The dream was vivid and all the worse for her stark and recent experiences. She was in a dark, damp place, with moisture dripping off the leaves of gnarled trees in a strange woodland, on a sunless winter’s afternoon. Hurrying, vaguely aware of something in pursuit. Whenever she stopped and looked behind her, there was nothing to see except an impenetrable gloom between the endless trees, and nothing to hear except the echoing cawing of rooks perched high in the branches. She was alone and filled with dread, because there were things in the woods that she didn’t want to look at. She kept her head down, not wanting to confront, not wanting to see. But the voice, when it came, made her look up.

‘Take your time, look around.’

It was Gail Willis’s voice, calm and untroubled, floating down in the stillness. But there was something very wrong with the placid calmness in that voice, something wrong with the way the words emerged as if through gritted teeth. Anna stared up and understood. Stared up into Gail’s swollen, blackened face and bulging eyes, as they peered down at her from forty feet above, dangling by the neck from a tall branch. There were more bodies, all hanging from the trees above, black blood dripping from their swaying feet. Waiting, like dreadful fruit, to fall or be picked at by the circling rooks.

‘Take your time, look around.’

Words from their first meeting in Gail’s workshop, now tinged with some other meaning that Anna couldn’t fathom. Behind her, a twig snapped before another rook cawed, and Gail began her automaton message again.

Anna slipped on a wet leaf, her knee meeting with the soggy earth, her hands sinking in to the ground that should have been hard but had the springy consistency of flesh.

‘No, no, not now.’ Her own voice in the dream. A voice full of dread. Ahead of her stretched a path that wound upwards on a rise towards a lighter sky. She dragged herself upright, her head pivoting around to the noise of yet another twig snapping and the unmistakable rustling of dry leaves spared the dampness of the rain of blood. Some movement in her peripheral vision brought her head back around. The bodies were descending. Everywhere, clones of Gail gradually floated down to the woodland floor as the ropes lengthened.

‘Take your time, look around.’

Behind her, the rustling of leaves became rhythmic, the noise of footfalls gathering speed. She stumbled towards the path, her gut churning as all the bodies reached the ground and stood, turning dead eyes full of accusation towards her. The rustling became a stampeding drumbeat of feet as she stumbled and clawed her way forward on the path, certain now that something was behind her, almost upon her. A hot, animal breath seared her neck.

---

She came awake confused and disorientated, sweat beading her forehead, exhausted. The lurid dream left her aching and tired and she toyed with turning over and seeking refuge in a doze. But she knew it was not going to happen. A fear of revisiting that subconscious charnel house would keep sleep at bay. She switched on the light and got up, acutely aware of one thing and one thing only.

The Woodsman was off the leash.

---

Harris’s team convened in the conference room at Gloucester. Two sets of photo-boards were now set up, one for Nia and one for Gail. They sat in a semicircle around a raised dais on uncomfortable plastic chairs, each with a wooden fold-up writing table. Out front stood Harris, tie done up, his face moist with a rubric glow of dull anger. Anna looked from him to the photo-board. It was the first time she’d seen crime-scene photos of Gail, and the sight triggered fresh memories of her lying in the garden. One of the images hung awry and it was all she could do to stop herself from getting up and adjusting it. It seemed somehow disrespectful.

Despite experience, she knew she’d never get inured to violent death. It screamed horror at her. As if the dead were crying out for help. And yet the feel of a murder scene, the sense of desolation and desecration it imparted, were somehow necessary for her to get a handle on things. Gail’s was the first body she’d ever found. Not an experience she wished ever to repeat, but realising, once she’d thought it, how empty a hope that was. Harris had told her she didn’t need to be there, but that was simply out of the question. She flicked her gaze back to the DCI and concentrated on his voice.

‘Forensics are still at the cottage, but from the amount of blood and the initial assessment it seems that Gail was attacked inside the house and then taken outside, choked to unconsciousness, sexually assaulted, revived, and then stabbed to death.’

Out of the corner of her eye, Anna caught Slack standing against a wall, folding his arms over his chest, the fingers on his biceps white and tight with tension.

‘Stab wounds are from a four-inch blade. There’s little doubt that the weapon will be the same as that used on Nia,’ Harris went on.

