She stood without giving him time to voice his obvious dismay, closing the session and retreating to the corridor with Aaron in tow, pleased at gaining the upper hand, albeit briefly, with Byford, but still ready to scream at their continued lack of progress overall. The body count already stood at five, yet this case was like wading through treacle: the harder she pushed, the deeper and more pervasive the killer’s fanatical reality became.

She told the waiting uniform to return Byford to his cell, retrieved her mobile and led Aaron from the basement up to the ground floor in search of a signal.

Seconds later, a text and a voice message came in from Amala. She dialled voicemail first.

‘Ma’am, it’s me. We just spoke to Lewis Rudd’s housemates. They’re all pretty shocked, but there’s no question about him being into the supernatural, just like the other victims. He had his own blog dedicated to the subject. I’ve sent you the link.’

Hawkins ended the call and opened the text, clicking the link. An internet window opened, a blogging site with a black background and bright green writing. She noted the image of Lewis Rudd at the top of the page, and began reading the dead youngster’s latest entries.

Aaron waited quietly until she looked up.

‘Get the team together,’ Hawkins instructed. ‘One o’clock, in the operations room at Becke House.’ She set off towards the exit.

Aaron hurried after her. ‘What about the other interviews, ma’am?’

‘Forget them for now. This lot are nothing if not loyal; they won’t tell us anything.’

‘Sorry … why are we going back to Hendon?’

‘I’ll explain once we’re all together,’ she said. ‘But I think we just established the killer’s motive.’

50

Forty-five minutes after leaving Southall station, Hawkins stood in front of the incident room investigation board at Becke House, surrounded by inquisitive faces.

As ever, Amala sat nearest the front, with Aaron and Chris flanking her. Simon Hunter, in typically pensive profiler fashion, hovered away to the side. There were a few moments of silence until Frank wandered in with a steaming coffee cup.

He glanced at the wall clock as everyone turned towards him. ‘Give over. It’s only three minutes past.’

Hawkins fixed him with a stare that made the DI visibly shrink, as she motioned towards an empty chair.

‘Right you are,’ Frank mumbled, threading his way to the chair and quickly settling himself.

‘So,’ Hawkins addressed the group. ‘Thanks, everyone, for coming. Apologies for the short notice, but I think we’ve overlooked something.’ She retrieved a printed sheet from the investigation board, held it up. ‘These messages were exchanged between two of the three original victims. We missed them previously, because they were sent using an aftermarket app – rather than standard text – and then deleted, but one of the tech researchers managed to recover them this morning.’