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  His comment brought a smile to Maddy’s face. ‘That’s the most romantic thing anyone’s ever said to me.’

  ‘I’m just worried you’re getting too involved. This monster’s too slick. What if he realises you’re helping the police? Who’s to say he won’t go for you next?’

  ‘You’re right, and I’m not gonna lie, I’m scared shitless. But I’d rather risk my life trying to help the police catch him, than stand by and let him carry on mutilating innocent women. Life’s too precious to treat it with contempt, as this killer appears to. My parents’ deaths taught me that.’

  ‘Okay,’ Paul said wearily, ‘you win. Just watch your back. And don’t be a hero.’ He kissed her lightly on the forehead, then watched her disappear from sight.

  ***

  Carver was standing behind a police cordon surrounding the Ladies’ toilets in St James’s Park when Maddy arrived. It was minus two, and as she ducked her head under the tape, she cursed herself for foolishly forgetting her gloves. Her hands were like ice, while the biting air knifed her slender frame.

  ‘Thank you for coming, Ms Kramer.’ They shook hands. Like everyone else at the scene, Carver was dressed in protective clothing. For a moment, they said nothing, eyes lingering on the other a little longer than necessary. Maddy saw the dark shadows under his eyes, the frustration enveloping his bearded face, the worry lines traversing his brow deeper than ever. It made her realise that although her job was highly pressured, when it boiled down to it, she operated in a world where it was only ever money at stake – not people’s lives; not the safety of the public. This was what Carver faced, day in, day out, and she couldn’t begin to imagine the strain it put on him. And with this latest psychopath on the loose, Carver was facing pressure on a whole other scale; pressure that made the company disputes she was asked to assist on seem inconsequential.

  ‘It’s no problem,’ she said.

  The area buzzed with activity. Maddy watched, her eyes agog, hardly able to believe she was witnessing a world she’d only ever had a taste of from crime novels and TV shows.

  Carver handed her a set of protective clothing identical to his. She hastily put it on, thankful for the extra warmth.

  As he led the way towards the entrance, her insides were suddenly doing somersaults. She knew what was coming, but the anticipation almost made things worse.

  As if sensing her fear, Carver stopped, turned to face her. ‘I just want to make sure you’re ready for this.’ She was standing so close, he could smell her perfume – fruity, feminine, sophisticated. He was trained to pick up on such things, but only as an observation, not a feeling, as it was in this instance. It took him by surprise. ‘You’re strong, Ms Kramer, I can tell. So far, you’ve been of immense help to our investigation, and my instinct tells me your help going forward will be invaluable.’

  His words lifted her. Law was her forte, solving crimes was his. But he needed her, and that helped her brave the next step.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said, ‘I’m ready.’ She followed Carver into the toilets, a pungent smell assaulting her nostrils as she did so. He walked on, then came to a stop in front of the third cubicle to her left. Maddy lingered behind, having noticed a thin trail of dried blood running from the floor of the cubicle to the central aisle. It gave her goose pimples. Carver stepped aside, allowing her space to edge forward. Realising this was the moment, she took the plunge and looked in.

  She wished she hadn’t. She recoiled in horror as her eyes fixed on the dead girl’s body, slumped on the floor against the toilet bowl. Her head was flopped to one side like a ragdoll, her slashed neck infused with curdled blood. Blood had trickled down and saturated her clothes, as well as the floor surrounding her. She was still wearing her coat, but it had been unbuttoned all the way down, as had her suit jacket beneath it.

  As had her white silk blouse beneath that, also drenched with blood, her lacerated chest fully exposed and inscribed with “PUBLIC”.

  Maddy felt bile in her throat and was suddenly seeing stars. Without thinking, she spun round and buried her head in Carver’s chest. He felt a brief rush of excitement, then tilted her chin up with the tip of his finger. Looked at her with calm, steady eyes. ‘It’s okay, Ms Kramer, your reaction is perfectly normal. Take deep breaths.’

