‘Then surely you need to focus your best bet?’ Sarah suggested. ‘If it’s a maniac who’s just offing random lawyers and covering his tracks this well, catching him is just going to be a case of getting lucky, isn’t it? And like you say, it’s just not that likely a scenario. But if you assume that there is a connection – that Longman and Blunt were targeted for some old case they were both involved in – then at least you have something to pursue. And if it is that, well, Blunt’s death must have just massively reduced your list of subjects.’

Levy did not answer.

The files on tables one, two and three had been on her mind since that morning. And the imperfect filtering system her team had needed to apply had been right there with them. But Sarah was right. That filtering system was irrelevant. A solicitor like Adam Blunt could not have appeared in as much as one per cent of Longman’s cases. It would bring the number to a manageable level. Certainly single figures.

But not zero, Levy thought. Because zero means no connection and no connection makes the killings random. A lunatic just hunting lawyers.

Levy got to her feet. Her drink less than half done.

‘I’m sorry, Sarah, but I’ve got to go. We’ve got to act on this now.’

‘Understood.’

‘And Sarah?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Thanks for the pep talk. And the drink. I needed them both.’

Pale Eyes kept the volume of his speaker audible as he watched Joelle Levy walk away from the table, leaving Sarah Truman to finish her drink and her cigarette alone.

The information coming from the speaker was worth hearing, but he would have much preferred to hear what the cop and the reporter had just discussed. There had been no way to get close enough, not with the pub garden empty.

He would find out soon enough. Certainly sooner than they would find him. The latter would happen, of course. But only when he was ready. When he was done.

He watched as Truman stubbed out her cigarette, left the table and walked towards the car park. She would not pass him. He had positioned his vehicle to ensure that neither woman had any reason to pay it any attention. And so he could continue to observe, as Truman reached her own car and drove away.

Sarah Truman. The big guns.

It gave him an unexpected feeling of satisfaction. Just two killings so far, and already he had a famous reporter on his tail. And by the time he was done, she would have one hell of a story.

TWENTY-FOUR

Michael Devlin recognised every guard at the entrance of London’s Central Criminal Court. He greeted each of them warmly as he queued. Each guard greeted him back, most by his first name.

More commonly known as the Old Bailey, the Central Criminal Court housed many of the country’s major criminal trials. This in turn attracted the country’s leading barristers. Michael was counted in that number.