Page 68 of Dream a Little Dream

The officers in the room shifted uncomfortably. Some stared at the photographs, others took notes, but all locked onto Kenny’s words as if any moment now he’d be likePoirotorScooby Doosuddenly revealing who Rahul’s killer was by ripping off a hooded mask. He couldn’t do that. But he could make the net they threw out to catch him smaller.

“The Howells’ victims were often vulnerable, young, troubled, easily manipulated. Both male and female. The reason this is important? Rahul fits the Howell profile. He was young, away from home for the first time, struggling with his identity, his sexuality. He was vulnerable. Desperate for a connection in a new place he felt disconnected from. And the rose vine is an almost exact replica of how Frank’s outside victims were discovered.” Kenny’s eyes darkened as he continued. “The rose isn’t just a signature. It’s a message. In the Howell case, we know how Frank would leave roses as a tribute to Roisin, his wife. Offering her a gift, a twisted display of his affection. She, being agoraphobic, couldn’t leave the house. So Frank would make her part of the kills with the rose. But here, in Rahul’s case, the rose isn’t a gift of love. It’s a signal. Placed post-mortem, methodically, and the killer leaving no trace. This wasn’t sloppy. Wasn’t spur-of-the-moment. The killer is meticulous. Calculated. And clever. Like the Howells.”

A ripple of unease coursed through the room. Jack’s jaw tightened as he stood at the front of the team, eyes locked on Kenny.

“Are we thinking this is a copycat?” Detective Seargeant Cleveland asked from across the room.

“No.” Kenny shook his head. “Whilst there is evidence of some behaviour contagion here, it’s too personal for a copycat. It’s also too clean. We’re dealing with someone who has refinedtheir methods over years. Maybe even decades. This isn’t someone pulling up an old case, learning from it and reenacting it. Serial killers evolve. They learn from every kill. They adjust, they improve, they perfect their craft. Rahul’s murder wasn’t messy or chaotic. This is someone who knows intimately how Frank and Roisin murdered their victims and, as it would appear, wants them to know they do. Rahul’s a gift.”

Officer Jenkins, fresh faced, bright eyed and bushy tailed, probably straight out of training, broke the silence. “So, are we looking for someone who knew Rahul? Or knew the Howells?”

“What I can tell you is this certainly wasn’t an impulsive act. The killer likely waited for the right victim. Someone who fit their profile of vulnerability. So, in that sense, yes, the killer would have known him, but it doesn’t necessarily mean they were acquainted. Sometimes, killers choose a victim because they were wearing the same colour shoes as one of their previous kills to whom they were particularly attached. Rahul may not have had any emotional connection himself with the killer, but the killer knew exactly who they were looking for. Perhaps he was similar to a previous victim of theirs. Or someone who got away? He’ll have some connection. It’s finding it.”

Murmurs between those in the room elevated, then lowered when Jack glared at them all.

Kenny continued, “We know from the interviews with family, friends, those at the university who knew Rahul,” Kenny peered down at his notes where the nameAaron Jonessingled out as if highlighted in bold, “that Rahul was quiet. Hard working. He didn’t drink. Had few friends. He was struggling at university to fit in. Unsure of himself. These indicate he was a prime target as someone who could go missing, unnoticed for a period, and easily led.”

The room grew darker, the gravity of Kenny’s words pulling everyone deeper into the case. They weren’t just looking for amurderer. They were looking for a ghost, someone who had been hiding in plain sight, someone who was a master of blending into the background. Someone who might have been involved ten years ago.

Kenny shifted in his seat. “This killer, he’s sending a message. To us, yes. To the police. But mostly to the Howells, or someone connected to them.” He was on a roll now, professional distance allowing him to get through it without falling apart. “This isn’t just about showing off his kill. It’s about proving something. This is someone who feels underestimated, someone who’s probably stuck in a mid-level job, believing he’s capable of more. He’s desperate for validation, for someone to recognise his work as superior. Perhaps having acknowledgement from Frank that he can still go undetected. He could be taunting him. And he’ll do it again. Because he’ll always need the gratification of knowing he is superior. Serial killers don’t stop. They get bolder. So this won’t be his first kill in ten years. He’d have been active in that time.”

