddenly disappeared. Running on empty, he pulled into a petrol station in Maldon and came to a stop behind a van and a Volvo. The entire forecourt was packed, as was the inside. He knew the reason why: the M&S shop inside the station.

He despised them. They were supposed to be convenient, but he thought they were the height of inconvenience.

‘You’re supposed to just fill up, pay, and then go on your way,’ he started, lambasting the queue of cars in front of him. ‘Since when did we start doing our weekly shops in these places? Just get in and get out again. We have enough things wrong with our society; we don’t need another one.’

‘It sounds like you’ve had a really painful experience at one of these places, Tomek,’ Martina mocked. ‘Would you like to open up about it? Did someone say something mean to you while you were here once?’

He shot her a look of derision, but the tension in his face eased when her lips broke into a smile. Mercifully, at the same time, a man in dirtied jogging bottoms and a hoodie sauntered out of the shop, carrying a bottle of Fanta, two bags of crisps and two pizzas, and jumped into his van. As soon as the vehicle moved on, Tomek lurched forward and parked up beside the pump. As he opened the filler cap via the lever underneath his seat, he turned to Martina and, out of politeness, asked, ‘Want anything?’

‘Just the weekly shop, if that’s all right? I’ve got a list.’

Tomek rolled his eyes. She was turning out to be as sarcastic as him. Had he finally met his match?

‘I was just trying to be polite,’ he replied. ‘But now you’ve earned yourself the sweet sum of fuck all. And you can shove that list where it’s required.’ He feigned an overly pretentious smile. ‘Enjoy!’

Closing the door, he turned his attention to the pump, filled the car up, then made his way to the shop. A blast of cold air hit him in the face as he entered. The queue had reduced by a handful of people but was still almost as long as the shop. He joined the end.

As he waited, inching forward as slowly as a buffering video, he toyed with the idea of getting something for Martina. Something sweet. Something savoury. Something to say thank you and sorry for having to be in his company.

She seemed a pleasant woman, with a good sense of humour. Somebody who came across as switched-on, thorough, eager to impress and eager to improve. Somebody who was good at her job. The only problem was he had absolutely no idea what she liked. A Twix? KitKat? Mars bar? Or something rogue like one of those Boost bars that looked like diabetes in a plastic wrapper. Better not to upset her and make things awkward by getting something she didn’t like. But what if she was secretly expecting something, even after he’d joked about it?

He quickly glanced towards the car but was unable to see her through the reflection of the clouds on the windscreen.

Jesus! Why was he overthinking this so much? It wasn’t that important. He had only just met her. It wasn’t as though he’d been trying to flirt with her for weeks and the meek gesture of a chocolate bar was a sure-fire way to secure the deal.

He was about to put the Double Decker back on the shelf when something changed. A knot formed in his stomach, and an alarm bell began to ring inside his head. The sensation of being watched – the ominous presence in the distance, the Spidey-sense that began to tingle – overwhelmed him and he lifted his head. His eyes started to scan the forecourt.

They stopped as soon as they landed on the white BMW that was parked right in front of him.

Tomek held his breath, frozen. The chocolate bar slipped between his fingers and clattered to the ground, alerting everyone else in the queue. But Tomek remained fixated on the man with the teardrop tattoo. The man he could, this time, see very clearly behind the windscreen.

It wasn’t until the car slowly reversed and pulled away that Tomek was brought back to the shop. The first thing he noticed was the bar of chocolate extended towards him, offered by the man in front.

‘You all right, mate?’ the man asked. ‘You dropped this.’

‘Mind just went blank for a minute there. Sorry.’

Tomek took the bar and placed it back on the shelf.

The man finished paying, and as his final parting gift, he said, ‘My dad had that. Should probably get it checked out.’

Tomek thanked the man for his advice, then stepped up to the cashier. He paid, took the receipt, and headed sheepishly for the door. As he exited, he stared into the empty space where the BMW had been.

Had he imagined it? Was his mind playing tricks on him? Was he hallucinating?

He battled the thoughts on the way to the car.

‘Everything okay?’ Martina asked as he slid in. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost.’

A ghost? he thought. No, that wasn’t a ghost. Ghosts can’t hurt you. They’re not real. But what I saw… what I saw was very real. And very capable of hurting me and everyone I love.

‘Not quite,’ he said, starting the ignition. ‘Just thought I saw somebody I recognised from school.’

‘Ah,’ she said. ‘Same thing then. Most of the people I knew from school are ghosts to me now. Some of them quite literally.’

CHAPTER

SEVENTEEN

Date: Wednesday 16th October

Time: 11:47

Title: Scratch 32

I never thought this would blow up as quickly as it has. Tabitha and I are both immensely surprised by all your support and words of encouragement. She doesn’t quite see it the same way I do, but I believe she will come round in due course. She will understand that this is all in the name of science and for the betterment of the human race.

Many of you have asked for updates on not only Tabitha’s vitals but also her mental state. This was not something I considered in my original thesis. I did not factor in the effect her mental health may have on the rest of her body. However, I see now that if she concedes mentally, the rest of her body will surrender too.

Right now, she is taking it personally. She believes I have done this to her for a specific reason, when the reality is very different. She was selected at random. I have tried explaining this to her, but she does not quite understand yet. I’m sure she will in time.

She is constantly crying, which is to be expected. Now and then, she dips in and out of consciousness, and when I try to feed her or give her water, she does not react well. She does not trust me. In due time, she will come to trust me.

Today, she has had one solid meal and half a litre of fluid. She has consumed the latter, but large quantities of the former remain untouched. This will, of course, affect the outcomes of the experiment.

Method of cut: sharpened aglet

Location on the body: web of her toes

Wound width: 2.1mm

Wound depth: 3.4mm

Wound length: 14.8cm

Blood loss (est): 40ml

Tabitha’s total weight: 79kg

Waist measurement: 37.1 inches

Chest measurement: 36.7 inches

Upper arm measurement: 12.3 inches

Thigh measurement: 25.1 inches

Further findings and observations: already, some of the earlier scratches have begun to scab over and heal. Scratch 32 appears to have drawn more blood than previously. I wonder whether this is a direct result of the recent blood loss or if it is due to her increased heart rate whenever I approach her. Either way, the amount of blood drawn was three times that from Scratch 31.

Interestingly, today Tabitha lashed out at me. It was only minor, but she attempted to slap me and claw at me with her nails. Perhaps this was her attempt at self-defence. Needless to say, I considered administering another scratch as punishment, but I chose not to. This time I was considerate. Next time, I won’t be.

I continue to make friendly conversation – I want to get to know my subject on a deeper, more personal level – but she is reluctant to provide any further information beyond what I already know. I will break her down eventually.

Her vitals show no sign of retreating or suffering. Her pulse is strong. Her eyes are fine. Her kidneys and liver continue to function.

On to the next.

CHAPTER

EIGHTEEN

Almost thirty minutes and an extra strong flat white later, Tomek, Martina, and the rest of his skeleton team were back in the Major Incident Room. Tomek had called ahead to plan the meeting, and he found them waiting for him as he entered, looking up at him expectantly, like a group of students eager and ready to learn.

‘I could get used to this,’ he said. ‘Makes me feel important.’

‘That’s the last thing we need,’ Rachel replied sardonically. ‘An even more inflated ego. I’m surprised you managed to fit through the door just now.’

‘Next time I might need some help.’

Tomek gestured for Martina to sit at the table, then strode to the head of the room with purpose, the same way he’d seen Nick do a thousand times. The only difference was that he didn’t have a handful of folders to slap down on the surface, and he wasn’t in the mood to clean up a spilled coffee afterwards. Behind him was the wall of whiteboards the team used during an investigation. Photos, evidence, and other pieces of paraphernalia dangled from them. Immediately behind him was the designated board for Operation Trident, and right now it was looking embarrassingly sparse. The only addition, since Tomek had written the operation name in bright red marker, was the most recent image of Vicky Sanchez: a selfie she’d posted on her social media, in the salon, flaunting a fresh set of pink nails in the foreground. It wasn’t the best, nor perhaps the most appropriate, but Tomek had approved it because he thought it was the most telling depiction of her personality: someone who was bright, bubbly, and outgoing. And, more importantly, because it had been taken the day she went missing, so they knew what she’d been wearing.

Beneath the social media image, her name was written in black ink, underlined several times.

Tomek turned his attention to his team, scanning the faces looking back at him.

‘I’ll keep our report brief,’ he began. ‘Vicky’s parents told us nothing new. They were understandably distraught at the latest news about their daughter. Martina, would you mind making a note to introduce them to Anna? She’ll be on hand to offer them support and guidance should they need it.’

‘I didn’t think she was part of this team, Sarge,’ Rachel replied.

‘Unofficially she is. Now, anyway. Just… pass on the message, please, Martina.’

Martina replied with a polite nod of her head. Tomek liked that. No fuss. No quibbles. Just a silent nod confirming she would do what she was told.

He turned his attention to Chey.

‘Carter, what have you got for me since we last had the pleasure of speaking?’

The young constable turned to him slowly. The colour had washed from his face, and his eyebrows were downturned.

‘There’ve been more posts.’

He said it with such solemnity it sucked the air from the room.

‘And?’ Tomek asked, uncertain whether he wanted to hear the rest. Whether he wanted to know if Vicky Sanchez had succumbed to her wounds or if she was still clinging on.

‘She’s fine,’ Chey replied.

Tomek exhaled deeply.

‘How many is that now?’ Rachel asked.

‘Scratch number thirty-two,’ Chey answered. He then proceeded to cite the latest blog post. Everyone took a moment to reflect on what they’d just heard.

‘When was it posted?’ Rachel asked.

‘Over an hour ago. Eleven forty-seven.’

‘Is that consistent with the rest of them?’

Chey shook his head, pursing his lips, a look of defeat drawn across his face. ‘There’s no clear pattern to the scratches. They’re at completely random times. At first, I thought he might have been doing it during his lunch breaks because the first couple were around lunchtime. But then they started appearing at random. Six in the afternoon. Midnight. Four in the morning. Then another one thirty minutes later. I don’t get it. It doesn’t make sense.’

‘It does to me,’ Martina said, then caught herself when the team snapped their necks in her direction.

‘Go on…’ Tomek insisted.

‘Well, it suggests he’s with her, doesn’t it? Inflicting these wounds at random times, like you said. He’s keeping her awake to torture her even further. Not only is he harming her physically, he’s draining her mentally and emotionally. She can’t have slept at all, and I’d be surprised if she tried to attack him again. Though, based on that, she might not even have the mental capacity to think about it.’ She swallowed hard, turning to Tomek as if seeking his approval. ‘I think he’s got her locked up somewhere he can have twenty-four-hour access to her. Undisturbed and uncontaminated.’

‘Very good,’ Tomek said. ‘Agreed.’

‘And from the sounds of it,’ Rachel began, interrupting, ‘it’s someone with a medical background. Someone who knows how to inflict these wounds, how to measure Vicky’s vitals, her bloods, her kidneys, and all the rest of it. That’s not just an average person who knows how to do that.’

Tomek nodded slowly. The thought hadn’t crossed his mind until now. He massaged the thin stubble that hugged his jawline.

‘Excellent point,’ he said. ‘Has anyone looked into who Vicky’s GP is or looked at her medical history to see if there’s anything worth checking out there?’

A series of blank faces. He passed the task on to Rachel, who made a note in her notebook with added enthusiasm.

‘They’d have to be out of work though, Sarge,’ Chey added confidently. ‘Or someone who works from home.’

‘A doctor who works from home?’ Tomek retorted. ‘I’ve got more chance of winning the lottery than that ever becoming a reality.’

‘Maybe they’re on leave. Or sick.’

‘That’s one word to describe them, Constable.’

Turning his back to the team, he surveyed the whiteboard, his mind running off in several tangents. He tried to conjure an image of Vicky, trapped inside a concrete tomb, slowly being cut to death. He wondered where she was, what sort of place she was being kept in. Was there running water? Was it a house? Could she scream? Would the neighbours, if there were any, hear her?

He drew a blank on all fronts.

Then he turned back to the team.

‘Does anyone have anything good for me?’

Another display of blank faces, until Rachel raised her hand.

‘Not good news. But not bad news. Just… news.’

‘Go on.’

‘I thought it might be a good idea to look into previous partners, so I spoke with Vicky’s ex-boyfriend, Lucas Whitmore. He’s got previous for domestic violence.’

‘What did he have to say for himself?’

‘That he was mortified to hear about what had happened to her.’

‘And?’

‘That he hasn’t spoken to her in years, that he’s now in a happy relationship with someone from his work. They’ve been together for over a year and have moved in together. As for “that incident”, as he referred to it, he’s put it behind him. “That incident” being the time he’d lamped one on Vicky after a heated argument. She’d thrown a glass of water over him, and then he’d retaliated with a swing of the fist, followed by another. An incident which had been witnessed and reported by two of her neighbours. A court case followed, and Lucas earned himself a six-month prison sentence and a criminal record for what he claimed was a “loss of control”.’

‘And his whereabouts on the night Vicky went missing?’

Tomek had asked the question of Rachel, but it was Martina who answered. ‘In his flat with his girlfriend. Nothing’s changed since we asked him a few weeks back. His alibi was corroborated by his girlfriend.’

Another non-starter. But Tomek didn’t think it was the end of the line for Lucas Whitmore. He may have had a possibly watertight alibi, but that didn’t mean he was absolved of having something to do with Vicky’s abduction. Nine times out of ten, crimes like this were committed by someone who knew the victim. He certainly hoped that was the case because, if so, they’d have a much higher chance of finding her.

Alive…

‘One last thing,’ Tomek began. ‘The case of the previous incident that DI Thorn mentioned yesterday. Fiona… Can someone look into that? Chey? Maybe one for you.’

‘Me?’

‘Unless you’ve got too much on?’

Chey looked uncomfortable with the request. ‘I…’

‘It’s fine, don’t worry. Anyone else?’

‘I’ll be happy to take it!’ Martina cried, raising her hand quickly to secure her position in first place.

Rachel scrunched her nose up at the decision. From the beginning of the discussion, Tomek had sensed a battle going on between her and Martina, as if both were vying for his attention, playing favourites. He didn’t know why, but he was happy for them to continue, for there to be a little more competition in the team. At least that way, with any luck, they might start getting results.

CHAPTER

NINETEEN

‘Tomek!’

The call had come from the other side of the office the instant he stepped out of the Major Incident Room. It took him by surprise, and he wasn’t embarrassed to admit that a small shriek escaped his lips. Standing in the opposite corner of the room was Victoria, summoning him with an imperious wave of her hand.

As he sauntered across the office, he caught a glance from Sean. There was a look of consternation on the big man’s face. Tomek offered his friend a sardonic roll of the eyes, as if to say, Here we go, what have I done now?

‘Don’t forget to close the door on your way in,’ Victoria said as he entered.

Carefully shutting the door behind him, he gave one last look at his colleagues. And then they disappeared. Then it was just the two of them. Victoria was perched behind her desk, looking at something on her computer, as if she’d already become distracted. When he moved to seat himself, she glanced at him, unimpressed.

He hovered awkwardly.

‘Are you going to sit, or do you want to have this conversation standing up?’ she asked.

‘Do I want to have this conversation seated?’

She shrugged. ‘Makes no odds to me.’

Strange. He’d never seen her like this. Terse and confusing. Usually, the two never came hand in hand. She was either so blunt and direct that she left nobody in the room with any uncertainty, or she spoke so tangentially that she left people thinking the moon was their home.

In the end, Tomek sat down at the desk.

‘Thanks for coming,’ she said, her attention now solely focused on him.

‘Didn’t have much of a choice, but you’re welcome.’

Before she responded, she searched for a notepad and pen. It took her almost thirty seconds to find them amongst the mess on her desk.

‘Everything all right?’ he asked. ‘You don’t seem your usual self.’

She blew a strand of hair away from her face. It was then that he noticed it looked like she hadn’t washed it in a week.

‘I’m fine,’ she answered. ‘Sometimes things go missing. I’m sure you know what that’s like.’

He did. He was always losing things, misplacing them, relying on the universe to return them to him again. But he didn’t expect it from her. Victoria was usually such a stickler for tidiness and a poster girl for anal-retentive behaviour.

Something was wrong. Seriously wrong, by her standards.

Sean.

‘Operation Trident,’ she began. ‘Where are we?’

‘In your office, ma’am.’

The attempt at light humour didn’t work. It seldom did with her, but there were times – infrequent moments – when he found a joke or two would slip through the cracks of her strict and proper exterior. This was not one of those times.

‘Where are we up to in the investigation? I have to give an update to Nick in an hour, and I want something to tell him.’

Tomek scratched the back of his head. ‘I wish there was something to tell you, in all honesty. The short of it is, we know pretty much the sum of fuck all. Information is pretty thin on the ground. We have a vague understanding of how she went missing, though we’ll need to explore it ourselves at some point. We’re monitoring the dark web posts and the comments section in Scorpion, but there’s nothing to indicate where she’s being kept. The digital forensics team are currently trying to trace the IP address for a location, but no luck. The latest we have is scratch number thirty-two. We have no idea how long she might have left. We’re struggling out there; we need support.’

‘At least we know her name.’

He couldn’t believe she’d just said that. As though that was the box ticked. Progress? Plenty, sir. We know her name.

‘That’s not going to help us find her,’ he retorted.

‘It puts you a step closer. Without her name, you wouldn’t know what she looks like. Without knowing what she looks like, you wouldn’t be able to share the message about her disappearance externally. Have you done anything like that yet?’

Tomek admitted he hadn’t. ‘We need support.’

‘From whom? From where?’ Her tone had become more abrupt, reverting to her usual self. ‘I can’t just pluck people out from my arse, Tomek. I’m not a magician.’

‘No magician should ever learn that trick. Imagine the mess…’

‘I’ll ask again: where am I supposed to find your support?’

‘The rest of the team, for starters. Oscar… Martin… Anna…’

‘Three more bodies. Is that really going to be enough?’

‘Better than nothing.’

‘And what will you do with those extra bodies? How much are they going to cost you?’

‘Cost? What do you mean?’

‘Budgets!’ Victoria prodded a random piece of paper he assumed was related to her point. ‘Things cost money and time. The more you pull people away from their existing responsibilities, the more it adds to the hours and budget. That’s why you all have to do timesheets.’

‘Surely more people on the team means we get a bigger budget?’

She scoffed. ‘I was that naïve once. But sadly, it doesn’t work that way. So, again, where do you want me to magic these people from?’

‘What about Missing Persons?’

‘They should be assisting anyway.’

‘I mean, we have Martina. But one or two extra pairs of hands wouldn’t hurt.’

Victoria scribbled something down. He didn’t know what, but before he could find out, she moved the conversation along. ‘Fine, you can have Martin, Oscar, and Anna from tomorrow. And I’ll speak with DI Thorn about extending more resources, but don’t get your hopes up.’

‘I won’t. Thank you, Victoria.’

‘Anything else you think I should know? So far, I’ve got a complete dearth of information and a request for more support. Sound about right?’

Tomek didn’t appreciate her tone. He replied with a slow nod.

‘When do you think you’ll find her?’ Victoria asked.

Tomek took a moment to think. He didn’t like that question. It implied that they would find her. But he was painfully aware that there were never any guarantees, that things didn’t always work out the way you hoped, that life wasn’t always that kind.

‘We’ll find her when we find her.’

More scribbling.

‘And, last question: do you expect to find her dead or alive?’

CHAPTER

TWENTY

Alive.

Tomek had gone with alive. He was determined to ensure that he and the rest of the team did everything they could to find Vicky Sanchez alive and well and bring her home to her loving parents.

But there were no guarantees, no absolutes in the world of policing.

The afternoon was dragging by like watching paint dry. Staring at the computer screen relentlessly, typing up his team’s notes, he was waiting for them to conduct their witness statements and interviews out in the field. He felt lost, spent. They were the ones doing all the hard work, uncovering the information, overturning the stones. He wanted to be the one out there doing something, rather than the one pulling all the strings.

Mercifully, the feeling of emptiness quickly disappeared when he received a text message from Kasia, asking him to pick her up from her friend’s house. Fortunately, Sophia and Claire only lived a short distance from their home, so the journey wasn’t too out of the way but as he drove back from the office, his thoughts of Vicky Sanchez quickly turned to thoughts of the man with the teardrop tattoo.

He was seeing white BMWs everywhere. Outside the station. At the traffic lights. Along the London Road. Driving past him on the other side of the street. It was as if no other car existed. His attention was solely focused on a white BMW, so much so that he thought the silver Hyundai parked outside Claire’s house was the car driven by the man who was quickly plaguing his every waking moment.

Blinking the white BMW away, he sauntered towards the front door, glancing over at the silver Hyundai repeatedly. He was still staring at it when the front door opened and a swathe of light enveloped him.

‘Is this how they greet people in Mersea?’ Claire asked, holding onto the edge of the door for support.

‘What? Oh? Sorry. Miles away there.’

‘Did you see a squirrel or something?’

‘Are you calling me a dog?’

She raised her hands in surrender. ‘You’re the one who said it. Would you like to come in?’

‘I did, but not anymore.’

Claire chuckled, revealing a set of healthy teeth. She was a plain woman, but Tomek thought she was quietly pretty. Understated, hidden beneath the thin veneer of make-up and swiftly done hair. Tomek would be lying if he said he wasn’t attracted to her, but she was his daughter’s best friend’s mum. That would only serve to complicate things.

‘I’ve just opened a bottle of wine,’ she said, stepping aside. ‘It would be a shame to let it go to waste.’

She’s just inviting me in while we wait for Kasia. Nothing else.

‘Wouldn’t want that,’ he said as he followed her into the house, through the hallway, and into the kitchen.

Upstairs, he heard Kasia and Sophia giggling, followed by rhythmic stomping, as if they were bouncing on the spot. He wouldn’t put it past them if they were dancing up there.

Tomek gestured towards the ceiling with his finger. ‘How’ve they been?’

‘I haven’t seen ’em, to be honest. They’ve only ventured out for food and drink. Now and then they make enough noise for me to know they’re breathing.’

‘Sounds about right.’

Claire moved to the other side of the kitchen and reached for the bottle of wine. Beside her half-full glass was a conveniently placed second. She filled it and handed it to Tomek. He thanked her, and as he took a sip, began to scan the kitchen.

Something was different.

‘Have you had a new kitchen fitted?’ he asked. ‘Or has this wine gone to my head already?’

Claire stroked the surface behind her. ‘Your eyes do not deceive you, Tomek. I can see why you’re a detective. But it’s not a brand-new kitchen; I’m not made of money. It’s called vinyl wrapping. The look of the finished article without the price tag. Someone I used to work with has started his own business, so he gave me mates’ rates.’

Tomek admired the white marble-texture wrapping with a nod and another sip of the wine.

‘Did he give you a referral code?’

She shook her head. ‘But I’m sure if you mentioned my name, he might knock something off the price.’

‘And your name was Claire… right?’

‘Don’t forget the I,’ she joked, helping herself to a top-up. ‘I heard you had an eventful time in Mersea.’

‘That’s one word to describe it. How much did Kasia fill you in on?’

‘Not much. None of the gory details, at least. I’d read about most of those online.’

Tomek was transported to the Packing Shed in Mersea, a small wooden structure renowned for once being a prominent part of Mersea Island’s history. He had been sitting beside a dead woman with a blade sticking out from her abdomen, covered in blood, about to have a similar sort of weapon plunged into his own stomach, had it not been for Kasia.

‘I heard she saved you,’ Claire added.

Tomek raised an eyebrow. ‘She mentioned that?’

‘It was the first thing she said.’

‘Don’t blame her. We’re even now.’

‘What happened?’ Claire moved closer to him, as if they were about to discuss something top secret. He wasn’t certain, but he thought she was swaying a little, and her eye contact lingered a little too long. Over the next few minutes, Tomek filled her in on the details, including the gory bits. Throughout, Claire was transfixed, displaying all the right emotions – shock, horror, adoration, relief – at all the right moments. By the end of it, she looked spent, exhausted. And, he thought, a little turned on.

‘You must have been so scared,’ she said slowly, placing a hand on his forearm.

Just as he opened his mouth to respond, Claire fumbled the glass of wine and dropped it to the floor. The glass hit the hard tiled floor at full force, cracking into a dozen pieces.

‘Oh, bollocks!’ she yelled. ‘I’m so sorry about that. Wasn’t thinking. Don’t move. Let me get the dustpan and brush.’

She set about the kitchen, searching for the dustpan and brush in almost every cupboard, muttering to herself about where she’d left it. With a huff, she left the kitchen and returned a moment later with it in hand.

‘Where was it?’ Tomek asked, still massaging the spot on his forearm where she’d touched him.

‘Cupboard under the stairs. The bastard thing goes wandering sometimes. I’m constantly having to sweep up Sophia’s hair – she moults like a dog – and I forget where I’ve put it.’

Claire crouched down on the floor and began sweeping up the smaller shards of glass. Tomek crouched on his knees and began pinching the edges of the larger pieces with his fingers, moving them to a single place. Claire noticed this and looked up at him disapprovingly. ‘You’ll cut your fingers.’

‘I’m an adult,’ he replied. ‘I should be all right. Besides, I’ve dealt with worse in the past.’

‘Oh yeah?’ she asked, a hint of flirtation in her tone.

Together they worked clearing the mess, gradually moving closer and closer. Eventually, Claire set the dustpan and brush on the floor and reached for the small pile Tomek had made beside his foot. Both were oblivious to the blood-red liquid currently seeping along the runnels between the tiles, spreading across the width of the kitchen.

Claire reached out a hand and placed it on his. ‘You didn’t have to,’ she said, then moved his hand away from the pile. ‘It was my mess to clean up.’

‘It’s no big deal.’

Suddenly, before he knew it, their faces were centimetres from one another. Claire’s steaming-hot wine breath ascended his nostrils, but he didn’t mind. He stared deep into her eyes, appreciating them in all their beauty for the first time.

Their faces moved closer.

They were having a moment.

But something was holding Tomek back. Something stopped him from committing to the kiss.

Claire was Sophia’s mum. Sophia and Kasia were best friends. It would have been inappropriate, awkward, if things didn’t work out. It could jeopardise Kasia’s and Sophia’s relationship, and he couldn’t do that to her.

Mercifully, he didn’t have to deal with the awkward situation of pulling away from the kiss and explaining himself because, before their lips touched – and changed their relationship forever – they were interrupted by the girls entering the room.

Both of them stopped in the doorway. Kasia stared at Tomek, eyes wild. Meanwhile, Sophia threw her hand to her mouth and began to scream.

‘Oh my God! There’s so much blood! What happened?’

Tomek and Claire both shot to their feet. Claire consoled her hysterical daughter, explaining that nobody was bleeding, that nobody was dying, and that everything was okay, while Tomek reached for the roll of kitchen paper on the windowsill and began placing the sheets over the wine.

‘I just dropped my glass,’ Claire said. ‘Look, nobody’s hurt. It was just an accident.’

Sophia, her shoulders rising and falling heavily with panic, calmed as quickly as she’d started.

‘Oh. Well, that was silly of you, wasn’t it?’ Sophia said. ‘If that was me, you’d’ve had a proper go.’

Tomek knew an incipient argument when he heard one and took that as their cue to leave. He turned to Kasia.

‘Got your things?’

‘Upstairs.’

‘Go and get them and say goodbye.’

Without saying anything, she disappeared upstairs. By the time she returned, Tomek had finished cleaning the last of the wine from the tiles. As he made to leave, he noticed the embarrassment on Claire’s face.

He placed a hand on her arm, embraced her, and said, ‘Thanks for looking after her. I really appreciate it.’

‘She’s always welcome.’

Tomek smirked. ‘Great. And next time, I’ll bring you a replacement glass. My way of saying thank you.’

Better to leave it at that, rather than the offer of dinner or a bottle round his place.

With that, Tomek and Kasia said their goodbyes and left. Outside, the temperature had dropped drastically, and overhead a dozen stars began to sparkle brilliantly in the sky, shining through the dim orange glow of the streetlamps beside them.

Tomek had parked close by, and they walked in silence. As they sauntered along the street, Tomek caught Kasia glancing at him now and then. By the time they entered the car, the smirk on her face was obvious.

‘It wasn’t what it looked like,’ he said as he shut the door behind him.

The smirk intensified. ‘Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, Dad.’

CHAPTER

TWENTY-ONE

THURSDAY

Date: Thursday 17th October

Time: 02:32

Title: Scratch 40

Things have begun to intensify. Tabitha’s body is quickly starting to react. She has become much less responsive and is defending herself less. She is not fighting me as much, nor as forcefully, as before. I believe the loss of blood, lack of food and hydration (her choice, as I continue to offer her food and water), along with sleep deprivation, are all contributing factors.

She can barely keep her eyes open, and when she does, they are as red as the blood leaking from her wounds. She has not emptied her bowels in more than twenty-four hours. Her face and entire body are sweating profusely. Now and then, she begins to shiver uncontrollably.

I will continue to supply her with food and water, attempting to force-feed her as much as possible. But the time is near. The time is soon.

I will continue to administer scratches until she draws her final breath. Nothing else will change.

Finding space on her body has proven more difficult than I expected. I have tried to avoid the wrist, neck, and inner thigh – areas that may have an adverse effect on the results. The best areas for blood loss have been the stomach and upper arm. However, that does not mean I have neglected the rest of the body. A particular favourite of mine has been the webbing between her toes and fingers. Though, from Tabitha’s reactions, I believe she does not feel the same way. There were a lot of screams during that particular part of our evening.

Tabitha’s kidneys are beginning to shut down. Whenever she does pee, which is once a day at most, her urine is the colour of mud, with a slight red tinge to it. Over the past few hours, I have been monitoring her heart rate much more closely, and the results are intriguing: her pulse has dropped from eighty to seventy beats a minute, and her blood pressure has skyrocketed to 182/90.

Please see the results of the most recent scratch:

Method of cut: scissors

Location on the body: armpit

Wound width: 4.6mm

Wound depth: 2mm

Wound length: 4.4 inches

Blood loss (est): 6.3g

Tabitha’s total weight: 75kg

Waist measurement: 35.8 inches

Chest measurement: 35.7 inches

Upper arm measurement: 11.3 inches

Thigh measurement: 24.7 inches

I have to keep reminding myself of the control elements in my investigation. On several occasions, I have been tempted to cut deeper, harder, longer. But on each occasion, I have pushed back, with the exception of one – the latest one. I had a moment of weakness, whereby I made the incision deeper than usual, just to see if I could gauge a reaction from her.

But for the next scratch, I will be better. For the next scratch, I intend to take things up a level. I would like to use a weapon I haven’t used yet: a scalpel. The weapon will cut below the subcutaneous layers of Tabitha’s skin and penetrate deep into her body. So there will be no poll, no decision to be made.

I will, of course, report my findings.

347168529

CHAPTER

TWENTY-TWO

The coffee machine behind the counter hissed and spluttered into life as the barista prepared their drinks. Tomek didn’t frequent the café around the corner from the station very often. He didn’t have the need; there was a perfectly good option in the office. Aside from having a similarly complex control panel as the International Space Station, it was capable of producing a perfect emulation of the coffee he could get in a coffee shop, for a fraction of the price.

And faster too.

They’d been waiting for just over three minutes since they ordered, watching in silence as the man poured, frothed, cleaned, and then poured some more.

As he finally handed them their drinks, his expression belied his choice of words. ‘Have a good day!’ he exclaimed, his forced smile revealing gritted teeth.

‘You too,’ Tomek replied as he headed towards the exit.

‘Actually, mate,’ Sean said, calling Tomek back, ‘can we hang here for a minute?’

It wasn’t a question. It was a plea.

‘Here?’

‘Yeah. For a chat.’

Tomek took a sip of his flat white. ‘I knew you weren’t just being a good friend, offering to get me a coffee. We should make “Ulterior Motive” your middle name.’

Sean grunted and pretended to laugh, but there was nothing funny about his expression. He found a seat nearby and pulled it out.

‘Is someone dead?’ Tomek asked flippantly.

‘What? No!’

‘Dying?’

Sean shook his head in confusion. ‘What are you talking about?’

‘Just getting the worst-case scenarios out of the way.’ Tomek cleared his throat. A couple of office types shuffled out of the café as the machine burst into life again. ‘What’s the craic? What’s on your mind?’

‘You sound like a therapist.’

‘Been around them long enough to know what they sound like.’

Which reminded him: he needed to reach out to Isabel and book an appointment. The constant paranoia and visions of white BMWs and men with teardrop tattoos had made him reconsider discussing things with her. She might offer a perspective he hadn’t considered yet.

‘Somehow, I don’t doubt that,’ Sean replied, his attention absorbed by the cup, twirling it in his fingers and staring into the contents.

Tomek sensed something deep was on his friend’s mind. His intuition also sensed what it was about.

‘How are things going with Vic?’ he asked.

Sean offered him a thankful look. ‘Not very good. Not very good at all, mate.’

‘I’m… I’m sorry to hear that. What’s happened?’

‘We’re just… we’re just arguing a lot. Like, all the time. In the morning when we wake up, during the day via text message or WhatsApp, and in the evening whenever we both get home. We’re at each other’s throats. And it’s not even big stuff; just all the petty, inconsequential shit. The dishes, the washing, getting things out of the freezer. Tiny, minuscule problems⁠—’

‘That lead to bigger issues over time,’ Tomek added.

Sean replied with a subtle nod.

‘Do you think you two moving in together was too soon?’

‘I had nowhere else to go.’

That was something Tomek was partly responsible for: after finding out he was being evicted, Sean had approached Tomek and asked for a place to stay, and Tomek had refused, citing Kasia as the justification. It hadn’t been his finest moment as a best friend, but he hoped he had a chance to redeem himself by offering some sage words of advice.

‘What’s the sex been like?’

‘Eh?’

‘Sex. You know, when two consenting adults love each other very much, and⁠—’

‘All right, all right.’ Sean cut him off with a wave of his hand. ‘The sex has been… what’s the word?’

‘Non-existent?’

Sean snapped his fingers. ‘Exactly.’

‘And how do you feel about the whole thing? Do you still love her?’

Sean hesitated, pulling a face.

‘Did you ever love her?’

The expression on his face worsened. His eyes fell on a woman who had just entered the coffee shop.

‘Fuck’s sake, Sean,’ Tomek replied. ‘That’ll be a no then.’

‘You have to help me!’

Tomek took a sip of his drink before responding. ‘I’m not sleeping with her, mate. That’s your job!’

‘Dickhead! You know that’s not what I meant. I need you to help me. Tell me what to do. I’m right in the thick of it, and I haven’t got a fucking clue how to get myself out. I’m in quicksand, and it’s pulling me under. Soon, one of us is gonna explode, and we’re gonna do it in the office.’

Tomek told him that he’d picked up on some rumblings and uneasiness at Nadia’s party.

‘Exactly. That was only just the start of it. We’d had an argument before we came out – she was running late and all of a sudden that was my fault – and then it continued when we got home. She even accused me of talking about it with you at the party.’

Tomek tilted his head to the side. ‘You said enough in your expression, mate. So where do you see yourselves going from here?’

‘That’s what you need to help me with!’

‘I can’t tell you what to do. But if it were me, I’d get out of there. If it’s making your home and work life miserable, the only time you have away from that is when you’re sleeping.’

‘Yeah, I’m not doing much of that either. I’m sleeping on the sofa most nights. I’m sure she’s put me on there on purpose because she knows it’s the most uncomfortable thing in the world. Honest to God, sleeping in a bed of cactuses would be more comfortable.’

‘Cacti,’ Tomek corrected, unable to help himself.

‘What?’

‘Nothing. Never mind. Continue.’

Sean paused a moment to collect his previous train of thought, then said, ‘I mean, we have our moments. Sometimes we’re good. We laugh, we talk, we’re amicable. But…’

‘But the good doesn’t outweigh the bad?’

Sean pursed his lips and shook his head.

‘I think you should probably have a conversation with her,’ he said. ‘Not just for your sake, but for everyone else’s. I know that shouldn’t be a factor, but because you work together, it’s got the potential to make things super messy. I know how petty she can be, and I can only imagine how she’ll behave after you decide to break up with her.’

‘Thanks,’ Sean said sharply. ‘Filling me with a boatload of confidence here.’

Tomek raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘Hey, you’re the one coming to me – the man who hasn’t had a successful relationship in his life – for relationship advice. More fool you for not liking the response.’

‘No, I came to you as a friend. You know me better than anyone.’

That was true. But it didn’t mean he was best placed to hand out relationship advice.

‘I can tell it’s having an effect on you. I’ve never seen you like this. And, for what it’s worth, I don’t think the two of you should continue. The sooner you rip the plaster off, the better – for everyone. I wouldn’t worry about the repercussions.’ He said the next part without thinking it through properly. ‘If you need somewhere to stay, I’m sure we can find somewhere for you until you get something sorted.’

