‘Then God help you,’ Andrew said looking coldly at his mother.

‘If you do this, and sever ties with me…’ Veronica’s resolve returned, along with a steely look in her eyes, as she continued, ‘Then God help you because, quite frankly, my son, no one else will.’

Barrett and Palmer raced to the Cambridge News office in Waterbeach in their unmarked car with the siren screaming. The traffic parted way in the city centre like the Red Sea had for Moses as the Volvo saloon hurtled along the gritted roads and out into countryside.

‘Three fingers,’ Palmer said, keeping a close eye on the road for ice. Under most circumstances it would not have been wise to travel at that speed given the conditions.

‘That’s what they said,’ Barrett replied gravely.

‘Why send it to the paper?’

‘This killer wants attention, Joe. What better way to get it?’

‘Killing two, or maybe three, people isn’t enough? What more does this madman want?’

‘That’s what we need to figure out. This killer is playing a game and so far, he’s always been one step ahead.’ It pained Barrett to admit it as the car pulled into the business park and up outside the newspaper headquarters. The journey had taken them double the amount of time it should due to the Christmas gridlock in the city.

Both men jumped out and approached the glass entrance where an officer stood guard making sure no one entered or left. Without speaking both inspectors flashed their badges and the bulky man moved aside.

Once inside the modern building the inspectors were led to the second floor where the Cambridge News had its headquarters. The room was sparsely furnished with a few desks. More officers were inside already talking statements from a couple of the journalists.

‘Which one is the editor?’ Barrett interrupted an interview taking place.

‘There, sir.’ The officer pointed to a desk in a glass box office on the far side of the room.

With purpose, Barrett marched, followed closely by Palmer, across the room. All eyes fell on them.

Without knocking Barrett pushed the door open and stepped inside. Behind a desk was a balding man in his late forties, who sat in his chair holding his head.

‘We’ll take it from here,’ Palmer told the officer who was standing beside the editor’s desk.

‘DCI Barrett, and this is DI Palmer.’ Barrett coughed, attempting to get the man to look up from the floor. ‘We need to ask you some questions.’ On the far side of the desk sat the box they were there for. Knowing what was inside made Palmer’s stomach turn.

‘I don’t know anything, but I’ll tell you what I can.’ The editor looked up, his face a pale shade of green. Palmer noticed a bin splashed with vomit at the editor’s feet.