  He demonstrated this for her, filling his lungs to the brim, then exhaling. Slowly, rhythmically. Just watching his chest heave up and down made her feel calmer, her vision clearer. Then, embarrassed, she smiled shyly and stood back, inhaled large chunks of air herself – air that had been soured by the smell of death.

  ‘Do you recognise her?’ Carver asked, once he was sure she’d recovered.

  ‘No, I’m afraid not. There were around two hundred students in my year. And as I explained to DC Drake, I only ever knew the students in my tutor and lecture groups. The entire year was split into morning and afternoon sessions. I did mornings, so I wouldn’t have known anyone who did afternoons.’

  ‘I see,’ Carver sighed. ‘Well, it seems you were right about the inscription, but the killer’s displaced one of our theories.’

  Maddy had a hunch what was coming.

  ‘The victim was a librarian at the Supreme Court. They close at 4.30, so it’s likely she’d been dead for some time when the park attendant found her. She might have decided to cut through the park on her way home. So, you were right about the court being connected to the murder, but not about it being the exact location; or the fact that the killer is only targeting qualified practising lawyers.’

  Maddy was suddenly furious. Furious with herself for not spotting this possibility, for thinking too narrowly. And furious with the killer for intentionally misleading them. ‘No,’ she muttered, ‘it seems not. But did she study law? At the academy, I mean?’

  ‘Drake’s finding that out.’

  ‘She had to have studied there,’ Maddy said in despair. ‘Otherwise, the first three murders make no sense. It completely destroys the pattern.’

  ‘I agree.’

  ‘Sir!’ A young officer came running into the toilets.

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘We may have an eyewitness.’ A glimmer of light. ‘Of sorts.’

  Carver frowned. ‘What do you mean, of sorts?’

  ‘A tramp claims to have been passing by when he saw the victim enter the toilets. He said he’d decided to hover outside for a while, intent on scrounging some money off her when she reappeared. But when she didn’t emerge after some time, he grew bored and buggered off.’

  ‘He didn’t come back this way? Catch a glimpse of the killer leaving?’

  ‘No. He said that while he was waiting, he heard strange noises, almost like feet shuffling, decided something fishy was going on and bolted.’

  Carver sighed jadedly. ‘So how does this help us?’

  ‘He also claims to have heard classical music playing inside.’

  Maddy and Carver exchanged looks, wondering if the other was thinking the same thing.

  Wondering what the hell Professor Stirling had been up to several hours earlier.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Paul’s bedroom door was closed when Maddy got home around 2.30 am. Carver and Drake had dropped her off. Told her they’d be in touch once they had more information on Marsden, along with the pathologist’s report.

  Maddy felt wired. There was no chance of her sleeping just yet. She kept seeing Marsden’s body, while the smell of death still lingered in her nostrils. She made herself some cocoa as Atticus slept peacefully in his basket. Took that, along with a brandy, into the living room, curled up on the sofa and tried to calm herself down.

  She knew the police still weren’t any closer to finding the killer. Yes, Stirling was a suspect, but only in the loosest sense. Only because he’d taught and had affairs with the first three victims. It didn’t make him their killer, and whether he’d had a relationship with Marsden remained to be seen.

  The fact was, there was nothing to physically connect him to the murde
rs. Whoever it was had planned each one with meticulous precision, making sure he’d cleaned up after himself every time.

  But the tramp’s claim to have heard classical music playing inside the toilets was interesting, not least because the radio in Lisa Ryland’s flat had been tuned to Classic FM when her body was found by Marcia Devereux. Surely, that was too much of a coincidence?

  Was this part of the process with every murder? Maddy wondered. If so, were they looking at a classical music fan, or even a trained musician? Or was the killer just playing with them?

  It was common knowledge that both Stirling and his wife were classical music enthusiasts. But if one of them was the murderer, would he or she really have been so blazon about it? It seemed completely illogical.

  Maddy knocked back her brandy. It took the edge off, at least for tonight.

