‘Stop psychoanalysing me! I’m not here for this bullshit. Tell me what you know about Kirk Junker and his daughter Daphne. Was she the girl brought into the Penrith and Lakes as a suspected child abuse case? We still haven’t found her and I think she’s in danger, I’m worried about her.’

‘So you should be, poor girl. The mother gave her name as Gloria, but she didn’t list paternity. He came to meet her at the hospital but stayed in the car park. I followed them, of course. I bet your artists have got an image by now: he stands out, doesn’t he? I thought you coppers were good at spotting oddities?’

‘Why didn’t you kill him? Didn’t you want to save the girl?’

‘I was otherwise engaged.’

‘You mean you were already mid-kill spree? How inconvenient for the child. I thought you were busy butchering in Yorkshire back then. Forgive me, were there more in the Lake District before Moira?’ Moira Tate was who they thought had been The Teacher’s first victim.

‘Murder takes practice, Kelly.’

The way the words slipped off Amy’s tongue and onto her lips, out of her mouth, made Kelly shudder. It was a moment of pure joy for the killer.

‘You haven’t found any trace of Kirk Junker, have you? Otherwise you wouldn’t be here. You want a name from me.’

‘I want to know how come you know so much. You must have a pretty close relationship to him or Daphne: what’s the deal?’

‘Close? No. He’s an amateur. We met after the girl came to hospital. I dabbled in the occult for a while but it wasn’t for me. Too obvious. Too clandestine and tacky. A bit clichéd. Anyway, I preferred to work alone.’

Kelly felt bile rise in her throat. She’d seen the ‘work’ first hand.

‘Is that why your first lot of murders used religious references.’

‘I’m so embarrassed about that.’ Kelly noticed the first flicker of humanity: shame. Get a narcissist on to themselves and it usually shows.

‘So, is my trip going to be wasted or are you going to level with me?’

‘Will you come and see me again?’

‘Probably not.’

‘But if I think of something else?’

‘Think? It just might occur to you that you know more than you want to drip feed me today?’

‘It’s your fortieth next year isn’t it? You don’t age. But I suppose that’s because you’ve never raised a child. Is it on the cards for you and the delightful Mr Frietze who I had the pleasure of meeting, alone, on a wild mountainside?’

Kelly didn’t move. It wasn’t working. She realised that the game was an even field. The Teacher was stalling for time: time with her. Broadmoor was a lonely place.