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Tom Harper.’
    ‘What’s his problem?’
    ‘Oh, there ain’t just one. Everything’s his fucking problem,’ said Poulter.
    Harper’s silhouette disappeared over the brow of the incline, leaving the rest to North Manhattan Homicide to clear up and assess. He had what he needed. There was a dead woman on his ground. A young woman raped and murdered for no reason. This was not a random strike - the killer had chosen a defenceless victim simply because she was weak. It wasn’t fear that was knocking against Harper’s heart now, it was cold determination.
    As he walked, the trickle of images was already forming. Harper’s mind worked like a hundred cogs, assessing information and throwing out conclusions. He figured that the attacker had come at her from behind. A sign of his weakness. He’d taken her out with a blackjack; it’d left a three-inch gash on the side of her head. He didn’t even have to struggle with any resistance. Then he’d somehow got her to his car and driven her out to Ward’s. From the road, he’d dragged her to the rocks, raped her while she was still out, then cut her open and watched her begin to die. Finally, he strangled her.
    Harper reached the top of the hill. He turned and looked down. The body had been dragged across the ground. Harper followed the line in the grass. The girl was maybe 110 pounds, but the line wasn’t true or consistent. Maybe the killer was physically weak. He couldn’t even hump a 110-pound body across the ground without stopping every ten yards. Or he was carrying something and using only one arm to drag her. Harper looked again at the drag marks with his flashlight. Yeah, the killer was carrying something with one arm and dragging her with the other. Scrub weak, this killer was physically strong. Very.
    Manhattan Psychiatric Center was only a hundred yards away. A possible link, he thought. Ward’s Island was home to two psychiatric hospitals. Most of New York’s criminally insane were within a mile of this spot.
    Harper looked across to the grounds of MPC. Plenty of places to hide. He looked back at the officers on the shore. He let the thought about what he’d do if he found the guy flood his mind. The guy who’d attacked and forced himself on this woman - called her names, shouted at her, made her weep and wet herself and shudder with fear, and then, when she was most terrified, slashed at her with his knife. Slow and painful beyond description. Then there was an act that was strangely redemptive - he scattered petals on her body and put her hands together in prayer. Harper knew why Lafayette had wanted him personally on the case. Killers like this played by different rules.
    Harper pulled open the door and got into the Impala. He was thinking, still working out the movements that had been this woman’s last.
    ‘What you got for me?’ said Lafayette.
    ‘Victim’s not from the hospital, she’s too high class - she’s got an expensive dye job, perfect nails and enough dental work to set you back twenty thousand. She’s in her early twenties and she’s been well looked after. Her hair’s been hacked off. My guess is that he’s taken her hair as his trophy. Looks like her right shoulder’s been dislocated. So he’s abducted her somewhere in the city and then driven her here. He’s dragged her across the ground by one arm. I’d say that the killer has probably been scoping this area for some time and possibly the victim too. She’s a type. Similar to Mary-Jane. Blonde, refined, wealthy. The killer might even have a reason to be here. I’d say that he’s probably been to and from this hospital many times. He might be a patient or even a nurse. That’s a good spot he’s picked. I think he worked the sightlines. The waterline on the rocks is invisible from beyond this hill. So he’s taken the trouble to get her out of sight so he can spend time with her. That’s some careful working out he’s done. Also, he probably drinks. I’d say he needs