Cara leans back in her chair. With any investigation, the responsibility lies with her to decide the focus for the team: what have they found, what does it mean, and what do they do next? She’s used to it, but with these two girls, with this level of violence, she feels the accountability lie heavy on her shoulders.

The phone rings. Cara answers it, then puts it on speaker.

“DS Deakin is also here,” she says as Dr. Ross’s voice booms from the handset.

“Have you read it?” he asks.

“Yes,” Cara replies. “Strangled and stabbed.” She’s surprised he’s phoning. Pathologists, and Ross in particular, don’t normally relish the opportunity of being questioned further by detectives.

“Not that,” he says, sharply. “The bit about the decapitation.”

Cara glances to Deakin, then back to the report. She’s not sure what he’s referring to. At the other end of the phone, they hear Ross grunt in exasperation.

“The cuts,” Ross carries on. “They were sharp, precise. There were none of the hesitation marks that you would expect to see on a dead body with this sort of postmortem damage. Taking a head off isn’t easy. Even if you get past the mental aspect, there’s the practicalities. The muscles of the neck are strong. Vertebrae are connected by ligaments. They’re tough.”

Ross stops, and the hiss from the phone line fills the room.

“Do you get what I’m saying?”

Cara looks at Noah. His eyes are puzzled, waiting.

“Detectives,” Ross continues. “These heads were taken off by someone who knew what he was doing.” He pauses. “As much as I don’t like to say so, your killer has done this before.”

CHAPTER

14

GRIFFIN FIDGETS ON a park bench while he waits. He smokes a cigarette, considers lighting another, then stops himself. He doesn’t know if she will even show up. He looks at the hastily gathered documents in his hand. What they’re suggesting is insane, but … He knows that Jess is right.

He’s left her back at his apartment. It feels strange, this woman suddenly intruding in his life. But something’s different about her: she has none of the wariness, the distance he normally gets from other people. He doesn’t feel judged by Jess, and it’s freeing.

At last he spots Cara, hurriedly walking along the path, her head down, her coat pulled around her. She sees him and a look flashes across her face before she hides it again. He knows what she’s thinking. She’d rather be anywhere than here.

She reaches the bench and stands in front of him, blocking out the light. He can’t see her face; her body is no more than a silhouette in shadow.

“What do you want?” she asks.

“Sit down,” he says.

After a moment of resistance, she does as he asks. He passes her the folder.

“What’s this?”

“Just hear me out.”

She sighs. “Griffin, I don’t know what you’re doing, but this has to stop. I’ve got detectives telling me you’re interfering with suspects, hanging around the hospital. And you’re still using my log in. You’ll get me in trouble as well at this rate.”

“Cara.” He turns to face her. “Listen for a minute. This file contains information about a series of murders occurring across the country. They’ve been across numerous constabularies, all with different MOs, so nobody’s noticed the link.”

“What link?” She opens the folder, flicking through the pages.

“The killer is copying the MOs of different serial killers.”

Cara pauses. Then she looks at him. “Pardon?”

“Look at the details. These murders here all take after Sutcliffe. These ones are all the Hillside Strangler. And the multiple homicide in Dorset on Monday night? What does that remind you of?”

He’s looking at her face, studying the features he knows so well, trying to see if he’s getting through to her. She looks at the photos, at the writing daubed on the wall in blood, at the pregnant woman.