‘Do you know why I had to consume those people?’ Maclure asked, eyes widening, panting. ‘I knew I was about to have to fight for my life. I was expecting you to come for me. The fox stalks its prey only so long before it strikes. It may be silent and devious, but the crow is faster still. Every moment of the suffering I caused made me stronger, fiercer. I withstood all their complaints, their crying, their shame. I soaked it all up.’ Maclure bared his teeth.

‘Mr Maclure, please calm yourself. You’re in hospital care now. I can assure you that no one here, least of all me, wishes anything but the best for you. My name is irrelevant. I’m human and I believe we’ll be able to help you return to your former self.’

‘Yeah?’ Maclure whispered. ‘Well then, you really are the enemy.’

He swivelled on the bed in a heartbeat, his right hand still cuffed, flinging his legs across to wrap them around Dr Fox’s neck, creating a vice and squeezing, squeezing, squeezing.

Dr Fox’s face was purple in seconds, his hands flapping uselessly at Maclure’s knees. The students in the observation room were screaming. The professor shoved them aside, yelling for help as she burst into the corridor. By the time she was at Maclure’s bedside, Dr Fox was on his knees.

Maclure was cawing victoriously, filling the room with a haunting, high-pitched screech. The professor grabbed a syringe and plunged it into the top of Maclure’s arm. Still he didn’t release his legs, his system defying the sedative. At last, two orderlies rushed in, taking a leg each and pulling them apart, leaving Dr Fox to collapse unconscious to the floor.

Maclure’s eyes began to roll, the grin on his face undiminished by the coming darkness.

‘I’m The Crow,’ he muttered, his voice hoarse.

Chapter Forty-Three

25 March

‘Lycanthropy? So he’s a fucking werewolf, is what you’re telling me?’ Overbeck sat legs crossed, upper ankle bobbing up and down furiously, on the business side of Ava’s desk.

‘Lycanthropy’s a generic term. I guess it originally referred to people who believed they turned into wolves, probably courtesy of folklore, but these days it applies to anyone who believes they turn into an animal. In Maclure’s case, it was caused by his schizophrenia, which was why he appeared so normal and unaffected at times. He’s convinced he’s a crow. Every psychiatrist who’s seen him agrees. He’s not denying physically having committed the murders, but he will be running a mental disorder defence,’ Ava replied, wondering just how long her detective superintendent was planning on making her visit and glad she had a briefing in a few minutes to use as an excuse to get away.

‘What’s the update on the doctor he attacked?’