‘Really?’ Suddenly there was life in Sean’s voice again.

‘Yeah. I don’t think it’ll be a problem.’

‘You sure? What about Kasia?’

Tomek waved the comment away. ‘She’ll be fine with it. I’ll explain the situation. But we’ll have to put you up on the sofa.’

‘Nothing I’m not used to.’

‘Though I hope for your benefit ours is more comfortable than what you’ve been working with.’

A grin, the first one Tomek had seen from his friend in a long time, grew on Sean’s face. He pushed his shoulders back and straightened his body slightly, as if his gears had been oiled and he’d just been wound up, buoyed by the offer of somewhere to stay.

‘You sure about this?’ he asked.

Tomek slowly nodded. Kasia would be all right with it, wouldn’t she?

It was too late now. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission, and all that.

Sean reached out and placed a hand on Tomek’s forearm, almost dwarfing it. He gave a light squeeze and said, ‘You’re the best, mate. Honestly, a really fucking good friend. I don’t know where I’d be without you sometimes.’

Tomek did: sofa surfing in someone else’s living room.

‘Don’t mention it. Besides, you might not need it,’ he replied.

There was hope.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-THREE

They returned to the station a few minutes later, discussing the previous night’s Premier League results. West Ham had narrowly beaten Arsenal in a thrilling 2–1 win, with Jarrod Bowen, Tomek’s favourite player (for obvious reasons), scoring the winning goal. As a result, the final score had seen the team move into the top half of the table for the first time that season. It was only October, and there was still a long way to go, but they were both feeling optimistic about the new season: new manager, new system, new players. What more could they ask for?

Their delight was brought to an abrupt stop as soon as they entered the office. Victoria had just come in from the other side. She paused, glowering at them. The atmosphere suddenly froze, and Tomek felt a chill creep in and gently tickle the back of his neck.

Victoria checked her watch. ‘There you were, not even twenty-four hours ago, asking for more support, Tomek, and you’re off treating yourself to a coffee while your team is working hard, catching up on the work you said you needed help with.’

She slipped into her office before Tomek could respond. The word ‘Bitch’ was on the tip of his tongue, but Sean muttered it under his breath before him.

As soon as she shut the door behind her, the atmosphere in the room returned to normal, and the chill disappeared.

‘Team!’ Tomek called. ‘Major Incident Room, two minutes. What do you say?’

Three minutes later, Chey, Rachel, Sean, Martin, Oscar, and Anna – the entire team – shuffled into the MIR. He was delighted to see the full team assembled; it filled him with renewed optimism. He was not, however, pleased to see the long, hangdog expressions on their faces as they entered the room. None of them looked like they wanted to be there. More worryingly, none of them appeared to have had a proper good night’s sleep, either.

They needed an injection of life, of energy.

Tomek quickly learned that would be harder than he thought.

‘How’s everyone doing this morning?’

No response, as they all looked at their notes, sipping absentmindedly on their drinks.

‘Everyone sleep well?’

Still nothing.

‘Any progress made yesterday that anyone wants to share?’

Silence.

He waited thirty seconds.

‘Nothing from nobody?’

Chey, Rachel, and Sean slowly turned to face him. Looking back at him were tired eyes and washed-out expressions. Rachel, who usually wore make-up to the office, hadn’t bothered that day. Chey, who frequently styled his hair with gel, also hadn’t bothered. Sean, on the other hand, always looked like he’d just woken up.

‘Oh dear.’

Tomek turned to the whiteboard behind him, stared at the picture of Vicky Sanchez in the vain hope it might offer inspiration, then turned back to the team.

‘All right, fill me in,’ he said, exhaling deeply. ‘Who wants to go first?’

There was no show of hands. In the end, Tomek pointed to Sean.

‘I have no updates,’ he started. ‘Actually, that’s a lie. I do have an update: nobody knows anything. Yesterday, I spoke with several of Tabitha’s colleagues – again – asking if they knew anything about her social life, any men she might have been speaking to, any dates she might have gone on where things didn’t end well or where she got a weird vibe. And nothing.’ He flicked through the notes in his book. ‘I also had a look through her social media pages and messages, using the laptop that uniform retrieved from her flat, and nothing. She hasn’t become friends with anyone recently. She hasn’t messaged anyone. She hasn’t communicated with anyone like that. I accessed her WhatsApp, and there was nothing out of the ordinary. The only thing that might be of use is some of the people who have reached out to her in her direct messages. She was an attractive girl, a frequent poster, and there are a handful of comments from a couple of people saying so.’

Tomek nodded. ‘Sounds like a good start. We need to visit her place of work as well. Walk her route home. See what’s nearby. See if there’s any evidence lying around. I know it’s been a couple of weeks, but I think we should put ourselves in her shoes. Did she see someone she knew? Did her attacker come out from somewhere nearby? Or did he drive up and just chuck her in the back of the car? Any takers?’

A hand shot up, belonging to Martin. He’d half expected nobody to respond.

‘Thank you, Mr Brown,’ he said. ‘I suggest taking Martina with you as well. She will be able to show you the route Vicky took. Rach?’

DC Hamilton lifted her gaze. ‘Yes?’

‘Anything from you?’

‘Nope. All my suspects and witnesses are leading me down a dead end.’

‘What about the doctor angle?’ Tomek asked.

‘I’ve accessed Vicky’s medical records. The last time she went to the GP was over six months ago.’

‘What for?’

‘Headaches. She hasn’t been back since.’

Tomek nodded thoughtfully. ‘What about more generally? Doctors in her practice or in the local area who have taken any time off, recently been let go, or taken a sabbatical?’

Rachel chewed on her bottom lip. ‘I didn’t have time yesterday. I’ll add it to my list today, but it could take some time.’

‘It’s important. Whoever’s doing this to her has a medical background, like we discussed.’

‘But it could be anyone,’ Chey interrupted. ‘It doesn’t have to be a doctor or GP. There are thousands of people who work in hospitals who have an understanding of medicine but not the title. What about paramedics? There are thousands of them too. They know how the body works. There are simply too many to question. It would take too long.’

‘We can narrow it down.’ Tomek turned to Martin and Rachel. ‘Does she have anyone in her friendship group who’s a paramedic? Any old partners, perhaps?’

Martin consulted his notes, flicking through several pages. Eventually, he shook his head.

Another dead end.

Tomek pulled out a chair from beneath the table and dropped himself into it. Placing one leg over the other, he stared at the ceiling, hoping for a flash of inspiration between the ceiling panels. They were rapidly running out of options. This was turning out to be a possible tiger kidnapping, where the victim and attacker were completely random, completely unrelated to one another. As a result, it meant their leads were as few and far between as their chances of finding her alive. It dawned on Tomek that they would need a miracle to find Vicky Sanchez. Barring that, a mistake from her abductor.

Though because they hadn’t made any so far, he didn’t think it likely they would.

He found his optimism rapidly depleting.

‘Chey…’ he said weakly. ‘What’s the latest from your end? Any news to share? Right now, I’ll take good or bad.’

The young constable moved his finger about the trackpad of his laptop before eventually spinning it around to show Tomek. On the screen was the latest update, posted in the early hours of the morning. Tomek briefly read through it. Anger, frustration, guilt, defeat – all emotions that landed a punch in his stomach – attacked him from all angles.

‘Christ on a bike,’ he muttered, then showed the post to the rest of the team.

‘She’s gonna die, isn’t she?’ Rachel asked, looking up at him like a child asking whether their pet was headed for a permanent visit to the vet’s.

Tomek decided not to answer the question.

‘I need to have a word with Victoria,’ he said, more for himself than the rest of the team. ‘At this rate, we have no chance of saving her.’ He clenched his fist and pounded it on the table repeatedly. Sighing heavily, he looked to Chey for some hope.

‘Did you notice it?’ the constable asked.

‘Notice what?’

‘At the end of the post. The number.’

Tomek took the screen from Martin once he’d finished reading the article and scanned the bottom of the website.

347168529

‘What the fuck is that?’ Tomek asked.

‘It’s a code.’

‘I can see that. Why didn’t you say anything sooner?’

Chey shrugged.

‘What does it mean?’

Another shrug. ‘I have absolutely no idea.’ He turned the screen to the team, who stared blankly at the number.

‘Beats me.’

‘Can we try Googling it?’ Tomek asked.

Chey did as he suggested, but there was no result.

‘Are they coordinates?’

Another shrug.

‘Is that the first time the attacker’s broken the pattern and posted something like this?’

Chey nodded.

Why now? Tomek asked himself. Why now, when Vicky Sanchez was on the precipice of death, had the attacker decided to share an obscure piece of information? He didn’t know, but he was determined to find out. His mind began to reel off a series of possible interpretations for the number.

‘Bank account and sort code? Overseas mobile numbers? Circumference of the earth? The number of people following him on the dark web? The amount of times this twisted fuck has masturbated on the Internet?’

‘Leave it with me,’ Chey told him calmly. ‘I’ll look into it. I’ll speak with the guys down in Digital Forensics to see if there’s anything they can find.’

Tomek controlled his breathing, then brushed his hair into place. ‘Good man,’ he said. ‘And see if they can find any reference to it in his messages with Andy Wilson.’

‘Already have,’ Chey answered. ‘I skimmed through them before the meeting, and there was no direct mention of them.’

‘Look again,’ Tomek told him. ‘This time deeper. The numbers might relate to the timestamps on their chats or something. Or maybe they relate to the time he’s been posting on the dark web. Either way, he’s put that information out for a reason. And we need to find out what it is.’

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FOUR

The salon was, rather uninspiringly, called The Nail Lounge and was situated along a busy road in South Ockendon. Martin and Martina climbed out of the car and stood outside the front door of the salon.

‘Her colleagues advised she left the shop at seventeen thirty-two,’ Martina began, looking at her phone for the information. She pointed in a westerly direction, where the road bent out of sight. On the right-hand side of the pavement was a small cul-de-sac where the houses were crammed tightly against one another. Cars were parked along the side of the road, leaving little room for other vehicles to manoeuvre past. The pavement was uneven and cracked, with weeds tearing it apart. In the background, Martin heard children playing in a garden and the unmistakable sound of a ball bouncing against a brick wall.

At 12:10 pm.

When they should have been in school.

‘Vicky came down this road as she always did, and then headed down there…’

Martina pointed to a small break in the row of houses. An alleyway, no wider than a few feet, led into darkness.

‘On the other side of that alleyway is a path that leads past the recreation ground and several fields. Down there was the last anyone saw her,’ she added.

‘I didn’t think anyone saw her on the night she went missing?’ Martin queried.

‘One person did. Only briefly, through his bedroom window.’

Martin paused. ‘Did he see anything else?’

Martina shook her head.

‘Where is he? Which house number?’

Martina pointed to number 24 on the other side of the road.

‘Let’s see if he’s in. He might have remembered something since your last visit.’

Callum Carmichael looked like he’d lived in the same pair of jogging bottoms for the past month. They had stains at the crotch and on the thighs, and there was a slight aroma emanating from both regions. Either that, or it was being secreted from his pores.

Martin wanted to avoid touching the man’s hand as much as possible. It wasn’t because the man was dirty – though that was a contributing factor – it was because he didn’t like touching people full stop. He was a germophobe and tried to avoid physical contact as much as he could. Possibly as a result, he hadn’t had a day off sick for over two years, something he prided himself on.

‘You guys wanna sit?’ Callum asked. ‘I can move sum bits ’bout for ya, ya like?’

Martin observed the mess of the living room and shook his head. ‘We won’t be long,’ he answered. ‘We just have a few questions we wanted to ask.’

‘This ’bout that girl that went missin’ the uvva week?’

Martin nodded, holding his breath. The less of the putrid air he inhaled in the place, the better.

‘I understand you saw her venturing down that alleyway opposite your house on the night she went missing,’ Martin said.

Callum nodded slowly, scratching just beneath his armpit. He thought the quick sniff of his fingers was surreptitious, but Martin saw it; now he had another reason not to shake the man’s hand.

‘What time was that?’ Martin asked. ‘Can you remember?’

Another scratch, this time on the back of his head.

‘Musta bin ’bout five… five thirty-ish. I di’n’t look pacifically at the time. Di’n’t I already tell you lot this the uvva week?’

‘We’re just doing some follow-up enquiries,’ Martina explained. ‘Just to see if you’ve remembered anything since.’

Shaking his head, Callum replied, ‘I already told ya lot wot I already knew.’

That wasn’t good enough for Martin. He needed to make sure.

‘Did you see anyone else venture into the alleyway after her, Callum?’ he asked.

Another shake of the head. ‘Don’t fink so. It was dark.’

Dark? At 17:30 on an early October evening?

‘But it wasn’t dark enough for you to miss Vicky in the first place, was it?’

Callum shrugged his shoulders as if to say, What do you want me to tell you?

‘What were you doing when you spotted her?’

Martin raised an eyebrow at that.

‘Makin’ the bed, up in my bedroom, innit.’

‘That’s when you saw her going down the alleyway?’

‘Yeah. See her a’most evr’y day. Sometimes I keep an eye out for her.’

Martin’s ears perked up. ‘Why?’

‘Well…’ He glanced between Martina and Martin. ‘Because she’s fit, int she. Nice to look at, know what I mean?’

Martin didn’t answer. Instead, he thought it was very telling that Callum had frequently watched Vicky on her route home. Had he developed an obsession for her? Had he followed after her on the night she’d disappeared and brought her into his home? Martin glanced out of the rear patio doors. While there was no shed there, nor a garage adjoining the house at all, that didn’t mean Callum didn’t have a lock-up somewhere he might have been keeping her.

‘What do you do for a living?’ Martin asked.

‘I trade Pokémon cards online.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘Pokémon cards. You’ve ’eard of ’em right?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well, I buy packs, open ’em up on YouTube ’n make content with ’em. Then I sell ’em online for a profit. Di’n’t you know that was a fing?’

Martin looked at him, baffled. No, he didn’t know it was a thing. Neither did he know it was a source of income.

‘Yeah, I got a massive following, ’n I make a decent ’mount of money doing it too.’

Martin nodded in disbelief, his mind processing what he’d heard. Pokémon cards. Buying and selling online. It was insane how people made money nowadays.

‘What were you doing before that?’ he asked.

‘Nothing.’

Martin placed the man in his early thirties.

‘Nothing at all?’

Callum shook his head nonchalantly.

‘Do you have a medical background at all?’

‘What?’

‘A background in medicine, science, that type of thing?’

‘Absolutely not, no.’

‘What about anyone in your family?’

Chuckling, as if the suggestion was hilarious, Callum shook his head again. ‘My dad’s bin in ’n outta hospital recently with gout, but that’s ’bout as far as it goes in my family, to be honest.’

Martin glanced at Martina, who was struggling to stifle a yawn. He took that as their cue to leave.

‘Thanks for your time. We’ll be in touch if we have any further questions.’

‘You think it’s likely?’

‘Possibly. The nature of our investigation might require it.’

Martin made a move to leave.

‘No, I meant is it likely you’ll find ’er?’

Martin stopped on the half-turn. ‘What do you mean?’

‘I mean whether you’ll find ’er… alive?’

Martin closed the door behind him, his answer still ringing in his ears.

That’s our intention.

Except there was only so far intent could, and would, take them. They would need a miracle. And, hand on heart, he didn’t like the nagging feeling in the back of his mind that told him their chance of a miracle coming and saving the day was rapidly running out.

‘How was that for you?’ Martina asked as they wandered past Callum’s car and headed towards the alleyway. ‘Useful?’

‘Maybe. I need time to digest it.’

‘I think maybe we’re in the wrong job. Maybe we should just sell playing cards online like he does.’

Martin scoffed. ‘Crazy world we’re living in.’

The alleyway was narrower than Martin had been expecting and was only wide enough for single file. If someone had followed Vicky in, then it would have been impossible for Callum to miss them. But, on the other hand, if someone had met her coming the other way, they would have been out of sight, hidden behind her figure and the shadows cast by the houses on either side. Perhaps this was where she had met her kidnapper. And that was why Callum had seen nobody else.

He came to a sudden stop.

‘What’s wrong?’ Martina asked.

‘Was this place searched?’

He looked down at the ground, at the narrow row of weeds and flowers that lined the wooden fencing.

‘Here?’ Martina asked.

‘Yeah. When she went missing. Did anyone in your team think to look here for evidence?’

Martina’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. ‘We searched her flat and spoke with her family instead.’

‘So nobody followed the route she took home?’

She shook her head.

‘Fucking hell,’ Martin replied.

He retreated a few steps to the mouth of the alleyway, then crouched down and began searching across the concrete. He didn’t know what he was looking for. There might have been nothing to find in the first place. But that wasn’t going to stop him.

Martina dropped to her haunches behind him and began making her way along, focussing on the other side of the alleyway. Together they crawled across the concrete, gravel, and weeds, searching, their eyes scanning for something, anything.

By the time they almost reached the end of the alleyway, Martin was ready to give up. The most exciting thing he’d seen was an empty can of ginger beer and the discarded ring-pull that came with it.

Until something caught his eye. Something that glittered in the shadows.

‘Martina!’ he said, clawing in the air for her until eventually, he felt her leg.

‘What is it?’

Martin pointed at the small diamond earring that was the same size as his little fingernail.

‘I recognise it,’ he said, reaching for his phone.

‘From where?’

He didn’t respond. Instead, he unlocked his phone, scrolled through his files, and stopped when he saw the image. On the screen was a photo that had been taken from Vicky’s Instagram: a selfie of her and some friends on a night out. Alongside the make-up, done-up hair, and the glistening white smile was a sparkling diamond earring that looked exactly like the one on the ground.

‘You think it’s hers?’

‘There’s only one way to find out.’

CHAPTER

TWENTY-FIVE

Thirty minutes. He’d been staring at the blinking cursor for thirty minutes, willing the words to appear on the screen. And nothing. They were stuck in his head, all jumbled up like a tin of alphabet spaghetti.

The report was due by the end of the day, and he had absolutely no idea what to include in it, other than the fact they were still no closer to finding Vicky Sanchez. He could have said as much, but Victoria wanted it to be detailed, with clear and concise follow-up points. If he wanted the extra support from Missing Persons, he was going to have to get the report in before the deadline.

Except he was experiencing a massive case of brain fog, and the coffee from the morning wasn’t helping much either. He’d tried to supplement his caffeine intake with another coffee, this time from the machine in the office, but it was having little effect. If anything, it had made his symptoms much worse.

When Tomek closed his eyes, small flashes of blue began to appear in the darkness.

That can’t be good, he thought.

Then, as he opened his eyes, his mobile began to vibrate on the table. As soon as his eyes fell on the caller ID, the flashes disappeared, and the room turned black.

Nathan.

For a long moment, his thumb hovered over the red button to deny the call, but for whatever reason, it wouldn’t move; it wouldn’t reject. A part of him wanted to answer it. To hear what the man had to say. To put a stop to the incessant phone calls, messages, and visits from the man with the teardrop tattoo.

A part of him wanted to do all those things, whereas the other part simply wanted to tell him to fuck off.

Pushing himself away from his desk, he headed into a small office and shut the door behind him. It was the perfect location: the walls were soundproof, and there were floor-to-ceiling windows on one side of the room, so there was no possibility of interruption.

Before he could answer the call, however, it timed out, and Nathan’s name disappeared from the screen.

He stood there, looking at his reflection in the black screen, his heart continuing to pound in his ears.

Waiting…

Waiting…

And then the phone began to ring again. This time he answered almost immediately; as quickly as if he were responding to a call from his mum or dad in the event of an emergency.

‘Someone’s eager,’ Nathan said coolly.

‘You wish,’ Tomek responded, trying unsuccessfully to save his blushes. ‘What do you want, Nathan?’

‘You know what I want. But first I thought the two of us could have a little catch-up.’

‘No.’

‘Oh, come on. That’s not very friendly.’

‘I’m not a friendly person. I’m busy.’

‘Too busy for an old friend like me?’

‘You’re not my friend. You never have been, and you never will be.’

Nathan pretended to sound offended. ‘But what about the bird boxes I made in honour of Michał? I thought we bonded over them.’

Tomek said nothing.

‘Speaking of friends, my contact says the redhead you had in your car the other day was very pretty.’

‘Leave her alone. And while you’re at it, tell him to leave me the fuck alone as well. I swear, Nathan. I don’t want him anywhere near my house or my daughter again.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t do that, Tomek.’ Nathan’s tone was serious.

‘You can and you will. If I see him again, I’ll⁠—’

‘You’ll what, Tomek? You’ll call the police? My friend’s been running from the police his entire life; it won’t work. There is nothing you can do that will stop him from doing what I tell him. Unless, of course, you kill him, but we both know you’re not going to do that, don’t we?’

Tomek said nothing, staring blankly at his reflection in the window.

‘I tell you what,’ Nathan continued. ‘I’ll tell my friend to stand down, but on one condition.’

Tomek knew where this was headed.

‘You agree to help out at my parole hearing.’

‘No,’ Tomek replied instinctively. ‘I will not do it. I won’t help you get out. You are where you deserve to be. And there’s no amount of threats you can throw at me to convince me otherwise. I want you out of my life entirely. I want you out of my family’s life. I want you out of Kasia’s life too. Get it out of your head that there’s a chance I’ll change my mind, because I⁠—’

‘What about money?’ Nathan asked. ‘Everyone’s got a price.’

Tomek scoffed. ‘You have nothing you can offer me. Besides, you’ve been in prison your entire fucking life. You’ve got fuck all to your name.’

‘I might surprise you,’ Nathan answered. ‘I’m top dog in here, remember? And whatever I want, I get my hands on it. You’d do well to remember that, mate. So I’m going to ask you again: how much for you to attend the parole meeting?’

‘The sweet sum of fuck off,’ Tomek hissed into the microphone before hanging up.

He dropped the phone onto the table and ran his fingers through his hair. Adrenaline coursed through him, worsening the sound in his ears. He clawed at the wall for support, but all he found was air.

What had he done? He had just threatened Nathan. Potentially worsened his situation tenfold. He was in way over his head and needed help. But he couldn’t speak to anyone about it. He couldn’t tell his parents. He couldn’t tell Nick or Sean or any of his other colleagues. He couldn’t tell Kasia. He couldn’t tell Claire or Abigail.

And then he remembered the only person he could tell. The person he’d been meaning to call.

He scrambled across the desk for the phone, unlocked it, and made a call.

On the fourth ring, the call was answered.

‘Fox Therapy, this is Jane.’

‘Hi, Jane, my name’s Tomek Bowen, and I was⁠—’

‘Ah, Tomek. She was expecting your call.’

‘She was?’

‘Yeah. She said she knew you’d be in touch sooner rather than later. I guess she was right.’

‘I see she’s a psychic as well as a therapist,’ Tomek joked. ‘When’s the earliest she can fit me in?’

A pause as Jane searched the calendar.

‘She can fit you in this evening, if that works. Say, seven?’

Tomek considered for a moment. He was right in the middle of a missing persons investigation that required his total time, focus, and energy. But right now, with Nathan playing on his mind as much as he was, he wasn’t able to give it.

‘Done,’ he said. ‘See you then.’

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SIX

Shortly after his phone call to his therapist’s office, a second name popped into his head. Another person, perhaps the only person, he could fully trust. Someone to whom he could vent his frustrations, spill his heart out, and lay bare his deepest, darkest secrets without fear of judgement or recrimination.

In the past hour, the clouds had turned a gunmetal grey and threatened to release a downpour late into the evening. A gentle flurry of rain now tickled the side of his face and dampened the shoulders of his blazer.

He paid it little heed. The weather was an accurate reflection of his mood, and he saw no reason to worsen it by getting annoyed.

There was, however, reason for improvement in his mood: a bouquet of dahlias had been placed at the base of the headstone, vibrant and colourful against the grey behind them. Since his last visit, Michał’s headstone had been cleaned, polished, and the detritus of leaves and overgrown grass surrounding it cleared away.

For a long moment, he stared at the top of the headstone, at the dates written underneath Michał’s name.

1982-1995.

Thirteen years of age.

Taken far too young. A whole life ahead that had been stolen from him by a sick and twisted individual, somebody who had the cheek to ask Tomek for a favour.

As he crouched down, an orange leaf scuttled across Tomek’s feet. It was soon followed by half a dozen more, gently flowing with the wind. He delicately picked them up, then set them down behind him. Everywhere he looked, autumn had started to seize the trees that lined the cemetery, killing the leaves so they could be reborn in a few months’ time, new, fresh, rejuvenated.

‘I wish there was a way for you to come back, mate,’ Tomek muttered. ‘It would save me a lot of aggro and money on petrol getting down here. Still, knowing you, you’d probably have me over every weekend to watch the game, or just for a drink, bleeding me dry just to keep up.’

Another gust of wind blew into the cemetery, ruffling Tomek’s hair out of place.

As he smoothed it back, he continued, ‘I almost died the other week. Some madman knocked me over the head and took me out to the old Packing Shed in Mersea. Remember when we used to go there with Dad? He was shit at crabbing, even though he would never admit it. But you… you were always the best. And the bravest. Dawid didn’t want to get his hands wet – or covered in “crab juice”, as he called it – and I was too busy looking at the seagulls or the people swimming in the water. Swear I had some sort of undiagnosed ADHD back then, always wandering off, doing my own thing.

‘I did the Greasy Pole as well. Smashed it too. Absolutely rattled it. Only went and took the trophy home with me, didn’t I? It’s currently sitting in the living room, waiting for me to put it on the bookshelf. Anyway, where was I? That’s right – me dying. While we were there, some bloke knocked me round the head and tried to kill me. But you’ll never guess who came and saved me: your niece. I’m so proud of her. She got on a kayak, even though she can’t swim and is scared of being on the water, and she knocked the silly bastard out. I was so proud of her. You would’ve been too. I wish you’d had a chance to meet her, mate. She’s grown up so much over the past year. She’s getting more mature every day…’

Tomek felt a lump form in his throat and a tear well in the corner of his eye.

‘It’s just the rain,’ he told Michał. ‘But… but not everything’s going that great,’ he continued. ‘The other day I got a call from Nathan. He’s got a parole hearing coming up. He’s nearing the end of his sentence, and he wants me to put in a good word for him to make sure he gets out.’

Tomek’s eyes fell on the dahlias at the base of the headstone, unable to look at his brother’s name as he spoke. ‘I’m torn. On the one hand, I want him to rot for the rest of his miserable fucking life in that prison. And if it’s not in that prison, then wherever his miserable life takes him. But as long as he’s within four walls, locked behind a metal door, I don’t care. He deserves to be there for the rest of his life after what he did to you.’ He inhaled deeply, held it, then slowly released it over thirty seconds before continuing. ‘But on the other hand, his influence… it’s scary. Nathan’s sent some guy, some stupid bellend with a teardrop tattoo, to intimidate me. He drives around the streets in his white BMW and insists on following me wherever I go. I’ve seen him more times than I’ve had hot dinners over the past week, and I’m worried. Now, it’s not me I’m worried for. It’s everyone else. Mum, Dad. Dawid. But more importantly, Kasia. She’s gone through so much this past year – she’s almost died twice – and I can’t let anything happen to her again.

‘I blame myself every day for what happened to you. I was running late. I should have been there to defend you. But I didn’t have the chance. Now I have the chance to make sure nothing happens to anyone else in the family. If I do this… if I give a recommendation, then he’ll be out. He’ll be a free man. He can walk the streets, get a coffee, go out for dinner, get his weekly food shop. Do I think he’s changed? No. Do I think he’ll stay away from us if I do this for him? Yes. A part of me does. He helped me with something. So now I’d be helping him. An eye for an eye, our debts paid.’

Tomek inhaled deeply again. But before he could hold it in his lungs, his phone vibrated. He pulled it out and glanced at the screen.

Abigail Winters.

He let the air out of his lungs sharply, whistling through his teeth.

‘What does she want?’ he said to himself. Then, to the headstone: ‘Two secs, bro… Hello?’

‘There you are,’ Abigail said, flustered. ‘I’ve been trying to get hold of you for all of two minutes.’

‘Apologies, my Abigail radar was going off, so I didn’t pick up.’

‘Your radar? Are you ignoring me?’

‘Right now, not very successfully…’

She cleared her throat. ‘That’s quite rude of you, Sergeant Bowen. But I’m too busy to have a go at you, or at the very least force you to apologise by taking me out for a coffee.’

‘We discussed this, Abi,’ he said sternly. They’d been there, tried, and realised it wouldn’t work out between them. Tomek had moved on, but it was clear she hadn’t. That she was still chasing after him, going over old ground.

‘I know, I know. I just meant as a friend. Apparently, you almost died the other week, and you haven’t even told me anything about it.’

Tomek moved towards a nearby tree, looking down at the leaves as they crunched underfoot. ‘Seems like I don’t have to.’

‘I just know what buttons to press.’

‘And how hard,’ he added. ‘And for how long.’

‘Some people break faster than others. What can I say? That’s more a reflection on them than it is me.’

Tomek rested against the tree. By now, the rain had worsened, and the sound of it falling on the leaves had intensified. ‘Anyway, what is it you’re after, Abi?’

‘Information.’

Quelle surprise.

‘And you think I can help?’

‘I know you can. And I think you’re going to want to as well.’

‘What about?’

‘Tabitha.’

The word was enough for Tomek to skip a breath. A small twig fell from the canopy above and landed beside his feet, but he was too distracted to notice.

‘Where have you heard that?’ he asked.

‘What can you tell me about her?’

‘I want to know where you heard that. Who told you that name?’

‘The power of the Internet.’

‘You been surfing the dark web?’

He could hear her shaking her head through the phone. ‘It’s made its way over to the other side. Everyone’s talking about it.’

‘Who? Where?’

‘People on social media. Someone from Twitter shared it, and it’s gone viral. Like, viral viral. We’re talking millions of views and impressions on the keyword Tabitha alone. TikTok, Facebook, Instagram; they’ve all picked it up. It’s blown up online, and people are starting to throw loads of ideas and conspiracies around. You can bet your sorry arse that someone somewhere, stuck inside their mum’s basement in the middle of middle America, is currently trying to track this person down.’

As are we.

‘I… I bet they are.’ Tomek’s mouth was speaking, but he wasn’t paying attention to the words. He was too busy freaking out.

‘You’re gonna have a lot of attention coming your way very soon, Tomek,’ Abigail continued. Her voice was distant, muffled. ‘Let me help you get the word out there straight away. Let me help you get the story straight so you can control the narrative, you can tell everyone else what’s really going on.’

The only problem was, he had absolutely no idea. And now the entire world knew about Tabitha. About Vicky Sanchez. Sometimes he thought spreading the word about a disappearance or murder was a good thing. But not now. With that many eyes and that many opinions thrown into the mix, it was bound to confuse things and end in tragedy.

Worse, it could serve to speed up her death.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

The rest of the afternoon flashed by. He and the team had entered panic stations. They’d chased the digital forensics team, who were still trying to locate The Emperor’s IP address. They’d contacted all of Vicky’s friends and family, advising them to ignore any unsolicited advances from the media. They’d also released a statement to the public, detailing the bare minimum of information, which had only sparked more speculation. Subsequently, conspiracy theories had spread across the net like wildfire, and Tomek had entrusted Sean, Oscar, and Anna with monitoring them, keeping an eye on the comments and notifying him of any of the most alarming and concerning ones, especially those that were too on the money, too close to the truth. Those that contained information only the killer might possess.

Meanwhile, Martina and Martin had sent the earring they’d found off for analysis. Tomek wasn’t expecting to glean much from it. After all, it had been lying there for a couple of weeks, and there was no guarantee it belonged to Vicky Sanchez but he was more than happy to be proven wrong.

Throughout, Tomek had considered cancelling his meeting with Isabel Fox, but in the end, he relented and decided to attend. He needed to vent, to clear his head, to let all the thoughts leak out of his brain like the blood leaking from Tabitha’s body.

And so, forty minutes after he left the station, he found himself in her office. Much had changed since her redecoration a few months prior. The walls had transitioned to a more neutral, calming pastel blue, and there was much more greenery present. The room evoked an immediate soothing response, one for which Tomek was grateful.

‘Thanks for coming,’ she said.

‘I almost didn’t.’

‘How come?’

‘Work,’ he answered bluntly. Then he added, ‘Lots going on at the moment, which is quite an understatement really.’

‘More so than usual?’

Tomek nodded. His eyes were fixated on the small plant pot she had on her desk.

‘I’m running the ship. My inspector and chief stupidly appointed me SIO.’

‘They wouldn’t have if they didn’t think you were capable.’

‘And so soon after my leave as well. I should never have said yes. My head’s been all over the place. This woman’s gone missing, and her death is being broadcast all over the Internet, and I don’t know if I can handle it. I’m not dealing with it. I’ve got no fucking idea what I’m doing, no idea where she is, no idea how to find her. I’m struggling. It’s a race against time, and… and here I am. Talking to you about it when I should be back at the station.’ Suddenly, he placed both hands on the arms of his chair and lifted himself out of it. ‘I’m sorry, I have to⁠—’

‘Tomek, sit down.’

It was the first time she had ever spoken to him in such a manner, and it took him by surprise. For a long moment, he didn’t know what to do. For an even longer moment, he felt like he was back home, thirty years in the past, being told to stay seated at the dinner table.

The result was the same now as it had been back then. He remained perfectly still.

‘Thank you,’ Isabel said evenly. ‘I understand you want to leave, but I don’t think it’s going to do you any good.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Because you said so yourself. You’re struggling. What good will you be to the team if you’re not thinking properly? What will you do if they come to you for advice or guidance, and you don’t know how to help because you’re too busy figuring out what to do? You’ll be no good to anyone like that. And…’

The point had already been made, but he let her continue.

‘And what can you do?’ she finished.

‘There are loads of bits to⁠—’

‘No, what can you do personally? What can you do personally to find this woman? Think about it.’

He did. Hard. And then he realised she was right. The earring was currently away for examination. Martin, Rachel, and Martina were examining the route Vicky took home, talking to the neighbours and trawling through mountains of CCTV footage. Chey was investigating the meaning of the code at the bottom of the post. The digital forensics team were still trying to locate the address of the posts while searching through Andy’s historic messages with The Emperor. And Sean, Oscar, and Anna were examining the most concerning theories currently trending on the Internet.

There was nothing more that he could physically do. All angles were already being covered.

‘Nothing,’ he said, sinking slowly back into the chair.

‘Exactly. Bar wandering the streets of Essex trying to find her, it’s out of your control. I’m sure you’ve got everyone else doing what they’re supposed to. You’re more methodical and switched-on than you give yourself credit for. Relax. Calm down. Breathe.’

The sudden intake of breath into his lungs felt involuntary, as if she had just flipped a switch in his brain.

‘Better?’

He shrugged.

‘Your brain isn’t functioning properly because you’re so stressed,’ she added. ‘Right now, you’re doing what I like to call painting yourself into a corner.’

‘I think that phrase has been around for a while…’ His eyes fell away from the potted cactus on the desk and landed on her.

She offered him an unimpressed look. ‘But you knew exactly what I meant.’ A flash of a facetious smile, one that Tomek had used so many times before. ‘If you don’t give yourself enough breathing space, you won’t be able to get out of that corner.’ Isabel’s expression returned to normal: straight-faced, giving nothing away. ‘I get the impression that something else is on your mind. Would you care to tell me about it?’

He shifted in his seat. ‘Well, I suppose you heard about what happened in Mersea.’

‘I did. You must be proud.’

‘I am.’

‘But that’s not what I think is bothering you. I get the impression there’s something else.’

‘What makes you think that?’

Another uncomfortable shift in his seat.

‘The other day when you came in, you were flippant about having this meeting. And I don’t think you’ve had such a sudden change of heart over something that you are capable of processing. Something between then and now has happened. And the fact you haven’t blamed it on work indicates to me that I’m right.’

Bastard therapists and their ability to read people!

She had him there. Right by the short and curlies.

He lowered his gaze to a small blemish on her table and became fixated on it. He inhaled deeply, held it there, and as he released, proceeded to tell Isabel about his situation with Nathan. He left nothing out. From the first phone call to the last. From the first visit of the man with the teardrop tattoo to the last time Tomek thought he’d seen him. As he spoke, she sat in silence and listened, absorbing everything he said until he finished completely.

‘I see…’

‘Just a few of the things I’ve got going on at the moment.’

For the first time, she made a note in her notebook.

‘On the one hand, I want him to rot in prison. On the other, I want my family to be safe.’

‘Do you have any guarantees that would be the case if he got out?’

Tomek shook his head.

‘Is that something you would take at face value?’

