The Advent Killer Read Online Free PDF

developments in the case had taken her boss as much by surprise as they had everybody else. But what if that wasn’t true? She’d wondered at the time why no existing DCI had offered to take on this allegedly simple investigation; there were those who could have stretched it to fill two personal development reviews and a bid for promotion.
    So had Kirby-Jones warned them off?
    Hawkins pushed the thought away: paranoia wouldn’t help matters.
    She refocused on the case. Inquiries into the first two murders were still underway. Telephone records and interview tapes of family, friends and any potential witnesses were being analysed, and the Police National Computer database was being scoured for the slightest similarities to past murders. Even the Family Liaison officers dealing with the bereaved were on alert for any piece of useful information, however small, that a friend or relative might happen to regurgitate.
    Unfortunately, television appeals for witnesses and the interviews had produced few leads, and even fewer potential suspects, although they were still trying to trace a couple of the victims’ ex-boyfriends. So far they had nothing.
    But the worst part was that this jigsaw still lacked its most crucial piece: motive.
    The guy popped up out of nowhere, created his gruesome calling cards, and evaporated.
    These murders were far beyond anything Hawkins had experienced. In the past she and Mike had worked on cases involving rival gangs, where games of revenge killing tennis just ran and ran, sending the body count skywards. But for a lone individual to execute a string of apparently unconnected women, in such diverse but clinical ways, was almost unrecognizable as human behaviour. With each attack the killer became more inexplicable to Hawkins.
    Her team’s ongoing research into his methods was looking more and more futile. They’d already been reduced to trying different combinations of letters in the victims’ names, to see if a hidden message might emerge.
    Nothing had.
    And now the case had escalated around her, along with the need for a sacrificial lamb if Operation Charter wasn’t a success.
    At one a week, bodies were appearing faster than they could be processed and, unlike other serial homicide cases, they knew almost for certain when the next one would arrive. Sunday – Christmas Day. Less than a week from now.
    They needed an arrest. Fast.
    Hawkins’ attention returned to the crowd outside. An elderly woman had appeared and started shouting at the uniformed officers to tell her what was going on. A younger man was trying to coax her away with offers of a cup of tea.
    In the confusion, a lone reporter slipped unseenthrough the cordon, tucking his press badge inside his jacket as he sleazed up the stone steps beside the slightly open window.
    ‘Let us in, ay, love?’ He addressed the WPC manning the front door. ‘Say I’m a colleague. It’s worth a hundred to you.’
    Hawkins moved forwards and tapped on the glass, edging the window further open and showing him her badge, ‘Please move back behind the cordon, sir.’ She dropped her voice. ‘In other words, take your camera and fuck off.’
    Hawkins took a moment to enjoy her victory as two uniformed officers, having heard the louder of her statements, practically carried him back past the front gate.
    She returned the WPC’s grin.
    But she wouldn’t have smiled had she known that, from across the street, the killer watched her turn back into the room.

5.
     
    A distant, metallic sound reached his ears through the interference. Its torpid shockwave spread. Memories spun and echoed, the static of recent events choking his senses.
    He tried the handle again, but still the door wouldn’t open. He looked down at numb fingers. They were no longer holding the key.
    He screwed his eyes shut as emotion reared, and steadied himself against the doorframe.
    He’d expected this backlash; spent the whole of the day before lying on his bed, waiting for