‘Possibly, but the Rainlover has one other trademark. He always takes something personal from his victims.’

‘A kind of memento mori? Now that is interesting.’

‘Anything special?’ Morgan asked.

‘In the first case it was a handbag, then a headscarf, a nylon stocking and a shoe.’

‘And in Grace Packard’s case a pair of gloves?’ Faulkner suggested. ‘Then tell me this, Miller? If I was content with one shoe and one stocking previously why should it suddenly be necessary for me to take two gloves? A break in the pattern, surely?’

‘A good point,’ Miller admitted.

‘Here’s another,’ Joanna said. ‘What about the ten-pound note? Doesn’t that make two items missing?’

‘I’m afraid we only have Mr Faulkner’s word that it existed at all.’

There was a heavy silence.

For the first time Faulkner looked serious – really serious. Morgan couldn’t think of anything to say and Joanna Hartmann was just plain frightened.

Miller saw it as the psychological moment to withdraw for a little while and smiled pleasantly. ‘I’d better get in touch with Headquarters, just to see how things are getting on at that end.’

Faulkner tried to look nonchalant and waved towards the telephone. ‘Help yourself.’

‘That’s all right. I can use the car radio. I’ll be back in five minutes. I’m sure you could all use the break.’

He went out quickly, closing the door softly behind him.

Faulkner was the first to break the silence with a short laugh that echoed back to him, hollow and strained. ‘well, now, it doesn’t look too good, does it?’

17

Harold Phillips was hot and uncomfortable. The Interrogation Room was full of cigarette smoke and it was beginning to make his eyes hurt. He’d already had one lengthy session with Chief Superintendent Mallory and he hadn’t liked it. He glanced furtively across the room at the stony-faced constable standing beside the door.

He moistened his lips. ‘How much longer then?’

‘That’s up to Mr Mallory, sir,’ the constable replied.

The door opened and Mallory returned, Brady following him. ‘Did they get you a cup of tea?’ the Superintendent asked.

‘No, they didn’t,’ Harold answered in an aggrieved tone.

‘That’s not good enough – not good enough at all.’ He turned to the constable. ‘Fetch a cup of tea from the canteen on the double for Mr Phillips.’

‘He turned, smiling amiably and sat at the table. He opened a file and glanced at it quickly as he started to fill his pipe. ‘Let’s just look at this again.’

In the silence which followed the only sound was the clock ticking on the wall and the dull rumble of thunder somewhere far off in the distance.

‘Sounds like more rain then,’ Harold commented.