‘And on Emily Risman,’ Anna said. ‘That’s been confirmed.’ Her voice drew half a dozen glances, including a venomous one from Harris. But he nodded slowly.

‘We estimate time of death was between two a.m. and four a.m. Since Inspector Gwynne received her call at two thirty, we can assume that the murder was a protracted affair, and that it took place after this time.’

A voice from the floor piped up, ‘Any evidence of forced entry, sir?’

‘No. Either the doors were unlocked or he was let in.’

‘Is it likely they’d open the door to someone at two in the morning?’

‘He could have been there all evening, for all we know.’

‘What about Osbourne, sir?’

‘As of this moment, finding him is our top priority. We’ve traced Osbourne’s movements up to the afternoon. He left work at three p.m., telling his workmates he had a business meeting. We found his car yesterday in a public car park near Blakeney, and a stolen pushbike was found abandoned in woodland half a mile from Willis’s cottage.’

‘And the night of Nia’s murder, sir?’

Harris motioned to Slack, who pushed off the wall and moved to the front.

‘We have a statement from Osbourne’s partner saying that he was with her at home that evening.’

‘You believe her?’

Slack shrugged.

‘You’re bringing her back in for questioning, I take it?’ Anna asked.

‘On the way,’ affirmed Slack.

Harris turned back to face the audience. ‘Just to remind everyone, the vehicle stolen from the Willis property needs to be found. An Isuzu four-wheel drive, registration number as on the board. We need ANPR reviewed for all major roads leading out of the forest. We also need a thorough search of Osbourne’s property. Interviews with co-workers, background information. We need to find out if there is anywhere he might go, somewhere quiet he frequented where he might have taken Willis.’

There was a measurable silence until someone asked, ‘Is it likely that Willis is still alive, sir?’

Harris fidgeted and glanced at Anna before replying.

‘I don’t know the answer to that one. If it is Osbourne, we don’t know why he’s taken Willis. If he wanted him dead, why not finish it at the cottage? As far as I’m concerned, Willis is still alive until we find a body.’ He paused, letting his eyes engage as many in the room as he could in a direct challenge. ‘I want them both found. Inspector Gwynne’s cold case team has been re-examining the Emily Risman murder. In the light of recent events all the evidence suggests that the same man killed Emily, Nia and now Gail Willis. This would be a good time to be brought up to speed on their progress.’

Harris sat and Holder went up front and briefly ran through the main points of their investigation, before fielding a few questions from the floor. When he’d finished, she watched Harris’s team file out, flipping shut notebooks and muttering to one another. Eventually, with only Anna, Holder and Slack left, Harris came over to them.

‘Any thoughts on why he took Willis?’ Harris asked.

Anna shook her head. ‘Gail Willis’s murder, according to the pathologist, was protracted. Could have been a vengeful act. Willis told us there’d been bad blood between his older brother and Osbourne.’

‘Grudges don’t end up with people being stabbed and—’

‘A grudge to us may have been something very different in the mind of this killer.’

‘Do you have anything else?’ asked Harris.

‘Only the car park witness from Coleford on the day that Emily Risman was killed. Something never properly followed up,’ Anna said.

Holder sighed despondently. ‘That’s proving a bit of a thorny one, ma’am. I’ve been helping Ryia and Trisha. Two addresses and a dead end so far.’

‘Keep trying,’ Anna said.

‘There’ll be a daily conference,’ Harris announced. ‘Any contribution you have will be very welcome.’ He allowed his gaze to linger on Anna’s face. She wondered if his officious statement was an olive branch or a warning. In return, she gave him her unflinching attention, knowing full well he would not be able to stand it. He looked as if he wanted to say something but was too embarrassed or proud to do it. Not in this company. Instead, he lifted his chin, gave a barely perceptible nod and turned on his heel.

‘Do I detect a certain thawing of Arctic ice?’ Holder said when Harris finally left.

‘You’ve got a bloody sensitive thermometer if you have,’ muttered Anna.

‘Things are on the line for him, now,’ Slack said. ‘The knives are well and truly out.’

Neither Harris nor Slack had mentioned Cooper in the briefing. Anna suspected it was deliberate. Humble pie, in her experience, was always a difficult swallow.

