Page 66 of Deadly Cry
Kim turned to the pathologist.
‘Keats, anything on her person?’
He shook his head.
‘The killer took her phone,’ she said to Bryant.
‘He didn’t take the others,’ he replied.
‘Exactly,’ Kim said, standing up. ‘Because this victim he already knew.’
Fifty-Two
The battery was out of the phone within five seconds of walking away from her limp and lifeless body. Choosing someone that I know is dangerous; but I like the thrill. Yes, I suppose I made this one more complicated for myself.
Not emotionally, I’m over that. But practically speaking, I’ve linked myself to my victim. Not that they will catch me. They’ll never catch me. They will have to get up early in the morning to smell the skid marks I leave behind.
That game is a sideline, a frivolous distraction, like the breadstick you eat while waiting for your meal. It’s entertaining and amuses me while I wait for the main course. But it’s not the reason I’m in the restaurant.
She is good but not good enough. She will not win.
There was a marked difference in killing Nicola Southall. I missed the rush of choosing a life, of standing and watching and knowing that the person I chose was completely oblivious to my existence, that someone they had never seen or met was going to be responsible for their death.
But it was necessary to move it along. There had to be an escalation; there had to be something new. Nicola Southall had been a means to an end, a convenient acquaintance, a step up from the victim before. She should be proud that I chose her to play this part: the starring role she’d always dreamed of. But this one would not bring hate, rage and insults, but sympathy, love and flowers. Nicola would once again amass an adoring public, as in death she would be forgiven. If she could communicate from beyond, I know she would thank me.
The mechanics of the job are done, and my anticipation consumes me.
It’s time for the purpose of the act to be fulfilled, and my favourite part bar none.
It is time to take out my phone and wait for whatever is to happen next.
Fifty-Three
‘Alison, it’s half past two, you’ve been here an hour and there are already three empty wrappers on your desk,’ Stacey pointed out.
‘Yeah, I’m cutting down.’
‘I hate you,’ Stacey said. Her own recent efforts to lose a few pounds before her wedding day had put her in the worst mood of her life. Luckily, she had accepted that both Devon and she preferred her the way she was.
‘Okay,’ Penn said, sitting back. ‘Noah was chosen by God to undertake a mission of rescuing various animal species from a disastrous flood. Along with his family, he builds an ark to protect life on earth.’
‘We all know that, Penn,’ Stacey offered. She turned to Alison. ‘You think he’s saying he was chosen by God to do this?’
‘Visionary serial killers,’ Alison said.
‘What’s that now?’ Stacey asked, raising an eyebrow.
‘Okay, seeing as there are three victims, our guy qualifies as a serial killer. The motives of serial killers fall under four categories: visionary, mission-oriented, hedonistic and power or control.’
‘Go on,’ Stacey said. This was the reason they’d called her in.
‘Okay, visionary serial killers suffer psychotic breaks with reality, sometimes believing they’re another person or are compelled to murder by entities like the Devil or God. Remember Son of Sam, David Berkowitz, who was being given messages by his neighbour’s dog?’
‘Could be our guy.’
Alison shook her head. ‘I don’t think so. These letters don’t indicate any kind of psychosis.’
‘And the second type?’