The officers in the room exchanged uneasy glances, a heavy silence following, tension suffocating. The people in this room had homes to go to. Weekends to start. Families to put to bed. Yet they were here, listening to the potential reopening of one of the worst serial killer cases to have ever hit this police force. They were in for a long day. A long night to follow. An even longer three months if they didn’t crack this before it went cold.

“I’d suggest you start by looking at local sexual predators.” Kenny snapped the team back to attention. “This person will have a history of deviancy. Long history. He’s likely to be in his midlife to older. Would have had previous dealings with the authorities for flashing, stalking, predatory behaviour. He’s likely to have been in trouble before but has flown under the radar. Escalating from his less severe acts, where he would have tested his boundaries and refined his method. He also knowsthe area. It’s evident he knew where the CCTV ended and where Rahul’s body would rinse up. He’s local, or has studied the area extensively. So looking into similar unsolved cases over the past ten years is also a good place to start. At this stage in his career, he believes himself untouchable. So be mindful of that. He may well revisit the scene of the crime. Try to involve himself in the investigation. He’ll be tracking this case. Keep vigilant on those offering their services to you for help.”

Jack, standing at the head of the table, finally spoke. “You heard him. We dig into the local files. Sexual offenders, anyone with a history of predatory behaviour. I want eyes out on the river, talking to everyone passing. I want every name, every lead. No matter how small. We find him before he strikes again.”

The room stirred into action, officers pulling out files, flipping through papers, and exchanging hurried whispers. The atmosphere had shifted from routine briefing to a race against time. They were no longer dealing with an isolated murder. They were chasing a predator who had perfected his game, and the clock was ticking.

Kenny sat back, scanning over the crime scene photos one last time. He could feel it. The killer’s presence. A methodical, patient hunter who thrived on control. Somewhere, he was watching, waiting for his next moment to strike. And Kenny knew they were running out of time. If this had any link to the Howells, which he knew it did, something big was about to happen.

As Jack dismissed the team, he caught Kenny’s eye across the table, nodding in gratitude. “Thank you. I know that can’t have been easy.”

Kenny took his glasses off, wiping the lenses with the edge of his sleeve. “You have the hard job.” He tucked his glassed back on. “This could mean Jessica’s killerisstill out there and we’ll make some links.”

“Kenny…” Jack’s voice softened, but Kenny didn’t let him finish. He stood, gathering his notes and shoving them into his bag. The room felt suffocating, and he needed to leave, needed air. There was too much about this. It was cloying. And he wasn’t sure what was real. What was right. What was happening.

As Kenny moved to flee, a knock echoed from the glass door. Jenkins poked her head in. “Sir?”

Jack ripped his gaze from Kenny to the entering officer. “Yes?”

“Your fiancé’s out front. Says he’s brought you some stuff.” She angled her head. “Smells delish.”

Kenny peeked through the glass partition, where outside, a man in sweats and a base layer stood holding plastic containers. Stocky, strong, with a warm, proud smile. Jack’s fiancé was a chiselled jaw, muscle-bodied sweetie-pie, and Jack’s cheeks flushed as he scrambled from his seat, crossing the room in a few hurried strides. Kenny watched through the window. He couldn’t hear what was being said. But he didn’t need to. The body language said it all. The casual stroke of Jack’s arm. A gentle squeeze. Eyebrows knitting. A concerned frown. Then a tilt of the neck and a quick peck to Jack’s lips as the office watched on. So easy. So carefree. So…normal.

The envy would wear off. It would.

The man met Kenny’s gaze over Jack’s shoulder and Kenny ripped his away to continue stuffing his contents into his bag. Jack came back into the room after having handed out various boxes to the team out front, then sat, unclipping a lid on a Tupperware box to reveal beautifully decorated cupcakes.

“Thought he was into fitness?” Kenny quipped, hiding the bite in his voice.

“He is.” Jack pulled out a lemon frosted cupcake. “These are natural flavourings, fruit based. Low sugar. Low fat.”

“Low taste?”

“See for yourself.” Jack took a bite out of the cake, then offered the box to Kenny.

Kenny shook his head. “I have a lunch meeting back at work in exactly twenty minutes. You know how they like to stuff us academics full of bread and cakes. Makes us think harder.”

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