‘Maybe I’ll come to Holland,’ she said, although she knew that, even if she did, she would not seek Donny out. The kiss belonged to this night, and it fit perfectly. She wanted to preserve the memory as it was.

‘You are welcome anytime,’ he said. ‘Good luck, Alice.’

Wednesday, 18 August 2021

Alice

‘CRUCIFIX’ KILLER COULD STRIKE AGAIN

By Alice Sark

The police confirmed in a press conference yesterday that they believe the Crucifix Killer is still a threat and may strike again soon.

Detective Inspector Jane Wynne urged the public to take precautions and avoid being out alone late at night, particularly in remote locations. ‘We understand that life goes on, but there is a dangerous predator out there and, until they are caught, we would advise members of the public to be careful.’

When asked whether the fact the police were saying this now meant they had some indication the killer may strike again soon, DI Wynne clarified that there were no specific reasons. She added that ‘in our experience, the gap between crimes often shortens, and we are concerned that is also true in this case.’

Speculation continues about the significance of the folded arms and the crucifix. At the press conference, Professor Bob Collins, a noted criminal psychologist, said that, in addition to any religious significance, it indicated a narcissistic personality type.

‘These symbols often suggest that the criminal has a grandiose self-image, typical of someone with Narcissistic Personality Disorder. It is important we remember that this is a disorder: at root they are no different to anyone else suffering from a mental illness.’

Whatever the truth, we can conclude that behind these delusions of grandeur, the Crucifix Killer is no more than a low criminal.

Tom

‘Twenty Marlboro Lights,’ Tom said. The cashier in the petrol station reached for the cigarettes and handed them over.

‘Any petrol?’ he said.

‘No. Just the smokes. Oh, and a lighter, if you’ve got one.’

The man took a plastic lighter from a box by the till and scanned it, then handed it and the Marlboro Lights to Tom.

Tom headed for his car and drove off the forecourt. There was a reservoir nearby with a path around the edge. He pulled up, climbed out of the car, and set off around the water.

There was a bench on the far side. He sat down and unwrapped the cellophane from the packet. He hadn’t smoked since before Joanna was born, but in the office he had been overwhelmed by a craving for a cigarette.

There was no doubt it was triggered by the stress. They were in danger, he was sure of it. He didn’t care what anyone said about rituals and communication games, or what normally happened in cases like this. There was no normal. They were way outside of the normal. Nothing applied.

Other than the fact that a serial killer had sent a letter to his wife about an article she had written.