The man who used a false name sat in his favourite chair and sipped from the mug of coffee he’d made himself.

He needed time to reflect, to regroup his thoughts and plan for what lay ahead.

That the police had visited him wasn’t the greatest surprise. He’d expected it to happen at some point in his life. Just not so soon.

His plans wouldn’t change, there was no call for alarm, but there was a call for caution. Selecting Angus Keane for his project had been delightful, but he now realised it had brought him the wrong kind of attention. He’d wanted to make a statement, with Angus, he just wasn’t ready to be recognised as the speaker.

Still, he reasoned, the police had been on a fishing trip. Casting their bait onto his waters to see if he’d bite.

Like that was going to happen; he was too smart to be caught by a couple of women. One of them may have risen a few ranks, but if her age was anything to go by, she’d peaked at detective inspector. That meant she wasn’t clever enough to play the game. And if she couldn’t get herself up the police ranks, there was no way she was going to have the intelligence to catch him.

The younger one may be a different case. Her eyes held traces of wisdom and worldliness that belied her tender years. If they came to him again, she was the one who would bear the most watching.

The man’s fingers drummed on his knee as he thought of her. The disfiguring of her face made him interested. He knew her surname was Young but he didn’t recall her full name. His mind went back to her flashing the wallet with her badge at him. He visualised the moment and let his subconscious pull up the details. He’d only had a brief second to look at it and hadn’t paid much attention, but in a flash he recalled her Christian name.

He closed his eyes in rapture as he thought of how delicious it would be to involve a police officer in his project.

The more he thought about it, the more the idea grew on him. It would be dangerous, audacious and very relevant to his project, but most of all, more than anything else, if it went to plan and he got away with it, he’d demonstrate his superiority. Prove that he was the cleverest. The best. The bravest.

Too many people looked at him in ways he didn’t like. They were jealous of him. His money, his success in business. He’d show them all just how inferior they were to him. The snide looks would stop then. So would the whispering that he knew went on behind his back.

That Carleton Hall was police headquarters added an extra layer of deliciousness to the idea. To take someone from the police’s stronghold and transfer them to a grand house of his choosing, turn them into a tribute and display them would prove his worth.

What a message it would send.

More than anything else he’d done, or planned to do, using DC Young as part of his project would deliver the message of his superiority. He would show them all. Every last one of his doubters. They may not know of his role in it, but they would all know about his project. Each would marvel at the man who led the police on the merriest of dances. Wonder who it was.

In his own secretive way he’d achieve infamy, a modern-day Scarlet Pimpernel, although Jack the Ripper would be a more accurate allusion.

He’d broken cover with Angus Keane. Left the builder in a place where he was sure to be found. After that he’d retreated back to the shadows for his next kill. There was no telling when the victims at Highstead would be found, but that didn’t matter to him. So long as he knew they were there, the project could continue.

The venues where he housed his darlings were chosen with care. They made a statement, although he doubted that anyone was clever enough to understand it. He had the site for his next display already earmarked, and it, far more than Arthuret Hall, would announce his presence to the world.

No longer would he be the boy who cowered in a cellar where his dragon of a mother couldn’t find him.