He walked past the kiosk on the high street, which sold magazines and newspapers, stopping to look at the headlines on the local paper. There was nothing about the family, which was strange, although they’d probably printed the paper before the crime had been called in. In fact, it was highly likely – they lived in an unusually quiet neighbourhood. What stared back at him from the front page instead was the grainy black-and-white mug shot below the headline ‘Have You Seen This Man?’ He pulled a pound coin out of his pocket and picked up a paper, passing the money to the vendor, so absorbed in reading the article about Brooklyn Bay’s most-wanted, he didn’t even wait for his change as he wandered off. So that’s definitely where he recognised him from.

As he got into his car he was still smiling to himself. At this rate the police would never catch him; they were too busy putting all their resources into finding the wrong man. Which was good – very good – but he also craved attention and recognition for his brilliant work. He wanted to see the headlines splashed across the pages when they realised what a fucking genius he was. He desperately wanted someone to work it all out. He had high hopes for Detective Inspector Lucy Harwin, and going on her past record she would, or should, be the one to figure it out. Maybe he should stop believing that she was this good. He hoped she’d be the copper to realise what was going on because he didn’t want to have to start communicating with the rest of them. The last thing he wanted to do was to put it on a fucking plate to serve up cold for them. That would really anger him; it would undermine his sheer brilliance if the police were too stupid to figure out the connections between each kill. He supposed that was the trouble with being much cleverer than the average person – stupid was the norm.

He drove past the police station once more on his way home. He couldn’t help himself, even though he’d finished work for the day and should have gone straight home. He wanted to get a clear idea of the layout of the front of the building and the land around it. He’d never really taken much notice of it before, because he’d never had to. If he was going to be brazen and bold enough to leave his next victim outside in the car park as a calling card, he needed to know exactly where all the security cameras were.

Whoever had designed this building hadn’t taken into account the fact that the floor-to-ceiling wall of glass windows gave anyone outside the perfect view into the offices and of the staff who were working in them. The ground floor was like a beehive; so many officers dressed in black and wearing fluorescent yellow vests. They were flocking around computers or standing talking to each other. None of them was interested in who was outside in the car park watching them. He glanced up to the second floor, where there were lots of desks and people in plain clothes milling around – this was either CID or office staff.

Starting his engine, he slowly drove out of the car park, counting the security cameras. There were six. That was an awful lot of cameras to have just outside the front of a building, but with the state of the country today it probably still wasn’t enough. He knew what he would do; this place was like a ghost ship at night. The upstairs offices would no doubt be empty; downstairs, the staff would be out on patrol. If he used the van with his Drain Busters logo, he could get away with parking outside. As long as he had on overalls, a baseball cap pulled low over his head and a jacket that zipped up high, he would be able to park up, get the drum out and leave it in the best place to get noticed, and then he’d be straight out of there.

He would steal some number plates from the estate later on tonight; there was a man who sold second-hand cars and left them parked all over with big white ‘For Sale’ signs inside the windows. If he took them from one of the cars furthest away from any houses, no one would even notice, and if they did it didn’t matter. He knew the locations of the ANPR cameras that would ping the registration if he passed, and he didn’t need to go anywhere near them. This was a brilliant plan and he even had his victim now, thanks to that chance meeting on Friday night with Lewis Waite.

What better present for Lucy than to deliver her escaped fugitive to her in a barrel of acid. This was going to be a lot more exciting than the last killing; that had been a necessity. He hadn’t gained any pleasure from shooting the kid or his parents, if he was honest; the excitement came only from getting away with it. They were just pawns in his game of chess and they had served their purpose.