He took a moment to consider. ‘I don’t know. I like to think he wouldn’t do anything. That he’d wipe the slate clean. But… but he’s a killer, a psychopath. I’ve come across his type so many times before. And they’re not well known for being able to let things go.’

Isabel continued making notes. ‘How prevalent is the threat you’ve felt so far? Has the man with…’ She consulted her notes for the name. ‘The man with the teardrop tattoo… has he made any contact with you or Kasia at all?’

Tomek shook his head. ‘So far he hasn’t ventured out of his driver’s seat. But that doesn’t mean he won’t. And it’s the fact that he’s there. It’s the threat, more than anything.’

‘Which suggests that maybe it’s all talk and no action. Perhaps Nathan is all spunk and no bollocks, for want of a better phrase.’

Tomek burst into laughter. He slapped his knee in hysterics. ‘There were so many better ones you could’ve chosen.’

‘It was the first that came to mind. But you get my point. He wants to keep you onside. It wouldn’t make sense for him to bully you into something you wouldn’t want to do.’

‘Wouldn’t it?’ Tomek asked, confused, the moment of levity seemingly gone.

‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘You know him better than I do.’

‘So what are you saying I should do?’

‘I’m not saying you should do anything. That decision is yours and yours alone, sadly. I can only advise.’

‘What would you do?’

‘If it were me?’ she said. ‘I… I would listen to what he has to say. If I’m convinced he’s a different person… if I think he’ll leave my family alone… and another thing to think about: is there the possibility that he might get released even without your appraisal?’

‘What do you mean?’ Tomek asked as he shifted from one buttock to the other.

‘Think about it. If you refuse to give him a positive reference, and the parole board determines that he deserves to be released at the end of his sentence, he’ll be a free man anyway…’

‘And he’ll be a free man with a vengeance,’ Tomek said to himself. ‘And me and my family will have massive targets on our backs.’

CHAPTER

TWENTY-EIGHT

Tomek sensed the man before he saw him. A premonition. An unsettling sensation in his stomach.

As he rounded the corner and headed down his street, he spotted the man standing by the bonnet of his white BMW, leaning against it, hands in pockets.

Tomek yanked hard on the steering wheel, pulling awkwardly into the nearest parking spot – bumping up the kerb as he did so – then killed the engine. Before it had finished winding down, he was out of the car, striding towards the man with the teardrop tattoo.

If Tomek thought he had some semblance of intimidation or purpose about him, it didn’t affect the man, who remained perfectly still, unflinching.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?’ Tomek asked, brandishing a finger in the man’s face.

He knew it was potentially a bad idea, but right then he didn’t care. Adrenaline surged through him, muddying the flight receptors in his brain.

‘I’m waiting for a mate,’ the man replied in a thick East London accent.

‘No, you’re not. Get the fuck away from me, my daughter, and my house.’

Tomek only became vaguely aware of his raised voice after it had finished echoing along the length of the street.

‘I’m warning you,’ he continued, quieter this time. ‘Get away from here.’

The man with the teardrop tattoo pushed himself away from the bonnet and squared up to Tomek. It was then that Tomek realised the man was a few inches taller than him. And broader. And undoubtedly much stronger.

Not to mention intimidating.

‘Or what?’ he demanded. ‘You ain’t gonna do shit, mate.’

‘What do I have to do to get you away from here?’

The man’s evil sneer turned into a wry smile. ‘You know what you have to do. Make the call.’

Eventually, after much deliberation, Tomek left the man with the teardrop tattoo outside and headed indoors.

The man would grow bored eventually. Or at the very least, Nathan might call the loyal guard dog back to its kennel at some point.

Tomek hoped sooner rather than later.

When he opened the front door, he found Kasia in her usual form: sitting, scrunched up on the sofa, with her knees tucked into her chest, mobile phone in hand. She looked like an adult embryo – one that could walk, talk, and sometimes had an attitude of her own.

Despite all of that, he let out a deep sigh of relief as soon as he laid eyes on her.

‘You all right?’ he asked.

‘Fine.’

Just as he was about to respond, he noticed a sizeable gap in the curtains and stormed towards them. ‘What’ve I said about this? You need to close them properly!’

She didn’t reply. Just looked up at him, rolled her eyes as far back as human anatomy would allow, then returned her attention to her phone. As Tomek dragged them shut, he caught sight of the man outside the window.

Out of sight, out of mind.

At least, that was the plan.

‘How was your day, kid?’ he asked as he made his way to the kitchen.

‘Fine.’

‘Anything exciting happen?’

‘Not to me. But everyone’s talking about this girl.’

Tomek paused in the doorframe. He knew where this was going.

‘Girl?’

‘Yeah. The one on the Internet. She’s being cut to death, and it’s being documented on this website. Have you not heard of it?’

Tomek swivelled on the spot and joined her side. ‘I’m the one leading the investigation into it.’

Kasia’s eyes widened, as if he’d told her he knew all her favourite pop stars by first name and had just promised she could meet them all.

‘Oh my God, no way! Really! You’re joking me?’

Tomek didn’t answer. Her jubilation took him by surprise. After all she’d been through, he expected her to treat Tabitha’s situation with at least a modicum of concern. She’d come close to death before, so she knew what it was like. All right, not quite what Vicky Sanchez was going through, but she had experienced something that a very finite number of people had gone through.

‘That’s crazy,’ she continued. ‘Everyone at school’s talking about it. They’re all saying how wild it is, and how they bet it’s going to end up on Netflix soon.’

Sadly, Tomek didn’t doubt that. Such was the fascination with true crime nowadays; everything was turned into a three-part documentary or live-action adaptation.

There won’t be a documentary if we can’t find the killer, he thought cynically.

‘Some of the kids in year eleven started a rumour saying that she used to go to my school.’

‘She grew up in Ipswich,’ Tomek answered without thinking, his voice weak.

‘That’s what I said. Well, I didn’t say that exactly. Just that she most likely didn’t go to our school – because why would she? – but nobody believed me.’

He grunted. ‘What else were they saying?’

‘That the person doing this to her is an ex-boyfriend. Someone said he was an incel, whatever that means.’

Fortunately, Tomek didn’t have to explain it before she continued.

‘Another person in year eleven said it was the government and the media trying to distract us from everything else that’s going on in the world. Like the wars and poverty.’

Tomek sniggered. Of all the theories he’d briefly read online and been told about by the team, that was up there as one of his favourites.

‘Why’re you laughing?’ Kasia asked. ‘It could be true. You never know…’

He shook his head and snatched her phone from her. She yelled out, but he stifled it with a wave of the hand. ‘You need to stop spending so much time on social media. It’s not doing your brain any good.’ Then, whispering to himself, shaking his head, he repeated, ‘The fucking government trying to distract us, please…’

‘Give me back my phone!’

‘No.’

‘Give it back!’

‘No.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because you haven’t said the magic word.’

She huffed and threw her arms in the air. ‘Fine. Can I have it back, please?’

Tomek held it out, but pulled away as soon as she reached for it. ‘You forgot to add something else.’

‘What? “You’re the best dad in the world”?’

‘I’ll take it, but that wasn’t what I meant. Tell me you don’t believe a poor woman is being tortured and put on the Internet by the government so they can distract us. Please tell me you don’t believe it. After everything you’ve been through, I’d have thought you’d learn to be less impressionable…’

Kasia’s eyes narrowed, and her eyebrows furrowed with offence. He saw on her face that she wanted to respond harshly to his comment, but then she quickly realised the sense he was making. In the end, the offence dropped, and she said, ‘I don’t believe the government are doing it.’

Tomek felt the sincerity in her voice and handed her phone back.

As she took it, she clutched it in her fingers like she’d lost it for weeks and had only just been handed it back by happenstance.

Tomek climbed off the sofa and made his way to the kitchen.

‘Is…’ Kasia started, her voice solemn. ‘Is she going to be okay?’

Tomek stopped in the doorway. He looked at the floor before meeting her gaze.

‘I don’t know, mate. I hope so. We’re doing everything we can, but not everything ends up okay in the end.’

CHAPTER

TWENTY-NINE

It begins the same as they always do. I’m running. Half running.

Except this time it’s different. Completely different.

Leaves and twigs snap underfoot. I’m surrounded by darkness. By trees. By roots. By muddy footpaths.

I can’t see the moon overhead. There’s no light. And yet I’m able to make my way through the woods. I don’t know where I am, but it feels oddly familiar, like I’ve been here before. The Thundersley Glen? Shipwright’s?

I come to a sudden stop. I realise where I am isn’t important. What matters is what’s in front of me.

An old, abandoned wooden shack. Ten feet wide by ten feet deep. The type you’d see in a horror movie, with a light on and smoke billowing from the chimney, occupied by an owner who hasn’t seen another living soul for years and has been left alone with his thoughts for that long.

The only difference about this building is the lack of light and smoke.

But something tells me a person is inside.

Something is inside.

I start towards it, scanning the ground for a stick or rock big enough to defend myself with. But there’s nothing. Nothing but leaves and twigs as brittle as matchsticks.

I slow my jog to a walk, cautious of making any noise.

There’s silence in the woods. No wind whistling past me. No birds or owls singing in the night. Except for the faint murmur of discontent coming from the building.

My first thought is Michał. That he’s still alive. That there’s a chance for me to save him.

Finally. After all these years.

I quicken my pace, heedless of the noise I’m making on the ground, of the heavy, exasperated breaths coming from my mouth.

A few moments later, I arrive at the shack. The temperature has suddenly dropped, as if the place is protected by an icy bubble.

I pause, listen.

Sounds of sobbing and pleading leak through the wood.

There are no windows, no gaps in the panels, no holes in the walls for me to see through.

I know I have to go in. But I can’t. My body won’t move. I’m stuck, rooted to the ground, my feet encased in mud.

And then I hear it. The gut-wrenching sound of someone screaming.

I don’t hesitate.

I wrap my hands around the handle, yank it open, and burst through, stumbling into the darkness.

I immediately freeze at what I can barely see in front of me.

In the corner of the room, a candle limply illuminates the space, but amidst the blackness I can make out the figures.

Vicky Sanchez, tied to a chair. Half naked, down to her underwear. Covered in blood and different scratches – more so than before. Her mouth is gagged, her hair dishevelled, her face a mess of blood and mascara – a stark contrast to the Instagram-perfect hair and make-up photos I’ve seen her in so frequently. Her head hangs limply onto her chest. She is almost comatose, only vaguely aware of my presence. She is teetering on the edge of death.

Beside her… beside her is a figure I don’t expect to see.

Kasia.

Also half naked, down to her underwear.

A gag wrapped tightly around her mouth.

The only difference is that there’s no blood on her small, undeveloped body. No scratches. She’s unharmed.

‘Kasia!’ I cry.

Mumbled nonsense filled with despair spills through her gag. Her eyes widen with fear, and she shakes her head violently.

I start towards her. Her panicked movements worsen. She thrashes and arches her torso towards me, communicating.

But I understand the message too late. Just as I’m about to reach out for the gag around her mouth, the front door slams shut. I swivel on the balls of my feet and see the person who’s done this to Kasia and Vicky.

Nathan Burrows, standing by the front door. A dark, leering grin plays on his face. Beside him, lurking in the corner, is the man with the teardrop tattoo.

‘What the fuck are you two doing here?’ I ask. ‘What have you done to my daughter?’

‘Giving you a taster of what will happen if you don’t do what I want,’ Nathan replies.

I snap my neck towards Kasia. By now her wrists and ankles are bleeding from the bindings around them. When I turn back to Nathan, I realise he’s gone.

‘Peekaboo.’

The voice comes from behind me. He’s standing behind Kasia, holding a blade to her neck.

Before I can say anything, the man with the teardrop tattoo reaches around me, holding me at knifepoint, the cold of the metal digging into my flesh. I can feel my pulse bouncing against the steel.

‘Which part would you like me to cut first, Tomek? Here, or here?’ Nathan asks as he lowers the blade to Kasia’s femoral artery.

And then the nightmare cuts.

CHAPTER

THIRTY

FRIDAY

She was certain Cynthia had seen the eye roll. That she’d witnessed the involuntary response to yet another of her friend’s outlandish claims.

Everything was a competition with Cynthia. It was always Cynthia, Cynthia, Cynthia.

Who had the strongest bin liners? Cynthia did.

Who shopped at the most expensive supermarket? Cynthia did.

Who’d been cheated on twice by two different husbands? Cynthia had.

It was a complete fluke that they knew each other. Usually, Gemma wouldn’t have become friends with Cynthia’s type – the sort who owned a stately home in the countryside, possessed seven different-coloured Range Rovers, had a second home in Marbella, and went on skiing holidays in the Alps every year. She preferred more normal, down-to-earth people. Individuals who weren’t obsessed with designer gear or a monthly top-up of Botox just to convince themselves they looked younger than forty. But on that fateful afternoon in the school playground, she had been unable to avoid it. Gemma had been in the middle of putting her dog in the back of the car when Cynthia had hurried over.

‘I’ve been looking for someone to walk Bruce with for ages. It gets soooo boring on my own.’

Gemma’s son didn’t belong at the private school. Not really. They came from a working-class background, and even the thought of paying tuition made her feel nauseous. But that didn’t mean he didn’t deserve to be there. If anything, he deserved it more. He’d earned his place getting a privileged education through a scholarship rather than buying it.

The only price she had to pay was spending time with a woman with whom she had nothing in common every week.

They were halfway through their forty-minute journey through Langdon Hills Country Park and had already run out of small talk. There was only so much they could tell one another about their sons and how their week had gone. Though, in most cases, Cynthia’s loose tongue always found a way to bring the conversation back to her husband.

‘Guess what he said to me last night?’ Cynthia asked as they crossed a small stream.

Gemma considered. ‘I don’t know.’

‘He said that he didn’t like the way I looked in my pyjamas. Said they were too baggy and that I needed a new pair that were a bit tighter. Can you believe that?’

Funnily enough, she could. If there was one thing Gemma had learned about her dog-walking friend, it was that Cynthia had married the same type of guy – someone who treated her like a trophy wife – three times in the past and had expected each man to be different.

‘Oh, really?’ Gemma replied. ‘He said that?’

‘I wanted to slap him, but then I thought it must mean my juice diet’s paying off, right?’

‘Must be!’

Thirty yards ahead, Colin, Gemma’s Labrador, and Bruce, Cynthia’s King Charles Spaniel, were chasing each other around a tree. That morning, they had decided to mix things up a bit. They’d tried out a different part of the woods for a change, letting the dogs experience new smells and a new route. They hadn’t needed any introduction; as soon as their paws had come into contact with the soggy mud, they’d bounded off into the distance, weaving in and out of small trees, dancing around bushes, and sprinting back and forth with pure joy and excitement.

Gemma wished she were as happy as them.

As she stepped over a thick tree root, Colin came hurtling past her, almost knocking her off balance. Correcting herself and holding onto Cynthia for support, she whistled through her teeth and called Colin over.

The dog didn’t respond.

‘COLIN!’ she cried. ‘Come back here now!’

But he wasn’t interested. He was too busy hurtling at a rate of knots towards a small patch of dense, untouched grass that reminded Gemma of the fields she used to play in on camping holidays with her family and friends.

‘Bloody recall!’ she muttered to herself. ‘He’s usually so good at it,’ she added for Cynthia’s benefit. Even though she’d proven Colin’s recall abilities in the past, she didn’t want Cynthia to think she didn’t have control of her dog.

‘It’s all right,’ Cynthia replied, placing a comforting hand on Gemma’s arm. ‘Bruce is like that sometimes. Something just clicks in their head and they fixate on it. The idea is to⁠— ’

‘Colin, come here!’ Gemma interrupted. The last thing she wanted was a dog training lesson from someone who’d paid a professional to train their dog.

Colin didn’t respond.

‘Brucey!’ It was Cynthia’s turn to prove herself now. ‘Brucey, come here, boy.’

Bruce, who was a few years older than Colin and therefore slower, staggered to a halt, glanced back at Cynthia waving her arms about in the air as if she needed rescuing, and then jogged back towards her.

‘Who’s a good boy?’ Cynthia said, speaking to him like a child, fussing over his face and ears. Bruce kissed her hand furiously in recognition that he was, in fact, the good boy.

Gemma struggled not to roll her eyes in disgust as she turned her attention to Colin. By now, the Labrador had come to a stop in the middle of the undergrowth, with his back and the top of his head visible over the grass, and had started to bark furiously at something in front of him.

‘What’s he found now?’ she whispered to herself. ‘Bet it’s a bloody stick. Always a bloody stick.’

On second thoughts, it could be his arch-nemesis: a squirrel. The thought of the two of them caught in a stand-off entered her head, and she started towards him with renewed purpose, jogging as fast as her legs would allow.

‘Colin, come out of there, mate. Come on!’

But there was no response, as if the dog had suddenly turned deaf.

As she began to wade through the grass, she realised how deep and dense it was. Nothing like the fields she used to run through as a teenager.

‘Colin, you silly bastard, what are you doing? Come out of there.’

Colin was transfixed on something in front of him, his deep, defensive barks echoing throughout the woods. Gemma reached out for him, grabbed him by the collar, and yanked him back. As she did so, she froze, her hand clenched around his collar with fear.

The first thing she noticed was the smell. Putrid, like dog sick and dog mess rolled into one.

The second thing she noticed was the swarm of flies, whizzing in circles, frenzied, buzzing aggressively at her.

And then she noticed the pale white skin through the blades of grass. The arm to one side, cut and bloodied. Flesh that was torn apart from where the flies had started to feast on it.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-ONE

Tomek had struggled to find somewhere to park, and after about five minutes, he decided the only suitable option was along the main road, at the back of a long queue of liveried police cars. As he climbed out of the car, a white BMW shot past, narrowly missing him.

‘Kurwa mać!’ he hissed as he jumped back. Then he recognised the make and model and froze.

Had it been the man with the teardrop tattoo getting revenge for the night before? Letting him know that he was nearby at all times? That he could very quickly do whatever he wanted to hurt Tomek and his family?

‘Tomek!’

The call was distant, but its high-pitched nature cut through the noise in his head. He spun round to see Martina staring at him from the passenger side of the car, her eyes wide with fear.

‘You all right?’

‘Why do people have to drive like dickheads?’ he replied, joining her on the pavement.

‘Must be generational. Dickheads breeding dickheads.’

With his adrenaline running high, Tomek started along the procession of cars until they reached the entrance to the country park. Standing there purposefully, in front of the outer cordon that had been set, was a police constable. They both signed in their attendance on the log, then made for the forensics van farther along the road. After they’d changed into their paper suits, they dipped beneath the tape and ventured into the woods.

The crime scene was a little over five minutes from the entrance. Fortunately, their route was marked by knots of police officers and SOCOs conversing with one another. They walked in silence, the gravity of the situation shrouding the woods. There was no sound; no movement in the trees, not even the rustle of leaves or earth shifting underfoot. Even the birds had hushed their songs, as if offering the deceased respect.

Tomek was convinced the body that had been discovered didn’t belong to Vicky Sanchez. There had been nothing in the most recent blog post – which had come in the early hours of that morning – to indicate that Vicky had passed away. Sure, she was still on the precipice of death, teetering on the edge, but there had been no confirmation, no definitive message from her tormentor declaring loss of life.

But as he reached the open expanse of overgrown grass where the body lay, a knot of doubt began to form in his stomach. A large tent had been erected over the body and was surrounded by scenes of crime officers, quietly combing through the area. Standing immediately outside the tent was Lorna Dean, the Home Office pathologist. Tomek recognised her flame-red hair beneath the forensic hood.

‘Good to see you again, Tomek,’ she said as they approached.

‘Likewise.’

Tomek noticed the thick black line of make-up she’d applied around her eyes, different from her usual look.

‘Who’s this then?’ she asked, acknowledging Martina behind him. Tomek introduced her and explained that she was with Missing Persons.

‘Since when did the two of you start working together?’

Tomek thought he detected a hint of jealousy – or perhaps it was surprise? – but decided not to respond.

‘Only recently,’ Martina answered. ‘We’re working on something together. A woman went missing a couple of weeks ago, and⁠—’

‘The woman being scratched to death?’ Lorna asked.

‘That’s the one.’

‘Yeah, I saw that online. Horrible way to go. Reminds me of when I was younger. We had this stray cat that would come into the house whenever he fancied it. Obviously, he was looking for food, and whenever we didn’t have any and I tried to get rid of him, the silly little bastard would scratch me to death.’

‘Not literally, otherwise you wouldn’t be here talking to us,’ Tomek said plainly, then gestured to the tent. ‘Are we ready to go through?’

‘Ready when you are.’

Tomek was the first to enter. As he lifted the flap, he felt a sudden drop in temperature. It was midday, and the early morning sun had done little to warm the woodland, but in here, it was as though the grass had been transported a few thousand miles north to the Arctic Circle. Goosebumps flashed across his skin beneath the suit. Inside the tent were two SOCOs photographing the body.

And then Tomek saw it. The figure in the grass.

A woman, or what was left of her. Half naked, down to her underwear. Signs of decay and decomposition covered her body and hair. It was clear to see the flies that continued to swarm around her had been feasting on her for some time.

‘She’s been here a while,’ Tomek noted, a sense of relief lifting weight from his shoulders. If this wasn’t Vicky Sanchez, then that meant she was still out there. That meant she was still alive. For now.

‘My best guess is a couple of weeks, from looking at her. Those little things have gone to town on her.’

Tomek crouched down for a closer look at her midriff. A large portion of her body had remained untouched by the insects but a series of scratches – dark red lines of varying sizes and lengths in dried blood were evident. A lump suddenly formed in his throat. It was then he began to notice more scratches on the rest of her body, distinguishable marks across other parts of her flesh.

It’s not Vicky, he told himself. Can’t be. The timelines don’t work out.

He looked up at Lorna. ‘What do you reckon the cause of death is?’

Lorna shrugged. ‘TBC on that one. Decomposition is too far advanced for me to give you a definitive answer right now.’

As he listened, Tomek made his way around the victim’s body. He stopped by her feet. Her toenails had been painted a bright red, left untouched by the insects and elements. But that wasn’t what had caught his eye: it was the deep, bloodied cuts on the skin between her toes that concerned him. And as he rounded the other side of her, joining Martina, he got a proper view of her face.

The decomposition was advanced, but her identity was unmistakable. Staring blankly into the sky, eyes wide open, was Vicky Sanchez.

Tomek opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He didn’t want to believe it. Couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

‘It can’t be…’

Martina crouched down beside Vicky’s head and tilted it a few degrees, revealing a diamond earring. He recognised it instantly.

‘It’s not possible,’ he said. ‘She’s supposed to be alive still.’

At that moment, almost as if on cue, his phone began ringing in his pocket. Unzipping his suit, he shuffled inside his trousers for the device.

It was Chey.

‘What is it?’

‘It’s happened,’ the young constable replied.

‘What has?’

‘She’s died. The latest blog post has just come through. Vicky Sanchez is dead.’

Tomek paused. ‘I know she is. I’m looking at her right now.’

CHAPTER

THIRTY-TWO

He’d failed.

Vicky Sanchez had been abducted, scratched to death, and dumped in the middle of a remote woodland in Essex, and he’d done nothing about it. For the past twenty minutes, he’d been wandering through the woods alone, processing the information, turning it over in his mind, and considering all the things he could have done differently; all the ways he could have saved her, helped her. Then he thought of her parents and the difficult conversation they would need to have. He wanted to be the one to do it, to take ownership of the fact he’d let their daughter’s life slip through his fingers. It was only right. But he would have to do it sooner rather than later. With the speed at which information spread around the Internet these days, Tomek didn’t think it would be long until news of Vicky’s death made it onto social media.

He was already fighting a losing battle on that front – the net was awash with comments and mentions of the police not doing enough about her disappearance – and with her death, it would only get worse. Questions would be asked, concerns raised. He would be forced to explain himself to Victoria, to Nick, perhaps even to the wider public.

He felt like a failure. Why had he offered to take this on? Why had he taken a woman’s life into his hands? He was useless. Less than useless. He didn’t have the skills or experience to lead a team. He was an average detective at best. What had he been thinking?

‘Everything all right over there?’

The sudden voice startled him.

‘Didn’t catch you going for a piss, did I?’ Martina asked as she tentatively approached.

Tomek feigned a chuckle. ‘Not quite. Just thinking.’

‘Wondering what you could have done differently?’

Tomek didn’t know whether to be offended but it hadn’t sounded like she was taking a dig at him.

‘If you want my advice, don’t,’ she said. ‘I’ve seen it eat away at some of the best people I’ve ever worked with. As soon as you let that thought process seep into your mind, it’s game over. A very difficult road to come back from.’ She slowed to a halt in front of him, raised her hand to place it on his shoulder, but then caught herself. ‘There was nothing you could have done,’ she continued, her voice soft and soothing. ‘You understand that, right?’

Tomek didn’t respond.

‘I’ve not seen many dead bodies in my career, but I’ve seen enough to know that that woman’s been dead for a long time – possibly even before you started this investigation. There’s absolutely no way you could have done anything to prevent what happened to her if she was already gone.’

Tomek stared blankly into her eyes.

‘Please tell me you understand that, Tomek,’ she insisted.

On some level, he did. He knew that, logically, if Vicky Sanchez had already been dead before the start of the investigation, then there was nothing he could have done to save her; that any and all of his actions had been academic. But another part of him still blamed himself, still blamed his actions or lack thereof. He could have reacted quicker, handled the situation better. He could have made more of an impact.

‘Yes,’ he lied. ‘I understand that.’

The look on Martina’s face suggested she didn’t fully believe him, but she chose not to pursue it further.

‘You’re a better therapist than the woman I pay a stupid amount of money an hour to,’ he added.

Now, that she believed.

‘That’s all the counselling you’re getting. You wouldn’t be able to afford my rates.’

A smile flashed across his face.

‘There we go. That’s better.’ Finally, she made the move and placed a hand on his shoulder, giving a light squeeze. ‘Now, what’s the next move, Sarge?’

Tomek’s mind switched into work mode.

‘I want this entire woodland secured and investigated. I don’t care if she’s been lying here for two hours or two weeks. I want the entire place combed through for evidence. I want the witnesses questioned, and statements written up and on my desk by the end of the day. I want to know what they saw, when they saw it, and if they’ve ever been here before. A map of all the entry points needs to be drawn up, and potential routes the killer could have taken detailed and illustrated. Also on my desk by the end of the day. Remember, the victim would have been heavy, and he wouldn’t have wanted to drag her too far.

‘I want a press release drafted and released to the newspapers as soon as we have positive identification on the body. Put a call out for any eyewitnesses who may have seen or heard something suspicious at the time of death, once it’s been confirmed with Lorna. I will attend the post-mortem and report back to the team as soon as I have the information.’

Tomek paused to breathe. Martina finished typing her notes on her phone, then looked up at him.

‘You get all that?’

She nodded. ‘As plain as day. All makes sense to me. I’ll pass the notes on to the team.’

Tomek thanked her, then took a moment to survey the woodland. The area was vast, with undulating mounds of earth, areas of dense foliage and bushes, crisscrossed by several footpaths that snaked through the space. Tomek knew the killer would most likely have dragged the body along the pre-existing paths, and any evidence over the past two weeks would have been destroyed or disturbed, but that didn’t matter. He was determined to find something. He didn’t want to leave any stone unturned.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-THREE

Tomek repeatedly pounded his fist on the door, almost desperately, until eventually there was a response. Standing on the other side was Violet Wilson, flustered, her hair all a mess. The overwhelming smell of cleaning chemicals, masked by the scent of freshly sprayed lavender air freshener, spilled out of the house. It did little to cover the smell of cigarettes and tobacco.

‘Mrs Wilson,’ Tomek began, flashing his warrant card in her face. ‘I’m DS Bowen and this is my colleague Martina. We were wondering if we could come in. Is Andy home?’

‘He’s in his bedroom,’ she muttered before slowly stepping aside to let them through.

Tomek didn’t know why, but her attitude was despondent, almost defeatist.

‘Is everything all right?’ Violet asked. ‘Has something happened?’

Tomek’s eyes fell on the coffee table in the living room and saw the offending articles responsible for the nauseating smell. In the middle of the carpet was a small red patch – either a wine spillage or a serious amount of blood. He’d seen enough to know the difference.

‘What happened in there?’ Tomek asked.

‘Oh, that? Andy cut himself on a piece of glass last night,’ she explained. ‘He can be so clumsy sometimes.’

‘What did he cut himself on?’ Tomek asked.

‘He dropped his drink on the table and shattered the glass. Then he foolishly decided to transport the glass in his arms like he was carrying a baby, and then he cut himself.’

Tomek stared at the puddle of blood. ‘He must’ve bled quite a bit.’

She waved the comment away. ‘It looks worse than it was. Honestly, he’s fine. But he’d been doing so well. It had been so long since the last time…’

‘He’s done it before?’

‘Like I said, he’s so clumsy. I think maybe he’s been spending too much time on that bloody forum, looking at those posts of that poor girl.’

‘He’s been monitoring the page?’ Martina asked.

‘Everyone has. It’s all anyone at work is talking about. That poor, poor girl.’

Tomek nodded slowly. ‘We’d best let you get on with it. Are we all right to go up and speak with him?’

Violet didn’t look happy about it, but in the end, she realised she had no choice and relented. ‘Just be sure to knock before you go in. He gets funny about people turning up unannounced.’

Tomek nodded his understanding, then started up the stairs, with Martina following closely. As they approached Andy’s room at the top, Tomek heard the sound of typing on a keyboard, followed by the low murmuring sound of Andy humming along to a tune.

Tomek knocked on the door.

No response.

He tried again.

Still no response.

Just as he was about to do it a third time, Violet screamed from downstairs. ‘Andy! The police are here! Open your room, sweetheart!’

A few seconds later, the door swung open, and they were greeted by Andy, wearing a pair of thick headphones over his ears. He was dressed in a long-sleeved T-shirt that had been rolled up at the cuffs. On his left forearm was a thick white bandage. As soon as he recognised Tomek, he lowered his sleeve. But that wasn’t what had caught Tomek’s eye; he’d noticed the series of scars on Andy’s other wrist, the lines that ran down his forearm.

‘Officers!’ he exclaimed. ‘Oh, it’s so good to see you. Please, please, come in. I’m so sorry for the mess. If I’d known you were coming, I would have asked Mum to clean.’

‘Think she’s too busy cleaning up your blood at the moment,’ Martina said unapologetically.

‘She told you about that, did she? Clumsy me. We all have our moments. Anyway, what are we all standing out here like a bunch of salacious Sallys for? Come in, come in.’

Andy gestured for them to enter the room, but Tomek hesitated. The man’s behaviour had changed since he’d last seen him. Andy was much camper and more flamboyant. His hand gestures were all over the place. And the eye rolls; they were enough to give Kasia a run for her money. In short, he seemed happy. Too happy for Tomek’s liking. Certainly much happier than the last time they’d met.

Tomek was about to bring that crashing back down.

‘You’re very pretty.’

The comment took him by surprise. Then he realised Andy wasn’t talking to him.

‘Thank you,’ Martina replied, flattered by the comment.

‘I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting before,’ Andy continued, suddenly attempting suave and sophisticated.

Martina introduced herself. He took her hand and shook it with both hands.

‘I love what you’ve done to your hair,’ Andy said as he mimed the action of twirling a few strands in his fingers.

‘This? All it takes is a lot of peroxide and a lot of patience. So long as you don’t mind the fact that the day after, your bathroom looks like you’ve walked through a bloodied crime scene.’

Andy chuckled, then waved the comment away extravagantly. ‘I love it, regardless. Wish I had the balls to do something similar. Don’t think we’d like it though.’

‘We?’ Tomek asked.

‘Me and Mum. She always makes sure I get the same haircut every time. Says it looks nice and suits the rest of me.’

Tomek nodded disinterestedly, then turned his attention to the computer on the desk. Before they’d interrupted him, Andy had been in the middle of a sci-fi game involving futuristic machinery and orange, desert-like locations. The game was still running, and Tomek could see other characters sprinting across the screen, chasing after their victims.

‘Mind if we turn this off?’ he asked. ‘We need to ask you a few questions about your online friend.’

‘Which one? I have many.’

‘The… The Emperor. This morning, we discovered a body we believe to be Tabitha, and we wondered if you’ve received any messages from your friend in the past few days?’

Andy’s expression was blank, as though he’d suddenly been switched off at the terminal. ‘Nothing,’ he replied. ‘Nothing since this whole thing started.’

‘And you’re sure about that?’

Andy nodded.

‘Show me.’

The last thing Tomek wanted was for Andy to delete his message history the moment they left.

Without hesitation, Andy replied in the video game chat that he would be AFK – away from keyboard – and then opened up his dark web software browser. A logo of a scorpion appeared on the screen, followed by a progress bar along the bottom. As the bar progressed, a series of threats appeared underneath.

We have your data.

We know where you live.

Someone is coming to find you.

Tomek swallowed deeply at the messages, but Andy seemed unfazed. For Tomek, in his inexperience, it would have been enough for him to close down the laptop and throw it out of the window where he could burn it with lighter fluid. Perhaps that was the point – to act as a deterrent. A way to weed out the unserious users and make sure the serious ones stuck around.

A few moments later, they were in. Tomek and Martina stood either side of him, watching his every move. From downstairs, they heard the sound of Andy’s mum hoovering.

Over the next few minutes, Andy quickly navigated through the software, sometimes moving too fast for Tomek’s brain to keep up; he’d asked him to slow down several times. Andy showed them his chat inbox, his mail inbox, his private messages inbox – of which there was only one, from an account named MeganTheBattalion – and all the notifications that he’d had in the past week. None of which had come from The Emperor. By the end of it, Tomek was convinced Vicky Sanchez’s killer hadn’t reached out to him. Although, he realised there had been nothing stopping Andy from already deleting any messages he may have received since.

‘When was the last time you heard from him?’ Tomek asked.

‘When I came to you guys to report his original posts.’

‘What about on your phone? Or your email address? Has he ever contacted you on any of those?’

Andy shook his head.

‘I wish I had something useful to give to you. Honestly, I do. But…’ Andy noticed his other sleeve was still halfway up his arm and corrected it, carefully covering his scars. He massaged his forearm as he spoke. ‘But I haven’t had any contact with him since then. It’s like he’s completely shut me out. I wouldn’t be surprised if he blocked me.’

‘Can he do that?’ Martina asked.

‘Of course he can. All he’s gotta do is press a button and job done.’ Andy demonstrated on the computer for them. ‘That might be why he’s not messaged.’

‘Is there a way to see if he’s blocked you?’

Andy shrugged. ‘Only if I try to send him a message.’

‘Do it,’ Tomek said without thinking.

‘You want me to send a message?’

‘Yes.’

‘What?’

Tomek opened his mouth to answer, but paused. He hadn’t thought that far ahead.

‘I don’t think we should be doing this, Sarge,’ came the voice of reason from Martina. ‘I think this should be done with the digital forensics team in the office, and not in someone’s bedroom.’

Tomek knew he should listen to her. But he chose not to. The image of Vicky Sanchez’ body lying in the grass, disfigured with multiple scratches and small incisions, had popped into his head and it was all he could think about – getting justice for her. By any means necessary.

‘Just say “Hello”,’ he told Andy. ‘Nice and simple. Or start the message the way you usually would.’

Embarrassment crawled across Andy’s face as he began typing the message.

Afternoon, General.

‘You have nicknames for each other?’ Martina asked.

‘He asked me to call him General,’ Andy replied.

‘Why? Does he have a military background?’

‘I think so.’

Tomek held his breath. ‘What makes you say that?’

‘Because we were playing this war game once. And afterwards he messaged me about strategy. But it was the things he was saying and the way he was saying it that suggested to me he used to be in the army. Formations, discreet entry, tracking the enemy; that type of thing. So I asked him if he’d ever served in the military.’

‘And?’

‘He said he was part of the British Military. Parachutist. Served about fifteen years ago.’

Tomek looked at Martina, stunned. ‘Tell us everything you remember.’

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FOUR

If there was one place in the world he didn’t want to be, it was the mortuary inside Southend Hospital. Not only did the place give him the creeps – the smell, the quiet, eerie atmosphere, and the fact it was occupied by dead people – it also delayed his return to the station. But Lorna had called him shortly after they’d left Andy Wilson’s house, and he hadn’t been in a position to refuse. Fortunately, the rapidly scheduled post-mortem had been quick, efficient, and productive.

Thanks to her scientific powers of deduction, Lorna had determined that Vicky Sanchez had been dead for at least ten days.

For ten days, she had lain there, discarded and abandoned, succumbing to the elements.

For ten days, she had remained oblivious to the dozens, even hundreds, of dog walkers, runners, and passers-by.

For ten days, she had kept her and her killer’s secrets hidden.

