Page 61 of The Unforgiven

It didn’t take long; my wardrobe wasn’t that bad. Skinny jeans, a white shirt with the top couple of buttons undone and the necklace my foster parents had bought me, along with heels that I’d never be able to catch a suspect in, and I was set.

I bobbed into the cloakroom before we left, quickly checking my reflection while I washed my hands. When I dried them, I caught the scent of Cavan’s aftershave on the towel.

Which shouldn’t have made me think twice, except that towel had been fresh the night before and Cavan hadn’t been here for days.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

The email came through during the morning briefing, which included Vinny delivering a speech about how disgusted he was at how some men behaved online. This didn’t surprise me. As much as Vinny could be a right royal arse, he had a mother, sister and a female cousin who’d lived with them when they were kids. If he had a trigger, it was men being aggressive to women when it was uncalled for.

I saw the email notification fly up on my screen, unfocused enough to be distracted by it, so I clicked it open.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Precursor

(This thread will close. Do not reply.)

Mia,

The Wraith Hunter Mk2.

Purchased via ZerkNet Exchange.

23 October. Four years ago.

Handle used: OffGridSpectre.

Payment through Monero. Drop point logged near Conwy Marina.

Transaction was deliberate — no testing, no noise.

This was before Mason. Before Leeds.

Maybe he wasn’t the reason. Just a rehearsal.

No known incel traffic. No ideological trail.

No post-kill boasting.

Not rage — preparation.

Go back to Leeds.

That’s where you’ll find them.

Atlas

My response this time was different. I’d met Atlas out in the open. I had a face to put to the name, even if it was nothing like the name he’d been born with, but I had no idea about his motivations. Why me? Why was he interested in this case? Was he somehow connected to Charlie Mason, a relative who wanted to see the right person held to account for Charlie’s murder?

I waited for the briefing to finish, not noting any new information on any leads, other than that we were about to go to town looking into the identities of a group of likely men, who were very involved in their opinion that the three dead women had it coming to them, with another handle, relatively new, who was promising this wasn’t the last.

It could be chatter with nothing in it, but Vinny was convinced that there was more to it. He’d identified one of the posters, a man living in Norfolk, twenty-something, who liked to repost quotes from figures with extreme views on the role of women, which was, of course, developing a self-fulfilling prophesy; with public views about women knowing their place, what woman would want to date him, and, of course rather than it being the poster's fault, it would be women’s.

I followed Wrigley into the office, carrying my phone with the email on it.

“What’s up?” He didn’t bother sitting down. “You have a look when you’ve got something to tell me, and you’re not sure how I’m going to respond.”

“I’m really not looking forward to breaking in a new boss when you retire. Can’t you do another five years?”