It was the weather. It was the uncertainty. It was the downright incompetence of Edinburgh’s police force. There should have been an arrest by now–she shouldn’t have to do it again, but they were so slow. Why hadn’t they made an arrest? Why hadn’t they played their part?

She knew that there were other women watching her as she walked on. Her high heels keep sneaking down the cracks in the cobbles as she made the precarious journey, balancing handbag, umbrella and some degree of dignity. She was surprised in one way that they hadn’t tried to get her off their patch–she thought that prostitutes or their pimps were territorial. Maybe they didn’t care, or maybe there was enough to go round. There was also the fact that she was about a hundred times better and cleaner looking than any of them. Maybe word had also got round that she was new. She laughed quietly to herself as she realized there wasn’t any chance that she was getting known by reputation–ex-customers were hardly likely to be recommending her.

The lack of safety around here horrified her. She knew none of these women or their stories, but they must have known what was going on–if punters were being killed, didn’t that make these working girls fear for their own lives too? Perhaps not–perhaps they thought there was some justice in the men finally being the victims.

She could feel a rising panic in her chest as she stopped in a doorway to look around. There was a narrow road running straight in front of her and a number of similar doorways in which women slumped or stood. She had no idea how many times she would have to do this, but she felt uncomfortable tonight. What if the car she chose had a cop in it? What if she wasn’t strong enough? What if she picked the wrong guy?

Stop it, she told herself. There’s no time for this. Be careful and be quick. A few cars had crawled past her but, without her initiating any contact, they’d gone past. She knew there must be police officers somewhere–or were there? From what she could tell, and from what she’d heard, this part of Edinburgh was pretty much left to its own devices, and there was a thin line between the police turning a blind eye and actually colluding. Maybe there was pressure on them to solve the murders, but there could also be pressure on them to leave the business alone given that the customers could never be fully identified. That was what she was counting on. The lowlifes who walked down to the Shore and paid a fiver for a quick blow job from some poor tart who didn’t know what day it was were not her target audience anyway.