Tomek entered the office shortly after one o’clock. His stomach was growling, but he paid it little heed. There was no time to think about food, not when their investigation had escalated from a missing person to a murder.

As soon as he stepped into the office, he called for an immediate briefing in the Major Incident Room. The team filed in swiftly and in an orderly manner. They each found a space at the table and looked up at him attentively, with sombre expressions etched into their faces.

‘This morning, a body we believe to belong to Vicky Sanchez was found in the middle of Langdon Hills Country Park. I’m ninety-nine per cent convinced it’s her, and so is Lorna, but we need a positive identification from her parents.’

A hand shot up. ‘You want me to take care of it, Sarge?’ Anna asked.

‘Proszę. I’ve just seen the body, and it’s not in good shape. Photos, along with Lorna’s full report, should be coming through shortly, and you’ll see how much damage our killer has done to this poor girl. Scratches and incisions cover every inch of her body – front and back. No area left untouched. It’s appalling. And I want to catch this bastard before he thinks he can get away with it any longer.’

‘Or before he does it again,’ Rachel offered.

That was a thought he hadn’t wanted to voice.

‘One for Martina to keep an eye on.’ Tomek searched for her in the crowd, giving her a subtle nod. ‘Keep an eye on the latest missing persons reports or calls coming in, paying close attention to potential tiger kidnappings. We have no idea what this person’s type is. Chey, where are we with Fiona, our phantom victim from years ago?’

‘Nowhere, Sarge. Still looking into it. It’s been almost impossible to find her, if she still exists, or ever existed. It’s like trying to catch a fart.’

Tomek chewed on that for a moment before returning to his previous point.

‘Martina,’ he began, ‘I think it may be safe to assume that, should he strike again, it will be someone of similar build and strength to Vicky. Someone he can overpower easily.’

‘Just to play devil’s advocate for a moment, Sarge,’ Martin murmured, slowly raising his hand. ‘I’ve been reading through the original blog posts, and I think there’s one thing we’re forgetting.’

Tomek folded his arms across his chest. ‘What’s that?’

‘That this is an experiment for him. It’s literally called the Scratch and Sniff Test. And he’s finished his experiment on Vicky. He’s got the answer to how many cuts and scratches it will take to kill someone of Vicky’s size and stature – sixty-four – so now he’s going to focus on someone new. I’d argue he’s going to find a completely new target, someone different and random compared to Vicky, in size and stature.’

Tomek recognised Martin’s argument immediately and agreed with it.

‘Good point. Martina, keep an eye out for any and all missing persons reports, particularly the ones that aren’t solved within twenty-four to forty-eight hours.’

‘Basically everyone who gets reported to us? Got it.’

Tomek didn’t appreciate the thumbs-up or the sarcastic tone with which she said it.

‘Speaking of timelines,’ he continued, addressing the team, ‘I have it on good authority from the woman herself that our victim has been dead for ten days. She⁠—’

‘You heard it from her directly, Sarge?’ Sean asked, eliciting a small ripple of smirks from the team.

‘What?’

‘You said you heard it from the woman directly. I thought you meant the victim whispered it in your ear.’

‘No,’ he snapped. ‘I meant Lorna. Lorna told me.’

Sean raised his hands in surrender. ‘Apologies. My mistake. Otherwise, I would have said, wow, what a crazy turn of events that is. That’ll help stifle the furore going on out there.’

Tomek ignored the comment. Now wasn’t the time for jokes, especially while he was in charge.

‘You’re missing the point. She’s been dead for ten days. That means she’s been lying there while the messages have been coming through. The killer’s been having us on. He’s been posting his updates while she’s been dead. He’s taken us for fools. Martina, when was she reported missing?’

Martina consulted her notes briefly. ‘On Friday the fourth of October.’

Tomek made the calculation. ‘Two weeks ago. And if she was killed ten days ago, on the seventh of October, then that gives us a window of four days. From the fourth to the seventh. Across the weekend. Friday to Monday. Four days after her kidnapping, she’s been scratched to death.’ He turned to the whiteboard behind him and wrote the dates in big letters, circling them several times, highlighting their importance. ‘That’s our window. That’s the window we need to be looking into. For any of our suspects, any of her friends and family; what were they doing between those dates? Our killer would have needed to spend almost all his time with her in those four days. That should help us narrow down who we’re looking for. This is likely to be someone not working at that time, and possibly someone who lives alone. It would have been an intense time. He would have needed somewhere he could be alone with her, without interruption. Somewhere isolated, where nobody could hear her screams. Consider those things when you’re speaking to any suspects. I’m aware we don’t have many at the moment, so in the meantime, speak again to the people you’ve dealt with and ask their whereabouts between these dates.’ He tapped the whiteboard with the pen.

A hand shot up. Oscar. ‘Forgive me if this sounds dense, Sarge, but why did he keep the posts going if she was killed so shortly after the abduction?’

‘The posts were scheduled,’ Chey answered. ‘That’s why they were coming through at such random times… in the middle of the night, the morning, the afternoon. The killer had scheduled them to throw us off the scent, make us look for someone who wasn’t there. He must have documented each “experiment” and then chosen at random when he was going to post them, and possibly updated them when he saw what weapons the commenters were suggesting. I suspect he updated the drafts to reflect their latest choice. That’s how he made it look live. He’s been lying to everyone.’

‘Why?’ Oscar asked. ‘I don’t understand why he’d delay them over the course of a couple of weeks.’

‘My guess would be because he wanted the exposure. Think of how much attention this has stirred online. He knew that if he did it over a longer period, he’d get more traction and that it would spill into the mainstream. He conducted his “experiment” over a few days, so⁠—’

‘Or so he could ultimately lead us down a different avenue,’ Rachel interrupted. ‘So he could slip back into normality without anyone realising what he did.’

Silence descended on the room. Everyone processed the information, deep in thought.

‘Next,’ Tomek began, ‘I wanted to discuss the cause of death. Again, I have this on good authority, from Lorna, that the victim’s cause of death was heart failure. Not loss of blood, or dehydration, or starvation, or kidney failure, or liver failure… her heart just gave out.’ He turned to Chey again. ‘How does that compare with our killer’s blog post?’

Chey took a moment to pull up the message on his laptop. He took an even longer moment to familiarise himself with the answer. ‘Our killer attributes the cause of death to kidney failure.’

‘Interesting that someone with a supposed medical background got a different result,’ Tomek noted.

‘Maybe we’re not looking for someone with a medical background after all, Sarge,’ Martin offered.

Tomek agreed. The conflicting causes of death didn’t inspire much confidence in his killer’s profile.

Which reminded him: ‘After attending the crime scene, Martina and I spoke with Andy Wilson again. He told us that The Emperor possibly has a military background. That, at some point in his life, our killer was possibly with the British Army.’

‘Want us to look into it, Sarge?’ Rachel asked.

‘No. I want you to spend your time drawing an illustration of him with pretty flowers in his hair and cute summer dresses. What do you think, Constable? Yes, I want you to look into it.’

Tomek didn’t know where that little outburst had come from. But it was too late to worry about it; as soon as he’d finished, the door to the MIR opened, and Victoria peered through.

‘Sergeant,’ she said coolly, looking his way.

‘Inspector.’

‘Might I borrow you for a few minutes? There are things you and I need to discuss.’

CHAPTER

THIRTY-FIVE

If there was one place in the world he didn’t want to be, especially after an important meeting with his team, it was Nick’s office. He felt like a petulant, naughty schoolchild who’d been summoned for an arse kicking. He could tolerate the arse kicking. What he couldn’t tolerate was Victoria calling him out in front of the team in the middle of a meeting.

‘Tomek,’ Nick began solemnly.

Here we go.

‘Obviously, we’ve heard the news about the body found at Langdon Hills Country Park.’

‘How?’

‘I’m the chief inspector. It’s my job to know everything. And right now, Victoria and I would like an update,’ he said, more calmly this time. ‘What can you tell us?’

Tomek thought the chief inspector was being rather polite about it. Too polite. Despite that, he quickly brought both senior officers up to speed on the morning’s events, making sure to provide as much information as possible. He didn’t want to leave anything out that they might later use to catch him out.

‘Would you say you have a handle on this investigation?’ Nick asked.

Tomek raised his hands dismissively. ‘Obviously not,’ he remarked. ‘I didn’t save her.’

‘There was nothing you could have done about that. You do understand that, don’t you?’

Tomek rolled his shoulders like a teenager. ‘You should never have allowed me to run this investigation.’

‘She died before you’d even had a chance to look into her disappearance. There’s no way you can blame yourself for that. But now you can do something about finding her killer. How close are we to finding them? What leads are you and the team following up on?’

Tomek lowered his head in embarrassment. Despite the list of leads – the earring, the potential military and medical background, the code Chey was trying to crack in what little spare time he had – deep down Tomek knew they weren’t significant enough. What he needed, prayed for, was a piece of evidence that would turn up in the forensic search of the woodland. He prayed that the killer had made a mistake, that perhaps he’d left behind more than just her body.

‘What are you missing?’ Nick asked.

This wasn’t going the way Tomek had expected. He’d gone into the meeting anticipating his morale would be obliterated, that he’d be told he wasn’t doing a good enough job, that he’d be pounded into the ground repeatedly. But Nick was being nice. Too nice. Though, as she sat beside him, Tomek could see Victoria felt differently. There were things she wanted to say but was biting her tongue hard to hold back.

‘I… I… I don’t really know,’ he said. ‘The team are working hard. Chey’s been driving himself crazy looking into this code that appeared on a random post. I think he could do with some support from somewhere. Maybe we could get an expert in?’

Nick nodded. Victoria made a note.

‘I’m sure we can make that happen. Anything else?’

Tomek opened and closed his mouth, lost for something to say. In the end, he remained silent.

‘What are your plans for the media?’ Victoria asked, disdain lacing her tone. ‘We’ve been fielding calls all morning from all corners of the globe, and they’re pitching themselves outside the building. It doesn’t look like they’re going to move on anytime soon.’

Tomek had seen them on the way into the office. Hordes of cameras, tripods, and dickheads with microphones, waiting to broadcast the latest update, as if they were reporting on the conclave results.

‘We’ve got the Daily Mail out there, the BBC…’ Victoria continued.

As she finished, Tomek’s phone began to ring. He glanced at the screen, registered the name, and immediately hung up. ‘You can add Southend Echo to that list as well.’

He knew that wouldn’t be the last time Abigail tried to contact him.

‘So what are you planning to announce to the public?’ Nick asked.

‘This has blown up way bigger than I think any of us expected. I think we need to announce that a body’s been found in connection with the investigation, just to quieten the rumour mill a bit.’

‘What will you announce?’

Tomek sensed there was a right answer. Perhaps this was Nick’s way of training him to think like an inspector.

‘Just that the body of a female in her early thirties has been found, and we’re looking into it in relation to Vicky’s disappearance. We don’t definitively know it’s her – Mum and Dad will be coming down to identify her body.’

Nick’s expression gave nothing away.

‘We won’t disclose how long she’s been dead. Only we will know that. That should hopefully separate the bullshit from the serious theories.’

Better. Nick nodded approvingly this time.

‘Anything I’ve missed?’

‘Sounds like you’ve got all bases covered to me. Good work, Tomek. You’re doing a good job. Try not to get inside your head too much. It doesn’t do anyone any favours. Least of all yourself.’

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SIX

Trying to convince himself that Vicky’s death was out of his control hadn’t worked. If anything, the feelings of despair and guilt had compounded. They had worsened due to the press release he’d issued to the world. For ten minutes, he’d stood at the plinth outside the station, staring down at the myriad camera lenses focused on him, speaking from his script as flashes frequently blinded him, detailing the latest evidence in the disappearance of Vicky Sanchez.

At the end, he’d issued a cry for help, a request for information. Anyone who’d been in the country park at or around the time of her death was urged to come forward, and anyone with information could get in touch via the designated line that had been set up.

That, he later realised, was a part of the investigation he hadn’t considered: the sheer manpower required to monitor the telephone lines at all hours of the day. Sure, they could call in help from volunteer staff and uniformed officers, but it also meant that some members of his team would be called away for large periods of the day. A part of him wished Victoria hadn’t made the suggestion just before he was about to go on live television.

It was a surreal feeling seeing his face all over the news and social media. A humbling one too. Though there was little time to worry about the weight he’d put on recently, the striking colour of his greying beard, or the way his left eye seemed half-closed in every shot. There were more important things to worry about.

Like getting home at a reasonable hour. Except that night, time had got away from him. It was ten o’clock, pitch black outside, and the streets were quiet; almost completely deserted. As he made his way upstairs, he moved quietly, lest he disturb Kasia. She’d messaged to say that she had a migraine and was having an early night.

Inside, the flat was silent, save for the sound of her breathing coming from her bedroom. He flicked on a light switch and made his way to the kitchen. He was in desperate need of a drink. A beer or two. Something to take the edge off, to settle his nerves, to silence some of the noise in his head.

The can made a harsh psss sound as he opened it. He moved to the living room and dropped himself onto the sofa, too tired to think about watching the TV. He was too tired to think about doing anything. But there was one thing on his list he wanted to do before bed: return his mum’s calls. She had tried ringing him several times that evening, but he’d only been able to worry about it for all of five seconds before his attention was distracted elsewhere.

The last call had been three hours before. He liked to think that if it were urgent, she would have tried him again, or at the very least left a message. But nothing.

Eventually, after several rings, she answered the phone, sounding groggy and tired.

‘Have I woken you?’ he asked, keeping his voice low.

‘What time is it? It’s the middle of the night. Is everything okay?’

‘I’m just returning your call,’ he said. ‘Is everyone all right? Dad? How’s he getting on?’

‘Tomek… it’s eleven o’clock. You had me worried.’ The sound of her climbing out of bed and shuffling out of the bedroom trickled through the phone. ‘Your dad’s fine. I was just calling to let you know that he’s just having a bit of pain in his kidneys, that’s all.’

Tomek sat up. ‘Is he all right?’

‘Yes. He’s fine for now; we’re going to see how he gets on in the next day or two. I just thought you’d want to know.’

‘I did. I do. Thank you…’

‘You don’t need to worry yourself about him,’ Izabela said. ‘Your brother’s on standby if we need him. Besides, it sounds like you’ve got a lot on your plate at the moment. I saw you on the television today.’

‘Yeah…’ He took a sip of beer.

‘Your face looked a bit rounder than usual.’

Tomek stared at the beer. Suddenly he no longer wanted it. Nor the opened box of Maltesers he’d been eyeing up in the fridge, either.

‘Dzięki, Mama.’

‘You’re not getting any younger,’ she said.

‘Sorry, what is this? Did you just want to complain about how fat I look as well as telling me about Dad?’

‘Nie,’ she replied. ‘I told you, I was calling about Dad. But we both did want to say that we’re very proud of you. It’s not often a mother gets to see her son on the television, especially one who deals with murderers and criminals all the time. We’re super proud of you, Tomek. I hope you know that.’

He didn’t. Not until now. That was the first time he’d heard it from his mum in as long as he could remember. It was so sudden it took him aback, leaving him speechless. It was what he needed to hear right then. The only problem was, he didn’t know what to say.

In the end, he said, ‘I know you are, Mum. I know.’

She said her goodbyes, told him she loved him, then hung up. For a long moment, he sat there, staring at the phone, thinking about what she’d said, about the way it made him feel, about the strange sensation in his chest because of it.

And then he turned his attention to the can of beer in his hand and the bulging stomach in front of him. He climbed off the sofa and as he set the can on the coffee table, he heard a noise – the sound of a car door closing, puncturing the silence outside the window. Tomek’s interest was piqued, and he moved towards the sound.

The white BMW was outside and the man with the teardrop tattoo was stalking towards the building. Panicked, Tomek retrieved his phone from the sofa and opened his home security app. On the live view of the front door, he saw the man approaching with purpose, his features masked by a low-hanging hood.

As soon as he saw a metal object in the man’s hands, Tomek sprinted out of the living room and down the stairs, leaping them two at a time. In his haste, his momentum was too strong and carried him into the door; he collided with it at full speed. By the time he burst through the door, the man with the teardrop tattoo was gone.

Leaving the door ajar, Tomek jumped out of the house and chased after him, feet pounding on the concrete in his socks, ignoring the pain that flashed in his soles and up his calves. He eventually caught up with the man, but it was too late. The engine was already on, and he was pulling out from the side of the road. Tomek, running at full speed, clattered into the bonnet and slammed the palm of his hand on the windscreen. A thin crack formed in the glass and splintered to the top of the window.

The car’s tyres squealed as they kissed the tarmac, and the BMW sped away. The brake lights bathed the cars and surrounding houses in red as it skidded to a halt then turned out of view.

Tomek stood in the middle of the road, panting, adrenaline pumping, the soles of his feet throbbing. On the floor beside him was a small object that looked like a picklock, presumably used for breaking in. A few moments later, he finally returned to the house.

It was another three hours before he convinced himself that the man wasn’t coming back and took himself to bed.

CHAPTER

THIRTY-SEVEN

SATURDAY

The following morning, the air along the seafront was particularly fresh, and the smells of salty seawater, fermenting seaweed, and the sickly stench of oysters and fish had disappeared. Delightful. Just for him.

The weather, however, was anything but fresh and delightful. It had started raining as soon as he’d set foot on the tarmac. Shortly after, what had begun as a light drizzle quickly turned into a torrential autumnal downpour, and he was plagued with numbness.

But he didn’t mind.

He felt numb anyway.

Numb from thoughts of Vicky Sanchez seeping into his every movement, his every action, imagining what sort of pain and suffering she must have endured.

Numb from the anxiety and worry he felt from chasing after the man with the teardrop tattoo.

Numb from the past week.

Sleep had evaded him for almost the entire night, save for a few snatches of semi-unconsciousness interrupted by the smallest sounds of disturbance: Kasia shifting in her bed, a floorboard creaking, a dustbin blowing over in the wind.

For now, he wasn’t feeling the effects of it – the tiredness, the misplaced attention and focus, the short temper that tolerated less and less as the day progressed – but he knew that he would. And he knew that he mustn’t let it affect his team, that he couldn’t let his broken and distracted morale leech onto them.

He pushed harder, feet pounding the tarmac, lungs screaming at him, thighs burning, knees buckling under the pressure.

Seven ten am. The sky was just beginning to glow as the sun crept over the horizon. The mile-long stretch of road and beach from Leigh-on-Sea to Southend seafront was quiet. But that was to be expected at this time of year, with the change in the weather and incoming darker nights and dreary mornings; the fair-weather runners had all gone into hibernation until the first day of March.

That said, there was still the same number of dog walkers chasing after their canine friends. Sadly for them, their dogs needed walking whatever the weather. The thought of getting a pet for Kasia hadn’t entered his head for a while, but the more he saw them, the more he thought about getting one. To keep her entertained, offer her companionship, and provide a sense of responsibility. And with the addition of Nathan Burrows and the man with the teardrop tattoo in his life, perhaps it would be a good idea to have an extra layer of protection – a terrifying guard dog whose bark wasn’t necessarily bigger than its bite.

The idea quickly disappeared as he ventured into Southend, making his way towards the famous pier that stretched out into the grey murkiness beyond. This was his usual checkpoint to turn around, but he continued ahead, pushing his body harder, faster. By the time he reached the base of the pier, he was gasping, panting, and wheezing. Stars began to swim in the sky, and his mouth became awash with saliva. He paused, bent double, resting his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. He was in desperate need of a drink, but in his distracted and sleep-deprived state, he’d forgotten to bring one with him.

What a stupid, stupid bastard.

After a few minutes, the dizzying sensation eventually abated and his head cleared. Just as he was about to turn round and head back home, a high-pitched scream punctured the still, silent air.

‘Justin! Come back!’

Tomek’s attention was immediately diverted to the source of the sound: a woman on the beach, standing at the mouth of the incoming tide, screaming at a black figure in the Thames Estuary. Tomek jogged over, his bones and joints thanking him for the sudden change to a softer surface.

‘What’s wrong?’

‘My dog. He just chased after a seagull into the water, and now he can’t get back,’ she replied hysterically. ‘He never goes into the water. He’s not a very good swimmer. Oh, why won’t he come back?’

The dog was a little over twenty metres out to sea. Not a long way by any stretch, but for a dog who didn’t like to, or couldn’t, swim, it was no different than if it were a human in the same situation.

And Tomek felt the same way about that dog as he would if it were a man, woman, or child.

They were in need of help. And if he was on hand to do something about it, then he was going to, regardless of the situation.

In the cold wind and rain, he stripped down to his shorts, removing his shoes, socks, and running T-shirt. Then, half naked and feeling the wind bite into his flesh, he waded into the water. He paid little heed to the initial shock of the water until, after a few metres, the cold began to grip his body. In his fatigued state, his breathing became laboured, weak, and ineffectual. He could feel himself struggling against the tide, against the unforgiving and relentless assault of the waves. His head dipped beneath the surface on occasion, and as the world flashed from dark to light, thoughts of defeat and despair crept in.

This was it.

He was going to drown.

He was going to die trying to rescue a fucking dog.

What a stupid idiot.

But then a force, a swell in the tide, lifted him from beneath the surface, and as he broke free, the dog came into view. Paddling, scrabbling at the water, struggling to clear its head above the surface. Tomek grabbed it by the collar and, using his biceps, lifted it clear of the water. To support himself, he lay on his back and kicked hard under the water, pushing and pushing closer to shore until he felt solid ground beneath his feet. Once on the beach, he released the dog and pulled himself to safety on the sand. He was spent, bent double on all fours, spitting and coughing the water from his lungs. Meanwhile, Justin had sprinted towards his owner, who began fussing over him. A moment later, she raced towards Tomek and helped him to his feet.

‘Thank you so much,’ she said, wrapping her arms around him.

Before he could reply, she retrieved his clothes and held them out for him. To show his thanks, Justin, now back on his lead, leapt onto Tomek’s legs and licked him fervently. Crouching down to Justin’s level, Tomek gave the dog some fuss and told him he was a good boy.

‘You’re all wet,’ the owner said. ‘You must be freezing.’

‘I’m fine,’ he replied, his teeth chattering.

‘Come on. You can’t run in this. Let me take you home.’

‘No, you don’t have⁠—’

She placed a hand on his arm, shutting him off. ‘Please, let me. It’s the least I can do.’

CHAPTER

THIRTY-EIGHT

Chey tapped his foot on the floor animatedly. His eyes searched the empty, lifeless room for something to focus on but found nothing. A knot had formed in his stomach, and a lump swelled in his throat. The last time he had felt this nervous was on his date the night before. He and Kerry had been messaging for a few days leading up to the event, getting to know one another, flirting, laughing, sharing memes, and asking about each other’s days. Eventually, Chey had decided to take the plunge and ask her out. The obvious, and cheapest, choice had been to invite her to his parents’ Indian restaurant for a night of home-cooked food. But he couldn’t do that to her. He couldn’t invite her to meet his parents on the first date. What sort of example would that set? That he was a mummy’s boy who still lived with his parents and was desperately single? Sure, that was the case, but he didn’t need to parade it to every woman he spoke to online. Instead, he had chosen a slightly sophisticated restaurant in Hadleigh, a small, intimate affair where he was sure she must have been able to smell the sweat and body odour emitted from his armpits as soon as she walked in. But if that had been the case and she had been put off by it, she hadn’t let on. In fact, she had complimented his dress sense: an ironed shirt (thanks, Mum), a navy quarter-zip jumper, and a pair of matching chinos. Fashion he didn’t feel entirely comfortable in, but it was the in thing. If he wanted to impress, he had to make it look like he cared about his appearance; that he was stylish, that he was on trend, that he was someone he wasn’t.

The date had got off to a shaky, nervous start – on both sides. Like Chey, Kerry had never been in a relationship before. Not a proper one, anyway. She had had what she called a “half-relationship”, where only one of the parties was actually aware it was a relationship. He, on the other hand, had never been in one full stop. He had been hopelessly single his entire teenage and adult life, and for an even longer time, he had wondered if he would ever find someone.

He liked Kerry. He thought she was pretty, funny, kind, intelligent, and caring. They had discussed their work – Kerry had found his fascinating – although he had been forced to be coy on the details; their interests; their family life; and what their friendship groups were like. By the end of the evening, Chey had come away feeling he had found his soulmate. Perhaps that was the inexperience of youth and naïvety talking, but he didn’t care. He had felt the butterflies, the knot in his stomach and throat. He had felt the distraction every time a notification appeared on his phone, hoping it was from her.

Except that morning, there had been no messages. No “Good morning, I had a nice time last night.”. Instead, he had received a message from an unknown number. From somebody in India purporting to be an expert in codes and cryptography. Someone who had been instructed to reach out to him about the code found at the bottom of the post that was concerning him.

Now he felt the same sensation waiting for Sanji to join the video call as he had only twelve hours before. Sweating, on edge, and ready to leave if the man didn’t show up within the next thirty seconds.

A moment later, a notification appeared on the screen. Chey accepted Sanji into the meeting, and shortly after, a face appeared in front of him.

‘Good morning,’ Chey said quietly.

‘How you doing?’ Sanji began, his Indian accent thick. ‘Pleasure to meet you.’

He had it on good authority from Nick that Sanji was one of the best cryptographers in the world; that he was capable of deciphering any code, any clue, any piece of information that didn’t make sense to the untrained eye.

‘Likewise. Thanks for meeting on such short notice, and on a weekend too.’

‘It is no problem. Do you want to show me what we’re dealing with?’ Sanji asked.

Chey admired that. Straight in. No hesitation. He loaded the original message on the screen. ‘Here’s the context,’ he told him.

Sanji took a moment to read through the blog post. Then he read it again. A third time. Each time, his eyes scanned the words on the screen differently. Off-screen, Chey saw him making notes on a piece of paper.

A few minutes of silence passed until eventually, Chey said, ‘At first I thought it might have been some coordinates. You know, like the location of something, somewhere locally. But that didn’t check out.’

‘Figures. It’s not the right structure for GPS coordinates,’ Sanji replied. ‘347168529. My initial reaction was that it could be an ISBN number for a book. But it’s too short. ISBNs are typically thirteen digits. This is only nine.’

Chey nodded softly. That thought process hadn’t occurred to him.

‘Have you tried breaking the number down into different numbers?’

‘Like what?’

‘Anything. Three-four-seven. One-six-eight. Five-two-nine. The power of threes. Books in a Dewey Decimal system somehow?’ Sanji scratched his head.

It was clear to see the man was struggling. Chey suddenly felt slightly better about himself for not being able to work it out either.

‘Are you expecting this to tell you where the killer is, or where he kept the victim?’ Sanji asked.

‘We have no idea. But, yes. That’s the hope. Something like that.’

‘It could be absolutely anything…’ Sanji replied.

You can say that again.

Sanji scratched the back of his head furiously.

‘I’m going to have to think about this,’ he said slowly. ‘May I ask that you share everything you can with me, and I will look into it? I will need to know some more of the context of what has happened. That will help me gain a better insight into what we’re dealing with. I’m not making any promises, but I will do my best.’

‘Understood.’

Chey thanked the man for his time, gave him his contact details, and promised to share the information with him.

As he closed the laptop and left the meeting room, the ever-present thought that they would never find out the answer to the code – that they were dealing with their very own version of the Zodiac Killer – crept into his mind.

After all, if the best codebreaker and cryptographer in the world couldn’t crack it, then who could?

CHAPTER

THIRTY-NINE

Tomek still had the stench of seawater in his nostrils and the taste of it in his mouth as he and Rachel waited in the waiting room at St Clements Health Centre in Thurrock.

Rachel had called him earlier that morning – fortunately, after he’d got out of the shower at home – to ask whether he wanted to attend her meeting with the last GP who had dealt with Vicky Sanchez. After days of trying to get an appointment with the doctor, he had finally agreed to see her on a Saturday, his day off. Tomek noted the irony and agreed to meet, so she’d picked him up on the way.

The car ride down had been frosty. For what reason, Tomek didn’t know, but he guessed it might have something to do with Martina’s addition to the team. He had never thought of Rachel as a teacher’s pet who got upset at the first sign of a new favourite in the classroom, but she was proving to be one.

Tomek had never been inside an empty GP surgery, nor did he want to be. The place was eerily quiet. No chatter, no ringing phones. Just the harsh, artificial lights winking above and the scent of antiseptic lingering in the air.

‘Would’ve been nice if he met us here,’ Tomek muttered, glancing around. ‘Feels like I’m about to walk into a horror film.’

Rachel gave a slight shrug. ‘Probably just protesting for making us come in on his day off.’

They exchanged a look, then moved farther in, heels squeaking against the linoleum. A row of numbered doors stretched along the corridor to the left. The hallway was just as deserted. They passed several rooms, knocking on each one but getting no answer. Finally, near the end of the corridor, a small plaque read Dr Hugo Charlwood.

Rachel knocked once, then pushed the door open.

Inside, they found Doctor Hugo Charlwood sitting behind his desk, lightly tapping on his keyboard one digit at a time. The man was in his late fifties and of medium build, with hands that looked too big for the rest of his body.

‘Doctor Charlwood?’ Rachel asked, unsure of herself, even though she was certain they were the only people in the building.

‘You must be the detectives.’ The doctor surveyed the room. ‘I only have one chair. Unless one of you is happy to sit on the bed.’

‘I spend all day sitting, thank you, Doctor,’ Rachel said. ‘Standing’s just fine for me.’

‘Likewise.’ Tomek fished inside his pocket and pulled out a photo of Vicky Sanchez. ‘Recognise this woman?’

Hugo grabbed a pair of glasses and perched them on the end of his nose before taking the photograph to inspect. He looked at it for all of five seconds before lowering it and removing his glasses.

‘Can’t say I do. Sorry.’

‘Nothing at all?’ Tomek asked.

‘You must be joking, right? I see three dozen people a day, if not more. I wish I was blessed with a photographic memory; however, God wasn’t that kind to me.’

‘Does the name Vicky Sanchez mean anything to you?’ Rachel asked, keen to hurry things along.

‘You had more luck with the photograph, I’m afraid. I’m even worse with names. Can’t remember them for toffee; just ask any of my wife’s relatives. She’d have to introduce them to you though.’

Funny, Tomek thought. A doctor with a sense of humour. Strange, considering all the ones he’d come across looked like they themselves had just been told the bad news they were so used to giving others.

‘According to our records, she came in to see you a couple of weeks ago,’ Rachel continued.

‘Now that you mention it, the name does ring a bell.’ Hugo turned his attention to his keyboard and entered Vicky’s name into his system, prodding the keys one finger at a time. Mercifully, the computer’s internal system was much faster than his typing, and a moment later her profile appeared. ‘That’s right… she came in complaining about migraines and headaches. Said she’d been having them for… about five weeks, so I prescribed her sumatriptan. I told her she probably should have come in sooner, but she said she didn’t want to waste our time or take any appointments away from people who needed them more. Nice girl… Is everything all right?’

‘There’s probably another reason you recognise her name: a few weeks ago she went missing, and her body was discovered yesterday.’

Hugo slowly removed his glasses. ‘You mean the girl that’s been on the news? I thought I’d heard the name from somewhere. But what do I have to do with that?’

‘You were her doctor.’

‘Hardly,’ Hugo retorted. ‘I’ve spoken with her once in the nine years I’ve been here. Patients don’t always get to see the same doctor twice. Not unless they ask for me. She came in, complained about her headaches, told me they were really bad and that they stopped her from doing her work properly, so I prescribed her sumatriptan. She hadn’t come back since, so I presumed it was working. But… I guess if you’re saying she’d been missing for the past few weeks, then that might be why. That still doesn’t explain why you’re here, asking me about her.’

Rachel shifted her weight from one foot to the other. ‘Due to the nature of her injuries, we believe her killer may have had a medical background.’

‘What type of medical background? Mental? Physical?’

‘Someone who knew how to read her vital signs, who knew how to measure her heart rate and blood pressure. Somebody who liked to play with knives and sharp objects.’

‘You don’t have to be a medical professional to know some of those things, Detective,’ Hugo replied. ‘Besides, if that’s who you’re looking for, then you’ll be looking at thousands of NHS staff members who know how to do that. Not to mention those who have retired.’

Retired. Somebody from the medical profession, no longer working, possibly living alone, with nobody to question their whereabouts. That seemed like a potential idea. And then Tomek realised the amount of work required to undertake such an investigation. They were stretched as things were; adding the task of speaking with hundreds, if not thousands, of retired medical practitioners would only add to the workload.

The brilliant idea left his head as quickly as it had entered.

‘Might we ask you what you were doing between the fifth and seventh of October?’

‘I’d have to check my calendar…’ With a huff and a gentle grumble, the man quickly looked up his calendar. ‘That was a weekend.’

‘Can you remember what you were doing?’

‘Probably not a lot.’

‘And what about Friday the fourth?’

‘I’d booked it off,’ Hugo answered.

Rachel made a note. ‘Any particular reason?’

‘The wife’s birthday.’

‘Do anything nice?’ Tomek asked.

‘Went for a meal. Nice place in Hadleigh that just opened.’

Rachel made a note of the name. ‘Got a confirmation of the booking?’

‘I called up and booked over the phone. I’m old school like that. None of this doing it online malarkey.’

Tomek imagined Hugo typed on his phone the same way he did on his keyboard; now he understood how Kasia felt when she lost her temper with him for using his phone like an old man.

‘I’m sure we can call the restaurant and check the booking,’ Rachel told him. ‘Presumably it will be under your name?’

‘Yes.’

Tomek made a note, then glanced at Rachel. ‘Thanks for your time, Doctor,’ he said. ‘I think we have everything we need. Sorry to call you out on the weekend.’

With that, they thanked Hugo for his time, handed him a business card, and told him to get in contact if he thought of anything else, then headed towards the exit. As they reached the car, the wind blew a fresh whiff of salty seawater up Tomek’s nostrils.

CHAPTER

FORTY

Back at the station, Tomek found himself in the bathroom, repeatedly washing his face and hands in the sink, scrubbing every pore in his cheeks, beneath his fingernails, and rubbing the inside of his nose, trying to eradicate the smell of seawater as much as possible.

His face was in the sink when the door to the toilet opened, and Sean stepped in.

‘Kasia using all the hot water at home, is she?’ his friend asked.

Tomek muffled his response behind the streaming water over his face. He grabbed a hand towel from the dispenser and dried his mouth.

‘Thought that was more your situation,’ he replied. ‘You spoken to Vic yet?’

Sean pointed to his backpack over his shoulder. ‘That’s why I’ve come in here, to have a little cry and set up camp for the night.’

‘That bad?’

Sean shrugged nonchalantly, surprisingly upbeat. ‘Things were thrown. Insults were hurled. And a poor mug got destroyed in the process. Fortunately, there was nothing in it.’

‘So are you two finished? Done? Kaput?’

‘Pretty much,’ Sean replied. ‘But she was oddly okay about it. As in, I haven’t gotta get all my things out of the house by the end of the day. Nor do I have to call all the banks again and tell them where I’m moving; she’s even offered to keep hold of anything that comes in addressed to me.’

Tomek chucked the paper towels into the bin. ‘So not quite the nuclear bomb we were expecting?’

‘Oh, it was nuclear all right. And it’ll still be super fucking awkward for the next couple of weeks. But I got the sense that she was slightly relieved about it as well. Like it had been dragging her down as much as it had me. Now, I think we might both have the space to do our own things.’

‘That’s certainly not what I was expecting.’

‘You can say that again.’

Tomek folded his arms across his chest, surveying his friend’s backpack. ‘What timelines are you thinking for when you want to move in with me and Kash? If I’d known, I could’ve prepared the flat for you.’

Sean raised a hand to allay Tomek’s fears. ‘No stress on that, brother. Like I said, not yet. Give me a couple of days to get the bulk of my stuff together, if that’s all right?’

‘Whatever you need.’

As Tomek left the toilet, a thought occurred to him. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea to have someone else at home as well. Someone taller, broader, stronger. Someone who wouldn’t think twice about jumping in to protect his friend and his friend’s daughter should they ever need it. Not that he’d ever say it to Sean, but Tomek was grateful the man was moving in. He wasn’t about to reject another body who could defend his daughter in an emergency.

‘Oh, before you go,’ Sean called from inside the cubicle, popping the top of his head over the partition. ‘I think I got the name of someone who was in the British Army who worked in the medical unit. He’s been medically discharged now. Figured he might be worth checking out.’

‘Perfect.’

‘I’m gonna speak with him this morning.’

‘Please. Just make sure you wash your hands after you’re done in here, yeah?’

Sean raised both hands and waved them in the air. The sound of urine hitting the toilet bowl quickly filled the bathroom. ‘No need, my good man. No need.’

CHAPTER

FORTY-ONE

On the way out of the bathroom, Tomek bumped into Chey.