  She lay back, closed her eyes, and dozed off within seconds.

  ***

  Wednesday, 26 November 2014

  Carver rolled over in bed and looked at the time on his alarm clock: 6.30 am. After he’d eventually made it home to his flat in Hoxton, he’d barely slept. There were so many questions, so many ifs and buts going over in his mind, he’d been unable to shut his brain down, riled by a killer who’d outsmarted him, and remained as elusive as ever.

  He and Rachel had moved to the East End when they were both young, and head over heels in love. It was a time when neither could put a foot wrong in the other’s eyes. Before real life got in the way.

  Hoxton was still as hip as it was back then. Perhaps more so. Hoxton Square was the heart of the area’s arts and media scene, with a host of bars, restaurants and clubs he and Rachel had once frequented.

  But Carver’s life was very different now. For him, that scene was a thing of the past. His home was where he slept, and really, he could have been anywhere. Other than his son, he had no life. Work was his life, and his happy, carefree days were a distant memory.

  He rubbed his tired eyes, hauled himself up and off the bed. He was just contemplating a quick shower when the phone rang. It was Drake. The boy was keen, no arguments there.

  ‘Sir, I have some information on Marsden.’

  ‘Tell me.’ Carver opened a drawer, pulled out some fresh underwear, phone tucked under his chin.

  ‘She studied law at the academy, but not in the same year as the other victims. She was two intakes later, 2011 to 2013.’

  ‘Bang goes our theory that the killer’s only targeting Kramer’s year.’ Carver slammed the drawer shut.

  ‘Seems so, sir. She passed both the GDL and the LPC but started working at the Supreme Court library six months after she left the academy.’

  Carver slumped back down on the bed. ‘We need to start again, widen the net. The list you marked up is too narrow.’

  ‘Sir, working out the next victim’s identity is going to be impossible.’

  He wasn’t far wrong. ‘We should question Marsden’s intake. See if she got friendly with Stirling at any point.’

  ‘He’s our strongest suspect, sir.’

  ‘He’s our only bloody suspect, Drake.’

  ***

  Wednesday, 1 pm. Jeff was in Paris interviewing a witness, so Maddy had their office to herself. She was glad of it. She was struggling to keep her eyes open; something her eagle-eyed roommate would have no doubt demanded an explanation for.

  As she sat at her desk munching a sandwich, she clicked on the BBC News website and watched footage of Carver’s earlier press conference on Marsden’s murder. Her eyes filled as Marsden’s parents, clinging to each other like superglue, made an impassioned plea to anyone who might have information leading to the capture of their precious daughter’s killer. Carver sat to the mother’s left. Solemn-faced. Maddy didn’t know how he did it. Having to deliver the worst news any parent could receive. Bearing witness to their pain and suffering. Forced to question them at a time when all they wanted was to be left alone. She realised again that although her job could be stressful, it was a damn sight easier than Carver’s.

  ‘Unfortunately,’ Carver explained to a bunch of reporters and photographers once the parents had finished, ‘although our forensic team has worked non-stop throughout the night and all morning, they were unable to turn up any evidence which might help us identify the killer. Our only possible lead is a member of the public who claims to have watched Ms Marsden enter the park toilets, and heard classical music coming from inside. We may therefore be looking at someone with a penchant for classical music, or a musician themselves, who chooses to accompany the crimes with this type of music. But at present, this is purely speculative.’

  There was a knock on the door. It was the postboy. He handed Maddy some mail – two she recognised as work-related and a slim brown envelope she did not. She couldn’t think what it could be. She put the other mail to one side and unsealed it. Inside, was a single A4-sized typed letter, with no sender address. She recognised the font as Times New Roman. She also noticed a series of faint lines running across the page. As if there’d been something wrong with the printer.

  But as she started to read and realisation hit, fear overcame her. She flopped back in her chair, staring at the words over and over.

