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67
THE ROAD TURNS to a gravel track. He cuts the headlights as he brings the car to a stop and climbs out. His eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness as he stands in the clearing, his hands on his hips, looking up to the sky. A shard of moonlight cuts through the clouds; he knows it’s going to rain soon.
He goes back to the car and opens the trunk. She looks up at him, her big blue eyes wide with fear. Her hands are tied in front of her, her feet bound, and she breathes hard through her nose, the tape on her mouth moving in and out in a quick rhythm. He grabs her hands and pulls her up. Her naked skin feels cold to his touch and she’s shivering, but that doesn’t matter to him now.
He carries her to the middle of the clearing, then drops her into the mud. She looks up, and sees the rope hanging loosely in the tree above them. Her eyes bulge; she makes a muffled scream and tries to move, but she’s tied too tightly, in too much pain. He watches her, amused. He likes her spirit. Maybe once he gets going, she’ll hold on longer than he thinks, and he pulls her back, rolling her over to her front and planting a quick kick in her ribs. She moans, then lies still, her chest contracting with the force of her panicked breathing.
But this woman is just the starter. His entrée, the bit you sample before the main course. He’s saving the best for last—Jessica Ambrose. Beautiful, exceptional, unique. His angel. When he’d seen her at the supermarket that day, he’d recognized her from all those years ago. The woman she’d grown into wasn’t so different from the kid she’d been at the children’s home, and all the pieces had fallen into place. He’d seen the adoring look in her friend’s eyes, the NHS lanyard around his neck, and known there and then how it would work.
He knows she’s at the police station now, but he’s not worried. There’s nowhere he can’t get access to, no obstacle he can’t overcome.
The doctor had been useful; Shipman had ruined it for everyone, it was hard to get hold of controlled drugs nowadays. This guy had access to diamorphine, he knew how much and where to inject. And Dr. Sharma was perfect: honest, genuine, in love—everything he hated. He wants to destroy all that’s good in this world.
He walks to the car and takes out his bag, carrying it back. He kneels next to the woman, then takes out each tool in turn, laying it down so she can see. The knives: a large hunting knife, a long, thin fillet knife, a few scalpels, all clean and sharp. A costotome—his new toy, shiny and unused, a specialist bone cutter, bought especially for today. He’s looking forward to that in particular.
Time to begin.
He stands up again, picking up the biggest knife. She’s been staring, as he hoped she would, and now she makes a frantic animal cry, her head shaking: no no no. But he places his knee on the bottom of her back and leans forward, his left hand on her neck, all his weight forcing her immobile.
He’s enjoying the moment, feeling the weight of the knife in his hand. Then he reaches down, holding tight to her neck as he pushes the blade into the skin on her back. It goes in easily and he starts to cut, dissecting muscles, cartilage, arteries and veins.
Her fingers splay outward; her muscles tense; her feet twitch with pain. She’s screaming as best as she can, her breathing labored, her face pushed into the mud.
But it doesn’t stop him. He continues to work, sweating now with the exertion, until he notices she’s gone still. He pauses, briefly. Her eyes are closed, and he puts two fingers to her neck. There’s still a pulse, weak and thready. The last residue of life hanging on.
He stops what he’s doing and moves around to her face. He picks up a small scalpel. It’s only right, he thinks. When she wakes up again, she’ll want to see this.
He doesn’t want her to miss a single thing.
CHAPTER
68
“YOU’RE KIDDING.”
DS Taylor stands facing Cara, her hands on her hips, face like thunder.
“No. I’m not kidding.” Cara spells it out slowly. “You have to let her go.”
“She’ll just run again.”
“That’s what I’m hoping. Dr. Sharma told her more than just declarations of love. She has something in mind. I want to follow her.”
Taylor makes a loud exclamation and throws her hands in the air, turning away. Cara knows Taylor has no choice but to do what she’s asked. Cara is the superior officer and has the agreement of DCS Marsh, but it doesn’t stop a small part of her enjoying pissing Taylor off.
“Taylor?” she shouts down the corridor at the departing detective. “Tell me when she’s released!” She receives an annoyed hand in the air in response.
Cara returns to the incident room, where the team are anxiously waiting, and stands at the front.
“Right. We know Jessica Ambrose is a flight risk, so no screw-ups please. But we need to know where she’s going. Like many of you, I don’t believe Dr. Sharma is the Echo Man—Warmington, follow up with the hospital for alibis, please—but I’m under no illusion that he did this under his own volition.”
She assigns duties to the team, ensuring that every move Jessica Ambrose makes is covered while other detectives continue to follow up on leads at the station. She’s nervous. She needs this to work.
Her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she pulls it out.
Being released from custody now, the message from Taylor says. Called her a taxi.
Cara leaves the incident room and goes down the stairs to the main reception, where Jess is waiting. She watches her through the glass panel in the door.