‘I’d give it a minute if I were you. Sean’s in there.’

‘Ugh. Really? Has he been eating his mum’s jollof rice again?’

‘Worse. Victoria’s cooking.’

Neither Chey nor Tomek had a direct frame of reference for what Victoria’s cooking was like. They’d only heard about it second-hand from Sean – who liked to complain about her overuse of salt, spice, and her occasional tendency to undercook things – which was enough for both of them to understand the weight behind Tomek’s comment.

‘I only needed a wee anyway,’ Chey said on the half-turn. ‘I can wait.’

As they headed back to the main office, Tomek asked, ‘How was your meeting?’

‘With the cryptographer?’

Tomek nodded. ‘Useful?’

Chey pulled out his chair from his desk. ‘Hardly. He didn’t know what he was looking at. But he’s gone away to think about it. With any luck, he’ll come back with something soon, but I’m doubtful.’

‘Why?’

‘Just from his initial reaction. He didn’t look confident about getting a result.’

‘He might just need some time.’

‘But we don’t have any,’ Chey reminded him. ‘Granted, we have more now than we did when Vicky was just missing. But I still think we need to catch this guy as quickly as we can.’

‘Nothing changes there.’ Tomek pulled his chair from beneath his desk and sat down. Over the next few minutes, as more people trickled into the office, Tomek caught up on his emails. His inbox was flooded with daily reports from the team, including Chey’s feedback on the meeting with the cryptographer at the top, and a note from the digital forensics team stating that, despite several attempts, they had been unable to trace any of the blog posts uploaded to the Scorpion software. That was the nature of the dark web they were dealing with.

Beneath it was Martina’s report from the night before. She’d sent it at 9:43 pm. A late one. She’d provided an updated list of people in the local area who had gone missing in the past week. In total, four individuals had been reported missing: an elderly man in his eighties; a twenty-year-old woman with mental health issues; and a married couple who hadn’t turned up to work. Tomek glanced through the list and deemed none of them a concern.

Martin, in a brief email, supplied an update on the earring found in the alleyway where Vicky had last been seen. It was brief because there was no update. There were no fingerprints on the item, and they were still waiting on the lab analysis results for both the clasp and the earring itself. At the end, he mentioned that he’d spoken with Vicky’s abusive ex about his whereabouts during the timeframe, and again, nothing to report. He had an alibi, and it checked out.

Oscar’s report was equally glum. He had been in charge of managing the forensic search in the country park where Vicky’s body was found, and according to his report, the hundred-and-fifty-strong team had scoured every inch of the ground and found nothing aside from a few decomposing bags of dog poo, which had been sent away for examination just in case, and an alarming number of broken poo bags. Tomek didn’t envy those tasked with spending hours on their hands and knees sifting through the earth and undergrowth, though he would have liked it if something more had come from it. Still, Vicky had been lying there for ten days. Her section of the field had remained untouched, while the rest had been defecated on by dogs and trampled by their owners. Deep down, he had known the chances of finding any concrete evidence in the surrounding area were almost zero.

Again, useful, but no real progress.

They had no evidence, no solid leads, and no idea what they were doing.

He felt like they were walking down a long, barren tunnel and had just come to a stop at an impasse, a brick wall erected in the middle. Nowhere to go except back. Back to the beginning, back to a time when he was none the wiser about Andy Wilson, The Emperor, and Tabitha.

Though there was one possible ray of hope: Sean had reached out to a former British Army paratrooper who lived in Essex and had served during the timeframe Andy had stated.

By this point, however, Tomek felt so defeated and downtrodden that he didn’t want to get his hopes up.

‘Give me some good news, Chey,’ he called out to the constable, swallowing a catch in his throat. ‘Please. Anything. Good news about something that’s already happened. It doesn’t even have to be about work. You could tell me you passed a difficult level on Candy Crush, and that would be enough to keep me going.’

Chey removed his earphone from one side of his face and turned to Tomek.

‘Good news? Not much of that going around.’

‘That’s what I’m worried about. You haven’t got anything at all?’

Tomek was about to turn his attention back to his screen when Chey intrigued him with an elongated, ‘Well…’

‘Go on.’

‘I went on a date last night.’

Tomek flicked him on the upper arm playfully. ‘Fuck off. With who? A girl you were speaking with on Grindr?’

‘Tinder. Not Grindr.’

‘Go on, mate. Told you you’d find someone.’ He swivelled in his chair to face the constable, all thought of Vicky Sanchez and her killer flown straight out of his mind. A moment of levity that was long overdue. ‘Tell me everything. Where’d you go? What’s her name? What does she look like?’

‘Why does any of that matter?’ Chey asked.

‘I need to make sure she’s the right person for you. You’re like my adopted son.’

Chey’s eyes widened. ‘I thought we were besties.’

‘Adopted son. Best friend. You can’t have it both ways, mate. Choose one or the other. But right now, I want to know more about your date. What did you talk about? Did you kiss? Did you hold hands? Are you going to see her again?’

Tomek felt like he was fifteen again, back in the playground, gossiping with his friends after a party.

‘It went well,’ Chey said, suddenly becoming shy. ‘She’s funny. She’s cute. I like her.’

‘When are you seeing her next?’

‘We haven’t decided on a date.’

Tomek sighed. ‘Back in my day, I’d have locked that in straight away.’

‘Back in your day…?’

‘Back when you couldn’t communicate with someone at all hours of the day, and the only way to find out if the date was still on was to turn up and see if they showed.’

‘At least nowadays we don’t have that embarrassment,’ Chey replied. ‘Well, not so much.’

‘Did you kiss?’

Chey’s cheeks flushed red. ‘Kiss? What? On a first date?’

‘I assume that’s a no…’

‘I…’ Chey scratched his chin. ‘I wanted to. Thought about it, but the timing wasn’t right.’

Tomek slapped him on the back. ‘You’re gonna be waiting for months if you think there’s a perfect time, kid. That bullshit only exists in Hollywood.’

Chey grunted at the comment.

‘The most important thing is whether she wants to see you again. Have you spoken to her since?’

Chey nodded, though it didn’t look convincing.

‘That’s a good start. You didn’t scare her away with your exceptional conversation skills? Please tell me you didn’t try your magic trick on her.’

Chey’s eyes widened with embarrassment, all but confirming he had.

‘Oh, Chey. And it was going so well.’

‘She liked it!’ the constable protested.

‘She was probably being polite.’

‘Don’t listen to him,’ came a female voice from behind. ‘He’s just jealous he hasn’t been on a date in months.’ Rachel pulled out the chair on the other side of the bank of desks and dropped herself into it. ‘I’m sure she had a great time. I’m sure she’s lovely. Don’t listen to anything he’s said. If you want to wait for the right time, you wait for the right time. If you want to wait before you see her again, then you wait. Don’t feel pressured into doing anything because some single bloke in his forties said you should. Do what feels right and what makes you happy.’

Chey’s face warmed, presumably from the embarrassment Tomek felt.

‘Just saying how it is,’ Rachel added.

‘Did you come over here for anything important, or just to take the piss?’

‘Both. But now I’ve taken the piss, there’s something I think you should know.’ Rachel flopped a large, padded envelope onto the table. Chey and Tomek both leaned in towards it.

The package bore an adhesive label with the team’s address printed on it.

‘I see you’ve opened it…’ he said.

‘Yeah?’

‘What’s inside?’

‘It’s a letter,’ Rachel replied. ‘From the killer.’

CHAPTER

FORTY-TWO

You may be wondering why I’m doing this. Or you may be wondering why I’m still able to get away with it. Unless, of course, you’re going to come knocking on my door in the time it takes for this to arrive in the post.

You may also be wondering why Vicky?

Let me tell you.

Vicky’s death was a tragedy. Every death is a tragedy. But it was also necessary. Every death in the name of science is necessary.

For humans to grow, we must evolve and adapt. We must develop strengths and barriers against our weaknesses. Vicky was only able to handle 64 scratches before her body succumbed to death’s clutches. There is much for us to learn from this experience, much to analyse. She possessed a weak brain, a weak temperament, a weak heart. She did not have the courage within herself to persevere, to continue, to fight. For that, she is considered weak. But she is no less an important subject.

Her death will help guide us in the name of evolution, in the name of science.

You may also be wondering, by this point, whether I am who I say I am. (At least, I hope you are, otherwise, that might explain why the door is still perfectly intact.)

Let me tell you.

During our time together, I came to learn so much about our mutual friend. At first, she begged. And begged. And begged. Then she began another method. She started to pander to me, to loosen up her heart and spill her little secrets in the hope it would build trust. In the hope it would one day lead to her survival.

I was curious whether she had any experience of pain and whether that might impact her longevity throughout the experiment. She told me that her first experience of pain came when she was ten. She and her friend were playing in Langdon Hills Country Park, climbing trees when suddenly she fell. Her arms, legs, and body were all badly scratched as she fell fifteen feet onto the hard earth. She left those woods with a massive gouge in her upper arm and a mental wound so deep she never returned there again. Until recently.

Her second experience of pain came when she was twelve. Her parents had dropped her off for a weekend camping trip with the local Scout group. She was with one of her friends, surrounded by boys and girls her own age. Of course, there was adult supervision, but for the most part, the children were afforded the freedom to do whatever they wanted. When it came time to gather wood for the fire, a man by the name of Christian Bellamy pulled her aside and took her into the woods. They ventured alone, gathering sticks of varying sizes. As they progressed deeper into the woods, Christian pulled his trousers down and touched himself in front of her. Can you believe that? In front of a child, on the eve of becoming a teenager. It’s sickening. Rightfully, the events of that night and the eventual sexual assault that took place stuck with her until her last breath. So much so that, throughout her school life, she struggled with attendance and behaviour issues. She was kicked out of two different schools for truanting and arguing with the teachers. She developed some pretty nasty habits during those times. Because Vicky was weak. Weak-minded, weak-bodied. Weak everything. She put on a show for everyone else. She was lying to everyone.

That being said, her death came as a surprise to all of us. I had expected her to survive at least a few more days. Alas, sometimes our expectations have a way of letting us down.

I sincerely hope you have no expectation of ever catching me.

But if you wanted a hand, I’d be more than willing to give you one.

51.53383° N

0.53240° E

Tomek’s immediate reaction had been to treat the letter like a bomb: to give it a wide berth and send in a team of experts who knew how to deal with it. But after reading it, holding the pages between his gloved fingers, he was unable to let go. It had attached itself to him, like a supernatural monster from a movie, slowly consuming his body.

He stood there for a long while, staring blankly into space. It wasn’t until Rachel tapped him on the shoulder that he eventually came to.

‘Can I?’ she asked, before taking it from him carefully.

After she’d finished reading the letter, she passed it around the table to the rest of the team, ensuring they looked with their eyes only. Slowly, a wall of perplexed and aghast faces stared back at him.

‘I…’ Rachel began. ‘Where do we begin, Sarge?’

‘I…’ Tomek started but was assaulted by a flashback to earlier that morning: he was underwater again, half naked, struggling to breathe, fighting his way to the surface.

Without saying anything, he strode towards the MIR. The team followed closely behind. Inside, he stood at the front of the room, looking at the whiteboard, only vaguely aware of the silence behind him.

Soon, the quiet murmurings began, the hushed whispers.

‘Sarge…’ Martin said. ‘What do you want us to do?’

And then something clicked. Some part of his brain told him to swim, to kick his legs, to fight his way to the surface.

Quickly after, the light above the surface grew brighter and brighter.

He spun around to address the team. ‘Someone take a photo of the letter. Then call forensics. Get them in to analyse the document for fingerprints and DNA. Nobody else touches it, thinks about it, or breathes anywhere near it until they take it away. I want…’ He made a quick count of everyone in the room. ‘I want seven copies, plus two for Nick and Victoria. No more, no less. You will each get a copy with your initials on it, and you will guard it with your life. If this information leaks, I will know exactly who’s responsible. We can’t have this information falling into the hands of the press.’ Tomek’s eyes inadvertently fell on Martin, who’d leaked information to Abigail in the past.

Just as Tomek was about to continue, Rachel interrupted him. ‘How do we know it’s legit, Sarge?’

Tomek took a moment to consider. His eyes fell on Rachel, the note on the table, then the blank space in the centre. ‘The stories about Vicky,’ he said. ‘He’s given away personal information about her. The sort of thing only a friend, family member, or partner would know. Anna, one for you. I want you to go down to Ipswich, speak with Vicky’s parents. Ascertain whether the stories are true and, more importantly, who might know that sort of information.’

‘They’re still here,’ Anna responded. ‘We kept them overnight in a hotel. They were too shaken up yesterday after confirming the body’s identity.’

‘What time’s check-out?’

She checked her watch. ‘Now.’

‘Call them. Convince them to stay. Bring them in if you have to.’

Anna nodded and headed out of the room as fast as Tomek had ever seen her move.

‘What about the rest of us?’ Martin asked.

I’m working on that, Tomek thought. ‘Give me a minute.’

He wandered over to the letter on the table and peered down at it, resisting the urge to reach out and touch it, despite his latex gloves.

‘How did he know when we’d find her body?’ Chey asked, distracting him.

‘What?’

‘The killer… how did he know that we’d find her body? This has come at the perfect time.’

‘He didn’t,’ Tomek answered without thinking. ‘It’s a fluke, an absolute miracle. He sent it so it would arrive shortly after the time of his final message. The fact that we found her body the same day as that message was sent is a complete fluke.’ Tomek turned his attention to the coordinates on the page. ‘That location… someone put it into Google Maps. See where it comes up.’

He waited a few moments for a response.

‘It’s in Canvey, Sarge,’ Chey answered.

Fucking Canvey. Why is it always in Canvey?

Tomek turned to the young constable. ‘Do they match up with the code you’ve been looking at?’

Chey shook his head without hesitation. ‘I still have no idea what it’s about, Sarge.’

‘Fine. Keep working on it. In the meantime, the rest of us, get your coats. We’re going down to Canvey.’

CHAPTER

FORTY-THREE

Anna was still out of breath five minutes after she’d arrived at the Travelodge. The hotel was in the heart of the city centre and only a few minutes’ walk from the station, but the five-minute journey had felt like fifteen, and the climb up the steps had caused her heart to pound in her chest. Her lungs were still wheezing with every breath as she sipped carefully from the paper cup of water she’d requested at reception. To her surprise, the hotel staff had been accommodating and respectful of her wish to use the hotel room. Mark and Laurel Sanchez had been in the process of checking out when she’d arrived, and after briefly explaining that she needed to speak with them, they had agreed to follow her back to their room.

‘I’m sorry for the urgency,’ Anna began. ‘And I’m sorry I couldn’t say anything to you downstairs. You can trust that anything I have to say about your daughter’s investigation is strictly confidential.’

They nodded.

‘When we came up to our room yesterday, someone who worked for The Sun approached us and asked if we could comment on everything that’s happening,’ Laurel explained. She sounded weak and broken, as if she’d been crying for the last twelve hours, and only now had she finally been able to hold back the tears.

‘That explains why I saw some cameras outside.’

‘They’re staying in the hotel with us,’ Mark continued. ‘They’ve been knocking on all the doors, trying to find our room. They haven’t left us alone.’

Anna shook her head in disgust. ‘Why didn’t you say anything? Why didn’t you call?’

They looked at one another, hesitant. ‘We didn’t know what to do.’

‘You should have called or come to the station. We could have found somewhere else for you to stay. You shouldn’t have to deal with that sort of invasion of your privacy. I’ll have a word with my seniors, and if I see anyone out there, I’ll be sure to report them.’

They looked down at the floor in resignation. It was too late. The damage had been done. What little faith they had in the rest of humanity was gone.

‘What is it you wanted to see us about?’ Mark asked, clearing his throat.

‘There’s been a development,’ Anna began. ‘One that we hope will get us one step closer to finding your daughter’s killer. This morning we received a note from the killer. At least, we presume it to be the killer. In the letter, the killer detailed some personal information about your daughter. Information we want to check.’

‘What type of information?’

Anna recited the stories from the killer’s correspondence. ‘Is any of what I’ve just said true?’

Perched on the end of the bed, Mark and Laurel reached for each other’s hands. They looked as if they were about to break apart, getting in one last hug before going their separate ways.

‘Yes…’ Mark said. ‘We… we’re aware of the time she fell from the tree.’

‘And the incident involving the staff member from the Scouts?’

They shared a pained look. ‘This… this is the first we’ve heard of it.’

As soon as she said it, Laurel began to cry. Tears quickly streamed down her face and Anna hurried into the toilet and returned with a roll of toilet paper.

‘Thank you,’ Laurel said. She delicately tore off a piece and dabbed beneath her eyes. Sniffling away the tears, she said, ‘She… she never explicitly said anything. But I… I sensed it, you know. Mother’s intuition. She was never quite the same when she got back. Behavioural issues, nightmares. She suddenly stopped trusting both of us, especially Mark. We tried to ask her what was wrong, but she never told us. We thought it was an incident with a boy in the group, one that she’d flirted with a couple of times. But she never mentioned anything about being molested. I guess, on some level, we didn’t want to know. If we didn’t acknowledge it, then it wasn’t real.’

‘So you’re saying it could be true?’ Anna asked.

Both parents shook their heads. Tears welled in their eyes.

‘We took her to a therapist a couple of times, but nothing came of it. It didn’t seem to make any difference, until one day she just snapped out of it, and she went back to normal. It was like she’d suddenly forgotten about whatever had been concerning her, and she moved on with her life. At the time we didn’t think anything of it, but now… now…’ Laurel broke down in a flood of tears, unable to hold them at bay. Deep, guttural cries broke from her mouth as she wept into her husband’s chest.

As he consoled his wife, behind a thin veil of bravery against his own tears, Mark asked, ‘Do you think whoever did that to our daughter all those years ago has come back to hurt her again?’

‘It is a line of enquiry we will need to pursue,’ she answered. ‘Has she been to therapy since childhood?’

Both parents looked at one another and shook their heads. ‘Not that we know of. But that doesn’t mean to say she hasn’t since she moved out. She’s never mentioned it to us.’

‘Can you think of anyone else who might know about those stories? Anyone she might have entrusted that information with?’

Vicky’s parents considered for thirty seconds. ‘Her closest friends,’ Laurel answered. ‘If she couldn’t tell us, I can’t see why she would have told any of her boyfriends or former partners. But her friends… they’re your best chance.’

Anna made a note. ‘Any other family members perhaps? Cousins? Uncles? Aunts? Anyone else in her life?’

Laurel shook her head. ‘Do you think some of these people might be suspects because of it?’

‘Potentially,’ Anna replied, purposely being evasive. Because the alternative – that the killer had got the information out of her during her torture – meant that they would be back to square one again.

CHAPTER

FORTY-FOUR

Agust of wind ripped around him from the south, cutting through the forensic suit and flattening the grass at his feet and beyond. He hugged himself tightly as he waited for the scenes of crime team to finish their investigation. They had been examining the small, abandoned structure in the middle of Canvey Marshes for almost an hour. Meanwhile, Tomek, Rachel, Martina, and Oscar had been forced to wait on the marshlands, battered by the wind from all angles, while birds circled above. The building and the surrounding marshland had been cordoned off. Several officers from the Canvey Island police station had been called in for support; however, the island had been so quiet that nobody had tried to set foot on the RSPB land. Mercifully, he had heard no reports of being followed by any members of the press. He’d half expected a phone call telling him that there was a flurry of brave camera operators and news reporters trying to slip through the cordon and hurry across the wet and soggy marshland.

The thought inspired him to check his phone to see if he’d received anything from Kasia, Anna, or Abigail.

Nothing.

Except for one missed call.

Tomek felt his stomach tighten, as though Nathan Burrows had reached into his abdomen, grabbed it, and twisted it himself. Without saying anything, he wandered away from the team and pressed the man’s name at the top of the screen. As he ventured downwind, out of earshot, the sensation in his stomach tightened. As the phone rang, he held his breath, watching the gusts of wind cause the grass to shimmer and glisten.

For a few moments, Tomek became numb to everything. Even the trilling tone was drowned out by the din buffeting against his ears.

And then came the unmistakable sound of the call cutting out. No answer.

Tomek played with the phone in his hands, catching his breath before turning back to the team. He had made it only a few steps before the phone began to vibrate.

He froze and stared at the screen. He answered the call.

‘Look at the two of us playing phone tennis like a couple of teenagers. Did you hear what Johnny and Harriet did over the weekend? OMG, can you believe what Mr Dickens said about the people in Class 5B?’

Tomek didn’t respond.

‘I trust you’ve been keeping well,’ Nathan continued.

Tomek cast a quick glance towards the building: a handful of the scenes of crime officers had just stepped out into the wind, while his team was in deep discussion. He turned his back on them all.

‘Fine,’ he answered.

Suddenly, Nathan began to clap through the phone. Loud, brash claps echoed down the microphone and burst in Tomek’s ear.

‘I forgot to congratulate you,’ Nathan said.

Congratulate me? On what? The case? The note? Was that him? Is he the one behind all of this?

‘I wanted to congratulate you on the size of your balls. You really gave my guy a fright the other night.’

The other night. When the man with the teardrop tattoo had tried to break into his house.

‘I told you I wouldn’t tolerate this anymore. I told you I didn’t want him anywhere near my home.’

Nathan sharply sucked in air through his teeth. ‘I think he got your message. But he’ll be back. You won’t know when. Or where. Or how. But I have a feeling he’ll be back. You see, you pissed him off now. Before, he was doing what I told him. He was very obedient. If I’d told him to stand down, he would have done it. But now… now you’ve antagonised him. I think he’s taken that a bit personally.’

‘If he goes anywhere near my daughter, I will break his fucking neck,’ Tomek hissed.

‘Come on, Tomek. We both know you haven’t got it in you. Your balls are as big as they’re ever going to be. You try anything else, they’ll burst.’ Nathan chuckled demonically down the phone. ‘I bet you had a little cry after your coming together. Had to calm yourself down. Couldn’t handle the pressure.’

‘I’ve told you, I will do what I need to in order to protect my family. I won’t say it again. Make sure your man stays away.’

‘And I won’t tell you again, Tomek. He can very easily go away. He can very easily leave your family alone. You just have to say the word. The power is in your hands. What’ll it be?’

Just as Tomek was about to respond, his name carried on the wind. Oscar, dressed in a paper suit, came jogging towards him, looking down at his feet so he didn’t trip on the many tussocks and dips in the uneven ground. Tomek lowered his phone to his side, concealing it behind his leg.

‘Sarge,’ Oscar said, ‘they’re ready for you. SOCO have just finished going through the building.’

‘I’ll be there in a minute.’ Tomek waved him off, then held his phone to his ear. ‘I have to go.’

‘Duty calls? Can I get an answer before you go?’

‘No. You can fuck off.’

‘What did you just say to me?’ Tomek asked, dumbfounded.

The scenes of crime officer stood perfectly still, arms by her sides. ‘I said it’s empty,’ she replied, her thick South African accent lowering in tone.

‘Empty?’

‘Yes. When something is devoid of anything.’

‘What do you mean empty?’

Tomek was having a hard time understanding, but from the expressions of the rest of his team, he was the only one.

‘I mean there’s absolutely nothing inside that building, which I believe is used as a bird hide. All you’ll find inside is an empty space. Nothing on the floor, nothing on the walls, nothing that looks left behind. No fingerprints, no DNA that we’ve been able to uncover so far. Nothing.’

Tomek inhaled deeply, maintaining eye contact with the SOCO. She wore a pair of leopard print glasses, and behind them was a pair of deep brown eyes staring back at him.

‘What’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Aneska,’ she replied bluntly, as though he should have already known that.

Checking his watch, he said, ‘We’ve been standing here for over an hour, Aneska. Waiting for you guys to report back anything useful to us. We’ve been standing here for over an hour in high anticipation that you might actually have some information. That you might be able to help us get one step closer to finding our killer. And yet, you’ve known that this place has been empty since you first opened the fucking door. What’s that about? Why has it taken so long to come and tell us? We could have been back at the station by now, pursuing other lines of enquiry.’

Aneska continued to stare at him, her eyes burning a hole in his soul. ‘I’ll allow you to have a minute to think about the way you’ve just spoken to me. I was told to come over here and pass on the message. It’s not my fault you didn’t want to take the initiative and ask me or one of my colleagues for an update. That being said, I apologise for nobody telling you sooner. But there’s nothing we can do about it now. We will continue to investigate the building and the surrounding area, but for the most part, there is nothing to see.’

‘Show me,’ Tomek said, trying to save face. ‘I want to see for myself.’

‘You don’t believe me?’

‘I just need to see it with my own eyes.’

Aneska said nothing as she turned and started towards the building. Tomek was acutely aware of the awkward expressions and glances he received from the rest of the team as he followed her. He felt like a dick for talking to Aneska that way. He’d been rude and had overstepped the mark. But to be fair, she’d very quickly put him back in his place.

A few moments later, they arrived at the small bird hide. The door to the building had lost the battle with the wind and had blown wide open, affording Tomek a brief glimpse inside. Aneska was right: the space was completely bare, devoid of anything. No seat in the middle of the room. No signs of blood or excrement on the floor. It was as though the building had been constructed decades before, and the world had since forgotten about it, leaving it exposed to the elements and the slow march of time.

‘I guess you were right,’ Tomek said.

‘I wasn’t lying to you,’ she replied flippantly.

‘I guess not. I guess I should apologise for what I said back there.’

Aneska folded her arms. ‘I guess you should.’

But as soon as the words left his lips, the tension in Aneska’s face had dissipated.

‘Like I said, we’ll continue to go through the building and surrounding area, but given we’ve found nothing so far, I’m not hopeful.’

No, Tomek thought. Neither am I.

CHAPTER

FORTY-FIVE

Several hours later, Sean returned to the office, dropping his backpack onto the floor and slumping into his chair.

‘Where’ve you been?’ asked Oscar, who sat beside him.

‘I feel like I’ve just had my arse handed to me by a sumo wrestler,’ Sean replied.

‘I thought you were speaking with the witness from the army?’ Tomek called from the other side of the room.

‘I was. That was a dead end straight away. The guy was discharged from the army about eight years ago, and he wasn’t too happy about my line of questioning.’

‘Why not?’

‘He lost a leg during a tour in Iraq. He’s been in a wheelchair since.’

‘And you continued to ask him if he’d had anything to do with Vicky’s murder?’

‘I was being thorough,’ Sean added. ‘I wanted to make sure he didn’t slip through the net.’

‘And you’re confident he’s not our guy?’

‘Positive.’

‘What’s that got to do with you having your arse handed to you?’ Oscar asked.

‘Because he scared the shit out of me, that’s why. He practically frog-marched me out of his house.’

‘A big guy like you? No…’

‘He was missing a leg! I wasn’t going to put him on the ground and force him to answer my questions, was I?’

Rachel tutted. ‘What’s going on with you two today? First Tomek has a go at one of the SOCOs, and then you threaten to beat up a disabled veteran.’

‘I didn’t threaten to beat him up. If anything, he beat me up. Verbally. With his words…’ Sean poked his chest.

‘I’m familiar with what the word “verbally” means, Sarge,’ Rachel replied. ‘If you need to speak with him again, I’d love to come and help.’

‘You mean come and watch, more like.’

‘I’ll have the popcorn and video recorder at the ready.’

Tomek stood and wandered into the centre of the office. ‘If you two have finished,’ he began, ‘I’d love to know where we are with everything.’ He turned his attention to Rachel. ‘Since you’re so talkative, I assume you’ve finished what you were doing and have found the killer.’

The relaxed expression on Rachel’s face quickly vanished and turned into one of consternation. She lowered her gaze and shook her head. ‘Nothing, Sarge. The building is owned by the RSPB, but they haven’t visited in a while. The only people who use it are birdwatchers, and they only do so when all the others are full. According to the person I spoke with on the phone, they’re some of the most respectful and polite people. They always leave those places as clean as possible. It’s possible we’ll find some DNA in there, but if we do, chances are we’ll find more than one set.’

‘Better than none,’ Tomek remarked. He thanked her, then turned his attention to Martin and Oscar. ‘Anything from any of Vicky’s friends?’

Martin was the first to speak, swallowing deeply before doing so. ‘I’ve spoken with her best friends, and they know nothing about what’s alleged to have happened during her Scout trip. It’s the first they’ve heard of it, including the friend who went along with her.’

‘Vicky never mentioned it to anyone?’ Tomek asked.

Martin shook his head. ‘Her friend, Minah, said that she thought something had happened. But she thought it was with a boy. And no matter how hard she pressed her for information, she wouldn’t give it up.’

‘That echoes what her parents said,’ Tomek noted, more for his own benefit than anyone else’s. ‘Her parents thought it had something to do with a boy she’d been flirting with. Do we know the name of the boy that was there?’

‘You think he might have been involved somehow?’ Martin asked.

‘Do you have it?’

‘Yes. Craig Garfield. I’ll see if I can give him a call this afternoon.’

‘Good man, thanks.’ Tomek pointed to Oscar. ‘Any luck finding our mystery Scout leader?’

Oscar pursed his lips. ‘Nothing yet. He’s a difficult egg to track down.’

‘You’ve got nothing?’

‘Not nothing,’ Oscar responded. ‘I’ve got a couple of people under the name Christian Bellamy, but none of them are coming up locally. He’s either died at some point in the past twenty years, or he’s moved out of the county.’

‘Still, look into him,’ Tomek said. ‘Find him, speak with him. He might have moved in the past couple of days; don’t forget, our killer’s had almost two weeks to cover his tracks and start a completely new life somewhere.’

That was what concerned Tomek the most: the fact they were still two weeks behind the killer, and that they had no immediate signs or ideas on how best to catch up.

‘Chey…’ he said, his voice heavily laden with hope. ‘Please tell me you’ve got something. I know I keep relying on you, but… Any word from the cryptographer?’

Chey shook his head. Tomek felt his shoulders drop. ‘Hopefully, I’ll hear something from him tomorrow.’

The vigour and zest that so frequently characterised Chey’s voice, mannerisms, and attitude – that overly excitable childlike attitude – had now gone, and he looked dejected.

‘How about CCTV?’ Tomek asked. ‘Anything?’

‘Still nothing.’

‘Any movement on the blog posts?’

Chey shook his head. ‘Dry as the Sahara since the final post which confirmed her death.’

Tomek thanked the constable for his efforts, extended the message to the rest of them, then instructed them to continue with whatever they were working on. He’d considered giving them a rallying cry, a motivating speech, but all he could think about was that they were experiencing the calm before the storm. That right around the corner, things were about to go from bad to worse.

And then he looked down at his phone.

Abigail was ringing him. Which meant, for him, he was in the storm’s eye.

CHAPTER

FORTY-SIX

The conversation didn’t last long. In fact, it was over almost as soon as it began. Abigail was predictable, if nothing else. She had tried to squeeze information from him; information he didn’t have and wouldn’t have been willing to share. But it was her last comment that had pissed him off more than most.

I don’t think you know what you’re doing, do you? You’re lost. Out of your depth. You should pass this investigation on to someone who knows how to handle it.

Sure, it was how he felt inside. Lost, barely treading water, dipping beneath the surface, clawing for air. It was how he’d felt from the beginning, the way he’d convinced himself to feel after the first couple of days. But he didn’t need someone else telling him. Because that made it real. That meant it wasn’t just in his own head; other people were thinking the same thing.

Other people thought he was useless.

That evening, he climbed out of the car, feeling more numb than usual. He didn’t care if he came across the man with the teardrop tattoo. The man with the white BMW could beat him, stab him, shoot him. He wouldn’t care. He would just take it.

As he slipped the key into the front door, he heard Kasia moving about in the kitchen, playing music, dancing to one of her favourite songs. The sound of her enjoying herself and being carefree warmed him, but it wasn’t enough to make the cloud hanging over him disappear.

That would require a monumental effort.

‘Hey, Dad!’ she called as he dropped his keys onto the dining room table. ‘Hope you don’t mind, but I didn’t fancy chicken and rice tonight, so I made us spaghetti Bolognese instead.’

‘Okay.’

‘I didn’t want to call you because I know you’re busy, so I watched you come home on Find My Friends.’ She began plating the spaghetti. ‘Good timing, eh?’

‘Yeah.’

Tomek pulled the dining chair from beneath the table and slumped into it.

‘Everything all right?’ she called from the kitchen. ‘How was work?’

Tomek grunted. He felt like he was living in the fifties: he’d just come home after a long and miserable day of selling something nobody wanted; he was behind on his payments; his car was on the blink; and to top it all off, he felt like he wanted to shoot himself. The only good thing he had was a daughter who’d made sure the food was on the table by the time he got home.

‘Stressful?’ she asked as she brought through the food.

‘No more than usual. What’s happened to you? You seem in a good mood.’

Her face lit up. ‘I got a nine in my food tech exam today.’

‘Excellent, well done!’

Tomek wanted to sound excited for her; he really did. The problem was that his brain was having trouble communicating that desire to his mouth.

‘Miss Evans said I made one of the nicest tiramisus she’s ever tasted.’

‘Good,’ he replied. ‘I’m proud of you. You⁠—’

‘And I’m proud of you,’ she said.

The statement took him by surprise. He opened and closed his mouth, unable to respond.

‘This case…’ she continued. ‘Everything that’s been going on. I’ve seen a lot more stuff come out recently online about it. I know it isn’t easy. I know you don’t know all the answers, but…’ She played with her food. ‘But I wanted you to know I’m proud of you. I’m proud of everything you do. Everyone has an opinion about your job – people online, people at school – but I know how hard you work; I know how difficult it is. You don’t need to pay attention to what any of those people say. They’re not the ones living it day in, day out. They wouldn’t last an hour in your shoes.’

Tomek choked back a tear, masking it by shovelling a forkful of food into his mouth.

‘I always tell people how difficult your job is and how much work you have to put into it.’ She took a sip of water from the mug he’d bought for her recently. ‘Don’t worry, Dad. I’ve got your back. We’re a team, remember.’

‘Yeah. We’re a team.’

‘And you’ve got your team at work as well. I’m sure you can get to the bottom of it; don’t worry. You’ll get there eventually.’

A smile spread across Tomek’s face. He suddenly felt much better, and the cloud that had been looming over him had vanished.

‘Speaking of being a team,’ he responded. ‘I have something to tell you about Sean…’

CHAPTER

FORTY-SEVEN

SUNDAY

Date: Sunday 20th October

Time: 08:35

Title: Scratch 1

The evolution of the human race is an experiment. New diseases, afflictions, and ailments are developed every year, every day. The human race constantly faces the onslaught of nature and motherhood. Our entire history is an experiment in survival of the fittest, a battle of who can survive and who cannot. The history of humankind has not afflicted just one person; it has afflicted millions – billions.

And now it has impacted two more lives. Two more lives chosen for experimentation. Two more lives that will soon better the human race. Two more lives that are making my experiments more robust and rigorous. What sort of conclusions can we draw with just one victim? The answer: not enough. We needed more. And you asked for more.

So you have more.

Our two victims are one male and one female, both of a similar age to Tabitha. The female, whom we shall call Carly, is smaller and more petite than Tabitha. She has brown hair, brown eyes, and a fair complexion. Her frame is skinny and wiry, almost to the point of malnourishment. In contrast, our male subject, whom we shall call Carl, is broader, heavier built, and appears to have spent a lot of time in the gym. His hair is balding, his nose is large, and he has size eleven feet. I am most curious to see how he performs in the experiment. I also realise that it is important to share this information with you for the betterment of the experiment and the human race. After all, some genes may perform better than others.

As with Tabitha, our control variables will remain the same. Both victims will be fed the exact same meals at the same times. They will be given water at the same intervals, and they will be free to go about their ablutions as they please. They will be bound at the same points on their wrists and feet and will also be subjected to the same scratches, administered by the same weapons, at the same times as Tabitha. That way, the only differences will be their bodies – their hearts, their brains, their minds. It will be a test to see which one gives out first. Neither victim has any previous conditions; if they do, they are currently undiagnosed. This is beyond my control. Despite that, as always, I will continue to monitor their vital signs, reporting any anomalies and changes.

My hypothesis for this experiment is as follows: I expect Carl to last longer than Carly. Not just because of his size and physique, but because I can see it in his eyes. He is glowering at me, shooting a thousand daggers, wishing the worst punishment upon me. Meanwhile, Carly hasn’t stopped crying. I fear she will become too dehydrated if she continues, which may bring our experiment to an end sooner than expected.

Now, it is time to administer the first scratch.

Using the exact same weapon as Tabitha.

In the exact same spot on each of their bodies.

In the exact same direction.

With the exact same length, pressure, and depth.

You asked for more, so I am giving it to you. Thank you for joining me in my experiments. I look forward to sharing my results with the rest of you.

