who get inside the heads of the villains. So if I'm going to be the best at what I do, I have to think like a villain. That doesn't mean I want to do what they do, though."
Strangely comforted by her words. Tony turned back to his screen.
The time the killer spends with his victims can also provide pointers. In three of the four cases, the killer appears to have made contact in the early evening and to have dumped the bodies in the early hours of the following morning. Interestingly, in the third case, he spent far longer with his victim, apparently keeping him alive for the greater part of two days. This was the killing that took place over Christmas.
It may be that he is normally unable to spend long with his victims because of the other demands of his life, demands which altered over the Christmas period. These are more likely to be work-related demands than domestic ones, though it is possible that he is in a relationship with someone who returned alone to their family at Christmas, thus giving him time to spend with his victim. Another possibility is that the extended time he spent with Gareth Finnegan was a bizarre Christmas present to himself, a reward for the good performance of his previous 'work'.
The short space of time that elapses between the killings and the dumping of the bodies suggests that he does not use drink or drugs to any significant degree during the torture and murders. He would not risk being stopped by the police for erratic driving while he has a body in the boot, whether alive or dead. Also, although he appears to have used his victims' cars on occasion, it is clear that he also has a vehicle of his own. The chances are that this is a reasonably new vehicle in good condition, since he can't afford to take the chance of being stopped in a routine police check.
Chapter 17
Tony hit the 'save' key on his computer and sat back with a satisfied smile. This was as good a place to stop as any. Tomorrow morning, he'd complete the detailed checklist of characteristics he'd expect to find in Handy Andy, and outline proposals for potential courses of action by the police officers on the case.
"You done?" Carol asked.
He turned to see her leaning back in the chair, her pile of folders closed.
"I didn't realize you'd finished," he said.
"Ten minutes ago. I didn't want to disturb the flying fingers."
Tony hated others studying him the way he studied them. The idea of being a patient on the receiving end of his own probing was one of those nightmares that he woke from in a sweat.
"I've had it for tonight," he said, making a copy of his file on a floppy disc which he then pocketed.
"I'll give you a lift home," Carol said.
"Thanks," Tony said, getting to his feet.
"I can never be bothered bringing the car into town. To tell you the truth, I don't much like driving."
"Can't say I blame you. The city traffic's hell on wheels."
When Carol pulled up outside Tony's house, she said, "Any chance of a cup of tea? Not to mention a pee?"
While Tony put the kettle on, Carol slipped upstairs to the bathroom.
She came downstairs to the sound of her own voice issuing from his answering machine. She paused at the foot of the stairs, spying on him as he leaned against his desk, pen and paper in hand, listening to his messages. She enjoyed her growing sense of familiarity with his face and the lines of his body. Her voice ended and the machine beeped.
"Hi Tony, it's Pete," the next voice announced.
"I've got to be in Bradfield next Thursday. Any chance of a bed and a beer Wednesday night? Congratulations on getting on board the Queer Killer investigation, by the way. Hope you catch the bastard." Beep.
"Anthony, my darling.
Wherever can you be? I'm lying here, longing for you. We've got some unfinished business, lover boy. "
At the sound of the voice. Tony straightened up and he turned to stare at the machine. The voice was husky, sexy, intimate.
"Don't think you can-' Tony's hand shot out and cut the voice off abruptly.
So much for not being involved with anyone, Carol thought bitterly.
She stepped forward through the doorway.
"Let's just forget the tea.
I'll see you tomorrow," she said, her voice cold and brittle as ice on a winter puddle.