Lucy yawned. She was so damn tired and wasn’t sure if it was because she hadn’t slept properly or if it was the worry of the case weighing heavy on her mind. It was inconceivable to believe that there could be a serial killer roaming the streets of Brooklyn Bay. Yet it was a very real possibility that there was. Both victims were completely different from each other. Melanie was older and blonde; Stacey young and brunette. Whoever it was didn’t have a certain type. It seemed to her that if he were picking victims who fitted some warped ideal, it would be easier. If he stuck to older blondes, they could send out a press release warning all blonde women over the age of thirty not to be out on their own.

Both women had been out drinking; their judgement would have been clouded by the alcohol they’d consumed, making them easy targets. It would be far less trouble to overpower someone who was unsteady on their feet than it would if they were stone-cold sober. This in Lucy’s eyes made the killer a fucking coward: was he afraid that he wouldn’t be able to handle a woman in control of all her senses? Did this mean he harboured some hatred towards women who were out drinking and having a good time? They would need to speak to all the pubs and clubs in town, asking them to keep an eye out for any males on their own eyeing up women. They could also put posters in the ladies’ toilets warning them not to walk home alone, to pre-book a taxi or go home with friends. She’d speak to Tom about this – although what if the perpetrator were a taxi driver? She was scribbling it all down in her notepad. At least there were plenty of options to try to do something to prevent another murder.

Patrick walked past her office and she wondered how he was getting on with the body in the woods. She wanted to know, but was damned if she’d ask him. He suddenly stopped and turned around. She picked up the phone on her desk, but he came straight into her office before she could even dial a number.

‘How’s it going?’

‘Busy. Have you got any news about the body?’

He shrugged. ‘Oh yes. That doctor was asking where you were; he reckons that it’s a woman. Something to do with the size of her pelvis.’

‘At least she’s been found. On Wednesday night a man turned up at the scene waving a photograph of his missing daughter.’ She pulled open the desk drawer, took one more glance at the cute kid and passed the photo to him.

He stepped forward to have a look.

‘It’s tragic, but it would be good if it was her in a terrible kind of way, if you know what I mean,’ Lucy continued. ‘Her poor family must be so distraught not knowing what happened to her or where she is.’

He stared at the picture and nodded. ‘Thanks. Yes, it would be horrible yet such a relief. Do you mind if I keep hold of this? I can show it to your doctor friend and see if he can match it up to the bones. Not that I’m a hundred per cent sure they can, but they seem to do all sorts of magic crap like that on the TV.’

She smiled at him. ‘My doctor friend is called Chris and he helped me out big time with a major investigation. He’s just an associate.’

Patrick grinned back at her. ‘In that case, do you fancy going out for a drink after work?’

Lucy’s breath caught in the back of her throat. He was easy on the eye. But she knew from back in the days when they’d worked together that he was a prick, and that was the last thing she needed in her life right now.

‘I can’t, sorry. Too much on.’

He shrugged and walked away, over to the desk where he had been working, opposite Browning. He flopped down into the chair. She felt a little guilty; they hadn’t parted on the best of terms the last time she’d seen him. He was older now and probably a hell of a lot wiser than he had been back then.

* * *

Toby, who was at the vending machine, had been observing Lucy. Despite the fact that she terrified him, she was so cool and in control of everything, which he found very attractive. He wished that the CSI office looked onto Lucy’s; then he could watch her all day. His chocolate bar juddered halfway along the metal spiral and then got stuck. He shoved the machine but the chocolate still didn’t budge.

‘Here, you need to shake it. I found that out this morning after I’d put a quid in.’

He spun around to see Patrick standing behind him, then stepped to one side and watched as he grabbed the machine with both hands and rattled it until the bar of chocolate dropped into the slot below.

‘Thank you.’ He grabbed it and began walking as fast as he could until he was back in his office. He wasn’t very good at making polite conversation. He sat down at his desk and marvelled that he was actually here, doing the job he’d dreamt about for years. His love of photography and the fact that he’d saved up and paid the fees himself to complete the nine-week residential course at the National Training Centre in Durham had helped him through the difficult interview process. He’d known that if this opportunity hadn’t come up, another one would in a different area. He had no partner or children to consider, so he could move around at short notice.

When Toby finally got into his car, he let out a huge sigh. He’d had no idea this job would be so full-on. There was a lead ball rolling around in his stomach and he didn’t know why. Today had gone pretty well at work, but he didn’t like that he was the new boy and everyone kept staring at him as if he had two heads. He’d warmed to Amanda; she seemed like a decent enough person. He wasn’t sure about her husband Jack, though; he was grumpy. Amanda had said it was because he’d been promoted to crime scene manager, which offered more money, but also even more stress. He’d wondered if it was even allowed for a husband and wife to work in the same department, but then again it must be or they wouldn’t be doing it. It didn’t help that he kept continually asking the pair of them questions, but what else was he supposed to do? He wanted to be good at his job – his training was okay and he knew the basics. Only the basics weren’t good enough; he wanted to be the best.

As he parked up outside the large house in the leafy suburb of Brooklyn Bay, he stared at the front door. He loved being alone – he always had been a bit of a loner at school. He’d been the nerd with the black-rimmed glasses who always wore dark clothes and kept his head down. It wasn’t his fault he’d had to move around a lot so never made any real friends. He grabbed his carrier bag from the car and went inside. He hadn’t had a girlfriend for a while now; he found it quite hard to approach women, always reverting back to his awkward fifteen-year-old self. He’d been assessing all the response officers today at work; there were a few potentials that he could ask out for a drink if he could pluck up the courage. The one woman who had really made an impression, though, was Detective Inspector Lucy Harwin.

In the kitchen he took the ready-made chilli he hadn’t had time to eat at work out of the bag, pierced the film and put it into the microwave. He opened the fridge and looked at the wine rack full of champagne bottles. How nice it would be for him to invite Lucy over for a proper home-cooked meal. Open a bottle or two of champagne and then kick back on the huge sofa and listen to some music. His fantasy was broken by the loud beep of the microwave. Even though he was geeky and shy, he was quite good at getting what he wanted and he’d decided that what he wanted was Lucy.