On the way to the car, Anna confided in Holder. ‘I’d much prefer them as allies, but I’m not sure they see us that way.’

‘They’ve got no choice now, ma’am.’

‘Agreed. But it still doesn’t feel like it.’

It had become a desperate fight to stop more mayhem for both Harris and Slack. Their approach might have been very different to hers, but somehow, she sensed that both men lay awake at night thinking of Nia and her parents.

---

Khosa was waiting for Anna when she arrived at the squad room, looking animated. ‘Just had a call from Thames Valley, ma’am. You’ve hit the bullseye with your suggestions on the rape cases. They were well impressed.’

‘They were?’

Khosa nodded. ‘They’ve canvassed over half the victims and asked them to itemise visits they’d made to tourist locations in the year prior to their attacks.’

‘What’s the link?’

‘Approximately half mentioned the Blakeney area and the remainder were unable to remember exactly where they went, though they do remember travelling to, or through, the Forest of Dean.’

A spurt of electricity shot down Anna’s limbs. ‘He was there, watching them all.’

‘Oh, and one of the victims is a vet. She stopped her van on a regular route because she’d noticed a sheep in distress. Leg tendons cut with a Stanley knife. The sheep was a sacrificial lamb, if you’ll excuse the pun, ma’am. The attacker pounced on her once she was out of the vehicle. But the point is, later, she reported that the van was missing several drugs, surgical instruments and a dart pistol. Included in the list of missing drugs was ketamine and thiafentanil.’

‘Bingo,’ said Anna softly. This was it. The jigsaw piece that finally made the picture whole. The same man who’d attacked the vet had abducted and murdered Nia Hopkins. The only thing that stopped her punching the air was the stark awareness that her instinct about Shaw had been spot on. He had given her this information. But at what cost?

‘They’re going to put some manpower into canvassing locals about frequent visitors and they’d like to meet up with you whenever it’s convenient,’ Khosa added.

‘That whole area is criss-crossed by old disused railway lines and forestry access roads. My guess is he’s got his own way in and out,’ Anna said.

Khosa nodded. ‘I’ll tell them that. Maybe they’ll enlist some local help. Anyway, they want to buy you a drink.’

‘Great. At least that’s some progress.’

‘Osbourne and Willis are still missing then?’

‘They are, Ryia. And I have no idea where to start looking.’

---

Anna had got halfway through rereading the SOC report on Gail Willis when Holder, looking even more sheepish than usual, put his head round the door. ‘Ma’am, I think you ought to see this.’

‘What it is?’

He held his phone out, screen first. ‘Twitter. A friend of mine sent it to me as a joke. Umm… It’s you, ma’am.’

Holder pressed a link and the small screen filled with a message.

Beneath it in large letters was the acronym:

Short, ten-to-fifteen-second video clips of policewomen walking along the street followed. All were attractive, and from several countries, judging by the uniforms. One was of a training session on an obstacle course, with the inevitable clinging mud, and one was of a woman in skin-tight running gear doing stretches, her ponytail swinging as she reached down to her ankles to touch her toes, the muscles of her thighs and buttocks tight under the clinging material.

‘That’s me,’ said Anna.

‘I know, ma’am.’

‘That’s me last Sunday in the park after my run.’

The footage ended with Anna jogging the last few steps to her door. ‘What the hell is this?’

‘Someone’s bad idea of a joke.’

‘Jesus, isn’t anything bloody sacred any more?’

‘You say this was in a park?’

‘Yes, and there was no one near me—’ She stopped, realisation thudding home with sickening understanding. ‘Drones. Bloody drones everywhere.’

Holder’s expression was a picture. ‘Sorry, ma’am. I thought you’d want to know. In case… I don’t know.’

‘No, you’re right, Justin. How many times has this been retweeted?’

Holder winced. ‘Three thousand times, ma’am. And counting.’

‘OK. If you see someone sniggering and then looking at their phone you have my permission to taser them. And could you send me a copy of this link?’

Holder nodded and ducked out.

She looked at the clip another four times, shaking her head with each viewing. There were comments that went with it. But she gave up after reading, ‘I would with a truncheon’ and ‘Woodsman whacker is a beauty.’

She decided to file it away as nothing more than a perverted geek’s sexist distraction. There was no room in her life for any of that.