  Dear Ms Kramer,

  I hope I find you well. You have always been an exceptionally bright, talented young woman. I spotted that from the start. But lately, you have got ahead of yourself, allowed yourself to step out of your comfort zone which, let’s be honest, is being a lawyer. I do not take kindly to you meddling with DCI Carver’s investigation. It is a game I intend to play with him and him alone, and if you continue to jeopardise my mission to rid this world of some of the ungrateful whores who pollute it, I shall have no choice but to add you to my list.

  You rejected me once, something I didn’t take kindly to at the time, and which I will never forget. If you don’t do as I say, you may lose the only family you have left in this world.

  I’m sure you wouldn’t want anything to happen to your beloved grandmother. Or your friend, Paul.

  Stick to law, Ms Kramer. You were always good at it. You are good at it.

  And don’t breathe a word to anyone about this note.

  Maddy’s sandwich repeated on her. The killer must have been watching her last night. Watching her with Carver. And if he knew about her grandmother, about Paul, he no doubt knew where she lived.

  She thought for a moment about the men she’d rejected in the past. None had seemed to take particular offence, while she and Greg, her longest relationship, had parted amicably.

  She stood up and paced the room, forced herself to think harder. And then Stirling sprang to mind. She’d rejected his offer of a drink politely, but firmly. And just as she’d told Carver, he hadn’t seemed angry, hadn’t treated her any differently after that.

  But he was the one man out of all the men she’d rejected over the years who could credibly be connected to the murders.

  She looked down at the words again.

  … You have always been an exceptionally bright, talented young woman. I spotted that from the start …

  You rejected me once, something I didn’t take kindly to at the time, and which I will never forget.

  Stick to law, Ms Kramer. You were always good at it. You are good at it.

  Stirling could easily be the author. But would he really risk his identity being blown by threatening her? All because of her interference in the case? Then again, who knew what went on in the minds of psychopaths, if that’s what Stirling was?

  Maddy was faced with a dangerous choice. Her grandmother and Paul were everything to her. The thought of losing them was unbearable.

  But the killer had to be stopped, and she was determined not to let his intimidation get the better of her.

  It was too risky to meet with Carver in person from now on. Even email was chancy. They’d have to communicate by mobile alone. She dialled Carver’s number, and when he answered, she told him everything.

  Chapter Ninetee
n

  Monday, 1 December 2014

  8.30 pm. Five days later. Carver looked around the table at his bleary-eyed team. They’d been working round the clock since Sarah’s murder. Strangers to their families. Existing on junk, caffeine and snippets of sleep. Gripped by a serial killer who continued to outwit and elude them. Expecting another strike, yet not knowing when or where that might be.

  It had been slow progress tracking down and interviewing past academy students from Emma Marsden’s intake. And of those they had managed to locate and interview so far, either they didn’t remember Emma, or if they did, had no recollection of an affair between her and Stirling. On that basis, with no witnesses, or even a jot of hearsay to attest to a relationship between them, Carver had no leverage to put Stirling on the spot.

  All eyes fixed on Carver. None of them strangers to his strict work ethic, they made sure they listened to his every word, the fear of being caught out and humiliated in front of their colleagues far surpassing the urge to daydream or catnap.

  They were gathered in one of the breakout rooms. Carver swivelled his chair round to face the whiteboard behind him. On it, he’d drawn a spider diagram. The middle point read “Bloomsbury Academy of Law”, the seven branches sprawling from it representing each of the legal subjects taught on the GDL.

  Next to Contract, Crime, Land and Public, he’d written the dead girls’ names. Question marks accompanied the remaining subjects: Tort, EC and Equity. Simply because Carver had no idea who was next on the killer’s list.

  He’d drawn another arrow out of the middle point, at the tip of which he’d written Stirling’s name with a question mark. Scribbled at the top in the left-hand corner, he’d written “Classical music” and “Letter to Maddy Kramer: from Stirling, or not?”

  There was no magic to what he’d written, but it focussed everyone’s minds on what they were dealing with and who they were facing.