‘Erika, it’s been a while!’ he says. ‘I assume this isn’t a personal call?’

I explain the reason for my call to him whilst he munches on something, the crunching noise making its way through from the other end of the phone. I want the film transferred to DVD format and I want the sound enhanced. He doesn’t respond immediately, I assume he is finishing chewing, but when he does, he utters two syllables.

‘Easy.’

We arrange delivery of the film for first thing tomorrow, once they have been examined by forensics, and he tells me it won’t take too long and that I should have them by the afternoon. We exchange goodbyes and I hang up.

Before I stow my phone away, I notice that there is a text message waiting to be read. I open my inbox and note that the message has been sent from Reuben’s phone. My heart drops. I’ve ruined his night by closing down the cinema, fooled by the realism of the prank. I imagine the news has got back to him already and he’s pissed off.

When I open the text message, the phone nearly drops out of my hand. Attached is a picture of Reuben’s dead body. It has been removed from the noose and laid on the dirty, concrete floor. His eyes are closed and the imprinted ligature marks around his neck are fresh and raw.

Aside from the horrific injuries he has had inflicted on him, he looks almost peaceful. As I study his bruised and battered face, a second text appears, its arrival heralded by a loud beep that scares the life out of me. It contains ten words from the same number:

COME AND FIND ME, ERIKA PIPER. TIME IS RUNNING OUT

24

‘Shit, so he’s making it personal,’ says Angela.

We’ve been discussing the text message sent from Reuben’s phone number for a few minutes, trying to work out what ‘TIME IS RUNNING OUT’ means. The obvious being that we don’t have long before we have another body on our hands, though I can’t help but think that there is a deeper, hidden meaning.

‘Maybe he means time is running out for you,’ she says timidly, voicing the thought that had been running through my head all night. ‘Maybe you should ask Bob for an officer to be stationed outside your house.’

I tell her I will consider it, though I know that I won’t. I don’t want to show a single strand of weakness, and I don’t even know if the text message was a genuine threat towards me.

‘We can’t even be one hundred percent certain that Reuben is dead,’ I say. ‘The picture looks realistic but apparently he is known for these sorts of pranks. At least we know that the video was shot in a mill.’

I return to my office, taking a sip of the luke-warm coffee that has been left on my desk for a while and letting out a sigh. The longer this case has rumbled on, the more frustrated I’ve become.