‘He looks like any bloke on the street. Nothing remarkable about him. It’s not even that clear from the image what age he is. Could be thirty. Could be fifty.’

‘We got a good description of the coat.’ Barrett refused to be downbeat.

‘Yes. Dark blue duffle,’ Palmer recounted following Barrett up the stairs to the incident room. ‘Do you want me to get this out to the press?’

‘Quick as you can. And find an image of a coat similar to the one Mr Okeke described, too. I want those images in circulation in every paper and on all the local news channels. Let’s tighten the net on this creep.’

‘I’ll get onto it tonight, sir.’ Palmer looked at the clock on the wall and knew there was no chance he’d be home in time to tuck his son into bed.

The man walked along the edge of the water, carrying a small torch. It was dark and the temperature was minus two degrees. His breathing was heavy as he hunted for the person he had arranged to meet that night.

The moon reflected in the ripples of the water and a canopy of stars blanketed the night sky above.

Standing near a tree in the distance the man saw the person he was looking for. His heartbeat quickened as the closeness between their bodies lessened. He knew this day had been coming for a long time, but he didn’t know why it had taken so long.

‘Who are you?’ The man said between deep breaths.

‘Someone who knows what you did,’ the man spat.

‘Why here, why now?’

The silhouetted figure looked up at the universe and pondered a moment.

‘Because I can and because I should,’ he said as he produced a large crowbar from behind his back and brought it swinging into the skull of his companion.

Chapter 19

9.25am Saturday 21st December

At Parkside Police Station the phones would not stop ringing. After the morning news had been aired, showing the sketch of the suspect and the image of the coat, the station had been inundated with calls. Unsurprisingly, it seemed lots of people knew a man in his early to mid- thirties who wore a similar coat and who lived in the area, but not one single caller had been able to say with absolute certainty that the sketch fitted the face of the person they were calling in to report.

Nonetheless, the officers manning the phones took down the name of each person and promised to investigate. By eleven o’clock they had a list of over eighty names.

Palmer, who was keen to start sifting through the names, was interrupted by a call from the front desk.

‘Sir, I have a woman here who’d like to report a missing person.’