816259437

CHAPTER

FORTY-EIGHT

The following morning, Tomek felt a renewed sense of optimism. His heartwarming conversation with Kasia, which had been slightly curtailed by the discussion of Sean coming to stay with them for the foreseeable future, played in his mind for the rest of the evening. For what felt like the first time in a long time, he’d slept through the night. No nightmares. No dreams of Vicky Sanchez. No apparitions of the man with the teardrop tattoo and the white BMW. In fact, Kasia’s words had had such a profound effect on him that they continued to consume him as he entered the station.

I’m proud of everything you do.

They wouldn’t last an hour in your shoes.

I’ve got your back. We’re a team, remember.

He felt blessed to have a team waiting for him at work and another team at home. However, he couldn’t think about the team at home right then; the other one needed him. Chey was standing in the kitchen doorway, clinging to the frame so tightly that his knuckles had turned white. Tomek stopped what he was doing and approached the constable with caution.

‘What is it?’

Chey’s Adam’s apple convulsed. ‘It’s happened again. The blog posts. They’re back. Except this time he’s got two victims.’

Tomek opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He was grateful he wasn’t holding his cup of coffee as it would have gone clattering to the ground. His body tensed with anger, then loosened with shock. His knees felt weak, unable to support him. His breathing intensified, his mind numbed.

‘Show me,’ he said, his voice a whisper.

Tomek followed Chey out of the kitchen, leaving his drink behind. He was no longer in the mood for it. The office was desolate. At that time in the morning, it was just the two of them. The rest of the team would be arriving soon.

As Tomek joined Chey’s side, a lump formed in his throat. The blog post was already loaded on the screen. Tomek recognised the blue header of the website, the anonymous profile picture in the top right corner, the logo at the top of the page. He read the post, his hands sweating, eyes glued to the screen, absorbing every word and every space on the page.

Until he reached the end.

‘Is that a new code?’

Chey nodded. ‘It’s still nine digits, with every number used only once, but it’s in a different sequence.’

‘Have you sent it to the cryptographer?’

‘Not yet. I’ve only just seen it.’

‘Send it. Get him on it straight away.’

Tomek read through the post again, this time taking his time.

‘When was it posted?’ he asked.

‘Twenty minutes ago. Eight thirty-five.’

‘How many people have seen it?’

‘A couple of thousand.’

‘Already?’ Tomek ran his fingers through his hair. His thoughts began spiralling. ‘This’ll be all over Twitter and TikTok soon. The news… the media. How long before they get wind of it? We have to try to keep a lid on this somehow.’

‘I… I don’t think that’s going to be possible. It’s out there already. It’s too late. The only way we can stop him is if we find him. But we’ve got some time… he’s only just started.’

‘That doesn’t count for anything,’ Tomek replied. ‘Last time, he killed Vicky within four days. He could be doing the same here. And we have no idea how long they’ve already been missing for.’

‘Wasn’t Martina keeping an eye on the missing persons list for us?’

‘Yes, she was.’

Tomek pulled out his phone and dialled her number. It rang several times before going through to voicemail. He left a message, urging her to call him as soon as possible. Then he turned his attention back to the post.

‘Get everyone into the office as soon as possible. Share the post with your cryptographer. We’re going to find this bastard.’

CHAPTER

FORTY-NINE

Eventually, almost thirty minutes later, Martina answered the phone.

‘Where are you?’

‘On my way in. Sorry, I had to drop something off at my mum and dad’s.’

Tomek heard the sound of the indicator inside her car.

‘How long until you’re here?’

‘Five minutes. Ten, depending on where I have to park.’

‘I need you here in two minutes. It’s happened again. And you need to tell me who he’s taken.’

As soon as she entered the office, he pulled her into a separate room and explained the situation, requesting an immediate update from her in person.

‘I…’ Martina began, sheepishly. ‘I need to check the report. But… but I’m sure there was something about a couple not turning up for work the other day.’

‘When?’

‘I… I don’t know.’

She looked visibly frightened sitting opposite him, as if this was the first time she’d ever been put under pressure.

‘I need to check.’

‘Come on. Let’s go.’

Tomek followed her out of the room all the way to her temporary desk on the other side of the office. The space was a hive of activity. His colleagues paced the corridors, talking loudly to one another, barking orders, and asking questions. And, as expected, the telephones had started to ring. Despite the chaos and gravity of the situation, Tomek felt a sense of optimism in the air. They were at the beginning of the investigation. They were right on top of the blog posts, and for the first time since it had all begun, Tomek felt in control. Nothing in particular had changed, nothing about this incident was different – they didn’t know where the killer was, who the victims were, nor where he’d taken them – but there was just something deep inside him that felt different. Optimistic. Like they were close…

I’m proud of everything you do.

I’ve got your back. We’re a team, remember.

His mobile began to ring. Abigail. No doubt she had caught wind of the news already and was desperate for an update. He ignored the call, tempted to switch off the device.

‘Here they are,’ Martina said, pointing at the screen. ‘Carl and Carly Cooper. Reported missing on Friday by both of their employers for not turning up. For whatever reason, someone in my team has entered them both as one missing person, and not as two separate entries. Either way, they were on the report I sent to you on Friday night.’

Now that he’d seen the names in front of him, it clicked. He had read that report. She’d sent it late, and he’d dismissed the names because he never thought, in a million years, that their killer would abduct two people at once, let alone a married couple.

A fistful of guilt sucker-punched him in the stomach.

‘Yes…’ he said. ‘Thank you for that. You were right. I…’ He couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Not allowed. ‘He’s using their real names. Why?’

Martina shrugged. ‘I have no idea, Sarge. But I don’t think we should be complaining.’

Tomek wasn’t. It was a stroke of luck. For some reason, the killer had halved the amount of work they had to do in an instant. Was it intentional, or had he just slipped up? His first of many?

‘They reportedly went missing on Friday?’ Tomek asked.

‘Yes, Sarge. Though that’s because they didn’t show up for work. It’s possible they actually went missing on Thursday sometime.’

‘So they’ve potentially been missing for between forty-eight and seventy-two hours already?’

A nod.

Which meant, if the killer was creating a carbon copy of Vicky’s death, then they had less than twenty-four hours to find them.

CHAPTER

FIFTY

Tomek believed that if they could discover how Carl and Carly went missing, and where, then they could learn the who. The only problem was that both elements remained a mystery.

Their disappearance had been with the missing persons team for less than a day, and during that time, they had understandably made very little progress. The only significant advancement had come in the form of tracking their movements on the Thursday night they had gone missing. It had been shortly after six pm. The couple had got off the train at West Horndon station after finishing work in the city and had left together. From there, the team had been able to follow the couple in their car out of the station car park and in the general direction of their home. That was when the trail had ended.

‘As far as we’re concerned, it looks like they drove home and then just disappeared,’ DC Jamal Kilman explained as a gust of wind battered his face.

‘People don’t just disappear,’ Tomek retorted. ‘You must have something. What about their car? ANPR? CCTV hits?’

Jamal pursed his lips. ‘We haven’t found it yet. It’s very possible they pulled over to assist their abductor and were then taken away in their own car.’

Tomek pondered that. He imagined Carl and Carly driving home after a long day at work, cruising along the road. It would have been getting dark. They might have seen a car on the side of the road, or their attacker stranded, calling out for help. They might have pulled over, misguided in their own kindness, only to be tricked and attacked.

He tried to think of who was capable of that. Someone strong and intelligent enough to overpower two people and ensure neither of them got away. They were dealing with a cold, calculated murderer who would stop at nothing.

Another gust of wind brought Tomek out of his reverie. He surveyed his surroundings. They were standing in the middle of an anonymous stretch of tarmac in the Essex countryside, surrounded by open fields on all sides. The road veered around a tight bend.

‘This is part of their usual route home,’ Jamal said. ‘We think they may have come this way on the night they went missing. We’ve got some CCTV footage farther along the route that looks like it could possibly be their vehicle – it matches the size and colour – but we’re not a hundred per cent sure. Plus, these skid marks are consistent with the theory that they were apprehended along this road.’

Tomek was standing between two sets of skid marks. Ones that stopped and started within a few inches of one another, the latter pulling away at a thirty-degree angle. Tomek imagined the car sliding to an abrupt halt, staying there for a few minutes, then eventually moving from the same spot a few inches away as the killer left in a hurry.

‘We spoke with the farmer who owns this land, and he said that he’d been out on this road the same day they went missing. He reckons these were brand new either that night or early the following morning.’

‘How can he be sure?’

‘Because he knows these roads like he knows his fields. His words, not mine.’ Jamal removed an eyelash from beneath his eye. ‘We’ve also sent skid mark samples away for analysis, but I doubt it’ll tell us much.’

Tomek agreed but said nothing.

‘We’ve got our team working on it. More, now that we know the two cases are linked.’

‘We don’t know anything for certain,’ Tomek replied as his eyes fell on the tarmac. As if lifted by the gust of wind, his attention turned to the row of hedges that ran along the side of the road. ‘Presumably, you’ve searched all this?’

Jamal nodded.

‘And?’

‘We’ve taken some samples of what we think might be Carly Cooper’s hair, but again, we’re not hopeful. All it’ll tell us is who she is, not the guy we’re after.’

Tomek felt some of that morning’s optimism quickly drain away.

In the end, he realised his time was being wasted there, and that he was better off at the station.

He thanked Jamal, then jumped into his car. As he shut the door behind him, he glanced at his phone. Several missed calls from the team. Several missed calls from Abigail. One missed call from Nathan.

Instead of returning any of them, he called Claire, Sophia’s mum.

She answered almost immediately.

‘Hey, Tomek. Is everything all right?’

‘Sorry to disturb you like this,’ he said. ‘But I need some help. Is it okay if Kasia stays with you tonight, and maybe the following night? I’ve got something pretty big going on at work that I can’t away from.’

‘Of course,’ Claire replied without hesitation. ‘That’s no problem at all. Kasia filled me in on some of it the other day.’

‘She did? Well… she shouldn’t have.’

‘She was defending you. But don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me.’

‘Thank you. I appreciate it. I’ll come over tonight to drop off some of her stuff.’

‘Sounds like a plan.’ She hesitated. ‘You… you look after yourself out there, please, Tomek. I’ve read some stuff about what this person’s doing, and I would hate for you to come to any harm.’

Tomek chuckled. Her concern warmed him. ‘I’ll be fine,’ he replied. ‘I promise.’

CHAPTER

FIFTY-ONE

Before he’d even set foot through the door, Tomek was bombarded with questions. A small crowd of journalists had been waiting outside the station’s front entrance, some recording the latest press briefing on camera (though there was nothing new to report), while others idly stood around, waiting for something exciting to happen. Fortunately, he hadn’t seen Abigail’s face among the crowd, nor had he spotted her waiting at the back entrance as she typically did. But that hadn’t stopped her from calling his mobile every two minutes. Over two dozen missed calls from her, prompting him to switch the device off. If it was urgent, those closest to him – Kasia, his parents, the school – had the office number and could reach him that way. Anyone else, he didn’t care about.

He barely had time to breathe before he was besieged by members of the team. The office had been a hub of activity before he left but now it was as if everyone had snorted a couple of lines of cocaine, talking rapidly to one another and sprinting from desk to desk. For a moment, he thought he’d entered a movie set; it seemed so far removed from the mundanity and repetitiveness he was used to.

‘Sarge!’ Martin cried. The constable hurried over before Tomek had a chance to approach his desk. ‘I’ve heard back from Carl and Carly’s mobile providers, and they’ve confirmed both their mobiles have been switched off. They also confirmed the last ping they had was at six thirty-seven on Thursday night, around the general location of where you’ve just been.’

‘Great,’ Tomek said, his mind dissociating, overwhelmed by his surroundings. ‘And they haven’t been switched on since?’

Martin shook his head.

‘What about their car? Any luck with CCTV?’

‘We’ve got an alert out on ANPR and traffic cameras, but so far nothing. It will take time for the results to come back.’

‘We don’t have time…’ Tomek whispered as he started towards his desk.

As he reached it, Chey flagged him down with a wave of his arm. ‘No movement on the codes,’ he told him matter-of-factly. ‘Sanji hasn’t responded.’

‘And on Scorpion? Any more blog posts?’

‘A couple,’ Chey answered. ‘With more codes on it them. Different this time again. 295347861 and 963574218.’

Just as Tomek was about to switch on his computer, he heard his name being called from behind. He paused, sighed, and swore internally. It was like being surrounded by a dozen children in a classroom, each calling his name repeatedly.

Sir! Sir! Sir!

Tomek! Tomek! Tommeeeeekkkkk!

Except the owner of the last voice to utter his name was no child. It was, in fact, the headteacher of the school and commander of the classroom.

Nick.

‘Can I speak with you for a moment?’

His voice was calm, neutral, almost expressionless.

Tomek wasted no time hurrying across to the chief inspector’s office. Inside, he found Victoria standing to the side of the room, arms behind her back as if she was trying to restrain herself from lashing out.

‘Busy morning,’ she said jovially.

‘Yeah…’ Tomek replied, caution in his tone.

‘For everyone involved,’ she continued, while Nick lowered himself into his seat. ‘The phones have been going non-stop. It looks like the team are following up plenty of leads.’

Unsuccessfully, mind.

‘They’ve been working around the clock,’ he replied.

‘Yes, and what have we to show for it?’ Nick asked. There was no frustration in his voice, no aggression. Not even his infamous sigh. ‘The press have been outside all morning. I’m fielding calls from other counties offering support and advice. I’ve been told this thing’s gone viral, with something like twenty million views on TikTok and Twitter. It’s going absolutely mental.’

‘As of right now, the same as the last time we had this discussion. Two more people have gone missing. A couple, abducted on their way home from work, just like Vicky Sanchez. The blog posts have begun again, but while they’ve only just started, I’m convinced we have less than twenty-four hours to find them.’

‘And how do you propose we do that?’ Nick asked, this time more sternly. He interlaced his fingers and leaned forward on his desk, communicating more with his eyes than his expression.

Pray for a miracle.

‘Right now, the only lines of enquiry we have are the victims themselves. We have no phone data, no way of tracking them or locating them. The codes on the blog posts continue to be a dead end. Digital forensics have been unable to source the posts, despite concerted efforts. The letter we received the other day was also a non-starter. We’re all out of options. Though if we can find a connection between Vicky and the current victims, I’m sure we can locate them.’

‘What makes you think there is one?’ Victoria asked. ‘Have you found any evidence to suggest they’re related to one another?’

‘Not yet. We only learned of Carl and Carly’s disappearance this morning.’

Nick adjusted his fingers, then cleared his throat. ‘That’s not what I’ve heard,’ he said. ‘I’ve heard you were made aware of their names from Martina’s report on Friday.’

Tomek’s body flushed cold. He swallowed hard.

‘I’ve half a mind to pull you off this case, Tomek. Give it to Victoria to manage…’

‘Sir…’ Tomek began. ‘With all due respect, absolutely fucking not. I don’t want you to do that. You’ve given me these chances to prove myself in the past, but when things haven’t been going very well, you’ve always pulled the rug from under my feet. You clearly think I’m capable of managing investigations, otherwise, why else would you keep giving them to me? But how can I be expected to learn from my mistakes and develop if I’m never given the opportunity to see them through to the end? Nobody accomplishes anything by only being given half a job. I’d ask you to reconsider what you’re about to do. I know I had a wobble the other day. I know I said you shouldn’t have given this to me. But I’ve got this. I promise.’

Normally, if someone of a junior rank spoke to a senior rank like that, they’d have their arse handed to them, as Sean would say but because Tomek and Nick had worked together for so long, developing a father-son bond almost, Tomek was one of the few – if not the only one – who could get away with it.

‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep,’ Nick replied.

‘Give me forty-eight hours.’

‘For once, I don’t think you’re putting your ego above everything else,’ Nick said. He turned to Victoria, shared a quick glance with her, then turned back to Tomek. ‘Fine. Forty-eight hours. Don’t let me down.’

Tomek offered both senior detectives a brief nod before leaving the stillness of Nick’s office and returning to the hubbub of the MIR.

Just as he was about to head to the kitchen – he was in desperate need of a strong coffee – Oscar called his name.

‘Sarge, I think I’ve got something,’ he said excitedly.

‘Yes, Captain?’ Tomek tried not to get his hopes up.

‘A connection. Between the Coopers and Vicky Sanchez.’

‘Go on…’

‘They’re registered to the same doctors’ surgery. And they were both seen by the same GP in the past couple of months.’

CHAPTER

FIFTY-TWO

For the second time in two weeks, Tomek had called Dr Hugo Charlwood out to the St Clements Health Centre. This time, he and Oscar were already waiting outside the building for the doctor when he arrived, dressed in a smart blue shirt and a navy quarter-zip sweatshirt. He wore chinos and smart brown shoes. His hair was freshly washed and appeared a lighter shade than the last time Tomek had seen him. He was clean-shaven, and his skin glowed beneath the artificial light. Tomek searched for signs of blood on his skin – on his cheeks, the backs of his hands, beneath his fingernails – but saw nothing.

‘Good afternoon, Doctor,’ Tomek said.

‘Is it?’ Hugo retorted as he pulled a mass of keys from his pocket, fumbling through them until he found the right one.

‘Apologies for the inconvenience. I hope we didn’t disrupt your Sunday too much.’

‘My wife was making a lovely roast. I don’t want this to spoil that.’

A moment later, he unlocked the door and led them through to his office, where he quickly settled into his chair. He folded his leg and crossed his arms, looking at them over his glasses.

‘If we could get this over with as soon as possible, that would be greatly appreciated,’ he said. ‘What can this be about anyway? I already answered your questions the other day.’

‘We were hoping we might be able to ask you some more questions about your recent whereabouts,’ Oscar said, slowly and clearly, enunciating every syllable.

‘My whereabouts? Where?’

‘That’s what we were hoping you could tell us.’

‘I mean, where am I supposed to have gone?’

‘Again, we were hoping you might be able to tell us,’ Tomek replied, sensing the rising irritation in the doctor’s voice. He gave a quick nod to Oscar.

The constable cleared his throat and continued. ‘Thursday, at approximately six thirty pm. Where were you?’

Hugo considered for a moment. ‘I didn’t finish here until seven, and then I went to Tescos on the way home. It was my wife’s birthday, so I got her a quick card and some flowers.’

‘Where did you get the flowers from?’

‘Tescos, I just told you.’

‘Tesco,’ Tomek corrected. ‘There’s no “S” on the end.’

Hugo raised an eyebrow. ‘What’re you, the grammar police as well as the actual police?’

Tomek offered the man a wry smirk. ‘Answer my colleague’s question, please.’

‘Look, what’s all this about? I saw on the news that some other people have gone missing, and they – you – think it’s related to that woman I saw a couple of weeks back. But I’m telling you I had nothing to do with any of those things. Look at me, I’m just a GP. I come here, work my arse off, and go home. On repeat. On Thursday, it was like any other day. I came here, went home, spent the evening with my wife – we enjoyed a nice takeaway meal to celebrate – and then I came in the next day. I’ve not been anywhere except for the office, home, the office, and home again. As you can see, fellas, I’m living the dream.’

‘You understand we’re going to need to verify everything you’ve said to us,’ Tomek said.

‘Yes. I fully understand, and I fully intend to comply. You can have access to my phone, my bank, everything. I have nothing to hide. I just don’t appreciate this taking place on my day off.’

‘At least you get your weekends off,’ Tomek shot back, with a facetious smile.

‘And we thank you for your service. Now, if that’ll be all, gentlemen?’

‘There was one more thing,’ Oscar said, as the doctor was already halfway out of his seat. ‘Do you know the names Carl and Carly Cooper?’

Hugo looked at Tomek. ‘This again? We’ve been through this.’

‘We understand that they’re registered at this practice, and you’ve seen them in the last few weeks,’ Tomek explained. ‘Medical records say they were here for family planning.’

Hugo shrugged as if he didn’t care. ‘Okay. They might have been. But like I said, I don’t remember.’

‘They’re the ones who’ve gone missing,’ Tomek said, hoping it would change the doctor’s attitude.

‘And that’s a shame. It really is. But I’ve had nothing to do with their disappearance, nor have I had anything to do with them since they came to visit.’

Tomek said nothing for a moment. The reality was he believed the doctor. Not only was he convincing in the way he spoke, but he had a solid alibi, and he was in his sixties. It would have been difficult for him to overpower two people, let alone Carl Cooper, who, according to Rachel, was an avid rugby player.

‘Thank you for your time,’ Tomek said. ‘Come on, Oscar. Let’s go.’

Without saying anything, Oscar held the door open for Tomek. They exited the office and trudged down the corridor. It was hard not to feel dejected, as if they were back to square one again. As they left the building, Tomek heard Hugo’s keys jangling on the keychain.

Just as they were about to climb into the car, Hugo called Tomek’s name and hurried over.

‘Wait, wait, wait!’ Hugo cried. He was out of breath when he approached them. ‘I should have mentioned it earlier.’

‘What?’ Tomek asked.

‘There was something…’ he said. ‘The other day, when you guys came in to ask about that girl, I did some thinking…’

Tomek waited for him to continue.

‘There was a guy who used to work here about four years ago. Nice enough bloke. Fully qualified and trained GP and all that, like the rest of us. Nothing wrong with his credentials. Super smart. But he was just… weird… strange, you know.’

‘Strange how?’ Oscar asked from the passenger side of the car.

‘He was fascinated with the human body and its ability to tolerate pain.’

Tomek’s interest was piqued. ‘Can you elaborate?’

‘It wasn’t until you mentioned it that it came to me. I’ve read a couple of posts on the Internet, and it’s along the same lines as what this guy was talking about.’

‘He spoke about cutting people to death?’ Tomek asked.

The doctor shook his head. ‘Not exactly. It was something he said, something I didn’t really think too much of at the time… But bear in mind, I heard it from someone else during a discussion. So it was like a game of Chinese Whispers.’

Tomek realised Hugo was being deliberately vague.

‘What did you hear? What did he say?’

‘He asked if anyone knew how many cuts it would take for someone to bleed to death.’

CHAPTER

FIFTY-THREE

Date: Sunday 20th October

Time: 12:57

Title: Scratch 4

The subjects are handling this situation much better than Tabitha did. By this same point, Tabitha had already soiled herself. She’d already shed countless tears. She’d already begged for her life several times. She’d already offered me everything, and I mean everything, for me to stop. Yet Carl and Carly are the complete opposite. They have yet to buckle in the same way Tabitha did. Sure, they must have seen on the news what happened to Tabitha – I see that the interest and discussion about her death has gone global – but that doesn’t appear to concern them. It is as if they are remaining strong because they have each other. Their mental defences are stronger because they believe the other will end up saving them.

I am beginning to think this is more a mental game than a physical one.

Only those who are mentally brave and tough enough can survive this game of life. Those who are weak and crumble at the first sign of difficulty or pain will be the first to go. There is no room on the boat for them. No hope for them at all.

The incisions on Carl and Carly’s bodies were made on their upper left arms. There was minimal blood flow, as expected. Carly screamed, as expected. However, I was most surprised by Carl’s response. He’s a fighter, this one. I can see it in his eyes. He thinks he’s going to overthrow me. That he’s going to get out of this alive. That he’s going to do to me what I’ve been doing to him.

Oh, dear reader, that will make the experiment all the more sweet, let me tell you.

I must resist the temptation to administer more scratches on Carl and Carly. I must remember to keep the experiment as consistent as possible; otherwise, the results will be inconclusive. But he is making that decision increasingly difficult. You should hear some of the things he is saying to me. I’ve never been sworn at or threatened so much in my life.

As we are early in the process, their blood levels, kidneys, heart, and lungs are all performing well. Currently, they are performing at the same rate, if not better, than Tabitha. I expect this to change in the coming hours; however, I will not let Tabitha’s results be used as a benchmark in my analysis. They must be treated as distinct from one another.

For the next scratch of choice, we have an earring pin, from our very own Carly. It will be a shame for such a beautiful set of earrings to be damaged like this, but perhaps one day, when my findings are revealed and admired the world over, the earrings, along with all the other instruments used in my findings, will take pride of place in a museum.

963574218

CHAPTER

FIFTY-FOUR

Chey tapped his foot on the carpet incessantly, as if waiting nervously for a check-up at a sexual health clinic. Sanji, the masterful cryptographer, was late. Again. No matter how many times he stared at the clock on his laptop, then at his phone, and then at his watch, Sanji was still late.

‘Silly fucking bastard,’ Chey muttered to himself. ‘What time is it in India?’

‘Exactly nine minutes past five in the afternoon.’

Chey’s body flushed cold. His face reddened with embarrassment. He had been so busy looking at the time on his phone and watch that he hadn’t noticed Sanji join the Teams meeting.

‘How long… I… How much…’ He couldn’t speak; embarrassment wrapped itself around his tongue, cutting him off.

‘Sorry I’m late,’ Sanji said. ‘My previous meeting overran.’

‘Uh-huh. Sure.’ He still didn’t know what to say. He felt like an idiot.

‘I was speaking with a colleague, a close friend of mine, and someone I respect immensely in the industry,’ Sanji explained.

‘Right…’

‘I hope you don’t mind, but I shared the code with him.’

At first, Chey wanted to shout and lambast Sanji for sharing such privileged and private information. But then he remembered that the numbers were all over the blog posts, that they were common knowledge, and that at this stage in the investigation, they could use all the help they could get.

‘What did your contact have to say?’ he asked.

Sanji inhaled deeply and brushed his thick, curly hair from his face. ‘He has some theories about it belonging to a serial number of some description. Have you recovered any evidence at the crime scene that might match this number?’

‘No,’ Chey replied bluntly. ‘Nothing at all. We believe the killer’s working from a laptop. But the codes are changing, so that wouldn’t match.’

‘They’re changing?’ Sanji asked, surprised.

‘Yes. Have you not seen the emails I sent you? Our killer’s started posting again, this time with two victims.’

‘And you have more codes?’

‘Yes. And now he’s posting them more frequently. A new code after every post.’

Sanji lost himself deep in thought. He tapped the front of his nose as his gaze fell on something off-screen.

‘Well, that changes everything,’ he said slowly.

Because you’ve made such blinding progress so far…

‘I’ve been looking into various reasons for the nine digits,’ Sanji began.

‘Let’s hear them.’

‘US Social Security Codes, but I figured, since we’re thousands of miles away, that one’s less than helpful.’

‘Agreed. Our victims are British as well. Strike that off the list.’

Sanji turned his attention to a notebook on his desk and scratched a line through it.

‘Again, another American one: bank routing numbers.’

‘I’m going to save you a load of hassle here, Sanji, all right? If it’s anything to do with America, or any country other than here, then it’s probably going to be a waste of your time and mine.’

Chey didn’t mean to snap. He didn’t mean to come across as a brash British arsehole, but he didn’t have time to waste on the wrong things. Besides, Sanji would thank him for steering him away from the wrong avenue now rather than later.

Sanji crossed a few more lines in his notebook.

‘Student exams…’ he began. ‘Sometimes examining bodies use nine-digit codes for students. Could that be a route?’

Chey considered for a moment. Their killer wasn’t a teenager sitting exams, nor were any of his victims of that age. It didn’t make sense to him for that to be a solid lead or something he and the team should dedicate their limited resources to, but he wasn’t in any position to disregard it entirely.

‘Send over what you have on that, and I’ll look into it with the governing exam bodies here in the UK.’

‘Noted. How about VINs?’

Chey looked at him, dumbfounded.

‘VINs… Vehicle Identification Numbers. While they’re often alphanumeric, some of the numbers in the blog posts could be related to certain vehicles.’

Before responding, Chey asked himself why. Why would the killer release vehicle identification numbers in the blog posts? What was there to gain? Was he trying to give away his own VIN or those of his victims so they could track him down somehow? Was the killer even trying to reveal his location at all?

It was a question he’d grappled with for so long: the actual point behind the numbers in the first place. Why were they there? Why did they exist? Either the killer was trying to get himself caught somehow, or he was posting completely random numbers for a completely random reason. After all, he was scratching people to death. So neither action was particularly sane.

‘Thanks for the suggestion,’ he said after a few moments. ‘I’ll look into it. What about medical records? Anything to do with hospitals, patients, doctors… we think our guy has a medical background of some description. Might that have anything to do with it?’

Sanji paused, staring into the same space off-screen as before. ‘NHS numbers are typically ten digits, so I don’t think that will be it. But it’s something I can certainly look into.’

‘Thanks. See if you can make any more progress on it than I can.’

‘That’ll be my pleasure,’ Sanji said.

The conversation had come to a natural conclusion; however, Chey sensed there was something more Sanji wanted to discuss.

‘I…’ he began. ‘The other day, I sent through the invoice for the time I have worked on this…’

‘Right. Sorry. I haven’t got round to that yet.’

‘If you could please approve it and arrange for payment to be made, I would be most grateful. I would hate for this to hold up any of my ongoing work.’

Chey inhaled sharply. ‘Are you blackmailing us? Holding us to ransom?’

Sanji raised his hands in surrender. ‘Of course not. It’s just… I have overheads to pay for, rent to pay. I need to eat, keep the lights on.’

‘So not only are you holding us to ransom, you’re also guilt-tripping me?’

‘If I do not eat enough good-quality food, how can I be expected to think clearly?’

Chey held back what he really wanted to say. Instead, he let out a heavy sigh.

‘Send it to me again, and I will ensure it’s paid as soon as possible. But I don’t want this to hold up any of the outstanding work we’ve discussed today.’

‘I will try my best…’

‘No, you fucking won’t,’ he snapped, unable to keep it inside. ‘Two people are currently being tortured as we speak, and if we don’t find them in time, they are going to die. We, which means you as well, need to do everything we can to find out where they are, and I believe the codes in the posts are the key to that. So you will do whatever you can to help us, otherwise, I will see to it that the invoice never gets paid.’

Now who’s holding whom to ransom? This blackmail work’s a two-way street, mate.

Sanji chewed on his bottom lip and took his time before responding, calculating his reply. ‘There is no need to behave like this. I have been accommodating and amenable in your last-minute requests. I have been forced to put some other more lucrative work behind schedule while I focus on this. I wish to rescue these people as much as you do. There is no need to behave in such a manner.’

‘Good. So you do the work, and I’ll pay the invoice. Are we in agreement?’

Sanji nodded, his dark eyes staring directly at Chey.

‘We are in agreement,’ the man replied.

Chey moved the cursor and pressed the big red button at the top of the screen.

‘Silly fucking bastard,’ he hissed.

This time he didn’t care if Sanji was still on the call or not.

CHAPTER

FIFTY-FIVE

After several painstaking hours, Tomek had finally tracked the doctor down. Finding him on the NHS database had been easy. The hard part, however, came when they realised he no longer worked for the NHS and was no longer a GP. Following a visit to his home address, they learned he didn’t live there anymore. To make matters worse, he’d left no forwarding address, so Tomek had been forced to contact the estate agents for the property. Unfortunately, they were closed on Sundays; the only day of the week they weren’t open. In the end, Tomek found a mobile number on the estate agent’s website and, with a little sweet-talking, convinced them to open the business and provide him with Joel Ashcroft’s most recent address and updated phone number.

Joel lived in a small two-bedroom semi-detached house in Romford, just on the border of Essex and London. Parked on the driveway was a brand-new Maserati. Affixed to the house was a small garage, from which the sound of heavy bass leaked through the metal frame.

Tomek knocked on the front door and waited. A moment later, the garage door rose and the sound of music amplified. Joel Ashcroft, a man as slim as he was tall, emerged from behind the door and approached Tomek, wiping his hands on a towel draped over his shoulder.

‘You all right, mate?’ he asked.

‘Presumably you’re Joel Ashcroft?’

‘The one and only.’

‘DS Tomek Bowen, Essex Police. I just wondered if I could have a minute of your time?’

‘Police? You got some ID?’

Tomek fished inside his wallet and produced it. Joel inspected the document intently, holding it to the light before eventually giving it back and shaking Tomek’s hand.

‘You wanna come in?’

‘Please.’

Joel took him through the garage entrance. In the centre of the space was an all-in-one home gym. In front of it was a barbell with some weights attached, dumbbells resting on the floor, and a yoga mat placed to one side. Beyond that, the rest of the garage was empty. There were no sharp metal objects designed to inflict pain hanging from the walls, no signs of blood on the floor, nothing to suggest that Joel used the garage to torture his victims.

Joel reached for the speaker and turned off the music.

‘Not interrupting anything, was I?’ Tomek asked.

‘Oh, just an afternoon workout.’ Joel wiped the sweat from his hands again.

‘It’s lunchtime…’

‘One in the morning, one in the afternoon.’

‘Right… And what do you do for the rest of the day? Mini-workouts in between?’

Joel chuckled, fortunately seeing the funny side of the comment. ‘I spend the rest of my time with clients.’ He reached down for a bottle of water on the floor and took a long gulp.

‘Giving medical advice?’

‘Not anymore, kid,’ Joel replied. ‘Hung up my stethoscope a long time ago. Left that gig to start my own thing.’

‘Oh yeah?’

‘Decided I wanted to help people but in a different way. I wanted to get to the cause, not the symptom.’

Tomek was lost. Joel must have noticed the look of confusion on Tomek’s face because he explained, ‘I’m a health and well-being coach. I help people get fit and healthy from the start, mentally and physically, before they need to seek treatment for something they could have potentially prevented.’

That explained the Maserati on the driveway.

‘An apple a day keeps the doctor away,’ Tomek said sardonically.

‘You’d be surprised how many have said the same thing. They’ve finally realised that if they just looked after their bodies better, they wouldn’t need to put such a strain on the NHS and overwhelm the system.’

Joel’s face turned into a grin, but Tomek saw through the veneer. The more people who followed his methods, the more money he made, and the more Maseratis he could afford. The cynic in him told him Joel wasn’t doing it for the love of it or because he wanted to make people fitter and healthier; he was just in it for the six-figure balance in his bank account.

‘Now, what can I do for you?’ Joel discarded the towel onto the gym bench behind him.

‘I’m with the Southend Division, and we’ve been investigating the murder of someone called Vicky Sanchez. Have you ever heard that name before?’

Joel crossed his arms, his forearm muscles flexing like the ripples of a snake. ‘Only briefly from what I’ve heard on the news. But… what has that got to do with me?’

‘She was registered to your old surgery in Thurrock.’

Joel gave him a ‘what does that still have to do with me?’ look.

‘We’re mostly concerned with her cause of death. She was cut to death, one incision at a time.’ Tomek feigned making incisions across his body. ‘Some were deeper than others; some were made with different instruments. She was tortured.’

Joel sucked on his lower lip and shook his head. ‘It’s terrible. I can only begin to imagine the amount of suffering she must have endured. How long was she tortured for?’

‘Two weeks?’ Tomek lied.

If Joel knew the real answer to that question, he didn’t show it.

‘Now, I’m afraid to say our killer is doing this again. Do the names Carl and Carly Cooper mean anything to you?’

Joel shrugged overtly, using his hands to emphasise his uncertainty. ‘I meet thousands of people in my job. And I met thousands more when I was a GP. Sadly, I’m not very good with names. Nor faces. It was a blessing that I started practising in the age of computers so I could rely on the notes on the system all the time. But as far as those names are concerned, I have absolutely no idea. Sorry. It’s possible they could have joined one of my seminars. Should I know them?’

‘Not necessarily,’ Tomek replied. He removed his phone from his pocket and showed Joel photos of the married couple on the screen. ‘What about now?’

Joel inspected the phone for a few seconds. ‘Nope. No idea. I must say I am surprised you’ve come to see me. I left the practice years ago.’

‘Routine enquiries,’ Tomek replied, hitting him with the stock response. ‘We’re speaking with everyone who ever worked there. We believe their abductor has a medical background.’

‘I see. Makes sense.’ Another shrug. ‘Well, if that’s all, then I’m afraid I can’t be of much more help to you.’

Tomek started towards the garage door, stopped, and swivelled to a half-turn. ‘Actually, there was something else, if you don’t mind my asking.’

Joel raised his hands in mock surrender. ‘Please, fire away.’

‘Were there any other reasons you left the medical field?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Was focusing on improving people’s lives the only factor in your decision to leave life as a doctor, or were there any other contributing factors?’

Joel folded his arms across his chest again, his forearms flexing. Joel was a big guy. Tall, and he probably packed a lot of muscle and strength in his slim frame. But sometimes overall size and weight counted for more, and Tomek had a lot more of it. He reckoned he could take Joel on should the man decide to make any stupid decisions.

‘What are you insinuating?’ he asked.

‘Nothing. It’s just that it came to my attention during our investigations that you might have at some point expressed some… what shall we call it… interest about inflicting as much pain on the human body as possible and⁠—’

‘What’re you talking about?’

