Lucy reached the stack of boxes and pushed against them with her feet. There was something inside one of them. Pushing it over with her feet she stared at the two pairs of stilettos which fell out. A muddy white pair, with dried blood on them and a shiny, black pair. All her hope and anticipation washed away and for the first time she considered the implications of the situation she was in. Patrick was a serial killer who didn’t like mess or blood very much, yet he was preparing to put her into a drum full of acid. She followed the beam of sunlight that was warming her cold skin and looked towards the huge bay windows. There was plenty of glass; she just needed to figure out how to break it. There was no way she would die here in his house, murdered by him. She’d throw herself out of the window and take her chances with a severed artery before she’d let him touch her. It didn’t matter if she bled to death; it was far better to die trying than to lie here and wait for him to finish her off and dissolve her in a steel drum full of acid.

She began the job of shuffling towards the windows. She heard the noise of something being rolled down the stairs and wondered what it was – Patrick had clearly been busy when she’d interrupted him. He was going to be really pissed off with her for disturbing him. Then she remembered her phone and almost screeched with delight. Instead she choked on the material fastened around her mouth. But she didn’t care; she remembered that she’d been mid-conversation with Col. When Patrick had cut her off, surely Col would have sent the team out looking for her. If she sat tight they might come and find her before she had to jump. Poor Mattie would be furious with her for going off on her own. She’d been the one worrying about them and it had been her who had walked straight into the thick of it. She hoped they hadn’t given Toby too much of a hard time; they’d been wrong about him and he had potential. He’d make a great detective, even if he was a little odd. That she could cope with – murderous intent she couldn’t.

It suddenly struck her that she’d never even tried to open the door; Patrick might not have locked it. She could be shuffling her way out of here right this minute. She began the painstaking series of small movements that would take her back towards the door and her possible freedom.

* * *

Mattie turned into the quiet street and felt his heart drop to see Lucy’s car parked further along. He wanted her to be safe. He also didn’t want to rush in there and find her in a compromising situation with Patrick, because he didn’t love her like Mattie did. They heard the sound of approaching sirens and Mattie picked up his radio. ‘Whoever that is, turn the bloody sirens off: silent approach.’

‘Yes, sir,’ a voice answered. ‘Sorry.’

Mattie looked at Browning. ‘Should we just go in first?’

He nodded. ‘Come on, let’s not be wasting time.’

They got out of the car and Toby tried to open his door, but the child locks were on. Mattie stuck his head in. ‘Sorry, this is as far as you go. I’m not being held responsible if you get hurt.’

Browning smiled at Mattie. ‘Nice one.’

They ran towards the gate and onto the path, careful not to step onto the gravel as it would make too much noise. At the moment the only thing they had going for them was the element of surprise – and a can of CS spray. There was some loud banging coming from the side of the house, so they headed in that direction. From inside the dark garage they could make out the shadowy figure of Patrick. He was dragging what looked like a body wrapped up in a sheet.

Mattie felt a crushing wave of grief fill his chest. Oh my God. Lucy! We’re too late. All caution thrown to the wind, he began to sprint towards the man, ready to kill him with his bare hands. In the final seconds before Mattie reached the garage, Patrick sensed someone moving towards him and he dropped the body. He turned and ran back through the doorway into the kitchen and locked it. Mattie was pounding on the metal fire door in rage.

Browning ran in after him and dropped to the floor beside the bloodstained sheet with the body inside. Ripping it open, he stared at the battered face of Lewis Waite and shouted, ‘It’s not her!’

Mattie who had been afraid to look, turned around and stared in horror. ‘Thank God. Where is she, then?’

A loud noise as the garage door began to close jolted them from their trance. They ran towards it but it shut before either of them could escape through the gap. They began to hammer on the door as Mattie pulled out his radio and yelled into it: ‘Urgent assistance required, immediate response.’

* * *

Toby, whose admiration of the two officers had turned to indignation that they didn’t think he could be of any help, began to try to pull off the metal grille separating the back seat from the front. He took his frustration out on it, and before long he’d kicked it enough times that it had bent in the middle and come loose from its fixtures. Ripping at it with both hands, he managed to tear it off altogether, then clambered through into the front seat and opened the driver’s door. He heard the racket coming from the garage and realised that Mattie and Browning were locked in there, so he ran towards the metal door and tried his best to lift it up. It didn’t budge.

‘I think it’s remote controlled. I’ll try and get into the house and let you out.’

Mattie hissed back, ‘You need to hurry, mate – he’s gone inside and Lucy’s in there.’

Toby ran around to the front of the house and squinted through the bay windows. It took a couple of seconds for his eyes to adjust and then he gasped to see Lucy, whose hands, feet and mouth were gagged and tied.

The front door was locked. He took a step back and ran at it as fast as he could; there was a loud crack as his shoulder connected and he fell backwards, trying not to cry out in pain. He looked through the window again and saw that Lucy was trying to stand upright against the wall.

* * *

Patrick had to stifle the scream that was swelling inside his lungs. It was some primal instinct taking over and he stuffed his fist into his mouth, clamping his teeth against his knuckles to clear his head. All this time – he’d waited so long since he’d killed Jenny. It was mainly because he’d been terrified of getting caught and being sent to prison. His childhood memories of being inside a prison had been enough to deter him from murdering anyone else for a long time. He’d never survive inside, cooped up like John Carter had been. He’d killed Jenny not far from where John had left Carrie’s body, which had been a fitting tribute to the man whom he had learnt to idolise.

He wondered what John would think of him now. He’d kept himself out of trouble, had never told a single soul about his desire to kill. He’d listened to John’s advice and waited until he had a plan that was worthy of being carried out. His heroes had become his inspiration and he’d spent years thinking of ways he could pull it off. All this time he’d had to make do with reading and devouring other people’s murder reports at work. They had satiated him until he could stand it no more and had to put his plan into action. But now it was over.

The panic was threatening to take over; he was fucked. He could hear Mattie hammering on the metal fire door behind him. The only way he was going to get out of here was if they were all dead, every single one of them. He picked up the can of petrol that he’d brought in from the garage earlier, afraid that the acid fumes might mix with it and combust. His hands were shaking as he unscrewed the cap. He had no choice but to burn the house down with them inside it. That would cause enough of a fuss for him to slip away and escape. What were a few more bodies to add to his murder count? He ran over to the kitchen counter and took a packet of matches from the drawer, pushing them into his pocket. He picked up the can and began to slosh the petrol around, all over the wooden skirting boards, the bottom of the doors and everything wooden he could see.