AllFreeNovel
Share Us
But Cara’s still talking: “Serial killers normally fall into one of four categories.” She holds her hand up, ticking them off on her fingers. “Visionary—the mental cases in the grip of psychotic breaks. Two, mission orientated—they have a goal, usually to rid the world of a certain category of people. Hedonistic killers get pleasure from the act of killing itself, whether out of lust, material gain or just the thrill of inducing pain or terror. And finally, power and control.”
“Can’t you argue all killers are driven by power and control?”
“To some extent, yes. But there’s always a primary motivator. What’s your guy getting from it?”
Now she’s started talking, her face has come to life. She’s more animated; clearly her former career as a detective on murder investigations was something she had enjoyed. And despite his reluctance, it’s interesting to meet her properly. Up close.
He knows her mainly by reputation, their names often spoken in the same sentence. Cara Elliott and Adam Bishop. The two DCIs from the two big HQs—and his competition for the next promotion. There’s always a rumor making the rounds that they’re looking for another detective superintendent, that Marsh can’t run two Major Crimes Units alone forever, despite the budget restraints. And Elliott was a good cop. Solid. Maybe even Marsh’s favorite.
But that was before.
“Bishop?” She’s staring at him now, and he pulls his chain of thought back to the investigation.
“Sorry, what?”
“I said, he’ll make a mistake. Someone will see him, if they haven’t already. And”—she pauses, tapping her finger on the time line Adam has hastily scrawled on a piece of A4—”take a look at the dates. Something triggered this guy. What was the inciting incident? Why did he start to kill then? You can’t tell me that someone with this level of instability kept it under wraps for years, then started killing at random. This level of crazy isn’t something that happens overnight.”
Adam frowns. It’s a good point. And he’s not enjoying the lecture, Cara asking questions he should have already considered. “How is he choosing his victims?” she continues. “Why these people? If he’s stalking them, chances are he’s already looking for the next. You need to catch this guy. With a level of violence this high, there is no way he’ll be satisfied. He’ll kill again.”
“I know that, Elliott,” he says sharply, and she looks away quickly.
“Sorry,” she replies, chastened. “I didn’t intend to add to the pressure you’re under.”
He smiles. “I’m fine.” He doesn’t want to betray any weakness, and he pulls the case file back toward him, busying himself in the pages.
Sensing his hostility, she stands up and pulls her coat from the back of her chair, putting it on. “Good luck with the case, DCI Bishop,” she says.
“It’ll be fine,” he replies. “We’ll catch him.”
He feels her hesitate, and he looks up.
“That’s what I thought,” she says quietly, “when we started out.” She nods slowly. “Make sure you do. Before he takes everything from you.” She pauses, her face downcast. “Before he ruins your life. Like the Echo Man did to mine.”
Adam watches her go, her shoulders slumped. He remembers the operation last year. He was desperate to be involved, to be a part of the biggest murder case the UK had ever known. But Marsh had sidelined him, leaving him, Jamie, and a few DCs picking up the rest of the cases that came in, keeping Major Crimes running from the different HQ as the Echo Man investigation devoured everything in its path.
But Cara Elliott hadn’t been up to the job, had she? It had left her beaten and destroyed. This one is his.
His phone rings and he answers it.
“Boss?” It’s Jamie. He sounds panicked. “We have another body.”
“What? Where?” And so soon? he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. Cara’s right, the killer is escalating.
Jamie gives him the details, and Adam closes the file decisively, pushing it back into his bag.
He is nothing like DCI Cara Elliott, he thinks as he runs out to his car. He’ll be fine.
CHAPTER
18
“THIS IS ONE of ours? You’re sure?”
Dr. Ross turns to face him. Adam can read the disparaging look behind his mask.
“Who else is the SIO on exsanguinated corpses right now?”
They’re standing, in full white suits, outside the back gate of a small, terraced house. A plastic box of recycling is full to bursting, bottles spilling out onto the concrete next to fag butts and the roaches from joints.