‘…and wondering about how many cuts it might take to kill someone,’ Tomek finished. ‘Just some things I’ve heard on the rumour mill.’

Joel’s face flared with anger, then turned into a wide grin before morphing into a cynical, malevolent chuckle.

‘Are you being serious right now?’ Suddenly the well-spoken and professional veneer collapsed, and his strong Essex accent came through.

‘Deadly,’ Tomek replied.

‘That…’ He expelled a puff of air through his nostrils. ‘I… I know exactly what that’s about. I went through this with the board, my bosses, everyone. And I was cleared of any wrongdoing. Nobody saw any reason to take further action against me, so I’m surprised this is coming up now. Who told you I said that?’

‘I can’t disclose that. Confidentiality.’

‘Fuck confidentiality! You tell me, and you tell me right this second.’ Joel brandished a finger in Tomek’s direction, but Tomek remained unfazed.

‘No,’ he replied bluntly. ‘What good is that going to do?’

Joel began pacing from side to side, shaking his head, hands on hips. Tomek imagined that was how he spent ninety per cent of his seminars and conferences, except during those he wasn’t thinking of ways to assault a police officer and get away with it.

‘It was a big misunderstanding,’ he said. ‘You have to understand that, right?’

‘Only if you tell me how.’

Joel stopped, waited, then continued pacing. ‘It wasn’t me who said it. It was taken well out of context; you have to believe me. I told this to the board several times; I said, “It wasn’t me. That’s not what I said.” And they believed me! They cleared me of any wrongdoing. They told me I’d get to keep my job, and I⁠—’

‘Joel,’ Tomek said bluntly to stop him from derailing any further. ‘What was said?’

‘It was a patient of mine. About four years ago now, I think it was. He was going through some stuff, like, proper stuff.’ Joel prodded the side of his head. ‘Borderline insane. Schizophrenic. DID. One of them. He came in to see me about something completely innocuous – an ingrown toenail, I believe it was – and then, while I’m looking at it, he started asking me all these questions about how many scratches would it take to kill you. How many would it take for you to bleed to death? How much physical pain can the human body withstand? I… I mean, I was a little freaked. It’s the first time I’ve ever been asked those questions.’

‘What did you do?’

‘Referred him to a therapist. And then I went and told my colleagues; that’s where the confusion came in. Hugo – I bet it was him, wasn’t it? – that’s when Hugo took it the wrong way and thought I wanted to cut people up for fun. That’s where this whole misunderstanding came from.’

‘What was the patient’s name?’

‘I don’t remember.’

‘Think. It’s important.’

Joel shrugged. ‘I’m sorry, Detective. I wish I could. Like I said, I’m not very good with names. But maybe you should reach out to the therapist I sent him to.’

Tomek held his breath.

‘Yes. What was his name?’

‘Bradley Kerr.’

CHAPTER

FIFTY-SIX

This was a different sensation from any she had ever felt before. Usually, whenever her stomach tightened, it was from fear and a hint of dread. But now, the same sensation was laced with excitement and muted apprehension.

She was following her instincts. For the first time in a long time, she was going off-piste and doing what she felt was right. It was no secret that Tomek was struggling – struggling to keep his head above water, to handle pressure from above, to follow any clear and concise lead while two victims’ lives hung in the balance – and she knew that what she was doing could potentially make things worse for him. But it was because he was struggling, because he needed support, that she was going against his wishes and doing this instead.

They needed a break. A new lead. Fortunately, it had come in the form of Carl and Carly’s closest friend. According to the person who, in her own words, knew them best in the world, the happy couple had not been quite so happy for some time. After several failed attempts at getting pregnant, they had started arguing a lot, eventually resorting to private couples’ therapy at a local therapist’s office in Basildon.

After reaching out to several of Vicky’s friends and consulting her financial records, Rachel discovered that Carl and Carly weren’t the only ones seeking help, albeit for different reasons.

Finally, after all the hard work they had put in, there was a connection between the different victims. The knot in Rachel’s stomach tightened as the door to Bradley Kerr’s office opened, and he invited her in.

Bradley was a striking man, wearing a light blue shirt that matched his eyes and clung to his physique. He was tall, rugged, and had a thin layer of stubble on the side of his face. Rachel immediately felt at ease as she entered his office. It was clear to see why people opened up and shared their emotions with him.

‘Apologies for keeping you waiting,’ he said politely.

‘It’s no problem at all.’

‘When my receptionist called to say the police wanted to come down, I did everything I could to fit you in.’

‘I appreciate the effort,’ she replied, unable to tear her gaze from his eyes.

She knew this was a dangerous man – he was a qualified psychologist capable of psychoanalysing her and digging into her deepest, darkest secrets at a whim – so she tried to focus on the task at hand. Go straight in. Right for the jugular.

‘I’m here about some of your patients,’ she began. ‘Vicky Sanchez, and⁠—’

‘Oh, yes. I’ve seen it in the news. Terrible, terrible stuff. I couldn’t quite believe it at first.’

‘I’m sure. What can you tell me about your working relationship with Vicky?’

Bradley opened his mouth to speak but caught himself. ‘Am I under suspicion here?’

‘Not at all. Routine enquiries.’ She kept her expression blank as she waited for him to respond.

‘I see. Well, Vicky was… she was a shell of a woman when she first came to me. On the exterior, she was outgoing, bubbly, one of the loveliest people you could ever meet. By her own admission, she saw herself as the life and soul of the party. But inside… inside she was hurting. For years, she had been carrying a secret, letting it fester in the back of her mind and consume her from within. So she came to see me, and between the two of us, I think she started to get a handle on it.’

‘Did the secret have anything to do with a Scout trip when she was younger?’

Bradley rolled his shoulders back uncomfortably, revealing more in his face than through the movement of his body. ‘You understand I have client confidentiality that I need to protect.’

‘I do, but we are conducting a murder investigation into her death, and under such circumstances, you are required to answer my questions.’

She was asserting herself, ensuring he knew she meant business and that she wasn’t going to be walked over.

Bradley cleared his throat. ‘Of course. I understand. She… yes. Yes, that is the incident I was referring to.’

Rachel made a mental note. ‘And how long were the two of you working on this situation together?’

‘About six months.’

Rachel was immediately suspicious. He could have consulted his notes or looked at his calendar for a more precise answer, but instead, he recalled the length of time from memory, as if he had been forced to remember it for some reason. As if he knew he was going to be asked the question.

‘How long have you been a therapist, Bradley?’ she asked, diverting him slightly.

This time, he had to think about it. ‘About… fifteen years now, I’d say.’

‘And were you always a therapist, or did you have a life before this?’ She gestured to the four walls.

‘I… believe it or not, I was a paramedic before this. I went through the training, did all the courses and studying. Managed to get a couple of years under my belt, but then…’ He paused. ‘Then I realised I couldn’t hack it. It wasn’t for me. The long hours. The… the blood. The death. Some of the things I’ve seen.’ He inhaled sharply as his eyes fell onto an empty space on the table. ‘I’ve always wanted to help people. But that… that isn’t always possible, so that’s when I decided to move from saving people who were physically injured to helping those who were… how shall I say… mentally injured.’

‘Very honourable,’ she said, a hint of sarcasm in her tone. ‘Tell me, where were you on the night of the fourth of October?’

Bradley’s eyes fell on hers and held her gaze. ‘Here. In the office. I don’t finish until late some nights.’

Another quickfire, almost rehearsed, response.

‘Can anyone corroborate that? Any meetings you might have had?’

Bradley interlaced his fingers and leaned across the table. She was sure the body language signified that he was trying to end the meeting as quickly as possible, but she wasn’t ready to back down just yet.

‘My secretary was here with me,’ he said calmly. ‘And I’m sure she’ll be happy to send across my calendar for you to have a look.’

She feigned a smile. ‘That would be lovely. I will also need your patients’ contact information, just so we can corroborate things with them.’

‘Absolutely.’ Any hint of emotion in his face fell away. Was she looking at a serial killer who had just selected his next victim?

She swallowed hard. ‘Do the names Carl and Carly Cooper mean anything to you?’

‘Carl and Carly? Yes, of course. They’re also on my books. They’re yet another example of people who are bubbly and vibrant on the outside, especially at work or in social environments, but whenever they’re away from others, they have their demons eating away at them. Sometimes it spills over into their relationship. Sadly, everyone’s got them, Detective. I’m sure you’ve got some secrets of your own…’

She didn’t want to go down that route. Not now. Not ever. She didn’t want to discuss the absent father who only turned up two weeks after her birthdays. She didn’t want to talk about the time she had been forced to rescue her younger brother from drowning in the local swimming pool.

She didn’t want to talk about any of it.

‘What were you doing on Thursday evening?’ she asked, keen to take control of the conversation and move it away from herself.

‘Here. Again.’

‘You spend a lot of time here, by the sounds of it. Do you not have a life outside of work?’

He scoffed. ‘I wish. I live alone, and I work seven days a week. So all I have is this place. And when your mortgage is reliant on your patients, you do all you can to help them. Besides, sometimes they need me at unsocial times, and I could never forgive myself if, on that one occasion I refused to meet them, I could have talked them down from the ledge. You understand?’

She understood. But that did little to quell her concerns about Bradley. There was something about him, something that she couldn’t quite put her finger on, something that she didn’t like, didn’t trust.

She pushed her chair back and rose. ‘If you’ll excuse me,’ she said. ‘I just have to make a call.’

‘Take your time.’ Bradley grinned at her, flashing a set of polished white teeth.

His mortgage wasn’t the only thing his patients were paying for.

Rachel turned her back on him and headed out of the room. Then she wandered down a corridor and dialled Tomek’s number.

‘What’s up, buttercup?’ the sergeant asked.

‘I need some advice. Now, don’t be angry, but I did some digging, and I found out that Carl, Carly, and Vicky Sanchez all used the same therapist. I⁠—’

‘Oh, you absolute dream!’

‘What?’

‘I was on my way there. You’ve saved me a job.’

‘You were? I…’ She lowered her tone. ‘I think we should bring him in.’

‘Do it. Do it now. And I’ll meet you at the station. I’ll prime the team for interview. Good work, mate. Nice one.’

CHAPTER

FIFTY-SEVEN

Tomek shut the door behind him and let out a long sigh. Things weren’t going as well as they’d hoped. Bradley Kerr wasn’t budging and wouldn’t say another word until he had a lawyer present. Fortunately for them, he’d already given the team enough to go on. While they were following up with Bradley’s patients and diving deep into his calendar, Tomek had decided to pull Rachel aside. Since she’d returned to the office, she seemed different. Shaken up.

‘You can relax,’ he told her. ‘And you can breathe as well. Your face has gone so red it looks like you’ve forgotten how.’

Her face split into a smile, and with it came a large inhalation; her first in what seemed like a long time.

‘What are you so anxious about?’ Tomek asked, pulling the chair out from beneath the table. ‘Why do you look so worried?’

She did the same. ‘I don’t know. It’s just… I keep thinking about Carl and Carly. What they’re going through.’

‘We might have given them a lifeline now that you’ve brought Bradley in.’

‘Yeah,’ she said slowly. ‘I guess you’re right.’

‘You were right too.’

She looked up at him for the first time. ‘How so?’

‘By getting to him before anyone else could.’

She licked her lips and began playing with her fingers. ‘I was worried about how you might respond to that. I thought you might be angry.’

‘Why?’ He raised an eyebrow. ‘Am I that bad a manager?’

‘No, it’s just… I thought…’

‘You followed your intuition. You followed a lead. It’s not like you were going in blind. You had some reason to be there.’

‘I know, I know. It’s just… Up here…’ She prodded the side of her head. ‘I was just overthinking it, that’s all.’

This was the first time Tomek had seen this side of her. A vulnerable side. She was usually so staunch, so forthright, so determined. Always doing what was asked of her, always putting on a brave face.

‘You did the right thing,’ he told her. ‘You did good. I’m not mad. I’m not angry. I’m proud. Like I said, you followed your intuition.’

‘I bet I remind you of a young Tomek Bowen,’ she said with a slight giggle, some semblance of normality returning to her voice.

‘Not at all. A young Tomek Bowen would have just done whatever he wanted and hoped for the best. But you followed a lead. You actually knew where you were going. You weren’t just blindly going off on a tangent. No, you’re like a young Rachel Hamilton.’

Her lips flickered into a smile. ‘Thanks.’

‘So you can relax. I wouldn’t say put your feet up, but maybe you can finish five minutes earlier.’ He winked at her and rose from his seat. As he reached for the door, it burst open, and Martin fell in.

‘Easy, tiger,’ Tomek said.

‘Sorry to interrupt, Sarge. But there’s something you should know.’

‘Go on.’

‘We’ve called around to all of Bradley Kerr’s patients, and they all corroborate his version of events.’

‘What do you mean?’ Tomek asked, even though he knew exactly what Martin was talking about.

‘Bradley saw no less than fifteen clients over the weekend that Vicky Sanchez was abducted and tortured, and he’s seen another twenty since Carl and Carly went missing.’

‘That’s a lot of people needing therapy,’ Tomek commented as he processed the information.

‘His secretary has also vouched for him during those times. His phone records corroborate it, and Chey’s checked his car registration during the same windows; he’s only ever gone between the office and his home like he said. I’m sorry to say it, Sarge, but I don’t think he’s our guy.’

Tomek stepped out of the office. ‘Let me speak with him. It’s about time I made myself useful.’

By the time Tomek entered the interview room, Bradley Kerr’s solicitor had arrived. He found both men sitting at the table, their discussion coming to an immediate halt as soon as he opened the door.

‘Gentlemen,’ Tomek said, dropping a folder onto the table. ‘Which one of you is Bradley?’

‘Me,’ the man on the right said.

‘Pleasure to meet you. Let me introduce myself. My name is DS Tomek Bowen, and I am the senior investigating officer on this case. I trust you’ve been well looked after.’

Bradley nodded slightly. ‘I have been.’

‘Excellent. Do you know why you’re here?’

A shake of the head.

‘It’s regarding your involvement with Vicky Sanchez and Carl and Carly Cooper.’

‘I already told you everything about that! I’ve had nothing to do with their disappearances!’

Tomek raised a hand to placate the man; Bradley stopped in his tracks and retreated into his seat.

‘All right, that’s enough of that, thank you. The good news is, my colleagues have already checked your alibi, and they’ve confirmed you had nothing to do with their⁠—’

‘Then why am I still here?’

Tomek didn’t appreciate being interrupted. He raised his hand again. ‘Do your conversations with your patients always go like this? Or do you actually let them finish what they have to say?’

Bradley became apologetic. ‘You’re right. I’m sorry. I… I’ve never done anything like this. It’s alien to me.’

‘I can appreciate that.’ Tomek inhaled deeply. ‘As I was saying, my team has verified your whereabouts during our victims’ captivity and disappearances. The reason you’re still here, Bradley, is regarding another one of your former colleagues. Does the name Joel Ashcroft mean anything to you?’

Eyes wide with uncertainty, Bradley slowly nodded.

‘How do you know him?’

‘He’s a friend of mine.’

‘Do you remember if he sent a client to you one time? About four years ago?’

Bradley’s eyes widened farther. Another nod. Slower this time.

‘Who was it?’

‘Someone who was not in a good way.’

‘Why did he send them to you?’

‘He was talking about cutting himself and cutting other people… slowly, until they died.’

It was then that recognition seeped into every pore of Bradley’s face. The realisation that he’d been consulting a killer.

‘Can you remember the client’s name?’ Tomek asked.

Another nod.

‘What is it?’

‘Francis,’ he answered, a catch in his throat. ‘Francis Milton.’

Tomek took the name straight to the team. There, he found Sean and Martin speaking into their mobiles, and Chey and Oscar hunched over, looking at a laptop screen. Out of them all, Oscar looked the least busy.

‘Captain,’ Tomek said. ‘I want you to find the address and contact information for someone on Kerr’s books called Francis Milton.’

‘Yes, Sarge.’

‘And… and while you’re at it, see if his receptionist can give you anyone matching the description of our phantom victim, Fiona, from years back.’

‘Why, Sarge?’ Rachel asked, hurrying over from her desk.

Tomek spun round to face her. ‘Because if Francis Milton is our killer, then I think he’s targeting Bradley’s patients.’

As Tomek turned to continue his conversation with Oscar, the man was already lost in the computer screen, checking through the records that Kerr had given them access to.

The wait, which felt like an eternity, was painful. But eventually, after little more than five minutes of typing, clicking, checking, double-checking, and speaking with Kerr’s receptionist, he had the results.

‘And?’ Tomek asked.

‘Erm…’

‘What is it?’

‘We found Francis Milton’s address, fine, no problem. But getting Fiona’s was slightly more difficult. I mean, we found one… by the name of Fiona Butters. But I thought it was a mistake.’

‘A mistake how?’

‘They’re… they’re the same.’

‘What do you mean they’re the same?’

‘According to Kerr’s records, Francis Milton and Fiona Butters both live at the same address.’

‘What?’

‘Yeah. The Slades, Vange.’

‘Vange?’ Tomek repeated. ‘Why does that street name ring a bell?’

And then it clicked.

‘Holy fuck!’

CHAPTER

FIFTY-EIGHT

Not long after, Andy Wilson’s house was surrounded. Liveried and unmarked police vehicles lined the street. Uniformed and plainclothes officers stood on either side of the house, with several more making their way around the back. Tension and adrenaline pulsated in the air.

Tomek didn’t know how, when, why, or where, but he knew he was looking at the home of a sick and twisted killer, who was no doubt playing video games in his bedroom, oblivious to the absolute shitstorm about to befall him.

On the count of three, he spoke into the radio and gave the order.

A police officer, wielding a small battering ram, sprinted up to the door. He raised it high in the air and then brought it down with full force. The wood splintered, and the door immediately buckled, the sound echoing around the estate. Half a dozen officers piled in, slipping through the gap in the door.

Shouts of ‘Police! Police!’ and the pounding of their boots on the hardwood flooring quickly created a vacuum, drowning out all other noise. In that moment, everything seemed to stop: the wind, Tomek’s breathing, the birds high in the trees.

Everything was still until he heard a piercing scream split the silence in two.

Shouts of ‘Police! Police!’ continued as the uniformed officers surged through the house, turning everything over.

Tomek looked around him. In the commotion, Andy’s neighbours had ventured out of their houses and were now watching, gossiping amongst themselves. Seeing a few phones pointed in their direction, he turned away.

God, he hoped he was right and that this wasn’t some sort of major misunderstanding. He didn’t want to think about the apology that would have to come afterwards.

A few moments later, the anticipation in the air blew away with the gust of wind that swept through the street. The police sergeant in charge of the raid, a man in his early forties who looked at least ten years younger, jogged towards him.

‘He’s not there, Sarge,’ he explained.

Tomek’s heart sank.

‘Excuse me?’

‘We’ve looked everywhere, but we can’t find him.’

‘What was that scream?’

‘A woman, Sarge. Presumably, the suspect’s mother.’

Violet.

‘Bring her in for questioning,’ he said slowly. ‘Secure the house. Get everyone out of there. Don’t touch anything else. I want forensics in as soon as possible.’

CHAPTER

FIFTY-NINE

Violet Wilson hadn’t stopped crying since her arrest. She’d been brought into the station, left in a room, and given access to a solicitor. In that time, she’d gone through two brand-new boxes of tissues and several glasses of water.

Tomek looked at the half-empty third box of tissues on the table and asked, ‘Do we have enough?’

Rachel, standing beside him, replied, ‘I’ll make sure I’ve got some with me when I go down.’

The entire team was in the Major Incident Room, watching the interview through the TV monitor. Rachel, along with Anna, had been designated to interview her. Right then, Violet needed someone with a gentler side, someone she could trust. Tomek believed she’d be more receptive to their questions, and Anna’s soft nature would appeal to Violet’s own.

In the hours following her arrest, the forensics team had started bagging Andy’s possessions and filing them as evidence. It would be hours before the task was completed. Hours Tomek didn’t think they could afford to waste.

Unless Rachel and Anna were successful in getting a location from Violet, their chances of finding Carl and Carly were drastically running out.

A knock came at the door. One of the volunteers Tomek had seen around the office popped her head through and explained that Violet and her solicitor were ready.

Rachel inhaled deeply, let the air out of her lungs, and said, ‘Wish me luck.’

‘You don’t need it, mate. Just follow your intuition, and you’ll be all right.’

As soon as Rachel set the box of tissues down on the table, Violet snatched one, dabbing it into the corners of her eyes. Her hair was a mess, her eyes were bloodshot; she looked like she hadn’t eaten in days and as though she’d been crying non-stop long before they’d arrived. Rachel felt slightly sorry for her.

‘Violet,’ she began softly. ‘Not sure if you remember me, but my name is DC Rachel Hamilton, and this is my colleague, DC Anna Kaczmarek. We just want to ask you a few questions about your son’s whereabouts.’

‘I know what this is about,’ Violet said slowly, her words thick with emotion. She snorted hard and wiped her nose with the same tissue before discarding it to one side. ‘I want to find him. I want him to come home.’

‘Do you know where he is?’

‘I’ve been worried sick,’ Violet responded. ‘I haven’t slept.’

Rachel inhaled deeply. This was going to be a long afternoon. ‘You don’t know where your son is?’

Violet shook her head, grabbing another tissue.

‘When was the last time you saw him?’

‘Thursday afternoon.’

The day Carl and Carly went missing.

‘Have you heard from him at all since then? A message, a phone call to let you know he’s safe?’

Another shake of the head.

‘Do you know where he might have gone?’ Anna asked, interjecting.

‘No, I really don’t. I’m sorry. If I did, I would tell you.’

Rachel took that statement with a pinch of salt. If she was so willing to open up to them now, then why had she protected him for so long?

‘Miss Wilson, you understand that we want to speak with your son in relation to the murder of Vicky Sanchez and the abduction of two more people.’

‘Yes.’ Her voice was barely a whisper.

‘Do you know the name Vicky Sanchez?’ Rachel continued. ‘Has Andy ever mentioned her to you? Is she a family friend? Someone you’ve met yourself?’

Violet shook her head.

‘We have reason to believe your son abducted her on her way home from work, took her somewhere, and then killed her. We have reason to believe he was blogging about her death on the dark web. Do you know anything about that?’

Another tissue finished. Violet took another, but this time she began playing with it, wrapping it around her finger, staring at the table. A minute of silence passed – save for Violet’s panicked, irregular breathing – before she eventually spoke.

‘He’s been doing so well recently,’ she said. ‘I’ve been so proud of him.’

Neither detective said anything, waiting for Violet to continue of her own accord.

‘He’s had his issues; everyone has. And he was doing so well. He was looking after himself. He was doing really well at work. He made some friends. He even mentioned he’d been talking to a couple of girls. But then… but then Vicky happened. And things just… well, they went downhill from there.’

‘You knew about Vicky’s murder?’ Rachel asked with surprise, her voice almost as weak as Violet’s.

Andy’s mum nodded slowly. She continued to play with her tissue, making little rips in it, and focused her attention on the tabletop.

‘Rory hadn’t been a part of our lives for so long. He… he’d gone away. And for a while, I thought he’d gone away for good. But then something happened. Something just clicked, and then he came back. Andy was never the same after that.’

Rory, Rachel wondered. Rory, Rory, Rory. She ran the name through her mind, cross-referencing it with all the witnesses, friends, and family members she’d spoken to throughout the investigation. She found no match.

‘Who’s Rory, Violet?’

Violet raised her head slowly and looked into Rachel’s eyes. There was an unimaginable amount of pain and suffering behind them, as if Violet were screaming for survival.

‘Rory is one of Andy’s personalities,’ she said.

Everyone paused. The temperature dropped as if all the air had been sucked out of the room.

‘He has DID, dissociative identity disorder. He’s had it for several years now. I can’t remember when it started or how. But Rory was the first one to come through. I knew there was something wrong with Andy when he started behaving like a total arsehole. He would attack me, assault me, and then suddenly he’d be fine. It was so bizarre, so strange.’

‘How… how many personalities does he have?’ Anna asked.

‘We suspect between six and seven. You’ve seen three of them… well, other officers have. When Andy originally came in to report what happened to Vicky, that was Andy, the real Andy. When you came round the time after that, he was different. He was Vanessa, the eight-year-old painter. And the last time someone from the police came over, he was Jamie, his gay alter ego. Just before that, he’d been Rory, and we’d had an argument. That’s why there was glass and blood on the floor. I lied about it happening the night before.’

Rachel took a moment to process the information.

‘If Andy came to us with news about Vicky’s disappearance, then why didn’t he tell us that he was responsible?’

Violet swallowed deeply. ‘Because Rory was in control. He’s always in control. Andy wanted to tell you; he really did. But Rory told him not to. I know it sounds stupid, but Rory pulls the strings for all of them.’

‘Is Rory the person Andy was talking to on the dark web? Is Rory called “The Emperor” online?’

She nodded. ‘Rory is the one posting; he’s the one doing those horrible things to those poor people.’

Rachel thought about that for a moment. That Andy had been conversing with himself, as Rory, on the dark web. That he’d been speaking to his alter ego for weeks in the lead-up to Vicky’s abduction. That Rory, through Andy, had been laying the groundwork for so long, making it look like they were good friends. That Rory had been planning this for a while, lying dormant in the back of Andy’s mind. Until eventually, it was time.

‘Does the name Fiona mean anything to you?’ she asked.

Violet took another tissue as she erupted into a flood of tears. ‘Fiona was Rory’s first attempt at scratching someone to death. Fiona was… she was one of Andy’s personalities. The second one to come through, I think. She was lovely, sweet, caring, kind. Like the daughter I’d never had. I loved her. She was the complete antithesis of Rory and everything he stood for. But he ended up killing her.’

‘How?’ Rachel asked, transfixed.

‘Andy self-harmed for a period. Cut himself pretty badly on his wrists and legs. That was Rory inflicting pain on Fiona. In the end, he became so unwell, so poorly, that I think that part of him died. I think Rory killed Fiona. I haven’t seen or heard from her since.’

The phantom victim, Rachel thought. The victim who had never been found. The posts that had ended as soon as they’d started. Fiona had been Rory’s first kill, a test run on himself. Like an embryo killing its sibling in the womb.

‘We took Andy to get help at the doctor’s, but… but Rory took control at the appointment and derailed everything. He started talking about scratching people to death, slicing them up, seeing how long they could survive. So, I had to take him to a therapist. And…’ She crossed her fingers as if praying to God. ‘He’s been perfect ever since. He got a job with me, doing the online orders at Tesco, and he’s been taking care of himself. I wanted him close so I could keep an eye on him. But then, the other week, he just disappeared.’

‘When?’

‘Two weeks ago. He just took the car and left without saying anything.’

‘When exactly?’ Rachel pressed.

‘I think it was the fourth. A Friday. He was gone the whole weekend.’

The weekend Vicky Sanchez was murdered.

‘I tried contacting him, calling him, reaching out to him. But he wouldn’t answer, and I have no idea where he went.’

‘What happened when he came back?’ Rachel asked.

‘He… he was himself. He… he was Andy again. But he didn’t know where he’d been or what he’d done. It was like he had amnesia again. And then the messages started on that Scorpion thing he uses.’ She took a slow sip of water, nursing it carefully down her throat. ‘At the beginning, when Rory first started to take control, he’d have these episodes where he’d black out and wouldn’t remember a thing. I… I didn’t want to think he was responsible when I found out what had happened to Vicky. I didn’t… I couldn’t. I thought that because the posts were coming through while Andy was at home with me, maybe Rory hadn’t done the unthinkable, that Rory had just taken him off somewhere else for the weekend. I realise now how wrong I was.’

Rachel breathed deeply, filling her lungs. She needed a moment to process everything, to absorb what had happened, but there was no time, no chance to pause and reflect. They needed to get as much information as they could out of Violet as quickly as possible.

‘We discovered that Vicky Sanchez was killed over that weekend,’ she explained matter-of-factly. ‘She was scratched to death. Rory got what he wanted, and then he staggered the blog posts to release them at intervals over the next week or so.’

Violet wailed, reaching for another set of tissues, one in each hand. She dropped her head into her hands and began sobbing.

‘We found her body a few days ago, abandoned in Langdon Hills Country Park. But now he’s at it again, Violet. This time he’s got two victims. A couple. They’ve been missing for three days, and we’re worried he’s going to do the same thing to them. We’re concerned they don’t have very long left. We need you to tell us where he’s taken them, Violet.’

‘I don’t know!’ she screamed. ‘I have no idea. Rory never spoke to me. He never trusted me. And I don’t think he would have told Andy anything either because he was worried Andy would pass it on to me. I want to help you, I really do. But I… I can’t… They could be anywhere.’

‘Think, Violet. You know Rory and your own son better than anyone else. Is there anywhere at all, anywhere in either of their histories, that they might have gone? Somewhere either Andy mentioned or that Andy told you about that sounded like it might have come from Rory? Anywhere at all?’

Violet reflected on that for a moment. She lowered the tissues to the table, deep in thought, her eyes catatonic, and the colour drained from her face. ‘There are a couple of places,’ she said. ‘Places he used to go fishing or metal detecting. But it could be anywhere. Rory is his own person.’ She looked up at Rachel, pleading with her eyes. ‘Please, you have to find him. You have to find them all. Rory’s a monster. He won’t stop. He won’t stop until he’s finished whatever he’s started. He wants ultimate control. And… and I’m afraid he might take my son from me. What if I never see my son again because of him?’

CHAPTER

SIXTY

Despite the room being completely empty, devoid of all Andy Wilson’s possessions, Tomek felt as though it were packed, heaving with people moving about and talking loudly. He didn’t know whether it was because he now knew about Andy’s struggles, and subconsciously was hearing the voices too, or whether this was what Andy had heard for so long. Either way, he felt he had a brief, albeit minuscule, insight into the man’s mind.

In his hand, he held the “before” photos of Andy’s room – before the scenes of crime officers had seized everything: the mattress, the computer, the posters on the wall, and the single book on the bookshelf. He looked at them intensely, analysing them, trying, naïvely, to put himself in Andy’s shoes.

The answer to where Vicky Sanchez, Carl, and Carly had been kept lay in those photographs. It was in the possessions that had been seized and those that the team were still going through. But instead of staring at them on a computer screen, Tomek wanted to put himself in the same room as Andy, to put himself in the man’s situation. Because it was here, he believed, that Andy, the real Andy, was in control. Perhaps it was the only place he had ever been in control, the place where he felt comfortable leaving clues behind in his own confused, panicked way.

Soon after, the bare white walls became populated with posters, the furniture returned, and one by one, the items on Andy’s desk came back. A moment later, the room was back to the way he’d remembered it. And then Andy appeared, coming in through the bedroom door with a plate of freshly made lunch in his hand, talking to himself, muttering. He made for his desk, sat down, and then stared blankly at the screen.

Before anything else happened, Tomek’s phone rang. Everything melted away, and Andy disappeared.

He answered the call. It was Sean.

‘You all right, champ?’ Sean asked.

‘What’s up?’

‘Nothing good, I’m afraid. The addresses Violet gave us from Andy’s childhood have all turned out to be duds. Most of them don’t exist anymore – knocked down to make way for hotels or apartment buildings – and the others are inhabited.’

Tomek let out a long sigh through his nostrils.

‘It gets worse, I’m afraid.’

‘How so?’

‘We’ve been digging deeper on Bradley Kerr, and I don’t think he’s got a larger part to play in this.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because, according to him, during one of their meetings just before Vicky went missing, Rory took control of Andy, locked Bradley out of the room, and then gained access to his client records. He must have found his victims’ personal information from there. It’s also possible he saw the victims hanging around at the clinic anyway.’

Tomek tapped his foot on the carpet. ‘Hmm. How do we know he’s not lying to us?’

‘His receptionist sent through the incident report he’d made on the day of the attack. Plus, there were witnesses.’

‘Have you checked them?’

‘On it now, mate. Martin and Oscar are leading it.’

‘Fine. But keep Kerr in until it’s all done. I don’t want him walking unless we’re absolutely certain he’s not involved in any way. I don’t want him being a conspirator and walking free.’

‘Understood. I’ll keep him sweet.’

‘Anything else?’

A pause. A lengthy, deafening pause.

‘There has been another post.’

Tomek rubbed his forehead with the palm of his hand.

‘So, how many scratches is that now?’

Another pause. This time briefer, less intense. ‘Thirteen.’

Tomek didn’t know whether to feel relieved or concerned. Regardless, the time to rescue the couple was rapidly running out.

‘Also,’ Sean continued, ‘I figured it’s going to be a long one tonight, and I wondered if I could borrow your key so I could drop my things off at the flat, rather than crashing around the place while Kasia’s asleep.’

‘Very thoughtful,’ Tomek replied. ‘But she’s at a friend’s tonight. I booked her in because I knew we wouldn’t finish until late.’

‘Mega,’ Sean said.

With that, Tomek hung up the phone and turned his attention back to the room. The only problem was that the room was empty again. This time there were no pictures on the walls, no clothes lying on the floor, and no dirty plates or cutlery discarded to one side. Andy had gone.

‘Where are they, Rory? Where have you taken them?’ he whispered, then turned and headed out of the room. He skipped the bottom two steps and made his way to the car, acknowledging the uniformed constable with a long night ahead of him.

In the short time he’d been inside, the sky had darkened, and the temperature had plummeted several degrees. Overhead, a sheet of dark grey clouds threatened an onslaught of rain that would only add to his misery.

Tomek made it as far as his seatbelt before his phone rang again.

Claire.

‘Sorry to bother you, Tomek,’ she began. ‘I know you’re busy, but I wondered what time you might be bringing Kasia’s clothes over. The girls wanted to get into their pyjamas; I’ve been told we’ve got a night of Netflix planned.’

Tomek rubbed his face, groaning. ‘It completely slipped my mind. Sorry, Claire. I’ll come over now.’

By the time he made it to Claire and Sophia’s house, a steady rain had begun to fall that required the second setting on the windscreen wipers.

Claire appeared at the door shortly after he’d knocked, dressed in a navy nylon pyjama set that accentuated her thighs and hips. If his mind wasn’t so preoccupied with Rory and his two victims, he would have complimented her figure, but in his current state, all he could think to do was robotically hand over the bag containing Kasia’s overnight clothes.

‘Thanks,’ Claire said. ‘I appreciate you bringing them over so quickly.’

‘No problem.’

‘I don’t know what I’ve let myself in for. I think they’ve got some awful rom-com series lined up for me. God knows it’ll be the worst thing I’ve ever seen.’ She smiled excitedly at him, but he wasn’t in the mood to reciprocate. ‘Would you like to come in? You’re getting wet.’

‘No, I can’t. Thank you for the offer, though.’

‘Is… is everything all right?’ She lowered her gaze, as though taking his bad attitude personally.

He feigned a grin. ‘Sorry. It’s just… work. It’s all I can really think about right now.’

‘Of course. I understand.’ She clung to the door and looked down at the ground again, suddenly appearing shy and timid. ‘Listen… about the other night. The glass… the…’

She was unable to say the final word, but he knew exactly what she was referring to.

‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘You don’t need to say anything. I don’t regret it. And… if you’re interested, how about I take you out to dinner somewhere? Once all this work stuff is over?’

She fluttered her eyelashes. ‘I’d like that. I’d like that a lot.’

‘Good. Leave it with me.’ He turned away. ‘Enjoy your night, Claire. Call me if there are any issues.’

‘I will. Enjoy your evening too.’

The sentiment was appreciated, though he knew that wouldn’t be possible.

As he made his way to the car again, rain lashing at his face, a white BMW drove past. His heart leapt into his mouth, then came back out again when he realised there was no man with the teardrop tattoo behind the wheel. It was just another popular car driving past, its owner going about their evening in peace.

He skipped across the road, opened the car door, and slid in. As he turned the engine on, his phone rang again. This time, there was something different about the vibrating sensation on his leg: something more ominous.

He removed the phone from his pocket and answered without checking the caller ID.

‘Tomusz, it’s Mum,’ she began quickly, in Polish. ‘Sorry to call so late, but it’s about your dad… he’s been involved in a hit and run.’

CHAPTER

SIXTY-ONE

‘He was coming home from the petrol station,’ Izabela Bowen explained as she led him through the hospital corridor. ‘And then this car sideswiped him out of nowhere.’

They entered through a set of double doors, made a right turn, and headed down another corridor.

‘The doctor said he’s going to be okay. Just minor scratches and bruises. No internal damage or anything.’

Tomek breathed a sigh of relief. His stomach had been doing somersaults on the drive over.

‘What car was it?’ he asked.

‘What?’

‘What car was the other person driving?’

‘A… I think it was a BMW.’

Tomek stopped suddenly. His mum came to an abrupt halt shortly after.

‘Colour?’

She looked unsure of herself. ‘White, I think.’

