bushes.’
The light from the television screen cast shadows on the walls as Martin Enderby scribbled furiously in his reporter’s notebook. He desperately wanted to glean some new facts from this programme to add to the piece he had been writing. And he wondered what they’d say in the update.
*
The studio lightshad become unbearably hot and Lorimer longed to take a sip from the glass of water in front of him.
‘So Alison Girdley may actually have seen the man who murdered Sharon, Donna and Lucy?’
‘We think so. There is a videofit picture which we have prepared on the strength of Alison’s description.’
‘Yes. Here it is now. Take a good look.’ Ross’s voice was compelling as the photofit appeared on the screen. ‘If you think you know this man or have any information about the old ambulance which he was driving then please do not hesitate to telephone the incident room on this number.’
The screen flashed up the number as the presenter’s clear tones repeated it twice.
‘And remember, all calls will be treated in the strictest confidence.’
Now the picture reverted to the two men who regarded each other seriously behind the studio desk.
‘Chief Inspector, have you any message for the public? Any advice which might lead to finding this man?’
The camera zoomed slowly in to show Lorimer’s rugged face in close-up. His blue eyes seemed to pierce right through the air waves.
‘This man is a highly dangerous individual. If you think you know who he is, by no means approach him but please,’ he emphasised the word, ‘please get in touch with us immediately. It is imperative that we catch this man.’ He paused. They had decided against adding ‘before there are any more killings’. It was not a wise tactic to employ scaremongering in this way. That sort of thing was left for the Press to take up. Also, Lorimer felt that any admission that further attacks might take place would reflect on police work in general and on himself in particular. And yet …
‘He is a dangerousand secretive individual. If you think you can help, then ring this number.’
Lorimer’s face was replaced by the telephone numbers once more, then Nick Ross was back smiling his assurance to the viewers that such crimes were really very rare.
‘We will be back with our update at 11.15 tonight. Already we have a flood of calls coming in and we hope to report on some of those later on.’ Now Nick was leaning on the front of the desk, a sheaf of papers in his hand, looking quite relaxed. ‘Don’t have nightmares,’ he smiled. ‘Goodnight.’
Maggie switched off the television and sat back. She suddenly became aware of her clenched fists and the feeling of hot sweat between her breasts.
Lorimer had spoken to her about the urgency of the case, of the unpredictable nature of any savage serial killer. With one part of her mind Maggie had acknowledged all of these things, agreeing that the case was horrid and vile. But another part of her had remained detached until now. Somehow the reconstruction with trained actors had made the crimes seem more real to her. She had thought about the victims’ last moments and visualised that silver chain biting into their throats.
As the scenes unfolded, Maggie had wondered about the parents. Their anguish in going through this all over again must be unbearably painful – if indeed they had been able to face the programme. Somehow Maggie thought that they would. Any link with their dead children would encourage them to watch; to see the possibility of a net being cast to entrap this sadistic killer.
And Lorimer would doit. Maggie willed him to do it. He must catch that man before … But her mind balked at pursuing that thought.
She looked around the room. It was not a masculine room in any way. The sofas were pale apricot and green, matching the leaf green of the curtains. Colours that were impractical for family life. But then there would never be a family now. She had chosen
The light from the television screen cast shadows on the walls as Martin Enderby scribbled furiously in his reporter’s notebook. He desperately wanted to glean some new facts from this programme to add to the piece he had been writing. And he wondered what they’d say in the update.
*
The studio lightshad become unbearably hot and Lorimer longed to take a sip from the glass of water in front of him.
‘So Alison Girdley may actually have seen the man who murdered Sharon, Donna and Lucy?’
‘We think so. There is a videofit picture which we have prepared on the strength of Alison’s description.’
‘Yes. Here it is now. Take a good look.’ Ross’s voice was compelling as the photofit appeared on the screen. ‘If you think you know this man or have any information about the old ambulance which he was driving then please do not hesitate to telephone the incident room on this number.’
The screen flashed up the number as the presenter’s clear tones repeated it twice.
‘And remember, all calls will be treated in the strictest confidence.’
Now the picture reverted to the two men who regarded each other seriously behind the studio desk.
‘Chief Inspector, have you any message for the public? Any advice which might lead to finding this man?’
The camera zoomed slowly in to show Lorimer’s rugged face in close-up. His blue eyes seemed to pierce right through the air waves.
‘This man is a highly dangerous individual. If you think you know who he is, by no means approach him but please,’ he emphasised the word, ‘please get in touch with us immediately. It is imperative that we catch this man.’ He paused. They had decided against adding ‘before there are any more killings’. It was not a wise tactic to employ scaremongering in this way. That sort of thing was left for the Press to take up. Also, Lorimer felt that any admission that further attacks might take place would reflect on police work in general and on himself in particular. And yet …
‘He is a dangerousand secretive individual. If you think you can help, then ring this number.’
Lorimer’s face was replaced by the telephone numbers once more, then Nick Ross was back smiling his assurance to the viewers that such crimes were really very rare.
‘We will be back with our update at 11.15 tonight. Already we have a flood of calls coming in and we hope to report on some of those later on.’ Now Nick was leaning on the front of the desk, a sheaf of papers in his hand, looking quite relaxed. ‘Don’t have nightmares,’ he smiled. ‘Goodnight.’
Maggie switched off the television and sat back. She suddenly became aware of her clenched fists and the feeling of hot sweat between her breasts.
Lorimer had spoken to her about the urgency of the case, of the unpredictable nature of any savage serial killer. With one part of her mind Maggie had acknowledged all of these things, agreeing that the case was horrid and vile. But another part of her had remained detached until now. Somehow the reconstruction with trained actors had made the crimes seem more real to her. She had thought about the victims’ last moments and visualised that silver chain biting into their throats.
As the scenes unfolded, Maggie had wondered about the parents. Their anguish in going through this all over again must be unbearably painful – if indeed they had been able to face the programme. Somehow Maggie thought that they would. Any link with their dead children would encourage them to watch; to see the possibility of a net being cast to entrap this sadistic killer.
And Lorimer would doit. Maggie willed him to do it. He must catch that man before … But her mind balked at pursuing that thought.
She looked around the room. It was not a masculine room in any way. The sofas were pale apricot and green, matching the leaf green of the curtains. Colours that were impractical for family life. But then there would never be a family now. She had chosen
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