Aberdeen again. It was all fitting together. At the same time, if it was the Upstart, he was breaking his pattern – his first married victim, and perhaps his oldest. Which might mean that the pattern had never been there in the first place. It didn’t of necessity negate an existing pattern; it just meant that that pattern had yet to be established.

Which was what Bible John was counting on.

Meantime, he opened the UPSTART file on his laptop and read the notes on the third victim. Judith Cairns, known to her friends as Ju-Ju. Twenty-one years old, shared a rented flat in Hillhead, just across Kelvingrove Park – he could almost see Hillhead from his window. Although she was registered unemployed, Judith Cairns had worked the black economy – some bar work at lunchtimes; a chip shop in the evenings; and weekend mornings as a chambermaid at the Fairmount Hotel. Which was, Bible John was guessing, how the Upstart had come to meet her. A travelling man frequented hotels: he should know. He wondered how close he was to the Upstart – not physically, but mentally. He didn’t want to feel close in any way to this brash pretender, this usurper. He wanted to feel unique.

He paced his room, wanting to be back in Aberdeen while the latest inquiry unfolded, but he had work here in Glasgow, work he could not accomplish until the middle of the night. He stared out of the window, imagining Judith Cairns crossing Kelvingrove Park: she must have done it dozens of times. And one time she did it with the Upstart. Once was all he needed.

During the course of the afternoon and evening, more news filtered down of the latest victim. She was now being described as a ‘successful twenty-seven-year-old company director’. The word businessman was like a shriek in Bible John’s head. Not a lorry driver or any other profession; a simple businessman. The Upstart. He sat down at his computer and scrolled back to his notes on the first victim, the student at Robert Gordon’s University, studying geology. He needed to know more about her, but couldn’t think which route to take. And now there was a fourth victim to occupy him. Perhaps study of number four would mean he wouldn’t need the first cull to complete his picture. Tonight might point the way.

He went out late for a walk. It was very pleasant, balmy night air, not much traffic about. Glasgow wasn’t such a bad place: he’d been to cities in the States that could eat it for brunch. He remembered the city of his youth, stories of razor gangs and bare-knuckle bouts. Glasgow had a violent history, but that didn’t tell the full story. It could be a beautiful city, too, a city for photographers and artists. A place for lovers …

I didn’t want to kill them. He would like to be able to tell Glasgow that, but of course it would be a lie. At the time … at the last moment … all he’d wanted in the world was their death. He had read interviews with killers, sat through trial testimony a couple of times, too, wanting someone to explain his feelings to him. No one came close. It was impossible either to describe or to understand.