‘A white BMW?’ Tomek repeated.

‘That’s what your father said. That’s what he remembers seeing. Why?’

‘And it just drove off?’

Izabela nodded.

But he’ll be back. You won’t know when. Or where. Or how. But I have a feeling he’ll be back.

Nathan’s words echoed in his head. There was no doubt in Tomek’s mind that the man with the teardrop tattoo had been driving the car. That he’d been the one to crash into the side of his dad’s Hyundai. That he was the one reminding Tomek of the decision that had been burning a hole through his heart and mind.

Tomek started from his spot.

‘The car’s in a worse state than your dad. The police said it looked like a write-off.’ Izabela opened a door for him to walk through. ‘I don’t suppose it’ll take the police long to find a white BMW with half its bonnet missing.’

Tomek grunted, his mind elsewhere.

A few corners and a couple more corridors later, they arrived at Perry Bowen’s side. He was in a small hospital ward with three other patients. Standing next to his dad was Dawid, Tomek’s brother. As soon as they saw one another, they shared a brief, almost non-existent embrace.

‘You look like you’ve put on weight,’ Dawid said to him.

‘And you look like you’ve lost some, and some of that hairline you used to rave about.’

Dawid ran his fingers over his forehead. ‘It’ll come for you soon, mate. Don’t worry.’ He flashed a cheeky grin, then slapped Tomek on the back of the arm.

‘That’s enough out of you two,’ Izabela chimed in.

‘Good to see you,’ Dawid continued, ignoring their mum. ‘Shame it’s like this, but…’

‘I guess we can be grateful he’s not dead,’ Tomek joked. ‘Though I hear that the inheritance might be worth a bit.’

Tomek tried to force thoughts of Nathan Burrows and the man with the teardrop tattoo from his mind. He didn’t want to worry his family or let on that something concerned him, so he used humour as a mask. It was the British thing to do.

‘What happened, old man? Did you have a senior moment?’ he asked.

‘My senior moment will be forgetting both your names when it comes to writing my will and deciding who gets what. If you carry on like this, you won’t be getting anything.’

They all chuckled. It was good to see his dad in such good spirits, considering what he’d just been through.

‘What are you still here for? Mum said it was only a knock. You’ve probably had worse bangs on the head in your workshop.’

Perry mockingly raised a fist. ‘Nothing compares to the one you had when I dropped you on your head as a kid.’

‘That explains so much,’ Dawid mocked.

‘You’re one to talk,’ Tomek hit back. ‘I remember that time you ran into the garage wall because you wanted to test how good your bike helmet was. You’ve never been the same since.’

Another chuckle flowed through them all. For a brief moment, Tomek had completely forgotten about Nathan Burrows, the man with the teardrop tattoo, Andy Wilson, Rory, Carl, and Carly. Right then, right there, in that moment, he was with his family.

The only thing missing was Kasia.

‘The doctor says I should be all right,’ Perry began. ‘Just a little knock. Nothing too serious. But they want to keep me in overnight to get over the shock.’

‘It’s because you’re an old man now, Dad,’ Dawid said. ‘If it was anyone younger, they’d’ve told them to get out of here and get over it.’

Perry shrugged. ‘What can I say? My heart ain’t what it used to be.’

‘Yeah, well, as long as you don’t croak on us, we’ll be all right.’ Dawid placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. It was all in jest. Everyone knew it, and beneath the banter and humour was an underlying current of concern and worry. Perry had been in the hospital twice in as many weeks, and Tomek would be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t at least a little concerned about his dad’s health.

He would also be lying to himself if he said he wasn’t at least a little concerned about who’d been responsible. Nathan. The man was flexing his muscles and making his influence felt.

First his dad. Then what? Kasia? His mum? Dawid? His nephews?

He didn’t want to find out.

‘Excuse me a moment,’ he said, turning halfway, and pulling his phone from his pocket.

He quickly left the room and dialled Nathan’s number.

No answer.

He tried again. Still nothing.

On the third unsuccessful attempt, he left a voicemail, lowering his voice to a harsh whisper.

‘Who the fuck do you think you are, Nathan? I know what your man did, all right? And I want you to make it stop. Call me back as soon as you can.’

CHAPTER

SIXTY-TWO

Over three thousand.

That was how many photographs the SOCO team had taken of everything inside Andy Wilson’s room. The exact figure was 3,517.

Three thousand five hundred and seventeen individual photographs he had been tasked with reviewing in the hope that it might lead them to the location where Carl and Carly were being tortured. But with the way Chey was feeling, he didn’t want to do anything.

The message played in his mind on repeat, like a broken record.

I think you’re a lovely guy, but I just don’t think we clicked enough. There wasn’t enough of a connection for me, so I think we should go our separate ways. I wanted to be upfront and let you know now rather than lead you on, which would be unfair. Thank you for a lovely dinner; I had a nice time. If you want me to pay for my half, then just send me the amount and your details.

That explained why he hadn’t heard from her in a couple of days. Why she’d ghosted him, avoided responding to his messages, and failed to confirm a time and place for their next date.

What was wrong with him? Was it his behaviour? His personality? He thought he’d been delightful, charming, pleasant – a real gentleman. Evidently not. She’d probably found someone more attractive, with more money and a more successful job.

His aching heart had leeched its toxins into the rest of his body and distracted him for the past hour, so much so that he’d absentmindedly been searching through the evidence photographs, mindlessly clicking the mouse, flicking through each one without paying any real attention to them.

Until one caught his eye and forced all thoughts of Kerry out of his mind.

It was an image of the bookshelf in Andy Wilson’s room. On the middle shelf was a lonely book, facing the camera directly. Front and centre.

As he zoomed in, he realised it wasn’t a book at all. Rather, it was a sudoku puzzle book. A bumper edition. And on the front was a completed puzzle.

‘Holy shit…’ he whispered.

In a separate window, he opened an Excel document and inserted the codes from the bottom of the blog posts, of which there were nine, in the order they’d been released. A few moments later, he was finished.

Flicking between the tabs, checking every single line and number on the table, his mouth fell open. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

‘I don’t believe it. It’s been a sudoku grid this entire fucking time.’

He felt stupid. Now that he knew it, it was obvious. Nine digits. Nine sets of codes. Each horizontal and vertical line containing one instance of one to nine. If only he’d put it in a grid sooner!

But the work wasn’t done yet.

He scrolled through to the next image on the server. It was of the sudoku book inside an evidence bag. Chey noted the exhibit number that had been assigned to it, scribbling it on a piece of paper. Immediately, he called down to the evidence room. The phone rang several times before being answered.

‘Hello?’

‘Hey, it’s Chey. I need something. Urgently. Exhibit AC/345802/D. How quickly can you find it?’

‘Give me five minutes.’

‘I’ll be down in two.’

A few minutes later, Chey entered the exhibits room, a small, cold nook in the recesses of the building. There were no windows. Just the soulless artificial light and air-conditioning unit, distorting the senses of everyone who visited.

Marcel, the constable in charge of securing the exhibits, was leaning back in his chair, feet resting on the desk.

‘You got it?’ Chey asked. ‘I called two minutes ago.’

‘Yeah, I found it. Relax.’

Marcel, as if permanently glued to his seat, pointed to a small table on the other side of the room. On it was the sudoku book, still in its evidence bag. Chey murmured a word of thanks to Marcel, then headed over to the table. His palms felt sweaty, and his adrenaline was through the roof. The sound of his heart beating echoed around his head. With the trepidation of someone about to examine a thousand-year-old artefact, Chey donned a pair of gloves and readied himself to open it.

First, he moved the zip from one side to the other. The movement seemed to suck the air out of the room. Then he reached inside and delicately removed the sudoku book.

He held it in his hands for a long while, staring at the front page, ridiculing himself for not noticing the pattern sooner.

He set the book on top of the bag.

Holding his breath, he turned the front page.

What he saw in front of him was not what he’d expected.

CHAPTER

SIXTY-THREE

I’m afraid to report that we have a feisty one on our hands, people! Something has got into Carl, and I’m loving it. It’s as if this experiment has awakened the beast in him. Not long ago, he somehow managed to undo his restraints – but only slightly – and lunged for me while spitting in my face. Who knows how many germs and diseases he’s picked up over the years? Needless to say, I subdued him with a smack to the head. He’s currently lying unconscious on the floor. Now the question remains: what to do with him while he is like this?

Do I administer some more scratches?

Do I scratch Carly some more as a form of punishment?

Is that enough? I do not think it is.

It is not something I wish to do in the name of the experiment, but in the name of my pride and ego, I feel I must punish his actions. They must both learn that they are here to better the human race. What is happening to them is for the good of humanity.

And so I will do both. I will scratch them both some more – how many? One? Two? Three?

I think three.

And, to ensure they fully understand the severity of their actions, I will withhold food and drink for twelve hours. This will be the real test of their perseverance and mental strength. Let it also be a lesson to them. If either of them wants to mess with me and my experiment, then there will be repercussions for their actions. This is unacceptable.

CHAPTER

SIXTY-FOUR

I’ve had the voices in my head for so long that I can’t tell which one is which sometimes. The different personalities blend into one. They each have their own mannerisms and ways of talking; I know that, but they’re so close to me, so stuck in my head, that I can’t differentiate. The only way I can find out is once they’ve gone, after I’ve woken up and can analyse the mess and damage they’ve caused.

There is no escape. No release from the unrelenting peril and paranoia I face every day. Some days we’re fine. Some days we are not. It is as if I have half a dozen people following me, watching over my shoulder, analysing my every move, ensuring I toe the line and do as I’m told.

I am not in control of my own body.

I am not in control of my own mind.

But here… in this book… I don’t think they can see in here. The numbers… the letters… they distract them. It’s like they’re not capable of any intelligent thought.

For so many years I have struggled. Rory was the first. And the worst. He came into my life five years ago. I don’t remember much. I blacked out, and when I woke up, I was in my bedroom, lying on the floor. And then, all of a sudden, I could hear these voices.

And this laugh.

Like The Joker had entered my head.

HAHAHAHA. Mocking me. Laughing at me. Telling me I was a worthless piece of shit and that he was in control. And that together we would change the course of human history.

I don’t want to change the course of human history. I want to play my games. I want to build websites. I want to talk to my friends. I want to spend time with my mum. I want to live a normal life. Why me? Why did he have to come into my head? And then the others started. Fiona. Jamie. Vanessa. Michelle. Vincent. Where the fuck are they all coming from? My body is being inhabited by ghosts of people from previous lives. They’ve selected my body and mind to inhabit, to enact their misdeeds.

I JUST WANT THEM GONE.

MAKE THE NOISE AND PAIN STOP.

I can’t bear this anymore.

HELLOOO ANNDDDYYYYY.

WON’T YOU COME OUT TO PLAY, ANDY? WE’VE GOT A JOB TO DO.

Fuck off. I’m not playing. I’m not coming out. I don’t want to.

Tomek stopped reading. He felt uncomfortable seeing so deeply into the mind of someone who was seriously unwell, someone who was seriously struggling.

‘Have you read the whole thing?’ he asked Chey.

The constable nodded. ‘Finished just before you got here.’

Tomek looked at Sean. The sergeant had called him shortly after Chey had made the discovery. Outside, rain pounded against the window, drowning out the noise of computer fans whirring and his team typing on their keyboards. It was late. They were all exhausted. He wanted to send them home, but right then, there was no time.

‘What does the rest of it say?’

‘More of the same,’ Chey answered. ‘It’s… it’s quite a difficult read. Poor guy…’

‘What about the killings? Vicky Sanchez? Carl and Carly? Is it in there?’

Another nod. ‘All of it. From how he abducted Vicky down the alleyway and chucked her in the back of his mum’s car, to how he pretended to be stranded down the country lane on Carl and Carly’s route home. Andy – at least I presume it’s Andy talking – explains everything. But… there are some bits missing, almost as if he knew Rory was watching, so he had to be careful about how much he said.’

Tomek held his breath. ‘What about where he’s taken them? Is that in there?’

‘I think so.’

‘What do you mean, “you think so”?’ Sean asked.

Chey opened the sudoku book, his gloved fingers carefully turning the top corners of the pages. He navigated his way through the book with the familiarity of someone who knew it back to front already. He stopped at page forty-three. ‘There’s a random location here,’ he said. ‘In caps and underlined several times. It doesn’t fit in with anything else going on.’

‘Where is it?’

‘Stanford-le-Hope.’

Tomek’s body tensed with excitement. ‘And?’

Chey flipped to another page and pointed at what was an upside-down postcode that had been written in different handwriting. Without saying anything else, he turned to the final page in the book. There, in the top right corner, was a series of coordinates.

‘You “think,”’ Tomek repeated. ‘You jammy bastard, you’ve known all along.’

The sides of Chey’s mouth flickered into a knowing smile. ‘I can’t take all the credit.’

‘I could kiss you right now!’ Tomek screamed. Instead, he patted him on the back. ‘I can’t believe you did it. I knew you’d get there in the end. Never doubted you. Absolutely smashed it, kid. Well done! Now all we need to do is find Rory.’

Before it’s too late…

CHAPTER

SIXTY-FIVE

The rain was now horizontal, battering Tomek’s face and clothes. Soon after leaving the safety of his car, he was drenched, with water dripping from his brow into his eyes. They were in the middle of Mucking Wharf Road, near Stanford-le-Hope, a small town situated a few hundred metres from the River Thames. To the south was the Wildlife Trust’s Thameside Nature Discovery Park. To the east was the DP World London Gateway, a large container shipping port where, through the hedges, the arms of cranes jutted out like skeletons, their bright floodlights casting an ominous shadow on the narrow country lane.

Right then, he didn’t care about any of that. His focus was solely on the abandoned warehouse in front of him, beyond the wire fence and gate. Rory’s play den.

Parked on the side of the road was Carl and Carly’s Volvo, positioned as though its owners had gone for a late-night walk along the reserve.

Gaining access to the building had required careful planning. The team, along with ten uniformed officers and a small number of the firearms unit, had been drafted in. As a result, dozens of cars – some liveried, some unmarked – lined the narrow country lane. However, accessing the location was proving difficult.

Time was of the essence and Tomek was quickly becoming impatient. They couldn’t afford to waste time sending the entire cavalry down, not while Carl’s and Carly’s lives hung in the balance. Every minute spent waiting for the teams to funnel down was a minute closer to death. And a minute more they were out in the open, susceptible to being spotted by Rory.

He wanted to go in there now.

But Victoria, who had taken control of the situation at the last minute due to the nature of the raid, had dictated otherwise.

‘Firearms in first,’ she said. ‘They need to clear the area. Let them do their job. You’ve done yours.’

Except he didn’t feel that way. Vicky had died while he’d been SIO; Chey had discovered the location; Rachel had had the intuition to speak with Andy’s therapist. When he thought about it, there was very little he’d done to get them there.

Before he could dwell on it any longer, Victoria raised the radio to her lips and instructed the firearms team to go in.

Without hesitation, a small group of authorised firearms officers slipped under the gate and made their way to the warehouse. Their movements were silent, masked by the beating of the rain on metal and the puddles on the ground.

Tomek held his breath as he watched them approach the building. A few moments later, they stopped by the entrance, splitting into two groups on either side of the door. Then the leader of the team gave the signal, and they breached the door. In an instant, light spilled onto the gravelled surface, and the officers rushed into the building. Screams of ‘Armed Police!’ echoed through the warehouse, eventually reaching Tomek’s ears before the sounds of a woman’s screams drowned them out.

Tomek continued to hold his breath.

He waited. And waited.

‘Warehouse cleared,’ came the distorted voice over the radio. ‘We’ve got two victims. Male and female. Tied to chairs. Alive, but only just.’

Tomek let the air out of his lungs, then he looked at Victoria. The whites of her eyes were glowing in the light.

‘And the suspect? There should be a third,’ Victoria said quickly.

Incoherent and frenzied chatter came through the radio’s microphone.

‘The… the female is saying that he’s gone out,’ came the response.

‘What?’ Tomek replied. ‘Gone out where?’

A pause as the firearms officer asked the question.

‘Gone to the convenience store, apparently. To get some food and drink. From the looks of it, these people haven’t eaten or drunk anything in hours.’

And, to ensure they fully understand the severity of their actions, I will withhold food and drink for twelve hours.

‘When?’ he asked.

‘About twenty minutes ago,’ came the static response.

‘He could be back any minute.’ Tomek’s eyes fell on the sea of officers and police vehicles that had flooded the street. ‘If he comes back and sees this, he might make off across the marshes, and we’ll never catch him…’

Victoria considered for a moment. ‘You’re right. But where can we go?’

‘That way,’ Chey said, pointing to the other end of the road. ‘Follow it all the way down, and there’s some sort of car park by the Discovery Park.’

CHAPTER

SIXTY-SIX

Ten anxious, heart-in-the-mouth minutes later, the convoy of police cars had followed Chey’s instructions and filtered down to the car park. There, the drivers had been instructed to stay in position, lest they return at the same time as Rory and scare him off. Meanwhile, Tomek, Victoria, and Chey had decided to hide in the warehouse, along with a handful of uniformed officers and the AFOs.

As they hurried into the building, Tomek prepared himself for what he was about to see.

He froze as he entered, a few metres from the door.

There, sitting beneath a spotlight that seemed to warm the place, were Carl and Carly, stripped to their underwear, covered in sweat, with small incisions across almost every inch of their bodies. The colour drained from their faces, their skin hanging loose on their undernourished frames.

It was then, after his mind had processed the shocking sight in front of him, that he noticed the smell: faeces, urine, blood, and sweat.

They were currently being tended to by the armed officers, delicately holding bottles of water to their lips.

In the corner of the room nearest to Tomek was Rory’s workstation: a small desk with a laptop perched atop it. A black plastic box, that had been used to block the device’s IP address, dangled from one of its ports. Beside the desk, on a small workbench, was an assortment of sharp, bloodied implements.

He imagined the man wandering up to the bench, selecting his next torture instrument with care and precision, and then sauntering over to his victims, pinning them down in their chairs before administering the scratch as their screams filled the warehouse and fell on deaf ears.

Slowly leeching the life out of them.

Tomek was brought out of his reverie by the sound of the warehouse door opening.

He snapped his neck one-eighty and swivelled on the balls of his feet to see Rory standing in the doorframe, face aghast like something out of a movie, frozen, with a Co-op bag of shopping in his hands.

Before Tomek had a chance to react, screams of ‘Armed police!’ pierced the silence.

‘Get down on the ground now!’

The only thing that fell to the ground was the Co-op bag, its contents spilling onto the concrete.

‘Put your hands in the air and get down on the ground!’

Tomek could see the man’s eyes were wild with fear. Was he looking at Rory or Andy? Which man was in control right now? He didn’t know.

But he soon found out.

In an instant, the look of fear changed into a demonic grin, signifying Rory was in control.

Then Rory reached into his pocket and produced a small two-inch blade. Before Tomek could react, he held it to his neck, immediately drawing blood on the side of his throat.

‘Put the weapon down!’ came the screams from the armed officers behind him.

Tomek, Victoria, and Chey were standing in their line of fire. If they wanted to shoot Rory, the bullets would have to go through them first.

Rory pressed the knife deeper into his throat.

‘Put him down, Rory!’ Tomek cried in a flash of inspiration. ‘Let Andy go. He’s had nothing to do with this. He’s innocent!’

‘If Andy dies, I die,’ came the slow, considered response.

‘Put the knife down, and we can help. We can talk it through.’

For a brief moment, Rory’s expression changed. An instant flash of Andy broke through and screamed to his captor. Andy was still in there, fighting, pushing to get out.

Tomek hoped he had the strength within him to beat Rory and do it.

‘Andy, I know you’re in there,’ Tomek cried. ‘I know you can hear me. He’s not in control. You are. You’re in control, Andy. You always have been. You can’t let him interfere with your life like this. You can’t let him do these things against your will.’

Rory pressed the blade deeper into his throat. A steady stream of blood now seeped from the wound, snaking down his neck before disappearing into the top of his shirt.

‘I need you to push back, Andy. I need you to fight him like you’ve never fought before. You did it once, when he went away, and I know you can do it again. I believe in you. We all believe in you. You don’t have to worry about these guys behind me. They won’t shoot you. Right now, it’s just between you and Rory. For one last time.’

Another flash in Rory’s expression. This time longer. This time more evident.

Tomek noticed Andy taking control of the blade as it eased slightly from against his own throat.

‘You’ve had your fun,’ Andy began speaking. ‘You’ve done horrible things.’

‘We’ve done horrible things,’ replied Rory sinisterly.

‘But I won’t let you win. I won’t let you do this to us anymore. I hate you. I hate⁠—’

‘You don’t hate us,’ Rory interrupted. ‘You are us. We are you. Everything I do, you do. Everything I think, you think. This is what you wanted, Andy. This is what you’ve always wanted.’

‘Shut up, Rory!’ The words left Tomek’s lips before he even realised he’d said them. ‘Do you know what you are? You’re nothing. Without Andy, you are nothing. And you will always be nothing.’ Tomek didn’t know which personality he was talking to, but he believed that both could hear him. ‘This is the last time you’ll hurt anyone ever again, Rory. You’ve done⁠—’

‘You’re right,’ came the demonic response. ‘This is the last time⁠—’

And then Andy plunged the blade into his neck.

Blood exploded from the wound, spraying onto his top. Rory yelped in pain and collapsed to the ground.

Tomek wasted no time. He sprinted over to the body.

Andy lay there on the cold hard ground, clutching at the wound as he choked on his own blood.

‘Andy!’ Tomek screamed, placing his own hand on the wound, attempting to staunch the flow. But it was no use. It was coming out too fast, and before long, Tomek’s hands were covered in crimson.

He was quickly surrounded by the armed officers, all crouching down by his side.

Andy – he was sure it was Andy – gurgled and spluttered as blood filled his mouth.

‘Thank… thank you,’ he said slowly, wheezily. ‘He’s… he’s gone… he’s dead… thank you.’

As Andy took his last breath, Tomek noticed the darkness in his eyes disappear. As if Rory left Andy’s soul and body just before he died.

CHAPTER

SIXTY-SEVEN

Tomek set down the knife and fork before dabbing at the sides of his mouth with a napkin.

‘That, Mum, was exemplary,’ he said. ‘You’ve excelled yourself, as always.’

‘It barely touched the sides,’ Perry Bowen said, prompting a slight smattering of laughter around the table.

‘Explains why he’s put on so much weight since I last saw him,’ Dawid chimed in from beside him.

Tomek glanced down at his brother’s plate. ‘Good to see you’ve got more than a hundred calories’ worth of food on your plate.’ He gripped his brother’s bicep in his hands. ‘We’re gonna need to fatten you up for winter.’

‘Dad!’ Kasia said, slapping him on the arm.

‘What?’ Tomek cried defensively. ‘He started it!’

‘Well, I’m stopping it,’ she said.

A couple of “ooohs” echoed around the table. Kasia ignored them and returned her attention to her dinner.

‘You’re definitely a part of the family,’ Perry said. ‘I can tell you take after your grandmother in that respect.’

Kasia grinned as she shoved some food into her mouth.

‘And your boys definitely take after you,’ Izabela intoned.

‘My boys? They’re ours. What’s mine is yours,’ Perry offered, holding out a hand for his wife.

Swatting it away, Izabela replied, ‘Not when they’re misbehaving, they’re not.’

Perry sighed, shook his head, and took a healthy sip of wine.

‘Should you be drinking, Dad?’ Tomek asked.

Perry looked at the glass as if he’d just discovered what was in it. ‘Doctor said I’m fine. Lucky to be here, actually.’

A chorus of groans made its way around the table, including Dawid’s triplets.

‘Oh, please,’ Tomek said. ‘I saw the damage done to the car. You did worse when you drove into the garage door all those years ago.’

Izabela raised her hands in the air. ‘Why would you bring that up? You know he gets upset about that.’

Perry brandished a finger at Tomek. ‘Don’t mention the garage incident! I could have been seriously injured, I’ll have you know.’

‘When you crashed into the garage or the other day?’

‘The other day! Bloody BMW drivers. They think they own the roads. Honestly.’ With another sigh and a shake of the head, Perry took another drink of wine.

‘Did you ever find the driver in the end?’ Dawid asked.

It was a while before Tomek realised his brother was addressing him.

‘What? Oh. Yeah. The Beemer? No, not yet. I think the driver’s probably long gone. Or he’s paid to get it patched up.’

Just as Dawid was about to respond, Tomek’s phone rang. He glanced at the screen and saw a photo of Sean staring back at him. He excused himself from the table, ventured into the kitchen, and answered the call.

‘Please tell me you haven’t blocked the toilet again,’ he said, laughing.

‘Not quite, mate. It’s just… it’s probably nothing, but I thought I’d tell you. A car’s just pulled up outside, and some matey’s got out and come to the front door a couple of times. Do… do you recognise it?’

Tomek’s body flushed cold. A lump swelled in his throat.

‘A white BMW?’ His voice croaked.

‘Yeah. And the bloke who owns it is a serious-looking matey. Bald head. Teardrop tattoo and everything. Is it all kosher, or shall I have a word with him?’

Tomek’s mind began racing so fast he was unable to grab a thought and express it. Instead, he mumbled into the handset.

‘Tomek?’ Sean said down the phone, his concern rising.

And then something clicked. ‘It’s fine,’ Tomek said. ‘It’s the guy who drove into my dad the other day. I found his details and gave him a call about the insurance. I guess he just wants to discuss it in person. I’ll… I’ll call him now and tell him to come back another time.’

‘You sure?’ Sean asked, the concern dissipating only slightly.

‘Yeah. All good. Leave it with me. Cheers for letting me know, mate.’

Tomek quickly hung up the phone and moved deeper into the house until he came to the conservatory. Shutting the door behind him, he opened his contacts and dialled Nathan’s number. The man answered shortly after.

‘Good evening, Tomek,’ he said. ‘Lovely to hear from you again.’

Tomek breathed in deeply and, cautiously glancing around the room, hoping nobody intruded, he said what he had to say to Nathan.

A few minutes later, he returned to the dining room, a thin layer of sweat on his back, his heart pounding. Tentatively, he moved around the dining table and pulled the chair out from beneath it.

‘Everything all right?’ Perry asked as he sat down.

‘Yeah,’ Tomek said, staring into the phone. ‘Yeah, it will be.’

I think.

CHAPTER

SIXTY-EIGHT

His leg bounced up and down repeatedly. His head swung from side to side as people wandered past. He was on edge, panicked, watching everyone’s movements. Questioning what he was doing. For the thousandth time, he debated whether it was the right thing to do.

The answer was yes.

At least, that was what he’d convinced himself to believe.

He was doing the right thing.

The right thing for Kasia.

The right thing for his mum.

The right thing for his dad.

The right thing for his brother and nephews.

The right thing for his family.

If he wanted them to have a life of security and safety, then this was the only way to achieve it. This was his burden to bear, his secret to take with him to the grave.

Twenty minutes passed with people coming and going, leaving one room before entering another. And then it was his turn. His name was called from the other end of the corridor.

A woman, dressed smartly in a shirt and trousers, leaned out of the room, beckoning him over.

This was it, he told himself. Time to do the right thing.

His legs were like jelly as he clambered out of the seat and started towards the woman. A few steps in, the corridor began to sway from side to side. Tomek closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. When he opened them again, the walls had stopped moving.

At the door, the woman held her hand out for him to shake. ‘Paula Inglis,’ she said. ‘Thanks for coming all this way.’

‘No… no problem.’

His tongue felt like a coarse sponge.

‘Please, take a seat.’

Paula gestured for him to enter the room. A single table occupied centre stage. Behind it were three individuals, sitting bolt upright. Their impervious stares watched his every move as he lowered himself into the seat. He held each of their gazes for a fraction of a second before chickening out and watching Paula occupy the vacant seat in the middle.

‘Tomek,’ she began. ‘These are my colleagues on the advisory board: John, Roger, and Mary. We are here to decide whether Nathan Burrows should be released from prison.’

Tomek offered a small, almost imperceptible nod.

‘Now, there are some things you should know before we proceed with this,’ she continued. ‘If released, Nathan will be given a new identity. He will have a new name, a new National Insurance number, and a new address. You understand?’

‘Yes.’

‘It’s also worth stating that neither you, nor anyone else in your family, will be permitted to know any of this information. It needs to remain completely anonymous. You understand?’

Tomek swallowed hard. ‘Yes.’

Paula tilted her head to the side. ‘Very well. Let us begin. Why do you think Nathan Burrows should be released from prison and returned to the general population?’

TOMEK BOWEN RETURNS IN…

Death’s Past

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When a powerful tidal surge churns up a set of bones deep in the marshes of South Essex, DS Tomek Bowen’s hopes for a quiet winter are quickly washed away.

Forensic examination reveals the remains belonged to a young child who died more than thirty years before. Who was the victim? Why was he killed? And why does his death bear such striking resemblance to Tomek’s brother’s?

This Christmas, Tomek could get one or two more presents than he bargained for.

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INTRODUCING DI STEPHANIE BROADBENT

The DI Stephanie Broadbent Surrey Hiller Crime Thriller Series:

BOOK 1: THE VOODOO KILLER

She returned home to start again. Instead, she woke the darkness she thought she'd buried. Before she’s even settled in, a university student is found dead in her halls of residence after a night out. What first appears to be an open and shut case takes a darker turn when a voodoo doll is found near the body. Stephanie is forced to confront the ghosts of her past—while racing to stop a killer whose next move is already taking shape in thread and cloth.

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BOOK 2: THE BOGEY MAN

Thirty years ago, the people of Guildford were haunted by a figure who crept into children’s bedrooms and watched them sleep. When he left, he left behind a single party balloon. And then he vanished. The visits stopped. Now it’s happening again.

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BOOK 3: THE BURNING MAN

When the charred remains of a body are found in the quaint Surrey Hills, the trauma of DI Stephanie Broadbent’s past is reignited. When another body appears, Stephanie uncovers a connection that threatens to set the world — and more bodies — alight.

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ALSO BY JACK PROBYN

The DS Tomek Bowen Murder Mystery Series:

1) DEATH’S JUSTICE

Southend-on-Sea, Essex: Detective Sergeant Tomek Bowen — driven, dogged, and haunted by the death of his brother — is called to one of the most shocking crime scenes he has ever seen. A man has been ritualistically murdered and dumped in an allotment near the local airport. Early investigations indicate this was a man with a past. A past that earned him many enemies.

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2) DEATH’S GRIP

Annabelle Lake thought she recognised the Ford Fiesta waiting outside her school, and the driver in it. She was wrong. Her body is discovered some time later, dangling from a swing in a local playground on Canvey Island.

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3) DEATH’S TOUCH

When the fog clears one December morning in Essex, the body of a teenage girl is discovered lying face down in a field. But as soon as the investigation begins, Tomek discovers Lily’s death may be linked to a killing spree that has lain dormant for many years — with no one ever being brought to justice for it.

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4) DEATH’S KISS

The body of a teenage girl is found face down in the middle of a field. The evidence surrounded her death is scant, until a vital clue uncovers a terrifying serial killer lying in wait…

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5) DEATH’S TASTE

The body of a homeless man is found wedged between the beach huts of Thorpe Bay. But it isn’t until the victim’s identity is revealed that the town begins to sit up and wonder: who killed him, and why?

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6) DEATH’S ANGEL

When flight attendant Angelica Whitaker is reported missing after a night out at one of the most popular nightclubs in Southend, the case is handed to DS Tomek Bowen for the first time in his career.

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The Jake Tanner Crime Thriller Series:

Full-length novels that combine police procedure, organised crime and police corruption.

TOE THE LINE:

A small jeweller’s is raided in Guildford High Street and leaves police chasing their tails. Reports suggest that it’s The Crimsons, an organised crime group the police have been hunting for years. When the shop owner is kidnapped and a spiked collar is attached to her neck, Jake learns one of his own is involved – a police officer. As Jake follows the group on a wild goose chase, he questions everything he knows about his team. Who can he trust? And is he prepared to find out?

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WALK THE LINE:

A couple with a nefarious secret are brutally murdered in their London art gallery. Their bodies cleaned. Their limbs dismembered. And the word LIAR inscribed on the woman’s chest. For Jake Tanner it soon becomes apparent this is not a revenge killing. There’s a serial killer loose on the streets of Stratford. And the only thing connecting the victims is their name: Jessica. Jake’s pushed to his mental limits as he uncovers The Community, an online forum for singles and couples to meet. But there’s just one problem: the killer's been waiting for him... and he’s hungry for his next kill.

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UNDER THE LINE:

DC Jake Tanner thought he’d put the turmoil of the case that nearly killed him behind him. He was wrong. When Danny Cipriano’s body is discovered buried in a concrete tomb, Jake's wounds are reopened. But one thing quickly becomes clear. The former leader of The Crimsons knew too much. And somebody wanted him silenced. For good. The only problem is, Jake knows who.

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CROSS THE LINE:

For years, Henry Matheson has been untouchable, running the drug trade in east London. Until the body of his nearest competitor is discovered burnt to a lamppost in his estate. Gang war gone wrong, or a calculated murder? Only one man is brave enough to stand up to him and find out. But, as Jake Tanner soon learns, Matheson plays dirty. And in the estate there are no rules.

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OVER THE LINE:

Months have passed since Henry Matheson was arrested and sent to prison. Months have passed since Henry Matheson, one of east London’s most dangerous criminals, was arrested. Since then DC Jake Tanner and the team at Stratford CID have been making sure the case is watertight. But when a sudden and disastrous fraudulent attack decimates Jake's personal finances, he is propelled into the depths of a dark and dangerous underworld, where few resurface.

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PAST THE LINE:

The Cabal is dead. The Cabal’s dead. Or so Jake thought. But when Rupert Haversham, lawyer to the city’s underworld, is found dead in his London home, Jake begins to think otherwise. The Cabal’s back, and now they’re silencing people who know too much. Jake included.

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The Jake Tanner SO15 Files Series:

Novella length, lightning-quick reads that can be read anywhere. Follow Jake as he joins Counter Terrorism Command in the fight against the worst kind of evil.

THE WOLF:

A cinema under siege. A race to save everyone inside. An impatient detective. Join Jake as he steps into the darkness.

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DARK CHRISTMAS:

The head of a terrorist cell is found dead outside his flat in the early hours of Christmas Eve. What was he doing outside? Why was a suicide vest strapped to his body? And what does the note in his sock have to do with his death?

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THE EYE:

The discovery of a bomb factory leaves Jake and the team scrambling for answers. But can they find them in time?

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IN HEAVEN AND HELL:

An ominous — and deadly — warning ignites Jake and the team into action. An attack on one of London’s landmarks is coming. But where? And when? Failure could be catastrophic.

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BLACKOUT:

What happens when all the lights in London go out, and all the power switches off? What happens when a city is brought to its knees? Jake Tanner’s about to find out. And he’s right in the middle of it.

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EYE FOR AN EYE:

Revenge is sweet. But not when it’s against you. Not when they use your family to get to you. Family is off-limits. And Jake Tanner will do anything to protect his.

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MILE 17:

Every year, thousands of runners and supporters flock to the streets of London to celebrate the London Marathon. Except this year, there won’t be anything to ride home about.

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THE LONG WALK:

The happiest day of your life, your wedding day. But when it’s a royal wedding, the stakes are much higher. Especially when someone wants to kill the bride.

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THE ENDGAME:

Jake Tanner hasn’t been to a football match in years. But when a terrorist cell attacks his favourite football stadium, killing dozens and injuring hundreds more, Jake is both relieved and appalled — only the day before was he in the same crowds, experiencing the same atmosphere. But now he must put that behind him and focus on finding the people responsible. And fast. Because another attack's coming.

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The Jake Tanner Terror Thriller Series:

Full-length novels, following Jake through Counter-Terrorism Command, where the stakes have never been higher.

STANDSTILL:

The summer of 2017. Jake Tanner’s working for SO15, The Metropolitan Police Service’s counter terrorism unit. And a duo of terrorists seize three airport-bound trains. On board are hundreds of kilos of explosives, and thousands of lives. Jake quickly finds himself caught in a cat and mouse race against time to stop the trains from detonating. But what he discovers along the way will change everything.

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FLOOR 68:

1,000 feet in the air, your worst nightmares come true. Charlie Paxman is going to change the world with a deadly virus. His mode of distribution: the top floor of London’s tallest landmark, The Shard. But only one man can stop. Jake Tanner. Caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Trapped inside a tower, Jake finds himself up against an army of steps and an unhinged scientist that threatens to decimate humanity. But can he stop it from happening?

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Jack Probyn is a British crime writer and the author of the Jake Tanner crime thriller series, set in London.

He currently lives in Surrey with his partner and cat, and is working on a new murder mystery series set in his hometown of Essex.

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